Tag Archives: literature

“I heard a Fly buzz – when I died” (591) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
   The Stillness in the Room
 Was like the Stillness in the Air -
   Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
   And Breaths were gathering firm
 For that last Onset - when the King
   Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
   What portion of me be 
 Assignable - and then it was 
   There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
   Between the light - and me -
 And then the Windows failed - and then
   I could not see to see -

BOOKS: “A Child’s Garden of Verses” by Robert Louis Stevenson

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A Child's Garden Of VersesA Child’s Garden Of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

Until recently, I was only acquainted with Stevenson as a novelist, but I had a powerful experience with his poem “The Hayloft” (included in this collection.) I was intrigued by how a poem written by a nineteenth century Scot could prove so nostalgia-inducing for me, having been a 20th century American farm-boy. So, I read the collection, and found that “The Hayloft” was only one of many examples that had such an effect. Others include: “Land of Counterpane,” “Block City,” and “Land of Nod.” The nostalgic power of the poems derives from the fact that Stevenson does a phenomenal job of capturing a child’s enthusiasm for play, and in that regard I’m sure the collection will resonate more broadly than just I, or even than just farm kids.

Afterall, there’s a lot of Stevenson’s experience that is dissimilar to mine. Besides his era and his nationality, his mentions of nurses, gardeners, and cooks is surely much different from my own upbringing, being devoid of household staff. But the book only needs to draw upon that love of play and imagination to take one back.

For a work from the nineteenth century, this collection of 50+ lyric poems has aged well. There is the occasional word like “gabies” or “whin” to send one to a dictionary, but those archaic or obsolete terms are rarities. Furthermore, the lyricism of the poems makes them easily read or sung.

I’d highly recommend this collection for poetry readers, particularly children or those looking to reexperience childhood.

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“The Hayloft” by Robert Louis Stevenson [w/ Audio]

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Through all the pleasant meadow-side
   The grass grew shoulder-high,
 Till the shining scythes went far and wide
   And cut it down to dry.

These green and sweetly smelling crops
   They led in wagons home;
 And they piled them here in mountain tops
   For mountaineers to roam.

Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
   Mount Eagle and Mount High --
 The mice that in these mountains dwell,
   No happier are than I!

O what a joy to clamber there,
   O what a place for play,
 With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
   The happy hills of hay!

“Sympathy” by Paul Laurence Dunbar [w/ Audio]

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I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
 When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
 When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
 And the river flows like a stream of glass;
 When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
 And the faint perfume from its chalice steals --
 I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing
 Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
 For he must fly back to his perch and cling
 When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
 And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
 And they pulse again with a keener sting --
 I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
 When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore, --
 When he beats his bars and he would be free;
 It is not a carol of joy or glee,
 But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
 But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings --
 I know why the caged bird sings!

BOOKS: “Water Margin” by Shi Nai’an

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Outlaws of the marsh (the Water Margin)Outlaws of the marsh by Shi Nai’an
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

Water Margin is one of the four classic Chinese novels. The English language translations of the novel go by many names, but in Chinese it’s called Shui Hu Zhuan (i.e. 水滸傳.) The book tells a tale of war and brotherhood in a world in which a person’s virtue and his station in life are often topsy-turvy. It’s one of the most engaging pieces of fiction I’ve read in some time. While it’s a sprawling epic (close to a thousand pages in the unabridged translation,) it draws the reader in and keeps one reading by way of clever plotting and intense intrigues.

The story revolves around 108 individuals of varied checkered pasts who end up together as a band of outlaws in the Liangshan Marsh (hence, one of the most common translated titles is “Outlaws of the Marsh.”) Under the leadership of an exceptionally virtuous and beloved leader, Song Jiang, these outlaws are united into, first, a band of outlaws and, later, (having been pardoned by the emperor) as an incomparable military force that quells threats to the nation.

About the first half of the book consists of the individual stories of the most central of the 108 outlaw chieftains. The next quarter of the book describes their time together as outlaws and, particularly, how they repeatedly defeated government attempts to crush their band. The final quarter of the book is about the band’s Imperial service: first in defeating Tartar invaders from the North and then in crushing a kingdom that arose in the south by uprising of a self-declared king.

If the reader is thinking that 108 primary characters is too many to contend with, I would say that: a.) there are a small set of characters that are so substantially discussed and developed that you’ll be able to always keep them straight; b.) not all of the 108 are crucial to keep straight to follow the flow of the story, but c.) yes, it is not easy to keep them all straight — particularly for a non-Chinese reader who will find a number of the names quite similar (e.g. Wu Yong and Wu Song.)

I should note that the book can be extremely visceral, too much so for some readers. This intensity largely has to do with the stories involving one of the chieftains, Li Kui. Li Kui is the worst. He has a horrific temper, a blood lust, is completely out of control, and almost always turns anything he touches into a bloody mess. His only saving grace is that he recognizes in Song Jiang’s virtue something that must be followed, such that he does his level best to do anything Song Jiang tells him to and (often more importantly) not do whatever he is told not to do. Many readers will hate Li Kui, finding him completely despicable. However, there is a good chance that thinking about why Li Kui is kept around and tolerated after constantly fouling things up will be a productive thought exercise for those who can get through the gore. One may want to consider that question in relationship to the fascinating fact that Song Jiang, the undisputed leader who all the men insist take the position of head chieftain, is the only member of the band who has no kung fu. The other 107 chieftains are all martial arts masters-extraordinaire, most with specialties in particular weapons or tactics.

I won’t say there aren’t clunky plot devices and repetitive elements, but they didn’t bother me much for a few of reasons. Firstly, this novel is from the fourteenth century, and — given that — the readability and emotional resonance of the book is phenomenal. Secondly, I have no way of knowing how much the cheapening plot devices are a product of the original versus of the translation. Finally, those elements are more than made up for by skilled story crafting.

I’d highly recommend this book for all readers who can feasibly get through an 850-page novel with hundreds of characters. Martial artists and travelers may find it of particular value.


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“The Charge of the Light Brigade” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson [w/ Audio]

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Half a league, half a league,
   Half a league onward,
 All in the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.
 "Forward the Light Brigade!
   Charge for the guns!" he said:
 Into the valley of Death
   Rode the six hundred.

"Forward the Light Brigade!"
   Was there a man dismay'd?
 Not tho' the soldier knew
   Some one had blunder'd:
 Their's not to make reply,
   Their's not to reason why,
 Their's but to do and die:
   Into the valley of Death
     Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
   Cannon to left of them,
 Cannon in front of them
   Volley'd and thunder'd;
 Storm'd at with shot and shell,
   Boldly they rode and well,
 Into the jaws of Death,
   Into the mouth of Hell,
     Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
   Flash'd as they turn'd in air
 Sabring the gunners there,
   Charging an army, while
 All the world wonder'd:
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
 Right thro' the line they broke;
   Cossack and Russian
 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
   Shatter'd and sunder'd.
 Then they rode back, but not,
   Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
   Cannon to left of them,
 Cannon behind them
   Volley'd and thunder'd;
 Storm'd at with shot and shell,
   While horse and hero fell,
 They that had fought so well
    Came thro' the jaws of Death
 Back from the mouth of Hell,
   All that was left of them,
      Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
   O the wild charge they made!
 All the world wonder'd.
   Honour the charge they made!
 Honour the Light Brigade,
   Noble six hundred!

“Singing My Mind” #1 by Ruan Ji [w/ Audio]

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One sleepless night:
   I sit up to strum my lute.
 The moon shines through thin curtains,
   A gentle breeze rustles my robe.
 A wild goose honks in the wilderness,
   Stirring a cascade of other birdcall.
 I pace and peek out windows --
   Alone, and burdened with sorrows.

“Cavalry Days” by Xin Qiji [w/ Audio]

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Drunk, I'd keep a lamp lit to find my sword,
 The blare of horns sounded throughout the camp.
 Soldiers ate meat under waving banners;
 The military band played boisterous tunes.
 Autumn brought our troops to the battlefield.

Carried by a charger at full gallop,
 My bow thwipped, sending swift arrows flying.
 We restored Imperial lands, boldly,
 And won great fame for fighting gallantly,
 But fame grows thin and gray just like my hair.

“Sailing to Byzantium” by William Butler Yeats [w/ Audio]

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I

That is no country for old men. The young
 In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
 -- Those dying generations - at their song,
 The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
 Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
 Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
   Caught in that sensual music all neglect
   Monuments of unageing intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
 A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
 Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
 For every tatter in its mortal dress,
 Nor is there singing school but studying
 Monuments of its own magnificence;
   And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
   To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God's holy fire
 As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
 Come from the holy fire, perne a gyre,
 And be the singing-masters of my soul.
 Consume my heart away; sick with desire
 And fastened to a dying animal
   It knows not what it is; and gather me
   Into the artifice of eternity.

IV

Once out of nature I shall never take
 My bodily form from any natural thing,
 But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
 Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
 To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
 Or set upon a golden bough to sing
   To lords and ladies of Byzantium
   Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

“Refined” [Poetry Style #6] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]

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Buying fine jade in the springtime,
 Enjoying rain song from within a cabin,
 A taciturn scholar sits betwixt
 Copses of tall, arching bamboo.
Sparse white clouds in a newly clear sky;
 Swallows weave 'round trees in pursuit.
Light through leaf casts a green hue on all;
 Sound of falling water, thin but near;
 Flower petals fall without a sound.
But the man sits unyielding as a mum;
 He writes what the scene dictates
   To make a pithy book.

NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the sixth of the twenty-four poems.