酷我-北美枫

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Speak of This to No One: Rexroth-esque understanding of Asian Poetries (2nd draft)


To the best of my best knowledge, no one would doubt that Kenneth Rexroth wrote good poetry and fell deeply in love with Asian poetries, especially Chinese and Japanese. The epitaph on his grave, which is located at the Santa Barbara Cemetery and is the only one facing the Pacific, reads:

As the full moon rises
The swan sings in sleep
On the lake of the mind

However, even though Rexroth-esque poetry is a generous and encouraging commentary, Rexroth-esque poetry translation is nothing more than a series of embarrassing remarks.

In terms of fidelity, linguistic knowledge and cultural understanding, his translations of Chinese and Japanese poetries are laughable. Most of them are Rexroth-esque poetries infused with Asian poetic sensibilities and place names. That’s one of the key reasons scholars have long developed a love-hate relationship with him: on one hand, his brilliantly-written, sometimes self-invented, translations have drawn a lot of English-speaking readers to Asian poetries and thus helped sell books by scholars on Chinese and Japanese cultures; on the other hand, his translations and so-called essays have made his readers misconceive the poetic essences of Chinese and Japanese verses.

For example, eschewing Western poetic aesthetics, in the ‘Spring’ section of his poem “Aix en Provence,” Rexroth introduced readers to his new Buddhist-influenced conception of imagery:

There are no images here
In the solitude, only
The night and its stars which are
Relationships rather than
Images. Shifting darkness,
Strains of feeling, lines of force,
Webs of thoughts, no images,
Only night and time aging
The night in its darkness, just
Motion in space in the dark…..
...It isn't an image of
Something. It isn't a symbol of
Something else. It is just an
Almond tree, in the night, by
the house, in the woods, by
A vineyard, under the setting
Half moon, in Provence, in the
Beginning of another Spring.

This conception results in a new understanding of imagery in particular and of literary devices in general for reading and writing poetry. This new understanding is so-called “Buddhist suchness”: things are not seen as concepts, images, or even singular perceptions; they are experienced directly as relationships in flux. In his view, “It isn't an image of / Something. It isn't a symbol of / Something else.” The things portrayed in the poem are “things” themselves and stand for nothing else. “It is just an / Almond tree, in the night, by / the house, in the woods, by / A vineyard, under the setting / Half moon, in Provence, in the / Beginning of another Spring.”

His Buddhist-influenced critique of imagery and symbols, which fails to consider contextual factors, has been widely used by his fellow poets and readers. As one of the first poets in the United States to explore Japanese haiku, Rexroth helped “de-contextualize” its reading and understanding. This is one of the main reasons why Basho’s frog haiku is much loved and yet little understood by haiku readers.

After reading my piece, you still want to be a reader of Asian poetry books translated by Kenneth Rexroth? -- Sorry to ask you such a Bukowski-esque question.
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[[FAFAFA]]

Speak of This to No One: Rexroth-esque understanding of Asian Poetries (2nd draft)


To the best of my best knowledge, no one would doubt that Kenneth Rexroth wrote good poetry and fell deeply in love with Asian poetries, especially Chinese and Japanese. The epitaph on his grave, which is located at the Santa Barbara Cemetery and is the only one facing the Pacific, reads:

As the full moon rises
The swan sings in sleep
On the lake of the mind

However, even though Rexroth-esque poetry is a generous and encouraging commentary, Rexroth-esque poetry translation is nothing more than a series of embarrassing remarks.

In terms of fidelity, linguistic knowledge and cultural understanding, his translations of Chinese and Japanese poetries are laughable. Most of them are Rexroth-esque poetries infused with Asian poetic sensibilities and place names. That’s one of the key reasons scholars have long developed a love-hate relationship with him: on one hand, his brilliantly-written, sometimes self-invented, translations have drawn a lot of English-speaking readers to Asian poetries and thus helped sell books by scholars on Chinese and Japanese cultures; on the other hand, his translations and so-called essays have made his readers misconceive the poetic essences of Chinese and Japanese verses.

For example, eschewing Western poetic aesthetics, in the ‘Spring’ section of his poem “Aix en Provence,” Rexroth introduced readers to his new Buddhist-influenced conception of imagery:

There are no images here
In the solitude, only
The night and its stars which are
Relationships rather than
Images. Shifting darkness,
Strains of feeling, lines of force,
Webs of thoughts, no images,
Only night and time aging
The night in its darkness, just
Motion in space in the dark…..
...It isn't an image of
Something. It isn't a symbol of
Something else. It is just an
Almond tree, in the night, by
the house, in the woods, by
A vineyard, under the setting
Half moon, in Provence, in the
Beginning of another Spring.

This conception results in a new understanding of imagery in particular and of literary devices in general for reading and writing poetry. This new understanding is so-called “Buddhist suchness”: things are not seen as concepts, images, or even singular perceptions; they are experienced directly as relationships in flux. In his view, “It isn't an image of / Something. It isn't a symbol of / Something else.” The things portrayed in the poem are “things” themselves and stand for nothing else. “It is just an / Almond tree, in the night, by / the house, in the woods, by / A vineyard, under the setting / Half moon, in Provence, in the / Beginning of another Spring.”

His Buddhist-influenced critique of imagery and symbols, which fails to consider contextual factors, has been widely used by his fellow poets and readers. As one of the first poets in the United States to explore Japanese haiku, Rexroth helped “de-contextualize” its reading and understanding. This is one of the main reasons why Basho’s frog haiku is much loved and yet little understood by haiku readers.

After reading my piece, you still want to be a reader of Asian poetry books translated by Kenneth Rexroth? -- Sorry to ask you such a Bukowski-esque question.
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[温暖的水獸]

[[温暖的水獸]]

[fanfan]

[[FAFAFA]]

[Champagne]

[[Champagne]]

[fanfan]

Yes, Rexroth had “reimagined” Classical Chinese Poetry and his “re-created” poetry has lured a lot of English-speaking readers and some bi-lingual Chinese readers into the once-inaccessible type of poetry.

Did I respond your questions subtly?


In the case of Deer Park Hermitage,

The following is Kenneth Rexroth’s translation:


Deep in the mountain wilderness
Where nobody ever comes
Only once in a great while
Something like the sound of a far-off voice.
The low ray of the sun
Slip through the dark forest,
And gleam again on the shadowy moss.


Then, let’s read Burton Watson’s translation, which is poetic and more importantly, faithful to Wang Wei’s poem:

Empty hills, no one in sight,
only the sound of someone talking;
late sunlight enters the deep wood,
shining over the green moss again.

“Without using rhyming or capitalizing, Watson successfully creates the vivid imagery in everyday language. For example, he translates the first two Chinese characters of line one with two English words: no article, no explanation. His way of presenting the imagery is as direct and concrete as the Chinese one. There are 24 English words for 20 Chinese characters, yet every Chinese character has been translated. More importantly, he faithfully keeps Wang’s parallelism – the dual nature of the universe, yin and yang -- employed in the poem, and he is the first translator to do so. For example, if we now look at the first two lines, we find alternating yin and yang: absence (emptiness) and presence (mountain); absence clearly not there (no one in sight) and presence unclearly there (only the sound of someone talking, nonlocalized voices). “

-- An excerpt from Translation: More Than a Leap from Dictionary to Dictionary by ericcoliu
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[[FAFAFA]]

Yes, Rexroth had “reimagined” Classical Chinese Poetry and his “re-created” poetry has lured a lot of English-speaking readers and some bi-lingual Chinese readers into the once-inaccessible type of poetry.

Did I respond your questions subtly?


In the case of Deer Park Hermitage,

The following is Kenneth Rexroth’s translation:


Deep in the mountain wilderness
Where nobody ever comes
Only once in a great while
Something like the sound of a far-off voice.
The low ray of the sun
Slip through the dark forest,
And gleam again on the shadowy moss.


Then, let’s read Burton Watson’s translation, which is poetic and more importantly, faithful to Wang Wei’s poem:

Empty hills, no one in sight,
only the sound of someone talking;
late sunlight enters the deep wood,
shining over the green moss again.

“Without using rhyming or capitalizing, Watson successfully creates the vivid imagery in everyday language. For example, he translates the first two Chinese characters of line one with two English words: no article, no explanation. His way of presenting the imagery is as direct and concrete as the Chinese one. There are 24 English words for 20 Chinese characters, yet every Chinese character has been translated. More importantly, he faithfully keeps Wang’s parallelism – the dual nature of the universe, yin and yang -- employed in the poem, and he is the first translator to do so. For example, if we now look at the first two lines, we find alternating yin and yang: absence (emptiness) and presence (mountain); absence clearly not there (no one in sight) and presence unclearly there (only the sound of someone talking, nonlocalized voices). “

-- An excerpt from Translation: More Than a Leap from Dictionary to Dictionary by ericcoliu
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[agincourt]

[[agincourt]]

[fanfan]

Take Basho’s frog haiku as an example.

Below is an un-Rexroth-esque understanding of his poem, an excerpt taken from ericcoliu’s

From Text to Context: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku:


Contextualized Reading: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku

Read in the socio-literary context of Basho’s day, his frog haiku was imaginatively startling because the frog had always been an aural image employed by numerous Japanese poets across time and space, an image in which the season word is embedded and which implies the resonant croaking in summer. Basho was the first poet to present the frog that is not singing on a lily pad as it had been for hundreds of years in thousands of traditional haikus. His frog dares to take a plunge and get dirty. This slippery creature is caught is the act of disappearing while at the same time creating lasting ripples on the minds of haiku readers. Unlike its forefathers, it does not sing on a lily pad, and thus becomes soundless while at the time leaving “the sound of water” heard by generations of haiku readers to come.

One of the key reasons Basho’s portrayed his frog from a totally different perspective is that

“My frog is going to disappear from all these frog poems that have been with us too long. He is leaving. Now we can write about other things.”
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[[FAFAFA]]

Take Basho’s frog haiku as an example.

Below is an un-Rexroth-esque understanding of his poem, an excerpt taken from ericcoliu’s

From Text to Context: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku:


Contextualized Reading: A New Reading of Basho’s Frog Haiku

Read in the socio-literary context of Basho’s day, his frog haiku was imaginatively startling because the frog had always been an aural image employed by numerous Japanese poets across time and space, an image in which the season word is embedded and which implies the resonant croaking in summer. Basho was the first poet to present the frog that is not singing on a lily pad as it had been for hundreds of years in thousands of traditional haikus. His frog dares to take a plunge and get dirty. This slippery creature is caught is the act of disappearing while at the same time creating lasting ripples on the minds of haiku readers. Unlike its forefathers, it does not sing on a lily pad, and thus becomes soundless while at the time leaving “the sound of water” heard by generations of haiku readers to come.

One of the key reasons Basho’s portrayed his frog from a totally different perspective is that

“My frog is going to disappear from all these frog poems that have been with us too long. He is leaving. Now we can write about other things.”
_________________
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

[ericcoliu]

[[ericcoliu]]

[fanfan]

[[FAFAFA]]