On The Possibility Of 
`Translating' A Translation Of A Poetic Text?

An Introduction To An Appreciation Of Chinese Poetry
For A Person Not Conversant With The Chinese Language.

	The underlying theme addressed by this paper is the question whether it is possible to translate a poetic text between two radically different language-worlds, e.g., Chinese and English? Obviously this task has been conducted before so this question is more correctly an enquiry into the propriety of the methods adopted, and consequences realized, in the apparent exercise of this type of task? In the course of this paper I hope to examine in reasonable detail six poems and at the end of this discussion ask those people who are present if they would like to provisionally answer this question: How do we `translate,' or appropriate, a text whether it be in the form of a translation of that text or as a direct reading of the original text itself?
	This paper will be conducted in five section: An Introduction To The Field Of Chinese Poetry, Going Around The Mountain (using this metaphor of the `mountain' to explore this phenomenon of the [translation of Chinese] poetry), Going Up The Mountain (using this metaphor to explore how [the translation of a Chinese] poem might be engaged), Becoming The Mountain (using this metaphor to explore how [the translation of] a [Chinese] poem might be `re-experienced'), and a tentative Conclusion to this paper (perhaps more in the form of a `coming down to earth' if I can stretch the use of this metaphor of the `mountain' to represent our appreciative experience of this phenomenon of the [translated] poem).
	Although this paper is cast in the form of a philosophical enquiry it is my primary objective to concentrate our attention on these six poems chosen for this paper in the hope that we might come to enjoy these poems and therein realize, through their representation, some degree of understanding of, and appreciation for, this vast field of Chinese Poetry.

1.	An Introduction To The Field Of Chinese Poetry

	Originally poetry was sung, at least there is enough evidence to suggest a close affinity between vocal music and the performance of poetry. At an early stage poetry was also recorded in a written form. There is a strong survival of this musical aspect of poetic performance in the use of historical song types as the verse archetypes for the writing of new poems even if the original tunes have become lost in the passage of time and the performance of those poems now no longer involves the use of a musical format. This form is called tz'u and involves fixed lines of unequal length, prescribed rhyme and tonal sequences, occurring in a large number of variant patterns, each of which bears the name of a musical air. The vocabulary of the tz'u admits colloquial language not adopted in the more formal sh'ih.
	In this paper I will be looking at examples from the following three divisions: the song based tz'u, the more formal sh'ih, and the prose poem. It must be noted that all three of these formats have, in the main, occupied the attention of China's greatest poets.
	Most scholars would say that the greatest age of Chinese poetry was that of the T'ang Dynasty to be followed closely by that of the Sung. Most English translations concentrate on these two periods of time and the examples chosen for this paper are likewise confined. Perhaps, great Yuan, Ming and Ching dynasty poetry might sometime in the near future be given an equal degree of respect by both Chinese and non-Chinese scholars in the same manner that later epochs of artistic endeavour, e.g., in the fields of porcelain and painting, are being currently re-evaluated and re-appreciated in their own right and on their own terms?
	Recorded for posterity we have approximately 2,200 T'ang poets and 3,800 Sung poets. Some of the more famous poets were also very prolific, e.g., 9,200 poems by the hand of the famous Sung poet Lu Yu, 2,400 by Su Tung-p'o, 2200 by Tu Fu and over a 1,000 by Li Po (also known as Li Bai). Chinese scholars have assembled a Complete T'ang Poetry and its contents number over fourty thousand items. In comparison a Complete Sung Poetry if assembled would probably contain several hundred thousand or so poems. One of the forces at work in the preservation of such a large corpus of poetry was the use of printing; a phenomenon which, towards the end of the Sung Dynasty, was being used by a number of entrepreneurs to publish miscellaneous anthologies, complete editions, encyclopedia, etc., on a vast scale in addition to state promoted publication. Even into the start of the Ching Dynasty Chinese printing presses were publishing more titles than their European counterparts.

2.	Going Around The Mountain 

	From the distance let us attempt to describe in intellectual (non-transcendental) terms of reference the structure and function, or more correctly, the structural-function, of the Chinese poem in its cultural context.

A.	Structure

	I have already mentioned the three divisions of the song based tz'u, the regulated and formal sh'ih and the prose or prose-like poem. Let us briefly look at the form of the sh'ih and note two allied forms, namely, the more lengthy p'ai lu and the shorter four line form of the chueh-chu. I shall focus some attention on these more formal forms as there might be present among us those people who write poetry who might like to adapt these structures for their own use. The operative word here must be adaptation as Chinese poetry places a great emphasis on its perception of a proper relationship between the tones in the language. This aspect is effectively absent from English. A complication for the modern Chinese person is also the fact that sounds and tones have changed over time along with the modern simplification of characters. Nevertheless, these tonal aspects, and aesthetic interrelationships, can still be recognized.
	Over a long period of time the format of this genre became thematized. By around the 5th century, or there abouts, a number of rules were formulated for the formal-structural formation of this genre of poetry. Let me list some of the more important rules.

	1.	5 characters (later a 7 character form) per line.
	2.	8 lines of 1).
	3.	The end character of lines 2, 4, 6 and 8 rhyming 			(also, usually, line 1 in the 7 character format 			has the same rhyme).
	4.	All rhymes are never repeated elsewhere in the 			body of the text.
	5.	All rhymes are conducted on a level tone.
	6.	The presence of a slight caesura between the 2nd. 		and the 3rd. characters in the 5 character form, 		and, the same rhythmic pattern between the 4th. 		and the 5th. characters in the 7 character form).
	7.	A complex pattern of deflected and level tones 			depending on what tone is used on the second 				character of the first line of the sh'ih. (See 			Appendix I).
	8.	Complex cognitive patterns of paralleling between 			lines and couplets, e.g., perhaps between 				couplets 2 and 3.
	9.	Miscellaneous other rules that may or may not be 			observed.

	So much for theory. Essentially, the same tone is not usually repeated in a succession, certainly not more than twice, as this type of tonal relationship, among others, is perceived as ugly and somewhat unnatural to voice.
	Let me offer the following example:

Example 1. Clearing At Dawn - Li Po (701-762)

The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered 													cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.

	I have taken the liberty of translating this translation back into a 5 character format:

[Chilled fields, sparse rain stops;
Spring tints, bursting blend.
Fish leap; blue pond's filled,
Sing thrush, green boughs bend.
Field flow'ers, powdered cheeks,
grass slopes part flattened.
Bamboo, stream in cloud,
Wind blown, wayward wend].

	What can we observe in this English translation? 
	For a start we find the use of eight lines. (Five characters, maximum of five ideas per line). Parallel and contrary contrasts between images contained within couplet 2 and couplet 3. E.g., leaping fish versus singing thrushes; level fields of flowers versus mountain side grasses.
	A general observation on the economy of this form.
	The general evocation of a complex emotion. In this case the sort of feelings evoked in the break of a cold spring day? Can we read more into the text? Is the poet alluding to some other poet, some aspect of their cultural background? Textual and cultural allusion is a common feature in Chinese poetry. I am not in a position to say if this is the case in this poem, perhaps allusions are on a more personal level for the poet? Perhaps we might like to share some comments here?
	
	A friend of Li Po (Li Bai) was the poet Tu Fu (sometimes written Du Fu). The following poem was written in the midst of the famous rebellion in the middle of the T'ang dynasty that contributed to the start of its decline. It is also a spring poem.

Example 2. Spring Prospect - Du Fu 757 A.D. (712-770 A.D.)

The nation 
Has been destroyed,
Mountains and rivers remain.
In the city
It is Spring,
Grass and trees grow deep.

Moved by the time,
Flowers blooming
Make me weep.
Resentful of separation,
Singing birds
Shock my heart.

The beacon-fires of war
Have been lit for three months now.
Ten thousand gold-pieces
I would give
For a letter from home.

My white head
I have scratched
Till it is so sparse
That soon 
The hatpin
Will not hold.

	I like the way this translator has broken the line into three lines of English and has made a verse out of each couplet. In Appendix II we will find a breakdown of each of the characters in this evocative poem and some notes on the background to this poem; the poet was captured during this rebellion and made to stay in the captured and war-damaged capital city of Chang-an (Eternal Peace). This city was during the T'ang enormous in extent and populated by many palaces and homes of rich merchants, etc. The destruction of this `urban' and civilized environment must have been very disconcerting, a state of mind made harsher by the fact he was separated from his family. Later the dynasty was restored. His loyalty was recognized but soon fell from grace in his too vocal support for a fallen official; suffering the fate of being given a posting to the country.
	In this famous poem lines 3 and 4 are written in parallel to each other. Chinese is also ambivalent as to whether e.g., the flowers weep drops of dew, or, whether the poet is weeping on the flowers. Such richness of meaning to my mind adds to a poem, actually helps to establish the poetic nature of the text. If the meaning of the poem perfectly matched its syntax in a 1:1 relationship we would probably have in literal reality no poetic phenomenon?
	In another translation of this poem I could make little sense of the last couplet. In this translation the cultural point is noted that T'ang gentlemen have their hair tied up in a top-knot and use a hat-pin to secure their hats to the same. The poet would have been 45. Surely he must have exaggerating about his white hair? This last image does neatly condense the complex emotion of despair, etc., induced by our reading of this text albeit in translation, in spite of the fact that we are dealing with our appropriation of this translation, i.e., in our re-translating this translation in order to comprehend its essential import? Once we have gone around this text, read through it once, or twice, does not the sense of a `translation' seem to no longer intervene between us when, e.g., the finer points of its cultural connection to the times of that period are appreciated, e.g., the nature of male coiffure in the last line. Certainly there is a place for footnotes and the like, but, once such peripheral points are understood and `encircled' they can then be conveniently disposed of, or put to the side, in our holistic re-reading of that text, our now re-experiencing this text as an integrated intentional product of another human being or group of human beings. 
	Of course the `intentions' of another person are never seen, even our own intentions are most likely not adequately understood and appreciated for their lack of clarity, multi-modality, indeterminacy, inconsistencies, etc. In this text we have a sequence of ideas that either amplify previous comments or contrast them; putting them into novel forms of juxtaposition. Entertained between parallel lines and/or couplets we also have a selection of these relationships between these various contributions brought to the surface and allowed to analogue and comment upon the text, the poet's apparent emotional intent, etc. That in effect the resolution of these consonant-dissonant relationships establishes the aesthetic integration of the phenomenon of the artwork which in this case is in the form of a poem.
	For all the misery of the situation the poet would rather `give ten thousand pieces of gold for a letter from his family.' At the end of all this coming apart of his cultured world he is left merely `scratching his head..?' Is the poet conveying a sense of Buddhist stoicism or social confusion?

	By continuing the length of this regulated format and adding new rhymes along with a selective acceptance or rejection of other rules we get the form of p'ai lu. 
	On the other hand if we cut the sh'ih into four lines only we get the cheuh-chu. In this form we get to some degree the Chinese equivalent of the Japanese haiku.
	The first line introduces the ostensive topic of the poem. The second line amplifies this topic. The third line often introduces something quite different and novel. The fourth line skillfully re-integrating and resolving this novel feature back into the body of that text. If the line we chose is 5 characters we have a total of 20. On the other hand if our line is composed of 7 characters we have a total of 28. If we were to dispense with the amplification of the second line we would in effect, I believe, be closely approaching the nature of the haiku. One difference would be the element of rhyme. The 7 character form also often introducing the rhyme in the first line (as is often the case in the 7 character sh'ih).
	In the history of Chinese poetry we have many female poets. We are left with six poems by the following poetess, the following example illustrating this concise form of the cheuh-chu.

Example 3. He Does Not Come - Yau Ywe-Hwa (T'ang Dynasty)

With silver candles
And clear wine,
Long I have stood here waiting.
Going out the gate
And coming in again
Till nearly first light.

The moon has set,
Stars are few,
Still he does not come.
Wingbeats
In the misty willows-
A magpie takes flight.

	In China the magpie is a large black and white bird like a crow that is associated with happiness. In this case the happiness of the poetess is flying away. To some degree the novel introduction of the magpie in the fourth line also integrates the feeling-tone of this poem?

B.	Function

	In looking at the contextual `function' of the poem in Chinese society we must make, to a certain extent, a distinction between `the social function of the poem situated in its social context apparently intended,' and, `an appreciation of the poem from the perspective of its own artistic integrity' or, i.e., the "use" to which an artwork is put versus "art for art's sake." For the moment let me sketch out something of the complex social matrix that oversees the creation of the Chinese poem. For a start, with a number of qualifications and cross-fertilizations, Chinese scholarly opinion saw their society as hierarchically structured with the Emperor at the top followed by the Scholar-Official who had passed all their civil examinations, then the peasants and craftsmen to be followed by the merchants. Social mobility depended on a certain combination of money and education with an emphasis on the latter. Many families saw their chance of social advancement through education of their sons with, as a consequence, a very large proportion of the population being very well educated in literary pursuits upon which the bureaucratic examinations would be based. On some estimates it has been shown, e.g., that imperial Ching China had a greater degree of literacy than in present day Communist China.
	The writing of poetry is essentially `an artistic act of communication.' Such a form was promoted through the considerable degree of literacy prevalent in Imperial China. Writing regulated verse was not an easy task, but, if the rules were adequately adhered to a literate person could write adequate poetry and partake in the status associated with such a task. On the other hand poetry based on the verse structures of famous songs (tz'u), regardless of whether the original tunes were remembered or not, could be adopted by people wishing to exercise a poetic temperament along more colloquial and less pretentious avenues. Although somewhat subjected to a less prestigious form of social evaluation this distinction between `high' and `low' forms of poetic life is somewhat blurred by the fact that most of China's greatest poets would usually write in both of these two fields. Moreover, with the status afforded elegant prose, a prose poem might also be awarded a certain degree of status commensurate with its perceived evaluation of merit. Thus, in the final analysis, the true poetic worth of a composition might depend more on the degree of excellence exercised by its author. With a large population of literate persons and the impact of printed literature it is no wonder then that all manner of poetry, items of prose, novels, plays, short stories, etc., etc., would find a ready and relatively stable readership, and, over time an expanding market.
	Parasitic upon this mass of literary production we must also find the philosopher and art critic whose comments in turn would also stir, and direct, the brushes of aspiring authors.
	In the sixth century A.D. the two art critics Hsiao T'ung and Chung Hung, although disagreeing on a number of points, both believed that poetry is "emotion elegantly expressed." On the other hand the contemporary critic Hsu Ling saw poetry as the "unrestrained expression of the feelings" perhaps placing an emphasis upon the simulated `spontaneity' of the poetic experience (along with its spontaneous release from a sense of restraint?). To some extent, I believe, the regulated sh'ih by its very nature places an emphasis upon `the elegant expression of the emotions' whereas more direct, colloquial forms of poetic expression would also favour this other emphasis on the `unrestrained expression of the feelings.'
	In my own phenomenological research into the nature of aesthetic production I believe the aspect of a direct or indirect emotional simulation present in an artwork as supplying much of the aesthetic energy of that artwork; an energy which through processes of (transcendental) resolution of cognitively introduced dissonance establishes, through the successfulness of that resolution, the final merit of that artwork. The philosophical consequences of this type of position are many but basically a poem, e.g., cannot be just a philosophical and intellectual work of literature to be truly poetic or aesthetic (a fault shared, it would seem, by a certain number of Chinese philosophers who would put some of their comments in the form of a poem). On the other hand a poem, on this type of account, cannot be merely a pure description of an emotional state or, for that matter, a pure description of either an event or section of landscape whether real or imaginary. On this account we must not perceive Chinese poetry, or any form of real poetry, as being purely `imagist,' as operating in a mode of a mere succession of images (as some Europeans early in this century would wish to view this artform under the pre-interpreted influence of their perception of Chinese poetry?). In some measure a poem, as a work of art, must find a resonance throughout both the total personality of its author and those attentive members of its audience. The bedrock of this `resonance' must be an emotional stratum (along with the sensory-motor aspects of the psyche). Next, cognitive content must describe and understand the introduction of dissonant elements that establish the musical-like enstructuralization of the experience of that artwork. Finally, on the level of our transcendental appreciation, or put more simply, on the level of judgmental `spontaneity,' a sense of resolution integrates these disparate cognitive elements along with their affective undercurrents to channel this affective energy contained therein and give that work of art a sense of having a point or purpose other than that merely indicated superficially in its text. In this psychic framework a philosophical poem can discover itself at home as an aesthetic text if it finds itself operating on all three levels of the Affective, Cognitive and Judgmental (or Transcendental). Otherwise such a text would be `tendentiousness masquerading as a poem' (or what ever artform was adopted). Such a comment does not mean that ideas must be missing from the poetic text only that they be presented in a format that finds a resonance with the totality of the human psyche.
	The literary critic Lu Chi (261-303 A.D.) informs us that in his opinion `the function of literature was to communicate emotion not to convince or to merely amaze by a display of verbal virtuosity.' That `genuine emotion is essential to good writing; that decoration must be added to this good baseline.' Moreover, it was necessary for the writer `to have something to say and to say it well moulding and cutting language to definite prescriptions.'
	I would add to this observation that emotional content need not be our direct point of focus in the creation of our literary production but that all ideas, whether philosophical or non-philisophical, must have their grounding in the `human condition;' being demonstrated as having some form of relevance in `the life of the human person' and authentically reflecting `the social condition of the person in the world.' That in essence the poet must also operate on the connotation of words and expressions in order to establish this grounding of their artistry. In the history of poetry there has been, I believe, a progressive removal of our direct poetic observation of the emotions and a shift to more cognitive and intellectual spheres of interest. In the Sung dynasty, e.g., we find an increasing emphasis on narrative with, as a consequence, the fleeting nature of emotional states taking an indirect connotational role (especially under the increasing influence of prose. We have two exmples of this element of narration in our last two examples chosen for this paper).
	To a certain extent we can view a `text' as a map that, when interpreted, will hopefully allow the reader to resimulate the complex intentional construction that engineered its textual instantiation. Normally texts are neither seen as nonsense nor manufactured in a nonsensical fashion. Moreover, we usually find an aesthetic text of `merit' returns a greater degree of interest than that originally invested in its process of reception. In our engagement with a text that intentionally takes us nowhere we usually find such a text is quickly disengaged and dispensed with! In `reading' a text as a psychic map let me continue with this metaphor of the mountain and our passage up its slopes.

3.	Going Up The Mountain 

	First, let us note that we must not treat a text as either perfectly opaque in a relativistic fashion, nor, as absolutely transparent to our intentional reconstructive inspection. Intentional directedness is the result of an ongoing resolution of intentional conflict or dissonance (in interpretational approaches, etc.) and cannot be regarded as logically definitive, i.e., as a text with just one and only one level of concisely constructed meaning and meaningfulness. Going up the mountain can be achieved, metaphorically, by many routes. Indeed, correctly, there are an infinitive number of ways we might make our ascent, give our `assent' to the manner of our `ascent.' However, the composer of a good text usually saves us much trouble by provocatively suggesting the route or routes that they themselves would in all appearances probably consider. With this metaphor in mind let us examine the following poem by the very famous female Sung poetess Li Ching-jau (born 1084 A.D.).
	The poetess lost her husband when both of them were 46. In this poem six years later she is still re-expressing her grief over this event. This poem is an example of the song based Tz'u format. There are 8 lines of 7, 5, 7, 5, 7, 5, 7, 6 characters respectively.

Example 4. Lyrics To The Tune "Spring In Wu-ling" - 
			Li Ching-jau, Southern Sung Period, 1135 A.D.

The wind is still,
The earth smells sweet-
The flowers have all fallen.
As evening comes
I tiredly comb my hair.

His things remain
But he is gone-
Everything is over.
When I try to speak
Up wells the tears.

I hear it is said that spring's
Still at its height
At Double Creek.
I think of going to sail
The light boats there.

But I fear
The grasshopper-boats"
At Double Creek
Could never move
So great a load
Of sorrow.

	The first line starts off pleasantly but the image of finished flowers sounds the first of a series of saddened tones. The second line depicts the very simple task of combing one's hair as `tiring.' The third line gives us the reason - her husband's death. Only `treasured' relics are kept. The fourth line graphically retells us that this lady still grieves over the death of her husband. The next line `tries' to add an element of cheer. This is then amplified in the image of the past-time of boat-sailing? Lastly, the tenor of the whole poem is summed up in the complex metaphor of the heavy load these `insect boats' would have to take if laden down with her grief. A very beautiful and touching poem! In following through the series of images and feeling-tones evocatively conveyed a sense of great sadness is provocatively induced? In the unraveling of this text does this metaphor of going up the mountain do justice to this idea of our experiencing the poetic content of (a translation of) a poem? Let us try to climb the following peak - a poem by the Sung dynasty poet Ou-yang Hsiu (circa 1060). For our text I have chosen the translation by Burton Watson along with the translated comments of the commentator Kojiro Yoshikawa. 

Example 5. Song Of The Japanese Sword - Ou-yang Hsiu, c.1060

Refer to Appendix V.

	This is a very rich poem, in effect a lengthened regulated form along the lines of the old pre-T'ang models of sh'ih, i.e. ku-sh'ih. In effect an example of p'ai lu.
	Notice how the antiquarian delight of the poet in ancient swords is subverted, via a process of allusion and imagination, by the superiority of the `text,' especially an ancient text from the hand of Confucius (a text now known only from fragments). This short story effectively has a twist for its ending, re-appreciating some of the preoccupations of the poet, placing them in a more healthy context?

4.	Becoming The Mountain

	The poetic experience is not merely the metaphorical ascent of some poetic or artistic mountainside. If we can stretch this metaphor even further we might like to see this process of ascent as suddenly reaching a point, in our understanding of that textual mountain, when we cease to be travellers and, instead, become the very object of our search, i.e., that mountain itself or, rather, that poem in its re-simulated intentional integrity. No longer do we encircle the phenomenon of `the text' from the distance, nor do we merely progress by some route or other up its interpreted slopes. Suddenly, for so it seems in hindsight, we become that text in its re-simulated recognition of meaning and meaningfulness. In a synchronicity of being we seem to transcend time and place, text and language, to virtually converse with the apparent author or authors of that text? In the center of this phenomenal experience the text directly speaks to us and we now directly speak to it in such a manner that reflects our ability to engage that text from the point of view of our current situation (as thrown) in this world (in this world-of-life). In this engagement we may take the odd wrong turning but in the goodness of time through an exercise of good-faith we should be able to rectify such slippages when and where it is possible to be so currently self-critically re-engaged? A good poem has enough directed intentional energy, or merit, to self-correct such deficiencies that might arise in our appropriation, or rather misapproriation, of that text; from the apparent intentional point of view of that text our unintentional misappropriation being viewed as being then correctly misinformed. In such a state of interested-disinterest, or disinterested-interest, an identification is realized within the poem whose further unraveling merely reconfirms and recontinues our current identification with the apparent intentional being of that text! Such an identification is hard worked for and as I have already warned is neither perfectly transparent nor opaque.

	Let us travel down a river this time with the poet Su Tung-p'o, then climb with him up the hillside beside the river and then return to his boat and continue on with his journey. This last poem is taken from the last section of his two very famous prose poems of The Odes To The Red Cliff (1082 A.D.). 
	Let us refer to Appendix VI where we have a complete translation of these two poem which can be read for your own pleasure in your own time. Instead, let us begin at the line "So we took the wine and the fish..." (on page 91).

Example 6. Two Odes To The Red Cliffs - Su Tung-p'o (1082)

Refer to Appendix VI. 

	In this section a series of events unfold - the poet going onto the boat with two friends, travelling on the boat, mooring it and travelling up the hillside in the end by himself, an act of crying out, a return to the boat and a sailing on, a returning home, a dreaming, an interpretation of the dream, a sudden wakening and a possible confusing of the dream state with reality? Along with this collapse of the distinction between reality and illusion in our imagination the poem does not merely narrate an adventure but also lets us self-identify with the poet in this phenomenon that sees out the simulated unfolding of that poetic text? 

5.	Conclusion?

	At the start of this paper I addressed the problem of the propriety of making a translation of a poem from one language, or language world, to some other. Yet, in dealing with the translations of these six poems I did not find myself meeting with any great degree of non-comprehension, or, meeting with any textual resistance or opacity. That when questions of sense arose a number of simple methods seemed to mediate, in the end, the degree of sense necessary for an adequate degree of comprehension. Admittedly, one might feel like an early explorer navigating "uncharted" waters. However, those waters are entered from the point where they cease to have been charted and charting these new regions is, therefore, a process which is merely added onto those regions already mapped out. Moreover, those seas may not be charted for you they are already charted for others, those people already acquainted with that locality or getting acquainted with that locality. That re-experience of those regions critically self-thematizes the structures that constitute the particular mapping of that region.
	Hopefully these poems for you in time also yielded to your embrace and gave themselves up in a `coincidence of being' discovered in a moment of `synchronicity' that transcended a materialistic and egoistical sense of time and place, in an experience whose `spontaneity' transcended the limitations of language and the intentional re-simulation of that text itself. Certainly in our encircling these textual phenomena (of the [translated] poem) and in our progress towards the metaphorical center of their being these two processes of `circling' and `moving closer,' in their synthesis, in our becoming the mountain, allowed us in varying degrees to hear the text `speak to us,' and apparently, `speak for itself,' and in the process critically `engage us in its own self-critical unfolding?' How else can we account for this phenomenon of translation and our comprehension of a received text?
	From relatively non-controversial evocative material the artist provocatively juxtaposes interesting and diverse situations. In the resolution of this confrontation there is, I believe, realized an ongoing state of resolution that allows us to re-realize the intentional integrity of that artwork if present and the degree to which the merit of that artwork might be considered as self-possessing (despite, and by virtue of, the `immaterial' nature of the essential, the `simulational' nature of intentionality, the central `hollowness' of all phenomena and the `groundless' foundations of the relatively transcendental in its `constituting' and `re-constituting' of the intentionally `constituted')? That in our engagement with the artifacts of others we must take a middle path in our interpretation of their significance realizing that such depositions can be `neither perfectly transparent nor perfectly opaque.' That our understanding of an artist's intentionality can never be absolutely `assured' nor absolutely `mistaken' and can only take the form of being relatively `adequate' or relatively `inadequate' to the nature of our current engagement. Successful engagement realizing both the merits of our appropriation and the merits of our appreciation of that appropriated? In metaphorical language one might say that our entertaining a good poem (in its entertainment of us) is like that situation `when one digs for gold and discovers the same,' and, that to a certain extent, stretching the metaphor, a good poem actually `helps one to dig for this metaphorical gold,' or at least gives us enough clues `in the form of a map' to realize both the unfolding of our ambition and the object of that ambition.
	Are we not left with a feeling of satisfaction after our successful engagement with the well-translated poetic text and `feel' the poetical spirit, when and where `present,' that breaths through its construction or reconstruction. Are we not a witness then to the semblance of a self-directed force that courses through the linguistic veins of the (translated) poem recognizing in this unfolding a distinctive phenomenal spirit re-simulated in the `successfully translated poetical' text!? Hopefully I have sparked your interest in this immense field of Chinese poetry along with a desire to perhaps adapt some of these genres as vehicles for your own poetic production?

						  Noël Tointon, Leura 16/3/92.

Postscript

	That we can criticize, with the help of our fellow translators, the apparent faults and flaws of a translation along with a recognition of its skill and perfection is in itself testimony to the `art' of translation! A good translator is also a good poet and, by implication, our appreciation of a poem involves a degree of artfulness on our part that lets us participate in its re-appropriation and experiential reconstruction.
	A person can wear different clothes and still be that same person more or less. Then again one person can wear a mask and in a convincing performance reveal something to us about ourselves, showing something essential of the human condition that is shared by all of us. In any event let us temper our criticism of the translator, and the nature of their art, and extend our gratitude that such a difficult task to contemplate was undertaken for our entertainment and cultural advancement. 
	The latter task is made necessary for us in this modern age for as our sense of the world is shrinking our cultural roots need to be deepened, cross-fertilized and forever infinitely enriched in order to survive those contractions that mark the birth of the international person. In the transformation of such a person we find the need for a re-creation of value in order for them to feel at-home-in-this-wider-world-of-life, a need for them to be in tune with those processes that facilitate and smooth their rough and bumpy passage through this changing world, a process thematized and assisted through the creation of a poetry that reflects the nature of this shrinking wider-world, and, in the midst of such cognitive-anxiety find for themselves, and ourselves, a transcendental sense of being-at-home in a-world-there-for-us!

Supplement: Six More Poems In Translation With Notes, etc.

I.	Wang Wei (c. 700-761) Deer Fence (Deer Park/Grove)

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

	I would rewrite the last line as again shining over the green moss aspiring. Moss could be lichen, the colour green could also be either blue or black. The last character might be translated as above, on top of, rising?
	The title may make an allusion to the Deer Park where the Buddha started his preaching (and/or some locality known to the poet)? Wang Wei was a devout Buddhist and this poem appears to have a number of highly probable allusions to Buddhist doctrine. First there is the concept of the emptiness of phenomena, i.e., that phenomena lack an inherent unchanging substantiality. Voices heard but no one seen too be there. Note the parallelism between no one and someone. Chinese rarely mention a sense of an individual I. The time is sunset. An allusion is set up between the West and the Western Paradise of the Amitabha Buddha? The rays of light might also be invoking a sense of enlightenment entering the deep world  of the forest despite the emptiness of phenomena. This striking the moss again, in response to its rays of light, causing the moss to grow, aspire towards the presence of the light? Is the moss, or lichens, on the ground or on the trees? Does it matter where we place it? A number of poems by Wang Wei make explicit Buddhist connections and the title might be meant to alert us to those type of connotations to be superimposed upon an ostensively simple experiential moment had in a forest at sunset?

II.	Tu Fu (c. 757) - Moonlit Night

Moon of this night, in Fu-Chou.
Alone in your chamber you gaze.
Here, far away, I think of the children,
Too young to remember Longpeace (Ch'ang-an)...
Fragrant mist, moist cloud of your hair.
In that clear light, your arm jade cool.
When may we lean by your empty curtain,
Alight alike, until our tears have dried.

	Around the same time as his other poem, Example 1, during the rebellion at that time. This poem is addressed to his wife who had fled with their children. Note that the best ancient jade is white in colour. Note also the pun on the name of the capital city Ch'ang-an.

III.	Li Po - Seeing Off A Friend

Green Mountains border Northern Rampart.
Clear water curls by the Eastern Wall.
Here, we'll make our parting.
There, lonely brambles stretch ten thosand li.
Floating clouds: the traveler's thoughts.
Falling sun: the old friend's feelings.
Touch hands, and now to go,
Muffled sighs, and the horse, neighing.

	Notice the complex use of parallelism. E.g., far mountains versus close water. Parting versus the ever present brambles. Floating clouds/thoughts versus falling sun/feelings. The friends part without really saying anything, the horse does it for them. Officials often sent to serve in regions where they had no close connections.

IV.	Lu Yu (A.D. 1125-1210) - Boating In Autumn

Away and away I sail in my light boat;
My heart leaps with a great gust of joy.
Through the leafless branches I see the temple in the wood,
Over the dwindling stream the stone bridge towers.
Down the grassy lanes the sheep and oxen pass;
In the misty village cranes and magpies cry,
Back in my home I drink a cup of wine
And need not fear the greed of the evening wind.

	By greed is meant the storm that eats men. Note the use of parallelism.

V.	Lu Yu - The Herd Boy

In the southern village the boy who minds the ox
With his naked feet stands on the ox's back.
Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows.
Through the hole in his hat the mountain rain pours.
On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;
In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.
The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;
And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.

	Notice again the use of parallelism. The resolution of the elements/poem is realized in the warmth of the fire. A very sympathetic poem.

VI.	Po Chu-I  (A.D. 772-846) - Last Poem

They have put my bed beside the unpainted screen;
They have shifted my stove in front of the blue curtain.
I listen to my grandchildren reading me a book;
I watch the servants heating up my soup.
With rapid pencil I answer the poems of friends,
I feel in my pocket and pull out medicine-money.
When this superintendence of trifling affairs is done,
I lie back on my pillows and sleep with my face to the 											  South.

	This poet has even turned his immanent death into a poem. The direction of the South is related to death. Po Chu-I was a great, popular Sung poet who wrote in a number of styles. Arthur Waley has translated a good cross selection of his poems in the following two books Chinese Poems and 170 Chinese Poems. They should make an interesting introduction to T'ang poetry. His direct style was appreciated by the people of the time. Generally, the names mentioned in this paper are well worth following up and are usually present in the miscellaneous anthologies noted in this paper.