Written in Exile: The Poetry of Liu Tsung-yuan

I can say from experience that it's no easy thing to translate classical Chinese poetry. Producing your own version of some Tang poem that's already been in translation for ages is one thing, but producing a first translation of any such poem is a far more daunting matter. On that basis alone, Red Pine deserves five stars for the world he opens up to us, and we owe him a debt of gratitude for the deep knowledge of both the Chinese language and culture he has built up.At the same time--for any bilingual readers out there--it's also interesting to note that some of these can be translated quite differently. In the 56th poem, "Taking a Morning Walk...," Red Pine presents us with a series of still pictures: "Sandbars free of overnight clouds..." But, by simply following the Chinese word order (not that you would necessarily need or want to do that in every case), we get a scene with movement and activity: "Overnight clouds disperse above the sandbars..." and so on. This is just a matter of interpretation, and I freely admit that some of what Red Pine does in this book is simply beyond me. But there are one or two times when I have to see things quite differently, based on the Chinese. In the 77th poem, "Hearing a Gibbon on the Huang River," Red Pine's translation reads: "The riverside path winds for miles/where is that gibbon howling/this banished official has no more tears/its heartbreaking cries are in vain." But the Chinese is clearly divided into two sentences, the first dwelling on the gibbon, and the second on Liu Tsung-yuan himself and his present condition. So when Red Pine returns to the gibbon in the final line (referring to "its" cries), it does not seem to me in keeping with the meaning of the Chinese. Liu is not so much responding directly to the gibbon as he is presenting a parallel between it and himself, so that the poem could perhaps read instead: "The riverside path winds for miles/somewhere in the distance a gibbon howls/But this banished official has no more tears/and for me such heartrending cries would be in vain."But putting aside such concerns, I look forward to spending a lot more time with this book as well as the others I have by Red Pine. Kudos to the author for the concentration, diligence, and knowledge required to produce such work.

Red Pine has emerged as the best translator into English of the meditative, rural, and Buddhist-influenced school of Chinese poetry, especially as it emerged in the late Tang dynasty. This is another superb work, successor to his translations of Han Shan, Stonehouse, and others. Liu Tsung-yuan is one of the most highly regarded poets and essayists in Chinese literature, but has remained less well known in English than many others, probably because his low-key, contemplative verse is rather hard to translate--it was waiting for Red Pine to make it spellbinding and compelling in English. His most famous poem, as translated here, says:“A thousand mountains and not a bird flyibngTen thousand paths and not a single footprintAn old man in his raincoat in a solitary boatFishes alone in the freezing river snow” (p. 57).If you spend a lot of time with Chinese art, you have seen many paintings of this scene--as Red Pine says, it became "a staple of painters."Liu wrote a large number of protest poems, which ensured that he spent most of his life in exile, sent to various pestiferous places in punishment for "speaking truth to power." One famous one, quoted in many books about early Chinese environmentalism, is a protest against deforestation (pp. 45-46 here). Liu and his contemporaries attracted a great deal of attention with such poems. They were sung, not merely read, and they became staples of musicians, singing girls, tavern revelers, and ordinary people of all sorts. The court lived in terror of successful poets. Liu, along with contemporaries like Han Yu, Yuan Zhen, and Bai Juyi, were the conscience of the time, and left a mark of moral integrity that still shines.

Red Pine's translation style is always remarkably direct and approachable, while also maintaining sensitivity. This collection introduced me to an erudite poet of classical China, and also through the poetry and the translator's commentary, to a fascinating biographical sketch of an artist and his era. Anyone with a taste for poetry, familiar with Taoism and Zen, or interested in Chinese history, will enjoy this collection.

Liu Tsung-yuan's startlingly beautiful and touching short prose works and poetry about his experiences while exiled from the court capital during the very late T'ang Dynasty are a delight,. He was a man both appreciative of nature in a detailed and clearly presented fashion, but someone who was not only a skilled writer but a landscape artist par excellence. Red Pine's translations are so lucid one hardly sees his hand. For lovers of T'ang Dynasty poetry, perhaps the greatest time/place in human history for great poetry, this is a wonder equal to the best all the great ones have to offer.

After many years of diligence and insight, Red Pine has come to full flower as a medium for brilliant, heretofore untranslated, Chinese poetry. Liu is a master whose time has also come. This most powerful translation brings to light what has been only obscurely accessible to those who do not read Chinese.9th century prose writer Liu is, after all, also a poet for the 21st century and Red Pine remains a shaman for the poetic spirit. This work is more than a translation, it is an unveiling.