Su Shi (Su Dongpo)

Source: Photograph. China Daily

Introduction

To what can our life on earth be likened?

To a flock of geese, alighting on the snow.

Sometimes leaving a trace of their passage.

(Su Shi, Su Shi Poetry)

Enjoying a remarkable level of fame in my life, I am still often referred to as the greatest writer of the period (Egan 2010, p 410). I was a man of many talents; I was a writer, poet of many forms, artist, calligrapher, pharmacologist, and statesman of the Song Dynasty ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius"). However, if you will listen to my story, you will see that I was an ordinary man whose greatest talent came from the desire to try what nobody else has attempted, without being tied down to the expectations of the time. I was born in 1037, to a family of scholars; my father and elder brother were both renowned literati, and my good mother instructed me herself for which I am very much indebted ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius"). The name given to me at birth was Su Shi, but I was also in possession of a courtesy name, Zizhan (子瞻), as well as a pseudonym, Dongpo Jushi (东坡居士 “Dongpo Householder”), but I was often referred to simply as Su Dongpo ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius"). At the age of 19, I passed the Jinshi exam with my elder brother with honors and got taken on as an apprentice by Ouyang Xiu ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius"). I acquired various political posts, but I did not advance far in my career for I could not keep my mouth shut when I saw a wrong being perpetrated, and I was demoted and exiled multiple times for my pains ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius"). I finally died in 1101, having been pardoned for the last time from my exiled and on my way to my newest post from which I am sure I would have been demoted from eventually if my old body had not given out beforehand ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius").

Writing Style

Perhaps it was due to my overly abundant ego, but I loved to write autobiographically ("Su Shi Biography"); for who could be a more interesting subject then myself? I did not only look introspectively, however, but I wrote of my experiences ("Su Shi Biography"), for I am happy to say I led an exciting and fulfilling life, unlike many scholars of the age who contented themselves with always writing from within four high walls. My writing was optimistic, fast and free, and relied heavily on inspiration ("Su Shi Biography").

My writings and calligraphy brought me much fame and wealth, but my outspoken manner and staunch beliefs led my pen to flow too freely with constructive criticisms of the current regime, and in particular of Wang Anshi and his "New Policies" which I saw as progress in the wrong direction(Egan 2010, p 410). After years of striving to improve China and the Chinese Government, I had gotten nowhere. Not in the literal sense, mind you, for my political commentaries had got me sent all around the country of China as a convicted criminal and I became quite the expert on the topographical features of China. What I mean is that the the leaders of China would rather send me hiking across the country or imprison me in a cell, then enforce any of the measures that I prescribed. No matter what I wrote, China would never change. I wrote sardonically of the matter once, when one of my wives gave birth to a son:

Families, when a child is born

Want it to be intelligent.

I, through intelligence,

Having wrecked my whole life,

Only hope the baby will prove

Ignorant and stupid.

Then he will crown a tranquil life

By becoming a Cabinet Minister.

(Su Shi, "On the Birth of His Son”)

Happiness does not require fortune or fame; I was not worried for my son's material comfort, but rather, I was worried about what mental pain and frustration my son would have to endure if he inherited his old man's rebellious spirit. What has China come to that the ignorant hold power and the enlightened must hide their pens in fear of reprisal?

Finding Meaning in Even the Meanest Life

Please do not misunderstand my embittered words just now. I was no despairing poet, cursing my rotten luck and complaining to the world about my pitiful state. No, I always found happiness wherever I was situated, just as the many inhabitants who dwelled their before me, content in their lives; simple folk, who understood the joys that even hard work and cold winter nights can bring. I even acquired my pseudonym, Dongpo (Eastern Slope), from the hill to which I was banished to for the first time for my overenthusiastic criticisms of Wang Anshi ("Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius"). I would build my house, wear simple clothes and work in the field with every other man, and take up my pen when I had time, to write of the many insights I had acquired through my new-found way of life (Egan 2010). I was never bitter, and even stayed good friends with Wang Anshi, exchanging many letters with him later in life ("Su Shi Biography"). Even when I was aloud to return from exile, it was only at the price of being yet again torn away from a home in which I had experienced many periods of peace and pleasure, so that the closer I got to my home, the farther I moved from it. Twelve times I was exiled (Barnstone), and each time it got harder to leave my doorstep and start anew.

No One Way

Believed that there was no one “right” way, but that everyone must find their own path (Egan 2010). What was the point of sticking so rigidly to any one form that your thoughts got lost and your words distorted and strained in the process? The ideal of writing is constantly changing and time onwards, so why should one stick to an ideal which will surely become labeled by the "enlightened" scholars of the next age as flawed and obsolete? It is better far not to constrain yourself to expectations of the men around you who may very well be idiots.

Source: Photograph. Castle of Costa Mesa

Learning of My Follies

Due to my accomplishments with the pen and my unique philosophy, many would praise me as one of the wisest among men; the ideal scholar and author. But those close to me knew better. My dear friend Fo Yin, so much wiser than I by far, my beloved wife who I found that I could not function properly without; these people saw my follies and my flaws, and never failed to point them out to me one after the other. I will never forget one day when I was feeling particularly pleased with my accomplishments and sent a self-laudatory poem to Fo Yin in hopes of impressing him with my wisdom as well. The poem that I sent him went thus:

稽首天中天，

毫光照大千；

八风吹不动，

端坐紫金莲。

I bow my head to the heaven within heaven,

Hairline rays illuminating the universe, The eight winds cannot move me,

Sitting still upon the purple golden lotus.

I hoped to show through my eloquent writing, that I had moved beyond the eight forces that usually controlled man: praise (称), ridicule (讥), honor (誉), disgrace (毁), gain (得), loss (失), pleasure (乐) and misery (苦), and that I had achieved a sort of state of enlightenment. My friend, a zen master himself, knew the meaning of my words better than I did and sent back a single word in reply: fart. Enraged at this uncaring insult from a long-time friend, I prepared a boat and sailed across the lake separating our houses, pounding on his door and demanding an audience. What I got was a letter written by Fo Yin and addressed to myself:

八风吹不动，

一屁弹过江。

The eight winds cannot move me,

One fart blows me across the river

I realized how foolish and arrogant I had been to think that I was unmovable by worldly thoughts. In two short lines, Fo Yin had shown me that I was just as susceptible to the blowing of the eight winds as any man was(History – Anecdotes).

Source: Photograph. Great Wall Vacation

My Family

I married my first wive, Wang Fu, when I was 19 years of age and she 16 ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). She was kind and caring, but just as quick as my old friend Fo Yin at demolishing me on my idiocies. Wang Fu died at the age of 26 after giving birth to my first son, Su Mai ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). Ten years after her death, I dreamed of my dear wife and felt as if my heart was breaking anew ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com).

In my sorrow, I wrote this poem:

《江城子•乙卯正月二十日夜記夢》

十年生死兩茫茫，

不思量， 自難忘。

千里孤墳，無處話淒涼。

縱使相逢應不識，

塵滿面，鬢如霜。

夜來幽夢忽還鄉，

小軒窗，正梳妝。

相顧無言，惟有淚千行。

料得年年腸斷處，

明月夜，短松岡。

(Su Shi, “Dreaming”)

"Dreaming of My Deceased Wife on the Night of the 20th Day of the First Month"

Ten years living and dead have drawn apart

I do nothing to remember But I cannot forget

Your lonely grave a thousand miles away...

Nowhere can I talk of my sorrow -

Even if we met, how would you know me

My face full of dust

My hair like snow? In the dark of night, a dream: suddenly, I am home

You by the window

Doing your hair

I look at you and cannot speak

Your face is streaked by endless tears

Year after year must they break my heart

These moonlit nights?

That low pine grave?

(History – Literature)

Two years after Wang Fu's death, I married the young cousin of my my deceased wife, Wang Runzhi, who resembled her very much ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). She followed me dutifully as I got myself expelled, welcomed back, and expelled in a never ending circle ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). In addition to raising Su Mai with tender care, She bore me two sons of her own, Su Dai and Su Guo ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). A fortunate man, I had the honor of being told off by my second wife as well. One day during my exile, I was feeling particularly put upon by the world, and had lost my temper with one of my sons who did not yet understand the cruelty of the world. I recorded the scolding I received from my wife in this little poem:

《小兒》

小兒不識愁，

起坐牽我衣。

我欲嗔小兒，

老妻勸兒癡。

兒癡君更甚，

不樂復何為？

還坐愧此言，

洗盞當我前。

大勝劉伶婦，

區區為酒錢。

Source: Photograph. Cultural China

"My Young Son"

My young son knows no grief:

he tagged at my garment upon sitting upright.

I was just about to lose my temper

when my old wife chided the boy for being silly.

"But my husband's sillier than the son," she said.

"why not just be happy?"

I sat upright, embarrassed by her words;

she placed a washed wine cup before me.

She's far better than Liu Ling's wife

who got mad with her husband for spending on wine!

("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com)

My happiness was not to last yet again, as Wang Runzhi died at 46 ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). I requested to be buried beside my second wife, and waited until the time when we would be reunited ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com).

My final companion was my concubine, Wang Zhaoyun, my former handmaiden and a singer who not only possessed the virtue of beauty, but was blessed with the infinitely superior virtue of a quick and eager mind, having taught herself how to read ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com). She bore me a son, Su Dun, as well, but both were fated to die; Wang Zhaoyun of an illness at 33, and Su Dun while he was still still in infancy ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com).

Perhaps, through my own willful selfishness, I had put both of my wives through too much hardship, and the life got sucked out of them while I continued to live heartily until the age of 66.

A Renaissance Man

A painting by yours truly (Source: The Painting Scroll of a Withered Tree and a Queer Rock)

Painting

I took joy in many activities, not constraining myself simply to poetry as many were prone to doing at the time; I also loved to paint and contributed greatly to the painting style of the Song period (Min Xu). I would often paint the beauties of nature as I saw them around me; from the tiniest of flowers hiding in the shadow of an elm, to the bird which can fly perhaps a thousand li in the sky where my eyes can no longer discern it (Min Xu). Many youth saw what I was doing and copied my actions (Min Xu). Although I was happy that they were moving down a path of learning and excellence, I wished they could have acted more for themselves and not tried to become Su Shis in Miniature.

Delicious Dongpo pork. Doesn't looking at it make your mouth water? (Source: "Dongpo Pork")

Cooking

I also excelled in the delicious arts of cooking, wine making, and perhaps my favorite, tea tasting (Min Xu). If you could ever have tasted my recipes of "Dongpo Fish" or "Dongpo Pork," you would understand that I am not exaggerating when I say that my skills with herbs and meat equaled my skills with pen and ink (Min Xu). You may think it foolish of me, but I also had a curiosity concerning alchemy, and I would sometimes spend long hours concocting elixirs of immortality; none of which were successful, I am sad to admit (Min Xu).

Poetry

Within poetry and literature, I did not constrain myself to any one form or style, but amused myself with the perfection of every style "Su Shi Biography.". Within the realm of poetry, I perfected shi, ci, and fu ("Su Shi Biography"). I even constructed my own form of Ci called "heroic abandon" (豪放詞), in which I ignored traditional themes such as moods and feelings as well as the stringent rules which regulate ci such as musical modes and harmonies (Theobald 2000). I simply did not find it necessary to contain myself with strict rules and regulations when writing my verses ("Su Shi Biography"). There is much to be learned from past poets, but there is no reason not to take these lessons and then advance on with them, adding your own knowledge and experience along the way.

Travel Literature

My constant state of exile also allowed me the happy privilege of being able to contribute greatly to the genre of "travel literature" by writing a series of "daytrip essays"("The Life of Su Dongpo" 2010). Many other men of the time allowed themselves to become embittered and self-pitying when forced into exile, even when they had known full well of the consequences of the provocative actions they had themselves chosen to commit. I was not without my own periods of moping and complaining to be sure, but I did not allow myself to stay in this state indefinitely, always blaming others when it was my own foolish self who had gotten my bum shipped off to the middle of nowhere. I opened my eyes to the possibilities for enlightenment and joy that my new habitat offered, and found that there was as much room for artistic expression in a hovel as in the Forbidden Palace itself (Egan 2010).

My natural curiosity lead me down many paths that others would not look at twice. I recorded one such instance in my "Record of Stone Bell Mountain" in which I discovered for myself the truth of the legend of stone said to ring like bells at Stone Bell Mountain ("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com):

The Waterway Classic says: "At the mouth of a Pengli [Lake] there is a Stone Bell Mountain." Li Daoyuan (d. 527) held that "below it, near a :deep pool, faint breezes drum up waves, and water and rocks striking one another toll like huge bells." Others have often doubted this claim. :Today, if one takes a bell or a lithophone and places it into the water, even if there is great wind and waves, you cannot make it ring. How :much the less, then, for [common] rocks? It was not until the time of Li Bo [9th century, not the famous Li Bo, or Li Bai] of the Tang that :someone searched for a surviving trace of this phenomenon. Upon finding a pair of rocks on the bank of a pool, he knocked them together and :listened. Their southern tone was mellow and muted; their northern timber was clear and shrill. When the clang ceased, its resonance mounted; :the remnant notes then gradually came to rest. Li Bo then held that he had found the 'stone bells'. However, I am especially doubtful of this :statement. The clanking sound made by rocks is the same everywhere. And yet, this place alone is named after a bell. Why, indeed, is that?

On Dingchou day of the sixth lunar month in the seventh year of the Prime Abundance period (July 14, 1084), I was traveling by boat from :Qi'an (Huanggang, Hubei) to Linru (Linru, Henan). My oldest son [Su] Mai was just about to leave for Dexing in Rao to take up the post of :Pacificator. Since I accompanied him as far as Hukou (modern Hukou, Jiangxi), I was able to observe the so-called stone bells. A monk from a :[nearby] monastery dispatched an apprentice carrying an axe to select one or two among the scattered rocks and knock them [with an axe], upon :which they made a 'gong-gong'-like sound. I laughed just as I had done before and still did not believe the legend.

That evening, the moon was bright. Alone with Mai I rode a little boat to the base of a steep precipice. The huge rocks on our flank stood :1000 feet high (304 m). They looked like fierce beasts and weird goblins, lurking in a ghastly manner and getting ready to attack us. When :the roosting falcons on the mountain heard our voices they too flew off in fright, cawing and crying in the cloudy empyrean. Further, there :was something [that sounded] like an old man coughing and laughing in a mountain ravine. Someone said: "That is a white stork." I was :shaking with fear and about to turn back, when a loud noise rang out from the surface of the water that gonged and bonged like bells and :drums unceasing in their clamor. The boatmen became greatly alarmed. I carefully investigated it, only to discover that everywhere below the :mountain there are rocky caves and fissures, who knows how deep. Gentle waves were pouring into them, and their shaking and seething, and :chopping and knocking were making this gonging and bonging. When our boat on its return reached a point between the two mountains and we :were about to enter the mouth of the inlet, [I saw that] there was a huge rock in the middle of the channel which could seat a hundred :people. It was hollow in the center with numerous apertures, which, as they swallowed and spat with the wind and water, made a bumping and :thumping and clashing and bashing that echoed with the earlier gonging and bonging. It seemed as if music was being played here. Thereupon, :I laughed and said to Mai: "Do you recognize it? The gonging and bonging is the Wuyi bell of King Jing of Zhou; the bumping and thumping and :clashing and bashing are the song-bells of Wei Zhuangzi [a.k.a. Wei Jiang; 6th century BC military advisor]. The ancients [i.e. Li Daoyuan :and Li Bo] have not cheated us!

Is it acceptable for someone who has not personally seen or heard something to have decided views on whether it exists or not? Li Daoyuan :probably saw and heard the same things as I did, yet he decided not to describe them in detail. Gentlemen-officials have always been :unwilling to take a small boat and moor it beneath the steep precipice at night. Thus, none were able to find out [about the bells]. And, :although the fishermen and boatmen knew about them, they were unable to describe them [in writing]. This is why it has not been transmitted :through the generations. As it turns out, imbeciles sought the answer by taking axes and beating and striking rocks. Then they held that they :had found out the truth of the matter. Because of this I have made a record of these events, for the most part to sigh over Li Daoyuan's :superficiality, and to laugh at Li Bo's stupidity!

("Su Shi." Absoluteastronomy.com)

Source: Ode of Red Cliff (partial) By Su Shi

"Red Cliffs Rhapsody"

My best known work is perhaps the "Red Cliffs Rhapsody" (Chibifu), which children in China are still made to read today ("The Life of Su Dongpo" 2010). This tale chronicles the battle of the Red Cliffs that were staged between the southern generals Liu Bei and Su Quan and the northern general Cao Cao in AD 208-209 ("The Life of Su Dongpo" 2010). It is the sort of tale that everyone loves in which a a greatly outnumbered hero conquers its larger foe against all odds.

The "Red Cliff Rhapsody" also contained quiet philosophic moments. I recounted a quiet boat ride with a guest around the cite of the epic battle. My guest played a mournful tune on his flute. When I asked him why he played so, he answered me thus:

"isn’t this the place where Cao was beseiged by Zhou Yu? Cao had just broken Jingzhou, and was going to Jiangling, sailing west with the flow :of the river. His boats prow to stern stretched for a thousand miles, and his flags and banners blocked the sky. Pouring wine, looking down :on the river, chanting poems with a spear across his knees, he was indeed a hero of his times; but today, where is he? And how about you and :I, fishermen and woodcutters on the islets in the river, taking the fish and shrimp and deer as our companions, and riding in a leaf of a :boat, raising gourds as our goblets and drinking to each other? Entrusted like flies to heaven and earth, as tiny as one grain in a vast :ocean. I grieve at my life’s shortness, and envy how the Great River is infinite. I want to fly with the immortals and roam the vastness, :embrace the moon and live forever. I know that I cannot quickly achieve this, and I entrusted these sounds to the sad wind.”

“Have you really understood the water and the moon?” I said. “The one streams past so swiftly yet is never gone; the other for ever waxes and :wanes yet finally has never grown nor diminished. For if you look at the aspect which changes, heaven and earth cannot last for one blink; :but if you look at the aspect which is changeless, the worlds within and outside you are both inexhaustible, and what reasons have you to :envy anything?

“Moreover, each thing between heaven and earth has its owner, and even one hair which is not mine I can never make part of me. Only the cool :wind on the river, or the full moon in the mountains, caught by the ear becomes a sound, or met by the eye changes to colour; no one forbids :me to make it mine, no limit is set to the use of it; this is the inexhaustible treasury of the creator of things, and you and I can share in :the joy of it.”

The guest smiled, consoled. We washed the cups and poured more wine. After the nuts and savouries were finished, and the wine‑cups and dishes :lay scattered around, we leaned pillowed back to back in the middle of the boat, and did not notice when the sky turned white in the east.

(Su Shi, "EXCERPTS FROM THE RED CLIFF”)

Dreaming of the Moon

I wrote several other pieces with the moon as my subject, dreaming of a world forever outside my grasp but always visible in the night sky:

The Moon Festival

When will the moon be clear and bright?

With a cup of wine in my hand, I ask the blue sky.

I don't know what season it would be in the heavens on this night.

I'd like to ride the wind to fly home.

Yet I fear the crystal and jade mansions are much too high and cold for me.

Dancing with my moon-lit shadow,

It does not seem like the human world.

The moon rounds the red mansion stoops to silk-pad doors,

Shines upon the sleepless Bearing no grudge,

Why does the moon tend to be full when people are apart?

People may have sorrow or joy, be near or far apart,

The moon may be dim or bright, wax or wane,

This has been going on since the beginning of time.

May we all be blessed with longevity though far apart,

We are still able to share the beauty of the moon together.

(Su Shi, "Poem about the Moon")

Forward is Backward and Backward is Forward

Here are two poems which are actually a single poem that can be read either forwards or backwards, reversing the order of events and creating a whole new story (Barnstone). Every event can be looked at from another angle. the moment you think you have understood everything, is the moment that you understand nothing at all.

Inscription for Gold Mountain Temple (I)

Tides follow hidden waves. The snow mountain tilts.

Distant fishing boats are hooking the moonlight.

A bridge faces the temple gate. The pine path is narrow.

By the doorsill is the fountain's eye where stone ripples transparently.

Far, far green trees the river sky is dawning.

Cloudy, cloudy scarlet afterglow. The sea is sun bright.

View of the distance: four horizons of clouds join the water.

Blue peaks are a thousand dots. A few weightless gulls.

---Translated by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping

(Barnstone)

Inscription for Gold Mountain Temple (II)

Gulls are weightless, a few dots. A thousand peaks are blue.

Water joins the clouds' edges in four distant views.

Bright day. Sea glows with scarlet clouds on clouds.

Dawning sky and river trees are green, and far, far.

Transparent ripples from the stone eye: fountain by the doorsill.

A narrow path and pine gate where the temple faces the bridge.

A bright moon hooks boats. Fishing waters are distant.

A tilted mountain is a snow wave, secretly following tides.

---Translated by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping

(Barnstone)

Conclusion

I have laid bear my whole life's story. You have seen my triumphs and my follies, my joys and my sorrows, and I hope that you have come to understand one very important fact that a few of my admirers may have forgotten to mention; I was simply a man. I was in possession of no extraordinary powers of perception or expression which no one else could acquire. My skills were earned through simple hard work and determination, which anyone can practice if they have the mind to set about it. My one happy virtue was my simple curiosity for everything new or old; I would investigate everything, looking at it from all angles for an aspect that everyone just happened to miss. The other distinguishing feature of my personality that has set me apart from many of the time, is not a virtue I am afraid, but a fault; my blatant stupidity. I was unable to keep my mouth closed, even at the most crucial of times, and so I was thrown into a variety of unique atmospheres to help with my writing. Once I was in those unique places, I was too stupid to realize my mistakes and learn from my misfortune, but I fancied myself happy. And finally, when I was recording all of my thoughts and experiences, I was too foolish and self-important to stick to the forms and subject matter prescribed by the ancient poets and philosophers, but like a simpleton, I deviated and wrote whatever popped into my head in whatever form it presented itself. No, I was no genius, I was a simple man who loved to write on a hill named Dongpo.

Source: Photograph 2. Cultural China

---

Works Cited

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Dongpo Pork. Photograph. Cultural-china.com. Shanghai News, Press Bureau, Hongtu Real Estate Development Company, and One Member of the Long River Foreign Exchange Foundation. Web. 4 Mar. 2012. <http://history.cultural-china.com/en/59H147H580.html>.

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Ode of Red Cliff (partial) By Su Shi. Photograph. Chinapage.com. Web. 23 Feb. 2012. <http://www.chinapage.com/red-cliff.html>.

Photograph. Castle of Costa Mesa: Fairy Tale Dolls, Handmade With Love. Web. 21 Feb. 2012. <http://castleofcostamesa.com/chinese-culture/chinese-stories-for-children/biographies-of-famous-chinese-historical-figures-%E4%BA%BA%E7%89%A9%E6%95%85%E4%BA%8B%E5%A4%A7%E5%85%A8/su-dongpo-%E8%98%87%E6%9D%B1%E5%9D%A1>.

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The Painting Scroll of a Withered Tree and a Queer Rock. Photograph. Cultural-china.com. Shanghai News, Press Bureau, Hongtu Real Estate Development Company, and One Member of the Long River Foreign Exchange Foundation. Web. 3 Mar. 2012. <http://www.cultural-china.com/chinaWH/html/en/History147bye6243.html>.