Su Shi (Su Dongpo)
My Chinese name is 蘇東坡, I lived from 1037 to 1101.
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.
(Source: 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. I was a man of many talents; I was a writer, poet of many forms(shi, cu, fu, poems on paintings), artist (painter), calligrapher, pharmacologist, and statesman of the Song Dynasty. 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. Around 2,700 of my poems and 800 letters have survived (source: Chinese Literature). 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 (Source: "History - Literature"). 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. 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. 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. (Source for the whole paragraph: "Su Shi - One of Chinese Greatest Genius")
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(Source: 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.
(Source: 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?
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 (Source:). 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 (Source:). Even when I was alone 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 (Source: Barnstone), and each time it got harder to leave my doorstep and start anew.
Believed that there was no one “right” way, but that everyone must find their own path. 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.
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(Source: History – Anecdotes).
My first wife, Wang Fu, was also as wise as any Zen master (Source:).
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。
(source: 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?
(Source: History – Literature)
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 (Source: 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 (Source: Min Xu). Many youth saw what I was doing and copied my actions (Source: 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. I also excelled in cooking, wine making, alchemy, and perhaps my favorite, tea tasting (Source: 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 (Source: Min Xu).
My best known work is perhaps the "Red Cliffs Rhapsody" (Chibifu), which children in China are still made to read today. 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 (Source:). 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:
“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.
(Source: Su Shi, "EXCERPTS FROM THE RED CLIFF”)
I wrote several other pieces with the moon as my subject:
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.
(Source: Su Shi, "Poem about the Moon")
Works Cited
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Egan, Ronald. "The Northern Song (1020-1126)." The Cambridge Histroy of Chinese Literature. Ed. Kang-I Sun Chang and Ed. Stephen Owen. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010. 381-464. Print.
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