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I'm not a huge fan of poetry. I've added poetry to my reading diet as a way of stepping outside my comfortable frame and discovering other ways of seeing the world – something I do more comfortably when reading multicultural fiction.
Lao Tzu's poetry, as translated by Ursula LeGuin, is simple. I imagine a quickly sketched but incisive line of characters gracing Lao Tzu's parchment. These poems, despite their simplicity and brevity, are challenging and profit from rereads – thus this is my fourth reread. Lao Tzu describes The Way as both itself and its opposite, as yin and yang:
LeGuin did two things in her translation. First, she returned the poetry to English translations of the Tao Te Ching: "I wanted to catch that poetry, its terse, strange beauty. Most translations have caught meanings in their net, but prosily, letting the beauty slip through. And in poetry, beauty is no ornament; it is the meaning. It is the truth." Second, LeGuin also provided commentary on the metaphors found in Lao Tzu's poetry and her interpretations of them. As his metaphors are often unfamiliar to a Western ear like mine, this was helpful. Lao Tzu frequently referred to "uncut wood," for example, a metaphor I would never have successfully decoded without her edits. She said, Uncut wood – here likened to the human soul – the uncut, unearned, unshaped, unpolished, native, natural stuff is better than anything that can be made out of it. Anything done to it deforms and lessens it. Its potentiality is infinite. Its uses are trivial.
LeGuin did not speak or read Chinese; instead, she wrote this translation while reading previous translations and in collaboration with scholars of the Tao Te Ching. Her description of the translation process expands my thinking about translations and understanding others, which even five years ago was more a one-to-one substitution. Le Guin worked on this translation since she was a young adult (completing it at 88): understanding others well takes a lifetime.
***
I only remember one Christmas present from my father alone: a book of LeGuin's essays, which he gave me almost 40 years ago. I treasured it. I had previously enjoyed LeGuin's science fiction and fantasy. That book, which I've somehow misplaced, changed my perceptions of LeGuin and opened up my eyes to different ways of seeing writing, writers, and people: Just because someone writes/behaves one way in one setting does not mean that they don't write/behave differently in other settings. Be cautious about assuming you know the whole story.
Rest in peace, Ms. LeGuin. You will be missed.
This was edited and updated from my 2017 review.
Lao Tzu's poetry, as translated by Ursula LeGuin, is simple. I imagine a quickly sketched but incisive line of characters gracing Lao Tzu's parchment. These poems, despite their simplicity and brevity, are challenging and profit from rereads – thus this is my fourth reread. Lao Tzu describes The Way as both itself and its opposite, as yin and yang:
To bear and not to own;Lao Tzu described a simple, yet difficult pathway.
to act and not lay claim;
to do the work and let it go:
for just letting it go
is what makes it stay. (Loc. 241-243)
And so the wiseHe encourages us to be genuine rather than striving to be something other than what we are (or even striving). Wise souls – to whom he refers to 45 times in this short book – do not force things, do not attempt to be what they are not:
shape without cutting,
square without sawing,
true without forcing.
They are the light that does not shine. (Loc. 1007-1009)
So the wise soulDoing by not doing.
doesn’t go, but knows;
doesn’t look, but sees;
doesn’t do, but gets it done. (Loc. 841-843)
LeGuin did two things in her translation. First, she returned the poetry to English translations of the Tao Te Ching: "I wanted to catch that poetry, its terse, strange beauty. Most translations have caught meanings in their net, but prosily, letting the beauty slip through. And in poetry, beauty is no ornament; it is the meaning. It is the truth." Second, LeGuin also provided commentary on the metaphors found in Lao Tzu's poetry and her interpretations of them. As his metaphors are often unfamiliar to a Western ear like mine, this was helpful. Lao Tzu frequently referred to "uncut wood," for example, a metaphor I would never have successfully decoded without her edits. She said, Uncut wood – here likened to the human soul – the uncut, unearned, unshaped, unpolished, native, natural stuff is better than anything that can be made out of it. Anything done to it deforms and lessens it. Its potentiality is infinite. Its uses are trivial.
LeGuin did not speak or read Chinese; instead, she wrote this translation while reading previous translations and in collaboration with scholars of the Tao Te Ching. Her description of the translation process expands my thinking about translations and understanding others, which even five years ago was more a one-to-one substitution. Le Guin worked on this translation since she was a young adult (completing it at 88): understanding others well takes a lifetime.
***
I only remember one Christmas present from my father alone: a book of LeGuin's essays, which he gave me almost 40 years ago. I treasured it. I had previously enjoyed LeGuin's science fiction and fantasy. That book, which I've somehow misplaced, changed my perceptions of LeGuin and opened up my eyes to different ways of seeing writing, writers, and people: Just because someone writes/behaves one way in one setting does not mean that they don't write/behave differently in other settings. Be cautious about assuming you know the whole story.
Rest in peace, Ms. LeGuin. You will be missed.
This was edited and updated from my 2017 review.