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From The Asian Reporter, V15, #43 (October 25, 2005), page 16.

Translated by Red Pine

Copper Canyon Press, 2000

Paperback, 309 pages, $17.00

By Dave Johnson

People ask the way to Cold Mountain

In his note discussing this poem, translator Red Pine says, "A road does reach Cold Mountain … But then, the poem is about a different mountain."

Born around 730, the mysterious Chinese poet and hermit who called himself Han-shan (Cold Mountain) ignored fame, fortune, and a government gig to live in a cave at the base of Hanyen, or Cold Cliff, in Chekiang Province, a two-day hike from the East China Sea.

A Zen mystic, cranky contrarian, and observer of human foibles, Cold Mountain wrote his pithy, humorous, at times luscious poems on rocky slabs or tree trunks, shared them with visitors, and thought little of his reputation. It took a thousand years for him to be recognized as one of China’s greatest poets, and by then only 300 of his poems survived. But the enduring, if tattered, body of his work was enough to secure his place in the literary canon of a nation that has long treasured its poets and reclusive philosophers.

Since I escaped to Cold Mountain

In his high-spirited preface, Red Pine reports that Cold Mountain would often take a long day’s hike to Kuoching Temple at the foot of Mount Tientai. He adds that Ko Hung, a Taoist writer of the fourth century, called Tientai "the perfect place for would-be immortals to carry out their alchemic and yogic transformations." The site would later become one of the foremost centers of Buddhist teaching and practice in all of China.

It was here that Cold Mountain met Big Stick (Feng-kan) and Pickup (Shih-te), two other eccentric fellows who joined the poet to become the Three Hermits of Tientai, still popular in China for their devotion to each other and cavalier attitude toward the rigidity of religious dogma.

At the end of this collection of poems by Cold Mountain, Red Pine includes a few by Big Stick:

Actually there isn’t a thing

And a few by Pickup:

Partial to pine cliffs and lonely trails

Another highly readable segment of this volume is its introduction by author and sinophile John Blofield, who eloquently places Cold Mountain in his lonely setting, yet points out that he probably led an active social life amongst his fellow mountain men and nearby villagers. The key, of course, was access to physical as well as metaphysical solitude. This combination of isolation and observation of everyday life makes Cold Mountain’s poems so provocative and everlasting. Here’s a poem that hits close to home for this particular poet:

Throughout the book, Red Pine’s succinct and informative notes for each poem are core samples of the cultural, political, and literary history of China. In reference to the last poem, he announces that among his favorite restaurants in Hangchou is Koupuli (Dogs Won’t Touch Them), famous for its steamed dumplings.

As my colleague, Doug Spangle, made clear in a review in The Asian Reporter, Asian poetry doesn’t have to be formal, somber, or lyrically stunning. It can also be a hoot. I’ll leave you with Cold Mountain doing stand-up:

All kinds of people exist under Heaven