June 2024 - Workshop Shit!

Tao Te Ching

One of the most translated texts ever, the Tao Te Ching is an ancient Chinese text consisting of fewer than a hundred short poems. It is the basis of the religious/philosophical school of Taoism, one of the foundations of Chinese culture.

 

Presented here (see below) are three different English translations of one of those poems, recognized as #64. Even if you’re not a scholar of Chinese or an experienced translator of poetry, it’s worthwhile looking at these different versions and comparing their emphases and nuances because such close study offers perspective on the subtle work required of all poets.

 

In this workshop, we will take one step further and look at the underlying meaning of this poem, regardless of its translated form.

 

Underneath all three versions is the idea of opposites – that a true vision of the world must include the recognition of how opposing ideas and forces balance each other. Our first task after reading all three versions was to brainstorm a list of opposites suggested by the poem (see Opposites Grid below). These were mostly unstated or obliquely presented, but we created an opposites grid to emphasize the poem’s embrace of contradictions.

 

Then we created questions using opposites. We could have done more, but the list we have makes for a good jumping off point.

 

Then we spent about 15 minutes doing a free write using the opposite questions and trying to use as many of the opposite pairings as possible.

Tao Te Ching Chapter 64

John H. McDonald Translation:

Things are easier to control while they are quiet.

Things are easier to plan far in advance.

Things break easier while they are still brittle.

Things are easier hid while they are still small.

Prevent problems before they arise.

Take action before things get out of hand.

 

The tallest tree

Begins as a tiny sprout.

The tallest building

Starts with one shovel of dirt.

A journey of a thousand miles

Starts with a single footstep.

 

If you rush into action, you will fail.

If you hold on too tight, you will lose your grip.

Therefore, the Master lets things take their course

And thus, never fails.

She doesn’t hold on to things

And never loses them.

By pursuing your goals too relentlessly,

You let them slip away.

If you are as concerned about the outcome

as you are about the beginning,

Then it is hard to do things wrong.

 

The Master seeks no possessions.

She learns by unlearning,

Thus, she is able to understand all things.

This gives her the ability to help all creation.

 

 

Arthur Waley Translation:

What stays still is easy to hold;

Before there has been an omen, it is easy to lay plans.

What is tender is easily torn,

What is minute is easy to scatter.

Deal with things in their state of not-yet-being,

Put them in order before they have gotten into confusion.

 

For the tree big as a man’s embrace began as a tiny sprout.

The tower nine storeys tall began with a heap of earth.

The journey of a thousand leagues began with what was under the feet.

 

He who acts, harms; he who grabs, lets slip.

Therefore, the Sage does not act, and so does not harm;

Does not grab, and so does not let slip.

Whereas the people of the world, at their tasks,

Constantly spoil things when within an ace of completing them.

Heed the end no less than the beginning,

And your work will not be spoiled.

 

Therefore, the Sage wants only things that are unwanted,

Sets no store by products difficult to get,

And so, teaches things untaught,

Turning all men back to the things they have left behind,

That the ten thousand creatures may be restored to their Self-so.

This he does; but dare not act.

 

 

Ursula K. LeGuin Translation:

It’s easy to keep hold of what hasn’t stirred,

Easy to plan what hasn’t occurred.

It’s easy to shatter delicate things,

Easy to scatter little things.

Do things before they happen.

Get them straight before they get mixed up.

 

The tree you can’t reach your arms around

Grew from a tiny seedling.

The nine-story tower rises

From a heap of clay.

The ten-thousand mile journey

Begins beneath your foot.

 

Do, and do wrong;

Hold on and lose.

Not doing, the wise soul

doesn’t do it wrong,

and not holding on,

doesn’t lose it.

(In all their undertakings,

It’s just as they’re almost finished

That people go wrong.

Mind the end as the beginning

Then it won’t go wrong.)

 

That’s why the wise

Want not to want,

Care nothing for hard-won treasures,

Learn not to be learned,

Turn back to what people overlooked,

They go along with things as they are,

 But don’t presume to act.

Brainstorming:

OPPOSITES QUESTIONS

Can the future of the tallest tree be retained in a tiny spout?

Can beauty exist without ugliness?

Can time exist without infinity?

Can you have a beginning without an end?

When is inaction more proactive than action?

When is the claim of ignorance really a sign of wisdom?

Can a shattered delicacy become whole again?

 

 

Prompt Steps:

1. Read and compare (either mentally or with notes) the three versions of Chapter 64.

2. Brainstorm for yourself a list of opposites, either from the three versions of the poem or from your own imagination or both.

3. Write a few questions that explore the relationship of opposites.

4. Free write for 15 minutes, using as many (or as few as needed) of the words and questions suggested by your own brainstorm AND that of the workshop group.

5. If you’re comfortable with sharing, post your resulting free write in the comments section below. 

 

Prompt responses:

 

Douglas’ Response:

DIGGING

Can beauty exist without ugliness?

Can time exist without infinity?

I am digging little shovelfuls of dirt and gravel,

Thrusting my tool into the hard ground over and over again,

But the great tower remains only a dream in my mind –

Or worse, a memory, a moment I have forgotten –

Almost completely –

Except for the sense that there is something…

Something I was supposed to hold on to…

And then I let it go again.

I was supposed to have planned something that hasn’t happened yet,

But would or will if I could only hold on to these sharp, shattered pieces.

I am digging with my small shovel,

But each time I thrust into the dirt,

I feel something break inside me –

In my chest or in my shoulder.

I have to pause to catch my breath,

But in that moment, I only feel the shattered stones

Of what has not yet broken,

Of what is calling me from a thousand distances

Even before I take a single step.

There are millions of feet

Pressing themselves on this scattered, gravelly ground,

Over millions of years,

Over multiple epochs,

Each admitting to another question that I fear

I will never be able to articulate.

Above me,

Towering over this random spot

Where I have decided to begin building,

Stands an old oak tree,

So wide I can’t reach my arms even halfway around it.

Long ago, in the misty haze of a spring morning,

It must have been an acorn

Saved from the busy, hungry chipmunks

And the lack of a human with a shovel,

So that it could root just here,

Over many years but not for an infinite stretch of time,

Rising into a sky full of questions.

Who am I?

Where am I going?

 

Andrew’s Response:

 

Can beauty exist without ugliness?

Can time exist without infinity?

Can you have a beginning without an end?

 

Where are those wandering that fade away

Amidst the fog and trees beneath the moon?

The ruins of lost centuries decay,

Battered by rain and floods and storms that moan.

All things are journeys with no ends in sight:

One stone foundation’s not a palace yet;

One footstep’s not an odyssey … not yet;

A grave is not a resting place all night.

Each palace crumbles to a heap of dust;

Soon footsteps stumble to a shaky stride;

And pharos, long interred, exhumed abide

In strange museums, amongst still-lifes and busts.

The world’s a deathless journey, day by day:

Where are those wandering that fade away?

Rikhav’s Response:

What lies in life (Magic 9 form)

We begin each moment with decision

Inertia opposing inaction

Viewing abstinence with derision

Yet wavering when faced with choice

So cutting quick,with imprecision

We make our way through life

With constant view of past division

Our impact but a mere fraction

Of what lies within the worldly vision