A lovely story, from China, adapted from a traditional Buddhist tale and also illustrated by Kailin Duan. It's beautiful, and touching, but you reallyA lovely story, from China, adapted from a traditional Buddhist tale and also illustrated by Kailin Duan. It's beautiful, and touching, but you really begin to fully appreciate the work when you read the afterword by translator Jeremy Tiang, who explains that the tale originates from more than a thousand years ago, found in the famous Mogao caves, (located at a religious and cultural crossroads on the Silk Road, in Gansu province, China). Duan's style owes soething to the feel and mood of the cave drawings.
As Singapore native Tiang (now living in Brooklyn) explains, the picture book involves several dimensions of translation, from the first (obviously entirely visual) version through different Chinese and other language written versions, to this picture book version for older children and adults. It's the story of a man rescued by a none-colored deer and the layers of kindness and gratitude involved....more
I picked this up from the library because I saw it was Chinese, and I have read very few Chinese comics. Wang Ning is the author of the book, and he cI picked this up from the library because I saw it was Chinese, and I have read very few Chinese comics. Wang Ning is the author of the book, and he chose four premier Chinese artists to illustrate the stories, based on his research into a kind of specific issue: China instituted a "One Chid, One Family" policy to address their population explosion in 1979, and enforced it for 35 years, until 2021. But what happened if you lost your only child, to disease, accidents, or whatever?
Ning joined internet support groups/chat rooms to explore this question, and he discovered that as many as 79,000 children died during any given year! He found that at one point families that had lost a child could apply to have another child, but obstacles arose for many families. In one family, a child disappeared, probably kidnapped. The mother had a dream that he was trying to get home, so they would no t admit he was dead, and they also refused to move to another home, waiting the rest of their lives for him to return.
All four of the stories are heart-breaking, maybe especially for readers who are parents, not sure. I can say I cried more than once while reading it. The art work varied, and the translation was rough in places. I wavered between 3 and 4 stars for this collection, but because I am still wiping my eyes and I'm sentimental, I gave it four stars. I would recommend it to anyone interested in the One Child Policy and Chinese culture....more
The sequence of seasons naturally pushes forward, Suddenly I am startled by the ending of the year. Lifting my eyes I catch sight of the winter crows, CaThe sequence of seasons naturally pushes forward, Suddenly I am startled by the ending of the year. Lifting my eyes I catch sight of the winter crows, Calling mournfully as if wanting to complain. The sunlight is cold rather than gentle, Spreading over the four corners like a cloud. A cold wind blows fitfully in from the north, Its sad whistling filling courtyards and houses. Head raised, I gaze in the direction of Spring, But Spring pays no attention to me at all. Time a galloping colt glimpsed through a crack, The tap [of Death] at the door has its predestined time. How should I not know, one who has left the world, And for whom floating clouds are already familiar? In the garden there grows a rosary-plum tree: Whose sworn friendship makes it possible to endure. —Chan Master Jingnuo
Haiyin. We know very little about Haiyin, apart from the fact that she appears to have lived during the last part of the Tang dynasty and was associated with the Ciguang Convent in what is today Sichuan Province. Hers is the only poem attributed to a Buddhist nun (there are quite a few by Buddhist monks) among the over fifty thousand poems written by some two thousand poets included in the voluminous compendium of Tang poetry, The Complete Poetry of the Tang Dynasty.
The color of the water merges with that of the sky, The sound of the wind adds to that of the waves. The traveler’s thoughts of home are painful, The old fisherman’s dream-self is startled. Lifting his oars, the clouds get there before him, When his boat moves, the moon follows along. Although I’ve done reciting the lines of my poem, I can still see the hills extending in both directions.
Plum Blossom Nun. Little is known about this poet, but the poem is widely anthologized now.
The entire day I searched for spring but spring I could not find, In my straw sandals I tramped among the mountain peak clouds. Home again, smiling, I finger a sprig of fragrant plum blossom; Spring was right here on these branches in all of its glory!
This is an amazing collection edited and crafted by Beata Grant, a look into women Buddhist poets, long and still neglected. I read a bit of it each day for the last month, in the morning, as a kind of prayer or spiritual guide. Reading the poems and reading what Grant is able to find about the poets as individual writers is its own form of meditation, in solitude.
I will not give a detailed review of this wonderful book, but instead encourage you to read the incredible review of Rat de bibliothèque, who includes, as he often does, his reading of the book and in particular the poetry through stunning paintings with which he is familiar. A gift to us, his creative reviews!
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