tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post1441055884562003651..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: How to Live, Part Thirty-One: ReposeStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-11899465613021662252022-09-05T23:43:35.069-07:002022-09-05T23:43:35.069-07:00Esther: Regarding your first observation: I'v...Esther: Regarding your first observation: I've never gotten over reading the first two lines of Chapter 56 of the Tao Te Ching so many years ago (which I'm sure you are familiar with): "Those who know do not speak/Those who speak do not know." (Translation by Arthur Waley.) I later came across Waley's translation of Po Chü-i's poem about Lao Tzu's words:<br /><br />Lao Tzu<br /><br />"Those who speak know nothing;<br />Those who know are silent."<br />Those words, I am told,<br />Were spoken by Lao Tzu.<br />If we are to believe that Lao Tzu <br />Was himself one who knew,<br />How comes it that he wrote a book<br />Of five thousand words?<br /><br />Seng-ts'an's lines are a lovely variation on Lao Tzu, aren't they? I'm also reminded of the opening line of Lao Tzu's Chapter 23: "To be always talking is against nature." Ah, well, what is one to do? It's hard to shut up. And, of course, since I do not know, I may as well speak, I suppose. But silence is preferable. Except for, for instance, cicadas.<br /><br />I do like the touch of the cicada joining in your laughter! I was watching a travel program on NHK World recently, and was delighted to hear the non-stop sound of them in the trees in the place that was being visited. They are, on the whole, endearing.<br /><br />Thank you so much for tying de la Mare's lines to Emmylou singing "Beneath Still Waters." You've reminded me that I'm long overdue for a visit to Blue Kentucky Girl. She is still amazing, of course, but those albums in the Seventies are incredible. (I'm showing my age, no doubt.) Thank you for the kind words about my Malibu experience. A small moment, but it remains special.<br /><br />Finally, thank you very much for sharing Dickinson's poem: it is wonderful on its own, but it is a fine complement to "A Recluse" as well. <br /><br />It's always a pleasure to hear from you. I hope that all is well in the end-of-summer typhoon season. I noticed that a large one is near Japan at this moment, although it looks as though Tokyo is not in its direct path. Take care.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-56610834280289633312022-09-03T22:20:38.557-07:002022-09-03T22:20:38.557-07:00“(which, I acknowledge, raises questions about the...“(which, I acknowledge, raises questions about the value of what I am doing at this moment)” — I laughed out loud! And just as I was writing that, a cicada started up outside, as if joining in the merriment.<br /><br />“Full tides that silent well may be<br /> Mark of no less profound a sea”<br /><br />I immediately thought of these lines sung by Emmylou:<br /><br />“Beneath still waters<br />There’s a strong undertow<br />The surface won’t tell you<br />What the deep waters know”<br /><br />(And many thanks for sharing your profound memory from Malibu!)<br /><br />A Recluse also brings to mind a poem by Emily Dickinson...<br /><br />“The Soul selects her own Society—<br /> Then—shuts the Door—....<br /><br /> I’ve known her—from an ample nation—<br /> Choose One—<br /> Then—close the Valves of her attention<br /> Like Stone—“<br /><br />Esthernoreply@blogger.com