大家好! Hi everyone! Thanks for visiting my blog. I’m no longer using this site – I can’t access it here in China. Please go to the following site to see my blog: http://sites.google.com/site/kenloseyblog/. My email is there; please contact me with your thoughts or questions.
Ken Losey
陆文卓
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wandering on Mount Chung-nan
4/5/09
Yesterday another rainstorm went through. The city, dusty from all the construction, was washed by the rain and swept clean by the wind. Today it’s sunny; the trees on campus are blossoming pink and red, and the green water in the canal is high but calm. While doing taiji I watched the rushes shake as fish darted after insects or each other. Two bright orange carp swirled directly in front of me, performing for a brief moment the classic Yinyang dance.
It was an interesting coincidence, because the previous evening I had started re-reading Wu Cheng'en’s great folk epic “Monkey” – Arthur Waley’s abridged translation of “Journey to the West”. It’s been years since I first read the adventures of Monkey, Pigsy, and Sandy, and it seemed like a good time to make the journey with them again.
I also read some Tang Dynasty poetry. Last week I used one by the poet Meng Chiao in a lesson. My students had done well reading brief stories about current issues and people, and then writing short essays. I wanted to see what they could do with Meng Chiao’s poem, “Wandering on Mount Chung-nan”.
Wandering on Mount Chung-nan
Meng Chiao (751-814)
South Mountain stuffs all heaven and earth,
Sun and moon grow up from its stones.
The high peak at night holds back the sun,
The deep vales are never bright by day.
Natural for mountain people to grow straight:
Where paths are steep the mind levels.
A long wind drives the pines and cypresses,
With a sound that sweeps the thousand hollows clean.
Who comes here regrets that he ever studied
Morning after morning, to be close to floating fame.
(From “Poems of the Late T’ang”, translated by A.C. Graham)
Most of them didn’t know what the poet meant by “Where paths are steep the mind levels.” And to my question, “Do you think the long wind sweeps clean anything more than just the hollows?”, many of them simply wrote “No.” I did, however, get some nice interpretations:
What do you think the poet means when he says: “Where paths are steep the mind levels.”?
“I think the poet means that he wants to be a mountain people, he just wants to be a common people, in his mind he doesn’t want to steep the path.”
“It means if you want to find a road to climb up the mountain, through your thinking, you will find it is easy to get it.”
Do you think the long wind sweeps clean anything more than just the hollows?
“Yes. It also can clean up our hearts.”
“I think the long wind sweeps the upset of the poet in his heart. His worries all have gone.”
What do you think the poet means by “floating fame”?
“He said in order to find free life he will give up his fame. He would like to become a floating thing.”
“Floating fame is not the nature that the mountain and the people want to get, the floating fame is gone by the time, but the nature, the heart you keeping, is important and it will always belong you.”
“He may thought fame is not the important thing in his life. The fame is just like the cloud and mist.”
From the essays:
“As we all known, there are two ways of living style that the poet wrote. One is real life, like the vales are surrounded by dark and never bright. Another is clear life, like hollows are very clean by wind’s sweep.”
“But the real world is different, that is a dream of the poet. He just uses mountain to show his heart. At that time, the society is dark, he just wants to live alone and leave the society to find a quiet place with no fame.”
“I have never try to climb big mountain like Huang San. But some hills. I think I will enjoy the scenery of the whole mountain. I will try like that in the future day. Maybe I will cry at the top of the mountain.”
“I have never forget that I went to the Emei mountain in Sichuan province when I was 12 years old. It was my first time to saw that grand mountain. I enjoyed the beautiful scenery, seemed that I had entered a pretty picture. The green trees and wound streams flowed from the top of the mountain. I especially the beautiful flowers grew up in the grass. I forget myself at that moment when I saw all of this. Maybe it’s the dream of humans to live there. We can relax and love there from the deep of our heart.”
(This was written by Raison, who has studied kung fu with his father since he was young. Mt. Emei is one of the Four Sacred Buddhist Mountains of China, and is an important center for the practice and teaching of wushu - Chinese matial arts.)
“I once had a dream to climb Tai Mountain, and it had come true. I found that it will be happy if you forget anything which you can’t forget.”
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.
~~~
Qingming Festival
Yesterday, April 4th, was a Chinese holiday: Qingming Festival, or Tomb Sweeping Day – a day to honor one’s ancestors. I had lunch at the cafeteria with Darren, (Man Deliang), a first year student studying international trade. We talked about Chinese mythology and folklore, and about the three pillars of Chinese thought: Taoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism. Darren told me about Qingming: the graves are swept clean, and food, tea, wine, chopsticks, willow branches, or other libations are left. Paper money is burned so that the ancestors have cash to spend in heaven. Some people set off fireworks to chase away demons, and some fly animal-shaped kites. Because it rained most of the day, I wonder how much was done here in Wuxi to observe the holiday. Maybe the cleansing storm was appropriate.
On Friday I did some exploring of downtown Wuxi. At the Nanchansi Culture Business Plaza I had a lunch that left me hungry. I had asked for something with doufu and I was served a bowl of boiling water with giant cubes of white tofu floating in it, along with a few vegetable and sprout bits. I scooped my spoon deep into the bowl in search of noodles and came up with green-black snails. I glanced around but no one seemed to notice the look on my face. I was hungry and tempted to try the boiled snails, but I knew I could find more familiar food elsewhere so I left them lining the bottom of the bowl. And maybe they were there just to add flavor.
My next stop was Xinhua Book Store, on Central People’s Road. My love of books, (I worked in book stores for close to 15 years), kept me occupied there for over an hour. Interesting that the section signs were in both English and Chinese, and that many of the books had an English title on the front cover – the only English in the book.
There was a fairly good selection of books in English – classic British and American literature – and books in English and Chinese; fewer had pinyin as well. I bought four: two collections of Tang and Song poetry, and two collections of traditional Chinese stories.
4/6/09
The high point of the weekend was a trip yesterday with Lisa and Elaine to the Língshān Dà Fó – the Lingshan Great Buddha. I’ve posted some photos, (see the links to the two new photo albums: "China - April, 2009"and "The Lingshan Great Buddha"), a couple of videos (see below), and here’s the Wikipedia article and photos: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingshan_Buddha.
We strolled around the immaculate grounds – a vast Buddha theme park – taking pictures of one amazing sight after another. The central attraction was an 88-meter high statue of the Buddha, made of 700 tons of bronze, standing on top of Xiao Lingshan (“Miniature Spiritual Vulture Hill”), gazing out at Tai Lake. As you drive up to Lingshan this colossal Buddha looms on the horizon like a golden Statue of Liberty.
One of the videos I took is of the Nine Dragons Fountain: a circular fountain with nine surrounding dragons. At the center of the fountain is a tall pillar topped by a bronze lotus flower – a golden Buddha child enfolded within its giant petals. At 1:00 p.m. a loud narration of the Buddha’s birth starts, followed by dramatic music. Water jets out from the dragons, and the lotus flower opens slowly to reveal the little Buddha. While the young Sakyamuni begins a clockwise rotation the dragons anoint him by shooting water sky-high. Seconds later everyone gets a brief shower.
The Lingshan Brahma Palace was even more amazing. Immense, ornate, colorful, and high-tech. See the photos and the second video: the light show that looks like something you’d see while using Microsoft media player. It’s actually the domed ceiling of a huge lecture hall.
Lisa summed up our visit to the Lingshan Great Buddha as follows: “Impressive, but kind of commercial, huh?” Kind of. At the end of our visit we understood the reason for the 150 yuan entrance fee. I wonder what the ever-smiling Buddha is thinking as he gazes down upon the picture-snapping tourists, the incense-burning devotees, and the opulent palaces. What does he think about his fame? I imagine him wishing he could shuffle off his immortal bronze coil and stride away to Mount Chung-nan, where he can “steep the path," hike amongst the pines and cypresses, and listen to the long wind.
~~~
Birth of the Buddha - the Nine Dragons Fountain at Lingshan
Birth of the Buddha - the Nine Dragons Fountain at Lingshan
A domed ceiling inside the Lingshan Brahma Palace
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Fireworks, Car Horns, and Rock Music
3/6/09
It’s Friday afternoon, the end of my third week of teaching. Today we got a break from the freezing, wet weather and had some Wuxi sunshine! (You can’t actually see the sun through the haze, but the sky is bright.) Despite a lingering cold, I did some exploring outside of the campus. I took off on my bike from the South Gate and found myself in a maze of construction. But the morning ended up on a better note: a nice walk through Changguangxi Wetland Park, just south of the campus. (See photos.)
For the first 8 weeks of the 16-week semester I teach Monday through Thursday and my first class starts at 10:00. A great schedule! I didn't get the writing course this semester but I'm not unhappy about it. Some of the veteran teachers said it takes a lot of time. I'm teaching an EFL Review class - to help students who failed the exit exam. My second 8-week course will be on public speaking and I'm looking forward to it.
I have four sections of 15-20 students in each section, and I teach twenty 45-minute periods per week. The students are well behaved, though they tend to talk while someone else is talking, and they rarely volunteer information unless called upon. I use seating charts with their Chinese and English names, some of which are kind of strange: Erica (a boy), Drifter, O2 (as in Oxygen), L (just the letter), Fantasy, Panda, Seven (two girls chose that name – I was tempted to have them sit together and call them Fourteen), Falcon, Radio, and Raison, to name a few.
(In the "Transworld Schools" sidebar I answer an email I recently received, and talk about how my training prepared me for this job.)
Other than furniture, an old towel, two dull knives, and some kuaizi (chopsticks), my apartment had little in it. There’s a new Auchan store – a French version of Wal-Mart – a short bus ride from the campus, with both Western and Chinese goods and food. (Like instant oatmeal and peanut butter!) I have a meal card and I eat lunch and dinner at the cafeterias. The curious smell of exotic seasonings mixes with ever-present tobacco smoke. I’m resigned to being a secondhand smoker in China. I listen to the conversations but I still don’t understand much because everyone talks so fast. To order food I usually just point and say nage (that), then try to figure out what I’m eating as I worry it with chopsticks.
Each day I try to watch some Chinese language television – many of the soap operas are historical stories and are interesting. I study Chinese every morning and evening, and I've made arrangements for a private tutor - the girlfriend of one of the teachers. The Chinese class that the college offers to the foreign teachers is beginner level so I won't be taking it.
I sleep well at night, thanks to my sofa cushions, that I placed under my sheets and on top of my “mattress”, which is no more than a board with a quilt on it. I hear fireworks nearly every day. One morning they went off at around 7:00 a.m. There’s an apartment building for Chinese faculty next to ours, and I think the movers lit the firecrackers to ward off evil spirits before they hauled in the new teacher’s belongings. It didn’t bother me because car horns start at 5:30, so that’s when I get up. I read a complaint on a blog about all the fireworks in China. I like them – maybe it’s the kid in me – or maybe because I come from a California city where they are banned except for the official displays on July 4th.
In the unheated classroom building I see my breath as I teach, wearing a sweater, a scarf, and my coat, while pacing back and forth to keep warm, and cajoling quiet young Chinese men and women to speak English. I try to make it fun. This week I made them all jizhe (journalists) and had them interview their partners. Then each pair went on CCTV9 and, with the help of a cameraperson (using a CD player as a TV camera), and a director, (they loved the “Action!” and “Cut!” parts), they told the class about their distinguished guests. We also held a press conference with Presidents Hu Jintao (a giggly girl), and Barack Obama, (the tallest boy in the class.)
Last week a storm came through just as I was headed to my 3:30 class. Thunder, lightening, freezing wind, and driving rain. The lightening was striking close, and my first thought was that my odds of getting hit were low because I was walking along in a sea of umbrella-toting Chinese students, filling both sidewalks and the street in-between. My second thought was that I was the tallest one in the crowd, so I hurried on to class.
On the walk back to my room after class I was startled by singing rocks. At 5:00 when the last class lets out, music – Chinese and Western – is pumped out of fake rocks alongside the sidewalks throughout the campus. It’s actually kind of a nice way to celebrate having made it through another day, as we all trudge off to the (unheated) cafeterias to warm ourselves with steaming bowls and plates of noodles, rice, meat, and vegetables.
Freezing rain, freezing classrooms, a joyous celebration of car horns and gunpowder, a threadbare towel and a dull paring knife, eating slippery noodles with chopsticks, indoor smoking, indoor bicycling, (right down the classroom building hallway!), strange new fruits and vegetables, being frequently stared at, and only one cushion left on my sofa. What the hell am I doing here? Loving it!
It’s Friday afternoon, the end of my third week of teaching. Today we got a break from the freezing, wet weather and had some Wuxi sunshine! (You can’t actually see the sun through the haze, but the sky is bright.) Despite a lingering cold, I did some exploring outside of the campus. I took off on my bike from the South Gate and found myself in a maze of construction. But the morning ended up on a better note: a nice walk through Changguangxi Wetland Park, just south of the campus. (See photos.)
For the first 8 weeks of the 16-week semester I teach Monday through Thursday and my first class starts at 10:00. A great schedule! I didn't get the writing course this semester but I'm not unhappy about it. Some of the veteran teachers said it takes a lot of time. I'm teaching an EFL Review class - to help students who failed the exit exam. My second 8-week course will be on public speaking and I'm looking forward to it.
I have four sections of 15-20 students in each section, and I teach twenty 45-minute periods per week. The students are well behaved, though they tend to talk while someone else is talking, and they rarely volunteer information unless called upon. I use seating charts with their Chinese and English names, some of which are kind of strange: Erica (a boy), Drifter, O2 (as in Oxygen), L (just the letter), Fantasy, Panda, Seven (two girls chose that name – I was tempted to have them sit together and call them Fourteen), Falcon, Radio, and Raison, to name a few.
(In the "Transworld Schools" sidebar I answer an email I recently received, and talk about how my training prepared me for this job.)
Other than furniture, an old towel, two dull knives, and some kuaizi (chopsticks), my apartment had little in it. There’s a new Auchan store – a French version of Wal-Mart – a short bus ride from the campus, with both Western and Chinese goods and food. (Like instant oatmeal and peanut butter!) I have a meal card and I eat lunch and dinner at the cafeterias. The curious smell of exotic seasonings mixes with ever-present tobacco smoke. I’m resigned to being a secondhand smoker in China. I listen to the conversations but I still don’t understand much because everyone talks so fast. To order food I usually just point and say nage (that), then try to figure out what I’m eating as I worry it with chopsticks.
Each day I try to watch some Chinese language television – many of the soap operas are historical stories and are interesting. I study Chinese every morning and evening, and I've made arrangements for a private tutor - the girlfriend of one of the teachers. The Chinese class that the college offers to the foreign teachers is beginner level so I won't be taking it.
I sleep well at night, thanks to my sofa cushions, that I placed under my sheets and on top of my “mattress”, which is no more than a board with a quilt on it. I hear fireworks nearly every day. One morning they went off at around 7:00 a.m. There’s an apartment building for Chinese faculty next to ours, and I think the movers lit the firecrackers to ward off evil spirits before they hauled in the new teacher’s belongings. It didn’t bother me because car horns start at 5:30, so that’s when I get up. I read a complaint on a blog about all the fireworks in China. I like them – maybe it’s the kid in me – or maybe because I come from a California city where they are banned except for the official displays on July 4th.
In the unheated classroom building I see my breath as I teach, wearing a sweater, a scarf, and my coat, while pacing back and forth to keep warm, and cajoling quiet young Chinese men and women to speak English. I try to make it fun. This week I made them all jizhe (journalists) and had them interview their partners. Then each pair went on CCTV9 and, with the help of a cameraperson (using a CD player as a TV camera), and a director, (they loved the “Action!” and “Cut!” parts), they told the class about their distinguished guests. We also held a press conference with Presidents Hu Jintao (a giggly girl), and Barack Obama, (the tallest boy in the class.)
Last week a storm came through just as I was headed to my 3:30 class. Thunder, lightening, freezing wind, and driving rain. The lightening was striking close, and my first thought was that my odds of getting hit were low because I was walking along in a sea of umbrella-toting Chinese students, filling both sidewalks and the street in-between. My second thought was that I was the tallest one in the crowd, so I hurried on to class.
On the walk back to my room after class I was startled by singing rocks. At 5:00 when the last class lets out, music – Chinese and Western – is pumped out of fake rocks alongside the sidewalks throughout the campus. It’s actually kind of a nice way to celebrate having made it through another day, as we all trudge off to the (unheated) cafeterias to warm ourselves with steaming bowls and plates of noodles, rice, meat, and vegetables.
Freezing rain, freezing classrooms, a joyous celebration of car horns and gunpowder, a threadbare towel and a dull paring knife, eating slippery noodles with chopsticks, indoor smoking, indoor bicycling, (right down the classroom building hallway!), strange new fruits and vegetables, being frequently stared at, and only one cushion left on my sofa. What the hell am I doing here? Loving it!
Off to lunch!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Chasing the Moon
2/10/09
The night before my departure I went outside and gazed up the full moon. I thought about Western and Eastern myths - rabbits and Cháng'é. And yet I knew I was looking at a place that was distant and real, not a myth. In China, where it’s now tomorrow, they've already seen tonight's moon. And China is also my tomorrow.
I'm now on the plane to Beijing. On my left is a young man from India, his wife and two children are in the seats across the aisle. The boy is screaming - it's his first flight. The poor little guy has a lot of traveling ahead of him. After a 12-hour flight they will change planes in Beijing and then fly another 8 hours to Delhi, where the moon is already waning. The man’s name is Baljit Kandola, and he’s from the town of Hiala, in Nawanshahr District, Punjab. I ask him to write his name in Punjabi in my notebook. It's beautiful, and I wish he'd fill an entire page with his script.
On my right sits Zhao Yu Ming from Beijing. He speaks no English. His wife, Wang Xuefeng, is writing in a notebook like mine with a pen like mine. Her handwriting is much neater than mine - her hànzì are small and elegant. I show her some of the Chinese I've written. She's surprised and delighted, and she also points out a few errors. I tell her "Xièxie nín!" (Thank you!)
I walk to the back of the plane and find some space to do Tai Chi. It works - to stretch my legs and calm my nerves.
I help myself to some more of the fragrant jasmine tea that was served earlier. I talk with some of my fellow travelers, including a filmmaker from Beijing who worked on the 2008 Olympics television production, and a young woman studying environmental science at Sun Yat-Sen University. We talk about the Three Gorges Dam, and she tells me that her professor believes the dam may have partly triggered last year’s earthquake.
I return to my seat and see that most of the overhead lights are now off. Some people are watching the movie "Hancock", with Chinese subtitles, while others are trying to sleep. Baljit Kandola's little boy is now asleep on the floor in front of his mother and sister, who are sleeping in they're seats. It’s quiet as we cruise high above the Bering Straight. But I don't know if I'll sleep. I think I'd rather stay awake and follow the moon around the earth. If I can, will it always be full?
2/12/09
Last night I arrived in Shanghai just after 11:00 p.m. and made it to my hotel near the airport by 11:30. I had been worried about going through customs because I've never been. There was nothing to worry about: they just waved me through, looking at nothing, asking no questions. Just another wàiguórén (foreigner), I guess.
This morning, in the lobby of the hotel, I met two men from Egypt. They were in China to start a joint Egyptian/Chinese business venture. One of them introduced himself as Ibrahim, and he wrote his name in my notebook, starting at the right-hand margin and writing from right to left, East to West.
2/13/09
Yesterday around dinnertime I arrived in Jiangsu Wuxi. Home at last!
After dropping luggage into our rooms, several of the new teachers and veterans met in the courtyard in front of the English teacher dormitory. An interesting group of people – from America, England, Canada, Australia, Ireland, the Philippines, and one from Russia – sat around a couple of patio tables. I made friends with Jack, a school teacher from Chicago, and Lisa, a Chinese American woman and former Houston police officer. She told me she's interested in Taoism. I'll loan to her one of the few books I brought with me: "Hua Hu Ching: the Unknown Teachings of Lao Tzu".
I got up at 5:30 on my first morning in Wuxi. I did a little unpacking, then went outside to do Tai Chi beside one of the pretty canals that crisscross the campus. On my way out of the dormitory I greeted a maintenance woman who was mopping the stairs. Later she came to the canal and dumped her bucket of water and rinsed her mop in the green water. I asked her in halting Chinese if there were any fish in the canal. "Yǒu yú,” she said with a smile and a nod – “Yes, there are fish.” I smiled and nodded in return. And I think that's when it really hit me: I'm in China!
The night before my departure I went outside and gazed up the full moon. I thought about Western and Eastern myths - rabbits and Cháng'é. And yet I knew I was looking at a place that was distant and real, not a myth. In China, where it’s now tomorrow, they've already seen tonight's moon. And China is also my tomorrow.
I'm now on the plane to Beijing. On my left is a young man from India, his wife and two children are in the seats across the aisle. The boy is screaming - it's his first flight. The poor little guy has a lot of traveling ahead of him. After a 12-hour flight they will change planes in Beijing and then fly another 8 hours to Delhi, where the moon is already waning. The man’s name is Baljit Kandola, and he’s from the town of Hiala, in Nawanshahr District, Punjab. I ask him to write his name in Punjabi in my notebook. It's beautiful, and I wish he'd fill an entire page with his script.
On my right sits Zhao Yu Ming from Beijing. He speaks no English. His wife, Wang Xuefeng, is writing in a notebook like mine with a pen like mine. Her handwriting is much neater than mine - her hànzì are small and elegant. I show her some of the Chinese I've written. She's surprised and delighted, and she also points out a few errors. I tell her "Xièxie nín!" (Thank you!)
I walk to the back of the plane and find some space to do Tai Chi. It works - to stretch my legs and calm my nerves.
I help myself to some more of the fragrant jasmine tea that was served earlier. I talk with some of my fellow travelers, including a filmmaker from Beijing who worked on the 2008 Olympics television production, and a young woman studying environmental science at Sun Yat-Sen University. We talk about the Three Gorges Dam, and she tells me that her professor believes the dam may have partly triggered last year’s earthquake.
I return to my seat and see that most of the overhead lights are now off. Some people are watching the movie "Hancock", with Chinese subtitles, while others are trying to sleep. Baljit Kandola's little boy is now asleep on the floor in front of his mother and sister, who are sleeping in they're seats. It’s quiet as we cruise high above the Bering Straight. But I don't know if I'll sleep. I think I'd rather stay awake and follow the moon around the earth. If I can, will it always be full?
2/12/09
Last night I arrived in Shanghai just after 11:00 p.m. and made it to my hotel near the airport by 11:30. I had been worried about going through customs because I've never been. There was nothing to worry about: they just waved me through, looking at nothing, asking no questions. Just another wàiguórén (foreigner), I guess.
This morning, in the lobby of the hotel, I met two men from Egypt. They were in China to start a joint Egyptian/Chinese business venture. One of them introduced himself as Ibrahim, and he wrote his name in my notebook, starting at the right-hand margin and writing from right to left, East to West.
2/13/09
Yesterday around dinnertime I arrived in Jiangsu Wuxi. Home at last!
After dropping luggage into our rooms, several of the new teachers and veterans met in the courtyard in front of the English teacher dormitory. An interesting group of people – from America, England, Canada, Australia, Ireland, the Philippines, and one from Russia – sat around a couple of patio tables. I made friends with Jack, a school teacher from Chicago, and Lisa, a Chinese American woman and former Houston police officer. She told me she's interested in Taoism. I'll loan to her one of the few books I brought with me: "Hua Hu Ching: the Unknown Teachings of Lao Tzu".
I got up at 5:30 on my first morning in Wuxi. I did a little unpacking, then went outside to do Tai Chi beside one of the pretty canals that crisscross the campus. On my way out of the dormitory I greeted a maintenance woman who was mopping the stairs. Later she came to the canal and dumped her bucket of water and rinsed her mop in the green water. I asked her in halting Chinese if there were any fish in the canal. "Yǒu yú,” she said with a smile and a nod – “Yes, there are fish.” I smiled and nodded in return. And I think that's when it really hit me: I'm in China!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Dēng Guàn Què Lóu
白 日 依 山 尽,
黄 河 入 海 流。
Those are the first two lines of the poem Dēng Guàn Què Lóu, (登 鹳 雀 楼, “Climbing Crane Tower”), by the Tang Dynasty poet Wang Zhihuan. It’s in my Chinese language textbook, and there’s also a recording of it on the CD. Chinese often memorize poetry, so I decided to memorize this one. I listened to the recording over and over and tried to imitate the rising and falling cadence, the tones, and the emphatic way each syllable is spoken. The mark of great poem: you don’t need to know what it means to be moved by it. The song in the video above has the same affect on me. The song, Tian Lu, (Heavenly Road), is sung by Han Hong.
My Chinese class ended last week. It covered only half of the textbook, so I’m continuing to work my way through the rest of it. Chapter Seven is longer and contains less pīnyīn, (Dēng Guàn Què Lóu), and more hànzì, (登 鹳 雀 楼). It’s a little scary to gaze at a page full of pen strokes that look nothing like a, b, and c. But it’s fun to be able to read an entire passage of Chinese. I know I’m still on the ground floor of Crane Tower.
I’m very happy about the teaching job I found. I’ll be teaching a writing class at Jiangnan University in Wuxi, Jiangsu Province. (See Favorite Web Sites for links.) I’ll fly from San Francisco on February 10th, change planes in Beijing, and arrive in Shanghai on the evening of the 11th. Looking for an English language teaching position in China was very different from the job hunting I’m used to. I wasn’t prepared to be offered so many jobs. That’s not about me but about the tremendous demand for English teachers in China. It’s the land of opportunity right now. If Horace Greeley were alive today I think he’d say “Go East, young man, go East and grow up with the country.”
Wàiguó rén (foreigners) living in China usually pick a Zhōngwén míngzi (Chinese name), and I still need to do that. For awhile I was thinking I’d name myself after one of my two favorite Chinese poets: Li Bai and Du Fu. Or maybe, since I like them both, use a combination: Li Fu or Du Bai. The latter is already the name of an Arab Emirate. Li Fu is still a possibility, but I recently had an inspiration – after watching “Kung Fu Panda”.
I watched the adventures of Po around the same time I was memorizing 登 鹳 雀 楼. I like Po because, even though he really should have stuck to making noodles, he persevered and kept his eye on his dream. I was thinking about the character in the movie called Crane, and about Wang Zhihuan’s poem, when a third thought popped into my head: I’m a tall, thin teacher, just like the famous American literary character Ichabod Crane! It was perfect! My Zhōngwén míngzi would include “crane” and would symbolize kung fu, Tang Dynasty poetry, a 19th century American ghost story, and my resemblance to a “scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.”
"The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield."
(“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving, 1820.)
I emailed my friend Song Yinan and asked him what he thought about Guàn Quèlóu, or Guànquè Lóu, or Lóu Guànquè. They all sounded good to me. “In China we don’t name people ‘crane’ or ‘tower’,” was Yinan’s reply. He did admit, however, that I reminded him of Crane in “Kung Fu Panda”. Okay, I’ll keep working on the Chinese name.
Speaking of Kung Fu, I’m really enjoying learning Tai Chi, (tàijíquán, 太极拳.) I’ve been going to a class every Saturday morning for a couple of months. I think I’ve learned about half of the 24 Yang Style forms. By “learned” I mean I know how I’m supposed to move – can’t say that I do it with ease and grace – ‘with wobbling, tipping, and knee-popping’ is more accurate. On the instructional DVD that I watch at home, Master Shu Dong Li says “Walk like a cat.”
黄 河 入 海 流。
Those are the first two lines of the poem Dēng Guàn Què Lóu, (登 鹳 雀 楼, “Climbing Crane Tower”), by the Tang Dynasty poet Wang Zhihuan. It’s in my Chinese language textbook, and there’s also a recording of it on the CD. Chinese often memorize poetry, so I decided to memorize this one. I listened to the recording over and over and tried to imitate the rising and falling cadence, the tones, and the emphatic way each syllable is spoken. The mark of great poem: you don’t need to know what it means to be moved by it. The song in the video above has the same affect on me. The song, Tian Lu, (Heavenly Road), is sung by Han Hong.
My Chinese class ended last week. It covered only half of the textbook, so I’m continuing to work my way through the rest of it. Chapter Seven is longer and contains less pīnyīn, (Dēng Guàn Què Lóu), and more hànzì, (登 鹳 雀 楼). It’s a little scary to gaze at a page full of pen strokes that look nothing like a, b, and c. But it’s fun to be able to read an entire passage of Chinese. I know I’m still on the ground floor of Crane Tower.
I’m very happy about the teaching job I found. I’ll be teaching a writing class at Jiangnan University in Wuxi, Jiangsu Province. (See Favorite Web Sites for links.) I’ll fly from San Francisco on February 10th, change planes in Beijing, and arrive in Shanghai on the evening of the 11th. Looking for an English language teaching position in China was very different from the job hunting I’m used to. I wasn’t prepared to be offered so many jobs. That’s not about me but about the tremendous demand for English teachers in China. It’s the land of opportunity right now. If Horace Greeley were alive today I think he’d say “Go East, young man, go East and grow up with the country.”
Wàiguó rén (foreigners) living in China usually pick a Zhōngwén míngzi (Chinese name), and I still need to do that. For awhile I was thinking I’d name myself after one of my two favorite Chinese poets: Li Bai and Du Fu. Or maybe, since I like them both, use a combination: Li Fu or Du Bai. The latter is already the name of an Arab Emirate. Li Fu is still a possibility, but I recently had an inspiration – after watching “Kung Fu Panda”.
I watched the adventures of Po around the same time I was memorizing 登 鹳 雀 楼. I like Po because, even though he really should have stuck to making noodles, he persevered and kept his eye on his dream. I was thinking about the character in the movie called Crane, and about Wang Zhihuan’s poem, when a third thought popped into my head: I’m a tall, thin teacher, just like the famous American literary character Ichabod Crane! It was perfect! My Zhōngwén míngzi would include “crane” and would symbolize kung fu, Tang Dynasty poetry, a 19th century American ghost story, and my resemblance to a “scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.”
"The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield."
(“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving, 1820.)
I emailed my friend Song Yinan and asked him what he thought about Guàn Quèlóu, or Guànquè Lóu, or Lóu Guànquè. They all sounded good to me. “In China we don’t name people ‘crane’ or ‘tower’,” was Yinan’s reply. He did admit, however, that I reminded him of Crane in “Kung Fu Panda”. Okay, I’ll keep working on the Chinese name.
Speaking of Kung Fu, I’m really enjoying learning Tai Chi, (tàijíquán, 太极拳.) I’ve been going to a class every Saturday morning for a couple of months. I think I’ve learned about half of the 24 Yang Style forms. By “learned” I mean I know how I’m supposed to move – can’t say that I do it with ease and grace – ‘with wobbling, tipping, and knee-popping’ is more accurate. On the instructional DVD that I watch at home, Master Shu Dong Li says “Walk like a cat.”
I talked about Tai Chi in my Chinese class presentation. We had to write a fifty sentence Self-Introduction and recite it in front of the class. Tai Chi helped me with the memorizing – I did Part the Wild Horse’s Mane and White Crane Spreads its Wings, (the crane again!), back and forth in my living room while memorizing one sentence at a time. I take the bus to San Francisco every Friday, and while waiting at the bus stop I would Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail, form the Single Whip, or just balance on one foot like the Karate Kid, while repeating, “Nǐmen hǎo. Wǒ xīng Losey, wǒ jiào Losey Ken. Nǐmen kěyǐ jiào wǒ Ken. Wǒ shì Měiguó rén,” etc. (Note: no problem doing this in San Francisco, but in Santa Rosa I got some strange looks.)
Here’s what I said about Tai Chi in my presentation:
Tàijíquán hěn nánxué, dànshì wǒ xǐhuān.
Tai Chi is difficult to learn, but I like it.
Xuéxí tàijíquán pínghéng hěn zhòngyào.
When learning Tai Chi balance is very important.
Wǒde shīfu shuō zhè jiù hé xiànshí shēnghuó yī yàng.
My teacher says this is true about life, too.
Tā shuō yīqiè dōu zài xúnhuán.
He says that everything moves in a circle.
Mù qián wǒ bù dǒng tāde yìsi.
Right now I don’t understand what he means.
Kěnéng dāng wǒ zài Zhōngguó zhù yí duàn shíjiān hòu
Maybe after I've lived in China for awhile
wǒ jiù huì dǒng de zhège dàolǐ.
I will understand this idea.
My knowledge of Chinese, my understanding of Chinese poetry, (and Chinese naming customs), my Tai Chi skills. . . I wonder if I’ll have enough time, I wonder if there’s enough time left, to make it even half way up Crane Tower. Well, since I don’t have noodle making to fall back on, I guess I’ll just press onward – and upward if I’m lucky. Most importantly, I want to be yí wèi hǎo lǎoshī – a good teacher. I want to feel that I’ve helped some students climb one story higher. And besides, now I have a mission: to find out if there really is such a thing as the dreaded Wuxi finger hold.
登 鹳 雀 楼
(唐) 王 之涣
白 日 依 山 尽,
黄 河 入 海 流。
欲 穷 千 里 目,
更 上 一 层 楼。
Dēng Guàn Què Lóu
(Táng) Wáng Zhīhuàn
Bái rì yī shān jìn,
Huáng Hé rù hǎi liú.
Yù qióng qiān lǐ mú,
Gèng shàng yì céng lóu.
Climbing Crane Tower
(Tang) Wang Zhihuan
The white sun sets behind the mountain.
The Yellow River flows into the sea.
If you want to see another thousand li,
You must climb one story higher.
Pine Peak, Yellow Mountain
Photo by Don Hong-Oai
Saturday, August 9, 2008
First Lessons
The first week of class went well, but was also exhausting. I catch a 6:45 a.m. Golden Gate Transit bus from Rohnert Park and arrive in San Francisco at 8:15. I get home after 7:00 p.m.
Before class starts at 9:30 I walk around Chinatown, sipping hot chá, sometimes with a dumpling or some coconut bread. I like listening to the chatter of the produce vendors and morning shoppers on Stockton Street – even though I can’t understand anything – many of them are speaking Cantonese. One day I spoke a little Mandarin with an elderly woman selling newspapers. I also have wǔfàn (lunch) in Chinatown. I need more practice using chopsticks.
My teachers are excellent and my fellow students – there are 13 of us – are an interesting group. Apparently this school – Transworld Schools (see Favorite Web Sites) – has a good reputation. There are three people from out of state: New York, New Orleans, and Japan. Most of the students are planning to stay in the U.S. to teach – in their home states or in SF. But a few like me are headed overseas. Bryan and Lisan, a couple from San Jose, (he's Vietnamese, she's Indonesian), already have teaching jobs lined up in Sihanouk City, Cambodia – they fly out one week after getting their certificates. John, another student, has taught in Ho Chi Minh City and plans to return to his job there. I’m hoping to find a job in a southern Chinese city – Guiyang, Nanning, or Kunming.
In addition to the ESL teacher training program the school offers ESL classes to non-English speakers, and so we'll be doing plenty of practice teaching. We taught our first lesson on Wednesday, and another on Friday. It was harder than I thought it was going to be. It's often a challenge to get young, shy students from Japan, Korea, China, Turkey, etc. to talk English. But they’re friendly, thankful, and eager to learn. I'm looking forward to improving and gaining more confidence as a teacher.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Jia
I wrote a story and a couple of prose poems about a character named Jia, a Chinese woman who is a Tai Chi master and a teacher of Mandarin and the guzheng. I had no idea what the name meant in Chinese – I just liked the sound of it and thought it would make a good character name. A friend told me recently that she thought it was a good choice, because Jia means “home”.
I will soon be going back to school to become a teacher of English as a second language, and I’m also learning Chinese. With luck in a few months I’ll be living and teaching English somewhere in China. The character Jia was inspired by my friend Susan, who really is a Tai Chi master. How interesting and ironic that when I’m about to begin an adventure that will take me far from family and friends, I unwittingly pick this name for my muse. Jia will be in my heart wherever I go.
I will soon be going back to school to become a teacher of English as a second language, and I’m also learning Chinese. With luck in a few months I’ll be living and teaching English somewhere in China. The character Jia was inspired by my friend Susan, who really is a Tai Chi master. How interesting and ironic that when I’m about to begin an adventure that will take me far from family and friends, I unwittingly pick this name for my muse. Jia will be in my heart wherever I go.
Emissary
Summer night, glass of red wine, pen and paper . . . cricket outside my window.
Are you laughing at my loneliness, small friend, or are you calling to a loved one?
Jia is only 65 miles away, but might as well be 65,000 – from here to Huangguoshu Waterfall. No mountain ranges or swift rivers separate us – only streams of concrete – and our languages, our dreams, our fears, our loves, our ghosts.
My glass is empty now, so I’ll write a funny poem to make us laugh – you and me, Mr. Cricket.
Or are you an emissary and this noise is Jia’s message? I know, let’s all speak your language for a change.
Was she playing the guzheng? How much better my poetry would be if written to her lovely version of “Spring on Snowy Mountains” – rather than your noisy serenade. Or, glass of white wine in hand, has she gone outside to gaze at the moon?
Okay, you win! I’ll come outside instead of write. I had nothing good to say anyway – only wine-soaked words of longing and self-pity.
Yes, she is beautiful on this summer night.
Now jump to it, my friend! Back to the peonies below Jia’s window. Quick! Jump a thousand leagues and then a thousand more! Tell her I understood the message. Tell her that I too am gazing up at the moon, and that tonight, moon-gazing, we are together.
Summer night, glass of red wine, pen and paper . . . cricket outside my window.
Are you laughing at my loneliness, small friend, or are you calling to a loved one?
Jia is only 65 miles away, but might as well be 65,000 – from here to Huangguoshu Waterfall. No mountain ranges or swift rivers separate us – only streams of concrete – and our languages, our dreams, our fears, our loves, our ghosts.
My glass is empty now, so I’ll write a funny poem to make us laugh – you and me, Mr. Cricket.
Or are you an emissary and this noise is Jia’s message? I know, let’s all speak your language for a change.
Was she playing the guzheng? How much better my poetry would be if written to her lovely version of “Spring on Snowy Mountains” – rather than your noisy serenade. Or, glass of white wine in hand, has she gone outside to gaze at the moon?
Okay, you win! I’ll come outside instead of write. I had nothing good to say anyway – only wine-soaked words of longing and self-pity.
Yes, she is beautiful on this summer night.
Now jump to it, my friend! Back to the peonies below Jia’s window. Quick! Jump a thousand leagues and then a thousand more! Tell her I understood the message. Tell her that I too am gazing up at the moon, and that tonight, moon-gazing, we are together.
7/29/08
Santa Rosa
Santa Rosa
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