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.”

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

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.

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.

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.

7/29/08
Santa Rosa