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The Mountain Poems of Meng Hao-Jan
The first full flowering of Chinese poetry occurred in the illustrious T’ang Dynasty, and at the beginning of this renaissance stands Meng Hao-jan (689-740 c.e.), esteemed elder to a long line of China’s greatest poets. Deeply influenced by Ch’an (Zen) Buddhism, Meng was the first to make poetry from the Ch’an insight that deep understanding lies beyond words. The result was a strikingly distilled language that opened new inner depths, non-verbal insights, and outright enigma. This made Meng Hao-jan China’s first master of the short imagistic landscape poem that came to typify ancient Chinese poetry. And as a lifelong intimacy with mountains dominates Meng’s work, such innovative poetics made him a preeminent figure in the wilderness (literally rivers-and-mountains) tradition, and that tradition is the very heart of Chinese poetry.
This is the first English translation devoted to the work of Meng Hao-jan. Meng’s poetic descendents revered the wisdom he cultivated as a mountain recluse, and now we too can witness the sagacity they considered almost indistinguishable from that of rivers and mountains themselves.
This is the first English translation devoted to the work of Meng Hao-jan. Meng’s poetic descendents revered the wisdom he cultivated as a mountain recluse, and now we too can witness the sagacity they considered almost indistinguishable from that of rivers and mountains themselves.
81 pages, Paperback
First published January 5, 2004
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
January 14, 2018
The unceasing Hinton again presents us with a long overdue selection of an outstanding Chinese poet. Meng is one of the exemplars of the 山水詩 tradition, a kind of rural lyricism focused on nature, but also our place in it as part of the natural processes of the world. Meng was at his peak in the first half of the 8th century but, like his peers, his poetry is so much better than anything else you'll probably ever read--gentle and frankly unsettling in its quiet, seething appeal.
October 11, 2025
7/7 in a strange village, at a transit inn,
the grief of distant wandering sharpens.
No girls busy threading festive needles,
thoughts of my homeland towers empty,
tangled winds thin summer heat away.
A new moon rises. It climbs into autumn.
Who can bear those Star River distances?
I gaze deep, deep and far, Dipper and Ox.
the grief of distant wandering sharpens.
No girls busy threading festive needles,
thoughts of my homeland towers empty,
tangled winds thin summer heat away.
A new moon rises. It climbs into autumn.
Who can bear those Star River distances?
I gaze deep, deep and far, Dipper and Ox.
September 2, 2016
What's not to like? Mountain poems of an older sort and, to me, not as sophisticated as some of the later ones in the tradition, but foundational. Makes me want to read more! And I enjoyed the translation. All good.
February 4, 2015
"Early Plums
Challenging winter in the garden, early plums blossom.
It’s the same every year: girls clamber into them, cut down limbs,
parade blossoms home to grace mirrors.
Looking’s just not enough,
they all exult,
dying to set out with their clippers again."
Challenging winter in the garden, early plums blossom.
It’s the same every year: girls clamber into them, cut down limbs,
parade blossoms home to grace mirrors.
Looking’s just not enough,
they all exult,
dying to set out with their clippers again."
April 26, 2024
[Please pardon my rant. I have some opinions about 1300-year-old poetry. :)]
The 4 stars are for the poems. (I wonder if it would be a 5 under different circumstances.)
3 for the translation. Barely.
I'm sure the translator is a lovely human, but I struggle to enjoy anything he's translated, at least out of the three books of his I've read so far. (Fool me three times...) One of those was an award-winning translation, so I'm likely an outlier--lots of people obviously thought it was awesome when I didn't. But I bet you money I could identify his translation of a random poem among a dozen others, and not because I love it. (I wouldn't even have to read it, tbh. A glance would serve. He always splits his 8-line poems into 4 pairs of lines. And they're almost always of near-equal length, even if he has to rearrange line breaks to do it.)
Grrr. I object.
(I am perfectly serious, though less impassioned than it might appear. It's fine. I'm fine.)
I like the tone and imagery of these poems. I like the topics. I appreciate the mountain and river locations found in them and the emotions they conjure. There are chunks of the poems here and there I love, and a couple poems work for me from start to finish.
Most don't, however, and that's what I always find with this translator. More than with any other translator of this kind of poetry, I find myself at the end of a poem, realizing I got nothing from any of the lines. I feel like I'm waiting for the verb that never arrives. ("The blue-lotus roof standing beside a pond,/ White-horse Creek tumbling through forests,// and my old friend some strange thing now." Wait what? Reread.)
I get it, the way Chinese poetry is elliptical and evocative, not necessarily grammatical or including complete thoughts. I'm used to that. But he removes most of the cues that a reader uses to parse Chinese poetry into meaningful chunks. He separates what should (IMO) be connected and connects what should (IMO) be kept separate.
Here, in a poem about oranges:
I feel like he could have helped us out a little more. I put a pause at the end of the line, after "she plucks." Oops. Nope. "She plucks *treasures*." Okay. Then she is touched... no. Who is touched? "We" are? Isn't that a dangling modifier? And what is "reflections" doing there, stuck in the middle? She's reflecting? She sees reflections? The poet is reflecting? Or is it more concrete than that? It's a noun all on its own. I don't get it.
There are a few notes in the back for some of the poems, and they help, but not too much.
For those who like their poetry to be like puzzles to work out, little riddles, this is probably a good choice. For those (me, I'm talking about) who like to read poetry and connect with the poet's thoughts without the language fighting back, this is a frustrating collection.
Don't rat me out to the author.
Finish on the positive
I still love many of the lines and several of the poems, and the paperback edition is actually very nice, very beautiful. Maybe I'll reread this in a year or two and take back all my ranting.
The 4 stars are for the poems. (I wonder if it would be a 5 under different circumstances.)
3 for the translation. Barely.
I'm sure the translator is a lovely human, but I struggle to enjoy anything he's translated, at least out of the three books of his I've read so far. (Fool me three times...) One of those was an award-winning translation, so I'm likely an outlier--lots of people obviously thought it was awesome when I didn't. But I bet you money I could identify his translation of a random poem among a dozen others, and not because I love it. (I wouldn't even have to read it, tbh. A glance would serve. He always splits his 8-line poems into 4 pairs of lines. And they're almost always of near-equal length, even if he has to rearrange line breaks to do it.)
Grrr. I object.
(I am perfectly serious, though less impassioned than it might appear. It's fine. I'm fine.)
I like the tone and imagery of these poems. I like the topics. I appreciate the mountain and river locations found in them and the emotions they conjure. There are chunks of the poems here and there I love, and a couple poems work for me from start to finish.
Most don't, however, and that's what I always find with this translator. More than with any other translator of this kind of poetry, I find myself at the end of a poem, realizing I got nothing from any of the lines. I feel like I'm waiting for the verb that never arrives. ("The blue-lotus roof standing beside a pond,/ White-horse Creek tumbling through forests,// and my old friend some strange thing now." Wait what? Reread.)
I get it, the way Chinese poetry is elliptical and evocative, not necessarily grammatical or including complete thoughts. I'm used to that. But he removes most of the cues that a reader uses to parse Chinese poetry into meaningful chunks. He separates what should (IMO) be connected and connects what should (IMO) be kept separate.
Here, in a poem about oranges:
Clambering into branches, she plucks
treasures, opening hidden depths to view,
and touched at how they grow in pairs,
reflections, we feel this mind we share.
I feel like he could have helped us out a little more. I put a pause at the end of the line, after "she plucks." Oops. Nope. "She plucks *treasures*." Okay. Then she is touched... no. Who is touched? "We" are? Isn't that a dangling modifier? And what is "reflections" doing there, stuck in the middle? She's reflecting? She sees reflections? The poet is reflecting? Or is it more concrete than that? It's a noun all on its own. I don't get it.
There are a few notes in the back for some of the poems, and they help, but not too much.
For those who like their poetry to be like puzzles to work out, little riddles, this is probably a good choice. For those (me, I'm talking about) who like to read poetry and connect with the poet's thoughts without the language fighting back, this is a frustrating collection.
Don't rat me out to the author.
Finish on the positive
I still love many of the lines and several of the poems, and the paperback edition is actually very nice, very beautiful. Maybe I'll reread this in a year or two and take back all my ranting.
Read
January 29, 2024"On the summit, sudden winds wild,/
a cloud sails by like a startled bird."
"Don't worry about dark roads. We'll invite/
old moon: always a friend for the way home."
"idleness: Etymologically, the character for idleness (hsien) connotes 'profound serenity and quietness,' its pictographic elements rendering moonlight shining through open courtyard gates. This idleness is a kind of meditative participation in the spontaneous burgeoning forth of occurrence, free of the self-conscious intention that seems to separate us from that process. In idleness, daily life becomes the essence of spiritual practice."
a cloud sails by like a startled bird."
"Don't worry about dark roads. We'll invite/
old moon: always a friend for the way home."
"idleness: Etymologically, the character for idleness (hsien) connotes 'profound serenity and quietness,' its pictographic elements rendering moonlight shining through open courtyard gates. This idleness is a kind of meditative participation in the spontaneous burgeoning forth of occurrence, free of the self-conscious intention that seems to separate us from that process. In idleness, daily life becomes the essence of spiritual practice."
August 18, 2025
I was disappointed. I usually like zen poems, but none of these appealed to me.
November 17, 2025
Gorgeous imagery but the poems feel repetitive after a while.
Full review to come soon.
Full review to come soon.
September 1, 2025
This collection focuses solely on Meng's work, highlighting his role as a pioneer in a poetic tradition that blends Zen Buddhist philosophy with the celebration of landscape.
Meng Hao-Jan, often described as an elder to many of China's greatest poets, was deeply influenced by Ch'an (Zen) Buddhism, which taught that true understanding transcends words. His poems reflect this philosophy, delivering insights through sparse, imagistic language that evokes the tranquility and mystery of nature. The poems in this collection focus on mountains, rivers, and the contemplative life of a recluse, embodying the heart of Chinese poetry's wilderness tradition.
Each poem serves as a meditation on the natural world, human solitude, and the fleeting nature of life. Hinton's introduction provides valuable context, situating Meng within the broader scope of Tang poetry and Ch'an thought.
The poems are brief but resonant, often painting vivid pictures of dawn breaking over mountains or the silent beauty of autumn, inviting readers to reflect on their place within the vastness of nature. They are not merely descriptions but invitations to experience the world through a lens of Zen contemplation, where each image is a pathway to deeper understanding.
This collection is a testament to Meng's enduring influence, offering moments of serenity and philosophical insight in a world that often moves too fast. A timeless addition to the canon of translated poetry.
Meng Hao-Jan, often described as an elder to many of China's greatest poets, was deeply influenced by Ch'an (Zen) Buddhism, which taught that true understanding transcends words. His poems reflect this philosophy, delivering insights through sparse, imagistic language that evokes the tranquility and mystery of nature. The poems in this collection focus on mountains, rivers, and the contemplative life of a recluse, embodying the heart of Chinese poetry's wilderness tradition.
Each poem serves as a meditation on the natural world, human solitude, and the fleeting nature of life. Hinton's introduction provides valuable context, situating Meng within the broader scope of Tang poetry and Ch'an thought.
The poems are brief but resonant, often painting vivid pictures of dawn breaking over mountains or the silent beauty of autumn, inviting readers to reflect on their place within the vastness of nature. They are not merely descriptions but invitations to experience the world through a lens of Zen contemplation, where each image is a pathway to deeper understanding.
This collection is a testament to Meng's enduring influence, offering moments of serenity and philosophical insight in a world that often moves too fast. A timeless addition to the canon of translated poetry.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews