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The Crane's Bill: Zen Poems of China and Japan
English, Chinese (translation)
143 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1973
3 people are currently reading
66 people want to read
About the author
Lucien Stryk
58 books12 followersLucien Stryk was born in Poland in 1924, and moved to the United States in 1927.
He was a student of the Indiana University Bloomington, the University of Maryland, the Sorbonne, the University of London, and the University of Iowa.
He was a student of the Indiana University Bloomington, the University of Maryland, the Sorbonne, the University of London, and the University of Iowa.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
October 9, 2018
Constantly flipping back and forth between the poems themselves and the commentary required to understand them is exhausting but necessary. Without the historical and often very personal context behind each poem, they can seem a little lacking and repetitive. But spending time with each poem, reading and rereading, and going back to the footnotes for more explanation leads to some enlightening moments, to borrow a phrase. Overall, a calming and inner-eye-opening experience. I did read it straight through a second time immediately after finishing it.
May 4, 2012
As a writer and student of poetry, I'm often interested in different forms and how they are applied. I have already been exposed to the poetic form of haiku (Japanese syllabic poetry of three lines in 5-7-5 syllables). In 'Zen Poems of China and Japan:The Crane's Bill', which is expertly translated, compiled, and commented on by Lucien Stryk and Takashi Ikemoto, I was introduced to some spectacular poetry by both these exceptional countries of art, philosophy, and spiritual depth, segmented in three sections respectively, “Death”, “Enlightenment”, and “General”. There are mostly four-line poetry, more in the style of the western free-verse form, but not strictly so, as there are longer lengths of poetry scattered throughout, which is a misnomer, because Zen poetry is not restricted, in fact, tends to ignore, stylistic trends (Zen Poems of China and Japan:The Crane's Bill, xx). One must also consider the fact that, “In considering Zen verse, one must take note not only of the Zen principal, but of Zen dynamism or activity (zenki in Japanese) as well...(ibid.). Thus, the reason for including the obvious “Enlightenment” section of the book, but of the sections “Death” and “General”, as well. As one would expect of a great Christian poet, who can see the Christian ethic observed in all of life (See Gerard Manley Hopkins', 'Pied Beauty' or 'The Windhover'), the same would be true of the Buddhist experience of Zen, in which the religious experience and maturity would be expected from one who claims a certain depth in their religious development. One gets plenty of these from this fine anthology of poems, 151 in all (and more in the notes in the back of the book).
Though I cannot at this time cite this insight by the late Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki, I know it is in his introduction to 'Zen and Japanese Culture', where he states that Western art is too involved in covering the canvas (or having too much verbiage, if we extend the metaphor to literature), where in the East, especially in China and Japan, the tendency is to let the spaces have breathing room in order to speak and express itself. This is certainly true of these poems, where one is trying to express the inexpressible. While like free-verse in the west, it is vocabulary intensive, where the right words literally expresses volumes, what is unlike the west is that its length is considerably shorter, as mentioned above, giving it a compactness that feels complete and not overbearing, as does some of its Western counterparts. The poems on the subject of Enlightenment, where as the time draws closer, a Zen teacher, master, or layperson may set their thoughts succinctly in only a few brief lines, illustrate. Here is one of the Chinese poems on this subject:
Arms stretching from the precipice, finally
I'm free. Horizon's flat now, the ravine's
Lit up without the moon. On the hermitage
Gate hangs a luminous bamboo screen.
-Koseisoku 12c. (12)
There are some beautiful imagery included in this poem. The view of the horizon before any moonlight, the “luminous bamboo screen”. But the other words, as “precipice” and “free” strikes a tone that shows that all is not what it seemed, for he is looking at his view of life in the enlightened state, the precipice being freed from that of the “great doubt” of Buddhist thought, into the life of satori (Jap. Enlightenment), and therefore, the beginning of zenki, as stated above. The “hermitage” from which, “[the] Gate hangs a luminous bamboo screen”(ibid.) , is a beautiful re-telling of that which is mundane, the scene before Koseisoku. There is no fawning, no extenuating emotional attachment to the beautiful experience Koseisoku has, but we as readers are drawn to this moment eleven centuries in the past because there is no embellishment. The poem works both as an example of fine art, as well as an example of one's state of mind in a full awareness, in terms of Buddhist thinking. This strikes a similar sentiment as in Chi'ing-yuan's famous “mountains are mountains” (note 17, 98).
This combination of simplicity and compactness can also be seen in both the Chinese and Japanese sections, “Death”. These are not merely epitaphs for ones memorial, nor is it a autobiographical obituary. Rather, they are testimonies to the continuity of ones enlightenment, as well as an awareness that is clear, coherent, and indeed sharp in the midst of a person's knowing that life is very close at hand. In fact, some of these poems included in this collection are poems by individuals who were to die within a matter of minutes or hours. One such example is shown in the Japanese section of the death poems:
What's life? What's death?
I blast the Void.
Winds spring up
In every quarter.
-Yuzan 1301-70 (65)
Yuzan's almost audacious attitude is explicit in this poem. With the first line, “What's life? What's death?”, one can almost imagine a Rabbinical retort to some sort of sarcastic remark about the afterlife. Yet, this is exactly what it is. Liberated from attachments, Yuzan can joyously proclaim his liberation here, at the final moments of life. “[blasting the Void” Sanskrit: “sunyata”;“emptiness”] does not have the same nihilistic meaning as it does in the West. Here we see that the “winds spring up in every quarter.” as it would seem that rather than being nothing, emptiness is the negation of both emptiness and form (see the Prajnaparamita Sutra for a better look at what is being expressed in Yuzan's poem). There is certainly an energy given in this poem. It is hardly the surrender at the deathbed as in some other accounts, both East and West. There is no fear or sadness inherent in this small work. In fact, the attitude illustrated here resembles that of the Desert Fathers, a group of ascetics who lived in the Scetes deserts in Egypt in the third century.
We go back to the Chinese section to show the last of the categories in this collection of poetry. In “General”, we find everyday life interpreted Zen fashion. In one of the very few titled poems, “The Dream Palace”, we read the following:
The grand Dream Palace, six windows shut-
How refreshing the breeze across my pillow.
Such as always been Buddhas and Patriarchs.
Peals from the belfry-I listen to each.
-Kaiseki 13 c. (33)
A way to look at this is through the lens of Buddhism; “The grand Dream Palace” is the human body, its “six windows” representing the Buddhist six senses, including mind and intellect. The symbolism is common in Zen poetry...” (109), and we can also see that this poem is pregnant with the Buddhist notions of impermanence and liberation from such. But there is also the lovely images of “refreshing breezes” and “peals from the belfry”. Even the “six windows shut” has the double meaning of the senses and windows to the outside world, as it suggests here. Could he be laying down? Is that what is intimated in “the breeze across my pillow”? Whatever the scene in actuality, there can be no denying the power, in so little wording and illustration, that this poem brings in so concise a form. It shows that indeed, the spaces are as important as the imprint the ink makes on the paper, in this case, in poetry.
There are so many wonderful poems to peruse through. I would suggest that one read these works slowly, in order to “experience” these moments that Zen, in its philosophy, calls individuals to; to be present in the very moments without attachments. I would also suggest that one read the forward, by Taigan Takayama, the introduction, by Takashi Ikemoto, and the Preface: Zen Poetry, by Lucien Stryk, as well as the notes to all of the poems at the end of the book. All of these primers will help the novice to Zen thought at least the rudimentary elements of Zen Buddhism that is pertinent to Zen Poetry, as well as a better grounding to the art that makes this type of poetry possible. In the end, I hope that this will be a pleasant joy for you as it has for me.
Though I cannot at this time cite this insight by the late Daisetsu Teitaro Suzuki, I know it is in his introduction to 'Zen and Japanese Culture', where he states that Western art is too involved in covering the canvas (or having too much verbiage, if we extend the metaphor to literature), where in the East, especially in China and Japan, the tendency is to let the spaces have breathing room in order to speak and express itself. This is certainly true of these poems, where one is trying to express the inexpressible. While like free-verse in the west, it is vocabulary intensive, where the right words literally expresses volumes, what is unlike the west is that its length is considerably shorter, as mentioned above, giving it a compactness that feels complete and not overbearing, as does some of its Western counterparts. The poems on the subject of Enlightenment, where as the time draws closer, a Zen teacher, master, or layperson may set their thoughts succinctly in only a few brief lines, illustrate. Here is one of the Chinese poems on this subject:
Arms stretching from the precipice, finally
I'm free. Horizon's flat now, the ravine's
Lit up without the moon. On the hermitage
Gate hangs a luminous bamboo screen.
-Koseisoku 12c. (12)
There are some beautiful imagery included in this poem. The view of the horizon before any moonlight, the “luminous bamboo screen”. But the other words, as “precipice” and “free” strikes a tone that shows that all is not what it seemed, for he is looking at his view of life in the enlightened state, the precipice being freed from that of the “great doubt” of Buddhist thought, into the life of satori (Jap. Enlightenment), and therefore, the beginning of zenki, as stated above. The “hermitage” from which, “[the] Gate hangs a luminous bamboo screen”(ibid.) , is a beautiful re-telling of that which is mundane, the scene before Koseisoku. There is no fawning, no extenuating emotional attachment to the beautiful experience Koseisoku has, but we as readers are drawn to this moment eleven centuries in the past because there is no embellishment. The poem works both as an example of fine art, as well as an example of one's state of mind in a full awareness, in terms of Buddhist thinking. This strikes a similar sentiment as in Chi'ing-yuan's famous “mountains are mountains” (note 17, 98).
This combination of simplicity and compactness can also be seen in both the Chinese and Japanese sections, “Death”. These are not merely epitaphs for ones memorial, nor is it a autobiographical obituary. Rather, they are testimonies to the continuity of ones enlightenment, as well as an awareness that is clear, coherent, and indeed sharp in the midst of a person's knowing that life is very close at hand. In fact, some of these poems included in this collection are poems by individuals who were to die within a matter of minutes or hours. One such example is shown in the Japanese section of the death poems:
What's life? What's death?
I blast the Void.
Winds spring up
In every quarter.
-Yuzan 1301-70 (65)
Yuzan's almost audacious attitude is explicit in this poem. With the first line, “What's life? What's death?”, one can almost imagine a Rabbinical retort to some sort of sarcastic remark about the afterlife. Yet, this is exactly what it is. Liberated from attachments, Yuzan can joyously proclaim his liberation here, at the final moments of life. “[blasting the Void” Sanskrit: “sunyata”;“emptiness”] does not have the same nihilistic meaning as it does in the West. Here we see that the “winds spring up in every quarter.” as it would seem that rather than being nothing, emptiness is the negation of both emptiness and form (see the Prajnaparamita Sutra for a better look at what is being expressed in Yuzan's poem). There is certainly an energy given in this poem. It is hardly the surrender at the deathbed as in some other accounts, both East and West. There is no fear or sadness inherent in this small work. In fact, the attitude illustrated here resembles that of the Desert Fathers, a group of ascetics who lived in the Scetes deserts in Egypt in the third century.
We go back to the Chinese section to show the last of the categories in this collection of poetry. In “General”, we find everyday life interpreted Zen fashion. In one of the very few titled poems, “The Dream Palace”, we read the following:
The grand Dream Palace, six windows shut-
How refreshing the breeze across my pillow.
Such as always been Buddhas and Patriarchs.
Peals from the belfry-I listen to each.
-Kaiseki 13 c. (33)
A way to look at this is through the lens of Buddhism; “The grand Dream Palace” is the human body, its “six windows” representing the Buddhist six senses, including mind and intellect. The symbolism is common in Zen poetry...” (109), and we can also see that this poem is pregnant with the Buddhist notions of impermanence and liberation from such. But there is also the lovely images of “refreshing breezes” and “peals from the belfry”. Even the “six windows shut” has the double meaning of the senses and windows to the outside world, as it suggests here. Could he be laying down? Is that what is intimated in “the breeze across my pillow”? Whatever the scene in actuality, there can be no denying the power, in so little wording and illustration, that this poem brings in so concise a form. It shows that indeed, the spaces are as important as the imprint the ink makes on the paper, in this case, in poetry.
There are so many wonderful poems to peruse through. I would suggest that one read these works slowly, in order to “experience” these moments that Zen, in its philosophy, calls individuals to; to be present in the very moments without attachments. I would also suggest that one read the forward, by Taigan Takayama, the introduction, by Takashi Ikemoto, and the Preface: Zen Poetry, by Lucien Stryk, as well as the notes to all of the poems at the end of the book. All of these primers will help the novice to Zen thought at least the rudimentary elements of Zen Buddhism that is pertinent to Zen Poetry, as well as a better grounding to the art that makes this type of poetry possible. In the end, I hope that this will be a pleasant joy for you as it has for me.
June 24, 2013
A collection I have been revisiting. These are poems that one doesn't just read. There are more than 150 poems in this collection from different Zen traditions, cultures and centuries. One should meditate carefully over each poem. Of course that should not keep you from simply reading them and enjoying them as well.
May 27, 2021
This is a nice sampling of Zen poetry from the 9th century to the 19th century. The introduction and preface by the translators are good commentaries on Chinese and Japanese Zen traditions. The poems are fine examples of contemplation written concisely and sparsely.
The perfect way out:
There's no past/present/future.
Dawn after dawn, the sun!
Night after night, the moon!
--Getsudo (1285-1361)
The perfect way out:
There's no past/present/future.
Dawn after dawn, the sun!
Night after night, the moon!
--Getsudo (1285-1361)
Read
August 26, 2021I found this not very stimulating as poetry, though some of the imagery is quite beautiful and unique. I view this more as micro-philosophy, almost like a koan. Viewed as such it's rather thought-provoking and reveals a different side to Zen.
August 21, 2025
The introduction to the book is informative, but the essence of the poems themselves continues to elude .....
May 5, 2022
Stryk is a reliable translator (and more than able poet himself).
Great stuff.
Great stuff.
October 26, 2021
150 poems which capture the four main “moods” of Zen: Sabi (which I would loosely describe as solitude), Wabi (humbleness), Aware (transience), and Yugen (mystic calm). A little uneven but a nice mix across Chinese and Japanese poets; I also liked the inclusion of this poem in the introduction from modern poet Shinkichi Takahashi so much that I find myself saying it at times when I’m in a forest:
The wind blows hard among the pines
Toward the beginning
Of an endless past.
Listen: you’ve heard everything.
Others:
On death, from Tokken (1244-1319):
Seventy-six years,
Unborn, undying:
Clouds break up,
Moon sails on.
On death, from Dogen (1200-1253):
Four and fifty years
I’ve hung the sky with stars.
Now I leap through –
What shattering!
On death, from Shoten (11th century):
Leaving, where to go? Staying, where?
Which to choose? I stand aloof.
To whom speak my parting words? The galaxy,
White, immense. A crescent moon.
On enlightenment, from Shinsho:
Does one really have to fret
About enlightenment?
No matter what road I travel,
I’m going home.
On learning by being quiet, from Kakua:
Fisting, shouting like a petty merchant,
Saying, yes, no: quicksand.
Cease pointing, explaining. Keep quiet.
There: now hear the flutist coming home?
On solitude, from Zengetsu (833-912):
Mind, mind, mind – above the Path.
Here on my mountain, gray hair down,
I cherish bamboo sprouts, brush carefully
By pine twigs. Burning incense,
I open a book: mist over flagstones.
Rolling the blind, I contemplate:
Moon in the pond. Of my old friends,
How many know the Way?
As well as this one from Zengetsu, which I love:
A vegetarian in shabby robe, my spirit’s
Like the harvest moon – free, life through.
Asked where I dwell, I’ll say:
In green water, on the blue mountain.
On transience, from Dogen:
The world? Moonlit
Drops shaken
From the crane’s bill.
The wind blows hard among the pines
Toward the beginning
Of an endless past.
Listen: you’ve heard everything.
Others:
On death, from Tokken (1244-1319):
Seventy-six years,
Unborn, undying:
Clouds break up,
Moon sails on.
On death, from Dogen (1200-1253):
Four and fifty years
I’ve hung the sky with stars.
Now I leap through –
What shattering!
On death, from Shoten (11th century):
Leaving, where to go? Staying, where?
Which to choose? I stand aloof.
To whom speak my parting words? The galaxy,
White, immense. A crescent moon.
On enlightenment, from Shinsho:
Does one really have to fret
About enlightenment?
No matter what road I travel,
I’m going home.
On learning by being quiet, from Kakua:
Fisting, shouting like a petty merchant,
Saying, yes, no: quicksand.
Cease pointing, explaining. Keep quiet.
There: now hear the flutist coming home?
On solitude, from Zengetsu (833-912):
Mind, mind, mind – above the Path.
Here on my mountain, gray hair down,
I cherish bamboo sprouts, brush carefully
By pine twigs. Burning incense,
I open a book: mist over flagstones.
Rolling the blind, I contemplate:
Moon in the pond. Of my old friends,
How many know the Way?
As well as this one from Zengetsu, which I love:
A vegetarian in shabby robe, my spirit’s
Like the harvest moon – free, life through.
Asked where I dwell, I’ll say:
In green water, on the blue mountain.
On transience, from Dogen:
The world? Moonlit
Drops shaken
From the crane’s bill.
March 28, 2007
Everywhere I went when I was 19, this book went with me. It was my version of The Way of a Pilgrim.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews