Hanshan (poet) - Biography

Biography

“If the reader wishes to know the biography of Han-shan, he must deduce it from the poems themselves.”

No one knows who wrote the Cold Mountain poetry, though it has inspired the poets of many generations and cultures. The poems were found written on the rocks in a remote region in China’s Tien Tai Mountains, on the coast south of Shanghai and Hangchou. They tell the story of a gentle recluse, born in the T’ang Dynasty, more than a thousand years ago, and of his long life in the mountains as a “guest” of Nature, living in a cave and foraging for food.

The poems tell us that he was privileged and began life in a good family. “My father and mother left me secure; I need not envy the fields of other men.” He was a scholar, educated in history, the classics and mathematics. “In vain I tried to understand the Three Histories; Uselessly I studied the Five Classics.” He was privileged and widely traveled. “I think of all the places I’ve been, Chasing about from one famous spot to another.” He was a musician. “I feasted with friends in Chrysanthemum Valley, Carried my guitar to Peacock Isle.” He hunted with falcons from horseback. “Racing with the wind on my white horse, I yelled at the hares and loosed my hawks on them!”

He was trained in calligraphy and the arts: . He was proud of his mastery, “Boasting, my brushwork is strong.” He was trained in martial arts and weapons, familiar with the use of sword, bow and crossbow. “I was a student with books and sword…I studied the arts of war and the arts of peace, the arts of peace and the arts of war.” He served in the military and went to war. Though, he won no medals or honors. “I fought in the west but won no honors.” After his military service, he worked for a while as a clerk or bookkeeper. He became frustrated and discouraged at being passed over repeatedly, because of a handicap, or possibly a war injury, for civil service positions he was well qualified for. Finally, he quit competing and striving. He married, moved to a remote farm at the edge of the forest. He became a farmer and raised a family. “I gather wild fruit with my son; I hoe the hillside field with my wife.”

He loved books. He always lived among piles of books. “In my house what do I have? A bed surrounded with piles of books.” All his life, to the very end, even while living with the elements at Cold Mountain, he always had books. “One or two heavenly books I read, mumbling, beneath the pines.” He describes himself as simple, quiet, honest, straightforward and lazy.

Up to this point his life can be compared to that of any well born modern youth. He was privileged, educated, traveled, served in the military, went to war, came home to seek a career, married and began to raise a family.

But as the years pass, the poet becomes unhappy and dissatisfied with his life. “Why am I always so depressed? I am filled with sadness, A sadness I can hardly endure.” He leaves home and family behind, packs up some books and begins to wander. He experiences a growing sense that life has been wasted, that life has passed him by and nothing has been accomplished. “With a heart full of doubt and regret, A life has passed and nothing is accomplished.” He becomes increasingly lonely. In the modern world, he sees selfishness and greed, ignorance and corruption. Nothing has changed in a thousand years. Disappointed with life and his fellow man, he becomes withdrawn, sinks into poverty and depression.

In this low state, he turns his back on the civilized world and goes to live out his remaining years in solitude in the mountains as a hermit, “Why am I always so depressed? What shall I do? Say, what shall I do? Take this old body home and hide it in the mountains.” He settles at a remote place called Cold Mountain, where “I gather leaves and thatch a hut among the pines, dig a pond and lead a trickle from the brook.” He plants a small vegetable garden, digs a pond and stocks it with fish. But a hut and garden require maintenance. When the hut turns gray with age and falls apart, and “Weeds fill the garden, New vines climb and hang everywhere, Monkeys strip the trees of mountain fruit, Egrets and cranes eat all the pond fish,” he moves to a large no maintenance cave at the base of a cliff high on the south face of Cold Mountain. His distant view of the world of men is often hidden when the mountain becomes shrouded in mist and cloud. “Cold Mountain is hidden in white clouds, It’s peaceful to be cut off from the busy world.”

With his growing knowledge of herb lore, he no longer bothers to tend a garden, but relies increasingly on foraging. A garden requires constant attention. Foraging requires only that you have a basket and know when and where to look when things are ready to harvest. “Carrying a basket I gather mountain mushrooms, Carrying a bucket I return with fruit.” You let Nature take care of the planting, weeding and watering. This approach calls for an intimate knowledge of the land and the things that grow there, and confidence that Nature will provide for your needs. “Since I came to Cold Mountain, I’ve lived by eating mountain fruits, What is there to worry about?” Finally, the poet comes to look on Nature as his host and himself as Nature’s “guest.” He now takes his food entirely from the forest, living in the clouds as a hermit poet, harvesting and dining on ‘mountain fruit.’ “Here I lay out a handful of mountain fruit…Rushes serve in place of a mat, A plantain leaf will do for a plate.”

“Mountain fruit” is his metaphor for the generosity of Nature, for the variety of wild edibles that make up his diet, the ferns and other wild greens, assorted mushrooms, wild plums, cherries, peaches, olives, plantains and other fruits, bamboo shoots, edible roots, medicinal herbs. These and more are mentioned in the poems.

The poet lived a very long life in his cave on Cold Mountain. In one poem he says he is more than 70, in another that he is 100, and in yet another that he is more than 100 years old. “Old and sick, more than one hundred years, Face haggard, hair white, I’m happy to still live in the mountains, A cloth covered phantom watching the years flow by.” He may have lived to be as old as 120. One poem indicates that he may have retired to Cold Mountain while still in his 30s. “Thirty years ago I was born into the world…And today I’ve come home to Cold Mountain.” If true, this means that he spent between 70 and 90 years living on Cold Mountain as Nature’s “guest.”

His main preoccupations seem to have been reading ancient texts, laughing, singing, dancing, writing poems on the rocks, taking long leisurely walks to explore the terrain and to gather food and firewood, or to visit his friends, Big-stick and Pick-up, two poet monks who lived at Kuoching Temple, a day’s walk from his cave on Cold Mountain. These are the only close friends the poet mentions in the poems. Both sometimes make the climb to visit him at home in his cave.

Once settled at Cold Mountain, it quickly becomes clear in the poetry that the poet has left the world behind. He has transcended the civilized world and is now in heaven, at one with his wild surroundings. For the first time in his life he is completely happy and at peace. He becomes like a child. The poems are simple and direct, yet majestic. They reflect a new state of mind and have the power to lift the reader to share a moment in the poet’s heaven. The following poem is translated by Wandering Poet:

In leisure I went to the mountain top

The sun shines sparkling bright

I look around

White clouds and cranes are flying by

No one knows when or how he died. Though, the following poem translated by Wandering Poet may give us a clue:

Do I have a body? Or have I none?

Am I who I am? Or am I not?

Pondering these questions I sit

Leaning against the cliff while the years flow by

And the green grass grows up between my feet

And the red dust settles on my head

Then men of the world come and thinking me dead

Bring offerings of wine and fruit to lay around me