Proem
| 1. There was a teacher in the ancient days Of China who founded a school of thought Remembered round the world in deed and phrase — Kung-fu Tzu — Confucius — a man who sought To learn for all of us how people ought To live in harmony and honesty; In furthering this noble course he brought Together books he loved so earnestly He fled to rescue them from looming anarchy. 2. With armies raging, crowding round his home, He packed the contents of his library In three stout wagons, every scroll and tome A love of Kung’s rich life, to the degree That many featured backs and bindery Worn out and crumbling; This cargo he And a companion carried, seeking desperately The counsel of a sage, who in a day Long past, had shared his understanding of the Way. 3. This sage had served as royal archivist When Kung first met him, but this time around He was not counted on the Archive’s list Of scholars, nor could this wise man be found Dwelling close by; So, with his books, Kung wound Through every village, stopped at every farm, Asking his whereabouts — but not a sound Of news was offered; With growing alarm, Kung feared he could not keep his treasured books from harm. 4. Kung and his friend wandered half consciously Along a muddy trail into a wood Lacking all promise — wandered aimlessly With weary drovers, weary oxen; Could They stop awhile? A rest would do them good — A pause in their pursuit of this vain quest; Just then they saw a run-down hut that stood Within the glade, with nothing to suggest A lodger with the means to entertain a guest. 5. No fire, no fence, no animal to feed, Just one old, rugged stump outside the door; Yet they went in, addressing some vague need By doing so; There they could not ignore The signs of harsh austerity the poor Inhabitant lived with; A silent place, Empty of welcome, void of stock and store, The men turned round to leave, and turned to brace For more long, weary searching; Then they saw his face. 6. Out in the yard where they had only seen A battered stump, they saw a battered man, Weathered and gray, his body stooped and lean, Yet with a countenance pleasant to scan, With laughing, youthful eyes; It was Lao Tan, The sage, the archivist whom Kung had sought; Kung, greeting him with great relief, began To tell his plan to save the books he’d brought So far; The old man listened, smiling, but said naught. 7. He led Kung and his friend out to the yard, Kindled a campfire and prepared some tea — Low stools, an iron pot, old tea cups, marred By cracks and chips, but handled properly, And offered in true hospitality; They sipped in silence. Then, trying to show Respect, Kung urged: Good sir, can you help me? Lao Tan picked up the pot, his movements slow; He refilled all their cups, then softly told him: No. 8. Taken aback, Kung cried: Do you refuse? Oh no, the old man said, I simply can’t. These books, pled Kung, are too precious to lose! The old man smiled: Each animal and plant, Each stream and stone is precious, too, I grant; How can we save them all? What shall we do? Kung stared back at him blankly for a scant Minute, then looked away, thinking it through; He then smiled to himself: What Lao Tan said was true. 9. He turned his gaze back to the aged face Of his fond teacher. Thank you, sir, he said. He stood and bowed; His friend rose from his place; Lao Tan acknowledged them, then watched them thread Their way back by the rough road that had led Them to his yard; Some distance down the track Kung turned around to wave; What’s this? Instead Of Lao Tan standing there and waving back, They saw no one — a weathered stump, a weathered shack. |
| Glorianna Table of Contents |
| The Cantos |