Eastlike West

S

sowhatifit'sdark

Valued Senior Member
I came across this sonnet of Shakespeare's yesterday and found it overlapping, arguably, with Buddhism concerns about desire. I thought we could post, in a different spirit, Western writers and thinkers who overlap ideas we associate with the West and also forms of language use and style that 'match' to some degree.

SONNET 147
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.


Now this poem is ostensibly addressed to the 'Dark Lady' presumably a flesh and blood woman who was Will's lover. But that does not mean that he simply intended the poem to be read as addressed to an individual or that the poem is limited, for us certainly, to his intended limitations.

Here we have Buddhist concerns that desire when followed only increases desire. The illness worsens itself. And while there are hints that Shakespeare valued Reason in ways that Buddhists would consider problematic, here it is ambiguous, as Reason itself becomes 'angry' - at not being listened to -- how irrational of it -- and the poor guy's thoughts become those of a madman.

Perhaps 'thee' is anything and everything in this world that is potentially desired.

Other examples?
 
What an interesting topic!
And I've only come across it now. :(

I'll see what I can find. Blake seems like a good candidate.
 
This is not a direct example of what the OP is looking for, but I think it is nonetheless worth to mention it -

What is it like to be a bat? by Thomas Nagel strikes me as a good example of 'Eastlike Western' thinking.
The way he points out the problems with the issue at hand strikes me as if it were spoken by someone with an understanding of the Buddhist notion of dependent origination and the various problems regarding karma.
 
greenberg said:
This is not a direct example of what the OP is looking for, but I think it is nonetheless worth to mention it -

What is it like to be a bat? by Thomas Nagel strikes me as a good example of 'Eastlike Western' thinking.
The way he points out the problems with the issue at hand strikes me as if it were spoken by someone with an understanding of the Buddhist notion of dependent origination and the various problems regarding karma.
Click to expand...

Thanks for that essay. I am chomping on it and will get back to you.

As far as Blake:

Perhaps

1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age
2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy.
3 Energy is Eternal Delight
Click to expand...

But probably not things like

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Click to expand...


But these feel rather Buddhist to me:
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
Shame is Prides cloke
All wholsom food is caught without a net or a trap.
The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure.
Click to expand...


These are from the Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Perhaps other books of his are more 'eastlike'.
 
The essay Greenberg mentioned made me think of Wittgenstein - see the bolded quote below. I haven't read him for a long time, but here are some quotes that feel 'eastlike' to me.

A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push.

A philosophical problem has the form: I don't know my way about.

If a lion could talk, we could not understand him.

It is one of the chief skills of the philosopher not to occupy himself with questions which do not concern him.

Never stay up on the barren heights of cleverness, but come down into the green valleys of silliness.

Nothing is so difficult as not deceiving oneself.

One of the most misleading representational techniques in our language is the use of the word 'I.'

Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.

The real discovery is the one which enables me to stop doing philosophy when I want to. The one that gives philosophy peace, so that it is no longer tormented by questions which bring itself into question

What can be shown, cannot be said.

What is your aim in philosophy? To show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle.

You get tragedy where the tree, instead of bending, breaks.

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.
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He saw by the cave,
he who had many virtues,
he who had survived many times
the battle flashes
when troops rush together,
a stream running
from the stone arch--
a stream of fire.

He could not enter
for the dragon's flame.
Beowulf was angry,
the lord of the Geats,
he who stormed in battle.
He yelled into the cave.

The hoard-keeper perceived
a man's voice and
didn't plan to ask
for friendship.
Flames shot out
from among the stones,
hot battle-sweat.
The ground dinned.

The hero raised his shield
against the dreadful stranger.
Then the coiled thing
sought battle.
The war king drew his sword,
an ancient heirloom
with edges unblunt.
Each of them intended
horror to the other.

Stouthearted stood that war-prince
with his shield upraised,
waited in his war-gear.
The dragon coiled together,
went forth burning,
gliding toward his fate.

His shield protected
life and body
for a shorter time
than the prince had hoped.
That was the first day
he was not granted
glory in battle.
The lord of the Geats
raised his arm,
struck the horrible thing
with his ancestral sword,
but the edge gave way:
that bright sword
bit less on the bone
than the war-king needed.

After that stroke
the cave-guardian
was in a savage mood.
He threw death-fire--
widely sprayed
battle flashes.
The gold-friend of the Geats
wasn't boasting of victory.
His war-sword had failed,
not bitten home
as it should have,
that iron which had
always been trustworthy.
This wasn't a pleasant trip:
that famous king, Beowulf,
would have to leave this earth,
would have, against his will,
to move elsewhere.
(So must every man
give up
these transitory days.)

It wasn't long before
the terrible ones
met again--
The hoard-keeper took heart,
heaved his fire anew.
He who once ruled a nation
was encircled by fire;
no troop of friends,
strong princes,
stood around him:
they ran to the woods
to save their lives.

Yet in one of them
welled a sorrowful heart.
That true-minded one
didn't forget kinship.
Wiglaf he was called,
the son of Woehstan,
a beloved shield-warrior,
a lord of the Scylfings,
a kinsman of Aelthere.
He saw his lord
suffering from heat
under his helmet.
He remembered the gifts,
a rich home among
the Waegmundings,
the rich inheritance,
that his father had had.

Wiglaf could not refrain,
but grabbed his shield,
drew his ancient sword
that among men was known
as the heirloom of Eanmund,
the son of Othere.
(Eanmund, after a quarrel,
was killed by Weohstan
with the sword's edge.
Weohstan became
a friendless exile.
To Eanmund's own kinsmen
he bore the burnished helmet,
the ring-locked mail,
the old sword made by giants.
Onela had given Eanmund that,
the war-equipment,
and did not mention
the feud, though his
brother's child was killed.
Weohstan held the treasure
many years,
the sword and mail,
until his son could
do heroic deeds
as his father had done.
He gave the war-dress to Wiglaf
and a great many treasures,
then departed this earth
old on his journey.
But this was the first time
the young champion
had gone into the war-storm.)

His spirit did not fail,
nor his heirloom: that
the dragon discovered
when they met in battle.

Wiglaf spoke words about duty,
said in sorrow to his companions:
"I remember the times
we drank mead and how
we promised our lord
there in the beer-hall,
he who gave us gifts,
that we would repay
all his largess,
the helmets and hard swords,
if the need
should ever befall.
He chose his best men
for this expedition,
gave us honor and
these treasures because
he considered us best
among spear fighters,
though he proposed to
do the job alone because
he had performed the most
famous deeds among men.
Now has the day come
that our lord
is in need of fighters,
of good warriors.
Let us go to him,
help the war-chief
in this fire-horror.
God knows, to me,
my lord means more
than my skin.
With him I will
embrace the fire.
It isn't proper
that we bare shields
back to our homes
before we can
defend our lord
and kill the enemy.
He doesn't deserve
to suffer alone.
We two shall share
the sword and helmet,
the mail and war-garment."

Then Wiglaf advanced
through the death-fumes,
wore his helmet
to help his lord.

He spoke these words:
"Dear Beowulf, may you
accomplish all well,
as you did in youth,
as I have heard tell.
Don't surrender the glory
of your life. Defend now,
with all your strength,
your brave deeds.
I will help."

After these words
the dragon angrily came;
the terrible spirit
another time attacked
with surging fire.
Fire waves burned
Wiglaf's shield
down to the handle,
his mail could not
protect the young
spear-warrior.
He ducked behind
his kinsman's shield.

Then the war-king
remembered past deeds,
struck mightily with his sword
so that it stuck
in the dragon's head;
Naegling, the great sword of Beowulf,
ancient and shining,
broke, failed in battle.
Fate had not granted that
the iron sword would help.

(I've heard that Beowulf's
swing was too strong
for any sword,
overstrained any blade,
anytime he carried
a blood-hardened sword
into battle.)

Then the terrible dragon
a third time rushed,
hot and battle-grim.
He bit Beowulf's neck
with sharp tusks--Beowulf
was wet with life's blood;
blood gushed in waves.

Then, I've heard,
Wiglaf showed courage,
craft and bravery,
as was his nature--he went
not for the thought-seat,
but struck a little lower,
helped his kinsman
though his hand was burned.
The sword, shining
and ornamented,
drove in so that
the fire abated.

Then the king controlled
his senses, drew his
battle knife, bitter
and battle sharp, which
he carried on his mail,
and cut the dragon
through the middle.
The enemy fell--strength
had driven out life;
the two kinsmen, together,
had cut down the enemy.
So should a warrior do.

That was Beowulf's last victory;
his last work in this world.

end of episode eleven
 
draqon said:
He saw by the cave,
he who had many virtues,
he who had survived many times
the battle flashes
when troops rush together,
a stream running
from the stone arch--
a stream of fire.
Click to expand...
Hi. Enjoyed my Beowolf refresher. besides the presence of a dragon, is there moe that is 'eastlike' for you about this.
 
This poem or poem series by Wallace Stevens has always felt very 'eastlike' to me.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Wallace Stevens

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Click to expand...
 
draqon said:
well the dragons' stories and such came to the West from the East, didn't they?
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I don't think they're generally regarded as being from that source. The Western dragon is evil and is clearly a manifestation of the Serpent archetype. The Eastern dragon is just one more animal in the zodiac, with balanced positive and negative aspects. Eastern heroes do not slay dragons.
 
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