musings

The Art of Understatement

/ J. Thorp / 7 Comments

This cold winter night,
that old wooden-head buddha
would make a nice fire
– haiku by Buson

It’s cold this morning – the kind of cold that, after just a few minutes, makes you imagine what you’d do to stay warm if you didn’t have a warm house close by …

The haiku by Buson illustrates this feeling nicely, I think, with subtle humor. It is detailed and concise – saying just enough to capture your attention and spark your imagination. You can read it and “get it” immediately – or you can think on it and uncover some deeper truth about the world. It conveys the poet’s mindset and message, not by taking the reader by the hand, but by setting the reader’s mind on the path and trusting they will arrive in due time. In my ongoing discussions with Cowboy Bob regarding what makes a poem a poem (especially poems that don’t have clear rhythm or rhyme) this is perhaps the best explanation I’ve found.

People wonder sometimes why I’m fascinated with Asian poetry and film. It is in part because, in many cases, the Asian masters seem to have perfected something many Americans (especially film-makers) seem to have lost – the Art of Understatement. (There are notable exceptions, of course, including classic kung-fu and samurai flicks, which appeal to me for entirely other reasons. More on that another time.)

*****
Wrapping dumplings in
bamboo leaves, with one finger
she tidies her hair
– haiku by Basho

Film critic Roger Ebert says, “If you have to ask what something symbolizes, it doesn’t.” He makes a good point – symbols cannot be so obscure that no one grasps them. But scenes, references and language that make you think – or better still, feel – without telling you how or why offer opportunities for discovery.


Consider two of my favorite “love scenes” on film, one from an Asian filmmaker (who has made “American” films) and the other from an American filmmaker, but in a film set in imperial Japan. In Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon is a scene in which Chow Yun Fat and Michelle Yeoh – two star-crossed warriors who’ve loved each other for years but have been unable to act upon that love – enjoy a quiet moment and a cup of tea. He takes her hand and brings it to his cheek, and you can feel their ache for each other. They exchange a few simple lines, as I recall, but that’s it. Their faces and hands tell the story. (If anyone knows where to find this clip online, let me know. You can see a portion of the scene as part of this montage from the film, near the 2:15 mark – thanks, Tyler!)

There is another love scene in the movie that is more aggressive (and more biomechanically accurate), but even this scene is short and and involves no nudity – and yet you have no doubt what has happened, both physically and emotionally.

And in Edward Zwick’s The Last Samurai, Tom Cruise’s character, who has been cared for by the widow of a samurai he killed (she does so on orders from her brother, the leader of the clan) is dressed for battle by her in her late husband’s armor. The woman has come to love him, and although they do kiss (once, and lightly), they wouldn’t have to for the scene to be effective. No nudity. No slo-mo. No sweat.

Now, I know that Asian films and filmmakers aren’t always this subtle – Ang Lee, in particular, has pushed the envelope with his portrayals of sexuality, both in the States and abroad. But what catches my attention is 1) how relatively rare it seems that an American film takes the more subtle route, especially in terms of love or sexuality (and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Zwick’s scene is in a movie set in the Far East), and 2) how this subtle approach parallels, in my mind, haiku and other Asian poetry.

Maybe it’s what I’ve come to expect, or the movies I choose to see – or maybe Asian film-makers are exporting what they think Western audiences want from them. Whatever the case, it’s clear to me that these movies approach their subject matter from a different mindset, and that mindset intrigues me.

*****

Both of these movies, and other similar films, also end on a note of uncertainty. The American film tries to tidy up a bit at the end – gives you one possible outcome – but neither is altogether happy or altogether neat. My wife hates that …

One last haiku – perhaps the best I’ve found at taking the reader to the verge and then letting go:

This world of dew
is only a world of dew –
and yet
– haiku by Issa

Blogger’s Note: Top two photos of Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. (© 2000 Sony Pictures Classics. All rights reserved.) Bottom photo of Tom Cruise and Koyuki in The Last Samurai. (© 2003 Warner Bros. All rights reserved.)

Tales of the Inexplicably Frightening III

/ J. Thorp / 8 Comments

Heard on the way to work this morning: Numerous pundits and primary voters claiming that, in the past few days, Hillary Clinton has finally shown her humanity and proven she has a soul.

Initial reaction: Shouldn’t one’s humanity and possession of a soul be some sort of baseline requirement for public office, rather than the thing that pushes you over the top?

Current thinking: So along with calculating and ambitious, we get get emotional and fallible — bonus!

Bottom line: Maybe a cold, calculating leader with a commanding presence wouldn’t be so bad — vote Zod in 2008!

New Directions

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

Well, looky here: I’m changing blog addresses and titles. As interesting as Viable Thirds may have been in my head, what I’m doing here really has little to do with public policy or opinion, and much more to do with writing and music, etc.

So over the next few days, Viable Thirds will be gradually phased out in favor of Werd-Fu. What better venue for sparring over the written word?

Learning to Live With Yourself

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

The drive home tonight was made infinitely more enjoyable by an NPR interview with a legend I only barely recall from my younger days: Merle Haggard. At age 70, he’s got a new disk, a bluegrass sound this time around, and the sand and wisdom of years in his voice.

The interview was a breath of fresh air in the midst of campaign coverage, and I encourage you to check it out here. If you’ve got the connection for it, click Listen Now. It’s so much better, funnier, and more musical (not to mention quite a bit longer) live.

It got me thinking: first, about my last post, and his favorite song of the new batch, “Learning to Live With Myself.” Sounds like it’s a lifelong journey.

And second, about the notion of “growing old gracefully.” Too often our culture seems ashamed of our aging population; consequently, sometime older folks are embarrassed or ashamed to slow down or show infirmity.

But I remember Dad’s old friend Louie Randall, who spoke in a wheezing whisper through a hole in his windpipe and swung a three-pound sledge like it was a meat tenderizer well into his 70s. And I recall the the first time I saw Johnny Cash’s hauntingly beautiful video rendition of Nine Inch Nail’s “Hurt”—gazing into the camera, frail and unapologetic. And I remember Pope John Paul II, hunched and trembling, waving off his aides (dare I say irritably?) to give hope to hundreds of thousands of young people from around the world. They didn’t turn away, but loved him for it.

And I hope that I one day I’ll be every bit as weathered and white and tough as these old men. In this life of ease and plenty, however, it seems unlikely.

The Way Forward

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

Last year’s lengthy Thorp holiday letter opened with a Chinese verse from Ching An:

The laugh’s on me:
this year’s man
is last year’s man

A year ago, I read this as a variation on the old dog/new trick theme, but this year it resonates more deeply. This New Year’s Day, I read it as a humorous expression of self-awareness: “Y’know what? This is what I’m given to work with—no more and no less. Might as well make the best of it.”

I’ve struggled with this idea for years now. When Jodi and I got married, my Yale classmates were politely supportive and quietly incredulous—like, Why the hell would he tie himself down? And why would she commit to a guy without a job, a house, or a bank account?

When we left South Dakota for Michigan, some of my friends back home talked about their expectations for me as an Ivy League alumnus. When we left Michigan for Minnesota, I was so frustrated with the state of the world, I very publicly said I was headed back to class a degree in public policy and shot at changing some small part of the world. We managed the latter: instead of grad school, we welcomed another baby into our home.

In my mind, however, grad school was still the next step, so when I left corporate marketing for University Relations, I made a point of telling my colleague I was hitting the books. And I have: in my current job, I read more than I have in years … just not for credit.

This past year has been a revelation. First off, I’m not sure I ever intended to go to grad school—I mean, it’s been 11 years now. Second, nobody who matters to me cares whether I do or not, as long as I keep reading, writing, and learning.

Finally, I like the Jim I am right now. A lot. And I like the direction I’m headed since I quit thinking about classes. I’ve got a screenplay and a book to work on. I’m doing kung fu with the kids and hunting with new friends. I’m getting more involved in our church, and talking to our priests has restored my confidence that my head’s on straight—as a result, I’m not scared to show my Catholicism to non-Catholic friends, or talk Buddhism and evolutionary theory and hip-hop with the church-goers.

It feels good to feel good in your own skin.

So here’s what I aspire to this year—the way forward, I hope:

1. Daily tai chi with the young masters. We warms up with crunches, push-ups, etc., and cool off on the stationary bikes, and in the middle, we sink our chi, raise our pulse rates, break a sweat, and learn a little something. Plus weekly classes with Shih-fu Figueroa—what more do you need? They love it, I need it, and we could all use the time together.

2. Daily public writing. Gotta be done. Blogging twice a week, plus fiction and non-fiction. Journals and notebooks are great, but they don’t count toward the public stuff.

3. Biodiesel or waste veggie oil in the Deezledub. We’re recycling more, converting to fluorescents, and putting in a bigger garden this year—but a grease car in this fast-food car culture? That’s almost poetic!

4. Continue investing in the Old Ways: hunting, fishing and camping. Kids need that, not to mention dads …

5. Focus on the people in front of me. You know: quit typing and come out from behind my desk. Answer that, “How was your weekend?” briefly, then ask, “How ’bout yours?” And listen.

I’ve also got a long-running goal of telling people I care about that I love them. Some folks aren’t comfortable with that, but every year I try to expand the list a bit more. So if you’re on the receiving end, and it doesn’t feel right, don’t worry. I get all I need from saying it; you don’t owe me a thing in return.

And if this doesn’t get us where we’re going, hey—there’s always next year. No doubt I’ll be the same guy.