Shamaniam, Prophecy, & the Poetry of the 20th Century
This eulogy was previously published in Unlikely 2.0 and is posted here courtesy of Louise Landes Levi.
‘ je leven een vuurwerk of niet …’
[Editor’s Note (from Unlikely 2.0): On 12 July 2009, the world lost Simon Vinkenoog: poet, writer, and icon of the Dutch counterculture. In October, he was honored at the Buddhist Film Festival Europe, at which Louise Landes Levi read this eulogy. Following the eulogy, we reprint Simon Vinkenoog’s translation of the classic Tibetan poem “The Quest of Milarepa,” along with an English translation from Technicians of the Sacred (ed. Jerome Rothenberg, University of California Press, 1985]
If I write
or speak about Simon,
it is not as a disinterested witness. Simon was friend, fellow translator, teacher, colleague, at times unwilling parent, certainly a partner in crime
for the four decades that I was privileged to know him.
I befriended his wives —
one was by the time of our meeting, his neighbor: Reinike, graceful & empowered, I had seen her on the market, a women who was a stranger & yet an Amsterdam icon of the era, Barbara, muse & friend, translator of my first book into Dutch, mother of Simon’s youngest children — Arthur & Anna —
&
finally Edith, his long awaited partner, Simon’s soul mate
with whom he lived for the final 22 years of his
life, a partnership celebrated both for its
duration & for its quality
of inspired love.
*
What
differentiates the shaman from the prophet & finally these two from the poet?
The three roles of course, overlap & can, to a certain extent,
elucidate Simon’s passionate elocution
within the perimeters of post war
Dutch society,
The poet is subject to a certain clairvoyance — at certain times, his poetry or hers will function in prophetic ways which are not always intended,
at least not consciously so.
The poet maps his providential world,
creates landscapes in which his or her deepest aspirations can be aligned, indeed pursued, through text, if not in direct action
&
yet, Simon
functions as social activist, creator of dream, he is a last
vestige for the idealism that prevailed after the Second World War — well before we understood that the officials of the Third Reich had not been punished but hired
by the allied powers, who superficially opposed them,
Simon
stood for the values of the fallen land — maternity, generosity, freedom of thought, freedom of speech, freedom of the press. Whatever singularities separate the poet from the shaman & the shaman from the prophet, none of those three would agree to the censorship,
which has become the handmaiden of the so—called
democratic societies.
Simon
was not a rich man,
He lived for his work for the greater part of his life & was his
work, he served the people of Amsterdam & by extension, within the Dutch speaking community. the country. He taught & demonstrated the power of Love to the impoverished, the jailed, the marginals, the seekers — To literary & artistic icons — with whom he was equally both at ease & eloquent he taught, as demonstration & by extension of his autodidactic method, the literary tradition of the lowlands
& the visionary prerogatives that
perpetuated it.
For him
Jan Luyken —‘Soo dat ick u, o Godt! bevondt, Te zyn den grondt wan mynen grondt’ — Guido Gizelle
O Lied O Lied & Johny van Doorn, Jules Deelder
Remco Campert Hans Vlek Arie Visser
lived in a single moment of
poetic inspiration.
William Burroughs, Ira Cohen, Timothy Leary, Allen Ginsberg,
his translations of whom were as good as the original— ‘fuck me mijn master’ — as anyone who heard them read together will attest — brought the avant-garde through the dykes which separated 20th century Dutch expression from the world beyond those dykes.
The prophet of the social realms reaches into the utopian
traditions & creates it for his time. The shaman, by definition, liberates
his listener, the qualifications between chant (or mantra), song & the common word are absolved. The shaman uses all three to fulfill his energetic role & to liberate
from delusion those who are governed by delusion.
The poet is craftsman of ancient spraak — etymology — he must use
his language both as contemporary dialect & as craftsman.
In Simon’s evolution as poet & spokesman,
these roles so interrated that his power to provoke often overruled his daily labor, his dedication as translator of more than 40 volumes, as journalist, poet — investigateur of the secret & even banished realms & as craftsman,
student indeed of the Dutch tradition.
For these qualities, we thank him.
For his endurance as a friend in my life,
I thank him. For championing me, at a time, when I could easily have been neglected in a foreign land, for reaching into his experience — his own victimization in the Second World War — for rescuing a second-generation Jew, equally victimized, secret pact — May tears shed at his departure bathe the deeper level of my confusion — that I may aptly stand to read the following translation — written by Paul van Ostaijen—translated by Simon & myself— some 30 years ago:
So, the beloved
Mitri Karamzov
also dies,
Now on our shoulders,
Late and slanting, the shadow
of Ivan, falls.
Become grateful for suffering,
and seemingly, joyful,
the sharp fight of spider and bee
and the awaiting.
At time my hand is already closed
as if there lay no longing
over my fingers,
It is a far way
to the passionless mountain
Logos
Tao —
The last time I heard Simon read, was on the Churchill-laan, Dec.8th 2008—
it was raining, a cold night of winter. I, an occasional visitor,
knew little about the pain he endured.
Edith
in the driver’s seat, the car traveling through night rain, Simon
finally upright, in front of the statue of Gandhi
‘Verdom de Oorlog, Beziel de vreede’
were the words on the t shirt, his favorite, in which he was buried,
His voice clear, his elocution perfect, his
rendition of one of the one hundred thousand songs of Milarepa,
beyond my capacity to describe. I was not to hear him read again — but am
grateful to that rainy night, to the Tibet support group who
were smart enough to ask him to catalyze the energies
of the evening & to Edith, his constant companion,
for getting us there in such inclement conditons
& who ‘by serving one man’
as she often said ‘served the world’,
but also his personal circle — his extended family & friends,
an intimate world of intrigue, intellect & service,
unknown to journalists
but
well known to those who followed
www.kersvers.com [now SimonVinkenoog.nl]
In the Tibetan tradition, there is sub-sect of the ‘Red Hats’
The Karma Kargyus —called the Drupka Kargyus. I have been fortunate to study with the titular head of this sect,
Namkhai Norbu
Tinpoche
A
Tibetan saying is:
Half of the Kargyus are Drukpas, half of the Drugpas are madmen
& half of the madmen are the greatest poets & painters in Tibet
Simon kept an open house & an open heart, for as long as he was able. I saw him exercise unimaginable patience ksanti & dana generosity with his unusual guests,
Peter Orlovsky, Gregory Corso, Vali Meyers,
Aldo Piramelli & Petra Vogt to name only a few.
Crazy Wisdom yogis & yoginis
signature—adepts of the Drukpa kargyu school—
manifest to heal the contradictions, dualism & pain of our samaroic vision,
freeing us from the ordinary to perceive the inherent wisdom
of non dualistic, non judgemental, non rational open mind.
Simon functioned in this broader visionary landscape
& yet maintained a firm pulse on events surrounding him & us.
Everyone
understood that Simon Vinkenoog was extraordinary
but no one could point out the exact nature of his genius —
looking to the East, the tradition of the Crazy Wisdom
yogi can thus inform us.
I
close by reciting
the mantra of the peaceful deities —
from the xiltrol practice kindly transmitted to me by my teacher
&
how many times did Simon,
& his family wish me well as I departed
by foot, by bus & by train
to the place of refuge.
OM AH HUNG
BODDHICITTA MAHA SUKHA
JNANA DHATTU
A
De zoektocht van Milarepa
Translated by Simon Vinkenoog
1
Naamgegeven ben ik de man terzijde;
Ik ben de wijze van Tibet;
Ik ben Milarepa.
Ik hoor weinig maar geef veel raad;
Ik hekel weinig maar volhard veel;
Ik slaap weinig maar verdraag veel in meditatie.
Mijn smalle bed verlicht mijn strekken en buigen;
mijn dunne kleding houdt mijn lichaam warm;
mijn karige kost bevredigt mijn maag.
Door éen ding te kennen ervaar ik alle dingen;
alle dingen kennende begrijp ik dat ze een zijn.
Ik ben het doel van elke grote yogi;
Ik ben de plek waar gelovigen bijeenkomen;
Ik ben de spoel van geboorte en dood en verval.
Ik heb geen voorkeur voor enig land;
Ik ben nergens thuis;
Ik heb geen provisiekast voor mijn levensbehoeften.
Ik ben niet verzot op materiële zaken;
Ik maak geen onderscheid tussen rein en onrein in voedsel;
Ik heb geen behoefte aan kwelling of beproeving.
Ik heb generlei verlangen naar zelf-respect;
Ik heb geen bindingen of vooroordelen;
Ik heb de vrijheid van Nirwana gevonden.
Ik ben de trooster van de vergrijsden;
Ik ben de gek die de dood als geluk rekent;
Ik ben de speelkameraad van kinderen.
2
Toen het tijgerjaar ten einde kwam
En het jaar van de haas begon
op de zesde dag van de maand van de blaffende vos,
had ik genoeg van de dingen van deze wereld;
en in mijn hunkering naar eenzaamheid
bereikte ik de heilige woestijn van Berg Everest.
Toen gingen hemel & aarde samen te rade
en stuurden de wervelwind als boodschapper uit.
De elementen van wind & water ziedden
En de donkere wolken uit het zuiden rolden samen aan;
de zon en de maan werden gevangen genomen
en de achtentwintig maanstanden werden samengebonden;
de acht planeten werden in hun omloop vastgeketend
en de zwakke melkweg in slavernij genomen;
de kleine sterren werden volkomen in de mist versluierd
en toen alle dingen bedekt waren naar de aard van de mist
viel negen dagen & negen nachten de sneeuw.
Gestaag en overal de achttien tijden van dag en nacht viel zij.
Als het zwaar sneeuwde waren de vlokken zo groot als vullingen van wol,
En vielen zwevend als gevederde vogels.
Als het licht sneeuwde waren de vlokken zo klein als spoelen,
En vielen cirkelend als bijen.
Dan weer waren zij zo klein als erwten of mosterdzaad,
En vielen zich kerend als deernen.
Bovendien overtrof de sneeuw elke maat in diepte,
De top van de witte sneeuw reikte hoog in de hemelen
En de bomen van het woud beneden werden neergebogen.
De donkere heuvels werden gekleed in wit,
IJs vormde zich op de golvende meren
En de blauwe Tsangpo werd in zijn diepten bedwongen.
De aarde werd als een vlakte zonder heuvels of valleien,
En als natuurlijk gevolg van zo’n grote sneeuwval
werden de mensen opgesloten;
Hongersnood kwam over het viervoetig vee,
En vooral de kleine herten vonden geen eten;
De gevederde vogels daarboven ontbrak het aan voedsel,
en de marmotten en veldmuizen beneden verscholen zich in hun holen;
de kaken van de roofdieren werden samengekneld.
In zulke angstaanjagende omstandigheden
trof dit vreemde lot mij, Milarepa.
Het waren deze drie: de sneeuwstorm die van hoog daarboven omlaag joeg,
de ijzige midwinter windvlagen,
en de lap van katoen die ik, de wijze Mila, droeg;
En tussen hen verrees een geschil op die witte sneeuwtop.
De vallende sneeuw smolt tot fris water;
de wind, hoewel machtig ruisend, nam uit zichzelf af,
en de lap van katoen laaide op als vuur.
Leven en dood worstelden daar op de wijze van kampioenen,
en zwaarden kruisten zegevierende slagen.
Dat ik daar het heldhaftig gevecht won
zal een voorbeeld zijn voor alle gelovigen
en een waarlijk voorbeeld voor alle grote contemplatieven;
bovenal zal het de grotere excellentie bewijzen
van de simpele lap van katoen & de innerlijke hitte.
3.
Dat de witte ijstop van Tisé, groots en befaamd,
Slechts een berg is bedekt met sneeuw,
Bewijst de witheid van Boeddha’s lering.
Dat het turkooizen meer van Mapang, groots en befaamd,
water is waardoorheen water vloeit,
bewijst de ontbinding van alle geschapen dingen.
Dat ik, Milarepa, groots en befaamd,
een oude en naakte man ben,
bewijst dat ik verzaakt heb & niet gericht ben op eigenbelang.
Dat ik een zanger van kleine liedjes ben,
bewijst dat ik geleerd heb de wereld te lezen als een boek.
The Quest of Milarepa
1.
When named I am the man apart;
I am the sage of Tibet;
I am Milarepa.
I hear little but counsel much;
I reflect little but persevere much;
I sleep little but endure in meditation much.
My narrow bed gives me ease to stretch and bend;
my thin clothing makes my body warm;
my scanty fare satisfies my belly.
Knowing one thing I have experience of all things;
knowing all things I comprehend them to be one;
I have experience of true reality.
I am the goal of every great mediator;
I am the meeting place of the faithful;
I am the coil of birth and death and decay.
I have no preference for any country;
I have no home in any place;
I have no store of provisions for my livelihood.
I have no fondness for material things;
I make no distinction between clean and unclean in food;
I have little torment of suffering.
I have little desire for self-esteem;
I have little attachment or bias;
I have found the freedom of Nirvana.
I am the comforter of the aged;
I am the madman who counts death happiness;
I am the playmate of children.
2.
When the tiger-year was ending
and the hare-year beginning
on the sixth day of the month of the barking of the fox,
I grew weary of the things of this world;
and in my yearning for solitude
I came to the sanctuary wilderness, Mount Everest.
Then heaven & earth took counsel together
and sent forth the whirlwind as messenger.
The elements of wind & water seethed
and the dark clouds of the south rolled up in concert;
the sun and the moon were made prisoner
and the twenty-eight constellations of the moon were fastened together;
the eight planets in their courses were cast into chains
and the faint milky way was delivered into bondage;
the little stars were altogether shrouded in mist
and when all things were covered in the complexion of mist
for nine days & nine nights the snow fell,
steadily throughout the eighteen times of day and night it fell.
When it fell heavily the flakes were as big as the flock of wool,
and fell floating like feathered birds.
When the snow fell lightly the flakes were small as spindles,
and fell circling like bees.
Again, they were as small as peas or mustard-seed,
and fell turning like distaffs.
Moreover the snow surpassed measure in depth,
the peak of white snow above reached to the heavens
and the trees of the forest below were bowed down.
The dark hills were clad in white,
ice formed upon the billowing lakes
and the blue Tsangpo was constrained in its depths.
The earth became like a plain without hill or valley,
and in natural consequence of such a great fall
the lay folk were mewed up;
famine overtook the four-footed cattle,
and the small deer especially found no food;
the feathered birds above lacked nourishment,
and the marmots and field-mice below hid in their burrows;
the jaws of beasts of prey were stiffened together.
In such fearsome circumstances
this strange fate befell me, Milarepa.
There were these three: the snowstorm driving down from on high,
the icy blast of mid-winter,
and the cotton cloth which I, the sage Mila, wore;
and between them rose a contest on that white snow peak.
The falling snow melted into goodly water;
the wind, through rushing mightily, abated of itself,
and the cotton cloth blazed like fire.
Life and death wrestled there after the fashion of champions,
and swords crossed victorious blades.
That I won there the heroic fight
will be an example to all the faithful
and a true example to all great contemplatives;
more especially will it prove the greater excellence
of the single cotton cloth & the inner heat.
3.
That the white ice-peak of Tisé, great in fame,
is just a mountain covered with snow,
proves the whiteness of Buddha’s teaching.
That the turquoise lake of Mapang, great in fame,
is water through which water flows,
proves the dissolution of all created things.
That I, Milarepa, great in fame,
am an old and naked man,
proves that I have forsaken & set at naught self-interest.
That I am a singer of little songs,
proves that I have learned to read the world as a book.
