TSANG-DBYANGS RGYA-MTSHO’I MGUL-GLU
The Tsang-dbyangs rgya-mtsho’i mgul-glu (Songs of Tsangyang Gyatso) consists of sixty-six poems, predominantly of two couplets but also of three and four on occasions. All the poems fall into the Central Tibetan glu bshas form, consisting of six-syllable lines of three trochaic feet each. The form is perfect for singing and for the accompaniment of dancing: it’s no surprise that, even today, the songs of Tsangyang Gyatso are still popular in Tibet and among the diasporic communities.
This short study of the songs is based upon the critical edition prepared by Per K Sørensen
(1) which, to my mind, gives the most convincing and elegant analysis of the texts yet produced. As regards the biographical and historical elements in my work, I’m indebted to the late Dr Michael Aris, whose personal assistance and encouragement spurred me on and whose book on Tsangyang Gyatso and Pemalingpa
(2) provided me with invaluable material for consideration.
My colleague Aleksandr Zorin has prepared comprehensive glossaries for each of the sixty-six poems. By clicking on the number 1-66, you will be able to read these glossaries in *.pdf format. My thanks goes to Sarsha for this excellent resource.
[1]
shar phyogs ri bo’i rtse nas
dkar gsal zla ba shar byung
ma skyes a ma’i zhal ras
yid la ‘khor ‘khor byas byung
From the eastern peak
Rises the clear white moon;
The face of the unborn mother
Turns and turns my mind.
For a young man raised in the male preserve of the monastic hierarchy, the image of the mother - whether the universal mother or the personal mother - is surely going to be highly potent. It’s been suggested that the ma skyes a ma in this poem refers to the principle of the unchanging mother, but I would suggest a second reading, namely that the poet is idealising his beloved as the mother he never had.
The association of the clear white moon with the purity of the (idealised) lover is one which crops up in several of these texts. In this connection, it’s interesting that this is universally placed first in the sequence of poems, prefiguring perhaps the principle themes of purity, nature and the relationship between mind and heart.
[2]
na ning btab pa’i ljang gzhon
da lo sog ma’i phon lcog
pho gzhon rgas pa’i lus po
lho gzhu de las gyong ba
Last year’s tender young sprouts,
Are this year’s stalks of straw:
Young men’s bodies turn old,
Turn stiffer than a southern bow.
The central Buddhist themes of transcience and impermanence are given priority in this poem. The image of the southern bow (3), which was held to be the best type, indicates also the value of maturity. Some scholars have seen this as the young man’s acknowledgement of his growing power and his place within his society.
[3]
rang sems song ba’i mi de
gdan gyi mdun mar byung na
rgya mtsho’i gting nas nor bu
lon pa de dang mnyam byung
The one I’ve fallen for -
If we could be together forever,
It would be like taking a jewel
From the ocean’s depths.
This poem is full of images and metaphors from Indo-Tibetan literature. The use of the word nor bu (a jewel) recalls a common term for a young woman (nor ldan ma “jewel-like one”) and we shouldn’t forget that the search for jewels in the ocean is a common topos in Tibetan popular lyrics. This could be read, therefore, as simply another poem about the poet’s feelings about his lover: after all, the word mdun ma is one way of referring to a wife.
But there is another way of reading the poem. Tsangyang Gyatso speaks often of his frustration at his lover’s inconstancy, her inability to commit to him and him alone, so it’s significant that this word nor bu contains the verb nor which means “to wander, to err”: so she’s a wanderer, perhaps, who disappears at will to another man - or into the mountains to meditate.
Thus we’re introduced to the poet’s cynicism, his feeling that he’ll never find someone to be his lifelong partner (gtan gyi mdun ma ) - but that any success he might have would be like finding the fabled jewel in the ocean. A pearl of great price.
[4]
‘gro zhor lam bu’i snying thub
lus dri zhim pa’i bu mo
gyu chung gru dkar brnyed nas
skyur ba de dang ‘dra byung
By chance upon the road she took my heart,
This girl with sweetly perfumed body -
Like getting hold of an exquisite turquoise,
Only to throw it away.
The exquisite turquoise (gyu chung gru dkar) is another image of the pearl of great price and the phrase is found throughout Tibetan literature. It emphasises the smallness, the slightness of the thing, of the girl and it’s perhaps significant that the word here meaning small (chung) comes up again and again in the phrase chung ‘dris (“beloved”). This is an important person who has made an enormous impression upon the young man.
His vows of celebacy, though, make him cast away the jewel and his frustration becomes palpable as we move through the poems. Here we have a glimpse of the barely-controlled anger of the young man forced to choose between heart and head - we get a sense of this in the contrast between the description of the girl’s perfumed body (lus dri zhim pa) and the choice of the word skyur ba, which means both “to throw away” and “sourness, acidity”.
[5]
mi chen dpon po’i sras mo
khams ‘bras mtshar la bltas na
kham sdong mthon po’i rtse nas
‘bras bu smin pa ‘dra byung
Daughter of a great man -
A true fruit of Kham (4):
To see her is to see the ripest peach
Atop the highest tree.
Peach trees in Tibetan love poetry are a common place for lovers to meet and make love. The fact that this girl is out of reach, unattainable, reminds us of the poet’s vow of celebacy. Some scholars have seen this as a political poem, in which the peach are the fruits of office, which Tsangyang Gyatso feels himself denied by his regent.
[6]
sems pa phar la shor nas
mtshan mo’i gnyid thebs gcog gi
nyin mo lag tu ma lon
yid thang chad rogs yin pa
I’ve lost my mind to her
At night I cannot sleep.
By day she’s not to hand
And sorrow is my friend.
This is interesting in that it reminds us that the poet is a young man with human failings rather than a god. Of course it is this humanity which endeared him to his people while he lived and which still speak across almost four centuries to us today.
The day/night polarity reflects the female/male polarity (nyin mo is female, mtshan po male) and it’s tempting to read this as purely a poem about lovesickness. But some, including Sørensen, have pointed out that the girl could represent (by association perhaps with the Regent her father?) the power which the young Dalai Lama is refused.
[7]
me tog nam zla yal song
gyu sbrang sems pa ma skyo
byams pa’i las ‘phro zad pa
nga ni skyo rgyu mi dug
The time of flowers is past,
But the turquoise bee’s not sad.
And now our love has run its course
I too will not be sad.
The bee and the flower provide standard images of love and love-making throughout the world and the passing of the flowers heralds the passing of love.
[8]
rtsi thog ba mo’i kha la
skye ser rlung gi pho nya
me tog sbrang bu gnyis kyi
‘bral mtshams byed mkhan los yin
Hoarfrost’s face on grass -
Messenger of the winter wind,
You’re the one, for sure, who separates
The flower from the bee.
Another poem about bees and flowers, but with the hint of a hidden element. Although here the term skya ser refers to the harsh winter wind, it’s also used to indicate the greybrown (skya) clothing of the laity and the yellow (ser) robes of the monks. What we might have here is a reference to Tsangyang Gyatso’s regent Sangjé Gyatso who, while professing full monk’s vows, nevertheless had a succession of mistresses and a fondness for alcohol and money and fame - hence the reference in poem 39 to those who are neither monk nor laity being enemies of the Buddha’s teaching.
So this suggests to me that, if we read the hoarfrost as a reference to the Regent, the separation of flower and bee could mean either that he has come between Tsangyang Gyatso and his lover, or else between Tsangyang Gyatso and the flower of political and spiritual power which he is trying to cultivate.
[9]
ngang pa ‘dam la chags nas
re zhig sdod dgos bsams kyang
mtsho mo dar kha ‘grigs nas
rang sems kho thag chod song
Enchanted by the marsh,
The goose thinks to rest awhile.
But in his heart he accepts
The ice freezing over the lake.
Like the bee and the flower, the goose and the lake form a common pairing in Tibetan, as well as Sanskrit and Chinese, literature. The nobility of the goose is praised, as are its graceful gait and beautiful voice. That it is loyal to one mate gives rise to the myth that it mourns all night its separation from its love, only to be reunited at dawn. Interestingly enough, in Tibetan popular lyric, the bird is called dge slong, meaning “monk” - so this is clearly a reference to the problematical situation in which the poet finds himself.
What’s more, ice is traditionally used to indicate an interfering third party or else unrequited love, both of which could be meant here. It could also be a reference to the difficulties which existed between the Qan and the Regent concerning the Dalai Lama’s validity, difficulties which, in the end, were to play a decisive rôle in his demise.
Whether the poem indicates a resignation to his fate is hard to say, however. In the drama of Prince Norzang (see poem 30), to which Tsangyang Gyatso constantly alludes and with which he clearly felt an association, the Prince’s goddess lover Yitrogma uses the simile to the yellow goose to show her own position. She’s happy to go to the lake to be with her lover but, in the end, she’s forced by the lake’s freezing over (the icy way in which she is received at court) to fly away back to heaven.
Although the story has the usual happy ending, the feeling in this poem, as in the play, is one of sadness and loss. It’s a common theme in these poems, the loss of something special through the selfishness and blindness of others - and, more to the point, the poet’s stoic acceptance of his albeit rather dismal fate.
[10]
gru shan sems pa med kyang
rta mgos phyi mig bltas byung
khrel gzhung med pa’i byams pas
nga la phyi mig ma lta
The ferry has no mind,
Yet turns its horsehead eye to look at me.
My lover has no shame,
Yet never turned her eye to look at me.
It seems here that the ferry, crossing from shore to shore, represents the fickle lover, crossing from one man to another. His girlfriends’ lack of constancy is a recurring theme for the poet and, although the horse’s head was traditionally bedecked in flags to give good fortune, it seems that he feels bereft here of loyalty.
[11]
nga dang tshong ‘dus bu mo
tshig gsum dam bca’i mdud pa
khra bo’i sbrul la ma brgyab
rang rang sa la grol song
I and the market-girl
With three words tied a love-knot.
You don’t undo a spotted snake -
It frees itself itself.
A rather cryptic poem, perhaps. There is a saying in Tibetan, sbrul mdud sbrul bshig, which loosely means that you have to undo yourself whatever you’ve done. Literally, though, it means “the snake ties itself up, the snake undoes itself” and it’s this which provides the image for this poem.
The three-word vow is considered binding and illustrates a pledge of unfailing observance. But the market-girl is traditionally neither the most constant nor of the best repute, so there’s a dissonance here which maybe shows the poet’s habit for getting into difficult situations.
Some see the market-girl as representing the Regent, whose fickle and intrigue-ridden attitude so infuriated Tsangyang Gyatso (whose own love of women and poetry and beer similarly infuriated the Regent!). In that case, maybe he sees his relationship with the Regent as being doomed to work itself through, in whatever way, to the end.
[12]
chung ‘dris byams pa’i rlung bskyed
lcang ma’i logs la btsugs yod
lcang srung a jo zhal ngos
rdo ka rgyag pa ma gnang
I tied a fluttering windhorse for my lover
Beside a willow tree.
Please, Mr Willow Watcher,
Please don’t tear it down!
The term chung ‘dris byams pa generally refers to people whom one has known since childhood, rather than a new acquaintance, so it’s possible that this refers to his greatest love, the daughter of the Regent Sangjé Gyatso. The windhorse is a flag supposed to bring good luck (in this case, good luck in love) and the willow grove (of which there are many in Lhasa, and, in particular, in the Dalai Lama’s summer palace) is a traditional haunt of lovers.
So the scene is built up, only to be threatened - or so he thinks - by meddling forces who are out to destroy his happiness.
[13]
bris pa’i yi ge nag chung
chu dang thig pas ‘jig song
ma bris sems kyi ri mo
bsubs kyang zub rgyu mi ‘dug
Small black letters
Can be destroyed by water or erased.
The unwritten writing of the mind
Though rubbed out, is never rubbed away.
The distinction here is between the physical and the meta-physical world. Sørensen suggests that the word sems, though often translated as “mind”, could here be translated as “love”: thus we have the unwritten language of love, which can never be denied, however convenient it might be to do so.
It’s also possible that the “small black letters” could refer to the reports sent by the Mongolian Lazang Qan to the Chinese Emperor Kangxi, suggesting that Tsangyang Gtyatso was in fact an impostor. So he’s saying, perhaps, that, whatever people say, he knows what is true - not only about his own identity but also about the inner workings of his mind and heart.
[14]
rgyab pa’i nag chung the us
gsung skad ‘byon ni mi shes
khres dang gzhung gi the u
so so’i sems la skyon dang
The stamp of a small black seal
Can’t speak in human language:
The seal of discretion and candor
Is the protection of both our hearts.
Just as a seal gives away none of the content of a letter, so discretion gives away none of the emotion and feelings of our hearts. This seems again to be a poem about - and warning against? - the possibility of inconstant indiscreet girlfriends.
[15]
stong ldan ha lo’i me tog
mchod pa’i rdzas la phebs na
gyu sbrang gzhon nu nga yang
lha khang nang la khrid dang
Thousand-petalled hollyhock -
If you’re made an offering,
Take me, the young turquoise bee,
Into the temple too.
Like the lotus, the hollyhock grows in mud and is therefore an image of the pure mind emerging from impurity. Hollyhocks produce copious blooms, which makes them ideal for offerings and, what’s more, their extreme ephemerality makes them a good image for transcience.
As in poem 7, the uniting of the hollyhock with the secreted bee implies mating and love-making. If we accept this reading, then the hollyhock is the lover. We could, though, see it as representing the Regent and referencing the charge, brought by the Qosot Qan, that the Regent had installed a false Dalai Lama.
[16]
sems song bu mo mi bzhugs
dam pa’i chos la phebs na
pho zhon nga yang mi sdod
ri khrod ‘grim la thal ‘gro
If my beloved girl won’t stay,
But turns to holy Dharma,
Then I, too, the young man, won’t hang around -
I’ll go disappear, go wander in the mountains.
This could be a straightforward poem about the poet’s lover becoming a nun or a hermit, occasioning him also to dedicate himself to solitude and contemplation.
Xiao Diyan, whose analysis frequently turns towards the relationship between the Dalai Lama, the Regent and the Qosot Qan, sees the beloved as being the Regent who, besieged by accusations from the Qan and the cavalier attitude of Tsangyang Gyatso towards his vows, largely withdrew from public life in 1703. The poet feels guilty for this and expresses his loyalty and affection for his mentor.
[17]
mtshan ldan bla ma’i drung du
sems ‘khrid zhu bar phyin pas
sems pa ‘gor kyang mi thub
byams pa’i phyogs la shor song
In the presence of the venerable lama,
I have come to ask for guidance.
But my mind won’t stay -
It’s off to my beloved.
This and the next poem form a unity, based around the difficulties which the poet found in reconciling the responsibility of his status with the emotions of his heart.
Maybe it references, too, the refusal of Tsangyang Gyatso to accept full ordination from the Panchen Lama in 1702 - a situation which resulted in him returning his vows and becoming a layman.
[18]
sgom pa’i bla ma’i zhal ras
yid la ‘char rgyu mi ‘dug
ma sgom byams pa’i zhal ras
yid la a le u le
When I’m meditating, my lama’s face
Fails to appear in my mind.
When I’m not meditating, my lover’s face
Comes clearer and clearer into my mind.
The kind of human nature exhibited in this poem is the reason why Tsangyang Gyatso is such a popular figure in Tibetan culture. How many of us have had such experiences in our own lives - what a relief to know that even the Dalai Lama feels like this.
Xiao Diyan also suggests that this could be an example of how Tsangyang Gyatso could be supporting his Regent’s decision to become more temporal - or even secular - in his life, by acknowledging his own preferences.
[19]
sems pa ‘di la ‘gro ‘gro
dam pa’i chos la phyin na
tshe gcig lus gcig nyid la
sangs rgyas thob pa ‘dug go
If I thought of Holy Dharma,
As consistently as I think of her,
Then in just one lifetime, in just one body,
I’d become a Buddha!
Another poem contrasting love of spiritual practise with that of the beloved. Note also the reference to the central tenet in Vajrayana Buddhism of achieving enlightenment in just one lifetime.
[20]
dag pa shel ri gangs chu
klu bdud rdo rje’i zil pa
bdud rtsi sman gyi phab rgyun
chang ma ye shes mkha’‘gro
dam tshig gtsang mas btung na
ngan song myong dgos mi ‘dug
Pure glacial waters from Crystal Mountain
And dewdrops from a vajra-plant,
Brewed with the yeast of nectar
By the beery dakini of wisdom:
If you drink it with pure intent,
You’ll never experience the lower states.
Dag pa shel ri, the Crystal Peak, is located at the very heart of the Tsari region of SE Tibet. Less than a hundred miles from Tsangyang Gyatso’s birthplace, this is an area replete with sacred places, pilgrimage sites such as Tsari Ringkor. Indian tradition regards it as one of the twenty-four power-places of the Mother Tantras.
This mountain also is a herbal and botanical storehouse. The klu-bdud rdo rje has been identified by Sørensen in his essay-length treatment of this poem as the bonnet-bell flower. On a physical level, this is supposed to be a highly effective antidote to epilepsy, leprosy, rheumatoid arthritis and, in particular, lymphatic diseases; since these ailments are said to derive from malignant planetary deities, chthonic spirits and various types of demons, this vajra-plant is also held to be effective against metaphysical distress. Significantly, Chinese medicine (TCM) believes the bonnet-bell flower to be an aphrodisiac, though Tibetan medicine doesn’t confirm this reading.
The yeast mentioned in the poem (phab rgyun) is used for making alcohol but this term is also related to a relic tradition in Tibet. The term bdud rtsi is not only used commonly for beer but also for the “nectar”, or spiritual substance(s), used in tantric ritual. Thus there is here a connection between the beer, fermented from ritual substances, and the transformative powers encapsulated in the tantric tradition.
The dakini of wisdom (ye shes mkha ‘gro) is frequently linked in Tibetan popular culture with the beer-maidens who ply customers with alcohol. The linking of such deific beings with courtesans and alcoholics bears witness to the tradition of employing inverted logic and impure substances within Vajrayana ritual.
The pure commitment (dam tsig) refers to the pure samaya which characterises the very best spiritual attitude. Here, the individual is attached to no particular opinion or attitude (thus happily accepting a wisdom goddess in the form of a beer-selling whore) and, in this unsullied state, the ingestion of such pure and potent substance will prevent him or her from taking an unfavorable rebirth.
[21]
rlung rta yar ‘gro’i dus la
rlung bskyed dar lcog btsugs pas
mdzangs ma ma bzang bu mo
mgron po la ni bos byung
The windhorse rears up,
A fluttering banner unfurled:
A girl from a noble family
Has invited me as her guest.
Here the poet rejoices in his good fortune. The windhorse is a flag representing good fortune - in this case good worldly fortune. The second line recalls a Tibetan proverb, dar lcog rlung bskyed, which indicates something fluctuating up and down out of one’s control.
Who is the girl from a noble family? The only identified lover of Tsangyang Gyatso is the daughter of the Regent, so this could be the woman referenced here. Whoever the lucky woman is, we can certainly sense the poet’s excitement.
[22]
so dkar lpags pa’i ‘dzum mdangs
bzhugs gral spyi la bltaS na
mig zur khra mo’i sgril mtshams
gzhon pa’i dgong la bltas byung
I saw from my privileged spot
Her white teeth, her smiling, shining skin;
And she, from the corner of her eye,
Was gazing into my young face.
Is the poet under surveillance or is this a look of lust, of love? The more I read of these poems, the more I am aware that the Regent’s daughter was also clearly in a hard position, not only as her father’s daughter, but also as the (albeit secret) lover of the Dalai Lama.
[23]
ha cang sems la song nas
‘grogs ‘dris e yong dris pas
‘chi bral byed na min pa
gson bral mi byed gsungs byung
So much in love, I asked her,
“Will you be mine?”
She said, “Death might separate us -
But life won’t.”
There is a faint echo here of the story of Prince Norzang. His lover Yitrokma accepts the chance of separation through death, but describes separation during life as the very cruellest fate.
[24]
mdzangs ma’i thugs dang btsun na
tshe ‘di’i chos skal chad ‘gro
dben pa’i ri khrod ‘grims na
bu mo’i thugs dang ‘gal ‘gro
Going along with my bright girl’s heart,
I’ld be cutting off my chance to practise dharma in this life.
Wandering in the lonely mountains
Goes against her heart.
Another poem about the dissonance between the spiritual and the material.
[25]
sbrang bu rgya la bcug ‘dra
kong phrug gzhon pa’i blo sna
zhag gsum nyal rogs byas pas
phugs yul lha chos dran byung
Like a bee trapped in a web,
The Kongpo kid’s ideas:
“My partner in bed for three days-
And I’m thinking of the life of religion to come...”
Traditionally, three days marks the point at which a casual affair becomes a serious relationship. At this juncture, the poet’s thinking of his spiritual life and wondering which way to go. Note the use of the bee image here - the romantic bee of other poems becomes the bee trapped in a cruel web.
[26]
gtan grogs khyod la bsams pa’i
khrel dang gno ntsha med na
mgo la rgyab pa’i gtsug gyus
skad cha smras ni mi shes
Thinking of you, my soulmate -
Are you without shame and honor?
The brilliant turquiose in your headdress
Can’t spill the beans.
Grogs is a word meaning “friend” and is also used - as we might use the word “friend” - as a euphemism for “lover”. A gtan grogs is a common phrase in the Tibetan lyrical tradition to mean a long-term lover, although, unlike the term chung ‘dris, found elsewhere in the text, it’s generally used for a casual lover.
Tsangyang Gyatso’s problem with shameless women continues. A Tibetan proverb likens courting a lover with neither shame nor honor to riding a horse caparisoned with neither bridle nor reins. One wonders what he really wants, though, if he thinks of his partner as a gtan grogs.
The turquoise in the headdress is offered as an elixir of youth and joy by the groom’s family when a marriage is contracted. So is this woman already betrothed to another man - is this where her lack of shame and honor comes into play?
But another reading is possible, too, which doesn’t call into question the morality of either the poet or the beloved. Sørensen suggests that maybe the poet himself is the turquoise in the headdress of the regent, whose shameless refusal to grant any power to the young Dalai Lama was well-known. So is this a plea for power-sharing, perhaps?
[27]
'dzum dang so dkar ston phyogs
gzhon pa’i blo khrid yin ‘dug
snying nas sha tsha yod med
dbu mna’ bzhes rogs gnang dang
Your flashing smile
Is leading this young man on.
But, lady, if you’re really hot for me,
Please give me your word.
There is a homophonic variant reading for blo khrid, namely blo ‘brid: the first means “mental guidance” (khrid itself means “to lead, guide” and is a technical term to describe the explanation of tantric texts offered by lamas) while the second means “mental delusion, seduction” - so, although the variants have different meanings, nevertheless there is a close interlocking of meanings, which the poet may well have intended.
Yet again, there is uncertainty concerning the woman’s faithfulness.
[28]
snying thub bya rdo lam ‘phrad
a ma chang mas sbyar byung
lan chags bu lon byung na
‘tsho skyong khyod ras gnang zhu
I met my love by chance on the road -
You fixed us up, Madame, at your inn.
If debts are incurred, to be paid in the future,
Please look after them for me!
This meeting happened quite by chance. The phrase bya rdo refers to the likelihood of hitting a bird (bya) with a stone (rdo) and crops up in the drama of Prince Norzang, where Yitrokma is caught with a magic lasso bya la rdo phog pa bzhin.
The “debts” which could come about are specifically lan chags bu lon, debts specifically incurred to repair bad karma - so we’re most probably talking about an illegitimate child. Tsangyang Gyatso was always being accused of fathering children - and of course his notoriety reached the disapproving ears of the Regent and the Qan - and this might be his way of getting people such as the innkeeper to take their share of the responsibility.
[29]
snying gtam pha mar ma bshad
chung ‘dris byams par bshad pas
byams pa shva pho mang nas
gsang gtam dgra bos go song
Secrets not told to parents
I tell to my beloved.
And from her many suitors,
My enemies hear my secrets.
How bitter this is, how Tsangyang Gyatso feels betrayed by this woman who cannot keep counsel. Snying gtam carries the idea of great intimacy, so we can imagine just what tales she has to tell her other lovers, these stags (shwa pho) who gather round her. And of course, given his status and his reputation (and the seeming dissonance between the two!) the chance to implicate him must have been considerable.
Needless to say, there is a political reading possible here. The secrets might refer to the Nyingma (or ancient) teachings which the Dalai Lama received and practised and whose practise was not necessarily encouraged by all at the court (despite the enthusiasm with which the Great Fifth Dalai Lama practised and taught them). The parents might be the Regent and the Qan, or else the lover might be the Regent and the parents the Qan; the stags, then, would be the political rivals, the malicious figures scheming against the young man from behind the scenes.
However we read it, this is probably the clearest indication we get from the poems of how Tsangyang Gyatso feels about his situation, stuck amidst such twisted emotional, social and political intrigue.
[30]
snying thub yid ‘phrog lha mo
rngon pa rang gis zin kyang
dbang chen mi yi dpon po
nor bzang rgyal bus ‘phrogs song
Mind-stealing goddess
Even though, my love, I am the hunter who took you,
The powerful ruler Norzang Gyalbu
Has stolen you away from me.
Throughout this text, there is strong evidence that Tsangyang Gyatso kept abreast of literary tradition, both Tibetan and Indian. What we have here is a definitive reference to the adaptation by the Tibetan dramatist Tsering Wangdü of the jataka story Sudhana, renamed in Tibetan as Chos rGyal Nor bZang (“Prince Norzang’s Romance”).
The story opens with two kings, one in a northern kingdom and one in a southern kingdom. The northern ruler, Nor-can (Dhana) was wise and successful, due to good counsel from a naga (klu or serpent) demon; the southern ruler, on the other hand, ruled badly and his land was consequently poor and in a state of famine. The wicked southern ruler sent a magician to capture the naga, but the magician was headed off by a hunter, to whom the naga in gratitude gave a magic lasso.
The hunter snared, with the help of the lasso, the kinnari (mi am ci mo or heavenly fairy) Yid -‘phrog Lha-mo (Manohara). However, a hermit urged the hunter to offer the hand of his captive to Dhana’s son, Prince Nor-bu bZang-po (Sudhana), to whom she was indeed eventually wed.
Although the happy couple were content, the prince’s five hundred concubines were, maybe understandably, less than pleased. The court sorceror, Hari, was brought in to help the courtesans kill Yid-’phrog Lha-mo, but only once Hazri had persuaded the king to send Nor-bZang away to war. The queen, however, felt sorry for the hapless kinnari and saved her; Yid-’phrog Lha-mo flew away to Heaven.
On his triumphant return, Prince Norzang resolved, despite the court’s objections, to follow his wife. Finally, of course, he finds her and the play ends in a happy reunion.
It seems that Tsangyang Gyatso saw himself as the hunter, who gave up his lover because he was of the wrong social class. The Dalai Lama, while not necessarily of the wrong social class, was clearly the wrong side of celebacy, and so inappropriate as a romantic lover. He held Norzang to be represented by either the Regent or else the Lhazang Qan. The Regent was a brilliant scholar and was well-known as a serial adulterer and, although this doesn’t necessarily imply association with the prince, it does imply a similar place in the hierarchy.
The kinnari could either represent a woman - either the regent’s daughter or someone else - or she could represent, given her status, the link between heaven and earth, the religious and temporal power which Tsangyang Gyatso wanted so much to wrest from the greedy clutches of his Regent.
[31]
nor bu rang la yod dus
nor bu’i nor nyams ma chod
nor bu mi la shor dus
snying rlung stod la tshangs byung
Jewel in hand,
Jewel’s value never guessed.
Jewel lost to another -
A heart of boiling rage.
A self-explanatory poem of loss and frustration. It’s worth noting the uncharacteristic anger that Tsangyang Gyatso shows here, since most of the time he seems to accept his lot with resignation.
[32]
rang la dga’ ba’i byams pa
gzhan la mdun mar blangs song
khong nang sems pa’i gtsong gis
lus po’i sha yang bskams song
The lover who gave me such joy
Is taken for another’s wife.
The very flesh of my body
Burns up in torment.
An example of the poet’s lovesickness and anger. In the gzhas tradition, the body changes color due to the vicissitudes of love. Here the poet juxtaposes the general word for physical disease (khong nang) with a more specific term (sems [pa’i] gtsong) referring to mental torment.
[33]
snying thub rku la shor song
mo phyva rtsis ‘bul ran song
bu mo gdung sems can ma
rmi lam nang la ‘khor song
My beloved lost to that thief -
It’s time to cast lots.
My passionate girl
Still haunts my dreams.
Another poem about lovesickeness. Here, the word gdung sems is used, referencing not only the idea of passion and love, but equally yearning and love-pangs.
The idea of casting lots might either mean that Tsangyang Gyatso is being fatalistic, or else that he acknowledges the power of the supernatural (or præternatural). It should also be noted that the Regent was an authority on astrology and wrote the classic textbook on the subject. We might assume that the Dalai Lama’s close association with the Regent had yielded a similarly intense interest and skill in divination; nor should the importance of dreams, and his lover’s place in them, be overlooked.
[34]
bu mor ‘chi ba med pa
chang la ‘dzad pa mi ‘dug
gzhon pa’i gtan gyi skyabs gnas
‘di la bcol bas los chog
If girls didn’t die
We wouldn’t need to brew beer.
An eternal refuge it will become
For this young man.
This could well be the same woman who appears in other poems (such as 20 and 61). The use of the term skyabs gnas is interesting, since it is precisely the same term that is used in Buddhist texts to describe the triple refuge of the Buddha, his teaching (Dharma) and the community of practitioners (Sangha). Maybe this is another indication of the inverse spirituality alluded to in poem 20: wine becomes a refuge on a par with (or as a metaphor for) these more traditional refuges.
[35]
bu mo a mar ma skyes
kham bu’i shing la skyes sam
a gsar zad pa kham bu’i
me tog de las mgyogs pa
Is this girl not born of a mother -
Or was she born of a peach tree?
She fades quicker than
The peach tree’s blossom.
There’s an interesting parallel here with poem 1: whereas there the phrase ma skyes a ma indicates a kind of præternatural origin, here the variation a mar ma skyes indicates an unnatural origin, almost a freakishness.
A gsar zad pa is frequently used in Tibetan to indicate a person of fickle character and, in particular, a woman. Whether this is just another jibe at an unfaithful lover, or whether it’s a more serious reference to the notoriously inconstant regent, is unclear. What is clear is the reference to the short-lived peach blossom, a common metaphor for transcience.
[36]
bu mo chung ‘dris byams pa
spyang kI’i rigs rgyud min nam
sha ‘dris lpags ‘dris byung yang
ri la yar grabs mdzad kyis
Maybe this lover I’ve known so long
Comes from the wolf’s line.
Even when given flesh and skins
She’s ready to head for the hills.
Even the intimate offerings of flesh and skins don’t lure this girl. Like a wolf, once she’s satisfied, she heads away - the implication being, to find another lover to seduce. There’s a kind of sideways grin, a sense of amusement, in this poem, indicating a resignation on the part of the poet to his unhappy lot.
[37]
rta rgod ri la rgyab pa
rnyi dang zhags pas zin gyis
byams pa ngo log rgyab pa
mthu ngo zin pa mi ‘dug
A wild horse sent off into the hills
Can be taken with a trap or a lasso.
My defiant sweetheart -
Not even magic spells can capture her.
This poem is faintly reminiscent of poem 10 and, with one eye on the magic lasso, of the drama of Prince Norzang. So strong-willed is this lover (and there’s a feeling that Tsangyang has more than a passing respect for her attitude) that not even magical spells can stop her from running away.
[38]
brag dang rlung po bsdebs nas
rgod po’i sgro la gzan byung
gyo can rdzu bag can gyis
nga la gzan po byas byung
The rock and wind combined
To wear away the vulture’s plumage.
Liars and false friends
Have worn me down.
Another rather bitter poem. Vultures hang around corpses left to decay on the mountain sides and their presence on a high rock is often used as a simile for conjugal relations. So maybe there the rock and wind refer to the Regent and the Qan, who banded together to thwart Tsangyang Gyatso’s love affairs.
Since vultures are solitary birds, this could also be read as a poem about the ways in which the regent and his coterie kept the young Dalai Lama in semi-confinement at Tsona between the years 1685-97, preventing him from a childhood like other children, only to release him to the world under even more restrictiive conditions.
One of the most poignant and famous of these attempts to control the Dalai Lama’s movements was when the Regent’s coterie plotted to kill the young man’s best friend, a young nobleman called Tarjéné. Sometimes, Tsangyang Gyatso and his friends would exchange clothes and, on this particular occasion, Tarjéné and his servant had done just that; his servant was shot and killed. They tried to kill Tarjéné once again but, following this, the Dalai Lama had ther State Oracle reveal the identities of the conspirators who were summarily executed. It’s clearly to plots such as this that the poet alludes here.
[39]
sprin pa kha ser gting nag
sad dang se ra’i gzhi ma
ban de skya min ser min
sangs rgyas bstan pa’i dgra bo
A cloud - inside yellow, outside black -
Is a source of frost and hail.
A wise man - neither monk nor layman -
Is an enemy to the Buddha’s teaching.
It’s probable that this poem is about the deceitful attitude of Sanjé Gyatso, the poet’s regent. This man, who was possibly the most accomplished scholar in the history of Tibet, was a lay appointment in 1679 as the Great Fifth’s right-hand man. It was the Regent who kept his teacher’s death secret for so long, it was he who effectively raised Tsangyang Gyatso to the position to which he was destined, and it was he too who refused to hand over power when the Dalai Lama finally came of age.
Although he was a layman, nevertheless he dressed as a monk and clearly wished to be regarded as a monk. There is a thanka which shows him not only as a great prince receiving visitors and gifts but also as Manjusri, the Buddha of wisdom. His interest in monastic practise clearly encompassed neither celibacy (he had countless lovers) nor traditional Buddhism (for he was also a practitioner of the pre-Buddhist Bön rites): in these ways, he could be described as an enemy of Buddhism - although even Tsangyang Gyatso’s interest in the ancient Nyingma (5) practises was frowned upon by the Gelukpa establishment.
The reference to the ban de or wise man (a Tibetan version of the Sanskrit word Pandita) obviously indicates the intellectual prowess of the Regent, who was effectively neither a monk nor a layman. The contrast of ser and nag could also refer to the yellow (ser) monastic robes as opposed to the “black” (nag) arts of the Bön sect.
Whatever nuances of meaning we might find in this poem, it’s still clear that it is concerned with the deceitful, arrogant and confused attitudes of the Regent - and, of course, to the love and respect and frustration which he and his young charge felt for one another.
[40]
sa de kha zhu gting ‘khyags
rta pho gtong sa ma red
gsar ‘grogs byams pa’i phyogs su
snying gtam bshad sa ma red
Earth, with its slippery surface and solid beneath,
Is not a place to loose a stallion.
A casual lover
Is not a place to confide secret thoughts.
The racing horse is a simile for love-making in Tibetan poetry, so the fragility of doing this on icy earth becomes very clear. Nor is it wise to tell secrets to casual lovers, says the poet, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of an inconstant and unfaithful woman.
[41]
tshes chen bco nga’i zla ba
yin pa ‘dra ba ‘dug ste
zla ba’i dkyil gyi ri bong
tshe zad tshar nas ‘dug go
Tonight the moon
Seems like the full moon.
The hare at its heart
Is dying.
The full moon is a universal symbolism for love and the magnetism of love. In Tibetan literature, it’s associated with the face of a person’s beloved and, shining through the night, it forms an ideal setting for romantic trysts.
Since Vedic times the moon has been occupied by a hare - hence one name in Sanskrit for the moon, sasimukha. In Chinese folklore, the fifteenth day of the eighth month is the day of the (full) moon-feast and it is on that day that the hare is worshipped and is said also to appear clearest in the sky. Throughout Central Asia, the moon-hare is the goddess of fertility whilst, in Tibet, it’s often associated in love poetry with the lover.
[42]
zla ba ‘di nas phar ‘gro
rting ma’i zla ba tshur yong
bkra shis zla ba dkar po’i
zla stod phyogs la mjal yong
The moon’s away -
The next moon’s on its way
We’ll meet again at the rising of
The white full moon of good fortune.
The association of the full moon with the lover implies another meeting when the moon is full again. Alexandra David-Néel notes that this poem is often chanted at banquets to hasten a reunion.
[43]
dbus kyi ri rgyal lhun po
ma ‘gyur brtan par bzhugs dang
nyi ma zla ba’i bskor phyogs
nor yong bsam pa mi ‘dug
Sumeru, the center of the world
Stands firm and unchanging.
Nor do I believe the sun and moon
Will shift their orbits.
Sumeru stands at the center of the universe and so functions as the axis mundi. It’s also considered to be the psychic center of the macrocosmic figure, the source of great bliss. The sun and the moon (nyi ma zla ba) form the standard polarity and, therefore, encompass man and woman also. We could see this as a poem to encourage mutual love and fidelity, the tantric theory of the unity of lovers.
[44]
tshes gsum zla ba dkar ba
dkar gos nang nas chod song
bco lnga’i nam dang mnyam pa'i
zhal bzhes cig kyang gnang zhu
White as the three day moon you come,
And you’re dressed in white from within.
When you swear your oath
Make it as full as the full moon.
The three day crescent moon (tshes gsum zla) makes us think of the three-day period found in other poems (such as 25). The fickleness of the moon is also important here, since the three-day moon, being less lustrous, grows old, waxing and waning again. Another plea for loyalty and constancy.
[45]
sa bcu’i dbyings su bzhugs pa’i
dam can rdo rje chos skyong
mthu dang nus pa yod na
bstan pa’i dgra bo sgrol dang
Protector Dorjé Drakden,
Residing in the tenth sphere:
If you have the power and skill,
Then expel the enemies of the teaching.
The lama referred to here might well be the Néchung Oracle, the Dalai Lama’s State Oracle, who is supposed to protect the state and its inhabitants. It was this lama who revealed the identity of those who had plotted to kill Tsangyang Gyatso’s friend Tarjéné (see poem 38) and here the young man is asking for further protection. It could be read as a challenge to the Regent, whose attempts to prevent the Dalai Lama from exercising power had caused so much trouble.
[46]
khu byug mon nas yong bas
gnam lo’i sa bcud ‘phel song
nga dang byams pa phrad nas
lus sems lhod por langs song
The cuckoo comes from Mon
And springtime bubbles up.
And when I meet with my beloved,
My body softens and my mind is eased.
The cuckoo is highly prized in Tibetan popular lyrics and, in ancient Indian poetry, it’s valued as the bringer of amorous yearnings, is considered as a divine and royal bird, and is loved too for its mellifluous voice. Its return to Lhasa in summer, from its winter quarters in Tsangyang Gyatso’s home region of Mon, obviously heralds an increase in love on both sides.
[47]
skye ‘gro mi rtag ‘chi ba
snying nas ma dran zer na
spyang grung ‘dzoms mdog kha yang
don la lkugs pa ‘dra byung
If a person doesn’t consider
Death and impermanence in their heart,
Even if they seemed wise and prudent,
When it comes to meaningful things, they’re like a fool.
There is some uncertainty regarding the provenance of this poem. It seems more like a Buddhist maxim than a poetic text.
[48]
khiyi de stag khyi gzig khyi
ldag kha ster nas ‘dris song
nang gi stag mo ral ‘dzoms
‘dris nas mthu ru langs song
These dogs - tiger dogs, leopard dogs -
You can tame them with food.
This long-haired tigress within me
Gets stronger still with taming!
The dogs named here are traditionally very ferocious. The Tibetans associate tigers with China and leopards with Mongolia - a very telling couple, if we recall the part played by these countries in Tsangyang Gyatso’s life.
The poet appears to have had quite a bit of experience with wild dogs. He would also have been aware, one assumes, of the Sum-pa Mother Book of the Dun-Huang texts, which states: “A vicious guard dog guards a whole village; a vicious woman can divide even a whole family and friends.” (6) Such misogyny notwithstanding, it would seem reasonable to imagine that it is political machinations to which the poet refers, rather than his problems in love, although Sørensen disagrees.
[49]
sha ‘jam lus po ‘dris kyang
byams pa’i gteng tshod mi lon
sa la ri mo bris pas
nam mkha’i skar tshod thig byung
I know well my lover’s pliant flesh,
Yet cannot get her measure.
I draw pictures on the ground
And measure out the stars in the sky.
The word ‘drs is an approximate homophone for the words ‘brel and ‘dres, suggesting union and intercourse. It’s unlikely that Tsangyang Gyatso would have used language in such an explicit way, and the translation “know” hopefully conveys the nexus of meanings satisfactorily.
That divination seems to be easier for the poet than understanding his lover (both body and mind) is clearly frustrating. It could well be that byams pa refers both to the lover and to the Regent, whose personality and attitude were so confusing and contradictory that, indeed, casting lots or analysing astrological charts might well be easier to interpret.
[50]
nga dang byams pa’i sdebs sa
lho rong ljon pa’i nags gseb
smra mkhan ne tso ma gtogs
su dang gang gis mi shes
smra mkhan ne tso o shes
gsang kha mdo la ma gnang
My love and I meet
In the dense forest of the southern valley.
No-one knows
Except the talkative parrot.
Please, you talkative parrot -
Don’t tell everyone our secret!
Parrots, of course, are not just beautiful, but also talkative birds and fine mimics. So this parrot might well give away the lovers’ secret meetings. The parrot image refers sarcastically to the people who were plotting against Tsangyang Gyatso and indicates the concern that these people might be watching at every corner.
Looked at historically, the lovers would be the poet and the Regent, meeting in secret against the Qan. That analysis would place the writing of this poem around 1704.
[51]
lha sa mi tshogs mthug la
‘phyongs rgyas mi spus dag pa
nga la yod pa’i chung ‘dris
‘phyongs rgyas gzhung la yod do
The close-knit crowds in Lhasa,
The charming folk of ChongjŽ.
The one for me -
She’s coming from the valley of ChongjŽ.
The Chung Gyal valley is the cradle of Tibetan civilization and, in the Dun-huang chronicles, it’s named as the site of the residence of the early Tibetan kings, before King Srongtsen Gampo moved it to Lhasa. Tsangyand Gyatso’s successor, the Great Fifth, was also born here, so the poet clearly felt the importance of the link.
Sir Charles Bell tells of a friend who identified the chung ‘dris as a goddess who was to bear Tsangyang Gyatso a son, who would grow up to be an important and influential ruler. This a myth, of course, but it’s quite possible that the poet was aware of its significance.
[52]
khyi rgan rgya bo zer ba
rnam shes mi las spyang ba
srod la langs song ma zer
tho rangs log byung ma zer
That bearded old dog barks -
Sharper witted than any man.
Don’t say “He leaves at dusk”.
Don’t say, “He gets in at dawn”.
The term khyi rgan has a colloquial meaning, beyond the regular translation of “old dog”, of “sonofabitch” or “bastard”. So bitter a term could well have been directed at one of Tsangyang Gyatso’s most established (and bearded) private attendants. This man clearly knew about the Dalai Lama’s illicit wanderings and may have been reporting back to the Regent. This poem shows just how how much care the poet had to take lest he get found out.
[53]
srod la byams pa btsal bas
tho rangs kha ba bab byung
gsang dang magsang mi ‘dug
zhabs rjes gangs la bzhag yod
Much snow had fallen
When, at dusk,I sought my beloved.
Secrecy matters little
Now that footprints have been left in the snow.
The old dog seems to have discovered the secret....
[54]
po ta la ru bzhugs dus
rig ‘dzin tshangs dbyangs rgya mtsho
lha sa zhol du sdod dus
‘chal po dvangs bzang dbang po
Residing in the Potala
I am Rigdzin Tsangyang Gyatso
When I’m hanging down in Shol,
I’m Dangzang Wangpo.
Shol is a small town to the south of the Potala, where there were at this time a number of brothels and inns. Tsangyang Gyatso spent much of his time here, both before and after he disrobed. Dvangs bzang dBang po is a nickname meaning something like “handsome young stud”, which is probably the reputation he had in Shol at this time.
The use of the honorific verb bzhugs here might indicate that the poem is actually about Tsangyang Gyatso, rather than by him.
There’s a very strong contrast here between his official status and his more intimate personality and in some ways this is quite a poignant poem, illustrating his own attitudes - and of course his preference, implicit rather than explicit.
[55]
sha ‘jam mal sa nang gi
snying thub gdung sems can ma
o lo’i rgyu nor ‘phrog pa’i
gyo sgyu bshad pa min ‘gro
My passion, my love,
Soft flesh within my bed:
Are you not deceitful
To steal away this young man’s wealth and virtue?
While this could, of course, be simply another poem in which the poet bemoans the problems of being in a relationship, it could also refer to the hypocrisy and deceit of the Regent. The rather intimate language of the poem would illustrate the love which clearly existed between the poet and the Regent - like the love between a father and son who, superficially at least, are constantly at loggerheads but whose deep bond is unshakable.
[56]
dbu zhva dbu la bzhes song
dbu lcang rgyab la dbyugs song
ga ler phebs shig byas pas
ga ler bzhugs shig gsung gis
thugs sems skyo yong byas pas
mgyogs po ‘phrad yong gsungs byung
Hat on head,
Long pigtail thrown back over his shoulder.
“Go well.”
“Stay well.”
“I’ll be sad...”
“We’ll meet again soon.”
In the Tibetan text there is no indication here of identity, no “he” or “she”, no masculine or feminine particles, so it’s very difficult to say who the characters are. That there is absolutely no way to identify people seems likely to be deliberate - whether for political expediency or else as a joke or a game with the reader.
The pigtail is often found within the Nyingma tradition, whose practitioners tend, traditionally, to wear their hair long. So this could be a reference to the Dalai Lama and it’s noteworthy that the word for pigtail (dbu lcang) echoes the word for willow tree (lcang) found in other poems (62, 64, 12), where it indicates the place for love and lovemaking.
[57]
bya de khrung khrung dkar mo
nga la gshog rtsal gyar dang
thag ring rgyang la mi ‘gro
li thang bskor nas slebs yong
Hey there, white crane,
Lend me your agile wings.
I’ll not go too far -
Just around Lithang, then I’ll be back.
The crane, which mates for life, is a symbol of marital fidelity. They fly in migration over Lhasa. Lithang is the site of the Seventh Dalai Lama’s birthplace, and this poem seems to be some kind of prophecy. It’s said that when the Néchung and Karmasha oracles were asked for the future Dalai Lama’s birthplace, they both hit a bronze gong: li is the bronze used for making the gongs and thang is the onomatapœia for the sound which the gongs make.
[58]
shi de dmyal ba’i yul gyi
chos rgyal las kyi me long
‘di na khrig khrig mi ‘dug
de nas khrig khrig gnang zhu
Mirror of karma,
Ruler of Hell - Death!
What didn’t go right in this life,
Please let it go better in the next.
This poem indicates the troubled life which Tsangyang Gyatso lived and the disillusionment which characterised it. Even though the Regent can be seen as a flawed person who acted out of ignorance rather than out of maliciousness, nevertheless the poet acted as he did also with reason. Because of this, the Lord of Death, Yama, is called in to judge over their lives (as over all lives) with mercy and compassion. Obviously he hoped for a better deal in his next incarnation - not only for himself but also, we might speculate, for the Tibetan people, whose life would have been affected, to some extent, by the political machinations between Tibet and Mongolia.
Xiao sees the second couplet as referring to the murder of the Regent in 1703 - and thus that the poem is a veiled criticism of the Qan. He also speculates that it could have been composed on the way to the Kunga Nor on the way to China, and that it could mark an acceptance of the death which he (correctly, as it turned out) foresaw.
[59]
mda’ mo ‘ben la phog song
mdeu sa la ‘dzul song
chung ‘dris byams pa ‘phrad byung
sems nyid rjes la ‘brangs song
Love’s arrow hits the mark,
Its tip slips into the earth.
Now I’ve met my lover,
My thoughts are hunting her down.
Tsangyang Gyatso was an expert archer, so it’s no surprise that his arrow hits the mark. Arrows were also a method of divination, which might here refer to lots which he threw to determine a course of action.
[60]
rgya gar shar gyi rma bya
kong yul mthil gyi ne tso
‘khrungs sa ‘khrungs yul mi gcig
‘dzoms sa chos ‘khor lha sa
Peacock from eastern India,
Parrot from the Kong valley:
Unalike in place and manner of birth,
Yet they meet in Lhasa, the wheel of dharma.
In the Tibetan tradition, the peacock comes from India and is a symbol of unsurpassed beauty and longevity: it’s often the subject of nang ma, songs usually performed by girls. Its tail feathers are used as insignia and ornaments in official clothing. The parrot, as we have already seen in poem 50, is regarded as a talkative creature and, also, as a perfect mate for the peacock, the couple being a feast for the eyes and ears.
Lhasa, the center of the world, is the place of the Jokhang, the holiest site in Tibet. So there is a meeting (or mating?) of peacock and parrot at the hub of the universe. Maybe the parrot represents the poet and the (proud) peacock the Regent.
[61]
mi tshos nga la lab pa
dgongs su dag pa khag theg
o lo’i gom gsum phra mo
gnas mo’i nang la thal song
People talk about me -
I beg their pardon, I admit it:
These three quick steps take this young man
Into the house of the hostess.
An acknowledgement of his love affairs. Maybe taking refuge in the inn is like taking refuge in the triple gem (see poem 34) and maybe such an act, both ritual and amatory, could be seen as a prelude to the renunciation of his vows.
[62]
lcang ma byi 'ur sems shor
byi 'u lcang mar sems shor
sems shor mthun pa byung na
skya khra hor pas mi thub
The willow’s in love with the sparrow,
The sparrow’s in love with the willow.
If losing your heart is natural,
The grey sparrowhawk doesn’t stand a chance.
Another poem about the willow and its love affairs. Skya khra hor pa is some kind of bird of prey and is probably a falcon or sparrowhawk. The identification with Mongolia (hor pa) is clearly deliberate and explicitly indicates the problems which Tsangyang Gyatso was having with the Qan. The love of the sparrow and the willow is frequently and traditionally disturbed by a bogeyman figure such as a bird of prey: this recalls both Yitrokma’s having to vacate the palace of her husband Prince Norzang due to the interference of his concubines and, of couse, the interference of the Qan in the lives of the poet and his Regent.
[63]
da lta’i tshe thung ‘di la
de kha tsam zhig zhus nas
rting ma byis pa’i lo la
mjal ‘dzom e yong blta o
In this short life,
So much has happened.
Let’s see if we can’t meet up
In the childhood of the next.
A poem which seems to wish for a happier reincarnation and for a reuniting with, maybe, his lover or his Regent.
[64]
bya de smra mkhan ne tso
kha rog bzhugs rogs mdzod dang
lcang gling a lce ‘jol mo
gsung snyan skyur dgos byas byung
Talkative parrot,
Please keep your mouth shut!
Sister thrust is singing her sweet song
In the willow tree.
The thrush singing in the willow tree is traditionally granted the voice of Brahma and is frequently associated with a sweet and beautiful girl. We could imagine that this poem refers to a servant or envoy who’s incapable of keeping quiet and who, therefore, might give the poet’s secret relationship(s) away.
[65]
rgyab kyi klu bdud btsan po
‘jigs dang mi ‘jigs mi ‘dug
mdun gyi ka ra ku shu
‘thogs su dgos pa byas song
The fierce dragons behing me
Should neither be feared nor ignored.
The sweet apple before me
Needs plucking!
The klu bdud are chthonic serpents, associated with the nagas (klu) who live both underwater and in trees. Here the serpents/parents are contrasted with the goddess/lover. The Regent is a demon, preventing the Dalai Lama from having his freedom and/or his political power. The fruit in the second couplet might well indicate both the lover (possibly the daughter of the Regent) and the status which the poet felt he deserved.
[66]
dang po ma mthong chog pa
sems pa shor don mi ‘dug
gnyis pa ma ‘dris chog pa
sems gcong yong don mi ‘dug
Best of all not to see -
Then you can avoid falling in love.
Second best not to get close -
Then you can avoid heart-ache.
This is an intensely sad poem, I feel, showing how the Dalai Lama saw his situation as untenable and, ultimately, impotent. He had gotten close, not only to his lovers, but also to his Regent - and both had proved to be a source of great difficulties, for all the parties concerned.
