The More Words, the More Tangled
By Phan Tan Hai
The wise are never confused,
the brave never afraid—
now I meet them again in a film,
the lessons I learned in my youth,
unsure how much of them ever proved true.
Is it true the wise no longer doubt?
Is it true the brave no longer fear?
The Analects I recited when I was young—
dust on the bookshelf has blurred
the innocence of those years.
Alas—
the more I study, the more doubts arise;
the braver I become, the more hesitation grows,
only because I fear this world
will shatter a little more,
only because I fear another moon
will break upon the lake.
Meeting Master Confucius’s teachings again
in a martial-arts film,
my heart grows even more uncertain.
Books I read now are countless as scriptures,
yet the more I understand this world,
the deeper my doubts become.
The more words, the more tangled—
if only the heart were quiet,
if only all words vanished from the mind,
if only I could delight in this world like a child,
look into a mirror
and forget my own name, or anyone’s.
Each day I translate the news—
full of bomb-soaked storms,
full of children’s cries.
Who was it that said
“the wise are never confused”?
Swimming through forests of words each day,
my heart grows heavier
with doubt.
If only I could forget all words,
enter a place without measure,
where neither wisdom nor folly exists,
where neither black nor white,
neither night nor day,
neither self nor other—
a place where all things
are silent.
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