Reviews for Mencius

The average rating for Mencius based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2014-04-17 00:00:00 Barbara Gallier This is an English translation of some Kannada bhakti poems composed by four saints of the Virasaiva bhakti movement in the 12th century CE. The samplings are from Basavanna, Allama prabhu, Mahadevi akka and Dasimayya. The Bhakti movement is a monotheistic socio-religious movement that promoted personal faith and devotion. They were opposed to Vedic rituals and caste hierarchy. They emphasised equality of everyone, as opposed to the Vedic religion where women, shudras and outcastes were treated as impure. Virasaiva saints acknowledge Siva as the Supreme Being. The translation is excellent. Ramanujan does his best to retain the meaning and style. The poems themselves are beautiful and filled with passion and devotion. The wit of Basavanna, the allusions and paradoxes of Allama Prabhu and the love and ardour of Mahadevi akka. There are two interesting appendices at the end. One a short one on the Virasaivik theology and philosophy and the other an anthropological article on the contemporary position of the Virasaiva movement as the Lingayat caste. That was written in 1960's and so is a bit outdated.

Review # 2 was written on 2009-01-24 00:00:00 Todd Kindberg AK Ramanujan takes the prose of four medieval Virasaiva saints and translates it into rich haunting modern poetry. Basavanna speaks often of isolation and despair: Don't make me hear all day 'Whose man, whose man, whose man is this?' Let me hear, 'This man is mine, mine, this man is mine.' Devara Dasimayya was apparently the best missionary. He talks a lot about power and fire: Till fire joins wind it cannot take a step. Do men know it's like that with knowing and doing? Mahadeviyakka wandered nude and love-lorn for Siva. She talks to women and mango trees and cuckoo birds: If He says He has to go away to fight battles at the front I understand and can be quiet. But how can I bear it when He is here in my hands right here in my heart and will not take me? O mind, O memory of pasts, if you will not help me get to Him how can I ever bear it? Allama Prabhu was the most enlightened. His metaphors are academic but still shake the roots: I saw: heart conceive, hand grow big with child; ear drink up the smell of camphor, nose eat up the dazzle of pearls; hungry eyes devour diamonds. In a blue sapphire I saw the three worlds hiding, O Lord of Caves. While the little I've seen of Ramanujan's own poetry was good but not particularly so, he has honored himself with these translations. The intro and especially McCormack's appendix are laughably dated - not that I know enough about Lingayat culture to know about new research, but somehow the tone exudes the 1970s.