9 March 2020 – The Emperor Knows Clothes

Hans Christin Andersen published a vignette (perhaps a parable) in 1837 that everyone who reads this week’s poem will remember. Andersen’s moral fable is shot through with pride, greed, and fear, not to mention delusion. Hopefully, the poem below carries the essence of quite different views, while remaining generally true to the original. Andersen’s piece seems ahead of its time. Naked emperors weren’t exactly common in the 19th century; in fact, most people probably found the tale either titillating, abhorrent, or both. So, read away, and just see if you can find any moral tale within. Take a chance and investigate what “knows clothes” might mean. There may be a clue or two in the epigrams.

The Emperor Knows Clothes

Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .

Sir Walter Scott, “Marmion,” 1898

To study the self is to forget the self. 

To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. 

When actualized by myriad things, 

your body and mind as well as the bodies 

and minds of others drop away. 

No trace of enlightenment remains, 

and this no-trace continues endlessly 

Zen Master, Eihei Dogen, 13^th century

                        Once upon a time, a king sat

                                    looking out his stained-glass window

                                                pondering the two great matters

                        Actually, this king was emperor

                                    but he liked the sound of “king” much better

                                    “king” was simpler – not so pompous

                        You see, this man was the ruler

                                    and jailor of “the lie of self”

                        As we shall see

                        “Who will tell his Royal Highness?”

                                    inquired the emperor’s valet

                        “Yes, clearly you must design a way”

                                    harrumphed a well-dressed, younger page

                        “Why me? I have no experience

                                    with such matters as nakedness.”

                        “I suppose someone will tell him.”

                        “Only one not fit for his job.”

                        “A thousand robes; five-hundred trains

                        Nakedness! How can that suit him?”

                        “For years he’s done this; it’s no whim.”

                        Meanwhile, the emperor mused and listened

                        Many years he’d spent undressing

                                    layer by layer until emptiness

                                    and stardust clothed him well enough

                        Each piece dropped a tedious burden

            

                        Falling to the floor

                        Calling for blessed freedom more

                                    

                        Spitting buttons, ribbons, epaulets

                        Rending threads and ripping trousers

                        This his pastime when valets drew near

                        Chagrined attendants all blushed red

                        Subjects found amusement instead

                        Laughing, undressing, and they said,

                        “Though naked, we give allegiance

                                    to his unclothed self – Hail our regent!”

                        Still, advisors declared insanity

                                    named nakedness a vanity

                        So, they hung a mirror-mirror on the wall

                                    to view calloused feet, un-ringed fingers all

                        Then they waited for what they hoped for most

                                    but still, royal clothes remained a joke

                        At last the ministers dared to question

                                    how long their liege would stay unclothed

                        “Let be be,” the king responded

                        “Dear friends, to not wax despondent

                        “Let my crown be made of ice cream

                         Sew my trousers with hollow threads

                         Let my horizontal scepter

                                    wave our flag like a fresh fig leaf

                                    arise fleshy with erection

                                    then melt away like my crown’s confection.”

                        And so, as with the way with emperors

                                    his word made law did protect him

                        Out of kindness, he let them dress him

                                    then off garments went, 

each one a dropped identity

                                                until what stood there bright and clear

was the essence of reality

Background

Recently, a friend and I chatted over coffee. She told me about the system where she worked wherein people in important, high-responsibility positions weren’t doing their jobs; worse, not a few incidents involved actual harm to others who were under the “higher-ups” power. As karma would have it, those who were shirking their duties were exposed to their superiors. This lead us to the phrase, “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” My friend paused a minute, and then said, “No, it’s more like the “The Emperor’s No Clothes.” A bit mind-bending, but you get the drift.

As I sat down to write this poem, inspired to write by our conversation, I thought, “Aha! It has to be “The Emperor Knows Clothes.” But what does “knows clothes” mean? Now that you’ve read the poem, I’ll give you a hint: the “clothes” have something to do with the Dogen epigram. Ha!

I must tell you that another inspiration came from Wallace Stevens, the poet who wrote “The Emperor of Ice Cream,” which I’ve included at the very end of this post. In fact, there are quite a few Stevens parallels in today’s poem. Compare the two in a “Where’s Waldo” exploratory mindset. See if you can find the connections. Here are a few technical similarities: 8-line stanzas – mostly / 4-5 iambic beats per line / couplets.

Finally, the above lead me to revisit one of my favorite Buddhists, a Japanese Zen practitioner who lived in the 13th century, and who wrote extensively, including poetry. (See above epigram)

Exploration 1: What is more important to you than anything else in the world? Can you help choosing this? Is your choice wise? What is it that the emperor in the post’s poem has chosen?

Exploration 2: Look into a mirror and ask, “What is this?” rather than “Who am I?” Notice the difference in meanings. Now wait. Do you get any answer(s)?

Exploration 3: How many, and what kind of “clothes” layers (i.e., identities) does a person (including you) have to shed before one’s true essence becomes visible?

The Emperor of Ice Cream                          Wallace Stevens

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Source: The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (1982)