WANG WAN
(693–751)
Wang Wan was the police chief of Luoyang, the city of his birth, in present-day Henan province. His work appears in the famous anthology 300 Poems of the Tang Dynasty, but most of it has been lost.
Stopping at Beigu Mountain
Man on a road through green mountains.
A boat sails the green waters.
The banks grow when the tide stills.
One sail taut in the wind.
The ocean sun emerges from broken night.
Spring flows in rivers as the year ages.
How can my letter find its way home
to Luoyang where the geese fly?
WANG WEI
(701–761)
Wang Wei is considered, with Du Fu and Li Bai, one of the three greatest poets of the Tang dynasty. He was also a talented musician and a famous landscape painter who founded the Southern school of landscape painters. The central conflict in Wang Wei's life was between his career as a successful official and his devotion to Daoism and Chan Buddhism. Born Wang Mojie, he took the courtesy name Wei; the two names together (Wei Mojie) make up the Chinese transliteration of the Buddhist saint Vimalakirti, who affirmed the lay practice of Buddhism. Many of Wang Wei's poems express his desire to retreat from the “dusty, busy” world of the court to his estate at Wang River, the setting for his famous Wang River sequence of poems, whose almost purely objective landscape descriptions are subtly infused with a Buddhist consciousness or, more accurately, lack of consciousness. Wang Wei's poems often allude to Tao Qian (c. 365–427), whose own hermetic retreat was a model for future poets. Of all Chinese poets, Wang Wei is the one who comes closest to Zhuangzi's description of the perfect man: “Be empty, that is all. The Perfect Man uses his mind like a mirror—going after nothing, welcoming nothing, responding but not storing.” One of his most famous poems begins with “the empty mountain” as the landscape symbol for the annihilation of consciousness: “Nobody in sight on the empty mountain.” Yet Wang Wei always keeps one foot in the real world, and with simplicity, an accurate eye, and piercing social judgment, he portrays the military, the court, the rebellious Daoist drunkard, and the lonely rooms of women whose husbands are fighting on the Northern frontier. His poems work with few words, often treating traditional themes, yet the mind behind these words is so fresh and authentic that each simple line takes on the quality of originality, of having been uttered on the first morning of speech. His poems are often described as spoken paintings, his paintings as silent poems. As Robert Payne observes, he “can evoke a whole landscape in a single line.”
Born in what is today Shanxi province, Wang Wei passed the imperial examinations in 721. He had a series of appointments of increasing importance in Changan, the Tang dynasty capital, from assistant director of the Imperial Music Office to right assistant director of the Department of State Affairs, his most important post, which he attained in 759. Early in his career he was sent into a brief exile to the provinces and turned to the tradition of exile poetry which Li Bai and Du Fu were also to practice and in which he was to excel. In 755 An Lushan led a rebellion that captured Changan, and Wang Wei was imprisoned in a temple, where he attempted suicide. He was later sent to Luoyang and forced to serve in the rebels' puppet government. When the rebellion was put down, Wang Wei's life was in danger because of his collaboration, but the fact that during his imprisonment he had written a poem denouncing the dismemberment of a court musician who refused to play for the rebels at Frozen Emerald Pond persuaded Emporer Suzong to restore him to his former office. Wang Wei never did give up the world of the court for religious practice. But the conflict between his worldly career and his desire to be without desire is central to his most moving poems.
The following poems by Wang Wei were translated by Tony Barnstone, Willis Barnstone, and Xu Haixin.
Watching the Hunt
Strong wind. The horn bow sings.
The generals are hunting in Wei Cheng.
In withered grass, the falcon's eye is sharper.
In melting snow, horse hooves are light.
They've just passed New Harvest Market
yet are already home at Willow Branch.
They look back. They shot the vulture
in a thousand miles of twilight clouds.
Walking into the Liang Countryside
The village has just three houses with old people.
A settlement at the frontier doesn't have neighbors on all four sides.
Trees wind-dance by the temple of the field god.
Flutes and drums. People worship the deity,
pouring wine on straw dogs,
burning incense as they bow before a wooden figure.
Holy women circle in a never-stopping dance,
kicking up dust with their silk shoes.
A Young Lady's Spring Thoughts
Unbearable to watch these endless silk threads rain through the sky.
Spring wind pulls them apart and intensifies this separation.
Leisurely flowers fall to the green mossy earth.
Only I can know this. No one comes to see me all day.
For Someone Far Away
All year I stay alone in my bedroom
dreaming of Mountain Pass, remembering our separation.
No swallow comes with letters in its claws.
I see only the new moon like the eyebrow of a moth.
Climbing the City Tower North of the River
Wells and alleys lead me to the rocky hills.
From a traveler's pavilion up in clouds and haze
I watch the sun fall—far from this high city—
into blue mountains mirrored by distant water.
Fire on the shore where a lonely boat is anchored.
Fishermen and evening birds go home.
Dusk comes to the silent expanse of heaven
and earth and my heart is calm like this wide river.
Deep South Mountain
Taiyi Mountain1is close to the capital
and its peaks tumble down to the sea.
White clouds come together as I look back
but when I enter blue mist it vanishes.
From the middle peak I see other wild fields,
a valley of shadows, another of sun.
Needing to lodge someplace among people,
I shout across a brook to a woodcutter.
Living in the Mountain on an Autumn Night
After fresh rain on the empty mountain
comes evening and the cold of autumn.
The full moon burns through the pines.
A brook transparent over the stones.
Bamboo trees crackle as washerwomen go home
and lotus flowers sway as a fisherman's boat slips downriver.
Though the fresh smell of grass is gone,
a prince is happy in these hills.
Drifting on the Lake
Autumn is crisp and the firmament far,
especially far from where people live.
I look at cranes on the sand
and am immersed in joy when I see mountains beyond the clouds.
Dusk inks the crystal ripples.
Leisurely the white moon comes out.
Tonight I am with my oar, alone, and can do everything,
yet waver, not willing to return.
Cooling Off
Clear waters drift through the immensity of a tall forest.
In front of me a huge river mouth
receives the long wind.
Deep ripples hold white sand
and white fish swimming as in a void.
I sprawl on a big rock,
billows nourishing my humble body.
I gargle with water and wash my feet.
A fisherman pauses out on the surf.
So many fish long for bait. I look
only to the east with its lotus leaves.
Return to Wang River
Bells stir in the mouth of the gorge.
&
nbsp; Few fishermen and woodcutters are left.
Far off in the mountains is twilight.
Alone I come back to white clouds.
Weak water chestnut stems can't hold still.
Willow catkins are light and blow about.
To the east is a rice paddy, color of spring grass.
I close the thorn gate, seized by grief.
Written on a Rainy Autumn Night After Pei Di's Visit
The urgent whir of crickets quickens.
My light robe is getting heavier.
In freezing candlelight I sit in my high house.
Through autumn rain I hear a random bell.
I use white laws to handle mad elephants1
and unearthly words to test old dragons.
Who would bother to visit my weedy path?
Though nothing like the hermits Qiu and Yang,2
in my refuge I am lucky and alone.
To Pei Di, While We Are Living Lazily at Wang River
The cold mountain turns deep green.
Autumn waters flow slower and slower.
By the lattice gate, I lean on my cane;
we hear cicadas in the wind at dusk.
The failing sun rests on the dock
and lonely smoke rises from the village.
You are as drunk as legendary Jie Yu1
madly singing in front of Five Willows.2
Birds Sing in the Ravine
At rest, he senses acacia blossoms fall.
Quiet night, the spring mountain empty.
The sudden moon alarms mountain birds.
Pulses of song in the spring ravine.
Sketching Things
Slender clouds. On the pavilion a small rain.
Noon, but I'm too lazy to open the far cloister.
I sit looking at moss so green
my clothes are soaked with color.
from The Wang River Sequence
Preface
My country estate is at Wang River Ravine, where the scenic spots include Meng Wall Hollow, Huazi Hill, Grainy Apricot Wood Cottage, Deer Park, Magnolia Enclosure, Lakeside Pavilion, Lake Yi, Waves of Willow Trees, Luan Family Rapids, White Pebble Shoal, Magnolia Basin, etc. Pei Di and I spent our leisure writing quatrains about each of these places.
1. Deer Park
Nobody in sight on the empty mountain
but human voices are heard far off.
Low sun slips deep in the forest
and lights the green hanging moss.
2. House Hidden in the Bamboo Grove
Sitting alone in the dark bamboo,
I play my lute and whistle song.
Deep in the wood no one knows
the bright moon shines on me.
3. Luan Family Rapids
In the windy hiss of autumn rain
shallow water fumbles over stones.
Waves dance and fall on each other:
a white egret startles up, then drops.
4. White Pebble Shoal
White Pebble Shoal is clear and shallow. You can almost grab the green cattail. Houses east and west of the stream. Someone washes silk in bright moonlight.
5. Lakeside Pavilion
A light boat greets the honored guests, far,
far, coming in over the lake.
On a balcony we face bowls of wine
and lotus flowers bloom everywhere.
6. Magnolia Basin
On branch tips the hibiscus bloom.
The mountains show off red calices.
Nobody. A silent cottage in the valley.
One by one flowers open, then fall.
Things in a Spring Garden
Last night's rain makes me sail in my wooden shoes.
I put on my shabby robe against the spring cold.
As I spade open each plot, white water spreads.
Red peach flowers protrude from the willow trees.
On the lawn I play chess, and by a small wood
dip out water with my pole and pail.
I could take a small deerskin table
and hide in the high grass of sunset.
Answering the Poem Su Left in My Blue Field Mountain Country House, on Visiting and Finding Me Not Home
I live a plain life in the valley's mouth
where trees circle the deserted village.
I'm sorry you traveled the stone path for nothing
but there is no one in my cottage.
The fishing boats are glued to the frozen lake
and hunting fires burn on the cold plain.
Temple bells grieve slowly and night monkeys
chatter beyond the white clouds.
About Old Age, in Answer to a Poem by Subprefect Zhang
In old age I ask for peace
and don't care about things of this world.
I've found no good way to live
and brood about getting lost in my old forests.
The wind blowing in the pines loosens my belt.
The mountain moon is my lamp while I tinkle my lute.
You ask, how do you rise or fall in life?
A fisherman's song is deep in the river.
To My Cousin Qiu, Military Supply Official
When young I knew only the surface of things
and studied eagerly for fame and power.
I heard tales of marvelous years on horseback
and suffered from being no wiser than others.
Honestly, I didn't rely on empty words;
Cousin, like Huilian1your taste is pure.
I tried several official posts.
But to be a clerk—always fearing punishment
for going against the times—is joyless.
In clear winter I see remote mountains
with dark green frozen in drifted snow.
Bright peaks beyond the eastern forest
tell me to abandon this world.
You once talked of living beyond mere dust.
I saw no rush to take your hand and go—
but how the years have thundered away!
On Being Demoted and Sent Away to Qizhou
How easy for a lowly official to offend
and now I'm demoted and must go north.
In my work I sought justice
but the wise emperor disagreed.
I pass houses and roads by the riverside
and villages deep in a sea of clouds.
Even if one day I come back,
white age will have invaded my hair.
For Zhang, Exiled in Jingzhou, Once Adviser to the Emperor
Where are you? I think only of you.
Dejected I gaze at the Jingmen Mountains.
Now no one recognizes you
but I still remember how you helped me.
I, too, will work as a farmer,
planting, growing old in my hilly garden.
I see wild geese fading into the south.
Which one can take you my words?
Seeing Off Prefect Ji Mu as He Leaves Office and Goes East of the River
The time of brightness is long gone.
I, too, have been passed over.
It's fate. No complaint colors my face.
The plain life is what I enjoy.
Now that you brush off your sleeves and leave,
poverty will invade the four seas.
Ten thousand miles of pure autumn sky.
Sunset clarifies the empty river.
What pleasure on a crystal night
to rap on the side of the boat and sing
or share the light with fish and birds,
leisurely stretched out in the rushes.
No need to lodge in the bright world.
All day let your hair be tangled like reeds.
Be lazy and in the dark about human affairs,
in a remote place, far from the emperor.
You can gather things smaller than you;
in the natural world there are no kings.
I will also leave office and return,
<
br /> an old farmhand, plowing the fields.
Winter Night, Writing About My Emotion
The winter night is cold and endless
and the palace water clock drums the hour.
Grass is white clouds of heavy frost
and aging trees reveal a bright moon.
Beautiful robes frame my wasted face.
A red lamp shines on my white hair.
Now the Han emperor1respects only the young.
I look in my mirror, ashamed to go to the court.
Seeing Zu Off at Qizhou
Only just now we met and laughed
yet here I'm crying to see you off.
In the prayer tent we are broken.
The dead city intensifies our grief.
Coldly the remote mountains are clean.
Dusk comes. The long river races by.
You undo the rope, are already gone.
I stand for a long time, looking.
A White Turtle Under a Waterfall
The waterfall on South Mountain hits the rocks,
tosses back its foam with terrifying thunder,
The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry Page 15
