Cadence
In a given lü-shi a line can be either pentasyllabic or heptasyllabic, which is to say that the line may be composed of either five or seven characters, since in Chinese each character counts invariably as one syllable (and the words themselves, in ancient Chinese, are often made up of only one character). In poetry, where the syllable is the basic unit, there is no gap between the level of the signifiers and that of the signifieds, each syllable always having a meaning. The caesura is found, in the pentasyllabic line, after the second syllable, and in the heptasyllabic, after the fourth. On the two sides of the caesura there also exists an opposition between the even numbers (two and four syllables) and the odd numbers (three syllables), an opposition accentuated by the cadence, which is, remarkably, iambic before the caesura and trochaic after it ( accented syllable):
pentasyllabic:
heptasyllabic:
This rhythm, where the even and the odd syllables are accented in turn, is created, in a way, by a series of small collisions. Perhaps an image will be helpful here: the caesura is like a seawall against which the rhythmic waves strike: ; there follows a return wave, which engenders a contrary rhythm: . This contrastive prosody wakens all of the dynamic movement of the line. It is appropriate to point out here that the opposition between even and odd numbers is based on the idea of yin and yang (the yin represented by the even, and the yang by the odd numbers), and that the alternation of yin and yang, as is well known, represents for the Chinese the fundamental rhythm of the universe.
Beyond the rhythmic function that it performs, the caesura also plays a syntactic role, regrouping the words of a line into distinct segments that are in opposition to each other and that support the links from cause to effect.1 In the poem “Captive Spring,”2 for instance, Du Fu uses the caesura to mark the contrast between certain images: “Country broken | mountain-river remain” (the country is torn apart but the rivers and mountains remain); “regret time | flowers shed tears” (regretting the time that flies, even the flowers shed tears). By way of contrast, Wang Wei underlines the subtle links that exist between apparently independent images through the use of the caesura, which suggests the void: “Man rests | cassia flowers fall; night calms itself | spring mountain’s empty.”3
Rhyme
Concerning rhyme, one simple detail: except for the first line (which will be discussed later), the rhyme always falls on the even lines. The fact that the odd lines remain unrhymed is an important trait of Chinese poetry, creating as it does an additional structural opposition, between even and odd lines. There is no change in rhyme within one lü-shi; one single rhyme, from even line to even line, “runs through” the whole poem. In addition the poet must choose a word with the tone referred to as “level,” the plainest, and longest, of the four tones of old Chinese. All of which leads to the next important feature of Chinese poetry: tonal counterpoint.
Tonal Counterpoint
Chinese is, indeed, a tone language, and the musicality that is provided by tonal combinations was very early evident to the poets.4 A lü-shi is ruled on the phonic level by rigorously defined tonal rules. The poet must observe a distinction between the “level” tone (the first and second of the four tones of modern Mandarin) and the “deflected” tones, “mounting” (modern third tone), “parting” (modern fourth tone), and “entering” (no longer present in modern Mandarin, but represented by the final consonant in Cantonese and some other dialects), taken as a group. This distinction is based, in theory, on the fact that the first tone is level in pitch and relatively long, while the other three tones share modulation of pitch and shorter length.5 Tonal counterpoint arises in the pentasyllabic and the heptasyllabic lü-shi from set schemes of alternation between these two types of tones. The poet is required to choose words whose tones conform to the obligatory patterns that are represented below (—represents the level tones, and / the deflected).6
(1) Pattern beginning with a deflected tone:
(2) A variant of this first pattern, in the case where the first line also carries a rhyme. Since the rhyme word must belong to the level tone class, the first line is changed accordingly.
(3) Pattern beginning with a level tone:
(4) A variant of this form is also provided, for the same purpose as the variant under number 2 above.
Each of these patterns may be taken as a play of abstract signs and made the object of numerical or combinatory analyses. We will not forget, however, that the patterns are designed primarily for the service of the poetic language, and will only raise those points here that seem pertinent to that subject. In the first pattern, for example, note the two internal divisions available to the prosody.
The vertical line marks the caesura, while the horizontal marks the separation between the two couplets. On either side of the vertical line there exists a contrast of number, even/odd: before the caesura, there are two syllables with the same tone. After the caesura, there are three syllables, two of which have the same tone (but a tone that differs from the tone preceding the caesura) and one that differs from them. The distribution of the tones conforms to the rhythm of the Chinese poetic line, which as already indicated is made of groups of two syllables plus one isolated syllable. Thus in tonal counterpoint the combinations – / or / – before the caesura, and the combinations / / / and – – – after the caesura, are banned. Tonal opposition is made not only in the interior of the line, moreover, but also between the two lines of the couplet, in a regular symmetrical pattern, as can be seen from the figure above. This symmetry is put slightly askew in the case of the variant pattern (2):
Here, in the first couplet, after the caesura, the opposition between the two lines is not symmetrical, but “reflected,” to use the definition of Roman Jakobson;7 the figure of the first line finds its mirror image in that of the second line.
Pattern 3, which starts with a level tone, is obtained by the simple act of reversing the order of the couplets in pattern 1, by beginning with the second couplet of that pattern and following with the first.
A simplification of these patterns is possible when certain features of the poetic language in general are kept in mind. The constraint of the prosody, the fact that the rhythm is based on groups of two plus one syllables, the obligatory level tone of the rhyming words, and the fact that rhyme only occurs on the even lines—when these elements are taken into account it is possible to construct a single schema as a representation of the four variant patterns:8
Though this schema might give the impression of a static composition, it should be held in mind that tonal counterpoint is above all a dynamic system, in which an element may be developed and transformed, attracting similars, but also calling up its opposite, according to the rules of correlation and opposition. A circular figure may, indeed, better suggest the processes involved.
To locate the four patterns from this figure, it is only necessary to begin from the indicated point and move clockwise, excluding the elements in parentheses for the variant patterns 2 and 4.
What occurs here then, beneath the network of syllables (and the syllable is, let us recall, the basic unit of both sound and meaning in Chinese poetry), is essentially a contest, a restless movement that unrolls, oscillating between a static or stable pole (the level tone) and a dynamic one (the deflected tones). Tonal counterpoint thus constitutes the first of the multiple levels of that system of internal oppositions that is the lü-shi.
Musical Effects
Before examining the syntactic aspect of the lü-shi, it remains to give some indication (necessarily rather succinctly, since specifically musical effects are best discussed in relation to particular works) of the principal phonic values of the language that are exploited by every poet.
Since in the Chinese written language each character has a monosyllabic pronunciation, each syllable is potentially significant, and the ensemble of the syllables can be inventoried. Certain syllables, and tied to them certain initial and final consonants, have, through their assoc
iations with the words they embody, a particular evocative power. A very common phonic figure in traditional rhetoric is the so-called shuang-sheng, a binom whose two elements are alliterative, like fen-fang (“odorous, perfumed”). Also quite common is the use of certain consonants to set in train a series of words that are very similar in meaning, as in the quatrain “Complaint of the Jade Staircase” by Li Bai.9 Here, in a description of the vain vigil of a woman at night upon her staircase, the poet uses a series of l-initials to successively signify dewdrops, tears, coldness, crystal, and solitude:
Yu jie sheng bai lu
Ye jiu qin luo wa
Que xia shui jing lian
Ling-long wang qiu yue
An elementary example of the use of syllable finals is provided in the so-called die-yun, a binom whose two elements rhyme, as in pai-huai (“go back and forth in a certain place, hesitate”). In a more eloquent example, the poet Li Yu uses a series of -an finals to reinforce the idea of tormented obsession and of melancholy sighs:
Lian-wai yu can-can
Chun-yi lan-san
Luo-jin bu-nai wu-geng han
Meng-li bu-zhi shen shi ke
Yi-xiang tan-huan10
These phonic values do not exist in isolation. Indeed, they are often most clearly manifest through opposition with other phonic elements. A final example will illustrate this effect. As mentioned above, the final -an suggests melancholy. It contrasts with the final -ang, which has a triumphant nuance and evokes sentiments of exaltation, as if the -ang, with its greater duration, were able to “rise above” the melancholy evoked by -an. In the following lines, the poet Han Yu effectively uses this opposition to contrast feminine tenderness (lines 1 and 2) with virile heroism (lines 3 and 4):
Ni-ni er-nü you
En-yuan xiang er-ru
Hua-ran bian xuan-ang
Yong-shi fu zhan-chang11
Traditional rhetoric also recognizes similar sets of oppositions of effect among the initial consonant.
(1) aspirated/unaspirated: for example, bao (“surround”) / pao (“flee”).
(2) Kai-kou (without the prevocalic u) / he-kou (with the prevocalic u): thus, hai (“child”) / huai (“to carry at the breast”).
(3) Jian-yin (unpalatalized) / tuan-yin (palatalized): for example, ti (“sadness”), di (“to fall in drops”). Inspired by Tang researches, the Song poetess Li Qing-zhao (1084–?) used both of these two kinds of opposing pairs in a very famous poem12 to re-create her sadness as she listened to the falling of the rain.
The musical effect of the opposition of the tones does not escape the attention of the poet either. The most notable opposition is, clearly, that between the first, the long level, and the fourth, which is abrupt. This last is repeated many times, often suggesting a sob, or giving the impression of suffocation. Du Fu, in a poem he composed in celebration of the announcement of peace, calls upon multiple phonic resources (both sounds and tones) to express his joy at the possibility of returning to his native countryside.13 The last couplet, “After the gorges of Ba, I will pass through the gorges of Wu, / Then down through Xiang-yang, on the way to Luo-yang,” is transcribed as follows:
Ji cong Ba-xia chuan Wu-xia
Bian xia Xiang-yang xiang Luo-yang!
The first line of the couplet contains a series of words with the fourth tone and “narrow” finals (xia means “gorge” or “mountain pass”), while the second is made almost entirely of words in the first tone and of -ang finals. The two lines are, in addition, grammatically parallel, term for term. The phonic contrast between the two lines creates the impression of irrepressible shouts of joy upon deliverance from a suffocating imprisonment.
Syntactic Level (Parallel and Nonparallel Lines)
In the area of syntax, the most important feature of the lü-shi is the opposition between parallel and nonparallel lines. As previously mentioned, of the four couplets that make up the lü-shi, the second and the third are obligatorily made up of parallel lines, while, in contrast, the last couplet is obligatorily nonparallel, and the first couplet is nonparallel in principle, though parallel versions are occasionally seen. Thus, the lü-shi presents itself according to the following progression: nonparallel—parallel—parallel—nonparallel. To grasp the significance of this formal transformation within the lü-shi it is necessary to discover, first of all, the nature of the parallel lines themselves.
Linguistic parallelism occupies an important place in Chinese life, as well as in literature. Witness, for instance, the parallel sayings inscribed on temple columns and on either side of the entry-ways of houses and shops. Parallel constructions are also ordinarily used in common sayings, and in festivals and religious rituals. If this practice is a reflection of a dualistic conception of life, its existence is no less tied to the specific nature of the characters of the writing system. Again owing to the fact that in ancient Chinese most words are composed of one character, the poet may, in the two lines of a parallel couplet, arrange terms of the same grammatical paradigm, but possessing opposite (or complementary) meanings, in an absolutely symmetrical pattern. The two lines, thus presented side by side, offer a certain visual beauty. Among the lines cited in the previous chapter, numerous examples (among them the following) of parallel lines have already been cited.14
Light of the mountain | rejoice in mood of birds
Shadow of the marsh | empty heart of man
Here, the images in the two lines are placed regularly face to face (light of the mountain / shadow of the marsh; mood of the birds / heart of the man). If, as we have seen, this couplet offers multiple interpretations, it is precisely because the characters, through their “face to face,” maintain a subtle but lively relationship, nowhere forcing the poet to “slice” the meaning in one direction or the other.
A few more examples, all chosen from the lü-shi of Wang Wei, may further illustrate the form of parallelism.
Clear moon | among the pines shines
Cold spring | over rocks flows15
In these two lines a correspondence is established: clear moon ↔ cold spring, pines ↔ rocks, shine ↔ flow. The poet thus creates a landscape in which light and shadow (from line 1) respond to sound and touch (suggested by line 2).
Immense desert | lone smoke straight
Long river | setting sun round16
Here, always the poet-painter, Wang Wei suggests a complete picture by contrasting different elements of the landscape. The contrast is carried into the interior of each line; it exists between the two lines of the couplet as well. The desert that extends infinitely; the single straight plume of smoke; the river that flows afar; the sun, fixed for a single instant: these contrasts exist within the lines. And between the lines, the static desert and the dynamic river; the smoke that rises and the sun that descends; the vertical line and the roundness; the black and the red.
Flow of the river | beyond sky and earth
Color of the mountain | between being and nonbeing17
Here, the poet introduces the idea of a spiritual experience (of Chan). Between these two lines there is more than a contrast, there is a sort of “going beyond.” If, in the first line, when the reader follows the flow of the river, he rejoins the cosmic movement, yet he still remains under the rule of space. In the second line, where everything is joined in the color of the mountain, one passes subtly from being into nonbeing. None of this, of course, is explicitly stated; rather it is signified by the position of the words in relation to each other.
Finally, after these extracts from the lü-shi, it may be appropriate to cite a quatrain constructed entirely of parallel lines, that is, of two parallel couplets. A quatrain, or jue-ju, was defined during the Tang as half a lü-shi, and might be formed of either two parallel couplets, two nonparallel, or one parallel and one nonparallel. The first type, owing to its difficulty, is perhaps the least common.
White sun | along the mountains disappears
Yellow River | up to the sea hurls itself
(If) desir
e to exhaust | view of a thousand li
(Then) mount yet | one more story18
In the first couplet, the poet focuses upon a spectacular landscape that he admires from the height of an elevated pavilion. The polar oppositions of this landscape (mountain / sea, sun’s fire / river’s water, heavenly / earthly) and its contrary movement (the sun drawn toward the west, and the river toward the east) arouse in the man feelings both of exaltation and of divisive tension. The second couplet, though it is parallel to the first, is also different (the traditional rhetoric recognizing several distinct types of parallelism) in that it expresses ideas both opposed (view of a thousand li / one story higher) and continuous (if desire…then climb…). By this construction the poet underlines on the one hand the contrast between infinite space and the solitary presence of the man, and, on the other, the desire of the man to go beyond the divided world (the “thousand” of line 3, traditionally an indefinite number, symbolizes the multiplicity of things) and to attain unity for and of himself (“one” in line 4 symbolizing that unity). The four lines superimposed provide a visual representation of the lived scene:
In the Tang period, the art of parallelism was used with extreme refinement. It became a complex game, calling on all the resources of the language: the phonic and the graphic, as well as image and idiom. But, as can be seen from the cited examples, parallelism is more than simply formal repetition. It is a signifying form in which each of the signs elicits its contrary or its complement (its “other”). The ensemble of the signs, through their harmony or through their opposition, draws forward the meaning. From the linguistic point of view, it could be said that parallelism represents an attempt at the spatial organization of signs in their temporal unfolding. In a parallel couplet there is no linear (or logical) progression from one line to the next; the two lines express, without any transition, opposed or complementary ideas. The first line stops, suspended in time: the second comes, not to continue the first but to confirm, from the other end as it were, the affirmation contained in that line, and, finally, to justify its existence. The two lines, responding to each other in this way, form an autonomous gathering in, a self-contained universe. It is a stable universe, subject to the laws of space, but seemingly free of the dominion of time. By symmetrically disposing words belonging to the same paradigm, the poet creates a “complete” language, one in which two orders are present, since the paradigmatic (spatial) dimension has not been erased as the linear and temporal discourse progresses, as is the case in the ordinary language. This two-ordered language (which can be read horizontally and vertically at the same time) can be represented by the following figure:
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