Chinese Poetic Writing
Page 17
No guests; the flower path’s unswept
But the bramble gate is open, now, for you.
A simple dish; the market’s far, no special treats.
A single jug; the home is poor, just old-time brew.
Will you drink, together with my good old neighbor?
I’ll call him through the hedge, to help us drain these cups.
* * *
This poem, like the following one, was probably written around 761 at Cheng-du in Si-chuan, where Du Fu built his famous “thatched hut.” This was perhaps the happiest and most peaceful period of his life. “Old-time brew” alludes to a wine made by an ancient and very rudimentary method.
DU FU
Village by the River
Clear stream, meanders by the village, flowing.
Long summer days, at River Village, everything at ease.
Coming, going, as they please, a pair of soaring swallows.
There, paired and close, out on the water, gulls.
My old wife draws a board for chess.
My son bends pins for fishhooks.
I’m often sick, but I can find good herbs.
What, beyond this, could a simple man ask?
DU FU
Good Rain: A Night in Spring
The good rain knows its season.
Come spring, it comes to life again.
With the wind, so stealthy in the night
Moistens all things, so delicate, so silent.
On the wild paths, clouds all black.
From river skiff, a lamp, the single light.
In morning’s glow, the red wet spots;
Flowers weigh down upon the Brocade Mandarin.
* * *
This poem too was composed at Cheng-du, when, aboard a boat on the river near the town, he witnessed the arrival of a timely spring rain. The following day he contemplated, enraptured, the scene after the rain: the city covered with red flowers gorged with rain. In the last line the poet cleverly chooses an alternate appellation for Cheng-du, styling it Jin-guan cheng, City of the Brocade Official, to suggest that he also, exiled literatus, shares the joy of participating in the festivities of spring. For a discussion of the rhetorical use of proper names in Chinese poetry, see this page–this page.
DU FU
Second Letter to My Nephew Wu-lang
In front of the hut, she scavenges for dates: let her be.
Hungry, childless, the lone woman,
Only the deepest poverty could bring her to this.
Her fear, her shame, call the more for kindness.
True, she has no reason to distrust her new neighbor.
Yet even a sparse hedge would seem a wall to her.
To think of the taxes: poor to the bone.
And the horses of war: tears wet my sleeve.
* * *
See this page–this page on the omission of personal pronouns.
DU FU
Coming Home Late at Night
At midnight, coming home, I passed a tiger.
The mountain’s black, inside they’re all asleep.
Far off the Dipper lowers toward the River.
Above, Bright Star grows great upon the sky.
With candle in the court I glower at two flames.
The apes are restive in the gorge, I hear one cry.
White head, old no more, I dance, and sing.
Lean on my cane, unsleeping. And what else!
* * *
Lines 3 and 4 emphasize the greatness of the universe in contrast to the fragility of human life.
Lines 5 and 6 describe the fear which continues to grip the poet. The two flames recall the tiger’s eyes; and the cry of the monkey still startles him.
The phrase shei neng na, which ends the poem, is a spoken expression with a nuance of careless defiance. The poet uses it here to express his irrepressible and childlike joy at having escaped from mortal danger.
* * *
For an analysis of this poem—as an illustration of from the lü-shi from—see this page–this page. We have made no attempt to translate this poem.
DU FU
Poem for Zuo on His Return to the Mountains
White dew, the yellow millet ripe.
The sharing of an ancient promise.
It must already be ground fine.
It seems a little late arriving.
The flavor’s not quite up to “golden aster.”
It’s tasty, nonetheless, with green mallow.
Old time old man’s food…
Just the thought, and my mouth waters.
* * *
This poem was addressed to one of the poet’s cousins who had promised to send him some millet. Du Fu suffered hunger during numerous periods of his life (one of his sons died of starvation). During the flight from the rebels, the family ate wild plants and gleanings in order to survive. Toward the end of his life, notably in Si-chuan, he wrote many poems in praise of the fruits of the earth: shallots dripping dew, melons cool as crystals, fish baked in pine needles, etc.
DU FU
Jiang and Han
On Jiang and Han, thinking of home,
Between heaven and earth, one worn-out scholar.
A single cloud, ever farther in the sky.
Long night, more lonely with the moon.
Sun falls, this heart still rises.
In the winds of autumn, my illness nearly gone.
In ancient times they kept old horses:
There are other tasks than the long haul.
* * *
Jiang and Han: names of two rivers.
Lines 3 and 4: see this page–this page on “empty words.”
Lines 7 and 8: despite age and failing health, the poet does not despair of making himself useful to the government again.
DU FU
Thoughts of a Night on Board
Slender grasses, a light breeze on the banks.
Tall mast, a solitary night on board.
A falling star, and the vast plain broader.
Surging moon, on the Great River flows.
Can fame grow from the written word alone?
The official, old and sick, must let it be.
Afloat, afloat, just so…
Heaven, and Earth, and one black gull.
* * *
This poem was written by Du Fu in the later years of his life, probably in 767, when he was traveling in the upper reaches of the Yangtze, leaving from Kui-zhou in Si-chuan downstream toward Jiang-ling. In the course of this journey he died, alone on the boat. The images of the stars and the moon in lines 3 and 4 do of course represent these outstanding elements of the cosmos; however, they also symbolize the manifestation of the human spirit, since in China immortal works are often compared to the sun, the moon, and the stars. For these two lines, see this page–this page on the omission of the preposition. Despite the doubt and bitterness expressed in lines 5 and 6, Du Fu is confident of the power of poetry. In another poem, he states this confidence quite forcefully:
When I sing, I know it, gods and spirits draw near.
What do I care if I starve and end in the gutter?
BAI JU-YI
Grass on the Ancient Plain
So tender, so tender, the grasses on the plain.
In one year, to wither, to flourish.
Wild fire cannot bum them all away.
Spring breezes’ breath, they spring again.
Their distant fragrance on the ancient way,
Their sunlit emerald greens the ruined walls.
Seeing you off again, dear friend.
Sighing, sighing, full of parting’s pain.
* * *
For an analysis of this poem, in regard to symbolic images, see this page–this page. We have made no attempt to translate this poem.
It would be interesting to do a parallel reading of this poem with Nerval’s “El Desdichado.”
LI SHANG-YIN
Untitled
Meeting is hard, parting, hard too.
Spring silkworm spins its silk until it dies.
The candle sheds its tears till wick is ashes.
Mirror of morning grieves, clouds of hair are changing.
Song of the night, know moonlight’s cold.
From here to Mount Peng the way’s not long
But the Green Bird is attentive, watches close.
* * *
Line 7: Mount Peng = The Immortal Mountain; legendary mountain on the Peng-lai Isles, in the Eastern Sea.
Line 8: the Green Bird = messenger of Xi Wang-mu (Queen Mother of the West, daughter of the Heavenly Lord and sovereign of the places where the sun sets).
Li Shang-yin here sings in a very allusive tone of a secret love affair (with a lady of the court or a Taoist nun). With the exception of the highly colloquial first line, which reveals the theme of the poem, love and the drama of separation, the poem is constructed of a network of images and metaphors often connected by phonic links. In line 3, “silkworm” (can) is a homonym of the expression “love-spasms” (can-mian), just as “silk thread” (si) is the homonym of the word amorous thoughts” (si). In addition, “silk threads” enters into the expression “green threads” (qing-si), which means “black hair,” from which stems the image of the hair in line 5. In line 4, “ashes” (hui) enters into the expression “broken heart” (xin-hui), which thus continues the idea of a thwarted love contained in the preceding lines; in addition here, hui (ashes) also means the color gray, from which arises the image of the changing hair color in line 5. Also in line 4, the image of the candle flame reflects back to that of the east wind in line 2, and forward to that of the moonlight in line 6. The image of the moon evokes the figure of the goddess Chang-E, who dwells there alone (having been exiled there by Xi Wang-mu). She suggests both the distant lover and the possibility of the consummation of the love, in a place happily beyond time.
In this way, the images and metaphors are provided with the necessary links to allow them to transform the poem into a drama. The lines are not to be read as a description, but to be experienced as the acts of the play. Line 2, through the images of the east wind and the flowers, alludes to an unrequited love, but also to the sexual act. Lines 3 and 4, through their parallelism, continue the idea of a sexual bond (cocoon and candle), even though the apparent theme is the oath of fidelity. Lines 5 and 6 describe the separation but subtly insert the destiny of the lovers into that of nature, a nature gradually transfigured. It is only this transformation that allows the escape into dream. Passing through a series of steps across the test of time, the poem opens upon the infinite.
LI SHANG-YIN
Untitled
Phoenix tails, the fragrant silk,
how many gauzy folds
Green filigrees, the canopy,
late into night she sews
The fan cuts the moon’s light,
it cannot hide her blush.
The carriage goes, the thunder sounds,
words can’t get through.
Long in silent solitude,
as candle bums to dark.
Cut off, no word, and who
would bring red pomegranate wine?
The piebald horse is tied as always
to the trailing willow tree
But where is the southwest wind,
here the good breeze?
* * *
Lines 1 and 2: These lines describe the bedcurtain of a bridal chamber. The whole poem most likely presents the thoughts of a woman in love, in her solitude.
Lines 6, 7, and 8: Several of these images have a strong sexual connotation: “red pomegranate wine,” beyond the notion of explosive desire that it suggests, may also indicate the red pomegranate wine served at the wedding feast; “trailing willows” symbolizes the slim body of a woman. In addition the expression “to pluck a willow branch” meant to visit a courtesan. “Southwest breeze”: erotic desire. Cf. the lines of Cao Zhi (192–232):
I would become that southwest wind
Waft all the way to your bosom.
LI SHANG-YIN
Untitled
Hush of the East wind; a fine rain comes.
Beyond the lotus pool; faint thunder.
Through the golden toad’s clenched jaws,
the incense fragrance enters.
The jade tiger pulls the silken rope
as it turns above the well.
Lady Jia peeked through the screen
at young Secretary Han
Princess Fu bequeathed her pillow
to the talented Prince of Wei
Yet I won’t let this inch of heart bloom with the Spring.
A single inch of longing, a single inch of ash.
* * *
For an analysis of this poem, see this page–this page. We have made no attempt to translate this poem.
CHANG hAN
At the Po-shan Monastery
Clear dawn enters the ancient temple.
First sun brightens lofty grove.
Winding paths: lead off toward secret places.
Chan chamber: flowers deep among the trees.
Mountain light: joy, the birds’ nature.
Pool shadows: empty, the hearts of men.
All sounds, here fall to silence.
All that remains, the bell-stones tone.
* * *
For lines 5 and 6, see this page–this page à propos the omission of the preposition, and this page–this page on linguistic parallelism.
ZHANG JI
Coming at Night to a Fisherman’s Hut
Fisherman’s hut, by the mouth of the river,
Water of the lake to his brushwood gate.
The traveler would beg night’s lodging,
But the master’s not yet home.
The bamboo thick, the village far.
Moon rises, fishing boats are few.
There! far off, along the sandy shore,
The spring breeze moving in his cloak of straw.
LIU CHANG-QING
Searching for the Taoist Monk Chang at South Creek
The way, crossed by many paths,
The moss, by sandal tracks.
White clouds lean, at rest on the silent island.
Fragrant grasses bar the idle gate.
Rain past, observe the color of the pines.
Out along the mountain, to the source,
Flowers in the stream reveal Chan’s meaning.
Face to face, and all words gone.
* * *
See this page–this page concerning the omission of the personal pronoun.
The visit to a monk or a recluse is a theme very dear to the Tang poets (see the quatrain of Jia Dao). Here, in very simple language, the poet suggests that the way that leads him up to the dwelling of the monk is in itself a spiritual experience, and that over the course of his walk, even before he sees his host, he has already become infused with Chan (Zen in Japanese). When, at last, visitor and host find themselves face to face they are in an ecstatic state, “beyond words.” Certain commentators suppose that the visitor did not see the monk (that they communicated only in spirit), and that the expression “face to face” is applied to the visitor and the flowers. The image of the flower recalls the Buddha smiling at the flower, a symbol of illumination. Let us recall here that the expression “all words gone” (wang yan), which comes originally from the Taoist philosopher Zhuang-zi, was first used in poetry by Tao Yuan-ming (365–427) in his famous “Libation”:
…Pluck chrysanthemums near eastern hedge,
And contemplate, ravished, South Mountain,
The mountain air is purer still, toward evening,
When the birds return together.
In the heart of this, True Essence dwells.
Try to say it? All words, already, gone.
It is important that both poems are ended by this expression, as if the poet dreamed of going beyond words, of attaining nonbeing. However, this going-beyond ca
n only be attained through words: all the way through both poems the poets are attempting precisely to enter into communion with nature by means of tricks of language, by cheating with the signs. Thus, the two poems are not “descriptive” in nature; they are in themselves an experience of wordlessness through words, an “initiation” into “pure significance.”
DU XUN-HE
See a Friend off to Wu
I see you to Gu-su
Homes there, sleeping by the stream.
Ancient palace, few abandoned spots.
And by the harbor, many little bridges.
In the night market, lotus, fruit and roots.
On the spring barges, satins and gauze.
Know, far off, the moon still watches.
Think of me there, in the fisherman’s song.
* * *
Gu-su, actually Su-zhou, is in the heart of the region known as Jiang-nan (South of the River), an area characterized by its gentle climate, its luxuriant countryside, and its refined customs. Su-zhou, along with Hang-zhou, another waterside city, was commonly spoken of as a heaven on earth.
Line 6: satins and gauze = beautifully dressed promenaders.
WEN TING-YUN
Leaving Mount Shang at Dawn
Up at dawn, shake the bells on the mules.
The traveler goes, thinking sadly of home.