The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry (36 page)
Read The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry Online
Authors: Tony Barnstone
Flowers fade to scraps of red. Small green apricots.
Swallows are flying
and green water circles a house.
On branches the cotton of willow catkins dwindles in wind.
Nowhere from here to the sky's edge is without fragrant grass.
Inside the wall is a swing. Outside is a road
where someone walks past
and hears a beauty laughing inside.
The laughter gradually fades, and the voices slowly quiet.
Those who feel love are teased by those who feel none.
The great river flows east
and its waves have washed away
all the heroes from ancient time.
West of the old fortress
is the Red Cliffs where it is said
Master Zhou
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won his battle in the Three Kingdoms era.
Wild boulders spear into the sky,
terrible waves beat the bank
and swirl up a thousand snow sprays
and the river and mountains seem a painted landscape
where in old times so many heroes contended.
I imagine that year
when Gongjin had just married Xiao Qiao,
his bearing radiating a gallant spirit.
With a feather fan and silk headband
his talk and laughter
turned strong enemies to ashes. Gone like smoke.
And I, taking this spirit-voyage into the past,
perhaps I am laughable
with my white hairs sprouting so young.
This life is just a dream.
I raise my cup and pour a libation to the river moon.
Drunk at night, Dongpo awoke and got drunk again
and returned late as the night drum beat for the third time.
My page boy's snores were thunder.
I knocked and no one answered.
Leaning against my stick, I listened to the river.
I often mourn this body that doesn't really belong to me.
When can I forget this life of contention?
The night is deep, wind quiet, ripples smoothed flat.
In a small boat I could leave here
and live out the rest of my life on this river and the sea.
*
In earlier years Su Shi and his brother had traveled together through this region. Their horses had died, so they were riding on donkeys. They stayed at the temple in Mianchi and wrote poems on the wall.
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This symbolic money is made of punctured yellow paper cut in the shape of banknotes. It is burned at the tomb of the dead, a sacrifice to give them means on their way to the other world.
1
Literally, the “porridge drum,” the wooden board that when beaten announces that porridge breakfast is served.
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Master Zhou was a military counselor who oversaw a great victory for the Kingdom of Wu over the Kingdom of Wei at the Red Cliffs, where fireboats destroyed the Wei fleet. Gongjin is another name for Master Zhou, and Xiao Qiao was his bride.
(1049–1100)
Known for his erotic lyric (
ci
form) poetry, Qin Guan was said to have married the sister of his friend Su Shi, the great Song dynasty poet, though this is doubtful. He failed in the imperial examinations at first, but passed them in 1085. He was the protégé of Su Shi and was known as one of the “Four Scholars at Su Shi's Gate.” His career was marked by the vicissitudes of the political winds—successful when those of his political ilk were in office, less so when not. Along with Su Shi and his other friends, he suffered exile, and his works were banned.
*
*
As slender clouds form clever shapes,
shooting stars convey the lovers' complaints.
They secretly ferry across the wide Celestial River.
In this moment gold wind and jade dew
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meet
with more ecstasy than any human world encounter.
Their tender feelings are like soft water,
but the reunion is short as a dream.
Unbearable to go back across this bridge built by magpies.
If love lasts long between a couple
they don't need to be together morning and night.
*
The poem refers to the mythical story “The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl.” See note to Poem 10, “Far and far is the Cowherd Star,” from “Nineteen Ancient Poems” of the Han dynasty.
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“Gold wind and jade dew”: “gold wind” is a symbol for the man and “jade dew” a symbol for the woman (they are also symbols for autumn).
(fl. c. 1050)
Wei Wan, known as Madam Wei (and also as Yunu), lived in the Northern Song dynasty and held a high reputation as a poet. Some critics ranked her poems with those of Li Qingzhao, though others dissented. She was married to the important politician Zeng Bu (1036–1107) and given the title Madam of Lu State. Though we know her poems were collected under the title
Madam Wei's Works
, the compilation has now been lost.
A mountain stream in the setting sun where
a reflected tower shakes as mandarin ducks take flight.
Two or three cottages on the far bank with
red apricot flowers overhanging their walls.
On this path under green poplars by the stream bank
I walk at dawn and in dusk.
Since he left I've seen willow catkins fly three times
but my man is still gone.
A wind from the east greens the grass in Yingzhou.
In a painted tower I roll up the curtain in morning frost
and see plum trees by the lake, so pure,
scattered flowers on their branches.
The long sky has cut off all word of you.
Again I see wild geese flying home.
This grief of separation is
bright moon over a tower in Changan.
The lamp flickers bright, bright, and the water clock drips and drips.
Now that my lover has left
the night is so cold.
A frenzied west wind blows and fetches me back from dream.
Does anyone miss me
as I lean alone on my pillow
with knitted brows?
My brocade screen and embroidered drapes show in autumn dawn.
This pain breaks me inside
and I shed secret tears.
I still see a bright moon in my small west window.
I hate you,
I adore you,
but what would you know of that?
(uncertain dates)
Nie Shenqiong was a courtesan known for her sweetness and intelligence. She lived in the capital of the Northern Song dynasty. Legend has it that an affair took place between Nie Shenqiong and Li Zhiweng, who stayed in the capital with her for quite a few months. When Li was urged by his wife to return home, Nie gave him the first poem presented here, “To the Tune of ‘Partridge Sky.'” Li's wife found this poem in Li's luggage and asked him to explain. In the end she decided to help her husband marry Nie. After Nie became a member of the family, she dressed down and gave up her makeup and treated Li's wife with utter respect. It is said that they lived a very harmonious life together.
The jade feels tragic, the flowers grieve, because you've left
Phoenix City. Willow twigs are tender green under Lotus Tower. When you raised a cup of wine I sang the “Song of Farewell at
Yangguan” then walked how many miles in seeing you off.
I'm looking for a good dream
but a dream is hard to find.
Does anyone know my feelings now?
My tears fall on the pillow as the eaves drip on the steps.
Separated by my window, we both drip until the dawn.
(early twelfth century)
The following poem was written by a young woman known only as “The Girl Who Took the Gold Cup.” Under Emperor Huizong (reigned 1101–1125), women were allowed to go out at night and enjoy a cup of wine during the capital's Lantern Festival. When one young woman was seen walking off with a gold cup, she was arrested by the guards. Brought before the emperor, she recited this poem, arguing that after drinking wine she needed to take the royal cup to prove to her in-laws that the emperor himself had given the women permission to drink. The emperor was so impressed with her poem that he gave her the cup as a gift and ordered the guards to walk her home.
Moon fills the sky while lanterns burn like stars.
Hand in hand I walked with my man to the Duan Gate
but drawn in by songs and goose-formation dances
I didn't realize I'd become a mandarin duck without my mate.
In the slow dawning,
I was grateful for your imperial largesse
when the royal gift of wine was announced,
but afraid my parents-in-law would scold me for drinking
I took this cup to prove my innocence.
(1056–112.1)
Zhou Bangyan came from Qiantang (present-day Hangzhou) in Zhejiang province. He was a musician and a poet who extended the lyric song (
ci
form) tradition with original compositions and poems.
According to Zhang Duanyi's
Guier Lu (Records of Aristocratic Ears)
and a collection titled
Anecdotes of Ci Poets
, one day Emperor Huizong of the Song dynasty visited courtesan Li Shishi. The poet Zhou Bangyan happened to be there and had no way to exit, so he hid under the bed and observed their tryst. It was based on this experience that he wrote “To the Tune of ‘Rambling Young Man,'” which critics praised for the way he presented the woman, who delicately manipulates the emperor into staying without overstepping her bounds. On his visit the emperor had brought with him a fresh orange from south of the Yangtze River as part of a tribute. The poet turned this event into a song, which the courtesan some time later sang before the emperor. The emperor was so enraged that he had Zhou Bangyan expelled from the Forbidden City. The emperor then went to see Li Shishi and found her in tears, distraught at Zhou Bangyan's expulsion. He asked whether Zhou had written any new songs, and she replied that he had written “Willows, to the Tune of ‘King of Lanling,'” which she proceeded to sing for him. The emperor was so pleased with the song that he restored Zhou to his post as chief musician of the Da Cheng Imperial Conservatory.
A knife from Bing State like a wave,
salt from Wu State like snow.
Her slender hands cut the orange.
The curtained room is warming up.
Endless smoke from the animal-head incense burner.
A couple sits close necking.
She asks low,
“Where are you going to stay?
The midnight drum has sounded
and your horse may slip with the frost so heavy.
Better not to leave.
Few people go home at such an hour.”
Moon so bright that crows can't settle for the night.
The water clock is about to run out.
Someone is fetching water from a well with a windlass.
He wakes to two eyes, clear and focused,
dropping tears on his pillow, staining the cold red cotton.
He holds her hand as frost winds tug at her hair
and his resolution to go wavers.
So hard to hear
good-bye.
The Great Dipper rolls into line with the upstairs banister.
Cold dew, the man is gone, and the cocks are calling to each other.
Willow shadows hang in straight lines,
misty threads of emerald silk.
On the Sui bank how many times did I see
the twigs touching water and catkins floating in air, the color of departure?
I climb here to gaze at my hometown
but who could know me, a tired traveler from the capital
on this road by the Long Pavilion
who as old years died and new years came
must have broken over a thousand feet of willow twigs?
In the time I have I seek old memories
but now with a sad music
lanterns light my farewell banquet
and pear flowers and elm torch fire hasten the day of the Cold Food Festival.
I am plagued by this wind, fast as an arrow,
see the boatman with half a pole in warm waves,
the piers retreating from me one by one when I look back.
My friend you are gone, north of heaven.
Heartsick,
my pain piles up.
The boat sails off but the water circles back
to the silent pier
as a slant sun extends through endless spring.
I remember holding your hands in a moonlit pavilion,
listening to a flute on a dew-soaked bridge.
I think of the past,
all just a dream,
and drop secret tears.
(1063–1106)
Zhu Shuzhen was born in Hangzhou, Zhengjiang, to a scholar-official's family. Her unharmonious relationship with her husband was revealed in her poetry. Although she was very prolific, her parents burned most of her poems. Wei Zhonggong collected what survived of her writings and wrote in his preface to the 1182 volume: “I have heard that writing beautiful phrases is not women's business. Yet there are occasionally cases [of women] with great natural talents and exceptional character and intelligence who come up with words and lines no man can match.” Though the poet had been dead for decades, the compiler praised her poems for their evocations of sorrow and womanhood.
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In addition to being a wonderful poet, Zhu Shuzhen was also said to have been a painter.