Poems by Chinese ghosts part V: The Fifth Installment

As you may have noticed, some of these episodes of ghostly poets from Complete Tang Poems chapter 866 (headnotes) consist of more than one poem—some are poetry exchanges, which can get pretty lengthy. Since the total number of ghost poems isn’t a multiple of 13, I’m stuffing the five (5) longest ones into this Part V (五) remainders post, to keep other installments from getting Simply Too Long. All of them are interesting—which isn’t surprising, given they have more material than usual. Some nice psychological nuance here.

This round includes conjugal love continuing after death, a marriage to a dead imperial princess (who claims a male-only title), a one-night stand with a legendary beauty, a stupid-messy breakup with an after-death makeup, and an object-lesson on the dangers of famous peonies. IOW, lots of sex with dead women.

… I’m not selling that very well, am I. I should just let the ghosts speak for themselves:

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Replying to Her Husband: Two Poems, née Zhang

Tang Xuan of Jinchang married a young woman of the Zhang family who had considerable good looks and virtue. In 730, when Xuan had gone to Luoyang, his wife expired at Weinan Manor. After several years, he had to return there. He recalled his feelings about the events of the past and composed (two) poems, which he sadly recited. [TN: read the third and fourth poems] Suddenly his wife came forward, saying, “It is moving, your cherishing our memories, and the Netherworld Officials have specially released this one to come here.” They paid their respects to each other with cordial words and let down the curtain to her quarters, then expressed their loving bonds just as they had all their lives. Xuan composed a poem for her [TN: fifth poem], so she took off her belt and also inscribed (two) poems on it in reply. [TN: first and second poems] When the sky brightened, she departed.

1.
I’m not content, that secret and seen are sundered—
But how’s enduring different, then and now?
We’re shadowed, sunlit—it follows that we’re parted.
Meeting, dispersing, both are hard on the heart.

2.
Upon the orchid stair, Moon Rabbit’s tilted,
The silver candle’s burnt out half its time.
I pity me, a long night’s visitor—
The Netherworld, I must treat it as home.

( One day he saw a beautiful woman driving a golden carriage arrive at his gate, age possibly 16 or 17, with a beautiful and refined appearance, who called to Ao, saying, “I heard this place is famous for its flowers, and because of this I came so that we can drink this wine-jar together.” He naturally asked who she was, and she replied, “You understand I’m not human, yet calmly ask such a question?” )

Which is enough for now, if not more than enough. Back with the final installment in two weeks or so.

---L.

Index of Chinese translations