![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
larryhammerI’m back to translating Chinese poetry, and have built up enough drafts in the other journal to post another batch from 300 Tang Poems. This time the form is five-character “regulated verse” (lüshi): eight short lines, even lines rhymed together, a couple possible set tone patterns (similar to the jueju quatrain of part 7, which was originally half a lüshi) designed to enforce a varied melody, plus the additional constraint that the two middle couplets must each have tight semantic parallels (sometimes called an antithetical couplet). This (in both five- and seven-character lines) was the prestige poetic form of the middle Tang and a long time after, with a status similar to that of the sonnet in Renaissance Europe.
This form makes up the longest section of the collection, 80 poems, so again I’m posting it in digestible chunks—this time, 20 each. Most of the time, I render the five-character lines as four-beat iambics, but some poems (especially the more concretely imagistic) require the space of five beats to translate adequately. As usual, I am utter fail at any sort of rhyme.
Because this installment enters deep Du Fu territory, it’s time to give a potted summary of the An Lushan Rebellion as, even more than other poets, it shaped so many of his poems. In Emperor Xuanzong’s later years, his erratic governance devolved to his ministers, eunuchs, and generals, who all hella in-fought each other for power. Eventually a Turkic-born general, An Lushan, revolted outright in late 755 and captured the Chang’an capital the next year. Xuanzong fled to Sichuan (see esp. #71) then abdicated to his son, Suzong, who undertook the many-years project of taking back the empire (Chang’an was recaptured in 757) as well as bringing to heel other warlords who took advantage of the chaos to stop submitting to central authority. This latter task was never fully completed, and over the next 150 years the Tang Dynasty slowly devolved into complete disarray. IOW, there’s reasons the Rebellion shadows so much of Tang poetry, not just Du Fu’s.
But enough backdrop, on with the pageant.
90. Passing through Zou in Lu Kingdom, I Made an Offering to Confucius and Recited This, Tang Emperor Xuanzong
Master, what came of all you did,
Restlessly roaming through that era?
This land is still the Zou clan’s town,
This house is near the Lu king’s palace.
The phoenix sighed: you blamed yourself—
Qilin were hurt: your Way was spent.
I see my offering by two pillars
Must be what you once saw in dreams.
经邹鲁祭孔子而叹之
夫子何为者，
栖栖一代中。
地犹鄹氏邑，
宅即鲁王宫。
叹凤嗟身否，
伤麟怨道穷。
今看两楹奠，
当与梦时同。
Sun Zu starts the book off flattering Emperor Xuanzong by including his own flattery of Master Kong—and then of himself. Oooo-kaythen. It is worth noting that the most popular version of Poems of a Thousand Masters, the textbook anthology this collection aimed to supplant, starts its equivalent section with a different poem by Xuanzong, one less overtly Confucian.
Written in 735 while on an inspection tour of the empire that passed through southwestern Shandong, where Confucius was born in the town of Zou in what was then the Warring States kingdom of Lu. The lines about the phoenix and qilin (an animal roughly equivalent to a unicorn, only with deer antlers) refer to portents mentioned in the Analects, which also relates how Confucius once interpreted a dream of an offering being made between two pillars to him, as if dead, as a presentiment of his death.
91. Full Moon, Thinking of Far Away, Zhang Jiuling
Out of the sea the bright moon’s born—
We share, the sky apart, this moment.
Dear one, I hate these drawn-out nights:
When sunset ends, my longings grow.
I snuff the candle, wanting no light,
And pull on a cloak, knowing dew gathers.
I cannot send this cupped moonlight ...
Back in my room, I dream of good times.
望月怀远
海上生明月，
天涯共此时。
情人怨遥夜，
竟夕起相思。
灭烛怜光满，
披衣觉露滋。
不堪盈手赠，
还寝梦佳期。
The speaker is traditionally understood as a man missing a friend, but other readings are possible. In the seventh line, I added moonlight to clarify a compacted image, though doing so meant dropping that the speaker “cannot bear” not being able to give it.
92. Seeing Off Vice-Minister Du when He Took a Position in Shuzhou, Wang Bo
At this gatehouse guarding three Qins,
Looking through mist towards those five ferries,
I wish you well upon your journey—
Just as, too, this official travels.
In China, we are closest friends—
At the ends of the world, we’ll still be neighbors:
Don’t just stand here at this crossroad
Handkerchief soaking like a child’s!
送杜少府之任蜀州
城阙辅三秦，
风烟望五津。
与君离别意，
同是宦游人。
海内存知己，
天涯若比邻。
无为在歧路，
儿女共沾巾。
An example of a standard genre, but I rather like it—assuming I’m correctly reading the last lines as spoken with asperity. The three Qins refers to how, after the Qin Dynasty was overthrown, the core territory of the former Qin Kingdom was divided into three domains, which places the scene in Chang’an, while the five ferries are crossings of the Min River near Shuzhou in modern Sichuan. Idioms: China is literally “within the seas,” and end of the world is literally “edge of the sky.” Usually I render the idiom of “soaking a cloth” as drying one’s eyes/tears, but in this case literal is more natural. Lost in translation: the mist is breaking up in the wind.
93. In Prison, Singing Cicadas, Luo Binwang
At the palace where I’m imprisoned, across the wall to the west is the hall of Penal Affairs. Some old scholar-trees are there, like the old trees Yin Zhongwen mentions, yet I’ve also heard the judge has sweet crabapple trees like those of Zhao Po. Every evening, when the sunset shines under their shadows, the autumn cicadas sing, then quietly cease, cut off from hearing; what human heart is so different from those of ancient times that these insects’ sounds would not sadden it? Alas!
From the west road, cicadas cry aloud—
A guest with a prisoner’s hat, my longings swell.
I can’t endure the shadows of black wings
Come here to sing “White Hair” to this old man.
In heavy dew, it’s difficult to fly;
In strong winds, sounds are easily suppressed.
No one believes believes in lofty and unsullied—
Who will ever understand my heart?
在狱咏蝉
馀禁所禁垣西，是法厅事也。有古槐数株焉，虽生意可知，同殷仲文之古树，而听讼斯在，即周召伯之甘棠。每至夕照低阴，秋蝉疏引，发声幽息，有切尝闻；岂人心异于曩时，将虫响悲于前听？嗟乎！
西路蝉声唱，
南冠客思侵。
不堪玄鬓影，
来对白头吟。
露重飞难进，
风多响易沉。
无人信高洁，
谁为表予心。
The poet was imprisoned in 676 for criticizing Empress Wu Zetian, who completely controlled her husband’s government. Confessional note: I skipped the second half of the preface because I got tired of picking through elaborate classical prose, which is not a good excuse but there you have it—the remainder is mostly complaining about being falsely imprisoned and how no one will speak up for him.
The operative connotation of west is “autumn.” Idioms: prisoner’s hat is literally the hat of someone from the Warring State kingdom of Chu, referring to a historical episode of a prince being freed from captivity, and wings are “hair at the temples.” The phrase “white hair” is double-translated because it does double-duty, pointing to the speaker’s age as well as being the title of a folk song about false accusations—only one example of the double-meanings in the poem. The last line has a rare-in-poetry explicit first-person pronoun.
94. Roaming About in Early Spring, Matching Deputy Lu of Jinling’s Poem, Du Shenyan
Only we who are posted far from home
Are so surprised by these fresh signs of the season:
White clouds, red clouds—dawn sets out from the sea ...
Plum trees and willows—springtime crosses the river ...
The lovely weather prompts the oriole ...
The clearing sunlight turns the duckweed green ...
Then suddenly I hear an old song’s tune
And think of home, wanting to dry my tears.
和晋陵路丞早春游望
独有宦游人，
偏惊物候新。
云霞出海曙，
梅柳渡江春。
淑气催黄鸟，
晴光转绿苹。
忽闻歌古调，
归思欲沾巾。
The “matching” game is replying to a previous poem using the same rhyme words—also sometimes called “harmonizing” with it. In this case, the first poem is lost. Written in the extreme south, while in exile-by-provincial-demotion in what’s now northern Vietnam. Idiom: dry my eyes is literally “wet a cloth.” The poet was a founder of the Tang style as we know it and Du Fu’s grandfather.
95. Miscellaneous Poem, Shen Quanqi
I hear they say of Huanglong garrison
That they go year after year without a discharge.
Pity the moonlight in these women’s quarters—
You’ve stayed so long within the Han lord’s camp!
This young wife has spring feelings now
As you, my husband, longed for home last night.
Who can command the banners and the drums,
The one who can reconquer that Longcheng?
杂诗
闻道黄龙戍，
频年不解兵。
可怜闺里月，
长在汉家营。
少妇今春意，
良人昨夜情。
谁能将旗鼓，
一为取龙城？
Huanglong (“yellow dragon”) was on the northeast frontier, in modern Liaoning, while Longcheng (“dragon city”) was across the border, in modern Mongolia. Claiming this is set several hundred years earlier in the Han Dynasty is, again, a way of adding deniability to a political critique. One of the more clear examples of the erotic connotations of spring.
96. Inscribed in a Post Station North of the Dayu Mountains, Song Zhiwen
Tenth Month, the wild geese start to fly back south
And rumor has it they return to here,
Yet I go on, instead of stopping now—
And when will I return again back home?
The river’s calm, the tide begins to fall;
The forest dark, its vapors not yet broken.
One bright dawn, I shall gaze upon that town
And see plum blossoms on the mountain peak.
题大庾岭北驿
阳月南飞雁，
传闻至此回，
我行殊未已，
何日复归来？
江静潮初落，
林昏瘴不开。
明朝望乡处，
应见陇头梅。
The “inscribed” is understood as brushed onto a wall—a sort of literati graffiti similar to jottings in a guest-book. The mountains are a range on the border between Jiangxi and Guangdong provinces, in the deep south, and tied with that the “vapors” are specifically malarial. This has (in l.3) another rare-in-poetry first-person pronoun—usually rare, that is, but there’s actually two more in this installment, which I will now shut up about.
97. Stopping Under Mount Beigu, Wang Wan
By travel routes to this blue mountain
My boat moved forward through green waters,
Tide level with the two wide banks
And wind behind my hanging sail.
Sun’s born from sea in darkest night
And Yangzi spring starts with the New Year.
How will letters from home arrive?
The wild geese head to Luoyang now.
次北固山下
客路青山外，
行舟绿水前。
潮平两岸阔，
风正一帆悬。
海日生残夜，
江春入旧年。
乡书何处达？
归雁洛阳边。
The geese flew south, and now return north. Beigu is in Zhenjiang, Jiangsu, in the Yangzi delta overlooking the river. Geese were sometimes fancifully used to send letters, and they start migrating north soon after New Years (in early February).
98. Inscribed in a Buddhist Hall Behind Poshan Temple, Chang Jian
At dawn I entered this old temple
As first light shone on the tall forest—
The path wound to a secluded place,
A monk’s hall deep in trees and flowers.
The mountain scene delights the birds,
The pool’s reflection empties my heart—
All kinds of noise are completely hushed
Except the bell that tolls the hour.
题破山寺后禅院
清晨入古寺，
初日照高林。
曲径通幽处，
禅房花木深。
山光悦鸟性，
潭影空人心。
万籁此俱寂，
惟馀钟磬音。
The temple, now called Xingfu, is in Suzhou, Jiangsu.
99. Sent to Reminder of the Left Du, Cen Can
We climb vermilion stairs together
Then amethyst walls divide our desks.
Dawn court, we follow Heaven Protectors—
Nights, we go home smelling of incense.
White hairs: sorrow that flowers scatter;
Clear skies: envy of birds in flight.
The court is wise, acts without fault—
I know that remonstrance is rare.
寄左省杜拾遗
联步趋丹陛，
分曹限紫微。
晓随天仗入，
暮惹御香归。
白发悲花落，
青云羡鸟飞。
圣朝无阙事，
自觉谏书稀。
Reminder Du is Du Fu during one of his rare government jobs, as a minor imperial advisor to Suzong, which places this in 757-758. Custom understood the position as ceremonial, but about a year after his appointment he lost it for taking it seriously and actually submitting memorials of remonstrance. The writer had a similar but slightly higher ranked post as Rectifier of Omissions. The Heaven Protectors were the imperial guards (or more technically, their ceremonial weapons), which they followed in the procession into the audience hall for early morning court sessions, and “clear sky” was a common image for high office.
100. Presented to Meng Haoran, Li Bai
I do adore you, Master Meng,
Whose fame is heard by all under heaven.
Red cheeked, you cast off crowns and carriages—
White haired, you lie with pines and clouds—
Drunk in moonlight, often enraptured—
Charmed by flowers, not matters of princes—
Who can look up to so high a peak?
Disciple bows to your pure spirit.
赠孟浩然
吾爱孟夫子，
风流天下闻。
红颜弃轩冕，
白首卧松云。
醉月频中圣，
迷花不事君。
高山安可仰？
徒此挹清芬。
Li Bai’s reputation is not for his regulated verse, but he could pull it off with flair when he wanted. We’ve already met another poem he addressed to Meng in #268. As for the matters of princes, Meng famously made only one abortive attempt at getting a government position before retiring to his hometown. Idioms: enraptured is literally “holy,” with a sense of intoxicated—a figure that appears frequently from other poets as well as Li Bai—and his spirit is literally “fragrance.”
101. A Farewell, Passing Jingmen, Li Bai
I pass through, from far beyond Jingmen,
Come to wander through the land of Chu
Where mountains dissolve, vanish into flat fields,
The river flowing through vast wilderness.
The moon below, a reflection of its flight—
Clouds tower up, connected to a mirage.
I still love these waters from my homeland:
Farewell, ten-thousand li—let’s go, my boat.
渡荆门送别
渡远荆门外，
来从楚国游。
山随平野尽，
江入大荒流。
月下飞天镜，
云生结海楼。
仍怜故乡水，
万里送行舟。
A little downstream of the Three Gorges, the Yangzi flows between Mt. Jingmen (“Chu gate”) and Mt. Huya (“tiger fang”), which marks the traditional border between mountainous Sichuan (Li Bai's homeland) and flatter Chu (a Warring States kingdom centered on Hubei & Hunan). Idiom: I have the clouds tower up instead of just “grow” because mirage is literally “sea-tower” (though it’s possible that the mirage meaning is a mirage and he’s actually saying the clouds’ reflections look like towers beneath the water).
102. Seeing Off a Friend, Li Bai
Blue mountains piled on northern walls,
White water loops the eastern city—
There’s just one way to leave this land:
Ten-thousand li, alone, disheveled.
The drifting clouds, a traveler’s thoughts—
The setting sun, an old friend’s love.
Waving your hand you now depart,
Your team of horses whinnying off.
送友人
青山横北郭，
白水绕东城。
此地一为别，
孤蓬万里征。
浮云游子意，
落日故人情。
挥手自兹去，
萧萧班马鸣。
103. Listening to Buddhist Monk Jun from Sichuan Play the Qin, Li Bai
He holds Green Silk, this Buddhist monk
From Emei’s summit in the west,
And it’s for me he waves his hands—
I hear a gorge with thousands of pines—
It washes my heart with flowing water—
Sounds linger, mingling with frost-bells—
I didn’t notice the mountain sunset,
Autumn clouds dark with unknown layers.
听蜀僧浚弹琴
蜀僧抱绿绮，
西下峨眉峰；
为我一挥手，
如听万壑松。
客心洗流水，
馀响入霜钟。
不觉碧山暮，
秋云暗几重。
Green Silk was the qin (a 7-string zither with a fixed bridge) of Han-Dynasty musician and poet Sima Xiangru, and claiming the monk now possesses it is flattery. Emei is a mountain in southern Sichuan with many Buddhist monasteries. “Waving one’s hands” means to play the strings. The thousands of pines are literally ten-thousand. Frost bells were legendary instruments so perfectly made that even frost settling on them made them ring. Lost in translation: the mountains are “blue-green.”
104. Night Mooring at Niuzhu, Pondering the Past, Li Bai
Night at Niuzhu on the Yangzi:
Sky dark without a thread of cloud.
Aboard, I gaze on the autumn moon,
Thinking in vain of General Xie—
I too can chant a lofty song,
Though such a man can’t hear it now.
Tomorrow I’ll set sail and sit
While maple leaves scatter, one by one.
夜泊牛渚怀古
牛渚西江夜，
青天无片云；
登舟望秋月，
空忆谢将军。
馀亦能高咏，
斯人不可闻。
明朝挂帆席，
枫叶落纷纷。
Niuzhu (“cow island”) Mountain juts into the Yangzi somewhat upstream of Nanjing. General Xie is Xie Shang who, while moored here some four centuries prior, heard someone chanting poems in another boat and became that poet’s patron—IOW, I can has patron too pls. Line 5 has another rare-in-poetry first-person pronoun. A big overtone of autumn is “aging/withering.” Idiom: one by one/one after the other is the modern Chinese sense of 纷纷, literally “scatter scatter.” Lost in translation: he literally boards “(a/my) boat.”
105. Moonlit Night, Du Fu
Tonight the moon’s above Fuzhou—
She gazes in her quarters alone.
From far, I pity our small children
Who don’t know why she longs for Chang’an.
Sweet mist—her cloud-chignon is wet;
Clear light—her jade-like shoulder’s cold.
When shall we lean on a thin blind
With moonlight drying both our tears?
月夜
今夜鄜州月，
闺中只独看。
遥怜小儿女，
未解忆长安。
香雾云鬟湿，
清辉玉臂寒。
何时倚虚幌，
双照泪痕干。
Written in 756 while imprisoned inside Chang’an by rebel forces of An Lushan, while his wife and children stayed in relative safety in a town to the north. Pronouns were omitted, so the original can be understood as about either “she” or “you.” Mistranslations: the mist is literally “fragrant” and the blind “translucent.”
106. Spring Prospect, Du Fu
States break, mountains and rivers abide.
Spring city, grasses and trees grow deep.
Feeling the times, flowers splash tears—
Hating our parting, birds startle my heart—
Signal fires for the last three months—
Home letters are worth ten-thousand golds.
I scratch my white hairs, getting thinner—
Soon they won’t even hold a hairpin.
春望
国破山河在，
城春草木深。
感时花溅泪，
恨别鸟惊心。
烽火连三月，
家书抵万金。
白头搔更短，
浑欲不胜簪。
Written in early 757 while still captive in Chang’an. Du Fu’s poetic syntax makes it hard to understand whether, for example, the birds startle the speaker’s heart or are themselves startled. (It feels like we’re almost to Heian Japanese levels of ambiguity.) Upper-class men wore their long hair bound up in a topknot beneath a hat or cap fixed with a pin. The first two lines are especially famous, while the last two have haunted me for years.
107. Spending a Spring Night in the Left Courtyard, Du Fu
Flowers hide by evening walls,
Chirping birds go to their perches,
Stars shine, ten-thousand households stir,
Moon brightens near the highest heaven.
Sleepless, I hear the golden doors—
Wind makes me think of bridle jades.
Come dawn, I’ll have reports to write,
Yet I keep asking, “What’s night like?”
春宿左省
花隐掖垣暮，
啾啾栖鸟过。
星临万户动，
月傍九霄多。
不寝听金钥，
因风想玉珂。
明朝有封事，
数问夜如何。
Written after he escaped Chang’an and joined Suzong’s government as Reminder of the Left (see #99). The courtyard in question was on the left=east side of the palace, where Chancellery offices were—basically, Du Fu as a minor official is doing his stint on the overnight shift. Idiom: the highest heaven is literally “ninth heaven,” and which is also a term for the palace itself. If understood that last way, you can read the flowers as symbolizing Du Fu, the birds as higher-rank officials who can go home, and the households, which is literally “doors,” as palace activities. Mistranslation: the doors, understood as being those of the palace, are literally “locks” or “keys.” The jade bridles, understood to be clinking, are part of the tack of imperial horses. “What’s night like?” is usually understood as asking “How long’s the night?” or “How much longer is the night?”
108. In 757, I Escaped the Capital through Golden Light Gate and Found My Way to Fengxiang; in 758, I Was Transferred from Reminder of the Left to a Position in Huazhou; Friends and Family Saw Me Off, and I Departed through the Same Gate Thinking Sadly of the Previous Time, Du Fu
By this same road, I once returned to court
Through western outskirts truly thronged with Tartars,
And ever since, my courage has been broken—
My soul might not have all returned to me.
Close courtiers return to the capital,
But “transferred”? How’s this the emperor’s?
Without talent, each day I decline and age.
I halt my horse to gaze upon the palace.
至德二载甫自京金光门出问道归凤翔，乾元初从左拾遗移华州掾，与亲故别因出此门有悲往事
此道昔归顺，
西郊胡正繁。
至今残破胆，
应有未招魂。
近得归京邑，
移官岂至尊。
无才日衰老，
驻马望千门。
This is the demotion for rocking the boat that Du Fu was obliquely warned against in #99, the form of rocking being vocally supporting his mentor, Fang Guan (see #112), after he’d been dismissed from office. Interestingly, this wasn’t written till over a year after the second departure, after he’d resigned the Huazhou position. Fengxiang was where Emperor Suzong ruled prior to the recapture of Chang’an from rebel forces. Huazhou’s about 40 miles east of Chang’an, so this wasn’t a distant exile, but being appointed Commissioner of Education of a local district was a definite demotion. Line 6 is especially compacted even for Du Fu—he’s questioning how this transfer could be the emperor’s own order. Idiom: palace is literally “thousand gates.”
109. Remembering My Younger Brothers on a Moonlit Night, Du Fu
The curfew drum halts people’s movements.
A border autumn—one goose calls.
Begins tonight the term White Dew,
With bright on my hometown the moon.
I’ve younger brothers, split and scattered,
But no home to ask if dead or alive.
I’ll send a letter, though it’ll take long—
It will stay thus till soldiers rest.
月夜忆舍弟
戍鼓断人行，
秋边一雁声。
露从今夜白，
月是故乡明。
有弟皆分散，
无家问死生。
寄书长不达，
况乃未休兵。
Written in 759 in Qinzhou, now Tianshui, Gansu, some 200 miles west of Chang’an. At the time, his hometown of Luoyang, equally far to the east, was still held by rebel forces. The drum is literally that of a “garrison,” understood as belonging to the night watch, signaling the start of curfew. Overtone that foreshadows the conclusion: wild geese are associated with letters sent over long distances. White Dew is the name, in the little-known solar calendar used alongside the lunisolar one, of the two-week solar term starting c. September 8th. The name is, in an example of Du Fu’s dislocated poetic syntax, radically split apart: the line is literally “Dew begins tonight White.” He does something similar with the bright moon in the next line, and I’ve tried to imitate the effect in English.
And so ends another installment. The next poem begins with a cold wind at the sky’s end, which will be a suitably dramatic start of the next one.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
This form makes up the longest section of the collection, 80 poems, so again I’m posting it in digestible chunks—this time, 20 each. Most of the time, I render the five-character lines as four-beat iambics, but some poems (especially the more concretely imagistic) require the space of five beats to translate adequately. As usual, I am utter fail at any sort of rhyme.
Because this installment enters deep Du Fu territory, it’s time to give a potted summary of the An Lushan Rebellion as, even more than other poets, it shaped so many of his poems. In Emperor Xuanzong’s later years, his erratic governance devolved to his ministers, eunuchs, and generals, who all hella in-fought each other for power. Eventually a Turkic-born general, An Lushan, revolted outright in late 755 and captured the Chang’an capital the next year. Xuanzong fled to Sichuan (see esp. #71) then abdicated to his son, Suzong, who undertook the many-years project of taking back the empire (Chang’an was recaptured in 757) as well as bringing to heel other warlords who took advantage of the chaos to stop submitting to central authority. This latter task was never fully completed, and over the next 150 years the Tang Dynasty slowly devolved into complete disarray. IOW, there’s reasons the Rebellion shadows so much of Tang poetry, not just Du Fu’s.
But enough backdrop, on with the pageant.
90. Passing through Zou in Lu Kingdom, I Made an Offering to Confucius and Recited This, Tang Emperor Xuanzong
Master, what came of all you did,
Restlessly roaming through that era?
This land is still the Zou clan’s town,
This house is near the Lu king’s palace.
The phoenix sighed: you blamed yourself—
Qilin were hurt: your Way was spent.
I see my offering by two pillars
Must be what you once saw in dreams.
经邹鲁祭孔子而叹之
夫子何为者，
栖栖一代中。
地犹鄹氏邑，
宅即鲁王宫。
叹凤嗟身否，
伤麟怨道穷。
今看两楹奠，
当与梦时同。
Sun Zu starts the book off flattering Emperor Xuanzong by including his own flattery of Master Kong—and then of himself. Oooo-kaythen. It is worth noting that the most popular version of Poems of a Thousand Masters, the textbook anthology this collection aimed to supplant, starts its equivalent section with a different poem by Xuanzong, one less overtly Confucian.
Written in 735 while on an inspection tour of the empire that passed through southwestern Shandong, where Confucius was born in the town of Zou in what was then the Warring States kingdom of Lu. The lines about the phoenix and qilin (an animal roughly equivalent to a unicorn, only with deer antlers) refer to portents mentioned in the Analects, which also relates how Confucius once interpreted a dream of an offering being made between two pillars to him, as if dead, as a presentiment of his death.
91. Full Moon, Thinking of Far Away, Zhang Jiuling
Out of the sea the bright moon’s born—
We share, the sky apart, this moment.
Dear one, I hate these drawn-out nights:
When sunset ends, my longings grow.
I snuff the candle, wanting no light,
And pull on a cloak, knowing dew gathers.
I cannot send this cupped moonlight ...
Back in my room, I dream of good times.
望月怀远
海上生明月，
天涯共此时。
情人怨遥夜，
竟夕起相思。
灭烛怜光满，
披衣觉露滋。
不堪盈手赠，
还寝梦佳期。
The speaker is traditionally understood as a man missing a friend, but other readings are possible. In the seventh line, I added moonlight to clarify a compacted image, though doing so meant dropping that the speaker “cannot bear” not being able to give it.
92. Seeing Off Vice-Minister Du when He Took a Position in Shuzhou, Wang Bo
At this gatehouse guarding three Qins,
Looking through mist towards those five ferries,
I wish you well upon your journey—
Just as, too, this official travels.
In China, we are closest friends—
At the ends of the world, we’ll still be neighbors:
Don’t just stand here at this crossroad
Handkerchief soaking like a child’s!
送杜少府之任蜀州
城阙辅三秦，
风烟望五津。
与君离别意，
同是宦游人。
海内存知己，
天涯若比邻。
无为在歧路，
儿女共沾巾。
An example of a standard genre, but I rather like it—assuming I’m correctly reading the last lines as spoken with asperity. The three Qins refers to how, after the Qin Dynasty was overthrown, the core territory of the former Qin Kingdom was divided into three domains, which places the scene in Chang’an, while the five ferries are crossings of the Min River near Shuzhou in modern Sichuan. Idioms: China is literally “within the seas,” and end of the world is literally “edge of the sky.” Usually I render the idiom of “soaking a cloth” as drying one’s eyes/tears, but in this case literal is more natural. Lost in translation: the mist is breaking up in the wind.
93. In Prison, Singing Cicadas, Luo Binwang
At the palace where I’m imprisoned, across the wall to the west is the hall of Penal Affairs. Some old scholar-trees are there, like the old trees Yin Zhongwen mentions, yet I’ve also heard the judge has sweet crabapple trees like those of Zhao Po. Every evening, when the sunset shines under their shadows, the autumn cicadas sing, then quietly cease, cut off from hearing; what human heart is so different from those of ancient times that these insects’ sounds would not sadden it? Alas!
From the west road, cicadas cry aloud—
A guest with a prisoner’s hat, my longings swell.
I can’t endure the shadows of black wings
Come here to sing “White Hair” to this old man.
In heavy dew, it’s difficult to fly;
In strong winds, sounds are easily suppressed.
No one believes believes in lofty and unsullied—
Who will ever understand my heart?
在狱咏蝉
馀禁所禁垣西，是法厅事也。有古槐数株焉，虽生意可知，同殷仲文之古树，而听讼斯在，即周召伯之甘棠。每至夕照低阴，秋蝉疏引，发声幽息，有切尝闻；岂人心异于曩时，将虫响悲于前听？嗟乎！
西路蝉声唱，
南冠客思侵。
不堪玄鬓影，
来对白头吟。
露重飞难进，
风多响易沉。
无人信高洁，
谁为表予心。
The poet was imprisoned in 676 for criticizing Empress Wu Zetian, who completely controlled her husband’s government. Confessional note: I skipped the second half of the preface because I got tired of picking through elaborate classical prose, which is not a good excuse but there you have it—the remainder is mostly complaining about being falsely imprisoned and how no one will speak up for him.
The operative connotation of west is “autumn.” Idioms: prisoner’s hat is literally the hat of someone from the Warring State kingdom of Chu, referring to a historical episode of a prince being freed from captivity, and wings are “hair at the temples.” The phrase “white hair” is double-translated because it does double-duty, pointing to the speaker’s age as well as being the title of a folk song about false accusations—only one example of the double-meanings in the poem. The last line has a rare-in-poetry explicit first-person pronoun.
94. Roaming About in Early Spring, Matching Deputy Lu of Jinling’s Poem, Du Shenyan
Only we who are posted far from home
Are so surprised by these fresh signs of the season:
White clouds, red clouds—dawn sets out from the sea ...
Plum trees and willows—springtime crosses the river ...
The lovely weather prompts the oriole ...
The clearing sunlight turns the duckweed green ...
Then suddenly I hear an old song’s tune
And think of home, wanting to dry my tears.
和晋陵路丞早春游望
独有宦游人，
偏惊物候新。
云霞出海曙，
梅柳渡江春。
淑气催黄鸟，
晴光转绿苹。
忽闻歌古调，
归思欲沾巾。
The “matching” game is replying to a previous poem using the same rhyme words—also sometimes called “harmonizing” with it. In this case, the first poem is lost. Written in the extreme south, while in exile-by-provincial-demotion in what’s now northern Vietnam. Idiom: dry my eyes is literally “wet a cloth.” The poet was a founder of the Tang style as we know it and Du Fu’s grandfather.
95. Miscellaneous Poem, Shen Quanqi
I hear they say of Huanglong garrison
That they go year after year without a discharge.
Pity the moonlight in these women’s quarters—
You’ve stayed so long within the Han lord’s camp!
This young wife has spring feelings now
As you, my husband, longed for home last night.
Who can command the banners and the drums,
The one who can reconquer that Longcheng?
杂诗
闻道黄龙戍，
频年不解兵。
可怜闺里月，
长在汉家营。
少妇今春意，
良人昨夜情。
谁能将旗鼓，
一为取龙城？
Huanglong (“yellow dragon”) was on the northeast frontier, in modern Liaoning, while Longcheng (“dragon city”) was across the border, in modern Mongolia. Claiming this is set several hundred years earlier in the Han Dynasty is, again, a way of adding deniability to a political critique. One of the more clear examples of the erotic connotations of spring.
96. Inscribed in a Post Station North of the Dayu Mountains, Song Zhiwen
Tenth Month, the wild geese start to fly back south
And rumor has it they return to here,
Yet I go on, instead of stopping now—
And when will I return again back home?
The river’s calm, the tide begins to fall;
The forest dark, its vapors not yet broken.
One bright dawn, I shall gaze upon that town
And see plum blossoms on the mountain peak.
题大庾岭北驿
阳月南飞雁，
传闻至此回，
我行殊未已，
何日复归来？
江静潮初落，
林昏瘴不开。
明朝望乡处，
应见陇头梅。
The “inscribed” is understood as brushed onto a wall—a sort of literati graffiti similar to jottings in a guest-book. The mountains are a range on the border between Jiangxi and Guangdong provinces, in the deep south, and tied with that the “vapors” are specifically malarial. This has (in l.3) another rare-in-poetry first-person pronoun—usually rare, that is, but there’s actually two more in this installment, which I will now shut up about.
97. Stopping Under Mount Beigu, Wang Wan
By travel routes to this blue mountain
My boat moved forward through green waters,
Tide level with the two wide banks
And wind behind my hanging sail.
Sun’s born from sea in darkest night
And Yangzi spring starts with the New Year.
How will letters from home arrive?
The wild geese head to Luoyang now.
次北固山下
客路青山外，
行舟绿水前。
潮平两岸阔，
风正一帆悬。
海日生残夜，
江春入旧年。
乡书何处达？
归雁洛阳边。
The geese flew south, and now return north. Beigu is in Zhenjiang, Jiangsu, in the Yangzi delta overlooking the river. Geese were sometimes fancifully used to send letters, and they start migrating north soon after New Years (in early February).
98. Inscribed in a Buddhist Hall Behind Poshan Temple, Chang Jian
At dawn I entered this old temple
As first light shone on the tall forest—
The path wound to a secluded place,
A monk’s hall deep in trees and flowers.
The mountain scene delights the birds,
The pool’s reflection empties my heart—
All kinds of noise are completely hushed
Except the bell that tolls the hour.
题破山寺后禅院
清晨入古寺，
初日照高林。
曲径通幽处，
禅房花木深。
山光悦鸟性，
潭影空人心。
万籁此俱寂，
惟馀钟磬音。
The temple, now called Xingfu, is in Suzhou, Jiangsu.
99. Sent to Reminder of the Left Du, Cen Can
We climb vermilion stairs together
Then amethyst walls divide our desks.
Dawn court, we follow Heaven Protectors—
Nights, we go home smelling of incense.
White hairs: sorrow that flowers scatter;
Clear skies: envy of birds in flight.
The court is wise, acts without fault—
I know that remonstrance is rare.
寄左省杜拾遗
联步趋丹陛，
分曹限紫微。
晓随天仗入，
暮惹御香归。
白发悲花落，
青云羡鸟飞。
圣朝无阙事，
自觉谏书稀。
Reminder Du is Du Fu during one of his rare government jobs, as a minor imperial advisor to Suzong, which places this in 757-758. Custom understood the position as ceremonial, but about a year after his appointment he lost it for taking it seriously and actually submitting memorials of remonstrance. The writer had a similar but slightly higher ranked post as Rectifier of Omissions. The Heaven Protectors were the imperial guards (or more technically, their ceremonial weapons), which they followed in the procession into the audience hall for early morning court sessions, and “clear sky” was a common image for high office.
100. Presented to Meng Haoran, Li Bai
I do adore you, Master Meng,
Whose fame is heard by all under heaven.
Red cheeked, you cast off crowns and carriages—
White haired, you lie with pines and clouds—
Drunk in moonlight, often enraptured—
Charmed by flowers, not matters of princes—
Who can look up to so high a peak?
Disciple bows to your pure spirit.
赠孟浩然
吾爱孟夫子，
风流天下闻。
红颜弃轩冕，
白首卧松云。
醉月频中圣，
迷花不事君。
高山安可仰？
徒此挹清芬。
Li Bai’s reputation is not for his regulated verse, but he could pull it off with flair when he wanted. We’ve already met another poem he addressed to Meng in #268. As for the matters of princes, Meng famously made only one abortive attempt at getting a government position before retiring to his hometown. Idioms: enraptured is literally “holy,” with a sense of intoxicated—a figure that appears frequently from other poets as well as Li Bai—and his spirit is literally “fragrance.”
101. A Farewell, Passing Jingmen, Li Bai
I pass through, from far beyond Jingmen,
Come to wander through the land of Chu
Where mountains dissolve, vanish into flat fields,
The river flowing through vast wilderness.
The moon below, a reflection of its flight—
Clouds tower up, connected to a mirage.
I still love these waters from my homeland:
Farewell, ten-thousand li—let’s go, my boat.
渡荆门送别
渡远荆门外，
来从楚国游。
山随平野尽，
江入大荒流。
月下飞天镜，
云生结海楼。
仍怜故乡水，
万里送行舟。
A little downstream of the Three Gorges, the Yangzi flows between Mt. Jingmen (“Chu gate”) and Mt. Huya (“tiger fang”), which marks the traditional border between mountainous Sichuan (Li Bai's homeland) and flatter Chu (a Warring States kingdom centered on Hubei & Hunan). Idiom: I have the clouds tower up instead of just “grow” because mirage is literally “sea-tower” (though it’s possible that the mirage meaning is a mirage and he’s actually saying the clouds’ reflections look like towers beneath the water).
102. Seeing Off a Friend, Li Bai
Blue mountains piled on northern walls,
White water loops the eastern city—
There’s just one way to leave this land:
Ten-thousand li, alone, disheveled.
The drifting clouds, a traveler’s thoughts—
The setting sun, an old friend’s love.
Waving your hand you now depart,
Your team of horses whinnying off.
送友人
青山横北郭，
白水绕东城。
此地一为别，
孤蓬万里征。
浮云游子意，
落日故人情。
挥手自兹去，
萧萧班马鸣。
103. Listening to Buddhist Monk Jun from Sichuan Play the Qin, Li Bai
He holds Green Silk, this Buddhist monk
From Emei’s summit in the west,
And it’s for me he waves his hands—
I hear a gorge with thousands of pines—
It washes my heart with flowing water—
Sounds linger, mingling with frost-bells—
I didn’t notice the mountain sunset,
Autumn clouds dark with unknown layers.
听蜀僧浚弹琴
蜀僧抱绿绮，
西下峨眉峰；
为我一挥手，
如听万壑松。
客心洗流水，
馀响入霜钟。
不觉碧山暮，
秋云暗几重。
Green Silk was the qin (a 7-string zither with a fixed bridge) of Han-Dynasty musician and poet Sima Xiangru, and claiming the monk now possesses it is flattery. Emei is a mountain in southern Sichuan with many Buddhist monasteries. “Waving one’s hands” means to play the strings. The thousands of pines are literally ten-thousand. Frost bells were legendary instruments so perfectly made that even frost settling on them made them ring. Lost in translation: the mountains are “blue-green.”
104. Night Mooring at Niuzhu, Pondering the Past, Li Bai
Night at Niuzhu on the Yangzi:
Sky dark without a thread of cloud.
Aboard, I gaze on the autumn moon,
Thinking in vain of General Xie—
I too can chant a lofty song,
Though such a man can’t hear it now.
Tomorrow I’ll set sail and sit
While maple leaves scatter, one by one.
夜泊牛渚怀古
牛渚西江夜，
青天无片云；
登舟望秋月，
空忆谢将军。
馀亦能高咏，
斯人不可闻。
明朝挂帆席，
枫叶落纷纷。
Niuzhu (“cow island”) Mountain juts into the Yangzi somewhat upstream of Nanjing. General Xie is Xie Shang who, while moored here some four centuries prior, heard someone chanting poems in another boat and became that poet’s patron—IOW, I can has patron too pls. Line 5 has another rare-in-poetry first-person pronoun. A big overtone of autumn is “aging/withering.” Idiom: one by one/one after the other is the modern Chinese sense of 纷纷, literally “scatter scatter.” Lost in translation: he literally boards “(a/my) boat.”
105. Moonlit Night, Du Fu
Tonight the moon’s above Fuzhou—
She gazes in her quarters alone.
From far, I pity our small children
Who don’t know why she longs for Chang’an.
Sweet mist—her cloud-chignon is wet;
Clear light—her jade-like shoulder’s cold.
When shall we lean on a thin blind
With moonlight drying both our tears?
月夜
今夜鄜州月，
闺中只独看。
遥怜小儿女，
未解忆长安。
香雾云鬟湿，
清辉玉臂寒。
何时倚虚幌，
双照泪痕干。
Written in 756 while imprisoned inside Chang’an by rebel forces of An Lushan, while his wife and children stayed in relative safety in a town to the north. Pronouns were omitted, so the original can be understood as about either “she” or “you.” Mistranslations: the mist is literally “fragrant” and the blind “translucent.”
106. Spring Prospect, Du Fu
States break, mountains and rivers abide.
Spring city, grasses and trees grow deep.
Feeling the times, flowers splash tears—
Hating our parting, birds startle my heart—
Signal fires for the last three months—
Home letters are worth ten-thousand golds.
I scratch my white hairs, getting thinner—
Soon they won’t even hold a hairpin.
春望
国破山河在，
城春草木深。
感时花溅泪，
恨别鸟惊心。
烽火连三月，
家书抵万金。
白头搔更短，
浑欲不胜簪。
Written in early 757 while still captive in Chang’an. Du Fu’s poetic syntax makes it hard to understand whether, for example, the birds startle the speaker’s heart or are themselves startled. (It feels like we’re almost to Heian Japanese levels of ambiguity.) Upper-class men wore their long hair bound up in a topknot beneath a hat or cap fixed with a pin. The first two lines are especially famous, while the last two have haunted me for years.
107. Spending a Spring Night in the Left Courtyard, Du Fu
Flowers hide by evening walls,
Chirping birds go to their perches,
Stars shine, ten-thousand households stir,
Moon brightens near the highest heaven.
Sleepless, I hear the golden doors—
Wind makes me think of bridle jades.
Come dawn, I’ll have reports to write,
Yet I keep asking, “What’s night like?”
春宿左省
花隐掖垣暮，
啾啾栖鸟过。
星临万户动，
月傍九霄多。
不寝听金钥，
因风想玉珂。
明朝有封事，
数问夜如何。
Written after he escaped Chang’an and joined Suzong’s government as Reminder of the Left (see #99). The courtyard in question was on the left=east side of the palace, where Chancellery offices were—basically, Du Fu as a minor official is doing his stint on the overnight shift. Idiom: the highest heaven is literally “ninth heaven,” and which is also a term for the palace itself. If understood that last way, you can read the flowers as symbolizing Du Fu, the birds as higher-rank officials who can go home, and the households, which is literally “doors,” as palace activities. Mistranslation: the doors, understood as being those of the palace, are literally “locks” or “keys.” The jade bridles, understood to be clinking, are part of the tack of imperial horses. “What’s night like?” is usually understood as asking “How long’s the night?” or “How much longer is the night?”
108. In 757, I Escaped the Capital through Golden Light Gate and Found My Way to Fengxiang; in 758, I Was Transferred from Reminder of the Left to a Position in Huazhou; Friends and Family Saw Me Off, and I Departed through the Same Gate Thinking Sadly of the Previous Time, Du Fu
By this same road, I once returned to court
Through western outskirts truly thronged with Tartars,
And ever since, my courage has been broken—
My soul might not have all returned to me.
Close courtiers return to the capital,
But “transferred”? How’s this the emperor’s?
Without talent, each day I decline and age.
I halt my horse to gaze upon the palace.
至德二载甫自京金光门出问道归凤翔，乾元初从左拾遗移华州掾，与亲故别因出此门有悲往事
此道昔归顺，
西郊胡正繁。
至今残破胆，
应有未招魂。
近得归京邑，
移官岂至尊。
无才日衰老，
驻马望千门。
This is the demotion for rocking the boat that Du Fu was obliquely warned against in #99, the form of rocking being vocally supporting his mentor, Fang Guan (see #112), after he’d been dismissed from office. Interestingly, this wasn’t written till over a year after the second departure, after he’d resigned the Huazhou position. Fengxiang was where Emperor Suzong ruled prior to the recapture of Chang’an from rebel forces. Huazhou’s about 40 miles east of Chang’an, so this wasn’t a distant exile, but being appointed Commissioner of Education of a local district was a definite demotion. Line 6 is especially compacted even for Du Fu—he’s questioning how this transfer could be the emperor’s own order. Idiom: palace is literally “thousand gates.”
109. Remembering My Younger Brothers on a Moonlit Night, Du Fu
The curfew drum halts people’s movements.
A border autumn—one goose calls.
Begins tonight the term White Dew,
With bright on my hometown the moon.
I’ve younger brothers, split and scattered,
But no home to ask if dead or alive.
I’ll send a letter, though it’ll take long—
It will stay thus till soldiers rest.
月夜忆舍弟
戍鼓断人行，
秋边一雁声。
露从今夜白，
月是故乡明。
有弟皆分散，
无家问死生。
寄书长不达，
况乃未休兵。
Written in 759 in Qinzhou, now Tianshui, Gansu, some 200 miles west of Chang’an. At the time, his hometown of Luoyang, equally far to the east, was still held by rebel forces. The drum is literally that of a “garrison,” understood as belonging to the night watch, signaling the start of curfew. Overtone that foreshadows the conclusion: wild geese are associated with letters sent over long distances. White Dew is the name, in the little-known solar calendar used alongside the lunisolar one, of the two-week solar term starting c. September 8th. The name is, in an example of Du Fu’s dislocated poetic syntax, radically split apart: the line is literally “Dew begins tonight White.” He does something similar with the bright moon in the next line, and I’ve tried to imitate the effect in English.
And so ends another installment. The next poem begins with a cold wind at the sky’s end, which will be a suitably dramatic start of the next one.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 7 February 2022 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 February 2022 03:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 February 2022 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 February 2022 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 February 2022 09:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 February 2022 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 19 February 2022 01:07 pm (UTC)I particularly love #100 - drunk in moonlight, charmed by flowers Master Meng really does sound adorable.
no subject
Date: 19 February 2022 07:52 pm (UTC)He sounds adorable here, but in his own poems (which I'm working on now) he doesn't come across quite as well, I'm startled to realize.