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larryhammerDidn’t I just do one of these? Well, no matter—as here’s another installment of 20 five-character regulated verse from Part 5 of 300 Tang Poems. Highlights include Du Fu getting old, Wang Wei getting Zen, and Meng Haoran getting his whinge on. These are, as usual, revised from rougher drafts posted in my other journal.
To be explicit again: my translation priorities are to render the literal sense (including the understood meaning of idioms) in a way that matches the original’s emotional tenor and rhetorical structures, while using as close to regular English meter as I can manage without doing violence to those other priorities. For the two parallel couplets in the middle of the form, I try to maintain the parallelisms, but languages sometimes work differently. (I should do a post unpacking a parallel couplet or two, to demonstrate what they are.) Where it is easy to do without departing “too far” from the original, I sometimes incorporate glosses for obscure referents into the translation, but otherwise save explanations for the notes.
For once, however, I am not utter fail at reproducing the form’s rhyme—I managed only the once, and with imperfect rhymes, but I’ll take the victory I can.
110. Thinking of Li Bai at the Sky’s End, Du Fu
A cold wind rises at the sky’s end.
True gentleman, what do you think?
When will the swans and geese arrive,
And autumn flood the lakes and rivers?
We hate the written words that reach us—
Demons enjoy men passing by.
Share words with that resentful ghost,
Throw poems to him in Miluo River.
天末怀李白
凉风起天末，
君子意如何。
鸿雁几时到，
江湖秋水多。
文章憎命达，
魑魅喜人过。
应共冤魂语，
投诗赠汨罗。
Written in 759 when Li Bai had been exiled to Lake Dongting, Hunan. Wild geese, and sometimes swans as well, are associated with letters from afar, here anticipating a recall—a hope denied with the written words two lines later. 魑 (chi) and 魅 (mei) are two types of hostile mountain demons/spirits, who enjoy passers-by because they can eat them; they are often read as representing small-minded people who delight in the downfall of their betters. The resentful ghost is Qu Yuan, who drowned himself in the Miluo River (which flows into Dongting) after his reputation with his king had been trashed by slander (a death commemorated in the Dragon Boat Festival).
111. Seeing Off Duke Yan Again at Fengji Post Station, Four Rhymes, Du Fu
So far to see you off, and now we part
Amid blue mountains, once more grieving in vain.
When shall we, as we did walking beneath
The moon last night, raise up our cups again?
Your every district sings their songs of regret.
Both in and out of court, you’ve honor gained.
I here return alone to my village home
To live, in silence, what broken life remains.
奉济驿重送严公四韵
远送从此别，
青山空复情。
几时杯重把，
昨夜月同行。
列郡讴歌惜，
三朝出入荣。
将村独归处，
寂寞养残生。
Yan, then provincial governor of what’s now Sichuan, was Du Fu’s patron during his stay near Chengdu. Fengji was about a hundred miles away, which means he came along a long way just to say farewell. The occasion is Yan’s departure in 762 for Chang’an for the accession of Emperor Daizong—the “three courts” Yan served are his plus his two predecessors, Suzong and Xuanzong. I’m not sure whether to call this an idiom or substituting the gloss, but grieving is the understood meaning of “feeling.”
I don’t get the significance of calling out that this fixed form has the required four rhymed lines. To honor it, though, I also came up with a version that itself actually rhymes.
112. Departing the Tomb of Marshal Fang, Du Fu
Passing through, en route to another place,
I halt my horse beside your lonely grave.
Now that I’m near, my tears leave no soil dry.
Hanging down from the sky are broken clouds.
I played go with you, my Premier Xie—
I hold the coveted sword, my King of Xu.
I only see the flowers fall in the woods
And hear the twittering orioles see me off.
别房太尉墓
他乡复行役，
驻马别孤坟。
近泪无乾土，
低空有断云。
对棋陪谢傅，
把剑觅徐君。
唯见林花落，
莺啼送客闻。
Fang Guan, Du Fu’s mentor during his official career, was a general and confidant of Emperor Xuanzong but was dismissed from office by Suzong—vocally supporting him even after that was the proximate cause of Du Fu’s demotion in #108. After Daizong’s accession (see #111), Fang was summoned back to Chang’an for rehabilitation but died en route at Langzhong in northern Sichuan in 763, where he was buried. Written in 765 when Du Fu finally visited the grave.
Xie is Xia An, a prime minister of the Eastern Jin Dynasty who was famously so unflappable that when news of a vital victory arrived while he was deep in a game of go, he calmly continued playing. The sword refers to an incident from the Warring States period, where the sword’s owner planned to present it to the king who desired it the next time they met only to have the king die before that could happen, so the owner hung it over his grave.
113. Thinking about My Writings at Night While Traveling, Du Fu
Thin grass, a faint wind on the bank.
High mast, alone on the boat at night.
The stars descend to flat fields wide,
The moon’s in the bubbling river flow.
How can one make a name with writing?
Officials should rest when old and ill.
What does floating about resemble?
A single gull ’tween earth and sky.
旅夜书怀
细草微风岸，
危樯独夜舟。
星垂平野阔，
月涌大江流。
名岂文章著，
官应老病休。
飘飘何所似，
天地一沙鸥。
Written c.765 while traveling down the Yangzi, looking for a place to settle where he could support his family after the death of his patron Duke Yan (see #111), all while dealing with multiple chronic ailments. More literally, he wonders about making a reputation with “written works.” #insert obligatory comparison to Li Bai, whose songs and poems were popular all his life, unlike Du Fu, who wasn’t appreciated till a few centuries after his death. Lost in translation: the river is “great” —IOW is explicitly the Yangzi.
114. Climbing Yueyang Tower, Du Fu
Long ago I heard of Dongting’s waters,
And now I climb above, in Yueyang Tower.
Here Wu and Chu to east and south were split,
Heaven and earth through day and night here drift.
Of kith and kin, I haven’t heard one word—
Old and ill, I’ve just a single boat.
Arms and horses are north of the mountain pass.
I lean upon the balcony, tears flowing.
登岳阳楼
昔闻洞庭水，
今上岳阳楼。
吴楚东南坼，
乾坤日夜浮。
亲朋无一字，
老病有孤舟。
戎马关山北，
凭轩涕泗流。
Written late in life, probably around 768—the pass is to the capital district, which at the time was under threat of invasion by Tibetans. Yueyang Tower is a famous three-story gate-tower, part of the wall of Yueyang City, overlooking Lake Dongting, Hunan. The lake was part of the traditional border between the Warring State kingdoms of Wu to the east and Chu to the south.
Unpacking the semantic density that is 乾坤 needs a paragraph of its own. These are the names, respectively, of the sky ☰ and earth ☷ trigrams, representing the warming power of the sun a.k.a. the heavenly/male generative principle, and the fertile power of the earth a.k.a. the earthly/female generative principle—IOW, essentially synonyms of yang and yin, the universal principles that create all existence. This association is so strong that many translations, including into modern Chinese for the benefit of puzzled students, render the phrase as “heaven and earth.” However, comma, 乾 also, thanks to that sun, means dry (it’s an alternate character for 干, which means only dry), and 坤 also means just plain earth. So in addition to “everything,” 乾坤 can also be read as “dry earth,” referring to the banks of the lake, here seeming to float above the waters. So, yeah, density.
115. Presented to Scholar Pei Di at Wangchaun Estate, Wang Wei
The cold hills turn a deeper blue,
The autumn waters burble all day.
I lean on my cane at my rough gate
And in the wind hear evening cicadas.
At the boat landing, the sunset lingers—
Above the hill town, one strand of smoke.
I once again meet Jie Yu drunk,
Madly singing before Five Willows.
辋川闲居赠裴秀才迪
寒山转苍翠，
秋水日潺湲。
倚杖柴门外，
临风听暮蝉。
渡头馀落日，
墟里上孤烟。
复值接舆醉，
狂歌五柳前。
This is the Pei Di who collaborated with Wang Wei on Wangchuan Collection and wrote #229. Idiom: the hills literally turn “kingfisher” blue. Kinda lost in translation: the rough gate is “wicker,” or at least made out of branches bent over and woven together. Jie Yu appears in the Analects and Zhuangzi as a recluse/madman of the Warring States kingdom of Chu, who on meeting Confucius sang him a peculiar song about the sullied virtue of the phoenix. The Six-Dynasties-period back-to-nature recluse poet Tao Qian, an influence on Wang Wei, sometimes called himself Master of the Five Willows.
116. Autumn Evening at a Mountain Residence, Wang Wei
Empty mountain after fresh rain—
A breeze, and evening comes to autumn—
The bright moon shines between the pines,
The clear spring flows upon the stones.
Noisy bamboo: clothes-washers return;
Stirring lotus: fishers embark.
Naturally, spring flowers rest—
Surely a Son of Kings can stay.
山居秋暝
空山新雨后，
天气晚来秋。
明月松间照，
清泉石上流。
竹喧归浣女，
莲动下渔舟。
随意春芳歇，
王孙自可留。
The “noise” of the bamboo could be either rustling as the washerwomen brush through it or their chatter. Lost in translation: the fishermen are embarking in a “boat.” Said fishers could be “going downstream,” “coming back,” or even “disembarking” instead—all are possible senses of 下. The last couplet is an inversion of lines in “Summoning a Recluse” in Songs of Chu, where in the original, the Son of Kings (an honorific address) is told he can’t remain in the wilderness.
117. Written on Returning to Mt. Song, Wang Wei
The river’s clear, a long thin sash.
My cart-horse walks on idly.
The current seems to share my feelings.
The birds at dusk go home with me.
Neglected walls face the old ferry
As sunset fills the autumn mountains.
I’ve come from far to under high Song
Returning once more to this shut gate.
归嵩山作
清川带长薄，
车马去闲闲。
流水如有意，
暮禽相与还。
荒城临古渡，
落日满秋山。
迢递嵩高下，
归来且闭关。
Mt. Song in western Henan is the site of several Buddhist temples, including the famous Shaolin Temple. A closed gate signifies a temple or monastery where the occupants are in contemplative meditation—we’re to understand that this includes (or is about to) the speaker.
118. Zhongnan Mountains, Wang Wei
Taiyi near heaven’s capital—
A range linked all the way to the coast.
I turn and gaze as white clouds join,
I cannot see through the blue haze.
Peaks part the separated lands:
Many ravines with skies dark then clear.
I long for refuge, to lodge with people—
Across the water I ask a woodcutter.
终南山
太乙近天都，
连山接海隅。
白云回望合，
青霭入看无。
分野中峰变，
阴晴众壑殊。
欲投人处宿，
隔水问樵夫。
Zhongnan, the range south of Chang’an, is where Wang’s Wangchuan Estate was. Taiyi is both the name of the tallest peak visible from the capital and an alternate name for the range. Which, btw, very much does not run all the way to the coast, and I don’t know what’s up with that exaggeration. Overtone lost in translation: 分野 (here “separated lands”) is also an astronomic term for the relationship between one of the 28 constellations and its corresponding region of China, building on the heavenly associations set up in the first line. Line 6 is rather compacted in the original: the literal characters are “dark clear-sky many ravines different,” which seems to be about how mountain weather is different from place to place and moment to moment. The water in the last line seems to be a (previously unnoticed) stream.
119. Replying to Vice-Minister Zhang, Wang Wei
In later years, we wish to enjoy the quiet
So all the myriad things won’t worry the heart.
As for myself, I have no long-term plans:
I know that I’ll return to the ancient forest—
The wind in the pine trees will untie my sash,
The mountain moon will shine as I play my qin.
My prince asks, “How’s success or failure judged?”
The fisherman’s song is heard from far inshore.
酬张少府
晚年惟好静，
万事不关心。
自顾无长策，
空知返旧林。
松风吹解带，
山月照弹琴。
君问穷通理，
渔歌入浦深。
Wang Wei getting his Zen Master on. That’s only a little bit of a joke—he was an observant Buddhist (see #117), and strongly interested in the recently emergent school of Zen (chan) Buddhism. The Vice-Minister is Zhang Jiuling, author of #91 and also the addressee of #124.
120. Visiting Xiangji Temple, Wang Wei
I didn’t know where Xiangji Temple is:
After many li, I entered cloud-peaks.
Past an old tree, a path that has no people.
Deep within the hills, a bell—from where?
Sounds of a spring, a pass between high cliffs,
The face of the sun was cold upon green pines.
Twilight, sky, the margin of a lake—
Peaceful meditation tames desires.
过香积寺
不知香积寺，
数里入云峰。
古木无人径，
深山何处钟。
泉声咽危石，
日色冷青松。
薄暮空潭曲，
安禅制毒龙。
Xiangji (“fragrance-gather”) Temple was a little south of Chang’an, and still exists on the outskirts of Xi’an. Buddhist jargon: desire is literally a “poison dragon” —which is a totes vivid phrase but entirely opaque to English-speaking laity.
121. Seeing off Prefect Li of Zizhou, Wang Wei
Ten-thousand gorges, trees reach for sky—
A thousand mountains echo with cuckoos.
A single night of mountain rain
And there’s a hundred tree-top fountains.
Han women pay taxes with kapok fabric,
Ba men bring suits for taro fields.
Wan Weng once rapidly taught these people—
Don’t dare rely on his former worth.
送梓州李使君
万壑树参天，
千山响杜鹃。
山中一夜雨，
树杪百重泉。
汉女输橦布，
巴人讼芋田。
文翁翻教授，
不敢倚先贤。
Zizhuo is in Sichuan, Han and Ba are regions of the same, and Wen Wang a Han-era governor famous for educating a.k.a. civilizing the inhabitants of same. The kapok tree is Bombax ceiba, also known in English as silk-cotton tree—cloth is woven from the fluffy fibers within its seed-pods throughout south Asia.
122. Han River Viewed from On High, Wang Wei
Since Chu’s frontier, it’s joined three streams—
Nine tributaries till passing Jingmen:
The river flows past heaven and earth.
The mountain’s face is seen, then not.
The city floats upon its banks.
The strong waves shake the distant sky.
Xiangyang has a pleasing landscape—
I’ll stay here drunk with Old Man Shan.
汉江临眺
楚塞三湘接，
荆门九派通。
江流天地外，
山色有无中。
郡邑浮前浦，
波澜动远空。
襄阳好风日，
留醉与山翁。
Xiangyang and Jingmen are cities in Hubei on the Han River, the first close to the traditional border of the Warring States kingdom of Chu, the second further downstream. Idiom: landscape is literally a “wind-bright.” Old Man Shan was Shan Jian, a well-liked local official. Compare #125, which has the same setting (and a less bathetic ending).
123. Retirement at Zhongnan, Wang Wei
In middle age, I followed the Buddhist Way—
I dwell here, in my evening, by South Mountain.
When the desire comes, I set out alone—
What pleases me, only I can know.
I go down to the water, stopping there,
Then sit and gaze upon the rising clouds.
I sometimes meet an elder in the woods—
We chat and smile—it’s not yet time to go.
终南别业
中岁颇好道，
晚家南山陲。
兴来美独往，
胜事空自知。
行到水穷处，
坐看云起时。
偶然值林叟，
谈笑无还期。
Wangchuan Estate was at the foot of South Mountain in the Zhongnan Mountains. Idiom: the Buddhist Way is literally the “good way.” Added in translation: the final to go—the usual understanding is that it’s time to return home, but in echo of the clear metaphoric sense of “evening,” this line reads to me as having an extended meaning. Assuming my reading is correct, this is my favorite Wang Wei poem of the 35-odd I’ve translated.
124. Gazing at Lake Dongting, Presented to Prime Minister Zhang, Meng Haoran
Eighth Month, lake level with the banks—
The boundless waters merge with clear sky,
Vapors rise from Yunmeng Marsh,
Waves shake the Yueyang City walls.
I want to cross—no boat nor oar.
My quiet life—a shame, Great Sage.
I watch a fisher drop his line:
I envy, all in vain, his fish.
望洞庭湖赠张丞相
八月湖水平，
涵虚混太清。
气蒸云梦泽，
波撼岳阳城。
欲济无舟楫，
端居耻圣明。
坐观垂钓者，
空有羡鱼情。
TL;DR: I can has job pls? Spoiler: this didn’t work, as we’ll see in his later poems. Written in 733 during a visit to Chang’an (where he stayed with Wang Wei) to look for a government post, addressed to the same Zhang Jiuling as #119, author of #91. Furthermore, this is the same Yueyang as in #114. Yunmeng (“cloud dream”) was north of the city. Idiom: sky is literally the “great clear(ness),” which is, like, utterly charming. The address for the prime minister is more literally “enlightened sage,” often used as a flattering title for a ruler or superior.
125. Climbing Mt. Xian with Many Gentlemen, Meng Haoran
Affairs of men change every generation,
Coming and going from ancient times till now—
Successful men leave traces on the land,
Which in our lifetimes we can climb and approach.
The waters sink, and Yuliang Island gurgles—
The sky is cold, and Yunmeng Marsh profound.
There’s writing here on Duke Yang’s monument—
I finish reading, and tears soak my lapel.
与诸子登岘山
人事有代谢，
往来成古今。
江山留胜迹，
我辈复登临。
水落鱼梁浅，
天寒梦泽深。
羊公碑字在，
读罢泪沾襟。
Xian is a shorthand name of Mt. Xianshou, in Xiangyang, Hubei (same city as in #122), a little south of Yuliang Island in the Han River. This is a different Yunmeng (the poem has just Meng Marsh, but that’s another shorthand name) from the one in #124, which is a couple hundred miles away. Idiom: the land is literally “rivers (and) mountains,” which is vivid enough I regret not managing to use the phrase. Duke Yang was Yang Hu, a Western Jin official stationed here at the border with Wu; hugely popular for allowing cross-border trade during nominal wartime, he was memorialized after his death in 278 with a stelle that still exists. Weeping before it is enough of a tradition that it’s called the “Monument of Tears”.
126. A Feast on Tomb-Sweeping Day at the House of Daoist Priest Mei, Meng Haoran
Within the forest, sad for the end of spring—
I part my blinds to look at the flowering things
When suddenly I meet a bluebird envoy
Inviting me to visit Red Pine’s house.
The pellet furnace now begins to burn,
Immortal peaches truly flower forth.
It seems you can preserve a childlike face—
Could I regret I’m drunk on Drifting Clouds?
清明日宴梅道士房
林卧愁春尽，
开轩览物华。
忽逢青鸟使，
邀入赤松家。
丹灶初开火，
仙桃正发花。
童颜若可驻，
何惜醉流霞。
And here comes the heaping pile of end-notes about Daoist lore. The Tomb-Sweeping Festival (a.k.a. Qing Ming = “pure brightness”) falls on April 5 give or take a day (it’s a solar rather than lunisolar festival). I’m not clear on its relevance, and some versions of the poem don’t mention the occasion. A bluebird was the traditional envoy of the Queen Mother of the West, as when she supposedly visited Han Emperor Wu, giving him some of her peaches of immortality.* Red Pine was a legendary Daoist immortal—related to which, a pellet furnace was an alchemical tool for creating and refining elixirs, and Drifting Clouds (sometimes translated as Rosy Drift) is a of Daoist immortals.
* This incident may be relevant for a puzzling line in that obscure thing by Li Shangyin I posted a while back.
127. Returning to South Mountain at the End of the Year, Meng Haoran
I’ll stop submitting these North Tower letters
And go back to my shabby South Mountain hut:
The Bright Lord has discarded worthless me
Estranged from old friends by my many ills.
These white hairs hasten on an old man’s age—
The spring’s green sun compels the year to leave.
I’ve held these worries long, and cannot sleep …
A pine-tree moon—an empty window at night.
岁暮归南山
北阙休上书，
南山归敝庐。
不才明主弃，
多病故人疏。
白发催年老，
青阳逼岁除。
永怀愁不寐，
松月夜窗墟。
The North Tower is the northern gate-tower of the imperial palace, where officials waited to be summoned by the court, and while the South Mountain might be the one by Wang Wei’s estate (#123), the Mt. Xianshou (#125) of his southern hometown seems more likely. Bright Lord is (like Enlightened Sage) a flattering title for a ruler or high minister. “Green sun” is literal while “spring” is a gloss—the season of spring formally began at New Year’s. All these poems about job-seeker angst has made me look askance at Li Bai’s description of Meng in #100.
128. Visiting the Farmhouse of an Old Friend, Meng Haoran
My old friend cooks his chicken and millet
And bids me visit at his farm.
Green trees surround the village edge,
Blue mountains wind outside the walls.
The window faces a courtyard garden—
Cups raised, we talk of silk and flax.
The day the Double Ninth arrives
I shall return for chrysanthemums.
过故人庄
故人具鸡黍，
邀我至田家。
绿树村边合，
青山郭外斜。
开轩面场圃，
把酒话桑麻。
待到重阳日，
还来就菊花。
Lost in translation: the window has an “open curtain” and faces a “threshing-floor” as well as a garden—which latter detail, having a food garden in the house’s courtyard, indicates this is a peasant farmer household. Interpretation: literally they talk about “mulberries,” which implies silk cultivation. One observance for the Double Ninth (9th day of the 9th lunar month) longevity festival included drinking chrysanthemum-infused wine, thought to prolong your life.
129. Feeling Autumn in Qin, Sent to Buddhist Monk Yuan, Meng Haoran
Secluded “One Hill,” I want to lie down,
This “Three Path” going home, bitterly poor.
I do not want be in this north land—
I treasure a teacher in Eastern Forest Temple.
My gold’s like cassia on a fire, gone,
And my ambitions fade with passing years.
With evening sun, a chilling wind arrives—
I hear cicadas, which just increases sorrow.
秦中感秋寄远上人
一丘尝欲卧，
三径苦无资。
北土非吾愿，
东林怀我师。
黄金燃桂尽，
壮志逐年衰。
日夕凉风至，
闻蝉但益悲。
Qin is the capital region around Chang’an, which places this in the time frame of failing to find an official position of #124 and 127. “One hill, one gully” is a four-character idiom for “living in seclusion,” of which only the first two characters are used, and a “three paths” is (via a historical allusion to a Han Dynasty official who retired and created three paths in his woods) a “person returning home to live in seclusion.”
And that takes us halfway through the poems of this form. >deep breath< And keep going on to the next bits.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
To be explicit again: my translation priorities are to render the literal sense (including the understood meaning of idioms) in a way that matches the original’s emotional tenor and rhetorical structures, while using as close to regular English meter as I can manage without doing violence to those other priorities. For the two parallel couplets in the middle of the form, I try to maintain the parallelisms, but languages sometimes work differently. (I should do a post unpacking a parallel couplet or two, to demonstrate what they are.) Where it is easy to do without departing “too far” from the original, I sometimes incorporate glosses for obscure referents into the translation, but otherwise save explanations for the notes.
For once, however, I am not utter fail at reproducing the form’s rhyme—I managed only the once, and with imperfect rhymes, but I’ll take the victory I can.
110. Thinking of Li Bai at the Sky’s End, Du Fu
A cold wind rises at the sky’s end.
True gentleman, what do you think?
When will the swans and geese arrive,
And autumn flood the lakes and rivers?
We hate the written words that reach us—
Demons enjoy men passing by.
Share words with that resentful ghost,
Throw poems to him in Miluo River.
天末怀李白
凉风起天末，
君子意如何。
鸿雁几时到，
江湖秋水多。
文章憎命达，
魑魅喜人过。
应共冤魂语，
投诗赠汨罗。
Written in 759 when Li Bai had been exiled to Lake Dongting, Hunan. Wild geese, and sometimes swans as well, are associated with letters from afar, here anticipating a recall—a hope denied with the written words two lines later. 魑 (chi) and 魅 (mei) are two types of hostile mountain demons/spirits, who enjoy passers-by because they can eat them; they are often read as representing small-minded people who delight in the downfall of their betters. The resentful ghost is Qu Yuan, who drowned himself in the Miluo River (which flows into Dongting) after his reputation with his king had been trashed by slander (a death commemorated in the Dragon Boat Festival).
111. Seeing Off Duke Yan Again at Fengji Post Station, Four Rhymes, Du Fu
So far to see you off, and now we part
Amid blue mountains, once more grieving in vain.
When shall we, as we did walking beneath
The moon last night, raise up our cups again?
Your every district sings their songs of regret.
Both in and out of court, you’ve honor gained.
I here return alone to my village home
To live, in silence, what broken life remains.
奉济驿重送严公四韵
远送从此别，
青山空复情。
几时杯重把，
昨夜月同行。
列郡讴歌惜，
三朝出入荣。
将村独归处，
寂寞养残生。
Yan, then provincial governor of what’s now Sichuan, was Du Fu’s patron during his stay near Chengdu. Fengji was about a hundred miles away, which means he came along a long way just to say farewell. The occasion is Yan’s departure in 762 for Chang’an for the accession of Emperor Daizong—the “three courts” Yan served are his plus his two predecessors, Suzong and Xuanzong. I’m not sure whether to call this an idiom or substituting the gloss, but grieving is the understood meaning of “feeling.”
I don’t get the significance of calling out that this fixed form has the required four rhymed lines. To honor it, though, I also came up with a version that itself actually rhymes.
112. Departing the Tomb of Marshal Fang, Du Fu
Passing through, en route to another place,
I halt my horse beside your lonely grave.
Now that I’m near, my tears leave no soil dry.
Hanging down from the sky are broken clouds.
I played go with you, my Premier Xie—
I hold the coveted sword, my King of Xu.
I only see the flowers fall in the woods
And hear the twittering orioles see me off.
别房太尉墓
他乡复行役，
驻马别孤坟。
近泪无乾土，
低空有断云。
对棋陪谢傅，
把剑觅徐君。
唯见林花落，
莺啼送客闻。
Fang Guan, Du Fu’s mentor during his official career, was a general and confidant of Emperor Xuanzong but was dismissed from office by Suzong—vocally supporting him even after that was the proximate cause of Du Fu’s demotion in #108. After Daizong’s accession (see #111), Fang was summoned back to Chang’an for rehabilitation but died en route at Langzhong in northern Sichuan in 763, where he was buried. Written in 765 when Du Fu finally visited the grave.
Xie is Xia An, a prime minister of the Eastern Jin Dynasty who was famously so unflappable that when news of a vital victory arrived while he was deep in a game of go, he calmly continued playing. The sword refers to an incident from the Warring States period, where the sword’s owner planned to present it to the king who desired it the next time they met only to have the king die before that could happen, so the owner hung it over his grave.
113. Thinking about My Writings at Night While Traveling, Du Fu
Thin grass, a faint wind on the bank.
High mast, alone on the boat at night.
The stars descend to flat fields wide,
The moon’s in the bubbling river flow.
How can one make a name with writing?
Officials should rest when old and ill.
What does floating about resemble?
A single gull ’tween earth and sky.
旅夜书怀
细草微风岸，
危樯独夜舟。
星垂平野阔，
月涌大江流。
名岂文章著，
官应老病休。
飘飘何所似，
天地一沙鸥。
Written c.765 while traveling down the Yangzi, looking for a place to settle where he could support his family after the death of his patron Duke Yan (see #111), all while dealing with multiple chronic ailments. More literally, he wonders about making a reputation with “written works.” #insert obligatory comparison to Li Bai, whose songs and poems were popular all his life, unlike Du Fu, who wasn’t appreciated till a few centuries after his death. Lost in translation: the river is “great” —IOW is explicitly the Yangzi.
114. Climbing Yueyang Tower, Du Fu
Long ago I heard of Dongting’s waters,
And now I climb above, in Yueyang Tower.
Here Wu and Chu to east and south were split,
Heaven and earth through day and night here drift.
Of kith and kin, I haven’t heard one word—
Old and ill, I’ve just a single boat.
Arms and horses are north of the mountain pass.
I lean upon the balcony, tears flowing.
登岳阳楼
昔闻洞庭水，
今上岳阳楼。
吴楚东南坼，
乾坤日夜浮。
亲朋无一字，
老病有孤舟。
戎马关山北，
凭轩涕泗流。
Written late in life, probably around 768—the pass is to the capital district, which at the time was under threat of invasion by Tibetans. Yueyang Tower is a famous three-story gate-tower, part of the wall of Yueyang City, overlooking Lake Dongting, Hunan. The lake was part of the traditional border between the Warring State kingdoms of Wu to the east and Chu to the south.
Unpacking the semantic density that is 乾坤 needs a paragraph of its own. These are the names, respectively, of the sky ☰ and earth ☷ trigrams, representing the warming power of the sun a.k.a. the heavenly/male generative principle, and the fertile power of the earth a.k.a. the earthly/female generative principle—IOW, essentially synonyms of yang and yin, the universal principles that create all existence. This association is so strong that many translations, including into modern Chinese for the benefit of puzzled students, render the phrase as “heaven and earth.” However, comma, 乾 also, thanks to that sun, means dry (it’s an alternate character for 干, which means only dry), and 坤 also means just plain earth. So in addition to “everything,” 乾坤 can also be read as “dry earth,” referring to the banks of the lake, here seeming to float above the waters. So, yeah, density.
115. Presented to Scholar Pei Di at Wangchaun Estate, Wang Wei
The cold hills turn a deeper blue,
The autumn waters burble all day.
I lean on my cane at my rough gate
And in the wind hear evening cicadas.
At the boat landing, the sunset lingers—
Above the hill town, one strand of smoke.
I once again meet Jie Yu drunk,
Madly singing before Five Willows.
辋川闲居赠裴秀才迪
寒山转苍翠，
秋水日潺湲。
倚杖柴门外，
临风听暮蝉。
渡头馀落日，
墟里上孤烟。
复值接舆醉，
狂歌五柳前。
This is the Pei Di who collaborated with Wang Wei on Wangchuan Collection and wrote #229. Idiom: the hills literally turn “kingfisher” blue. Kinda lost in translation: the rough gate is “wicker,” or at least made out of branches bent over and woven together. Jie Yu appears in the Analects and Zhuangzi as a recluse/madman of the Warring States kingdom of Chu, who on meeting Confucius sang him a peculiar song about the sullied virtue of the phoenix. The Six-Dynasties-period back-to-nature recluse poet Tao Qian, an influence on Wang Wei, sometimes called himself Master of the Five Willows.
116. Autumn Evening at a Mountain Residence, Wang Wei
Empty mountain after fresh rain—
A breeze, and evening comes to autumn—
The bright moon shines between the pines,
The clear spring flows upon the stones.
Noisy bamboo: clothes-washers return;
Stirring lotus: fishers embark.
Naturally, spring flowers rest—
Surely a Son of Kings can stay.
山居秋暝
空山新雨后，
天气晚来秋。
明月松间照，
清泉石上流。
竹喧归浣女，
莲动下渔舟。
随意春芳歇，
王孙自可留。
The “noise” of the bamboo could be either rustling as the washerwomen brush through it or their chatter. Lost in translation: the fishermen are embarking in a “boat.” Said fishers could be “going downstream,” “coming back,” or even “disembarking” instead—all are possible senses of 下. The last couplet is an inversion of lines in “Summoning a Recluse” in Songs of Chu, where in the original, the Son of Kings (an honorific address) is told he can’t remain in the wilderness.
117. Written on Returning to Mt. Song, Wang Wei
The river’s clear, a long thin sash.
My cart-horse walks on idly.
The current seems to share my feelings.
The birds at dusk go home with me.
Neglected walls face the old ferry
As sunset fills the autumn mountains.
I’ve come from far to under high Song
Returning once more to this shut gate.
归嵩山作
清川带长薄，
车马去闲闲。
流水如有意，
暮禽相与还。
荒城临古渡，
落日满秋山。
迢递嵩高下，
归来且闭关。
Mt. Song in western Henan is the site of several Buddhist temples, including the famous Shaolin Temple. A closed gate signifies a temple or monastery where the occupants are in contemplative meditation—we’re to understand that this includes (or is about to) the speaker.
118. Zhongnan Mountains, Wang Wei
Taiyi near heaven’s capital—
A range linked all the way to the coast.
I turn and gaze as white clouds join,
I cannot see through the blue haze.
Peaks part the separated lands:
Many ravines with skies dark then clear.
I long for refuge, to lodge with people—
Across the water I ask a woodcutter.
终南山
太乙近天都，
连山接海隅。
白云回望合，
青霭入看无。
分野中峰变，
阴晴众壑殊。
欲投人处宿，
隔水问樵夫。
Zhongnan, the range south of Chang’an, is where Wang’s Wangchuan Estate was. Taiyi is both the name of the tallest peak visible from the capital and an alternate name for the range. Which, btw, very much does not run all the way to the coast, and I don’t know what’s up with that exaggeration. Overtone lost in translation: 分野 (here “separated lands”) is also an astronomic term for the relationship between one of the 28 constellations and its corresponding region of China, building on the heavenly associations set up in the first line. Line 6 is rather compacted in the original: the literal characters are “dark clear-sky many ravines different,” which seems to be about how mountain weather is different from place to place and moment to moment. The water in the last line seems to be a (previously unnoticed) stream.
119. Replying to Vice-Minister Zhang, Wang Wei
In later years, we wish to enjoy the quiet
So all the myriad things won’t worry the heart.
As for myself, I have no long-term plans:
I know that I’ll return to the ancient forest—
The wind in the pine trees will untie my sash,
The mountain moon will shine as I play my qin.
My prince asks, “How’s success or failure judged?”
The fisherman’s song is heard from far inshore.
酬张少府
晚年惟好静，
万事不关心。
自顾无长策，
空知返旧林。
松风吹解带，
山月照弹琴。
君问穷通理，
渔歌入浦深。
Wang Wei getting his Zen Master on. That’s only a little bit of a joke—he was an observant Buddhist (see #117), and strongly interested in the recently emergent school of Zen (chan) Buddhism. The Vice-Minister is Zhang Jiuling, author of #91 and also the addressee of #124.
120. Visiting Xiangji Temple, Wang Wei
I didn’t know where Xiangji Temple is:
After many li, I entered cloud-peaks.
Past an old tree, a path that has no people.
Deep within the hills, a bell—from where?
Sounds of a spring, a pass between high cliffs,
The face of the sun was cold upon green pines.
Twilight, sky, the margin of a lake—
Peaceful meditation tames desires.
过香积寺
不知香积寺，
数里入云峰。
古木无人径，
深山何处钟。
泉声咽危石，
日色冷青松。
薄暮空潭曲，
安禅制毒龙。
Xiangji (“fragrance-gather”) Temple was a little south of Chang’an, and still exists on the outskirts of Xi’an. Buddhist jargon: desire is literally a “poison dragon” —which is a totes vivid phrase but entirely opaque to English-speaking laity.
121. Seeing off Prefect Li of Zizhou, Wang Wei
Ten-thousand gorges, trees reach for sky—
A thousand mountains echo with cuckoos.
A single night of mountain rain
And there’s a hundred tree-top fountains.
Han women pay taxes with kapok fabric,
Ba men bring suits for taro fields.
Wan Weng once rapidly taught these people—
Don’t dare rely on his former worth.
送梓州李使君
万壑树参天，
千山响杜鹃。
山中一夜雨，
树杪百重泉。
汉女输橦布，
巴人讼芋田。
文翁翻教授，
不敢倚先贤。
Zizhuo is in Sichuan, Han and Ba are regions of the same, and Wen Wang a Han-era governor famous for educating a.k.a. civilizing the inhabitants of same. The kapok tree is Bombax ceiba, also known in English as silk-cotton tree—cloth is woven from the fluffy fibers within its seed-pods throughout south Asia.
122. Han River Viewed from On High, Wang Wei
Since Chu’s frontier, it’s joined three streams—
Nine tributaries till passing Jingmen:
The river flows past heaven and earth.
The mountain’s face is seen, then not.
The city floats upon its banks.
The strong waves shake the distant sky.
Xiangyang has a pleasing landscape—
I’ll stay here drunk with Old Man Shan.
汉江临眺
楚塞三湘接，
荆门九派通。
江流天地外，
山色有无中。
郡邑浮前浦，
波澜动远空。
襄阳好风日，
留醉与山翁。
Xiangyang and Jingmen are cities in Hubei on the Han River, the first close to the traditional border of the Warring States kingdom of Chu, the second further downstream. Idiom: landscape is literally a “wind-bright.” Old Man Shan was Shan Jian, a well-liked local official. Compare #125, which has the same setting (and a less bathetic ending).
123. Retirement at Zhongnan, Wang Wei
In middle age, I followed the Buddhist Way—
I dwell here, in my evening, by South Mountain.
When the desire comes, I set out alone—
What pleases me, only I can know.
I go down to the water, stopping there,
Then sit and gaze upon the rising clouds.
I sometimes meet an elder in the woods—
We chat and smile—it’s not yet time to go.
终南别业
中岁颇好道，
晚家南山陲。
兴来美独往，
胜事空自知。
行到水穷处，
坐看云起时。
偶然值林叟，
谈笑无还期。
Wangchuan Estate was at the foot of South Mountain in the Zhongnan Mountains. Idiom: the Buddhist Way is literally the “good way.” Added in translation: the final to go—the usual understanding is that it’s time to return home, but in echo of the clear metaphoric sense of “evening,” this line reads to me as having an extended meaning. Assuming my reading is correct, this is my favorite Wang Wei poem of the 35-odd I’ve translated.
124. Gazing at Lake Dongting, Presented to Prime Minister Zhang, Meng Haoran
Eighth Month, lake level with the banks—
The boundless waters merge with clear sky,
Vapors rise from Yunmeng Marsh,
Waves shake the Yueyang City walls.
I want to cross—no boat nor oar.
My quiet life—a shame, Great Sage.
I watch a fisher drop his line:
I envy, all in vain, his fish.
望洞庭湖赠张丞相
八月湖水平，
涵虚混太清。
气蒸云梦泽，
波撼岳阳城。
欲济无舟楫，
端居耻圣明。
坐观垂钓者，
空有羡鱼情。
TL;DR: I can has job pls? Spoiler: this didn’t work, as we’ll see in his later poems. Written in 733 during a visit to Chang’an (where he stayed with Wang Wei) to look for a government post, addressed to the same Zhang Jiuling as #119, author of #91. Furthermore, this is the same Yueyang as in #114. Yunmeng (“cloud dream”) was north of the city. Idiom: sky is literally the “great clear(ness),” which is, like, utterly charming. The address for the prime minister is more literally “enlightened sage,” often used as a flattering title for a ruler or superior.
125. Climbing Mt. Xian with Many Gentlemen, Meng Haoran
Affairs of men change every generation,
Coming and going from ancient times till now—
Successful men leave traces on the land,
Which in our lifetimes we can climb and approach.
The waters sink, and Yuliang Island gurgles—
The sky is cold, and Yunmeng Marsh profound.
There’s writing here on Duke Yang’s monument—
I finish reading, and tears soak my lapel.
与诸子登岘山
人事有代谢，
往来成古今。
江山留胜迹，
我辈复登临。
水落鱼梁浅，
天寒梦泽深。
羊公碑字在，
读罢泪沾襟。
Xian is a shorthand name of Mt. Xianshou, in Xiangyang, Hubei (same city as in #122), a little south of Yuliang Island in the Han River. This is a different Yunmeng (the poem has just Meng Marsh, but that’s another shorthand name) from the one in #124, which is a couple hundred miles away. Idiom: the land is literally “rivers (and) mountains,” which is vivid enough I regret not managing to use the phrase. Duke Yang was Yang Hu, a Western Jin official stationed here at the border with Wu; hugely popular for allowing cross-border trade during nominal wartime, he was memorialized after his death in 278 with a stelle that still exists. Weeping before it is enough of a tradition that it’s called the “Monument of Tears”.
126. A Feast on Tomb-Sweeping Day at the House of Daoist Priest Mei, Meng Haoran
Within the forest, sad for the end of spring—
I part my blinds to look at the flowering things
When suddenly I meet a bluebird envoy
Inviting me to visit Red Pine’s house.
The pellet furnace now begins to burn,
Immortal peaches truly flower forth.
It seems you can preserve a childlike face—
Could I regret I’m drunk on Drifting Clouds?
清明日宴梅道士房
林卧愁春尽，
开轩览物华。
忽逢青鸟使，
邀入赤松家。
丹灶初开火，
仙桃正发花。
童颜若可驻，
何惜醉流霞。
And here comes the heaping pile of end-notes about Daoist lore. The Tomb-Sweeping Festival (a.k.a. Qing Ming = “pure brightness”) falls on April 5 give or take a day (it’s a solar rather than lunisolar festival). I’m not clear on its relevance, and some versions of the poem don’t mention the occasion. A bluebird was the traditional envoy of the Queen Mother of the West, as when she supposedly visited Han Emperor Wu, giving him some of her peaches of immortality.* Red Pine was a legendary Daoist immortal—related to which, a pellet furnace was an alchemical tool for creating and refining elixirs, and Drifting Clouds (sometimes translated as Rosy Drift) is a of Daoist immortals.
* This incident may be relevant for a puzzling line in that obscure thing by Li Shangyin I posted a while back.
127. Returning to South Mountain at the End of the Year, Meng Haoran
I’ll stop submitting these North Tower letters
And go back to my shabby South Mountain hut:
The Bright Lord has discarded worthless me
Estranged from old friends by my many ills.
These white hairs hasten on an old man’s age—
The spring’s green sun compels the year to leave.
I’ve held these worries long, and cannot sleep …
A pine-tree moon—an empty window at night.
岁暮归南山
北阙休上书，
南山归敝庐。
不才明主弃，
多病故人疏。
白发催年老，
青阳逼岁除。
永怀愁不寐，
松月夜窗墟。
The North Tower is the northern gate-tower of the imperial palace, where officials waited to be summoned by the court, and while the South Mountain might be the one by Wang Wei’s estate (#123), the Mt. Xianshou (#125) of his southern hometown seems more likely. Bright Lord is (like Enlightened Sage) a flattering title for a ruler or high minister. “Green sun” is literal while “spring” is a gloss—the season of spring formally began at New Year’s. All these poems about job-seeker angst has made me look askance at Li Bai’s description of Meng in #100.
128. Visiting the Farmhouse of an Old Friend, Meng Haoran
My old friend cooks his chicken and millet
And bids me visit at his farm.
Green trees surround the village edge,
Blue mountains wind outside the walls.
The window faces a courtyard garden—
Cups raised, we talk of silk and flax.
The day the Double Ninth arrives
I shall return for chrysanthemums.
过故人庄
故人具鸡黍，
邀我至田家。
绿树村边合，
青山郭外斜。
开轩面场圃，
把酒话桑麻。
待到重阳日，
还来就菊花。
Lost in translation: the window has an “open curtain” and faces a “threshing-floor” as well as a garden—which latter detail, having a food garden in the house’s courtyard, indicates this is a peasant farmer household. Interpretation: literally they talk about “mulberries,” which implies silk cultivation. One observance for the Double Ninth (9th day of the 9th lunar month) longevity festival included drinking chrysanthemum-infused wine, thought to prolong your life.
129. Feeling Autumn in Qin, Sent to Buddhist Monk Yuan, Meng Haoran
Secluded “One Hill,” I want to lie down,
This “Three Path” going home, bitterly poor.
I do not want be in this north land—
I treasure a teacher in Eastern Forest Temple.
My gold’s like cassia on a fire, gone,
And my ambitions fade with passing years.
With evening sun, a chilling wind arrives—
I hear cicadas, which just increases sorrow.
秦中感秋寄远上人
一丘尝欲卧，
三径苦无资。
北土非吾愿，
东林怀我师。
黄金燃桂尽，
壮志逐年衰。
日夕凉风至，
闻蝉但益悲。
Qin is the capital region around Chang’an, which places this in the time frame of failing to find an official position of #124 and 127. “One hill, one gully” is a four-character idiom for “living in seclusion,” of which only the first two characters are used, and a “three paths” is (via a historical allusion to a Han Dynasty official who retired and created three paths in his woods) a “person returning home to live in seclusion.”
And that takes us halfway through the poems of this form. >deep breath< And keep going on to the next bits.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
no subject
Date: 28 February 2022 03:34 pm (UTC)Across the stubbleshadow by mad moonlight
Roams Reynardine, Mr Fox, red robber,
His Autumn baronage aflame with leafbronze.
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Date: 28 February 2022 05:14 pm (UTC)Other which way?
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Date: 28 February 2022 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 28 February 2022 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 1 March 2022 10:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 28 February 2022 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 28 February 2022 05:11 pm (UTC)