Three Hundred Tang Poems #36-45
7 March 2022 07:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
larryhammerTime out from the strict form of regulated verse for a looser genre, the “folk-song-style poems” with 5-character lines, or yuefu. The Chinese name means literally “music bureau,” and has its origins in the Qin Dynasty as a government department responsible for collecting folk songs as a way of gauging public opinion of the imperium. (This is such the Confucian thing.) Soon literati were, with official encouragement from the Han Dynasty’s Music Bureau, writing in imitation of the style, and by Tang times most new yuefu were literary creations. (Which is not to say that new folk-songs weren’t being created, but not many were collected. ETA: Or so I thought, but see for ex a sampler from CTP ch.878.) A few editions of 300TP fold these yuefu of Part 2 into the previous section of “old-style poems,” but most keep them separate as a stylistically distinct genre, one that uses the same poetic form.
This is a short section, ten poems total … sort of—speaking of edition variants. In my preferred ordering of 300TP, poems 253-260 of my base text would be included in this section, as they’re folk-song-style poems that happen to have four lines and so were stuck by an editor at the end of the five-character regulated quatrains, even though they don’t fit that strict form—and many Chinese editions do the same. (Others split them into a separate section of their own.) So why haven’t I moved them? Traceability, mainly—if/when I get through the collection, I can reorder as I please, but doing so now would just confuse me to all heck, and probably back as well.
It is possible that one poem will already be familiar to English-speaking readers.
36. Border Songs 1, Wang Changling
Cicadas cry in empty mulberry trees—
It’s Eighth Month on the road through Dreary Pass.
We leave the border, enter the border again,
And everywhere is yellow reeds and grass.
Since ever guests from You and Bing first came
They’ve all grown old ’mid sand and empty fields.
Don’t imitate that dashing son of a hero
Who boasts about his lavish chestnut charger.
塞下曲 之一
蝉鸣空桑林，
八月萧关道；
出塞复入塞，
处处黄芦草。
从来幽并客，
皆向沙场老；
莫学游侠儿，
矜夸紫骝好。
The first of a four-poem set, of which only the first two were included in the collection. Xiao (“dreary”) Pass was on the northwest frontier, in the middle of modern Ningxia Autonomous Region. You and Bing were ancient provinces on the northeast frontier, covering roughly Liaoning, northern Hebei, and northern Shanxi, both once known for their wandering warriors (yóuxiá).
37. Border Songs 2, Wang Changling
Water my horse—then cross the autumn water.
The water’s cold—the wind is like a knife.
Empty sands—the sun has not yet sunk.
It’s dark, so dark—I see the Lintao River.
In ancient days, they fought before the Great Wall:
Everyone says their spirits were so high—
They’ve all become the yellow dust, now old,
Their white bones scattered in among the weeds.
塞下曲 之二
饮马渡秋水，
水寒风似刀。
平沙日未没，
黯黯见临洮。
昔日长城战，
咸言意气高；
黄尘足今古，
白骨乱蓬蒿。
The frontier river of Lintao, in central Gansu, was not far from the western reaches of the Great Wall. FWIW, it’s a couple hundred miles almost due west of the Xiao Pass of the previous poem, so this set of poems jumps about the border. Lost in translation: the weeds are literally “horseweed (and) wormwood.”
38. Moon at the Mountain Fort, Li Bai
Bright moon leaves mountains for the sky—
Vast haze between the clouds and lake—
A rising wind is blowing down
The thousands of li past Jade Gate Pass.
Han troops go out the White Mount road,
Tibetans raid the Qinghai cove.
We long have come to this battlefield—
We don’t see any men come back.
Garrison soldiers watch afar,
Thoughts of return bring bitter faces.
In women’s quarters on this night
Are sighs from those who can’t yet rest.
关山月
明月出天山，
苍茫云海间；
长风几万里，
吹度玉门关。
汉下白登道，
胡窥青海湾。
由来征战地，
不见有人还。
戍客望边色，
思归多苦颜；
高楼当此夜，
叹息未应闲。
Qinghai Lake is in eastern Qinghai Province, a little south of the central Gansu Corridor, and the location of numerous battles with the expansionary Tibetan Empire (here generically called “Hu”) during the 7th and 8th centuries. Jade Gate Pass in western Gansu was where the Silk Road passed around the far western end of the Great Wall. Idiom: the women’s quarters is literally the “high tower” of the garrison that officers’ families lived in.
39. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Spring, Li Bai
The girl Luo Fu in the land of Qin
Picks mulberry leaves by clear blue water:
Her plain white hands above green branches,
Her flushed complexion fresh in the sunlight.
“The silkworms hunger—this one must go—
Your five fine horses mustn’t tarry.”
子夜四时歌 春歌
秦地罗敷女，
采桑绿水边。
素手青条上，
红妆白日鲜。
蚕饥妾欲去，
五马莫留连。
The first of another four-poems set, this time all in the collection—though Sun Zhu’s original edition had only the third, with the others added by a later editor. Ziye (“midnight”) is a style of erotic poetry supposedly originated by a Eastern Jin Dynasty singer (or possibly courtesan) known by that name. The traditional collection of her works (all of four five-character lines) was organized in four seasonal sections, and so most imitations were too.
Qin, as usual, corresponds roughly to modern Shaanxi—but despite being the capital district, it was in ancient times considered peripheral to the Chinese heartland by those in the central Yellow River plains, so sometimes had rustic connotations. Mulberry leaves were and still are fed to silkworms in the spring. A five-horse carriage was used only by high-rank officials. Lost in translation: the contrast between her “red” complexion and “white” sunlight. “This one” is my usual rendering of a humble first-person pronoun used only by women, which shows up a few more times in this part.
40. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Summer, Li Bai
This Mirror Lake: three-hundred li
Of lotus buds now blossoming forth
Like Xi Shi plucked in the Fifth Month
As watchers lined up, like a creek.
She turned her boat, not waiting for moonrise,
Returning to the Yue king’s palace.
子夜四时歌 夏歌
镜湖三百里，
菡萏发荷花。
五月西施采，
人看隘若耶。
回舟不待月，
归去越王家。
This recalls a Warring States incident, about a thousand years before Li Bai’s time: Xi Shi (“Shi of the west”), the first of the Four Beauties of China, was given as a gift-cum-concubine by the king of Yue to the king of rival state Wu as a ploy to distract him and so weaken Wu. Spoiler: it worked—she was a literally “kingdom-wrecking” beauty. China has many Mirror Lakes, but the one here is in what was the capital of Yue, modern Shaoxing, Zhejiang (which actually is a long, narrow body—but not 100 miles long). Lost in translation: it’s a specific creek, called “Ruoye.”
41. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Autumn, Li Bai
Chang’an is a moonlit scene—
All households sound with beating clothes.
The autumn winds blow endlessly—
Which makes me long for Jade Gate Pass.
When will you quell the enemy
And finish, Husband, your distant tour?
子夜四时歌 秋歌
长安一片月，
万户擣衣声；
秋风吹不尽，
总是玉关情。
何日平胡虏？
良人罢远征。
Summer clothes were washed in the first cold days of autumn before putting them away for winter—making the sound of their beating a poetic symbol of autumn. In Chang’an, the prevailing autumn winds are from the west, where the frontier post of Jade Gate Pass is (see #38). Lost in translation: the enemy are “Hu enemies.” If it’s not clear from context that the tour is a tour of duty, please let me know.
42. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Winter, Li Bai
At dawn a courier will set out
With this night’s quilted uniform.
This white hand pulls the needle cold—
And that one also grips the scissors.
This tailor sends it by long roads:
How many days to reach Lintao?
子夜四时歌 冬歌
明朝驿使发，
一夜絮征袍。
素手抽针冷，
那堪把剪刀。
裁缝寄远道，
几日到临洮。
Same frontier posting of Lintao as in #37.
43. A Changgan Ballad, Li Bai
When this one’s hair just fringed my forehead,
I broke off flowers, romped in the yard,
And Husband rode a bamboo horse
Around the well, playing with plums.
Together we lived in Changgan town,
Two children without hate or doubt.
At fourteen, we were lord and wife:
Shame-faced, without experience,
I bowed my head, facing dark walls—
A thousand calls, but not one answer.
At fifteen, I relaxed my brows,
Yearning to join you, dust and ashes.
I learned to truly “hold your pillar”—
But how could I look up at Husband?
At sixteen, my lord went far off
To Yanyu Reef in Qutang Gorge—
In Fifth Month, when boats won’t run aground—
Where apes cry out, sorrowing heaven.
Before the gate, where you dragged your feet,
In every footprint green moss grows—
And though moss deepens, I can’t sweep
Leaves dropped by early autumn winds.
It’s Eighth Month: butterflies arrive,
Pairs flying west to garden plants.
Feeling all this, this one’s heartsick,
Waiting anxious, red face aging.
When you depart those Sichuan towns,
Please send home word in advance,
For I’ll come greet you—it’s not far—
I’ll straightway come to Changfeng Bank.
长干行
妾发初覆额，
折花门前剧；
郎骑竹马来，
绕床弄青梅。
同居长干里，
两小无嫌猜。
十四为君妇，
羞颜未尝开；
低头向暗壁，
千唤不一回，
十五始展眉，
愿同尘与灰；
常存抱柱信，
岂上望夫台？
十六君远行，
瞿塘滟滪堆；
五月不可触，
猿鸣天上哀。
门前迟行迹，
一一生绿苔；
苔深不能扫，
落叶秋风早。
八月蝴蝶来，
双飞西园草。
感此伤妾心，
坐愁红颜老。
早晚下三巴，
预将书报家；
相迎不道远，
直至长风沙。
“Changgan Ballad” was a tune, which this was written to be sung to. Changgan, now part of downtown Nanjing, was then associated with Yangzi river merchants and freight carriers. Laments by the homebound wife of a river-traveling husband were a genre (see for ex #260), but this one tips several conventions on their sides, along the way giving us one of classical China’s most charming portraits of an ideal woman (as understood by a man).
Lost in translation: the plums are “blue.” Idiom rendered literally: hold a pillar is an allusion to a lover who made an assignation under a bridge, and stayed there even during a flood, holding onto a support pillar till he drowned, making him a type for someone who keeps his word no matter what. For millennia, the rocks at the mouth of Qutang, the uppermost of the Three Gorges, were navigable for only that part of the year when the waters rose high enough, traditionally starting in the Fifth Month. Changfeng (“long wind”) is in modern Anqing, Anhui, about 200 mi from Nanjing, which is only part of the thousand miles to the top of Qutang, but still quite a journey for her.
This was, btw, written when he was 24. Was Du Fu writing this good when he was 24? #8 demonstrates that no, he was not.
44. Song of a Virtuous Woman, Meng Jiao
Parasols and paulownias age together,
And mated mandarin ducks die side by side.
A chaste wife’s worthy, dying for her husband—
Who gives him her life should be thought the same.
The heavy waves, I hereby vow, won’t rise,
And this one’s heart is water in the well.
烈女操
梧桐相待老，
鸳鸯会双死；
贞妇贵殉夫，
舍生亦如此。
波澜誓不起，
妾心井中水。
There are a few Cunfucian cultural values I don’t get along very well with, and lines 3-4 embody one. This type of “song” (操) is specifically a piece for accompaniment by qin, and apparently was popular enough as such that in the Complete Tang Poetry, it’s collected in the book of pieces for qin as well as under the author. According to folklore, parasol trees and paulownia trees are the males and females of the same species, and grow together as mated pairs. Mandarin ducks famously mate for life, and well-water is famously quiet.
45. Song of a Traveling Son, Meng Jiao
A caring mother, thread within her hand—
A traveling son, I lift up my clothes;
When I departed close, so close the stitches—
I’m afraid I’ll be late, so late returning.
Who says that these short grasses have a heart,
Announcing thus the splendid months of spring?
游子吟
慈母手中线，
游子身上衣；
临行密密缝，
意恐迟迟归。
谁言寸草心，
报得三春辉？
吟 (yín) is yet another term for an “old verse form” that seems best translated as the generic “song.” I’ve rendered idioms and syntax a bit more literally than usual, to try bringing out the folk-song flavor, which is even stronger than other poems in this section. That said, literally it’s “three (of) spring” with the “months” implied.
So, yeah, that really was the shortest part in the collection. But a fun one.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
This is a short section, ten poems total … sort of—speaking of edition variants. In my preferred ordering of 300TP, poems 253-260 of my base text would be included in this section, as they’re folk-song-style poems that happen to have four lines and so were stuck by an editor at the end of the five-character regulated quatrains, even though they don’t fit that strict form—and many Chinese editions do the same. (Others split them into a separate section of their own.) So why haven’t I moved them? Traceability, mainly—if/when I get through the collection, I can reorder as I please, but doing so now would just confuse me to all heck, and probably back as well.
It is possible that one poem will already be familiar to English-speaking readers.
36. Border Songs 1, Wang Changling
Cicadas cry in empty mulberry trees—
It’s Eighth Month on the road through Dreary Pass.
We leave the border, enter the border again,
And everywhere is yellow reeds and grass.
Since ever guests from You and Bing first came
They’ve all grown old ’mid sand and empty fields.
Don’t imitate that dashing son of a hero
Who boasts about his lavish chestnut charger.
塞下曲 之一
蝉鸣空桑林，
八月萧关道；
出塞复入塞，
处处黄芦草。
从来幽并客，
皆向沙场老；
莫学游侠儿，
矜夸紫骝好。
The first of a four-poem set, of which only the first two were included in the collection. Xiao (“dreary”) Pass was on the northwest frontier, in the middle of modern Ningxia Autonomous Region. You and Bing were ancient provinces on the northeast frontier, covering roughly Liaoning, northern Hebei, and northern Shanxi, both once known for their wandering warriors (yóuxiá).
37. Border Songs 2, Wang Changling
Water my horse—then cross the autumn water.
The water’s cold—the wind is like a knife.
Empty sands—the sun has not yet sunk.
It’s dark, so dark—I see the Lintao River.
In ancient days, they fought before the Great Wall:
Everyone says their spirits were so high—
They’ve all become the yellow dust, now old,
Their white bones scattered in among the weeds.
塞下曲 之二
饮马渡秋水，
水寒风似刀。
平沙日未没，
黯黯见临洮。
昔日长城战，
咸言意气高；
黄尘足今古，
白骨乱蓬蒿。
The frontier river of Lintao, in central Gansu, was not far from the western reaches of the Great Wall. FWIW, it’s a couple hundred miles almost due west of the Xiao Pass of the previous poem, so this set of poems jumps about the border. Lost in translation: the weeds are literally “horseweed (and) wormwood.”
38. Moon at the Mountain Fort, Li Bai
Bright moon leaves mountains for the sky—
Vast haze between the clouds and lake—
A rising wind is blowing down
The thousands of li past Jade Gate Pass.
Han troops go out the White Mount road,
Tibetans raid the Qinghai cove.
We long have come to this battlefield—
We don’t see any men come back.
Garrison soldiers watch afar,
Thoughts of return bring bitter faces.
In women’s quarters on this night
Are sighs from those who can’t yet rest.
关山月
明月出天山，
苍茫云海间；
长风几万里，
吹度玉门关。
汉下白登道，
胡窥青海湾。
由来征战地，
不见有人还。
戍客望边色，
思归多苦颜；
高楼当此夜，
叹息未应闲。
Qinghai Lake is in eastern Qinghai Province, a little south of the central Gansu Corridor, and the location of numerous battles with the expansionary Tibetan Empire (here generically called “Hu”) during the 7th and 8th centuries. Jade Gate Pass in western Gansu was where the Silk Road passed around the far western end of the Great Wall. Idiom: the women’s quarters is literally the “high tower” of the garrison that officers’ families lived in.
39. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Spring, Li Bai
The girl Luo Fu in the land of Qin
Picks mulberry leaves by clear blue water:
Her plain white hands above green branches,
Her flushed complexion fresh in the sunlight.
“The silkworms hunger—this one must go—
Your five fine horses mustn’t tarry.”
子夜四时歌 春歌
秦地罗敷女，
采桑绿水边。
素手青条上，
红妆白日鲜。
蚕饥妾欲去，
五马莫留连。
The first of another four-poems set, this time all in the collection—though Sun Zhu’s original edition had only the third, with the others added by a later editor. Ziye (“midnight”) is a style of erotic poetry supposedly originated by a Eastern Jin Dynasty singer (or possibly courtesan) known by that name. The traditional collection of her works (all of four five-character lines) was organized in four seasonal sections, and so most imitations were too.
Qin, as usual, corresponds roughly to modern Shaanxi—but despite being the capital district, it was in ancient times considered peripheral to the Chinese heartland by those in the central Yellow River plains, so sometimes had rustic connotations. Mulberry leaves were and still are fed to silkworms in the spring. A five-horse carriage was used only by high-rank officials. Lost in translation: the contrast between her “red” complexion and “white” sunlight. “This one” is my usual rendering of a humble first-person pronoun used only by women, which shows up a few more times in this part.
40. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Summer, Li Bai
This Mirror Lake: three-hundred li
Of lotus buds now blossoming forth
Like Xi Shi plucked in the Fifth Month
As watchers lined up, like a creek.
She turned her boat, not waiting for moonrise,
Returning to the Yue king’s palace.
子夜四时歌 夏歌
镜湖三百里，
菡萏发荷花。
五月西施采，
人看隘若耶。
回舟不待月，
归去越王家。
This recalls a Warring States incident, about a thousand years before Li Bai’s time: Xi Shi (“Shi of the west”), the first of the Four Beauties of China, was given as a gift-cum-concubine by the king of Yue to the king of rival state Wu as a ploy to distract him and so weaken Wu. Spoiler: it worked—she was a literally “kingdom-wrecking” beauty. China has many Mirror Lakes, but the one here is in what was the capital of Yue, modern Shaoxing, Zhejiang (which actually is a long, narrow body—but not 100 miles long). Lost in translation: it’s a specific creek, called “Ruoye.”
41. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Autumn, Li Bai
Chang’an is a moonlit scene—
All households sound with beating clothes.
The autumn winds blow endlessly—
Which makes me long for Jade Gate Pass.
When will you quell the enemy
And finish, Husband, your distant tour?
子夜四时歌 秋歌
长安一片月，
万户擣衣声；
秋风吹不尽，
总是玉关情。
何日平胡虏？
良人罢远征。
Summer clothes were washed in the first cold days of autumn before putting them away for winter—making the sound of their beating a poetic symbol of autumn. In Chang’an, the prevailing autumn winds are from the west, where the frontier post of Jade Gate Pass is (see #38). Lost in translation: the enemy are “Hu enemies.” If it’s not clear from context that the tour is a tour of duty, please let me know.
42. Ziye Songs of the Four Seasons: Winter, Li Bai
At dawn a courier will set out
With this night’s quilted uniform.
This white hand pulls the needle cold—
And that one also grips the scissors.
This tailor sends it by long roads:
How many days to reach Lintao?
子夜四时歌 冬歌
明朝驿使发，
一夜絮征袍。
素手抽针冷，
那堪把剪刀。
裁缝寄远道，
几日到临洮。
Same frontier posting of Lintao as in #37.
43. A Changgan Ballad, Li Bai
When this one’s hair just fringed my forehead,
I broke off flowers, romped in the yard,
And Husband rode a bamboo horse
Around the well, playing with plums.
Together we lived in Changgan town,
Two children without hate or doubt.
At fourteen, we were lord and wife:
Shame-faced, without experience,
I bowed my head, facing dark walls—
A thousand calls, but not one answer.
At fifteen, I relaxed my brows,
Yearning to join you, dust and ashes.
I learned to truly “hold your pillar”—
But how could I look up at Husband?
At sixteen, my lord went far off
To Yanyu Reef in Qutang Gorge—
In Fifth Month, when boats won’t run aground—
Where apes cry out, sorrowing heaven.
Before the gate, where you dragged your feet,
In every footprint green moss grows—
And though moss deepens, I can’t sweep
Leaves dropped by early autumn winds.
It’s Eighth Month: butterflies arrive,
Pairs flying west to garden plants.
Feeling all this, this one’s heartsick,
Waiting anxious, red face aging.
When you depart those Sichuan towns,
Please send home word in advance,
For I’ll come greet you—it’s not far—
I’ll straightway come to Changfeng Bank.
长干行
妾发初覆额，
折花门前剧；
郎骑竹马来，
绕床弄青梅。
同居长干里，
两小无嫌猜。
十四为君妇，
羞颜未尝开；
低头向暗壁，
千唤不一回，
十五始展眉，
愿同尘与灰；
常存抱柱信，
岂上望夫台？
十六君远行，
瞿塘滟滪堆；
五月不可触，
猿鸣天上哀。
门前迟行迹，
一一生绿苔；
苔深不能扫，
落叶秋风早。
八月蝴蝶来，
双飞西园草。
感此伤妾心，
坐愁红颜老。
早晚下三巴，
预将书报家；
相迎不道远，
直至长风沙。
“Changgan Ballad” was a tune, which this was written to be sung to. Changgan, now part of downtown Nanjing, was then associated with Yangzi river merchants and freight carriers. Laments by the homebound wife of a river-traveling husband were a genre (see for ex #260), but this one tips several conventions on their sides, along the way giving us one of classical China’s most charming portraits of an ideal woman (as understood by a man).
Lost in translation: the plums are “blue.” Idiom rendered literally: hold a pillar is an allusion to a lover who made an assignation under a bridge, and stayed there even during a flood, holding onto a support pillar till he drowned, making him a type for someone who keeps his word no matter what. For millennia, the rocks at the mouth of Qutang, the uppermost of the Three Gorges, were navigable for only that part of the year when the waters rose high enough, traditionally starting in the Fifth Month. Changfeng (“long wind”) is in modern Anqing, Anhui, about 200 mi from Nanjing, which is only part of the thousand miles to the top of Qutang, but still quite a journey for her.
This was, btw, written when he was 24. Was Du Fu writing this good when he was 24? #8 demonstrates that no, he was not.
44. Song of a Virtuous Woman, Meng Jiao
Parasols and paulownias age together,
And mated mandarin ducks die side by side.
A chaste wife’s worthy, dying for her husband—
Who gives him her life should be thought the same.
The heavy waves, I hereby vow, won’t rise,
And this one’s heart is water in the well.
烈女操
梧桐相待老，
鸳鸯会双死；
贞妇贵殉夫，
舍生亦如此。
波澜誓不起，
妾心井中水。
There are a few Cunfucian cultural values I don’t get along very well with, and lines 3-4 embody one. This type of “song” (操) is specifically a piece for accompaniment by qin, and apparently was popular enough as such that in the Complete Tang Poetry, it’s collected in the book of pieces for qin as well as under the author. According to folklore, parasol trees and paulownia trees are the males and females of the same species, and grow together as mated pairs. Mandarin ducks famously mate for life, and well-water is famously quiet.
45. Song of a Traveling Son, Meng Jiao
A caring mother, thread within her hand—
A traveling son, I lift up my clothes;
When I departed close, so close the stitches—
I’m afraid I’ll be late, so late returning.
Who says that these short grasses have a heart,
Announcing thus the splendid months of spring?
游子吟
慈母手中线，
游子身上衣；
临行密密缝，
意恐迟迟归。
谁言寸草心，
报得三春辉？
吟 (yín) is yet another term for an “old verse form” that seems best translated as the generic “song.” I’ve rendered idioms and syntax a bit more literally than usual, to try bringing out the folk-song flavor, which is even stronger than other poems in this section. That said, literally it’s “three (of) spring” with the “months” implied.
So, yeah, that really was the shortest part in the collection. But a fun one.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
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Date: 7 March 2022 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 March 2022 09:52 pm (UTC)