Three Hundred Tang Poems #170-183
6 August 2022 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
larryhammerOnward to the seven-character regulated verse from Part 6. This is pretty much the same form as five-character regulated verse, only 40% larger—so expect more complex images and narratives. Despite this—or perhaps because of?—some poems have longer titles than typical for previous. Yeah idk.
There are 54 (well, really 53, but I’ll explain that later) poems in this section, which I’ll again post in four installments: I don’t want to overwhelm you guys with long-ass compilations, plus more frequent posts will make me feel like I’m achieving something. 😆 These are, as usual, revised from rougher drafts posted in my other journal.
It seems worth reiterating this every so often: 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, rhetorical structures, and relative compression, while using as close to regular English meter as I can manage without doing violence to those other priorities. For the antithetical couplets of the middle lines of this form, I try to maintain the parallelisms, but languages sometimes work differently. 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.
In practice, fwiw, I aim to render seven-character lines like these with six-beat lines, but this is not always feasible—sometimes, such as when the syntax is especially compacted or the content is strongly imagistic, it takes seven beats. Ideally, I’d render a given form the same way every time, but here sense takes priority over consistency. (Similarly, I aim for four beats for five-character lines, but sometimes need five.)
170. Yellow Crane Pagoda, Cui Hao
An ancient man departed on a yellow crane—
The empty land he left now’s Yellow Crane Pagoda.
That yellow crane: it left, returning nevermore—
These white clouds: thousands travel, drifting on forever.
By the clear stream, many so many the Hanyang trees—
The fragrant grasses, lush so lush on Yingwu Island.
It’s sunset, and I wonder, “My hometown—where is it?”
The growing mist above the river makes one anxious.
黄鹤楼
昔人已乘黄鹤去，
此地空馀黄鹤楼。
黄鹤一去不复返，
白云千载空悠悠。
晴川历历汉阳树，
芳草萋萋鹦鹉洲。
日暮乡关何处是？
烟波江上使人愁。
The pagoda is a tower in Wuhan overlooking the Yangzi. The old dude was a legendary Daoist who ascended to immortality in that location on the back of a yellow crane. Hanyang is about 10km/6mi to the west, on the bank of the Han river, and Yingwu (“parrot”) Island is just to the southwest.
171. Passing Through Huayin, Cui Hao
To lofty peaks of Great Mt. Hua, the capital bows down—
Three summits past the heavens that humans couldn’t carve.
The clouds desire to disperse before Wu Temple,
And rain clears off where the Immortal’s Palm ascends.
Rivers and mountains to the north cushion the Qin Pass.
Road stations to the west connect the calm Han Altar.
I want to ask these passers-by toward fame and fortune
To linger here and study immortality.
行经华阴
岧嶢太华俯咸京，
天外三峰削不成。
武帝祠前云欲散，
仙人掌上雨初晴。
河山北枕秦关险，
驿树西连汉畤平。
借问路傍名利客，
无如此处学长生。
Huayin is a town east of Chang’an at the confluence of the Wei and Yellow Rivers, in the north foothills of Mt. Hua aka Taihua (“great Hua”), one of the five sacred mountains of Daoism. Said mountain has three peaks, the highest of which is Immortal’s Palm (Xianrenzhang). Wu Temple is where emperors made sacrifices to heaven and earth, and the Han Altar was the ancestral temple of the Han Dynasty rulers. The nearby Qin Pass is Hangu Gate, the frontier between the Warring States kingdom of Qin and the plains of the lower Yellow River. Lost in translation: he wants to ask passers-by “[from] beside the road.”
172. Gazing at the Gate of Ji, Zu Yong
Yan Terrace—a departure scares this traveler:
Clamoring fifes and drums, Han soldiers heading to camp.
Cold light gives birth to snow that covers ten-thousand li.
Dawn tints the waving banners raised on all three borders.
Battlefields and beacons—months of Hu attacks—
Sea-lanes and cloudy mountains both embrace Ji City.
There’s few enough officials who throw down their brushes,
But by their merit, I still want to request long tassels.
望蓟门
燕台一去客心惊，
箫鼓喧喧汉将营。
万里寒光生积雪，
三边曙色动危旌。
沙场烽火侵胡月，
海畔云山拥蓟城。
少小虽非投笔吏，
论功还欲请长缨。
Ji, located in what’s now in the southwest quarter of Beijing, was the capital of the Warring States kingdom of Yan; in Tang times, renamed Fanyang (also sometimes Yuyang), it was an important frontier commandery. The district was something of a salient, supporting operations on the empire’s borders to the east, north, and west. The “sea-lanes” are the Sea of Bohai, to the south of Hebei. The last two lines allude to incidents from Han Dynasty history: a secretary who, during an invasion, threw down his writing brush to take up the sword, and a general who, before a campaign, requested as an incentive that he be allowed to wear longer than regulation tassels on his uniform.
Just for fun, compare this to #164.
173. Seeing Off Wei Wan, Heading to the Capital, Li Qi
At dawn I hear a traveler sing the “Black Horse” song:
Last night, the barest frost—now, you cross the River.
I cannot worry, hearing swan-geese in the village—
They show you won’t pass cloudy mountains till mid-journey.
At the gate-pass, tree colors urge the winter on.
Beside the palace, sounds of beating grow with evening.
Don’t see Chang’an as just a place to go for music:
The empty months and years slip easily away.
送魏万之京
朝闻游子唱骊歌，
昨夜微霜初度河。
鸿雁不堪愁里听，
云山况是客中过。
关城树色催寒近，
御苑砧声向晚多。
莫见长安行乐处，
空令岁月易蹉跎。
Wei Wan spent part of his youth wandering the land in emulation of Li Bai before living in seclusion for a few years on Mt. Wangwu (see #160). He left there for Chang’an to take the imperial examinations (where he got first place in his year), though whether this Polonius’s advice had any effect is unclear. “Black Horse” was, as is no doubt obvious, a traditional song of parting. The migrating swan-goose (Anser cygnoides) winters in central China, and washing the summer-weight clothes before putting them away for winter storage is a canonical autumn household chore.
174. Climbing Wangxian Terrace on the Double Ninth, Submitted to Prefect Liu, Cui Shu
Emperor Wen of Han had this high terrace made—
Today I climb it to observe the blush of dawn.
The cloudy mountains of the three Jin states face north.
On those two mounds the wind and rain arrived from the east.
That gate-pass commandant, who could he recognize?
The old sage on the river left to not return—
And thus I want to seek that governor of Pengze
And joyfully get drunk with him on chrysanthemum cups.
九日登望仙台呈刘明府
汉文皇帝有高台，
此日登临曙色开。
三晋云山皆北向，
二陵风雨自东来。
关门令尹谁能识？
河上仙翁去不回，
且欲竟寻彭泽宰，
陶然共醉菊花杯。
Observations of the Double Ninth longevity festival (on the 9th day of the 9th lunar month) often involved scaling a local height. Wangxian Terrace was built by Han Emperor Wen in what’s now Shanzhou, western Henan, on the south bank of the Yellow River. County-level magistrate Liu is otherwise unknown.
The three Jins refer to how the Warring State of Jin, centered in these mountainous lands, broke into the three successor states of Zhao, Han, and Wei. Two hills to the west of Wangxian (“seeing the immortals”), both called Mt. Xian (the “immortals” being seen), were reputed to be the mausoleums of a Xia Dynasty king and the father of the founder of the Zhou Dynasty. The gate-pass is Hangu to the west (see #171), where according to legend, a former commander recognized the imminent arrival of Laozi up the Yellow River by the purple clouds rising before him. The governor of Pengze (in Jiangsu) was Tao Qian (see #78 and #115), a Six-Dynasties poet who was notably fond of chrysanthemum-infused wine of the type traditionally drunk on the Double Ninth.
175. Climbing Paired-Phoenix Terrace in Nanjing, Li Bai
Paired Phoenix Terrace where the phoenix pairs arrived—
The phoenixes departed—the Yangzi flows in vain.
Wu Palace brush and flowers hide secluded paths,
Jin minister robes and caps wound up in ancient graves.
Santai Hill’s half-missing, blue mountains lie beyond.
Two rivers are divided by White Heron Isle.
When floating clouds are gathered, they can conceal the sun—
Chang’an cannot discern that someone’s suffering.
登金陵凤凰台
凤凰台上凤凰游，
凤去台空江自流。
吴宫花草埋幽径，
晋代衣冠成古邱。
三台半落青山外，
二水中分白鹭洲。
总为浮云能蔽日，
长安不见使人愁。
Written during the return journey from exile that started in #269. The literal name for the terrace, which is on a hill and may actually have been a tower, is “male-phoenix female-phoenix”. Nanjing was the capital of both Wu, the southeastern of the Three Kingdoms, and the Eastern Jin Dynasty. Santai is the next hill over, presumably partly cut off by the current hill or maybe the terrace structure. White Heron Isle was a sandbank in the Yangzi where the Qinhuai River (which flows through Nanjing) joined it.
Commentaries note that seeing any mountains at all from Nanjing implies exceptionally clear conditions … and even so, Chang’an still can’t see you. Especially when gathered clouds of nay-sayers get in your way.
176. Seeing Off Vice-Minister Li, Demoted to Mid-Gorge, and Vice-Minister Wang, Demoted to Changsha, Gao Shi
Alas, my lords, thus parted—what are your feelings now?
Halt your horses, take these cups—you are demoted?
Wu Gorge, the wailing apes—there’s many trails of tears.
Hengyang, returning geese—so write me many letters.
Upon the Qingfeng River, autumn boats are distant.
At the edge of Badi Town, old trees are sparsely leafed.
Right now it’s a Holy Era with much rain and dew—
A short-term parting of friends: don’t hesitate or falter.
送李少府贬峡中王少府贬长沙
嗟君此别意何如？
驻马衔杯问谪居？
巫峡啼猿数行泪，
衡阳归雁几封书。
青枫江上秋帆远，
白帝城边古木疏。
圣代即今多雨露，
暂时分手莫踌躇。
These are the sort of demotions that are intended as exiles, far from the court and capital. The gorge in question is Qutang, the uppermost of the Three Gorges—Badi (“white emperor”) is the town at the upper end of Qutang (see #269), while Wu is the next gorge down the Yangzi, to the east. Changsha, Huhan, is further downstream from the Gorges, and Qingfeng (“green maple”) is a river in the mountains nearby. Hengyang, somewhat upstream of Changsha, was reputed to be a place where geese on migration met up for their return north—and if they’re returning, they are folklorically required to bring letters with them. The “rain and dew” signify stormy times politically as well as tears.
177. Early Morning Court at Daming Palace, Respectfully Matching Middle Secretary Jia Zhi’s Poem, Cen Can
Cocks crow—upon the purple lanes, the light of dawn is cold.
Orioles sing—within the capital, spring’s at its utmost.
From golden towers, the daybreak bells throw wide ten-thousand doors.
On the jade stairs, Immortal Arms hold back a thousand officials—
The flowers welcome swords and pendants—stars begin to fall—
The willows shake at feathered banners—dew is not yet dry.
There’s only this: a visitor above Paired-Phoenix Pool,
His “Sunny Spring” a song that’s hard for anyone to match.
奉和中书舍人贾至早朝大明宫
鸡鸣紫陌曙光寒，
莺啭皇州春色阑。
金阙晓钟开万户，
玉阶仙仗拥千官。
花迎剑佩星初落，
柳拂旌旗露未乾。
独有凤凰池上客，
阳春一曲和皆难。
For the poem being “matched” and context, see here. The “matching” game is responding to someone else’s poem, usually while using the same rhyme-words—in this case, though, Cen Can uses different rhymes and so is only “matching” the content, not the form. (We last saw Cen in #99, giving Du Fu a discrete warning about how to court official prudently. As it happens, Du Fu also “matched” the same poem.)
Daming (“great radiance”) Palace was the emperor’s main residence. The Immortal Arms are the ceremonial pole-arms of the imperial guard, which block the procession of officials until the emperor is ready to start the audience. The banners carried by the imperial guard were decorated with kingfisher feathers. The “visitor” is Jia Zhi, and “Sunny Spring” is an ancient song his poem is being flatteringly compared to.
178. Early Morning Court at Daming Palace, Matching the Poem Written by Secretary Jia, Wang Wei
Red-turbaned rooster men have sent away the dawn-watch token.
Men of the chamber two-by-two advance with green cloud furs.
The main gate of the Ninth-most Heaven opens up the palace—
The robes and caps of ten-thousand lands bow to the jade-fringed hat.
Day’s face, the talented approach—Immortal Palms are waving.
The smoke of incense crowds up close—the dragon robes are floating.
Court finishes, and you must shape the five-colored decree:
The clinks of pendants go back to the head of Phoenix Pool.
和贾舍人早朝大明宫之作
绛帻鸡人送晓筹，
尚衣方进翠云裘。
九天阊阖开宫殿，
万国衣冠拜冕旒。
日色才临仙掌动，
香烟欲傍衮龙浮。
朝罢须裁五色诏，
佩声归向凤池头。
Like #177, this is “matching” only the content, not the rhymes, of Jia’s poem. Wang is less honorific than Cen in the title, in part because he’s closer in rank to Jia. That said, he wrote it while out of office because he’d been held captive by An Lushan’s forces for a few years, and his loyalty was still suspect. As such, this poem is currying favor even harder, if more subtly, than the previous.
Red turbans were worn by the imperial household guards, and night watchmen kept track of their watches with tally-sticks, ending with one for the dawn hour. The emperor’s ceremonial headdress had a beaded fringe in front and back, his robes were decorated with dragons, and the Immortal Palms are his ceremonial fans. Imperial decrees were written on five-color paper based on what was dictated during the audience.
179. A View Between Spring Showers of the Pavilion Way from Penglai to Xingqing [Palaces], Respectfully Matching by Imperial Command the Emperor’s Poem, Wang Wei
The River Wei, coiled naturally around Qin Stronghold, bends.
Mt. Huanglu, wound since ancient times ’round the Han Palace, slopes.
His Highness’ carriage, which left the willows of the thousand doors,
Returned Pavilion Way to see the Upper Garden flowers.
Within the clouds, the capital city’s pair of phoenix towers—
Between the falling rains, the springtime trees’ ten-thousand households.
By chariot through sunny skies go celebrate the season.
It’s not that the palace enjoys sightseeing, but the flowery things.
奉和圣制从蓬莱向兴庆阁道中留春雨中春望之作应制
渭水自萦秦塞曲，
黄山旧绕汉宫斜。
銮舆迥出千门柳，
阁道回看上苑花。
云里帝城双凤阙，
雨中春树万人家。
为乘阳气行时令，
不是宸游玩物华。
The emperor’s poem hasn’t survived, though another poem “matching” it has, by one Li Zheng, using the same rhyme words. The occasion was a sightseeing tour by Emperor Xuanzong, which puts this earlier than #178, and I’m impressed by how many synonyms for “imperial” he worked on. Penglai, the legendary island of immortals in the eastern sea, is here a (traditional and highly flattering) alternate name for Daming Palace, and Xingqing (“celebrating prosperity”) was another imperial palace, connected to Daming by a boulevard. The main entrance to Daming was guarded by twin gate-towers decorated with phoenixes. Chang’an was on the south bank of the Wei, a tributary of the Yellow River, and the Qin Stronghold was the fortification on its east side. Idiom: the royal carriage is literally one pulled by horses decorated by bells used only by the emperor.
So that mention in this installment’s headnote about densely imagistic poems needing longer lines? I wrote that with Wang Wei in mind: his long-line poems, with stacked nouns and adjectives, are prime examples. He was better known in his time as a painter than poet, and it was commonly claimed that his poems are paintings and his paintings were poems. (None of his paintings have survived except as later copies.)
180. Long Rains, Written at Wangchuan Lodge, Wang Wei
Long rains: in the empty forest, smoke from the delayed fires
Now steaming goosefoot and cooking millet, rations for field-workers.
Lonely, lonely, the water field—a flying white egret.
Dark, so dark, the summer trees—warbling yellow orioles.
Within the mountains, practice stillness—watch the dawn hibiscus.
Beneath the pines, a cleansing diet—pluck the dewy sunflowers.
This old rustic gets on with those not striving for banquet seats—
The seagulls ask, “Why be where there’s more mutual distrust?”
积雨辋川庄作
积雨空林烟火迟，
蒸藜炊黍饷东菑。
漠漠水田飞白鹭，
阴阴夏木啭黄鹂。
山中习静观朝槿，
松下清斋折露葵。
野老与人争席罢，
海鸥何事更相疑？
Goosefoot is an amaranth cultivated for its edible leaves. Lost in translation: the rations are for an “east” field that’s “newly cultivated,” and his diet is specifically a “vegetarian” one practiced by Buddhists. More literally, he gets on with those who have “stopped” trying to get a seat at the table.
181. Replying to Palace Official Guo, Wang Wei
The inner gate and tall pavilions—mists are afterglowed.
The plums and peaches dark, so dark—the willow seeds are flying.
In what’s forbidden, faint clock bells—the residence grows late.
Within the bureaus, bird cries—functionaries are thinning out.
At dawn, swinging jade pendants converged upon the Golden Hall—
At dusk, receiving edicts, bow out the broken-patterned gate.
It’s hard: you long to serve your lord but helplessly grow old
And will, because of illness, one day loosen your court robes.
酬郭给事
洞门高阁霭馀辉，
桃李阴阴柳絮飞。
禁里疏钟官舍晚，
省中啼鸟吏人稀。
晨摇玉佩趋金殿，
夕奉天书拜琐闱。
强欲从君无那老，
将因卧病解朝衣。
Guo was an official with access to the emperor and the power to edit edicts, and so was fairly high ranked. For the pendants hung from the belt, see #177. The door to the audience hall was decorated on the inside with a pattern of fragmented lines. I like how the evening images all tie together into the old age conclusion. However, compare #119, also replying to a high-ranking official.
182. The Premier of Shu, Du Fu
Memorial shrine of that premier, where look for it?
Outside the walls of Chengdu, in cypresses so dense.
Reflecting stairs and jade-green grass—I am spring colors.
Dense leaves and orioles—in vain their dulcet notes.
Three visits to recruit him—vexed with worldwide schemes—
Two courts he founded and steered—a senior statesman’s soul—
Yet Master wasn’t victorious before he died:
Long has he made tears soak the collars of brave heroes.
蜀相
丞相祠堂何处寻？
锦官城外柏森森，
映阶碧草自春色，
隔叶黄鹂空好音。
三顾频烦天下计，
两朝开济老臣心。
出师未捷身先死，
长使英雄泪满襟。
The premier was Zhuge Liang, prime minister of the kingdom of Shu (centered in Sichuan) at the start of the Three Kingdoms era, and this temple to him can still be visited. Liu Bei, who would become the first king of Shu (see #150), supposedly had to visit Zhuge Liang three times to convince him to join his cause (which wasn’t looking good—he was a minor warlord at the time). The “two courts” are those of Liu Bei and his successor Liu Shan. Idiom: worldwide is literally “[all] under heaven.” Lost in translation: this master is a “departed” one.
The last two lines have become proverbial. See also #235 (and more Du Fu poems to come).
183. A Guest Arrives, Du Fu
Both south and north of home, everything’s spring water—
Behold! a mob of seagulls comes here day after day.
The flowered path is not yet swept before our guest—
The aster gateway just now opened up for you.
For supper, the market’s far, so there’s no delicacies;
For wine, this house is poor, so just an unstrained brew—
Perhaps we’ll share a toast with my old neighbor beyond
The hedge—we’ll just shout—then down what’s left in our cups.
客至
舍南舍北皆春水，
但见群鸥日日来。
花径不曾缘客扫，
蓬门今始为君开。
盘飧市远无兼味，
樽酒家贫只旧醅。
肯与邻翁相对饮，
隔篱呼取尽馀杯。
A poem of Du Fu being Du Fu. According to a preface (喜崔明府相过) included in some collections, the visitor is his maternal uncle, a county-level magistrate named Cui, and he’s delighted by this. In the poem itself, the guest is addressed with an honorific literally meaning “lord/ruler.” Written in 760 while living in a riverside cottage on this site outside Chengdu, during winter runoff season. Lost in translation: not only is his wine unfiltered, but it’s “old” (freshly fermented was prized for rice wines). Getting the neighbor to supply presumably better wine for toasting then cadging the leftovers for dinner tbh sounds like a starving grad student move. (He’s actually 50 but legits in relative poverty.)
The next installment will be almost entirely Du Fu. Assuming I can hike over that mountain range.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
There are 54 (well, really 53, but I’ll explain that later) poems in this section, which I’ll again post in four installments: I don’t want to overwhelm you guys with long-ass compilations, plus more frequent posts will make me feel like I’m achieving something. 😆 These are, as usual, revised from rougher drafts posted in my other journal.
It seems worth reiterating this every so often: 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, rhetorical structures, and relative compression, while using as close to regular English meter as I can manage without doing violence to those other priorities. For the antithetical couplets of the middle lines of this form, I try to maintain the parallelisms, but languages sometimes work differently. 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.
In practice, fwiw, I aim to render seven-character lines like these with six-beat lines, but this is not always feasible—sometimes, such as when the syntax is especially compacted or the content is strongly imagistic, it takes seven beats. Ideally, I’d render a given form the same way every time, but here sense takes priority over consistency. (Similarly, I aim for four beats for five-character lines, but sometimes need five.)
170. Yellow Crane Pagoda, Cui Hao
An ancient man departed on a yellow crane—
The empty land he left now’s Yellow Crane Pagoda.
That yellow crane: it left, returning nevermore—
These white clouds: thousands travel, drifting on forever.
By the clear stream, many so many the Hanyang trees—
The fragrant grasses, lush so lush on Yingwu Island.
It’s sunset, and I wonder, “My hometown—where is it?”
The growing mist above the river makes one anxious.
黄鹤楼
昔人已乘黄鹤去，
此地空馀黄鹤楼。
黄鹤一去不复返，
白云千载空悠悠。
晴川历历汉阳树，
芳草萋萋鹦鹉洲。
日暮乡关何处是？
烟波江上使人愁。
The pagoda is a tower in Wuhan overlooking the Yangzi. The old dude was a legendary Daoist who ascended to immortality in that location on the back of a yellow crane. Hanyang is about 10km/6mi to the west, on the bank of the Han river, and Yingwu (“parrot”) Island is just to the southwest.
171. Passing Through Huayin, Cui Hao
To lofty peaks of Great Mt. Hua, the capital bows down—
Three summits past the heavens that humans couldn’t carve.
The clouds desire to disperse before Wu Temple,
And rain clears off where the Immortal’s Palm ascends.
Rivers and mountains to the north cushion the Qin Pass.
Road stations to the west connect the calm Han Altar.
I want to ask these passers-by toward fame and fortune
To linger here and study immortality.
行经华阴
岧嶢太华俯咸京，
天外三峰削不成。
武帝祠前云欲散，
仙人掌上雨初晴。
河山北枕秦关险，
驿树西连汉畤平。
借问路傍名利客，
无如此处学长生。
Huayin is a town east of Chang’an at the confluence of the Wei and Yellow Rivers, in the north foothills of Mt. Hua aka Taihua (“great Hua”), one of the five sacred mountains of Daoism. Said mountain has three peaks, the highest of which is Immortal’s Palm (Xianrenzhang). Wu Temple is where emperors made sacrifices to heaven and earth, and the Han Altar was the ancestral temple of the Han Dynasty rulers. The nearby Qin Pass is Hangu Gate, the frontier between the Warring States kingdom of Qin and the plains of the lower Yellow River. Lost in translation: he wants to ask passers-by “[from] beside the road.”
172. Gazing at the Gate of Ji, Zu Yong
Yan Terrace—a departure scares this traveler:
Clamoring fifes and drums, Han soldiers heading to camp.
Cold light gives birth to snow that covers ten-thousand li.
Dawn tints the waving banners raised on all three borders.
Battlefields and beacons—months of Hu attacks—
Sea-lanes and cloudy mountains both embrace Ji City.
There’s few enough officials who throw down their brushes,
But by their merit, I still want to request long tassels.
望蓟门
燕台一去客心惊，
箫鼓喧喧汉将营。
万里寒光生积雪，
三边曙色动危旌。
沙场烽火侵胡月，
海畔云山拥蓟城。
少小虽非投笔吏，
论功还欲请长缨。
Ji, located in what’s now in the southwest quarter of Beijing, was the capital of the Warring States kingdom of Yan; in Tang times, renamed Fanyang (also sometimes Yuyang), it was an important frontier commandery. The district was something of a salient, supporting operations on the empire’s borders to the east, north, and west. The “sea-lanes” are the Sea of Bohai, to the south of Hebei. The last two lines allude to incidents from Han Dynasty history: a secretary who, during an invasion, threw down his writing brush to take up the sword, and a general who, before a campaign, requested as an incentive that he be allowed to wear longer than regulation tassels on his uniform.
Just for fun, compare this to #164.
173. Seeing Off Wei Wan, Heading to the Capital, Li Qi
At dawn I hear a traveler sing the “Black Horse” song:
Last night, the barest frost—now, you cross the River.
I cannot worry, hearing swan-geese in the village—
They show you won’t pass cloudy mountains till mid-journey.
At the gate-pass, tree colors urge the winter on.
Beside the palace, sounds of beating grow with evening.
Don’t see Chang’an as just a place to go for music:
The empty months and years slip easily away.
送魏万之京
朝闻游子唱骊歌，
昨夜微霜初度河。
鸿雁不堪愁里听，
云山况是客中过。
关城树色催寒近，
御苑砧声向晚多。
莫见长安行乐处，
空令岁月易蹉跎。
Wei Wan spent part of his youth wandering the land in emulation of Li Bai before living in seclusion for a few years on Mt. Wangwu (see #160). He left there for Chang’an to take the imperial examinations (where he got first place in his year), though whether this Polonius’s advice had any effect is unclear. “Black Horse” was, as is no doubt obvious, a traditional song of parting. The migrating swan-goose (Anser cygnoides) winters in central China, and washing the summer-weight clothes before putting them away for winter storage is a canonical autumn household chore.
174. Climbing Wangxian Terrace on the Double Ninth, Submitted to Prefect Liu, Cui Shu
Emperor Wen of Han had this high terrace made—
Today I climb it to observe the blush of dawn.
The cloudy mountains of the three Jin states face north.
On those two mounds the wind and rain arrived from the east.
That gate-pass commandant, who could he recognize?
The old sage on the river left to not return—
And thus I want to seek that governor of Pengze
And joyfully get drunk with him on chrysanthemum cups.
九日登望仙台呈刘明府
汉文皇帝有高台，
此日登临曙色开。
三晋云山皆北向，
二陵风雨自东来。
关门令尹谁能识？
河上仙翁去不回，
且欲竟寻彭泽宰，
陶然共醉菊花杯。
Observations of the Double Ninth longevity festival (on the 9th day of the 9th lunar month) often involved scaling a local height. Wangxian Terrace was built by Han Emperor Wen in what’s now Shanzhou, western Henan, on the south bank of the Yellow River. County-level magistrate Liu is otherwise unknown.
The three Jins refer to how the Warring State of Jin, centered in these mountainous lands, broke into the three successor states of Zhao, Han, and Wei. Two hills to the west of Wangxian (“seeing the immortals”), both called Mt. Xian (the “immortals” being seen), were reputed to be the mausoleums of a Xia Dynasty king and the father of the founder of the Zhou Dynasty. The gate-pass is Hangu to the west (see #171), where according to legend, a former commander recognized the imminent arrival of Laozi up the Yellow River by the purple clouds rising before him. The governor of Pengze (in Jiangsu) was Tao Qian (see #78 and #115), a Six-Dynasties poet who was notably fond of chrysanthemum-infused wine of the type traditionally drunk on the Double Ninth.
175. Climbing Paired-Phoenix Terrace in Nanjing, Li Bai
Paired Phoenix Terrace where the phoenix pairs arrived—
The phoenixes departed—the Yangzi flows in vain.
Wu Palace brush and flowers hide secluded paths,
Jin minister robes and caps wound up in ancient graves.
Santai Hill’s half-missing, blue mountains lie beyond.
Two rivers are divided by White Heron Isle.
When floating clouds are gathered, they can conceal the sun—
Chang’an cannot discern that someone’s suffering.
登金陵凤凰台
凤凰台上凤凰游，
凤去台空江自流。
吴宫花草埋幽径，
晋代衣冠成古邱。
三台半落青山外，
二水中分白鹭洲。
总为浮云能蔽日，
长安不见使人愁。
Written during the return journey from exile that started in #269. The literal name for the terrace, which is on a hill and may actually have been a tower, is “male-phoenix female-phoenix”. Nanjing was the capital of both Wu, the southeastern of the Three Kingdoms, and the Eastern Jin Dynasty. Santai is the next hill over, presumably partly cut off by the current hill or maybe the terrace structure. White Heron Isle was a sandbank in the Yangzi where the Qinhuai River (which flows through Nanjing) joined it.
Commentaries note that seeing any mountains at all from Nanjing implies exceptionally clear conditions … and even so, Chang’an still can’t see you. Especially when gathered clouds of nay-sayers get in your way.
176. Seeing Off Vice-Minister Li, Demoted to Mid-Gorge, and Vice-Minister Wang, Demoted to Changsha, Gao Shi
Alas, my lords, thus parted—what are your feelings now?
Halt your horses, take these cups—you are demoted?
Wu Gorge, the wailing apes—there’s many trails of tears.
Hengyang, returning geese—so write me many letters.
Upon the Qingfeng River, autumn boats are distant.
At the edge of Badi Town, old trees are sparsely leafed.
Right now it’s a Holy Era with much rain and dew—
A short-term parting of friends: don’t hesitate or falter.
送李少府贬峡中王少府贬长沙
嗟君此别意何如？
驻马衔杯问谪居？
巫峡啼猿数行泪，
衡阳归雁几封书。
青枫江上秋帆远，
白帝城边古木疏。
圣代即今多雨露，
暂时分手莫踌躇。
These are the sort of demotions that are intended as exiles, far from the court and capital. The gorge in question is Qutang, the uppermost of the Three Gorges—Badi (“white emperor”) is the town at the upper end of Qutang (see #269), while Wu is the next gorge down the Yangzi, to the east. Changsha, Huhan, is further downstream from the Gorges, and Qingfeng (“green maple”) is a river in the mountains nearby. Hengyang, somewhat upstream of Changsha, was reputed to be a place where geese on migration met up for their return north—and if they’re returning, they are folklorically required to bring letters with them. The “rain and dew” signify stormy times politically as well as tears.
177. Early Morning Court at Daming Palace, Respectfully Matching Middle Secretary Jia Zhi’s Poem, Cen Can
Cocks crow—upon the purple lanes, the light of dawn is cold.
Orioles sing—within the capital, spring’s at its utmost.
From golden towers, the daybreak bells throw wide ten-thousand doors.
On the jade stairs, Immortal Arms hold back a thousand officials—
The flowers welcome swords and pendants—stars begin to fall—
The willows shake at feathered banners—dew is not yet dry.
There’s only this: a visitor above Paired-Phoenix Pool,
His “Sunny Spring” a song that’s hard for anyone to match.
奉和中书舍人贾至早朝大明宫
鸡鸣紫陌曙光寒，
莺啭皇州春色阑。
金阙晓钟开万户，
玉阶仙仗拥千官。
花迎剑佩星初落，
柳拂旌旗露未乾。
独有凤凰池上客，
阳春一曲和皆难。
For the poem being “matched” and context, see here. The “matching” game is responding to someone else’s poem, usually while using the same rhyme-words—in this case, though, Cen Can uses different rhymes and so is only “matching” the content, not the form. (We last saw Cen in #99, giving Du Fu a discrete warning about how to court official prudently. As it happens, Du Fu also “matched” the same poem.)
Daming (“great radiance”) Palace was the emperor’s main residence. The Immortal Arms are the ceremonial pole-arms of the imperial guard, which block the procession of officials until the emperor is ready to start the audience. The banners carried by the imperial guard were decorated with kingfisher feathers. The “visitor” is Jia Zhi, and “Sunny Spring” is an ancient song his poem is being flatteringly compared to.
178. Early Morning Court at Daming Palace, Matching the Poem Written by Secretary Jia, Wang Wei
Red-turbaned rooster men have sent away the dawn-watch token.
Men of the chamber two-by-two advance with green cloud furs.
The main gate of the Ninth-most Heaven opens up the palace—
The robes and caps of ten-thousand lands bow to the jade-fringed hat.
Day’s face, the talented approach—Immortal Palms are waving.
The smoke of incense crowds up close—the dragon robes are floating.
Court finishes, and you must shape the five-colored decree:
The clinks of pendants go back to the head of Phoenix Pool.
和贾舍人早朝大明宫之作
绛帻鸡人送晓筹，
尚衣方进翠云裘。
九天阊阖开宫殿，
万国衣冠拜冕旒。
日色才临仙掌动，
香烟欲傍衮龙浮。
朝罢须裁五色诏，
佩声归向凤池头。
Like #177, this is “matching” only the content, not the rhymes, of Jia’s poem. Wang is less honorific than Cen in the title, in part because he’s closer in rank to Jia. That said, he wrote it while out of office because he’d been held captive by An Lushan’s forces for a few years, and his loyalty was still suspect. As such, this poem is currying favor even harder, if more subtly, than the previous.
Red turbans were worn by the imperial household guards, and night watchmen kept track of their watches with tally-sticks, ending with one for the dawn hour. The emperor’s ceremonial headdress had a beaded fringe in front and back, his robes were decorated with dragons, and the Immortal Palms are his ceremonial fans. Imperial decrees were written on five-color paper based on what was dictated during the audience.
179. A View Between Spring Showers of the Pavilion Way from Penglai to Xingqing [Palaces], Respectfully Matching by Imperial Command the Emperor’s Poem, Wang Wei
The River Wei, coiled naturally around Qin Stronghold, bends.
Mt. Huanglu, wound since ancient times ’round the Han Palace, slopes.
His Highness’ carriage, which left the willows of the thousand doors,
Returned Pavilion Way to see the Upper Garden flowers.
Within the clouds, the capital city’s pair of phoenix towers—
Between the falling rains, the springtime trees’ ten-thousand households.
By chariot through sunny skies go celebrate the season.
It’s not that the palace enjoys sightseeing, but the flowery things.
奉和圣制从蓬莱向兴庆阁道中留春雨中春望之作应制
渭水自萦秦塞曲，
黄山旧绕汉宫斜。
銮舆迥出千门柳，
阁道回看上苑花。
云里帝城双凤阙，
雨中春树万人家。
为乘阳气行时令，
不是宸游玩物华。
The emperor’s poem hasn’t survived, though another poem “matching” it has, by one Li Zheng, using the same rhyme words. The occasion was a sightseeing tour by Emperor Xuanzong, which puts this earlier than #178, and I’m impressed by how many synonyms for “imperial” he worked on. Penglai, the legendary island of immortals in the eastern sea, is here a (traditional and highly flattering) alternate name for Daming Palace, and Xingqing (“celebrating prosperity”) was another imperial palace, connected to Daming by a boulevard. The main entrance to Daming was guarded by twin gate-towers decorated with phoenixes. Chang’an was on the south bank of the Wei, a tributary of the Yellow River, and the Qin Stronghold was the fortification on its east side. Idiom: the royal carriage is literally one pulled by horses decorated by bells used only by the emperor.
So that mention in this installment’s headnote about densely imagistic poems needing longer lines? I wrote that with Wang Wei in mind: his long-line poems, with stacked nouns and adjectives, are prime examples. He was better known in his time as a painter than poet, and it was commonly claimed that his poems are paintings and his paintings were poems. (None of his paintings have survived except as later copies.)
180. Long Rains, Written at Wangchuan Lodge, Wang Wei
Long rains: in the empty forest, smoke from the delayed fires
Now steaming goosefoot and cooking millet, rations for field-workers.
Lonely, lonely, the water field—a flying white egret.
Dark, so dark, the summer trees—warbling yellow orioles.
Within the mountains, practice stillness—watch the dawn hibiscus.
Beneath the pines, a cleansing diet—pluck the dewy sunflowers.
This old rustic gets on with those not striving for banquet seats—
The seagulls ask, “Why be where there’s more mutual distrust?”
积雨辋川庄作
积雨空林烟火迟，
蒸藜炊黍饷东菑。
漠漠水田飞白鹭，
阴阴夏木啭黄鹂。
山中习静观朝槿，
松下清斋折露葵。
野老与人争席罢，
海鸥何事更相疑？
Goosefoot is an amaranth cultivated for its edible leaves. Lost in translation: the rations are for an “east” field that’s “newly cultivated,” and his diet is specifically a “vegetarian” one practiced by Buddhists. More literally, he gets on with those who have “stopped” trying to get a seat at the table.
181. Replying to Palace Official Guo, Wang Wei
The inner gate and tall pavilions—mists are afterglowed.
The plums and peaches dark, so dark—the willow seeds are flying.
In what’s forbidden, faint clock bells—the residence grows late.
Within the bureaus, bird cries—functionaries are thinning out.
At dawn, swinging jade pendants converged upon the Golden Hall—
At dusk, receiving edicts, bow out the broken-patterned gate.
It’s hard: you long to serve your lord but helplessly grow old
And will, because of illness, one day loosen your court robes.
酬郭给事
洞门高阁霭馀辉，
桃李阴阴柳絮飞。
禁里疏钟官舍晚，
省中啼鸟吏人稀。
晨摇玉佩趋金殿，
夕奉天书拜琐闱。
强欲从君无那老，
将因卧病解朝衣。
Guo was an official with access to the emperor and the power to edit edicts, and so was fairly high ranked. For the pendants hung from the belt, see #177. The door to the audience hall was decorated on the inside with a pattern of fragmented lines. I like how the evening images all tie together into the old age conclusion. However, compare #119, also replying to a high-ranking official.
182. The Premier of Shu, Du Fu
Memorial shrine of that premier, where look for it?
Outside the walls of Chengdu, in cypresses so dense.
Reflecting stairs and jade-green grass—I am spring colors.
Dense leaves and orioles—in vain their dulcet notes.
Three visits to recruit him—vexed with worldwide schemes—
Two courts he founded and steered—a senior statesman’s soul—
Yet Master wasn’t victorious before he died:
Long has he made tears soak the collars of brave heroes.
蜀相
丞相祠堂何处寻？
锦官城外柏森森，
映阶碧草自春色，
隔叶黄鹂空好音。
三顾频烦天下计，
两朝开济老臣心。
出师未捷身先死，
长使英雄泪满襟。
The premier was Zhuge Liang, prime minister of the kingdom of Shu (centered in Sichuan) at the start of the Three Kingdoms era, and this temple to him can still be visited. Liu Bei, who would become the first king of Shu (see #150), supposedly had to visit Zhuge Liang three times to convince him to join his cause (which wasn’t looking good—he was a minor warlord at the time). The “two courts” are those of Liu Bei and his successor Liu Shan. Idiom: worldwide is literally “[all] under heaven.” Lost in translation: this master is a “departed” one.
The last two lines have become proverbial. See also #235 (and more Du Fu poems to come).
183. A Guest Arrives, Du Fu
Both south and north of home, everything’s spring water—
Behold! a mob of seagulls comes here day after day.
The flowered path is not yet swept before our guest—
The aster gateway just now opened up for you.
For supper, the market’s far, so there’s no delicacies;
For wine, this house is poor, so just an unstrained brew—
Perhaps we’ll share a toast with my old neighbor beyond
The hedge—we’ll just shout—then down what’s left in our cups.
客至
舍南舍北皆春水，
但见群鸥日日来。
花径不曾缘客扫，
蓬门今始为君开。
盘飧市远无兼味，
樽酒家贫只旧醅。
肯与邻翁相对饮，
隔篱呼取尽馀杯。
A poem of Du Fu being Du Fu. According to a preface (喜崔明府相过) included in some collections, the visitor is his maternal uncle, a county-level magistrate named Cui, and he’s delighted by this. In the poem itself, the guest is addressed with an honorific literally meaning “lord/ruler.” Written in 760 while living in a riverside cottage on this site outside Chengdu, during winter runoff season. Lost in translation: not only is his wine unfiltered, but it’s “old” (freshly fermented was prized for rice wines). Getting the neighbor to supply presumably better wine for toasting then cadging the leftovers for dinner tbh sounds like a starving grad student move. (He’s actually 50 but legits in relative poverty.)
The next installment will be almost entirely Du Fu. Assuming I can hike over that mountain range.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
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Date: 7 August 2022 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 7 August 2022 04:11 am (UTC)I’m fond of the 5th and 6th too.