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larryhammerAnother baker’s dozen of seven-character regulated verse from Part 6. The last installment ended with a bit of Du Fu, who takes up almost all of this one showing why he’s often considered (one of) China’s greatest poet(s). Some of these are all but hyper-compressed novels. These are, as usual, revised from rougher drafts posted in my other journal.
As an aside, as part of my ongoing wrestling with the balance between original flavor and natural idioms, I’m wondering whether to continue leaving li as a unit of distance (about half a kilometer) untranslated or whether it’d be better to render it as “league,” especially when the actual distance doesn’t matter, only that it’s very far. Thoughts?
184. Wasteland Prospect, Du Fu
On the west mountains, white snow, three walled garrisons—
On the south bank, clear river, Bridge of Ten-thousand Li.
The whole world’s wind-blown dust, my younger brothers scattered—
On heaven’s edge I’m crying, by myself and distant.
Because my evening will provide me many ailments,
I’ve neither dirt nor droplet to repay the court.
I ride outside the city to eye a while the distance,
Unfit for human duties, all my days dejection.
野望
西山白雪三城戍，
南浦清江万里桥。
海内风尘诸弟隔，
天涯涕泪一身遥。
唯将迟暮供多病，
未有涓埃答圣朝。
跨马出郊时极目，
不堪人事日萧条。
Written in 762 while still living outside Chengdu. The peaks along the edge of the Tibetan Plateau west of the city have permanent snow-cover, and the three forts along that range were on the border with the Tibetan Empire. I translate the name of Wanli Bridge over the Jin River to bring out that the first couplet is also antithetical. FWIW, he had four younger brothers, one of them also in Sichuan, the rest still scattered by the disruptions (“wind-blown dust”) of the An Lushan Rebellion.
185. On Hearing Government Forces Captured the Lands South and North of the [Yellow] River, Du Fu
Past Jianmen Pass a sudden dispatch: Jibei’s been recaptured.
The moment I hear, I’m crying tears that soak through all my clothes.
I turn to see my wife and children, worried: “What is it?”
I sloppily roll my scroll of poems, happy, wanting to dance.
In bright sunlight, I loudly sing—I must indulge in wine.
The green spring keeps me company—it’s good to go back home
Immediately, from Qutang Gorge, then passing through Wu Gorge—
An easy descent to Xiangyang town, then heading towards Luoyang.
闻官军收河南河北
剑外忽传收蓟北，
初闻涕泪满衣裳。
却看妻子愁何在？
漫卷诗书喜欲狂。
白日放歌须纵酒，
青春作伴好还乡。
即从巴峡穿巫峡，
便下襄阳向洛阳。
Written 763 after the defeat of the main remaining army of the An Lushan Rebellion—though there was much mopping up to do. The reclaimed territories correspond to eastern Henan (“south of the river”) and Hebei (“north of the river”). Jianmen Pass is through the mountains between Shaanxi and Sichuan (see #71). Jibei was An Lushan’s base of operations (same Ji as #172, part of modern Beijing). Qutang is the upper of the Three Gorges, and Wu is the middle one. Xiangyang, Hubei, was where you’d leave a boat to start the overland trip to Luoyang, his birthplace. Despite the last two lines, he didn’t sail down the Gorges till five years later and never made it home. Compare #149.
186. Scaling the Heights, Du Fu
The wind is quick, the heavens high—apes wailing mournfully.
The islet’s calm, the sands are white—birds circling around.
Eternal are the scattering trees, soughing soughing down.
Endlessly the long Yangzi rushing rushing comes.
Ten-thousand li, a downcast autumn—always I’m a guest.
A hundred years, I’ve many ills—alone I climb the lookout.
Arduous woes, bitter regrets—increasing frost in my hair.
I’m laid prostrate—a new delay for cups of unstrained wine.
登高
风急天高猿啸哀，
渚清沙白鸟飞回。
无边落木萧萧下，
不尽长江滚滚来。
万里悲秋常作客，
百年多病独登台。
艰难苦恨繁霜鬓，
潦倒新停浊酒杯。
A poem written on the Double Ninth Festival, still often observed by ascending a nearby height. River travelers in the Three Gorges often heard apes on the canyon walls. The onomatopoeia for the leaves is pronounced xiao (roughly: /shyow/) in modern Mandarin, with a reconstructed Tang pronunciation of seu—“sough” is surprisingly close in both sound and sense.
187. Ascending a Tower, Du Fu
The flowers by the tower wound this traveler’s spirit—
Ten-thousand hardships, this ascent to see a vista.
Spring colors on Jin River approach heaven and earth.
Mt. Yulei’s floating clouds shifted back then and now.
The North Star’s morning court remains unchanged in the end.
The western mountain’s bandits—they don’t dare raid us.
Pity that second king in his ancestral hall,
Returning at sunset to recite the “Liangfu Song.”
登楼
花近高楼伤客心，
万方多难此登临。
锦江春色来天地，
玉垒浮云变古今。
北极朝庭终不改，
西山寇盗莫相侵。
可怜后主还祠庙，
日暮聊为梁父吟。
The Jin (“brocade”) flows through Chengdu and Yulei (“jade rampart”) is to the west. Polaris was a common symbol for the imperial court, while the bandits are Tibetan soldiers (see #184). Despite line 6, Tibetans were repeatedly raiding Sichuan at this time. The second ruler of the kingdom of Shu was Liu Shan (see #182) and “Liangfu Song” (named after a lesser peak of Mt. Tai in Shandong, one of the five sacred mountains) was a folk song sometimes sung at burials—the implication is that we’re to pity him for burying Zhuge Liang (see #182 again) because his kingdom’s troubles are about to get worse.
188. Staying at Headquarters, Du Fu
Clear autumn—by the headquarters, the parasol tree is cold.
Alone in lodgings by the river, my wax candle slumps.
Throughout the night, a horn sounds sorrowful—I talk to myself.
Within the sky, the moon looks wonderful—but who sees it?
These times of wind-blown dust slip by—written news has stopped.
The border fort is desolate—advancing the army’s hard.
I have endured already ten full years a refugee—
Amid the roughly shifting perches, this one branch is safe.
宿府
清秋幕府井梧寒，
独宿江城蜡炬残。
永夜角声悲自语，
中天月色好谁看？
风尘荏苒音书绝，
关塞萧条行陆难。
已忍伶俜十年事，
强移栖息一枝安。
Written in 764, the tenth year since the start of the An Lushan Rebellion, while serving as a military advisor for his sponsor, the governor of Sichuan.
189. Night at a Pavilion, Du Fu
At the year’s end, the moon and sun hasten the short days.
At the sky’s edge, the frost and snow clear on this winter night.
Fifth watch, the drums and horns—sounds sorrowful and resonant.
Three Gorges, stars upon the river—reflections move in the waves.
The country wails, thousands of families hear of strife and battles.
Yi songs in many places—rise to fish and gather wood.
The crouching dragons and leaping horses end in the yellow earth:
In vain I read the news of the world—it’s scant and far between.
阁夜
岁暮阴阳催短景，
天涯霜雪霁寒霄。
五更鼓角声悲壮，
三峡星河影动摇。
野哭千家闻战伐，
夷歌数处起渔樵。
卧龙跃马终黄土，
人事音书漫寂寥。
The fifth night-watch was the one just before dawn, and the drums and horns are soldiers’ signals. The Yi are a non-Han ethnic group of Sichuan, and several Yi folk songs passed into general usage in the region. To many, life just goes on.
190. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 1, Du Fu
Parted from home in the north and east, we meet in wind-blown dust—
We float and moor in the south and west, a gap ’tween heaven and earth—
By a tower high at these Three Gorges, we tarry days and months—
We’ve clothing from five different creeks, yet share this ‘cloudy mountain.’
The chief of this Jie-Hu affair—we couldn’t rely on him.
That traveler in grievous times, who also couldn’t continue:
Yu Xin’s peaceful life became an excess of such sorrows,
And yet the rhapsodies of his evening years affected Jiangling.
咏怀古迹 之一
支离东北风尘际，
漂泊西南天地间。
三峡楼台淹日月，
五溪衣服共云山。
羯胡事主终无赖，
词客哀时且未还。
庾信平生最萧瑟，
暮年诗赋动江关。
First of a five-poem set, of which the 3rd and 5th were included in the first edition of 3TP and the rest added later.
Written in 766 in Baidi, with the “five creeks” being nearby tributaries of the upper Three Gorges. A “cloudy mountain” is a canonical residence for a Daoist hermit—so, yeah, irony. The Jie were, like the Hu, a nomadic non-Han people of the northern steppes. The “chief” is An Lushan, a Turkic-Sogdian soldier who became one of the empire’s highest ranking generals, and the “affair” his rebellion—obvs “rely on” is more irony. Yu Xin was a Liang Dynasty poet considered the last great writer of rhymed-prose rhapsodies (fu); he was held captive in Chang’an for the last 25 years of his life following the fall of Liang to the Northern Zhou—which was led by a Xianbei clan that, although sinicized for several generations, also came from the steppes. Jiangling (in modern Jiangzhou, Hubei) was the capital of Liang Emperor Yuan (ruled 552-5), though it hadn’t been a capital for a few years by the time Yu Xin wrote “Lament of the South” in captivity. That detail doesn’t stop Du Fu from being hopeful about his own poetry.
191. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 2, Du Fu
Grass withered and leaves fallen—I so get that Song Yu’s grief:
Outstanding writer, cultured man, and also he’s my master.
Hopes dashed a thousand autumns since—I scatter tears alone—
Though living at different times, our lives are equally desolate.
His former home in rivers and mountains—in vain his splendid words.
Mt. Yangtai wreathed in clouds and rain—how could he think it a dream?
And most of all, there’s this: Chu Palace was completely destroyed.
This boatman faces that far speck, my arrival now in doubt.
咏怀古迹 之二
摇落深知宋玉悲，
风流儒雅亦吾师。
怅望千秋一洒泪，
萧条异代不同时。
江山故宅空文藻，
云雨荒台岂梦思。
最是楚宫俱泯灭，
舟人指点到今疑。
Song Yu was a poet of the Warring State of Chu, attributed author of a handful of poems in Songs of Chu, including the first known use of the “being grieved by autumn” topos. His “former home” was Guizhou (now Zigui, Hubei) at the mouth of Xiling, the lowest of the Three Gorges. Mt. Yangtai in Wushan, Chongqing (formerly eastern Sichuan) is the setting of a rhymed-prose rhapsody spuriously attributed to Song Yu about a dream visitation by a divine maiden. The capital of Chu was down the Yangzi from Baidi.
192. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 3, Du Fu
A host of mountains, ten-thousand chasms, all attend Jingmen.
As she grew up, that bright consort still held that hamlet dear.
Alone she left from Zitai Palace to join the northern desert—
Alone she stays in that grassy tomb facing the yellow twilight.
A painting can’t express the essence of her spring-breeze face,
That ornament married off in vain, a spirit beneath the moon.
A thousand years—still pipas sound her words about the Hu:
Clearly her resentment was completely justified.
咏怀古迹 之三
群山万壑赴荆门，
生长明妃尚有村。
一去紫台连朔漠，
独留青冢向黄昏。
画图省识春风面，
环佩空归月下魂。
千载琵琶作胡语，
分明怨恨曲中论。
Wang Zhaojun was born near Mt. Jingmen (see #101) and spent time as a minor imperial concubine of Han Emperor Yuan before being diplomatically married off to the Chanyu of the Xiongnu Empire. Zitai (“amethyst terrace”) Palace was a Han imperial residence. After her husband died, she petitioned Emperor Cheng to return but she was instead ordered to marry his brother and successor. She eventually died in the northern steppes, and a grassy mound near modern Hohhot, Inner Mongolia is still recognized as her memorial tumulus (see also #164 and #277). She is especially associated with playing the pipa (at the time, any of several lute-like instruments), and is usually depicted holding one, and songs about her have often been set to pipa accompaniment. Idiom: ornament is more fully “bracelets (and) girdle ornaments,” a metonymy for a beautiful woman.
193. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 4, Du Fu
Shu’s lord, attacking Wu, was fortunate to have Three Gorges—
The time of his collapse was here as well, at Yong’an Palace.
His kingfisher splendor, imagine that sight inside these empty mountains,
And his jade halls, now emptiness within a rustic temple.
At this old shrine in firs and pines, a nesting water crane—
Summer and winter, for festivals, old men walk from the village.
At Zhuge’s memorial hall he is a common neighbor,
With minister and ruler there now worshiped both together.
咏怀古迹 之四
蜀主征吴幸三峡，
崩年亦在永安宫。
翠华想像空山里，
玉殿虚无野寺中。
古庙杉松巢水鹤，
岁时伏腊走村翁。
武侯祠屋常邻近，
一体君臣祭祀同。
Liu Bei, first ruler of Shu, died a short time after a disastrous counterattack (following an ill-advised invasion) by rival kingdom Wu that Shu survived only because the Three Gorges are excellent defenses (see also #235). In Du Fu’s time, Yong’an (“long peace”) Palace near Baidi, where Liu Bei died, was long gone, leaving only a shabby ancestral temple (see #150). Imperial banners were decorated with kingfisher feathers. Wuhuo (“martial marquis”) Temple, Zhuge Liang’s ancestral temple (see #182), was much more popular. More irony, this time dramatic.
194. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 5, Du Fu
Zhuge’s great fame has come down through all space and all of time,
A model of a minister, revered as pure and noble.
Han split in three—a state established: plans and devious schemes—
Ten-thousand ages—empyreal: a single feather plume.
He’s scarcely any different compared with Yi and Lü—
Commander with the same chance of defeat as Xiao and Cao.
The Han throne’s fortunes had declined, were difficult to restore:
His will was staunch—his life burnt out toiling at martial tasks.
咏怀古迹 之五
诸葛大名垂宇宙，
宗臣遗像肃清高。
三分割据纡筹策，
万古云霄一羽毛。
伯仲之间见伊吕，
指挥若定失萧曹。
运移汉祚终难复，
志决身歼军务劳。
Du Fu finally takes up Zhuge Liang himself—and drops the pretense of thinking about any actual historical site. The bit about the feather is comparing him to a fabulous bird (such as a phoenix) flying high in the heavens. Idiom: scarcely any different is literally “(like) the gap between an oldest brother and a second brother.” To annotate the Inevitable Historical Comparisons: • Yi Yin was a minister who helped the first Shang Dynasty king overthrow the Xia. • Lü Shang was a minister who helped the founders of the Zhou Dynasty overthrow the Shang. • Xiao He and Cao Can were chancellors of the first Han emperor, both of whom, yes, helped him overthrow the Qin Dynasty and win the resulting civil war. Since Liu Bei officially claimed to be continuing, not overthrowing, the Han Dynasty, these comparisons seem a little off-message.
195. Once More Leaving Sixth-Rank Staffer Xue and Eighth-Rank Staffer Liu in Jiangzhou, Liu Changqing
Who would’ve thought? —it’s such a superior decree.
But all I know of the world is study, drink, and song.
Bright moon above the river—a Tartar goose flies through—
Trees scatter south of the Huai—Chu mountains are so many.
I’ll lodge tonight, so fortunate, by an azure isle.
I face my reflection, no help for it, I’ve white hair—how?!
Today’s our ‘dragon time,’ for people age together—
I’m shamed, for you instructed me: ’ware wind and waves.
江州重别薛六柳八二员外
生涯岂料承优诏？
世事空知学醉歌。
江上月明胡雁过，
淮南木落楚山多。
寄身且喜沧洲近，
顾影无如白发何！
今日龙钟人共老，
愧君犹遣慎风波。
Xue and Liu were lower-rank government employees. (All imperial government positions were numerically ranked—9 was the lowest possible—and knowing your relative ranks was Really Important for protocol.) This was written around 758, a couple years after passing the imperial exams, so the author was probably of comparable rank. Jiangzhou is now Jiujiang, Jiangxi, close to what had been the border of the Warring State of Chu. Lost in translation: the decree is “received (in one’s) career,” which signals that its being “superior” is ironic—probably it’s a demotion. Jiangzhou is more than 400 km south of the Huai River, but see #155. An “azure island” is one of the canonical retreats for a hermit in seclusion. A “dragon time” is both one of decrepitude and one of challenge—making this a rare-in-serious-poetry pun. “Wind and waves” is a standard symbol for the hazards of bureaucratic infighting.
196. Passing Jia Yi’s House in Changsha, Liu Changqing
Demoted for three years to this, a long-term ‘perch’—
Through vast ages but a pause, that Chu guest’s sorrow.
Alone in autumn grasses, I seek that person now
Fruitlessly in cold woods—I see the slanting sunset.
Emperor Wen was wise yet his forbearance weak.
Xiang River didn’t care, for how could it know mourning?
Still, so still, this landscape, a place of shaking and falling.
A pity—how did you arrive at heaven’s edge?
长沙过贾谊宅
三年谪宦此栖迟，
万古惟留楚客悲。
秋草独寻人去后，
寒林空见日斜时。
汉文有道恩犹薄，
湘水无情吊岂知？
寂寂江山摇落处，
怜君何事到天涯？
Jia Yi was a writer and statesman of the early Han Dynasty and Liu Changqing, a writer and statesman of the mid Tang Dynasty, also wrote about him in #137. The relevant biofacts: Han Emperor Wen demoted Jia Yi to be Grand Tutor to the child ruler of the client state of Changsha, where he stayed for roughly four years. The Xiang runs through Changsha.
And that gets me halfway through this form. Next installment will be a bunch of random dudes milling about in the valley between Du Fu Plateau and the next major lift, Li Shangyin Range. Not that there aren’t some darn good poems among them, so stay tuned. (Or not, as you will. I know this stuff isn’t to everyone’s taste.)
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
As an aside, as part of my ongoing wrestling with the balance between original flavor and natural idioms, I’m wondering whether to continue leaving li as a unit of distance (about half a kilometer) untranslated or whether it’d be better to render it as “league,” especially when the actual distance doesn’t matter, only that it’s very far. Thoughts?
184. Wasteland Prospect, Du Fu
On the west mountains, white snow, three walled garrisons—
On the south bank, clear river, Bridge of Ten-thousand Li.
The whole world’s wind-blown dust, my younger brothers scattered—
On heaven’s edge I’m crying, by myself and distant.
Because my evening will provide me many ailments,
I’ve neither dirt nor droplet to repay the court.
I ride outside the city to eye a while the distance,
Unfit for human duties, all my days dejection.
野望
西山白雪三城戍，
南浦清江万里桥。
海内风尘诸弟隔，
天涯涕泪一身遥。
唯将迟暮供多病，
未有涓埃答圣朝。
跨马出郊时极目，
不堪人事日萧条。
Written in 762 while still living outside Chengdu. The peaks along the edge of the Tibetan Plateau west of the city have permanent snow-cover, and the three forts along that range were on the border with the Tibetan Empire. I translate the name of Wanli Bridge over the Jin River to bring out that the first couplet is also antithetical. FWIW, he had four younger brothers, one of them also in Sichuan, the rest still scattered by the disruptions (“wind-blown dust”) of the An Lushan Rebellion.
185. On Hearing Government Forces Captured the Lands South and North of the [Yellow] River, Du Fu
Past Jianmen Pass a sudden dispatch: Jibei’s been recaptured.
The moment I hear, I’m crying tears that soak through all my clothes.
I turn to see my wife and children, worried: “What is it?”
I sloppily roll my scroll of poems, happy, wanting to dance.
In bright sunlight, I loudly sing—I must indulge in wine.
The green spring keeps me company—it’s good to go back home
Immediately, from Qutang Gorge, then passing through Wu Gorge—
An easy descent to Xiangyang town, then heading towards Luoyang.
闻官军收河南河北
剑外忽传收蓟北，
初闻涕泪满衣裳。
却看妻子愁何在？
漫卷诗书喜欲狂。
白日放歌须纵酒，
青春作伴好还乡。
即从巴峡穿巫峡，
便下襄阳向洛阳。
Written 763 after the defeat of the main remaining army of the An Lushan Rebellion—though there was much mopping up to do. The reclaimed territories correspond to eastern Henan (“south of the river”) and Hebei (“north of the river”). Jianmen Pass is through the mountains between Shaanxi and Sichuan (see #71). Jibei was An Lushan’s base of operations (same Ji as #172, part of modern Beijing). Qutang is the upper of the Three Gorges, and Wu is the middle one. Xiangyang, Hubei, was where you’d leave a boat to start the overland trip to Luoyang, his birthplace. Despite the last two lines, he didn’t sail down the Gorges till five years later and never made it home. Compare #149.
186. Scaling the Heights, Du Fu
The wind is quick, the heavens high—apes wailing mournfully.
The islet’s calm, the sands are white—birds circling around.
Eternal are the scattering trees, soughing soughing down.
Endlessly the long Yangzi rushing rushing comes.
Ten-thousand li, a downcast autumn—always I’m a guest.
A hundred years, I’ve many ills—alone I climb the lookout.
Arduous woes, bitter regrets—increasing frost in my hair.
I’m laid prostrate—a new delay for cups of unstrained wine.
登高
风急天高猿啸哀，
渚清沙白鸟飞回。
无边落木萧萧下，
不尽长江滚滚来。
万里悲秋常作客，
百年多病独登台。
艰难苦恨繁霜鬓，
潦倒新停浊酒杯。
A poem written on the Double Ninth Festival, still often observed by ascending a nearby height. River travelers in the Three Gorges often heard apes on the canyon walls. The onomatopoeia for the leaves is pronounced xiao (roughly: /shyow/) in modern Mandarin, with a reconstructed Tang pronunciation of seu—“sough” is surprisingly close in both sound and sense.
187. Ascending a Tower, Du Fu
The flowers by the tower wound this traveler’s spirit—
Ten-thousand hardships, this ascent to see a vista.
Spring colors on Jin River approach heaven and earth.
Mt. Yulei’s floating clouds shifted back then and now.
The North Star’s morning court remains unchanged in the end.
The western mountain’s bandits—they don’t dare raid us.
Pity that second king in his ancestral hall,
Returning at sunset to recite the “Liangfu Song.”
登楼
花近高楼伤客心，
万方多难此登临。
锦江春色来天地，
玉垒浮云变古今。
北极朝庭终不改，
西山寇盗莫相侵。
可怜后主还祠庙，
日暮聊为梁父吟。
The Jin (“brocade”) flows through Chengdu and Yulei (“jade rampart”) is to the west. Polaris was a common symbol for the imperial court, while the bandits are Tibetan soldiers (see #184). Despite line 6, Tibetans were repeatedly raiding Sichuan at this time. The second ruler of the kingdom of Shu was Liu Shan (see #182) and “Liangfu Song” (named after a lesser peak of Mt. Tai in Shandong, one of the five sacred mountains) was a folk song sometimes sung at burials—the implication is that we’re to pity him for burying Zhuge Liang (see #182 again) because his kingdom’s troubles are about to get worse.
188. Staying at Headquarters, Du Fu
Clear autumn—by the headquarters, the parasol tree is cold.
Alone in lodgings by the river, my wax candle slumps.
Throughout the night, a horn sounds sorrowful—I talk to myself.
Within the sky, the moon looks wonderful—but who sees it?
These times of wind-blown dust slip by—written news has stopped.
The border fort is desolate—advancing the army’s hard.
I have endured already ten full years a refugee—
Amid the roughly shifting perches, this one branch is safe.
宿府
清秋幕府井梧寒，
独宿江城蜡炬残。
永夜角声悲自语，
中天月色好谁看？
风尘荏苒音书绝，
关塞萧条行陆难。
已忍伶俜十年事，
强移栖息一枝安。
Written in 764, the tenth year since the start of the An Lushan Rebellion, while serving as a military advisor for his sponsor, the governor of Sichuan.
189. Night at a Pavilion, Du Fu
At the year’s end, the moon and sun hasten the short days.
At the sky’s edge, the frost and snow clear on this winter night.
Fifth watch, the drums and horns—sounds sorrowful and resonant.
Three Gorges, stars upon the river—reflections move in the waves.
The country wails, thousands of families hear of strife and battles.
Yi songs in many places—rise to fish and gather wood.
The crouching dragons and leaping horses end in the yellow earth:
In vain I read the news of the world—it’s scant and far between.
阁夜
岁暮阴阳催短景，
天涯霜雪霁寒霄。
五更鼓角声悲壮，
三峡星河影动摇。
野哭千家闻战伐，
夷歌数处起渔樵。
卧龙跃马终黄土，
人事音书漫寂寥。
The fifth night-watch was the one just before dawn, and the drums and horns are soldiers’ signals. The Yi are a non-Han ethnic group of Sichuan, and several Yi folk songs passed into general usage in the region. To many, life just goes on.
190. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 1, Du Fu
Parted from home in the north and east, we meet in wind-blown dust—
We float and moor in the south and west, a gap ’tween heaven and earth—
By a tower high at these Three Gorges, we tarry days and months—
We’ve clothing from five different creeks, yet share this ‘cloudy mountain.’
The chief of this Jie-Hu affair—we couldn’t rely on him.
That traveler in grievous times, who also couldn’t continue:
Yu Xin’s peaceful life became an excess of such sorrows,
And yet the rhapsodies of his evening years affected Jiangling.
咏怀古迹 之一
支离东北风尘际，
漂泊西南天地间。
三峡楼台淹日月，
五溪衣服共云山。
羯胡事主终无赖，
词客哀时且未还。
庾信平生最萧瑟，
暮年诗赋动江关。
First of a five-poem set, of which the 3rd and 5th were included in the first edition of 3TP and the rest added later.
Written in 766 in Baidi, with the “five creeks” being nearby tributaries of the upper Three Gorges. A “cloudy mountain” is a canonical residence for a Daoist hermit—so, yeah, irony. The Jie were, like the Hu, a nomadic non-Han people of the northern steppes. The “chief” is An Lushan, a Turkic-Sogdian soldier who became one of the empire’s highest ranking generals, and the “affair” his rebellion—obvs “rely on” is more irony. Yu Xin was a Liang Dynasty poet considered the last great writer of rhymed-prose rhapsodies (fu); he was held captive in Chang’an for the last 25 years of his life following the fall of Liang to the Northern Zhou—which was led by a Xianbei clan that, although sinicized for several generations, also came from the steppes. Jiangling (in modern Jiangzhou, Hubei) was the capital of Liang Emperor Yuan (ruled 552-5), though it hadn’t been a capital for a few years by the time Yu Xin wrote “Lament of the South” in captivity. That detail doesn’t stop Du Fu from being hopeful about his own poetry.
191. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 2, Du Fu
Grass withered and leaves fallen—I so get that Song Yu’s grief:
Outstanding writer, cultured man, and also he’s my master.
Hopes dashed a thousand autumns since—I scatter tears alone—
Though living at different times, our lives are equally desolate.
His former home in rivers and mountains—in vain his splendid words.
Mt. Yangtai wreathed in clouds and rain—how could he think it a dream?
And most of all, there’s this: Chu Palace was completely destroyed.
This boatman faces that far speck, my arrival now in doubt.
咏怀古迹 之二
摇落深知宋玉悲，
风流儒雅亦吾师。
怅望千秋一洒泪，
萧条异代不同时。
江山故宅空文藻，
云雨荒台岂梦思。
最是楚宫俱泯灭，
舟人指点到今疑。
Song Yu was a poet of the Warring State of Chu, attributed author of a handful of poems in Songs of Chu, including the first known use of the “being grieved by autumn” topos. His “former home” was Guizhou (now Zigui, Hubei) at the mouth of Xiling, the lowest of the Three Gorges. Mt. Yangtai in Wushan, Chongqing (formerly eastern Sichuan) is the setting of a rhymed-prose rhapsody spuriously attributed to Song Yu about a dream visitation by a divine maiden. The capital of Chu was down the Yangzi from Baidi.
192. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 3, Du Fu
A host of mountains, ten-thousand chasms, all attend Jingmen.
As she grew up, that bright consort still held that hamlet dear.
Alone she left from Zitai Palace to join the northern desert—
Alone she stays in that grassy tomb facing the yellow twilight.
A painting can’t express the essence of her spring-breeze face,
That ornament married off in vain, a spirit beneath the moon.
A thousand years—still pipas sound her words about the Hu:
Clearly her resentment was completely justified.
咏怀古迹 之三
群山万壑赴荆门，
生长明妃尚有村。
一去紫台连朔漠，
独留青冢向黄昏。
画图省识春风面，
环佩空归月下魂。
千载琵琶作胡语，
分明怨恨曲中论。
Wang Zhaojun was born near Mt. Jingmen (see #101) and spent time as a minor imperial concubine of Han Emperor Yuan before being diplomatically married off to the Chanyu of the Xiongnu Empire. Zitai (“amethyst terrace”) Palace was a Han imperial residence. After her husband died, she petitioned Emperor Cheng to return but she was instead ordered to marry his brother and successor. She eventually died in the northern steppes, and a grassy mound near modern Hohhot, Inner Mongolia is still recognized as her memorial tumulus (see also #164 and #277). She is especially associated with playing the pipa (at the time, any of several lute-like instruments), and is usually depicted holding one, and songs about her have often been set to pipa accompaniment. Idiom: ornament is more fully “bracelets (and) girdle ornaments,” a metonymy for a beautiful woman.
193. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 4, Du Fu
Shu’s lord, attacking Wu, was fortunate to have Three Gorges—
The time of his collapse was here as well, at Yong’an Palace.
His kingfisher splendor, imagine that sight inside these empty mountains,
And his jade halls, now emptiness within a rustic temple.
At this old shrine in firs and pines, a nesting water crane—
Summer and winter, for festivals, old men walk from the village.
At Zhuge’s memorial hall he is a common neighbor,
With minister and ruler there now worshiped both together.
咏怀古迹 之四
蜀主征吴幸三峡，
崩年亦在永安宫。
翠华想像空山里，
玉殿虚无野寺中。
古庙杉松巢水鹤，
岁时伏腊走村翁。
武侯祠屋常邻近，
一体君臣祭祀同。
Liu Bei, first ruler of Shu, died a short time after a disastrous counterattack (following an ill-advised invasion) by rival kingdom Wu that Shu survived only because the Three Gorges are excellent defenses (see also #235). In Du Fu’s time, Yong’an (“long peace”) Palace near Baidi, where Liu Bei died, was long gone, leaving only a shabby ancestral temple (see #150). Imperial banners were decorated with kingfisher feathers. Wuhuo (“martial marquis”) Temple, Zhuge Liang’s ancestral temple (see #182), was much more popular. More irony, this time dramatic.
194. Poetic Thoughts of Historical Sites 5, Du Fu
Zhuge’s great fame has come down through all space and all of time,
A model of a minister, revered as pure and noble.
Han split in three—a state established: plans and devious schemes—
Ten-thousand ages—empyreal: a single feather plume.
He’s scarcely any different compared with Yi and Lü—
Commander with the same chance of defeat as Xiao and Cao.
The Han throne’s fortunes had declined, were difficult to restore:
His will was staunch—his life burnt out toiling at martial tasks.
咏怀古迹 之五
诸葛大名垂宇宙，
宗臣遗像肃清高。
三分割据纡筹策，
万古云霄一羽毛。
伯仲之间见伊吕，
指挥若定失萧曹。
运移汉祚终难复，
志决身歼军务劳。
Du Fu finally takes up Zhuge Liang himself—and drops the pretense of thinking about any actual historical site. The bit about the feather is comparing him to a fabulous bird (such as a phoenix) flying high in the heavens. Idiom: scarcely any different is literally “(like) the gap between an oldest brother and a second brother.” To annotate the Inevitable Historical Comparisons: • Yi Yin was a minister who helped the first Shang Dynasty king overthrow the Xia. • Lü Shang was a minister who helped the founders of the Zhou Dynasty overthrow the Shang. • Xiao He and Cao Can were chancellors of the first Han emperor, both of whom, yes, helped him overthrow the Qin Dynasty and win the resulting civil war. Since Liu Bei officially claimed to be continuing, not overthrowing, the Han Dynasty, these comparisons seem a little off-message.
195. Once More Leaving Sixth-Rank Staffer Xue and Eighth-Rank Staffer Liu in Jiangzhou, Liu Changqing
Who would’ve thought? —it’s such a superior decree.
But all I know of the world is study, drink, and song.
Bright moon above the river—a Tartar goose flies through—
Trees scatter south of the Huai—Chu mountains are so many.
I’ll lodge tonight, so fortunate, by an azure isle.
I face my reflection, no help for it, I’ve white hair—how?!
Today’s our ‘dragon time,’ for people age together—
I’m shamed, for you instructed me: ’ware wind and waves.
江州重别薛六柳八二员外
生涯岂料承优诏？
世事空知学醉歌。
江上月明胡雁过，
淮南木落楚山多。
寄身且喜沧洲近，
顾影无如白发何！
今日龙钟人共老，
愧君犹遣慎风波。
Xue and Liu were lower-rank government employees. (All imperial government positions were numerically ranked—9 was the lowest possible—and knowing your relative ranks was Really Important for protocol.) This was written around 758, a couple years after passing the imperial exams, so the author was probably of comparable rank. Jiangzhou is now Jiujiang, Jiangxi, close to what had been the border of the Warring State of Chu. Lost in translation: the decree is “received (in one’s) career,” which signals that its being “superior” is ironic—probably it’s a demotion. Jiangzhou is more than 400 km south of the Huai River, but see #155. An “azure island” is one of the canonical retreats for a hermit in seclusion. A “dragon time” is both one of decrepitude and one of challenge—making this a rare-in-serious-poetry pun. “Wind and waves” is a standard symbol for the hazards of bureaucratic infighting.
196. Passing Jia Yi’s House in Changsha, Liu Changqing
Demoted for three years to this, a long-term ‘perch’—
Through vast ages but a pause, that Chu guest’s sorrow.
Alone in autumn grasses, I seek that person now
Fruitlessly in cold woods—I see the slanting sunset.
Emperor Wen was wise yet his forbearance weak.
Xiang River didn’t care, for how could it know mourning?
Still, so still, this landscape, a place of shaking and falling.
A pity—how did you arrive at heaven’s edge?
长沙过贾谊宅
三年谪宦此栖迟，
万古惟留楚客悲。
秋草独寻人去后，
寒林空见日斜时。
汉文有道恩犹薄，
湘水无情吊岂知？
寂寂江山摇落处，
怜君何事到天涯？
Jia Yi was a writer and statesman of the early Han Dynasty and Liu Changqing, a writer and statesman of the mid Tang Dynasty, also wrote about him in #137. The relevant biofacts: Han Emperor Wen demoted Jia Yi to be Grand Tutor to the child ruler of the client state of Changsha, where he stayed for roughly four years. The Xiang runs through Changsha.
And that gets me halfway through this form. Next installment will be a bunch of random dudes milling about in the valley between Du Fu Plateau and the next major lift, Li Shangyin Range. Not that there aren’t some darn good poems among them, so stay tuned. (Or not, as you will. I know this stuff isn’t to everyone’s taste.)
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
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Date: 25 August 2022 05:22 pm (UTC)I like li, and also the poem.
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Date: 25 August 2022 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 August 2022 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 August 2022 10:06 pm (UTC)IOW, you're just about spot on, except for the crowded bamboo grove.
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Date: 26 August 2022 02:23 am (UTC)I love all these--oh, Du Fu, you are so very . . . you.
Faves: 188, 193, just because of images and resonance.
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Date: 26 August 2022 03:06 pm (UTC)I like those, too.