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larryhammerA “jade terrace” ordinarily means the quarters of an upper-class woman; here, however, it refers to a genre of semi-erotic poetry (also called “palace style” poetry) collected in the mid-6th century anthology New Songs from the Jade Terrace—see here for a couple examples. This is a set of imitations from the late 8th century, one of which I previously translated as 3TP #243. Back when I did that, I’d no idea it was part of a set, and since I liked that poem and was looking for a palate-cleanser of something easier than Du Fu, I pounced. Even though, yes, they’re written by a late Tang poet imitating an outdated Southern Dynasties genre, but as I said, I was looking for easy and different from the restricted contents of 3TP.
(Y’all do realize that 3TP has a deliberately limited range of topics and styles, yes? It is far from a comprehensive anthology, being a textbook following orthodox NeoConfucian precepts of the early Qing Dynasty, a period not noted for its liberalism or tolerance, with a bias towards language simple enough for schoolboys to understand. Eventually, I want to explore the last hundred-odd chapters of Complete Tang Poetry, which collect things like poems by non-royal women, school primers, riddles, proverbs, counting songs, popular rhymes, dreams, ghosts, specters, rebels, and other interesting stuff—I’ve starting dipping into this domain with the poems by ghosts, of which more anon.)
To be explicit, these are semi-erotic poems written by a man from a patriarchal culture, so CW: very male-gaze, even when female POV.
As usual, revised from earlier drafts posted in the other journal, sometimes significantly. These turned out to be *cough* not quite as easy as assumed.
In the “Jade Terrace” Style: Twelve Poems, Quan Deyu
1.
Orioles sing, orchids are very red—
I look outside, east of the Phoenix City.
This “face-paint” perspires in the slanting light,
My fragrant robes caught one by one in the breeze.
A feeling comes before I am aware—
Halting in the shadows: five flowery steeds.
2.
Lovely and graceful, sixteen—proper, tender, and bashful—
We meet by chance at sunset, south side of the street.
“I’d like to ask, when is auspicious?” —But she’s not willing.
Deep in the scattered flowers, face the green pavilion.
3.
Concealed, revealed by a thin silk jacket,
Her delicate jade-like wrist is round.
We meet by chance—though she won’t speak,
A barest smile’s behind her fan.
4.
I know you’re leaving for the far east:
Your coming gives so many worries.
You smile, m’lord, but don’t blame me—
This dainty one can’t help be bashful.
5.
Upstairs, the playing flute trails off.
In the boudoir, embroidery ceases.
Our auspicious time—it cannot come.
At sunset, tears are trickling down.
6.
Tears used up on a coral pillow—
Soul spent upon a tortoiseshell bed—
Fine clothes I cannot bear to wear,
Shamed by embroidered mandarin ducks.
7.
M’lord departed in flower season.
It’s flower season—you don’t arrive.
Before the eaves, paired swallows fly.
This fallen one is pining and weeping.
8.
Empty boudoir, the candle snuffed—
Behind gauze curtains, time to sleep.
Cried out, desires slash her guts.
Her heart knows—that man does not.
9.
The autumn winds come for one night—
Their gusts deplete rear-courtyard flowers.
She can’t endure this time apart—
Her western neighbor: a Song Yu.
10.
The lonely one pulls on a robe.
The moon and dew get still more cold.
Parts curtain—wants to slash her guts—
Dare she go downstairs and look?
11.
Last night, my girdle came untied—
This dawn, a good-luck spider floated.
I can’t discard my white face-paint:
He might, my “chopping block,” return.
12.
Thousands of leagues the traveler’s come—
Boudoir at night, she’s not asleep—
Paired-eyebrows puts the lantern out:
No need to sit before the mirror.
玉台体 十二首
之一
鸾啼兰已红，
见出凤城东。
粉汗宜斜日，
衣香逐上风。
情来不自觉，
暗驻五花骢。
之二
婵娟二八正娇羞，
日暮相逢南陌头。
试问佳期不肯道，
落花深处指青楼。
之三
隐映罗衫薄，
轻盈玉腕圆。
相逢不肯语，
微笑画屏前。
之四
知向辽东去，
由来几许愁。
破颜君莫怪，
娇小不禁羞。
之五
楼上吹箫罢，
闺中刺绣阑。
佳期不可见，
尽日泪潺潺。
之六
泪尽珊瑚枕，
魂销玳瑁床。
罗衣不忍著，
羞见绣鸳鸯。
之七
君去期花时，
花时君不至。
檐前双燕飞，
落妾相思泪。
之八
空闺灭烛后，
罗幌独眠时。
泪尽肠欲断，
心知人不知。
之九
秋风一夜至，
吹尽后庭花。
莫作经时别，
西邻是宋家。
之十
独自披衣坐，
更深月露寒。
隔帘肠欲断，
争敢下阶看。
之十一
昨夜裙带解，
今朝蟢子飞。
铅华不可弃，
莫是槁砧归。
之十二
万里行人至，
深闺夜未眠。
双眉灯下扫，
不待镜台前。
1: A carriage pulled by a five-horse team is a perquisite of a high official, who has stopped to visit this courtesan on the sly at sunset. [Textual note: I’ve accepted the alternate reading 莺 “oriole” instead of my base text’s 鸾 “phoenix” in the first line, partly for realism, partly to avoid wrangling two different types of phoenixes.]
2: An “auspicious time” can be for either a wedding or a tryst—both senses work here—and a “green pavilion” is a brothel (traditionally painted green) or the pleasure quarters in general.
3: Lost in translation: the fan is “painted.”
4: This soldier’s sweetheart is almost certainly a courtesan who’s pertly good at the role of a coy young woman. Alternate reading: it’s his “coming back” from his posting (that is, how long he’ll be away) that worries her.
5: Again, an “auspicious time” can be a wedding day or a tryst—making this either a jilted young miss or an abandoned mistress, you get to decide. This starts a string of “lonely lady” poems.
6: A woman abandoned or cheated on by her man, possibly a husband or sponsor. Traditional pillows were hard head-rests made of wood, porcelain, or even, expensively, coral. Mandarin ducks mate for life and so are traditional symbols of lifelong fidelity.
7: The speaker uses a humble first-person pronoun used by women (妾 qiè, which as a noun means concubine) that I usually translate as “this one.”
8: Lost in translation: she’s “alone” in the bed-curtains. (Thanks tosartorias for especially helpful comments on this one.)
9: The rear courtyard is that of the women’s quarters of a large household. Song Yu was a poet and legendary beautiful man of the Warring State of Chu. Accused by a political rival of lechery (among other high crimes and misdemeanors), he defended himself by claiming the exceedingly attractive neighbor to his east had been eying him for three years, but he’d resisted her. IOW, this woman is wracked with longings for her attractive neighbor.
10: The curtain is specifically one covering a doorway. Presumably she’s heard a noise downstairs and is hoping it’s her man, but several alternate scenarios are possible.
11: A bit of hope for the “lonely lady.” The spider (a type of orb-weaver) is a homonym of happy event, making it a good omen—pointing by association to her girdle/belt coming loose as if undone by her man. The chopping block is the type used in a beheading by axe, and via another homonym was slang for husband.
12: And indeed the lady’s lonely no more. A “paired-eyebrows” is a beautiful woman.
And there you have it—more “lonely lady” poems than not, several of them slight, with occasional wit and only a little actual eroticism. The one picked up for 3TP really was one of the most interesting.
I think I need to translate either more actual Jade Terrace poems or more poems by actual courtesans.
---L..
Index of Chinese translations
Subject quote from Let’s Dance, David Bowie.
(Y’all do realize that 3TP has a deliberately limited range of topics and styles, yes? It is far from a comprehensive anthology, being a textbook following orthodox NeoConfucian precepts of the early Qing Dynasty, a period not noted for its liberalism or tolerance, with a bias towards language simple enough for schoolboys to understand. Eventually, I want to explore the last hundred-odd chapters of Complete Tang Poetry, which collect things like poems by non-royal women, school primers, riddles, proverbs, counting songs, popular rhymes, dreams, ghosts, specters, rebels, and other interesting stuff—I’ve starting dipping into this domain with the poems by ghosts, of which more anon.)
To be explicit, these are semi-erotic poems written by a man from a patriarchal culture, so CW: very male-gaze, even when female POV.
As usual, revised from earlier drafts posted in the other journal, sometimes significantly. These turned out to be *cough* not quite as easy as assumed.
In the “Jade Terrace” Style: Twelve Poems, Quan Deyu
1.
Orioles sing, orchids are very red—
I look outside, east of the Phoenix City.
This “face-paint” perspires in the slanting light,
My fragrant robes caught one by one in the breeze.
A feeling comes before I am aware—
Halting in the shadows: five flowery steeds.
2.
Lovely and graceful, sixteen—proper, tender, and bashful—
We meet by chance at sunset, south side of the street.
“I’d like to ask, when is auspicious?” —But she’s not willing.
Deep in the scattered flowers, face the green pavilion.
3.
Concealed, revealed by a thin silk jacket,
Her delicate jade-like wrist is round.
We meet by chance—though she won’t speak,
A barest smile’s behind her fan.
4.
I know you’re leaving for the far east:
Your coming gives so many worries.
You smile, m’lord, but don’t blame me—
This dainty one can’t help be bashful.
5.
Upstairs, the playing flute trails off.
In the boudoir, embroidery ceases.
Our auspicious time—it cannot come.
At sunset, tears are trickling down.
6.
Tears used up on a coral pillow—
Soul spent upon a tortoiseshell bed—
Fine clothes I cannot bear to wear,
Shamed by embroidered mandarin ducks.
7.
M’lord departed in flower season.
It’s flower season—you don’t arrive.
Before the eaves, paired swallows fly.
This fallen one is pining and weeping.
8.
Empty boudoir, the candle snuffed—
Behind gauze curtains, time to sleep.
Cried out, desires slash her guts.
Her heart knows—that man does not.
9.
The autumn winds come for one night—
Their gusts deplete rear-courtyard flowers.
She can’t endure this time apart—
Her western neighbor: a Song Yu.
10.
The lonely one pulls on a robe.
The moon and dew get still more cold.
Parts curtain—wants to slash her guts—
Dare she go downstairs and look?
11.
Last night, my girdle came untied—
This dawn, a good-luck spider floated.
I can’t discard my white face-paint:
He might, my “chopping block,” return.
12.
Thousands of leagues the traveler’s come—
Boudoir at night, she’s not asleep—
Paired-eyebrows puts the lantern out:
No need to sit before the mirror.
玉台体 十二首
之一
鸾啼兰已红，
见出凤城东。
粉汗宜斜日，
衣香逐上风。
情来不自觉，
暗驻五花骢。
之二
婵娟二八正娇羞，
日暮相逢南陌头。
试问佳期不肯道，
落花深处指青楼。
之三
隐映罗衫薄，
轻盈玉腕圆。
相逢不肯语，
微笑画屏前。
之四
知向辽东去，
由来几许愁。
破颜君莫怪，
娇小不禁羞。
之五
楼上吹箫罢，
闺中刺绣阑。
佳期不可见，
尽日泪潺潺。
之六
泪尽珊瑚枕，
魂销玳瑁床。
罗衣不忍著，
羞见绣鸳鸯。
之七
君去期花时，
花时君不至。
檐前双燕飞，
落妾相思泪。
之八
空闺灭烛后，
罗幌独眠时。
泪尽肠欲断，
心知人不知。
之九
秋风一夜至，
吹尽后庭花。
莫作经时别，
西邻是宋家。
之十
独自披衣坐，
更深月露寒。
隔帘肠欲断，
争敢下阶看。
之十一
昨夜裙带解，
今朝蟢子飞。
铅华不可弃，
莫是槁砧归。
之十二
万里行人至，
深闺夜未眠。
双眉灯下扫，
不待镜台前。
1: A carriage pulled by a five-horse team is a perquisite of a high official, who has stopped to visit this courtesan on the sly at sunset. [Textual note: I’ve accepted the alternate reading 莺 “oriole” instead of my base text’s 鸾 “phoenix” in the first line, partly for realism, partly to avoid wrangling two different types of phoenixes.]
2: An “auspicious time” can be for either a wedding or a tryst—both senses work here—and a “green pavilion” is a brothel (traditionally painted green) or the pleasure quarters in general.
3: Lost in translation: the fan is “painted.”
4: This soldier’s sweetheart is almost certainly a courtesan who’s pertly good at the role of a coy young woman. Alternate reading: it’s his “coming back” from his posting (that is, how long he’ll be away) that worries her.
5: Again, an “auspicious time” can be a wedding day or a tryst—making this either a jilted young miss or an abandoned mistress, you get to decide. This starts a string of “lonely lady” poems.
6: A woman abandoned or cheated on by her man, possibly a husband or sponsor. Traditional pillows were hard head-rests made of wood, porcelain, or even, expensively, coral. Mandarin ducks mate for life and so are traditional symbols of lifelong fidelity.
7: The speaker uses a humble first-person pronoun used by women (妾 qiè, which as a noun means concubine) that I usually translate as “this one.”
8: Lost in translation: she’s “alone” in the bed-curtains. (Thanks to
sartorias for especially helpful comments on this one.)9: The rear courtyard is that of the women’s quarters of a large household. Song Yu was a poet and legendary beautiful man of the Warring State of Chu. Accused by a political rival of lechery (among other high crimes and misdemeanors), he defended himself by claiming the exceedingly attractive neighbor to his east had been eying him for three years, but he’d resisted her. IOW, this woman is wracked with longings for her attractive neighbor.
10: The curtain is specifically one covering a doorway. Presumably she’s heard a noise downstairs and is hoping it’s her man, but several alternate scenarios are possible.
11: A bit of hope for the “lonely lady.” The spider (a type of orb-weaver) is a homonym of happy event, making it a good omen—pointing by association to her girdle/belt coming loose as if undone by her man. The chopping block is the type used in a beheading by axe, and via another homonym was slang for husband.
12: And indeed the lady’s lonely no more. A “paired-eyebrows” is a beautiful woman.
And there you have it—more “lonely lady” poems than not, several of them slight, with occasional wit and only a little actual eroticism. The one picked up for 3TP really was one of the most interesting.
I think I need to translate either more actual Jade Terrace poems or more poems by actual courtesans.
---L..
Index of Chinese translations
Subject quote from Let’s Dance, David Bowie.
no subject
Date: 21 September 2022 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 21 September 2022 05:47 pm (UTC)It was a fun challenge, even with all the weepies.
no subject
Date: 21 September 2022 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 21 September 2022 09:46 pm (UTC)Yeah -- I like that detail. It conveys a lot.