Thirteen poems by Chinese ghosts
5 October 2022 08:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
larryhammerChapters 865 and 866 of the massive Complete Tang Poems contain poems ascribed to 鬼 (guǐ), spirits of the dead. I am of course interested in reading poetry by ghosts—who wouldn’t be?—so I picked a baker’s dozen at random to translate, based on attributions that looked interesting. For bonus folkloric goodness, most of them have editorial headnotes with context, though I had to snaffle those from an alternate source as my otherwise cleaner base text (linked above) omits them.
The order below is random because, well, picked at random. Usually I silently transcribe the author’s name, but since this time I had to translate many ascriptions (作者), I include those with the originals. Texts are revised from rougher drafts posted here.
I honestly do not have the background to do some of these justice, but I translated them anyway because that’s how to get the experience—and besides, poems by ghosts. Including one “thrown at” a general by a suit of armor, and another written in blood in an official’s entrance hall. Srsly, people!
Poem of Hidden Resentment, A Woman of Anyi Lane
I now divine above the gorge it’s sunny—
This autumn river, wind and waves are many.
Alone in Baling on a rainy night,
A slash in the gut, hearing Mulan’s song.
幽恨诗
作者：安邑坊女
〈上都安邑坊陆氏宅，人常谓为凶宅。有进士臧夏，僦居其中。昼寝，忽梦魇，见一女人，绿裙红袖，弱质纤腰，如雾濛花，收泪而云：“听妾一篇幽恨之句。”良久方寤。〉
卜得上峡日，
秋江风浪多。
巴陵一夜雨，
肠断木兰歌。
Evidence that Mulan has represented freedom for women for a lonnng time. Apparently dream visitations were considered haints, even when the visitor isn’t clearly dead (this poem is also from this collection). Advanced Scholar is a title for someone who passed the triennial imperial exams. Anyi Lane was in Baling, now part of Yueyang, Hunan, and the woman is described as a wealthy man’s wife or concubine, who would have spent most of her adult life sequestered in her husband’s house. Idiom kept literal: slash (my) gut can often be treated as an idiom for “break (my) heart”; I have so far always rendered this literally because vivid and a cultural detail, but I may change my mind with further experience.
Revealed to Song Shanwei, Ghost of an Unnamed Woman
Moon’s setting through three trunks of trees,
Sun’s shining in the ninefold sky.
The worthy’s nighttime banquet ends:
His brief distinction’s paid with years.
示宋善威
作者：无名女鬼
月落三株树，
日映九重天。
良夜欢宴罢，
暂别庚申年。
Song Shanwei was from Hengshui, southern Hebei, and at one point was the military intendent of a nearby county. His military exploits made it into one of the chronicles and he died in 720. This appears to be necromancy in the strict definition of having the dead foretell the future—the brief bio of Song I found calls this a 谶 (chèn), “prophecy/omen.” That last line is, like many oracles, not easy to grasp, but seems to be a hint that bright candles burn briefly and his time is coming.
For your amusement, calligraphy of the last two lines. (This is a fun site—try pasting a line from any of these ghost poems into the box at the top.)
A Poem Thrown at Martial Duke Pei, An Armored Ghost
We whipped and whipped lean horses through the jumbled mountain ranges.
The gathered mists reflected sunlight—daytime looked like evening.
We drove the long bridge, through the narrow pass to heavenly Han—
The perilous mountain plankway passed through lofty cloud-touching peaks.
But we recall Huaiyin—your futile “fitting stratagem.”
Again we sigh, us loyal troops, not worthy of being heard.
We rose and fell, expended on front lines, countless lives,
So don’t you boast! —the heroes here are your courageous soldiers.
掷裴武公诗
作者：介胄鬼
〈开元末，裴武公军夜宿。武公帐前，见一介胄者，掷一纸书而去。武公取视，乃四韵诗。大不悦，纸随手落为烬，信知鬼物所制也。出师大不利，武公射中臆下，病月馀薨。〉
屡策羸骖历乱峋，
丛岚映日昼如曛。
长桥驾险浮天汉，
危栈通岐触岫云。
却念淮阴空得计，
又嗟忠武不堪闻。
废兴尽系前生数，
休衒英雄勇冠军。
This ghost writes with a more literary style than I’d expect from a typical conscript, but I don’t care. Brill telling-off. (FWIW, Huaiyin is in the coastal province of Jiangsu—they’ve marched long distances.)
Continuing Jiao of Zheng’s Verses, A Barrow Person
Jiao of Zheng:
Upon the tomb, two bamboo poles—
Wind blows them graceful, ever graceful.
Barrow Person:
Beneath lay one for a hundred years—
Through my long sleep, I was unaware.
续郑郊吟
作者：冢中人
〈郊，河北人。下第游陈蔡间，过一冢，上有竹二竿，青翠可爱，因吟诗二句，久不能续。忽闻冢中续此，郊惊问之，不复言矣。〉
冢上两竿竹，
风吹常袅袅。（郑郊）
下有百年人，
长眠不知晓。（冢中人）
Zheng was a Warring State of central Henan, used generically for the region around what’s now Zhengzhou, while Chen and Cai were two neighboring Warring States/regions in southern Henan. Provincial Scholar is the (not literally translated) title for someone who passed the middle-level exams for officials (as opposed to the higher-level imperial exams of an Advanced Scholar, or the lower county-level exams).
Autumn Night Verses, (Two) Ghosts in Chang’an
Verse:
The Sixth Street drums have ceased, pedestrians are gone—
Ninth Avenue’s so wide, and moonlight fills the space.
Response:
The living of Ninth Avenue—why are they busy?
Within the ground of Chang’an, scholar-trees root well!
秋夜吟
作者：长安中鬼
〈长安秋夜，有人闻鬼吟，又有和者，相传务本门是鬼市，或风雨晦冥，皆闻其諠聚之声焉。〉
六街鼓歇行人绝，
九衢茫茫室有月。（吟）
九衢生人何劳劳，
长安土尽槐根高。（和）
Without the headnote, I originally understood the “response” as a telling-off by the living. Context helps. So. Much. —As does knowing that scholar-trees were sometimes planted as gravemarkers, especially at Buddhist temples, so the last line is essentially saying, “Don’t the living know they’re all gonna die anyway?” Ghost Market is an alternate name for a Night Market, which are still held in many Chinese cities (Beijing’s was fun to visit). The capital of Chang’an was a planned city square-gridded with broad principal streets, which were (aside from the central boulevards) numbered in both directions. Large drums were used to toll the hours and give warnings.
Inscribed on a Wall, (Two) Ghosts in Chongsheng Temple
[Crimson Robe:]
The festival where smoke is banned—together we travel here:
We raise up cups of twice-brewed wine between the fragrant banks.
The distant chief of the events of these ten years preceding,—
Sing out on the anxiety for his chaotic scenes.
[Purple Robe:]
Whip your horse and seek for now the start of the upper street:
The scattered blooms and scented grasses still are as before.
Families broken, nation ruined—it’s a one-time dream.
I’m melancholy once again, meeting Cold Food Day.
题壁
作者：崇圣寺鬼
〈汉州崇圣寺，寒食日，忽有朱衣一人，紫衣一人，驱殿仆马极盛，各题一绝句于壁而去，失其所在。〉
禁烟佳节同游此，
正值酴醿夹岸香。
缅首十年前往事，
强吟风景乱愁肠。 [朱衣]
策马暂寻原上路，
落花芳草尚依然。
家亡国破一场梦，
惆怅又逢寒食天。 [紫衣]
Hanzhou is part of modern Guanghan, northern Sichuan, but I’ve not found a modern reference to its Chongsheng (“venerating the sacred”) Temple. Cold Food Day aka Qingming is a solar calendar holiday (15 days after the spring equinox, so ~5 April) for honoring one’s dead ancestors—today, it’s often called Tomb-Sweeping Day—during which all cooking fires were extinguished and meals eaten unheated. The circumstances alluded to remain elusive to me, but there was a lot of unrest in the second half of the Tang Dynasty. Idiom: anxiety is “anxious guts.”
A Round-Dance, (Two) Ghosts in the River
The river water’s muddy, muddy—
The mountain top grows buckwheat, barley.
Both the beard and grandchild come to the gate beneath—
The master’s brother’s wife is certainly one in a hundred.
踏歌
作者：河中鬼
〈长庆中，有人于河中舜城苑鹳鹊楼下，见二鬼，各长三丈许，青衫白裤，连臂踏歌，歌竟而没。〉
河水流溷溷，
山头种荞麦。
两个胡孙门底来，
东家阿嫂决一百。
In a round-dance, the dancers linked arms and sang while stamping feet to the rhythm. Guanque (“crane magpie”) Tower overlooks the Yellow River to the west of what’s now Yongji, southwestern Shanxi. I’m startled by 10m tall ghosts—all the others so far seem to have been human-sized. Even more surprising, while I fully expected the third line, given the genre, that fourth line went someplace else entirely. The sister-in-law is specifically an older brother’s wife, and the master could be an employer or landlord. I love the specificity of when this happened but not to whom.
A Verse and Another Verse, A Ghost on a Fuchun Sandbar
I fell in the river—thirty years
The tides have struck my rotting corpse.
My family members all don’t know—
Where are wine cups poured for me?
Do not ask for my full name—
To you those words would be in vain.
Tide bears the sand, my bones are cold—
This soul is sad in the autumn winds.
吟
作者：富春沙际鬼
〈吴越时，有人夜泊于富春间月色澹然，见一人于沙际吟此。〉
陊江三十年，
潮打形骸朽。
家人都不知，
何处奠杯酒。
又吟
〈舟人问曰：“君是谁，可示姓名否？”又吟此诗。〉
莫问我姓名，
向君言亦空。
潮生沙骨冷，
魂魄悲秋风。
The Wuyue kingdom encompassing Zhejiang and southern Jiangsu was founded during the formal end of the Tang Dynasty in 907 and was a major regional power through the Five Dynasties period until it surrendered to Song Dynasty forces in 978. (So why’s this in a collection of Complete Tang Poems? Well it turns out, and this hadn’t come up before, CTP also covers the Five Dynasties up until the Song was founded in 760.) The Fuchun River is in Zhejiang. The wine is specifically a libation to the dead.
Poem of Shameful Decline, A Ghost on a River-Bank
I started as a gentleman of Handan.
As just a servant, I died on this river-bank.
I cannot have a household weep for me:
I’ll trouble you to travel on in sorrow.
愧谢诗
作者：河湄鬼
〈开元六年，有人泊舟于河湄者，见岸边枯骨，因投食而与之，俄闻空中愧谢，并赠此诗。〉
我本邯郸士，
祇役死河湄。
不得家人哭，
劳君行路悲。
Handan is now in southern Hebei.
Verses at Night in Wuyuan, A Woman in the Desert
My cloud-hair gone completely—shifting aster seeds are scarce—
My bones are buried in an unknown place amid the waste.
The herds of horses do not neigh, the moon is white on the sands—
A lonely soul—wild geese are flying southward one by one.
五原夜吟
作者：沙碛女子
〈进士赵合，太和初游五原，夜卧沙碛中，闻沙中女子悲吟。起问之，自陈姓李，家奉天城南小李村，往省姊，道遭党羌挝杀于此，今已三年，倘能归骨，必有以报。合如言收骨，携至奉天，访得小李村，葬之。明日，见此女来谢曰：“吾大父有《演参同契》，《续混元经》，子能穷之，龙虎之丹，不日成矣。”合受之，女子已没，合遂究其玄微，得度世。〉
云鬟消尽转蓬稀，
埋骨穷荒失所依。
牧马不嘶沙月白，
孤魂空逐雁南飞。
Wuyuan (“five springs”) is a common place name, especially in the northern steppes/deserts, the Zhao region named after the Warring State corresponds to eastern Inner Mongolia and northern Shanxi and Hebei, and Shenyang is in modern Liaoning. The Danxiang were the Tangut branch of the Qiang peoples, now mostly living in southeast Gansu and north Sichuan, but who historically ranged wider. I did not expect that swerve into Doaist alchemy—the first book named appears to be an alternate title for this one. Cinnabar was, of course, a common alchemical ingredient. Note, btw, that in several places of the headnote, “He” is not the pronoun but the man’s surname.
As for the ghost’s song, the aster seeds are the puffy wind-blown sort.
Three Poems, The Ghost of a Stone Wall in Huqiu
Two Poems
1.
In the tall pines, so many sad winds:
Soughing, soughing, clear and mournful.
South mountain shows the secret grave—
The secret grave, an empty cairn.
In vain the white sun’s bright, so bright—
It cannot shine in my long night:
Although I know the living are happy,
My spirit, how can it return?
I think of where my family is,
Their grief that tears their hearts and livers.
Their grief—what more is there to say?
Oh woe! and then again, Oh woe!
2.
Immortal Daoists can’t learn this:
Bodies empty their roaming spirits.
The white sunlight is not my dawn,
The green pine is my gate beneath.
Return, still secret and shown stay parted—
I think of children and grandchildren.
How to dispel this sad regret?
The myriad creatures go to their roots.
Pass on these words to those on earth:
Do not reject the “fragrant goblet”;
As Zhuangzi asked the skeleton,
The three joys will become false words.
Poem Found on the Stones after the Ceremony
Though secret and seen have different roads,
The past once censured and shamed my writing.
To know my hidden house of darkness:
North of the mountain, two lone graves.
作者：虎丘石壁鬼
〈大历十三年，李道昌为苏州观察使。一日，郡城外虎丘山有鬼题诗二首，隐于石壁之上。道昌异其事，奏闻于朝，准敕令致祭。道昌为文，其略云：“万古丘陵，化无再出。君若何人，能闲诗笔。桃源三月，深草垂杨。黄莺百啭，猿声断肠。声悲怨兮泪沾巾，愿当生兮事明君。”祭后数日，再有一诗见于石。后于寺山之地，果有二坟，极高大，荆榛丛茂。询诸耆艾，竟不知何姓氏，至今犹存。〉
诗二首
其一
高松多悲风，
萧萧清且哀。
南山接幽垄，
幽垄空崔嵬。
白日徒昭昭，
不照长夜台。
虽知生者乐，
魂魄安能回。
况复念所亲，
恸哭心肝摧。
恸哭更何言，
哀哉复哀哉。
其二
神仙不可学，
形化空游魂。
白日非我朝，
青松为我门。
虽复隔幽显，
犹知念子孙。
何以遣悲惋，
万物归其根。
寄语世上人，
莫厌临芳尊。
庄生问枯骨，
三乐成虚言。
祭后见石上诗
幽明虽异路，
平昔忝攻文。
欲知潜昧处，
山北两孤坟。
〈《通幽录》云：大历初，寺僧夜见二白衣人上楼，竟不下，寻之，无所见。明日，有诗三首。第一首，幽明虽异路云云。其二，处幽子示幽独君，高松多悲风云云。其三，幽独君答，神仙不可学云云。松陵集以幽明虽异路，高松多悲风二首，为幽独君诗，神仙不可学为荅诗，与《纪事》互异〉
There’s like an entire novel here, or at least a novella—one that I hope answers the question of who is in the second grave. Huqiu (“tiger hill”), a little northwest of old-town Suzhou, Jiangsu, has housed Buddhist temples since the 4th century. The headnote implies the stone wall (which is the type used in buildings, not around cities—those are different words) is part of the temple complex—the endnote’s alternate account is more clear about it, but I dunno how canonical that is. For Peach-Blossom Spring, see 3TP #78.
I’m struck by how, even though the poems display the author has learning, their style is relatively plain, even spare (compare the censor’s memorial to the emperor). Their one obscure part: the “fragrant goblet” is a libation of wine for the dead—that line’s basically saying don’t fear the Reaper. Regarding the three collections mentioned in the endnote, I got nothing. The Records of Spirit Communications is mentioned a couple times in this chapter, suggesting it is, as the title implies, a collection of ghost stories. I love the endnote’s tone of editorial exasperation, though.
Poem, Ghost in Tian Dacheng’s Home
Naturally, you should grant I am a spirit expert—
And, too, that the affairs of mortals aren’t the same.
Seek to learn my house, and also my full name:
In all the world, the southern chief is one part red.
诗
作者：田达诚宅鬼
〈庐陵贾人田达诚，治第新城，有鬼自言：居龙泉舍，欲修葺，借达诚厅事暂住，又借其后堂为子婚樟树神女。鬼善诗，达诚具酒，置纸笔，须臾，酒尽诗成，凡数十篇，笔作柳体。或问其姓字，不言，赋诗寄言，众亦不谕，后岁馀，辞谢去。〉
天然与我一灵通，
还与人间事不同。
要识吾家真姓字，
天地南头一段红。
I did warn y’all, I don’t really have the background to do justice to some of these ghost poems. So many questions, and that the prose headnote is either disjointed or especially compacted Does Not Help. (What’s with the poem—is it somehow related to the wedding? Why send it and to whom? Who left after a year? What the heck?) I’ve found mentions of a longer telling of this story with somewhat different details, and without the poem, which also Does Not Help.
Luling is in modern Jizhou, Jiangxi. “Liu style” is in the style of famed Tang calligrapher Liu Gongquan. In the five phases (aka five elements) system, red is the color of the south. That said, the point of the poem’s last line whooshes so far over my head (could it be a riddle?), I’m not sure I’m even reading it correctly.
Poem Written in Blood, Ghost in Ren Yansi’s House
All things change, becoming different—
This me here, they do not notice.
Fare thee well now, Ren Yansi:
We part today—I’m already gone.
血书诗
作者：任彦思家鬼
〈蜀昌州牧任彦思家有鬼，空中奏乐，索食，食之无遗，凡七八年。一日不闻乐声，置食无所飨，厅舍栿上血书一诗，彦思以刀刬之字已入木。〉
物类易迁变，
我行人不见。
珍重任彦思，
相别日已远。
And remember, always feed yourbrownie spirit entertainer or it’ll leave in a snit.
A poem written on a wall in blood, folks. This stuff is the best.
Even so, that’s quite enough for one installment. There will be more, as I’ve started working through the rest of the collection in order. Plus there’s bunches of other interesting stuff in the last 100 chapters of CTP to sample, such as the nine! whole! chapters! of poems by women who aren’t royals, and a chapter of poems by specters (怪, who apparently are different from ghosts? —something to find out).
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
The order below is random because, well, picked at random. Usually I silently transcribe the author’s name, but since this time I had to translate many ascriptions (作者), I include those with the originals. Texts are revised from rougher drafts posted here.
I honestly do not have the background to do some of these justice, but I translated them anyway because that’s how to get the experience—and besides, poems by ghosts. Including one “thrown at” a general by a suit of armor, and another written in blood in an official’s entrance hall. Srsly, people!
Poem of Hidden Resentment, A Woman of Anyi Lane
In Upper Dou’an neighborhood was the Lu family’s house, which people commonly called Wicked House. Advanced Scholar Zang Xia rented lodgings there. While sleeping during the day, he had a sudden nightmare in which he saw a married woman in a green skirt and red sleeves with dainty carriage and graceful waist, like a flower in the mist, who cried many tears and said, “Hear this one’s lines of Hidden Resentment.” A long time later, he woke up.
I now divine above the gorge it’s sunny—
This autumn river, wind and waves are many.
Alone in Baling on a rainy night,
A slash in the gut, hearing Mulan’s song.
幽恨诗
作者：安邑坊女
〈上都安邑坊陆氏宅，人常谓为凶宅。有进士臧夏，僦居其中。昼寝，忽梦魇，见一女人，绿裙红袖，弱质纤腰，如雾濛花，收泪而云：“听妾一篇幽恨之句。”良久方寤。〉
卜得上峡日，
秋江风浪多。
巴陵一夜雨，
肠断木兰歌。
Evidence that Mulan has represented freedom for women for a lonnng time. Apparently dream visitations were considered haints, even when the visitor isn’t clearly dead (this poem is also from this collection). Advanced Scholar is a title for someone who passed the triennial imperial exams. Anyi Lane was in Baling, now part of Yueyang, Hunan, and the woman is described as a wealthy man’s wife or concubine, who would have spent most of her adult life sequestered in her husband’s house. Idiom kept literal: slash (my) gut can often be treated as an idiom for “break (my) heart”; I have so far always rendered this literally because vivid and a cultural detail, but I may change my mind with further experience.
Revealed to Song Shanwei, Ghost of an Unnamed Woman
Moon’s setting through three trunks of trees,
Sun’s shining in the ninefold sky.
The worthy’s nighttime banquet ends:
His brief distinction’s paid with years.
示宋善威
作者：无名女鬼
月落三株树，
日映九重天。
良夜欢宴罢，
暂别庚申年。
Song Shanwei was from Hengshui, southern Hebei, and at one point was the military intendent of a nearby county. His military exploits made it into one of the chronicles and he died in 720. This appears to be necromancy in the strict definition of having the dead foretell the future—the brief bio of Song I found calls this a 谶 (chèn), “prophecy/omen.” That last line is, like many oracles, not easy to grasp, but seems to be a hint that bright candles burn briefly and his time is coming.
For your amusement, calligraphy of the last two lines. (This is a fun site—try pasting a line from any of these ghost poems into the box at the top.)
A Poem Thrown at Martial Duke Pei, An Armored Ghost
In 741, the army of Martial Duke Pei had stopped for the night. In front of his tent, the martial duke saw an armored figure, who threw him a single sheet of paper and left. The martial duke took it and saw it was merely a four-couplet poem. Greatly displeased, he immediately dropped the paper (into the fire) to become ashes, knowing full well that it was by a ghost. When he sent out his troops, (the battle) went unfavorably and the martial duke was shot under the breast, and after a little more than a month he succumbed to his injury.
We whipped and whipped lean horses through the jumbled mountain ranges.
The gathered mists reflected sunlight—daytime looked like evening.
We drove the long bridge, through the narrow pass to heavenly Han—
The perilous mountain plankway passed through lofty cloud-touching peaks.
But we recall Huaiyin—your futile “fitting stratagem.”
Again we sigh, us loyal troops, not worthy of being heard.
We rose and fell, expended on front lines, countless lives,
So don’t you boast! —the heroes here are your courageous soldiers.
掷裴武公诗
作者：介胄鬼
〈开元末，裴武公军夜宿。武公帐前，见一介胄者，掷一纸书而去。武公取视，乃四韵诗。大不悦，纸随手落为烬，信知鬼物所制也。出师大不利，武公射中臆下，病月馀薨。〉
屡策羸骖历乱峋，
丛岚映日昼如曛。
长桥驾险浮天汉，
危栈通岐触岫云。
却念淮阴空得计，
又嗟忠武不堪闻。
废兴尽系前生数，
休衒英雄勇冠军。
This ghost writes with a more literary style than I’d expect from a typical conscript, but I don’t care. Brill telling-off. (FWIW, Huaiyin is in the coastal province of Jiangsu—they’ve marched long distances.)
Continuing Jiao of Zheng’s Verses, A Barrow Person
Jiao was a Provincial Scholar from north of the river. While traveling between Chen and Cai, he passed a burial mound upon which were two bamboo poles, bright green and lovely, and he recited two lines of a poem but was not able to complete it. Suddenly he heard from within the barrow this continuation. Jiao was frightened and asked who it was, but it didn’t speak again.
Jiao of Zheng:
Upon the tomb, two bamboo poles—
Wind blows them graceful, ever graceful.
Barrow Person:
Beneath lay one for a hundred years—
Through my long sleep, I was unaware.
续郑郊吟
作者：冢中人
〈郊，河北人。下第游陈蔡间，过一冢，上有竹二竿，青翠可爱，因吟诗二句，久不能续。忽闻冢中续此，郊惊问之，不复言矣。〉
冢上两竿竹，
风吹常袅袅。（郑郊）
下有百年人，
长眠不知晓。（冢中人）
Zheng was a Warring State of central Henan, used generically for the region around what’s now Zhengzhou, while Chen and Cai were two neighboring Warring States/regions in southern Henan. Provincial Scholar is the (not literally translated) title for someone who passed the middle-level exams for officials (as opposed to the higher-level imperial exams of an Advanced Scholar, or the lower county-level exams).
Autumn Night Verses, (Two) Ghosts in Chang’an
On an autumn night in Chang’an, people heard a ghost chant a verse, after which there was a response. This has been passed down as the origin of the Ghost Market, as perhaps in the darkness of the wind and rain, everyone heard the noise and congregated towards the sound.
Verse:
The Sixth Street drums have ceased, pedestrians are gone—
Ninth Avenue’s so wide, and moonlight fills the space.
Response:
The living of Ninth Avenue—why are they busy?
Within the ground of Chang’an, scholar-trees root well!
秋夜吟
作者：长安中鬼
〈长安秋夜，有人闻鬼吟，又有和者，相传务本门是鬼市，或风雨晦冥，皆闻其諠聚之声焉。〉
六街鼓歇行人绝，
九衢茫茫室有月。（吟）
九衢生人何劳劳，
长安土尽槐根高。（和）
Without the headnote, I originally understood the “response” as a telling-off by the living. Context helps. So. Much. —As does knowing that scholar-trees were sometimes planted as gravemarkers, especially at Buddhist temples, so the last line is essentially saying, “Don’t the living know they’re all gonna die anyway?” Ghost Market is an alternate name for a Night Market, which are still held in many Chinese cities (Beijing’s was fun to visit). The capital of Chang’an was a planned city square-gridded with broad principal streets, which were (aside from the central boulevards) numbered in both directions. Large drums were used to toll the hours and give warnings.
Inscribed on a Wall, (Two) Ghosts in Chongsheng Temple
In Chongsheng Temple in Hanzhou, on Cold Food Day, there suddenly appeared a person in crimson robes and another in purple robes, shoving and striking a horse-groom before them with great vigor. Each inscribed a quatrain on the wall and departed, losing their existence.
[Crimson Robe:]
The festival where smoke is banned—together we travel here:
We raise up cups of twice-brewed wine between the fragrant banks.
The distant chief of the events of these ten years preceding,—
Sing out on the anxiety for his chaotic scenes.
[Purple Robe:]
Whip your horse and seek for now the start of the upper street:
The scattered blooms and scented grasses still are as before.
Families broken, nation ruined—it’s a one-time dream.
I’m melancholy once again, meeting Cold Food Day.
题壁
作者：崇圣寺鬼
〈汉州崇圣寺，寒食日，忽有朱衣一人，紫衣一人，驱殿仆马极盛，各题一绝句于壁而去，失其所在。〉
禁烟佳节同游此，
正值酴醿夹岸香。
缅首十年前往事，
强吟风景乱愁肠。 [朱衣]
策马暂寻原上路，
落花芳草尚依然。
家亡国破一场梦，
惆怅又逢寒食天。 [紫衣]
Hanzhou is part of modern Guanghan, northern Sichuan, but I’ve not found a modern reference to its Chongsheng (“venerating the sacred”) Temple. Cold Food Day aka Qingming is a solar calendar holiday (15 days after the spring equinox, so ~5 April) for honoring one’s dead ancestors—today, it’s often called Tomb-Sweeping Day—during which all cooking fires were extinguished and meals eaten unheated. The circumstances alluded to remain elusive to me, but there was a lot of unrest in the second half of the Tang Dynasty. Idiom: anxiety is “anxious guts.”
A Round-Dance, (Two) Ghosts in the River
In 822 or 823, a person on the river beneath Guanque Tower in Shuncheng Park saw two ghosts, each perhaps 10 meters high and wearing the blue jackets and white pants (of a scholar), who linked arms and did a round-dance. The song stopped unexpectedly.
The river water’s muddy, muddy—
The mountain top grows buckwheat, barley.
Both the beard and grandchild come to the gate beneath—
The master’s brother’s wife is certainly one in a hundred.
踏歌
作者：河中鬼
〈长庆中，有人于河中舜城苑鹳鹊楼下，见二鬼，各长三丈许，青衫白裤，连臂踏歌，歌竟而没。〉
河水流溷溷，
山头种荞麦。
两个胡孙门底来，
东家阿嫂决一百。
In a round-dance, the dancers linked arms and sang while stamping feet to the rhythm. Guanque (“crane magpie”) Tower overlooks the Yellow River to the west of what’s now Yongji, southwestern Shanxi. I’m startled by 10m tall ghosts—all the others so far seem to have been human-sized. Even more surprising, while I fully expected the third line, given the genre, that fourth line went someplace else entirely. The sister-in-law is specifically an older brother’s wife, and the master could be an employer or landlord. I love the specificity of when this happened but not to whom.
A Verse and Another Verse, A Ghost on a Fuchun Sandbar
During the Wuyue Kingdom, a man moored for the night on the Fuchun River in a place where the moonlight was tranquil. He noticed a person on a sandbar, who recited this:
I fell in the river—thirty years
The tides have struck my rotting corpse.
My family members all don’t know—
Where are wine cups poured for me?
The man from the boat asked, “You are who—might you not reveal your full name?” It further recited this poem:
Do not ask for my full name—
To you those words would be in vain.
Tide bears the sand, my bones are cold—
This soul is sad in the autumn winds.
吟
作者：富春沙际鬼
〈吴越时，有人夜泊于富春间月色澹然，见一人于沙际吟此。〉
陊江三十年，
潮打形骸朽。
家人都不知，
何处奠杯酒。
又吟
〈舟人问曰：“君是谁，可示姓名否？”又吟此诗。〉
莫问我姓名，
向君言亦空。
潮生沙骨冷，
魂魄悲秋风。
The Wuyue kingdom encompassing Zhejiang and southern Jiangsu was founded during the formal end of the Tang Dynasty in 907 and was a major regional power through the Five Dynasties period until it surrendered to Song Dynasty forces in 978. (So why’s this in a collection of Complete Tang Poems? Well it turns out, and this hadn’t come up before, CTP also covers the Five Dynasties up until the Song was founded in 760.) The Fuchun River is in Zhejiang. The wine is specifically a libation to the dead.
Poem of Shameful Decline, A Ghost on a River-Bank
In 718, a person mooring his boat by a river-bank saw dried-up bones on the shore, and as he started to eat next to them, suddenly he heard from the air, “Shameful decline,” and then was presented with this poem.
I started as a gentleman of Handan.
As just a servant, I died on this river-bank.
I cannot have a household weep for me:
I’ll trouble you to travel on in sorrow.
愧谢诗
作者：河湄鬼
〈开元六年，有人泊舟于河湄者，见岸边枯骨，因投食而与之，俄闻空中愧谢，并赠此诗。〉
我本邯郸士，
祇役死河湄。
不得家人哭，
劳君行路悲。
Handan is now in southern Hebei.
Verses at Night in Wuyuan, A Woman in the Desert
Advanced Scholar He of Zhao was traveling to Wuyuan in 827. While sleeping at night in the middle of the desert, he heard a woman within the sands reciting sadly. When he got up and asked her, she declared that her surname was Li, her family was from Xiaoli Village south of Shenyang, and while traveling to visit her older sister, she encountered some Danxiang Qiang people who killed her, it was three years ago already, and might he be able to return her bones to home—surely that was reasonable. He collected her bones as she said and carried them to Shenyang, where he sought out Xiaoli Village to bury her. Seeing this woman returned, they thanked him saying, “Our grandfather had The Kinship of the Three, per the ‘Changes’ and The Classic of Replenishing Primordial Chaos—his heirs could certainly obtain the cinnabar of immortals in just a few days.” He accepted this (since) the woman was already gone, and (later) He succeeded in investigating the deep mysteries of the laws of the world.
My cloud-hair gone completely—shifting aster seeds are scarce—
My bones are buried in an unknown place amid the waste.
The herds of horses do not neigh, the moon is white on the sands—
A lonely soul—wild geese are flying southward one by one.
五原夜吟
作者：沙碛女子
〈进士赵合，太和初游五原，夜卧沙碛中，闻沙中女子悲吟。起问之，自陈姓李，家奉天城南小李村，往省姊，道遭党羌挝杀于此，今已三年，倘能归骨，必有以报。合如言收骨，携至奉天，访得小李村，葬之。明日，见此女来谢曰：“吾大父有《演参同契》，《续混元经》，子能穷之，龙虎之丹，不日成矣。”合受之，女子已没，合遂究其玄微，得度世。〉
云鬟消尽转蓬稀，
埋骨穷荒失所依。
牧马不嘶沙月白，
孤魂空逐雁南飞。
Wuyuan (“five springs”) is a common place name, especially in the northern steppes/deserts, the Zhao region named after the Warring State corresponds to eastern Inner Mongolia and northern Shanxi and Hebei, and Shenyang is in modern Liaoning. The Danxiang were the Tangut branch of the Qiang peoples, now mostly living in southeast Gansu and north Sichuan, but who historically ranged wider. I did not expect that swerve into Doaist alchemy—the first book named appears to be an alternate title for this one. Cinnabar was, of course, a common alchemical ingredient. Note, btw, that in several places of the headnote, “He” is not the pronoun but the man’s surname.
As for the ghost’s song, the aster seeds are the puffy wind-blown sort.
Three Poems, The Ghost of a Stone Wall in Huqiu
In 778, Li Daochang was Provincial Censor in Suzhou. One day, on Mt. Huqiu outside the city walls, a certain ghost inscribed two poems on a stone wall, hidden in the upper-part. As usual for such an incident, Daochang sent a memorial to the court, asking for an imperial edict ordering a memorial ceremony. In summary, Daochang wrote: “For ten thousand ages the continuous hills didn’t alter to form another exit (from the grave?). Monarch, what kind of person might in his leisure brush such a poem? Three months of Peach-Blossom Spring, deep grasses and hanging willows. The yellow orioles, hundreds of warblings—the voices of apes sever the guts. The sound of sorrowing resentment, ah!—tears soak my headscarf. The hopes for those among the living, ah!—they engage the wise monarch.” Several days after the memorial ceremony, another poem appeared on the stones. Afterwards, on the grounds of the hill temple, (they found) there were indeed two graves, extremely lofty, with thickets dense and lush. They asked all the old men, but surprisingly they didn’t know what family (the ghost was from) or (whether) it still existed.
Two Poems
1.
In the tall pines, so many sad winds:
Soughing, soughing, clear and mournful.
South mountain shows the secret grave—
The secret grave, an empty cairn.
In vain the white sun’s bright, so bright—
It cannot shine in my long night:
Although I know the living are happy,
My spirit, how can it return?
I think of where my family is,
Their grief that tears their hearts and livers.
Their grief—what more is there to say?
Oh woe! and then again, Oh woe!
2.
Immortal Daoists can’t learn this:
Bodies empty their roaming spirits.
The white sunlight is not my dawn,
The green pine is my gate beneath.
Return, still secret and shown stay parted—
I think of children and grandchildren.
How to dispel this sad regret?
The myriad creatures go to their roots.
Pass on these words to those on earth:
Do not reject the “fragrant goblet”;
As Zhuangzi asked the skeleton,
The three joys will become false words.
Poem Found on the Stones after the Ceremony
Though secret and seen have different roads,
The past once censured and shamed my writing.
To know my hidden house of darkness:
North of the mountain, two lone graves.
Records of Spirit Communications says: “In 766, a Buddhist monk saw at night two people in white clothing go upstairs, but they unexpectedly didn’t come down. He searched but found them nowhere. The next day, there were three poems, the first poem being ‘Though secret and seen have different roads’ and so on, the second ‘Where the Secret Child (is) Reveals the Secret Solitary Gentleman: In the tall pines, so many sad winds’ and so on, and the third ‘The Secret Solitary Gentleman’s Reply: Immortal Daoists can’t learn this’ and so on.” The Song Ling Collection has the two poems “Though secret and seen have different roads” and “In the tall pines, so many sad winds” as “Poems of the Secret Solitary Gentleman,” and the Chronicles is also different.
作者：虎丘石壁鬼
〈大历十三年，李道昌为苏州观察使。一日，郡城外虎丘山有鬼题诗二首，隐于石壁之上。道昌异其事，奏闻于朝，准敕令致祭。道昌为文，其略云：“万古丘陵，化无再出。君若何人，能闲诗笔。桃源三月，深草垂杨。黄莺百啭，猿声断肠。声悲怨兮泪沾巾，愿当生兮事明君。”祭后数日，再有一诗见于石。后于寺山之地，果有二坟，极高大，荆榛丛茂。询诸耆艾，竟不知何姓氏，至今犹存。〉
诗二首
其一
高松多悲风，
萧萧清且哀。
南山接幽垄，
幽垄空崔嵬。
白日徒昭昭，
不照长夜台。
虽知生者乐，
魂魄安能回。
况复念所亲，
恸哭心肝摧。
恸哭更何言，
哀哉复哀哉。
其二
神仙不可学，
形化空游魂。
白日非我朝，
青松为我门。
虽复隔幽显，
犹知念子孙。
何以遣悲惋，
万物归其根。
寄语世上人，
莫厌临芳尊。
庄生问枯骨，
三乐成虚言。
祭后见石上诗
幽明虽异路，
平昔忝攻文。
欲知潜昧处，
山北两孤坟。
〈《通幽录》云：大历初，寺僧夜见二白衣人上楼，竟不下，寻之，无所见。明日，有诗三首。第一首，幽明虽异路云云。其二，处幽子示幽独君，高松多悲风云云。其三，幽独君答，神仙不可学云云。松陵集以幽明虽异路，高松多悲风二首，为幽独君诗，神仙不可学为荅诗，与《纪事》互异〉
There’s like an entire novel here, or at least a novella—one that I hope answers the question of who is in the second grave. Huqiu (“tiger hill”), a little northwest of old-town Suzhou, Jiangsu, has housed Buddhist temples since the 4th century. The headnote implies the stone wall (which is the type used in buildings, not around cities—those are different words) is part of the temple complex—the endnote’s alternate account is more clear about it, but I dunno how canonical that is. For Peach-Blossom Spring, see 3TP #78.
I’m struck by how, even though the poems display the author has learning, their style is relatively plain, even spare (compare the censor’s memorial to the emperor). Their one obscure part: the “fragrant goblet” is a libation of wine for the dead—that line’s basically saying don’t fear the Reaper. Regarding the three collections mentioned in the endnote, I got nothing. The Records of Spirit Communications is mentioned a couple times in this chapter, suggesting it is, as the title implies, a collection of ghost stories. I love the endnote’s tone of editorial exasperation, though.
Poem, Ghost in Tian Dacheng’s Home
A Luling merchant, Tian Dacheng, was sent on to a new town. A ghost there said to him, “I reside in Longquan House, which wants repairing. Loan me Dacheng’s central hall as a temporary residence, and also loan me the rear hall for my son’s wedding to the camphor-tree goddess.” The ghost was good at poetry, so Dacheng provided wine and put out paper and brush, and when the wine was consumed, the poem was completed, in all several tens of sheets written in the Liu style. [TN: read the poem now] (Dacheng said,) “Might I ask your full name?” No answer. He sent (out?) the composed poem, and to the public merely didn’t proclaim (the author?). After the year was over, (Dacheng? the ghost?) expressed thanks and departed.
Naturally, you should grant I am a spirit expert—
And, too, that the affairs of mortals aren’t the same.
Seek to learn my house, and also my full name:
In all the world, the southern chief is one part red.
诗
作者：田达诚宅鬼
〈庐陵贾人田达诚，治第新城，有鬼自言：居龙泉舍，欲修葺，借达诚厅事暂住，又借其后堂为子婚樟树神女。鬼善诗，达诚具酒，置纸笔，须臾，酒尽诗成，凡数十篇，笔作柳体。或问其姓字，不言，赋诗寄言，众亦不谕，后岁馀，辞谢去。〉
天然与我一灵通，
还与人间事不同。
要识吾家真姓字，
天地南头一段红。
I did warn y’all, I don’t really have the background to do justice to some of these ghost poems. So many questions, and that the prose headnote is either disjointed or especially compacted Does Not Help. (What’s with the poem—is it somehow related to the wedding? Why send it and to whom? Who left after a year? What the heck?) I’ve found mentions of a longer telling of this story with somewhat different details, and without the poem, which also Does Not Help.
Luling is in modern Jizhou, Jiangxi. “Liu style” is in the style of famed Tang calligrapher Liu Gongquan. In the five phases (aka five elements) system, red is the color of the south. That said, the point of the poem’s last line whooshes so far over my head (could it be a riddle?), I’m not sure I’m even reading it correctly.
Poem Written in Blood, Ghost in Ren Yansi’s House
In the house of Ren Yansi, administrator of Chang prefecture in Sichuan, there was a ghost that played music in the empty air then demanded food, which it ate completely up. This went on for about seven or eight years. One day, they didn’t hear its music, so they didn’t put out its banquet. Above the rafters of the reception hall it wrote a poem in blood. Yansi carved its characters into the wood with a knife.
All things change, becoming different—
This me here, they do not notice.
Fare thee well now, Ren Yansi:
We part today—I’m already gone.
血书诗
作者：任彦思家鬼
〈蜀昌州牧任彦思家有鬼，空中奏乐，索食，食之无遗，凡七八年。一日不闻乐声，置食无所飨，厅舍栿上血书一诗，彦思以刀刬之字已入木。〉
物类易迁变，
我行人不见。
珍重任彦思，
相别日已远。
And remember, always feed your
A poem written on a wall in blood, folks. This stuff is the best.
Even so, that’s quite enough for one installment. There will be more, as I’ve started working through the rest of the collection in order. Plus there’s bunches of other interesting stuff in the last 100 chapters of CTP to sample, such as the nine! whole! chapters! of poems by women who aren’t royals, and a chapter of poems by specters (怪, who apparently are different from ghosts? —something to find out).
---L.
Index of Chinese translations