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larryhammerMoar Tang Dynasty ghost poems! You can’t stop me from translating ghost poems bwahaha! Or more to the point, I can’t stop myself from translating poems attributed to ancient Chinese ghosts. I’m obsessed, I am. I regret nothing, though. This installment starts at the beginning of Complete Tang Poems chapter 865 (headnotes) and marches forward, skipping ones already posted. Highlights this time include a ghost who can’t deliver a final message to his beloved older brother and must use an intermediary, the boastful papa of a dead prodigy, and a former emperor crankily telling a current emperor to get off his lawn tomb.
Of note: the poems in this chapter are organized chronologically, with almost all of them at least approximately dateable based on the headnote. (Note that the named poets in CTP’s main section are also ordered chronologically by poet.) In case you’re wondering, so far none of the poems I’ve translated from ch866 have unambiguous dates, except insofar as a couple involve historically attested people. [ETA: Some do have specific dates, actually, but are more fantastic than these stories.] Interestingly, and not too surprisingly, almost all the poems by female ghosts are in that second chapter.
Anyway, onward to the datable ghosts. Er, that didn’t come out right—I mean, if you want to date a ghost, that’s fine, no judging, but I meant ghost stories with historical dates.
Replying to Taizong from Upon His Burial Mound, Murong Chui
I formerly defeated former rulers—
The rulers of today defeat me today.
Glory is different in each generation:
What are you doing, bitterly hounding the old?
冡上答太宗
作者：慕容垂
〈太宗征辽至定州，路侧有一鬼衣黄衣立高冢上。神彩特异，遣使问之。答以此诗，言讫不见。乃慕容垂墓也。〉
我昔胜君昔，
君今胜我今。
荣华各异代，
何用苦追寻。
Murong Chui, aka Later Yan Emperor Chengwu (ruled 384-396) from the early Sixteen Kingdoms era, was buried in his capital of Zhongshan, a district of modern Baoding, Hebei. Tang Emperor Taizong passed through and pacified the area during his 645 war against the northern Korean kingdom of Goguryeo. Wearing yellow is an emperor’s prerogative, which caught Taizong’s attention. Spoiler alert: despite the flattery of the second line, Taizong lost his war.
Poem Bequeathed to Hua Gong, Buddhist Monk Mingxie
Clasp your hands, for they cannot be parted—
Beating your breast, you might wound yourself.
So painful, ah! —the time for us is short;
The sorrow, oh! —the road to wealth is long.
The forest pines surprised by winds from the field—
The bleak tomb-passage bears the winter frost.
You say, “You’re distant—why present these words?”
Guard well your heart within the laws of dharma.
遗画工诗
作者：释明解
〈明解姓姚，普光寺僧，颇具才学。龙朔中策第，脱袈裟，自云：“得脱此驴皮。”遂置酒赋诗，有“一乘本非有，三空何所归”之句。不久病卒，下梦于旧识智整及一画士，言大受苦报，求写经作功德，因遗此诗。〉
握手不能别，
抚膺聊自伤。
痛矣时阴短，
悲哉泉路长。
松林惊野吹，
荒隧落寒霜。
言离何以赠，
留心内典章。
Because writing poems is a totally dissolute thing to do—though I gather the problem was not so much the poetry itself as its apostate message. Mingxie is his Buddhist rather than lay name (which was not recorded, though his courtesy name Zhoayi was). According to a potted bio, he resided at the Puguang (“universal light”) Temple in Chang’an, published a scholarly book in 639, passed the exams in 660, in his middle age, and died the next year. The Three Empties, a Buddhist concept, are empty field, empty court, and empty warehouse, and I assume the carriage/vehicle is also a Buddhist reference to the means of attaining release.
Night Verses, A Ghost in Ba Gorge
The autumn paths fill up with yellow leaves.
Cold ravages the bare roots of the grasses.
An ape’s voice cries out once, then is cut off.
A traveler’s tears make overlapping stains.
夜吟
作者：巴峡鬼
〈调露中，有人巴峡夜泊舟，闻咏诗声甚厉，激昂而悲，如是通宵，凡吟数十遍。访之，更无舟船，但空山石泉，溪谷幽绝，咏诗处有人骨一具。〉
秋径填黄叶，
寒摧露草根。
猿声一叫断，
客泪数重痕。
Now there’s a good ghost story for you. Ba is an old name for eastern Sichuan/Chongqing, and Ba Gorge can be any of the Three Gorges of the Yangzi, especially the uppermost, Qutang, or a tributary of same.
Posthumous Poem, Li Shuji
Suddenly parted indefinitely—
Sunk in darkness, too many regrets.
Although Chang’an is not so far,
I’ve no faith I can send a message.
死后诗
作者：李叔霁
〈御史李叔霁，与兄仲云俱擢第，有名当代。大历初，叔霁卒。经岁馀，其妹夫与仲云同寝，忽梦叔霁，相见依依，曰：“我有一诗，可为诵呈大兄。”后数年，仲云亦卒。〉
忽作无期别，
沈冥恨有馀。
长安虽不远，
无信可传书。
The ghost couldn’t enter the dreams of his beloved older brother, but only the guy lying beside him—that, oh man. Ouch. (Too late for this year’s Yuletide.)
Verses in a Yangzhou Inn at Night, Duo Yu
A gate leans on the Chu Lake bank—
I was sent to a Yangzhou inn.
I gaze at the moon and think of you,
Dusty lapel all stained with tears.
洋州馆夜吟
作者：窦裕
〈大历中，有进士窦裕，家寄进海，下第。将之成都，至洋州舍馆卒。尝与淮阴令吴兴沈某善，沈调补金堂，至洋州舍馆，中夜见一白衣丈夫，自门步来，且吟且嗟，似有恨而不舒者，久之，吟诗一首。沈见之，甚觉类窦裕，特起与语，未及，遂无见矣。乃叹曰：“吾与窦君别久矣，岂为鬼耶？”明日，行未数里，有殡其路前者，曰进士窦裕殡宫。驰还，问馆吏，曰：“裕自京游蜀，至此暴亡，太守命殡于馆南二里外道左。”沈致奠拜泣而去。〉
门依楚水岸，
身寄洋州馆。
望月独相思，
尘襟泪痕满。
Yangzhou (洋州) was in western Shaanxi, which is nowhere near the standard route up the Yangzi from Wuxing, Zhejiang to the Chengdu suburb of Jintang, so I’m a little confused why a certain Shen is there. It is, at least, along one route to Chengdu from Chang’an, where Duo presumably received his appointment. Note the deference local officials give to even lower-rank imperial appointees. There’s a Chu Lake in eastern Shaanxi, and I would normally assume the gate there is to Duo’s family home, but given this is a ghost poem, a gate to the afterworld is always possible.
Presented to Yuan Zai, A Scholar
East of the city, west of the city, my former dwelling place—
Within the city flying flowers, scattered like cotton fluff.
Sea-swallows holding mud in their beaks want to come on down—
Within the house, no one is there, and still they fly away.
献元载
作者：书生
〈大历九年春，元载早入朝，有书生献诗，令左右收之。其人苦欲载读，载云：“候至中书，当为看。”又言：“若不能读，请自诵。”诵毕，因不见。载后竟破家，身及妻子被诛。〉
城东城西旧居处，
城里飞花乱如絮。
海燕衔泥欲下来，
屋里无人却飞去。
〈《通幽录》亦载此事。诗小异，云：“城南路长无宿处，荻花纷纷如柳絮。海燕衔泥欲作窠，空屋无人却飞去。”〉
Yuan Zai spent the last decade-plus of his life as Emperor Daizong’s powerful and corrupt chancellor, before the emperor finally managed to engineer his arrest and execution in 777, along with his family (except one daughter, a nun, who was made a palace servant). It was anciently believed that swallows migrated over the southern ocean to breed again, thus their sometimes being elegantly called “sea-crossing swallows,” or just “sea-swallows” for short.
Lotta gaps in the story here, including what about the poem is so bitter and unsuitable, what exactly the scholar’s grievance is, and how this incident has anything to do with Yuan Zai’s ruin three whole years later.
Song of the Floating Cloud, Lu Ping
Hollow, hollow, and empty, empty—
Quick breath inside of heaven and earth:
Brief meeting’s over, it appears,
But I myself aren’t just my body.
咏浮云
作者：陆凭
〈吴郡陆凭，家湖州长城，性悦山水，未尝宁居。贞元乙丑，游永嘉殁。素与吴兴沈苌友善，托梦于苌，赠《浮云诗》一篇，曰：“凭船已发，明日午时到此。”如期，凭丧船至。词人杨丹为之志，具旌神感，铭曰：“笃生府君，美秀而文，没而不起，寄音浮云。”〉
虚虚复空空，
瞬息天地中。
假合成此像，
吾亦非吾躬。
“Floating cloud” (浮云) idiomatically can mean both “restless traveler” and “transience/fleeting,” and both senses apply here. Wuxing, Wu County, and Huzhou are all in the same general region of modern Zhejiang, with Yongjia a little further afield but still in that province. The “mountains and waters” are scenic landscapes in general.
Offered to Li Xu, Han Yan
I have a foe among the enemy—
There’s no one who can wipe away the shame.
Everywhere from Qin to Gansu’s end:
A roaming spirit, sobbing to myself.
呈李续
作者：韩弇
〈浑瑊与西蕃会盟，蕃戎背信，掌书记韩弇遇害。弇素与栎杨尉李续友，忽梦弇被发披衣，面目尽血，相劳勉如平生，以一诗呈续，悲吟而别。谓续曰：“吾久饥渴，君为置酒馔钱物，亦平生之分尽矣。”续如言祭之，忽有黑风自西来，旋转筵上，飘卷纸钱及酒食皆飞去。时贞元四年也。〉
我有敌国雠，
无人可为雪。
每至秦陇头，
游魂自呜咽。
The poem is “offered” rather than “presented” because it’s given to someone of higher rank. Hun Jian (736-800) was a Tang general who spent most of his time after the An Lushan Rebellion fighting the Tibetan Empire, and historically the failed negotiations took place in 787. The paper money is ritual replicas traditionally offered to the dead. Qin is the Shaanxi region.
Matching Deputy Censor Cui, Wei Tuo
A thousand years the lonely terrace crumbled by the road.
It wholly vexed the governor, repeated cleaning and painting.
I think that you might wonder, what’s the point of wiping it off?
I now present to you a beautiful wife and brilliant pearl.
和崔侍御
作者：尉佗
〈贞元中，有崔子向者，从事南海。登越王台，感其墓荒颓，题诗感慨。刺史徐绅读其诗，为之修葺。子向卒，子炜流落南中，偶失足坠井，从中行入尉佗墓室。佗和其父诗，赠之宝珠，以田夫人嫁之。后出穴，果送夫人至，盖田横女。佗所用为殉者也。〉
千岁荒台隳路隅，
一烦太守重椒涂。
感君拂拭意何极，
赠尔美妇与明珠。
Because the tropics are just filled with tombs you can stumble into and find treasure. You “match” someone’s poem (sometimes translated “harmonize” with it) by replying to it, typically using the same rhyme words. Yuewang (“Yue king”) Terrace is in Guangzhou, Guangdong. Tone marks are added to clarify that Wěi the son (炜) and Wèi the ghost (尉) have different names. Lady Tian Heng is presumably Wèi Tuo’s widowed daughter (or a descendent with a maternal line?), given the different surname.
Presented to Deputy Duo, Liu Gai
The dark road’s deep, obscure, and people cannot know it—
I will not use the bitter words that give you people grief.
It’s fortunate I met you—tell my family this:
We’ll later meet in the boundless vast—but where and when?
赠窦丞
作者：刘溉
〈贞元中，韩城令刘溉卒官。家贫，侨寓县中佛寺，未半岁，其县丞窦暴死三日，云：“遇溉，问冥途事不语，久之，赠诗一首。”〉
冥路杳杳人不知，
不用苦说使人悲。
喜得逢君传家信，
后会茫茫何处期。
Liu Gai was specifically the head of the county-level government. Hancheng was and still is in Shaanxi. I assume Duo “met” Liu Gai in a dream, but that part of the story is nearly as obscure as the dark path.
Relating a Secret Wrong, Zheng Qiongluo
Pain fills up the heart, ah! —I cannot speak.
Small cuts to the gut, ah! —accuse what place?
Spring grows ten-thousand things—but this one doesn’t live.
More hatred for that “fragrant soul” —for didn’t we meet?
郑琼罗
〈段文昌从弟某者，贞元末，自信安还洛，舟宿瓜洲，闻有嗟叹声。是夜，梦一女，年二十馀，自言姓郑，名琼罗，居丹徒，来扬子，为市吏子王惟举逼辱，绞颈自杀，无人为雪冤。后此鬼相随至洛北，有樊元则者作法遣之，鬼请纸笔书，若杂言七字，辞甚悽恨。元则复令具酒脯纸钱，乘昏焚于道，有风旋灰直上数尺，及闻悲泣声，诗凡二百馀字，止载其中二十八字。〉
叙幽冤
痛填心兮不能语，
寸断肠兮诉何处？
春生万物妾不生，
更恨香魂不相遇？
Oh hey, a female ghost poet yay. Who was raped boo. The setting is Jiangsu: Guazhou is in modern Hanjiang, on a branch of the Grand Canal, Dantu is a district of Zhenjiang, and Luo is in the general area. As for the poem, yup that’s a fragment—fragmentary enough, I’m not sure whether to understand the “fragrant soul” (idiomatically, the spirit of a beautiful person) as her rapist or herself. Of note: this is this chapter’s first poem without a clear date—fwiw, Duan Wenchang lived 773-835.
Thinking About the Past While Passing a City Guard-Tower, Shen Qingxiang
Six dynasties have passed in this landscape—
We’ve thrived then died through many centuries.
Once flowering, now silent and desolate,
This morning market that was noisy and teeming.
The moon at night in water like glazed glass—
The winds of spring in blue-egg colored sky—
The time is short for pondering the past:
My tears fall down before the city gate.
过台城感旧
作者：沈青箱
〈元和初进士陆乔，家丹阳，好为歌诗。一夕，见一丈夫，自称沈约来候，命酒邀范仆射。云及召其子青箱至，青箱年可十岁馀，约指谓乔：“此子好为诗，不幸先吾逝，近从吾与仆射同过台城，有感旧诗，甚可观也。”〉
六代旧山川，
兴亡几百年。
繁华今寂寞，
朝市昔喧阗。
夜月琉璃水，
春风卵色天。
伤时与怀古，
垂泪国门前。
Because when a distinguished visitor arrives, you show off your child prodigy, even if he’s dead and you have to hold a seance. Or something like that. Danyang is now a district of modern Zhenjiang, Jiangsu. The tower is the sort that’s built into the city fortifications, such as on either side of a gate. Since this is a ghost poem, I assume the son was already dead when he wrote it, but the headnote doesn’t make that clear. In any case, in hammering its point hard, it reads like a poem by a very young poet.
Poem, A Xiangyang Provincial Scholar
The running water trickles, trickles—cresses strain to sprout.
The weaving crows fly westward as the traveler goes home.
In the deserted village, nobody prepares cold food.
The tomb is facing futilely the pear and crab-apple flowers.
诗
作者：襄阳举人
〈于頔镇襄阳时，选人刘某入京，逢一举人，年二十许，同行，意甚相得，因藉草倾数杯。日暮，举人指岐径曰：“某弊止从此数里，能左顾乎？”举人因赋此诗。明年，刘归襄阳，寻访举人，惟有殡宫存焉。〉
流水涓涓芹努芽，
织乌西飞客还家。
荒村无人作寒食，
殡宫空对棠梨花。
A little out of historical order, this one. A provincial scholar has passed the provincial-level exams (lower than imperial, higher than county). Given this is a ghost poem, I assume the scholar is the “worn-out one” and the “halting” is his own death, but it’d be nice if the story actually said the tomb had been there since before Liu’s first trip through. Clarity, people, clarity. The cold food evokes Cold Food Day, a festival honoring the dead (during which cooking fires are extinguished). I like the haunting images of the first two lines, which are unlike any I’ve seen so far. (Not that my experience is all that extensive.)
And that’s enough for now—more to come, of course, with the next installment finishing out this chapter and starting the next, including some with an entertainment quality that almost matches that poem thrown at a losing general.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations
Of note: the poems in this chapter are organized chronologically, with almost all of them at least approximately dateable based on the headnote. (Note that the named poets in CTP’s main section are also ordered chronologically by poet.) In case you’re wondering, so far none of the poems I’ve translated from ch866 have unambiguous dates, except insofar as a couple involve historically attested people. [ETA: Some do have specific dates, actually, but are more fantastic than these stories.] Interestingly, and not too surprisingly, almost all the poems by female ghosts are in that second chapter.
Anyway, onward to the datable ghosts. Er, that didn’t come out right—I mean, if you want to date a ghost, that’s fine, no judging, but I meant ghost stories with historical dates.
Replying to Taizong from Upon His Burial Mound, Murong Chui
During (Tang Emperor) Taizong’s invasion of Liaoning, he arrived at Baoding. Beside the road, standing on a high burial mound, was a ghost in yellow robes. The spirit’s bright color was unique and different, so he dispatched a messenger to inquire about it. It replied with this poem, and when it finished speaking it disappeared. Thus it was the tomb of Murong Chui.
I formerly defeated former rulers—
The rulers of today defeat me today.
Glory is different in each generation:
What are you doing, bitterly hounding the old?
冡上答太宗
作者：慕容垂
〈太宗征辽至定州，路侧有一鬼衣黄衣立高冢上。神彩特异，遣使问之。答以此诗，言讫不见。乃慕容垂墓也。〉
我昔胜君昔，
君今胜我今。
荣华各异代，
何用苦追寻。
Murong Chui, aka Later Yan Emperor Chengwu (ruled 384-396) from the early Sixteen Kingdoms era, was buried in his capital of Zhongshan, a district of modern Baoding, Hebei. Tang Emperor Taizong passed through and pacified the area during his 645 war against the northern Korean kingdom of Goguryeo. Wearing yellow is an emperor’s prerogative, which caught Taizong’s attention. Spoiler alert: despite the flattery of the second line, Taizong lost his war.
Poem Bequeathed to Hua Gong, Buddhist Monk Mingxie
Mingxie surname Yao, a monk of Puguang Temple, possessed much talent and learning. In 662 he passed the imperial exams, then took off his Buddhist robes, saying, “I must shed this donkey hide.” Thereupon he bought wine and composed poetry, including the lines, “A carriage, at first I didn’t have— / Three Empties, where do I return?” Before long, he died of illness. He appeared in a dream to his old friend Zhi Zheng and one Sir Hua, saying he had a great burden and bitter news, and requested they copy the scriptures and so accrue merit, for he bequeathed this poem.
Clasp your hands, for they cannot be parted—
Beating your breast, you might wound yourself.
So painful, ah! —the time for us is short;
The sorrow, oh! —the road to wealth is long.
The forest pines surprised by winds from the field—
The bleak tomb-passage bears the winter frost.
You say, “You’re distant—why present these words?”
Guard well your heart within the laws of dharma.
遗画工诗
作者：释明解
〈明解姓姚，普光寺僧，颇具才学。龙朔中策第，脱袈裟，自云：“得脱此驴皮。”遂置酒赋诗，有“一乘本非有，三空何所归”之句。不久病卒，下梦于旧识智整及一画士，言大受苦报，求写经作功德，因遗此诗。〉
握手不能别，
抚膺聊自伤。
痛矣时阴短，
悲哉泉路长。
松林惊野吹，
荒隧落寒霜。
言离何以赠，
留心内典章。
Because writing poems is a totally dissolute thing to do—though I gather the problem was not so much the poetry itself as its apostate message. Mingxie is his Buddhist rather than lay name (which was not recorded, though his courtesy name Zhoayi was). According to a potted bio, he resided at the Puguang (“universal light”) Temple in Chang’an, published a scholarly book in 639, passed the exams in 660, in his middle age, and died the next year. The Three Empties, a Buddhist concept, are empty field, empty court, and empty warehouse, and I assume the carriage/vehicle is also a Buddhist reference to the means of attaining release.
Night Verses, A Ghost in Ba Gorge
In 679, a person mooring his boat for the night in Ba Gorge heard a poem chanted with extreme intensity, both impassioned and sorrowful. It was like this throughout the night, reciting its verses several tens of times. The person investigated, and not only was there no boat (where the sound came from) but just a bare mountain with water springing from its rocks, disappearing into a secluded gorge, and in the place where the poem was chanted, there was a single skeleton.
The autumn paths fill up with yellow leaves.
Cold ravages the bare roots of the grasses.
An ape’s voice cries out once, then is cut off.
A traveler’s tears make overlapping stains.
夜吟
作者：巴峡鬼
〈调露中，有人巴峡夜泊舟，闻咏诗声甚厉，激昂而悲，如是通宵，凡吟数十遍。访之，更无舟船，但空山石泉，溪谷幽绝，咏诗处有人骨一具。〉
秋径填黄叶，
寒摧露草根。
猿声一叫断，
客泪数重痕。
Now there’s a good ghost story for you. Ba is an old name for eastern Sichuan/Chongqing, and Ba Gorge can be any of the Three Gorges of the Yangzi, especially the uppermost, Qutang, or a tributary of same.
Posthumous Poem, Li Shuji
Imperial Censor Li Shuji and his older brother Zhongyun both passed the imperial exams and became well-known in their time. In 766, Shuji passed away. At the end of that year, his younger sister’s husband lay down together with Zhongyun, and he suddenly dreamed of Shuji. Meeting him, (Shuji) was reluctant to part, saying, “I have a poem—might you possibly recite it for Eldest Brother?” After several years, Zhongyun also passed away.
Suddenly parted indefinitely—
Sunk in darkness, too many regrets.
Although Chang’an is not so far,
I’ve no faith I can send a message.
死后诗
作者：李叔霁
〈御史李叔霁，与兄仲云俱擢第，有名当代。大历初，叔霁卒。经岁馀，其妹夫与仲云同寝，忽梦叔霁，相见依依，曰：“我有一诗，可为诵呈大兄。”后数年，仲云亦卒。〉
忽作无期别，
沈冥恨有馀。
长安虽不远，
无信可传书。
The ghost couldn’t enter the dreams of his beloved older brother, but only the guy lying beside him—that, oh man. Ouch. (Too late for this year’s Yuletide.)
Verses in a Yangzhou Inn at Night, Duo Yu
Around 772, Advanced Scholar Duo Yu, who’d held office in many places, all lower rank, was appointed to Chengdu. When he arrived at an inn in Yangzhou, he died. A certain Shen, once of Huaiyin but now of Wuxing, was friendly with him. While moving to Jintang for his health, he arrived at the Yangzhou inn. At midnight, he saw a white-clothed man, walking toward him from the gate both moaning and sighing, seeming regretful and tense, who then recited a poem. Shen was very conscious that the man resembled Duo Yu and rose to speak, but before he could, the man disappeared. Then he sighed and said, “My friend Duo, we parted but a while ago—how are you a ghost?” The next morning, before he’d traveled several li, he met a funeral procession on the road before him, and he was told Advanced Scholar Duo Yu was being taken to his tomb. He quickly asked the functionary in charge, who said, “Yu was surely traveling from the capital to Sichuan upon his sudden death, so the provincial governor ordered us to take his coffin to a building two li or so on, on the left side of the road.” Shen paid his respects, wept, and then departed.
A gate leans on the Chu Lake bank—
I was sent to a Yangzhou inn.
I gaze at the moon and think of you,
Dusty lapel all stained with tears.
洋州馆夜吟
作者：窦裕
〈大历中，有进士窦裕，家寄进海，下第。将之成都，至洋州舍馆卒。尝与淮阴令吴兴沈某善，沈调补金堂，至洋州舍馆，中夜见一白衣丈夫，自门步来，且吟且嗟，似有恨而不舒者，久之，吟诗一首。沈见之，甚觉类窦裕，特起与语，未及，遂无见矣。乃叹曰：“吾与窦君别久矣，岂为鬼耶？”明日，行未数里，有殡其路前者，曰进士窦裕殡宫。驰还，问馆吏，曰：“裕自京游蜀，至此暴亡，太守命殡于馆南二里外道左。”沈致奠拜泣而去。〉
门依楚水岸，
身寄洋州馆。
望月独相思，
尘襟泪痕满。
Yangzhou (洋州) was in western Shaanxi, which is nowhere near the standard route up the Yangzi from Wuxing, Zhejiang to the Chengdu suburb of Jintang, so I’m a little confused why a certain Shen is there. It is, at least, along one route to Chengdu from Chang’an, where Duo presumably received his appointment. Note the deference local officials give to even lower-rank imperial appointees. There’s a Chu Lake in eastern Shaanxi, and I would normally assume the gate there is to Duo’s family home, but given this is a ghost poem, a gate to the afterworld is always possible.
Presented to Yuan Zai, A Scholar
In 774, when Yuan Zai entered the dawn court audience one morning, a scholar offered up a poem, which his deputies received. When that person’s bitter longings were read to Zai, Zai told them, “Skip to someplace in the middle that is suitable to read out.” Then he said (to the scholar), “Something like this, people cannot read—please recite it yourself.” When the recitation ended, (the scholar) vanished. Afterward Zai was finally ruined, with himself, his wife, and his children executed.
East of the city, west of the city, my former dwelling place—
Within the city flying flowers, scattered like cotton fluff.
Sea-swallows holding mud in their beaks want to come on down—
Within the house, no one is there, and still they fly away.
Records of Spirit Communications also has this incident of Zai. Its poem is slightly different, reading: “South of the city the road is long, there is no place to stay— / Silvergrass flowers scattered, scattered, just like willow seeds. / Sea-swallows holding mud in their beaks want to make their nests— / An empty house, no one is there, and still they fly away.”
献元载
作者：书生
〈大历九年春，元载早入朝，有书生献诗，令左右收之。其人苦欲载读，载云：“候至中书，当为看。”又言：“若不能读，请自诵。”诵毕，因不见。载后竟破家，身及妻子被诛。〉
城东城西旧居处，
城里飞花乱如絮。
海燕衔泥欲下来，
屋里无人却飞去。
〈《通幽录》亦载此事。诗小异，云：“城南路长无宿处，荻花纷纷如柳絮。海燕衔泥欲作窠，空屋无人却飞去。”〉
Yuan Zai spent the last decade-plus of his life as Emperor Daizong’s powerful and corrupt chancellor, before the emperor finally managed to engineer his arrest and execution in 777, along with his family (except one daughter, a nun, who was made a palace servant). It was anciently believed that swallows migrated over the southern ocean to breed again, thus their sometimes being elegantly called “sea-crossing swallows,” or just “sea-swallows” for short.
Lotta gaps in the story here, including what about the poem is so bitter and unsuitable, what exactly the scholar’s grievance is, and how this incident has anything to do with Yuan Zai’s ruin three whole years later.
Song of the Floating Cloud, Lu Ping
Lu Ping of Wu County, whose family was from Changcheng in Huzhou, by nature took pleasure in the “mountains and waters” and never had a settled residence. In 785, he expired while traveling in Yongjia. He was good friends with Shen Chang of Wuxing, and Ping came to Chang in a dream and presented him the “Floating Cloud Poem,” saying, “Ping’s boat has already departed, arriving mid-day tomorrow.” At the mentioned time, Ping’s funeral boat arrived. The talented author Liu Dan wrote on its banner, which felt spiritual, this inscription: “Blessed in life, this honored lord, / Greatly refined and cultured man— / He is no more and won’t recover: / Pass on his words of floating clouds.”
Hollow, hollow, and empty, empty—
Quick breath inside of heaven and earth:
Brief meeting’s over, it appears,
But I myself aren’t just my body.
咏浮云
作者：陆凭
〈吴郡陆凭，家湖州长城，性悦山水，未尝宁居。贞元乙丑，游永嘉殁。素与吴兴沈苌友善，托梦于苌，赠《浮云诗》一篇，曰：“凭船已发，明日午时到此。”如期，凭丧船至。词人杨丹为之志，具旌神感，铭曰：“笃生府君，美秀而文，没而不起，寄音浮云。”〉
虚虚复空空，
瞬息天地中。
假合成此像，
吾亦非吾躬。
“Floating cloud” (浮云) idiomatically can mean both “restless traveler” and “transience/fleeting,” and both senses apply here. Wuxing, Wu County, and Huzhou are all in the same general region of modern Zhejiang, with Yongjia a little further afield but still in that province. The “mountains and waters” are scenic landscapes in general.
Offered to Li Xu, Han Yan
When Hun Zhen and the Tibetans met in negotiations, the foreigners betrayed their word and diplomatic secretary Han Yan was killed. Yan had long been a friend of staff officer Li Xu, who suddenly dreamed of Yan with unbound hair over his shoulders, face extremely bloody, consoling him as he had in life by offering up a poem and some further words, after which he moaned sadly and departed. The sense of the further words was: “I’ve been hungry and thirsty for a long time—buy me wine and food and valuable things, for our lives just came to a parting.” Xu followed his words and sacrificed to him. A dark wind suddenly came from the west, whirling around above the offerings, and the fluttering paper money and the food and wine all flew away. This was in 788.
I have a foe among the enemy—
There’s no one who can wipe away the shame.
Everywhere from Qin to Gansu’s end:
A roaming spirit, sobbing to myself.
呈李续
作者：韩弇
〈浑瑊与西蕃会盟，蕃戎背信，掌书记韩弇遇害。弇素与栎杨尉李续友，忽梦弇被发披衣，面目尽血，相劳勉如平生，以一诗呈续，悲吟而别。谓续曰：“吾久饥渴，君为置酒馔钱物，亦平生之分尽矣。”续如言祭之，忽有黑风自西来，旋转筵上，飘卷纸钱及酒食皆飞去。时贞元四年也。〉
我有敌国雠，
无人可为雪。
每至秦陇头，
游魂自呜咽。
The poem is “offered” rather than “presented” because it’s given to someone of higher rank. Hun Jian (736-800) was a Tang general who spent most of his time after the An Lushan Rebellion fighting the Tibetan Empire, and historically the failed negotiations took place in 787. The paper money is ritual replicas traditionally offered to the dead. Qin is the Shaanxi region.
Matching Deputy Censor Cui, Wei Tuo
Around 795, Cui Zixiang was assigned to the southern regions. Ascending Yuewang Terrace, it affected him that the grave there was neglected and decayed, and sighing in sorrow, he inscribed a poem. Provincial Governor Xu Shen read his poem, and undertook its renovation. When Zixiang died, his son Wěi wandered about the south. He once accidentally lost his footing and fell down a shaft, and from there entered the burial chamber of Wèi Tuo. Tuo matched his father’s poem and presented him a “precious pearl” by marrying Lady Tian off to him. As a result, after he left the hole, he sent for the lady to come to him, and married the surprised Tian Heng. They used Tuo’s place for burials.
A thousand years the lonely terrace crumbled by the road.
It wholly vexed the governor, repeated cleaning and painting.
I think that you might wonder, what’s the point of wiping it off?
I now present to you a beautiful wife and brilliant pearl.
和崔侍御
作者：尉佗
〈贞元中，有崔子向者，从事南海。登越王台，感其墓荒颓，题诗感慨。刺史徐绅读其诗，为之修葺。子向卒，子炜流落南中，偶失足坠井，从中行入尉佗墓室。佗和其父诗，赠之宝珠，以田夫人嫁之。后出穴，果送夫人至，盖田横女。佗所用为殉者也。〉
千岁荒台隳路隅，
一烦太守重椒涂。
感君拂拭意何极，
赠尔美妇与明珠。
Because the tropics are just filled with tombs you can stumble into and find treasure. You “match” someone’s poem (sometimes translated “harmonize” with it) by replying to it, typically using the same rhyme words. Yuewang (“Yue king”) Terrace is in Guangzhou, Guangdong. Tone marks are added to clarify that Wěi the son (炜) and Wèi the ghost (尉) have different names. Lady Tian Heng is presumably Wèi Tuo’s widowed daughter (or a descendent with a maternal line?), given the different surname.
Presented to Deputy Duo, Liu Gai
Around 795, the magistrate of Hancheng, Liu Gai, died in office. His family was poor and before half a year had passed, they moved to a Buddhist temple in the countryside. After three days (there), Duo, his deputy at the time of his sudden death, said, “I met Gai, and asked about dark path things, but he did not speak. Then he presented me with a poem.”
The dark road’s deep, obscure, and people cannot know it—
I will not use the bitter words that give you people grief.
It’s fortunate I met you—tell my family this:
We’ll later meet in the boundless vast—but where and when?
赠窦丞
作者：刘溉
〈贞元中，韩城令刘溉卒官。家贫，侨寓县中佛寺，未半岁，其县丞窦暴死三日，云：“遇溉，问冥途事不语，久之，赠诗一首。”〉
冥路杳杳人不知，
不用苦说使人悲。
喜得逢君传家信，
后会茫茫何处期。
Liu Gai was specifically the head of the county-level government. Hancheng was and still is in Shaanxi. I assume Duo “met” Liu Gai in a dream, but that part of the story is nearly as obscure as the dark path.
Relating a Secret Wrong, Zheng Qiongluo
The younger male cousin of Duan Wenchang, whose name is unknown, was virtuous from beginning to end. During a leisurely return to Luo, after his boat stopped for the night at Guazhou, he heard sighing and sighing. That night, he dreamed of a woman 20 or more years old, who said her surname was Zheng, personal name Qiongluo, living in Dantu; when she came to the Yangzi, Wang Wei, a son of the market administrator, forced insult upon her and she hung herself with no one to avenge her shame. After this, the ghost followed (the cousin) till he arrived north of Luo, where a certain Fan Yuanze knew methods to dispel her. The ghost asked for paper and brush, and wrote a miscellaneous poem in lines of seven characters, expressing considerable grief and hatred. In return, Yuanze presented her with wine, dried foods, and paper money, and taking advantage of dusk he burnt the money by the road. A wind revolved above the ashes many times, until they heard a sorrowful weeping sound. The poem was 30 or more lines in all, of which only these 4 are recorded.
Pain fills up the heart, ah! —I cannot speak.
Small cuts to the gut, ah! —accuse what place?
Spring grows ten-thousand things—but this one doesn’t live.
More hatred for that “fragrant soul” —for didn’t we meet?
郑琼罗
〈段文昌从弟某者，贞元末，自信安还洛，舟宿瓜洲，闻有嗟叹声。是夜，梦一女，年二十馀，自言姓郑，名琼罗，居丹徒，来扬子，为市吏子王惟举逼辱，绞颈自杀，无人为雪冤。后此鬼相随至洛北，有樊元则者作法遣之，鬼请纸笔书，若杂言七字，辞甚悽恨。元则复令具酒脯纸钱，乘昏焚于道，有风旋灰直上数尺，及闻悲泣声，诗凡二百馀字，止载其中二十八字。〉
叙幽冤
痛填心兮不能语，
寸断肠兮诉何处？
春生万物妾不生，
更恨香魂不相遇？
Oh hey, a female ghost poet yay. Who was raped boo. The setting is Jiangsu: Guazhou is in modern Hanjiang, on a branch of the Grand Canal, Dantu is a district of Zhenjiang, and Luo is in the general area. As for the poem, yup that’s a fragment—fragmentary enough, I’m not sure whether to understand the “fragrant soul” (idiomatically, the spirit of a beautiful person) as her rapist or herself. Of note: this is this chapter’s first poem without a clear date—fwiw, Duan Wenchang lived 773-835.
Thinking About the Past While Passing a City Guard-Tower, Shen Qingxiang
Advanced Scholar Lu Qiao of Danyang was good at songs and poems. One night in 806, he visited a man he knew named Shen Yue, who sent for wine and invited Deputy Minister Fan (to join them). They then succeeded in summoning Yue’s son Qingxiang, who was possibly 10 or more years old. Yue pointed at him and said proudly, “This child liked writing poems, but unfortunately he passed away before me. Recently, the deputy minister and I passed by a city guard-tower, and he made a poem on thinking about the past, an extremely impressive one.”
Six dynasties have passed in this landscape—
We’ve thrived then died through many centuries.
Once flowering, now silent and desolate,
This morning market that was noisy and teeming.
The moon at night in water like glazed glass—
The winds of spring in blue-egg colored sky—
The time is short for pondering the past:
My tears fall down before the city gate.
过台城感旧
作者：沈青箱
〈元和初进士陆乔，家丹阳，好为歌诗。一夕，见一丈夫，自称沈约来候，命酒邀范仆射。云及召其子青箱至，青箱年可十岁馀，约指谓乔：“此子好为诗，不幸先吾逝，近从吾与仆射同过台城，有感旧诗，甚可观也。”〉
六代旧山川，
兴亡几百年。
繁华今寂寞，
朝市昔喧阗。
夜月琉璃水，
春风卵色天。
伤时与怀古，
垂泪国门前。
Because when a distinguished visitor arrives, you show off your child prodigy, even if he’s dead and you have to hold a seance. Or something like that. Danyang is now a district of modern Zhenjiang, Jiangsu. The tower is the sort that’s built into the city fortifications, such as on either side of a gate. Since this is a ghost poem, I assume the son was already dead when he wrote it, but the headnote doesn’t make that clear. In any case, in hammering its point hard, it reads like a poem by a very young poet.
Poem, A Xiangyang Provincial Scholar
When Yu Di commanded Xiangyang (793-795), an official appointee heading to the capital, Liu Mo, met there a provincial scholar who was about 20 years old and going the same way. He thought they suited each other extremely well, and seated on grass mats they tipped up several cups together. At sunset, the provincial scholar pointed at a fork in the road and said, “A certain worn-out one halted several li from here, can you see on the left?” The provincial scholar then bestowed this poem. The next year, Liu returned to Xiangyang and inquired about the provincial scholar, but all that remained of him was a tomb.
The running water trickles, trickles—cresses strain to sprout.
The weaving crows fly westward as the traveler goes home.
In the deserted village, nobody prepares cold food.
The tomb is facing futilely the pear and crab-apple flowers.
诗
作者：襄阳举人
〈于頔镇襄阳时，选人刘某入京，逢一举人，年二十许，同行，意甚相得，因藉草倾数杯。日暮，举人指岐径曰：“某弊止从此数里，能左顾乎？”举人因赋此诗。明年，刘归襄阳，寻访举人，惟有殡宫存焉。〉
流水涓涓芹努芽，
织乌西飞客还家。
荒村无人作寒食，
殡宫空对棠梨花。
A little out of historical order, this one. A provincial scholar has passed the provincial-level exams (lower than imperial, higher than county). Given this is a ghost poem, I assume the scholar is the “worn-out one” and the “halting” is his own death, but it’d be nice if the story actually said the tomb had been there since before Liu’s first trip through. Clarity, people, clarity. The cold food evokes Cold Food Day, a festival honoring the dead (during which cooking fires are extinguished). I like the haunting images of the first two lines, which are unlike any I’ve seen so far. (Not that my experience is all that extensive.)
And that’s enough for now—more to come, of course, with the next installment finishing out this chapter and starting the next, including some with an entertainment quality that almost matches that poem thrown at a losing general.
---L.
Index of Chinese translations