Poems by Chinese ghosts part V: The Fifth Installment

[larryhammer]

As you may have noticed, some of these episodes of ghostly poets from Complete Tang Poems chapter 866 (headnotes) consist of more than one poem—some are poetry exchanges, which can get pretty lengthy. Since the total number of ghost poems isn’t a multiple of 13, I’m stuffing the five (5) longest ones into this Part V (五) remainders post, to keep other installments from getting Simply Too Long. All of them are interesting—which isn’t surprising, given they have more material than usual. Some nice psychological nuance here.

This round includes conjugal love continuing after death, a marriage to a dead imperial princess (who claims a male-only title), a one-night stand with a legendary beauty, a stupid-messy breakup with an after-death makeup, and an object-lesson on the dangers of famous peonies. IOW, lots of sex with dead women.

… I’m not selling that very well, am I. I should just let the ghosts speak for themselves:

---

Replying to Her Husband: Two Poems, née Zhang

Tang Xuan of Jinchang married a young woman of the Zhang family who had considerable good looks and virtue. In 730, when Xuan had gone to Luoyang, his wife expired at Weinan Manor. After several years, he had to return there. He recalled his feelings about the events of the past and composed (two) poems, which he sadly recited. [TN: read the third and fourth poems] Suddenly his wife came forward, saying, “It is moving, your cherishing our memories, and the Netherworld Officials have specially released this one to come here.” They paid their respects to each other with cordial words and let down the curtain to her quarters, then expressed their loving bonds just as they had all their lives. Xuan composed a poem for her [TN: fifth poem], so she took off her belt and also inscribed (two) poems on it in reply. [TN: first and second poems] When the sky brightened, she departed.

1.
I’m not content, that secret and seen are sundered—
But how’s enduring different, then and now?
We’re shadowed, sunlit—it follows that we’re parted.
Meeting, dispersing, both are hard on the heart.

2.
Upon the orchid stair, Moon Rabbit’s tilted,
The silver candle’s burnt out half its time.
I pity me, a long night’s visitor—
The Netherworld, I must treat it as home.

Appendix

Tang Xuan’s Poems Mourning His Wife

1.
The bedroom: I sorrow at the long grass mat—
The women’s floor: I sob at the mirror stand.
A lonely grief as peaches and plums make merry.
We’re not together at night’s open mouth.
Ah, spirit—if you’ve any feelings at all,
Come just like within the Buddha’s dream.

2.
The flowered hall is quiet all the time.
Talking and laughing pass the count of hours.
This distracted person worked and changed—
The silent one was sent to an unkempt mound.
A sunlit spring—I sing “The Dew on the Scallions.”
A shadowed gulch—I hate my “hidden boat.”
A clear night, moonlight on your makeup table:
A fantasy, you painting your brows, brings sorrow.

Poem Composed for His Wife
The wutong qin from Yi is halfway dead,
The sword from Yanping Ford is wholly submerged.
How within our place of former times
To bear in vain a hundred years in my heart?

答夫诗二首
作者：张氏
〈晋昌唐晅，娶姑女张氏，颇有令德。开元十八年，晅入洛，妻卒于卫南庄。后数岁，得归。追感陈迹，赋诗悲吟，忽见张氏前来，曰：“感君记念，冥司特放儿来。”因相拜款语，下帘帏，申缱绻，宛如平生。晅以诗赠张氏，氏亦裂带题诗以荅，天明别去。〉

[其一]
不分殊幽显，
那堪异古今。
阴阳徒自隔，
聚散两难心。

[其二]
兰阶兔月斜，
银烛半含花。
自怜长夜客，
泉路以为家。

〈附〉

唐晅悼妻诗

[其一]
寝室悲长簟，
妆楼泣镜台。
独悲桃李节，
不共夜泉开。
魂兮若有感，
仿佛梦中来。

[其二]
常时华堂静，
笑语度更筹。
恍惚人事改，
冥寞委荒丘。
阳原歌薤露，
阴壑惜藏舟。
清夜妆台月，
空想画眉愁。

赠妻诗
峄阳桐半死，
延津剑一沈。
如何宿昔内，
空负百年心。

Another example where the CPT editors prioritize the ghost’s poem rather than the chronological narrative of a ghost story. Jinchang is in central Gansu, on the Silk Road, while Luoyang is in central Henan, over a thousand kilometers away—a long journey and a long time away. I’m bemused by the trope (seen for a second time) of a female ghost writing poems on a piece of her clothing.

Notes on her poems: I knew I’d have to deal with yin and yang (阴阳) at some point—that important polysemous Daoist concept-pair. So, in his second poem, Xuan uses yang to mean sunlit and yin to mean shadowed, which she picks up on in her first poem, only using yang/sunlit to mean living and yin/shadowed to mean dead. (Note also her use of “the secret and seen” meaning “the dead and living,” the same as the Ghost of a Stone Wall in Huqiu.) The dark spot on the moon traditionally thought to resemble a rabbit tips over as the moon descends—IOW the night is growing later. Idiom: Netherworld is literally “the [Yellow] Springs Road,” which oddly is not actually a route to the Yellow Springs but another name for the place itself.

Notes on his poems: Idiom: women’s floor is literally “floor of adornment” —in multi-story homes (as opposed to spread out compounds), the women’s quarters were traditionally upstairs. Idiom: silent one is literally “the silent below” as in, in the underworld. “The Dew on the Scallions” was a folk-song of mourning, while the “hidden boat” is an allusion to a passage by Zhuangzi about bearing a heavy burden—I want to render that less literally, but haven’t come up with anything good. Wood of wutong aka parasol trees from the south-facing slopes (which part got lost in translation) of the Yi Hills in Shandong were considered prime materials for making a qin, a type of zither, and I think we’re to understand that it’s the qin itself that’s half-dead (that is, hardly ever played), while Yanping Ford, Fujian, was noted for its excellent swordsmiths.


Poems of an Afterlife Encounter, together with Dugu Mu, Linzi County Magistrate

Around 795, Dugu Mu of Henan, a distant descendent of Dugu Sheng, was traveling about Huainan. One night he sought refuge in lodgings in Dayi County, and came across a servant in the road who guided him to a gated compound where they were extremely respectful, with food and wine and bedding perfectly provided for. Two women came out to meet him, one calling herself the Magistrate of the Sui Dynasty’s Linzi County and daughter of the Prince of Qi, who died in the Rebellion in Guangling (in 617). Because Mu was a descendent of a Sui general whose loyal sacrifice (in that rebellion) was reported even in his generation, she desired an underworld marriage with him. She summoned Lai Hu’er’s singer, who joined them, and they composed poetry, as was courteous. [TN: first five poems] Then she said that when she died, she was buried hastily in a shallow grave, and urged Mu to rebury her on a north-facing hill in Luoyang. [TN: last two poems] On another day, Mu left, traveling several meters, and found her lost skeleton. The night after he reburied her, as she had asked, the County Magistrate came to him again and said, “In the 16th year of the cycle (799), it will be suitable for us to be together at last.” In 799, Mu died of a sudden illness, and was buried in a joint grave with her.

(1) Presented to Mu by the County Magistrate
In Yangzhou once was death and chaos—
Below the palace massed tents and troops.
Wolves and tigers devoured unchecked,
Thousands of spears spread wide each day.
The rebels themselves arrived outside—
At midnight they opened the inner wall:
Flesh and blood steeped palace halls,
Swords and spears leaned on the columns.
I know now that the rebels followed
Scheming ministers and dukes—
Their naked blades defiled the realm,
And they succeeded as it collapsed.
The strong winds show which plants are sturdy—
Chaos reveals the loyal officials.
In utmost sorrow, Dugu had honor,
And facing death he was a martyr.
All the world, since “Unchecked” and “Perverse,”
Is never smooth in clouds and thunder.
Now, two hundred years since then,
My feelings hidden as if not ready—
The hills and streams are scenes as of old—
I sleep in a mound—fresh dew and mist.
Grasp, Noble One, your grandsire’s virtue,
Famed at the border as loyal and keen:
From your ornate carriage grant your favor—
In my earth house, I’d feel the honor.
Husband, be steadfast—seize this chance.
I don’t exist without your love.
I beseech the righteous—you can support me,
For who clasps only a secret faith?

(2) Mu’s Reply to the County Magistrate
When Heaven’s ruler fell in ruins,
The Sui clan joined his fate like a tassel,
Faced tribulations from paired watch-towers.
War-spears connected the nine provinces—
Outside the gates were vicious commoners
And toward that palace came rebel schemes.
Wangyi Palace once held blood-sacrifice—
The ancestral spirits also brought shame.
At Wenshi Palace, troops were gathered.
At the inner gate the blood soon flowed.
Pity, ah! —the boy flute-player.
Grief wailed beneath the Phoenix Tower.
Frost-glitter blades appeared and pressed.
‘Jade hairpins’ couldn’t plead for mercy.
Silk jackets left behind for servants.
Face-powder, brow-liner: bitter foes.
The realm by then had sunk and capsized—
Survivors didn’t keep their vows.
Brave, so brave, my ancestor general—
For the land only do I grieve—
His crimson blood splashed on the screen,
His firm flesh stained the spears and lances.
Today we see the wheat and millet,
Who daily mourn the dynastic cycle.
The jade tree is already lonesome—
In the Yellow Springs, ten-million autumns.
I feel your single glance is heavy
And wish his loyalty be rewarded—
For secret and seen, if there’s no harm,
Then this pact is a silken bond.

(3) Poem of the Lai Family Singer
In Pinyang County, mid the trees,
Long has flourished the dust from Guangling.
We didn’t think what youth might come—
The Yellow Springs see spring again.

(4) Recited by Mu to the County Magistrate, as was Courteous
The gold boudoir, long without master,
Where fine silk sleeves were born of the dust—
I wish you were my flute-playing partner:
Together we’d ride phoenixes.

(5) Poem of the County Magistrate Betrothing Herself to Mu
Beneath the crimson carriage, the road is long—
Green grass begins upon the lonely grave.
It’s better, though, than on the balcony
Watching in vain the clouds from dawn to dusk.

(6) Poem by the County Magistrate, Requesting Reburial
The dewy grass is lush, so lush—
My crumbling grave is not yet moved.
I, of course, within it dwell—
Thus far, it has been many years,
With my lord’s deceased ancestor.
Since then, his favor rippled on.
Living and dead, we’ve made a pact,
Suddenly dealing with each other—
Who calls this a delightful time?
I seek to comply—do not depart:
I’ll wait until my lord goes north,
Then hand in hand we’ll both return.

(7) Mu’s Reply to the County Magistrate
As for that place that’s called Weiyang,
In heaven there was one direction:
I spurred my horse for long, so long,
Abruptly came to this strange place.
Our feelings met, secret and seen,
And reached a meeting with each other.
It’s righteous, as in days of old,
To say we live in loving bondage.
A river clear with cassia isle—
It’s possible to wander on,
But with the death of my dear one,
There’s no change to delay departure.

与独孤穆冥会诗
作者：临淄县主
〈贞元中，河南独孤穆者，隋将独孤盛裔孙也。客游淮南，夜投大仪县宿，路逢青衣，引至一所，见门馆甚肃，酒食衾褥备具。有二女子出见，自称隋临淄县主，齐王之女，死于广陵之变，以穆隋将后裔，世禀忠烈，欲成冥婚，召来护儿歌人同至，赋诗就礼，且云死时浮瘗草草，嘱穆改葬洛阳北坂。穆于异日发地数尺，果得遗骸。因如言携葬，其夜县主复见，曰：“岁至己卯，当遂相见。”至贞元十五年己卯，穆果暴亡，与之合窆。〉

江都昔丧乱，
阙下多构兵。
豺虎恣吞噬，
干戈日纵横。
逆徒自外至，
半夜开重城。
膏血浸宫殿，
刀枪倚檐楹。
今知从逆者，
乃是公与卿。
白刃污黄屋，
邦家遂因倾。
疾风知劲草，
世乱识忠臣。
哀哀独孤公，
临死乃结缨。
天地既《板》《荡》，
云雷时未亨。
今者二百载，
幽怀犹未平。
山河风月古，
陵寝露烟青。
君子秉祖德，
方垂忠烈名。
华轩一惠顾，
土室以为荣。
丈夫立志操，
存没感其情。
求义若可托，
谁能抱幽贞。
〈县主赠穆〉

皇天昔降祸，
隋室若缀旒。
患难在双阙，
干戈连九州。
出门皆凶竖，
所向多逆谋。
白日忽然暮，
颓波不可收。
望夷既结衅，
宗社亦贻羞。
温室兵始合，
宫闱血已流。
悯哉吹箫子，
悲啼下凤楼。
霜刃徒见逼，
玉笄不可求。
罗襦遗侍者，
粉黛成仇雠。
邦国已沦覆，
馀生誓不留。
英英将军祖，
独以社稷忧。
丹血溅黼扆，
丰肌染戈矛。
今来见禾黍，
尽日悲宗周。
玉树已寂寞，
泉台千万秋。
感兹一顾重，
愿以死节酬。
幽显傥不昧，
终焉契绸缪。
〈穆答县主〉

平阳县中树，
久作广陵尘。
不意何郎至，
黄泉重见春。
〈来家歌人诗〉

金闺久无主，
罗袂坐生尘。
愿作吹箫伴，
同为骑凤人。
〈穆讽县主就礼〉

朱轩下长路，
青草启孤坟。
犹胜阳台上，
空看朝暮云。
〈县主许穆诗〉

露草芊芊，
颓茔未迁。
自我居此，
于今几年。
与君先祖，
畴昔恩波。
死生契阔，
忽此相过。
谁谓佳期，
寻当别离。
俟君之北，
携手同归。
〈县主请迁葬诗〉

伊彼维扬，
在天一方。
驱马悠悠，
忽来异乡。
情通幽显，
获此相见。
义感畴昔，
言存缱绻。
清江桂洲，
可以遨游。
惟子之故，
不遑淹留。
〈穆答县主〉

I render 冥婚 meaning “a marriage between a living person and a ghost” as underworld marriage, because that’s the standard translation. Yes, that’s enough of a Thing to have a standard translation. Yes, that fact is awesome. As is that this is another female ghost claiming what traditionally was a strictly male title. Unlike Buddhist Monk Mituo, I don’t understand the significance of this.

Notes on the headnote, starting with a history infodump: Qi was an imperial principality (named after the Warring State) centered in northern Shandong, which in most dynasties was held by members of the imperial family, usually a close relative of the emperor. At the time of the Magistrate’s death, the Prince of Qi was the crown prince, the only surviving son of Sui Emperor Yang—IOW, she’s actually an imperial princess. The rebellion that killed her is the palace coup that captured and killed the emperor, her father, and several other family members (and oh by the way brought down the dynasty), in the Sui southern capital of Jiangdu aka Guangling aka Weiyang aka modern Yangzhou, Jiangsu. Dugu Sheng and Lai Hu’er were generals who died defending the emperor during that coup. Linzi is now a district of Zibo City, northern Shandong, and was the capital of Qi at the time. Confusingly, the only Dayi I can find is now a township of Juye County, western Shandong, and neither it nor Huainan in Anhui (nor Pinyang in Zhejiang of the third poem) are anywhere near Yangzhou, or each other.

Literally, Mu goes several chi to find her remains, which is an odd choice of distance, as a chi is only a third of a meter. As for the 16th year, that’s the count on the 60-year cycle: slightly oversimplified, the 12 rotating zodiac animals familiar in the west is actually only part of the traditional calendar cycle, which simultaneously also counts a 5-year rotation through the Five Phases (aka Elements), giving a full count of 60 before returning to the start. Each year is not an {animal} year but actually an {element} {animal} year—for example, the year that started in 2022 CE is a water tiger year. And yes, 799 was indeed an earth rabbit year aka 16th of the cycle.

BTW, that second woman? Unless she’s the singer, she never gets explained or mentioned again.

(1) The original’s repetitive syntax over the first eight lines, recounting the battle, is almost incantory—because languages work differently, I couldn’t do quite the same thing, but I think managed a pale echo of the effect. “Perverse/Abnormal” (板) and “Rampant” (荡) from the Classic of Poetry lament times when the powerful oppress the weak—so “ever since (the turmoils of) ancient times.” (Stick a pin in that mention of the Classic of Poetry.)

(2) The run-up to the coup included widespread agrarian revolts over high taxes and a new harsh legal code—thus the “vicious commoners.” Wangyi was a Qin Dynasty palace where court eunuch Zhao Gao had the second and last Qin Dynasty emperor murdered—just as the Magistrate’s grandfather was the second and last Sui emperor. A “jade hairpin” is a young woman, esp. an upper-class one such as a lady-in-waiting. The jade tree is obviously symbolic, but of what, I cannot say.

(3) The Springs/spring pun is not in the original, and hard to avoid in translation.

(4) The last two lines refer to a romantic incident from the Warring States period involving a musician and the daughter of the Duke of Qin who met in their dreams and, admiring each other’s flute-playing, eventually married. According to legend, they eventually rode phoenixes into immortality, but according to the traditional histories, they had become too popular (and made music too popular) for the legalistic and militaristic Qin state apparatus to accept, so were forced to live in seclusion. (Yes, there totally are operas about this story. Like, duh.)

(5) A “lonely grave” can specifically mean a grave for a married couple where only one is buried because the other is still alive.

(6-7) The four-character lines of the last two poems are very old-fashioned, harkening back to the Classic of Poetry. (You can remove that pin now.) My sense is this gives them a formal tone.


Poems Presented and in Reply, together with Li Zhangwu, Woman of the Wang Family

In 787, Li Zhangwu of Zhongshan was traveling around Huazhou. On the street north of the marketplace, he saw an extremely beautiful woman, and he succeeded in renting a room at her house. The woman he followed was the daughter-in-law of the head of the Wang family. The two found each other pleasing and privately conversed. After a month, his expenses were more than 30,000 all told, and the daughter-in-law’s expenses also more than doubled, as their loving feelings overflowed. Zhangwu denounced the woman while giving her silk cloth with paired mandarin ducks, and the Wang Woman replied with a jade finger-ring. They each made a poem and then parted. [TN: read the first two poems now] Eleven years later he returned, but the Wang family elder had retired and was traveling, and there was no one at the house, the daughter-in-law having already died. The wife of the neighbor to the east, Yang, told him that, as she approached death, she’d entrusted a message for him, saying, “When that gentleman Li the 18th arrives here, should he request temporary lodgings, he’ll have his desired spirit meeting with Fang Zuzhong.” At this, Zhangwu immediately borrowed a place to rest at the house, set out food and drink, and recited a memorial ceremony. As a result, he saw the Wang Woman gradually appear in the north corner of the room. They greeted each other and embraced overnight, conversing as if happy all their lives. When the Dawn Watch came, from under the bed came a choking sob, but still they said their farewells with poems, then she went into the corner of the room and never reappeared.

Zhangwu Gave the Wang Woman Silk with Paired Mandarin Ducks
    I blame the duck-print silk,
Knowing it’s bound with several thousand threads.
After I am gone, seek conjugal love—
It ought to hurt, though it’s not time to go.

The Wang Woman Replies to Li Zhongwu with a White-Jade Ring
        Twirl round this finger-ring:
You’ll pine for me, seeing the ring, heavy with memories.
    I want my lord to grasp this trifle long—
    Follow the ring, which doesn’t have an end.

Presented by the Wang Woman on Parting from Li Zhangwu
The Starry River is already tilted.
My soul and spirit long to transcend this.
I wish the gentleman would still embrace me.
Henceforth, until the end of days, farewell.

Zhangwu Replies to the Wang Woman
By dying split, secret and seen are parted—
How can one say there is an auspicious time?
Over and over we bid farewell, then part.
The place of sighs—who’s the one sent there?

Another Presented by the Wang Woman to Zhangwu
Expelled once from your bosom, later we met,
And now we part, dismissed till the end of days.
New sorrow, and as well the old resentment—
A thousand ages close the dried-up Springs.

Zhangwu Again Replies to the Wang Woman
Later, you’ll disappear without restriction.
Before, resentment—then we sought each other.
A parting road without a traveler’s message:
But how can I successfully send my heart?

Zhangwu Reminisces about the Wang Woman
The waters do not go back west, the moon is briefly full—
This makes a person melancholy beside an ancient city.
I’m bleak: tomorrow we’ll split up by a fork in the road.
I know the hour we shall meet—but in what year or age?

Appendix

When Zhangwu related this matter to his traveling companion Li Zhu, Zhu was also moved and composed a poem.

Composed by Li Zhu for Zhangwu
Stones sink—the distant sea is broad.
Swords part—the clear sky is wide.
You’ll meet, I know, without the sun:
Divided hearts are full of sunset.

与李章武赠答诗
作者：王氏妇
〈中山李章武，贞元三年，客游华州，于市北街见一妇甚美，遂赁舍其家。主人姓王，此则其子妇也。两相悦而私焉。月馀，计用直三万馀，子妇所供费亦倍之，情好弥切。章武告妇，赠鸳鸯绮，子妇荅以玉指环，各为诗别。至十一年，重游，则王氏长老舍业远游，室无一人，子妇殁已再周矣。有东邻妇杨，道其临殁相托语云：“李十八郎至此，乞暂留止，冀神会于髣髴中。”章武于是仍就其家借憩，具酒食呼祭，果见王氏从室北角冉冉至，迎拥共宿，叙平生欢。至五更，下床呜咽，仍各为诗叙别，自屋角去，不复见。〉

怨鸯绮，
知结几千丝。
别后寻交颈，
应伤未别时。
〈章武赠王氏鸳鸯绮〉

捻指环，
相思见环重相忆。
愿君永持玩，
回圈无终极。
〈王氏答李章武白玉指环〉

河汉已倾斜，
神魂欲超越。
愿郎更回抱，
终天从此诀。
〈王氏赠别李章武〉

分从幽显隔，
岂谓有佳期。
宁辞重重别，
所叹去何之。
〈章武答王氏〉

昔辞怀后会，
今别便终天。
新悲与旧恨，
千古闭穷泉。
〈王氏再赠章武〉

后期杳无约，
前恨已相寻。
别路无行信，
何因得寄心。
〈章武再答王氏〉

水不西归月暂圆，
令人惆怅古城边。
萧条明早分岐路，
知更相逢何岁年。
〈章武怀念王氏〉

〈附〉
李助为章武赋
〈章武与道友陇西李助话其事，助亦感而赋诗。〉
石沈辽海阔，
剑别楚天长。
会合知无日，
离心满夕阳。

Zhongshan is a mountain range in southern Shaanxi, south of Chang’an (modern Xi’an), and Huazhou was a prefecture at the foot of Mt. Hua, eastern Shaanxi—so at the start, Zhangwu hasn’t wandered all that far from home. The daughter-in-law seems to be widowed but still living with her husband’s family—absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, but I’d certainly expect a mention of a husband if he were around. I do not know why the narration never uses her full name (Fang Zuzhong), let alone what the significance of this is. Mandarin ducks, which mate for life, are symbols of conjugal love—and are typically not given as a break-up present. I’m amused at how, in his first poem, Zhangwu is trying for magnanimous but totally failing to hide his bitterness over just how expensive a mistress she turned out to be.

The “dried-up springs” can mean the grave, the afterworld or, the most likely here, both at once.

I’m unclear on the timing of the penultimate poem: was it composed the morning the Wang Woman disappeared, when he told his companion of the road the story, or some time in between? Emotionally, it can be read fit any of those times, and my interpretation splits the difference and words it as the last. “To return west” is a euphemism for “to die,” but it also works literally: all of China’s rivers flow east into the Pacific.


Thanking Wang Xuan, Xi Shi

Around 831, Advanced Scholar Wang Xuan, who seldom made poems and was inclined to have a creative imagination, once traveled the Xijiang River. He moored his boat beneath Mt. Zhuluo and inscribed a poem upon a stone. [TN: second poem] Suddenly he saw a woman who called herself Xi Shi, shaking a fine jade necklace-pendant and supported by a stone bamboo-shoot. She thanked him with a poem, and they happily met together, then parted.

This one from the Wu Palace, or rather Land of Yue,
In white clothes for a thousand years, and no one knew.
Back then, my heart was just like metal or stone: unyielding.
Today, my lord, you must not be unyielding too.

Appendix [1]
Poem that Wang Xuan Inscribed on Xi Shi’s Stone
Upon the range a thousand summits grow,
Beside the river bank fine grasses flourish.
Just now I found a stone beside the Huansha
But don’t see anyone who’s washing silk.

Appendix [2]
Xuan’s Poem
A beauty left a thousand years ago—
The mountain creeks have long been still and lonesome.
On country waters white mists float along.
Flowers on cliffs of course will bloom then fall.
The birds and monkeys once were clearly heard—
The wind and moon still guard the tall pavilion.
There are no words to stop the sun from sinking,
And hidden feelings enter the covering sky.

Xi Shi’s Poem
High flowers (off the cliff) are tasty to each other,
Birds hidden in the rain still twitter without rest,
Red clouds are flying west across the peaceful river—
Henceforth the human world will blame the scenery.

Appendix [3]
Xuan’s Poem
Back then the plan was clumsy, and the general laughed:
Why should defeating a realm depend upon a beauty?
But once that immortal flower entered the land of Wu,
From then on, the land of Yue no longer had a spring.

Xi Shi’s Poem
Rose-clouds arrive and go outside the crowded peaks,
The seagulls float and bob between the water’s waves.
Since when the troops of Yue together shook the earth,
That soul in dreams did not arrive at Mt. Huqiu.

谢王轩
作者：西施
〈太和中，进士王轩，少为诗，颇有才思，尝游西江，泊舟苧罗山下，题诗于石。俄见一女子自称西施，振琼珰，扶石笋，以诗酬谢，欢会而别。〉

妾自吴宫还越国，
素衣千载无人识。
当时心比金石坚，
今日为君坚不得。

〈附〉
王轩题西施石诗
岭上千峰秀，
江边细草春。
今逢浣纱石，
不见浣纱人。

〈附〉
轩诗
佳人去千载，
溪山久寂寞。
野水浮白烟，
岩花自开落。
猿鸟旧清音，
风月闲楼阁。
无语立斜阳，
幽情入天幕。

西施诗
高花岩外晓相鲜，
幽鸟雨中啼不歇。
红云飞过大江西，
从此人间怨风月。

〈附〉
轩诗
当时计拙笑将军，
何事安邦赖美人。
一自仙葩入吴国，
从兹越国更无春。

西施诗
云霞出没群峰外，
鸥鸟浮沈一水间。
一自越兵齐振地，
梦魂不到虎丘山。

(The second poem goes first, but otherwise the rest are in order. I’ll leave mapping the stages of their flirty exchange to the reader.)

Xi Shi (“[Lady] Shi of the west”) was one of China’s Four Greatest Beauties Evah—so this guy’s story (and the headnote writer is clearly skeptical) claims he met the equivalent of Helen of Troy’s ghost, who then came on to him. And yes, “meet together” can, when a man and a woman are involved, mean an intimate encounter. Xi Shi was, historically, given by the ruler of Warring State Yue to the ruler of rival state Wu as a concubine to distract him from affairs of state—a sexpionage ploy that supposedly actually worked (during which she supposedly did her job without falling for the king—thus being “unyielding”). Mt. Zhuluo in Zhejiang is her reputed birthplace, and there still is a temple to her at its foot, on the banks of the Huansha River (a tributary of the Xijiang), roughly where she was supposedly discovered by a Yue minister as she washed silk clothing on a stone there.

If I read up better on the legends of Xi Shi I’d probably have an idea of what the necklace and stone bamboo shoot signified (though note the bamboo pole in the picture linked above). Same Mt. Huqiu in Suzhou, Jiangsu as where the ghost wrote on the temple wall, but again, I’ve not read up on Xi Shi enough to know its import.


Poems Composed in Reply, together with Xie Ao, A Beautiful Woman in a Golden Carriage

Xie Ao of Chen Country, who was elevated to Advanced Scholar, resided in Shengdao Ward of Chang’an with many peony trees planted in his front courtyard. One day he saw a beautiful woman driving a golden carriage arrive at his gate, age possibly 16 or 17, with a beautiful and refined appearance, who called to Ao, saying, “I heard this place is famous for its flowers, and because of this I came so that we can drink this wine-jar together.” He naturally asked who she was, and she replied, “You understand I’m not human, yet calmly ask such a question?” Late that night, she took her leave, requesting a poem as a present. Ao disappointedly ordered his brush, and the beautiful woman replied. [TN: first two poems] The next year Ao was demoted and returned east. He arrived at a Xinfeng guest-house, where he strolled beneath the moon, gazing far off, and recalling his feelings of the previous events, he composed a poem and clearly recited it. [TN: third poem] Suddenly he heard the sounds of a carriage coming from the west, and when he looked, it was the previous beautiful woman, who said, “You invited this Hong Nong to feel your emotions, and so I heard.” She sobbed without self-control, and Ao also wept in grief. He repeated the poem he’d made, and the beautiful woman in return repaid him with a poem. [TN: third again, and fourth] Ao did not send her away, though he knew she acted strangely, as he couldn’t forget her. Hong Nong of the crooked path stayed several days at his request, (then) at long last she vanished in both sight and sound. He returned to Luoyang and, after not many months, expired from his suffering.

Ao
After we met, your balcony was dark indefinitely.
Mist deepens in the emerald trees, the water-clock drips slow.
At midnight comes a fragrant breeze as moonlight fills the courtyard:
Before my flowers, I compose a parting poem in vain.

Beautiful Woman
There is no road to yearn for you, and so I must not yearn.
Within the winds the flowers bloom for only a short time.
A melancholy golden door—even if I return,
At daybreak orioles chirp then stop on the green willow branches.

Ao
A single sheet of flowered paper, clouds dispersed on blue,
That’s redolent of black ink just as if it still was fresh.
My emptiness increases, filling my eyes with misery.
I cannot see three mountains nor that indistinct person.
The setting moon shines on my clothes—tonight I will be dreaming
Of flowers scattering and chirping birds from last year’s spring.
The red boudoir is even more a place for anxiety:
Above the window, spiderwebs—with how much dust upon them?

Beautiful Woman
Depressed at our auspicious time, alone within a dream.
In Wuling the appearance of spring has reached its end in vain.
I long to know when parted how to stubbornly endure:
There only are just bits of news—for us, there’s no connection.
With anxious mien and eyebrows raised, I stare at the shallow green
As tracks of tears invade my cheeks, falling down light red.
These carriage wheels pause here for now with this descendent of kings—
Tomorrow I will hurry west and he will face the east.

与谢翺赠答诗
作者：金车美人
〈陈郡谢翱，举进士，寓居长安升道里，庭中多植牡丹。一日，见有一美人，乘金车至门，年可十六七，风貌闲丽，谓翱曰：“闻此地有名花，故来与君一醉耳。”固问为何人，曰：“君但知非人，则已安用问耶？”夜阑辞归，乞诗为赠，翱怅然命笔，美人荅之。翱明年下第东归，至新丰逆旅，步月长望，追感前事，赋诗朗吟。忽闻车音自西来，视之，乃前美人也，曰：“将之弘农，感君意，故一面耳。”呜咽不自胜，翱亦悲泣，诵所制诗，美人复酬一诗。翱别之去，虽知为怪，不能忘，枉道弘农，留数日，求之，竟绝影响。还洛阳不数月，以怨结卒。〉

阳台后会杳无期，
碧树烟深玉漏迟。
半夜香风满庭月，
花前空赋别离诗。
〈翺〉

相思无路莫相思，
风里花开只片时。
惆怅金闺却归去，
晓莺啼断绿杨枝。
〈美人〉

一纸华笺洒碧云，
馀香犹在墨犹新。
空添满目凄凉事，
不见三山缥缈人。
斜月照衣今夜梦，
落花啼鸟去年春。
红闺更有堪愁处，
窗上虫丝几上尘。
〈翺〉

惆怅佳期一梦中，
武陵春色尽成空。
欲知离别偏堪恨，
只为音尘两不通。
愁态上眉凝浅绿，
泪痕侵脸落轻红。
双轮暂与王孙驻，
明日西驰又向东。
〈美人〉

Well hey, a second time where poems are given in narrative order, instead of putting the ghost’s first and appending the others. Also, this is another where we learn the woman’s name, which is then ignored for the ascription and (most of) the narration. Not to mention, another time where I feel like I’ve wandered into a historical romance.

Cheng County is now part of Huaiyang in southeastern Henan. Luoyang, where Ao apparently was demoted to, is in northwestern Henan, and Xinfeng was a town about a day’s journey east of Chang’an on the route there. “Not human” could easily be read as “not mortal” (or maybe “no longer mortal”?) but either way, the editors understood Nong to be a ghost rather than say a demon. (That said, Extensive Records of the Taiping Era classified this as a story about 妖怪 yaoguai, monsters/devils.) Traditionally, women came of age and were considered fully adult at 15.

The balcony is specifically one on an upstairs women’s quarters—that it’s remained dark without her presence “indefinitely” is romantic exaggeration, given he’s just met her. Lost in translation: the water-clock is “jade,” that is, a really fine one, and Nong wants to endure her “resentment” at their separation. An “auspicious time” is one for a wedding or, by extension, any tryst. I’ve touched on this before, but “go/return west” is a euphemism for dying, which for someone already a ghost can probably be understood as “return to the underworld.”

I like how in both her poems, Nong responds to and advances Ao’s images.

---

Which is enough for now, if not more than enough. Back with the final installment in two weeks or so.

---L.

Index of Chinese translations

Comments

[cmcmck]

These remind me in some ways of the 'night visiting' songs of the English oral folk tradition- sometime also known as 'grey cock' ballads because a grey cock often appears to crow the dawn and end the ghostly visit.

[larryhammer]

It's a very common trope of ghosts worldwide, visiting at night and vanishing at dawn.

Interestingly, I haven't met many roosters in Chinese poems -- only once IIRC. Many, many other kinds of morning birds, but not thems.

[cmcmck]

'The grey cock'

https://youtu.be/0jVF8JV97_I

[puddleshark]

These are wonderful. Thank you!

[larryhammer]

Bu ke qi!

[sartorias]

I really, really love that first line.

[larryhammer]

Er, which one?

[sartorias]

I’m not content, that secret and seen are sundered—

[larryhammer]

Yes -- I managed one of my flashes of real sound-work, getting that one to sing as well as the original sense wanted.