A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems Part 19

[48] Giles, "Chinese Literature," p. 165.

No poet in the world can ever have enjoyed greater contemporary popularity than Po. His poems were "on the mouths of kings, princes, concubines, ladies, plough-boys, and grooms." They were inscribed "on the walls of village-schools, temples, and s.h.i.+ps-cabins." "A certain Captain Kao Hsia-yu was courting a dancing-girl. 'You must not think I am an ordinary dancing-girl,' she said to him, 'I can recite Master Po's "Everlasting Wrong."' And she put up her price."

But this popularity was confined to the long, romantic poems and the _Lu-s.h.i.+h_. "The world," writes Po to Yuan Chen, "values highest just those of my poems which I most despise. Of contemporaries you alone have understood my satires and reflective poems. A hundred, a thousand years hence perhaps some one will come who will understand them as you have done."

The popularity of his lighter poems lasted till the Ming dynasty, when a wave of pedantry swept over China. At that period his poetry was considered vulgar, because it was not erudite; and prosaic, because it was not rhetorical.

Although they valued form far above content, not even the Ming critics can accuse him of slovenly writing. His versification is admitted by them to be "correct."

Caring, indeed, more for matter than for manner, he used with facility and precision the technical instruments which were at his disposal. Many of the later anthologies omit his name altogether, but he has always had isolated admirers. Yuan Mei imitates him constantly, and Chao I (died 1814) writes: "Those who accuse him of being vulgar and prosaic know nothing of poetry."

Even during his lifetime his reputation had reached j.a.pan, and great writers like Michizane were not ashamed to borrow from him. He is still held in high repute there, is the subject of a No Play and has even become a kind of s.h.i.+nto deity. It is significant that the only copy of his works in the British Museum is a seventeenth-century j.a.panese edition.

It is usual to close a biographical notice with an attempt to describe the "character" of one's subject. But I hold myself absolved from such a task; for the sixty poems which follow will enable the reader to perform it for himself.

AN EARLY LEVeE

ADDRESSED TO CH'EN, THE HERMIT

At Ch'ang-an--a full foot of snow; A levee at dawn--to bestow congratulations on the Emperor.

Just as I was nearing the Gate of the Silver Terrace, After I had left the suburb of Hsin-ch'ang On the high causeway my horse's foot slipped; In the middle of the journey my lantern suddenly went out.

Ten leagues riding, always facing to the North; The cold wind almost blew off my ears.

I waited for the bell outside the Five Gates; I waited for the summons within the Triple Hall.

My hair and beard were frozen and covered with icicles; My coat and robe--chilly like water.

Suddenly I thought of Hsien-yu Valley And secretly envied Ch'en Chu-s.h.i.+h, In warm bed-socks dozing beneath the rugs And not getting up till the sun has mounted the sky.

BEING ON DUTY ALL NIGHT IN THE PALACE AND DREAMING OF THE HSIEN-YU TEMPLE

At the western window I paused from writing rescripts; The pines and bamboos were all buried in stillness.

The moon rose and a calm wind came; Suddenly, it was like an evening in the hills.

And so, as I dozed, I dreamed of the South West And thought I was staying at the Hsien-yu Temple.[49]

When I woke and heard the dripping of the Palace clock I still thought it the murmur of a mountain stream.

[49] Where the poet used to spend his holidays.

Pa.s.sING T'IEN-MEN STREET IN CH'ANG-AN AND SEEING A DISTANT VIEW OF CHUNG-NAN[50] MOUNTAIN

The snow has gone from Chung-nan; spring is almost come.

Lovely in the distance its blue colours, against the brown of the streets.

A thousand coaches, ten thousand hors.e.m.e.n pa.s.s down the Nine Roads; Turns his head and looks at the mountains,--not one man!

[50] Part of the great Nan Shan range, fifteen miles south of Ch'ang-an.

THE LETTER

_Preface_:--After I parted with Yuan Chen, I suddenly dreamt one night that I saw him. When I awoke, I found that a letter from him had just arrived and, enclosed in it, a poem on the _paulovnia_ flower.

We talked together in the Yung-shou Temple; We parted to the north of the Hsin-ch'ang d.y.k.e.

Going home--I shed a few tears, Grieving about things,--not sorry for you.

Long, long the road to Lan-t'ien; You said yourself you would not be able to write.

Reckoning up your halts for eating and sleeping-- By this time you've crossed the Shang mountains.

Last night the clouds scattered away; A thousand leagues, the same moonlight scene.

When dawn came, I dreamt I saw your face; It must have been that you were thinking of me.

In my dream, I thought I held your hand And asked you to tell me what your thoughts were.

And _you_ said: "I miss you bitterly, But there's no one here to send to you with a letter."

When I awoke, before I had time to speak, A knocking on the door sounded "Doong, doong!"

They came and told me a messenger from Shang-chou Had brought a letter,--a single scroll from you!

Up from my pillow I suddenly sprang out of bed, And threw you my clothes, all topsy-turvy.

I undid the knot and saw the letter within; A single sheet with thirteen lines of writing.

At the top it told the sorrows of an exile's heart; At the bottom it described the pains of separation.

The sorrows and pains took up so much s.p.a.ce There was no room left to talk about the weather!

But you said that when you wrote You were staying for the night to the east of Shang-chou; Sitting alone, lighted by a solitary candle Lodging in the mountain hostel of Yang-Ch'eng.

Night was late when you finished writing, The mountain moon was slanting towards the west.

What is it lies aslant across the moon?

A single tree of purple _paulovnia_ flowers-- Paulovnia flowers just on the point of falling Are a symbol to express "thinking of an absent friend."

Lovingly--you wrote on the back side, To send in the letter, your "Poem of the Paulovnia Flower."

The Poem of the Paulovnia Flower has eight rhymes; Yet these eight couplets have cast a spell on my heart.

They have taken hold of this morning's thoughts And carried them to yours, the night you wrote your letter.

The whole poem I read three times; Each verse ten times I recite.

So precious to me are the fourscore words That each letter changes into a bar of gold!

REJOICING AT THE ARRIVAL OF CH'EN HSIUNG

(_Circa_ A.D. 812)

When the yellow bird's note was almost stopped; And half formed the green plum's fruit; Sitting and grieving that spring things were over, I rose and entered the Eastern Garden's gate.

I carried my cup and was dully drinking alone: Suddenly I heard a knocking sound at the door.

Dwelling secluded, I was glad that someone had come; How much the more, when I saw it was Ch'en Hsiung!

At ease and leisure,--all day we talked; Crowding and jostling,--the feelings of many years.

How great a thing is a single cup of wine!

For it makes us tell the story of our whole lives.

GOLDEN BELLS

When I was almost forty I had a daughter whose name was Golden Bells.

Now it is just a year since she was born; She is learning to sit and cannot yet talk.

Ashamed,--to find that I have not a sage's heart: I cannot resist vulgar thoughts and feelings.

Henceforward I am tied to things outside myself: My only reward,--the pleasure I am getting now.

If I am spared the grief of her dying young, Then I shall have the trouble of getting her married.

My plan for retiring and going back to the hills Must now be postponed for fifteen years!