West Pavilion Poems, (Four) Ghosts in Ganlu Temple

The year after the king of Southern Wu recaptured lands west of the Zhe (in 919(?)), a Ganlu Temple monk was giving a sermon on a summer night with a bright moon when suddenly they saw several ghosts come out of the West Pavilion, sit down, and order wine. The south-facing ghost wore southern court robes, the west-facing ghost wore northern barbarian clothing, the north-facing ghost wore wide-sleeved robes, and the east-facing ghost wore crimson robes and many thin whiskers. They looked at each other, and one said, “Although each era’s court is unique, / Past and present are all the same— / The world of time is our lifespan, / But what’s the use, to learn this again?” Each of them praised these lines of their crimson-robed friend for a long time. The barbarian-clothed one said, “I request that we each summon up our former life’s approaching death in one statement, so that the generations can sing them—can we do this?” The others said, “We can.” At that, each inscribed four lines (on the pavilion wall?) and recited them. When the daybreak bell rang, they suddenly scattered.

Ghost in Northern Clothing:
Zhao Yi could write down rhyme-prose fu,
Zou Yang explained collected works—
But what a pity Xijiang waters
Couldn’t save a fish in the wagon-track.

Ghost in Wide Sleeves:
Greatness! —fish scales that cover the sea.
Largness! —fins that bestow the heavens.
One dawn mistake with wind and water:
Capsizing made meals of “crickets and ants.”

Ghost in Southern Court Robes:
Merit and favor as good as of old—
To guard and retreat, I had no wisdom.
I’d waded great and treacherous currents:
This road was truly hard to follow

Ghost in Crimson Robes:
In the grasp of snakes and dragons, a phoenix on the paper—
Retreating a thousand ells, that isn’t hard to desire—
Look back if you’ve departed: a net conceals an elder—
And more, what man exists who flaunts his writing talent?

西轩诗
作者：甘露寺鬼
〈吴王收复浙右之明年，甘露寺僧，夏夜月明持课，俄见数鬼自西轩出，坐定，命酒。南向一人，衣南朝衣，西向一人，衣北虏衣，北向一人，衣缝掖衣，东向一人，衣朱衣，清瘦多髯。相顾言曰：“朝代虽殊，古今一致，时世命也，知复何为？”各述朱衣者平生句，赞赏久之。虏衣者曰：“请各徵曩时临危一言，以代丝竹，可乎？”众曰：“可。”于是各赋四句，吟罢，晨钟鸣，倏散。〉

赵壹能为赋，
邹阳解献书。
可惜西江水，
不救辙中鱼。〈北衣者〉

伟哉横海鳞，
壮矣垂天翼。
一旦失风水，
翻为蝼蚁食。〈缝掖衣者〉

功遂侔昔人，
保退无智力。
既涉太行险，
兹路信难陟。〈南朝衣者〉

握里龙蛇纸上鸾，
逡巡千幅不将难。
顾云已往罗隐耄，
更有何人逞笔端。〈朱衣者〉

The Southern Wu (902-937) was one of the southern Ten Kingdoms of the post-Tang era—Ganlu (“sweet dew”) Temple in Zhenjiang, Jiangsu was in its territory. My guess at a date, based on a rough skim through a Chinese chronicle, comes from a successful 919 war against Wuyue to the east, but I wonder if it’s too late given the next poem. Robes with wide sleeves are worn by Confucian scholars, and crimson robes by certain officials. The many thin whiskers is such a perfect random detail—I love it. Again we have a set with several high-rank plus one low-rank ghost. Annotating the poems:

1. Zhao Yi and Zou Yang were scholar-officials of the Han Dynasty—I’m not clear whether this is supposed to suggest Mr. Northern-Clothes also lived then, or they’re just references of cultural currency. A fu is a literary essay in occasionally metered and rhymed prose, sometimes translated as rhymed-prose or rhapsody—two of Zhao Yi’s have survived. A fish in a wagon track feels like a cultural reference I don’t have, but the image clearly evokes getting trampled under the wheel of a greater power.


2. I’m unclear whether Mr. Wide-Sleeves is evoking being capsized by the giant kun fish of folklore or a whale (which was sometimes understood to have scales), but either way the general sense is he ran afoul of a powerful person. “Crickets (and) ants” (reversed in translation for metrical reasons) is an idiom for the little people.


3. Mr. Court-Robes seems to have died from losing a round of court politics, which can indeed sometimes be fatal.


4. Dragons and snakes appear on imperial banners, suggesting Mr. Crimson-Robes-cum-Phoenix (NB: a red bird is the guardian of the south) also ran afoul of Powers That Be. The way he alludes to the other three poems (in reverse order!) ties the four together in their causes of death.

All in all, this feels rather more literary than most of these ghost stories.

Language notes: oh hey, using the actual word for ‘barbarian’ instead of an ethnonym such as Hu—more of this, please? The unit I’m translating as ell now means width in general, but originally was the standard width of a piece of woven cloth.

---L.