Poem on a Pillar, A Ghost in Baling Inn

The old Baling Inn in Jiang’an had a single central hall and many strange creatures, and it had been locked up for 10 years. The hermit Liu Fang, staying in the mysterious building, heard a married woman and an old servant speaking, followed by a song. When the song was done, a poem was recited in response in a very mournful voice. The next day, awakening in that central hall, he saw (a? the?) poem written on the front of an east-side pillar, the ink still dark and fresh, and he understood it was by the person who came that night. Because of this, Fang inquired about the person, but in the end couldn’t learn anything.

My parents saw me off beneath the maple green—
I can’t recall how many times that maple has scattered.
Back then my hand was pierced by flowers on my clothes—
Today, as ashes, I just cannot bear to touch them.

柱上诗
作者：巴陵馆鬼
〈巴陵江岸古馆，有一厅，多怪物，扃锁已十年矣。山人刘方玄宿馆中，闻有妇人及老青衣言语，俄有歌者。歌讫，复吟诗，声殊酸切。明日，启其厅，见前间东柱上有诗一首，墨色甚新，乃知即夜来人也。复以此访于人，终不能知之。〉
爷娘送我青枫根，
不记青枫几回落。
当时手刺衣上花，
今日为灰不堪著。

So. Sometimes literary Chinese can be just a little too pro-drop. Was the poem by the woman, the servant, or another spirit? Who sang, and what was the song? What did the woman and servant say to each other? Heck, how’d this Liu Fang get into the locked building in the first place? Such the gaps. Well, to annotate one clear thing: Jiang’an is a district of modern Wuhan, Hunan.

Translation difficulty: the final word 著 has a ridiculous number meanings: using its modern pronunciations, as zháo, it can be “touch” or “succeed at” or “feel” or “burn”; as zhuó, it can be “wear (clothes)”; and as zhù it can be “make known” or “become manifest” —and those are only the senses it had at the time that are possibly relevant (given the thorns, clothing, ashes, and being a ghost). The most likely are “wear” and “touch.”

---L.