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Poems, Unnamed Ghost
Sunday, 4 December 2022 10:011.
Boat masts on the river all of a hundred feet—
Tower-tops within the mountains, twelve times over.
Upstairs the mountain monk looks down upon the river,
Points out the masts, and laughing, he then murders me.
2.
Immortals might not easily become immortal,
Yet in the mortal world, the mortals do not know.
Hand grasping his white beard, he follows both the deer—
We meet by chance, and yet he asks me what’s my name.
诗
作者：无名鬼
[其一]
江上樯竿一百尺，
山中楼台十二重。
山僧楼上望江上，
指点樯竿笑杀侬。
[其二]
仙人未必便仙去，
还在人间人不知。
手把白须从两鹿，
相逢却问姓名谁。
Here’s a pretty textual issue: the first poem is, outside of CTP, attributed to Song Dynasty poet Su Shi with the title “Inscribed on the Wall of Shuangzhu Hall,” supposedly written in 1074 in Hangzhou, Zhejiang. Fortunately, resolving this is outside my remit—I’m translating the CTP text and that’s that.
Not that this is an easy remit—did I mention these last few poems get cryptic?
“Feet” translates chi, which like pre-modern units of measure everywhere varied somewhat, but the modern definition is a third of a meter. The first poem’s last line is especially confusing: the original sense of 杀 was “murder/kill,” but as an adjective it could mean “savage” or even “gloomy” (so, “he laughs at gloomy me”). It’s easier in that sentence to read it as a transitive verb, but since when did poets (other than Bai Jiuyi) try to make things easy? Deer were folklorically thought to live very long lives, and so were a symbol of longevity, so Daoist interest in them is obvious. The bit about following two of them is a confusing bit of Daoist esoterica. I’m guessing at the omitted pronouns to understand (who’s chasing, who’s asking) in the last two lines, but I’m pretty sure it’s two deer being chased, not two chasers.
For your amusement, “Immortals Might Not Easily Become Immortal” is the title of this painting. Well, I’m amused, anyway.
---L.
Boat masts on the river all of a hundred feet—
Tower-tops within the mountains, twelve times over.
Upstairs the mountain monk looks down upon the river,
Points out the masts, and laughing, he then murders me.
2.
Immortals might not easily become immortal,
Yet in the mortal world, the mortals do not know.
Hand grasping his white beard, he follows both the deer—
We meet by chance, and yet he asks me what’s my name.
诗
作者：无名鬼
[其一]
江上樯竿一百尺，
山中楼台十二重。
山僧楼上望江上，
指点樯竿笑杀侬。
[其二]
仙人未必便仙去，
还在人间人不知。
手把白须从两鹿，
相逢却问姓名谁。
Here’s a pretty textual issue: the first poem is, outside of CTP, attributed to Song Dynasty poet Su Shi with the title “Inscribed on the Wall of Shuangzhu Hall,” supposedly written in 1074 in Hangzhou, Zhejiang. Fortunately, resolving this is outside my remit—I’m translating the CTP text and that’s that.
Not that this is an easy remit—did I mention these last few poems get cryptic?
“Feet” translates chi, which like pre-modern units of measure everywhere varied somewhat, but the modern definition is a third of a meter. The first poem’s last line is especially confusing: the original sense of 杀 was “murder/kill,” but as an adjective it could mean “savage” or even “gloomy” (so, “he laughs at gloomy me”). It’s easier in that sentence to read it as a transitive verb, but since when did poets (other than Bai Jiuyi) try to make things easy? Deer were folklorically thought to live very long lives, and so were a symbol of longevity, so Daoist interest in them is obvious. The bit about following two of them is a confusing bit of Daoist esoterica. I’m guessing at the omitted pronouns to understand (who’s chasing, who’s asking) in the last two lines, but I’m pretty sure it’s two deer being chased, not two chasers.
For your amusement, “Immortals Might Not Easily Become Immortal” is the title of this painting. Well, I’m amused, anyway.
---L.