Three Poems, The Ghost of a Stone Wall in Huqiu

[lnhammer]

In 778, Li Daochang was Provincial Censor in Suzhou. One day, on Mt. Huqiu outside the city walls, a certain ghost inscribed two poems on a stone wall, hidden in the upper-part. As usual for such an incident, Daochang sent a memorial to the court, asking for an imperial edict ordering a memorial ceremony. In summary, Daochang wrote: “For ten thousand ages the continuous hills didn’t alter to form another exit (from the grave?). Monarch, what kind of person might in his leisure brush such a poem? Three months of Peach-Blossom Spring, deep grasses and hanging willows. The yellow orioles, hundreds of warblings—the voices of apes sever the guts. The sound of sorrowing resentment, ah!—tears soak my headscarf. The hopes for those among the living, ah!—they engage the wise monarch.” Several days after the memorial ceremony, another poem appeared on the stones. Afterwards, on the grounds of the hill temple, (they found) there were indeed two graves, extremely lofty, with thickets dense and lush. They asked all the old men, but surprisingly they didn’t know what family (the ghost was from) or (whether) it still existed.

Two Poems

1.
In the tall pines, so many sad winds:
Soughing, soughing, clear and mournful.
South mountain shows the secret grave—
The secret grave, an empty cairn.
In vain the white sun’s bright, so bright—
It cannot shine in my long night:
Although I know the living are happy,
My spirit, how can it return?
I think of where my family is,
Their grief that tears their hearts and livers.
Their grief—what more is there to say?
Oh woe! and then again, Oh woe!

2.
Immortal Daoists can’t learn this:
Bodies empty their roaming spirits.
The white sunlight is not my dawn,
The green pine is my gate beneath.
Return, still secret and shown stay parted—
I think of children and grandchildren.
How to dispel this sad regret?
The myriad creatures go to their roots.
Pass on these words to those on earth:
Do not reject the “fragrant goblet”;
As Zhuangzi asked the skeleton,
The three joys will become false words.

Poem Found on the Stones after the Ceremony

Though secret and seen have different roads,
The past once censured and shamed my writing.
To know my hidden house of darkness:
North of the mountain, two lone graves.

Records of Spirit Communications says: “In 766, a Buddhist monk saw at night two people in white clothing go upstairs, but they unexpectedly didn’t come down. He searched but found them nowhere. The next day, there were three poems, the first poem being ‘Though secret and seen have different roads’ and so on, the second ‘Where the secret child reveals the secret solitary gentleman: In the tall pines, so many sad winds’ and so on, and the third ‘The secret solitary gentleman’s reply: Immortal Daoists can’t learn this’ and so on.” The Song Ling Collection has the two poems “Though secret and seen have different roads” and “In the tall pines, so many sad winds” as “Poems of the Secret Solitary Gentleman,” and the Chronicles is also different.

作者：虎丘石壁鬼
〈大历十三年，李道昌为苏州观察使。一日，郡城外虎丘山有鬼题诗二首，隐于石壁之上。道昌异其事，奏闻于朝，准敕令致祭。道昌为文，其略云：“万古丘陵，化无再出。君若何人，能闲诗笔。桃源三月，深草垂杨。黄莺百啭，猿声断肠。声悲怨兮泪沾巾，愿当生兮事明君。”祭后数日，再有一诗见于石。后于寺山之地，果有二坟，极高大，荆榛丛茂。询诸耆艾，竟不知何姓氏，至今犹存。〉

诗二首

其一
高松多悲风，
萧萧清且哀。
南山接幽垄，
幽垄空崔嵬。
白日徒昭昭，
不照长夜台。
虽知生者乐，
魂魄安能回。
况复念所亲，
恸哭心肝摧。
恸哭更何言，
哀哉复哀哉。

其二
神仙不可学，
形化空游魂。
白日非我朝，
青松为我门。
虽复隔幽显，
犹知念子孙。
何以遣悲惋，
万物归其根。
寄语世上人，
莫厌临芳尊。
庄生问枯骨，
三乐成虚言。

祭后见石上诗
幽明虽异路，
平昔忝攻文。
欲知潜昧处，
山北两孤坟。

〈《通幽录》云：大历初，寺僧夜见二白衣人上楼，竟不下，寻之，无所见。明日，有诗三首。第一首，幽明虽异路云云。其二，处幽子示幽独君，高松多悲风云云。其三，幽独君答，神仙不可学云云。松陵集以幽明虽异路，高松多悲风二首，为幽独君诗，神仙不可学为荅诗，与《纪事》互异〉

People, there’s like an entire novel here, or at least a novella—one that I hope answers the question of who is in the second grave. (Yuletide? Get on this STAT.) Huqiu (“tiger hill”), a little northwest of old-town Suzhou, Jiangsu, has housed Buddhist temples since the 4th century. The headnote implies the stone wall (which is the type used in buildings, not around cities—those are different words) is part of the temple complex—the endnote’s alternate account is more clear about it, but dunno how canonical that is. For Peach-Blossom Spring, see 3TP #78.

I’m struck by how, even though the poems display at least some learning, their style is relatively plain, even spare (compare the censor’s memorial to the emperor). Their one obscure part: the “fragrant goblet” is a libation of wine for the dead—that line’s basically saying don’t fear the Reaper. Added in translation: that the gate goes “beneath,” based on that phrase being used in other ghost poems. Regarding the three collections mentioned in the endnote, I got nothing. The Records of Spirit Communications is mentioned a couple times in this chapter, suggesting it is, as the title implies, a collection of ghost stories. I love the endnote’s tone of editorial exasperation, though.

Idiom issue: 幽 (yōu) is a tricky, polysemous word, covering meanings such as “hidden/secret,” “secluded/serene,” “imprisoned,” “occult/spirit-related,” “the underworld,” and “dead.” —making it a Rilly Important Word when talking about ghosts, especially in the phrases 幽显 “secret and revealed/shown” and 幽明 “secret and visible/seen,” both referring to “the dead and the living.” (Not to mention those hidden graves.) To show its consistent use, I’ve chosen here to always render it as secret except in Records of Spirit Communications, rather than shading it in context—but there’s no one right answer here.

—L.

Comments

[sartorias]

I was thinking, too, there is a story here!

Fascinating stuff about YOU1.

[lnhammer]

It’s almost as deep a word as 深.

(sorry not sorry)

[sartorias]

*snort*

[the_future_modernes]

damn the ghosts were hella poets in ye olde China!

[lnhammer]

I know, right? It was exciting enough, discovering that poems by ghosts was an Actual Thing, but that so many of them are Actually Good as well? Wild. I'm loving this stuff.