Larry's Pretty Good Poetry Journal

Playing flutes, we cross to the far shore:
As the day ends, I see you off.
Upon the lake, a turn of the head—
White clouds are curling round green mountains.

    The sky is wide, lake waters broad—
    Blue shimmers: heaven’s color’s the same.
    As I moor my boat, one long howl:
    From all around the clear wind comes.

欹湖

吹箫凌极浦，
日暮送夫君。
湖上一回首，
青山卷白云。

    空阔湖水广，
    青荧天色同。
    舣舟一长啸，
    四面来清风。

As anticipated, Wang’s friend (addressed with a term of respect for a male friend) departs. The flute is a xiāo (箫), which can be any of several types of end-blown bamboo flute, both fingered and collected like panpipes. The 啸 (xiào) in Pei’s line 3 is an ambiguous sound word, encompassing anything along the lines of howl, sigh, whistle, hiss, or sing. Given the apes in Pei’s #9, I’m going with howl, though Wang’s flutes and the wind itself are also possibilities.

(In Wang’s line 3, there’s an alternate reading of "turn to look" instead of "turn (my) head," which doesn’t change the substance of the poem, just its nuance; since I’m not up for judging nuances here, I’m not going to second-guess my base text.)

---L.

Luxurious things fall apart, chasing the fragrant dust;
The waters flow unfeeling, grasses green on their own.
In dusk’s east wind, the cries of a resentful bird;
The falling petals: just like she who jumped from that tower.

金谷园
繁华事散逐香尘，
流水无情草自春。
日暮东风怨啼鸟，
落花犹似坠楼人。

The garden was the extravagant Luoyang estate of Jin Dynasty minister Shi Chong. His concubine Lüzhu was accused of unfaithfulness as part of a political plot by one of his rivals, and to prove her innocence she suicided by jumping.

(Last Du Mu at last. Onwards!)

The third month of the winter season, in the Jinglong Reign:
Ten-thousand chariots as sentry guards, departing from Ba River.
I see afar the lightnings frolic, dragons as their steeds—
I turn to stare at the frosty plains, the fields seemingly jade.

三冬季月景龙年，
万乘观风出灞川。
遥看电跃龙为马，
回瞩霜原玉作田。

Let’s do the other two poems of the series, while I’m at it. The emperor in question is Zhongzong, during his second reign (707-710), and the outing began on 16 January 709. To stand sentry on lookout is literally “watch the wind.” The Ba River (now called Bahe River) ran past the eastern wall of Chang’an. (Source)

---L.

The jadite water-clock drips long, the lamp’s so very bright.
Eastern wall and western wall—when will shadows appear?
The moon shines bright outside the window, the cuckoo’s crying out.
Endure being made a lonely soul—worry about the long, long night.

赠杨蕴中
玉漏声长灯耿耿，
东墙西墙时见影。
月明窗外子规啼，
忍使孤魂愁夜永。

Xue Tao (c770–832) was a courtesan and poet who spent her adult life in Chengdu, with a successful enough literary career that she was officially appointed unofficial secretary to the governor of Sichuan. (She couldn’t be an official secretary because woman, so he gave her a job title (“editor”) not used by the bureau of personnel.) A collection of 450-odd of her poems survived until at least the 15th century, and about 100 are known today, more than for any other Tang woman poet.

The story attached to this poem is that while scholar-official Yang Yunzhong was in the Chengdu prison for an unrecorded offence, he dreamed that she came to him and said, “Your death is far from this room,” and then recited this poem. After which, it’s implied, he was given a reprieve. (So is the poem his or hers?) The cuckoo named (the large hawk-cuckoo, Hierococcyx sparverioides) is a summer singer that continues calling well after dusk. Of the two words for “long time” used in the poem, the one at the end has the connotation of “eternal.”

(I no longer remember why I picked out this one of hers for translating—but regardless I didn’t know the story at the time.) (Source)

---L.

I feel so much though I seem unfeeling:
I wake by the wine-jar but can’t even smile
A candle with a heart’s reluctant to part—
In my place it drips down tears until dawn.

赠别之二
多情却似总无情，
唯觉樽前笑不成。
蜡烛有心还惜别，
替人垂泪到天明。

“Wick” and “heart” are homophones (xīn).

—L.

Down in the rivers and lakes, carrying wine as I go—
Their slender waists so slim, and light within my grasp.
After ten years, I’ve woken up from my Yangzhou dreams:
I’ve won in the pleasure quarter the name of a fickle lover.

遣怀
落魄江湖载酒行，
楚腰纤细掌中轻。
十年一觉扬州梦，
赢得青楼薄幸名。

—L.

The silver candle’s autumn light for the chilly screen—
I have a small gauze fan, fireflies flutter wings.
The nighttime scene of stairs outside is cool like water.
I sit and watch the stars of Cowherd and the Weaver-girl.

秋夕
银烛秋光冷画屏，
轻罗小扇扑流萤。
天阶夜色凉如水，
坐看牵牛织女星。



The screen is a painted divider, and the wings my addition to bring out the parallels. The festival of the 7th night of the 7th (lunar) month commemorates the one night of the year the Cowherd (Altair) and the Weaver-girl of heaven (Vega) can meet, via a bridge made of magpie wings over the river of the Milky Way. The indoor setting, the fan, and the romantic context suggest a female speaker.

—L.

The autumn mountains block the last light:
Birds fly after their former companions.
Deep emerald blues, at times distinct—
The evening mists have no place to stay.

    Dark, dark blue at sunset time:
    Bird calls mix with the mountain stream.
    Follow that stream—the path turns far.
    Darkness rises—but when to stop?

木兰柴

秋山敛余照，
飞鸟逐前侣。
彩翠时分明，
夕岚无处所。

    苍苍落日时，
    鸟声乱谿水。
    缘谿路转深，
    幽兴何时已。

Still in the mountains ...

Hardwoods reflected in empty winding:
Blue-green waters ripple and swirl.
I secretly enter Shang Hill path—
Even the woodcutters do not know.

    A clear stream that’s both winding and straight,
    Green bamboo thick as well as deep.
    One track goes through, a mountain path:
    Singing, I walk towards the worn hill.

斤竹岭

檀栾暎空曲，
青翠漾涟漪。
暗入商山路，
樵人不可知。

    明流纡且直，
    绿篠密复深。
    一径通山路，
    行歌望旧岑。

The exact trees named in Wang’s first line are obscure, but seem to be sandalwood and goldenrain. Wang’s 曲 winding can also mean song (IDEK), which Pei uses in his last line to undercut the secret sneaking.

(The next poem-pair is Deer Enclosure, set in the mountains they’ve started towards.)

---L.

Cut gingko wood for the roof-beam,
Knotted fragrant thatch for eaves.
It’s unknown if clouds inside the ridgepole
Will go make rain among the people.

    Far, far away is Gingko Lodge,
    The sun’s already risen up.
    South range together with north lake:
    Ahead’s the same as looking back.

文杏馆

文杏裁为梁，
香茅结为宇。
不知栋里云，
去作人间雨。

    迢迢文杏馆，
    跻攀日已屡。
    南岭与北湖，
    前看复回顾。

After framing the collection with two reminders of the passing of things of this world, a more local meditation. As far as Wang’s question, Pei apparently thinks No. Ginkgo was valued as a fine hardwood for construction.

---L.