Larry's Pretty Good Poetry Journal

After the end of his term as Provincial Governor of Jianzhou, Wei Peng lived abroad in Nanchang, always without a thought of writing poetry. After falling ill, he acted bewildered as though losing his mind, like there was someone guiding him. Suddenly, he demanded a brush and wrote a poem, the sense of which was as if it had been bestowed on him by his dead wife. After ten-plus days, Peng expired.

My lonely grave looks on the river.
Each day I watch the sun turn dusk—
Pine shadows shake in endless winds
As moonlight falls upon the foothills.
My hometown’s over a thousand li—
I rarely saw my relatives.
I gaze and gaze at cloudy mountains.
I grieve and grieve, my tears like sleet.
I hate I have a foreign tomb
And so return to this strange town:
I long to speak of old Dunchou—
Do not reject this lowly one.

赠朋诗
作者：魏朋妻
〈建州刺史魏朋，辞满后，客居南昌，素无诗思。后遇病，迷惑失心，如有人相引接，忽索笔书诗，诗意如其亡妻以赠朋也。后十馀日，朋卒。〉
孤坟临清江，
每睹白日晚。
松影摇长风，
蟾光落岩甸。
故乡千里馀，
亲戚罕相见。
望望空云山，
哀哀泪如霰。
恨为泉台客，
复此异乡县。
愿言敦畴昔，
勿以弃疵贱。

Jianzhou is modern Jian'ou, Fujian, while Nanchang is the capital of Jiangxi, the province to the west. The implication is that she was buried in the former, and that further-off Dunchou (which I’ve not identified) is their original hometown. The sense for lonely grave of “a grave for a married couple where only one is buried because the other is alive” is relevant here.

---L.

Su Jian ranked high on the imperial exams and returned to Wu. Passing through Chengcheng, he stayed in the tower at the county hall. That night, he dreamed his wife took out red note-paper, cut off several inches, and inscribed a poem, while Jian also took Sichuan paper and wrote a poem on this. [TN: read the poems now] Their poems complete, together where he’d said farewell they lay down beneath a woven mat. After they slept, from under the mat he retrieved her poem, and looking within her rattan box at the red paper, (he saw) the scissors were also in there. When he returned home, his wife was dead and already buried. He asked when she died, and it was the day he dreamed of her in Chengcheng, and when he visited her grave, in all four directions there were many flowering crab-apples. This is also given as an incident of Zhong Fu, with differences.

Jian’s Wife
Chu waters flat just like a mirror—
Circling round, the white birds fly.
In Nanjing, how much earth is there?
One left, and his return’s unknown.

Jian
Returning east to Wu, I’m passing through Chengcheng:
Upon the tower, clear breeze and wine—I’m half-awake.
I think I should go home, for spring’s already ending—
Thousands of crab-apples have already withered away.

与夫同咏诗
作者：苏检妻
〈苏检登第归吴，行及澄城，止于县楼上，梦其妻取红笺，剪数寸题诗，检亦裁蜀笺而赋焉。诗成，俱送所卧席下。及卧，果于席下得其诗，视箧中红笺，亦有剪处。归家，妻死已葬矣。问其死日，乃澄城所梦之日。谒其茔，四面多是海棠花也。一作钟辐事，互异。〉

楚水准如镜，
周回白鸟飞。
金陵几多地，
一去不知归。
〈检妻〉

还吴东去过澄城，
楼上清风酒半醒。
想得到家春已暮，
海棠千树已凋零。
〈检〉

The Wu region corresponds to modern Jiangsu, which includes Nanjing. Chengcheng is in Shaanxi, on the road east from Chang’an. Sichuan was famous for making especially fine decorated papers. The bit about the scissors sounds like there was a superstition about keeping scissors in the same place as paper, but I haven’t found anything relevant. Certainly many cultures have bad-luck taboos against certain actions with scissors.

I’ve no idea why the title says the poems were “recited” when the headnote is explicit that they were written down and implies they weren’t shared.

---L.

In 938, Meng Chang traveled together with his Consort Zhang Taihua to Zhangren Monastery on Mt. Qingcheng. Taihua died there, and was immediately buried. Several years later, Daoist priest Li Ruochong suddenly saw her become visible. Because she recited a poem [TN: first poem], the sincere Ruochong freed himself(?) from the hidden spirit, then went to the gathering of fasters for the Zhongyuan Festival, where they offered up to Taihua a gold-leaf talisman of eternal life and the jade chapter of becoming a god, and she achieved immortality. Taihua returned in a dream and recited a poem giving thanks, (saying) between the walls there were writings in her grave.

Enduring autumn, I lie alone, cicada hair let down.
Wind rises in the poplar trees—I cannot fall asleep.
I think of those departed days when Jiao Hall girls were pampered—
Tears wet my darkened collar, erode my jade hairpin.

Thanking Li Ruochong
The guard of the talisman hurriedly knocks the bolted door at night—
Complying with the golden book, I leave the Netherworld.
Teacher’s endorsing my promotion—his kindness is not shallow.
Achieving immortality, I’ve nine mistakes endured.

葬后见形诗
作者：孟蜀妃张太华
〈孟昶，广政初，与妃张太华同游青城山丈人观。太华死，即葬其地。数年后，道士李若冲忽见其现形。因吟一诗，恳若冲超拔幽魂，若冲于中元节黄箓斋会，为太华奠长生金简生神玉章得度。梦太华复吟一诗来谢，壁间有黄土书。〉

独卧经秋堕鬓蝉，
白杨风起不成眠。
寻思往日椒房宠，
泪湿夜襟损翠钿。

谢李若冲
符吏匆匆叩夜扃，
便随金简出幽冥。
蒙师荐拔恩非浅，
领得生神九过经。

Blegh Daoist jargon. Consider especially the second half of the headnote, starting with her meeting the priest, to be a tentative translation, and the second poem isn’t much better.

Meng Chang was the second and final ruler of Later Shu, another of the Ten Kingdoms of the post-Tang period, which like Former Shu was based in Sichuan. He ruled from 934 till he surrendered his kingdom to Song Dynasty forces in 965. Mt. Qingcheng is a mountain sacred to Daoists northwest of Chengdu (and, today, also sacred to panda lovers).

The fasters are partaking of a cleansing diet prior to meeting spirits of the dead during the festival. The gold-leaf talisman is a long, narrow strip of beaten gold, in shape reminiscent of the bamboo strips anciently used for writing before the invention of paper, on which a spell has been engraved. A few different jade i.e. precious scriptures on “being born divine” i.e. ascending to immortality have survived. The writings in her grave hint at being further Daoist scriptures.

“Cicada hair” is a type of hairstyle, where the hair is brushed back from the temples in a way said to resemble the thin wings of a cicada then bound up in a complicated bun. Jiao (“pepper-tree”) Hall is a generic name for a residence of imperial concubines. The “guard of the talisman” is a Daoist priest tasked with protecting a sacred talisman. The “nine mistakes” seems to be intentionally obscure.

---L.

Advanced Scholar Yan Jun was demoted from Huichang and traveled to Guangling. A fellow passenger was a servant, aged about 20, whose surname was Zhao, given name Youfang. When it was time for them to part, it was the Zhongyuan Festival, and they wandered the Wa Palace pavilion, where they encountered an immortal’s go-between. Jun went to speak with him, and as a result left there and met a beauty along with a ‘young fragrance.’ The beauty said, “My house is at Qing Creek,” and invited Jun to go over there, for she was Chen Dynasty’s Principal Consort Zhang. A moment later, Consort Kong also arrived. He asked about the ‘young fragrance,’ and was told she was the Principal Consort’s maid-servant, who afterward served as a Sui Palace attendant and died in the Jiangdu Rebellion. They arranged for wine and composed poems. [TN: all four poems] Because he remained there, Jun lay down together with the Principal Consort, until daybreak arrived and she departed. He searched for her place in the lands around Qing Creek, but the Chen Palace people were all in their graves. Jun was wretched and sorrowful, and returned.

Composed by Principal Consort Zhang
Bleak terrace in the autumn grass, the sounds of crickets at night—
The poplar trees have fully withered, the mournful winds die off.
The many-colored note that once was torn deceived Jiang Zong.
The fine pavilion vanished into dust—the jade trees empty.

Composed by Consort Kong
A precious pavilion lined with clouds, worthy for seeing immortals—
Five-colored clouds, lofty and splendid, clasping the daybreak sky.
Qing Creek is just like, at that time, there was a shining moon
And in response exquisite flowers burst forth a lavish feast.

Composed by Youfang
The sky’s white orb starts round, but then resents the ladies fair—
The many blooms, a gaudy crowd, are in the end like what?
The Southern Courts, although there was the water of the Yanzi,
Just as of old, before their gateway, it makes passing waves.

Jun’s Poem
A peaceful song to flutes and pipes—I hate the beautiful blossoms.
Cold moonlight on the autumn river—the patterned shutter’s tilted.
Ashamed of slanders on their last ruler, I scribe a verse as a guest—
I ought to see the flowers on Approaching Spring Pavilion.

与颜浚冥会诗
作者：陈宫妃嫔
〈会昌中，进士颜浚下第，游广陵，同载有青衣，年二十许，自云姓赵，名幼芳。临别，期之中元游瓦官阁，当一会神仙中人。浚如言果往，见美人，及幼芳亦在。美人言：“家在清溪。”邀浚过之，则陈朝张丽华也。须臾，孔贵嫔亦来，问幼芳，乃是丽华侍儿，后为隋宫御女，死于江都之乱者。命酒赋诗。浚因留与丽华同寝，达曙而别。寻其处，地近清溪，乃陈朝宫人墓，浚惨恻而返。〉

秋草荒台响夜蛩，
白杨凋尽减悲风。
彩笺曾擘欺江总，
绮阁尘消玉树空。〈丽华赋〉

宝阁排云称望仙，
五云高艳拥朝天。
清溪犹有当时月，
应照琼花绽绮筵。〈贵嫔赋〉

素魄初圆恨翠娥，
繁华浓艳竟如何。
南朝唯有长江水，
依旧门前作逝波。〈幼芳赋〉

箫管清吟怨丽华，
秋江寒月绮窗斜。
惭非后主题笺客，
得见临春阁上花。〈浚诗〉

Time for another spot of potted history: the Chen Dynasty, the last of the Southern Dynasties, was conquered by Sui Dynasty forces in 589 to reunify the empire for the first time in three centuries. Consort Zhang and Consort Kong were favorites of the last Chen Emperor, and when Sui forces closed in on his palace near modern Nanjing and Yangzhou, he famously hid with them in a well. Spoiler: this didn’t work. The consorts were blamed for the collapse of his reign and executed by a Sui general, but the deposed emperor lived for another 15 years in captivity. This return to un-imperial rank may be why he’s more commonly known by his given name, Shubao, instead of his regnal name, Houzhu.

To rectify clarify terms, an emperor’s “consort” here translates any of a couple higher ranks of concubines-slash-secondary-wives, distinguished from the “empress” who’s The Official Wife and the “concubines” who are various lower ranks of, well, concubine. That sentence got away from me. At her death, Zhang was Principal Consort (with a literally flowery title: “elegant flower”), and the emperor was considering replacing his current empress with her when the war broke out.

And we finally get to the other major festival of the dead: Zhongyuan aka the Ghost Festival, on the 15th day of the 7th lunar month, during which sacrifices were traditionally made to one’s ancestors. Unlike during Tomb-Sweeping Festival/Cold Food Day, the ghosts were believed (in both Toaist and Buddhist traditions) to visit and eat the sacrificial food—very like the Day of the Dead in Mexican Catholicism. (In Japan, this is celebrated as Obon, if that helps.)

I’m intrigued that mention of the servant drops out of the narrative, but he apparently tagged along with Jun and joined the poetry slam. I’m assuming he didn’t “lie down together” with Consort Kong and/or the young fragrance, but ya never know. (Yet another thing for next Yuletide.)

headnote: Same Qing Creek near Nanjing as an earlier poem where we met a ghost who experienced the start of the Chen Dynasty. Same rebellion at Guangling = Jiangdu = Yangzhou as the Linzi County Magistrate, at the fall of the Sui Dynasty, which happened only 30 years after the fall of Chen. Huichang is in Jiangxi, two provinces south of the Jiangsu setting—so there was time to get well acquainted with a fellow-traveler. An immortal’s go-between is a servant of a Daoist immortal who handles their dealings with the mortal world, and yes there’s a specific term for this.

1: Jiang Zong was a Chen Dynasty official and poet, who was serving as prime minister when the Sui attacked, a pesky little problem he ignored in favor of partying with the empress in the imperial harem. His incompetence is possibly why he survived the dynasty’s fall by another five years. I haven’t tracked down the incident of the torn note-paper.

3: This poem uses a lot of flowery poeticisms. For example, idiom: the fair ladies is literally “kingfish-green beauty.” The wide and strong-flowing Yanzi is an excellent defensive barrier that many northern armies failed to cross over the millenia.

4. The mentioned pavilion was attached to a palace built by the last Chen emperor.

---L.

[TN: “just” four poems, but chonky headnote is chonky and two poems are longish, so another serial]

Xia Ao of Chen Country, who was elevated to Advanced Scholar, resided in Shengdao Ward of Chang’an with many peony trees planted in his front courtyard. One day he saw a beautiful woman driving a golden carriage arrive at his gate, age possibly 16 or 17, with a beautiful and refined appearance, who called to Ao, saying, “I heard this place is famous for its flowers, and because of this I came so that we can drink this wine-jar together.” He naturally asked who she was, and she replied, “You understand I’m not human, yet calmly ask such a question?” Late that night, she took her leave, requesting a poem as a present. Ao disappointedly ordered his brush, and the beautiful woman replied. [TN: read the first two poems now] The next year Ao was demoted and returned east. He arrived at a Xinfeng guest-house, where he strolled beneath the moon, gazing far off, and recalling his feelings of the previous events, he composed a poem and clearly recited it. [TN: third poem] Suddenly he heard the sounds of a carriage coming from the west, and when he looked, it was the previous beautiful woman, who said, “You invited this Hong Nong to feel your emotions, and so I heard.” (She) sobbed without self-control, and Ao also wept in grief. He repeated the poem he’d made, and the beautiful woman in return repaid him with a poem. [TN: third again, and fourth] Ao did not send her away, though he knew she acted strangely, as he couldn’t forget her. Hong Nong of the crooked path stayed several days at his request, (then) at long last she vanished in both sight and sound. He returned to Luoyang and, after not many months, expired from his suffering.

Ao
After we met, your balcony was dark indefinitely.
Mist deepens in the emerald trees, the water-clock drips slow.
At midnight comes a fragrant breeze as moonlight fills the courtyard:
Before my flowers, I compose a parting poem in vain.

Beautiful Woman
There is no road to yearn for you, and so I must not yearn.
Within the winds the flowers bloom for only a short time.
A melancholy golden door—even if I return,
At daybreak orioles chirp then stop on the green willow branches.

与谢翺赠答诗
作者：金车美人
〈陈郡谢翱，举进士，寓居长安升道里，庭中多植牡丹。一日，见有一美人，乘金车至门，年可十六七，风貌闲丽，谓翱曰：“闻此地有名花，故来与君一醉耳。”固问为何人，曰：“君但知非人，则已安用问耶？”夜阑辞归，乞诗为赠，翱怅然命笔，美人荅之。翱明年下第东归，至新丰逆旅，步月长望，追感前事，赋诗朗吟。忽闻车音自西来，视之，乃前美人也，曰：“将之弘农，感君意，故一面耳。”呜咽不自胜，翱亦悲泣，诵所制诗，美人复酬一诗。翱别之去，虽知为怪，不能忘，枉道弘农，留数日，求之，竟绝影响。还洛阳不数月，以怨结卒。〉

阳台后会杳无期，
碧树烟深玉漏迟。
半夜香风满庭月，
花前空赋别离诗。〈翺〉

相思无路莫相思，
风里花开只片时。
惆怅金闺却归去，
晓莺啼断绿杨枝。〈美人〉

Well hey, a second time where poems are given in narrative order, instead of putting the ghost’s first and appending the others. Also, this is another where we learn the woman’s name, which is then ignored for the ascription and (most of) the narration.

Cheng County is now part of Huaiyang in southeastern Henan. Luoyang, where Ao apparently was demoted to, is in northwestern Henan, and Xinfeng was a town about a day’s journey east of Chang’an on the route there. “Not human” could easily be read as “not mortal” (or maybe “no longer mortal”?) but either way, the editors understood Nong to be a ghost rather than say a demon. Traditionally, women came of age and were considered fully adult at 15 (men came of age at 20), so by the standards of the time, he was not considered a perv for wanting her to stay the night. “Crooked path” means exactly what you think it does, only without any connotation of thievery.

The balcony is specifically one on an upstairs women’s quarters—that it’s remained dark without her presence “indefinitely” is romantic exaggeration, given he’s just met her. Lost in translation: the water-clock is “jade,” that is, a really fine one.

---L.

Appendix [3]
Xuan’s Poem
Back then the plan was clumsy, and the general laughed:
Why should defeating a realm depend upon a beauty?
But once that immortal flower entered the land of Wu,
From then on, the land of Yue no longer had a spring.

Xi Shi’s Poem
Rose-clouds arrive and go outside the crowded peaks,
The seagulls float and bob between the water’s waves.
Since when the troops of Yue together shook the earth,
That soul in dreams did not arrive at Mt. Huqiu.

〈附〉
轩诗
当时计拙笑将军，
何事安邦赖美人。
一自仙葩入吴国，
从兹越国更无春。

西施诗
云霞出没群峰外，
鸥鸟浮沈一水间。
一自越兵齐振地，
梦魂不到虎丘山。

Same Mt. Huqiu in Suzhou, Jiangsu as where the ghost wrote on the temple wall, but again, I’ve not read up on Xi Shi enough to know its import.

—L.

[TN: “only” six poems, but I’m still serializing again.]

During the Great Harmony Era, Advanced Scholar Wang Xuan, who seldom made poems and was inclined to have a creative imagination, once traveled the Xijiang River. He moored his boat beneath Mt. Zhuluo and inscribed a poem upon a stone. Suddenly he saw a woman who called herself Xi Shi, shaking a fine jade pendant and supported by a stone bamboo-shoot. She thanked him with a poem, and they happily met together, then parted.

This one from the Wu Palace, or rather Land of Yue,
In white clothes for a thousand years, and no one knew.
Back then, my heart was just like metal or stone: unyielding.
Today, my lord, you must not be unyielding too.

Appendix [1]
Poem that Wang Xuan Inscribed on Xi Shi’s Stone
Upon the range a thousand summits grow,
Upon the river bank fine grasses flourish.
Just now I found a stone beside the Huansha
But don’t see anyone who’s washing silk.

谢王轩
作者：西施
〈太和中，进士王轩，少为诗，颇有才思，尝游西江，泊舟苧罗山下，题诗于石。俄见一女子自称西施，振琼珰，扶石笋，以诗酬谢，欢会而别。〉

妾自吴宫还越国，
素衣千载无人识。
当时心比金石坚，
今日为君坚不得。

〈附〉
王轩题西施石诗
岭上千峰秀，
江边细草春。
今逢浣纱石，
不见浣纱人。


(So the second poem goes first, but otherwise the rest will be in order.)

Xi Shi (“[Lady] Shi of the west”) was one of China’s Four Greatest Beauties Evah—so this guy’s story (and the headnote writer is clearly skeptical of it) claims he met the equivalent of Helen of Troy’s ghost, who then came on to him. (And just as you think, “meet together” can, when a man and a woman are involved, mean an intimate encounter.) Xi Shi was, historically, given by the ruler of the Warring State of Yue to the ruler of rival state Wu as a concubine to distract him from affairs of state—a sexpionage ploy that supposedly actually worked (during which she supposedly did her job without falling for the king—thus being “unyielding”). Mt. Zhuluo in Zhejiang is her reputed birthplace, and there still is a temple to her at its foot, on the banks of the Huansha River (a tributary of the Xijiang), roughly where she was supposedly discovered by a Yue minister as she washed silk clothing on a stone there.

Same ambiguous Great Harmony Era. If I read up better on the legends of Xi Shi I’d probably have an idea of what the pendant and stone bamboo shoot signified (though note the bamboo pole in the picture linked above).

---L.

[TN: These next four are exchanged at their second and final parting.]

Presented by the Wang Woman on Parting from Li Zhangwu
The Starry River is already tilted.
My soul and spirit long to transcend this.
I wish the gentleman would still embrace me.
Henceforth, until the end of days, farewell.

Zhangwu Replies to the Wang Woman
By dying split, secret and seen are parted—
How can one say there is an auspicious time?
Over and over we bid farewell, then part.
The place of sighs—who’s the one sent there?

Another Presented by the Wang Woman to Zhangwu
Expelled once from your bosom, later we met,
And now we part, dismissed till the end of days.
New sorrow, and as well the old resentment—
A thousand ages close the dried-up Springs.

Zhangwu Again Replies to the Wang Woman
Later, you’ll disappear without restriction.
Before, resentment—then we sought each other.
A parting road without a traveler’s message:
But how can I successfully send my heart?

河汉已倾斜，
神魂欲超越。
愿郎更回抱，
终天从此诀。〈王氏赠别李章武〉

分从幽显隔，
岂谓有佳期。
宁辞重重别，
所叹去何之。〈章武答王氏〉

昔辞怀后会，
今别便终天。
新悲与旧恨，
千古闭穷泉。〈王氏再赠章武〉

后期杳无约，
前恨已相寻。
别路无行信，
何因得寄心。〈章武再答王氏〉


The “dried-up springs” can mean either the grave or the afterworld, or more likely here both at once.

---L.

During the Great Harmony Era, the deputy of Wenxiang County Registrar Shen Gongli was an officer from Hucheng. A person called Li Zhongyi, from the Jianghuai region, was a servant of his. (The deputy) died while they were traveling, and (Zhongyi) had to beg and implore for even a single meal, and twice that for just a small cap (i.e., a scrap of clothing). When respectful courtesy permitted it, Zhongyi told them, “In this hall dwell many people who are not peaceful—there’s this one woman, age possibly 17 or 18, known by the name Buddhist Monk Mituo, who comes irregularly, and who simply cannot take part in conversation.” A short while later a woman came, smiling slightly and gazing all around, who put herself forward in spite of respectful courtesy. The woman recited this poem, again in spite of respectful courtesy, hesitated, and then departed. Afterwards, as he returned to Wenxiang, she (appeared) also the night before his arrival, and (again) for over a year, tending to gradually get fainter, so in the end she could no longer be troublesome.

The time the Yellow Emperor rose to Heaven—
The era of mortal emperors is now—
The two and seventy jade women have
Transformed into the golden ganodermas.

湖城㕔吟
作者：宻陀僧
〈大和中，阌乡主簿沈恭礼摄湖城尉，有人自称李忠义，江淮人，佣于此，客死，丐祈一食，兼一小帽。恭礼许之，忠义曰：“此厅人居多不安，有一女子，年可十七八，名曰密陀僧，来参，甚不可与交言。”少间，果有一女子来，微笑转盼自荐，恭礼不顾。女吟此诗，恭礼又不顾，逡巡而去。在湖城，每夜辄来。后归阌乡，亦隔夜至，一年馀，方渐稀，然终不能为患也。〉
黄帝上天时，
鼎湖元在兹。
七十二玉女，
化作黄金芝。


A new ghost trope—one I’m familiar with in Western lore but hadn’t met in these stories: the ghost on cyclic autopilot, doing their cryptic thing without regard for circumstances, over and over.

But wait, I can all but hear you say, what’s with this regnal era? Aren’t you translating those into Common Era years? Or at least giving us a range? Well, comma, it turns out there were two Great Harmony Eras in the Tang-plus period, 827-835 and 929-935. So this is either around 831 or around 932, but we don’t know which. Am I amused? I am greatly amused. Historiography: not easy.

Wenxiang is a former county, recently merged into Lingbao County, western Henan, which was formerly (until 742) known as Hucheng County—so nearby neighbors. Jianghuai, however, is the region between the Yangzi and Huai Rivers, encompassing much of Anhui and Jiangsu—a right foreigner who probably talks funny, as far as locals are concerned, and too suspicious to help out. The Registrar was the local official in charge of registering births, marriages, and deaths of anyone who’s a member of a family based in his county. The first three sentences is one of those hard-to-grasp passages, and I’m not at all sure I’m reading it correctly (nor interpolating the right material over the gaps).

A second female ghost who claims the title of what traditionally is strictly a male role—僧 (sēng) always means “Buddhist monk,” while a “nun” is 尼 (ní). Unlike the Linzi County Magistrate, where the meaning of this isn’t clear, given how transgressive Mituo behaves, I’m pretty sure here it’s also a transgressive gesture. (Could it be transgender-y as well? Maybe. I don’t know enough to tell.)

The poem itself is completely whack—I’ve no clue what it means, and I suspect no one who heard it did either. My hunch is that, despite Mituo’s Buddhism, Daoist esoterica is partly to blame: golden ganoderma is a legendary fungus used in potions of miraculous healing.

(Do I remember fondly the days when my translation notes were no more than a sentence or three? Yes—yes, I do.)

—L.

In 830, prefectural commander Zeng Xiao’an had a grandson, Jiheng, who moved into the west courtyard residence. Before this, a Lord Wang’s daughter, Lizhen, had died suddenly. When Jiheng moved, her spirit appeared to him, wanting to join with him. For approximately 60 days, the youth was lustful and not concerned with being careful, and accidentally divulged his lover. Lizhen berated his turning his back on their agreement, and signaled her leaving by presenting a departure poem. Jiheng was not good at poetry but strived hard to answer her with a composition, and thereupon she vanished. [TN: read the poems now] Afterwards, they inquired in Wuyuan, and a seamstress there told them, “Wang sent away m’lord’s daughter, who was returned to her family home to be buried on Mt. Beimang, and on a dark night, many people saw her spirit travel there.” However, the daughter’s poem actually says, “With Beimang empty, I resent the peaceful autumn moon.”

Lizhen’s Poem upon Departing
Wuyuan, we parted from each other, truly like Wu and Yue—
Swallows will split, orioles cleave, fragrant grass dries out.
This year there were few fireworks, hither and yon in spring.
With Beimang empty, I resent the peaceful autumn moon.

Jiheng’s Reply upon Her Departure
Sedge grasses green, so very green—the wild geese long to return.
On your jade cheek, the pearl tears scatter as we near the fork.
Your cloud chignon is floating off—the fragrant wind dies down.
I’m anxious, seeing the oriole sing upon the red tree-branch.

与曽季衡冥会诗
作者：王丽真

〈太和四年，监州防禦使曾孝安有孙季衡，居使宅西院。前使君王有女丽真，暴终于此，魂现，与季衡款合。近六十日，少年好色，不以为疑，偶泄之人，丽真责其负约，留诗为别，季衡不能诗，强为一篇酬之，遂绝。后询五原纫针妇，云：“王使君女，归葬北邙山，阴晦，人多见其魂游于此。”则女诗所云“北邙空恨清秋月”也。〉

五原分袂真吴越，
燕拆莺离芳草歇。
年少烟花处处春，
北邙空恨清秋月。〈丽真留别〉

莎草青青雁欲归，
玉腮珠泪洒临岐。
云鬟飘去香风尽，
愁见莺啼红树枝。〈季衡酬别〉


A specific year again. Nope, my initial guess on how these poems were divided between chapters was wrong. Relative realism seems to be a component, which I guess makes it a genre thing.

Mt. Beimang near Luoyang was the site of many burials, including royalty and nobles from the Han and Jin dynasties. As we’ve seen before, Wuyuan (“five springs”) is a common place name. Wu and Yue are names used for many states over the millenia, almost always both in the Yangzi delta region, almost always rivals. Jiheng’s poem is indeed a little clumsy—more specifically, obvious in its images, none of which are fresh—but it’s basically competent.

So … he lost his ghost lover, but suffered no other consequence? Huh.

Textual issue: some sources spell Lizhen’s name 丽真 (“beautiful truly”) and others spell it 丽贞 (“beautiful virtuous”). Specifically, my chosen base text for the poems uses the former, but the one for the headnotes uses the latter—so which to choose? I’ve prioritized the poem source before, so I’ve emended the headnote to match the poem.

—L.