Hsin Ch’i-chi

THIRTY LYRICS BY ‘‘A POET’S POET”

TRANSLATED BY IRVING YUCHENG LO

INTRODUCTION

THE development of poetic genres within a single but manifold tradition often shows a pattern of rapid growth followed by a decline. Just when the sap of creative energy is about to run dry, a new genius whose gift for language is equal to the task is once again able to chart a new course for poetry’s continuous development. Hsin Ch’i-chi (1140-1207) initiated one of these major resurgences with his lyric poems, called tz’u, a subgenre of Chinese poetry.

Hsin wrote at the beginning of the Southern Sung dynasty, but his works were so voluminous—over 600 poems¹—that not all aspects of his style have been recognized by critics or even by his most ardent admirers. His work had been almost totally ignored by Western readers, except for a few of his shorter poems, until some of his more serious compositions were included in recent histories and anthologies of Chinese literature.² This introduction to Hsin’s art, through my own translation of thirty of his poems, attempts to illustrate the range and diversity of his style as a lyricist. But to assess Hsin’s achievements properly, I must first sketch a summary of his life³ and give a brief account of the development of lyric poetry from its emergence toward the end of the T’ang dynasty (618-907).

Among the subgenres of Chinese poetry, or shih (a word also used to mean poetry in its collective sense), the most widely translated and most popularly known in the West are the quatrains (chüeh-chü) and “regulated poetry” (lü-shih), consisting of either five or seven words for each line, written according to strict prosodie schemes. This type of poetry, which reached the height of its development in the middle of the eighth century, has become known exclusively as the “new style poetry” (chin-t’i shih ) in contradistinction to the “ancient-style poetry” (ku-t’i shih). The latter refers to poems of indeterminate length, also popular with T’ang poets, which require a less rigid adherence to the prosodie scheme and permit the occasional use of some shorter or longer lines, while maintaining a predominantly five- or seven-word line. Shih as a form of poetry continued to be written by Sung poets, and Sung shih is still much admired.⁴ But immediately after the T’ang dynasty, during the Five Dynasties period (907-960), as well as the Northern Sung (960-1126) and the Southern Sung (1127-1279) dynasties, a new form, the tz’u, engaged the attention of many poets.

The tz’u poem was originally written to music, following the prosodie “pattern” (tiao) of each tune-title. It was usually not given another title to indicate its subject matter. Sometimes rendered into English as “song-poem,”⁵ tz’u is essentially characterized by flexibility and irregularity in arrangement. Hence it is also known in Chinese by another name—the “long-and-short verses” (ch’ang-tuan chü). ⁶ Each poem may consist of as few as fourteen words or as many as 240 (as in the “Ying-t’i-hsu” tune), depending on the tune-title. Lines may vary in length but rarely exceed eight or nine words for the longest lines among the more widely-used tunes. During the Southern Sung period, the longer tunes (ch’ang-tiao) became more popular. Their musical origin was by then forgotten, and subject-titles were more commonly given. Tz’u emerged as an important genre and the medium of a more personal kind of poetry—as intimately revealing of the poet’s life and thought as was Tu Fu’s poetry (shih) approximately four centuries earlier.

Over 200 years had elapsed between the appearance of the first tz’u anthology, the Hua-chien chi (Among-the-Flowers Collection, preface dated 940), and the time Hsin Ch’i-chi wrote his lyrics. The proliferation of both tune-titles⁷ and poems had proceeded so rapidly during this time that a complete collection of the Sung lyrics (Ch’üan- Sung tz’u), culled from earlier anthologies and individual works, records close to 20,000 lyrics written by over 1,330 poets.⁸ Yet despite the great number of tz’u, many individual poets wrote within rather narrow ranges of both subject matter and style. With the possible exception of Su Tung-p’o ( 1037-1101 ), each lyricist usually achieved one distinctive voice and did not experiment outside of it. But while Hsin Ch’i-chi is generally admired, along with Su Tung-p’o, for his vigorous and unrestrained style, he is also recognized—and sometimes censured—for his wide use of allusions; a sobriquet often hurled at him was “bookbag-thrower” (tiao-shu-tai) . ⁹

Chinese critics often disagree as to who the four most important tz’u poets of the two Sung eras are.¹⁰ This difference of opinion notwithstanding, Hsin’s name occurs on practically every list. Moreover, the lyrics of the Southern Sung do not lose any vigor when compared with those of the earlier era. As a seventeenth-century critic put it, “whereas T’ang poetry deteriorated with its three successive changes of style . . . the tz’u poetry since the establishment of the Southern Sung in 1127 could not be spoken of as belonging to a ‘middle’ or ‘late’ period in its development.”¹¹ To put it another way, Hsin Ch’i-chi might be considered as an inheritor of all that had been written up to his time: he alone met the challenge and realized the full potential of this type of verse; he alone dealt with all kinds of meters and themes, always rejecting the artificial and spurious, always imbuing the tz’u with his own voice; and he, among all the major tz’u poets, achieved the greatest diversity in style.

Hsin’s reputation today appears unassailable both on mainland China and in Taiwan; within the last decade a number of critical and biographical studies of the poet were published in Peking and Taipei.¹² One example of the universal appeal and timeless quality of Hsin’s poems is Нu Shih’s judgment that Hsin ranked as “the first among major tz’u poets.”¹³ This high critical praise is not without irony since Hu Shih (1891-1962) had been the most vociferous denouncer of the use of allusions (for allusions’ sake) during the New Culture Movement in the twenties.

Hsin Ch’i-chi, whose style name was Chia-hsüan,¹⁴ was born only thirteen years after the last two emperors of the Northern Sung had been captured by the Jurchëd, who founded the Chin dynasty in the north of China; the Southern Sung, its capital removed to Lin-an (modern Hangchow), survived for 153 years through a period marked by an uneasy peace, military defeats, and humiliating truce settlements. Hsin’s birthplace was Li-ch’eng (modern Tsinan) in Shantung, and he spent his boyhood years in the north. The details of those years are rather obscure; he was said to have studied under a famous scholar¹⁵and to be known as a classmate of Tang Huai-ying (1134-1211),¹⁶who later became a literary luminary and high official in the Chin court. He was reported to have undertaken two journeys as far north as Yen-shan (modern Ta-hsing hsien in Hopei); according to one historical source, he passed the chin-shih examination,¹⁷ a detail not mentioned in his biography in the Sung history (Sung-shih) . ¹⁸

In 1162, the poet moved south and burst upon the scene at the court of the Southern Sung. He joined a leader of the anti-Jurchëd uprisings and in two separate episodes (one of which will be described in the notes to Poem A3) won admiration for his physical courage and intense loyalty. Yet these acts of patriotism earned him the appointment as only a minor official of the lower eighth rank, as junior secretary (ch’eng-wu-lang) and later as a signatory official (ch’ien-p’an) on the prefectural staff of Chiang-ying in Kiangsu. During the next eight years (1162-1170) a policy of appeasement continued to be favored by Emperor Hsiao-tsung, and the poet advanced very little in his political career. During this period he presented the ten memorials to the throne entitled “The Humble Offerings of Ten Discourses” (Mei-ch’in shih-lun); in these he outlined his plan for the reconquest of the lost territory. Another set of “Nine Discourses” (Chiu-i), which he wrote at this time for the Chief Councilor of State Yü Yünwen (1110-1174), dealt with military strategy and fiscal reform. In 1170 the poet was given his second audience with the emperor.

Hsin spent the next dozen years or so as a tireless administrator in various parts of south-central China, as Assistant Fiscal Intendant (chuan-yün fu-shih) or as Judicial Intendant (t’i-tien hsing-yü) in Anhwei, Kiangsi, Hunan, and Hupeh. Although rising no higher than the sixth rank as Lord Assistant Chief Justice (ta-li shao-ch’ing) and also as Compiler at the Imperial Archive (pi-ko hsiu-chuan), Hsin became a controversial figure in politics by espousing and carrying out bold and innovative policies. These included the successful suppression of rebellions, the undertaking of construction projects or famine relief work, and the most controversial of all, the organization of a large militia force in Hunan against an imperial edict.

In 1181 unfavorable criticism forced him to retire to Ch’ien-shan, near Shang-jao, in Kiangsi, where he built a villa by a scenic lake called Tai-hu (Ribbon Lake). There he took on the style name of the “Hermit of Farming Pavilion” (Chia-hsüan chü-shih), or simply Chiahsüan. He remained at his beloved villa for nearly two decades until the time of his death, except for three years ( 1191—1194) when he served as Pacification Administrator (an-fu-shih) of Fukien, where he was again abruptly removed when an imperial censor accused him of “spending money like dirt and sand and killing people without any hesitation.”¹⁹

Hsin Ch’i-chi’s checkered career is extraordinary for a Chinese poet. Since the time of the Three Kingdoms (2 20-280), few poets in China had shown any talent for military affairs, although there had been a few generals who wrote one or two good poems. Hsin’s youthful exploits together with his many acts of generosity and courage in his later life all evince the spirit of the ancient Chinese knight-errantry (known as hsieh or hsia) and show a remarkable affinity with the ideals and the career of Li Ρο.²⁰

His loyalty to the emperor, his selfless dedication to public service, and his broad sympathy with the suffering people—and, of course, his poetic craftsmanship and erudition—also reflect the life-long ideals and ambitions, and achievements, of Tu Fu, China’s greatest poet. The distressing events of his time caused by the Jurchëd invasion are certainly comparable to the upheavals brought about by the An Lushan Rebellion which Tu Fu witnessed. One might even speculate that Tu Fu would have worked toward similar political and social accomplishments had he been given positions of responsibility under the T’ang government. But Hsin drew his inspiration chiefly from China’s exiled poets. The lives of the ancient poets Ch’ü Yüan (died 278 B.C.) and especially T’ao Ch’ien (365-427) whom he affectionately addressed as “my teacher” in one of his poems²¹ provided a pattern for the man who was so often misunderstood by his contemporaries. A recent unpublished study of the use of allusions to past literary works (chi) in Hsin’s poetry shows that although Tu Fu was most often recalled ( 143 allusions), T’ao Ch’ien (76 allusions) and Ch’u Tz’u, the work attributed to Ch’ü Yüan and his followers (71 allusions) were significantly important in his work.²² Like his poetry his life has many facets; it mirrors a perfect fusion of the Confucian ideal of humanity and this-worldliness with the Taoist ideal of artless spontaneity.

The thirty poems which I have translated here are arranged in groups representing six different styles of the poet. I have numbered the lines according to the original for ease of reference; capitalization is used to begin each of the “long” or “short” lines, and omitted in the case of run-on lines when they are needed to accommodate the longer lines of the original. No rhyme is used.

Group A consists of four of Hsin’s most widely appreciated tz’u. They typify the patriotic mode of thought and feeling and were written in the unrestrained (hao-fang) style akin to that of Su Tung-p’o. These intensely personal poems can be dated on both internal and external evidence with greater certainty than some of Hsin’s others since the subject matter is clearly autobiographical (Poems A2 and A3 especially). Poems A1 and A4 are among Hsin’s earliest and latest poems respectively; “visiting an ancient site” is a theme widely used by Chinese poets to express their innermost personal thoughts.

The four poems in Group В show by contrast the quality of voluptuous seductiveness (yen-li) which is generally considered the hallmark of the Hua-chien style. This special kind of poetry, also referred to as the “palace style,” had been popularized in an earlier shih anthology, the Yü-t’ai hsin-yung (New Songs of the Jade Pavilion) from the sixth century. Of course the theme of the boudoir lament appeared still earlier, but after the appearance of the Hua-chien chi it became almost exclusively identified with tz’u poetry. Another common theme of lyric poetry, of which В2 is an example, became increasingly popular toward the end of the Southern Sung; it belongs to the category known as “purely descriptive (of) things” (yung-wu) for which the subject, usually rather narrow, has been preselected, somewhat in the manner of the “rhymeprose” (fu) compositions of Han era. Hsin wrote very few of these poems, but even here, within the restrictions of such a narrow topic, the poet has achieved by means of personification a closely-knit structure, which is all the more remarkable when one considers the length of the poem (102 words).

The six poems in Group Сreveal Hsin’s genius for taking the themes most commonly used by tz’u poets of the past and imbuing them with fresh meaning and vigor. The poet writes of grief at parting (C1 and C5), frustration of either political (C2) or romantic aspirations (C3), or laments on the transitoriness of time and youth (C4 and C6). Yet Hsin has successfully amalgamated nearly all the best styles of earlier tz’u poets through a variety of poetic means. He achieves this at times through the selective use of allusion, as in C2 where remarkably he builds the poem around a single set of allusions. He also uses analogy (C1 and C3) and variation and repetition (C4), where the word for spring (ch’un) is used four times, the word for wind (feng) twice, the word for flower (hua) twice, and the word jen (translated as “people” and “the loved one”) twice. In Poem C5 the mood of late spring is rendered through a human situation, that of a woman despairing of her love; whereas in Poem C6 the poet conveys a complex human emotion, a mixture of joy and grief, by means of a detailed cataloguing of spring scenery, including oranges and leeks. In all these poems, the poet’s contemplation of the outer world is so intense, his description so vivid, the texture so compact that the poet’s own voice is clearly heard. In other words, the commonplace themes of tz’u poetry become in Hsin’s hands an expression of his own intimate emotions.

Group D introduces seven poems, all of which were written in the simplest style imaginable, reminiscent of the best lines of Po Chü-i, or of T’ao Ch’ien, or of some of the quatrains (chüeh-chü) of Tu Fu. No allusion is used, only very ordinary words, and often colloquialisms which another poet from Hsin’s birthplace, Li Ch’ing-chao ( 1081-1141 ), was also fond of using in some of her best-remembered tz’u poems. Hsin in these sketches of a rustic scene or a simple human situation achieved the unadorned, dispassionate quality that is most prized, but seldom achieved, by Chinese poets. Often described by the critical term “ping-tan” which denotes a quality that never cloys or sates, this style of complete artlessness or utter simplicity creates an esthetic effect comparable to the best of Sung monochrome paintings done in the style of pai-miao (white or unadorned sketching). This group of Hsin’s verses is perhaps the most appealing, and accessible, to Western readers; yet behind the deceptive simplicity there is always a marvelous control of details, a sense of structure, which has made these poems easy to render, but difficult to translate well.

The seven poems in Group E combine plain style with a jocular vein. Poem E5 employs numerous colloquialisms, some bordering on the risqué. A favorite tune-title in his humorous light verse is “The Ugly Slave,” in which a line in the middle of each stanza is repeated so that the same line must relate to both the preceding and following lines. Poem E7 uses a tune-title from the Hua-chien chi, generally known as “Ho-ch’uan,” or “Singing by the River”; but Hsin alone chose to preface these two words in the title with the word “T’ang” (dynasty), possibly to indicate his knowledge of the origin of the tune.²³ Poem E7, “Written in Imitation of the Hua-chien Style,” is clearly a satirical piece, somewhat like Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130, in which the conceits of the Elizabethan sonneteering convention are so effectively satirized:

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun. . . .

A poem that combines humor with erudition (E6) serves as a transition to the last group of poems. Like Poem E6 (114 words in the original), Hsin’s more allusive poems, which I have grouped in F, generally use some of the longest tune-titles in the language—the tune-title “Shao-pien” (F2), for instance, being the fourth longest of all tz’u patterns (203 words). His erudition and his ability to make it relevant to poetry are given ample scope here. Of course, to a greater or lesser degree, the use of allusions had been a common practice among Chinese poets for a long time. Before allusions became stereotyped, they could and did play an integral part in the total meaning of a poem. They function somewhat like the allusions to Greek or Roman mythology in English poetry or, as I have attempted to show elsewhere, nearly in the same manner in which modern poets like T. S. Eliot and David Jones have made use of footnotes to add to the “evocative” power of poetry.²⁴

In Hsin’s allusive lyrics, however, there is still another innovative feature. He quotes, sometimes verbatim, sometimes in adaptations, passages of prose from The Analects of Confucius, or The Book of Mencius, or the works of other philosophers. Most widely borrowed is the more poetic prose of the Chuang-tzu (it alone provides eighty- seven quotations or allusions).²⁵ In these poems, Hsin is also fond of using many exclamatory or interrogative particles like yi, tsai or hu, along with other “empty-words’’ (hsü-tzu), or particles, in order to achieve a smooth transition or for the sake of emphasis. As a result, the natural rhythm of the language, aided by the melodic pattern and the use of rhyme, becomes so vitalized as to give birth to a new type of poetry, a kind of metaphysical verse. It is not without cause that Hsin has been sometimes labeled a writer of “tz’u-lun “ or “lyric discourses,” as well as a “bookbag-thrower.”

An equally erudite poet of another era, Han Yü (768-824), practiced a similar kind of verbal gymnastics through the use of particles and archaic diction in the five- or seven-word poetry (shih) written in the “ancient” style. But the smoothness and the coherence of Hsin’s metaphysical lyrics stand in sharp contrast to Han Yü’s more rugged lines. This successful fusion of poetry and prose, which was not possible in Han Yü’s time, appears to have demonstrated beyond any doubt the malleability and suppleness of tz’u as a medium of poetry in contrast to the prosodie rigidity of the shih.

These thirty poems by Hsin Ch’i-chi illustrate the full range of Hsin’s styles as a lyricist. Forgetting for the moment the traditional terminologies of Chinese literary criticism, one can say that Hsin’s poetry is sometimes simple, sometimes sensuous, sometimes passionate —and, of course, on occasion also erudite. He seems just as aware of the important differences between poetry and prose as Milton was in his tract “Of Education.” The English poet enumerates the three qualities as essential to the “sublime art” of poetry, and also attempts to distinguish poetry from what he called “the useful Logic” and “the graceful and ornate Rhetoric.” To both of these, he wrote, poetry “must be made subsequent, or indeed rather precedent, as being less subtle and fine, but more simple, sensuous, and passionate.”²⁶

The allusive quality of Hsin’s verses is certainly derived from his deep attachment to the philosophers and the classics—China’s equivalent of Plato, Aristotle, or Longinus. Despite its origin in music, the rather narrow range of tz’u poetry became in the hands of Hsin Ch’i-chi so supple an instrument that he could sum up the best styles of all the great poets of the past—not only T’ao Ch’ien and Tu Fu, but also Ch’u Tz’u and Shih Ching (Book of Songs)²⁷—and at the same time fuse poetry with philosophy into a highly individualized form of art.

Hsin was as steeped in China’s ancient traditions as Edmund Spenser was familiar with Greek pastorals and Vergilian eclogues; he was as much in tune with the new poetry of his day as Spenser was with the new influences of Petrarch or the French Pléiade. Both were equally involved in the political tensions of their times: Hsin Ch’i-chi’s life and achievements bear more than a casual resemblance to those of England’s “poets’ poet.” He broke new ground for tz’u poetry, rewove ancient myths and legends, turned his gaze to the small things in nature like flowers and insects; he was not restricted but rather enlarged by the conventions he inherited; and he wrote, to the very end of his life, some of the purest lyric poetry in the Chinese language.

THIRTY LYRICS BY HSIN СН’I-CHI

[GROUP A]

1 : THE CHARM OF NIEN־NU / Nien-nu-chiao

PRESENTED TO MAGISTRATE SHIH CHIH-TAO
upon climbing Shang-hsin Pavilion at Chien-k’ang
(1167-1170)

I have come to mourn the ancients—

To mount this lofty tower, only to reap

The grief of idle feeling a thousand measures deep!

The tiger’s stance and the dragon’s coil of this once great city: where can it be seen?

There’s left only a picture of rise-and-fall to fill the eye.5

Homing birds by river’s edge,

Slanting sun beyond the willows,

Tall trees soughing on the dike,

A single sail bent westward:

Whence came the sound of a flute piercing the silence of autumn’s bamboo grove?10

All at once I recall the exquisite composure of Hsieh An,

His declining years spent at his Eastern Mountain retreat,

His tears falling at a harpsichord’s mournful tune,

Leaving to his brothers and nephews all heroic deeds and fame,

His whole day consumed in a game of chess.15

Magic mirror of youth is hard to find,

Clouds drift on towards dusk:

Who needs urging to drink another cup?

The gale from the riverhead is mounting in anger,

Morning will see waves and billows tearing at houses.20

2 : DANCE OF THE CAVALRY/ P’о- сhen-tzu

A HEROIC SONG WRITTEN FOR CH’EN T’UNG-FU
and to be sent to him
(1188)

While drunk, I trimmed my lamp and examined my sword;

In my dream, I returned to the strung-out camps and bugle-calls.

My soldiers feasted on roasted flesh of Eight-hundred-li Ox;

From fifty-string zithers came a jumble of border melodies.

On autumn’s sandy plain, I called the roll.5

My horse flew faster than the stallion of Liu;

My bow twanged like a clap of thunder.

How I wished to discharge the kingdom’s task for my prince

And to win for myself immortal fame!

Yet how sad—my hair turns white!10

3 : PARTRIDGE SKY / Che-ku-tien

A GUEST ARRIVED AND TALKED IMPULSIVELY
about heroic deeds and fame. I was reminded of the events
of my youth, and wrote this half in jest.
(1200)

In my youth, ten thousand brave ones rallied around my banners;

All splendidly-clad, fast riders fought to cross the river.

The Yen soldiers readied their silver quivers at night;

The gold-tipped arrows of Han flew at them at sunrise.

Pondering over things of long ago,5

I lament my present state—

The spring wind powerless to color my white beard.

Still I would exchange my ten-thousand-word discourse on how to subdue the enemy

For my Eastern Neighbor’s book on how to plant trees.

4: MUSIC OF ETERNAL UNION / Yung-yü-yüeh

REMEMBERING THE PAST
at Pei-ku Pavilion in Ching-k’ou
(1205)

These enduring hills and rivers

Have left no trace of the hero

Here in the domain of the King of Wu.

From dance terrace and song-filled pavilions,

All romance and charm have been5

Beaten by rain, blown by the winds.

Setting sunlight on scrubby trees,

Ordinary lanes and pathways,

Where people say the royal Chi-nu once lived.

Remember those days10

When golden lances and ironclad horses

Bolted ten thousand miles like tigers.

The debacle of the Yüan-chia era,

Vain as the hope for performing sacrifices at Lang-chü- hsü,

Only to win a retreating emperor’s hasty glance.15

Forty-three years have passed,

Yet I can still recall what I saw:

The road to Yangchow dotted by beacon-fires.

How can I bear to look back?

Beneath the temple of Buddha-fox,20

A divine chorus of dissonant crows and temple drums.

Who shall be sent to ask:

“General Lien P’o is indeed old,

But can he really eat a peck of rice? ’’

[GROUP B]

I : SONG OF THE EASTERN SLOPE/ Tung-p’o-yin

BOUDOIR LAMENT
(date undetermined)

Her delicate fingers pluck an ancient lament,

Deftly tap on the embroidered board;

With a clear song, her eyes trail the geese in the west wind

Until their formations break up, her word blown away.

Until their formations break up, her word blown away.5

Deep in the night she makes her prayer to the moon

West of the carved window.

Only the shadow of the cassia tree

Fills the empty stairs.

A kingfisher curtain conceals her, with no one near— 10

Her silken garments twice as loose,

Her silken garments twice as loose.

2 : AUSPICIOUS IMMORTAL CRANE /Jui-ho-hsien

ON PLUM-BLOSSOMS [FU-ME1]
(1191-1194)

The cold of autumn’s frost pierces through the curtain

When light clouds are sheltering the moon:

New ice still thin,

Before the mirror brook she combs her hair;

Then thinks of dallying with scent and powder,5

But seductive art is hard to learn.

Pale and thin, her flesh,

Fold upon fold

Of colored silk, her foil.

Relying on the east wind—10

One pleasant smile from her,

In a wink, ten thousand blossoms fall in shame.

Forlorn!

What place can be called her home?

Garden after a snow,15

Pavilion by the water’s edge,

Or an ancient assignation in Fairyland.

Yet whom can she send

As her courier?

Butterflies care only20

To chase after peachtrees and willows;

The southernmost boughs laden with flowers, they do not know.

Still her heart would grieve

On some desolate evening

At the scattered sounds of the post horn.25

3 : GREEN JADE CUP / Ch’ing-yü-an

LANTERN FESTIVAL
(before 1188)

One night’s east wind and a thousand trees burst into flower;

And breathed down still more

Showers of fallen stars.

Splendid horses, carved carriages, fragrance filled the road.

Music trilled from paired flutes,5

Light swirled on water-clock towers.

All night long, the fabled fish-dragons danced.

Gold-threaded jackets, moth- or willow-shaped hair-ornaments

Melted into the throng, giggling, with a trail of scents.

In the crowd I looked for her a thousand and one times;10

And all at once, as I turned my head,

I was startled to find her

Among the lanterns where candles were growing dim.

4 : RIVER FAIRY / Lin-chiang-hsien

(no title given)
(date undetermined)

Her hand twirls a yellow flower, her mind blank;

Endlessly she paces the veranda, in a vacant mood.

While fragrant cassia near the rolled-up screen scatters its lingering scent.

Ducks doze uneasily among withered lotus;

Light rain in darkness fills the pond.5

“Remembering the last time when we went hand in hand,

Now water is distant, and mountain far away.

With my silken kerchief drenched in tears, and my powdered face stained, we parted.

Old pleasures in dreams anew:

Idle and alone, I ponder them.”10

[GROUP C]

1 : THE CHARM OF NIEN-NU /Nien-nu-chiao

WRITTEN ON THE WALL [OF AN INN]
at Tung-liu Village
(1178)

The wild-plum has shed all its petals;

Once again, the season has scurried by

Past the Ch’ing-ming Festival.

Still, the east wind deludes a traveler’s dream

With a night’s shiver by the mica screen.5

Holding a cup in hand by the winding shore,

Or tying my horse to the weeping willow:

So many times have I taken my leave of such a place.

The pavilion is now emptied of its guest:

Only familiar visitors, the swallows, can speak of what they knew.10

I have heard of lovely roads to the east,

Where travelers have watched

From beneath the curtain, maidens’ mincing steps.

Old grief, like a spring river, flows on unbroken;

New grief stretches across a thousand clouded peaks.15

I imagine that some day

When we meet again over a pot of wine,

Flowers in the mirror would be hard to pluck.

Wouldn’t you surprise yourself by asking,

“How many hairs are now touched with gray?”20

2 : GROPING FOR FISH / Mo-yü-еrh

WRITTEN IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF CH’UN HSI
[1179], upon being relieved of my duty as Assistant
Fiscal Intendant of Hupei and sent to Hunan;
at a farewell party given by my colleague Wang
Cheng-chih at Hsiao-shan [Small Hill] Pavilion
(1179)

How much more

Of wind and rain?

Too, too hastily, spring will leave again.

Pitying spring, I’ve long dreaded flowers budding too soon.

Still more, those fallen petals numberless!5

Spring, please stay!

I’ve heard it said

Fragrant grasses at world’s end hide the way home.

Uttering no word against spring,

Except, I imagine, there must be those untiring10

Spiders at their web

By painted eaves

All day long, chafing at blown catkins.

Alas, the Affair of Long-gate!

Likely, the hoped-for reunion again miscarried15

When Delicate Beauty has earned another’s spite!

True, a thousand taels of gold could buy a reconciliation;

Yet, so full and deep, to whom could this longing be told?

Please do not dance!

Have you not seen20

Jade Bracelet and Flying Swallow all returned to dust?

Bitterest sorrow is bootless grief.

Do not lean so close against an overhanging rail,

For where the sun has gone down

Beyond the mist and willow, is where my heart breaks!25

3 : LOVE-SONG OF CHU Y1NG-T’AI / Chu-ying-t’ai-chin

LATE SPRING
(before 1182)

Since we halved the hairpin

At Peach-Leaves Ferry,

Mist and willow have darkened the south bank.

I dread to climb the upper storey:

Nine days in ten are filled with wind and rain.5

Swirling petals, one by one, wound my heart:

Yet others do not notice.

And who’s there to plead

With orioles to still their song?

My hand stroked my temple,10

Trying to divine the date of your return with petals;

The hairpin once fastened, I recounted the petals.

Lamplight flickers on the silk curtain;

Words choke in my mouth as I wake from dream.

“It is spring that has brought sorrow back!15

Then where does spring go when it leaves?

But, no, spring does not care

To take sorrow along when it goes away.”

4 : SPRING IN JADE PAVILION / Yü-lou-ch’un

(no title)
(date undetermined)

I wish to plead with the wind to let fine spring tarry;

Spring, dwelling south of the city along the flower-strewn road,

Has not yet followed the flowers drifting down to water’s edge

But is there, where willow catkins scatter down to sodden ground.

Each fleck of white in the mirror tells me of what I’ve missed.5

I have not wronged spring, only spring wrongs itself.

Dream vanishes, loved ones far away: that much grief

Dwells where wind and rain beat down on the pear-blossoms.

5 : FULL RIVER RED / Man-chiang-hung

(no title)
(date undetermined)

Shattering the grief of separation,

Outside the gauze window,

The wind shook the green bamboo.

Her lover gone,

The sound of the flute broke off.5

Alone she stood by the railing.

Her eyes could not bear late April’s dusk;

Her head overwhelmed by the green of a thousand hills.

She tried to read

One page of a letter from him,10

Tried to read from the beginning.

Words of longing

Filled the page in vain;

Thoughts of longing—

When would they suffice?15

Upon her silken lapel fell tears drop after drop;

Cascades of pearls brimmed her two hands.

Fragrant grass, they say, will not hide the way home;

Hanging willows obscure the gaze only when the guest departs.

Bitterest sorrow is20

To stand and wait out the dusk as the moon goes down

Near a winding balustrade.

6 : SPRING IN HAN PALACE /Han-kung ch’un

ON THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING
(1197-1198)

Spring has returned!

Just look at spring’s streamers and ribbons

Gracefully dancing on pretty maidens’ heads.

Alas, the indiscriminate wind and rain

Yet reluctant to store away the lingering cold!5

Seasonal swallows,

I imagine, will this night

Dream of returning to their orchard,

Though unprepared to scent

The golden tangerines that go with wine10

Among green leeks and scallions piled on the plate.

From this time on, I should laugh at the east wind

That perfumes the plum flowers and dyes the willow

Without any let-up;

Then steal one idle moment, looking at a mirror,15

And see the ruby color fade from my cheeks.

Oh, interminable grief!

Who, let me ask,

Knows the clue to uncouple these interlocked jade-rings?

I dread most to see

Flowers bloom and flowers fall.

When morning comes, the frontier geese will be the first to come home.

[GROUP D]

1 : PURE SERENE MUSIC / Ch’ing-p’ing-yüeh

AFTER SPENDING A NIGHT ALONE
at the Cottage of a Certain Mr. Wang at Po-shan
(before 1188)

Hungry rats race around my bed;

Bats tumble and dance in lamplight.

Upon the roof, among the pines, wind spouts incessant rain

While tattered paper flaps against the window, talks by itself.

North of the border, south of the Yangtze, no stranger to me;5

Now I am home, gray-haired, ashen-faced—

Cotton quilt, autumn night, and I lie awake:

Ten thousand miles of rivers and hills pass before my eyes.

2 : PURE SERENE MUSIC / Ch’ing-p’ing-yüeh

LIFE IN THE VILLAGE
(before 1188)

Thatched eaves, low and narrow;

Grass all green by the creek—

Happy with wine, the Wu dialect sounds lilting to my ear:

I wonder whose grandparents are these white-haired ones?

The oldest son hoes beans east of the creek,5

The second boy mends the chicken coop.

I love best the youngest crafty child:

He lies by the creek breaking open lotus-pods.

3 : WEST RIVER MOON / Hsi-chiang-yüeh

TRAVELING THE HUANG-SHA [YELLOW-SAND]
Road at Night
(1186-1187)

Startled magpies scurrying from the branches in the moonlight,

The chittering of cicadas in midnight’s cool breeze,

Talk of a bountiful year, in the fragrance of ripening grain—

The loud croaking of frogs assails my ears.

Seven or eight stars on the far horizon,5

Two or three drops of rain closer by the hill—

A familiar wineshop by the woods beside the shrine

Appears suddenly as the road winds past the bridge.

4 : PARTRIDGE SKY / Che-ku-t’ien

DURING AN OUTING TO O HU [GEESE LAKE],
I got drunk and wrote the following on the
wall of an inn.
(1186-1187)

Spring arrives on the plain, on the petals of shepherd’s purse;

Upon new furrows after the rain, a flight of crows settle.

For an old man full of feeling, what’s the use of spring?

When evening comes in a wine-shop, it’s easy to buy wine on credit.

A leisured life,5

A small livelihood:

Near the cow rail to the west, there’s hemp and mulberry.

Girls in blue skirts and white sleeves—I don’t know where they are from—

To gather news about silkworms, they do visiting in the village.

5 : THE PRICKLY PEAR / Sheng-ch’a-tzu

VISITING YÜ-YEN [RAIN CLIFF] ALONE
(1182-1188)

I stroll along the stream and follow my shadow;

The sky lies at the bottom of the clear stream.

Across the sky the clouds are drifting by;

Among the drifting clouds, I find myself.

Who’s there to harmonize my soaring song?5

From hollow valleys, pure notes rise.

Not from spirits nor from immortals—

Just a song of peach-blossoms from a crescent stream.

6 : PARTRIDGE SKY / Che-ku-t’ien

ON THE ROAD TO HUANG-SHA
(before 1188)

A line of my verse is trimmed and shaped by the spring breeze;

Hills and streams unroll a vista like a painting.

Light-limbed sea gulls glide away on phantom boats;

Shaggy dogs turn back to greet a country woman coming home.

Bamboo and pine,5

A mass of green,

Seem bent on lifting the last of snow to vie with the beauty of sparse plum-blossoms.

But, alas, the jumble of crows, clumsy and witless,

Time and again, kick the crystals down!

7 : BUTTERFLIES / Fen-tieh-erh

ON “FALLEN PLUM-BLOSSOMS,”
and Replying to a Poem Sent by
Chao Chin-ch’en
(1200)

Yesterday’s spring was like

A thirteen-year-old girl learning to embroider:

Branch after branch,

She never sketched the blossoms thin.

Then, callously,5

Came down hard

Reviling wind and rain

Upon the garden

To carpet the ground in wrinkled red.

And now spring is like10

A frivolous youth hard to keep at home.

Remembering last time

Bidding spring goodbye,

Churning spring waves

All into wine,15

A river of heady brew—

She invites the unsullied grief

To wait for her by the willow bank.

[GROUP E]

1 : UGLY SLAVE / Ch’ou-nu-erh

WRITTEN ON THE WALL [OF AN INN]
on the Road to Po-shan [Monastery]
(1188)

While I was young, I did not know sorrow’s taste:

I loved to climb many-storied towers.

I loved to climb many-storied towers—

To write new rhymes and force myself to speak of grief.

But now that I have known all of sorrow’s taste,5

I long to speak but can’t.

I long to speak but can’t—

Except to say, “What a cool autumn day!”

2 . UGLY SLAVE / Ch’ou-nu-erh

EMBELLISHING UPON SOME RHYMES
written while I was drunk, urging others to drink
(date undetermined)

Lately grief seems to grow as big as the sky.

Who can understand and pity?

Who can understand and pity

To make of grief as big as the sky?

I’ve put away endless riddles of the world, old and new,5

To lay them next to grief.

To lay them next to grief

And move my home to be near Wine Spring.

3 : WEST RIVER MOON / Hsi-chiang-yüeh

BIDDING MY CHILDREN
to Attend to Family Affairs
(date undetermined)

Myriad affairs, like mist or cloud, as swiftly pass;

With age, the rushes and willows sear.

And now what business fits me best?

Fit to get drunk, fit to roam, fit to sleep.

Better hurry to pay your tax and levies,5

Balance accounts and expenditure.

Your Old Sire still tends to some things—

Tends the bamboo, tends the hills, tends the lake!

4 : WEST RIVER MOON / Hsi-chiang-yüeh

RANDOM THOUGHTS
(date undetermined)

While drunk, I knew only to laugh and make merry;

Where’s the time to grieve?

Lately, I’ve come to know ancient tomes,

To believe in them was all wrong.

Last night I lay drunk by the pine tree,5

And I asked the pine, “How drunk am I?”

Half fearing the pine was moving to lift me up,

With one hand pushing the pine, I said, “Go away.”

5 : SONG OF SOUTHERN VILLAGE / Nan-hsiang-tzu

PRESENTED TO A COURTESAN
(date undetermined)

What a fine hostess!

Says not a word but shuffles off to bed,

Causing that man to put on airs.

Hurry, Hurry!

Fasten your skirt, make it secure.5

Shed no tears of parting:

Oaths by hills and sea are hard to redeem.

Remember to take your new love today,

My child,

Ten years later you will feel just like her.

6 : SPRING IN PRINCESS CH’IN’S GARDEN / Ch’in-yüan-ch’an

TRYING TO CURE MYSELF OF THE HABIT
of drinking, [I wrote this poem] to admonish the wine cup
and ask it not to come near me.
(1196)

Wine-cup, you come here.

The Old Fellow today

Must spare his body.

For many long years I have endured this thirst;

My throat is parched like a scorched pan.5

And now I love to sleep;

My snore is loud like thunder.

You spoke of Liu Ling,

The wisest man in history, who said,

“If I’m drunk and die, bury me where I fall.”10

If all this were true,

I should say with a sigh, “You, my friend,

Have been most niggardly in your affection.”

Still relying on song and dance as your match-makers,

You have conspired with them15

To men’s doom—

Not to mention that all grudges, large and small,

Were of addiction born.

Things are neither good nor bad;

Only excess makes calamities of them.20

Let this be our compact:

“Do not linger, but be quick to withdraw.

I am still strong enough to beat you down.”

Wine-cup bowed twice, and said,

“Wave me away and I go,25

Call me back and I will come.”

7 : [T’ANG] RIVER MESSAGE / T’ang-ho-ch’uan

IN IMITATION OF THE HUA-CHIEN STYLE
(date undetermined)

Spring river,

A thousand miles;

A single boat among the waves:

I dreamed of Hsi-tzu as my companion.

I woke to find dusk’s sunlight deflected from the village lane.5

In how many homes,

Behind low walls, hang red almond-blossoms?

From evening clouds could come a bit of rain.

Going out to pluck flowers—

Who is the girl on the bank?10

Ah, what folly!

Over there,

Willow catkins

Have all been swept by wind into the sky.

[GROUP F]

1 : CONGRATULATING THE BRIDEGROOM / Ho-hsin-lang

I HAVE BEEN IN THE HABIT OF USING THIS
tune-title to compose poems for the gardens and pavilions of the
district. One day, while sitting alone at [the Pavilion of]
Stilled Clouds [T’ing-yün], I felt elated by the sound of
waters and the color of the hills. And I thought of similar
sentiments inspired by [other] hills and streams. Thereupon,
I wrote the following lines to approximate the mood of
longing for friends in [T’ao] Yüan֊ming’s [T’ing-yün] poem.
(1199-1200)

“Alas, alas, how much I have aged!”

’Tis pity to see

Friends and companions fall off

And so few of them survive today.

My white hair has grown, in vain, thirty thousand feet5

When one laugh suffices for the world’s myriad events!

Ask if there’s anything left

That gladdens my heart?

When I see green hills full of charm,

I suspect the green hills,10

Upon seeing me, would find me the same.

How I feel and how I look

Should probably be alike.

Holding a flask of wine, I scratch my head before the eastern window

And think of the Hermit-poet,15

That “Stilled Clouds” poem completed,

Relishing a moment like this.

Those who swarm the capital, drunk with fame’s lure.

Who among them can tell the subtleness of coarse wine?

I turn my head and conjure20

The wind and the cloud to rise.

I bemoan, not that I haven’t chanced to meet ancient worthies,

But that the ancient worthies

Have not chanced to see me as impertinent as this!

None truly know me25

But two or three.

2 : A SLOW CHANT / Shao-pien

PAVILION OF AUTUMN FLOODS
[Ch’iu-shui Kuan]
(1199)

Inside the horn of a snail, a battle rages between

Two kingdoms: Ch’u to the left and Man to the right.

A single combat extends o’er a thousand li of ground.

Try to imagine

This feeble heart encased in an inch of space!5

Indeed, all emptiness is contained in infinitude.

If this truth be known,

Who can tell between Mount T’ai and a single hair?

From ancient times, heaven and earth lie in a grain of rice.

Ah, knowing the small resemble the great,10

A turtle dove or a roc is happy with its own fate.

What else can these two creatures know?

Remember, if Robber Chih had led a moral and just life Confucius would have been proven wrong;

Not to mention Infant Shang blessed with longevity and old P’eng-tsu ending his life in sadness.

To expound on cold with rats unafraid of fire,15

Or to talk of heat with silkworms thriving on ice:

Who can tell between likenesses and differences?

Ah!

Time decides what’s noble and what’s base;

Priceless jade could only fetch a sheepskin.20

Who’s able, then, to make all things equal?

In my dream, I beheld Chuang Chou

Tidying up the lost chapters of his writing

And looking at me with a skittish smile.

In my empty pavilion, I woke and named it “Autumn Floods.”25

A guest arrived to ask about the Great River

Which a hundred streams had swollen with rain,

While raging currents merged water with land’s banks;

Whereupon the Lord of the River was transported with joy,

Believing that all beauty of the world belonged to him alone.30

Across the distant deep,

He turned his gaze eastward to the ocean;

Timorously bowed to the God of the Sea and, in amazement, sighed,

Saying, “If I had not met you,

Among all Masters of Great Truth, I would not35

Have escaped being laughed at through eternity, after all!”

How much water can this pavilion of mine boast of?

Only a clear stream,

One tiny bend, that’s all!

ALL translations accompanying this article follow the modern punctuated text prepared by Teng Kuang-ming, Chia-hsüan-tz’u pien-nien ch’ien-chu [An Annotated Edition of Chia-hsüan’s tz’u Arranged in Chronological Order] (Shanghai: Chung Hua, 1962). Further references to this work will be abbreviated “Teng” followed by the page reference. I have also consulted the manuscript copy of both Chia-hsüan-tz’u chiao-chu [An Annotated Edition of Chia-hsien’s tz’u] and Chia hsüan-hsien-sheng nien-p’u [Chronology of the Life of Chiahsüan] written by Professor Cheng Ch’ien of National Taiwan University, whose many personal kindnesses I gratefully acknowledge.

Some Chinese works have been abbreviated as follows:

NOTES TO INTRODUCTION

1. CST collects 623 poems by Hsin Ch’i-chi. The earliest printed edition (1299) of Hsi’s works contains 568 poems; an earlier manuscript edition issued during the poet’s lifetime ( 1188 and immediately thereafter) includes 427. For a fuller account of the textual derivation of the various editions, see note 6.

2. The most extensive collection of Hsin’s poems in English translation appears in Clara Candlin [Young], The Herald Wind (Wisdom of the East Series; London: John Murray, 1933), with nine poems (pp.76-82), which include the poems I have translated as D², D³, D⁵, E¹, and E³, and four others. Ch’u Ta-kao, Chinese Lyrics (Cambridge: University Press, 1937), pp. 42-48, includes seven of Hsin’s poems corresponding to my D⁵, E¹, E², E³, and E⁴, in addition to two others. In two groups of translations—‘‘Poems from the Chinese” and “Fifty-six Poems from the Chinese”—appearing in the 1938 and 1939 Т’ien-hsia magazine (VI, 231-254; VIII, 61-98), Teresa Li translates two of Hsin’s poems: my E² and one other poem. The White Pony: An Anthology of Chinese Poetry, ed. Robert Payne (New York: John Day, 1947) includes two poems (p. 278) by Hsin corresponding to my E¹ and E⁴. A Penguin Book of Chinese Verse, ed. A. R. Davis (Baltimore, 1962), includes only one poem by Hsin (p. 49), which is my E¹. Neither Kenneth Rexroth’s One Hundred Poems from the Chinese (New York: New Directions, n.d.) nor Cyril Birch’s Anthology of Chinese Literature: from Early Times to the Fourteenth Century (New York: Grove Press, 1965) ineludes any of Hsin’s works. A Collection of Chinese Lyrics, by Alan Ayling and Duncan Mackintosh (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965) includes four poems by Hsin (pp. 159-67) corresponding to my A⁴, C², C³, and E¹. Ch’en Shou-yi, Chinese Literature: A Historical Introduction (New York: Ronald Press, 1961) translates seven poems by Hsin (pp. 410-418), including my A³, C², and Ε6, and three other poems. Liu Wu-chi, An Introduction to Chinese Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1966) includes four poems of Hsin’s translated in their entirety (pp. 121-24), which correspond to my B³, E¹, and E6, and one other poem, in addition to the first stanza of my A¹.

3. For a fuller treatment of the poet’s life and his place in Chinese literature see my biographical and critical study, Hsin Ch’i-chi, in the Twayne World Authors Series (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1971).

4. Kōjirō Yoshikawa, for instance, argues for the superiority of Sung shih over T’ang shih. See his An Introduction to Sung Poetry, 1962 (English translation by Burton Watson; Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967).

5. This term was first used by James R. Hightower in Topics of Chinese Literature (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950), p. 80. Also see Glen W. Baxter, “Metrical Origins of the tz’u” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, XVII (1954), 394-402.

6. Actually, the earliest printed edition of Hsin Ch’i־chi’s works was known by the title of Chia-hsüan ch’ang-tuan-chü, which was also the title given in the “Section on Bibliography” (“I-wen-chih”) of the History of Sung (Sung Shih, chüan 208, p. 23a). Printed in 1299 by the Kuang-hsin Shu-yüan (Kuang-hsin Academy) of Hsin-chou (in Kiangsi), it is generally referred to as the twelve-chüan edition. One copy of it is still extant, in Peking; a photo reprint of this unique copy was issued by the Ku-tien wen-hsüeh ch’u-pan-she (Shanghai, 1957). A second printing of this edition, under the supervision of Wang Chao, in 1536, was done in Kai-feng, with punctuation of the text prepared by Li Lien (1488- 1565), who also contributed a preface. It was this text, though rearranged into four-chüan and without Li’s punctuation and preface, which was followed by Mao Chin (1598-1659) in his Sung liu-shih ming-chia-tz’u [Works of Sixty Famous tz’s Poets of Sung], reprinted in the Ssu-pu pei-yao [SPPY] series. Wang Pang-yün’s Sung-Yüan san-shih-i-chia tz’u [Works of Thirty-one tz’s Poets of Sung and Yüan] also followed this edition.

A second major source of Hsin’s works is the so-called “four-chüan (manuscript) edition,” issued during the poet’s lifetime and given the title of Chiahsüan-tz’u. The four chüan were numbered chia, i, ping, and ting; and the chia chüan contained a preface which was written by Fan K’ai, one of Hsin’s followers, and dated 1188. This four-chüan edition, content intact, was followed by Wu Na’s (1372-1457) Tang-Sung ming-hsien pai-chia tz’u [Works of One Hundred Worthy tz’u Poets of T’ang and Sung] ; but a later reprint, that of Chi-ku-ko, by following an incomplete copy, reproduced only the first three chüan. In 1939, the ting chüan was miraculously rediscovered in a second-hand bookshop in Shanghai, reunited with the original, and reissued in a Han-feng-lou edition.

7. Hua-chien chi contains some 500 poems written by eighteen poets of the late T’ang and Five Dynasties periods, employing only 77 tune-titles. Of these, 55 were found recorded in Ts’ui Ling-ch’ing’s Chiao-fang-chi, a T’ang collection of “Music Factory” tunes; see page three of the introduction to Hua-chien-chi-chu, ed. Hua Lien-p’u (Shanghai: Chung Hua, 1935). On the other hand, The Imperial Register of Tz’u Prosody (ChHng-ting tz’u-p’u) compiled during the K’ang-hsi reign (1662-1723), translated by Glen W. Baxter (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1956), lists 826 basic tune-titles with 2,306 variant forms (t’i), according to Baxter’s tabulation (p. x). It may be significant to note that among the 77 tune-titles of the Hua-chien chi, only 20 are found to be included among the 101 different tune-titles used by Hsin Ch’i-chi; and only six of the 20 —‘‘Wan-ch’i-sha,” “Lang-t’ao-sha,” “Lin-chiang-hsien,” “P’u-sa-man,” “Sheng- ch’a-tzu,” and “Yü-lou-ch’un”—to have been used with some frequency (over ten poems for each of these tunes).

8. Ch’üan-Sung tz’u, I, 11.

9. Literally this phrase means “one who drops (tiao) bookbags ( shu-tai),” where shu-tai is obviously a synecdoche for “erudition.” Its first occurrence is in Nan-T’ang shu [History of the Southern Tang (Kingdom)], by Ma Ling of the Sung dynasty, as a nickname of an eccentric named P’eng Li-yung. P’eng is said to have cultivated the habit of using quotations from the classics in his daily conversation even while he was speaking to “children and servants,” chüan 25, TSCC (Shanghai: 1935), p. 167. The remark as applied to Hsin Ch’i-chi originates from the writing of Liu K’o-chuang (1187-1269), a lyricist in his own right and Hsin’s follower and friend. It occurs in a “colophon” (pa) which Liu wrote for “Eight Lyrics on Autumn by Liu Shu-an.” See “Liu Shu-an kan-ch’iu pa-shou,” Hou-ts’un ta-ch’üan-chi, SPTK ed., chüan 99, p. 176.

10. For example, Chou Chi (1781-1839), Sung ssu-chia tz’u-hsüan [Selections from Four Sung Lyricists], 1863, reprinted in TSCC, considers Chou Pang-yen (1056-1121), Hsin Ch’i-chi, Wang Ch’i-sun (?1240-? 1290) and Wu Wen-ying (d. 1260) as the four major lyric poets of Sung; whereas a twentieth-century view reflected in Chiang Shang-hsien, Sung ssu-ta-chia-tz’u yen-chiu [A Study of Four Master Lyricists of Sung] (Taipei: Ch’ung-wen, 1962) considers Su Tung-p’o, Chou Pang-yen, Hsin Ch’i-chi, and Chiang K’uei (1155-1235) as the major lyric poets of the two Sung eras.

11. Yu Yen, Yüan-yüan tz’u-hua (Talks on Tz’u from Yüan Garden], p. 2a. THTP, I, 349.

12. Not to mention the chronologies of the poet’s life and the annotated editions of his poetry done by Liang Ch’i-ch’ao (1873-1928), Teng Kuang-ming, and Cheng Ch’ien—there have been at least six biographies of the poet published since 1946; namely, Hsü Chia-jui, Hsin Chia-hsüan p’ing-chuan (Chungking: Wen-t’ung, 1946) ; Ch’ien Tung-fu, Hsin Ch’i-chi chuan (Peking: Tso-chia ch’u- pan-she, 1955); Teng Kuang-ming, Hsin Ch’i-chi chuan (Shanghai: Jen-min ch’u-pan-she, 1956) ; Hsia Ch’eng-t’ao and Yu Ch’i-shui, Hsin Ch’i-chi (Shanghai: Chung Hua, 1962) ; Tu Ch’eng-hsiang, Hsin Ch’i-chi p’ing-chuan (Taipei: Cheng- chung, 1954) ; and Chiang Lin-chu, Hsin Ch’i-chi chuan (Taipei: Commercial Press, 1964).

13. Hu Shih, ed., Tz’u-hsüan (Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1927; Taipei, 1959), p. 216. Hu Shih’s exact words are: “T’a shih tz’u-chung ti-i ta-chia” which could also be translated, without any significant change of meaning, “He is a poet of the first rank among the major tz’u-writers.” Similar views are expressed by two other modern critics: Wang Kuo-wei (1877-1927) and Hu Yün-i. In 1910 Wang wrote in Jen-chien tz’u-hua (THTP, XII, 4252) that Hsin alone, of all the Southern Sung poets, excelled in both “self-expression” (ch’ing) and the “con- templation of the world” (ching-chieh) . Hu Yün-i, in his Sung-tz’u yen-chiu (Shanghai: Chung Hua, 1926) wrote, “It is no exaggeration to consider Hsin Ch’i-chi as the greatest poet of Southern Sung.” (p. 139)

14. Hsin’s courtesy-name was Yu-an, by which he was also known; it was not until after he had moved to Ch’ien-shan, where he built his villa, that he adopted the hao, or style-name, of “Chia-hsüan” (which literally means “Farming Pavilion”). Descriptions of his villa can be found in the writings or the recorded conversations of several of his contemporaries—including the Neo-Confucianist philosopher Chu Hsi (1130-1200), Hung Mai (1123-1202), and Ch’en Liang.

15. According to Hsin’s biography in Sung shih (chüan 401), followed by Нu Shih, Hsin’s teacher was Ts’ai Sung-nien (Ts’ai Po-chien; 1107-1159); another source, originating with Yüan Hawen (1190-1257) Chung-chou chi (SPTK edition, chüan 3, p. 13b) mentions Liu Chan (Liu Yen-lao, fl. 1153) as the teacher of Hsin and Tang. This view was favored by Liang Ch’i-ch’ao and most modern biographers of Hsin.

16. The biography of Tang in Chin shih (History of Chin), chüan 125, mentions him as “the first and foremost scholar of his time” (pp. 12b-13b). Tang held many high offices including the Directorship of Education ( Kuo-tzu Chi-chiu), membership in the Hanlin Academy, and editorship of the Liao shih [History of Liao] ; he was also appointed Regional Commandant (chieh-tu shih) of T’aining.

17. Hsu Meng-hua, San-ch’ao pei-meng hui-pien [Collectanea of Records of Treaties with the North During Three Reigns (i.e., 1117-1162)], chüan 249, p. 5a. Reprint edition in 4 vols. (Taipei: Wen-hai, 1962), IV, 366.

18. The account in Sung shih agrees with what is found in chüan 136 of HTCTC, IV, 3613.

19. Sung shih, chüan 401, p. 4b. Also HTCTC, chüan 152, V, 4071.

20. This aspect of Hsin’s style was briefly mentioned by Hu Yün-i, op. cit., pp. 140,142.

21. In a poem written in 1194, to the tune of “Tsui-kao-lou” [“The Highest Tower”]; Teng, pp. 278-79.

22. Ch’en Shu-mei, Chia-hsüan-tz’u yung-tien feng-lei yen-chiu [A Classified Study of the Use of Allusions in the Tz’u of Chia-hsien]. Unpublished M.A. thesis prepared under the direction of Professor Cheng Ch’ien (Taipei: Kuo-li Taiwan Ta-hsüeh Chung-kuo wen-hsüeh yen-chiu-so, 1967), pp. 269 ff.; pp. 251 ff.; pp. 235 ff.

23. This tune-title was specifically mentioned by Wang Cho (died 1160) in his (Pi-chi man-chi [Random Notes from Pi-chi], chüan 4, p. 3b (THTP, I, 65), as a T’ang title. The large number of variants of this tune are noted in Wen Ju-hsien’s Tz’u-p’ai hui-shih [Dictionary of Tz’u Tune-titles] (Taipei, 1963), pp.269-272.

24. “Problems in Translating and in Teaching Chinese Poetry,” Literature East & West, vol. VII, Nos. 2 and 3 (1963), 29-58.

25. Ch’en Shu-mei, op. cit., lists 34 allusions to, or quotations from The Analects; 17 from the Book of Mencius; and 89 from Chuang-tzu (pp. 161-65; 165- 67; 221-30).

26. Milton’s Prose, ed. Malcolm W. Wallace (London: Oxford University 1925; 1942), p. 154.

27. Ch’en Shu-mei, op. cit., p. 153, where she lists 44 allusions to, or quotations from the Shih ching.

NOTES TO POEMS

GROUP A / POEM I

TUNE-TITLE: Teng, p.11. This tune-title is said to have been derived from a song singing the praise of a famous courtesan by the name of Nien-nu, the rage of the Tang capital during the Tien-pao period (742-756). See Wang Cho’s (d. 1160) Pi-chi Man-chi [Random Talks from Pi-chi], chüan 5, p. la (ΤHTP, I, 73)·

TITLE: Shih Cheng-chih, whose courtesy-name was Chih-tao, passed the chinshih examination in 1151 and was made the Magistrate of Chien-k’ang (modern Nanking in Kiangsu) in 1167. Convinced of the strategic importance of Chien- k’ang, Shih once attempted to persuade Emperor Kao-tsung to make it his capital instead of Ling-an.

line 4 “tigers ... coil”: The text reads hu-chü lung-pang (literally, to stand there like a tiger and to coil like a dragon) referring to the city of Nanking and its surrounding hills, the Chung Mountains. The quotation is attributed to Chuke Liang, the strategist of the Shu kingdom, who praised the city, then the capital of Wu (222-264), in these words.

line 10 “sound . . . grove”: Alluding to a line from a lyric by Huang Ting-chien (1045-1105), to the tune of “The Charm of Nien-nu” written on the subject “Awaiting the moon’s arrival on the seventeenth day of the eighth month, in the company of several nephews and a famous flutist.” (CST, p. 385)

line 11 “Hsieh An”: The text reads An-shih, the courtesy-name of Hsieh An (320-385), a man known for his elegant manners and sagacity. The poem refers to the following story about his composure. In 383 the huge army of Fu Chien, a Tibetan general who had become the ruler of the Earlier Ch’in Kingdom, was defeated by Hsieh An’s nephew Hsieh Hsüan (343-388) and Hsieh Shih (327-388), his younger brother; and the news was brought to him while he was playing chess. He did not allow the message to interrupt his game; and only when the game was over he remarked, “Our children (hsiao-erh-pei) have broken up the rebels.” Chin-shu chiao-chu [History of Chin Dynasty, Collated and Annotated].

A2

Teng, p. 204. Conjecturally dated 1188, a deduction supported by a letter from Ch’en to the poet, dated “the year of wu-shen [i.e., 1188],” in which Ch’en asked Hsin for some poems. See Cheng Ch’ien, Chia-hsien-tz’u chiao-chu, p. 198.

Ch’en Liang (? 1143-1192), whose courtesy-name was T’ung-fu, was a very close friend of the poet and one whose politicai view Hsin shared. In the 1160’s Ch’en memorialized the throne with “five discourses” for “revitalizing the kingdom” (Chung-hsing-wu-lün), but his recommendations were rejected. He passed the chin-shih examination during Emperor Kuang-tsung’s reign (1190- 1194), and left two volumes of collected works: Lung-ch’uan Tz’u and Lungch’uan Wen-chi.

line 3 “Eight-hundred-li allusion to a story found under the topic of “Extravagances” (chüan 30) in a famous fifth-century collection of anecdotes, Liu I-ch’ing’s (403-444) Shih-shuo hsin-yü. The story concerns a wager between a noted archer, who also owned a rare ox named “Eight-hundred-li Beast (po)” and his friend who, professing to be less skilled in archery, wagered a huge sum of money against the ox if he should miss the target in a match. The friend was first to shoot, and after he hit the mark, he nonchalantly said, “Fetch me the heart of the animal.”

line 4 “fifty-string zithers”: Alluding to the “Ornamented Zither” poem by the T’ang poet Li Shang-yin (813-858). See James J. Y. Liu, The Poetry of Li Shang-yin (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1969), pp. 51-57. line 6 “horse of . . . Liu”: The text reads Ti-lu, the name of a stallion owned by Liu Pei, the founder of the Shu kingdom during the Three Kingdoms period.

A3

TUNE-TITLE: Teng, pp. 392-93.

line 3 “silver quivers”: The text reads “yin (silver) hu-lu” The latter, besides being a rhyming-compound, is an archaic term for “arrow,” following Hsin T’ang Shu (New History of T’ang, chüan 13, p. 2b), “Record on Ceremonies” l-wei-Chih).

line 4 “gold-tipped arrows”: The text reads “chin (gold) p’u-ku,” actually the proper name of an arrow used by Duke Chuang of Lu to shoot and capture a disloyal minister of the Sung kingdom named Nan-kung Chang-wan, as recorded in the Tso Chuan (Commentary According to Tso on the Spring and Autumn Annals). See James Legge’s The Chinese Classics, 5 vols. (Hongkong, 1872; i960), vol. V, pp. 87, 88, where this name is romanized as “Kin Puh-koo” and tentatively translated as “Steel Servant-lady.” Since lines 3-4 require strict parallelism, most probably the use of this archaism, another rhyming compound, was more than to suggest a historical parallel: it was also to achieve auditory effect, as well as a visual one in the two contrastive words (gold and silver) immediately preceding these two terms.

line 5 “things of long ago”: According to the poet’s biography in Sung History (Sung shih), upon the death of the Chin ruler Hai-ling-wang (reigned 1149- 1161), there had been numerous anti-Jurchëd uprisings in Shantung, one of which was led by Ken Ching. Hsin joined Ken’s forces as a secretary and was sent to have an audience with Emperor Kao-tsung, held in Chien-k’ang in 1162. Upon his return to the rebel base, he discovered that Ken had been betrayed and murdered by one of his followers who subsequently surrendered to the Chin army. Suspecting the whereabouts of this culprit, Chang An-kuo, the poet led a posse to raid the enemy camp, dragged Chang away from a feast, es- caped, and later had Chang executed at a marketplace. (chüan 401, 1b-2a)

line 8 “still”: For the first word of this line, ch’üeh, I follow Teng and the twelve chüan edition, a variant of which, found in the four chüan edition and followed by CST is tu, meaning “still.” An intensifier-particle, “ch’üeh” in the sense of “huan” or “ren,” meaning “still” or “yet,” occurs quite often in the works of Tu Fu, in the lyrics of Hsin’s contemporaries, and in Hsin’s other poems. This meaning appears justifiable by the title.

line 9 “Eastern Neighbor”: Borrowed from the story of Wang Chi found in Ch’ien Han-shu [History of Former Han], chüan 72, p. 7b. The wife of the young scholar Wang served her husband dates that had fallen from the tree of their neighbor to the east. Wang was ashamed when he discovered his wife’s behavior and wanted to divorce her. His neighbor, however, diplomatically suggested that the tree be cut down. The villagers also pleaded with Wang to take back his wife. Wang ultimately agreed. The story is not relevant to the poem and is used solely for embellishment in a manner which modern Chinese critics found objectionable.

A4

TUNE-TITLE: Teng, p. 527.

TITLE: Modern Chen-chiang in Kiangsu. The Pei-ku (“Northern Firmness”) Pavilion, situated north of Ching-k’ou (modern Chen-chiang in Kiangsu), overlooks the Yangtze from the top of a high mountain. It was built by Ts’ai Mo in the Chin dynasty and later repaired by Hsieh An. Cf. Ku Tzu-yu’s Tu-shih fang-yü chi-yao, chiian 25 (Shanghai: Chung Hua, 1955), 6 vols., p. 1178.

line 3 “King of Wu”: The text reads “Sun Chung-mo,” the courtesy-name of Sun Ch’üan, founder of the Wu kingdom (reigned 222-252).

line 9 “royal Chi-nu”: The nickname of Liu Te-yü (Liu Yü) who later became the founder of the (Southern) Sung kingdom and was known as Wu-ti (reigned 420-422). Before his usurpation, which ended the Chin dynasty, he lived in Ching-k’ou as a subject,

line 13 “debacle . . . era”: Yüan-chia is the reign title of the third ruler of the (Southern) Sung kingdom, who was known as Wen-ti (reigned 424-454) and who waged frequent disastrous military campaigns against the Northern (Toba) Wei dynasty (386-451). The text for this line reads Yüan-chia ts’ao- ts’ao (literally, Yüan-chia hastily), meaning “The plans of the Yüan-chia era so hastily drawn up.”

line 14 “vain . . . Lang-chü-hsü”: The text of this line reads: feng Lang- chü-hsü (literally, to be enfeoffed at Mount Lang-chü-hsü). Mount Lang- chü-hsü was a mountain given to the famous general Huo Ch’ü-ping (B.C. 145-117) by Han Wu-ti as a reward for his victory over the Huns (Shih chi chiian in; p. 2396). But the line actually alludes to a later story of the Sung kingdom: Wang Hsien-mo (died 468) was so eager to engage the enemy, the Northern Wei, that the Emperor is said to have remarked, “To listen to Hsien-mo talk makes one wish to perform sacrifices at Mount Lang-chü-hsü,” Sung shu (History of the Sung [Kingdom]), 76/5a. In ancient China, emperors or their deputies periodically offered sacrifices to sacred or famous mountains as an act of homage to Heaven,

line 16 “Forty-three years’’: This bit of internal evidence for dating this poem, in the poet’s reference to the events of 1162, has been corroborated by an entry entitled “Chia-hsüan Lun Tz’u” (Chia Hsüan’s Discourse on Tz’u) found in Yüeh K’o’s (1173-?1240) T’ing shih (chiian 3, pp. 16a-19a) where this poem is referred to as Hsin’s “new composition.”

Yüeh wrote that Hsin was fond of having courtesans sing his lyrics. He often unhesitatingly expressed his satisfaction with the lines he thought most successful after the courtesan sang one of his works; and he was in the habit of urging his guests to offer criticism. On this occasion, a party, Hsin finished commenting on his own work, mentioning his pleasure at the opening and closing lines of this poem and repeatedly urged Yüeh to comment. After several polite attempts to avoid answering, Yüeh ventured the remark: “Your poem indeed expresses the most heroic of sentiments, but the key lines at the beginning and at the end of the poem seem too much alike, and your new composition seems to me to contain too many allusions.” (p. 18a) Upon hearing this remark, the poet was greatly pleased and said, “You have really discovered my worst addiction [ku, which also has the meaning of “a chronic disease”]!” Yüeh stated that this party took place in the year of “I-ch’ou,” or 1200, while he was journeying to the capital to take his palace examination.

line 20 “Buddha-fox’’: “Buddha-fox,” or Fo-li, was the pet name of the third emperor of Northern Wei, known as T’ai-wu-ti (reigned 424-451), whose cruelty and boldness made him much feared by the (Southern) Sung kingdom against whom he waged many successful military campaigns.

lines 22-24 “Who . . . rice?”: Lien P’o was a famous general during the Warring States period, whom the king of Chao had wanted to employ against Ch’in. The king sent an emissary to find out if the general was too old to serve; suspecting this design, Lien demonstrated his fitness before his guest by consuming in one meal a peck of rice and ten catties of meat. However, the emissary, bribed by Lien’s enemy, reported to the king saying, “The general could still eat rice, but during the short time of our conversation he had to go out to urinate three times.” The king of Chao gave up his plan of employing Lien P’o. (Shih chi, chüan 81; pp. 2448-2449 in the 1959 Chung Hua reprint edition.)

B1

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 504.

TITLE: This title was not found in either the twelve-chüan or the four-chüan edition, but was suggested by Wang Chao in the second printing of the twelve- chüan text in 1536.

line 3 “geese”: In Chinese poetry, the flight of the geese is associated with the grief and longing of separation because of the regularity, and hence the faithfulness, of their migratory habit. Their formation, which takes the shape of the character for “man” (jen) also comes to symbolize letters or messages.

line 8 “cassia tree”: i.e., the cassia tree which according to legend grows inside the moon.

B2

TUNE TITLE: Teng, pp. 280-81.

line 1 “autumn’s frost”: The text reads yen-shuang (literally “wild-geese frost”), with yen suggestive of the season of autumn when wild geese fly south.

line 17 “Fairyland”: The text reads “yao-ch’ih” or Jasper Pond, which was mentioned in an ancient legend as the meeting place between King Mu of Chou (of tenth century B.C.) and the Queen Mother of the West, who conferred immortality upon the emperor. (Mu-t’ien-tzu chuan, SSPY edition, chüan 3, pp. 1a-1b)

B3

TUNE TITLE: Teng, pp. 188-89.

TITLE: “Yüan-hsi,” or “yüan-hsiao,” celebrated on the fifteenth day of the first month of the lunar year. In Sung times the lantern festival lasted three days, and was later extended to five.

line 3 “Showers . . . stars”: A day-by-day account of the festivities of the three day period in the capital of the Northern Sung is given in chüan 6 of Meng Yüan-lao’s (fl. 1126) Tung-Ching Meng-hua-lu [Recollections of the Splendor of the Eastern Capital] published in 1147. Under the entry of the sixteenth day, it is recorded that from bamboo poles and “far and near, high and low, they appeared like flying stars” (Pp. 180-83 in the annotated edition by Teng Chi-ch’eng [Shanghai: Commercial Press, 1959].)

line 5 “paired flutes” : The text reads feng-hsiao or “phoenix-flute,” made of small bamboo pipes which were laid in uneven rows and therefore said to resemble the wings of the phoenix.

line 7 “fish dragons”: Referring to lantern-dances in general. The term “yü-lung,” or “fish dragon,’’ is borrowed from Yen Shih-ku’s annotations of Ch’ien-Han shu [History of Former Han], chüan 96b, p. 38a, where it is identified as a dance imported from Central China in which Han emperors took great delight. “Yü-lung” was said to be an exotic animal from “She-li,” which first played in the courtyard, then jumped into water to become a fish with two pairs of eyes and finally emerged as a yellow dragon eighty feet long. The celebration of this dance on the fifteenth day of the first month was discontinued in the Later Han dynasty.

line 8 “moth . . . ornaments”: Hair-ornaments in the shapes of the moth, bee, or willow were common objects for sale at the booths during the Festival, as mentioned in Meng, op. cit., and in Ta-Sung Hsüan-ho Yi-shih (Recollections of Events of the Hsüan-ho Period of Great Sung), an anonymous work of the Sung-Yüan period, under the entry for the 6th year of Hüsan-ho [1124], for the fourteenth day of the first month.

B4

TUNE TITLE: Teng, pp. 469-70.

C1

TUNE TITLE: Teng, pp. 46-47.

line 1 “wild-plum”: The text in both the twelve-chüan and the four-chüan editions reads “t’ang,” meaning a wild-plum or crab-apple tree. Wang Chao, in the 1536 reprint edition of the former, changed the character to one that also reads “Tang” but means “creek,יי an emendation followed by Mao Chin and some other editors. If this interpretation is accepted, line one of this poem (“yeh- fang-hua-lo”) can also be translated to read: “Petals have fallen on deserted creeks”

line 3 “Ch’ing-ming”: Clear-and-Bright Festival (Ch’ing-ming chieh) usually occurs in the first week of April in China, when families often go to the countryside to visit ancestral graves.

C2

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 55.

TITLE “Wang cheng-chih”: Wang Cheng-chi (died 1192), whose courtesy-name was Cheng-chih, was an official known for his high integrity. Later made Lord of the Imperial Treasury (t’ai-fu-ch’ing), he served the empire while both his father, Wang Hsün, and his two brothers were prominent officials. Cf. Lou Yüeh’s (1137-1213) Kung-k’uei chi, SPTK edition, chüan 99, pp. 15b-21a; chüan 100, pp. 1a-7b.

“Hsiao-shan Pavilion”: Located near the official residence in O-chou, Hupei. See Wang Hsiang-chih’s Yü-ti chi-sheng [Record of Famous Places in Empire], chüan 66, p. 5b.

line 14: The allusion is to Ssu-ma Hsiang-ju (179-117 B.C.), a gifted writer of fu, to whom Chiang-men Fu (“On the Long-gate Palace”) was attributed. The central theme of the work is the grief of a rejected woman. According to legend, this composition was commissioned at the price of “a hundred catties of gold” by Empress Ch’en when she was out of favor with Emperor Wu-ti; and she regained her position as a result of his reading it.

line 16 “Delicate Beauty”: The text reads “o-mei,” or “moth-brow,” a standard epithet for either a woman’s beauty or the beauty of a man’s moral character as used in Li Sao (line 45).

line 17 “reconciliation”: For “reconciliation,” the text reads “Hsiang-ju’s fu.”

line 21 “Jade . . . Swallow”: Referring to Yang Kuei-fei, whose nickname was Yü Huan (Jade Bracelet), and to Chao Fei-yen (Flying Swallow)—respectively imperial concubines of T’ang Ming-huang and Han Ch’eng-ti.

C3

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 83. The last word chin in a song-title usually means “with an extra syllable added to the original tune.” But in this case, both “Chu-ying- t’at” and “Chu-ying-t’ai-chin” have the same number of words (77). The pattern originated with Hsin, and it must have become immediately popular since some of his younger contemporaries, like Liu Kuo and Yüeh K’o, and many later lyricists, including Chang Yen and Wu Wen-ying, wrote to this tune. The use of this tune-pattern was obviously suggested by the theme of the poem; the name in the tune-title came from a still popular Chinese love story dating back to the Eastern Chin dynasty. According to this story, Liang Shan-po as a boy fell in love with a schoolmate named Chu Ying-t’ai, who for three years disguised herself as a boy. Later when Liang discovered her true identity and asked for her hand in marriage, he learned that she had already been betrothed. Still later, after becoming a magistrate, Liang fell ill and left specific instructions as to where he must be buried. On her wedding day, Chu’s boat passed by that spot and a storm broke out. She left the boat to pay a visit to Liang’s grave, and as she reached the graveside the ground broke asunder; she leaped in and killed herself. Chüan 36 of Ningpo Gazette; Ning-po-fu chih, 4 vols., ed. Ts’ao Ping-jen (Taipei, 1957), p. 2618.

line 1 “halved the hairpin”: Referring to the pledge of love exchanged between Yang Kuei-fei and T’ang Ming-huang, with each of them keeping half of the pair of ornamented hairpins. Cf. Po Chü-i’s Ch’ang-heng-ko (Song of Everlasting Sorrow).

line 2: “Peach-Leaves” (T’ao-yeh) was said to have been the name of the concubine of the poet Wang Hsien-chih (344-397), who said goodbye to her with a song at a ferry also named T’ao-yeh. The song is included in Ku-shih hsüan (Selections of Ancient Poetry), chüan 5, p. 6a.

line 11 “petals”: i.e., petals of flowers secured on hairpins worn by women as ornaments. The act of counting the numbers of petals to see if they agree with a number chosen at random probably refers to a superstition or game which is often resorted to by people trying to guess at an answer to a difficult personal question.

C4

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 482.

line 5 “each fleck of white”: The text reads “hsing-hsing,” literally “star (upon) star,^יי here meaning white hair—as numerous as stars.

C5

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 455.

C6

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 463.

line 2 “streamers and ribbons”: The text reads ch’un-fan (literally, spring pennants). According to a contemporaneous account, it was the custom on the first day of spring for the gentlefolks of the Eastern Capital, K’ai־feng, to cut colorful paper into pennants and streamers and display them as hair-ornaments or hang them from trees. See Meng Yüan-lao (fl. 1126), Tung-ching meng-hua lu[Recollections of the Splendor of the Eastern Capital, i.e. K’ai-feng], 1147 (Shanghai, 1956), p. 172.

D1

TUNE TITLE: Teng, p. 135.

D2

Teng, p. 190.

D3

Teng, p. 250.

D4

Teng, p. 152.

D5

Teng, pp. 142-43.

TITLE: The word “alone” (tu) does not appear in the four-chüan edition.

“Rain Cliff,’’ which appears in the titles of numerous poems written by the poet during his first period of residence at Shang-jao, where he built his villa, is a name that does not turn up in any of the gazettes and geographical accounts of Sung times, although Shang-jao and its adjacent areas were known for their scenic beauty. It has only been tentatively identified as Rain Stone Mountain (Yü-shih Shan), which is mentioned in Yü-ti chi-sheng, chüan 21, p. 5a and located about 15 miles southeast of Yung-feng hsien.

line 5 “harmonize”: The word “ho,” meaning “to echo” or, in the technical usage of poetry, “to exchange a poem with someone else, usually using the same rhymes.”

line 8: This line i-ch’ü t’ao-hua-shui can be translated more literally as either “one bend of peach-blossoms water” or as “one song of peach-blossoms water.” My translation assumes that there might have been a pun concealed in the word ch’ü, which has two common meanings: (1) a dramatic song and (2) a winding body of water. The last three words make up an ambiguous phrase which is said by one scholar to refer to the reflection in the water of peachtrees growing on the banks (Нu Shih, Tz’u-hsüan [Shanghai, 1927; Taipei, 1959], p. 233). Another translator prefers to think of the peach-blossoms as floating on the water; see Ch’u Ta-kao, Chinese Lyrics (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1937), p. 45. The line, incidentally, may be considered as a good illustration of synesthesia in Chinese poetry, since the poet employs in one line all three senses: the auditory, the visual, and the olfactory.

D6

Teng, p. 250.

D7

Teng, p. 403.

TITLE: “Chao Chin-ch’en”: Chao Pu-yü, whose courtesy-name was Chin-ch’en, earned his chin-shih degree in 1154; and he retired to Shang-jao, where he was known to have built at least two pavilions and to have been fond of writing poetry. Cf. “Biography of Resident Worthies” (Yü-hsien-chuan) in the Gazette of Shang-jao hsien (Shang-jao-hsien-Chih), quoted in Teng, p. 371. The poet exchanged many poems with him during his second period of residence at Shang-jao.

E1

Teng, p. 137.

E2

Teng, p. 497.

TITLE: The title for this poem is tentatively supplied from the one given for an immediately preceding poem written to the same tune, and also on account of the subject-matter, which is identical in both poems.

line 8 “Wine Spring”: Chiu-ch’üan,” or Wine Spring, is a fabled city known since Han times for the underground spring of the district called “Golden Spring” (chin-ch’üan) which supposedly tastes like wine. Cf. Tu Fu’s ‘‘Yin- chung pa-hsien-ko ” (“Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup,” English translation by William Hung in his Tu Fu: China’s Greatest Poet (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1952), pp. 51-52, which also uses this allusion.

E3

Teng, pp. 432-33.

E4

Teng, pp. 486-87.

E5

Teng, p. 471.

E6

Teng, p. 312.

line 8 “Liu Ling”: Liu Ling (?221-300) was one of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove, said to have been inordinately fond of drinking. Anecdotes about his habits and idiosyncrasies are generously mentioned in Liu I-ch’ing’s (403-444) Shih-shuo hsin-yü [New Account of the Tales of the World], one of the poet’s favorite books. The quotation in line 10 was taken from Liu Hsiao-piao’s (462-521) annotations to one of the entries on Liu Ling in this book in chüan 2. According to this account, Liu used to ride on a deer-cart which he would load with wine. A servant with a shovel always accompanied him with instructions that he should be buried wherever he happened to die. (Liu I-ch’ing, Shih-shuo hsin-yü chu, Hong Kong reprint edition: Tai-p’ing, 1966, p. 61) Also cf. chüan 5 (p. 179).

E7

Teng, p. 507.

This tune-title, generally known as “Ho-ch’uan is among the oldest of tz’u tunes and the most popular among both the Hua-chien poets (see Introduction) and Sung lyricists. It is also the most irregular with respect to rhyme scheme, line length and the number of words in each line. Among the eighteen poets included in the Hua-chien Chi, seven poets—Chang Pi, Wen T’ing-yün, Sun Kuang-hsien, Yen Hsüan, Wei Chuang, Ku Hsiung and Li Hsün—wrote to this tune, using from 51 to 55 words in different variations (t’i). Hsin in this poem used 53 words; whereas other Sung lyricists—including Liu Yung, Chang Hsien, and Ch’in Kuan—added extra words to as many as 61. Cf. Wen Ju-hsien, Tz’u-p’ai hui shih (Taipei, 1963), pp. 269-72. Cne of Chang Pi’s two poems written to this tune in the Hua-chien Chi begins with the following line: “How vast is the water under the cloud” (“Miao-man yün-shui,” chüan 4, p. 9a) ; the other begins with the two words “hung-hsing,” or “red almond-blossoms” (p. 9b). It is possible that Hsin attempted to parody these two poems in particular as well as the Hua-chien style in general.

TITLE: Instead of t’i or style, the four-chüan edition reads chi, which means “collection” or “anthology.”

line 4 “Hsi-tzu”: Hsi-tzu, or Hsi Shih, was a famous beauty of the fifth century B.C.

F1

Teng, pp. 338-39.

TITLE “Ting-yün” poem: In Hsin’s villa, the poet named one of the pavilions “T’ing-yün,” after the title of one of T’ao Ch’ien’s (T’ao Yüan-ming) poems, which must have been among Hsin’s favorite reading since he had elsewhere (Teng, pp. 331-32) paraphrased and expanded this four-word poem into a tz’u. In this poem of T’ao’s there are the following lines: “There is wine, there is wine,/ Let us drink leisurely before the eastern window” (Ching-chieh hsien- sheng chi, chüan 1, pp. 1a-2a); hence the allusion in line 14.

line 1: Taken verbatim from The Analects of Confucius (V.v).

line 5: “My white hair, thirty thousand feet long/ My grief is as long as that” are the opening lines of Li Po’s “Ch’iu-p’u ko” [Song from the Autumn Banks], No. 15 (Li T’ai-po shih-chi, SPPY edition, chüan 8, p. 3a). The line reads patfa san-ch’ien-chang (literally “white hair three thousand chang”), chang being a measure word for ten feet. Hsin borrows this hyperbole and breaks up the line by adding two words in the middle; k’ung ch’ui (literally “in vain”).

line 15 “Hermit poet”: The text reads “Yüan-ming” the courtesy-name of T’ao Ch’ien.

line 18 “the capital”: The text reads “chiang-tso,” meaning “left of the river”; i.e., on the eastern bank of the Yangtze where the capital of the Chin dynasty —Chien-k’ang, or Nanking,—was located. The phrase first occurs in the Biography of Wen Ch’iao (288-329) in Chin-shu [History of the Chin Dy- nasty], chüan 67, p. 2a. As a spirited young man, before his rise to prominence, Wen was said to have complimented the then prime minister Wang Tao, who served Emperor Yüan (reigned 317-323), by saying ,”Since there is Kuan I-wu [i.e. Kuan Chung, a famous minister of Ch’i during the Warring States period] on the left of the river, what is there for me to worry about? “ Under Emperor Ch’eng (326-343), Wen Ch’iao distinguished himself as a general and was later made Duke of An-chün. Wen was responsible for crushing several rebellions and served as a colleague of T’ao K’an (257-332), the great-grandfather of the poet T’ao Ch’ien.

line 19 “subtleness of coarse wine”: For “coarse wine” the text reads: cho-lao (cho meaning “the turbid or muddy of wine” and lao meaning “the dregs of wine”).

line 21 “wind and cloud”: Alluding to the famous lines of Han Kao-tsս, the first emperor of Han: “The great wind rises and the clouds are scattered . . ./ Where can I find brave warriors to guard the far corners of the empire?” (Ting, p. 1). There are only two short poems attributed to Han Kao-tsս, the other being the “Song of the Great Swan” (“Hung-ku ko”).

lines 22-24 “I . . . this”: With the exception of the word “impertinent” (k’uang), these lines, so much admired by Hsin’s contemporaries, appear to contain an allusion to a statement attributed to Chang Yung (444-497), known for his literary brilliance while still a young man. In the official biography of Chang, it is said, “he often sighed and said, ‘I do not regret, or bemoan (heng) that I have not met the ancient worthies; what I really regret, or bemoan, is that the ancient worthies have not met me’.” (Nan shih, 32/13a).

line 26: Taken verbatim from The Analects (V.xxv).

F2

Teng, p. 342.

TITLE: “Ch’iu-shui,” the name the poet chose for his pavilion, is the title of the 17th chapter of the Works of the Taoist philosopher Chuang-tzu, or Chuang Chou (line 22). The naming of this pavilion, constitutes the subject matter of this lyric. In his 17th chapter, Chuang-tzu expounds the idea that conceit comes from ignorance, with a parable which tells about a river swollen by the autumn floods and becoming arrogant until it meets the ocean when it becomes convinced of its smallness.

Besides the many allusions and a parable which begins the poem, the chief device used in this lyric is a kind of dream-allegory, which makes this poem quite similar to Coleridge’s Kubla Khan, although Hsin’s poem is cast in a meta- physical vein. At the same time, its philosophical overtones may remind Western readers of T. S. Eliot’s “The Dry Salvages” in his Four Quartets, which also deals with the themes of space and time. Cf. the following lines from Eliot: “The river is within us, the sea is all about us . . ./ and under the oppression of the silent fog/ The tolling bell/ Measures time not our time, rung by the unhurried/ Ground swell, a time/ Older than the time of chronometers. . .” (The Complete Poems and Plays [New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1930], pp. 130- 31)

Since Chuan-tzu’s writings are available in many English translations, I shall identify the allusions to this chapter and other chapters by quoting from the translation of James Legge, The Texts of Taoism (New York: Julian Press, 1959) except that the romanization of Chinese names will follow the Wade-Giles system.

line 2: This parable is taken from the 25th (“Tse-yang”) chapter of Chuang-tzu, occurring in the middle of a dialogue. “ ‘There is the creature called a snail; does your majesty know it?’ ‘I do.’ ‘On the left horn of the snail, there is a kingdom which is called Provocation [i.e. Ch’u], and on the right horn an- other which is called Stupidity [i.e. Man]. These two kingdoms are continually striving about their territories and fighting. The corpses that lie on the ground amount to several myriads. The army of the one may be put to flight, but in fifteen days it will return’.” (Legge, p. 559)

line 8 “Mount T’ai”: Mount T’ai, or T’ai-shan, was one of the sacred mountains in ancient China. This comparison comes from the 2nd chapter of Chuang-tzu entitled “Ch’i-wu-lun” (A Discourse on the Equalizing of Things). The allusion is to the following passage, “Under heaven there is nothing greater than the tip of an autumn down, and the T’ai mountain is small.” (Legge, p. 236)

line 9: This comparison comes from the following passage in the “"Ch’iu-shui” chapter: . . if we call those great which are greater than others, there is nothing that is not great, and in the same way there is nothing that is not small. We shall (thus) know that heaven and earth is but (as) a grain of the smallest rice. . . .” (Legge, p. 427)

line 11: The parable about how a huge bird called a “roc” (p’eng) appeared to a turtle dove and a cicada comes from the first chapter of Chuang-tzu entitled “Hsiao-yao-yu” (Free and Easy Wandering). The allusion is made to the following passages: “In the Northern Ocean there is a big fish ... I do not know how many li in size. It changes into a bird with the name of P’eng, the back of which is (also) I do not know how many li in extent. ... [It ascended to] the height of 90,000 li and there was such a mass of wind beneath it. As it seemed to bear the blue sky on its back ... a cicada and a little dove laughed at it, saying, ‘We make an effort and fly towards an elm or sapanwood tree; and sometimes before we reach it, we can do no more but drop to the ground. Of what use is it for this (creature) to rise 90,000 li. . . ?’ He who goes to the grassy suburbs . . . will have his belly as full as when he set out; he who goes to a distance of 100 li will have to pound his grain where he stops for the night; he who goes a thousand li, will have to carry with him provisions for three months. What should these two creatures know about the matter?” (Legge, pp. 212-14)

line 12 : This line is taken verbatim from Chuang-tzu. See note to line 11.

line 14: This allusion is made to an apocryphal story about Confucius’ meeting with a notorious robber named Chih; among other places, it also appears in the 29th chapter of Chuang-tzu entitled “Tao Chih” (Robber Chih). See Legge, pp. 606-626.

line 16: This paradox is found in the 2nd chapter of Chuang-tzu ; Legge’s translation reads “There is no one longer-lived than a child which dies prematurely, and P’eng-tsu did not live out his time.” (p. 236) “Infant Shang” is my literal translation of “Shang-tzu,” which can be paraphrased in more than one way. Burton Watson’s translation, as found in Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings (New York: Columbia University Press, 1964), reads as follows: “No one has lived longer than a dead child, and P’eng-tsս died young” (p. 38) Shang is a word used in ancient China to refer to the death of a person under nineteen years old. Since customs and concepts differ as to what constitutes “an untimely death,” I have translated these two words literally, P’eng-tsս, the Chinese Methuselah, is said to have lived to 700-800 years.

line 17: This reference to a bit of Chinese “unnatural natural history” is contained in a book entitled Wu-lü cited by T’ai-p’ing-yü-lan, a Sung encyclopedia compiled under Imperial auspices by Li Fan (925-996). The passage may be translated as follows: “In Pi-ching hsien of Jih-nan, there grow fire-rats whose hair can be woven into cloth which does not burn in fire. Hence, the cloth is called “huo-wan-pu,” or Cloth-washed-by-fire.” (chüan 820, p. 8a; p. 3651 in the 1960 Chung-hua reprint edition)

line 18: This information comes from a passage in chüan 10 of Shih-yi-chi [Record of Lost or Forgotten Events], as quoted in Teng, p. 343, which I have translated as follows: “In Yüan-ch’iao-shan, or Mount Yüan-ch’iao, there is a kind of ice-silkworm. Its cocoon forms only after it has been covered up with frost and snow. Over one foot long, it has brilliant colors. After it has been woven into silk, the silk does not dissolve in water; thrown into fire, it will not burn even after one night.”

line 22: The first two words of this line in the original text read “Lien-ch’eng,” the name bestowed by posterity upon a piece of priceless jade disc. The king of Ch’in sought this jade from Chao by promising fifteen cities in exchange, and a clever emissary by the name of Lin Hsiang-ju was able to bring it back from this mission after detecting the King of Ch’in’s real intentions of keeping the jade without deeding the fifteen cities to Chao. See Shih chi, chüan 81.

line 23: Alluding to the title of the 2nd chapter of Chuang-tzu. See note to line 8.

line 28: The lines from “a hundred streams” in 1. 27 to “laughed at through eternity” in 1. 36 are taken almost verbatim by Hsin from the opening paragraph of the Ch’iu-shui chapter. The corresponding passage in the original, consisting of exactly 100 words, was reduced to Hsin’s fifty-seven words which includes six additional words “ch’ün hsün (a rhymed-compound meaning “timorously,” 1. 34), “ching” (“in amazement,” 1. 35), and the three words “miao-ts’ang-ming” in 1. 32. Legge’s translation is as follows (the italics are my own to indicate the words omitted or paraphrased by the poet) :

The time of the autumnal floods was come, and the hundred streams were all discharging themselves into the Ho (i.e., the river). Its current was greatly swollen, so that across the channel from bank to bank one could not distinguish an ox from a horse. On this the (Spirit-) earl of the Ho laughed with delight, thinking that all the beauty of the world was to be found in his charge. Along the course of the river he walked east till he came to the North Sea , over which he looked, with his face to the east, without being able to see where its waters began. Then he began to turn his face round, looked across the expanse (as if he were) confronting Jo, and said with a sigh, ‘What the vulgar saying expresses about him who has learned a hundred points (of the Tao), and thinks that there is no one equal to himself, was surely spoken of me. ... If I had not come to your gate, I should have been in danger (of continuing in my ignorance), and been laughed at for long in the schools of our great System’.” (pp. 422-23)

line 33: The three words in this line—miao ts’ang-ming— must have been added by the poet in the most deliberate fashion to separate the two long passages of borrowing and adaptation from Chuang-tzu. “Ts’ang-ming” a compound used in the sense of “ocean,” was probably borrowed from Tu Fu, in whose works this phrase occurs five times; cf. “ch’ing (ching)-li-p’o-ts’ang-ming (“The whale’s strength crashes through the ocean’s vast expanse”) in “Tseng Han-lin Chang Ssu-hsüeh-shih Chi” a poem addressed to Chang Chi, Tu Kung-pu Shih- chi, SPPY edition, chüan 9, p. 11b. Ming, written without the water radical, and meaning “ocean,” also occurs in the first sentence of the first chapter of Chuang-tzu, Legge, p. 212.