“The Poetry of Wang Wei”
THIS chapter presents a number of works which have frequently been neglected by other translators of Wang Wei’s poetry: poems written during or about his life as a government official. As was the case with his contemporaries, Wang Wei’s political career and poetic production were integrally related; indeed, throughout Chinese history the instances when the two activities were not combined in the same person tend to be the exception rather than the rule, particularly since the ability to write poetry was tested at times on the imperial examinations. As I mentioned in the biographical account in chapter two, from the mid-730s onward Wang Wei occupied successive government posts either at the capital or in the provinces, interrupted only by an obligatory period of mourning for his mother’s death; much to his partisans’ dismay, he even held office under the rebel An Lushan. His career was not an especially meteoric one, but neither was it unsuccessful, and the number of poems in his collection reflecting a positive attitude toward political involvement suggests that it was also not unimportant to him, a point which many biographers have chosen to ignore.
Poems 23 through 33 all deal directly with Wang Wei’s experiences as a government official, the first two presenting a general view of activities surrounding the morning audience of the emperor at the capital. Poem 23, “Morning Audience,” is actually set just before the levée begins, focusing on one of the poet’s favorite times of day—the dawn—a moment of transition which belongs neither to night nor day. Wang Wei juxtaposes qualities and events of both periods and contrasting temporal adverbs (such as “not yet” and “already”) to suggest that the dawn can be defined as neither darkness nor light because it embraces both. The stars are still gleaming and the night mists heavy, yet the sky is also lighting up in the distance. Appropriately, sound—the sense most crucial during the night—is emphasized as much as sight. Only in the final line does the poet, in his typically open-ended manner, firmly commence with the activities of the day. Poem 24, “Harmonizing with Secretary Jia Zhi’s Poem, ‘Morning Audience at Darning Palace,’” deals more directly with the bustling scene inside the palace and also demonstrates the highly social nature of poetry-writing during Wang Wei’s time. Works such as this which were written to “harmonize” (he) with the topics, forms, and rhymes of the poem of another poet, with several others often chiming in, can be found in abundance in the collections of most Tang figures, Wang Wei included. Given the date of its composition, this poem is also interesting because of its neutral, if not positive, attitude toward activities at court. Most of Wang Wei’s biographers have claimed that he spent his last years in reclusion at his Lantian estate, disillusioned by and therefore rejecting the whole business of government. This poem, on the contrary, indicates that he was still maintaining contact with other bureaucrats and palace life as late as 758.
The following nine poems—arranged in roughly chronological order—were written on specific official occasions, often at imperial command. Many of them are composed in heptasyllabic regulated verse, although Wang Wei generally preferred the pentasyllabic line and rarely takes advantage of the extra two syllables to develop the complex syntax for which Du Fu, for example, is renowned. The longer line was, however, commonly used for such official compositions, its more stately cadence and opportunity for greater accumulation of detail proving particularly appropriate for such ceremonial subject matter. Wang Wei also frequently employs regulated couplets (pailü) for these court poems, perhaps because the opportunity to string together an indefinite succession of parallel or antithetical statements was so well suited to evoking the all-embracing nature of imperial power.
Poem 25, “Written at the Prince’s Command on the Emperor’s Having Lent the Jiucheng Palace to the Prince of Qi as a Retreat from Summer Heat,” was composed early in Wang Wei’s career, most likely while he held his first position at court as Associate Secretary of Music and enjoyed the patronage of emperor Xuanzong’s younger brother. In his description of the summer retreat, the poet emphasizes the interpenetration of human and natural realms, an emphasis which is also typical of his nonofficial works: when the people are outside, they seem to be the very source of the surrounding clouds and mist, while even indoors reflections of mountains and streams enter from afar. Similarly, the next couplet juxtaposes sensations from nature to evidences of human presences and activities. Wang Wei keeps the obligatory praise to a minimum, preferring instead the obliqueness of a concluding allusion that, again characteristically, asserts the equivalence of the present moment with past, or even supernatural, events.
Although poem 26, “Sacred Mt. Hua,” is not strictly a court composition, since Wang Wei had not yet returned from virtual exile to office in the capital, it was written as a direct entreaty to and critique of the emperor for refusing to perform the imperial sacrifices on the mountain. The following poem, “Harmonizing with the Poem of the Duke of Jin, Vice-President of the Department of State, ‘Following the Imperial Retinue to the Warm Springs,’” was written approximately ten years later. Wang Wei was most actively involved in court life during the 740s and the next few poems very likely date from this period as well. The chief interest of poem 27 lies in the evidence it provides—most biographers to the contrary—that Wang Wei was not one to let his allegiance to the deposed chief minister Zhang Jiuling prevent him from ingratiating himself with Zhang’s successor. Almost the entire poem is a panegyric to Li Linfu: the allusions in lines 7-8 link him with past sage rulers, the descriptive statements in the next six lines attribute the present prosperity, peace, and triumph of Confucian orthodoxy to his noncoercive leadership, and the next couplet further praises his political and literary skills. Since Wang Wei was serving as Admonitor on the Left at this time, he can conclude by claiming that he has found nothing for which to reprove Li, for the wisdom and concern of his superior equal those of the revered ancients.
The next four poems were all written at imperial command as responses to various holidays or events, harmonizing with poems already composed by emperor Xuanzong. Although the diction and imagery of these works may strike us as somewhat formulaic, they should not be overlooked: one Qing dynasty literary critic in fact observed that “in writing poems at imperial command, [Wang] Youcheng was superior to everyone else.”1 Furthermore, they demonstrate the same notions of time, space, and the relationship of man to nature that underlie his work as a whole. In poem 28, “Written at Imperial Command to Harmonize with His Majesty’s Spring-Detaining Poem, ‘Spring View in the Rain,’ on the Arcade from Penglai Hall to Xingqing Palace,” for example, the first parallel couplet juxtaposes characteristic images of enclosure which apply to both temporal and spatial realms. As is typical of court poems in general, a sense of history is introduced through allusions to earlier dynasties. Yet, as we have seen before, Wang Wei establishes no distinction between the present and the past; Qin, Han, and Tang seem to exist in the same eternal moment. Space is equally enclosed, as natural phenomena and human artifacts naturally intertwine: the river winds about the man-made frontier just as mountains surround the Han palace and, by extension, Xuanzong’s own dwellings. The last word in each line reinforces this sense of encirclement by referring back to the meaning of the main verb, thus literally enclosing the line itself.
The second and third couplets are equally replete with parallel images. Lines 3 and 4 embody the same circularity found in each of the first two lines. Though the emperor moves out onto the arcade, he then reverses his direction to look back upon what he has left, and his movement thus seems to contain the entire ground he has covered. Wang Wei also links human and natural realms by depicting the carriage as emerging from the willows about the palace gates and the emperor as gazing at the flowers in his garden, a man-made construct. The third couplet continues to stress this sense of unity and containment—of man within nature and of the whole scene itself as a self-enclosed static harmony. We see the Imperial City (where government offices were located) “amid the clouds” and the spring forests “in the rain.” Wang Wei employs no verbs in these two lines and simply delineates the vast unmoving tableau of state, people, and natural scene, which the emperor can encompass within his gaze and, by implication, control.
The fourth couplet is also parallel, yet the hint of enjambment and almost prosaic diction (in line 7 the copula is used—rare in regulated verse) appropriately loosen the potential density of parallelism as Wang Wei comments on the scene in propositional language. He presents both an official explanation for this imperial excursion and, in the negative, an alternative possibility which might have been expected because of the preceding lavish description of the natural scene. The poet might thereby be praising the emperor’s commitment to his duties by showing how he can rise above mere selfish appreciation of beauty for the benefit of the greater good. By placing the second alternative as the conclusion to the poem, however, Wang Wei may be indulging in some veiled criticism, suggesting that it is, in fact, the primary reason for the outing. In any case, this final couplet draws a distinction between the exercise of human power and the enjoyment of nature and thus seems to disrupt the unity evoked by the first six lines. Yet, considered again, an appreciation of natural beauty would imply another distinction between the observer and the observed. Wang Wei suggests here instead that the emperor’s power derives not from some frivolous pleasure-seeking but rather from an underlying congruence between human and natural realms.
Similarly, poem 29, “Written at Imperial Command to Harmonize with His Majesty’s Poem, ‘At the End of Spring, Bidding Farewell to the Assembled Court Emissaries on Their Return to Their Commanderies,’” is concerned with revealing the bonds between political and cosmic realms. Almost every antithetical couplet here encompasses the totality of the empire, with a movement in from the provinces balanced each time by the subsequent return outward. The concluding four lines justify this imperial power in two ways. In the first place, the ruler has organized his government along natural principles: he is the fundamental brilliance, the Milky Way, while his officials in the provinces, like constellations, share his burden. And secondly, the heavens sanction his rule, illuminating his entire domain with the light of the stars. Poem 30, “Written at Imperial Command to Harmonize with His Majesty’s Poem, ‘With the Crown Prince and Other Lords on the Third Day of the Third Month at Dragon Pond for the Spring Lustration Festival,’ ” concludes with almost identical images.
Poem 31, “Written at Imperial Command to Harmonize with His Majesty’s Poem, ‘On the Double Ninth Festival the Ministers and Assembled Officials Offer Their Wishes for Longevity,’” also celebrates imperial power, opening with a statement about the general peace and abundant harvest that implicitly sanction the reign. This implication of naturally conferred legitimacy is made explicit in the following poem, “At Datong Hall a Jade Iris Grew, and There Were Auspicious Clouds by Dragon Pond; the Hundred Officials Observed [These Phenomena] Together; Imperial Kindness Bestowed a Banquet with Music, so I Dared to Write on This Occasion.” The auspicious omens provide indisputable evidence that “heaven’s will accords with the will of men” and that the emperor is clearly entitled to rule. Such unusual occurrences also explain Wang Wei’s treatment of history in this poem: no longer is the present age merely equal to great reigns of the past, for its glory and good fortune far exceed those of even the most joyous occasions during the Zhou and Han dynasties. Only mythological sage rulers like Yao and Shun can be used as comparisons to the present, with its demonstrated achievement of a total harmony between man and nature.
This same congruence is emphasized in poem 33, “Having Received Pardon for My Offense and Been Returned to Office, Humbly Moved by Imperial Kindness I Write My Lowly Thoughts and Present Them to My Superiors.” As the title indicates, this work was composed not at a state occasion, but after the new emperor Suzong had pardoned Wang Wei for his collaboration with the An Lushan rebels. In this encomium the poet appropriately stresses the notion of return, the return of a government post to him as well as the return of officials from all over the empire to the capital. Though a new era has begun, it marks a return to the prerevolutionary order, and such an emphasis calls naturally for historical allusion. Wang Wei not only grounds the restoration in the legitimacy of the Han, he again grants it quasi-mythical status by equating the emperor with the founder of the Shang or Yin dynasty, and the following couplet continues this extreme praise by stating that imperial longevity and brilliance may equal or even exceed that of the heavens. In any case, the universe responds affirmatively to the new political situation—flowers blossom and birds sing—underscoring the integrality between human and natural realms.
Mikel Dufrenne has written in The Poetic that the European court poet is concerned only with the former domain: “Rather than the cosmic order, it is now the glory of the prince that he must speak of and maintain, and the social order that this prince defends and incarnates within himself” (p. 95). Wang Wei, however, emphasizes the integrality of man and nature, and the attitude is by no means unique to him: any Tang dynasty poet steeped in the Confucian tradition would see the universe itself as inherently moral, with an indivisible, organic connection existing between the cosmic and social orders. The ruler was felt to possess an implicit “mandate from heaven,” a notion expanded by Han dynasty Confucians into a complex correlation of natural phenomena with governmental legitimacy. This “philosophy of organism,” which, as I mentioned earlier, Joseph Needham and Wang Ling have described as fundamental to Chinese thought, no doubt underlies Wang Wei’s emphasis on human and cosmic harmony and interpenetration in these poems, as does the encomiastic tone required by the context of composition. The basic structures he employs are also characteristic of court poems written by other poets before and during this period.2 What is significant, however, is the consistency with which such balanced and integrated perceptions and thought patterns recur throughout his work.
This becomes particularly clear in the second large group of poems translated in this chapter (34-50), all of which focus on the relative attractions of public service and eremitic retreat. Poems 34-35, written one after another, typify Wang Wei’s ability to identify with both the committed official and the escapist recluse. Like the ceremonial works above, “While I Was Imprisoned in Puti Monastery . . .” was written on the occasion of a specific government festivity—a concert for the rebel leader An Lushan—but it neither celebrates nor praises. Significantly, though, Wang Wei retains the vocabulary characteristic of those poems, as if to intensify the cruel twist of events. The “ten thousand homes,” previously used to indicate a massive imperial power and popularity, are united now only in their lament and widespread destruction. Similarly, “the hundred officials,” once members of an impressive and responsible bureaucracy, now call attention to themselves because of their absence. There are natural and human counterparts of the desolate scene: leaves fall like the fortunes of the ruling dynasty, and the palace, though perhaps filled with enemy soldiers, is “empty” because its rightful occupants have fled.
In these first three lines Wang Wei provides no explanation for the scene and its emotional charge. We are left to find it in the final line, where the poet alludes but indirectly to the concert. Only from the juxtaposition of the joyous festivities implied here to the lament of the rest of the quatrain and the resulting conflict of moods, and not from any explicit statement, can we derive the meaning of the poem and the protest against the rebellion. Subtle though this opposition may be, it nevertheless implies an awareness of and concern about the present and future political situations on Wang Wei’s part, as well as a nostalgia for the former rule and his own role in it. This attitude thus contrasts with the desire to withdraw from such affairs expressed in the long extended question of the following poem, “Recited and Again Presented to Pei Di.”
Poem 36, “Given to My Paternal Cousin, Military Supply Official Qiu,” continues in this vein, expressing the wish to escape from politics that most readers have come to expect from Wang Wei’s poetry. And the next three works, “Playfully Presented to Zhang Yin the Fifth Brother,” also celebrate the peace and purity of life in retreat, revealing a subtle change in attitude as Wang Wei grows more confident of his commitment to reclusion and playfully criticizes his recluse friend’s “lapses.” Poem 37 describes Zhang Yin living in total harmony with his mountain environment and following his natural instincts in a carefree manner. Lines 13-16 provide the abstract philosophical premises behind the concrete scenes just presented, the Taoist conviction of a nonanthropocentric universe. And the concluding couplet suggests that Wang Wei has previously been uncertain of his commitment to this view; now, however, he is able to eliminate “fleeting thoughts” of worldly fame and success from his mind.
Poem 38 is thus written from the perspective of someone who is in the process of shedding his ties to the official “world of men.” Once again Wang Wei presents a positive depiction of his friend, introducing some more scholarly aspects of his life, linking him with one of the best-known officials-turned-recluse, and turning finally to himself and his response. Leaving the “world of men” obviously does not mean going into total seclusion, but merely seeking the company of other like minds away from court.
Finally, in the third and most playful poem of the group, Wang Wei presents himself as now secure in his withdrawal from mundane enticements and chides his friend for not living as austerely as he should. What had just been praised as the habit of “an old rustic of the wilds”—going fishing—now becomes an impure appeasement of “mouth and belly.” The selfless, tranquil existence at one with all creatures that had previously been Zhang’s has been appropriated by the speaker himself, who now declares himself willing to live as a total hermit. But the title, of course, has alerted us as to how to read such hyperbolic depictions of the one’s dissoluteness or the other’s freedom from corruption. Such a self-righteous self-portrait is rare in Wang Wei’s poetry, and even the jesting context of composition does not totally allay a suspicion that he is protesting too much, that his own commitment to retreat is not quite hard and fast.
And indeed, poems 40-41 once again argue the two contrary points of view. They are both farewell poems written to the same person, Wang Wei’s friend during his early years in office, Qiwu Qian. The first, “Farewell to Qiwu Qian on His Return Home after Failing the Examination,” was written sometime before 726, and the second, “Farewell to Collator Qiwu Qian on His Leaving Office to Return East of the Yangzi,” around 742. While the former advocates aspiring to officialdom, the latter rejects it and announces the poet’s own intention of retiring from office. Granted, the differing contexts or a possible change in perspective from youth to middle age on Wang Wei’s part might be responsible for this apparent contradiction in attitude, but it is too persistent in other works to be explained away by these two factors.
The next two poems, for example, both written from the point of view of the official, express contrasting wishes. In poem 42, “Written in Reply to He the Fourth’s Gift of a Cloth Cap,” Wang Wei presents the two inclinations of his life in an adjective-noun phrase (“reclusive official heart”) which unifies them. But the possibly greater attraction of withdrawal becomes clear in the following couplet: the poet puts the cap, a symbol of the simplicity and purity of retreat, away while performing official duties, but the adverb “awhile” suggests that perhaps these daily commitments will also be but a temporary deviation from the desired life in the country. Only after cleansing himself symbolically from the taint of involvement does he don the cap; then, even though he is still at court and not totally free from its clamor, he can nevertheless distance himself from its influence. The word “sitting” calls to mind the Buddhist “sitting in meditation” or Chan, also associated with the private rather than public life of a bureaucrat. In the final line here Wang Wei suggests that he would like to resolve the issue of service versus retreat in favor of the latter, yet in poem 43, “In Response to Policy Reviewer Guo,” although he closes with an announcement of his imminent retirement from office, he has by no means presented official life as an undesirable alternative. Throughout the poem his depictions of both the nocturnal peace and the diurnal bustle certainly suggest a positive attitude to activities at court, and in the final couplet Wang Wei writes that he would like to be equally involved in them: if he retires it will be caused by his physical condition and not any intellectual opposition to engagement. Again, as was the case with the Qiwu Qian poems, because of Guo’s situation, any other statement would be impolite; the poet would undoubtedly find it imprudent to reveal a negative opinion of service to someone actively engaged in it. But again, this is not an anomalous instance.
The next “Six Casually Written Poems” (44-49) explore the implications of both courses of action. In the first poem of the group Wang Wei employs several allusions and rhetorical questions to indicate indirectly his opposition to an overly rigid espousal of any one particular doctrine or attitude. He focuses on the “madman of Chu” as someone who followed no school and neither questioned nor rejected his fate, accepting it instead in a carefree manner. Jieyu rejects the keystones of Confucian orthodoxy, which emphasized, of course, commitment to public service, as well as the self-righteous and ultimately suicidal withdrawal of Bo Yi and Shu Qi. He, of course, also refused to serve his government, but he accomplished this with an attitude of equanimity rather than inflexibility.
Poem 45 also questions the absolute authority of Confucian behavior in particular: even the highest minded of rulers, the Five Emperors and Three Kings, disagreed on the proper way to succeed one another. Since no other firm guidelines exist for proper political action, Wang Wei opts for the undemanding, carefree life of a rustic farmer, whose few wishes are easily satisfied. And poem 46 presents him caught in a net of worldly involvement, constantly tantalized by the prospect of withdrawal from service. Familial obligations (the reference to a younger sister is curious, since there is no record that he had any) are seen here as obstacles lying in the path toward his own personal happiness; the speaker concludes by declaring that his resolve to shed these responsibilities grows stronger each day.
The fourth poem (47), however, looks at the act of retreat from government service from the other point of view. Here Wang Wei focuses on Tao Qian, who after retiring early from his post wrote about the joys of untrammeled, if impoverished, country living. He and Wang Wei have, of course, traditionally been linked as eremitic poets; Wang Wei no doubt sensed certain affinities—phrases borrowed from Tao’s works and references to the man himself are more numerous in his collection than is the case with any other poet—but he was equally aware of the differences between them. The earlier poet was renowned for his love of wine, and Wang Wei elaborates on that fondness and on anecdotes associated with it to make his point: such a carefree life may entail a less than admirable neglect of familial or social responsibilities.
In any case, poem 48 returns to life in the city, juxtaposing and implicitly contrasting two figures: an irresponsible, profligate rake devoted to the pursuit of material pleasure and a noble, impoverished scholar whose commitment to Confucian teachings has brought him nothing but hardship. Which mode of life among many to select is an issue that remains unresolved throughout this entire series, and in the sixth poem we see Wang Wei perhaps suspecting which decision would be correct but still remaining unconvinced. His reluctance to choose is reflected in the predominance of negative constructions here—he is now “too lazy” to write, has “mistakenly” been a poet, is “unable” to shed old habits, and still “does not know.” The failure to provide an unambiguous direct object for “know” also suggests his preference for hedging throughout. What do we know? That he is old, that he thinks he might once—perhaps in an earlier reincarnation—have been a painter, and that he has become famous. What does his heart still not know? Presumably what has just been stated, i.e., that his “name and cognomen really are both correct.” Since the two combine to form the Chinese name of Vimalakīrti, the lay Buddhist sage who lived at the time of Sākyamuni Buddha (ca. sixth century B.C.), Wang Wei is suggesting either that devotion to his teachings would be something that could be asserted as proper, or that he is in fact truly devoted to them, to the point perhaps of being an actual reincarnation of him. But the final line refuses to allow a comfortable certainty, either to us or to the speaker himself. His heart/ mind remains unaware or unconvinced of what to do; the solution, then, would seem to be to continue as always in balancing alternatives, to accept with equanimity and enjoy both the responsibilities of service and the tranquility of retreat.
This is precisely what we find him doing in poem 50, “On Leaving Monk Wengu of the Mountains; also Shown to My Younger Brother Jin.” The title links representatives of both courses of action: a Buddhist hermit and the poet’s own brother, a highly successful official. While Wang Wei describes his reluctance to leave the former’s peaceful mountain retreat, at the same time he affirms the correctness of commitment during a period of wise rule. Lines 13-14 again juxtapose the two possibilities as he sees them, and the final couplet presents his apparent solution to the dilemma—to devote his time as equally as possible to both modes of life.
What these and other poems suggest, then, is that the “contradiction” between service and retreat was not the problematic issue that Wang Wei’s modern biographers have made it to be, nor was he so unequivocally opposed to the former as many people believe. In his “Essay in Praise of Buddhism” (20/la-2a; II, 361-62), for example, he explains his ability to lead the double life of official and recluse common to many Chinese poet-bureaucrats: “My body remains amid the hundred officials; my heart leaps beyond the ten stages [of the development of a Mahāyāna Buddhist bodhisattva].” From this statement one might indeed be tempted to conclude, as has generally been done, that he regarded his obligations at court as but an onerous burden. But his corpus also contains a “Letter to Kulapati [Buddhist layman] Wei” (18/8a-lla; II, 332-34), which, on the contrary, argues against making such a judgment. Urging his friend to leave his mountain retreat and return to government office, Wang Wei presents a number of precedents to be rejected. Of the poet Xi Kang (223-62), for example, he writes:
He abandoned the tassels [of office] and looked madly about; he longed for the tall forest in the distance and remembered the abundant grass. Abandoning tassels and looking madly about: how is that different from bending down to receive the bonds [of office]? The tall forest and abundant grass: how are they different from the officials’ gate and railing?
Here Wang Wei suggests that in the larger view of things, perhaps, there is really no difference between court and country, service and retreat. Then he moves on to Tao Qian, who would not accede to the demands of his office and bow to an inspector on tour, “so he let his seal and bands [of office] go and left his position. Afterward he was poor, and his ‘Begging for Food’ poem says: ‘I knocked on the door and clumsily spoke.’3 This means that he begged repeatedly and was much ashamed.” Tao had thus allowed a petty issue to create a much greater problem: “Not bearing to be ashamed just once: did this not cause him to be ashamed for his entire life? This is also allowing the difference between ‘Others’ and ‘I’ to invade one’s mind, forgetting the large and harboring the small.” One should not, therefore, maintain such rigid categories distinguishing between the possible and the impossible, permissible and undesirable modes of activity.
Confucius said: “I, however, am different from these [high-minded recluses]. There is nothing permissible, there is nothing impermissible.”4 What is permissible is what suits [one’s] will, what is impermissible is what does not suit [one’s] will. The gentleman regards spreading benevolence and exhibiting righteousness, enlivening the state and saving men as suiting his will. Even if his Way is not put into practice [however], he still does not think of it as not suiting his will.
In other words, Wang Wei’s advice is to be flexible, embrace all possibilities, and adapt to the situation at hand, whether or not it conforms to one’s principles. Written when he was almost sixty and thus shortly before his death, this letter reveals his ability to integrate both sides of the issue, an equilibrium which typifies his work as a whole. And this was also, of course, the advice of Zhuangzi—to compromise and harmonize, rather than categorize:
Where there is acceptability, there must be unacceptability; where there is unacceptability, there must be acceptability. Where there is recognition of right there must be recognition of wrong; where there is recognition of wrong there must be recognition of right. Therefore the sage does not proceed in such a way, but illuminates all in the light of heaven. (“Discussion on Making All Things Equal,” 4/2/28; trans. Watson, pp. 39-40)
POEM
(5/10a; I, 83)
White and pure, the bright stars are high.
The distant sky dawns on a vast expanse.
Darkness of sophora mist does not disperse;
Cries of citywall crows gradually cease.
Just now I hear the sounds from the tall pavilion
But cannot yet distinguish the wardrobe room.
Rows of silver candles have already formed:
Through the Golden Gate chariots solemnly drive.
NOTE
Line 8:The Golden Gate was part of the Han dynasty Weiyang Palace, actually called the Golden Horse Gate because of a bronze horse there.
POEM
(10/3b; I, 177)
Harmonizing with Secretary Jia Zhi’s Poem,
“Morning Audience at Darning Palace”
The crimson-bonneted cock man sends out the dawn marker.
The clothing master has just entered with kingfisher-cloud furs.
The nine imperial portals open out onto palace halls;
From ten thousand states officials pay respects to the jade-tasseled crown.
As the sun’s color just rises above the immortal hands, stirring,
Fragrant smoke is about to waft next to the dragon robe.
Once the audience ends you must trim the five-colored edicts
And return with pendants tinkling toward the edge of Phoenix Pond.
NOTES
Title:Darning was a huge palace whose construction was begun in A.D. 634 by the Tang emperor Taizong (r. 627-50) in the southeast corner of the Imperial Garden, outside the Chang’an city wall.
The full title of Jia Zhi’s (718-72) poem is “Morning Audience at Darning Palace, Shown to My Colleagues in the Two Ministries.” In addition to Wang Wei, the poets Du Fu and Cen Shen (715-70) composed poems in response to it, and these other three works are all included in the standard edition of Wang Wei’s poetry. They were probably written in the spring of 758, when Jia Zhi and Wang Wei were both serving as Secretary of the Grand Imperial Secretariat, Du Fu was Advisor on the Right, and Cen Shen was Admonitor on the Left. The “two ministries” were the Grand Imperial Secretariat (zhongshu sheng), where Jia Zhi and Wang Wei were located, and the Imperial Chancellery (menxia sheng), where Du Fu’s and Cen Shen’s offices were situated. The two divisions were also known as the Right and Left Ministries, respectively.
Line 1:An official wearing a crimson headdress went through the palace after cockcrow to awaken others; he held a stick on which the time was marked.
Line 2:These furs were worn by the emperor, whose wardrobe was managed by a “clothing master.”
Line 5:The “immortal hands” were on the bronze statues of Taoist immortals erected by the Han emperor Wu to collect dew in pans, which was then eaten with fragments of jade as a means of gaining immortality.
Line 7:Imperial edicts were issued on paper of five colors: black, red, blue, white, and yellow.
Line 8:Phoenix Pond was another name for the Grand Imperial Secretariat.
POEM
(10/3b; I, 177)
The emperor’s son bids farewell to the distant Red Phoenix Turret:
An imperial edict has lent the faraway palace of blue-green mist.
Outside the window vaporous clouds cling to our clothes;
With curtains rolled, streams and mountains come into the mirror.
Below the woods the water’s noise resounds over talk and laughter;
Between the peaks colors of trees obscure houses and dwellings.
An immortal’s home would not perforce be finer than this abode:
Need we play the pipes, looking toward the azure sky?
NOTES
Title:The Prince of Qi was the younger brother of emperor Xuanzong and held the post of grand tutor to the crown prince in 721. He was a great patron of men of letters, among them Wang Wei during his early years in Chang’an. This poem must have been written before 726, when the prince died.
Line 1:Red Phoenix Turret was on the central gate (of five) on the south side of Darning Palace.
Line 2:The phrase “blue-green mist” (cui wei) alludes to the palace’s hillside location, since mountain air was said to be tinged with that hue.
Line 8:This is an allusion to Jin, crown prince of King Ling of Zhou (r. 571-545 B.C.), generally known as Wangzi (Prince) Qiao. According to the Records of Immortals (Lie xian zhuan), he liked to play the bamboo pipes and imitate phoenix cries; he was said to have eventually flown away (to immortality) on a white crane.
POEM
(2/12b; I, 28)
The Western Peak emerges from floating clouds,
Greenness amassed in the vast and limpid air.
Joining the sky it seems the color of ink:
4 For a hundred miles a dim and distant void.
Because of it, the white sun turns chill,
And Huayin city is buried in its shade.
Of old, it’s heard, when heaven and earth were one,
8 Creation produced the river god Juling.
With his right foot he stepped on the Square Mountain;
With his left hand he pushed forth the Pared Peak.
Heaven and earth then suddenly split asunder:
12 The great river flowed to the eastern main.
Then the western sacred peak was fashioned,
Strong and grand to guard the capital of Qin.
Our great ruler has reigned for several years:
16 His perfect virtue embraces all living things.
The god on high awaits his official decree;
The Gold Sky king longs to greet him with respect.
Spirits expect imperial favor to last:
20 Why sacrifice only on Mts. Yun and Ting?
NOTES
Title:This was the westernmost of the five sacred peaks, located in Shaanxi. The other four were Tai (east) in Shandong, Heng (south) in Hunan, Heng (north) in Hebei, and Song (central) in Henan.
Line 8:According to legend, Mt. Hua and Mt. Shouyang facing it were once a single mountain until the god Juling stepped in its center to allow the Yellow River to continue its eastward flow.
Line 9:I have selected the variant “mountain” (shan) in place of “to stop” (zhi).
Line 18:The Gold Sky king was the resident spirit of Mt. Hua.
Line 20:Yunyun and Tingting were two mountains on which ancient rulers had offered sacrifices. This poem was probably written in 730, when officials and residents from the Mt. Hua area petitioned emperor Xuanzong to perform the sacrificial rites to heaven and earth on that peak; he declined.
POEM
(11/8a; I, 205)
The emperor is favoring Xinfeng with a visit:
Flags and banners fly east of the river Wei.
Cold mountains enclosed by the palace guard,
4 A warm valley amid a city of screens.
He offers jade at the Altar of Gathered Immortals
And burns incense in the Taiyi Palace.
Going out for a journey he meets a tender of horses;
8 After the hunt he has “something that is not a bear.”
The great minister transforms through inaction;
Our brilliant era is just like ancient times.
The auspicious fungus has three purple blossoms
12 And grains displayed in a myriad cartloads are red.
Royal rituals honor Confucian teachings;
Imperial soldiers scorn the glories of war.
Strategies are in the hands of a wise man;
16 Poems are composed by a doyen of letters.
This censorate official has nothing to correct
And is still unskilled at presenting poems.
I shall long sing jifu’s song of praise
20 And morning and evening admire his stately air.
NOTES
Title:Li Linfu, who replaced Zhang Jiuling as chief minister to the emperor in 736, was enfeoffed as duke of the state of Jin in the fifth month of 737. In the eighth month of 742, when this poem was written, he was named Vice-President on the Left of the Department of Affairs of State (shangshu zuopuye).
Line 7:This is an allusion to a passage in the Zhuangzi (Xu Wugui, 66/24/26): The Yellow Emperor (a mythical ruler) was on a journey with six other sages when they lost their way. They came upon a young boy tending horses and were amazed to hear that he knew the exact location of their destination. The Yellow Emperor then asked him if he also knew how to deal with the world, and the boy responded: “As for dealing with the world, how is it different from tending horses? It’s just a matter of eliminating what harms the horses—that’s all.”
Line 8:This comes from a story in Gan Bao’s (ca. A.D.300) Records of Enquiries into Spirits (Sou shen ji) about King Wen, the founder of the Zhou dynasty (twelfth century B.C.), who before going hunting had been told by a diviner that he would catch a quarry that was neither dragon nor bear. He came upon a certain Lü Wang fishing north of the Wei River, realized that the old gentleman was his “catch,” and took Lü back with him in his carriage.
Line 9:“Inaction” (wu wei) is the Taoist principle of allowing things to take their natural course without acting upon them, thereby ensuring that nothing will be left undone.
Line 11:The lingzhi, a kind of purplish fungus (fomes japonicus), was associated with nobility and immortality; its appearance was regarded as an auspicious omen.
Line 18:“Presenting” or “displaying poems” (chen shi) refers to the ancient dictum that ministers should collect and set out the poems of the people in order to gauge their sentiments.
Line 20:This is an allusion to the concluding lines from a “Greater Elegance” (da ya) in the Classic of Poetry (poem no. 260), written by Yin Jifu in praise of Zhong Shanfu, advisor to King Xuan of Zhou (r. 827-782 B.C.):
Jifu has made this song,
Stately like a clear air.
Zhong Shanfu has long harbored cares:
May this song console his heart.
POEM
(10/1a; I, 173)
The Wei River follows its bent and winds by the Qin frontier;
The Yellow Mountains slope as of old around the Han palace.
The emperor’s carriage emerges from distant Immortal Gate’s willows.
On the covered walkway he turns to look at the Imperial Park’s flowers.
Amid the clouds the sovereign city: twin phoenix turrets.
In the rain, spring trees: ten thousand people’s homes.
Spring’s glory suits the season for issuing wise decrees—
It is not a royal excursion that prizes the beauty of things.
NOTES
Title:A “spring-detaining” (liu chun) poem was written to celebrate the glories of spring and lament the passing of the season. The arcade mentioned was a covered walkway linking the three Penglai halls of Darning Palace, situated along the northern wall of Chang’an, to the Xingqing Palace on the eastern citywall. The former palace had been constructed during the early years of the Tang dynasty and the latter by emperor Xuanzong himself.
Line 2:This Han palace was built by emperor Hui near the Yellow Mountains in Shaanxi in 193 B.C.
POEM
(ll/4b; I, 200)
Ten thousand states revere Zhou’s honored capital;
Robes and caps bow to the jade-tasseled crown.
The jade carriage greets the lofty guests,
4 And with golden tallies bids farewell to the lords.
At the farewell feast, wine is poured by the three ministries;
Lifting their curtains they go toward the nine provinces.
Willow catkins fly above the road,
8 And the sheen of sophora trees shades the canal.
They came to taste the celestial happiness
And return to share the Han ruler’s cares.
Imperial brilliance resembles the Milky Way,
12 And stars hanging down fill the central domain.
NOTES
Title:Officials with the rank of governor-general, prefect, and above returned to the capital from their posts once a year on the twenty-fifth day of the tenth lunar month to report to and receive orders from the emperor.
Line 1:According to the Mao commentary on the Classic of Poetry, “honored Zhou” (zong Zhou) is a term for Hao, the capital of Zhou, as in the eighth stanza of poem no. 192, a “Lesser Elegance” (xiao ya):
The majestic honored capital of Zhou:
Si of Bao has destroyed it.
Line 2:“Robes and caps” is a common synecdoche for officials, as are “jadetasseled crown” and the “jade carriage” (line 3) for the emperor.
Line 5:The “three ministries” were the major organs of the central government: the Department of Affairs of State (shangshu sheng), the Department of the Imperial Chancellery (menxia sheng), and the Department of the Grand Imperial Secretariat (zhongshu sheng). The translations of the names of these bureaus are taken from Pulleyblank’s “Glossary,” in The Background of the Rebellion of An Lu-shan, pp. 222-26.
Line 6:Both the “nine provinces” and the “Middle Provinces” (line 12) refer to the domains of China.
The phrase “lifting their curtains” alludes to a story in the History of the Latter Han, 31/1112, about an official named Jia Zong, who reprimanded his subordinates for greeting him—according to an ancient ritual—in a carriage with drawn curtains; only after raising them would they be able to survey the situation accurately and govern accordingly.
POEM
(11/1b; I, 195)
Since ancient times we have practiced the spring ablution;
From the new palace the pleasant excursion begins.
Our brilliant ruler moves in a phoenix sedan;
4 The crown prince comes out of the dragon tower.
His rhymeprose surpasses Prince Chen’s achievement,
And cups of wine flow like the river Luo.
Golden men arrive presenting swords,
8 And painted seabirds leave as boats return.
Palace turrets float above the park’s trees;
The imperial pond reflects the pearl-fringed crown.
The emperor’s glory extends to the Milky Way,
12 And stars hanging down fill the imperial domain.
NOTES
Title:The Lustration Festival was held by water’s edge on the third day of the third lunar month. Originally a ritual connected with purification, fertility, and renewal, by the Tang it had become principally an occasion for springtime outings and merrymaking. For a discussion of its origins, see Derk Bodde, Festivals in Classical China (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), pp. 273-88.
Line 5:According to the Chronicle of the Three Kingdoms (Wei, 19/557), upon the completion of the Bronze Sparrow Pavilion in Ye in A.D. 210, the ruler Cao Cao (155-220) asked all present to ascend it and write a fu (“rhymeprose,” “prose poem,” “exposition”) to commemorate the occasion. His son Cao Zhi (192-232), Prince of Chen, picked up a brush and composed one without stopping, thus amazing everyone there.
Line 7:When King Zhao of Qin (r. 255-250 B.C.) was feasting by the river he saw a golden man emerging from the water with a sword; the latter handed over the weapon to the king, telling him that it would give him hegemony over China. The anecdote is recorded in the Jin History, 51/1433.
POEM
(11/7a; I, 203)
Within the four seas there are no untoward affairs;
In autumn’s third month the harvest has been abundant.
A hundred officials come together this day
4 To wish their ruler a life of a myriad years.
Peony infusions are mixed in golden cauldrons,
And dogwood blossoms inserted in tortoiseshell mats.
The jade hall opens onto the right chamber;
8 Celestial music stirs the palace bells.
Imperial willows scatter autumnal shadows,
And citywall crows shake off the dawn mists.
Forever at chrysanthemum festival time
12 We shall offer Boliang compositions.
NOTES
Title:For the Double Ninth Festival, see poem 3, title note.
Line 5:Peony roots were supposed to blend well with the five flavors (sweet, sour, bitter, pungent, and salty), and to possess medicinal properties.
Line 12:When the Han emperor Wu built the Boliang Tower in the spring of 115 B.C., he invented a new poetic meter of heptasyllabic rhymed lines, which became known as the Boliang style. He started off the composition by writing one verse of poetry, and his ministers were required to contribute verses, one after another, employing the original rhyme.
POEM
(10/1b; I, 174)
We wish to laugh at King Wen’s singing and feasting at Hao.
From afar we scorn Wu’s song written while crossing the Fen.
How can they match the three beauties grown at the Jade Hall?
How could they have had five-colored clouds emerging from Bronze Pond?
Above the paths the Big Dipper pours into goblets of Yao;
In front of the tower Shun’s music stirs the south wind’s warmth.
We rejoice together that heaven’s will accords with the will of men:
May a myriad years, a thousand autumns be granted our august lord.
NOTES
Title:In the third month of 748 a jade iris was said to have grown by the pillars of Datong Hall in Xingqing Palace (on the eastern edge of Chang’an), giving off an eerie glow. It reappeared in the sixth month of 749. Brightly colored clouds in the shapes of dragons, regarded as auspicious omens, were also said to rise frequently from the pond at the palace.
Line 1:This is an allusion to a poem in the Classic of Poetry (no. 221), whose third and fourth lines read: “The king is there in Hao, / Drinking happily.” Zhao Diancheng, the annotator of Wang Wei’s collection, points out that the poet has erroneously read the lines as a description of King Wen of Zhou, instead of his son King Wu (r. 1122-1115 B.C.). But Zhao also notes that since another Tang poet, Song Zhiwen (656-712), made the same error, it might have been a general misunderstanding of the period.
Line 2:This refers to a feast following the performance of sacrifices held by the Han emperor Wu while floating on the Fen River, which inspired him to write the poem “Song of the Autumn Wind” (Qiu feng ci, included in Shen Deqian, ed., Fountain of Ancient Poetry, 1/18b).
Line 4:The Bronze Pond was located in the Han dynasty palace.
Lines 5-6: Yao and Shun were both mythical kings. Shun is supposed to have composed a song whose first two lines went: “The warmth of the south wind / Can melt my people’s anger” (Fountain of Ancient Poetry l/2a).
POEM
(10/8b; I, 185)
When I suddenly bowed to the Han edict returning my cap of office,
I began to feel the Yin king’s bounty in discarding traps and nets.
The sun, compared to the emperor’s brilliance, is dimmer still.
If Heaven could equal the ruler’s longevity, it were not enough.
Flowers greet the joyous spirit and all know how to smile.
Birds recognize happy hearts and understand how to sing.
I’ve heard it said that new badges of office from a hundred cities
Have returned to the twin turrets, pendants tinkling together.
NOTES
Title:This poem was written in 758 after Wang Wei was pardoned by the new emperor Suzong (r. 756-63) for having collaborated with the An Lushan rebels.
Line 2: The legendary founder of the Yin or Shang dynasty, Tang (r. 1766-1753 B.C.), was said to have demonstrated that his benevolence extended even to animals and birds by ordering all traps and nets to be untied on his lands (Records of the Historian, 3/95).
POEM
(14/6b; I, 265)
From ten thousand homes of grieving hearts arises wild smoke.
The hundred officials—when will they again attend court?
Autumn sophora leaves fall within the empty palace.
Next to Frozen Emerald Pond, music from pipes and strings.
NOTES
Title:According to the Chronicle of Chang’an (Chang’an zhi), Puti Monastery was built during the Sui dynasty (589-618) and was located in the Pingkang section of Chang’an, east of the south gate. The Old Tang History biography of Wang Wei gives the monastery name as Pushi.
Pei Di (b. 716), a fellow poet and minor official, was one of Wang Wei’s closest friends. Wang Wei’s corpus contains 34 poems written to or about his friend, or answered by Pei Di’s own poems. The most famous among these are the twenty quatrains of the Wang River Collection (see below, poems 131-50), to which Pei wrote twenty of his own. Wang Wei’s “Letter from the Mountains to Pei Di” (18/7b-8a; II, 332) is his most famous prose evocation of the pleasures of life in retreat.
COMMENTARY
This is probably Wang Wei’s only poem of political protest, veiled though the criticism may be. It was written not while he was serving the court of the emperor Xuanzong but during his incarceration by the rebels under An Lushan in 756, and it may have been partially responsible for the pardon granted him after the suppression of the revolt. The preface which serves as a title provides a spare summary of the background behind its composition. According to the Miscellaneous Records of Minghuang [Xuanzong] (Minghuang zalu), after entering Chang’an, An Lushan and his soldiers captured the members of the imperial conservatory, the Pear Garden (Li yuan), and ordered them to play at a victory banquet for the rebels by Frozen Emerald Pond. The musicians only consented to perform after being threatened with knives, but they could not control their grief. According to the Recorded Conversations of the Jia Clan (Jia shi tanlu), Pei Di somehow managed to visit Wang Wei in his monastery prison and told him of this event. This work and poem 35 are said to have been recorded on the back of a sūtra by the head abbot, a follower of the Chan patriarch Hongdao named Zhiman, and later circulated to vindicate the poet of charges of voluntary collaboration.
POEM
(13/11a; I, 254)
Recited and Again Presented to Pei Di
How can we get to shed the dusty net,
Brush our clothes and leave the worldly din,
To leisurely ply a brambleweed staff
And return to the Peach Blossom Spring?
NOTES
Line 1:This alludes to the first of a series of five poems by Tao Qian entitled “Returning to the Farm to Dwell’ (Gui yuantian qu, in Ding Fubao, ed., The Complete Poems of the Han, Three Kingdoms, Jin, Northern and Southern Dynasties, II, 605), in which the earlier poet had written: “By mischance I fell into the dusty net / And was thirteen years away from home” (trans. Hightower, The Poetry of Tao Ch’ien, p. 50).
Line 2:“Brushing one’s clothes” is an expression denoting the retreat from government service.
Line 3:This alludes to a man named Yuan Xian, one of Confucius’ disciples, who appears in the Zhuangzi (“Giving Away a Throne,” 78/28/44). He used a crude walking stick and was known for his frugal living habits.
Line 4:For the Peach Blossom Spring, see poem 6.
POEM
(2/7a; I, 20)
Given to My Paternal Cousin,
Military Supply Official Qiu
In younger years I knew little of worldly affairs:
I forced myself to learn to seek fame and power.
But vainly I heard of the years of frisking horses
4 And suffered for lack of wisdom surpassing others.
As for managing things, have I indulged in mere talk?
In post after post it’s not that I haven’t been tested.
Since there are few joys that satisfy my nature,
8 I fear being blamed for going against the times.
In clear winter I see the distant mountains,
The gathered snow, the frozen azure green.
Brightness emerges from the eastern woods
12 And brings out my thoughts of escaping from the world.
Huilian, you have always had pure tastes;
We have talked in the past of affairs beyond the dust.
I wish to delay the time of my departure:
16 Yet the flowing years—how they hasten on.
NOTES
Line 3:This is an allusion to Cai Ze of the Warring States period (403-221 B.C.), a debater who traveled from state to state seeking employment as a political advisor. After meeting with no success, he asked the physiognomer Tang Ju to tell his fortune. When told that he would live for forty-three more years, Cai Ze said that that would give him ample time, among other things, to press his frisking horses forward more quickly, serve rulers, and eat and live well. The story is told in the Records of the Historian, 79/2418.
Line 13:Wang Wei addresses his cousin as Xie Huilian (397-433), the talented younger cousin and friend of the poet Xie Lingyun (385-433). His biography is included in the Song History (Song shu [Peking: Zhonghua, 1974]), 53/1524-25.
POEMS
(2/10a-11a; I, 24-25)
Playfully Presented to Zhang Yin the Fifth Brother
37.
When you, younger brother, lived on the eastern mountain,
Your heart was still detached indeed.
The sun rose high but you slept on as before;
4 When bells tolled—only then would you eat.
Your hair remained unkempt above the collar,
Books were left unrolled at the head of your bed.
By a clear stream your spirit wandered afar;
8 You would lie down and rest by the empty woods.
Green moss upon the rocks was clean;
Delicate grass beneath the pines was soft.
Outside your window, the sounds of birds at leisure;
12 Before your steps even tigers were good-willed.
Meaningless are the myriad phenomena,
Tranquil is the great and distant void.
Once you realized that all things are the same,
16 You saw the insignificance of being a man.
Looking at you I suddenly feel contented:
Fleeting thoughts are not worth sending along.
NOTE
Title:Zhang Yin was a fellow painter, poet, and calligrapher who held office in the Ministry of Justice.
38.
My brother Zhang has five cartloads of books
And reads them while still living in reclusion.
His brushwork surpasses that of the Grass-Script Sage;
4 Writing poems he makes the Zixu fu look simple.
Behind closed gates beneath the Two Chamber Mountains,
He has lived in retreat for ten years or more.
Just like an old rustic of the wilds,
8 He sometimes follows the fishermen to fish.
Autumn winds each day become more desolate;
The five willows are tall but spare.
Gazing at this I leave the world of men
12 And cross the water toward my thatched hut.
At year’s end holding hands together,
There should only be you and I.
NOTES
Line 1:This is an allusion to a passage in the Zhuatigzi (“The World,” 93/33/ 69), which describes Zhuangzi’s friend Hui Shi as many-talented and possessing five cartloads, i.e., a great number, of books.
Line 3:The “Sage of the Grass-Script” was Zhang Zhi, a famous calligrapher of the Latter Han dynasty (A.D. 25-220).
Line 4:This refers to a rhymeprose (fu) by the Han dynasty writer Sima Xiangru (179-117 B.C.), a masterly work which was supposedly composed with great difficulty and which brought him to the attention of Emperor Wu; it is included in the sixth-century Anthology of Literature, 7/102-5.
Line 5:These two mountains, the “Great Chamber” (Da shi) and “Little Chamber” (Xiao shi), were located to the east and west, respectively, of the central sacred peak, Mt. Song, in Henan.
Line 10:The phrase “five willows” has been associated with a peaceful life in retreat since Tao Qian called himself “Master of Five Willows” (Wu liu xiansheng) after the trees growing by his country home; see the Song History, 93/2286.
39.
Setting traps in wait for hares and rabbits
Or dangling a hook to watch for passing fish
Are only meant to appease your mouth and belly
4 And do not come from a love of peaceful retreat.
In my life I have loved pure tranquility,
A meatless diet, removing passions and dust.
Now you have grown lax and profligate
8 And long to eat the food from nobles’ cauldrons.
My house lies at the foot of Southern Mountain:
As movements still I just forget myself.
When among birds I cause them no disturbance,
12 Seeing animals, I treat them all as friends.
Rosy clouds become my companions,
The empty whiteness serves as my attire.
For what reason need you, sir,
16 Invite me, a Zhen of Gukou?
NOTE
Line 16:Zheng Pu, whose cognomen was Zizhen, (hence the reference to “Zhen”), was a famous recluse who lived in Gukou (Shaanxi province) during the reign of the Han emperor Cheng (r. 32-6 B.C.) and refused to be pressed into government service.
POEM
(4/4a; I, 54)
Farewell to Qiwu Qian on His Return
Home after Failing the Examination
Under sage rule there are no recluses:
Brilliant talents all come to serve at court.
This caused you, who dwelled on the eastern mountain,
4 To be unable to go and pick some ferns.
Arriving, you found the ruler’s gate was distant,
But who should say that “Our Way has failed”?
Yangzi and Huai you crossed at Cold Food time,
8 In Chang’an and Luoyang you mended spring clothes.
I will pour some wine at Changdao postillion:
You, my like-mind, are abandoning me.
Soon you will be floating with cassia oar,
12 And in no time will knock on your brushwood gate.
Distant trees will accompany the traveler;
A lone citywall faces the dusking glow.
“By chance my counsel has not been followed,”
16 But do not say that close friends are few.
NOTES
Title:Qiwu Qian (692-749), cognomen Xiaotong, was a friend and fellow poet who received his jinshi (“presented scholar”) degree in 726, held several minor posts, and left office for retirement around 742. In some editions of Wang Wei’s poetry the title of this poem is simply “Farewell” (Songbie).
Line 3:This refers to Xie An of the Jin dynasty (265-419), who left government service in the capital to retire to Mt. Linan in present-day Zhejiang, on the east coast of China (Jin History, 79/2072-77).
Line 4:This is an allusion to Bo Yi and Shu Qi, two men who were outraged when the Zhou ruler overthrew the Yin or Shang dynasty during the twelfth century B.C. Vowing to refuse to eat the grain of Zhou, they retired to Shouyang Mountain, subsisting on ferns until they died of starvation (Records of the Historian, 61/2123).
Line 5:This is a euphemistic reference to Qiwu’s failure to pass the jinshi examination.
Line 6:Confucius is said to have once asked his discipline Zilu: “The Classic of Poetry [poem no. 234] says: ‘We are neither rhinoceros nor tiger / Yet we live on the desert wilds.’ Has our Way failed?” (Records of the Historian, 47/ 1931).
Line 7:The Cold Food Festival was a period from the 105th to the 107th day after the winter solstice, during which no food was to be cooked.
Line 15:This is a quotation from the Zuo zhuan, a commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chun qiu), a chronicle for the state of Lu said to have been written by Confucius. In the records of Duke Wen, thirteenth year, Rao Chao of Qin bids farewell to Sui Hui, who is being successfully taken back to serve the state of Jin: “[As he was going], Jaou Chaou (an officer of Ts’in) presented to him a whip, saying, ‘Do not say that there are no men in Ts’in. [You get away] because my counsel has not at this time been followed.’” Trans. James Legge, The Chinese Classics, Vol. 5: The Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso Chuen, p. 264.
Line 16:“Close friends” literally reads “understanding the music” (zhi yin), an allusion to the friendship between Yu Boya and Zhong Ziqi. Whenever the former played his zither, the latter would immediately know what kinds of images were being evoked. When Ziqi died, Boya broke his strings because he no longer had anyone who really understood his music. “One who understands the music” thus means an intimate friend.
POEM
(3/11a; I, 46)
Farewell to Collator Qiwu Qian on His Leaving
Office to Return East of the Yangzi
For long without success in a brilliant reign,
Released from service, I resemble you.
What heaven ordains you face without repining:
4 Your demeanor in life is as before.
I think of you, brushing your clothes to leave:
Within the four seas where will your travels end?
The autumn sky is clear for a myriad miles;
8 At sunset, the limpid river is empty.
Long and endless is this clear night—
You beat time on the gunwale beneath the bright moon.
You will blend your light beside the fish and birds,
12 Tranquil amid the clusters of rushes and reeds.
What use in sojourning during glorious times?
Receding temples turn white as tumbleweeds.
Stubborn and dull, I know nothing of human affairs,
16 Isolated, remote from imperial wisdom.
Even if I were worthy of selection,
Who could be impartial about it?
I too shall leave right now and go,
20 Return home to plow and be an old farmer.
NOTES
Line 5:“Brushing one’s clothes” denotes retreat from government service.
Line 11:This alludes to a passage in the fourth section (zhang) of the Dao de jing: “Harmonize with its light; share its dust.”
Line 14:I am reading “white” (bai) for “day” (ri).
POEM
(7/5a; I, 121)
Written in Reply to He
the Fourth’s Gift of a Cloth Cap
A rustic cap conveys your generous kindness;
This gift is worth as much as finest gold.
Enjoying this object of secluded life,
I can calm my reclusive official heart.
During morning levée I hang it up for awhile,
After evening bathing come pin it on again.
Sitting I sense the distance of din and dust
And long for you to enter the woods with me.
NOTE
Line 2:“Finest gold” (literally, “double gold” [jian jin]) was a superior grade of gold worth twice as much as regular gold. The locus classicus for this phrase is Mencius II.B.3.
POEM
(10/8a; I, 184-85)
In Response to Policy Reviewer Guo
By the twin gates’ tall tower, clouds and lingering glow:
Peach and plum trees are dense and dark; willow catkins fly.
Inside the palace, a distant bell: in the offices it is late.
Within the ministry, calling birds: officials now are scarce.
Mornings, waving jade pendants, you rush to the golden hall;
Evenings, receiving imperial edicts, you call at the carved palace doors.
I would try to follow you, but there is no way not to age—
And soon because of illness I’ll discard my court robes.
NOTE
Title:Guo Chenggu served as Policy Reviewer in the Imperial Chancellery, a post Wang Wei also occupied from 754-55, although the poem’s date of composition is unknown.
POEMS
(5/2a-4a; I, 72-75)
44.
In the state of Chu there was a crazy man,
Ignorant, without a thought in his mind.
With unkempt hair, wearing no cap or belt,
4 He walked and sang on the southern path.
Confucius once spoke with him,
But ren and yi he could never praise.
He never once agreed to question heaven,
8 And why should he need to hit the clogs?
He laughed again at those fern-picking men—
Why did they run so far away?
NOTES
Line 1:The “crazy man” was Lu Tong, cognomen Jieyu, who lived in the southern state of Chu during the Spring and Autumn Period. He feigned madness to avoid serving under the government of King Zhao, of whom he disapproved, and thus wore no official’s “cap or belt.” The story of his refusing to speak to Confucius (lines 5-6) is given in the Analects (Lun yu), XVIII.5.
Line 6:Ren and yi, often translated as “benevolence” and “righteousness,” respectively, are two key Confucian concepts, used here primarily to represent the entire orthodox way of thought.
Line 7:This is an allusion to the “Heavenly Questions” (Tian wen) of the Songs of Chu, 3/145-99, which appear to be a group of questions and riddles about, among other matters, the origins of the universe; they are traditionally attributed to the poet Qu Yuan (343?-278 B.C.) and have been translated by Hawkes, pp. 45-58.
Line 8:This refers to a legend, recorded in the Jin dynasty Records of Emperors (Diwang shiji), that during the reign of the mythical sage king Yao, there was such happiness and peace that a group of old men played a game (ji rang) similar to horsehoses which involved tossing one clog-shaped piece of wood to hit another, and sang the following song:
We work when the sun rises.
And rest when the sun sets
We dig a well in order to drink
And plow the fields in order to eat.
What force does our lord exert on us?
Line 9: For “fern-picking men,” see poem 40, line 4n.
45.
In a farmhouse lives an old man
With drooping white hair, in his humble retreat.
Sometimes when finished with chores in the fields,
4 He summons his neighbors with a jug of wine.
Noisily beneath the thatched eaves
They sit around and then stand up again.
Coarse woolen clothes are not too mean for him
8 And garden sunflower seeds delicacy enough indeed.
If he stirs, it’s just to bring up sons and grandsons;
He has never once gone to the city market.
The Five Emperors and Three Kings
12 Since ancient times have been called Sons of Heaven.
Compare using arms with polite abdication—
Which way is right after all?
If wishes gained make up happiness,
16 How then can a rustic farm be scorned?
For now I’ll set my mind at ease and go,
And travel on ‘til all my teeth are gone.
NOTE
Line 11:These refer to mythical sage rulers. There are various lists of the Five Emperors, but they invariably include Yao and Shun; the Three Kings were the founders of the Xia, Shang (Yin), and Zhou dynasties—Yu, Tang, and Wen. The following two lines of the poem allude to the two ways in which these sage rulers supposedly succeeded each other: the Five Emperors were said to have yielded the throne to one another peacefully, while the Three Kings used arms.
46.
Day and night I see the Taihang Mountains:
Though pondering, I have not yet departed.
Should you ask me why this is so—
4 I am entangled in the worldly net.
My younger sister grows older every day,
And my brothers have not yet chosen wives.
The family is poor, our income but a pittance,
8 Nor are we used to putting things away.
How many times have I longed to arise and fly,
Then hesitated, looking at them again.
Sun Deng at Long Whistle Tower
12 Had his retreat amid bamboo and pine.
How far does it lie from here?
But friends and family stand right in the road.
The taint of passions daily grows more weak;
16 Stillness of mind grows firmer every day.
Soon I shall suddenly depart—
Why wait until the evening of my years?
NOTES
Line 1:The Taihang range extends from Shanxi through Henan and Hebei provinces.
Line 11:Sun Deng was a third-century A.D. hermit who retired to Mt. Sumen in Henan. He and his friend Ruan Ji (210-63) were particularly adept at the whistle or xiao, a kind of Taoist breathing exercise. Sun was said to be able to emit a xiao which sounded like a phoenix call. See the Jin History, 49/ 1362.
Line 15:The terms in this line and the next both come from Buddhism; the aim is to extinguish the “taint” of desires and passions and to achieve stillness of mind through meditation.
47.
Tao Qian let free his true spirit:
By nature he was rather fond of wine.
But once he quit his government office
4 His family was too poor for him to have it.
On the ninth day of the ninth month
Chrysanthemum flowers filled his hands in vain.
Within his heart he secretly wondered
8 If someone would send him some or not.
A white-robed man carrying jug and goblet
Did give some after all to the old man.
For a time he delighted in pouring it out—
12 How could he ask if they were pints or gallons?
Shaking his clothes amid the wilds and fields,
“Today,” he sighed, “there isn’t any more!”
Confusedly losing his sense of direction,
16 He could not keep his bamboo rainclothes on.
Stumbling and falling, forcing himself to walk,
With drunken song he went back to Five Willows.
About life’s affairs he never once inquired:
20 Would he feel ashamed before his wife at home?
NOTE
Line 1:The poet Tao Qian, who dubbed himself “Master of Five Willows” (see poem 38, line 10n), was well known for descriptions of his life in the country as a poor gentleman farmer and for his love of wine. Although he served for some time in government office, he refused to observe the proper formalities in the face of a visiting superior and left his post. He has three biographies in the dynastic histories: Song History, 93/2286ff; History of the Southern Dynasties (Nan shi [Peking: Zhonghua, 1975]), 75/1856ff; and Jin History, 94/2460ff.
48.
The girl from Zhao can pluck a many-stringed harp
And perform the dances of Handan.
Her husband is a frivolous fellow,
4 Fighting cocks while serving the lord of Qi.
His gold buys courtesans’ songs and smiles—
He never bothers to count his cash any more.
He comes and goes with the Xus and Shis,
8 Their noble gates filled with four-horse carriages.
In the guest-house is a Confucian scholar,
A lofty, dignified product of Zou and Lu.
He has studied books for thirty years
12 But at his waist still lacks the tassels of office.
He must wear the teachings of the sages:
A whole life of poverty and pain.
NOTES
Line 1:The konghou was a musical instrument with several strings, although the exact number (7 or 23 or 25) is in dispute.
Line 2:Handan was the capital city of the ancient kingdom of Zhao (in present-day Hebei).
Line 4:This is an allusion to a passage in the Zhuangzi (“Mastering Life” [Da sheng, 50/19/46]) about a king of Qi who raised cocks for fighting.
Line 7:Xu Bo was the father of the Han emperor Xuan’s (r. 73-48 B.C.) wife, and Shi Gao was also related to the emperor by marriage. Their names are used to denote powerful aristocratic families in general.
Line 10:Zou and Lu were the native kingdoms of Mencius and Confucius, respectively, and are therefore associated with Confucian learning.
49.
Old age has come; too lazy to write poems,
I have old age as my sole companion.
In this age mistakenly a poet,
In an earlier life I must have been a painter.
Unable to discard lingering habits,
I am somehow known by people of this world.
My name and cognomen really are both correct:
But this heart still does not know.
NOTES
Line 3:I am reading “this age” (dang dai) for “former world” (su shi).
Line 7:Wang Wei is alluding to his given name (ming), Wei, and his cognomen (zi), Mojie, which together make up the Chinese transliteration of the name of the Indian Buddhist sage Vimalakīrti.
POEM
(4/7a; I, 58-59)
On Leaving Monk Wengu of the Mountains;
also Shown to My Younger Brother Jin
Removing hempen clothes to ascend the celestial court,
I leave my master to meet wise men of the age.
Not only the man within the mountains—
4 I’m even betraying the moon above the pines.
In the past we strolled and rested together,
Arriving at the edge of rosy clouds.
We would open a window above the Ying’s north bank
8 And lie and watch the flying birds disappear.
We liked to dine while leaning on a flat rock,
And often stopped before cascading streams.
In times of order one seldom goes into reclusion;
12 When the Way prevails how can one leave the world?
My younger brother holds a lofty position;
My elder kinsman has received the tonsure.
Just sprinkle and sweep in front of your brushwood gate:
16 When I have free time, I’ll pass by and knock.
Notes to Chapter Three
1. Wu Qiao (ca. 1660), Weilu shihua, Congshu jicheng, vol. 2609 (Shanghai: Shangwu, 1935), 3/74.
2. For a discussion of the conventions of Tang court poetry, see Stephen Owen, The Poetry of the Early T’ang (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), esp. pp. 3-13, 234-55, 425-28. Indeed, throughout his study Owen argues quite persuasively that those features which I have singled out as the hallmark of Wang Wei’s style were in fact shared by all Tang poets working within the tradition of court poetry. Nevertheless, I remain convinced that the pervasiveness of, for example, the impulse toward balance and integration in Wang Wei’s work as a whole is distinctive and derives from more deeply rooted philosophical and religious convictions.
3. The poem is included in Ding Fubao, ed., Quan Han Sanguo Jin Nan Bei Chao shi, II, 607.
4. The quotation from Confucius is included in the Analects (Lun yu), XVIII. 8.
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