“Waiting for the Unicorn”
(3 JANUARY 1626–12 JUNE 1682)1
Ch’en Wei-sung (Ch’i-nien, Chia-ling), a native of Yi-hsing, Kiangsu province, was born into a prominent family, and his father, Ch’en Chen-hui (1605–1656), played an active leadership role in the Fu-she political party in late Ming times. When young, Ch’en Wei-sung received a traditional education, and early in life won a name for himself as a master of Parallel Prose. Those literary skills notwithstanding, he repeatedly failed the civil service examinations. In his early fifties he was invited to participate in the po-hsüeh hung-tz’u examinations, and he finally gained the success that had so long eluded him. He was subsequently appointed to the Hanlin Academy and then assigned to the board of scholars engaged in compiling the official history of the Ming dynasty. Ch’en spent the remainder of his life in Peking, where he associated with the leading literary figures of the time, such as Chu Yi-tsun (q.v.), whom he had known for many years as a fellow poet, and Singde (q.v.).
During the years of his youth and early manhood, Ch’en Wei-sung cultivated the various shih forms of poetry, and he had already achieved a reputation as a promising poet when he began to explore the tz’u genre, which was then undergoing a modest revival after a long period of relative neglect. He soon found this form of poetry to be especially congenial, and over the next several decades he devoted much of his time and energy to the cultivation of that form, thus becoming ultimately the most prolific tz’u poet in all of Chinese literary history. The Hu-hai lou tz’u-chi (The Tz’u Collection of the Pavilion of Lakes and Seas) contains over 1,600 lyrics, the majority of which employ the longer modes which had come into fashion in Sung times. In matters of theme, diction, and general style, the influence of such great Sung dynasty masters as Su Shih (1037–1101) and Hsin Ch’i-chi (1140–1207) is apparent in his poetry. Like those poets, Ch’en Wei-sung refused to be bound by the belief that the tz’u form was best suited to the treatment of delicate boudoir sentiments, of love between the sexes. Instead, he made no distinction between the shih and tz’u forms with respect to subject matter, and thus his lyric poetry treats of such diverse subjects as parting, a wide range of individual emotional states of mind, recollections of the past, natural physical scenes, contemporary affairs, and so forth. In rejecting the tz’u poetics of the Hua-chien school, he also favored a freer, more natural diction over the richly embellished line associated with the early history of the form. In this way, his poetry in this form manifests a vigorous, masculine manner, but one no less lyrical in spirit.
As a vigorous advocate for tz’u poetry and one of its most noted practitioners during the time of its revival in the seventeenth century, Ch’en Wei-sung’s influence on future developments in the form was considerable. He is regarded as the founder of the Yang-hsien school of lyric verse.
(William Schultz)
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1.Lien-che Tu, ECCP, 1:103.
Tune: Fa-chia tao-yin (A Taoist Nun’s Song)
Title: The Hungry Crow
The hungry crow caws,
The hungry crow caws,
Down and feathers terribly tattered and torn.
At home, the harvest already covered with frost and snow;
Abroad, I mistakenly believed the rice and grain to be fat.
Twilight deepens, but I must keep on flying, flying.
(CLTCC, 1:6a)
(Tr. Madeline Chu)
Tune: Hao-shih chin (Happy Events Approaching)
Title: One summer day, invited by Mr. Shih Chü-an1 to have a drink, I wrote a poem to the same rhyme as the one he wrote to celebrate my return from Wu-ch’ang.
When we parted, it was willow blossom season,
Like snow whirling toward a sunny window.
In a trice, hollyhocks begin to bloom,
Again reddening the corner of the curved rail.
Since our parting, once more things are renewed,
Only we are the same as yesterday.
When we talk of heroes who have lost their way,
Suddenly a chill wind comes up soughing.
(CLTCC, 3:1b)
(Tr. Madeline Chu)
Tune: Yü mei-jen (The Beautiful Lady Yü)
Title: Listlessness
Smiling listlessly, I finger a spray of blossoms and say:
“Everywhere the cuckoos are weeping blood;
Fine flowers should open beside a fine pavilion,
Not by the frontiers of Ch’in or the steep roads of Shu: not on the battlefield.”
Leaning on the terrace, gazing afar enhances my melancholy;
Again, to the east wind I say,
“Fine wind, do not unfurl the war flag red,
But quickly blow the snow-white shad eastward across the river.”
(CLTCC, 5:7a-7b)
(Tr. Madeline Chu)
Tune: Ho hsin-lang (Congratulating the Bridegroom)
Title: The Song of the Boat Trackers
Battle ships arrayed by the estuary—
On the far horizon,
The True Sovereign grants the seal
Carved with coils and twists of a scaly dragon,
To recruit boat haulers, a hundred thousand men. | 5 |
Every district plunged into a maelstrom,
I grieve for the eastern village,
Where chickens and dogs are thrown into turmoil;
Elders of the front ward hurry the rear tithing.
All in lashings,
Chained and bound behind an empty storehouse;
To be dragged away,
Who dares to raise a hand?
10
Rice flowers are now forming ears under a frosty sky.
There, a conscript,
At a fork in the road, bids farewell
To his sick wife lying among the weeds;
“From here I go to Three Rivers to haul at the thousand-foot hawser—
Where snowy billows splash on the mast, roar in the night. | 15 |
Can my back endure
The bullwhips or not?
Better that you return to the maple trees in the rear garden.
Face the deserted temple,
And urge the shamans to pour the libation;
Ask for a blessing from the gods | 20 |
To let me return to the fields.”
(CLTCC, 27:3b-4a)
(Tr. Madeline Chu)
Tune: Ho hsin-lang
Title: Written on Yün-lang’s Nuptial Day2
Slowly sip the sweet thick brew;
Joyful is today:
Hairpins aglitter, their shadows on the mat,
Cast a dazzling pattern before the lamp.
Beyond the screen, amid loud laughter and talk,
Comes a report the headdress has just been put on. | 5 |
Once more I peer at
This handsome young man;
Puzzled, unable to distinguish male from female.
Furtively,
I take the measure of the shoes he wears,3
Escort him away,
And raise the bridal curtain.
10
My sole companion for six years in my hostel—
Most unforgettable:
By flowery pillows
Tears gently shed.
Today, your marriage rites will be fulfilled,
Tenderly the wife will comply with her husband. | 15 |
Attentively,
Let the husband comport himself in decency.
But alone, under a gauze quilt cold as iron,
I’ll hold the peachwood pipes,
Waiting for dawn by the gauze window.
But don’t, for me,
Feel the least sad.
(CLTCC, 26:3a-3b)
(Tr. Madeline Chu)
NOTES
1. An unidentified friend of the poet.
2. This poem was written on the occasion of Yün-lang’s marriage. Yün-lang is Hsü Tzu-yün, formerly a boy actor in the singing troupe in Mao Hsiang’s (1611–1693) household. Mao Hsiang gave Hsü Tzu-yün to Ch’en Wei-sung as a gift. Hsü then became Ch’en Wei-sung’s intimate companion. This poem, with its obvious overtones of homosexual love, created quite a sensation in literati circles at the time.
3. The meaning of this line is somewhat obscure, perhaps intentionally so.
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