“Waiting for the Unicorn”
Hsiang Hung-tso (Lien-sheng) is also known by the name Hsiang T’ing-chi (his earlier name was Hsiang Chi-chang). A native of Hang-chow, Chekiang, he was born into a wealthy salt merchant’s family which was, however, beginning to decline. He lost his father early in life, and became known as a reclusive and somewhat eccentric individual. He passed the provincial examination in 1832, earning his chü-jen degree. He made a journey north by boat, during which time the boat capsized and his mother and a nephew drowned. This tragedy, coupled with his subsequent failure at the chin-shih examination, might account for the deeply melancholy mood of his poetry. His collection of lyrics, the Yi-yün-lou tz’u (Remembering Clouds Lyrics), published in 1835, and consisting of four series, chronologically arranged, won wide fame among his contemporaries. Although many of his lyrics are stylized and derivative, some contain striking imagery and flashes of insight.
(Irving Lo)
Tune: Yeh Chin-men
Title: In Imitation of Sun Kuang-hsien’s [Style]1
I can’t keep you here:
E’en if I could, it would be just for today.
Today your taut sail lies a few feet from me;
Tomorrow where can it be found?
On the river the tide is not yet in, though the wind is blowing hard,
Drowning the fading strains of a flute.
A desolate chill seizes me as I lean against the railing;
Black night robs me of sleep as the lamp wick gives out.
(YYT, p. 59)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Tune: Ts’ai-sang tzu (A Mulberry-Gathering Song)
Title: Sent to Wu Tzu-lü2 Who
Wished to See My Recent Lyrics
A tree reddens in the frost; the setting sun chills;
Falling leaves startle away the cicada;
Withered grasses indistinguishable from mist.
For a tired man, coping with autumn, only unfinished dreams come to his pillow.
For flitting fame, versifying has played me false—
Indulging myself in wine and song.
My affinity with the flowers and the moon,
When etched on lined paper, can only plead for human tears.
(YYT, p. 10)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Wind-tossed catkins fly past a silken blanket of green;
Willow strands too weak to snare the dying spring into staying—
The same weather last year, but not the same people.
In secret, a cicada-embossed letter
wipes out my tears falling on paired pillows;
In grief, my message for the wild geese
is locked in the strings of a dust-covered lute:
Just forgetting the past is a kind of torture.
(YYT, p. 4)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
NOTES
1. Sun Kuang-hsien (?-968), a prominent lyric poet whose sixty tz’u are included in the Hua-chien chi (Among-the-flowers Collection), the earliest tz’u anthology noted for its boudoir poetry. The original lyric by Sun, with the same tune title, goes as follows:
I can’t keep you here:
E’en if I could, it would be of no use.
His springtime gown of white gauze is the color of snow
On the day he sets off for Yangchow.
He makes light of parting, delights in abandoning me.
On the river, the full sail is blown by a swift wind.
How much I admire those parti-colored mallards, all thirty-six of them!
A single female phoenix is all alone.
[Hua-chien chi, 8:9b]
2. An unidentified friend of the poet.
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