“Waiting for the Unicorn” | Open Indiana

Shih Jun-Chang (Shang-pai and Ch’i-yün; YÜ-SHAN, CHÜ-CHAI, HUO-CHAI), a native of Hsüan-ch’eng, Anhwei province, was orphaned at an early age and raised by a paternal uncle. He is said to have been an industrious student, and to have begun the writing of poetry while still young. He obtained the coveted chin-shih degree in 1649, and he was later appointed to several posts in the provinces, including that of circuit intendant of Hu-hsi, Kiangsi. There he was confronted with the solving of social problems arising from depressed economic conditions and widespread bandit activities. These experiences were recorded in some of his most memorable verse. Later he was invited to participate in the po-hsüeh hung-ju examinations of 1679, after which he was posted to the Hanlin Academy and named to the editorial board of the Ming Dynasty history project.

Shih Jun-chang was acclaimed by his contemporaries as one of the leading poets of the day. The famous scholar Ch’ien Ch’ien-yi (q.v.) described his poetry as being “as resonant as golden bells, comparable to the beauty of jade chimes.” The distinguished poet Wang Shih-chen (q.v.) observed in his Yü-yang shih-hua (Poetry Talks of the Recluse of Yü-yang) that, “when I speak of contemporary poets, the best may be said to be Shih of the south [i.e., Shih Jun-chang] and Sung of the north [i.e., Sung Wan, q.v.],” thus giving rise to the popular saying “Shih of the south and Sung of the north.” Wang Shih-chen especially admired Shih Jun-chang’s mastery of the pentasyllabic line.

A prolific and versatile poet, Shih Jun-chang dedicated himself with conscious seriousness to the perfection of his craft. In the Hu-chai shih-hua (Poetry Talks of the Hu-chai Studio), he observed that “Tu Fu did not imitate the old yüeh-fu songs; instead he employed new titles and recorded contemporary events.” This remark reveals a not unexpected admiration for the great poet Tu Fu; also, it indicates that he did not feel bound by the tradition, and that he believed in the social and historical values of poetry. Imbued by a Confucian sense of humanitarian idealism, he viewed poetry as one of several means to record natural and human events as he witnessed them, and he expressed critical judgments on what he observed. Shih Jun-chang was not, however, insensitive to the importance of compositional values. In this respect, his poetry reveals a somewhat spare and economical style, a preference for simplicity of diction rather than rhetorical embellishment. Wang Shih-chen has recorded a conversation between Shih Jun-chang and the celebrated poet-dramatist Hung Sheng (q.v.), in which the former remarked: “If one is building a house, the tiles, bricks, timbers, and stones must be erected one by one on level ground.” In this way, he metaphorically stated his belief that the rules of composition are fundamental to the poet’s craft. The themes which find expression in his verse are for the most part traditional, although he uses them to portray his times, and this he does in a realistic manner and with a deep sense of compassion for and understanding of the diversity and hazards of life as he experienced it.

(William Schultz)

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1.Martin C. Wilbur, ECCP, 2:651.

Songs on Accompanying the Governor-General

Drums and horns rouse the river town;

Army banners advance in the falling rain.

Alas, fragrant grasses turning green

Barely survive the horses’ trampling hooves.

On the battlefield, the spring wind is harsh;

In deserted villages, ruined houses lean askew.

Once again swallows return, two by two,

But whose house will provide them shelter?

(Nos. 1 and 2 from a series of 4; HYTSC, 46:2b)

(Tr. William Schultz)

A Random Song on Approaching a River

Red oranges, white bamboo shoots, don’t mention the cost!

Sincere, simple mountain and river folk, truly they’re to be pitied.

One acre for the official tax, three acres for grain—

And yet, the farmers grow tired of saying “It’s been a good year.”

(No. 5 from a series of 9; HYTSC, 48:5a)

(Tr. William Schultz)

A Ballad of Hu-hsi

In the hsin-ch’ou year [1661], I was sent to administer the circuit of Hu-hsi [Kiangsi Province], where the land is infertile and there is annual famine. The administrative officials responsible for the collection of delinquent taxes were derelict in their duties and looked to me for help. I had received instructions to set things right and to enforce the law. At that time, the military was engaged in the southwest, and before long three or four documents arrived, stating that petty officials and people in violation of the law would not be excused. Alas, one official was censured and did not dare deny the charges. But what remedy was there for the people? With pain and anguish, I could only notify and admonish them, and thus I wrote “A Ballad of Hu-hsi.”

As an imperial officer, I collect the taxes,

A matter I have never attended to before.

Day and night, pressure for army rations;

How dare I any longer hesitate, delay?

Yesterday’s orders just now received

Are by today already long overdue.

Seizing the reins, I hasten into the field:

All is desolate, few people remain.

Brambles and thorns cover the stricken villages;

How all the fields are overgrown!

An aged rustic kneels to speak at length:

“This year there’s been both flood and drought;

Crumbled walls, what else remains?

Willingly I’d part forever from wife and child,

But in these hard times it’s hard to find a buyer.”

Tears stain his tattered jacket.

Grieved at heart to hear these words,

I can only sigh in alarm, cover my face.

I am ashamed of this duty of whip and lash,

In this manner to win honor for my worthless self.

The State’s grace should be truly generous;

Already it should have excused unpaid taxes.

Officers and men wait for their morning rations,

So who can hesitate for even a moment?

Chanting this poem, again I weep;

My tears run dry in this empty mountain nook.

(HYTSC, 6:14a-b)

(Tr. William Schultz)

A Ballad of One Hundred Fathoms

“At Eighteen Cataracts, the rocks are jagged teeth;¹

A hundred fathoms of green rope, pitiable are we.

Barefooted, short jackets tied at the waist,

Rice grains we swallow cold, scoop river water to drink.

From the north, heavy cavalry crowds on board;

In rapids and steeps, the boat rushes past boulders, pierces deeps.

Chickens, pigs, oxen, wine—no telling their numbers;

Tied to the mast, the hawser moves, a thousand trackers hauling.

District officials, fearful of blame and zealous as fire,

Counting up our numbers, sit facing the river.

Detained in an ancient temple and treated like prisoners,

Told when to come and go, we starve while they make us wait.

Along sand and gravel banks, endless crumbling cliffs,

Stretching our arms like apes, we quarrel and shout.

Autumn and winter the water is sluggish, surging and rushing in spring;

Flood dragons lie in pools and caverns, tigers and leopards are on shore.

Beating the drums, sounding the cymbals, the morning boat flies;

Yang-hou stands erect in the waves, Chiang-o laughs.²

Don’t speak of bitter toil, of working for the master:

Harried by cudgel and whip, we are half dead, half alive.

Sir, look at those who have died, fallen by the shore.

Mates, which one of you dares to cry out?

Once flat on the waves, down you go to southern lands.

How much human blood flows into barbarian rivers?

The hundred fathoms rope won’t break, but our guts surely will!

Even the flowing waters are heartless, though they sob and wail.”

(HYTSC, 18:4a-b)

(Tr. William Schultz)

Falling Teeth

Try to detain joy, and alas, it will not remain;

Worry about old age, and suddenly it arrives.

Without knowing, one’s strength begins to fade,

But first, one’s teeth begin to come out.

Leaves fall, but with spring they grow again;

The sun sets, but at dawn it rises from the ground.

I sense time’s passing like the flowing river:

Once departed, all things are cast aside.

Both wife and child cry out in alarm

Because I look so worn and haggard.

Petty officials dine on one another;

Sharp teeth are thus a moral trap.

If they’re few, what harm in that?

I whistle this song to please myself.

Thrice Master Chuang of Meng declared,³

In nourishing life, there’s a bit of shame.

(HYTSC, 6:17b-18a)

(Tr. William Schultz)

Upper Garrison Farm:⁴ A Ballad
A Lament for a Woman Killed by the Soldiery

In the village there is a crying child;

Wail upon wail, it calls for its mother.

Its mother is dead; blood soaks her clothing,

But still she clasps it to her breast to suckle.

(HYTSC, 2:5a)

(Tr. William Schultz)

NOTES

1. The Eighteen Cataracts are located near the confluence of the Chang and the Kan rivers in Kiangsi province.

2. Yang-hou and Chiang-o: a river god and goddess, respectively.

3. Master Chuang: the ancient philosopher Chuang-tzu, or Chuang Chou.

4. “Upper Garrison Farm” (Shang-liu-t’ien) is a popular northern yüeh-fu ballad title from the Six Dynasties period.

Waiting for the Unicorn