“Waiting for the Unicorn” | Open Indiana

Ho Shao-chi (Tzu-chen; TUNG-CHOU, YÜAN-SOU) was a native of Tao-chou, Hunan province. After he received his chin-shih degree in 1836, Ho pursued an official career, serving as a member of the Hanlin Academy and in numerous local government positions all over south China. In 1852 while serving in Szechwan province, Ho was removed from his post for criticizing the central government. He spent the rest of his life teaching in local academies and eventually settled in the city of Soochow, where he supervised a publishing firm and edited the Thirteen Classics. During his own lifetime, Ho was perhaps even more famous as a calligrapher than a poet (he and three brothers were all famed for their mastery of this art form), and today he is considered one of the greatest nineteenth-century calligraphers with a highly original style derived from intensive study of Wei and T’ang dynasty inscriptions.

Ho Shao-chi was a major figure in the nineteenth-century revival of interest in Sung dynasty shih poetry, and the influence of the great Sung masters is evident in the spontaneity and joi de vivre of Ho’s verse. Although his poetry covers a wide range, his most delightful poems are surely his descriptions of the Chinese landscape, written during his extensive travels. Unlike some of the more innovative nineteenth-century poets, Ho’s works, collected under the title Tung-chou ts’ao-t’ang shih-ch’ao for shih style poems and Tung-chou ts’ao-t’ang shih-yü for tz’u poems, seldom touch on social or political themes, but his warm sense of humor makes up for any apparent deficiencies in this area. In the preface to his complete poetic works, Ho wrote: “I neither enjoy nor presume to write heroic, ornamented, or critical lines.” Although he has been somewhat unfairly taken to task by contemporary critics for his lack of social criticism, the naturalness and simplicity of Ho Shao-chi’s verse is difficult to resist.

(J.D. Schmidt)

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1. Man-kuei Li, ECCP, 1:287–288.

I Love Mountains

This poet loves mountains like his own flesh and blood;

All day he opens his door to gaze, can’t get his fill.

There were originally no poems in this poet’s belly,

So every day he reads green mountains just like a book.

I’ve been north of the Hsiang River for half a year;

Peaks twist, crags bow, leaning on each other.

Mountain mists, turquoise hues, captivating as rain,

Fly to me and drench my traveler’s robes.

Then I recall jet-black worldly dust deep as the sea,

Totally absent from thoughts of mountains and water.

I know too well my face and eyes are dirty, defiled,

So, facing these green mountains, I’m ashamed of myself.

When a poet who loves mountains doesn’t live in the mountains,

He doesn’t understand mountain thoughts; how churlish!

White clouds send this traveler across the river,

While the green mountains stand eternally, looking compassionate.

(Chen, pp. 77–78)

(Tr. J.D. Schmidt)

Mountain Rain

In my bamboo rainhat, I avoid tree branches dripping with dew;

The first cool weather, just right for a country excursion.

Mountain torrent clouds gather everywhere by themselves,

And mountain rain arrives suddenly before you know it.

Riding on horseback, I let my hat and robe get drenched;

Melons and beans by the village side are scattered, scraggly.

The weather clears, peaks and crags emerge;

Myriad waterfalls fly in unison, just one more miracle!

(Chen, p. 86)

(Tr. J.D. Schmidt)

A Contrary Wind

A cold rain beats the river, the wind’s contrary, too;

The boatmen get mad at me for constantly opening the door:

“Listen, if it weren’t for the green mountain hues,

Why would I be bouncing around midst the white waves?!”

(Chen, p. 111)

(Tr. J.D. Schmidt)

Samantabhadra Facing Westward¹

Can this night be tonight?

Can this village be real?

Once we reach the top of Mount Omei,

We can feel perplexed to no end.

To the east we gaze at Honan and Shantung, to the west tribal land;

To the north we behold Shensi and Shansi, to the south Hunan and Hupeh.

But, for upwards of five years, in my reckoning,

All these places have been turned into battlefields.

All I can see: cities in ruins, subjects maimed;

Brave generals killed, weakling ministers fleeing;

Yamens and temples turned into scorched earth;

Women, children driven hither and yon like sheep!

People’s wealth commandeered into the treasury!

Broiling one’s own flesh will not cure an ulcer.

Calamities not averted, how can you be the King of Spirituality?²

Bandits not slaughtered, how can you be the true Vajra?³

Of late, the greater barbarians wriggle and plot,

Coveting our stronghold, encroaching upon our territory.

Why can’t you put them to the torch with your Wisdom’s Flame?

Why can’t you wave your shining Sword of Intelligence?

Control, subdue them with the strength of a true and brave Vajra?

Soften, transform them with mercy and compassion?

And yet you’ve claimed for your own this clean, quiet place;

Keeping quiet, looking down on the hurly-burly of mankind below!

At the foot of the mountain, thousands and tens of thousands,

All year long come to burn incense before their Buddha.

Children follow on grandfathers’ and grandmothers’ heels;

They spend the night in cold corridors, under rain;

They sell off grain or silk for money,

To provide meals to feed the monks.

Greater hardships are in store for travelers to foreign lands;

For myriads of miles, they walk through rain and frost.

My heart’s in turmoil, there’s no recourse;

Coming here to complain to Buddha, isn’t it preposterous?

The bodhisattva, too, is deserving of pity;

His radiance long gone, he sits ashen-faced.

Glum like wood, sorrowing, and facing west,

He dares not turn his head to look eastward;

For ten thousand years, stiffly sitting, watching the sunset.

(Ch’en, p. 99)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

NOTES

1. I.e., P’u-hsien, the Chinese name for Samantabhadra Visvabhadra, Lord of the Fundamental Law of Buddhism. He and Manjusri are the right- City Has Been Burned Downand left-hand assistants of Buddha, respectively representing Law and Wisdom. He rides on a white elephant and is the patron of the Lotus Sutra and its devotees. His region is in the east, and he is usually represented with a sword, indicative of the Law as the basis of Wisdom. The temple to P’u-hsien, who is seated on a huge white elephant, is located in Wan-nien Monastery on Omei Mountain in Szechwan. It is still visited by worshippers today, and it is also a mecca for foreign tourists.

2. The text reads k’ung-wang, which, in Buddhism, refers to the king of immateriality or spirituality—Buddha, who is lord of all things.

3. The text reads chin-kang, Vajra or Thunderbolt, or any one of the beings represented with the Vajra, employed by the esoteric sects as a symbol of wisdom and power over illusion and evil spirits.

Waiting for the Unicorn