“Waiting for the Unicorn” | Open Indiana

Cheng Chen (Tzu-yin; TZU-WENG, WU-CH’IH TAO-JEN), a native of Tsun-yi, Kweichow province, was a poet, scholar, painter, calligrapher, and minor education official. His grandfather and father were both physicians, but Cheng Chen studied for the civil service examinations, in which he successfully completed the first and second degrees. After failing in the metropolitan, or chin-shih, examination, he applied for appointment to the civil service and was subsequently named a subdirector of schools. He served in that capacity in several different districts in his native province, and later taught in the Hsiang-ch’uan Academy in Tsun-yi. Just before his death in 1864, he was notified of a new appointment by the eminent statesman Tseng Kuo-fan (1811–1872).

His scholarly interests resulted in several philological studies, a work on sericulture, and an anthology of poems by men of his native district. He also compiled the local gazeteer of Tsun-yi with the help of his friend Mo Yu-chih (1811–1871), who was a noted bibliophile and also a poet of some repute.

Along with Chin Ho and Huang Tsun-hsien (qq.v.), Cheng Chen is regarded by some Chinese critics as one of the best shih poets of the middle and late nineteenth century. He manifested no interest in the decorative or highly allusive styles, but instead preferred a simple, unencumbered diction and a realistic manner. Those poems written before the outbreak of violence in Kweichow, which are characteristic of the Ch’ao-ching-ch’ao shih-chi (Nesting in the Nest of the Classics Poetry Collection), mainly reflect a subdued, quiet lyricism untouched by classical aestheticism. On the other hand, the poems of the last decade of his life, when local banditry, Miao uprisings, and the invasion of Kweichow, Szechwan, and neighboring provinces by the Taiping leader Shih Ta-k’ai (1821?–1863) caused widespread destruction and human suffering for his fellow provincials, reflect a distinct change of mood and manner. Those momentous events became the subject matter or the background for many of the poems collected under the titles Ch’ao-ching-ch’ao shih hou-chi and Ch’ao-ching-ch’ao i-shih. As both a witness to and a victim of troubled times, Cheng Chen recorded those events in richly descriptive detail, including several long narrative poems which tell of family and friends having to flee from rebel raids on his home town. Objectively realistic in manner, sometimes sharply critical in tone, his war poems are richly evocative of the harrowing uncertainties of life in a world ravaged by civil strife and rebellion.

(William Schultz)

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1. Chao-ying Fang, ECCP, 1:107–108.

Evening Prospect

Toward evening on an ancient plain,

Far, far away is the spring of antiquity.

Dark clouds gather up the departing birds;

Travelers emerge from jasper stalks of grain.

Before autumn, the hue of the water is undisturbed;

After a rain, the face of the mountain is cleansed.

I only regret that on either side of the creek,

Nine families out of ten are destitute.

(CCCSC, 2:5a)

(Tr. Chang Yin-nan)

Miscellaneous Poems Composed While Drinking Wine
in the Hsia Mountains

Tall willows canopy the thrashing ground with their shade;

White water lilies, green bamboo, and the same old pond.

Past events of the last ten years, no one remembers;

Alone, I watch the yellow chicks pecking at the sunset.

Butterflies and dragonflies come in succession,

Yet nothing surpasses this cup in hand to rejoice my heart.

It’s half a year ago I paid the price for a hill.

Just ask yourself: How many times have you been there?

(Nos. 4 and 10 from a series of 12; CCCSC, 5:8b)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

Responding to [T’ao] Yüan-ming’s “Drinking Wine” Poems

In the seventh month of the jen-yin year [1842], I returned home tired from the district office and did not wish to go out. Every time I drank several cups of wine, I would feel inspired to write something to respond to the poems by T’ao [Ch’ien]. By the tenth month, I had accumulated many, many poems. I have now discarded what was merely repetitious and saved enough to express my feelings.

Sad, sad is the bird in a cage:

All its life, it chases the four corners.

Man is the quintessence of all things,

And yet he’s confined to No Exit.

How does he compare with horses and oxen?

Driven alike by fame and profit.

Alas, he dies halfway on his journey home,

Without a single thing to call his own.

Is it that his mansion is not commodious?

It’s only that none can live there forever.

Born to cling to this human road,

Who can deviate from its path?

Twisting, turning, there’s no other way.

Alas, both the Buddha and Lao Tzu

Exhausted all their ideas,

Only one day to stiffen and die.

Since dying for naught benefits no one,

Isn’t it best to submit to life?

A pot of wine in front of you—

Is truly a priceless treasure.

Let me place myself always in the crowd

And watch you climb to the pinnacle.

(Nos. 10 and 11 from a series of 20; CCCSC, 6:4a)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

Reading beside Ox Rail River¹

I read books beside Ox Rail River,

I cook food next to Ox Rail River.

Both of these things are acts of purity,

But how do I deserve this situation!

By reading, I seek only to please my mind;

By eating, I seek only to fill my belly.

What has this to do with heaps of dung,

Or with questions of good and bad fortune?

Dim, dim the light from the small window;

Bright, bright the charcoal fire.

Huffing, puffing, this mustachioed old man

Sits the whole day long, turning pages.

For ten days or more the rain has fallen,

Thus making me aware of my lame back and knees.

When I arrived, the apricot was coming into bloom;

Getting up to look, I see they’ve already fallen.

(Nos. 1 and 2 from a series of 3; CCCSHC, 4:8a)

(Tr. William Schultz)

A Discussion of Poetry to Demonstrate to the Students
the Coming of a New Age

I really can’t write poetry,

But perhaps I understand its meaning:

The language must be one’s own language,

Though the words are the ancients’ words.

It is indeed proper to read many books,

Even more to nourish and honor the spirit.

When the spirit is correct, then the self exists;

When the study is sufficient, they are mutually helpful.

Li Po and Tu Fu, Wang Wei and Meng Hao-jan—

In talent, each is like the other.

A sheep in essence, a tiger only in appearance,

Tho’ cleverly deceptive, it’s still a fake.

From of old those who are established in words

Are never those who follow the vulgar mode.

Please consider those flowers admitted to first rank:

Their branches and stems must first be different.

And consider that when bees make honey

All stamens share a single flavor.

Pattern and essence must truly harmonize;

The writing of poetry is surely a secondary thing.²

Human talent has always been hard to come by;

Treasure your talent, never stop halfway.

Aging and ridden with illnesses,

Scruffy and stale, unfit for this world,

I return to a different landscape.

When will I see you gentlemen again?

In your thoughts, please ponder my words;

When you chance upon something, always drop me a line.

(CCCSC, 7:12b)

(Tr. William Schultz)

On Hearing that the Market Outside the East Gate of the
City Has Been Burned Down

From Lord Wu’s Bridge, by Master Sung’s Hollow, to Mu-lai Gate—

One long market crowded shoulder to shoulder for seven li.

For over two hundred years a thriving city;

Several thousand Long-hair rebels³ have emptied its walls.

It is as if Heaven wished to punish the immoral and crafty,

Otherwise, how can these rebel flames indulge their sly stubborness?

Day after day we’ve seen the murderous crowd slaughtered,

But who knows when the people’s innate vitality can be restored?

(CCCSHC, 1:9b)

(Tr. William Schultz)

On Hearing that on the Sixteenth Day of the Tenth Month
the Magistrate of Li-po, Chiang Hsiao-yün, tzu Chia-ku,
of Shao-hsing [Chekiang province] Attacked the Rebels
at Shui-ts’o River Forty li East of the City: They
Overwhelmed His Forces and Killed Him

The Cold Miao, the Savage Miao, rose up in revolt,⁴

For two months we’ve relied on three hundred home guards.

Our granaries smashed, cellars emptied, we’ve nothing left,

And if we can’t hold out, we’ll die in battle.

Alas! The great officials sit and watch, as if unaware;

When one magistrate dies, it’s like a chicken being slaughtered.

Heaven made their kind to destroy our Kweichow land;

Your duty has been fulfilled, so of what use are tears!

(CCCSHC, 2:9a)

(Tr. William Schultz)

A Lament for Those Who Hanged Themselves

Before the tigerish soldiers leave, tigerish bailiffs arrive

To press for payments of late taxes, their voices like thunder.

Their thunderous voices still audible, the sounds of crying arise;

A man comes forward to report that his father has already died.

The senior official grinds his teeth, his eyes flashing angrily:

“I don’t want your life; I only want your money,

But if you think by becoming a ghost, I’ll kindly reduce the charge,

Perhaps not a single person in the district will survive!”

He ordered that the man be seized

And given one hundred lashes.

“To give your father a bad reputation is the most heinous of crimes;

If you’d solve your father’s dilemma, hurry off for a hundred cash.”

Alas! A house was sold in Northgate and even the insects fled;

In Westgate there’re also reports of people hanging themselves, three or five.

(CCCSHC, 4:11b)

(Tr. William Schultz)

NOTES

1. A river which rises in Yunnan Province and flows north to join the Chin-sha River, a major tributary of the Yangtze River.

2. An allusion to Confucius’s view of literature, which often places literature (wen) below moral conduct (hsing) or learning in importance. In line eleven of the poem, the poet quotes directly from the Lun-yü.

3. I.e., the army of the Taiping leader Shih Ta-k’ai.

4. The Chinese records often designate different Miao tribes according to the dominant color of their traditional tribal dress, but in some instances the origin of a specific designation is less readily apparent, as in the case of the Cold (Ping) Miao, which one source explains as indicating the ability of that tribe to endure cold weather.

Waiting for the Unicorn