“Waiting for the Unicorn”
Cheng Wen-cho (Chün-ch’en; HSIAO-P’O, SHU-WEN, TA-HO SHAN-JEN) was a native of Kao-mi, Shantung province, whose father Ying-ch’i served as the governor of Honan and later Shensi provinces. Ying-ch’i was skilled in both poetry and painting, and these arts his son learned at home. Through his own efforts, Cheng Wen-cho also acquired a deep knowledge of such diverse subjects as traditional Chinese music and medicine and the ancient bronze and stone inscriptions. He received the chü-jen degree in 1875, but failed to secure a post in the regular bureaucracy. Until the fall of the dynasty in 1911, he lived in the lower Yangtze valley region, where he was employed as a mu-fu, or personal advisor to local and regional officials. Thereafter, he made his living as a painter and medical practitioner.
As a poet, Cheng Wen-cho wrote mainly in the tz’u, and in time he came to be recognized as one of the foremost exponents of this form in his day. It was because of his efforts, and those of such associates as Chu Hsiao-tsang (q.v.), that the tz’u form enjoyed a revival in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The poet Wang K’ai-Yün (q.v.) remarked on the vigorous manner of his poetry, and the modern critic Cheng Ch’ien attributes to him this same quality, as well as those of rich detail and precise attention to the requirements of the form. His poetry is richly lyrical in tone, thus inviting comparison with some of the earlier masters of the form, and reflective of both private moods and the public events of the time. His personal reaction to the intervention of western armies in suppressing the Boxer uprising is seen, for instance, in the “Yeh chin-men” poems translated below.
(William Schultz)
I
You cannot leave!
On the dark land, willows plucked in grief lie withering.
Frost crackling, the horses’ hooves coldly clip-clopping,
Geese take wing under a darkening border moon.
Floating clouds in the northwest obscure my vision,
Yet I cannot bear to recall your visage.
Yesterday a host, today merely a guest
In these blue mountains, no longer our native land!
II
You cannot stay!
For the heart breaks to see ancient palaces in autumnal hues;
Jade pavilions and chalcedony towers cast long shadows on the waves;
In the evening sun, someone stands alone.
It is said Ch’ang-an is like a chessboard,2
But I cannot ask where you lodge.
River hostels, hill stations, none do I recognize,
So, if in dream I return, which do I explore?
III
You cannot return!
Tho’ in one night the raven’s head should turn white!3
Where is this flute in mountain passes under a setting moon?
The horse nickers and turns northward.
Fish and geese4 seek quiet depths in this rivered land;
I cannot endure news of your activities.
How hateful that I cannot soar upward on manifold wings;
Under jumbled clouds, grief hangs like a shroud!
(CFYF, p. 30)
(Tr. William Schultz)
Tune: Yang-liu chih (Willow Branch)
Normally, who can explain the hurtful spring,
Or the wagering on steeds racing down catalpa lanes?
Silent, lonely is this empty city, the flying catkin gone,
The sounds of barbarian pipes now stirring up dust on its broad avenues.
(CFYF, p. 34)
(Tr. William Schultz)
Frosty moonlight flows down the stairs;
Ragged mists envelop the imperial garden.
The sad notes of nomad pipes cross the tall citadel.
Vanishing geese over frontier passes,
Cold crickets at my door, | 5 |
With broken hearts, we listen together to these sounds.
I circle the balustrade, taking bold steps;
Myriad leaves tremble; billowing winds arise in alarm
I mourn for the autumn season and my life;
But still I envy the drooping willow— | 10 |
As if knowing it has already withered.
I walk and sing of my sorrows on leaving the capital5
My precious sword lies cold;
And candles weep their profuse tears.
Nearing old age on the Central Plain, | 15 |
All I see is the frighted, dusty land.
Even the north wind is taken for frontier voices.
My dream sinks away into a sea of clouds;
Such lonely solitude, the fish and dragons have not wakened.6
A poet with a wounded heart | 20 |
In this southern region
Will grieve until death still unknown.
(CFYF, p. 75)
(Tr. Kang-i Sun Chang)
NOTES
1. As Cheng Ch’ien has pointed out, these three poems relate to the flight of the Empress Dowager Tz’u-hsi, the Kuang-hsü emperor, and other members of the court to Ch’ang-an during the occupation of Peking by the Allied Expeditionary Forces as a result of the Boxer Rebellion of 1900.
2. An allusion to the line by Tu Fu: “I’ve heard it said Ch’ang-an is like a chessboard.”
3. An allusion to the famous story “Prince Tan of Yen,” and to the miracles which preceded the prince’s escape from captivity in the state of Ch’in.
4. I.e., letters or messages.
5. Cheng was born in Peking, but left for the south during his twenties.
6. It was believed that fish and dragons slept during the day in the autumn season. See Tu Fu’s line: “While the fish and dragons sleep, the autumn river turns cold.”
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