“Waiting for the Unicorn”
(7 OCTOBER 1619–18 FEBRUARY 1692)1
Wang Fu-chih (Erh-nung; CHIANG-CHAI, CH’UAN-SHAN, YI-HU TAO-JEN, and HSI-T’ANG)— a classical scholar, philosopher, literary critic, anthologist, and poet—was a native of Heng-yang, Hunan province. Both his father, Wang Ch’ao-p’in (1570–1647), and an elder brother had achieved fame as scholars, and Wang Fu-chih followed in that tradition. He passed the provincial examination in 1642, but rapidly changing political conditions prevented his taking the final degree. When the Ming fell to the rebel armies of Li Tzu-ch’eng, he fled from Peking with his father. An ardent patriot, he joined the loyalist forces opposing the Manchu conquest, but the factionalism which plagued the southern Ming courts ultimately caused him to return to private life. For the next forty years, he secluded himself in his native place, where he cut himself off from national politics and devoted himself to his many scholarly pursuits. He was a prodigiously productive scholar and writer, but he had little influence on his own times, owing to the fact that most of his writings, which contained seditious ideas, remained in manuscript form until late in the Ch’ing era.
In breadth and profundity, Wang Fu-chih’s learning is no less impressive than his productivity and includes a valuable historical account of one of the Ming loyalist courts, a critique of traditional political and economic institutions, several short expositions of his political philosophy, and numerous studies of classical texts. He wrote commentaries on the works of the Sung dynasty Neo-Confucianist Chang Tsai (1020–1077), whose philosophical views he generally shared, and on the Chuang-tzu and several Buddhist sutras. In all of his historical and classical scholarship, he reflected the growing concern of his age for verifiable data and precise philological methods.
In addition to his philosophical writings, Wang Fu-chih was deeply concerned with the theory and practice of the literary arts. He compiled seven separate anthologies of poetry, which collectively span the entire range from ancient times to his own day, and he was a critic of remarkable perception. Especially celebrated was his theory on the fusion of ch’ing (emotion; i.e., inner experience) and ching (scene; i.e., externality) as a kind of “touchstone” for poetry. He considered them “inseperable” though “called by two different names”; and he insisted that in all good poetry “emotion” must reside in the external world being described and that all externality explored in a poem constitutes a poet’s inner experience. Directing all this is what Wang speaks of as the “mind” (yi) of the poet, or “thought,” which he considers as essential to a poem as “a general for the army, without whom the army is not an army but an inchoate mass of men.” Though anticipating the theory of “spirit and tone” (shen-yün) of Wang Shih-chen (q.v.) and later that of “worlds” (ching-chieh) of Wang Kuo-wei (q.v.), Wang Fuchih was essentially a Confucianist in his literary outlook. Yet he was never one-sided or partial; rather, he considered shih (events), li (principle of things), ch’ing (emotion), and chih (what is desired by the mind or heart) as the necessary complements of all good poetry. (For further discussion of his views, see Siu-kit Wong’s informative essay “Ch’ing and Ching in the Critical Writing of Wang Fu-chih” in Adele Austin Rickett, ed., Chinese Approaches to Literature From Confucious to Liang Ch’i-Ch’ao.) Also a prolific poet, Wang left fifteen collection of shih poetry and three separate collections of tz’u, or lyrics, in which genre he is still much admired as a master. Chu Hsiao-tsang (q.v.), for instance, regarded the patriotic sentiments and elements of personal pathos in the poetry of Wang Fu-chih as belonging to the grand tradition of the Li Sao by Ch’ü Yüan, the archtypal Chinese poet.
(Irving Lo and William Schultz)
____________________
1. S. H. Ch’i, ECCP, 2:817–819.
Sad winds rise in the middle of the night,
War horses on the border whinny in fright.
A stalwart fellow is a precious sword in a box
Which on stormy nights sings a mournful tune.
No brave general has as yet appeared; | 5 |
The desolate road north is forever blocked.
Mountain passes and rivers recede from view;
Helter-skelter, the vision of tall grasses in the mist.
I put on my coat, go out to view the placid sky;
The Milky Way is already sinking in the west. | 10 |
I can’t stop worrying over the nation’s fate.
Why bother to console myself in this life?
(No. 4 from a series of 4; WCSSWC, p. 137)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Lotus flowers will one day burst out in golden whiskers;
Lotus leaves set no store on pendant watery beads.
When waves beat duckweed apart, how you annoy me!
Waves depart but the duckweed remains, how I pity you!
(No. 7 from a series of 10; WCSSWC, p. 180)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
The level lake brings news of wild geese returning,
By winding steps crickets are already singing.
A short oar: dreams of clear waves;
A dark window: wind among fallen leaves.
Life persists in today’s affairs;
Autumn grows old in clumps of trees.
“Questioning Heaven”2—but who’s to provide answers?
Clouds over the creek obscure a broken rainbow.
(No. 6 from a series of 6; WCSSWC, p. 255)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Tune: Tieh lien hua (Butterflies Love Flowers)
Title: Withered Willows
Ask the west wind why it keeps up its lament—
Endlessly swirling, turning,
Determined to break the thread of love?
Drifting down leaf after leaf, all so callously!
The winding creek appeared long ago as far as the world’s end!
Chaotic shadows of winter crows, row upon row,
Always latching onto a setting sun—
Who is still willing to linger?
In a dream, the buds were sprouting soft yellow brocade threads,
But how hard it is to summon spring light with cicadas’ cries!
(WCSSWC, p. 592)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Tune: Fen tieh-erh (White Butterflies)
Title: On Frost
Ask even at the world’s end
How much more is there of cold love, empty feelings?
I dread springtime when wandering catkins, flying floss,
All carried by the wind,
Attach themselves to
River, sky, and crimson trees;
Flirting gracefully,
They entice the wind to set them flying.
Quietly, unbeknownst, west of the small bridge,
A rooster’s cry hurries the dawn;
When the slanting moon is still up
In the sky, everywhere, crushed pearls of dew
Fall with naught to restrain them but the sour wind.
Let all this desolation
Be confided in soft whispers to winter crows!
(WCSSWC, p. 592)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
NOTES
1. The poet’s own headnote to the title Chu-chih tz’u reads roughly as follows: “When Yang Lien-fu [the Ming poet Yang Wei-chen (1296–1370), known for his T’ieh-ya yüeh-fu, which was a collection of lyrics often treating of contemporary subjects but employing a style akin to folk songs] composed his ‘Bamboo Branch Songs,’ he had many followers. The style, however, is not true to the original, which was first invented in the Ch’ang-ch’ing reign of the T’ang dynasty but evolved from it. In this type of song, the contemporaneous is employed to express hidden, obscure meanings—to approximate the ideal of the ancient feng [referring to the ‘Airs of States’ from the Shih-ching] poetry. Here I try my hand at it.”
2. “T’ien-wen” (Questioning Heaven) is the title of a poem from the ancient collection of verses known as the Ch’u Tzu, attributed to Ch’ü Yüan. This poem deals largely with philosophical and mythological speculations.
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