“Waiting for the Unicorn”
Chang Hui-yen (Kao-wen), scholar, calligrapher, teacher, and poet, was a native of Wu-chin, Kiangsu province. Orphaned at the age of three, he was supported by his mother and an uncle in pursuing a classical education. He proved to be a child prodigy, and he began to teach at the age of thirteen. He received the chü-jen degree in 1786. The next year he became a tutor in a school for the nobility. Later, the death of his mother, which required his returning home to attend to her funeral arrangements, interrupted his career; and for a time he was associated with his fellow townsman Yün Ching (1757–1817), a master prose essayist. Together with Yün, Chang was known as a cofounder of the Yang-hu School of prose writing, rivaling the claims of the T’ung-ch’eng School under Yao Nai (q.v.), with a greater display of breadth of learning. Chang returned to Peking in 1799 to pass the chin-shih examination, and was later appointed as a compiler in the Hanlin Academy, after holding other minor posts. His life and career were cut short when he died of plague in 1802.
In addition to calligraphy, classical scholarship, and his reputation as a prose essayist, Chang is best known for his contributions to the study and composition of lyric poetry. Acclaimed for his archaic “seal” (chüan) style of calligraphy, Chang also wrote no less than twelve works of interpretation on the Yi-ching, exemplifying the approach taken by the Han dynasty scholars, in addition to other studies of the Yi-li (Decorum Ritual) and of the philosophical writings of Mo Tzu (fl. 479–438 B.C.). His most influential work, however, is the slim volume Tz’u-hsüan (Selected lyrics), printed in 1797, which he co-edited with his brother Chang Ch’i (1765–1833). A supplement to this anthology, known as the Hsü tz’u-hsüan, was issued in 1830, with a preface by Chang Ch’i. The lyrics in these compilations were so selected as to illustrate the doctrines Chang and his brother advocated for tz’u writing; hence, this school came to be known as the Ch’ang-chou school.
The Ch’ang-chou school of lyric poetry insisted that the tz’u should primarily embody a serious social purpose—an allegorical meaning beyond the surface meaning of words—while expressing delicate, sensitive, deeply felt, and honest emotions. Chang frequently talks about feng, sao, pi, and hsing, the purpose of which is clearly to elevate the status of tz’u writing; and one quality he advocated for lyric poetry above all others is han-hsü, which may be translated as “decorum” or “restraint.” Among the precursors of tz’u, for example, Chang had the greatest admiration for the T’ang poets Wen T’ing-yün (813?-870) and Wei Chuang (836–910); but he frequently errs by reading into some of their simple love lyrics a profound allegorical meaning. Despite this bias, however, many contemporary and later writers listened to his call for a more serious attitude toward lyric poetry as a result. His own reputation as a master of this form rests on a small collection entitled Ming-k’o tz’u, published in 1822. The best of his lyrics convey a lightness of touch and a certain freshness and delicacy, and they may well be cited to exemplify his critical theories.
(Michael Duke)
____________________
1. Man-kuei Li, ECCP, 1:42–43.
Tune: Hsiang-chien huan (Joy at Meeting)
I
Year after year, I’ve missed the season of flowers,
When springtime’s past.
The only thing to do: sort out grief and bid spring farewell.
The snow of plum flowers,
Pear blossoms under the moon:
The same thoughts of longing.
So it is that no one senses spring’s coming, only its leaving.
(No. 1 from a series of 4; MKT, p. 7)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
II
Young warbler crying through the Festival of Tombs1—
Who’s there to listen?
Even less the dawn wind, the night moon, and the cuckoo’s call.
Holding spring back,
Hurrying spring away,
As though full of feelings.
Try to change into a pair of butterflies, and wake up embracing flowers.
(No. 4 from a series of 4; MKT, p. 8)
(Tr. Michael Duke)
A royal air comes from the east: hundreds of hard battles—
Travelers point to stained spots among earth-hugging blooms,
Just beyond a hill of almond trees, and another of pine.
After a hundred years war horses still yearn for border grasses;
Marching men, eyes filled with tears, sing the Sword Ring song.2
Which one of them dares look back on the battlefield?
(MKT, pp. 13–14)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Tune: Man-t’ing fang (Courtyard Full of Fragrance)
Title: Boating on Feng Stream3 on the Double Fifth4
Clouds darken, then disperse;
The rain lessens, finally stops.
Rapid waters, newly risen, rush and roil.
Bamboo poles, light and swift—
We cross the level rapids easily. | 5 |
A few village huts among the trees—
Tea pots and wine cups warm, amid a profusion of laughter and talk.
Above the sound of the stream,
A swath of slanting sunlight—
Quite numberless these green hills. | 10 |
A place to think back on my old home:
Green oars, kingfisher feathers,
Pipes of jade and red sandalwood.5
Sad for ten years at sky’s end,
Old dreams all cut off. | 15 |
Some say our prime years are like flowing water;
Then let my thoughts of return
Follow again this mighty torrent.
But it’s quite impossible:
Feng Stream’s thousand turnings | 20 |
Will never reach White Cloud Cove.6
(MKT, pp. 8–9)
(Tr. Michael Duke)
Tune: Shui-tiao ko-t’ou (Prelude to Water Music)
Title: Composed on a Spring Day and Shown
to Yang Tzu-shan7
The spring breeze8 is a loafer
Whose handiwork is to adorn myriad blossoms.
Idly surveying here and there the shadowed flowers,
There’s only the hook of a moon aslant.
I, the master iron flautist south of the Yangtze,9 | 5 |
Must lean against a branch of fragrant snow
To blow a tune through Jade City’s10 auroral clouds.
But vauge and fleeting is the pure image,
And flying floss fills Heaven’s rim.
Let’s drift away,
10
You and me,
Floating on a cloud-borne raft.
The God of Spring will smile and say,
“In whose home will this fine sentiment lodge?”
Could it be that spring flowers will again open and fall, | 15 |
That spring breeze will again come and go,
And thus send away the prime of youth?
Beyond the flowers lies the road spring comes along;
It has never been obscured by fragrant grasses.11
(No. 1 from a series of 5; MKT, p. 4)
(Tr. An-yan Tang)
NOTES
1. The Ch’ing-ming festival.
2. Tao-huan (the curved blade of a sword) may refer to a yüeh-fu folksong title, “Shih tao-huan ko,” preserved in chüan 94 of the Yüeh-fu shih-chi. Or, it could allude to some other familiar marching song. Etymologically, tao-huan is the name of an insect, its body made up of many rings, which lies on its side when it dies, therefore resembling the curved blade of a sword.
3. In Anhwei province where Chang was a teacher from 1796 to 1799.
4. The day of the Dragon Boat Festival.
5. All precious and elegant objects remembered from his home in Wu-chin, Kiangsu.
6. Po-yün wan may be either an actual place in the poet’s home district or an image for a place of transcendent seclusion.
7. Probably a pupil of the poet. Otherwise unidentifiable.
8. The text reads Tung-feng (east wind), which is the prevailing wind in springtime.
9. The Master Iron Flautist refers to a recluse named Liu, of Wu-yi Mountain in northern Fukien, who is celebrated in a poem by the Sung Neo-Confucianist philosopher Chu Hsi (1130–1200). In the preface to the poem entitled “Iron Flute Pavilion,” Chu mentioned that Liu was a frequent companion of a friend of his, Hu Ming-chung; and one day, with Hu and several other friends, he set out for the mountains to visit this musician. And before he arrived, he heard heavenly music from Liu’s flute. During the Six Dynasties period, the appellation “Iron Flautist” was given to a man named Sun Shou-jung who was said to have gone blind at the age of six. He was later taught by a stranger, probably an immortal, the art of fortune-telling and, finally, of playing on an iron flute (before the teacher vanished).
10. The heavenly city of the Taoist Jade Emperor.
11. I.e., old friends.
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