“Waiting for the Unicorn” | Open Indiana

Chao Chih-hsin (Shen-fu; CH’IU-KU, YI-SHAN), poet and calligrapher, was born in Yi-tu, Shantung province. He was a precocious young scholar, receiving his hsiu-ts’ai degree at the age of fourteen and his chin-shih at eighteen. He became a compiler in the Hanlin Academy, an editor of the Ming-shih, and a friend of such luminaries as Chu Yi-tsun (q.v.) and Mao Ch’i-ling (1623–1716). He later became a secretary in the Supervisorate of Imperial Instruction, at which time his potentially illustrious career came to a halt due to his friendship with another great poet, Hung Sheng (q.v.).

In the autumn of 1689, Chao attended a special showing of Hung Sheng’s drama Ch’ang-sheng tien (The Palace of Everlasting Life)—unfortunately at a time when a member of the imperial family had just died and there was a proscription on such frivolous entertainments. An imperial censor whom Chao had earlier rebuffed in an arrogant manner took this opportunity to attack him and the other scholars who attended the performance. Hung Sheng and Chao were both dismissed from office at the time. At the age of twenty-eight, Chao’s official career came to an end, and he never held another office.

In his retirement, he traveled widely in southern China, made many friends, and devoted himself to the writing of poetry and literary criticism. Although he was related by marriage to Wang Shih-chen (q.v.), he was a strong opponent of Wang’s “spirit and tone,” or shen-yün theory of poetry, attacking Wang in his T’an-lung-lu (1709). His Yi-shan shih-chi, in twenty chüan, was published in its first complete edition in 1752, eight years after his death. Most of his poetry is occasional, and a very great deal of it is concerned with the depiction of nature during Chao’s travels. For the most part he writes very calm, almost wistful descriptions of nature in the style of the T’ang and Sung masters. He also left a manual on prosody, under the title of Shengtiao p’u, which contains his views on the rules for the “even” (p’ing) and “deflected” (tse) tones in T’ang poetry.

(Michael S. Duke)

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1.Chao-ying Fang, ECCP, 1:71.

A Mid-Autumn Night

The autumn air banishes lingering rains,

An empty courtyard invites distant breezes– –

One glass of mulberry dew wine,

At midnight in the moon-bright season.

A longtime traveler feels the night is endless,

In early coldness grows drunk too slowly.

Still resigns his bleak and lonely feelings

To a rendezvous with far-off chrysanthemums.

(YSSC, 1:3a-3b)

(Tr. Michael S. Duke)

Fireflies

Once more coming through the door with rain,

Suddenly flying over the wall on the wind,

Although they need the grass to achieve their nature,

They do not depend on the moon for light.

Understanding the secluded one’s feelings,

I briefly invite them to dwell in my gauze bag.

Just look: falling through vast empty space,

How do they differ from the great stars’ rays?

(YSSC, 2:5a)

(Tr. Michael S. Duke)

Presented to a Mountain Dweller

Looking like a wild deer sleeping against the cliffs,

Casually wandering out of the valleys with the flowing streams.

Since the travelers asked him about the frosty trees,

They all came to know his face, but do not know his name.

(YSSC, 3:2b)

(Tr. Michael S. Duke)

On Poetry

An expert painter who scrutinizes a marvelous scene is equal to a god:

High and low, he dabs on the crimson and the blue to draw trees in October.

He ought to know that autumn’s colors are the brightest

Only where the quiet hills are caught in the sun’s dying glow.

(No. 1 in a series of 2; YSSC, 7:6a)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

Miscellaneous Poems on Mountain Travel: Two Selections

Where the summit road twists and turns, I’m soon to lose my way,

With close of day comes frost and sleet, and sudden chills arising;

Winds slip through the forest trees and then the leaves,

Coldness wanes in the valley depths, which now turn into mud;

As my horse’s hoofs rear back in fright, I suspect the earth has vanished,

Where valley clouds gather in drifts, I sense the sky has lowered;

A weary traveler should not be surprised when frightened time and again:

It’s late in the year, the mountains are empty, and birds are jabbering crazily.

Evening clouds suddenly scatter and peaks come into view,

A distant temple’s tolling bells bring sadness to my thoughts;

Heaps of snow are fitting indeed to reflect the new moonlight,

Gentle mists cannot conceal cascades streaming in darkness.

I make my way like a nesting bird, hurrying home to the forest,

I envy the comfort of a mountain monk, dozing off, clutching at his quilt;

A welcome wind from the valley stirs, sending me on my way,

A single lamp flickers and dims within the lookout tower.

(Nos. 1 and 2 from a series of 4; YSSC, 1:5b-6a)

(Tr. James M. Hargett)

Waiting for the Unicorn