Live in tumultuous times? Feel like the world is going to hell?
Welcome to the club. It seems like forever that humans, West and East, have felt ruination shadowing their lives, their plans, their country, their civilization. Possibly because theirs is the oldest continuous civilization on earth, the Chinese have a long history of dealing with the world going to hell, their poetry especially returning continually to methods or perspectives to deal with the reality of ruination.
Below are 14 of my favorite Chinese poems in this genre, all from the Common Era. Eight of them are from the T'ang dynasty of 619 to 907, celebrated as China's golden age of poetry. Four of them come from the Yuan dynasty (1271-1368), when Kublai Khan's Mongol Empire ruled China. The remainder are from other periods. Maybe they'll help us among the tumult of our time? Enjoy!
Down Zhongnan Mountain, by Li Po, T'ang dynasty (618 – 907)
In the evening I descend the green mountain,
The rising moon traveling along with me.
Looking back, I see the path I followed,
A blue mist covering Zhongnan Mountain.
Passing the farmhouse of a friend,
His children call from a wicket gate,
And lead me through jade bamboos
where wisteria catches my clothes.
I am glad of a chance to rest
And share wine with my friend.
We sing to the tune of the wind in the pines,
finishing our songs as the stars go down.
Being drunk and more than happy,
Between us we forget the world and its troubles.
A Boat in Spring, by Qiwu Qian, T'ang dynasty (618 – 907)
With nothing to disturb my quiet thought,
I let chance carry me along.
My boat and I, pushed by the evening breeze,
Pass flowers, and enter Jo-Ya lake,
Sailing at nightfall to a creek in the west.
I watch the Southern Dipper over the mountain
As a mist rises, hovering softly.
The moon casts slanting rays through the trees.
I put away from me every worldly matter,
And become just an old man with a fishing pole.
Mountain Stones, by Han Yu, T'ang dynasty (618 – 907)
(dedicated to Kyle and AJ)
Rough are the mountain stones, and narrow the path.
As I reach the temple, bats swoop in the dusk.
At the hall, I sit on steps and drink in rain-washed air
among round gardenia pods and huge banana leaves.
Fine Buddhas are painted on the old wall, says the priest.
Shown them by his light, I say they're wonderful.
He spreads a bed, dusts mats, and prepares my dinner.
Though coarse, the food satisfies my hunger.
At midnight, when even insects have quieted,
The mountain moon's pure light enters my door.
I leave at dawn, losing my way in the forest.
In and out, up and down amidst a heavy mist
Making brook and mountain green and purple,
huge pines and oaks loom to either side.
In swift streams I step barefoot on more mountain stones,
Water gurgling noisily and breezes puffing out my gown.
These are surely the things which make life happy.
Why must duties check us like a horse with a bit?
Well, my two old friends, treasured companions,
Shall we return here to pass our old age?
Turning Seasons: wandering in spring by Tao Qian (365 – 427)
Turning seasons spinning wildly
away, morning's majestic calm
unfolds. Out in spring clothes,
I cross the eastern fields. A few
clouds linger, sweeping mountains
clean. Gossamer mist blurs open
skies. Feeling the south wind,
young grain ripples like wings.
Boundless, the lake's immaculate
skin boundless, I rinse myself
clean in a swim. The view all distance,
all distance inciting delight,
I look deep. They say if you're
content you're satisfied easily
enough. Raising this winecup, I
smile, taken by earth's own joy.
I'm home day-in day-out, taking
things easy. Herbs and flowers
grow in rows. Trees and bamboo
gather shade. My lute is tuned
clear, and a half-jar of thick
wine waits. Unable to reach any
Golden age of great rulers,
I inhabit who I am, sad and alone.
Funeral Elegy for Myself, by Tao Qian (365 – 427)
Hu-ooo! Ai-tsai hu-ooo!
Boundless—this vast heap earth,
this bottomless heaven, how perfectly
boundless. And among the ten thousand
things born of them, to find myself
a person somehow, though a person
fated from the beginning to poverty
alone, to empty cups and bowls,
thin clothes against winter cold.
But even hauling water brought such joy,
and I sang under a load of firewood:
this life in brushwood-gate seclusion
kept my days and nights utterly full.
Spring and autumn following each other
away, there was always garden work:
some weeding here or hoeing there.
What I tended I harvested in plenty,
and to the pleasure of books, lute
strings added harmony and balance.
I'd sun in winter to keep warm,
and summers, bath in cool streams.
Never working more than hard enough,
I kept my heart at ease always,
and whatever came, I rejoiced in all
heaven had made of my span of life.
Resolute here in my little tumbledown house,
I swilled wine and scribbled poems.
Seeing what fate brings, our destiny
clear, who can live without concern?
But today, facing this final change,
I can't find anything to resent.
My wife's family came this morning,
And friends hurried over tonight.
They'll take me out into the country,
bury me where the spirit can rest
easy. O dark journey, O desolate
grave, gate opening into the dark unknown.
Build no gravemound, plant no trees—
just let the days and months pass
away. I avoided it my whole life,
so why invite songs of praise now?
Life is deep trouble. And death,
why should death be anything less?
Hu-ooo! Ai-tsai hu-ooo!
Only the Rain, by Jiang Jie (1245 – 1310)
Once, when young, I lay and listened
To the spring rain falling on a brothel roof,
Silk and silky flesh gleaming in candlelight.
Later, I heard it on the cabin roof of a small boat
As I sailed under low clouds on the Great River,
Wild geese crying out in an autumn storm.
Now, again, I hear it on the monastery roof,
My hair turned white with the passing years.
All—the joy, the sorrow, the meeting, the parting—
All are as though they had never been.
Only the rain on the roof, only the rain is the same,
Falling in streams through the winter night.
Looking for a Hermit, by Jia Dao, T'ang dynasty (618-907)
When asked, the boy under the pine
Says simply, My master's gone to gather herbs
Somewhere high amidst these mountains,
So deep in the clouds I can't tell you where.
A Night Mooring, by Meng Hao-jan, T'ang dynasty (618-907)
As my little boat sways on its mooring of mist,
And daylight wanes, old memories begin…
How wide the world was then, how close the trees to heaven,
And how clear the moon's reflection in the water…then.
Reminding Myself, by Jiao Jr, Yuan dynasty (1271-1368)
sit in the clean breeze
sleep in the high white clouds
no one can spit in your face
when you're there
hum a tune and laugh
let the rest of them
yoke themselves to millstones
hide in a hole, with peace and joy
east? it's within me
and west? that too
clouds may be thick or thin
windows may be dark or bright
take it easy,
you can break the poor old dragon's jaw
pulling teeth for "meaning".
stumble along, as upright as you can
and don't be avaricious.
who tries to hold what flashes
in the worldly storm, will drown.
flow and you'll fill the forms
stop, and you'll leave a hole
doing? within me.
and hiding? that too.
pretend to be stupid, act like a fool
pretend to be deaf, to be dumb
what can a man make that's lasting?
hum a few phrases, pour out more wine
dream white clouds coiling your green mountain pillow
see everywhere embroidered white with peonies.
flourishing? within me.
and fading? that too
In Banishment, by Ma Jr-yuan, Yuan dynasty (1271-1368)
just got a jug
and bought a fish
eyes full of cloudy mountains
unrolling like a scroll
no way to make poems in this moment
fresh breeze, bright moon
I'm just a lazy rambler
Got nothing to sell
got to get back
far away, by greening cane
among blue pines
bamboo's shade, pine's whisper
there's my hut awaiting me
the empire at peace
within my idle body
I'll tend to the paths
I'll plant five willows like Tao Qian
got to get back
by green mountains there
two acres of good ground, a little house
this idle body leapt
from the earthy soil there
the purple crabs are growing fat
and yellow aster's opening
got to get back.
once lustrous hair falls out
fair features change
I'd be ashamed to show
this muddy face in public
but the garden scene endures
the same there
a field, a house
got to get back
dawn, the mountain bird outside the window
calls the old man up from sleep
again he thinks
got to get back
shadowed by old age
he freezes, realizing suddenly
there's no way there from here
no way back at all
better find a shady spot right here
sit down on this ground
be home
At Ease in the Mountains, by Feng Tzu-chen, Yuan dynasty (1271-1368)
I moved to the very peak of T'on-ngo mountain
to become a sharp-witted woodsman
here the trees are rarely in flower
just leaves and branches tossing in the wind and rain
my friends all sing of "the return"
why depart in the first place, I ask
here, outside my door, loom mountains without end
this place you cannot buy with blood-smeared cash
Answering Vice-prefect Zhang, by Wang Wei, T'ang dynasty (618-907)
As the years pass, give me but peace,
Freedom from ten thousand matters.
I ask myself and always acknowledge:
What better than returning to the old woods?
The wind in the pines blows my sash,
The mountain moon glitters on my lute.
You ask me about good and evil fortune?
Listen! On the lake there's a fisherman singing.
Green Gulley Stream, by Wang Wei, T'ang dynasty (618-907)
To reach Yellow Flower river
Follow Green Gully stream.
Making ten thousand turns through mountains,
It barely covers a hundred li.
Rapids whish over heaped rocks;
But along thick pines, in dim light,
Water chestnuts sway in a quiet inlet,
And reeds are lush along the banks.
In my deepest heart
I know the purity of this limpid water.
Oh let me sit on some broad, flat rock
And cast a fishing line forever!
A Crafty Rascal, by Yun-k'an Tzu, Yuan dynasty (1271-1368)
my home's in the flowering mountain
my joy is purest idleness
in a rush hut by a blue grotto
at the end of a crazy winding path
at noon I take a simple meal
and when I'm full
I take up my staff
and wander to the mountain top
and gaze at the spectacle
Who envies you
oh high and mighty
all done up in purple
and dangling marks of rank
my heart's at peace
I'm satisfied with me
there aren't many in the world today
to match this
crafty rascal.
done with the human world
and pure
as darkness
nothing to hold me
nothing to restrain
the old guy here
within the grove
before blue cliffs the
moon's companion
mad and singing
drunk and dancing
smashed, filled by the wine
of endless life
In straw sandals
and a belt of hemp
in a rush raincoat
dangling an old gourd ladle
half like a fisherman
half like a woodcutter
my head like a raspberry patch
and my face like a dump
I'll bear
your laughter.
laugh at me
I understand
the moon and the wind are my friends
I sleep in the clouds
I play a jade flute
and a taste for these
may be difficult
for you to learn
laugh if you want
I understand
so I've used up a fortune…
I've thought it over carefully
and it just doesn't bother me.
Watch me straggle down this road
'til I've danced to some
paradise.
Translations
Translations of the T'ang dynasty poems are collaborations (over time and space!) of Witter Bynner/Kiang Kang-hu (The Jade Mountain, 1929), Innes Herdan (300 Tang Poems, 1973), and current author Barnett, to whom the present tense seems more charming in these poems.
Translations of the Tao Qian poems are by David Hinton (The Selected Poems of T'ao Ch'ien, 1993), very lightly edited by current author Barnett, who acknowledges his debt to and admiration for Mr. Hinton.
All the Yuan dynasty poems were translated by Jerome P. Seaton in The Wine of Endless Life: Taoist drinking songs from the Yuan Dynasty. While I present those by Ma Jr-yuan and Yun-k'an Tzu as distinct poems, they are actually selection portions of much longer poems by those authors. Other than pulling out portions of the longer poems, though, I subjected them to no important editing. My acknowledgments and admiration to Dr. Seaton.
Translation of the Jiang Jie poem is by current author Barnett.