A Green-Shaded Window
(To the Tune of Pusaman)
Wen Tingyun (812–870)
The bright moon, the jade tower –
the long memories …
The willow shoots swing so softly
in the languid spring breeze.
The weeds grown high beyond our gate
obliterated your departing figure,
but not your horse’s neigh.
Against the satin valance
painted with flying golden kingfishers,
a perfumed candle dissolves in tears.
Amid withering flowers and weeping cuckoos,
appears a green-shaded window,
still lost in dream.
A considerable number of Wen Tingyun’s poems are in ci form, set to specific tunes. They are not part of the titles, merely indicating something like a Petrarchan sonnet or Shakespearean sonnet in terms of versification.
Water-Hourglass
(To the Tune of Genglouzi)
Wen Tingyun (812–870)
The willow shoots long, the spring rain light,
Beyond the flowers, the water-hourglass
Drip, drop by drop –
Distantly, flushing the wild geese
at the frontier and the birds
on the ancient city wall,
but not the golden partridge
painted on the screen here.
The thin mist of the incense comes
through the embroidered curtain.
Overlooking the pond, her room is wrapped
in solitude. Against a red candle,
behind the brocade valence hung low,
her dream is long, unknown to him.
Thousands of Woes
(To the Tune of Dream of the South)
Wen Tingyun (812–870)
Thousands of woes!
And the saddest woe comes
when he chooses to stay far,
far away, at another end
of the world. The moon shining
above the mountains does not know
the worry in my heart. The breeze
rippling the water, petals keep falling
in vain. Obliquely, the azure clouds
start swaying, swaying.
Fragrance from the Jade Burner
(To the Tune of Genglouzi)
Fragrance from the jade burner,
tear drops from the red candles,
come reflecting her autumn thought,
stubbornly, in the superb room.
The mascara fading thin,
the cloud-like hair disheveled,
the night is so long, and the quilt,
the pillows feel chilly.
The Chinese parasol tree,
the rain tapping at midnight,
there’s no telling the sadness
of separation. One leaf
after another falling,
one pattering after another
beating on the empty steps
till the arrival of dawn.
Red Promenade Skirt
Wu Zetian (624–705)
Missing you in tears, day
and night, I am so devastated,
seeing scarlet as green in a trance –
Unbelievable, I take out the red
promenade skirt from the trunk
to double-check the color.
Wu Zetian was the first empress in Chinese history. She started by serving as a palace lady – lower in status than an imperial concubine – with the first emperor of the Tang Dynasty, Emperor Taizong, who took a liking to her. After his death, she was put into a Daoist nunnery, where, even as a nun, she carried on in secret with his ninth son, Emperor Gaozong, and later married him and became his empress. The poem was said to be written in the days of her secret, difficult relationship with him, which was considered a scandal in the light of Confucianist ethics. The poem was composed during that period. With Emperor Gaozong in poor health, and then after his death, she became the de facto ruler of China, the only empress regnant in Chinese history. She ruled from 665 to 690 through her husband and sons. It was a period marked with court conspiracies. A competent ruler, she had a number of capable officials working under her, including Judge Dee.
The Robe to Dee Renjie with the Inscription
Wu Zetian (624–705)
An incorruptible mainstay for the Empire
you have worked so hard and diligently
at the prominent official position,
and are truly the best example
to all your colleagues.
It was considered a great honor for an official to be given a robe, particularly with an inscription on it by the Empress Wu. Judge Dee was one really trusted by her. She was said to have broken down, weeping bitterly on Judge Dee’s death, declaring, ‘Now the court is empty!’ Afterward, when confronted with difficult decisions, she would say, ‘Why should the Old Heaven deprive me of my capable premier!’
The Stars Spreading Out
Han Shan (active in the early eighth century)
The stars spreading out, far and wide,
present a deeper, sincerer night sky.
Refusing to sink, the moon
hangs on like a solitary light burning
against the steep mountain cliff.
No need for any polishing,
the moon appears so round, bright:
suspending still in the night sky
is my very heart.