Translated by G. W. Robinson and Arthur Cooper
* * *
THREE TANG DYNASTY POETS
Contents
WANG WEI (WANG YOUCHENG)
Song of the Peach Tree Spring
Marching song
The Green Stream
The distant evening view when the weather has cleared
On leaving the Wang River retreat
A walk on a winter day
Passing the mountain cloister of the holy man, T’ an-hsing, at Kanhua Temple
Return to Mount Sung
Seeing off Ch’en Tzu-fu to the east of the Yangtze
Song of the Kansu frontier
Good-bye to Li, Prefect of Tzŭchou
Watching a farewell
My Chungnan retreat
Taking the cool of the evening
LI PO (LI BAI)
Drinking with a Gentleman of Leisure in the Mountains
In the Mountains: a Reply to the Vulgar
Marble Stairs Grievance
Letter to His Two Small Children staying in Eastern Lu at Wen Yang Village under Turtle Mountain
Remembering the Eastern Ranges
For his Wife
The Ballad of Ch’ang-Kan
The Ballad of Yü-Chang
Hard Is the Journey
Old Poem
TU FU (DU FU)
Lament by the Riverside
From The Journey North: The Homecoming
The Visitor
Nine Short Songs: Wandering Breezes: 1
Nine Short Songs: Wandering Breezes: 8
The Ballad of the Ancient Cypress
From a Height
Ballad on Seeing A Pupil of the Lady Kung-Sun Dance the Sword Mime
Night Thoughts Afloat
APPENDIX The Story of the Peach Blossom Spring by T’ao Ch’ien (Tao Yuan-ming) (365–427)
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WANG WEI
Born c.699
Died c.761
LI PO
Born 701
Died 762
TU FU
Born 712
Died 770
WANG IN PENGUIN CLASSICS
Poems
LI AND TU IN PENGUIN CLASSICS
Poems
WANG WEI (WANG YOUCHENG)
* * *
Song of the Peach Tree Spring
A fisherman sailed up a river
he loved spring in the hills
On both banks peach blossom
closed over the farther reaches
He sat and looked at the red trees
not knowing how far he was
And he neared the head of the green stream
seeing no one
A gap in the hills, a way through
twists and turns at first
Then hills gave on to a vastness
of level land all round
From far away all seemed
trees up to the clouds
He approached, and there were many houses
among flowers and bamboos
Foresters meeting would exchange
names from Han times
And the people had not altered
the Ch’in style of their clothes
They had all lived near
the head of Wuling River
And now cultivated their rice and gardens
out of the world
Bright moon and under the pines
outside their windows peace
Sun up and among the clouds
fowls and dogs call
Amazed to hear of the world’s intruder
all vied to see him
And take him home and ask him
about his country and place
At first light in the alleys
they swept the flowers from their gates
At dusk fishermen and woodmen
came in on the stream
They had first come here
for refuge from the world
And then had become immortals
and never returned.
Who, clasped there in the hills,
would know of the world of men?
And whoever might gaze from the world
would make out only clouds and hills
The fisherman did not suspect
that paradise is hard to find
And his earthy spirit lived on
and he thought of his own country
So he left that seclusion not reckoning
the barriers of mountain and stream
To take leave at home and then return
for as long as it might please him.
He was sure of his way there
could never go wrong
How should he know that peaks and valleys
can so soon change?
When the time came he simply remembered
having gone deep into the hills
But how many green streams
lead into cloud-high woods –
When spring comes, everywhere
there are peach blossom streams
No one can tell which may be
the spring of paradise.
Marching song
The bugle is blown and rouses the marchers
With a great hubbub the marchers rise
The wailing notes set the horses neighing
As they struggle across the Golden River
The sun dropping down on the desert’s rim
Martial sounds among smoke and dust
We will get the rope round that great king’s neck
Then home to do homage to our Emperor.
The Green Stream
To get to the Yellow Flower River
I always follow the green water stream
Among the hills there must be a thousand twists
The distance there cannot be fifty miles
There is the murmur of water among rocks
And the quietness of colours deep in pines
Lightly lightly drifting water-chestnuts
Clearly clearly mirrored reeds and rushes
I have always been a lover of tranquillity
And when I see this clear stream so calm
I want to stay on some great rock
And fish for ever on and on.
The distant evening view when the weather has cleared
The sky has cleared and there is the vast plain
And so far as the eye can see no dust in the air
There is the outer gate facing the ford
And the village trees going down to the mouth of the stream
The white water shining beyond the fields
The blue peaks jutting behind the hills
This is no time for leisure on the land –
All hands at work in the fields to the south.
On leaving the Wang River retreat
At last I put my carriage in motion
Go sadly out from the ivied pines
Can I bear to leave these blue hills?
And the green stream – what of that?
A walk on a winter day
I walk out of the city by the eastern gate
And try to send my gaze a thousand miles
Blue hills crossed with green woods
Red sun round on the level plain
North of the Wei you get to Hantan
East of the Pass you go out to Han valley
This was where the Ch’in demesnes met
This was where the governors came to court
The cocks called in Hsienyang
And officers of state struggled for precedence
Ministers called on nob
lemen
Dukes assembled for official banquets
But Hsiang-ju became old and ill
And had to retire alone to Wuling.
Passing the mountain cloister of the holy man, T’ an-hsing, at Kanhua Temple
In the evening he took his fine cane
And paused with his guests at the head of Tiger Stream
Urged us to listen for the sound in the mountains
Then went along by the water back to his house
Profusion of lovely flowers in the wilds
Vague sound of birds in the valley
When he sits down tonight the empty hills will be still
And the pine wind will suggest autumn.
Return to Mount Sung
And my carriage jogged along on its way
And the water seemed to flow with a purpose
And in the evening the birds went back together –
Desolate town confronting an old ford
Setting sun filling the autumn hills
After a long journey, at the foot of Mount Sung
I have come home and shut my door.
Seeing off Ch’en Tzu-fu to the east of the Yangtze
Under the willows at the ford
there are few travellers left
As the boatman steers away
to the other curving shore
But my thoughts will follow you
like the spring’s returning colours
Returning from south of the Yangtze
back to the north.
Song of the Kansu frontier
Two miles galloping all the way
Another one plying the whip –
A message arrives from headquarters
The Huns have surrounded Chouch’üan
The frontier passes are all flying snow
Beacons are out, no smoke.
Good-bye to Li, Prefect of Tzŭchou
In endless valleys trees reaching to the sky
In numberless hills the call of cuckoos
And in those hills half is all rain
Streaming off branches to multiply the springs –
The native women will bring in local cloth
The men will bring you actions about potato fields
Your revered predecessor reformed their ways
And will you be so bold as to repudiate him?
Watching a farewell
Green green the willowed road
The road where they are separating
A loved son off for far provinces
Old parents left at home
He must go or they could not live
But his going revives their grief
A charge to his brothers – gently
A word to the neighbours – softly
A last drink at the gates
And then he takes leave of his friends
Tears dried, he must catch up his companions
Swallowing grief, he sets his carriage in motion
At last the carriage passes out of sight
But still at times there’s the dust thrown up from the road
I too, long ago, said good-bye to my family
And when I see this, my handkerchief is wet with tears.
My Chungnan retreat
Middle-aged, much drawn to the Way
Settled for my evening in the Chungnan foothills
Elation comes and off I go by myself
Where are the sights that I must know alone
I walk right on to the head of a stream
I sit and watch when clouds come up
Or I may meet an old woodman –
Talk, laughter, never a time to go home.
Taking the cool of the evening
Thousands of trunks of huge trees
Along the thread of a clear stream
Ahead the great estuary over which
Comes the far wind unobstructed
Rippling water wets white sands
Silver sturgeon swim in transparency
I lie down on a wet rock and let
Waves wash over my slight body
I rinse my mouth and wash my feet
Opposite there’s an old man fishing.
How many fish come to the bait –
East of the lotus leaves – useless to think about it.
LI PO (LI BAI)
* * *
Drinking with a Gentleman of Leisure in the Mountains
We both have drunk their birth,
the mountain flowers,
A toast, a toast, a toast,
again another:
I am drunk, long to sleep;
Sir, go a little –
Bring your lute (if you like)
early tomorrow!
In the Mountains: A Reply to the Vulgar
They ask me where’s the sense
on jasper mountains?
I laugh and don’t reply,
in heart’s own quiet:
Peach petals float their streams
away in secret
To other skies and earths
than those of mortals.
On Marble Stairs
still grows the white dew
That has all night
soaked her silk slippers,
But she lets down
her crystal blind now
And sees through glaze
the moon of autumn.
Letter to His Two Small Children Staying in Eastern Lu at Wen Yang Village under Turtle Mountain
Here in Wu Land mulberry leaves are green,
Silkworms in Wu have now had three sleeps:
My family, left in Eastern Lu,
Oh, to sow now Turtle-shaded fields,
Do the spring things I can never join,
Sailing Yangtze always on my own –
Let the South Wind blow you back my heart,
Fly and land it in the Tavern court
Where, to the East, there are sprays and leaves
Of one peach-tree, sweeping the blue mist;
This is the tree I myself put in
When I left you, nearly three years past;
A peach-tree now, level with the eaves,
And I sailing cannot yet turn home!
Pretty daughter, P’ing-yang is your name,
Breaking blossom, there beside my tree,
Breaking blossom, you cannot see me
And your tears flow like the running stream;
And little son, Po-ch’in you are called,
Your big sister’s shoulder you must reach
When you come there underneath my peach,
Oh, to pat and pet you too, my child!
I dreamt like this till my wits went wild,
By such yearning daily burned within;
So tore some silk, wrote this distant pang
From me to you living at Wen Yang …
Remembering the East Ranges
1
Long since I turned
to my East Ranges:
How many times
have their roses bloomed?
Have their white clouds
risen and vanished
And their bright moon
set among strangers?
2
But I shall now
take Duke Hsieh’s dancers:
With a sad song
we shall leave the crowds
And call on him
in the East Ranges,
Undo the gate,
sweep back the white clouds!
For His Wife
Three-sixty days with a muddled sot,
That is Mistress Li Po’s lot:
In what way different from the life
Of the Grand Permanent’s wife?
The Ballad of Ch’ang-Kan
(The Sailor’s Wife)
1
I with my hair fringed on my forehead,
Breaking blossom, was romping outside:
And you rode up on your bamboo steed,
Round garden beds we juggled green plums;
Living alike in Ch’ang-kan village
We were both small, without doubts or guile …
When at fourteen I became your bride
I was bashful and could only hide
My face and frown against a dark wall:
A thousand calls, not once did I turn;
I was fifteen before I could smile,
Long to be one, like dust with ashes:
You’d ever stand by pillar faithful,
I’d never climb the Watcher’s Mountain!
I am sixteen but you went away
Through Ch’ü-t’ang Gorge, passing Yen-yü Rock
And when in June it should not be passed,
Where the gibbons cried high above you.
Here by the door our farewell footprints,
They one by one are growing green moss,
The moss so thick I cannot sweep it,
And fallen leaves: autumn winds came soon!
September now: yellow butterflies
Flying in pairs in the west garden;
And what I feel hurts me in my heart,
Sadness to make a pretty face old …
Late or early coming from San-pa,