Three Tang Dynasty Poets Read online

  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

  The river ran clear between luxuriant banks

  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.

  Marble Stairs Grievance

  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,