A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems Part 24

[74] Died A.D. 340. Giles, 2526.

MADLY SINGING IN THE MOUNTAINS

There is no one among men that has not a special failing: And my failing consists in writing verses.

I have broken away from the thousand ties of life: But this infirmity still remains behind.

Each time that I look at a fine landscape: Each time that I meet a loved friend, I raise my voice and recite a stanza of poetry And am glad as though a G.o.d had crossed my path.

Ever since the day I was banished to Hsun-yang Half my time I have lived among the hills.

And often, when I have finished a new poem, Alone I climb the road to the Eastern Rock.

I lean my body on the banks of white stone: I pull down with my hands a green ca.s.sia branch.

My mad singing startles the valleys and hills: The apes and birds all come to peep.

Fearing to become a laughing-stock to the world, I choose a place that is unfrequented by men.

RELEASING A MIGRANT "YEN" (WILD GOOSE)

At Nine Rivers,[75] in the tenth year,[76] in winter,--heavy snow; The river-water covered with ice and the forests broken with their load.[77]

The birds of the air, hungry and cold, went flying east and west; And with them flew a migrant "yen," loudly clamouring for food.

Among the snow it pecked for gra.s.s; and rested on the surface of the ice: It tried with its wings to scale the sky; but its tired flight was slow.

The boys of the river spread a net and caught the bird as it flew; They took it in their hands to the city-market and sold it there alive.

I that was once a man of the North am now an exile here: Bird and man, in their different kind, are each strangers in the south.

And because the sight of an exiled bird wounded an exile's heart, I paid your ransom and set you free, and you flew away to the clouds.

Yen, Yen, flying to the clouds, tell me, whither shall you go?

Of all things I bid you, do not fly to the land of the north-west In Huai-hsi there are rebel bands[78] that have not been subdued; And a thousand thousand armoured men have long been camped in war.

The official army and the rebel army have grown old in their opposite trenches; The soldier's rations have grown so small, they'll be glad of even you.

The brave boys, in their hungry plight, will shoot you and eat your flesh; They will pluck from your body those long feathers and make them into arrow-wings!

[75] Kiukiang, the poet's place of exile.

[76] A.D. 815. His first winter at Kiukiang.

[77] By the weight of snow.

[78] The revolt of Wu Yuan-chi.

TO A PORTRAIT PAINTER WHO DESIRED HIM TO SIT

_You_, so bravely splashing reds and blues!

Just when _I_ am getting wrinkled and old.

Why should you waste the moments of inspiration Tracing the withered limbs of a sick man?

Tall, tall is the Palace of Ch'i-lin;[79]

But my deeds have not been frescoed on its walls.

Minutely limned on a foot of painting silk-- What can I do with a portrait such as _that_?

[79] One of the "Record Offices" of the T'ang dynasty, where meritorious deeds were ill.u.s.trated on the walls.

SEPARATION

Yesterday I heard that such-a-one was gone; This morning they tell me that so-and-so is dead.

Of friends and acquaintances more than two-thirds Have suffered change and pa.s.sed to the Land of Ghosts.

Those that are gone I shall not see again; They, alas, are for ever finished and done.

Those that are left,--where are they now?

They are all scattered,--a thousand miles away.

Those I have known and loved through all my life, On the fingers of my hand--how many do I count?

Only the prefects of T'ung, Kuo and Li And Feng Province--just those four.[80]

Longing for each other we are all grown gray; Through the Fleeting World rolled like a wave in the stream.

Alas that the feasts and frolics of old days Have withered and vanished, bringing us to this!

When shall we meet and drink a cup of wine And laughing gaze into each other's eyes?

[80] Yuan Chen (d. 831), Ts'ui Hsuan-liang (d. 833), Liu Yu-hsi (d. 842), and Li Chien (d. 821).

HAVING CLIMBED TO THE TOPMOST PEAK OF THE INCENSE-BURNER MOUNTAIN

Up and up, the Incense-burner Peak!

In my heart is stored what my eyes and ears perceived.

All the year--detained by official business; To-day at last I got a chance to go.

Grasping the creepers, I clung to dangerous rocks; My hands and feet--weary with groping for hold.

There came with me three or four friends, But two friends dared not go further.

At last we reached the topmost crest of the Peak; My eyes were blinded, my soul rocked and reeled.

The chasm beneath me--ten thousand feet; The ground I stood on, only a foot wide.

If you have not exhausted the scope of seeing and hearing, How can you realize the wideness of the world?

The waters of the River looked narrow as a ribbon, P'en Castle smaller than a man's fist.

How it clings, the dust of the world's halter!

It chokes my limbs: I cannot shake it away.

Thinking of retirement,[81] I heaved an envious sigh, Then, with lowered head, came back to the Ants' Nest.

[81] _I.e._, retirement from office.

EATING BAMBOO-SHOOTS

My new Province is a land of bamboo-groves: Their shoots in spring fill the valleys and hills.

The mountain woodman cuts an armful of them And brings them down to sell at the early market.

Things are cheap in proportion as they are common; For two farthings, I buy a whole bundle.

I put the shoots in a great earthen pot And heat them up along with boiling rice.

The purple nodules broken,--like an old brocade; The white skin opened,--like new pearls.

Now every day I eat them recklessly; For a long time I have not touched meat.

All the time I was living at Lo-yang They could not give me enough to suit my taste, Now I can have as many shoots as I please; For each breath of the south-wind makes a new bamboo!

THE RED c.o.c.kATOO

Sent as a present from Annam-- A red c.o.c.katoo.

Coloured like the peach-tree blossom, Speaking with the speech of men.

And they did to it what is always done To the learned and eloquent.

They took a cage with stout bars And shut it up inside.