Poets From China

"戰哭多新鬼，愁吟獨老翁。 亂雲低薄暮，急雪舞迴風。 瓢棄尊無綠，爐存火似紅。 數州訊息斷，愁坐正書空。"

"Birds the more white, against green stream Blooms burst to flame, against blue hills I glance, the spring is gone again. What day, what day, can I go home?"

"China's greatest poet."

"余嘗西至空峒，北過涿鹿，東漸於海，南浮江淮矣，至長老皆各往往稱黃帝、堯、舜之處，風教固殊焉，總之不離古文者近是。"

"吳王曰：「將軍罷休就舍，寡人不願下觀。」孫子曰：「王徒好其言，不能用其實。」於是闔廬知孫子能用兵，卒以為將。西破彊楚，入郢，北威齊晉，顯名諸侯，孫子與有力焉。"

"There is no fixed road to wealth, and money has no permanent master."

"He had no penchant for beauty of style, but aimed merely to make his record complete... We shall find none of the brilliance of Taine in the pages of Szuma Ch’ien, no charming gossip and anecdotes in the style of Herodotus, no sober concatenation of cause and effect as in Thucydides, no continental vision pictured in music as in Gibbon; for history seldom rises, in China, from an industry to an art. From Szuma Ch’ien to his namesake Szuma Kuang, who, eleven hundred years later, attempted again a universal history of China, the Chinese historians have labored to record faithfully—sometimes at the cost of their income or their lives—the events of a dynasty or a reign; they have spent their energies upon truth, and have left nothing for beauty. Perhaps they were right, and history should be a science rather than an art; perhaps the facts of the past are obscured when they come to us in the purple of Gibbon or the sermons of Carlyle. But we, too, have dull historians, and can match any nation in volumes dedicated to record—and gather—dust."

"[Su Wu] relates how he shed tears during this separation, and urges his wife to remember their first love. He vows to return to her if he survives his ordeal, but if he dies first, then he hopes she will remember him with love. The courtly tone of his message to his wife, and his expression of integrity are mirrored in Su Wu's political life. In captivity he was offered the chance of liberty if he renounced his country, but he refused to become a traitor, for which he was honoured on his return."

"I suddenly remember the distance that I must travel; I spring from bed and look out to see the time. The stars and planets are all grown dim in the sky; Long, long is the road; I cannot stay. I am going on service, away to the battle-ground, And I do not know when I shall come back. I hold your hand with only a deep sigh; Afterwards, tears—in the days when we are parted. With all your might enjoy the spring flowers, But do not forget the time of our love and pride. Know that if I live, I will come back again, And if I die, we will go on thinking of each other."

"[A Protest in the Sixth Year of Ch'ien Fu is] perhaps the most widely-known short antiwar poem in Chinese literature."

":::: —Tsao Sung: War"

"Ts'ao is noted for finally passing his chin-shih examination when he was over seventy along with four other septuagenarians. In his poetry he took Chia Tao as his model."

"泽国江山入战图， 生民何计乐樵苏； 凭君莫话封侯事， 一将功成万骨枯。"

"The years of the were the golden age of Chinese poetry. Nearly fifty thousand poems written during these 300 years are still extant. ...Up to 755 A.D. the Tang Dynasty was in the heyday of its political and military power and its emperors waged a whole series of aggressive wars against China's neighbours. Many were the soldiers who died on the frontiers in these wars, and many were the widowed! Numerous poems were written about the frontier wars and about women lamenting their soldier husbands. Many of the verses composed in the Tang Dynasty and frequently on the lips of the people bitterly exposed the effects of unjust wars on different classes and types of men. For example:"

"::::-Kao Shih: Ballail of Yert-->"

"For already I have learned, that a general's fame stands on a pile of dry bones Of what were once the people."

"Yuan Mei was a revolutionary in the world of poetry."

"If I can rejoice for a moment, Death at an early age would still be a long life."

"I've ever thought it passing odd How all men reverence some God, And wear their lives out for his sake And bow their heads until they ache. 'Tis clear to me the Gods are made Of the same stuff as wind or shade. ... Ah! if they came to every caller, I'd be the very loudest bawler!"

"It is this fundamental love of simplicity that distinguishes T'ao Ch'ien's verses from the works of court poets of his time, who utilized obscure allusions and complicated stylistic devices to fashion verses that appealed only to the highly educated. T'ao Ch'ien, by way of contrast, seldom made any literary allusions whatsoever, and he wrote for the widest possible audience. As a consequence, he was slighted by his era's critics and only fully appreciated by later generations of readers."

"Tao Yuanming represents the most perfectly harmonious and well-rounded character in the entire Chinese literary tradition. There is a simplicity in his life, as well as in his style, which is awe-inspiring and a constant reproach to more brilliant and more sophisticated natures. And he stands, today, as a perfect example of the true lover of life, because in him the rebellion against worldly desires did not lead him to attempt a total escape, but has reached a harmony with the life of the senses."

"In addition to his importance as a literary model, T'ao Ch'ien is admired for his decision to remain true to himself rather than subordinate his feelings to the demands of conventional life-styles. The writers and intellectuals of his day were, broadly speaking, split into the opposing camps of conformist Confucians and antiauthoritarian Taoists, and when T'ao Ch'ien rejected the former it would have been normal for him to have gravitated to the vagabond life of the latter. He chose, however, to pilot his own idiosyncratic course between these polar opposites, and he suffered much personal hardship in so doing. Even more important than his position in literary history or his personal qualities, however, is the candid beauty of his poetry. The freshness of his images, his homespun but Heaven-aspiring morality, and his steadfast love of rural life shine through the deceptively humble words in which they are expressed, and as a consequence he has long been regarded one of China's most accomplished and accessible poets."

"The only poet I am particularly fond of is Tao Yuanming. Although the poems he wrote are not many in number, they are unadorned and yet beautiful, spare and yet ample … Neither Cao Zhi, Liu Zhen, Bao Zhao, Xie Lingyun, Li Bo, nor Du Fu achieves his stature … This is not to say that I only like Tao for his poetry. I am deeply impressed by what he was as a man."

"His literary style is spare and limpid, with scarcely a surplus word. His sincerity is true and traditional, his verbalized inspirations supple and relaxed. When one reads his works, the fine character of the poet himself comes to mind. Ordinary men admire his unadorned directness. But such lines of his as "With happy face I pour the spring-brewed wine," and "The sun sets, no clouds are in the sky," are pure and refined in the beauty of their air. These are far from being merely the words of a farmer. He is the father of recluse poetry past and present."

"The greatest poet and most harmonious product of Chinese culture."

"Tao Yuanming's poetry is well-known for the simplicity, truthfulness, elegance and broadness of style. His pastoral poems are more natural, fresh and sincere. This pure poetic style is closely linked with his personal experience. It's true that he lived like a recluse, but he was by no means solemn completely. His pastoral poems always reveal humanity from which we observe that he not only attached great importance to the unity of man and nature, filling his mind and spirit to objects but also plowed him, showing the deepest sympathy to the labor people. The style is the man. Tao Yuanming's pastoral poems, which reflect his personality, decide his wording style to be simple, concise, natural and fresh."

"At a single glance I survey the whole Universe. He will never be happy, whom such pleasures fail to please!"

"I do not mind if my cottage is rather small So long as there's room enough for bed and mat. Often and often the neighbours come to see me And with brave words discuss the things of old. Rare writings we read together and praise: Doubtful meanings we examine together and settle."

"Longingly—I think of my friends, But neither boat nor carriage comes."

"You had better go where Fate leads— Drift on the Stream of Infinite Flux, Without joy, without fear: When you must go—then go."

"God can only set in motion: He cannot control the things he has made."

"Let me then remember, to calm my heart's distress, That the Sages of old were often in like case."

"In former days I wanted wine to drink; The wine this morning fills the cup in vain. I see the spring mead with its floating foam, And wonder when to taste of it again. The feast before me lavishly is spread, My relatives and friends beside me cry. I wish to speak but lips can shape no voice, I wish to see but light has left my eye. I slept of old within the lofty hall, Amidst wild weeds to rest I now descend. When once I pass beyond the city gate I shall return to darkness without end."

"My little children are playing at my side, Learning to talk, they babble unformed sounds. These things have made me happy again And I forget my lost cap of office. Distant, distant I gaze at the white clouds: With a deep yearning I think of the Sages of Antiquity."

"I am free from ties and can live a life of retirement. When I rise from sleep, I play with books and harp."

"Let us drink and enjoy together the wine you have brought: For my course is set and cannot now be altered."

"少无适俗韵，性本爱丘山。 误落尘网中，一去三十年。 羁鸟恋旧林，池鱼思故渊。 开荒南野际，守拙归田园。 方宅十余亩，草屋八九间。 榆柳荫后椋，桃李罗堂前。 暧暧远人村，依依墟里烟。 狗吠深巷中，鸡鸣桑树颠。 户庭无尘杂，虚室有余闲。 久在樊笼里，复得返自然。"

"白发被双鬓， 肌肤不复实/虽有五男儿, 总不好纸笔/阿舒已二八, 懒惰固无匹/阿宣行治学, 而不爱文术 /雍端年十三 , 不识六与七/通子垂九龄, 但觅梨与栗/天运够如此, 且进杯中物"

"While picking asters 'neath the Eastern fence, My gaze upon the Southern mountain rests."

"天地长不没，山川无改时。 草木得常理，霜露荣悴之。 谓人最灵智，独复不如兹。 适见在世中，奄去靡归期。 奚觉无一人，亲识岂相思。 但余平生物，举目情凄洏。 我无腾化术，必尔不复疑。 愿君取吾言，得酒莫苟辞。"

"Slowly, slowly, the autumn draws to its close. Cruelly cold the wind congeals the dew. Vines and grasses will not be green again— The trees in my garden are withering forlorn. The pure air is cleansed of lingering lees And mysteriously, Heaven's realms are high. Nothing is left of the spent cicada's song, A flock of geese goes crying down the sky. The myriad transformations unravel one another And human life how should it not be hard? From ancient times there was none but had to die, Remembering this scorches my very heart. What is there I can do to assuage this mood? Only enjoy myself drinking my unstrained wine. I do not know about a thousand years, Rather let me make this morning last forever."

"结庐在人境，而无车马喧。 问君何能尔？心远地自偏。 采菊东篱下，悠然见南山。 山气日夕佳，飞鸟相与还。 此中有真意，欲辨已忘言。"

"I would gladly wander in Paradise, But it is far away and there is no road."

"There were often times when we had no wine to drink, However, this morning we fill the empty beakers. Over the new spring wine midges hover— When will we ever taste its like again? Tables with funeral meats stand piled high before us, Old friends and relatives come and weep beside us. We try to speak but cannot utter words, We try to see but our eyes are dim. Once he used to sleep within the lofty hall, Now he will spend the night out on the lonely moor. Leaving the city gate we accompanied him thither But we were back again before midnight had come."

"While you rested in the shade, I left you a while: But till the end we shall be together. Our joint existence is impermanent: Sadly together we shall slip away. That when the body decays Fame should also go Is a thought unendurable, burning the heart. Let us strive and labour while yet we may To do some deed that men will praise."

"I am weak and therefore I am strong."

"假如生命是无趣的,我怕有来生,假如生命是有趣的,今生已是满足的了"

"Forget whatever should be forgotten, so that you can remember what should be remembered."

"Li Po is China's prince of vagabond poets, with his drink, his dread of officialdom, his companionship with the moon, his love of high mountain scenery, and his constant aspiration: "Oh, could I but hold a celestial sword / And stab a whale across the seas!" Li Po's romanticism ended finally in his death from reaching for the shadow of the moon in the water in a drunken fit and falling overboard. Good, infinitely good, that the staid and apparently unfeeling Chinese could sometimes reach for the shadow of the moon and die such a poetic death!"

"Li Po's style is swift, yet never careless; lively, yet never informal. But his intellectual outlook was low and sordid. In nine poems out of ten he deals with nothing but wine or women."