Tang Dynasty Poets

"China's greatest poet."

"His poems do not as a rule come through very well in translation."

"my mother did the chant of Fa Mu Lan. I learned to talk by repeating those things. I never knew, until I got to college and was taking an Asian Lit class, that that was important poetry. I just thought it was my parents' tales. My brothers thought, oh, those are just village ditties. They sing that on the farm. And then I thought later, oh, Tu Fu and Li Po-this is important stuff."

"Tu Fu was the master stylist of regulated verse, the poet of social protest, the confessional poet, the playful and casual wit, the panegyricist of the imperial order, the poet of everyday life, the poet of the visionary imagination. He was the poet who used colloquial and informal expressions with greater freedom than any of his contemporaries; he was the poet who experimented most boldly with densely artificial poetic diction; he was the most learned poet in recondite allusion and a sense of the historicity of language. One function of literary history is to account for a poet’s identity; Tu Fu’s poetry defies such reduction: the only aspect that can be emphasized without distorting his work as a whole is the very fact of its multiplicity."

"Li Bai could turn sweet nectar into verses fine. Drunk in the capital, he'd lie in shops of wine. Even imperial summons proudly he'd decline, Saying immortals could not leave the drink divine."

"Tu's poems," she said, "are known for their workmanship and artistic refinement, while Li's poems are known for their freedom and naturalness of expression. I prefer the vivacity of Li Po to the severity of Tu Fu." "Tu Fu is the acknowledged king of poets," said I, "and he is taken by most people as their model. Why do you prefer Li Po?" "Of course," said she, "as for perfection of form and maturity of thought, Tu is the undisputed master, but Li Po's poems have the wayward charm of a nymph. His lines come naturally like falling flowers and flowing water, and are so much lovelier for their spontaneity. I am not saying that Tu is second to Li; only personally I feel, not that I love Tu less, but that I love Li more."

"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!"

"飛流直下三千尺，疑是銀河落九天。"

"花間一壺酒，獨酌無相親。 舉杯邀明月，對影成三人。 月既不解飲，影徒隨我身。 暫伴月將影，行樂須及春。 我歌月徘徊，我舞影零亂。 醒時同交歡，醉後各分散。 永結無情遊，相期邈雲漢。"

"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."

"處世若大夢，胡爲勞其生？"

"且樂生前一杯酒，何須身後千載名。"

"朝辞白帝彩云间，千里江陵一日还。 两岸猿声啼不住，轻舟已过万重山。"

"长风破浪会有时， 直挂云帆济沧海。"

"蜀道之难，难于上青天！"

"镜湖三百里，菡萏发荷花。 五月西施采，人看隘若耶。 回舟不待月，归去越王家。"

"All the birds have flown up and gone; A lonely cloud floats leisurely by. We never tire of looking at each other— Only the mountain and I."

"From the walls of Baidi high in the colored dawn To Jiangling by night-fall is three hundred miles, Yet monkeys are still calling on both banks behind me To my boat these ten thousand mountains away."

"問余何意棲碧山，笑而不答心自閒。 桃花流水窅然去，別有天地非人間。"

"君不见，黄河之水天上来，奔流到海不复回。"

"云想衣裳花想容，春风拂槛露华浓。 若非群玉山头见，会向瑶台月下逢。"

"對酒不覺暝，落花盈我衣。"

"床前明月光，疑是地上霜。 舉頭望明月，低頭思故鄉。"

"危楼高百尺，手可摘星辰。 不敢高声语，恐惊天上人。"

"The world acclaims Li Po as its master poet. I grant that his works show unparalleled talent and originality, but not one in ten contains any moral reflection or deeper meaning."

"For ten years I never left my books; I went up ... and won unmerited praise. My high place I do not much prize; The joy of my parents will first make me proud."

"I set my eyes on the green mountain, and let my hair grow white. Who knows how many years I have left to live in this world? From now till the end of my life, there are only days of leisure."

"I am lucky not to have such bad habits. I only indulge myself in drinking wine and writing poetry. I am indeed indulgent, but what harm will that do?"

"琴詩酒伴皆拋我   雪月花時最憶君"

"言者不知知者默 此語吾聞於老君 若道老君是知者 缘何自著五千文"

"The most striking characteristic of Po Chü-i's poetry is its verbal simplicity. There is a story that he was in the habit of reading his poems to an old peasant woman and altering any expression which she could not understand. The poems of his contemporaries were mere elegant diversions which enabled the scholar to display his erudition, or the literary juggler his dexterity. ... No poet in the world can ever have enjoyed greater contemporary popularity than Po."

"Although there have been many wars in China, the natural outlook of the Chinese is very pacifistic. I do not know of any other country where a poet would have chosen, as Po-Chui did in one of the poems translated by Mr. Waley, called by him The Old Man with the Broken Arm, to make a hero of a recruit who maimed himself to escape military service."

"Like the poet Po Chüyi, the Chinese scholar "utilized Confucianism to order his conduct, utilized Buddhism to cleanse his mind, and then utilized history, paintings, mountains, rivers, wine, music and song to soothe his spirit.""

"在天願作比翼鳥 在地願為連理枝 天長地久有時盡 此恨綿綿無絶期"

"可憐光彩生門戸 遂令天下父母心 不重生男重生女"

"春寒賜浴華清池 温泉水滑洗凝脂"

"A gentle wind blows on my fishing-gear Softly shaking my ten feet of line. Though my body sits waiting for fish to come, My heart has wandered to the Land of Nothingness. Long ago a white-headed man Also fished at the same river's side; A hooker of men, not a hooker of fish, At seventy years, he caught Wen Wang. But I, when I come to cast my hook in the stream, Have no thought either of fish or men. Lacking the skill to capture either prey, I can only bask in the autumn water's light. When I tire of this, my fishing also stops; I go to my home and drink my cup of wine."

"I remember, when I was young, How easily my mood changed from sad to gay. If I saw wine, no matter at what season, Before I drank it, my heart was already glad. But now that age comes, A moment of joy is harder and harder to get. And always I fear that when I am quite old The strongest liquor will leave me comfortless."

"In the depth of the night not daring to let any one know I secretly took a huge stone and dashed it against my arm. For drawing the bow and waving the banner now wholly unfit; I knew henceforward I should not be sent to fight in Yün-nan. Bones broken and sinews wounded could not fail to hurt; I was ready enough to bear pain, if only I got back home. My arm—broken ever since; it was sixty years ago. One limb, although destroyed,—whole body safe! But even now on winter nights when the wind and rain blow From evening on till day's dawn I cannot sleep for pain. Not sleeping for pain Is a small thing to bear, Compared with the joy of being alive..."

"I was born in the Realms of Etiquette; In early years, unprotected and poor. Alone, I learnt to distinguish between Evil and Good; Untutored, I toiled at bitter tasks. The World's Law honours Learning and Fame; Scholars prize marriages and Caps. With these fetters I gyved my own hands; Truly I became a much-deceived man. At ten years old I learnt to read books; At fifteen, I knew how to write prose. At twenty I was made a Bachelor of Arts; At thirty I became a Censor at the Court. Above, the duty I owe to Prince and parents; Below, the ties that bind me to wife and child. The support of my family, the service of my country— For these tasks my nature is not apt."

"When the Seasons' changes thus confront the mind What comfort can the Doctrine of Tao give? It will teach me to watch the days and months fly Without grieving that Youth slips away; If the Fleeting World is but a long dream, It does not matter whether one is young or old."

"And I today ... by virtue of what right Have I never once tended field or tree? My government-pay is three hundred tons; At the year's end I have still grain in hand. Thinking of this, secretly I grew ashamed; And all day the thought lingered in my head."

"I lay my harp on the curved table, Sitting there idly, filled only with emotions. Why should I trouble to play? A breeze will come and sweep the strings."