The moon sets; crows caw below frosty skies.
Boats, moored to maples -- lamps glow like cat eyes.
Cold Mountain Temple, outside Gusu's bounds:
The midnight bell cuts off soft water sounds.
“Night Mooring” by Zhang Ji [w/ Audio]
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Tag Archives: Chinese Poetry
“The great road has no gate” by Tiāntóng Rújìng [w/ Audio]
The great road has no gate.
It leaps out from the heads of all of you.
The sky has no road.
It enters into my nostrils.
In this way we meet as Gautama's bandits,
or Linji's troublemakers. Ha!
Great houses tumble down and spring wind swirls.
Astonished, apricot blossoms fly and scatter -- red.
Translated by Mel Weitsman and Kazuaki Tanahashi; printed in: Essential Zen. 1994. HarperSanFrancisco, p. 136.
Note: While Rujing was Chinese he was teacher to the prominent Japanese Zen Teacher, Dōgen Zenji, the latter published this and other poems, hence the dual categorization of it as Chinese and Japanese Literature.
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“Wine Spring” by Pan Lang [w/ Audio]
I remember viewing the West Lake
While leaning on a pagoda rail.
The boats all clustered in threes or twos.
The islets under deep Autumn blues.
Flute song arose from among the cattails.
And a line of white birds - overhead - sailed.
I planned to fix my old fishing pole,
but clouds on water had my mind & soul.
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“Water Dragon Chant” by Ge Changgeng [w/ Audio]
A screen of cloud veils the mountain,
And cold monkeys squawk from green pines.
Fungi abound, but seeds dormant,
Searching for sprouts -- alas, in vain.
Somewhere near there's a fairy cave
Where flutes and lutes are often played.
Its Way is overgrown with moss,
And the old stone gate yields no clue.
Where have all the fairy folk gone?
Looking back, there's an endless plain
Where flowers fall like streaming tears.
It's easy to grow old; Where is
the messenger to bring some news?
To tell who the Golden Phoenix charms?
Waking from a deep, restless dream
What remains are blooms on the stream.
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“Jade Cup” by Zhang Ju [w/ Audio]
The West winds tumble fallen leaves;
Autumn 's yellow, though blooms are shy;
I brush at dust upon my sleeves;
The horses' hoofprints dot the frost;
Moonlit cocks crow amid grain sheaves;
The road to town: no passersby.
Fame 's not gained by effort or skill,
And would fade away ten years hence.
Please don't dance, but drink your fill.
Six Dynasty tales flow away:
Diluted as waters spread and spill.
The world feels like dream and pretense.
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BOOKS: 木兰辞 [Ballad of Mulan] by Anonymous
The Ballad of Mulan: 木兰辞 by Song Nan ZhangMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Available online at YellowBridge
This is a short lyric poem (15-1/2 quatrain, or 62 lines) that tells the story of a young woman who disguises herself as a man and joins the military to fill a slot that would otherwise have required her aged and infirm father to serve. The tiny poem packs in ten-plus years, during which Hua Mulan serves with great distinction and then returns home to take care of her parents. It’s a well-known tale that emphasizes the importance of filial piety and sacrifice. Though outside of China (as well as Taiwan and other Chinese cultural enclaves,) many may know it from the Disney version which has been panned for ditching the Confucian values and replacing them with ones that were thought would resonate better with a Western audience.
The poem is mostly arranged in quatrains of five-character lines with alternate line rhymes.
It’s a quick read and there is no room for the detailed tales of heroism that are depicted in adaptations.
If one is looking for a culturally insightful telling of the story of Hua Mulan, this is the right place to look. I’d highly recommend reading it.
View all my reviews
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“The Joy of Words” by Lu Ji [w/ Audio]
Writing is joy --
so saints and scholars all pursue it.
A writer makes new life in the void,
knocks on silence to make a sound,
binds space and time on a sheet of silk
and pours out a river from an inch-sized heart.
As words give birth to words
and thoughts arouse deeper thoughts,
they smell like flowers giving off scent,
spread like green leaves in spring;
a long wind comes, whirls into a tornado of ideas,
and clouds rise from the writing-brush forest.
Translation by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping in The Art of Writing (1996) Boston: Shambhala.
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“A One-String Harp” by Lu Ji [w/ Audio]
When an author composes too short a poem,
it trails off with a lonely feeling
like looking down at solitude with no friends
or peering into the vast sky, disconnected.
One string on a harp is crisp and sweet
but sings without resonance and harmony.
Translation by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping in: The Art of Writing (1996) Boston: Shambhala Publications.
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“Fortune-teller’s Song” by Su Shi [w/ Audio]
The crescent moon hangs on a barren tree.
The water clock has stopped and all is still.
Who sees the sad man pace the shore alone?
His shadow slants and curls into a swan.
The startled man stiffens and turns to look;
His grief remains unseen by anyone.
He passes on a seat of fallen log,
And plops down on the wet and cold sandbank.
NOTE: The original title is: 卜算子.
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“Mulberry Picking” [採桑子] by Ouyang Xiu [w/ Audio]
West Lake is beautiful from a small boat.
Green water wends its way through the lotus,
Sweet grass grows thickly all along the bank,
Faint music wafts from unknown points ashore.
When the wind quits, the Lake is glassy smooth;
The boat is perfectly still for a beat,
Then its movement is betrayed by ripples
And startled waterfowls' furious flapping.
Note: The title “Gathering Mulberry Leaves” was used by Xu Yuanchong for his translation. The Chinese title is: 採桑子 (Cǎi Sāngzǐ)
Tiger Riding for Beginners 