The wind blowing through the willow-flowers fills the shop with scent;
A girl of Wu has served wine and bids the traveller taste.
The young men of Nanking have come to see me off;
I that go and you that stay | must each drink his cup.
I beg you tell the Great River | whose stream flows to the East
That thoughts of you will cling to my heart | when he has ceased to flow.

XV. 28. At Chiang-hsia, parting from Sung Chih-t’i

Clear as the sky the waters of Hupeh
Far away will join with the Blue Sea;
We whom a thousand miles will soon part
Can mend our grief only with a cup of wine.
The valley birds are singing in the bright sun;
The river monkeys wail down the evening wind.
And I, who in all my life have seldom wept,
Am weeping now with tears that will never dry.

XX. 1. The White River at Nan-yang

Wading at dawn the White River’s source,
Severed a while from the common ways of men,
To islands tinged with the colours of Paradise,
Where the river sky drowns in limpid space.
While my eyes were watching the clouds that travel to the sea.
My heart was idle as the fish that swim in the stream.
With long singing I put the sun to rest:
Riding the moon,[45] came back to my fields and home.

XX. 1. The Clear Cold Spring

(Literal Version.)

Regret that dropping sun’s dusk;
Love this cold stream’s clearness.
Western beams follow flowing water;
Stir a ripple in wandering person’s mind.
Idly sing, gazing at cloudy moon;
Song done—sound of tall pines.

XX. 8. Going down Chung-nan Mountain and spending the Night drinking with the Hermit Tou-ssŭ

At dusk we left the blue mountain-head;
The mountain-moon followed our homeward steps.
We looked round: the path by which we had come
Was a dark cleft across the shoulder of the hill.
Hand in hand we reached the walls of the farm;
A young boy opened the wicker-gate.
Through green bamboos a deep road ran
Where dark creepers brushed our coats as we passed.
We were glad at last to come to a place of rest,
With wine enough to drink together to our fill,
Long I sang to the tune of the Pine-tree Wind;
When the song was over, the River-stars[46] were few.
I was drunk and you happy at my side;
Till mingled joy drove the World from our hearts.

XXIII. 3. Drinking alone by Moonlight

(1)

A cup of wine, under the flowering-trees:
I drink alone, for no friend is near.
Raising my cup, I beckon the bright moon,
For he, with my shadow, will make three men.
The moon, alas! is no drinker of wine:
Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.
Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave
I must make merry before the Spring is spent.
To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;
In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks.
While we were sober, three shared the fun;
Now we are drunk, each goes his way.
May we long share our odd, inanimate feast,
And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the Sky.[47]

(2)

In the third month the town of Hsien-yang
Is thick-spread with a carpet of fallen flowers.
Who in Spring can bear to grieve alone?
Who, sober, look on sights like these?
Riches and Poverty, long or short life,
By the Maker of Things are portioned and disposed.
But a cup of wine levels life and death
And a thousand things obstinately hard to prove.
When I am drunk, I lose Heaven and Earth;
Motionless, I cleave to my lonely bed.
At last I forget that I exist at all,
And at that moment my joy is great indeed.

(3)

If High Heaven had no love for wine,
There would not be a Wine Star in the sky.
If Earth herself had no love for wine,
There would not be a city called Wine Springs.[48]
Since Heaven and Earth both love wine,
I can love wine, without shame before God.
Clear wine was once called “a Saint;”
Thick wine was once called “a Sage.”[49]
Of Saint and Sage I have long quaffed deep,
What need for me to study spirits and hsien?[50]
At the third cup I penetrate the Great Way;
A full gallon—Nature and I are one....
But the things I feel when wine possesses my soul
I will never tell to those who are not drunk.

XXIII. 9. In the Mountains on a Summer Day

Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt, sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone:
A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head.

XXIII. 10. Drinking together in the Mountains[51]

Two men drinking together where mountain flowers grow:
One cup, one cup, and again one cup.
“Now I am drunk and would like to sleep: so please go away.
Come back to-morrow, if you feel inclined, and bring your harp with you.”

XXIII. 10. Waking from Drunkenness on a Spring Day

“Life in the World is but a big dream:
I will not spoil it by any labour or care.”
So saying, I was drunk all the day,
Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door.
When I woke up, I blinked at the garden lawn;
A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.
I asked myself, had the day been wet or fine?
The Spring wind was telling the mango-bird.
Moved by its song, I soon began to sigh,
And as wine was there, I filled my own cup.
Wildly singing, I waited for the moon to rise,
When my song was over, all my senses had gone.

XXIII. 13. Self-Abandonment

I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream;
The birds were gone, and men also few.

XXV. 1. To Tan Ch’iu

My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At Green Spring he lies in the empty woods;
And is still asleep when the sun shines on high.
A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat;
A pebbly stream cleans his heart and ears.
I envy you, who far from strife and talk
Are high-propped on a pillow of blue cloud.

XXX. 8. Clearing up at Dawn

The fields are chill; the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragments of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatter away.

[Many of the above poems have been translated before, in some cases by three or four different hands. But III. 4, III. 26, XV. 2, and XXIII. 9 are, so far as I know, translated for the first time.]

DISCUSSION ON THE FOREGOING PAPER

The Chairman (Mr. George Jamieson): Mr. Li T’ai-po was, I am afraid, a bit of a Bohemian (laughter), and his Bacchanalian experiences have been repeated in later days even with the great poets. I am sure you will all join with me in expressing a hearty vote of thanks to Mr. Waley for his address and the very felicitous language in which he has translated a number of these ancient poems. I trust his paper will be printed and preserved with the rest of our publications, because these poems, as far as I can judge—but hearing them read does not impress one so much as reading them at leisure—are well worthy of careful perusal. It is curious to note how unchangeable and immobile China is. At the time these poems were written we in Great Britain were living under King Alfred and trying to keep out the Danes and other things. (Laughter.) I can tell you that the Szechwan Road as described in the poem that Mr. Waley has read is just the same now as it was when the poem was written. And the social conditions of the people are the same now as they were at that time. I have often thought that Chinese poets are very limited in their range. They seem to be deficient in the quality of imagination. China has never produced a great epic poem. Of course I speak subject to correction, but I believe I am right in saying that China has never produced a poet comparable with Homer, Dante, Virgil, or Milton. There has been no one born with the power of telling a story like Homer. The poets of China appear to me to be emotional and descriptive, but incapable of any high flights of imagination. I think that Macaulay says that great flights of imagination are peculiar to the early periods of a nation’s civilization, and that story-telling reaches its highest form as an art before printing has been much in vogue.

Mr. M. F. A. Fraser: I have listened to this lecture with the greatest interest. The English was particularly pleasing, and I am glad that the lecturer has broken away from the old custom of seeking rhymes, and followed the French custom in the translation of these poems. A man may be an excellent writer and translator, and not be a poet, but to translate foreign poetry into English considerable literary gifts are required.

Mr. Paul King: All of you who have been lately in China must be struck with the extraordinary difference between the China described in these poems and the China which has come into being since the revolution. Ideas of a very practical nature have now taken possession of the people. And then, what about modern Chinese poets? Do any of us know of any? In my intercourse with the Chinese I cannot recall a modern Chinese who was a poet. It is possible that I may have met one, and that he concealed his poetic gifts. (Laughter.) Our lecturer tells us, however, that he knows certain Chinese poets. It would be interesting to know if they are publishing their poems, and how they would compare with the work of the older poets in our possession.

Mr. L. Y. Chen: I should like to join in congratulating Mr. Waley on his very learned paper and beautiful translations. It is quite true that there are no epic poems in Chinese literature. This form of poetry has not been introduced in China, but I differ with your statement, Sir, that Chinese poetry lacks imagination. (Applause.) I could give you many instances to the contrary, though not from memory. The last speaker’s remark that the present China is different from what China is in Chinese poetry may be true, but I may well retort that the England as represented in Shakespeare is very different from the England of to-day. (Laughter and cheers.) And Li T’ai-po lived many hundred years ago, but Shakespeare lived at a more recent period. Human nature has two states, the spiritual and the practical. You can combine the two. If you have the practical it does not necessarily follow that you are lacking in the spiritual. As for present-day Chinese poets, there are several famous ones in China.

Since the lecturer has raised the question whether Li T’ai-po or Tu Fu is the greater poet, I would say that the Chinese of the present day consider Tu Fu to be the greater. It strikes me as curious that European people who know something about Chinese poetry should prefer Li T’ai-po. Perhaps very few people have heard of Tu Fu. Certainly there is no translation of the most important of Tu Fu’s poems in the English language. In China every child who has studied poetry knows something about Tu Fu’s poems. Tu Fu is placed first by the Chinese because he is the greatest national poet. He expresses national feelings in a way that can be appreciated by everybody. Li T’ai-po’s poems deal chiefly with wine and women, love and sensual things, but Tu Fu’s poems are full of men and women, elderly people and children, their joy, their anguish, the hardship of the soldier, and things of that sort. In a word, Tu Fu’s poetry expresses what we ordinary men and women wish to express and cannot.

Mr. G. Willoughby-Meade: One or two observations occur to me in connection with the translation of this poetry into English. The two greatest reading publics are the Anglo-American and the Chinese. The Anglo-American people have produced an enormous amount of poetry which they do not often quote, and the Chinese have produced an enormous amount of poetry which, according to experts, they quote a great deal. Now, at the present moment that peculiar British shyness for quoting poetry seems to have largely disappeared in consequence of the writings of soldier poets. These poems have been written under conditions of great danger, difficulty, and discomfort, and it seems to me that it would be a very good thing if poetry illustrating the thought of these men could be placed before the Anglo-American public.

The Chairman proposed a hearty vote of thanks to the Lecturer, which was carried by acclamation.

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FOOTNOTES

[1] Giles, “Chinese Poetry,” p. 90.

[2] I.e., Li Kao.

[3] A.D. 581-618.

[4] A.D. 705-707.

[5] In Szechwan.

[6] “Po,” “white,” was a popular name of the Planet Venus.

[7] Giles, Biog. Dict., No. 1,789.

[8] Giles, No. 1,753.

[9] In Shantung.

[10] Circa A.D. 742.

[11] A famous General, the saviour of the dynasty.

[12] In Yunnan.

[13] Reigned 763-780.

[14] 806-821.

[15] The legendary Li Po is the subject of the sixth tale in “Chin Ku Ch’i Kuan”, translated by T. Pavie in “Contes et Nouvelles,” 1839. He also figures in the Mongol dynasty play, “The Golden Token.”

[16] Li Kuang, died 125 B.C.

[17] Manchurian, Mongolian and Turkestan frontiers.

[18] These queens were the daughters of the Emperor Yao, who gave them in marriage to Shun, and abdicated in his favour. Shun’s ministers conspired against him and set “the Great Yü” on the throne. A legend says that the spots on the bamboo-leaves which grow on the Hsiang River were caused by the tears of these two queens.

[19] I use the Japanese form as being more familiar. A kind of demon-monkey is meant.

[20] The “heroes” were five strong men sent by the King of Shu to fetch the five daughters of the King of Ch’in.

[21] Charioteer of the Sun.

[22] Who, like Joshua, stopped the sun during a battle. See Huai-nan Tzŭ, chap. vi.

[23] It is hard to believe that “bed” or “chair” is meant, as hitherto translated. “Trellis” is, however, only a guess.

[24] A man had promised to meet a girl under a bridge. She did not come, but although the water began to rise, he trusted so firmly in her word, that he clung to the pillars of the bridge and waited till he was drowned.

[25] So called because a woman waited there so long for her husband that she turned into stone.

[26] Quotation from the Yangtze boatman’s song:

“When Yen-yü is as big as a man’s hat
One should not venture to make for Ch’ü-t’ang.”

[27] A phrase from the Li Sao.

[28] Tou Tzŭ-an, who was carried to Heaven by a yellow crane near Wu-ch’ang.

[29] A story from Lieh Tzu.

[30] I.e., Ch’ü Yüan.

[31] Practically a quotation from Ch’ü Yüan’s “Life,” by Ssŭ-ma Ch’ien.

[32] Fairyland, sometimes thought of as being in the middle of the sea, sometimes (as here) in the sky.

[33] Lit. “blue clouds people.”

[34] A phrase from Chuang Tzŭ.

[35] Huai-nan is associated with laurel-branches, owing to a famous poem by the King of Huai-nan.

[36] Name of a mountain.

[37] I.e., Hu Tzŭ-yang, a Taoist friend of the poet’s.

[38] Lit. “Feeding on sunset-cloud” Tower, built by Hu Tzŭ-yang.

[39] I.e., T’ai-yüan Fu.

[40] I.e., T’ai-yüan Fu.

[41] A brother of Prince Ch’ēng, of the Chou dynasty.

[42] Yang Hsiung, died A.D. 18, having lived all his life in obscurity, obtained promotion in his old age by a poem of this title.

[43] Hsieh Ling-yün (circa A.D. 400) was a famous mountain-climber who invented special mountain-climbing shoes.

[44] A quotation from one of Hsieh’s poems.

[45] I.e., “availing myself of the moonlight.”

[46] Stars of the Milky Way.

[47] The Milky Way.

[48] Chiu-ch’üan, in Kansuh.

[49] “History of Wei Dynasty” (Life of Hsü Mo): “A drunken visitor said, ‘Clear wine I account a Saint: thick wine only a Sage.’”

[50] Rishi, Immortals.

[51] Cf. Little Review, June, 1917, version by Sasaki and M. Bodenheim.


Transcriber's Note

p. 10 "Ch'i Kuan" changed to "Ch'i Kuan""