Bai Juyi (772-846 AD) was a poet and politician during the rebuilding period of the Tang Empire, after the An Lushan Rebellion (755-763 AD) had divided it. He held a series of academic and tutorial positions at the imperial court before being exiled for, it seems, outshining his superiors with his talent. Recalled by a new regime, he held a number of minor posts and sinecures until he suffered a paralytic attack and lost his left leg. In his later years he cultivated Chan (Zen) Buddhism and came to call himself “The Hermit of Xiangshan” after the monastery in Henan Province where he resided among the Longmen Grottoes which to this day house many thousands of images of Shakyamuni Buddha and his disciples. Because the language of his poetry is accessible and the themes not esoteric, less educated people could easily understand it. Unlike the majority of the Tang poets, he was famous during his lifetime.
“Returning Home,” with its movement from the objective to the subjective, is typical of Bai’s work. The opening three lines give us what his eyes see in order to establish setting and season. The closing three lines, in contrast, take place in his mind, in which drunkenness has created a homey warmth. A sort of Buddhist koan, “The Dream, The Spring,” by questioning the existence of what has not been empirically perceived, calls attention to the realm to which dreams, along with the unseen flowers and mist, belong. In “Prairie-grass,” after a set-up consisting of a six-line, vivid description of the resilient subject, the final couplet goes “poetic” with an apostrophe to an absent friend and the climactic personification of the grass as “sighing” for him, an expression of Bai’s own feelings. The four-line poem, “A Suggestion to Liu,” exhibits the companionable simplicity of Bai’s work. Friendship is a major theme in Tang poetry and, in this brief dramatic monologue, Bai does everything he can to tempt his friend Liu Shijiu inside for a drink so that he can enjoy his company. In “A Song of the Palace,” Bai presents a common situation in Tang poetry: an imperial concubine awake and waiting in vain for an emperor to visit her. The poem is explicitly called a “cí,” a form that originated in popular song and was adapted for literary purposes during the 700s AD.
Bai Juyi (772-846 AD) served as a court scholar in the Chinese imperial government but went on to lead a group of poets who rejected courtly poetry in favor of work that served a social purpose. Renowned for the simplicity of his style, he wrote poetry sympathetic to the poor.
Aaron Poochigian earned a PhD in Classics from the University of Minnesota and an MFA in Poetry from Columbia University. His latest poetry collection, American Divine, the winner of the Richard Wilbur Award, came out in 2021. He has published numerous translations with Penguin Classics and W.W. Norton.
冬日平泉路晚歸
山路難行日易斜
烟村霜樹欲棲鴉
夜歸不到應閑事
熱飲三杯即是家
Returning Late
The mountain road is rough; the sun is going down.
A crow lands on a frosted tree
outside a bleary little town.
I won’t get home before night falls, but I don’t care.
Three cups of heated wine in me,
I feel like I’m already there.
花非花
雾非雾
夜半来
天明去
来如春梦几多时
去似朝云无觅处
The Dream, the Spring
Flowers are not flowers and mist not mist
when born past dusk and lost before first light.
The Dream, the Spring, that visits me at night,
then vanishes like cloud, does not exist.
草
離離原上草
一歲一枯榮
野火燒不盡
春風吹又生
遠芳侵古道
晴翠接荒城
又送王孫去
萋萋滿別情
Prairie-grass
Everywhere on the flatlands, prairie-grass
waxes and withers as the seasons pass.
The wildfires never root it out—it grows
tall again always when the spring wind blows.
It crowds the old high-road and hides the feet
of vast, crumbling gateways. It is sweet.
Favorite friend, most excellent of men,
it won’t stop sighing since you’ve gone again.
問劉十九
綠螘新醅酒
紅泥小火爐
晚來天欲雪
能飲一杯無
A Suggestion to Liu
I’ve got a hearth that’s red and warm;
I’ve got a jug of liquid glee.
This dusk looks like a winter storm.
Why not come in and drink with me?
宫词
泪尽罗巾梦不成
夜深前殿按歌声
红颜未老恩先断
斜倚薰笼坐到明
A Song of the Palace
Her tears run out, but sleep and dreams don’t follow.
Those people won’t stop singing all night long.
He loves her not. Lonely and ravishing,
she leans till daybreak on her fragrant pillow.
thank you
I love these translations. The intensity and beauty of ‘Returning Late’ and the tragic narrative so deftly and economically expressed in ‘A Song of the Palace’ is masterly. ‘A Suggestion to Liu’ glows with good fellowship. ‘Prairie-grass’ is a painting and an expression of the loneliness which pervades so much Chinese poetry. I am glad that I read these lovely poems.