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More Translations from the Chinese.
by Various.
INTRODUCTION
This book is not intended to be representative of Chinese literature as a whole. I have chosen and arranged chronologically various pieces which interested me and which it seemed possible to translate adequately.
An account of the history and technique of Chinese poetry will be found in the introduction to my last book.[1] Learned reviewers must not suppose that I have failed to appreciate the poets whom I do not translate. Nor can they complain that the more famous of these poets are inaccessible to European readers; about a hundred of Li Po's poems have been translated, and thirty or forty of Tu Fu's. I have, as before, given half my s.p.a.ce to Po Chu-i, of whose poems I had selected for translation a much larger number than I have succeeded in rendering. I will give literal versions of two rejected ones:
[1] "170 Chinese Poems," New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1919.
EVENING
[_A.D. 835_]
_Water's colour at-dusk still white; Sunsets glow in-the-dark gradually nil.
Windy lotus shakes [like] broken fan; Wave-moon stirs [like] string [of] jewels.
Crickets chirping answer one another; Mandarin-ducks sleep, not alone.
Little servant repeatedly announces night; Returning steps still hesitate._
IN EARLY SPRING ALONE CLIMBING THE T'IEN-KUNG PAG.o.dA
[_A.D. 389_]
_T'ien-kung sun warm, paG.o.da door open; Alone climbing, greet Spring, drink one cup.
Without limit excursion-people afar-off wonder at me; What cause most old most first arrived!_
While many of the pieces in "170 Chinese Poems" aimed at literary form in English, others did no more than give the sense of the Chinese in almost as crude a way as the two examples above. It was probably because of this inconsistency that no reviewer treated the book as an experiment in English unrhymed verse, though this was the aspect of it which most interested the writer.
In the present work I have aimed more consistently at poetic form, but have included on account of their biographical interest two or three rather unsuccessful versions of late poems by Po Chu-i.
For leave to reprint I am indebted to the editors of the _English Review_, _Nation_, _New Statesman_, _Bulletin of School of Oriental Studies_, and _Reconstruction_.
CH'U YuAN
[_Fourth Century B.C._]
[1] THE GREAT SUMMONS
_When Ch'u Yuan had been exiled from the Court for nine years, he became so despondent that he feared his soul would part from his body and he would die. It was then that he made the poem called "The Great Summons,"
calling upon his soul not to leave him._
Green Spring receiveth The vacant earth; The white sun s.h.i.+neth; Spring wind provoketh To burst and burgeon Each sprout and flower.
In those dark caves where Winter lurketh Hide not, my Soul!
O Soul come back again! O, do not stray!
O Soul come back again and go not east or west, or north or south!
For to the East a mighty water drowneth Earth's other sh.o.r.e; Tossed on its waves and heaving with its tides The hornless Dragon of the Ocean rideth: Clouds gather low and fogs enfold the sea And gleaming ice drifts past.
O Soul go not to the East, To the silent Valley of Sunrise!
O Soul go not to the South Where mile on mile the earth is burnt away And poisonous serpents slither through the flames; Where on precipitous paths or in deep woods Tigers and leopards prowl, And water-scorpions wait; Where the king-python rears his giant head.
O Soul, go not to the South Where the three-footed tortoise spits disease!
O Soul go not to the West Where level wastes of sand stretch on and on; And demons rage, swine-headed, hairy-skinned, With bulging eyes; Who in wild laughter gnash projecting fangs.
O Soul go not to the West Where many perils wait!
O Soul go not to the North, To the Lame Dragon's frozen peaks; Where trees and gra.s.ses dare not grow; Where a river runs too wide to cross And too deep to plumb, And the sky is white with snow And the cold cuts and kills.
O Soul seek not to fill The treacherous voids of the north!
O Soul come back to idleness and peace.
In quietude enjoy The lands of Ching and Ch'u.
There work your will and follow your desire Till sorrow is forgot, And carelessness shall bring you length of days.
O Soul come back to joys beyond all telling!
Where thirty cubits high at harvest-time The corn is stacked; Where pies are cooked of millet and bearded-maize.
Guests watch the steaming bowls And sniff the pungency of peppered herbs.
The cunning cook adds slices of bird-flesh, Pigeon and yellow-heron and black-crane.
They taste the badger-stew.
O Soul come back to feed on foods you love!
Next are brought Fresh turtle, and sweet chicken cooked in cheese Pressed by the men of Ch'u.
And pickled sucking-pig And flesh of whelps floating in liver-sauce With salad of minced radishes in brine; All served with that hot spice of southernwood The land of Wu supplies.
O Soul come back to choose the meats you love!
Roasted daw, steamed widgeon and grilled quail-- On every fowl they fare.
Boiled perch and sparrow broth,--in each preserved The separate flavour that is most its own.
O Soul come back to where such dainties wait!
The four strong liquors are warming at the fire So that they grate not on the drinker's throat.
How fragrant rise their fumes, how cool their taste!
Such drink is not for louts or serving-men!
And wise distillers from the land of Wu Blend unfermented spirit with white yeast And brew the _li_ of Ch'u.
O Soul come back and let your yearnings cease!
Reed-organs from the lands of T'ai and Ch'in And Wei and Cheng Gladden the feasters, and old songs are sung: The "Rider's Song" that once Fu-hsi, the ancient monarch, made; And the harp-songs of Ch'u.
Then after prelude from the flutes of Chao The ballad-singer's voice rises alone.
O Soul come back to the hollow mulberry-tree![1]
