More Translations from the Chinese Part 5

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.

I reckon the time that I first left my home; From then till now,--fifteen Springs!

My lonely boat has thrice sailed to Ch'u; Four times through Ch'in my lean horse has pa.s.sed.

I have walked in the morning with hunger in my face; I have lain at night with a soul that could not rest.

East and West I have wandered without pause, Hither and thither like a cloud astray in the sky.

In the civil-war my old home was destroyed; Of my flesh and blood many are scattered and lost.

North of the River, and South of the River-- In both lands are the friends of all my life; Life-friends whom I never see at all,-- Whose deaths I hear of only after the lapse of years.

Sad at morning, I lie on my bed till dusk; Weeping at night, I sit and wait for dawn.

The fire of sorrow has burnt my heart's core; The frost of trouble has seized my hair's roots.

In such anguish has my whole life pa.s.sed; Long I have envied the people of Ch'en Village.

[22] FIs.h.i.+NG IN THE WEI RIVER

[_A.D. 811_]

In waters still as a burnished mirror's face, In the depths of Wei, carp and grayling swim.

Idly I come with my bamboo fis.h.i.+ng-rod And hang my hook by the banks of Wei stream.

A gentle wind blows on my fis.h.i.+ng-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.[1]

Long ago a white-headed man[2]

Also fished at the same river's side; A hooker of men, not a hooker of fish, At seventy years, he caught Wen w.a.n.g.[2]

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 fis.h.i.+ng also stops; I go to my home and drink my cup of wine.

[1] See "Chuang Tzu," chap. i, end.

[2] The Sage T'ai-kung sat still till he was seventy, apparently fis.h.i.+ng, but really waiting for a Prince who would employ him. At last Wen w.a.n.g, Prince of Chou, happened to come that way and at once made him his counsellor.

[23] LAZY MAN'S SONG

[_A.D. 811_]

I have got patronage, but am too lazy to use it; I have got land, but am too lazy to farm it.

My house leaks; I am too lazy to mend it.

My clothes are torn; I am too lazy to darn them.

I have got wine, but am too lazy to drink; So it's just the same as if my cellar were empty.

I have got a harp, but am too lazy to play; So it's just the same as if it had no strings.

My wife tells me there is no more bread in the house; I want to bake, but am too lazy to grind.

My friends and relatives write me long letters; I should like to read them, but they're such a bother to open.

I have always been told that Chi Shu-yeh[1]

Pa.s.sed his whole life in absolute idleness.

But he played the harp and sometimes trans.m.u.ted metals, So even _he_ was not so lazy as I.

[1] Also known as Chi K'ang. A famous Quietist.

[24] ILLNESS AND IDLENESS

[_Circa A.D. 812_]

Illness and idleness give me much leisure.

What do I do with my leisure, when it comes?

I cannot bring myself to discard inkstone and brush; Now and then I make a new poem.

When the poem is made, it is slight and flavourless, A thing of derision to almost every one.

Superior people will be pained at the flatness of the metre; Common people will hate the plainness of the words.

I sing it to myself, then stop and think about it ...

The Prefects of Soochow and P'eng-tse[1]

Would perhaps have praised it, but they died long ago.

Who else would care to hear it?

No one to-day except Yuan Chen, And _he_ is banished to the City of Chiang-ling, For three years an usher in the Penal Court.

Parted from me by three thousand leagues He will never know even that the poem was made.

[1] Wei Ying-wu, eighth century A.D., and T'ao Ch'ien, A.D. 365-427.

[25] WINTER NIGHT

[_Written during his retirement in 812_]

My house is poor; those that I love have left me; My body sick; I cannot join the feast.

There is not a living soul before my eyes As I lie alone locked in my cottage room.

My broken lamp burns with a feeble flame; My tattered curtains are crooked and do not meet.

"Tsek, tsek" on the door-step and window-sill Again I hear the new snow fall.

As I grow older, gradually I sleep less; I wake at midnight and sit up straight in bed.

If I had not learned the "art of sitting and forgetting,"[1]

How could I bear this utter loneliness?

Stiff and stark my body cleaves to the earth; Unimpeded my soul yields to Change.[2]

So has it been for four hateful years, Through one thousand and three hundred nights!