Which Bastard Stole My Cubs

Heavenly Corpse Talisman Demon

Fifty-One

"Bright moonlight shines on piled-up snow" (1), "The great river flows day and night" (2), "The moon hangs high in the heavens" (3), "The long river sets the sun round" (4)—such scenes could be called wonders for the ages. In poetry, only Nalan Rongruo's frontier poems approach this realm: "A thousand tents lit deep in the night" from "Longing for Each Other" (5), and "Drunk beneath a thousand domed tents, the stars sway as if about to fall" from "Like a Dream" (6).

Notes:

(1) Xie Lingyun, "Year's End": "Sorrow weighs on me, and I cannot sleep; this night drags on in bitter misery. The bright moon shines on piled-up snow; the north wind blows fierce and mournful. The years roll on, nothing stays; as time passes, I feel it hurrying me along."

(2) Xie Tiao, "Departing at Night from Xinlin for the Capital after a Temporary Posting in the Lower Capital, Presented to My Colleagues": "The great river flows day and night; my traveler's heart is sunk in endless grief. I only think the mountains and passes are near, yet know at last the road home is long. The autumn river shines brightly at dawn; the cold banks lie dark beneath the night. I turn to gaze at the capital, its palace walls facing one another. Golden ripples gild the Chique Tower; the Jade Rope constellation hangs low above Jianzhang Palace. I drive my carriage beyond Dingmen, longing to see the sunlit slopes of Zhaoqiu. The speeding sun cannot be caught—how much less can I bridge the distance between two towns? The wind and clouds offer birds a path, but the Yangtze and Han rivers leave no bridge. I'm always afraid hawks will strike, and the chrysanthemums will be beaten down by the severe frost. I send word to those who set their nets: I've already soared high into the vast sky."

(3) Du Fu, "Later Leaving the Frontier" (Part Two): "At dawn we enter the eastern gate camp; by dusk we climb the Heyang Bridge. The setting sun shines on the great banner; horses neigh as the wind sighs. Across the level sands, ten thousand tents stand in rows, and each unit gathers at its summons. The moon hangs high in the heavens; strict orders make the night still and lonely. A few mournful notes from the horn stir the air; the brave soldiers are solemn, not boastful. Tell me, who is the great general? I fear it is Huo Piyao."

(4) Wang Wei, "Sent as Envoy to the Frontier": "Alone in my carriage, I set out to inspect the frontier; I pass through Juyan as an envoy. Like tumbleweed, I drift beyond the Han passes; returning geese fly into the barbarian sky. In the vast desert, a lone column of smoke rises straight; the long river sets the sun round. At Xiaoguan, I meet a scout; the Protector General is at Yanran."

(5) Nalan Xingde, "Longing for Each Other": "One stretch of mountains, one stretch of water. I travel toward the far side of Yuguan; deep in the night, a thousand tents glow with lights. One watch of wind, one watch of snow. The noise shatters my homesick dreams, so I cannot sleep; there is no such sound in my old home."

(6) Nalan Xingde, "Like a Dream": "Drunk beneath a thousand domed tents, the stars sway as if about to fall. My homeward dream lies beyond the Lang River, then the river's roar shatters it again. Sleep, sleep again. When I wake, there's nothing to be said."

Fifty-Two

Nalan Rongruo saw the world with natural eyes and expressed emotion with a natural tongue. Since he had only recently entered the Central Plains and had not yet been tainted by Han ways, he could be so genuine and heartfelt. Since the Northern Song, he alone had been so.

Fifty-Three

Lu Fangweng wrote in his postscript to the "Among the Flowers" Collection: "In the late Tang and Five Dynasties, poetry grew ever more debased, while those who set words to tunes often produced works that were simple, ancient, and charming. They could do one but not the other; it is not easy to explain why by reason." The "Summary of the General Catalogue" refuted him, saying: "It is like someone who can lift seventy catties but stumbles when lifting a hundred, yet handles fifty with ease." (1) The argument is quite convincing. Still, I cannot bring myself to believe that lyrics must be easier to write than poetry. Chen Wozhi put it well: "The Song people did not understand poetry, yet insisted on writing it, and so the Song produced no poetry. But their joy and sorrow, their delight and resentment, stirred within them and could not be repressed; these feelings were generally expressed in lyric verse, and so their achievements in that form were exceptional." (2) The lyrics of the Five Dynasties prevailed for the same reason.

Notes:

(1) "General Catalogue of the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries," Collection Section, Lyrics and Tunes Category One, "Among the Flowers" Collection: "There are two postscripts by Lu You at the end... In the second, he says: 'In the late Tang and Five Dynasties, poetry grew ever more debased, while those who set words to tunes often produced works that were simple, ancient, and charming. They could do one but not the other; it is not easy to explain why by reason.' He did not know that literary forms differ in stature, and people's learning in strength. If one's learning is not strong enough to match the form, one will stumble when attempting it. If one's learning is strong enough to match the form, one will have strength to spare. Regulated verse ranks below ancient-style poetry, so the ancient-style poems of the middle and late Tang were often poor, while regulated verse sometimes yielded fine works. Lyrics rank below regulated verse, so the poetry of the Five Dynasties was inferior to that of the Tang, while lyrics alone prevailed. It is like someone who can lift seventy catties but stumbles when lifting a hundred, yet handles fifty with ease. What is there that cannot be explained by reason?'"

(2) Chen Zilong, "Preface to Wang Jieren's Lyrics": "The Song people did not understand poetry, yet insisted on writing it. In their poetry, they spoke of reason but not emotion, and so the Song produced no poetry. Yet the Song people could not escape having feelings. Thus, whenever joy or sorrow, delight or resentment stirred within them and could not be repressed, those feelings were generally expressed in lyric verse, and their achievements in that form were exceptional, beyond the reach of later generations. The difficulty lies in taking thoughts that are profound and expressing them in language that is simple and close at hand, so that the reader encounters them at first as though they were just beyond sight and hearing, yet through repeated reading discovers their deep, enduring charm. The difficulty of crafting the words lies in taking nimble, lively language and refining it with great care, so that no line burdens the poem, no word burdens the line, and everything is rounded, polished, clear, and close-knit, with words flowing like pearls on a string. The form is delicate and fragile; as the saying goes, even a bright pearl or kingfisher feather seems too heavy, let alone a dragon or phoenix. To have vivid beauty without relying on powder and rouge—that is the difficulty of coloring. The realm is graceful and alluring; though it charms through moments of exposed brilliance, it truly prizes restraint and lingering resonance. Its meaning remains unfinished, lingering in the moment when a song circles back and joy is sung. That is the difficulty of shaping a piece. The Song people devoted themselves to this art, producing a great many works and finding inspiration in every scene they encountered. Their natural talent, when awakened, seemed to emerge on its own. Though one may speak highly of the grand and elegant, one still feels that this form cannot be discarded. Why? Each thing has its own special excellence; even a minor art can be worthy of appreciation."

Fifty-Four

When the four-character verse form declined, the Songs of Chu arose; when the Songs of Chu declined, five-character verse arose; when five-character verse declined, seven-character verse arose; when ancient-style poetry declined, regulated verse and quatrains arose; when regulated verse and quatrains declined, lyrics arose. Once a literary form has been widely practiced for a long time, too many people dabble in it, and it becomes a set of conventions. Even men of outstanding talent find it hard to create something new within those conventions, so they turn to another form to free themselves. Every literary form that flourishes and then declines does so for this reason. Thus, I cannot bring myself to believe that literature grew worse with each passing age. But if we speak of a single form, then this argument is certainly hard to refute.

Fifty-Five

The "Three Hundred Poems" and "Nineteen Old Poems" in poetry, and the lyrics of the Five Dynasties and Northern Song, were all untitled. It was not that they had no subjects; rather, the meaning within a poem or lyric could not be fully conveyed by a title. From the "Flower Hermitage" and "Thatched Hall" collections onward, titles were assigned to every tune, and even the untitled lyrics of the ancients were given titles. If you looked at a fine landscape painting and immediately called it "this mountain" or "that river," would that make sense? When poetry has titles, poetry perishes; when lyrics have titles, lyrics perish. Yet few people of middling talent can understand this and lift themselves above it.

Fifty-Six

In the works of the masters, expressions of feeling must sink into the heart and soul, and descriptions of scenery must open the eyes and ears. Their words seem to flow straight from the mouth, without artifice or embellishment. This is because what they see is true and what they know is profound. The same is true of poetry and lyrics. To judge writers of all ages by this standard is unlikely to lead one far astray.

Fifty-Seven

If one can avoid writing poems of praise, blame, or dedication, refrain from lines stuffed with allusions, and dispense with flowery words, then one has already traveled more than halfway along this path.

Fifty-Eight

For all the grandeur of "The Song of Everlasting Sorrow," the only allusion it uses is the four-character phrase "Xiaoyu and Shuangcheng"—the poet had talent to spare. Mei Cun's narrative poems, on the other hand, could not manage without allusions. (1) The contrast between Bai and Wu is clear from this alone. This is true not only of poetry; writers of lyrics must understand it too.

Notes:

(1) Bai Juyi's "The Song of Everlasting Sorrow" contains the allusive line "He then sent Xiaoyu and Shuangcheng." In Wu Weiye's "The Song of Yuan Yuan," however, the allusion to Dinghu appears right at the opening, and allusive lines abound thereafter.

Fifty-Nine

Among the forms of regulated poetry, five- and seven-character quatrains rank highest, regulated verse comes next, and long regulated verse ranks lowest. This form is unsuited both to expressing emotion and to conveying an idea; it is almost on a par with parallel prose. In lyrics, short tunes resemble quatrains, long tunes resemble regulated verse, and hundred-character tunes such as "A Hundred Character Lyric" and "Spring in a Pleasure Garden" come close to long regulated verse.

Sixty

A poet must enter into the universe and human life, and must also stand outside them. By entering into them, he can depict them; by standing outside them, he can observe them. By entering into them, his work gains vitality; by standing outside them, it gains lofty elegance. Meicheng could enter but not stand outside. Since Baishi, poets have not even dreamed of mastering either of these two things.

Sixty-One

A poet must hold the outer world lightly, so that he can command the wind and moon as though they were servants. He must also hold the outer world dear, so that he can share joy and sorrow with flowers and birds.

Sixty-Two

"Once a singing girl, now the wife of a merchant. My merchant husband travels and does not return; it is hard to keep watch alone in an empty bed." (1) "Why not spur your fine horse and seize the main thoroughfare first? Don't stay poor and lowly, enduring hardship and bitter toil for long." (2) These may be the most vulgar of vulgar lines. Yet we should not dismiss them as licentious or vulgar verse. Those who despise them do so because they are true. The great lyricists of the Five Dynasties and Northern Song were the same. Their lyrics were not without licentiousness, yet when we read them, they feel intimate and moving. Nor were they without vulgarity, yet we feel their vitality brimming over. We can see that the fault in licentious and vulgar verse lies not in licentiousness or vulgarity, but in empty, aimless verse. (3) "Could I not be thinking of you? It is only that your home is far away." And the Master said, "He has not truly thought of it; what could be so far away?" (4) He despised what was aimless.

Notes:

(1) "Nineteen Old Poems," No. 2: "Green grass grows along the riverbank; lush willows fill the garden. A lovely woman stands upstairs, her bright face at the window. Her face is painted with rosy rouge; her slender hands stretch out. Once a singing girl, now the wife of a merchant. My merchant husband travels and does not return; it is hard to keep watch alone in an empty bed."

(2) "Nineteen Old Poems," No. 4: "Today's fine feast is a joy impossible to describe in full. The zither rings with soaring music, its new tune wondrous to the soul. A virtuous man sings lofty words; one who knows the music hears its true meaning. Our hearts share the same wish, though we cannot express it. A human life is but a brief sojourn, vanishing like dust blown by a gust of wind. Why not spur your fine horse and seize the main thoroughfare first? Don't stay poor and lowly, enduring hardship and bitter toil for long."

(3) Jin Yinggui, "Postscript to the Selection of Lyrics": "They imitate the forms of things and rely on song and dance. Their grief and joy do not come from their nature; their thoughts and pleasure have no connection to their feelings. Chapter after chapter, their meaning never strays beyond flowers and birds. Their reflections on things and references to events never go beyond social exchanges. Though elegant, they lack charm; though they have lines, they have no shape. These are what we call empty, aimless lyrics."

(4) "Analects: Zihan": "The flowers of the Tangdi tree sway and flutter. Could I not be thinking of you? It is only that your home is far away." The Master said, "He has not truly thought of it; what could be so far away?"

Sixty-Three

"Old withered vines, ancient trees, dusk crows. A little bridge, flowing water, level sands. An ancient road, the west wind, a lean horse. The sun sinks in the west. A heartbroken traveler at the edge of the world." This is the short tune "Clear Sky over Sandy Shores" by Ma Dongli, a Yuan poet. In just a few spare words, it captures the subtle beauty of the Tang quatrains. Not a single lyricist of the Yuan dynasty could have managed this.

Notes:

(1) This song appears in the Yuan-printed edition of "New Sounds of the Music Bureau," Volume Two; in the Yuan-printed edition of Zhou Deqing's "Standard Patterns of the Central Plains Sound"; in the Ming-printed edition of Jiang Zhongshu's "Anecdotal Records from Yaoshan Hall," Volume Sixty-Eight; in Zhang Lu's Ming-printed "Treasury of Lyric Gems"; and in other works, including the "Miscellaneous Talks from the Humble Studio" by Sheng Ruzhi in the "Library of Knowledge Unattained." In all these, "level sands" appears as "people's homes." The version cited in Guo Moruo's "History of Song and Yuan Drama" is the same. Only "Remaining Poems of the Dynasties" gives "level sands," and changes "west wind" to "chilling wind," apparently to avoid repeating a word. The version quoted here by Guo Moruo was probably taken from "Remaining Poems."

Sixty-Four

Bai Renfu's play "Autumn Night, Rain on the Parasol Tree" is magnificent and tragic, the crown of Yuan drama. Yet his "Heavenly Sounds Lyrics" are exceedingly crude and shallow, not worthy even to be a servant of Jiaxuan. Is it that founding something new is easy, while following in its wake makes it hard to achieve true skill? Or is it simply that each person has his own strengths and weaknesses? Readers need only observe how far Ouyang Xiu and Qin Guan's poetry falls short of their lyrics to glimpse the answer.

Completed in the ninth month of the Gengxu year of Xuantong, in my lodging south of Dingwu City, capital.