The Gift

Heavenly Corpse Talisman Demon

Eleven

Ci poets often used scenery to convey emotion. Among those who specialized in writing about love and did so with extraordinary finesse were Niu Qiao: "I would stake my whole life on it, to fulfill your joy today." (1) Gu Jian: "Change my heart for yours, and only then will you know how deeply I long for you." (2) Ouyang Xiu: "Though my belt slackens, I shall never regret it; for you, I grow haggard." (3) And Meicheng: "So many troubles, all for that moment, when I lingered in love." (4) Such lyrics are rarely found among the works of poets past and present.

Notes:

(1) Niu Qiao, "Bodhisattva Barbarian": "The jade burner and icy mat, the mandarin-duck brocade; powder melts, fragrant sweat flows onto the pillow. Outside the curtain, the pulley groans; she gathers her brows, smiling in surprise. Willow shadows, hazy and thick; her lowered hair loosens, and her cicada-shaped hairpin falls. I would stake my whole life on it, to fulfill your joy today."

(2) Gu Jian, "Su Zhongqing": "Where have you gone, leaving me through the long night? No word comes from you. The fragrant chamber is shut; my brows knit as the moon sinks. How can I bear not to seek you? I resent this lonely quilt. Change my heart for yours, and only then will you know how deeply I long for you."

(3) Liu Yong, "Phoenix Perched on the Parasol Tree": "I lean long against the tower as the breeze sighs softly. I gaze into the distance; spring sorrow rises dimly at the horizon. In the grass's green and the hazy light of the setting sun, who understands the thoughts of one leaning silently on the balustrade? I mean to indulge my wildness and drink myself senseless; I sing over wine, but forced joy still has no flavor. Though my belt slackens, I shall never regret it; for you, I grow haggard." This lyric was also mistakenly included in Ouyang Wenzhong's Recent-Style Poems and Yuefu and Supplement to the Zuiweng's Qinqu.

(4) Zhou Bangyan, "Spring at the Celebration Palace": "Clouds meet the level ridges; mountains ring the cold fields; the winding road gradually reveals a lonely city. Withered willows, cawing crows; a sudden gale drives the geese, stirring a whole stretch of autumn sounds. Rest your weary journey; through the faint smoke, stars glimmer indistinctly. Haggard with dust, I dread the dusk; thoughts of parting tug and entwine. We once met in a splendid hall. Flowers bloomed in uneven profusion; fragrant mist drifted away. Strings and pipes played overhead; I especially loved the lovely phoenix, the warm reed pipes and clear sheng flutes deep into the night. Eyes conveyed their meaning, but regretfully, our secret tryst was never made before we hurried away. So many troubles, all for that moment, when I lingered in love."

Twelve

The ci form is subtle, delicate, and exquisitely refined. It can express what poetry cannot, yet cannot fully express all that poetry can. Poetry's scenery is broad; ci's words are long.

Thirteen

Rather than speak of temperament or spiritual resonance, it is better to speak of realm. Realm is fundamental; temperament and spiritual resonance are secondary. Once there is realm, the other two follow.

Fourteen

"Autumn wind blows over the Wei River; fallen leaves blanket Chang'an." (1) Meicheng brought this into ci, (2) and Bai Renfu into song. (3) They borrowed an ancient poet's realm and made it their own. Yet unless one has a realm of one's own, even the ancients cannot be made one's own.

Notes:

(1) Jia Dao, "Thinking of Wu, the Recluse, on the River": "He set sail for Min, while the moon waxed and waned. Autumn wind blows over the Wei River; fallen leaves blanket Chang'an. This night, we gather again; those days, thunder and rain chilled us. His orchidwood oar has yet to return; news lies beyond the cloudy sea."

(2) Zhou Bangyan, "Qitianle" (Autumn Thoughts): "The green weeds have withered along the road by Taicheng; in a distant land, autumn's end has come again. Evening rain brings a chill; crickets chirp, urging the weaving; from time to time, scissors sound in the deep chamber. The cloud-window is quietly shut. I sigh and brush the gauze mat once more; the flower-patterned bamboo mat has grown cold. An incense pouch remains, while fireflies in the clear night shine upon my book. I linger longest by the Jing River; where old friends look toward me, how boundless my longing! The west wind over the Wei River, fallen leaves in Chang'an—I can only recall, in vain, the winding charm of those poems. I climb high and gaze afar. The jade liquor has just been poured; crab claws are newly served. Drunken, I fall like the old mountain man, fretting only that the slanting sun will fade."

(3) Bai Pu, "Deshengle" in the Double Tune (Autumn): "Cold jade dew; crickets chirp on the steps. Hear the west wind scatter leaves along the Wei River. Wild geese cry shrilly across the open sky. Tao Yuanliang is drunk among the eastern hedge." Also, in the second act of the drama Rain on the Parasol Tree, "Putianle": "Endless resentment, boundless sorrow. But in such haste, how could we avoid climbing over ridges and mountains? The imperial carriage moves away. We look toward Chengdu. How can I bear it, when geese fly west over the Chan River, their cries following us up to the carved saddle? My heart aches for my old home: the west wind over the Wei River, the setting sun over Chang'an."

Fifteen

Among long-form ci, Zhou, Liu, Su, and Xin were the most accomplished. Meicheng's two lyrics "Langtaosha Man" (1) were vigorous and forceful, with many turns, and already heralded the northern songs. As for Tuntian's "Eight Sounds of Ganzhou" (2) and Dongpo's "Water Melody" (3), they were works composed in a rush of inspiration, their style lofty through the ages; they cannot be judged as ordinary tunes.

Notes: (1) Zhou Bangyan, "Langtaosha Man": "Dawn clouds hang heavy; frost withers the grasses along the bank; mist hides the city walls. On the southern road, the carriage waits, greased for departure; at the eastern gate, our farewell feast has just ended. The drooping willows brush our faces; their branches could be gathered and knotted. I hide my red tears; your jade hand plucks one close beside me. I think of the departing wild goose by the Han River—where has it gone? For so long, no word has come. My feelings are fierce. The land I gaze upon stretches far, the sky vast. In some place where cold dew falls and clear winds blow, with no one about, a chilly water clock gurgles on. Alas, a thousand things are hard to forget; the only thing is how lightly we parted. The emerald cup is not yet empty. I lean on broken clouds, keeping the waning moon above the western tower. The sheen has faded from the silk sash; the patterned quilt lies folded. The linked rings have come apart; their old fragrance has suddenly vanished. The lamenting song goes on; the jade pot has been struck until it cracks. I resent that spring has gone without keeping its promise; the night is awash in light, and snowlike pear blossoms lie scattered across the ground."

Another stanza: "Ten thousand leaves shudder; autumn sounds congeal in the dew; geese cross the sandy wastes. Fine grasses still glow green through the mist; distant hills grow bluer as evening falls. I see a new moon, faint along the clouds. The setting sun shines through, as curtains veil a thousand homes. I hear several notes—where is the flute, played by someone leaning on a tower? It paints the scene with autumn colors. Silent and deep, my traveler's longing slowly fades. I think of Zhu Yu, who still felt sorrow by the water; what of a wanderer at the world's edge? I remember the songs and wine of youth, the traces we left in those days. Years pass swiftly; the belt loosens, but my troubled heart remains tight. After we scattered, the one who shared my passion was blocked from me. The tryst at Lan Bridge—what a bitter regret, with the road between us cut off. Though the horse's hooves have passed, it still neighs in the old lanes. I sigh over the past; every part of it wounds me. I gaze to the far horizon, lost in thought, then slap the balustrade again."

(2) Liu Yong, "Eight Sounds of Ganzhou": "The evening rain pours over river and sky in a relentless wash, cleansing autumn bright. Gradually the frost wind turns bitter, the passes and rivers grow desolate, and the setting sun shines upon the tower. Everywhere, red blossoms fade and green leaves diminish; the splendor of the season slowly ebbs. Only the Yangtze flows low and silent. I cannot bear to climb high and gaze afar, to look toward my distant hometown; thoughts of returning are hard to still. I sigh at the tracks I have left these past years: why have I lingered so long? I imagine my beloved, gazing from her dressing tower, looking far off—how many times has she mistaken a boat on the horizon for one returning home? How could she know that where I lean against the balustrade, I am sunk in such sorrow?"

(3) Su Shi, "Water Melody" (On the Mid-Autumn Festival of the Bingchen year, I drank joyously through the night, became very drunk, and wrote this while thinking of Ziyou): "When did the bright moon first appear? I raise my cup and ask the blue sky. I do not know what year it is in the heavenly palace tonight. I long to ride the wind and return, yet fear the jade towers and palaces, where the heights are too cold. I rise and dance, playing with my clear shadow—how could it compare with being here on earth? The moon turns past the vermilion pavilion, stoops by the carved windows, and shines upon those who cannot sleep. Surely it should not bear us a grudge; why, then, is it always full when we are parted? People have joy and sorrow, partings and reunions; the moon is dim or bright, full or waning. This has never been made perfect since ancient times. I only wish for us to live long, and share the moonlight though we are a thousand miles apart."

Sixteen

Jiaxuan's "He Xinlang," "Seeing Off My Twelfth Younger Brother Maojia" (1), is superbly structured. Every line has its own realm; it is a work of great mastery, almost divine. But it was not written deliberately, which is why later poets could not imitate it.

Notes:

(1) Xin Qiji, "He Xinlang" (Seeing Off My Twelfth Younger Brother Maojia): "Among green trees, hear the cuckoo. How much worse when the partridge's cries have ceased and the cuckoo's cries grow sharp! It cries until spring returns to nowhere, bitterly grieving that all the fragrant blossoms have faded. Yet that is nothing beside parting in this world. On horseback, the pipa played at the dark frontier; at Changmen, the emerald carriage left the golden palace. Look at the swallows—sending the returning concubine away. The general's hundred battles ended in a shattered name. At the river bridge, he looked back over ten thousand miles; an old friend was gone forever. The Yishui murmurs in the cold west wind; the hall is full of officials in garments white as snow. The brave man's mournful song has not yet ended. Birds know such grief, I suppose; they do not cry clear tears, but weep blood instead. Who will join me, drunk beneath the bright moon?"

Seventeen

Jiaxuan's "He Xinlang" says: "The willows darken the path above the waves. Spring is sent away in fierce wind and driving rain; a fresh green springs up all at once." (1) His "Dingfengbo" says: "From now on, on a bright-moon night when wine runs freely—my ears grow hot." (2) The words "green" and "hot" are both used with an oblique tone followed by a departing tone. Han Yu's "He Xinlang" in Dongpu Ci rhymes "jade" and "melody" with "woman," while his "Busuanzi" rhymes "night" and "thanks" with "food" and "moon." These works had already set the precedent for the northern songs' free use of all four tones in rhyme.

Notes:

(1) Xin Qiji, "He Xinlang": "The willows darken the path above the waves. Spring is sent away in fierce wind and driving rain; a fresh green springs up all at once. A thousand miles of Xiaoxiang swell, purple as grapes; people ready their small boats, meaning to leave. But the mast-top swallows keep them with their talk. A boat skims in; footsteps stir the dust. She sings my new verse, her lips scattering blossoms into the cold. The waves are like arrows, urging the oars to sound. Countless mountains rise beneath the Huangling Shrine. I listen to the Xiang goddesses, their music flowing clear—when did they end, and for whom did they grieve? By the time we reach eastern Wu, spring will be nearly gone; the river will be wide, the tide level, and our crossing steady. I gaze at the golden sparrow towers and their soaring eaves. Liu the Wanderer has returned once more; I ask whether the thousand peach trees at Xuandu still bloom. My sorrow needs a single string to voice it."

(2) Xin Qiji, "Dingfengbo": "His golden seals hang in ranks, bright ornaments at his waist; at the river bridge, he composes another heartbreaking poem. Do not wave your banners and truly leave. Where to? The Jade Hall still needs you to deliberate. Let us invite the three refined scholars to drink together, until we are drunk. We shall watch the spring wind test a few new teas. From now on, on a bright-moon night when wine runs freely—my ears grow hot. They must be talking about me over there."

(3) Han Yu, "He Xinlang" (Ode to the Narcissus): "A graceful person, fair as jade. She tries on new raiment, half golden yellow, half green, like a beauty adorned in the Han palace. Leaning by the small railing, she stands absorbed; before the wind, her emerald sash seems to dance. I recall her companions by the Luo River in those days. Her gauze slippers raise a fragrant dust as she drifts along; I think she is the girl who walks the waves, as geese return on their distant journey. A startled dream breaks off at the bend of the Chu River. If spring's divine handiwork saw her, it would surely claim her as its own. How could it bear to leave her in an idle pavilion, among flute pipes and cold wind, with mournful rain? I would gather all these flowers and send them with my tears and their fragrance. Believe me, this parting sorrow is truly so. In the hazy waters and slanting sunset lies the place where the poet calls back the soul in his Nine Songs. A thousand years of grief—who can I tell?"

(4) Han Yu, "Busuanzi": "Willows turn green and form a shade; the Cold Food Festival has just passed. The door is shut, and I sleep alone behind the golden latch. How can I face another cold night? I force myself up and stand in the east wind; pear blossoms fade in pitiful profusion. Why has the young lord not returned sooner? Beneath the moon, the swing hangs lonely."

Eighteen

Tan Futang's Selections from the Lyrics in the Case says: "Jiang Lutan's Lyrics from the Water-Cloud Tower, together with those of Cheng Rongruo and Xiang Liansheng, stood as three great powers over two hundred years." Yet Lyrics from the Water-Cloud Tower has considerable realm in its short lyrics, while its long ones possess only style and bearing. Lyrics of Recalling the Clouds is solid and substantial, but lacks transcendence; neither can compare with Rongruo. Still, compared with the likes of Gaowen and Zhian, it stands far above them.

Nineteen

Theories about the eras of ci poets flourished in the early Qing. Zhucha said that ci grew grand in the Northern Song and profound in the Southern Song. (1) Later poets all upheld this view. Yet even then, there were discerning voices. Zhou Baoxu said: "The Southern Song did not fall into the Northern Song's clumsy, unrestrained faults, but it never reached the Northern Song's achievement of all-embracing wholeness." He also said: "Northern Song ci often takes scenery as its starting point and narrates feeling; hence it is round as pearls, lustrous as jade, and crystalline in every direction. With Jiaxuan and Baishi, this changed: they took events as their starting point and narrated scenery, so what was deep became shallow, and what was winding became straight." (2) Pan Sinong said: "Ci began in the Tang, flourished in the Five Dynasties, but in the breadth and depth, subtlety and sincerity of its conception and style, it reached its height in the Northern Song. The Northern Song's place in ci is like the High Tang's place in poetry. It declined somewhat in the Southern Song." (3) Liu Rongzhai said: "Northern Song ci could be both dense and spare, hidden and clear, deep and brisk, fine and broad, precise and full. The Southern Song simply turned these qualities around." (4) We can see that this matter has its own settled judgment. Though Zhian's ci is rather shallow and insubstantial, and Pan and Liu even more so, their esteem for the Northern Song was a discerning view they shared with the various literati of Yun Jian in the late Ming.

Notes:

(1) Zhu Yizun, "Preface to A Comprehensive Collection of Ci": "People who speak of ci always praise the Northern Song. Yet ci only reached its utmost refinement in the Southern Song, and underwent its greatest transformations at the end of the Song."

(2) See Zhou Ji, Miscellaneous Notes on Ci from the Jiecun Studio.

(3) See Pan Dexing, Collected Works of the Yiyizhai Studio, volume twenty-two, "A Letter to Ye Shengmingli."

(4) See Liu Xizai, General Principles of the Arts, volume four, "General Principles of Ci and Qu."

Twenty

The ci of the Tang, Five Dynasties, and Northern Song could be called fragrant and true in color. As for the various poets of Yun Jian, theirs were merely painted flowers. Even Xiangzhen was like this—how much more so those who came after him?