Does anyone remember Li Qingzhao (Song Dynasty female poet, getting drunk and rowing into things, existential dread?)
She’s back! I.e obviously she’s dead, but I am translating five more of her poems, because a) I need translation practice, b) I think she’s really cool.
A Snip of Plum Blossom (一剪梅)(written after parting from husband, Zhao Mingcheng)
The lotuses are bedraggled, red. Your floor mat (jade) is getting colder.
I disentangle my sleeves
And sail alone on the orchid-wood boat.
Who comes from the clouds, bearing letters?
The west chamber is full of moonlight
By the time the geese return.
The flowers float on the wind, and they stream through the water
With their one shared emotion
And two far-away sorrows.
There’s no way to get rid of this feeling
For when I lower my brow
It only falls back onto my heart.
Spring in Wuling (武陵春)
The wind is blocked up with dust
And the flowers do not smell sweet any longer
Fatigued, I comb my hair
Day and night.
Things shall be, and people shan’t
So all is at rest.
I wish that I could speak
But first the tears stream out.
I’ve heard that spring is better in Shuangxi
I should sail there on a little boat.
It’s only that a zemeng, the sort of boat they have in Shuangxi
Would be jammed up with my many sorrows
Unable to move.
Things shall be, and people shan’t (物是人非) is taken from a letter by Cao Pi, son of legendary warlord Cao Cao and founder of the Cao Wei dynasty, writing roughly a millennium before Li Qingzhao in the Three Dynasties period.
A zemeng (舴艋) is a small boat with an arched roof:
Shuangxi lies in Zhejiang province, Eastern China. It is quite close to Hangzhou, an ancient city renowned for its waterways. Shuangxi means ‘two rivulets’ (双溪) which clues us into its natural appeal as a sailing destination.
Yin of the Drunken Flower (醉花阴)
The fragile mist and sturdy clouds are sorrowful forever
And crystals waft away on my burner (a golden beast).
So many holidays - again it comes, the Ninth of the Ninth,
And I sleep on a jade pillow, in a bed of gauze,
And feel the cold first at midnight.
The bushes in the east take to drink until the morning
And their subtle fragrance fills my sleeves.
Somebody says ‘Don’t lose your spirits!’
The curtain is rumpled by the westerly wind
And the people look thinner than chrysanthemums.
The crystals being burned are rui nao, made from rainforest trees.
The golden beast incense burner would have probably looked a bit like this:
The Ninth of the Ninth (Double Ninth Festival) is held in around October and heavily associated with the auspicious chrysanthemum (even more in the modern day than it was in Li’s time)
The bushes in the east: Li is referencing a poem by Dong Jin (of the Western Jin dynasty) where the speaker picks chrysanthemums under a bush in the east (东篱). This is another sneaky way to get chrysanthemums on the reader’s mind without actually speaking their name before the final, disheartening line of the poem 人比黄花瘦. Chrysanthemums go from a sign of gaiety to a symbol of human suffering and disillusionment, and Li goes from being satisfied with a draughty bed to feeling very sensitive about the world around her.
The Lonely Goose (孤雁儿)
(Worldly people write songs about plum trees,
And become common when pen is put to paper.
I’ll offer you one now,
And then you’ll see that I have not spoken rashly.)
In a bed of rattan, a paper canopy
I rise from my sleep in the morning,
Not having spoken enough
About my bad mood.
The fragrance, diffusing
On and off on the jade burner
Accompanies my emotions
Like water.
At the sound of the Three Tunes, played on xiao,
A plum blossom, when surprised, bursts.
How soon is spring, with its tenderness?
The breeze and the drizzle whisper, whisper upon the ground,
Then squash down a thousand tears.
The xiao player goes
To the empty jade tower,
Broken-hearted, whom shall he rely on?
A branch is cut and taken,
And among humans, among immortals,
Nobody is there to share it.
The Three Plum Blossom Tunes (梅花三弄) are songs meant to be sung and played as a plum blossom is plucked apart. As with the Anglosphere tradition of plucking apart a daisy, each petal is taken in turn and associated with a certain lyric:
The xiao is a traditional bamboo flute.
The empty jade tower stands for death.
A Dream at the Break of Dawn (晓梦)
I dream at the break of the dawn
And thus the miserly sound of the clock
Floats away, stomps through the rosy clouds.
It’s because of the immortals
That I must say my untimely farewell
To the fairy, E Lu Hua.
The autumn wind is a scoundrel
And blows away the flowers
Of the jade well.
Seen together, the lotus roots
Are like boats, and dates
Taste the same way melon does.
Pertinaciously
Do the guests sit;
They speak in mysterious, wonderful whispers.
In graceful mockery,
In the tumult of a debate,
With vigour do we read the tea leaves.
We may not be helping the god above
With his duties,
But this joy is without limit.
If it’s possible that life
Can be like this, then why
Should I return home?
When I awaken, I sit down, fully clothed,
And block my ears
Of the triumphant shouts.
One cannot see what is known in the heart,
But with some consideration,
You might learn to treasure it.
E Lu Hua (萼绿华) is a fairy in the Daoist tradition.