Seth, Vikram (tr.); Wei Wang; Po Li; Fu Du;
Three Chinese Poets
Phoenix 1997, 80 pages
ISBN 1857997808
topics: | poetry | china
The three poets are from the Tang period - Wang Wei, Li Bai, and Du Fu, an
age of great cultural leaps interrupted by a disastrous civil war. The
Tang dynasty (618-907 AD) was founded by Tai Zong, with its capital at
Changan; after his death, an erstwhile concubine became empress as the
Empress Wu.
One of her innovations was the inclusion of poetry composition as a
compulsory subject in the imperial civil examinations, which until
then had dealt mainly with Confucian texts. This measure was to have a
profound influence in contributing to the remarkable reflowering of
peotry in the next generation. - intro, p.xiv
The Tang era is considered the golden period of Chinese poetry, and
particularly well-known is the collection 300 Tang Dynasty poems, a text
often prescribed in Chinese syllabi. (fulltext: U.Virginia etext)
The three poets lived under the emperor Ming Huang, and lived through the
period of the rebellion by the general An Lushan (of central Asian
Tujue-Turkish ancestry), who occupied the capital for some time,
splintering many other rebellions across China. Eventually the rebellion
was crushed, but at the cost of 10 million lives. The Tang dynasty limped
on for another 150 years.
The three poets are stereotyped as Wang Wei: Buddhist recluse; Li Bai: Taoist
immortal; and Du Fu as Confucian sage. While such a characterization is
perhaps "unsuitable and artificial, but it can act as a a clarifying
approximation for those approaching Chinese poetry for the first time."
He is attempting to faithful to the originals:
I should mention that the poems in this book are not intended as
transcreations or free translations, in this sense, attempts to use
the originals as trampolines from which to bounce off on to poems of
my own. The famous translations of Ezra Pound, compounded as they
are of ignorance of Chinese and valiant self-indulgence, have
remained before me as a warning of what to shun. -intro: xxv
but the originals are extremely nuanced by the conventions of middle
Northern Chinese, a language that is lost today. The stylized world of
these poems are a far cry from attempts to recover their meanigns from
single-word articulations of the chinese radicals.
These poems are however, among Vikram Seth's finest work. (see excerpts
from his Collected poems).
-- Living in the hills: Impromptu Verses : Wang Wei I close my brushwood door in solitude and face the vast sky as late sunlight falls. The pine trees: cranes are nesting all around. My wicker gate: a visitor seldom calls The tender bamboo's dusted with fresh powder. Red lotuses strip off their former bloom. Lamps shine out at the ford, and everywhere The water-chestnut pickers wander home. Literal analysis (from intro, p. xxiv): lonely, close, brushwood, door vast, face, falling, light cranes, nest, pine, tree, everywhere men, visit, wicker, gate, few tender, bamboo, hold, new, powder red, lotus, shed, old, clothes at the ford, lantern, fire, rise everywhere, water-chestnut, picker, return home. [lines 1, 2, 4, 6, and 8 are rhyming]
Empty hills, no man in sight Just echoes of the voice of men. In the deep wood reflected light Shines on the blue-green moss again. (alternate translation: Witter Bynner & Kiang Kang-hu (1929): There seems to be no one on the empty mountain... And yet I think I hear a voice, Where sunlight, entering a grove, Shines back to me from the green moss. and Kenneth Rexroth: Empty hills, no one in sight, only the sound of someone talking; late sunlight enters the deep wood, shining over the green moss again. (see 26 translations of this poem at zfrans.com) [Note Seth's use of broken, cut-up sentences, clearly it's deliberate (contrast the fluid flow in his Golden Gate, say). Surely a stylistic attempt to capture the short cryptic nature of the originals? see also the style in Florence Ayscough's translation (of another poem) below. ]
In Fuzhou, far away, my wife is watching The moon alone tonight, and my thoughts fill With sadness for my children, who can't think Of me here in Changan; they're too young still. Her cloud-soft hair is moist with fragrant mist. In the clear light her white arms sense the chill. When will we feel the moonlight dry our tears, Leaning together on our window-sill? (see 48 other translations)
Consider the Du Fu poem, lǚ yè shū huái [旅夜書懷], one of his rightly famous, from the comparative survey by Ray Brownrigg.
Light breeze on the fine grass. I stand alone at the mast. Stars lean on the vast wild plain. Moon bobs in the Great River’s spate. Letters have brought no fame. Office? Too old to obtain. Drifting, what am I like? A gull between earth and sky. We may consider some alternate translations; here's Kenneth Rexroth: A light breeze rustles the reeds Along the river banks. The Mast of my lonely boat soars Into the night. Stars blossom Over the vast desert of Waters. Moonlight flows on the Surging river. My poems have Made me famous but I grow Old, ill and tired, blown hither And yon; I am like a gull Lost between heaven and earth. -- Florence Ayscough, from Tu Fu: The Autobiography of a Chinese Poet, A.D. 712-770 (2 Volumes) (London: Cape, 1929, 1934): A Traveller at Night Writes His Thoughts Fine grass; slight breeze from bank; High mast; alone at night in boat. Over level widening waste stars droop-flowers; Moon flows as water on vast surging stream. Fame! is it manifest by essays, poems? An official, old, sick, should rest. What do I resemble, blown by wind blown by wind? A gull on the sand between Heaven and Earth. --A Sojourner's Even Song, tr. Tao, Tommy W. K. (www.taosl.net/tao/yq00712.htm) Frail grass, soft wind, at the shore; Tall mast, lone boat, in the eventide. Stars dangle o'er the plain so vast; Moon surging on the river wide. Will I be known for my writings alone? One should serve until one dies! Drifting, drifting, what's it like? A single sand gull 'twixt the earth and skies. (original rhyme scheme: ABCBDBEB; here ABCBDEBE] --Barnstone, Tony & Chou Ping (www.7beats.com/200612017beatsarchive.html) Thoughts While Night Traveling Slender wind shifts the shore's fine grass. Lonely night below the boat's tall mast. Stars hang low as the vast plain splays; the swaying moon makes the great river race. How can poems make me known? I'm old and sick, my career done. Drifting, just drifting. What kind of man am I? A lone gull floating between earth and sky. --Thoughts While Mooring At Night unknown (dictionary.jongo.com/lesson/detail/318.html) Riverside grass caressed by wind so light, A tall lonely mast seems to pierce the night. The boundless plain is fringed with stars hanging low; The moon upsurges with the river on the flow. Will fame e'er come to men of letters mere? Old, ill, retired from office, I feel drear. Drifting along, what do I look to be? A wild gull seeking shelter on the sea. -- literal translation ([www.bopsecrets.org/gateway/passages/tu-fu.htm|Alexander, Mark]): 旅夜書懷 lǚ yè shū huái Nocturnal Reflections While Traveling 細草微風岸 xì cǎo wēi fēng àn, Gently grass soft wind shore 危檣獨夜舟 wēi qiáng dú yè zhōu. Tall mast alone night boat 星垂平野闊 xīng chuí píng yě kuò, Stars fall flat fields broad 月湧大江流 yuè yǒng dà jiāng liú. Moon rises great river flows 名豈文章著 míng qǐ wén zhāng zhù, Name not literary works mark 官應老病休 guān yīng lǎo bìng xiū. Official should old sick stop 飄飄何所似 piāo piāo hé suǒ sì, Flutter flutter what place seem 天地一沙鷗 tiān dì yī shā ōu. Heaven earth one sand gull links: review by E.A. Lombardi wikipedia ---blurb: The three Chinese poets translated here are among the greatest literary figures of China, or indeed the world. Wang Wei with his quiet love of nature and Buddhist philosophy; Li Bai, the Taoist spirit, with his wild, flamboyant paeans to wine and the moon; and Du Fu, with his Confucian sense of sympathy with the suffering of others in a time of civil war and collapse.These three poets of a single generation, responding differently to their common times, crystallise the immense variety of China and the Chinese poetic tradition and, across a distance of twelve hundred years, move the reader as it is rare for even poetry to do.