The Collected Poems of Li He
Page 17
Coil on coil of dragons.
Bitter bamboos for a traveller
Play singing flutes.3
The Official Has Not Come A Poem Written in the Office of My Senior, Huang-Fu Shi
The official has not come!
Autumn in his office courtyard.
Twisted trunks of kolanut trees—
Green dragons grieving.
Clerks and deputies
Milling like cattle.
I keep asking his assistants:
“Is he coming or not?”
The official is not coming,
His gateway darkens.1
Song of an Arrowhead from Chang-ping
Flakes of lacquer, dust of bones,
Red cinnabar,
The ancient blood once spurted forth
And bore bronze flowers.
White feathers and its metal stem
Have rotted in the rain.
Only the three spines still remain,1
Broken teeth of a wolf.
I searched this plain of battle
With a pair of nags,
In stony fields east of the post-station,
On a weed-grown hill.
An endless wind, the day short,
Desolate stars,
Black banners of damp clouds
Hung in void-night.
Souls to the left, spirits to the right,
Gaunt with hunger, wailing.2
I poured curds from my tilted flask,
Offered roast mutton.3
Insects silent, the wild geese sick,
Reed shoots reddening,
A whirlwind came to see me off,
Blowing the ghost-fires.4
In tears I sought this ancient field,
Picked up a broken arrow,
Its shattered point, scarlet and cracked,
Once drove through flesh.
In South Street, by the eastern wall,
A lad on horseback
Urged me to exchange the metal
For a votive-basket.5
Song: The Mansion by the River
Before her house the water flows,
Road to Jiang-ling.
The carp-fish wind has risen,1
The lotus grown old.
At dawn she hastily pins her hair,
Talks to the south wind.
“To hoist his sail and come back home,
Is but one day’s work.
Since the crocodile cried by the harbour
And the plum-rain flew,2
The wine-flags on their poles have changed
To green ramie.3
When white waves roared and blustered,
Clouds scudding wildly,
I sent a powder-yellow raincoat
To my husband.
Drip of new wine into vats Sad and faint,
Acres of South Lake turned white
With water-chestnut.
Suddenly my eyes perceive
A thousand leagues of sorrow
When Little Jade draws back the screen4
And I see the coloured hills.”
Song: Beyond the Frontiers
Barbarian horns have summoned the north wind,
Thistle Gate is whiter than a stream!1
The road to Green Sea vanishes into the sky,2
Along the Wall, a thousand moonlit miles.
While dew falls drizzling on our flags,
Cold metal clangs the watches of the night,3
Barbarian armour meshes serpents’ scales,
Horses whinny where Green Grave gleams white.4
In autumn stillness see the Banner Head,5
On the vast sands the mournful furze.
North of our tents the sky itself must end,
Across the frontier comes the River’s roar.6
Dyed Silk on the Loom in Spring
She draws water in jade jars
From the empress-tree petal well.
Silk dyed with madder, water-steeped,
Like a cloud’s shadow.
This lively girl is tired,
Her rouged face looks sad.
In spring her shuttle clicks away,
Humming in the tall tower.
Bright-hued silk, knotted in
Double folds on the back—
A handsome man in a white-collared coat
Sent Peach-leaves this present.1
“Embroidered with simurghs
Is the belt I have made you.
I want you to roam round
Drinking spring wine.”
Song of the Young Five-Grain Pine
Bachelor Xie and Du Yun-qing once asked me to write a song for a young five-grain pine. I was very busy with my books at the time and could not write this lyric for them. Ten days later I composed these eight lines to fulfill their request.
Snake’s son, snake’s grandson,
Scales coiled like a dragon’s.
My grains, new and fragrant,
Were food for Hong Yai.1
Leaves lapped in green wavelets,
Glossy and rich.
Neat bundles of dragons’ whiskers,
Trimmed off with scissors.2
On my owner’s wall
Maps of the district.
Round my owner’s hall
Mobs of uncouth scholars.3
Bright moonlight, white dew,
Autumn tears falling.
Pointed stones, stream clouds,
May I send you this letter?4
Song: By the Pool
Lotus flower degged with chill dew,
The petals ragged, the root grown harsh.
A lonely mandarin-duck comes winging down,1
With gentle splash in the waters of the pool.
Song: General Lü
General Lü,
The valiant-hearted,
Riding alone on Scarlet Hare1
Out of the gates of Qin,2
To weep at Gold Grain Mound3
By funereal trees.
Rebellion in the north
Stains in the blue sky.
His dragon-sword cries out at night—
But the general’s left idle,
To shake his sleeves,
And stroke his cross-guard.
“Round the jade towers of Vermilion City,
A maze of gates and pavilions.”4
Slowly, the silver tortoise swings
To the gait of the white horse.5
A powdered lady-general rides
Under a fiery banner.6
The iron horsemen of Mount Heng
Call for their metal lances.7
They can smell from afar the ornate arrows
In her perfumed quiver.
Cold weeds grow in the western suburbs,
With leaves like thorns,
High heaven has just now planted them,
To feed our thoroughbreds.
In tall-beamed stables, row on row
Of useless nags.
Stuffing themselves on green grass,
Drinking white water.8
Inscrutable that vaulted azure,
Arching over earth,
This is the way the world wags
In our Nine Provinces.
Gleaming ore from Scarlet Hill!9
Hero of our time!
Green-eyed general, you well know
The will of Heaven!10
Don’t Wash Red Cloth!
Don’t wash red cloth!
For washed too often it will fade.
You are so full of youthful pride!
Yesterday we met at the bridge of Yin.1
Come home soon with a marquisate!
Don’t be just another arrow from a bow!
Song in the Wilds
Arrow plumed with duck-feathers,
Mountain-mulberry bow,1
Pointed skywards may bring down
A reed-bearing goose.2
In linen clothes, all black and greasy,
I brave the north wind.3
Drunk at twilight, I’m still singing
Down in the fields.
Though a man may suffer poverty,
His heart’s not poor.
“Some men wither, others flourish—
Why rail at God?
This bitter wind will bring to life
The willows of spring,
These bare branches suddenly wear
A new, green mist.”4
Let Wine Be Brought In!
In opaque, glass goblets
A viscous amber.1
From a little vat the wine drips down
On pearls of red.
From boiling dragons and roasting phoenix
Jade fat is weeping,
Gauzy screens, embroidered curtains
Enclose these perfumed airs.2
Blow dragon flutes!
Beat alligator drums!
Dazzling teeth in song,
Slender waists in dance.
Especially now when green, spring days
Are turning to dusk,3
With peach-petals falling wildly
Like pink showers.
I beg you now to stay quite drunk
To the end of your days,
For on the earth of Liu Ling’s grave
No one pours wine.4
Song: A Lovely Girl Combing Her Hair
Xi-shih dreaming at dawn,
In the cool of silken curtains,1
Scented coils of her falling chignon,
Half aloes and sandalwood.2
The turning windlass of the well,
Creaking like singing jade,
Wakes with a start this lotus-blossom,
That has newly slept its fill.
Twin simurghs open her mirror,
An autumn pool of light.3
She loosens her tresses before the mirror,
Stands by her ivory bed.
A single skein of perfumed silk,
Clouds cast on the floor,
Noiseless, the jade comb lights upon
Her lustrous hair.
Delicate fingers push up the coils—
Colour of an old rook’s plumes,
Blue-black, so sleek the jewelled pins
Cannot hold it up.
Light-heartedly the spring breeze vexes
Her youthful languor,
Just eighteen, with hair so rich,
Her strength has fled.
Her coiffure over, the well-dressed chignon
Sits firm and does not slip.
In cloudy skirts, she takes a few steps,
A wild goose treading sand,
She turns away in silence—
Where is she off to now?
Just down the steps to pick herself
A spray of cherry blossom.
A Shining Wet Moon
A shining wet moon,
Jade in misty waves,
Green sedge, a host of cassia flowers,
Lotuses drifting from riverside trees.
Powdered beauties cold in sendal robes,1
Goose-wings, brushing wet mist.2
Who can descry Stone Sail or ride
A boat upon the Mirror?3
White autumn, new reds dying,4
Sweet-scented water, lotus-seeds ripening,
Girls plucking water-chestnut part their dancer’s sleeves,
Green thorns clinging to slime-silver gowns.5
The Capital
Out of my gate I galloped, full of hope—
But now my heart is lonely in Chang-an.
Since I have no one to confide in
I chant a poem, alone with the autumn wind.
Drums in the Street of the Officials
Thunder of drums at dawn,
Hastening the sun,
Thunder of drums at dusk,
Calling out the moon.
In the city of Han, yellow willows
Dazzle on new blinds,1
In a cypress mound lie the fragrant bones
Of flying Swallow.2
Drums pounding away a thousand years
The sun forever white,
Yet Emperor Wu and the Emperor of Qin
Are deaf to their call.
Your blue-black hair must turn to the hue
Of a flowering rush,3
Only the drums with the Southern Hill
Will guard the Middle Kingdom.
How many times have Ethereal Immortals
Been buried in Heaven?
The drip of the water-clock, day after day,
Goes on without pause.
A Song for Xu’s Lady, Zheng (She Having Asked Me to Write This When I Was in Her Garden)
Imperial relatives on the distaff side,
Generations of Xus and Shis.
With a thousand yards of palace brocade
He bought his drinking-bouts.
By the Brazen Camels he mulled his wine,
Clear as warm glue,
On ancient banks, where emerald mist
Drapes the great willows.
A stranger came, a cassia-flower,
The renowned Zheng Xiu.1
When she reached Luo, her fragrance wafted
From Tripod Gate.2
First he gave her a peony,3
Then a vanity-mirror,
And after this a nugget of gold,
Big as a bushel.
As Never Sorrow let him dally,
Behind the screen,4
She played her lute for his delight,
Fifty melodious strings.
Music sobbed on the wind of spring,
Stirring his soul,
Enraptured, he was moved to saddle
Both their horses.
Twin steeds pacing on twice four hooves
Through an orchid park!
Love clasped tight as knit bamboo—
No prying eyes.
Jade pillows gleaming in the dark,
Phoenix at rest,5
Heavy curtains shrouding the portals,
Silk passementerie.
On a long scroll of costly paper,
The ballad of Ming-jun.6
Gliding from note to note, her song
Pierced the sapphire clouds
Vanity-patches on her cheeks,
She trod the eastern road—
Now the long-browed girls of the gay quarters
See very few guests.
“On Xiang-ru’s tomb the autumn cypress
Flourishes still.
But who are the poets who sing of love
In the capital today?”
Hair piled high, eyes wild with wine,
She asked her friends,
Then came to this scion of a royal house,
To entreat Cao Zhi.7
Song: A New Summer
At dawn a thousand clumps of trees,
Glossy as wax,
Fading scent of fallen stamens
Lingering a little.
On shadowed branches, pale-green down
Of buds still furled,
Summer breezes blow from afar,
Coaxing their verdure.
Villagers grow wheat on ridges,
High on new dikes,
Thick over long balks where I stroll,
Mulberry and silkworm-thorn,1
A piercing fragrance fills the earth
From the sweet-flag.
Swallows are chattering on rain-drenched beams,
Sad that I’m growing old,
Whirling petals of the third month,
Fly to River walks.
Enriching heaven, enriching earth,
Willows sweep the ground.
On the Theme of “Dreaming I Was Back at Home”
Back in Chang-an, on a night of wind and rain,
A student who is dreaming of Chang-gu,
Laughing and carefree in the sitting room,
Cutting king-grass in the gorge with my young brother,
My whole family welcomes me with joy,
Counting on me to fill their empty b
ellies.
My inmost heart is faint and weary now.
A guttering lamp glimmers on a fish’s eyes!1
Passing through Sandy Park
Where wild floods sail their watery waves,
Over the yamen the young madder grows.1
No one to see the willows turn to spring,
On grassy islands mandarin ducks are basking.2
Horses lie on the sands, whinnying in the sun,
The old ones walk off, neighing piteously.
Though spring has come, once again I have not gone home.
On the frontier cries a goose with broken wings.3
On Leaving the City and Parting from Chang You-xin I Pledge Li Han with Wine
Out of the capital I go as spring
Burgeons upon the peaks of the Southern Hill,
Tonight I cannot hear the drums1—
Some consolation to my aching heart.
Zhao Yi wrote poems on his unhappy fate,2
And Ma-qing’s family lived in poverty.3
What news comes to me in letters from home?
“Clouds of purple bracken cover the rocks.”4
Chang-an is a kingdom of jade and cassia,5
Halberd-pennants wave at noble gates.6
Even in winter’s gloom the ground is shining,
Precious steeds prance by from dawn till dusk.
Winter and spring, they hunt in grassy parks,
Their fashionable carriages rumbling and clattering by.
Golden bells dangle from their green nets,
Coiling like mist round the clear pool’s brink.
From loosened purses money flows like water,7
Just to buy ice to drive off summer flies.
At times the great quilts are split up,8
Among guests with swords, in cushioned carriages.
I’m just a nobody, heart like dead ashes,
Where only autumn thorn-bush grows.
The imperial sway governs the four seas,
And all our citizens are gentlemen.
Yet shrouding mists obscure the emperor’s radiance,
Tortoise-seals remain mere lumps of silver.9
I wanted to play ritual music,
Making sure my cadences were fresh and new,
So ordering things that for ten thousand years
The Imperial Way would be like a god on wing.
Flower and fruit would bloom and ripen,10
Glory pour out as from a tilted ewer.