The Sui dynasty (589-617) which put an end to the south-north split and reunified China was short-lived and insignificant in the poetic field. It is under the Tang that Chinese poetry attained its greatest flowering.
During the 150 years that elapsed between the establishment of the Tang dynasty in 618 and the rebellion of An Lu-shan in 756, China knew neither civil war nor alien invasion. This long period of peace and comparative prosperity was highly favorable to the development of art and literature. The Tang dynasty (618-907) became the golden age of Chinese poetry. More than 2,000 poets of note produced nearly 50,000 poems of literary value. These are some of the reasons for the poetic greatness of Tang.
1. Historical and social background. Emperor T'ai Tsung, the founder of T'ang, destroyed the Sui dynasty and laid the groundwork for an empire that extended into Korea and Manchuria in the northeast, Central Asia in the west, Outer Mongolia in the north and Indo-China in the south. The pushing out of Chinese frontiers brought about an intermingling of races, the growth of Buddhist and Confucian influence as well as the introduction of Islam and the development of communications. Cultural exchange took place between the Chinese and other peoples. Not surprisingly, T'ang poetry is characterized by freshness of inspiration and a wide range of subject matter.
2. The inherently revolutionary character of poetry. Though a spiritual product of humanity, poetry is itself organic and reflects processes of birth, growth and decline. The four-character verses were born at the beginning of the Chou dynasty, flourished toward the end of West Chou and declined during the Ch'in and Han dynasties. The regulated verse that came into being during the Southern and Northern dynasties attained its highest degree of glory under the T'ang. Every dynasty has its own literary form and a similar process of poetic evolution. The great critic Wang Kuo-wei has well said: "When a literary form has been current for a long time, it becomes hackneyed; even original writers cannot make something new out of it. Consequently, they seek after a new form in order to liberate themselves. That is why all literary forms decline after a period of ascendancy."
3. Political background. Under a monarchical system, politics has a great impact on literature. Writers use literature to please monarchs and nobles and climb the ladder of officialdom. We find an interplay of literature and politics in the Yueh Fu of Han and in the court songs of the Southern dynasty. Under the T'ang many emperors encouraged art and literature. Hsuan Tsung, himself a poet and musician, was a great patron of the theater and poetry and assembled around him a group of brilliant men of letters. Moreover, poetry was a subject of the civil service examination under the Tang. Many poets found their work was a short cut to official honors.
4. The widening of poetic inspiration. One of the most striking characteristics of T'ang poetry is the wide range of subjects. T'ang poets endowed their work with new life; they dealt with human existence in its manifold aspects. They wrote about scenic beauty, frontier life, villages and merchants, court life and concubines, politics and history, the unequal distribution of wealth, problems of woman, philosophies of life, the sorrows of separation, friendship and love between the two sexes.
Previously most poetry was written by monarchs and aristocrats of limited experience. They sought after technical perfection or limited their themes to court life and pleasures. Many famous T'ang poets did not belong to the privileged class. Their humble origins, their struggles for existence and their bitter life experiences show up in their writings. Although they acquired official honors through civil service examinations, they understood the common people and sympathized with them. Their works are imbued with the thoughts and feelings of the people.
5. The creative power of other races. The period between the south-north split and reunification is one of intermarriage and racial intermingling. There had been incessant exchange of culture and blood between south and north. Under the T'ang, this intermingling resulted in the emergence of a new people endowed with fresh life and energy. As reflected in literature this new force gleamed with rare splendor.
Poetically, the T'ang dynasty is divided into three periods: early T'ang, the golden age of T'ang and late Tang. The early T'ang period is characterized by two phenomena: the continuation of the elaborate style of the Six-Dynasty period and the establishment and universal adoption of the regulated verse.
A regulated poem has its own prosodic rules. It should be composed of eight lines of either five or seven characters. The four lines in the middle should comprise two couplets of parallel construction with the fourth line responding to the third and the sixth to the fifth. Rhyme occurs at the end of the even numbered lines; rhyme at the end of the first line is optional. The same rhyme is used throughout a poem. Moreover, there are fixed tone-patterns for the five-word line regulated poem and the seven-word-line poem. Each pattern has six variations.
The golden age brought the birth of romantic poetry. Among the romantic poets, some sang exclusively in praise of nature and gave rise to idyllic poetry, represented here by Wang Wei, the painter-poet:
An Autumn Evening in the Hills
In the empty mountain after a rain shower,
The air is filled with autumn coolness.
The bright moon shines through the pines,
The clear stream flows on the pebbles.
The bamboos whisper of returning washer-maids,
The lotus leaves stir before a gliding fisher-boat.
Spring may fade away as it wishes
But you can stay.
My Retreat in the South Hill
In my middle age, I took a fancy to the cult of Tao,
Old, I came to dwell at the foot of the South Hill.
Alone I love to saunter whenever it pleases me,
I alone am aware of the thrilling beauties of nature.
I walk till the water checks my path,
Then sit down to watch the clouds rise.
Sometimes when I chance upon an old man in the woods,
We will chat and laugh and forget to return home.
Answering Vice-Prefect Chang
In my life's evening I am fond only of calm.
Wordly things concern me not.
Having nothing better to do,
I return to the old forest.
The pine wind blows while I undo my belt,
The mountain moon shines as I play my lute.
You want to know about failure and success?
Listen to the fisherman's songs in the depth of the river.
Deer Wood Hermitage
Sitting alone in the quiet bamboo grove,
I play my lute and chant my songs.
None is aware of me in this deep forest,
Dilly the bright moon shines on me.
Miscellanea
Coming from my native land,
You must know what happens there.
The day of your departure,
Was the plum tree in front of the silk-covered window in bloom?
The poetry of Wang Wei is a harmonious combination of description, Buddhist philosophy and poetic sentiment. His lyric quatrains, so ethereal and transcendental, are small masterpieces.
Among the poets belonging to the romantic school, the so-called frontier poets turned a new page in literature. They portrayed the exotic life and beauty of the frontier provinces. This is an example from Ts'en Ts'an (born about 700 A.D.):
Nocturnal Gathering at the Camp in Liangchow
The crescent moon is hanging over the city wall
And shines upon the city of Liangchow.
In the hundred thousand families of Liangchow stretching for seventy miles,
Most of the Tartars excel in playing the guitar.
A melody on the guitar is liable to break one's heart
During the lengthy night while the wind howls.
Many are my friends assembled in the camp tonight west of the river,
Separated from me for three or five springs.
Autumn grass has grown before the flower pavilion,
How can one look at it in misfortune and while aging?
How many times can one laugh in one's lifetime?
Let's get tipsy while meeting in front of a gallon of wine.
A native of Honan province, Ts'en Ts'an was born of a poor family. As a child he showed a predilection for poetry. Discontented with his obscure life, he sat for the civil service examination and was successful. He served as a magistrate, then became a staff officer at the headquarters of General Tu Hung-chien in Sinkiang province. He traveled extensively in the northwestern part of China and was inspired by the grandeur of the scenery and moved by the strange ways of the barbarians. His poems are based on his experiences and observations.
Seeing Off Staff Officer Wu at Lun-t'ai
The north wind sweeps the earth and frost-laden grass breaks.
In the barbarian land, it snows early in August.
It is as if millions of pear trees had burst into blossom overnight in a sudden wind of spring.
The snow penetrates the pearly screens and dampens the silk curtains;
Fox furs are no longer warm and silk coverlets seem too thin.
The warriors fail to draw the strings of their horny bows;
The general wears his armor despite the cold.
For thousands of feet the desert is covered with ice,
For ten thousand miles, congealed and gloomy clouds are shrouding the sky.
In the camp of the General we drink to the homebound guest
To the accompaniment of barbarian violins, guitars and flutes.
In abundance the snow falls before the camp door,
Stiff with ice, the red flags remain immobile in the wind.
We saw you off outside the east city gate
When the Celestial Mountain Road was covered with snow.
We lost sight of you at the turn of the road;
Only the hoof prints of your horse were left on the snow.
Li Po (701-762) is universally accepted as the outstanding writer of Chinese romantic poetry. His birthplace is variously represented as Nanking, Shantung, Lunghai, Szechuan or the Western Regions. He was born to wander and early turned to swordsmanship. He traveled widely in search of adventure, his sword ever ready.
As a philosopher, Li Po was deeply influenced by Taoism. He was closely associated with Wu Chun, a celebrated Taoist of his time, under whom he studied the Taoist scriptures. Taoist mysticism and philosophy are often reflected in his poetry.
Li Po was extravagant, wild and carefree, ever ready to trade his spotted horse or even his precious fur coat for a jar of good wine. He loved beautiful clothes, drink and sing-song girls.
His life was rich in experience. He traveled widely, especially through picturesque Kiangsu and Chekiang. He knew imperial favor and the glory of the court when he lived in the palace of Emperor Hsuan Tsung. Involved in political intrigue, he was banished to the southwest, and learned of prison, exile and life in dismal swamplands.
As a poet, he was a genius. With his inspiration, he could improvise poems or Yueh Yu songs of different styles. He shook off conventional shackles and disregarded prosodic rules so as to give free rein to his creative powers. His style is powerful, his imagination rich, his language fluid and natural.
Li Po wrote on a wide range of subjects. He excels at both the subjective expression of his sentiments and in objective descriptions. His masterpieces are his Yueh Fu songs - lofty, powerful and perfectly representative of the romantic spirit. The following are examples of his work.
Visiting Mount T'ien Mu in a Dream
Seafarers talk of Yingchow
Inaccessible and covered with mist and waves.
Yueh people talk about Mount T'ien Mu
Visible through clouds now gloomy now bright.
Mount T'ien Mu lies under the sky to which it is linked,
Surpassing the Five Peaks in height and hiding from sight the Red City.
Mount T'ien Mu is forty-eight thousand feet high
Yet it bows before T'ien Mu inclining southeastward.
I dreamed of Wu and Yueh
And one night crossed the moonlit Mirror Lake.
The moon in the lake lit my shadow
And accompanied me to the Yen river
Where the hermitage of Lord Hsieh was still found
And the monkeys called by the green rippling water.
Wearing the pegged boots of Lord Hsieh,
I mounted a ladder of blue cloud,
Beheld the sun above the sea
And heard the crow of the celestial cocks.
Winding through a thousand rocks and ten thousand valleys, I lost my way,
Fascinated by the flowers, leaning against the rocks, I was suddenly surprised by nightfall.
With bears howling and dragons singing among the rocks and in the water,
I trembled before the deep forest and high peaks.
Gloomy, gloomy were the rain clouds,
Pale, pale the water reeking with mist.
With a sudden roar of thunder,
The mountains were split,
The celestial stone gate
Suddenly broke asunder.
Infinite was the immensity of blue
With sun and moon shining on terraces of gold and silver.
Clad in rainbow garments and riding on the wind,
The fairies of the clouds alighted one by one.
Tigers played the guitars, phoenixes drove the cars,
The fairies lined up like hemp in a row.
All of a sudden I felt a thrill and tremor in my soul,
I got up with a long sigh.
Awake, I found only my pillow and matting,
Gone were the mists and clouds in the dream.
Such are also worldly joys.
All passes away like water flowing eastward.
And so I take my leave of you, not knowing the day of return.
I shall raise a white deer in the green hills,
Riding it, I shall visit the famous mountains whenever it pleases me.
Oh how can I bow my head and crook my back to serve the powerful
And deprive myself of the pleasure of a light heart and open smile?
Following is the author's translation of five of Li Po's lyric poems:
Awakening from Drunkenness on a Spring Day
Life is a long dream.
Why should we toil?
Thus thinking, I have been drunk all day long,
Lying against the pillar at the front door.
Awake, I gaze at the courtyard:
A bird is singing among the flowers.
May I ask what season this is?
The bird that chirps in the spring wind is an oriole.
Deeply moved by the flight of time, I sigh
And pour myself more wine.
Singing aloud, I wait for the bright moon.
When I have finished my song,
All my sorrows are forgotten.
In Front of Wine
Wine of grapes in goblets of gold,
A Mongolian maid of fifteen coming on pony-back.
Her eyebrows are black painted,
She wears a pair of red satin boots.
Though her speech is inarticulate,
How bewitchingly she sings!
While feasting she gets drunk in my lap,
Oh lass, what to do with you within the hibiscus bed curtains?
To a Fair Lady on the Road
Proudly the cavalier treads the fallen flowers,
His whip touches an elegant chariot.
Lifting up the pearly curtain, a fair lady smiles from within,
Points to a red pavilion, saying: "There is my dwelling."
Self Entertainment
In front of wine I am unaware of nightfall,
My garment is covered with fallen flowers.
In tipsiness, I tread the moonlight by a stream,
Birds have returned home, so have men.
Dialogue in the Mountains
You ask why I dwell in the green hills.
Smiling. I reply not, heart in peace.
When fallen flowers are borne away by the flowing water,
Methinks I am elsewhere than in the world of men.
In speaking of T'ang poets, Li Po and Tu Fu (712-770) are always mentioned together, although the two are quite different in temperament, thought and output.
Brought up in a poor family in Hsiangyang, Hupeh province, Tu Fu knew hardships throughout his life. In his early years, he took the imperial civil service examination but without success. It was only at the age of 43 that he obtained from Emperor Su Tsung an insignificant post; not long afterward he was exiled and spent most of the rest of his life in barren regions of Szechwan and Kueichow, suffering from sickness, hunger and poverty.
Tu Fu put Confucianist morality in his poetry.(File photo)
Temperamentally, Tu Fu was a practical proletarian. Unlike the extravagant Li Po, he had a high regard for thrift and hated the privileged class. This was a troubled age. The rebellion of An Lu-shan in 755 heralded a train of political upheaval, social instability and civil war. Tu Fu wrote often of the horrors of war and of social injustice. His poetry is realistic and objectively descriptive and reflects the economic and social conditions of his time. Li Po looked down on tradition. Tu Fu was erudite and studious. His verses are laborious and reveal visible effort.
As a philosopher, Tu Fu was inclined toward Confucianism. He was altruistic and turned always to the world of reality for inspiration. Four of his poems are translated here:
Northern Expedition
Long have I wandered amid the frontier dust.
Upon my return, my hair turned gray.
After a year's journeying I came back to my thatched house,
My wife and children were in rags.
The sighing pine seemed to cry bitterly with us in unison,
The flowing fountains mingled their sad murmuring with our sobs.
My beloved children with white complexion turned away their faces to weep,
They were dirty and wore no stockings.
An Ancient Battlefield
Alighting from horseback on an ancient battlefield,
I look around: a vast stretch of emptiness.
The whining wind chases the floating clouds,
Yellow leaves fall in front of me.
In the anthill lie rotten bones
Mingled with entangling woods.
The Good Rain
The good rain knows the season,
It arrives in spring.
With the wind it creeps in during the night
And noiselessly dampens all.
Last night clouds and mountain paths were dark,
Only the fishing boats gleamed.
This morning, all bathed in water,
The flowers of Ching Ch'eng are heavy.
The Song of War Chariots
The war chariots rattle,
The horses neigh.
Bows and arrows hang at the waist of the departing soldiers.
Father, mother, wife and son see them off,
Dust hides the bridge of Hsienyang from sight.
They tug at the sleeves of the soldiers, stamping their feet, crying and barring the road.
The sound of their sobbing goes up to the clouds.
By the roadside, the bystanders would ask the soldiers questions,
They only reply that levy is frequent.
Some are sent north to guard the river at fifteen
Only to be sent west at forty to cultivate the camp-farms.
The village chief wound their turbans for them when they set out,
Upon their return, white-headed, they still have to guard the frontier.
At the border, blood flows like sea water,
Yet Emperor Wu keeps on extending the frontier.
Know you not that, in the two hundred prefectures east of Mount T'ai Hang,
In thousands of villages, nothing grows but thorns?
Although strong women have taken up the hoe and plow,
Rice has grown wild and the causeways are no longer recognizable.
Soldiers of China being able to endure the hardest of battles,
They are driven by their officers like chickens and dogs.
Whatever is asked of them,
Do the soldiers dare to complain?
This winter for example,
Fighting never ceased on the western front,
Yet the prefect asked for taxes.
But where could they come from?
It is known that to have a son is ill luck,
Better give birth to daughters.
The latter can be married in the neighborhood,
The former will only be buried in the weeds.
See you not that along the shore of the Blue Lake
White bones are forsaken since time immemorial?
New ghosts complain while the old ones cry,
On gloomy and rainy days, they utter mournful sounds.
Po Chu-i (772-846) was a native of T'aiyuan, Shansi province, and began to write poems at the age of 9. He was a favorite at court, then was caluminiously accused of misrepresenting the events of the times and exiled. Later he was recalled and made a magistrate in Honan province. He bought in Loyang a house with a garden. In the company of his lute, dancing girls and books, he spent the happiest days of his life there.
His themes are varied and often realistic. His language is simple. It is said that he read his poems to his maidservant and destroyed those she could not understand.
Satirist Po Chi-i calmed down in later years. (File photo)
A satirist when in the prime of life, he found solace in Buddhist and Taoist philosophy in his declining years and wrote many poems on peace and leisure. Here are translations of five of his realistic poems.
Selling Flowers
In the imperial city spring is fading away.
Chariots and horses pass noisily by.
It's the season of peony,
Everyone heads for a purchase.
Now costly, now cheap,
The price is determined by the quantity of flowers.
Some gleam with a red glow,
Others shine in pure whiteness.
Protected above by a silk tent
And by a fence on the sides,
Spilled with water and sealed with mud,
The peony, even transplanted, is as fresh as before.
Every household has the habit of buying peonies,
All are fascinated by their charms.
An old peasant there was,
He chanced to pass by the flower market.
Bending his head, he deeply sighed,
His sigh none understood.
A cluster of deep colored peonies
Is worth ten well-to-do families' taxes.
The Old Charcoal Seller
In the south hill
He cuts wood to make charcoal.
His face, covered with ash, has the color of fire and smoke,
Black are his temples and hands.
What does he get from his sale?
Only a little food and clothing.
Thinly dressed, he still invites cold weather.
Last night, in the suburb, snow was one foot thick,
In the morning, he drives his cart, breaking the ice covering the furrows.
The sun is high, the charcoal seller hungry, his oxen tired.
At the city gate, south of the market, he stops for a while.
But lo! who are those two spruce cavaliers?
An official envoy clad in yellow, an adolescent in white.
Holding an imperial edict that they proclaim,
They make the cart and the oxen turn northward.
The charcoal weighs one thousand catties,
The mandarins have taken it, what's the use of complaining?
Half a piece of red tissue and ten feet of silk attached to the head of the oxen are its price.
You Had Better Drink With Me
Be not a peasant,
Seeing him makes you pity him.
In spring he tills his land,
Every evening he feeds his thin oxen.
Taxes are frequent
But good crops rare.
You had better drink with me,
Together we shall be tipsy and gay.
The Rigorous Winter in the Village
In the eighth moon, the twelfth year,
Heavy snow has fallen for five successive days.
Even bamboos and pines are dying of cold,
Pity the poor who are thinly dressed.
Turning my eyes to the village,
Nine out of ten homes are miserable.
Linen and cotton are insufficient to keep the villagers warm.
And the north wind is as piercing as a sword.
Making a fire with thistles and grass,
They sadly wait all night long for the coming of the dawn.
I am aware that in the severe cold winter,
The peasants toil as usual.
But at this moment
I am shut in my house with doors tightly closed.
Dressed in brown fur and covered with thick blankets,
I am warm enough when up or on the couch.
Free from hunger and cold,
I am also exempt from field labor.
Thinking of the poor I feel ashamed
And ask myself who I am.
As T'ang drew to an end there was a tendency to denigrate realism and revive the aesthetic poetry that had enjoyed a great vogue during the Southern and Northern dynasties. The poets of this school were of the opinion that:
- Literature should have its own independent life instead of being a mere instrument to improve human existence and society.
- The highest goal of literature is beauty and this determines artistic value.
- Poets should pay attention to the form, style and musical effect of their works regardless of the social function.
The realistic poetry of Tu Fu and Po Chu-i gave way to a new literary movement headed by Li Ho and including Li Shang-ying, Tu Mu, Wen T'ing-yun and Tuan Ch'eng-shih.
Li Ho (790-816) was a typical dandy. He was from an aristocratic family and knew no hardship. He rode out on his pony every day, accompanied by a young servant, and sought the inspiration of scenic places. State affairs and the problem of the common people did not concern him. His was a life of company of wine drinkers and sing-song girls. As a poet, he looked down upon the simple language of Po Chu-i and turned to Emperor Chien Wen of the Liang dynasty for his style. Wine, pleasure and women constituted his only themes. Yet his writing genius makes us forget his lack of inspiration. His language has a strange beauty. His expressions and images are exceptional, as we can see in this example.
Prelude to Drinking
Goblets of crystal,
Rich, amber-colored wine
Dripping from a small jar in red pearls,
The jade-like flesh of steamed dragon and fried phoenix weeping in the pan,
Silk curtains and embroidered bed-curtains reeking with perfumed air.
We play dragon-like flutes,
We beat turtle-shell drums.
Songs are chanted by white-toothed courtesans,
Dances performed by slender-waisted damsels.
Their charms are enhanced by spring nightfall
With peach flowers falling like red raindrops.
I advise you to be tipsy all day long
Since wine reaches not Liu Ling's tomb.
Another famous poet of the aesthetic school was Li Shang-ying (812-858) noted for the obscurity of his language and liking for allusions and symbols. He is considered the most successful poet of his school. Many stories have been spun around his love affairs. His contemporaries reveled in the company of courtesans. But he was alleged to have had an affair with a Taoist nun and also with the concubines of high-ranking officials. Because of the dangerous character of such liaisons, he was obliged to resort to allusions to express his sentiments. This accounts for some of the symbols and mystery of the work. Five examples of Li Shang-ying's poems follow.
The Lo Yu Plain
Toward the evening, feeling sad,
I have driven my cart to the La Yu Plain.
Exquisitely beautiful was the setting sun
But twilight was fast approaching.
The Goddess of the Moon
Thick are the shadows of candles on the nacre screen,
The Milky Way is sinking, so are the morning stars.
The Goddess of the Moon must regret having stolen the elixir,
With the blue sky as her dwelling, she should feel lonely in her heart night after night.
(Untitled)
Hard it is for us to meet and also to part,
Powerless is the east wind, flowers have withered.
The spring worm will give its silk only when dying,
The candle will dry its tears only when becoming ash.
In the morning, in front of her mirror, she must fear the change of her cloud-like tresses,
In the depth of the night, she must feel the cold ness of moonlight.
Mount P'eng Lai lies not afar,
I'll send a blue bird to convey her my thoughts.
(Untitled)
A fine rain comes with the rustling east wind,
A light thunder is heard beyond the lotus pond.
Through the gold frog-shaped lock, incense is creeping,
The jade tiger, on its cord, tells of water being drawn.
From behind a curtain. Lady Chia once peeped at the youthful Han Chuan,
Princess Fu once left a pillow to the talented Prince Wei.
May my loving heart burst not in spring-like flowers,
For every bit of love, the price is an equal amount of ash.
Getting Drunk Under the Flowers
In search of flowers, I became unconsciously tipsy in front of the colored clouds,
Leaning against the tree, I fell asleep while the sun was slanting.
Awake, after the departure of my guests in the depths of the night,
Alone and holding a red candle, I enjoy the remaining blossoms.