THREE HUNDRED POEMS

When I left the house for lunch in Chinatown yesterday it felt like good things were going to happen. Let's just say that my senses were fair tingling with such an expectation.
My senses did not let me down.

During lunch I ended up in conversation with a nice gentleman from Jiangsu (江蘇 'gong sou') province, long a resident of our city.
We had to share a table, and we ate similar things.

I would have had the preserved egg and lean pork porridge (皮蛋瘦肉粥 'pei daan sau yiuk juk'), except I noticed him ordering that, and I did not want to seem to be imitating. Besides, I speak Cantonese, and can read the stuff on the wall.

Show-off time: Request the congee with dried fish and peanuts (柴魚花生粥 'chaai-yü faa-sang juk'). It's written in Chinese.
"Firewood fish" (柴魚 'chaai yü') really tells you what it is. Fatty tuna blanched, dried over heat, fermented with specific strains of bacteria, and lastly sawed into pieces, fragmented, or even finely ground for flavouring. The Japanese use something very similar for their miso soup (味噌汁 'mei chang jap').
Instead of chaai-yü it's called katsuo bushi (鰹節 'gin jit').


I do not think I've ever discussed Old English, Middle English, Early Modern English, and Germanic linguistics with someone from Northern China before.

[Yes yes, I do know that Jiangsu is central-south. But it's far to the north of Lingnan (嶺南), two language groups removed from Canton, and pushing up against the Mandarin Belt. So it's north. Almost as north as you can get.]

His son is taking Latin (拉丁語) in college.
Which is almost as practical as 古文.
Or, for that matter, Old English.

[By the way: the first strophe of Beowulf (hwæt, we Gardena in geardagum, þeodcyninga, þrym gefrunon, hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon) is identified as 'Icelandic' by Google Translate. This is giving those wall-fish eating heathens way too much credit. Instead, a different bunch of savages are lauded: the Bright Speared Danes.]


After a pleasant post-prandial chat we parted ways. I left the restaurant and lit a pipe, wandering first through Spofford (新呂宋巷 'san leui song hong'), then up to Hang Ah Alley (香雅巷 'heung ya hong'), which is now also called Pagoda Alley (寶塔巷 'pou taap hong'), before finally circling around through Waverly (天后廟街 'tin hou miu kai') and down to Grant (都板街 'dou pan kai'). Eventually, after finishing my pipe, I ended up in a cluster of indoor shops. Great Source Commercial.
Where I ended up purchasing a copy of the Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty. Of which I already have several copies.
That I cannot find.

See, the problem is that I keep pulling a copy to look something up, whereupon it ends up in another stack, eventually covered by other books...... Earlier today I tried to find Mathews Dictionary of Chinese, but neither copy of that could be found. I'm sure I have both of them somewhere. Along with all copies of the Three Hundred Poems.
Somewhere. Don't know where.
Not a clue.

So indeed, I needed another one.

The elderly proprietor was so tickled at finding someone who gave a damn that he cut me a deal. How could I resist?
I think he'd had the book for years.
It's finally found a home.


唐詩三百首

The Three Hundred Tang Poems is a classic anthology compiled by the Retired Scholar of Heng Tang (衡塘退士 'hang tong teui-si', 1711 - 1778) during the Manchu Dynasty. All the greats are represented within, and since it was first published it has been a constant best-seller. For the truly literate, all is transparent. But like most people, my favourite verses are the ones that I can actually read entirely. Poems with too many words that I have to look up don't rank very high; it is only by repeated exposure that more examples get added to the list.
Many of the words are of little use in daily life.
Some only appear rarely at best.
Others not at all.

Evenso, re-reading the Three Hundred Poems of Tang is like revisiting lost places, which one had last seen very long ago, and again meeting the people who once were familiar.
Part of the reason for that is of course the re-sparked memories, but a larger part is due to the nature of Chinese literati versifying, namely to impart a sense of empathy with those who are elsewhere and elsewhen. Much of the output of the great poets was shaped by their own internal exiles and that of their friends and relatives, and a significant portion of what they wrote shared a sensitivity to time and place with the people whom they were sure would read their writings.
Fellow exiles, wanderers, transients.
Floating scholars.


Imagine the following sample as a series of letters floating in and out of inboxes, as members of the same social network communicate with each other and connect. Marginalia, perhaps; query or comment on their circumstances, certainly; the writers are observant, and show a heightened sensitivity to strange stimulation. Everything has newness.
As stigmata of their displacement, there is a sharp cognizance of detail.


夜雨寄北 YE YU JI BEI
By 李商隐 (Li Shangyin)

君問歸期未有期，巴山夜雨漲秋池。
何當共剪西窗燭，卻話巴山夜雨時。
Jūn wèn guī-qī wèi yǒu qī, bāshān yè yǔ zhǎng qiū chí.
Hé dāng gòng jiǎn xī chuāng zhú, què huà bā shān yè yǔ shí.

EVENING RAIN WHILE RESIDING IN THE NORTH

"You ask me when I will return, but I have no date set; the evening rain on Ba Mountain makes the autumn pool overflow; when shall we once more trim wicks together at the western window? Let's just say that it will be when autumn comes again on Ba Mountain."

YE YU GEI PAAK

Gwan man gwai kei mei yau kei, baa saan ye yu jeung chau chi;
Ho dong gong jin sai cheung juk, keuk wa baa saan ye yu si.

Note: 巴山夜雨漲秋池 can also be read to mean "my exile in this strange and godforsaken place has topped all extremes".


山行 SHAN XING
By 項斯 (Xiang Si)

青櫪林深亦有人，一渠流水數家分。
山當日午回峰影，草帶泥痕過鹿群。
蒸茗氣從茅舍出，繰絲聲隔竹籬聞。
行逢賣藥歸來客，不惜相隨入島雲。
Qīng lì lín shēn yì yǒu rén, yī qú liú shuǐ shǔ jiā fēn.
Shān dāng rì wǔ huí fēng yǐng, cǎo dài ní hén guò lù qún.
Zhēng míng qì cóng máo-shè chū, zǎo sī shēng gé zhú lí wén.
Xíng féng mài yào guī-lái kè, bù xī xiāng suí rù dǎo yún.

WANDERING IN THE MOUNTAINS

"In the verdant depths of the forest there are also people; along a stream there may live several households; during the day the sun delineates the peaks; grass casts stripes to hide the deer;
Tea fragrance comes from a rustic cottage; reeling silk whispersounds cross the garden fence; back from selling herbs the recluse wanders; with sure tread re-entering his island clouds."

SAAN HANG

Ching lik lam sam yik yau yan, yat keui lau seui sou gaa fan;
Saan dong yat ng wui fung, chou daai nai han gwo luk kwan.
Jhing ming hei chung maau se chut, chiu si seng gaak juk lei man;
Haang fung mai yeuk gwai loi haak, pat sik seung cheui yap dou wan.


夜雪 YE XUE
By 白居易 (Bai Juyi)

已訝衾枕冷，復見窗戶明。
夜深知雪重，時聞折竹聲。
Yǐ yà qīn zhěn lěng, fù jiàn chuāng-hù míng.
Yè shēn zhī xuě zhòng, shí wén zhé zhú shēng.

NIGHT SNOW

"Already astounded by the cold of my blanket and pillow, the brightness at the window added to that;
Late at night I knew the snow was thick, when I heard the cracking of bamboo."

YE SUET

yi ngaa kam ngam laang, fuk kin cheung wu ming;
ye sam ji suet chung, si man jit juk seng.


春雪 CHUN XUE
By 韓愈 (Han Yu)

新年都未有芳華，二月初驚見草芽。
白雪卻嫌春色晚，故穿庭樹作飛花。
Xīn nián dōu wèi yǒu fāng huá, èr yuè chū jīng jiàn cǎo yá.
Bái xuě què xián chūn-sè wǎn, gù chuān ting shù zuò fēi huā.

SPRING SNOW

"This new year still lacks fragrance, even by the second month it is startling to see buds;
Though white snow delays the colouration of Spring, a courtyard tree defiantly blossoms."

CHUN SUET

San nin dou mei yau fong waa, yi yuet cho geng kin chou ngaa;
Paak suet keuk yim cheun sik maan, gu chuen ting syue jok fei faa.


春思 CHUN SI
By 賈至 (Jia Zhi)

草色青青柳色黃，桃花歷亂李花香。
東風不為吹愁去，春日偏能惹恨長。
Cǎo-sè qīng-qīng liǔ-sè huáng, táo huā lì luàn li huā xiāng.
Dōng fēng bù wéi chuī chóu qù, chūn rì piān néng rě hèn zhǎng.

SPRING THOUGHTS

"Grasses are intensely green and the willows golden, peach trees riotously blooming and plums fragrant; The east wind does not blow to sadden, Spring days are not suitable for bitterness."

CHUN SI

Chou sik ching ching lau sik wong, tou faa lik-luen lei faa heung;
Tung fong pat wai cheui sau heui, cheun yat pin nang ye han cheung.


月夜憶舍弟 YUE YE YI SHE DI
By 杜甫 (Du Fu)

戍鼓斷人行，秋邊一雁聲。
露從今夜白，月是故鄉明。
有弟皆分散，無家問死生。
寄書長不避，況乃未休兵。

Shù gǔ duàn rén xíng, qiū biān yī yàn shēng.
Lù cóng jīn-yè bái, yuè shì gù-xiāng míng.
Yǒu dì jiē fēn sàn, wú jiā wèn sǐ shēng.
Jì shū cháng bù bì, kuàng nǎi wèi xiū bīng.

REMEMBERING MY BROTHERS BY MOONLIGHT

"Military drums cut the march, far off a migrating goose calls; Dew will be white from this night forward, and the moon is home-town bright;
My younger brothers are scattered hither and yon, with no one at home to ask whether they are alive or dead; mailed letters long await responses, and our troops have no relief."

YUET YE YI SE DAI

Syu gu duen yan hang, chau pin yat ngaan sing;
Lou chung gam ye paak, yue si gu heung ming.
Yau dai gaai fan saan, mou gaa man sei saang;
Gei syu cheung pat pei, fong naai mei yau bing.


It might not be too much to read a note of mild tension in these poems; there is no certainty, all termination is open-ended.
It is, on the other hand, relatively easy to understand how these poets appealed across the generations, when countless of their countrymen experienced distant postings, upheavals, changes of fortune, and displacement. Even today the simple straightforward evocation of something else, and something therefore exceptional, speaks in vibrant verse to the Chinese eye.

I am sorry; my paraphrasis of the texts in English cannot do them justice.
I have tried to give an idea of what they mean, and how they meant it.



POST SCRIPT

While waiting for the Pacific Avenue bus I encountered an old friend. She does not look worried now, and has changed jobs. I am not certain that her current employ gives her the time she needs for her daughter, but she seems less stressed. I hope it will work out.

She has that look of strength, vulnerability, and defiant stubbornness which I find so admirable among certain Cantonese women.

Seeing her again was marvelous.





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