The Project Gutenberg eBook ofCathayThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: CathayAuthor: Ezra PoundBai LiRelease date: October 8, 2015 [eBook #50155]Most recently updated: October 22, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHAY ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: CathayAuthor: Ezra PoundBai LiRelease date: October 8, 2015 [eBook #50155]Most recently updated: October 22, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
Title: Cathay
Author: Ezra PoundBai Li
Author: Ezra Pound
Bai Li
Release date: October 8, 2015 [eBook #50155]Most recently updated: October 22, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Marc D'Hooghe (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATHAY ***
Rihaku flourished in the eighth century of our era. The Anglo-Saxon Seafarer is of about this period. The other poems from the Chinese are earlier.
Rihaku flourished in the eighth century of our era. The Anglo-Saxon Seafarer is of about this period. The other poems from the Chinese are earlier.
Song of the Bowmen of ShuHere we are, picking the first fern-shootsAnd saying: When shall we get back to our country?Here we are because we have the Ken-nin for ourfoemen,We have no comfort because of these Mongols.We grub the soft fern-shoots,When anyone says "Return," the others are full ofsorrow.Sorrowful minds, sorrow is strong, we are hungryand thirsty.Our defence is not yet made sure, no one can lethis friend return.We grub the old fern-stalks.We say: Will we be let to go back in October?There is no ease in royal affairs, we have no comfort.Our sorrow is bitter, but we would not return to ourcountry.What flower has come into blossom?Whose chariot? The General's.Horses, his horses even, are tired. They were strong.We have no rest, three battles a month.By heaven, his horses are tired.The generals are on them, the soldiers are by themThe horses are well trained, the generals have ivoryarrows and quivers ornamented with fish-skin.The enemy is swift, we must be careful.When we set out, the willows were drooping with spring,We come back in the snow,We go slowly, we are hungry and thirsty,Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know of our grief?
By Kutsugen.4th Century B.C.
The Beautiful ToiletBlue, blue is the grass about the riverAnd the willows have overfilled the close garden.And within, the mistress, in the midmost of her youth,White, white of face, hesitates, passing the door.Slender, she puts forth a slender hand,And she was a courtezan in the old days,And she has married a sot,Who now goes drunkenly outAnd leaves her too much alone.
By Mei Sheng.B.C. 140.
The River SongThis boat is of shato-wood, and its gunwales are cutmagnolia,Musicians with jewelled flutes and with pipes of goldFill full the sides in rows, and our wineIs rich for a thousand cups.We carry singing girls, drift with the drifting water,Yet Sennin needsA yellow stork for a charger, and all our seamenWould follow the white gulls or ride them.Kutsu's prose songHangs with the sun and moon.King So's terraced palaceis now but a barren hill,But I draw pen on this bargeCausing the five peaks to tremble,And I have joy in these wordslike the joy of blue islands.(If glory could last foreverThen the waters of Han would flow northward.)And I have moped in the Emperor's garden, awaitingan order-to-write!I looked at the dragon-pond, with its willow-colouredwaterJust reflecting the sky's tinge,And heard the five-score nightingales aimlessly singing.The eastern wind brings the green colour into the islandgrasses at Yei-shu,The purple house and the crimson are full of Springsoftness.South of the pond the willow-tips are half-blue andbluer,Their cords tangle in mist, against the brocade-likepalace.Vine-strings a hundred feet long hang down from carvedrailings,And high over the willows, the fine birds sing to eachother, and listen,Crying—"Kwan, Kuan," for the early wind, and the feelof it.The wind bundles itself into a bluish cloud and wanders off.Over a thousand gates, over a thousand doors are the soundsof spring singing,And the Emperor is at Ko.Five clouds hang aloft, bright on the purple sky,The imperial guards come forth from the golden house withtheir armour a-gleaming.The emperor in his jewelled car goes out to inspect hisflowers,He goes out to Hori, to look at the wing-flapping storks,He returns by way of Sei rock, to hear the new nightingales,For the gardens at Jo-run are full of new nightingales,Their sound is mixed in this flute,Their voice is in the twelve pipes here.
By Rihaku.8th century A.D.
The River-Merchant's Wife: a LetterWhile my hair was still cut straight across my foreheadI played about the front gate, pulling flowers.You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.And we went on living in the village of Chokan:Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.At fourteen I married My Lord you.I never laughed, being bashful.Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.At fifteen I stopped scowling,I desired my dust to be mingled with yoursForever and forever, and forever.Why should I climb the look out?At sixteen you departed,You went into far Ku-to-Yen, by the river of swirling eddies,And you have been gone five months.The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.You dragged your feet when you went out.By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,Too deep to clear them away!The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.The paired butterflies are already yellow with AugustOver the grass in the West garden,They hurt me,I grow older,If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,Please let me know beforehand,And I will come out to meet you,As far as Cho-fu-Sa.
By Rihaku.
The Jewel Stairs' GrievanceThe jewelled steps are already quite white with dew,It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings,And I let down the crystal curtainAnd watch the moon through the clear autumn.
By Rihaku.
Note.—Jewel stairs, therefore a palace. Grievance, therefore there is something to complain, of. Gauze stockings, therefore a court lady, not a servant who complains. Clear autumn, therefore he has no excuse on account of weather. Also she has come early, for the dew has not merely whitened the stairs, but has soaked her stockings. The poem is especially prized because she utters no direct reproach.
Note.—Jewel stairs, therefore a palace. Grievance, therefore there is something to complain, of. Gauze stockings, therefore a court lady, not a servant who complains. Clear autumn, therefore he has no excuse on account of weather. Also she has come early, for the dew has not merely whitened the stairs, but has soaked her stockings. The poem is especially prized because she utters no direct reproach.
Poem by the Bridge at Ten-ShinMarch has come to the bridge head,Peach boughs and apricot boughs hang over a thousand gates,At morning there are flowers to cut the heart,And evening drives them on the eastward-flowing waters.Petals are on the gone waters and on the going,And on the back-swirling eddies,But to-days men are not the men of the old days,Though they hang in the same way over the bridge-rail.The sea's colour moves at the dawnAnd the princes still stand in rows, about the throne,And the moon falls over the portals of Sei-go-yo,And clings to the walls and the gate-top.With head-gear glittering against the cloud and sun,The lords go forth from the court, and into far borders.They ride upon dragon-like horses,Upon horses with head-trappings of yellow-metal,And the streets make way for their passage.Haughty their passing,Haughty their steps as they go into great banquets,To high halls and curious food,To the perfumed air and girls dancing,To clear flutes and clear singing;To the dance of the seventy couples;To the mad chase through the gardens.Night and day are given over to pleasureAnd they think it will last a thousand autumns,Unwearying autumns.For them the yellow dogs howl portents in vain,And what are they compared to the lady Riokushu,That was cause of hate!Who among them is a man like Han-reiWho departed alone with his mistress,With her hair unbound, and he his own skiffs-man!
By Rihaku.
Lament of the Frontier GuardBy the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,Lonely from the beginning of time until now!Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.I climb the towers and towersto watch out the barbarous land:Desolate castle, the sky, the wide desert.There is no wall left to this village.Bones white with a thousand frosts,High heaps, covered with trees and grass;Who brought this to pass?Who has brought the flaming imperial anger?Who has brought the army with drums and with kettle-drums?Barbarous kings.A gracious spring, turned to blood-ravenous autumn,A turmoil of wars-men, spread over the middle kingdom,Three hundred and sixty thousand,And sorrow, sorrow like rain.Sorrow to go, and sorrow, sorrow returning,Desolate, desolate fields,And no children of warfare upon them,No longer the men for offence and defence.Ah, how shall you know the dreary sorrow at the North Gate,With Rihoku's name forgotten,And we guardsmen fed to the tigers.
Rihaku.
Exile's LetterTo So-Kin of Rakuyo, ancient friend, Chancellor of Gen.Now I remember that you built me a special tavernBy the south side of the bridge at Ten-Shin.With yellow gold and white jewels, we paid for songsand laughterAnd we were drunk for month on month, forgetting thekings and princes.Intelligent men came drifting in from the sea and fromthe west border,And with them, and with you especiallyThere was nothing at cross purpose,And they made nothing of sea-crossing or of mountaincrossing,If only they could be of that fellowship,And we all spoke out our hearts and minds, and withoutregret.And then I was sent off to South Wei,smothered in laurel groves,And you to the north of Raku-hoku,Till we had nothing but thoughts and memories in common.And then, when separation had come to its worst,We met, and travelled into Sen-Go,Through all the thirty-six folds of the turning andtwisting waters,Into a valley of the thousand bright flowers,That was the first valley;And into ten thousand valleys full of voices andpine-winds.And with silver harness and reins of gold,Out come the East of Kan foreman and his company.And there came also the "True man" of Shi-yo to meet me,Playing on a jewelled mouth-organ.In the storied houses of San-Ko they gave us more Senninmusic,Many instruments, like the sound of young phoenix broods.The foreman of Kan Chu, drunk, dancedbecause his long sleeves wouldn't keep stillWith that music-playing.And I, wrapped in brocade, went to sleep with my head onhis lap,And my spirit so high it was all over the heavens,And before the end of the day we were scattered like stars,or rain.I had to be off to So, far away over the waters,You back to your river-bridge.And your father, who was brave as a leopard,Was governor in Hei Shu, and put down the barbarian rabble.And one May he had you send for me,despite the long distance.And what with broken wheels and so on, I won't say it wasn'thard going,Over roads twisted like sheeps' guts.And I was still going, late in the year,in the cutting wind from the North,And thinking how little you cared for the cost,and you caring enough to pay it.And what a reception:Red jade cups, food well set on a blue jewelled table,And I was drunk, and had no thought of returning.And you would walk out with me to the western corner of thecastle,To the dynastic temple, with water about it clear as blue jade,With boats floating, and the sound of mouth-organs and drums,With ripples like dragon-scales, going grass green on the water,Pleasure lasting, with courtezans, going and coming withouthindrance,With the willow flakes falling like snow,And the vermilioned girls getting drunk about sunset,And the water a hundred feet deep reflecting green eyebrows—Eyebrows painted green are a fine sight in young moonlight,Gracefully painted—And the girls singing back at each other,Dancing in transparent brocade,And the wind lifting the song, and interrupting it,Tossing it up under the clouds.And all this comes to an end.And is not again to be met with.I went up to the court for examination,Tried Layu's luck, offered the Choyo song,And got no promotion,and went back to the East Mountainswhite-headed.And once again, later, we met at the South bridge-head.And then the crowd broke up, you went north to San palace,And if you ask how I regret that parting:It is like the flowers falling at Spring's endConfused, whirled in a tangle.What is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking,There is no end of things in the heart.I call in the boy,Have him sit on his knees hereTo seal this,And send it a thousand miles, thinking.
By Rihaku.
The Seafarer(From the early Anglo-Saxon text)May I for my own self song's truth reckon,Journey's jargon, how I in harsh daysHardship endured oft.Bitter breast-cares have I abided,Known on my keel many a care's hold,And dire sea-surge, and there I oft spentNarrow nightwatch nigh the ship's headWhile she tossed close to cliffs. Coldly afflicted,My feet were by frost benumbed.Chill its chains are; chafing sighsHew my heart round and hunger begotMere-weary mood. Lest man know notThat he on dry land loveliest liveth,List how I, care-wretched, on ice-cold sea,Weathered the winter, wretched outcastDeprived of my kinsmen;Hung with hard ice-flakes, where hail-scur flew,There I heard naught save the harsh seaAnd ice-cold wave, at whiles the swan cries,Did for my games the gannet's clamour,Sea-fowls' loudness was for me laughter,The mews' singing all my mead-drink.Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the sternIn icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamedWith spray on his pinion.Not any protectorMay make merry man faring needy.This he little believes, who aye in winsome lifeAbides 'mid burghers some heavy business,Wealthy and wine-flushed, how I weary oftMust bide above brine.Neareth nightshade, snoweth from north,Frost froze the land, hail fell on earth thenCorn of the coldest. Nathless there knocketh nowThe heart's thought that I on high streamsThe salt-wavy tumult traverse alone.Moaneth alway my mind's lustThat I fare forth, that I afar henceSeek out a foreign fastness.For this there's no mood-lofty man over earth's midst,Not though he be given his good, but will have in hisyouth greed;Nor his deed to the daring, nor his king to the faithfulBut shall have his sorrow for sea-fareWhatever his lord will.He hath not heart for harping, nor in ring-havingNor winsomeness to wife, nor world's delightNor any whit else save the wave's slash,Yet longing comes upon him to fare forth on the water.Bosque taketh blossom, cometh beauty of berries,Fields to fairness, land fares brisker,All this admonisheth man eager of mood,The heart turns to travel so that he then thinksOn flood-ways to be far departing.Cuckoo calleth with gloomy crying,He singeth summerward, bodeth sorrow,The bitter heart's blood. Burgher knows not—He the prosperous man—what some performWhere wandering them widest draweth.So that but now my heart burst from my breast-lock,My mood 'mid the mere-flood,Over the whale's acre, would wander wide.On earth's shelter cometh oft to me,Eager and ready, the crying lone-flyer,Whets for the whale-path the heart irresistibly,O'er tracks of ocean; seeing that anyhowMy lord deems to me this dead lifeOn loan and on land, I believe notThat any earth-weal eternal standethSave there be somewhat calamitousThat, ere a man's tide go, turn it to twain.Disease or oldness or sword-hateBeats out the breath from doom-gripped body.And for this, every earl whatever, for those speaking after—Laud of the living, boasteth some last word,That he will work ere he pass onward,Frame on the fair earth 'gainst foes his malice,Daring ado,...So that all men shall honour him afterAnd his laud beyond them remain 'mid the English,Aye, for ever, a lasting life's-blast,Delight mid the doughty.Days little durable,And all arrogance of earthen riches,There come now no kings nor CaesarsNor gold-giving lords like those gone.Howe'er in mirth most magnified,Whoe'er lived in life most lordliest,Drear all this excellence, delights undurable!Waneth the watch, but the world holdeth.Tomb hideth trouble.The blade is laid low.Earthly glory ageth and seareth.No man at all going the earth's gait,But age fares against him, his face paleth,Grey-haired he groaneth, knows gone companions,Lordly men are to earth o'ergiven,Nor may he then the flesh-cover, whose life ceaseth,Nor eat the sweet nor feel the sorry,Nor stir hand nor think in mid heart,And though he strew the grave with gold,His born brothers, their buried bodiesBe an unlikely treasure hoard.
From Rihaku
FOUR POEMS OF DEPARTURELight rain is on the light dust.The willows of the inn-yardWill be going greener and greener,But you, Sir, had better take wine ere your departure,For you will have no friends about youWhen you come to the gates of Go.Separation on the River KiangKo-jin goes west from Ko-kaku-ro,The smoke-flowers are blurred over the river.His lone sail blots the far sky.And now I see only the river,The long Kiang, reaching heaven.Taking Leave of a FriendBlue mountains to the north of the walls,White river winding about them;Here we must make separationAnd go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.Mind like a floating wide cloud.Sunset like the parting of old acquaintancesWho bow over their clasped hands at a distance.Our horses neigh to each otheras we are departing.Leave-taking near Shoku"Sanso, King of Shoku, built roads"They say the roads of Sanso are steep,Sheer as the mountains.The walls rise in a man's face,Clouds grow out of the hillat his horse's bridle.Sweet trees are on the paved way of the Shin,Their trunks burst through the paving,And freshets are bursting their icein the midst of Shoku, a proud city.Men's fates are already set,There is no need of asking diviners.The City of ChoanThe phoenix are at play on their terrace.The phoenix are gone, the river flows on alone.Flowers and grassCover over the dark pathwhere lay the dynastic house of the Go.The bright cloths and bright caps of ShinAre now the base of old hills.The Three Mountains fall through the far heaven,The isle of White Heronsplits the two streams apart.Now the high clouds cover the sunAnd I can not see Choan afarAnd I am sad.South-Folk in Cold CountryThe Dai horse neighs against the bleak wind of Etsu,The birds of Etsu have no love for En, in the north,Emotion is born out of habit.Yesterday we went out of the Wild-Goose gate,To-day from the Dragon-Pen.[1]Surprised. Desert turmoil. Sea sun.Flying snow bewilders the barbarian heaven.Lice swarm like ants over our accoutrements.Mind and spirit drive on the feathery banners.Hard fight gets no reward.Loyalty is hard to explain.Who will be sorry for General Rishogu,the swift moving,Whose white head is lost for this province?
[1]I.e., we have been warring from one end of the empire to the other, now east, now west, on each border.
[1]I.e., we have been warring from one end of the empire to the other, now east, now west, on each border.
I have not come to the end of Ernest Fenollosa's notes by a long way, nor is it entirely perplexity that causes me to cease from translation. True, I can find little to add to one line out of a certain poem :
"You know well where it was that I walkedWhen you had left me."
In another I find a perfect speech in a literality which will be to many most unacceptable. The couplet is as follows:
"Drawing sword, cut into water, water again flow:Raise cup, quench sorrow, sorrow again sorry."
There are also other poems, notably the "Five colour Screen," in which Professor Fenollosa was, as an art critic, especially interested, and Rihaku's sort of Ars Poetica, which might be given with diffidence to an audience of good will. But if I give them, with the necessary breaks for explanation, and a tedium of notes, it is quite certain that the personal hatred in which I am held by many, and theinvidiawhich is directed against me because I have dared openly to declare my belief in certain young artists, will be brought to bear first on the flaws of such translation, and will then be merged into depreciation of the whole book of translations. Therefore I give only these unquestionable poems.
E. P.