P e n ta s y l l a biC Sh i P oe t ry : ne w t o P i C s 1534 For the reclusive gentleman, a bed full of books. 隱士一牀書 (yĭn shì yì chuáng shū)
In the winter month, the heart of the underground
spring is stirring; 子月泉心動 (zĭ yuè quán xīn dòng)
6 The energy of the earth spreads with the mark of yang. 陽爻地氣舒 (yángyáodì qì shū)
Snowflakes are several feet deep; 雪花深數尺 (xuĕ huā shēn shù chĭ)
8 An icy riverbed, over a foot thick. 冰牀厚尺餘 (bīng chuáng hòu chĭ yú)
The dark hawk looks sideways at a pheasant; 蒼鷹斜望雉 (cāng yīng xié wàng zhì)
10 A white egret observes the fish down below. 白鷺下觀魚 (bái lù xià guān yú)
I am reflecting on how, outside the Eastern
Gate of the capital, 更想東都外 (gèng xiăng dōng dū wài)
12 Various lords were seeing the Shus off. 羣公別二疏 (qún gōng bié èr shū)
[XQHWJNBCS 3:2377]
“A Cold Garden: On What I See” has a deceptive title, for the poet is depicting
not only what he sees but also what he does not see: underneath the several feet of
snow and a frozen riverbed that human vision cannot penetrate, the “underground
spring” is stirring and the “energy of the earth” is spreading. This optimistic state-
ment is immediately undercut by the next couplet: a “dark hawk” is circling in the
sky, flying so low that the poet can tell it is looking sideways, and a “white egret”
is also searching for food. These birds of prey are waiting patiently for the snow
and ice to melt so they can strike their victims—the pheasant and fish now being
protected by the thick coverings of nature. The poet sees the movement of those
creatures of prey and knows that it bears the sign of spring’s imminent arrival; he
also knows that with the return of spring, there will be bloodshed and death. The
poet’s thoughts turn to something beyond his garden: another time, another place,
when the noble lords of the Western Han took leave of the two Shus—Shu Guang
and Shu Shou (fl. first century b.C.e.)—the two imperial tutors who retired at the
summit of their careers and were upheld as role models in “getting out before it
was too late.”
The peaceful, erudite indoor pleasures—the walls painted with “roaming im-
mortals,” the books in bed—are thus enclosed in a cold wintry landscape beset
by lurking dangers, murderous plots, and small deaths. Nature is neither at peace
nor in harmony; it is populated with creatures of prey and victims. The poet’s little
house may be safe and warm, as opposed to the cold and harsh world outside, but
he cannot help thinking warily of the arrival of springtime—a rare moment in Six
Dynasties poetry indeed, when spring becomes so threatening and ominous. In
the last couplet, the natural world and the social world are brought together in the
poet’s mind: Yu Xin seems to be entertaining the possibility of withdrawing from
public service like the two Shus. He is, in truth, reflecting on an escape route for
himself, who is at the moment both protected and trapped, like a pheasant or a
fish, by the deep snow and ice.
Yu Xin uses almost no allusions in the whole poem, except for a reference to
the two Shus in the last couplet. And yet, the white egret observing the fish echoes
a well-known story about Zhuangzi, in which the ancient philosopher Zhuangzi