How to Read Chinese Poetry A Guided Anthology

296 t He F i v e Dy na s t i e s anD t He s ong Dy na s t y

Shadows” more poignant. But these two pieces, however complementary, also dis-

play two very different artistic modes.

Let us now examine a song lyric from the late Song whose subject is not an ob-

ject but that nevertheless is composed in the new aesthetic mode of yongwu ci. It is

set to the tune of “Yingti xu” (Prelude to the Oriole’s Song), written and composed

by Wu Wenying (ca. 1200–1260):

C 1 4. 3

Prelude to the Oriole’s Song

Just now the lingering chill plagues me, sick from wine—

2 I close the finely wrought door of aloewood.

Swallows come late, flying into the west of the city,

4 As if to tell us matters of spring are almost over.

Borne on painted boats, the Qingming festival has slipped away,

6 In the clearing mist, trailing are the Wu Palace trees.

I muse over how a traveler’s thoughts drift in the wind,

8 Changing into weightless catkins.

Ten years at West Lake,

10 Tying my horse by the willows,

Chasing after charming dust and yielding vapor.

12 Following red petals upstream, I was summoned to Fairy Creek,

And Brocade Maid secretly conveyed your deep feelings.

14 You leaned on the silver screen—spring was expansive, our dream limited;

Rouged tears falling soaked your singing fan and gold-thread gown.

16 At dusk the dike was empty;

Lightly we took the slanting sun’s rays

18 And returned them all to the gulls and egrets.

Hidden orchids grew old quickly,

20 And pollias live again,

While I still sojourn in the river country.

22 Since parting I’ve revisited the Six Bridges—no news;

Our affair’s in the past—flowers have withered,

24 Jade has been interred, fragrance buried,

Through how many bouts of wind and rain?

26 Long waves envied your glances,

Distant hills were shamed by your brows;

28 Fishermen’s lamps scattered reflections in the spring river where we spent

the night—

I recall how, with small oars, my Peach Root crossed over.

30 The green mansion seems a mirage

Where I inscribed parting poems on the by-now ruined wall,

32 Tear-laden ink is gray and dull with dust.