P e n ta s y l l a biC Sh i P oe t ry : ne w t o P i C s 145as transience does not mean that Xiao Gang was always writing about the imper-
manence of human life; it means simply that he was intensely concerned with mo-
ments: his poetry uses words to arrest fleeting moments in the flow of time. It was
perhaps for this reason that he was so taken by shadows and wrote about shadows
so often in his poetry, as shadow marks a specific time of day, a particular mo-
ment. By portraying the world in terms of moments, Xiao Gang represented both
its fragility and its aliveness. Many critics have accused Xiao Gang of being too
delicate; in a gendered distinction of qualities, delicacy still suggests femininity,
a quality considered unseemly in a man and doubly suspicious in a ruler. Such a
view, however, mistakes an extraordinary power of observation for mere delicacy.
In the end, the delicacy of Xiao Gang’s poems is no more than an extension of the
vibrant and ephemeral world depicted in them.
C 7. 3
Autumn Evening 秋晚 (qiū wăn)
Drifting clouds emerge from the eastern peaks; 浮雲出東嶺 (fú yún chū dōng lĭng)
2 In the west the sun descends to the river. 落日下西江 (luò rì xià xī jiāng)
Hastening shadows stretch across and darken the walls; 促陰橫隱壁 (cù yīn héng yĭn bì)
4 Lengthened rays obliquely penetrate the window. 長暉斜度窓 (cháng huī xié dù chuāng)
Tangled clouds, glowing red, are made circular by the
clear water; 亂霞圓綠水 (luàn xiá yuán lǜ shuĭ)
6 Tiny leaves outlined by a lamp in the air. 細葉影飛缸 (xì yè yĭng fēi gāng)
[XQHWJNBCS 3:1947]
“Autumn Evening” depicts a particular time of the year and a particular time
of the day. Both autumn and twilight are times of division as well as of transition
and ambiguity: the heat of summer has not quite turned into the cold of winter;
the day has ceased to be day, but the night has not quite begun. In the west, the
sun is setting; in the east, where the moon should be, drifting clouds are pouring
out from the mountains. Even as the last rays of the sun penetrate the window,
shadows are gradually spreading over the walls, and darkness is closing in from all
sides.
In the gathering darkness, two sources of light catch the poet’s attention. The
tangled clouds, glowing with the red of sunset, are reflected in a circular pool,
shining forth with a momentary splendor. The circularity of the pool also gives the
tangled clouds a shape—a roundness that, in Buddhism, indicates perfection, be
it the perfection of the Buddhist teachings or of enlightenment. In the next line,
we see another light source: lamps are lit, which indicates the increasing density
of the dark. The poet notices the dark silhouettes of tiny tree leaves outlined by the
lamplight. Thus, in a world gradually sinking into shadows, the poet traces lumi-
nous patterns and forms, affirming an order created by human effort.
In these lines, we can see a peculiar vision of the world—and a peculiar way in
which poetry is made to work. We may compare Xiao Gang’s fragmentary poem