240 t He tang Dy na s t y
They clear the earth and mound it at the roots, 剗土壅其本 (chăn tŭ yōng qí bĕn)
8 And guide the spring water to the trunks. 引泉漑其枯 (yĭn quán gài qí kū)The smallest trees are a few feet high, 小樹低數尺 (xiăo shù dī shù chĭ)
10 The tallest over ten.20 大樹長丈餘 (dà shù cháng zhàng yú)
After being nurtured just a short while, 封植來幾時 (fēng zhí lái jĭshí)
12 High and low are equally lush. 高下齊扶疏 (gāo xià qí fú shū)At this point in the poem, the contrast with the first poem could hardly be more
striking. Subjective time has been replaced with the seasonal rhythm that had
merely been suggested (poem 1, line 7), and the impetuosity leading to the pur-
chase of the trees is here supplanted by the determined action necessary to sustain
their lives. Too, the rustic, almost folksy diction and syntax—the primitive parallel
between the “smallest” and “tallest” trees (lines 9–10)—move the reader from one
type of garden to another: from the private realm of the literatus to the communal
world of the planter. Now, in the third stanza, these two worlds are bridged, as
human action imitates the undiscriminating bounty of the earth, bestowing nur-
turance on all, regardless of position.
And, with this, the poem closes in on its true theme:If this is so of nurturing trees, 養樹既如此 (yăng shù jì rú cĭ)
14 How different is it from nurturing men? 養民亦何殊 (yǎng mín yì hé shū)
If you want the branches and leaves to grow lush, 將欲茂枝葉 (jiāng yù mào zhī yè)
16 You must first save the trunk and roots. 必先救根株 (bì xiān jiù gēn zhū)
How do you save the trunk and roots? 云何救根株 (yún hé jiù gēn zhū)
18 By encouraging the farmers and keeping their rent fair. 勸農均賦租 (quàn nóng jūn fù zū)
How do you make the branches and leaves grow lush? 云何茂枝葉 (yún hé mào zhī yè)
20 By easing their burdens and relaxing the laws. 省事寬刑書 (shĕng shì kuān xíng shū)
Apply this to local governance, 移此為郡政 (yí cĭ wéi jùn zhèng)
22 Then, perhaps, the people shall find relief. 庶幾甿俗蘇 (shù jĭ bì sú sū)
[BJYJJJ 2:599–601]Perhaps the clearest evidence of Bai Juyi’s “ancientness” in this poem appears
here, in the subtle irony produced by the contrast between the extreme simplicity
of the lesson learned and the apparent impossibility of applying it.
For all the allusions to the lyric poets Tao Qian and Li Bai, “Planting Flowers on
the Eastern Slope” is, in the end, a parable, rendered effective by the poet’s play
across a range of modes and registers: from the lyric to the popular, the personal
to the political, nature to man. Always, however, Bai Juyi keeps the language plain
and the concerns lofty, remaining well within the parameters of what we have
come to recognize as the ancient style. Like all fine poets, however, Bai Juyi does
not allow the dictates of the genre—however loose they may be—to determine his
composition; instead, he handles that genre to achieve his own best ends.
Paula Varsano