Sh i P oe t ry oF t He m i ng anD q i ng Dy na s t i e s 365
Perspiration poured while tears flowed like blood, 汗下成斑淚成血 (hàn xià chéng bān lèi chéng xuě)
22 Heaven put us in a terrible strait: rivers and bridges have come
to an end. 蒼天困人梁河竭 (cāng tiān kùn rén liáng hé jié)
How could I take these circumstances in my sickly state? 病質何堪受此情 (bìng zhì hé kān shòu cĭ qíng)
24 My shoe heels were ripped from treading, my skin was cracked. 鞋跟踏綻肌膚裂 (xié gēn tà zhàn jī fū liè)
In Dinghai, waves roared with huge thunderclaps, 定海波濤轟巨雷 (dìng hăi bō tāo hōng jù léi)
26 Clinging to life, at this point my hopes had turned to ashes. 貪生至此念已灰 (tān shēng zhì cĭ niàn yĭ huī)
Thinking that my parents were still alive, I burned with worry, 思親猶在心似焚 (sī qīn yóu zài xīn sì fén)
28 Willing to taste the sharp blade, braving death I made my way
back. 願飡鋒刃冒死回 (yuàn cān fēng rèn mào sĭ huí)
At every step my heart beat with fear, the sky was turning to
dusk, 步步心驚天將暮 (bù bù xīn jīng tiān jiāng mù)
30 Our derelict boat by mistake went to the Jiang Family Crossing. 敗舟錯打姜家渡 (bài zhōu cuò dă jiāng jiā dù)
Robbed of our travel money, we did not have enough to eat, 行資遇劫食不敷 (xíng zī yù jié shí bù fū)
32 In sobbing wind and weeping rain I felt depressed by the road
ahead. 淒風泣雨悲前路 (qī fēng qì yŭ bēi qián lù)
Though secretly glad that we returned alive from the barricade, 暗喜生從關上歸 (àn xĭ shēng cóng guān shàng guī)
34 Blushing with shame, where could I put my humiliated face? 抱赧羞顔何所倚 (bào năn xiū yán hé suŏ yĭ)
The walls covered with creepers, the gate half open, 牆延蔓草屝半開 (qiáng yán màn căo fēi bàn kāi)
36 My sister had gone to become a nun, my father was dead. 吾姊出家老父死 (wú zĭ chū jiā lăo fù sĭ)
From now on feelings will be distant between the dearest of
kin, 骨肉自此情意疏 (gŭ ròu zì cĭ qíng yì shū)
38 For the time being I will dwell to the east of the pond. 僑寓暫且池東居 (qiáo yù zàn qiě chí dōng jū)
Luckily I still have the Odes and History to enhance my humble
hut, 幸得詩書潤茅屋 (xìng dé shī shū rùn máo wū)
40 Out of the way, I don’t seek the carriages of the eminent. 僻徑無求顯者車 (pì jìng wú qiú xiăn zhě chē)
At dawn pear-blossom rain splashes my secluded window, 曉來梨雨幽窗洒 (xiăo lái lí yŭ yōu chuāng să)
42 At dusk I borrow fragments of stars to mend the broken tiles. 暮借残星補破瓦 (mù jiè cán xīng bŭ pò wă)
Occasionally I hear the sound of a wild goose descending from
the clouds, 偶聽雲聲送落鴻 (ŏu tīng yún shēng sòng luò hóng)
44 I feel saddened by its sorrowful cries so like my own. 哀其悽惻如象同 (āi qí qī cè rú xiàng tóng)
[YHJ, gexing, 2a–3a]
The poem opens with a picture in the poet’s memory of the peaceful life of lux-
ury before the Manchu conquest. Surrounded by feminine images such as “bro-
cade flowers,” “curtains,” and “scented bed,” the female persona is ensconced in
the inner quarters, the proper spatial location for women. This dreamlike life of
comfort is rudely disrupted by the imminent arrival of invading troops in line 5.
The remainder of the poem turns to a narration of the poet’s arduous flight from
the Manchus, her equally harrowing journey home, and the state of devastation
she discovers on her return.
Along with her young son and other kin and townspeople, Wang Duanshu was
thrown onto the open road as a fugitive. She records how they fled with the re-