Anthology of Chinese Literature

When they saw the fisherman, they were shocked. They asked where he
had come from, and he answered all their questions. Then they invited him
to return with them to their homes, where they served him beer and killed
chickens for a meal. When it was known in the village that such a person
was there, everyone came to ask him questions.
Of themselves they said that their ancestors had fled the upheavals dur-
ing the Qin and had come to this region bringing their wives, children, and
fellow townsmen. They had never left it since that time and thus had been
cut off from people outside. When asked what age it was, they didn't know
of even the existence of the Han, much less the Wei or Jin. The fisherman
told them what he had learned item by item, and they all sighed, shaking
their heads in dismay. Each person invited him to their homes, and they all
offered beer and food.
After staying there several days, he took his leave. At this people said to
him, "There's no point in telling people outside about us."
Once he left, he found his boat; and then as he retraced the route by
which he had come, he took note of each spot. On reaching the regional cap-
ital, he went to the governor and told him the story as I have reported. The
governor immediately sent people to follow the way he had gone and to look
for the spots he had noticed. But they lost their way and could no longer
find the route.
Liu Zi-ji of Nan-yang was a gentleman of high ideals. When he heard of
this, he was delighted and planned to go there. Before he could realize it, he
grew sick and passed away. After that no one tried to find the way there.

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 The Poetry of the Southern
Dynasties

In 317, after the reigning lin emperor was seized by non-Chinese invaders
from the North, the Prince of Lang-ya, Si-ma Rui, declared the reestab-
lishment of the jin Dynasty in the South and in the following year took
the throne as Emperor Yuan. This period is known as the Easternlin; it
was followed by a succession of other short-lived dynasties-the Song
(or Liu-Song, to distinguish it from the more famous Song), the Qi, the
Liang, and the Chen. The new capital was established at jian-ye, later
called Jian-kang, in still later times lin-ling (finally becoming modern Nan-
jing). This period, which lasted until S89, when the Sui finally extin-
guished the puppet Chen regime, is known collectively as the Southern
Dynasties.
To this region, often called jiang-nan, "South of the Yangzi" or the
Southland, came many refugees from the North, transferring their own
version of Northern culture into the South. They spoke a different dialect from the
local inhabitants, a dialect referredto with some pride as "the idiom of jin." The great
emigre families constituted an aristocracy; and even though, with the passage of cen-
turies, this Northern elite mixed with local families, they still prided themselves on
their distinction and their role as the true inheritors of Chinese culture. Safe behind
their river defenses, they looked with politic disdain on the Northern Dynasties and
their non-Chinese overlords.
The old yue-fu and virtually all the extant literature of the Han and Wei were
preserved in the South. To a large degree, our own view of earlier literature has
been shaped by their anthologies and their view of literary history. If earlier Chi-
nese literature had as its highest values the perfect integration of the individual,
society, and the polity, the literature of the Southern Dynasties touches on frag-
mentation and isolation in many forms. China was divided; Southern society was
divided, between northerner and indigenous southerner; and despite the claims of
the Northern aristocracy, the continuity of cultural history was suspect. We have
two great poets of isolation, Tao Qian and Xie Ling-yun, both of whom celebrate
solitude and in different ways show a longing for reconstituting bonds with others-
Tao Qian praising the anonymous community of farmers, and Xie Ling-yun seek-
ing the true friend who could share his appreciation of the magnificent landscapes
of the South.
Toward the end of the fifth century, a new version of fragmentation occurs: the
literary coterie or salon, whose members took pride in being a literary elite. These
"small societies" were miniature versions of the aristocratic society of the South. Each
under the patronage of imperial princes, literary salons were often linked to the po-
litical factions that surrounded the princes.
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Tao Qian (Tao Yuan-ming, 365-427)

Tao Qian, now the most famous poet of China before the Tang, was the child of a
minor gentry family that may possibly have had ties to a more illustrious branch of
the Tao clan. Tao Qian himself held and resigned several minor posts before his final
decision to give up public life and "return to his gardens and fields." More than any-
thing else, that act of decision was the topic ofTao Qian's poetry-retelling the de-
cision, justifying the decision, proclaiming his contentment with his decision, prais-
ing exemplary figures in the past who were models for such a decision. Although
the work of some earlier poets had pointed in similar directions, Tao Qian created
a poetry of the individual and glorified the individual's claims against the claims of
public life. Within the Chinese tradition, however, public life held such authority
over the individual that Tao Qian's poetry has often been read as an implicit con-
demnation of the failure of the Eastern lin government (i.e., his choice of the private
life was a sign of his political disillusionment, and he would have served had the
political situation been better). Vet Tao Qian rarely speaks about good government
or bad; his target is the oppression inherent in living a public life. Tao Qian asked,
as few had before him, what it meant to be happy, and how a person could choose
the happy life.
In contrast to the artfully allusive poetry of his contemporaries, Tao's poetry seems
unadorned; the impression of simplicity, however, can be misleading. Beneath the
surface, Tao Qian took serious early works that others treated as mere ornaments of
erudition. We start with a famous passage from the Analects (the first part of XI.26),
which talks of what it means to be happy and to satisfy one's aims in life. Com-
mentators differ as to why, by the end of the passage, Confucius is "with Zeng Xi,"
but it has something to do with Zeng Xi's capacity to envisage his Own happiness.

Confucius, Analects XI.26

Zi-lu, Ran You, Gong-xi Hua, and Zeng Xi were sitting in attendance
on the Master. The Master said, "Don't take into account that I am
a few days older than you. Each of you is always saying, 'I am not
understood.' If it happened that you were understood, how would
you have things be!"
Without giving it a second thought, Zi-Iu answered, "Take a domain
that could muster only a thousand chariots, a domain wedged in
between the great domains, and further a domain that had suffered
the passage of armies so that it was reduced to starvation. If I had
such a domain in my charge, in about three years I could make them
have courage, and moreover understand proper behavior."
The Master grinned at him.
"Ran You, how would you have it be!"
Ran You answered, "Take an area sixty or seventy miles square-
perhaps fifty or sixty-if I had charge of it, in about three years I
could make it have enough people in it. But when it comes to music
and rites, I would have to await a superior man."

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"Gong-xi Hua, how would it be for you?"

He answered, "I am nor saying that 1 am capable of this, but 1 would
like to try to Iearn it-I would like to be a minor assistant in a black
gown and ceremonial hat in the ceremonies at the ancestral temple
and in the great meeting of lords."
"Zeng Xi, how would it be for you?"
Zeng Xi, who had been playing his harp, let the lingering notes trail
away, then put his harp aside and rose, saying, "It would be
different from the preferences of these other three."
The Master said, "No matter. Each person has told us his life's aims."
Zeng Xi then said, "It would be the end of spring when the spring
clothes had been readied: with five or six young men and six or
seven young boys 1 would bathe in the River Yi and feel the breeze
on the Rain Altars, and then we would go home singing. "
The Master let out a sigh. "I am with Zeng Xi."

In the following poem, Tao Qian does not simply allude to the Analects passage;
the entire poem is built around it, as Tao rediscovers the perfect happiness it de-
scribes, and then realizes his own isolation and distance from the past.

Seasons Shift
"Seasons Shift" is about roaming at the end of spring. When my spring
clothes had been readied and there was a gentle look to the scenery, 1roamed
alone, joined only by my shadow. Distress and delight met in my heart.

I
Ever onward seasons shift,
now gentle grace of this fine dawn.
Attired in my springtime clothes,
I come to the eastern meadows.
From hills is washed a lingering haze,
and Sky's vault veiled by faint wisps.
A breeze is here from the south
and sits brooding over new shoots.

II
Broad waters of the level marsh,
there 1 rinse, there 1 bathe.
A scene remote, muted and faint,
1 feel delight and peer about.
There's something people often say:
to content the heart is enough.
1 toss the dregs from my cup
and cheerfully tipsy, find joy.

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III
My eyes run out to midstream,
I remotely fancy the clear river Yi.
Young men and boys, alike in study,
calmly chanting along the way home.
I wish such sereniry as my own,
waking and sleeping I beckon to them.
Yet troubled that ours are different times,
so remote I cannot reach them.

IV
On this morning and this eve,
I rest here in my cottage.
Flowers and herbs divided by rows,
trees and bamboo giving shade.
The clear-toned harp across my couch,
a half-full jug of thick wine.
No reaching Yao or Yellow Emperor,
distressing solitude lies in me.

Measuring himself against Zeng Xi, Tao cannot quite reach such satisfaction. But
describing himself as a fictive other, he can attain the perfection of anonymous joy.
"Master Five Willows" is Tao Qian's image of himself.

Biography of Master Five Willows

We don't know what age the master lived in, and we aren't certain of his
real name. Beside his cottage were five willow trees, so he took his name
from them. He lived in perfect peace, a man of few words, with no desire
for glory or gain. He liked to read but didn't try too hard to understand.
Yet whenever there was something that caught his fancy, he would be so
happy he would forget to eat. He had a wine-loving nature, but his house-
hold was so poor he couldn't always get hold of wine. His friends, know-
ing how he was, would invite him to drink. And whenever he drank, he fin-
ished what he had right away, hoping to get very drunk. When drunk, he
would withdraw, not really caring whether he went or stayed. His dwelling
was a shambles, providing no protection against wind or sun. His coarse
clothes were full of holes and patches; his plate and pitcher always empty;
he was at peace. He often composed literary works for his own amusement,
and these gave a good indication of his aims. He forgot all about gain or
loss, and in this way lived out his life.

The summation: Qian-lou's wife once said, "Feel no anxiery about loss or
low station; don't be too eager for wealth and honor." When we reflect on

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her words, we suspect that Five Willows may have been such a man-swig-
ging wine and writing poems to satisfy his inclinations. Was he a person of
the age of Lord No-Cares? Was he a person of the age of Ge-tian?'

The following poem requires some knowledge of the double ninth festival (the ninth
day of the ninth month). "Nine" (jill) was homophonous with "long time," the "long"
of the second line, which is why everyone "loves its name." To promote longevity,
chrysanthemums were taken in an infusion with wine; but Tao, lacking wine, eats
his chrysanthemums dry.

Dwelling in Peace on the Double Ninth

I was dwelling in peace and loved the name "double ninth." Fall's chrysan-
themums filled the garden, yet I had no means to take strong brew in hand.
So I swallowed the flowers of the ninth by themselves, and expressed what
I felt in words.

Our span is short, desires are many,

so mankind delights in living long.

With star signs the day and month arrive,

and all, by custom, love today's name.

The dews are cool, sultry winds cease,

the air is crisp, the heavens' bodies bright.

No shadows remain from departed swallows,

but sounds aplenty from wild geese coming.

Wine has the power to drive off cares,

chrysanthemums curb declining years.

How can a man in a cottage of thatch

do nothing but watch seasons sink toward an end?

My dusty cup shames the empty jar,

these cold-weather flowers blossom in vain.

I pull my gown close, sing calmly alone,

then, lost in my musings, deep feelings rise.
I
The quiet life has indeed many joys,
there is something achieved in just lingering on.

I UNo-Cares" and Ge-tian were mythical rulers from the dawn of antiquity-a time when all the world
had peace and plenty.

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Drinking Wine V
I built a cottage right in the realm of men,
yet there was no noise from wagon and horse.
I ask you, how can that be sol-
when mind is far, its place becomes remote.

I picked a chrysanthemum by the eastern hedge,

off in the distance gazed on south mountain.

Mountain vapors glow lovely in twilight sun,

where birds in flight join in return.

There is some true significance here:

I want to expound it but have lost the words.

Returning to Dwell in Gardens and Fields I

My youth felt no comfort in common things,
by my nature I clung to the mountains and hills.

I erred and fell in the snares of dust

and was away thirteen years in all.

The caged bird yearns for its former woods,

fish in a pool yearns for long-ago deeps.

Clearing scrub at the edge of the southern moors,

I stay plain by returning to gardens and fields.

My holdings are just mate than ten acres,

a thatched cottage of eight or nine rooms.

Elms and willows shade eaves at the back,

peach and plum spread in front of the hall.

The far towns of men are hidden from sight,

a faint blur of smoke comes from village hearths.

A dog is barking deep in the lanes,

a rooster cries out atop a mulberry.

No dust pollutes my doors or yard,

empry space offering ample peace.

For long time I was kept inside a coop,

now again I return to the natural way.

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Moving My Dwelling I
Long I've wanted to dwell in south village,
and not just because it's a lucky site.

I heard there were many simple-hearted men,

and would enjoy passing mornings and evenings with them.

I had this in mind for many a year,

and this is the task I follow today.

No need that my ramshackle cottage be grand,

I find it enough that it cover my bed.

Neighbors will come from time to time,

we'll have spirited talks of days gone by.

In rare writings we'll find a shared delight,

between us we'll work out problems of meaning.

The Sixth Month of 408: We Had a Fire

My thatch cottage was set in a narrow lane,
that willingly kept splendid coaches away.

It was high summer, steady winds blew hard,

in a moment my grove and house burned down.

Not a building was left on my property,

so we sheltered in a boat before the gate.

Far and wide, this eve of new autumn,

spreading high above, the moon almost full.

Vegetables and melons again begin to grow,

the birds, frightened off, have not yet returned.

In night's midst I stand, I brood on far things,

one glance covers the nine-tiered skies.

Since youth I have clung to lone steadfastness,

all at once it has been more than forty years.

My body and deeds pass on with Change,

yet the seat of my spirit is ever at peace.

In its own right my being is pure and firm-

indeed there is no jade so hard.

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I envision those times of Dong-hu'

when spare grain was left overnight in the field.
They patted full bellies and longed for nothing,
got up at dawn and at dusk went to sleep.
But since I wasn't born in those times,
I'll just go on watering my garden.

Begging
Famine came, it drove me off,
I did not know where to go.
I finally came to this village,
knocked at a gate, fumbled with words,
The owner guessed what I had in mind;
he gave--I had not come for nothing.
We joked and chatted through evening;
when a pitcher came, we emptied our cups.
Heart's ease in joys of newfound friends,
as we sang and recited poems.
I was touched by such kindness the washerwoman showed,
and am shamed that I lack the gifts of Han Xin.!
So much within me, I know not how to thank you,
I must pay you back from the world beyond.

Reading the Classic of Mountains and Seas I

Summer's first month, all plants grow tall;
around my cottage, trees dense and full.
There flocks of birds rejoice to find lodging,
and I too cling with love to my cottage
With the plowing done and the sowing,
now and then I can read my books.
These narrow lanes keep out deep ruts,
and tend to turn away old friends' carts.
In pleasure I pour Out the wine of spring
and pick from the garden's vegetables.

2like 'INa-cares" and Ge-tian earlier, Dong-hu was a ruler of mythical antiquity in a world of plenty,
free of conn let.

JHan Xin was one of the great generals in the founding of the Han. Once he was in desperate straits
and a washerwoman fed him, refusing reward. Tao is saying that, unlike Han Xin, he will not rise
to high position.

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A light rain is moving in from the east,

a nice breeze comes along with it.

I browse in the tales of the King of Zhou

look through the charts of the Mountains and Seas:"

In an instant I have covered the universe-

if this is not joy, what is?

Xie Ling-yun (385-433)

The beauty of mountains and streams has been commented on by all since an-
cient times. High peaks that enter into the clouds; clear currents that reveal their
beds; stone cliffs on both shores glinting with all the colors of the rainbow. They
are furnished with green forests and azure bamboo all the year long. As the early
morning fog is about to lift, a tumult of birds and gibbons cry out; and as the
evening sun is about to sink away, sunken fins seem to vie with one another in
vaulting from the waters. This is, in truth, the great city of the Undying within
this World of Earthly Desires. And yet since the time of Xie Ling-yun there has
never again been anyone able fully to be a part of these wonders.
-Tao Hong-jing (452-536), "Letter in Answer to Xie of the Secretariat"

Xie Ling-yun is perhaps the least read major poet of traditional China. He was an
aristocrat, born into one of the greatest families of the period, and had a tempestu-
ous political career that culminated in his execution. Xie Ling-yin is remembered,
however, as the first great landscape poet of China. His densely crafted couplets and
difficult diction were greatly admired in his age and throughout the following cen-
tury. Unlike most earlier poets, who used elements of landscape as figures for human
concerns, Xie Ling-yun saw in the landscape the wondrous embodiment of nature's
forms, the experience of which would lead the contemplative viewer to a kind of
enl ightenment.

Fu-chun Isle
By night we passed over Fisherman's Deeps,
and by dawn reached the outskirts of Fu-chun.

Steady Mountain far and faint in clouds and fog;

at Crimson Pavilion there was no tarrying.

Countering currents, I bashed through swift dashings;

close by the bank I was blocked by what was strewn.

In truth I was lacking Be-hun's endowments;

and in peril I passed through Lii-liang's canyon.

"The Tales of King Mu (the "King of Zhou") recount his wanderings through the fabled lands be-
yond the Chinese heartland. The Classic of Mountains and Seas is a fantastic geography.

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"To pooling it cometh": best to be inured;

"mountains joined": value halting and lodging.

Lifelong affinity with designs for withdrawal,

floundering, fumbling, burdened by weaknesses.
Long evincing appeals for preferment,
but now fulfilling a pledge for far wandering.
The perennial heart progressively unfolds,
of a million problems each falls away.

Now my concerns are unfurled in the light,

all things beyond me pointlessly stretch and shrink back.

As a poet, Xie Ling-yunwas immensely erudite and a dense stylist, which makes his
work difficult to appreciate in translation. The fourth couplet above alludes to two
Daoist parables of remaining calm in a dangerous situation. In the first, to instruct
Lie Yu-kou to keep a steady mind while shooting a bow, Be-bun Mao-ren walked
backward to the edge of a high cliff until his heels were over the edge. In the sec-
ond, Lu-liang Canyon was a violent stretch of water where Confucius once saw a
man floundering: thinking the man was in danger, Confucius sent one of his disci-
ples to rescue him. It turned out, however, that the man was a swimmer who had
learned to be at home in such violent flux. After alluding to these two stories of the
mind's conquest of fear, Xie looks into the landscape and sees forms that seem to
be the very embodiments of phrases in the Classic of Changes: "to pooling it cometh"
and "mountains joined." In both cases he quotes the advice offered in the Classic
of Changes and applies it to his own case.

Written on the Lake, Returning from the Chapel at Stone Cliff

Dawnlight to dusk transmuted the atmosphere,
streams and hills infused with a luminous glow:
Such luminous glow can so beguile a man
that the traveler, rapt, neglects to go.

The Sun was still low when Ileft the valley,

its light now grows faint as Iboard my boat.

These wooded canyons gather hues of the dark,

as white clouds and red draw back twilight haze.
Caltrop and lotus alternate shining verdure,
cattails and reeds rest each on the other.

Pushing back brush, I rush down the southbound trail,

and cheerfully lie by my eastern portal.

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When man's cares calm, the world's things grow light,

with the will content, the patterns don't go amiss.
These words I send to those nurturing life:
just try using this Way to search for it.

Climbing an Upper Story by the Pool

A dragon, submerged, enhances sequestered charms,
the swan in flight sends its voice echoing far.

Chagrined by one reaching the drifting cloud-wisps,

shamed by the other, settled in stream's deepest chasm.
My wisdom too awkward to rise by virtue;
my strength that cannot bear retiring to plow.
Now to sea's very edge in pursuit of income,
I lie here ailing, facing barren woods.
Quilt and pillow have blinded me to seasons,
now lifting the curtain, I briefly peer out.
I turn my ear to hearken to waves,
lift eyes to catch sight of towering cliffs.
In this new scene are altered the lingering winds,
fresh sunlight transfigures the shadows that were.
Pond and pool grow with grasses of spring,
garden willows vary the birds that there sing.

Such bounty brings pain at the songs of Bin,

lush growth touches thoughts of Chu's lays.
Dwelling solitary easily comes to last long,
apart from others, hard to steady the heart.
Holding fast to standards is not only of old-
"Being free from distress" is confirmed right now.

Appearing in the middle of a stylistically very elaborate poem, the line "Pond and
pool grow with grasses of spring" (in the eighth couplet above) caught the imagi-
nation of many traditional critics as being particularly beautiful. In an early anec-
dote, Xie Ling-yun claimed to have received the couplet in a dream and that it was
not truly his own. Whatever its provenance, this couplet became a touchstone of
poetic perfection. Immediately following such a "natural" couplet, the very words
Xie finds to describe the natural scene recall to him the earlier poems in which the
same words were used.

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Visiting the Southern Pavilion

Season's close, evening skies clear to translucence,
clouds go their ways as the sun hurries west.

Dense woodlands, infused with a lingering cool,

while a far summit shadows half of Sol's disk.

Long unwell and deluged by sufferings,

from rhe lodge I stare to where meadow paths fork.

Marsh orchids gradually blanket the trails,

lotuses start to come forth in the pools.

Green springtime was sweet-not wearisome yet;

crimson brightness moved in-this already observed.

Cheerless, I sigh, stirred by all things around;

Star-flecked they hang, these whitened hairs.

Medications and nourishment, desires stop there;

ailments and frailties are suddenly upon me.

To pass away I'll wait for the autumn floods,

let my shadow pause, reclining on former bluffs.

For whom can I clarify hopes and dreams?-

a mind that appreciates will know on its own.

More than any poet before him, Xie Ling-yunused phrases from the classics and older
literature to give depth to his work, a depth that is impossible to catch in translation.
In the poem above, images and phrases from "Calling Back the Soul" give a ghostly
resonance to the scene described. The poet, long sick, rises and looks out the win-
dow:

Long unwell and deluged by sufferings,

from the lodge I stare to where meadow paths fork ...

What he claims to see echoes the strange scene at the end of "Calling Back the Soul"
(see p. 210), where the speaker is riding in the dark marshes on a hunt with the king,
and they lose the trail:

With the king I dashed through the fens,

racing to see who would be first.
The king himself made the shot,
the black buffalo was slain.
Red dawnlight follows the night,
the time does not let us linger.

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Marsh orchids blanket the trail,

the path here fades away.

Bao Zhao (ca. 414-466)

Bao Zhao was a somewhat younger poet than Xie Ling-yun, and in his own land-
scape poetry he could not escape Xie's immense influence. Bao Zhao, however, was
fascinated by yue-fu and song-by its images of passion, heroism, and powerful feel-
ing in an age in which poetry was becoming increasingly controlled and restrained.
Baa Zhao's most famous work is a series of verses set to a song, "Hard Traveling";
in place of the dense description and philosophical description of landscape poetry,
these pieces utilize dramatic intensity.

Hard Traveling IV
Spill water out on level ground-
it flows off east
or west or north or south.
A man's life too has its destiny-
how can I walk and sigh,
then sit here in despair?
So pour the ale and take your ease,
lift your cup and cease to sing
"Hard Traveling."
My heart is not of wood or stone,
how can I help being moved?-
I waver, swallow back my voice,
and dare not speak a sound.

Hard T raveling II
A Luo-yang craftsman of renown
cast an incense burner of gold,
with thousands of cuts and incisions,
on top he carved Qin's royal daughter
whose hand the immortal lover held.
To sustain your pleasures on cool nights
it was set within bedcurtains
next to bright candles.
On the outside it showed russet glitter,
the scales of a dragon;
inside was held the lavender smoke,
fragrance of musk.
But now your heart has changed overnight,

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long I'll sigh facing this

all the years of my life.

Hard Traveling VI
I face the table, I cannot eat,
I draw my sword, I strike the post
and heave a long sigh.
How long can man's life last in this world?-
can I hobble around with drooping wings?
I gave it up, quit office, left,
returned to my home, rested in ease.
At dawn I went forth taking leave of kin,
at twilight turned back to be by kin's side.
I enjoy my son who plays by the bed
and watch my wife as she weaves at the loom.
Good men and sages since ancient times
have all been humble and poor,
which is even more for those like me
upright and alone.

Singing and the scene of singing had always been an important topic in early po-
etry, but Baa Zhao was particularly interested in dramatizing the occasion of song,
as in the following piece in which the "Song of the BrightMoon" appears within the
poem of the same name. LadyWei and Zhao Pel-vanare mentioned as types of beau-
tiful women.

Song of the Bright Moon

The bright moon comes forth from eastern hills,
outside the grillwork windows it shines.
Inside the windows, many lovely women,
dressed all in lace, entrancing and fair.
Seeing to make-up, they sit within curtains,
or in the doorways they play clear strings.
Their tresses more beguile us than Lady Wei,
their bodies surpass Zhao Fei-yan by far.
"Now let me sing a song for you,
the song I'll make is called 'Bright Moon.' "
As the wine takes effect, the face relaxes;
the voice is gentle, the heart made known.
A thousand gold pieces don't matter-
what counts is the strength of feeling.

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The Southern Courts

Although Tao Qian and Xie Ling-yun were greater poets than any in the late fifth
and sixth centuries, the changes that took place in poetry during that time were to
have an impact on the development of Chinese poetry far deeper than that of the
major poets. This is the period that saw the perfection of the poetic language inherited
by the Tang. There was the gradual development of tonal balancing within the cou-
plet, which shifted finally into regulated verse in the seventh century. This was ac-
companied by a fascination with poetry as a craft, with the style and art of the cou-
plet. Poetsjudged each other's works, and errors of many kinds might open a poet
to criticism. There was also a greater sense of the history of poetry than ever before.
Lines of earlier poets or themes from the old yue-fu provided topics for endless vari-
ation. Moreover, the quatrain folksongs of the South became popular in the South-
ern courts and provided the inspiration for a new literary quatrain. Poets would send
quatrains to one another and answer ones they had received. Taken together, such
quatrain sets became an early version of a form of group composition that would
mature in the Tang as "linked verse." Quatrains that had no response were called,
among other things, "cut-off lines" (jue-ju), which later became the term for the qua-
train as a distinct verse form.
Many poets of this period were connected with the literary salons presided over
by imperial princes of the Xiao family, which ruled both the Qi and the Liang dy-
nasties. There was much composition to set topics: a prince might demand a poem
on the occasion of an outing or party, or might test a poet's ingenuity by proposing
some object as the topic of a poem.
The theme of the following poem became a favorite yue-fu topic in this period
and later. The great warlord Cao Cao (155-220) decreed that after his death, his
palace ladies should be lodged in the palace known as "The Terrace of the Bronze
Sparrow": "My consorts and concubines are all to remain on the Terrace of the
Bronze Sparrow, and on that terrace set a six-foot couch surrounded by lace hang-
ings. In the morning and late afternoon let them set out wine, meat, and grain and
such things. At dawn on the fifteenth of every month they are to perform before the
screen, and then from time to time climb the terrace and gaze toward my tomb in
Western Mound" ("Tales of Old Ye"), The curtained enclosure (the "soul-screen")
around the couch was the space where Cao Cads spirit might reenter the world of
the living.
The play of sounds in He Xun's version of the "Terrace of the Bronze Sparrow"
shows a controlled mastery of presentation that few earlier poets could have
achieved. The poem opens with the sound of the wind in the trees, in which begins
the music of instruments, then song, and it ends with the sound of the wind in the
cypress and pine trees planted on the tomb. He Xun also enjoyed the rich irony of
the performers offering wine to the empty spirit enclosure while singing Cao Cao's
own banquet song:

The wine before me as I sing:

how long can a man's life last?
I liken it to morning's dew,

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and the days now past are too many.

The feeling is strong in me,
brooding thoughts I can't ignore.
How can I banish melancholy?-
by Du Kang's gift of wine.

He Xun (d. ca. 518), Performers on the Terrace of the

Bronze Sparrow
Leaves fall from trees in the autumn wind,
through its rustling, clear notes of flutes and harps.
They gaze toward his tomb and sing "Facing the Wine,"
in an empty city they dance at the soul-screen.
In the lonely stillness beneath the broad roof,
the curtains are light and flap in the wind.
Song done, they look at each other and rise:
the sun sets with the sounds of cypress and pine.

Another poet of the same period, Xie Tiao, gives a different treatment of the theme,
with Cao Cao's palace women expressing a more decorous grief.

Xie Tiao (464-499), A Companion Piece for Xie Jing's

"Terrace of the Bronze Sparrow"
Lace curtains flap on the open frame,
the goblet of wine as it used to be.
The trees grow so thick on Western Mound,
how can he hear the songs sung to flutes?
Tearmarks stain the gowns' sweet folds;
their tender feelings return in vain.
Desolate still is his throne of jade,
even more, our bodies of such small worth.

One of the most interesting poets of this period was the imperial prince Xiao Gang,
who later became Emperor [ian-wen of the Liang. Xiao Gang was not a very good
ruler, a mere figurehead in the collapsing Southern state, but he was a fine poet and
an influential patron. His was a poetry of beautiful, enigmatic patterns, often draw-
ing the eye closely to some detail. Sadly, his attention to sensuous surfaces, to dis-
torting perspectives and illusions in reflection, made his work seem to later Confu-
cian judges of literary value both trivial and morally suspect.

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Xiao Gang (503-551), Song of Yong-zhou: II North Isle

Shores shaded by hanging willow fronds,
smooth stream with white parapets within.
Glad to meet others beside these walls,
girls often encountered in boats rushing by.

Sapphire waters splash their long sleeves,

and drifting mosses dye the light paddles.

Source of Pain II
In lonely stillness, echoes from twilight eaves,
dark and somber, the colors with curtains drawn.
There is only the moss on the drain tiles,
like seeing the lacework of spiders.

Song: Every Night

The Dipper stretches across the sky,
the heart every night feels its pain alone.
From the side on my pillow fall moonbeams;
in lamplight half of the bed is in shadow.

Roaming in the North Park by Night

Star sparkles break through trees on the ridge,
moonglow is shadowed by wall tower.
When blooms open in darkness, we cannot tell,
but the bright waves stir, showing currents.

Sending a Palace Lady Back by Night to the Rear Boat

Rows of brocade curtains shelter her barge,
magnolia oars drift, brushing the waves.
Her departing candle still patterns the waters,
her lingering scent still fills my boat.

On a Lone Duck
It dives in shallows for beakfuls of moss,
heads to sandy isles to preen its feathers.
It was ready to fly off all by itself,
then found its reflection and lingered.

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Anthology of Chinese Literature

New Swallows
In response to the season new birds return,
all fly to the chambers where music plays.
Into the curtains, ringing bangles alarm them,
through windows they're blocked by the dancers' gowns.

The Reflection of a High Building in the Water

At the water's bottom a tracery screen appears,
among the duckweed an inverted vault afloat.
When breezes comes, the colors are unruined;
the waves pass on, the reflection remains.

The courtly quatrain, particularly treating motifs of women and love, became a pop-
ular form in the early sixth century. The poet would quickly sketch a scene of de-
sire, longing in absence, or charm, with feeling revealed by some gesture or piece
of evidence.

Liu Yan (Emperor Wu of the Liang, 464-549), Zi-ye Song

In her yearning it seems she wants to come closer,
but she's bashful and will not advance.
From lips' red emerges a song of passion,
white fingers stroke the charming strings.

Shen Yue (441-513), Going Out Early and Meeting an Old

Love, I Give This to Her in Her Carriage
Traces of rouge yet darken your skin,
and a dusting of powder remains there still.
Where was it you stayed last night
that this morning you make your way home in the dew?

Madam Shen (early 6th century), Song on Reflections in Water

Her light tresses mimic the drifting clouds,
her twin brows copy the crescent moon.
Where waters clear, she straightens skewed hairpins;
where duckweed opens, she smooths tousled hair.

Wu jun (469-520), Quatrains on Various Topics I

Day's cicadas had already brought yearning's pain,
then night's dew once again soaked her robes.
Before, of course, there was parting's heartache,
and now this evening, the fireflies.

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Wang Seng-ru (465-522), Spring Longings

The snows are over, branches turn green,
ice opens, the water is blue.
And again I hear the oriole's longing,
that leads me to write these songs of love.

Liu Xiao-chuo (481-539), On a Woman Unwilling to

Come Forth
Where the curtain opens, I see hairpin's shadow,
when the hangings stir, I hear bracelets' sound.
She hesitates and will not come forth,
always shy of the candle's light.

Southern poets of the sixth century developed a sense of poetic craftsmanship that
remained atthe heart of laterTang poetry, though Tang poets tended to be less heavy-
handed with the craft of the parallel couplet. Poets ofthe Southern courts would often
go on excursions with princes or emperors and would be asked to write poems on
the same topics or using the same rhymes as imperial poems. The first of the fol-
lowing poems by Yu Xin is written as he accompanies a Liang prince, Xiao Yi, on
an excursion on the Yangzi River.

Yu Xin (513-581), Respectfully Answering "Drifting on

the River"
The spring river comes down past White Emperor Castle,
and our painted barges head toward Brown Ox Gorge.
Brocade rigging bends around shoals of gravel,
magnolia oars avoid sandbars of reeds.
Drenched petals drift along with the waters,
empty nests go with currents, chasing their trees.

Boat-building scaffolds came down to jian-ping,

then war galleys came floating to ling-men.
Many tall trees by shrines on the shore,
enough far towers on castles in hills.
As the sun goes down, winds calm on the river,
the dragon sings out and turns back upstream.

When the [in set out to conquer the Three Kingdoms' state ofWu, the general Wang
Jun had a river fleet constructed upstream in Sichuan. The Wu governor of jian-ping
found pieces of the scaffolding for boat construction floating downstream and knew
that an attack was impending. Although Yu Xin celebrates the excursion with po-

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etic grace, these historical echoes recall the serious threat that the Liang Dynasty
faced from the North.

Study in the Hills

I sought in vast stillness calm chambers,
I went through dense foliage to my study in the hills.
Oozing and trickling, waters moistened the road,
arching in domes, stones reclined on the stairs.
A log in the shallows, not budging at all,
roots coiling round, only half buried.
Round beads plummet from evening chrysanthemums,
slender fires fall from the hollow ash tree.
yet only the gloom of the wind-blown clouds
makes me feel still more how heart's cares have erred.

A Companion Piece for Grand Master Yan's

"Newly Cleared Skies"
Vapors over water consume evening's light,
rays thrown back shine on the river's high banks.
Sopping petals blow away, but not far,
shadowy clouds draw in and still lower.
Swallows dry up and again turn to stone,
the dragon falls apart and once more is mud.'
A sweet-smelling spring pours a chilly torrent,
a small skiff fishes in a brook of lotuses.
If only the mind could take all things as equal-
why feel distress that things are not equal at all?

The Image of the Southern Dynasties

As important as the Southern Dynasties were in their own right in the history of Chi-
nese literature, they were no less important as a world evoked in the poetic imagi-
nation of later centuries: witty recluses, zany aristocrats, pleasure-loving and deca-
dent emperors. This image of the Southern Dynasties was by and large a creation of
ninth-century poets, who perhaps found in the South of the third to sixth centuries
an alluring counterpart to the Tang's own slow dissolution.
The following rather straightforward ballad recounts the beginning of the South-
ern Dynasties with the [in Dynasty's loss of the North in the Yong-jiareign (307-312).

'There is a legend of stone swallows that turned into birds when it rained, then became stone again
when they dried out. Dragons were formed of mud and day in sacrifices for rain.

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Zhang Ji (ca. 767-<a. 830), A Ballad of the Yong-jia

Then the blond-headed Xian-pi
entered Luo-yang,
and Turks with pikes in hand
climbed the Hall of Light.

The house of Jin's Son of Heaven

surrendered as a prisoner,
as his lords and nobles fled swiftly
just like cattle and sheep.

On the purple lanes pennons and banners

bumped one another in darkness,
chickens and dogs of every household
climbed to the roofs in alarm.

Married women went out their gates

along with rebel soldiers;
when their husbands died before their eyes,
they did not dare to weep.

Great nobles of the nine domains

each looked to his own lands,
and not a one led soldiers
to go protect their prince.

Of Northerners who fled the Turks

most were found in the South;
and to this day the Southerners
speak the idiom of Jin.

Zhang Ji's rather plain narrative may be contrasted with the following dramatic
scene by Wen Ting-yun, written perhaps half a century later. The poem is set five
centuries earlier, in the year 383; the scene is the villa of Xie Ani the great states-
man of the Eastern [in, who has sent off his nephew Xie Xuan and his younger brother
Xie Shi to meet the invasion of the Northern warlord Fu [ian, who was making a bid
to reunify China. As if unconcerned, Xie An is playing a game of "chess," or go, with
the great courtiers of the Eastern [in all gathered around him waiting for him to make
his move. The chess game is the microcosm in which Xie An is mysteriously en-
compassing the defeat of Fu lian at the Battle of the Fei River (by the river Huai). The
poem builds on the anecdote given in liu Yi-qing's New Stories and Tales of the
Times (Shi-shuo xin-yu), V1.35:
Lord Xie was playing go with someone when all at once a messenger came from
Xie Xuan, who was at the river Huai. After he finished reading the letter, he
kept perfectly silent and slowly turned back to the gameboard. One of his visi-
tors asked him whether the event on the Huai had gone well or ill, and he an-

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swered: "The young people have completely smashed that thug." His counte-
nance and behavior were no different from usual.

Wen Ting-yun (ca. 812-866), A Song of Lord Xie's Villa

To the south of Redbird POntoon Bridge
there winds a fragrant path,
to Master Xie's eastern villa
stretching to spring's green sky.
Doves sleep high in the willows,
sunlight suffused everywhere,
breeze gusts through grillwork kiosks
where are guests from the Royal Court.

On the squares of grained catalpa wood

petals are randomly strewn;
before his plans have fully formed,
stars are filling the pool.
None of the guests made the least noise,
beech and bamboo were hushed,
lords of golden cicadas and scepters of jade
all rested their chins on hands.
He faces the board, he knits his brows,
he sees a thousand miles,
and the capital has already seized
the long serpent's tail.
The Southland's royal aura
twines through his open lapels-
and he never let Fu ]ian
cross the river Huai.

The poetic expositions of the Han included monumental works on the great Han
imperial hunts. The following song begins with a stylish and diminutive imperial hunt
in the Southern Dynasties, going out before the dawn, riding horses decked with jew-
els. The song gradually turns into a vision of the Southland's decadence, showing
the Last Ruler of the last of Southern Dynasties, the Chen, hiding with his empresses
in the palace well to escape the conquering troops of the Sui. In the tradition of sen-
suous love songs of the Southern Dynasties such as those given above, the Last Ruler
of the Chen composed a song entitled "In the Rear Court Flowers on Trees of Jade."
The "Great Preface" to the Classic of Poetry asserted that one could tell the condi-
tion of a government by the quality of the poetry and music of the period. It is said
that when his courtiers heard this song by the Last Ruler, they wept, knowing that
the dynasty would not last long. At the end of Wen Ting-yun's poem, we find that
the white flowers celebrated in the song endure, but on wild trees that grow Over
the remains of the Southern Dynasties' parks and palaces.

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Song for the Bank Where the Cock Crowed

When the Southern Dynasties Emperor
went off to shoot pheasants,
the silvery sky-river sparkled
with scatterings of stars.
In bronze water-clocks the dripping ceased,
as first they woke from dreams;
dust rose high from the jeweled horses,
no one knew at all.
Fish leapt east of the lotuses,
rippling palace pools,
a drizzling haze in royal willows
where roosting birds hung suspended.
Red rouge through thousands of doors,
there was spring within the mirrors,
a single sound from sapphire trees
and all the world turned dawn.
Their coiling, crouching power wore out
after three hundred years,
the Southland's warlike aura
turned to melancholy mist.
Comet tails brushed the Earth,
waves rolled over the sea;
battle drums crossed the river,
dust flooded the skies.
Embroidered dragon and painted pheasant
stuffed the palace well,
and winds were driving the wildfires
that burned the nine royal tripods.
Their great halls made nests for swallows,
the pavements grew with weeds,
on the twelve statues of metal
frost was glittering.
A continuous carpet of green grows over
foundations of Palace City,
the warm colors of springtime sky,
ancient slopes where plants run wild.
Who would have thought that the melody,
"In the Rear Court Flowers on Trees of Jade,"
would linger on in the crabapples
and their branches like the snow.

The Southern Dynasties capital atjian-kang, also referred to asjin-Iing, later became
Nanjing, the "Southern Capital" of the Ming. In 1644, when Qing armies took the

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Anthology of Chinese Literature

North, Ming loyalists tried to establish a successor Ming reign in the South, in Nan-
jingo This last short "Southern Dynasty" remembered its predecessors in the old city.
Qian Qian-yi, one of the most famous writers of the day, served and betrayed the
Southern Ming; watching a game of chess, he could probably not help recalling Xie
An's famous chess game thirteen centuries before.

Qian Qian-yi (1582-1664), In Jin-ling: A Second Series on

Watching a Chess Game (one of six) (1647)
Still and somber, a bare chessboard,
echoes in vast silence,
autumn grows old by the Qin-Huai,
whose cold high waters moan.
White-haired in the candlelight
and sensing the chill of night,
in the last pieces of the game
I see the Southern Dynasties.

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 Traditional Literary Theory

In traditional China, as in many civilizations, various kinds of critical and

theoretical writing about literature developed side by side with the ac-
tual texts. These writings are valuable to us because they give some in-
dication of how literature was conceived and how it was read. They tell
us what both readers and writers thought was important in their litera-
ture and some of the assumptions they shared.
Comments on literature in the pre-Qin period and in the Han con-
cerned primarily the ethical force of literature and its consequences for
social and political behavior. As in other civilizations, there was a strong
sense of literature's power to shape values and hence to influence be-
havior, either for the better or the worse. On the one hand, the Confu-
cian Classics and literary works that followed in the tradition of the clas-
sics were seen as the only way to preserve and teach basic cultural
values. On the other hand, we often find a sense of danger about certain works of
literature, an anxiety that they somehow might stir immoderate desires and threaten
the social order. Thus the earliest critics often served as apologists for literature, de-
fending its potential usefulness and encouraging forms of writing that supported po-
litical and social values.
After the fall of the Han Dynasty, a wide variety of new concerns began to ap-
pear in writing about literature. Literature was not yet conceived as an autonomous
art, entirely separate from social and political life; nevertheless, these new concerns
broadened the sense of literature. The earliest extant essay devoted exclusively to
the discussion of literature was written by Cao Pi (187-226), emperor of the Wei
Dynasty, son of the great warlord Cao Cao, and elder half brother of Cao Zhi, the
most admired writer of the period. In this work, the "Discourse on Literature" (Lun
wen), we find rudimentary formulations of many of the perennial interests of later
critics: the relation between personality and style, literary talent as a unique gift that
cannot be passed on like a skill or craft, and literary achievement as a means to at-
tain cultural immortality.
In literary theory, as in literature itself, we sometimes encounter a work of such
originality that it could not have been anticipated from what preceded it. "The Po-
etic Exposition on Literature" (Wen fu) by Lu Ji (261-303) is just such a work. Not
only had nothing like it ever been written about literature, Lu Ii himself never wrote
anything else quite like it. Cao Pi's "Discourse on Literature" was a personal, even
idiosyncratic organization of literary issues; unique as it was, however, it was still
comprehensible as a transformation of certain old questions about writing. Lu Ii ad-
dressed a whole new range of questions about the act of writing, and he strained
the language of his day to find words to describe the process. Modern critics have

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