No More Learning

We followed the thirty-six bends of the twisting waters, and all along
the streams a thousand different flowers were in bloom. We passed
through ten thousand valleys, and in each we heard the voice of wind
among the pines.

Then the Governor of Han-tung came out to meet us, on a silver saddle
with tassels of gold that reached to the ground. And the Initiate of
Tz? -yang[37] summoned us, blowing on his jade _sh? ng_. And Sennin music
was made in the tower of Ts'an Hsia,[38] loud as the blended voices of
phoenix and roc.

[37] _I. e. _, Hu Tz? -yang, a Taoist friend of the poet's.

[38] Lit. "Feeding on sunset-cloud" Tower, built by Hu Tz? -yang.

And the Governor of Han-tung, because his long sleeves would not keep
still when the flutes called to him, rose and drunkenly danced. Then he
brought his embroidered coat and covered me with it, and I slept with
my head on his lap.

At the feast our spirits had soared to the Nine Heavens, but before
evening we were scattered like stars or rain, flying away over hills
and rivers to the frontier of Ch'u. I went back to my mountain to seek
my old nest, and you, too, went home, crossing the Wei Bridge.

Then your father, who was brave as leopard or tiger, became Governor of
Ping-chou[39] and put down the rebel bands. And in the fifth month he
sent for me. I crossed the T'ai-hang Mountains; and though it was hard
going on the Sheep's Gut Hills, I paid no heed to broken wheels.

[39] _I. e. _, T'ai-yuan Fu.

When at last, far on into Winter, I got to the Northern Capital,[40] I
was moved to see how much you cared for my reception and how little you
cared for the cost--amber cups and fine foods on a blue jade dish. You
made me drunk and satisfied. I had no thought of returning.

[40] _I. e. _, T'ai-yuan Fu.

Sometimes we went out towards the western corner of the City, to where
waters like green jade flow round the temple of Shu Yu. [41] We launched
our boat and sported on the stream, while flutes and drums sounded. The
little waves were like dragon-scales, and the sedge-leaves were pale
green. When it was our mood, we took girls with us and gave ourselves
to the moments that passed, forgetting that it would soon be over, like
willow-flowers or snow. Rouged faces, flushed with drink, looked well
in the sunset. Clear water a hundred feet deep reflected the faces
of the singers--singing-girls delicate and graceful in the light of
the young moon. And the girls sang again and again to make the gauze
dresses dance. The clear wind blew the songs away into the empty sky:
the sound coiled in the air like moving clouds in flight.

[41] A brother of Prince Ch'? ng, of the Chou dynasty.

The pleasures of those times shall never again be met with. I went West
to offer up a Ballad of Tall Willows,[42] but got no promotion at the
Northern Gate and, white-headed, went back to the Eastern Hills.

[42] Yang Hsiung, died A. D. 18, having lived all his life in obscurity,
obtained promotion in his old age by a poem of this title.

Once we met at the Southern end of Wei Bridge, but scattered again to
the north of the Tso Terrace.

And if you ask me how many are my regrets at this parting, I will tell
you they come from me thick as the flowers that fall at Spring's end.

But I cannot tell you all I feel; I could not even if I went on talking
for ever. So I call in the boy and make him kneel here and tie this up,
and send it to you, a remembrance, from a thousand miles away.


XV. 2. A DREAM OF T'IEN-MU MOUNTAIN

(_Part of a Poem in Irregular Metre. _)

On through the night I flew, high over the Mirror Lake. The lake-moon
cast my shadow on the waves and travelled with me to the stream of
Shan. The Lord Hsieh's[43] lodging-place was still there. The blue
waters rippled; the cry of the apes was shrill. I shod my feet with
the shoes of the Lord Hsieh and "climbed to Heaven on a ladder of dark
clouds. "[44] Half-way up, I saw the unrisen sun hiding behind the sea
and heard the Cock of Heaven crowing in the sky. By a thousand broken
paths I twisted and turned from crag to crag. My eyes grew dim. I
clutched at the rocks, and all was dark.

[43] Hsieh Ling-yun (_circa_ A. D. 400) was a famous mountain-climber
who invented special mountain-climbing shoes.

[44] A quotation from one of Hsieh's poems.

The roaring of bears and the singing of dragons echoed amid the stones
and streams. The darkness of deep woods made me afraid. I trembled at
the storied cliffs.

The clouds hung dark, as though they would rain; the air was dim with
the spray of rushing waters.

Lightning flashed: thunder roared. Peaks and ridges tottered and broke.
Suddenly the walls of the hollow where I stood sundered with a crash,
and I looked down on a bottomless void of blue, where the sun and moon
gleamed on a terrace of silver and gold.

A host of Beings descended--Cloud-spirits, whose coats were made of
rainbow and the horses they rode on were the winds.


XV. 16. PARTING WITH FRIENDS AT A WINESHOP IN NANKING

The wind blowing through the willow-flowers fills the shop with scent;
A girl of Wu has served wine and bids the traveller taste.
The young men of Nanking have come to see me off;
I that go and you that stay | must each drink his cup.
I beg you tell the Great River | whose stream flows to the East
That thoughts of you will cling to my heart | when _he_ has ceased
to flow.


XV. 28. AT CHIANG-HSIA, PARTING FROM SUNG CHIH-T'I

Clear as the sky the waters of Hupeh
Far away will join with the Blue Sea;
We whom a thousand miles will soon part
Can mend our grief only with a cup of wine.
The valley birds are singing in the bright sun;
The river monkeys wail down the evening wind.
And I, who in all my life have seldom wept,
Am weeping now with tears that will never dry.


XX. 1. THE WHITE RIVER AT NAN-YANG

Wading at dawn the White River's source,
Severed a while from the common ways of men,
To islands tinged with the colours of Paradise,
Where the river sky drowns in limpid space.
While my eyes were watching the clouds that travel to the sea.
My heart was idle as the fish that swim in the stream.
With long singing I put the sun to rest:
Riding the moon,[45] came back to my fields and home.

[45] _I. e. _, "availing myself of the moonlight. "


XX. 1. THE CLEAR COLD SPRING

(_Literal Version. _)

Regret that dropping sun's dusk;
Love this cold stream's clearness.
Western beams follow flowing water;
Stir a ripple in wandering person's mind.
Idly sing, gazing at cloudy moon;
Song done--sound of tall pines.


XX. 8. GOING DOWN CHUNG-NAN MOUNTAIN AND SPENDING THE NIGHT DRINKING
WITH THE HERMIT TOU-SS?

At dusk we left the blue mountain-head;
The mountain-moon followed our homeward steps.
We looked round: the path by which we had come
Was a dark cleft across the shoulder of the hill.
Hand in hand we reached the walls of the farm;
A young boy opened the wicker-gate.
Through green bamboos a deep road ran
Where dark creepers brushed our coats as we passed.
We were glad at last to come to a place of rest,
With wine enough to drink together to our fill,
Long I sang to the tune of the Pine-tree Wind;
When the song was over, the River-stars[46] were few.
_I_ was drunk and you happy at my side;
Till mingled joy drove the World from our hearts.

[46] Stars of the Milky Way.


XXIII. 3. DRINKING ALONE BY MOONLIGHT

A cup of wine, under the flowering-trees: (1)
I drink alone, for no friend is near.
Raising my cup, I beckon the bright moon,
For he, with my shadow, will make three men.
The moon, alas! is no drinker of wine:
Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side.
Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave
I must make merry before the Spring is spent.
To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams;
In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks.
While we were sober, three shared the fun;
Now we are drunk, each goes his way.
May we long share our odd, inanimate feast,
And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the Sky. [47]

[47] The Milky Way.

In the third month the town of Hsien-yang (2)
Is thick-spread with a carpet of fallen flowers.
Who in Spring can bear to grieve alone?
Who, sober, look on sights like these?
Riches and Poverty, long or short life,
By the Maker of Things are portioned and disposed.
But a cup of wine levels life and death
And a thousand things obstinately hard to prove.
When I am drunk, I lose Heaven and Earth;
Motionless, I cleave to my lonely bed.
At last I forget that I exist at all,
And at _that_ moment my joy is great indeed.

If High Heaven had no love for wine, (3)
There would not be a Wine Star in the sky.
If Earth herself had no love for wine,
There would not be a city called Wine Springs. [48]
Since Heaven and Earth both love wine,
I can love wine, without shame before God.
Clear wine was once called "a Saint;"
Thick wine was once called "a Sage. "[49]
Of Saint and Sage I have long quaffed deep,
What need for me to study spirits and _hsien_? [50]
At the third cup I penetrate the Great Way;
A full gallon--Nature and I are one. . . .
But the things I feel when wine possesses my soul
I will never tell to those who are not drunk.

[48] Chiu-ch'uan, in Kansuh.

[49] "History of Wei Dynasty" (Life of Hsu Mo): "A drunken visitor
said, 'Clear wine I account a Saint: thick wine only a Sage. '"

[50] Rishi, Immortals.


XXIII. 9. IN THE MOUNTAINS ON A SUMMER DAY

Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt, sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone:
A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head.


XXIII. 10. DRINKING TOGETHER IN THE MOUNTAINS[51]

[51] _Cf. _ _Little Review_, June, 1917, version by Sasaki and M.
Bodenheim.

Two men drinking together where mountain flowers grow:
One cup, one cup, and again one cup.
"Now I am drunk and would like to sleep: so please go away.
Come back to-morrow, if you feel inclined, and bring your harp
with you. "


XXIII. 10. WAKING FROM DRUNKENNESS ON A SPRING DAY

"Life in the World is but a big dream:
I will not spoil it by any labour or care. "
So saying, I was drunk all the day,
Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door.
When I woke up, I blinked at the garden lawn;
A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.
I asked myself, had the day been wet or fine?
The Spring wind was telling the mango-bird.
Moved by its song, I soon began to sigh,
And as wine was there, I filled my own cup.
Wildly singing, I waited for the moon to rise,
When my song was over, all my senses had gone.


XXIII. 13. SELF-ABANDONMENT

I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk,
Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.
Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream;
The birds were gone, and men also few.


XXV. 1. TO TAN CH'IU

My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range,
Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills.
At Green Spring he lies in the empty woods;
And is still asleep when the sun shines on high.
A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat;
A pebbly stream cleans his heart and ears.
I envy you, who far from strife and talk
Are high-propped on a pillow of blue cloud.


XXX. 8. CLEARING UP AT DAWN

The fields are chill; the sparse rain has stopped;
The colours of Spring teem on every side.
With leaping fish the blue pond is full;
With singing thrushes the green boughs droop.
The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks;
The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist.
By the bamboo stream the last fragments of cloud
Blown by the wind slowly scatter away.

[Many of the above poems have been translated before, in some cases by
three or four different hands. But III. 4, III. 26, XV. 2, and XXIII. 9
are, so far as I know, translated for the first time. ]




DISCUSSION ON THE FOREGOING PAPER


THE CHAIRMAN (MR. GEORGE JAMIESON): Mr. Li T'ai-po was, I am afraid,
a bit of a Bohemian (laughter), and his Bacchanalian experiences have
been repeated in later days even with the great poets. I am sure you
will all join with me in expressing a hearty vote of thanks to Mr.
Waley for his address and the very felicitous language in which he has
translated a number of these ancient poems. I trust his paper will
be printed and preserved with the rest of our publications, because
these poems, as far as I can judge--but hearing them read does not
impress one so much as reading them at leisure--are well worthy of
careful perusal. It is curious to note how unchangeable and immobile
China is. At the time these poems were written we in Great Britain
were living under King Alfred and trying to keep out the Danes and
other things. (Laughter. ) I can tell you that the Szechwan Road as
described in the poem that Mr. Waley has read is just the same now
as it was when the poem was written. And the social conditions of
the people are the same now as they were at that time. I have often
thought that Chinese poets are very limited in their range. They
seem to be deficient in the quality of imagination. China has never
produced a great epic poem. Of course I speak subject to correction,
but I believe I am right in saying that China has never produced a
poet comparable with Homer, Dante, Virgil, or Milton. There has been
no one born with the power of telling a story like Homer. The poets of
China appear to me to be emotional and descriptive, but incapable of
any high flights of imagination.
I think that Macaulay says that great
flights of imagination are peculiar to the early periods of a nation's
civilization, and that story-telling reaches its highest form as an art
before printing has been much in vogue.

Mr. M. F. A. FRASER: I have listened to this lecture with the greatest
interest. The English was particularly pleasing, and I am glad that the
lecturer has broken away from the old custom of seeking rhymes, and
followed the French custom in the translation of these poems. A man
may be an excellent writer and translator, and not be a poet, but to
translate foreign poetry into English considerable literary gifts are
required.

Mr. PAUL KING: All of you who have been lately in China must be struck
with the extraordinary difference between the China described in these
poems and the China which has come into being since the revolution.
Ideas of a very practical nature have now taken possession of the
people. And then, what about modern Chinese poets? Do any of us know
of any? In my intercourse with the Chinese I cannot recall a modern
Chinese who was a poet. It is possible that I may have met one, and
that he concealed his poetic gifts. (Laughter. ) Our lecturer tells us,
however, that he knows certain Chinese poets. It would be interesting
to know if they are publishing their poems, and how they would compare
with the work of the older poets in our possession.

Mr. L. Y. CHEN: I should like to join in congratulating Mr. Waley on
his very learned paper and beautiful translations. It is quite true
that there are no epic poems in Chinese literature. This form of poetry
has not been introduced in China, but I differ with your statement,
Sir, that Chinese poetry lacks imagination. (Applause. ) I could give
you many instances to the contrary, though not from memory. The last
speaker's remark that the present China is different from what China is
in Chinese poetry may be true, but I may well retort that the England
as represented in Shakespeare is very different from the England of
to-day. (Laughter and cheers. ) And Li T'ai-po lived many hundred years
ago, but Shakespeare lived at a more recent period. Human nature has
two states, the spiritual and the practical. You can combine the two.
If you have the practical it does not necessarily follow that you are
lacking in the spiritual. As for present-day Chinese poets, there are
several famous ones in China.

Since the lecturer has raised the question whether Li T'ai-po or Tu
Fu is the greater poet, I would say that the Chinese of the present
day consider Tu Fu to be the greater. It strikes me as curious that
European people who know something about Chinese poetry should prefer
Li T'ai-po. Perhaps very few people have heard of Tu Fu. Certainly
there is no translation of the most important of Tu Fu's poems in the
English language. In China every child who has studied poetry knows
something about Tu Fu's poems. Tu Fu is placed first by the Chinese
because he is the greatest national poet. He expresses national
feelings in a way that can be appreciated by everybody. Li T'ai-po's
poems deal chiefly with wine and women, love and sensual things, but
Tu Fu's poems are full of men and women, elderly people and children,
their joy, their anguish, the hardship of the soldier, and things of
that sort. In a word, Tu Fu's poetry expresses what we ordinary men and
women wish to express and cannot.

Mr. G. WILLOUGHBY-MEADE: One or two observations occur to me in
connection with the translation of this poetry into English. The two
greatest reading publics are the Anglo-American and the Chinese. The
Anglo-American people have produced an enormous amount of poetry which
they do not often quote, and the Chinese have produced an enormous
amount of poetry which, according to experts, they quote a great deal.
Now, at the present moment that peculiar British shyness for quoting
poetry seems to have largely disappeared in consequence of the writings
of soldier poets. These poems have been written under conditions of
great danger, difficulty, and discomfort, and it seems to me that it
would be a very good thing if poetry illustrating the thought of these
men could be placed before the Anglo-American public.

The CHAIRMAN proposed a hearty vote of thanks to the Lecturer, which
was carried by acclamation.




PRINTED BY
BILLING AND SONS, LTD.
GUILDFORD, ENGLAND

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note

p. 10 "Ch'i Kuan" changed to "Ch'i Kuan""





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