Juan Chi (210–263)
1
It is the middle of the night—I cannot sleep,
I sit up to pluck my dulcet lute;
Through thin curtains, I view the bright moon,
A soothing breeze blows at my lapels.
A lone goose cries in the wild beyond,
A soaring bird sings in the woods to the north;
Pacing to and fro, I wonder what my future will bring—
Anxious and alone, my poor heart is broken.
49
My steps lead me to a junction of three roads,
I ruefully recall the object of my thoughts;
Could it be that I shall see him this morning?
Verily, he would seem to appear nebulously.
In the marsh a towering pine tree grows,
I cannot hope for its span of ten thousand generations;
The high-flying birds brush against the sky,
Happily they roam together above the clouds.
But here I am, a lonely man walking along the road;
Tears falling, I bemoan the days gone by.
50
The lucent dew congeals into frost,
Flowering grasses give way to mugwort and goosefoot;
Who says that the ruler’s sagacity
And perspicuity can long endure?
So I’ll mount a cloud and summon immortal Sung and Wang,
Who will teach me how to respire1 and live forever!
56
Whether one is eminent or humble depends on Fate,
Success and failure each has its own season.
Genial, glib-tongued good-for-nothings
Cheat each other in pursuit of profit;
Ingrates degrade grace bestowed,
And expose it to the scorn of slanderers.
The wagtail chirrups among the clouds,
Flying continuously with nothing to hope for,
How could one expect that the man who kept aloof
One day would be unable to preserve himself?
59
An elder lives by the side of the river,
He weaves baskets of reeds and throws away pearls;2
He finds pigweed and pulse sweet to his taste,
And enjoys his hut of wattle and thatch.
How could he ape those fine, young dandies,
Who go riding in light chariots drawn by fine horses?
In the morning, they are born beside the best highways,
In the evening, they are buried at the edges of byways.
Before our joy and laughter have come to an end,
We find ourselves sighing and sobbing in the twinkling of an eye;
As I observe these flighty fellows,
I express my indignation with these words.
60
The Confucianist is versed in the Six Arts,3
Once his mind is made up, nothing can sway him;
He will do nothing which contravenes the Rites,
And will say nothing which is contrary to the Law.
If he is thirsty, he drinks from a pure stream,
And, even when hungry, eats but a bamboo bowl of rice in two days.
He has nothing to sacrifice at the seasons of the year;
Through his clothing he often feels the bitter cold.
Shuffling along in his sandals, he chants “South Wind,”
In his coarse gown, he laughs at the fancy chariots;
He has faith in the Way and holds fast to Poetry and History,
Righteously he will not accept a single free meal.
But his criticism is so caustic
That Lao Tzu could only heave a long sigh of despair.
71
The hibiscus grows lushly on the grave mounds,
It shines with scintillating brilliance;
But when the bright sun plummets into the forest,
Its petals flutter forlornly by the roadside.
The cricket chirrups by my windowsill,
The cicada buzzes amidst the brambles;
Ephemerids’ play lasts only three mornings,
Then they die in a teeming heap of pretty wings.
For whom do they put on all their finery?
It is just self-preening as they drift with the time;
Ah! How very short is life’s alloted span!
Still, impassioned, each being pours forth all of its energy.
Translated by Victor H. Mair
Juan Chi was a member of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, a group of poet-intellectuals noted for their eccentric behavior and aloofness from official life. His most famous poems, a series of eighty-two pieces called “Songs of My Soul,” evince a mood of deep pessimism and sorrow in keeping with the atmosphere of the times. He made extensive use of symbolic language, probably to avoid the suspicions of those in power. Juan Chi lamented the shortness of life as well as the stupidity and ill will of his contemporaries. He longed for liberation or, at least, a true friend to console him in his melancholy.
1. A reference to the yogic breathing techniques of the Taoist practitioners. Sung is Ch’ih Sung Tzu, Master Red Pine; Wang is Wang-tzu Ch’iao. Both were Taoist transcendents.
2. An allusion to the penultimate parable in the Chuang Tzu, ch. 32 (see selection 8).
3. Ritual or ceremony, music, archery, charioteering, writing, numbers.