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Kenneth Rexroth - One Hundred Poems From the Chinese

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Kenneth Rexroth One Hundred Poems From the Chinese

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INTRODUCTION T his book is in two parts First there are thirty-five poems by - photo 1INTRODUCTION T his book is in two parts First there are thirty-five poems by - photo 2

INTRODUCTION
T his book is in two parts. First there are thirty-five poems by Tu Fu. They are based on the text in the Harvard Yenching Concordance to Tu Fu, of which one volume gives the poems themselves. I have taken note of William Hungs prose translations, of Florence Ayscoughs literal renderings, and of the German of Erwin von Zach. Over the years I have had many discussions of the poems and my translations with Chinese friends, none of them specialists, notably my friend, C. Kwock. Kwock.

However, these translations are my own. In some cases they are very free, in others as exact as possible, depending on how I felt in relation to the particular poem at the time. The freer ones are usually those done long ago. I have had the work of Tu Fu by me since adolescence and over the years have come to know these poems better than most of my own. The second part is a selection of poetry of the Sung Dynasty, most of it never in English before. Margoulis. Margoulis.

Both of these translations have considerable merit as poetry in their own right. Later I took my translations to the originals and changed them around to suit myself. Again, what has resulted is my own responsibility, sometimes more literal, more often freer, than the Tu Fu renderings. I hope in all cases they are true to the spirit of the originals, and valid English poems. I might say that Sung poetry, so much less compact than that of Tang, Tu Fus period, permits more liberties. There is no special reason for this procedureI just happened to have a number of European versions of Sung poetry and a few texts at hand the last two summers in the mountains, and was able to finish up in libraries in the winter.

And, I was anxious to get a good selection of the vast mass of Sung poetry, not anthologized satisfactorily even in Chinese, into English. The whole spirit of this time in China is very congenial today, especially to the romantic, empirical-mystic and antinomian taste which has prevailed in the arts of the West since 1940. Not only does Sung poetry deserve to be better known, but it includes one of Chinas very greatest poets, Su Tung Po, and Li Ching Chao, her greatest poetess. Perhaps, someday, when I have more time to spend in the libraries of university Oriental departments, I will do 100 Poems of Sung and 100 Poems of Tu Fu. So, here are two selections of poetry, one the work of a couple of years, the other the personal distillate of a lifetime. I hope they meet the somewhat different ends I have in view.

I make no claim for the book as a piece of Oriental scholarship. Just some poems. K. R. I BANQUET AT THE TSO FAMILY MANOR The windy forest is checkered By the light of - photo 3

I
BANQUET AT THE TSO FAMILY MANOR
The windy forest is checkered By the light of the setting, Waning moon. I tune the lute, Its strings are moist with dew.

The brook flows in the darkness Below the flower path. The thatched Roof is crowned with constellations. As we write the candles burn short. Our wits grow sharp as swords while The wine goes round. When the poem Contest is ended, someone Sings a song of the South. And I think of my little boat, And long to be on my way.

TU FU

II
WRITTEN ON THE WALL AT CHANGS HERMITAGE
It is Spring in the mountains. I come alone seeking you. The sound of chopping wood echos Between the silent peaks. The streams are still icy. There is snow on the trail. At sunset I reach your grove In the stony mountain pass.

You want nothing, although at night You can see the aura of gold And silver ore all around you. You have learned to be gentle As the mountain deer you have tamed. The way back forgotten, hidden Away, I become like you, An empty boat, floating, adrift. TU FU

III
WINTER DAWN
The men and beasts of the zodiac Have marched over us once more. Green wine bottles and red lobster shells, Both emptied, litter the table. Should auld acquaintance be forgot? Each Sits listening to his own thoughts, And the sound of cars starting outside.

The birds in the eaves are restless, Because of the noise and light. Soon now In the winter dawn I will face My fortieth year. Borne headlong Towards the long shadows of sunset By the headstrong, stubborn moments, Life whirls past like drunken wildfire. TU FU

IV
SNOW STORM
Tumult, weeping, many new ghosts. Heartbroken, aging, alone, I sing To myself. Ragged mist settles In the spreading dusk.

Snow skurries In the coiling wind. The wineglass Is spilled. The bottle is empty. The fire has gone out in the stove. Everywhere men speak in whispers. I brood on the uselessness of letters.

TU FU

V
VISITING TSAN, ABBOT OF TA-YUN
I am sleepless in the glow and shadow of the lamplight. The heart at peace breathes the incense of dedication. Between the temple walls the night is bottomless. The gold wind bells quiver in the breeze. The courtyard shuts in the deep Darkness of the Spring night. In the blackness the crystalline pool Exhales the perfume of flowers.

The Northern Crown crosses the sky Cut by the temple roof, Where an iron phoenix soars and twists in the air. The chanting of prayers floats from the hall. Fading bell notes eddy by my bed. Tomorrow in the sunlight I shall walk in the manured fields, And weep for the yellow dust of the dead. TU FU

VI
MOON FESTIVAL
The Autumn constellations Begin to rise. The brilliant Moonlight shines on the crowds.

The moon toad swims in the river And does not drown. The moon rabbit Pounds the bitter herbs of the Elixir of eternal life. His drug only makes my heart More bitter. The silver brilliance Only makes my hair more white. I know that the country is Overrun with war. The moonlight Means nothing to the soldiers Camped in the western deserts.

TU FU

VII
JADE FLOWER PALACE
The stream swirls. The wind moans in The pines. Grey rats scurry over Broken tiles. What prince, long ago, Built this palace, standing in Ruins beside the cliffs? There are Green ghost fires in the black rooms. The shattered pavements are all Washed away. Ten thousand organ Pipes whistle and roar.

The storm Scatters the red autumn leaves. His dancing girls are yellow dust. Their painted cheeks have crumbled Away. His gold chariots And courtiers are gone. Only A stone horse is left of his Glory. I sit on the grass and Start a poem, but the pathos of It overcomes me.

The future Slips imperceptibly away. Who can say what the years will bring? TU FU

VIII
TRAVELLING NORTHWARD
Screech owls moan in the yellowing Mulberry trees. Field mice scurry, Preparing their holes for winter. Midnight, we cross an old battlefield. The moonlight shines cold on white bones. TU FU
IX
WAITING FOR AUDIENCE ON A SPRING NIGHT
The flowers along the palace Walls grow dim in the twilight.

Twittering birds fly past to roost. Twinkling stars move over ten Thousand households. The full moon Enters the Ninth Constellation. Wakeful, I hear the rattle Of gold keys in locks. I hear jade Bridle pendants tinkling in The wind. At the dawn audience I must present a special Memorial.

Time and again I wonder how long the night will last. TU FU

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