Poetry of Po Chu-i

Po Chu-i was born in the late 8th century, and served the government throughout his life. He believed that the purpose of poetry should not be to imitate nature, as was especially popular in the court setting, but to effect social change. Po Chu-i was frustrated by the level of corruption in the Chinese government, but even more angered at the complacency of the Chinese people who endured oppression and poverty in the hopes of reaching paradise. Po Chu-i used his poetry to reveal social inequality and the futility of superstition. He was a serious poet who dedicate his work to improving the lives of the Chinese citizens.

Watching the Reapers

Tillers of the soil have few idle months;
In the fifth month their toil is double-fold.
A south-wind visits the fields at night:
Suddenly the hill is covered with yellow corn.
Wives and daughters shoulder baskets of rice;
Youths and boys carry the flasks of wine.
Following after they bring a wage of meat
To the strong reapers toiling on the southern hill,
Whose feet are burned by the hot earth they tread,
Whose backs are scorched by flames of the shining sky.
Tired they toil, caring nothing for the heat,
Grudging the shortness of the long summer day.
A poor woman follows at the reapers' side
With an infant child carried close at her breast.
With her right hand she gleans the fallen grain;
On her left arm a broken basket hangs.
And I today...by virtue of what right
Have I never once tended field or tree?
My government pay is three hundred tons;
At the year's end I have still grain in hand.
Thinking of this, secretly I grew ashamed;
And all day the thought lingered in my head.

Much of Po Chu-i's poetry is concerned with social responsibility. Here he questions his own right to oppress the striving poor, thus urging his audience to question the right of all officials to live luxuriantly and easily, not attending to the needs of the people, and even worse, aggravating the hardships they must already suffer.

Poetry of Li Po

Li Po

One of the most esteemed Chinese poets, Li Po was born in Central Asia in the early 8th century. Though his family later moved to China, its heritage did not allow Li Po opportunity to closely serve the aristocracy of the Tang Dynasty. Though he expressed mild interest in pursuing an official career, he never sat for the Civil Service Exam and instead traveled throughout China as a poet and reveller. He eventually garnered the patronage of the emperor and began composing poetry for the imperial court. His poems are characterized by imagination and breadth, implementing Taoist philosophies to defend his free-spirited love of wine, women, and friendship.

A Poem to His Wife

I respect you for this--that though descended from a Minister
You study Tao and love Spirits and Immortals,
In your white hands scooping the blue clouds,
Your gauze skirt trailing through the purple mists,
And that now you have gone to the Folding Screen Hill
Mounted on a phoenix and wielding a whip of jade.

Li Po wrote this poem to his fourth wife, who shed her nobility in order to become a nun in a Toaist temple. The purity of her motives is seen in the beauty of "scooping the blue clouds" and the power in "wielding a whip of jade." In relinquishing her social and material concerns, she has found heaven, and become holy.

Chuang Tzu And The Butterfly

Chuang Tzu in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Tzu at waking.
Which was the real—the butterfly or the man?
Who can tell the end of the endless changes of things?
The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea
returns anon to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city,
was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil,—what for?

This story is from the Taoist book Chuang Tzu, titled after the author's name. According to the story, having dreamt that he was a butterfly and waking to find himself a man, Chuang Tzu didn't know which was his true form, but knew there must be a distinction between existing as man and butterfly. Li Po uses this anecdote to express in the final lines of this poem his philosophy that all men reach the same end, and that struggling for a transitory reward is pointless. Li Po was well known for spending most of time in the haze of wine. He believed that life was meant to be enjoyed, that hardship was meant to be accepted or ignored. It is said that he drowned on a drunken evening, trying to embrace the reflection of the moon in the surface of a lake. Though the anecdote is unlikely, it portrays Li Po's focus on immediate pleasure, and his concern that so much importance be placed on mutable elements in the world.

The above image is Li Bai (Li Po) Chanting a Poem, a brush painting completed in the 13th century by Liang Kai. It can be found here.

Poetry of T'ao Ch'ien

T'ao Ch'ien was born of an impoverished noble family in the late 4th century. He served many posts in the Chinese court, but was appalled by the compromise to principle that was required for his class to succeed. He removed himself from society and lived as a Taoist recluse in the two decades before his death, farming and composing poetry. He writes without the artifice of the publicly recognized poets of his time, and his works are thus more easily approachable.


Substance, Shadow, Spirit

This is a series of three short poems: Substance to Shadow, Shadow to Substance, and Spirit's Solution. The poems are dialogues between man's mortality/physical being, his reputation, and his soul. In the first poem, Substance argues that physical enjoyment is ultimately man's life on earth, for he is forgotten once dead--when wine is offered, when man has a chance to assauage his senses, he should take it. Shadow replies that if man does good works, his fame survive his death, and that is the closest to immortality that man will come.

II. Shadow to Substance

No use discussing immortality
When just to keep alive is hard enough.
Of course I want to roam in paradise,
But it's a long way there and the road is lost.
In all the time since I met up with you
We never differed in our grief and joy.
In shade we may have parted for a time,
But sunshine always brings us close again.
Still this union cannot last forever--
Together we will vanish into darkness.
The body goes; that fame should also end
Is a thought that makes me burn inside.
Do good, and your love will outlive you;
Surely this is worth your every effort.
While it is true, wine may dissolve care,
That is not so good a way as this.

Spirit has the last word, claiming that until he accepts his death and his insignificance to the world, man will not be happy in life. This is a taoist ideal, and claims that good works should be done for themselves, not for reputation. That the pleasure of wine is good, but for its consequences, should be limited. The Spirit professes a "surrender to the cycle of things" as the solution to man's disquiet, a stoic acceptance of the inevitability of death.

The above image is Portrait of T'ao Ch'ien by Chen Hongshou (1599-1652). It can be found here.

Rhymeprose on Literature - Lu Ki

Lu Ki was born in the late 3rd century and lived in a time of political upheaval and strife. When enemy forces overtook the Wu dynasty, the elder members of his noble family were killed. Lu Ki and his younger brother survived and fled to the north where they joined a flourishing court as literary scholars. In two years of peace, Lu Ki wrote his Rhymeprose. He rejoined the military when the court was attacked by warring factions, and was put to death after his troops were defeated.

One of the earliest pieces of Chinese literary criticism and instruction, Lu Ki's Rhymeprose on Literature (also referred to as Wen fu) is written in rhymed free verse, imitating the subject matter as Lu Ki writes of process, form, and content. As in the Western tradition, he writes that art's purpose is to instruct in the ways of virtue and to discourage vice. The following is an excerpt from "Process":

"Thereupon, submerged words squirm up, as when a flashing fish,
hook in its gills, leaps from the water's depth;
hovering beauties flutter down, as when a soaring bird,
harpoon-string about its wings, falls from a crest of cloud.
He gathers words untouched by a hundred generations;
he plucks rhythms unsung for a thousand years."

This short section exemplifies the creative process, beginning with the quiet reflection and search for inspiration, climaxing in the action of capturing the beautiful fish or bird, and ending with a quiet reaching to a timeless art.

Lu lists the five criteria for literature; music, harmony, sadness, decorum, and richness. Sadness, in traditional Chinese poetry (and, in many ways, society) seems to imply an honesty that gaiety cannot hope to achieve. In the Western culture, as well, tragedy is prized for the richness of emotion it evokes, and for its ability to sober an audience.

"Perhaps you forsake reason to strive for novelty;
you go after the inane and pursue the trivial.
Your language wants sincerity and is deficient in love;
your words wash back and forth, and never come to the point.
They are like thin chords reverberating--
there is harmony, but they are not sad."

From "The Use of Poetry," Lu writes: "[Literature] inscribes bronze and marble, to make virtue known; it breathes through flutes and strings, and is new always." The virtue of literature is that it is able to renovate man, to make him new and more pure over time. It is through the arts that man can refine himself, for they make him malleable to change.

Selections from Chuang-tzu

Chuang-Tzu was a Taoist philosopher born in 4th century China. It is believed that Chuang-tzu wrote the first seven chapters of his self-titled book, and that is was completed by his disciples. One of Chuang-tzu's greates concerns was the limitation of knowledge. He claimed that man is limited by too many influences (culture, language, age, etc.) to be able to understand the unlimited--the universal truths. In many places Chuang-tzu takes a similar approach in philisophical instruction to Plato's Dialogues. He does not embrace the logical rationale, however, that Socrates espouses. Chuang-tzu feels that there is no objective truth which men may perceive--only a subjective experience. Most of Chuang-tzu's instruction takes the anecdotal form popular in Chinese philosophy; he shares stories about his own experience, and such figures as Confucius and Lao Tzu.

The first chapter is translated as "wandering beyond." Chuang-tzu believes that man must challenge himself to search beyond his limitations, to imagine beyond what he has perceived, to entertain ideas beyond what he believes is true. In this way he can overcome his natural limitations. A man must leave his life behind to begin this journey to better understanding--he must let go of his preconceptions and his own will before he can see the direction he must travel. This journey must be taken alone, for it must be without the familiar and without distraction.

"You will cross many rivers and come at last to a lake so wide that, gaze as you will, you cannot see the further shore. Yet you will go on, without knowing whether it will ever end. At the shores of this lake all that came with you will turn back. But you will still have far to go. What matter? "He who needs others is for ever shackled; he who is needed by others is forever sad." I would have you drop these shackles, put away your sadness, and wander alone with Tao in the kingdom of the Great Void."

The second chapter discusses the nature of things--plants, animals, humans, time--and man's understanding of them. Chuang-tzu discusses the tale of a wizard who could manipulate the nature of stone, fire, and water. The wizard shows the king through a "journey of the soul" that once a man lets go of doubts, his innate understanding will allow him to perform miracles. In a similar story, a reknowned carver tells a king that his skill was born of the understanding he gained by perceiving matter with his soul. "My sense-organs are in abeyance, but my soul still works. Unerringly, my knife follows the natural markings, slips into the natural cleavages, finds its way into the natural cavaties."

The above image is Zhuangzi Dreaming of a Butterfly by Lhu Zi, painted on silk in the 16th century Ming Dynasty. It can be found here.

The Analects - Confucius

Confucius believed that study was the path to enlightenment, that men weren't merely inspired by truth, but could find truth in the classics. His urges to return to the five classics of Chinese literature echo the Western study of Plato and Cicero. Confucius believed that study was the final step towards righteousness, for the man who applies himself to study exhibits gravity, respectfulness, and the sincere desire to grow. Study grounds man in wisdom discovered by the greatest minds of the past and proven by the critical eyes of generations.

"The master said, 'At fifteen I set my heart upon learning. At thirty, I had planted my feet firm upon the ground. At forty, I no longer suffered from perplexities. At fifty, I knew what were the biddings of Heaven. At sixty, I heard them with docile ear. At seventy, I could follow the dictates of my own heart; for what I desire no longer overstepped the boundaries of right." (III, 4)

Confucius placed a great deal of importance on social duty. The Analects abound with instruction in ritual and etiquette. Correct practice of rituals is a man's gravest responsibility--this is a sacrifice to the community. The ritual itself is not the end which Confucius desires; he wants members of the community to shed their individualism.

Confucius' ideals are exclusively concerned with earthly existence--he instructs his students on how to behave towards their fellow men. He doesn't speak of spirituality or question the afterlife. His mission is to reform men on earth. I'm not certain whether there was simply no questioning the truth of the generally accepted religion at his time, or whether Confucius believed, as I suspect, that the rules and rites of a religion were not as important as the final achievement: a happy soul and productive citizen.

The Book of Songs

The Book of Songs (Shi Jing) is the oldest collection of Chinese poetry, purportedly edited and arranged by Confucius ca. 600 BC and containing poems from 1000 years ago. The collection includes folk songs, ceremonial songs, and ritual hymns. Most of the poetry was intended to be sung; however, no musical instructions for performance or accompaniment were recorded. Some scholars believe that the majority of the poetry was written at the king's behest--he wished for his subjects to write poems about their concerns, so that he could know their thoughts. (Shi Jing on Wikipedia.) As the collection of poetry was held in such high esteem by Confucius, it has long been revered as a source of practical wisdom.



The poems were arranged thematically, with the first portion centered on courtship. The following reveals the importance of social responsibility to the Chinese culture--duty towards family and country always supercedes self-indulgence.

I beg of you, Chung Tzu,
Do not climb into our homestead,
Do not break the willows we have planted.
Not that I mind about the willows,
But I am afraid of my father and mother.
Chung Tzu I dearly love;
But of what my father and mother say
Indeed I am afraid.

I beg of you, Chung Tzu,
Do not climb over our wall,
Do not break the mulberry-trees we have planted.
Not that I mind about the mulberry-trees,
But I am afraid of my brothers.
Chung Tzy I dearly love;
But of what my brothers say
Indeed I am afraid.

I beg of you, Chung Tzu,
Do not climb into our garden,
Do not break the hard-wood we have planted.
Not that I mind about the hard-wood,
But I am afraid of what people will say.
Chung Tzu I dearly love;
But of all that people will say
Indeed I am afraid.

Another section pertains to war--mostly poems of home-sickness, complaints against the futility of fighting a war against other soldiers who don't want to be fighting, when life would be much more peaceful working doggedly at home to at least produce something, be it crops, livestock, or other goods.

Jagged are the rocks.
Oh, how high!
These hills and rivers go on and on.
Oh, how toilsome!
But soldiers fighting in the east
Have no time to pause.

Jagged are the rocks.
Oh, how steep!
These hills and rivers go on and on.
It seems as though they would never end.
But soldiers fighting in the east
Have no time to halt.

We met swine with white trotters
Plunging in a herd through the waves.
The moon is caught in the Net.
There will be deluges of rain.
Soldiers fighting in the east
Have no time to rest.

The lines in the final stanza ("swine...plunging in a herd through the waves'" and "the moon is caught in the Net") are signs of coming rain. Even in a poem about the hardships of war, we see the deep connection between the Chinese culture and nature. The useless struggle of war is reflected in the high, steep, jagged rocks, impossible to climb. The soldier's despondence is heightened and reflected in the certainty that rain will soon fall. The scene depicts a weary soul pushed against unbeatable forces for what seems an eternity spent in vain struggling.

The above image is the poem "Fu You" ("Mayflies") from the Book of Songs. It was found here.

Tao Te Ching - Lao Tzu

Lao Tzu, attributed with the writing of the Tao Te Ching, is an amorphous shape in Chinese history--many legends record his life and philosophies, but there is little real evidence that he existed or composed his most famous work. He is said to have been employed in the Imperial Library as an archivist and a contemporary of Confucius. According to legend Lao Tzu and Confucius met in the library as the latter was furthering his study. They discussed their ideas of ritual and social duty, Lao Tzu arguing vehemently against what he thought empty practices, and Confucius defending what he believed would preserve the social order. Frustrated with his perceptions of the declining kingdom, Lao Tzu decided to leave the city and wander alone. He was traveling on a ox when he reached the guarded Han Gu Pass. The keeper of the pass, who had heard of Lao Tzu as a great philosopher, asked him to write out his philosophy, so that people could still access his thought once he was gone. Lao Tzu wrote the Tao Te Ching and continued on his journey.

Tao Te Ching roughly translates to "The Great Book on the Way and Virtue." Lao Tzu's verses are a guide to understanding nature and the self. They are the cornerstone of Taoism and very influential to Confucianism and Chinese Buddhism. Consisting of 81 "chapters," the first 37 relating the Tao (Way) and the rest concerning Te (Virtue), the Tao Te Ching is now a source of inspiration and guidance to an audience spanning the globe.

"The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one sees manifestations.
These two spring from the same source but differ in name;
this appears as darkness.
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery."

(Feng and English, trans., 1972: Chapter One)

This first chapter of Lao Tzu's book reveals his idea that man attempts to limit the illimitable by naming it. Man cannot comprehend this eternal truth, and by trying, he cages it with words and human philosophy. Only when man resigns himself can he understand that this mystery is to remain unknown. If man is perpetually seeking the truth, he will only find himself further embedded in darkness, further removed from truth because he believes he understands. The man who can admit to ignorance is closer to wisdom, for he is free of false knowledge. It is this philosophy which fuels the Taoist stoic acceptance of evil, harm, and what man cannot understand. The following is another example of Lao Tzu’s ideas of acceptance and personal removal:

“In the pursuit of learning, every day something is acquired.
In the pursuit of Tao, every day something is dropped.
Less and less is done until non-action is achieved.
When nothing is done, nothing is undone.
The world is ruled by letting things take their course.
It cannot be ruled by interfering.”

(Feng and English, trans., 1972: Chapter 48)

This yielding to the infinite and unnamed also underlines the Taoist ideas of the powerful feminine. Masculine traits are hard and unbending--they snap or shatter when the force upon them becomes too great. Feminine traits, however, are soft and quiet, they are symbolized by the water which flows into the crevices of stone. Man needs to be complete with both traits to survive however; this dualism is natural and inescapable--here the philosophy of yin and yang are born.

The above image is of Lao Tzu wandering on an ox. It can be found here.