Tag: Poems Tang Dynasty

The summer heat scrambles my brain. Any energy I have left after doing what absolutely needs doing is consumed pushing the TV remote buttons as I’m lounging on the sofa in a stupor. But with the arrival of the cooler fall weather comes delicious motivation and energy. So, at long last, I’ve finished my Fir-Flower Tablets series. The first post gave us the historical context of the poems. The second one delved into the meanings of the different elements in the works. This post displays some of the poems translated from Chinese by Amy Lowell and Florence Wheelock Ayscough. I’ve added Ayscough’s notes below each poem to help us understand the backstory and context of the work. The book contains many more poems, but I’ve posted the ones pertaining to women’s lives.

The images come from The Palace Museum in Beijing. I invite you to follow the links beneath the paintings to learn more about the works.

The Lonely Wife
By Li T'ai-Po

The mist is thick. On the wide river, the water-plants float smoothly.
No letters come; none go.
There is only the moon, shining through the clouds of a hard, jade-green sky,
Looking down at us so far divided, so anxiously apart.
All day, going about my affairs, I suffer and grieve, and press the thought of you closely to my heart.
My eyebrows are locked in sorrow, I cannot separate them.
Nightly, nightly, I keep ready half the quilt,
And wait for the return of that divine dream which is my Lord.
Beneath the quilt of the Fire-Bird, on the bed of the Silver-Crested Love-Pheasant,
Nightly, nightly, I drowse alone.
The red candles in the silver candlesticks melt, and the wax runs from them,
As the tears of your so Unworthy One escape and continue constantly to flow.
A flower face endures but a short season,
Yet still he drifts along the river Hsiao and the river Hsiang.
As I toss on my pillow, I hear the cold, nostalgic sound of the water-clock:
Shêng! Shêng! it drips, cutting my heart in two.
I rise at dawn. In the Hall of Pictures
They come and tell me that the snow-flowers are falling.
The reed-blind is rolled high, and I gaze at the beautiful, glittering, primeval snow,
Whitening the distance, confusing the stone steps and the courtyard.
The air is filled with its shining, it blows far out like the smoke of a furnace.
The grass-blades are cold and white, like jade girdle pendants.
Surely the Immortals in Heaven must be crazy with wine to cause such disorder,
Seizing the white clouds, crumpling them up, destroying them.

The term “jade,” in Chinese literature, includes both the jadeites and nephrites. These semi-transparent stones are found in a great variety of colours. There are black jades; pure white jades, described by the Chinese as “mutton fat”; jades with brown and red veins; yellow jades tinged with green; grey jades with white or brown lines running through them; and, most usual of all, green jades, of which there are an infinite number of shades.

These green jades vary from the dark, opaque moss-green, very much like the New Zealand “green-stone,” to the jewel jade called by the Chinese fei ts’ui, or “kingfisher feather,” which, in perfect examples, is the brilliant green of an emerald. As a result of this range of colouring, the Chinese use the term “jade” to describe the tints seen in Nature. The colours of the sky, the hills, the sea, can all be found in the jades, which are considered by the Chinese as the most desirable of precious stones. In addition to its employment in actual comparison, the word “jade” is very often used in a figurative sense to denote anything especially desirable.

Beneath the quilt of the Fire-Bird, on the bed of the Silver-Crested Love-Pheasant.

The Fire-Bird is the Luan, and the Love-Pheasant the Fêng Huang; both are fully described in the table of mythical animals in the Introduction.

As the tears of your so Unworthy One escape and continue constantly to flow.

The term “Unworthy One” is constantly used by wives and concubines in speaking of themselves to their husbands or to the men they love.

Looking At The Moon After Rain
By Li T'ai-Po

The heavy clouds are broken and blowing,
And once more I can see the wide common stretching beyond the four sides of the city.
Open the door. Half of the moon-toad is already up, 
The glimmer of it is like smooth hoar-frost spreading over ten thousand li. 
The river is a flat, shining chain.
The moon, rising, is a white eye to the hills;
After it has risen, it is the bright heart of the sea.
Because I love it—so—round as a fan,
I hum songs until the dawn.

Half of the moon-toad is already up.

In Chinese mythology, the ch’an, a three-legged toad, lives in the moon and is supposed to swallow it during an eclipse. The toad is very long-lived and grows horns at the age of three thousand years. It was originally a woman named Ch’ang O, who stole the drug of Immortality and fled to the moon to escape her husband’s wrath. The moon is often referred to as ch’an, as in the poem.

The glimmer of it is like smooth hoar-frost spreading over ten thousand li.

A li is a Chinese land measurement, equal to about one third of a mile.

The Pleasures Within The Palace
By Li T'ai-Po

From little, little girls, they have lived in the Golden House.
They are lovely, lovely, in the Purple Hall.
They dress their hair with hill flowers,
And rock-bamboos are embroidered on their dresses of open-work silk gauze.
When they go out from the retired Women's Apartments,
They often follow the Palace chairs.
Their only sorrow, that the songs and wu dances are over,
Changed into the five-coloured clouds and flown away.

The “Golden House” is an allusion to a remark made by the Emperor Wu of Han who, when still a boy, exclaimed that if he could marry his lovely cousin A-chiao he would build a golden house for her to live in.

Palaces were often given most picturesque names, and different parts of the precincts were described as being of “jade” or some other precious material, the use of the word “golden” is, of course, in this case, purely figurative.

The organization of the Imperial seraglio, which contained many thousands of women, was most complicated, and the ladies belonged to different classes or ranks.

There was only one Empress, whose title was Hou, and, if the wife of the preceding monarch were still alive, she was called T’ai Hou, or Greater Empress. These ladies had each their own palace. Next in rank came the principal Imperial concubines or secondary wives called Fei. As a rule, there were two of them, and they had each their palace and household. After them came the P’in described as “Imperial concubines of first rank,” or maids of honour, who lived together in a large palace and who, once they had attained this rank, could never be dispersed*. The ladies of the Court are often spoken of as Fei-P’in. Of lower rank than these were the innumerable Palace women called Ch’ieh, concubines or handmaids. The use of the word is not confined to the inmates of the Palace, as ordinary people may have ch’ieh. Little girls who were especially pretty, or who showed unusual promise, were often sent to the Palace when quite young, that they might become accustomed to the surroundings while still children.

The Palace Woman Of Han Tan Becomes The Wife Of The Soldiers' Cook
By Li T'ai-Po

Once the Unworthy One was a maiden of the Ts'ung Terrace.
Joyfully lifting my moth-pencilled eyebrows, I entered the carnation-coloured Palace.
Relying on myself, my flower-like face,
How should I know that it would wither and fade?
Banished below the jade steps,
Gone as the early morning clouds are gone,
Whenever I think of Han Tan City
I dream of the Autumn moon from the middle of the Palace.
I cannot see the Prince, my Lord.
Desolate, my longing—until daylight comes.

The Ts’ung Terrace referred to by the sad lady who, in the dispersal of the Palace women, had fallen to such a low degree, stood in the Palace of King Chao, who lived at the time of the “Spring and Autumn Annals,” many centuries before our era.

Songs To The Peonies Sung To The Air: "Peaceful Brightness"
By Li T'ai-Po

I
The many-coloured clouds make me think of her upper garments, of her lower garments;
Flowers make me think of her face.
The Spring wind brushes the blossoms against the balustrade,
In the heavy dew they are bright and tinted diversely.
If it were not on the Heaped Jade Mountain that I saw her,
I must have met her at the Green Jasper Terrace, or encountered her by accident in the moon.

II
A branch of opulent, beautiful flowers, sweet-scented under frozen dew.
No love-night like that on the Sorceress Mountain for these; their bowels ache in vain.
Pray may I ask who, in the Palace of Han, is her equal?
Even the "Flying Swallow" is to be pitied, since she must rely upon ever new adornments.

III
The renowned flower, and she of a loveliness to overthrow Kingdoms—both give happiness.
Each receives a smile from the Prince when he looks at them.
The Spring wind alone can understand and explain the boundless jealousy of the flower,
Leaning over the railing of the balcony at the North side of the aloe-wood pavilion.

The “Songs to the Peonies” were written on a Spring morning when Ming Huang, accompanied by Yang Kuei-fei, his favourite concubine, and his Court, had gone to see the blooms for which he had a passion. As he sat, admiring the flowers and listening to the singing of the Palace maidens, he suddenly exclaimed: “I am tired of these old songs, call Li Po.” The poet was found, but unfortunately in a state best described by the Chinese expression of “great drunk.” Supported by attendants on either side of him, he appeared at the pavilion, and while Yang Kuei-fei held his ink-slab, dashed off the “Songs.” She then sang them to the air, “Peaceful Brightness,” while the Emperor beat time.

The “Songs” compare Yang Kuei-fei to the Immortals and to Li Fu-jên, a famous beauty of whom it was said that “one glance would overthrow a city, a second would overthrow the State.” But, unluckily, Li T’ai-po also brought in the name of the “Flying Swallow,” a concubine of the Han Emperor Ch’êng, who caused the downfall of the noble Pan Chieh-yü and is looked upon as a despicable character. Kao Li-shih, the Chief Eunuch of the Court, induced Yang Kuei-fei to take this mention as an insult, and it finally cost Li T’ai-po his place at Court.

In the third “Song,” there is an allusion to the Emperor under the figure of the sun. When his presence is removed, the unhappy, jealous flowers feel as if they were growing on the North side of the pavilion.

Yang Kuei-fei, the most famous Imperial concubine in Chinese history, was a young girl of the Yang (White Poplar) family, named Yü Huan, or Jade Armlet; she is generally referred to as Yang Kuei-fei or simply Kuei-fei—Exalted Imperial Concubine.

The Chief Eunuch brought her before the T’ang Emperor, Ming Huang, at a time when the old man was inconsolable from the double deaths of his beloved Empress and his favourite mistress.

The story goes that the Emperor first saw Yang Yü Huan, then fifteen years old, as she was bathing in the pool made of stone, white as jade, in the pleasure palace he had built on the slopes of the Li Mountains. As the young girl left the water, she wrapped herself in a cloak of open-work gauze through which her skin shone with a wonderful light. The Emperor immediately fell desperately in love with her, and she soon became chief of the Palace ladies wearing “half the garments of an Empress.”

Yang Kuei-fei rose to such heights of power that her word was law; she had her own palace, her own dancing-girls, and was even allowed by the doting monarch to adopt the great An Lu-shan, for whom she had a passion, as her son. Her follies and extravagancies were innumerable, and her ill-fame spread about the country to such an extent that, when the rebellion broke out *, the soldiers refused to fight until she had been given over to them for execution.

After her death, Ming Huang spent three inconsolable years as an exile in Szechwan, and his first act upon his return to the Empire, which he had ceded to his son, was to open her grave. It was empty. Even the gold hair-ornaments, and the half of a round gold box shared with the Emperor as an emblem of conjugal unity, had gone; the only trace of the dead beauty was the scent-bag in which she had kept these treasures. “Ah,” cried the unhappy monarch, “may I not see even the bones of my beloved?” In despair, he sent for a Taoist magician and begged him to search the Worlds for Yang Kuei-fei. The Taoist burnt charms to enlist the help of the beneficent spirits, but these were unsuccessful in their search. He finally sat in contemplation until the “vital essence” issued from his body and descended to the World of Shades. Here the names of all the spirits who have passed from the World of Light are entered in classified books, but that of Yang Kuei-fei was not among them. The demon in charge insisted that if the name were not entered, the spirit had not arrived, and the Taoist left, sad and crest-fallen.

He then reflected that if she really were not at the Yellow Springs below, she must be among the Immortals above. He therefore ascended to Paradise, and asked the first person he met, who happened to be the Weaving Maiden who lives in the sky, for news of the lost lady. The Weaving Maiden was most uncommunicative, and found much difficulty in believing that Ming Huang, who had consented to the execution of Yang Kuei-fei, really mourned her death, but finally admitted that she was living among the Immortals on the island of P’êng Lai in the Jade-grey Sea, and even assisted the Taoist to find her. She then told Yang Kuei-fei that, if she still loved the Emperor, the Moon Mother might be induced to allow a meeting at the full moon on the fifteenth day of the Eighth Month. Yang Kuei-fei eagerly assented, and giving the Taoist a gold hairpin and her half of the round box as a proof of her existence, begged that he hasten back to the World of Light and make all arrangements with her lover.

Accordingly, at the appointed time, the Taoist threw his fly-whip into the air, creating a bridge of light between this world and the moon, and over this Ming Huang passed. Yang Kuei-fei was waiting for him. She stood under the great cassia-tree which grows in the moon, and was surrounded by fairies.

The story, which is often sung to the air “Rainbow Skirts and Feather Collar,” goes on to relate that the Weaving Maiden was moved to deep pity by their joy at meeting and arranged with the Jade Emperor, Chief Ruler of the Heavens, that the pair, immortalized by their great love, should live forever in the Tao Li Heaven.

*The An Lu-shan rebellion, which broke out during the reign of the T’ang Emperor, Ming Huang, was very nearly successful, and, if the leader had not been assassinated in A.D. 757 by his son, might have caused the overthrow of the dynasty. As it was, the Emperor, having fled to Szechwan abdicated in favour of his son, Su Tsung, who crushed the rebellion. The poem refers to the time when it was at its height, and the Emperor’s forces were flying to the North.

The Cast-Off Palace Woman Of Ch'in And The Dragon Robes
By Li T'ai-Po

At Wei Yang dwells the Son of Heaven.
The all Unworthy One attends beside
The Dragon-broidered robes.
I ponder his regard, not mine the love
Enjoyed by those within the Purple Palace.
And yet I have attained to brightening
The bed of yellow gold.
If floods should come, I also would not leave.
A bear might come and still I could protect.
My inconsiderable body knows the honour
Of serving Sun and Moon.
I flicker with a little glow of light,
A firefly's. I beg my Lord to pluck
The trifling mustard plant and melon-flower
And not reject them for their hidden roots.

I ponder his regard, not mine the love
Enjoyed by those within the Purple Palace.

The Palace woman of Ch’in was evidently one of the lower ranks of concubines who lived in the Women’s Apartments and only appeared when sent for, not in one of the palaces given to ladies of higher rank.

If floods should come, I also would not leave.
A bear might come and still I could protect.

Now that she is no longer needed, she reflects sadly on the stories of two heroines whose behaviour she would gladly have emulated. These are Fên Chieh-yü, a favourite of the Han Emperor, Yüan, who once protected her master with her own body from the attack of a bear which had broken out of its cage; and Liu Fu-jên, concubine of King Chao of Ch’u. It is told of Liu Fu-jên that one day she went with the King to the “Terrace by the Stream,” where he told her to wait for him until he returned from the capital. While she waited, the river rose, but she refused to leave unless by Imperial command. By the time this arrived she was drowned.

Of serving Sun and Moon.

The “Sun and Moon” are the Emperor and Empress.

The Honourable Lady Chao
By Li T'ai-Po

Moon over the houses of Han, over the site of Ch'in.
It flows as water—its brightness shone on Ming Fei, the "Bright Concubine,"
Who took the road to the Jade Pass.
She went to the edge of Heaven, but she did not return;
She gave up the moon of Han, she departed from the Eastern Sea.
The "Bright Concubine" married in the West, and the day of her returning never came.
For her beautiful painted face, there was the long, cold snow instead of flowers.
She, with eyebrows like the antennæ of moths, pined and withered.
Her grave is in the sand of the Barbarians' country.
Because, when alive, she did not pay out yellow gold,
The portrait painted of her was distorted.
Now she is dead no one can prevent the bright green grass from spreading over her grave,
And men weep because of it.

Ch’in was the name of the State which overcame all the others and welded China into a homogeneous Empire instead of a loose federation. The lady Chao lived during the Han Dynasty.

Wang Ch’iang, known to posterity as Chao Chün, the “Brilliant-and-Perfect,” lived in the First Century b.c. The daughter of educated parents, she was brought up in the strictest Confucian principles; in the words of the Chinese, she “did not speak loudly nor did she look beyond the doors, indeed, even within the house, she only walked the path which led to her mother’s room. Her ears were closed to all distracting sounds, therefore her heart and mind were pure like those of the Immortals.” Her father regarded her as a precious jewel, and although many suitors presented themselves, he refused to listen to their proposals, and finally, when she was seventeen, sent her to the capital as an offering to the Han Emperor Yüan.

Upon arriving at the Palace, the young girl was housed in the inner rooms, among the innumerable Palace women who lived there in constant hope of a summons to the Imperial presence. As the Son of Heaven never went into this part of his Palace, it was customary to catalogue the inmates and submit their portraits to him, a form of procedure which led to much bribery of the Court painters. The rigid principles of the daughter of the Wang clan forbade her to comply with this Palace custom, and the portrait which appeared in the catalogue was such a travesty of her exquisite features that it roused no desire in the Imperial breast.

Five or six dreary years passed, and the young girl remained secluded in the Women’s Apartments. Shortly before this time, one of the Hsiung Nu tribes had surrendered to the Chinese soldiers, and as a proof of good faith on both sides had received permission to serve as a frontier guard. Soon after, the head of the tribe sent to ask that one of Yüan Ti’s ladies be sent him as Queen. The catalogue was consulted, and the decision fell upon the daughter of Wang as being the one among the Palace women who had the fewest charms. She was therefore told to prepare herself for a journey to the desert wastes where she would reign over a savage Central Asian tribe, a prospect terrifying to one brought up in strict seclusion among people of refinement.

Custom demanded that, on the point of departure, she should appear before the Son of Heaven in order to thank her Imperial Master for his kind thoughtfulness in thus providing for her future, and then be formally handed over to the envoys. The audience was held in one of the secondary halls, the Court was assembled, the envoys stood ready, and the lady entered. At the sight of her unusual beauty, every one was thunderstruck, even the Emperor could hardly refrain from springing off the Dragon Throne and speaking to her. But it was too late; there was nothing to be done. The most beautiful of all the Palace women was pledged to the Hsiung Nu Khan, the escort which was to convey her over the Jade Pass waited, and soon the broken-hearted girl set off.

Fury and consternation spread through the Palace; a camel laden with gold was sent in pursuit; the guilty painter, Mao Yen-shou, was executed and his immense fortune sent as a consolation to the Wang family; but all this could not save the young girl from her fate. The Hsiung Nu ambassador refused to ransom her, and she passed out through the Jade Barrier to the “Yellow Sand Fields” beyond.

The banished daughter of Han was true to the principles in which she had been schooled. Instead of committing suicide, as she longed to do, she submitted to the will of the Five Great Ones—Heaven, Earth, The Emperor, her Father, and her Mother—and performed her duties as a wife to the best of her ability in spite of the homesickness from which she suffered perpetually.

Upon the death of the Khan, she felt that her hour of deliverance had at last come and that she was at liberty to poison herself. This she did, and was buried in the desert, but the mound over her grave remained always green.

Because of her pseudonym, “Brilliant-and-Perfect,” she is often referred to as “Ming Fei,” the “Bright Concubine.” Allusions to her story always suggest homesickness.

The "Looking-For-Husband" Rock
By Li T'ai-Po

In the attitude, and with the manner, of the woman of old,
Full of grief, she stands in the glorious morning light.
The dew is like the tears of to-day;
The mosses like the garments of years ago.
Her resentment is that of the Woman of the Hsiang River;
Her silence that of the concubine of the King of Ch'u.
Still and solitary in the sweet-scented mist,
As if waiting for her husband's return.

In the attitude, and with the manner, of the woman of old.

A reference to a legend of a woman who was turned to stone. *

Her resentment is that of the Woman of the Hsiang River.

O Huang and her sister Nü Ying were the wives of Shun, the “Perfect Emperor” (2317-2208 B.C.). When he died, and was buried near the Hsiang River, they wept so copiously over his grave that their tears burned spots on the bamboos growing there, and thus was the variety known as the “spotted bamboo” created. Eventually the despairing ladies committed suicide by throwing themselves into the river.

Her silence that of the concubine of the King of Ch’u.

Ts’u Fei, concubine of the King of Ch’u was much distressed because her lord was of a very wild disposition, and only took pleasure in hunting and such pursuits. She constantly expostulated with him on his mode of life, but at last, finding that all her entreaties were in vain, she ceased her remonstrances and sank into a silence from which she could not be roused.

*A hill on the banks of the Yangtze, so called because of a legend that, many centuries ago, a wife, whose husband had been away for several years, went daily to watch for his returning sail. In the end, she was turned to stone on the spot where she had kept her vigil.

A Song Of Grief
By Pan Chieh-Yü

Glazed silk, newly cut, smooth, glittering, white,
As white, as clear, even as frost and snow.
Perfectly fashioned into a fan,
Round, round, like the brilliant moon,
Treasured in my Lord's sleeve, taken out, put in—
Wave it, shake it, and a little wind flies from it.
How often I fear the Autumn Season's coming
And the fierce, cold wind which scatters the blazing heat.
Discarded, passed by, laid in a box alone;
Such a little time, and the thing of love cast off.

Pan Chieh-yü, the talented and upright concubine of the Han Emperor, Ch’êng, is one of the ladies most often referred to in literature. She was supplanted by the beautiful, but unscrupulous, “Flying Swallow,” who accused her to the Emperor of denouncing him to the kuei and the shên. The Emperor, therefore, sent for Pan Chieh-yü who, kneeling before him, answered him as follows: “The Unworthy One of the Emperor has heard that he who cultivates virtue still has not attained happiness or favour. If this be so, for him who does evil what hope is there? Supposing that the demons and spirits are aware of this world’s affairs, they could not endure that one who was not faithful to the Emperor should utter the secret thoughts hidden in the darkness of his heart. If they are not conscious of this world’s affairs, of what use would the uttering of those secret thoughts be?” Then, rising, she left the Imperial presence, and immediately obtained permission to withdraw from the Palace. Not long after, she sent the Emperor “A Song of Grief,” and ever since then the term, “Autumn Fan,” has been used to suggest a deserted wife.

Farewell Words To The Daughter Of The House Of Yang
By Wei Ying-Wu

Because of this, sad, sad has the whole day been to me.
You must go forth and journey, far, very far.
The time has come when you, the maiden, must go.
The light boat ascends the great river.
Your particular bitterness is to have none from whom you may claim support.
I have cherished you. I have pondered over you. I have been increasingly gentle and tender to you.
A child taken from those who have cared for it—
On both sides separation brings the tears which will not cease.
Facing this, the very centre of the bowels is knotted.
It is your duty, you must go. It is scarcely possible to delay farther.
From early childhood, you have lacked a mother's guidance,
How then will you know to serve your husband's mother? I am anxious.
From this time, the support on which you must rely is the home of your husband.
You will find kindness and sympathy, therefore you must not grumble;
Modesty and thrift are indeed to be esteemed.
Money and jewels, maid-servants and furnishings—are these necessary, a perfection to be waited for?
The way of a wife should be filial piety, respect and compliance;
Your manner, your conduct, should be in accord with this way.
To-day, at dawn, we part.
How many Autumns will pass before I see you?
Usually I endeavour to command my feelings,
But now, when my emotions come upon me suddenly, they are difficult to control.
Being returned home, I look at my own little girl.
My tears fall as rain. They trickle down the string of my cap and continue to flow.

The sacredness with which the Chinese regard their family ties is well known, but it is perhaps not realized that the Chinese conception of the duties owed to friendship entails very great responsibilities. If a friend dies, it is a man’s duty to see that his family do not suffer in any way. Wei Ying-wu is probably addressing the daughter of some dead friend whom he has brought up in his own family, or she may be a poor relation on his mother’s side, but that she is not his own daughter is clear from the fact that her clan name differs from his, which is Wei.

A Letter Of Thanks For Precious Pearls Bestowed By One Above
By Chiang Ts'ai-P'in
(The "Plum-Blossom" Concubine Of The Emperor Ming Huang)

It is long—long—since my two eyebrows were painted like cassia-leaves.
I have ended the adorning of myself. My tears soak my dress of coarse red silk.
All day I sit in the Palace of the High Gate. I do not wash; I do not comb my hair.
How can precious pearls soothe so desolate a grief.

One of the ladies swept aside by Yang Kuei-fei was the lovely Chiang Ts’ai-p’in, known as the “Plum-blossom” concubine. As she liked to differ from other people, she painted her eyebrows in the shape of wide cassia-leaves instead of the thin-lined willow-leaf, or “moth-antennæ,” the form so much used. Soon after her departure from the Palace, some pearls were received as tribute, and the Emperor, who still had a lingering regard for “Plum-blossom,” sent them to her in secret. She refused the pearls, and returned them to the Emperor with this poem.

A Woman Sings To The Air: "Sitting At Night"
By Li T'ai-Po

A Winter night, a cold Winter night. To me, the night is unending.
I chant heavily to myself a long time. I sit, sit in the North Hall.
The water in the well is solid with ice. The moon enters the Women's Apartments.
The flame of the gold lamp is very small, the oil is frozen. It shines on the misery of my weeping.
The gold lamp goes out,
But the weeping continues and increases.
The Unworthy One hides her tears in her sleeve.
She hearkens to the song of her Lord, to the sound of it.
The Unworthy One knows her passion.
The passion and the sound unite,
There is no discord between them.
If a single phrase were unsympathetic to my thoughts,
Then, though my Lord sang ten thousand verses which should cause even the dust on the beams to fly, to me it would be nothing.

I sit, sit in the North Hall.

The “North Hall” is a term for the Women’s Apartments, which always lie farthest from the Great Gate placed in the South wall of the house.

Then, though my Lord sang ten thousand verses which should cause even the dust on the beams to fly, to me it would be nothing.

It is said that when Yü Kung, a man of the State of Lu who lived during the Han Dynasty, sang, the sounds were so exquisite that even the dust on the beams flew. “To cause the dust on the beams to fly” has therefore become a current saying.

Songs Of The Courtesans
(Written During The Liang Dynasty)

One Of The "Songs Of The Ten Requests"

By Ting Liu Niang

My skirt is cut out of peacock silk,
Red and green shine together, they are also opposed.
It dazzles like the gold-chequered skin of the scaly dragon.
Clearly so odd and lovely a thing must be admired.
My Lord himself knows well the size.
I beg thee, my Lover, give me a girdle.

Ai Ai Thinks Of The Man She Loves

How often must I pass the moonlight nights alone?
I gaze far—far—for the Seven Scents Chariot.
My girdle drops because my waist is shrunken.
The golden hairpins of my disordered head-dress are all askew.

Sent To Her Lover Yüan At Ho Nan (South Of The River) By Chang Pi Lan (Jade-Green Orchid) From Hu Pei (North Of The Lake)

My Lover is like the tree-peony of Lo Yang.
I, unworthy, like the common willows of Wu Ch'ang.
Both places love the Spring wind.
When shall we hold each other's hands again?

Ch'in, The "Fire-Bird With Plumage White As Jade," Longs For Her Lover

Incessant the buzzing of insects beyond the orchid curtain.
The moon flings slanting shadows from the pepper-trees across the courtyard.
Pity the girl of the flowery house,
Who is not equal to the blossoms
Of Lo Yang.

I gaze far—far—for the Seven Scents Chariot.

The “Seven Scents Chariot” was a kind of carriage used in old days by officials, and only those above the sixth rank might hang curtains upon it. It was open on four sides, but covered with a roof. The hubs of the wheels were carved. Ai Ai implies that the person she is waiting for is very grand indeed.

Previous posts in this series:

The Fir-Flower Tablets – Social and Historical Context for Some Classic Chinese Poems

The Meaning of Certain Animals, Plants, And Supernatural Beings Found In Some Classic Chinese Poems