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Contents
The Wife of the Marquis of Wei
Chinese
writing often approaches sensitive subjects in an indirect way. Even with folk
songs such as these, the comment in Chinese poetry may be extremely oblique,
and the reader is expected to do some work to understand what the poet is
saying. This is generally the case where severe punishment (major mutilation,
with the option of suicide) is imposed on writers expressing indiscreet
thoughts. Thus a poet may express indignation not by referring to an outrage
and its perpetrator, but in terms of some natural phenomenon that
fails to live up to expectation, such as a tree that fails to blossom, an
unexpected storm or flood, or a starry constellation that disappoints in
some way.
Broader aspects of the contents of the Book of Odes are
discussed in the preface to this work, which provides a Confucian view of
poetry. This is presented here, followed by a few of the odes that
illustrate various aspects of the human condition.
1.
Poetry is the product of earnest thought. Thought cherished in the mind
becomes earnest; exhibited in words, it becomes poetry.
2.
The feelings move inwardly, and are embodied in words. When words are
insufficient for them, recourse is made to sighs and exclamations. When sighs
and exclamations are insufficient for them, recourse is made to the prolonged
utterances of song. When those prolonged utterances of song are insufficient
for them, unconsciously the hands begin to move and the feet to dance.
3.
The feelings go forth in sounds. When those sounds are artistically combined,
we have what is called musical pieces. The style of such pieces in an age of
good order is quiet, going on to be joyful―the government is then a
harmony. The style in an age of disorder is resentful, going on to the
expression of anger―the government is then a discord. The style, when a
state is going to ruin, is mournful, with the expression of retrospective
thought―the people are then in distress.
4.
Therefore, correctly to set forth the successes and failures of government, to
move heaven and earth, and to excite the spirit to action, there is no readier
instrument than poetry.
5.
By poetry the former kings regulated the duties of husband and wife,
effectually inculcated filial obedience and reverence, secured attention to
all the relations of society, adorned the influence of instruction, and
transformed manners and customs.
Though
plums are dropping from the tree,
Two
thirds of them remain!
For
men who look for one like me
Now
might be the time
The
plums are dropping from the tree;
Two
thirds of them are gone!
For
men who look for one like me,
Now
truly is the time.
All
plums are from the plum-tree gone;
My
basket has them here.
O
that the men who long for me
Would
whisper in my ear!
In
the wild a deer lies dead,
wrapped
around with strong white grass.
There
is a young woman full of spring,
And
a fine young man would make her blush.
In
the forest of scrubby oaks,
In
the wild a deer lies dead,
Bound
around with strong white grass.
There
is a young woman like a gem.
Go
slowly, she says, gently, gently;
Do
not move my handkerchief;
Do
not make my pet dog bark.
The
wind blows and its blast is fierce.
He
looks at me and smiles,
But
dissolute and scornful words,
Convey
the smile of pride.
In
the center of my heart I grieve.
The
wind blows, raising clouds of dust.
Kindly
he seems willing to be with me;
But
he neither comes nor goes.
Long,
long, I think of him.
The
wind blew, and the clouds went on;
Before
a day is gone, the clouds are back.
I
awake, and cannot sleep;
I
think of him, and gasp.
Nothing but clouds and darkness now,
And the thunder mutters over all.
Wide awake and far from sleep,
I think of him, my heart a cloud of pain.
Hear
the roll of our drums!
See
how we strut, brandishing weapons!
Others
work the fields or fortify the city;
We
alone march to the south.
We followed the lead of Sun Tsze-chung,
Achieving peace with Ch'in and Sung,
But he did not lead us back to our fields,
And so drove sadness into our hearts.
Here
we stay; here we stop;
Here we lose our horses;
And we have to seek for them,
Among the trees of a forest.
To
our wives we pledged our word.
We
held their hands―
We
were to grow old with them:
Together
for life or for death,
No
matter what the end.
Alas for our separation!
We have no prospect of life.
Alas for our promise!
We cannot make it good.
He
has raised his hut by the stream in the valley,
—That
large man, so much at his ease.
Alone
he sleeps, and wakes, and talks.
He
swears he will never forget this joy.
He has raised his hut in the bend of the hill,
—That large man, with such an indifferent air.
Alone,
he sleeps and wakes, and sings.
He
swears he will never pass from this spot.
He
has raised his hut on the level height,
—That
large man, so self collected.
Alone,
he sleeps and wakes, and sleeps again.
He
swears he will never tell of his delight.
Large
she was and tall,
In an embroidered robe, a simple garment over.
The daughter of the marquis of' Ts'e,
The wife of the marquis of Wei,
The
sister of the heir-son of Ts'e,
The
sister-in-law of the marquis of Hing,
The
viscount of T'an her brother-in-law.
Her
fingers were like blades of young white-grass;
Her
skin was like congealed ointment;
Her
neck was like the tree-grub;
Her
teeth were like melon seeds;
Her
forehead cicada-like;
her
eyebrows like antennae of the silkworm moth;
What
dimples, as she artfully smiled!
How
lovely her eyes, with tile black and white so well defined!
Large
was she and tall,
When
she halted in the cultivated suburbs.
Strong
looked her four horses,
With
the red ornaments so rich about their bits.
In
her carriage, with pheasant feather screens,
she
proceeds to court.
Time
to leave early, men of great office.
Do
not make the marquis fatigued!
The
waters of the Ho, wide and deep,
Flow
northward in majestic course.
The
nets are dropt into them with a plashing sound,
Among
shoals of sturgeon, large and small,
While
the rushes and sedges are rank about.
Splendidly
adorned were her sister ladies;
Martial
looked the attendant officers.
My
husband is away on service,
I
know not when he will return.
Where
is he now?
The
fowls roost in their holes in the walls;
And
in the evening of the day,
The
goats and cows come down,
But
my husband is away.
How
can I but keep thinking of him?
My
husband is away on service,
Not
just for days or months.
When
will he come back to me?
The
fowls roost on their perches;
And
in the evening of the day,
The
goats and cows come down to home;
But
my husband is away on service.
Oh
if he be but kept from hunger and thirst!
I
pray you, Mr. Chung,
Do
not come leaping into my hamlet;
Do
not break my willow trees.
Do
I care for them?
No,
but I fear my parents.
You,
O Chung, are to be loved,
But
the words of my parents
Are
also to be feared.
I
pray you, Mr. Chung,
Do
not come leaping over my wall;
Do
not break my mulberry trees.
Do
I care for them?
No,
but I fear the words of my brothers.
You,
O Chung, are to be loved,
But
the words of my brothers
Are
also to be feared.
I
pray you, Mr. Chung,
Do
not come leaping into my garden;
Do
not break my sandal trees.
Do
I care for them?
No,
but I dread the talk of people.
You,
O Chung, are to be loved,
But
the talk of people
Is
also to be feared.
On
the willows at the east gate,
The
leaves are very luxuriant.
The
evening was the time agreed on,
And
the morning star is shining bright.
On
the willows at the east gate,
The
leaves are dense.
The
evening was the time agreed on,
And
the morning star is shining bright.
With
the spring days the warmth begins,
And
the oriole utters its song.
The
young women take their deep baskets,
And
go along the small paths,
Looking
for the tender mulberry leaves.
As
the spring days lengthen out,
They
gather in crowds the white southernwood.
That
young lady's heart is wounded with sadness,
For
she will soon be going with one of our princes as his wife.
In
the seventh month the Fire Star passes the meridian;
In
the eighth month are the sedges and reeds.
In
the silkworm month they strip the mulberry branches of
their
leaves,
And take their axes and hatchets,
To lop off those that are distant and high,
Only stripping the young trees of their leaves.
In the seventh month, the shrike is heard;
In the eighth month, they begin their spinning—
They make dark fabrics and yellow.
Our red manufacture is very brilliant,
It is for the lower robes of our young princes.
In the fourth month, the small grass is in seed.
In the fifth, the cicada gives out its note.
In the eighth, they reap.
In the tenth, the leaves fall.
In the days of our first month, they go after badgers,
And take foxes and wild cats,
To make furs for our young princes.
In the days of our second month, they have a general hunt,
And
proceed to keep up the exercises of war.
The
boars of one year are for themselves;
Those
of three years are for our prince.
In
the ninth month, they prepare the vegetable gardens for
their
stacks,
And
in the tenth they convey the sheaves to them;
The millets, both the early sown and the late,
With other grain, the hemp, the pulse, and the wheat.
"O my husbandmen,
Our harvest is all collected.
Let us go to the town, and be at work on our houses.
In the day time collect the grass,
And at night twist it into ropes;
Then get up quickly on our roofs—
We shall have to recommence our sowing."
In
the fifth month, the locust moves its legs;
In
the sixth month, the spinner sounds its wings.
In
the seventh month, in the fields;
In
the eighth month, under the eaves;
In
the ninth month, about the doors;
In
the tenth month, the cricket
Enters
under our beds.
Chinks
are filled up, and rats are smoked out;
The
windows that face the north are stopped up;
And
the doors are plastered.
"Ah!
our wives and children,
Changing
the year requires this;
Enter
here and dwell."
With
contented sounds deer call to deer,
Eating
the celery of the fields.
Here
in my house I have admirable
guests;
The
lutes are struck, and the organ is blown for them;
The
organ is blown till its tongues are all moving.
Baskets
of offerings are presented to them.
The
men love me, and will show me
the
perfect path.
With
contented sounds deer call to deer,
Eating
the southernwood of the fields.
Here
in my house I have admirable
guests,
Whose
virtuous fame is shiningly clear.
They
show the people not to be mean;
The
officers have in them a pattern and model.
I
have good wine. My admirable guests drink it,
enjoying
themselves.
With
pleased sounds the deer call to one another,
Eating
the vegetables in the fields.
I
have here admirable guests,
For
whom are struck the lutes, large and small.
The
lutes, large and small, are struck,
And
our harmonious joy lives on and on.
I
have good wine, to feast and make glad
the
hearts of my admirable guests.
The
flowers of the cherry tree–
Are
they not gorgeously displayed?
Of
all the men in the world
There
are none equal to brothers.
On
the dreaded occasions of death and burial,
It
is brothers who greatly sympathize.
When
fugitives are collected on the heights and low grounds,
They
are brothers who will seek one another out.
There
is the wagtail on the level height;
When
brothers are in urgent difficulties,
Friends,
though they may be good
Will
only heave long sighs.
Brothers
may quarrel inside the walls,
But
they will oppose insult from without,
When
friends, however good they may be,
Will
not afford help.
When
death and disorder are past,
And
we have tranquility and rest,
Although
they have brothers,
Some
reckon them not equal to friends.
Your
dishes may be set in array,
And
you may drink to satiety;
But
it is when your brothers are all present,
That
you are harmonious and happy,
with
child-like joy.
Loving
union with wife and children
Is
like the music of lutes;
But
it is the accord of brothers
Which
makes the harmony and happiness lasting.
For
the ordering of your family,
For
your joy in wife and children,
Examine
these thoughts and reflect,
Is
it not truly so?
When
the guests first approach the mats,
They
take their places on the left and the right in an orderly
manner.
The
dishes of bamboo and wood are arranged in rows,
With
the sauces and kernels displayed in them.
The spirits are mild and good,
And they drink, all equally reverent.
The bells and drums are properly arranged;
And they raise their pledge-cups with order and ease.
Then the great target is set up;
The bows and arrows are made ready for the shooting;
The archers are matched into classes.
"Show your skill in shooting," says one.
"I shall hit that mark", responds another,
"Have
another drink from the cup."
The
dancers move with their flutes
To
the notes of the organ and drum.
While
all instruments achieve a harmony,
To
please the meritorious ancestors,
Along
with the observance of all ceremonies.
When
all the ceremonies have been performed,
Grandly
and fully, this confers a great blessing,
So
that the descendants may also be happy!
They
are happy and delighted,
And
each of them exerts his ability.
A
guest draws the spirits,
An
attendant enters again, with a cup,
And
fills it—the cup of rest.
Thus
we perform the seasonal ceremonies.
When
the guests first approach the mats,
They
are harmonious and reverent.
Before
they have drunk too much,
Their
deportment is carefully observant of propriety;
But
when they have drunk too much,
Their
deportment becomes light and frivolous—
They
leave their seats, and wander around,
They
keep dancing and capering.
Before
they have drunk too much,
Their
deportment is cautious and grave;
But
when they have drunk too much,
Their
deportment becomes indecent and rude—
For
when they have too much,
They
lose all sense of orderliness.
When
the guests have drunk too much,
They
shout out and brawl.
They
disorder the dishes;
They
keep dancing in a fantastic manner.
For
when they have drunk too much,
They
become insensible of their errors.
With
their caps on one side, and like to fall off,
They
keep dancing and will not stop.
If,
when they have drunk too much, they left,
Both
they and their host would be happy;
But
remaining after they are drunk,
Does
injury to virtue.
Drinking
is a good institution,
Only
when good deportment goes with it.
On
every occasion of drinking,
Some
get drunk, and some do not.
Were
an inspector appointed,
With
a recorder to assist him—
But
those drunkards in their vileness
Are
ashamed of those who do not get drunk.
They
give them no opportunity to speak
And
restrain the rest from greater abandonment.
The
sober might say,
"Do not speak what you ought not to speak;
Do
not say what you have no occasion to say.
If
you speak, drunk as you are,
You
will produce a ram without horns.
With
three cups you lose your memories—
How
dare you go on to more?"
Adapted
from
The She King or The Book of Poetry,
translated by James Legge. Oxford University Press, 1871.