Poetry of the late Tang: Jueju Quatrains of Du Mu and Li Zhong

Jueju (絕句), or ‘cut-off verses’, are the shortest form of Chinese poem. Though precursors can be found in earlier poetry, they were developed during the Tang dynasty, and persisted thereafter right up until modern times. Their nearest equivalent in Western verse is the quatrain, consisting of four lines. They are further divided into two types of jueju, those in which each line consists of five words or characters, wuyan (五言), and those consisting of seven, qiyan (七言).

Though, like all Chinese poetry, there are definite rules governing the number and arrangement of the words in each line, based on tone and rhyme, they were nevertheless considered the most informal type of Chinese verse, particularly suited to capturing a scene, or a fleeting emotion, or usually a mixture of the two, and lie somewhere between a poem, in the more formal sense, and a mental image or pictorial ‘snapshot’.

Despite their brevity, they were also good at expressing the very varied styles of different poets, exuded a sense of elegance and playfulness, and were often exchanged among poets and friends. Their closest equivalent is the Japanese tanka, though they share little in common with the even shorter haiku, derived later on from the tanka.

There are vast numbers of jueju, numbering in the thousands, and they were to become particularly popular in the late Tang, during the ‘five dynasties and ten kingdoms’ (a transition period between the Tang and Song), and in the early (Northern) Song.

Two writers associated with jueju are Du Mu (杜牧) and Li Zhong (李中). Du Mu (ninth century) is extremely famous in China, being often paired with another poet Li Shangyin, in much the same way that Du Fu and Li Bai, from an earlier period, are paired, Du Fu and Li Bai being known collectively as ‘big Du-Li’ and Du Mu and Li Shangyin as ‘little Du-Li’. However, it is difficult to find the poetry of Du Mu in English translation, though a few examples exist.

Li Zhong from a century later (tenth century, the period of the ‘five dynasties’) is virtually unknown outside China, and never yet translated as far as I’m aware. There is very little information about him, except that he was obsessed with poetry from a young age, describing himself as ‘poetry mad’, and seems to have lived the life of a wanderer, frequently visiting temples, caves and shrines, and playing chess with the monks! His whimsical style deserves to be better known.

Below are my translations of six poems, three by Du Mu, and three by Li Zhong. The language of these poems is ultra sparse, even by the standards of classical Chinese, and it almost always requires a fair amount of interpretation and modification to render them in suitable English.

Du Mu

齊安郡中偶題
秋聲無不攪離心
夢洚蒹葭楚雨深
自滴堦前大梧葉
干君何事動哀吟

On a chance theme, written in Qi’an prefecture

The sigh of autumn winds cannot but stir the heart, far from home,
Dreaming of young reed beds flooded by the heavy rains of the south.
Do the dripping leaves of the parasol tree by the steps
Know what moves a person of culture to songs of grief?

南陵道中
南陵水面慢悠悠
風緊雲輕欲変秋
正是客心孤回處
誰家紅袖憑江樓

On the Road to Nanling

Slow, leisurely flow of the Nanling river,
Sharp breeze, light clouds announcing autumn is near.
I return here a stranger, with the heart of an orphan.
Who, in red sleeves, leans against that house by the water?

寄揚州韓綽判官
青山隱隱水遙遙
秋盡江南草木凋
二十四橋明月夜
玉人何處教吹簫

Sent to District Chief Han Chuo of Yangzhou

Blue-green hills in the haze and distant waters,
End of autumn, the plants all withered south of the river.
Twenty four bridges on a moonlit night,
But where are the beautiful people playing their flutes?

Li Zhong

書夏秀才幽居壁
永巷苔深戶半開
床頭書劍積塵埃
最憐小檻疏篁晚
幽鳥雙雙何處來

Cliffside dwelling of a hermit scholar

At the end of an alley deep in moss a door half open
By the bed some books and a sword covered in dust
A pitiful little cage made from a few bamboo strips
Secluded home to a pair of birds, but where are they from?

訪洞神宮邵道者不遇
閑來仙觀問希夷
雲滿星壇水滿池
羽客不知何處去
洞前花落立多時

Unsuccessful visit to the cave of Daoist master Shao

Coming on a whim to consult an immortal my hopes are dashed.
Heavy clouds, a ring of stars, pools filled with water.
I do not know where the Daoist master has gone.
Amid falling flowers I stand for hours in front of his cave.

送劉恭游廬山兼寄令上人
松桂煙霞蔽梵宮
詩流閑去訪支公
石堂磬斷相逢夜
五老月生溪影空

Sent with Liu Gong to a monk’s mountain hut

Smoke of pine and cinnamon shrouding the temple,
An idly wandering poet calls on the abbot.
Dusk falls and chimes of the bell in the great hall cease,
Moonlit shadows of five old monks reflected in a stream.

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