On the genre of lyric-poetry
Lyric-poetry or ci 詞, is a genre of traditional Chinese poetry originally set to music. The genre first appeared in the Tang dynasty (618-907) when poets began writing new lyrics to well-known melodies performed by singing girls in the entertainment quarters of Chang’an (present-day Xi’an). Already in the Song dynasty (960-1279), often considered the golden age of lyric-poetry, most of these melodies have been lost. What is left are hundreds of “song titles” (ci pai ming 詞牌名) for composing lyric-poetry. These “song titles” often have nothing to do with the subject of the poem, but simply mark the varying lengths, rhyme schemes, and tonal patterns of each lyric-poem. The five poems featured below are all written using the same song title “Song of the Golden Threads” (jin lü qu 金縷曲). In its original form, the “song title” is made up of 116 characters, divided into two stanzas. Each stanza contains ten verses, of which six verses end with a rhyme in the rising tone. Such strict poetic form of course cannot be replicated in the English translation.
I. Nara Singde to Gu Zhenguan
Nara Singde (also written as Nalan Xingde 納蘭性德, 1655-1685) is often regarded as the greatest lyric-poet of the Qing dynasty (1644-1912). Singde’s ancestors were warriors who fought in the victorious Manchu army that conquered China proper in 1644. His mother was an imperial princess and his father Mingju 明珠was a powerful minister under Emperor Kangxi 康熙 (reign. 1661–1722), the longest reigning monarch to have ruled over China.
Gu Zhenguan 顧貞觀 (1637-1714) is a celebrated Chinese lyric-poet from a prominent literati family in Wuxi, Jiangsu. Like many learned gentry families from the prosperous Yangtze delta region, Gu’s family was driven into financial ruin by the widespread turmoil and systemic disruption brought on by the Ming–Qing transition. In 1676, escalating financial pressures at home forced Gu, who had resigned from a menial post in the Hanlin Academy five years earlier, to make his way to Beijing again in search of employment. It is likely that a mutual friend introduced Gu, then in his forties, to the young nobleman Singde, who despite being in his early twenties, had already earned a reputation for his literary talent and generosity towards struggling Chinese scholars.
Despite the differences in age, ethnicity, and social status, the two immediately recognised each other as kindred spirits. A few days after their first meeting, Singde dedicated a lyric-poem to Liangfen (Gu’s style name), vowing an eternal bond of friendship with the poet.
To Liangfen
I, an impudent youth—
By chance born into the capital’s dusty arena,
Son of a nobleman.
Like Lord Pingyuan who housed thousands of retainers,
I long to summon all talented men of Zhao,
With cups of fine wine.
Yet who understands this aspiration of mine?
Imagine my joy when I met you,
A kindred spirit!
While you and I are still young,
Let us wash away our tears with song and wine.
See the radiant moon above—
Let it be our witness!
Tonight we must drink to get drunk,
And forget about those envious tongues.
Now as before, talent draws the venom of the jealous heart.
As for life’s shifting tides,
We need only face them with a knowing scorn.
In this life, my sole regret is that we met too late.
I pray that we reunite sooner in the life to come.
May our bond forged in a single day,
Endure through all cycles of existence!
Do not forget the oath
We made today!
金縷曲 贈梁汾
德也狂生耳。
偶然間、緇塵京國，烏衣門第。
有酒惟澆趙州土，誰會成生此意。
不信道、竟逢知己。
青眼高歌俱未老，向尊前、拭盡英雄淚。
君不見，月如水。
共君此夜須沉醉。
且由他、蛾眉謠諑，古今同忌。
身世悠悠何足問，冷笑置之而已。
尋思起、從頭翻悔。
一日心期千劫在，後身緣、恐結他生裏。
然諾重，君須記。
II. Gu Zhenguan to Nara Singde
Shortly after receiving Singde’s poem, Gu wrote a response in verse using the same rhyme and tune as Singde’s original. While Singde compared himself to Lord Pingyuan, a powerful aristocrat from the state of Zhao in the Warring States period (475-221 BC) famous for his patronage of scholars and strategists, in his responding poem, Gu likened himself to Hou Ying, a recluse serving under Lord Xingling, another famed patron from the Warring States period, who repaid his host’s patronage with his own life. Gu further likened his friendship with Singde to that of the friendship between the assassin Jing Ke 荊軻and his musician friend Gao Jianli 高漸離and that of the two great Tang dynasty poets Li Bai 李白and Du Fu杜甫.
Here I shall remain,
A guest at the banquet halls of a grand mansion,
Sheltered within the walls of a noble house.
Let others judge me as they will—
Had the world not turned its back on Li Bai,
How could Du Fu’s friendship have shone so bright?
To meet a true friend
Is a rare blessing indeed!
I have no gold to repay your kindness,
Only tears of gratitude for the rest of my life—
Though this may seem to you
As paltry as a cup of water.
Like Gao Jianli and Jing Ke, we sing and weep,
Lost to the world’s care.
Hou Ying was already an old man when he met Lord Xinling—
My parents still need my care,
So I cannot pledge my life to you.
My only hope to repay your friendship in the coming life—
At the turning of the wheel,
Let us meet again at the marketplace,
Our hearts closely joined like lacquer and glue.
Let our vows be etched in stone,
Unbroken for eternity.
且住為佳耳。
任相猜、馳箋紫閣，曳裾朱第。
不是世人皆欲殺，爭顯憐才真意。
容易得、一人知己。
慚愧王孫圖報薄，只千金、當灑平生淚。
曾不直，一杯水。
歌殘擊築心欲醉。
憶當年、侯生垂老，始逢無忌。
親在許身猶未得，俠烈今生已已。
但結託、來生休悔。
俄頃重投膠在漆，似舊曾、相識屠沽裏。
名預籍，石函記。
III. Gu Zhenguan to Wu Zhaoqian
In the winter of 1676, a few months after he met Singde, Gu penned two lyric-poems in lieu of a letter to Wu Zhaoqian 吳兆騫 (1631-1684), a fellow poet who by then had already spent seventeen years in exile in Ningguta, a remote Manchu garrison town some 1500 km northeast from Beijing.
Once a child protégé from Wujiang country (in present-day Suzhou), Jiangsu, Wu Zhaoqian had been implicated in the examination cheating scandal of 1657. When it became apparent that some students had bribed examiners in the Jiangnan provincial level civil service examination, the furious Emperor Shunzhi (reign: 1643-1661), the first Manchu ruler of China, ordered the public execution of all eight examiners and summoned all graduates who passed the exam, including Wu, to Beijing for a reexamination. The reexamination took place on 23 April 1658 under tight surveillance. The emperor personally proctored the exam while each candidate composed their essays under the watch of two armed Manchu guardsmen. The atmosphere was so intimidating that Wu, trembling in fear, could barely grasp his writing brush. Needless to say, he did not finish his paper. As a result, Wu was found to have cheated in the initial examination and along with thousands of others, sentenced to life-long exile in Ningguta.
Wu Zhaoqian’s banishment shocked the cultural elites of Jiangnan, the economically and culturally vibrant lower Yangtze delta region, and deepened their mistrust towards the alien Manchu rulers. In “A Sorrowful Song for Wu Jizi” (Wu Zhaoqian’s style name) a fellow poet decried:
If you have a brilliant son, be cautious, not joyful;
There’s a reason why Cangjie—the creator of words—cried through the night,
Misfortune all begins with the reading of books:
Behold the tragic case of Wu Jizi!1
For years, Gu Zhenguan had been actively trying to secure Wu Zhaoqain’s release but to no avail. In the two poems sent to Wu Zhaoqain in Manchuria, Gu called on his friend to look after himself and vowed to fulfil his promise of rescuing Wu from exile. He compared himself to Shen Baoxu 申包胥, a minister from the state of Chu who once vowed that he would do anything he can to defend his country. After the state of Wu invaded Chu, aided by Wu Zixu 伍子胥, Shen’s good friend, Shen appealed to the state of Qin for assistance. With an army of Qin warriors Shen was able to defeat the Wu invaders and restored King Zhao of Chu to his throne, thus fulfilling his promise.
Gu also drew on the story of Prince Dan of Yan燕太子丹, who was sent to the state of Qin as a political hostage. When Prince Dan asked to be sent back to his home state of Yan, the Qin ruler replied, “I will grant your wish only when the crow’s head turns white and a horse grows horns.” Price Dan cried loudly to the sky and lo and behold, a white-headed crow appeared outside his room. Price Dan was eventually allowed to return home.
Two lyric-poems in lieu of a letter to Wu Zhaoqian in Ningguta, written amidst wind and snow in the temple of Thousand Buddhas where I have temporary made my home. Winter of the year Bingchen, Beijing.
Jizi, are you well and safe?
Had you returned home today,
Surely the past would continue to haunt you—
Friends of old have all drifted apart,
Who will be there to ease your pain?
Your family lives in poverty,
Your mother is frail, your children still young.
Those carefree days of wine and laughter,
Long forgotten.
Encounters with malevolent forces
Are far too common.
You and I are no match for their cunning ways.
Still, we press on through ice and snow.
Do not weep with your wife at fate’s cruelty,
Just think, how many among the exiled
Are still blessed with the warmth of family.
Like the domed beauties of old, your life is indeed cursed,
But you are fortunate to be alive!
Even so, it must be unbearable,
In the extreme frontier,
Where snow and ice reign through all seasons.
Like Shen Baoxu I will fulfil my promise made twenty years ago.
Like Prince Dan of Yan I will make the impossible happen.
I send you this poem in place of a letter,
Keep it safely up your sleeve.
金縷曲
寄吳漢槎寧古塔，以詞代書。
丙辰冬，寓京師千佛寺，冰雪中作。
季子平安否？
便歸來、平生萬事，那堪回首。
行路悠悠誰慰藉，母老家貧子幼。
記不起，從前杯酒，
魑魅搏人應見慣，總輸他、覆雨翻雲手。
冰與雪，周旋久。
淚痕莫滴牛衣透。
數天涯、依然骨肉，幾家能夠？
比似紅顏多命薄，更不如今還有。
只絕塞、苦寒難受。
廿載包胥承一諾，盼烏頭馬角終相救。
置此札，君懷袖
IV. Gu Zhenguan to Wu Zhaoqian
I too, have spent my days in exile.
For ten years, I tried in vain
To repay the kindness you once showed me.
Still, we have earned our literary fame—
Just look at Du Fu, who grew thin with longing for Li Bai,
His grief as deep as Li’s when he was banished to Yelang.
My wife passed away and I am separated from my blossom friend—
Is this not the extreme of life’s sorrow?
How I wish to lay bare my thousands of grievances!
You were born in the year of Xinwei, and I in Dingchou;
Though we may seem frail,
We have both endured the harsh frost of time.
From now on, I urge you to write fewer poems,
And take great care to nourish your spirit.
May the muddled waters of the Yellow River become clear,
May we live a long life.
On the day of your return,
I shall go through your poems written on the frontier,
And pass your name onto future generations.
Words cannot express all I feel,
I bow and pay my respects to you here.
我亦飄零久。
十年來、深恩負盡，死生師友。
宿昔齊名非忝竊，試看杜陵消瘦。
曾不減、夜郎僝僽。
薄命長辭知己別，問人生、到此淒涼否。
千萬恨，從君剖。
兄生辛未吾丁丑。
共些時、冰霜摧折，早衰蒲柳。
詞賦從今須少作，留取心魂相守。
但願得、河清人壽。
歸日急翻行戍稿，把空名、料理傳身後。
言不盡，觀頓首。
V. Nara Singde to Gu Zhenguan
Long before the two poems reached Wu Zhaoqian in Ningguta, Gu showed them to Singde. He recalled Singde’s reactions and the events that followed:
Singde saw the two poems and streams of tears rolled down his cheeks. He exclaimed: “This joins the ranks of great works on friendship, alongside the poems exchanged between Su Wu and Li Ling at the riverbank and Xiang Xiu’s morning of his deceased friend Ji Kang.” Singde then vowed: “I will devote myself to this cause in the coming three thousand and sixty days.” To this I responded, “Life is short, please set a time frame of five years. We then pleaded with the Grand Tutor [Mingju] who also granted our wishes. Indeed, Wu Zhaoxian crossed the Great Wall in the Xinyou year [1681].
Shortly after reading Gu’s poems to Wu Zhaoqian, Singde wrote another poem in response. In this lyric-poem, also set to the tune of “Golden Treads”, he sighed over Wu’s misfortune and vowed to do all he can to help secure Wu’s release.
A poem sent to Liangfen
See how these unbidden tears flow—
Alone in his jade tower in the immortal realm.
He descends into this mortal world of men.
They say fortune favours the fool;
Indeed, his keen mind was his curse,
And his fame marked his undoing.
Condemned to a life adrift,
He saw his slanderers as a pack of baying dogs.
If Heaven should ask any questions,
Silence is his reply.
A soul as deep in feeling as mine wears its sorrow plainly,
Yet I must urge you to look after yourself—
Fragrant herbs burn easily,
Beautiful jade shatters with but a touch,
Precious things are always the most fragile.
How I envy those revelling in the red dust of this world,
Drifting through life in a blissful, drunken dream.
See what they make of our song and tears!
From now on, rescuing Wu Jizi from the frontier,
Is all I care.
The person who understands my promise,
Is you Liangfen!
金縷曲 簡梁汾
灑盡無端淚，
莫因他、瓊樓寂寞，誤來人世。
信道癡兒多厚福，誰遣偏生明慧。
莫更著、浮名相累。
仕宦何妨如斷梗，只那將、聲影供群吠。
天欲問，且休矣。
情深我自判憔悴。
轉丁寧、香憐易爇，玉憐輕碎。
羨殺軟紅塵裏客，一味醉生夢死。
歌與哭、任猜何意。
絕塞生還吳季子，算眼前、此外皆閒事。
知我者，梁汾耳。
In 1681, through the efforts of Singde and several other Chinese officials, Wu Zhaoqian was finally made a free man after spending twenty-two years in exile. Wu’s release, just as his banishment, has meanings beyond his personal suffering, and symbolised a reconciliation between Han Chinese literati and their Manchu overlords, nearly forty years after the Manchu conquest of China. (Such gestures notwithstanding, large-scale political purges against Han literati would continue to occur throughout the Manchu Qing dynasty.) Upon his release, Wu was given a job tutoring Singde’s two younger brothers. He died of dysentery three years later. A year after Wu’s death, Singde also passed away from a sudden illness at the tender age of thirty. It’s said that Chinese literati across the country, whether they knew Singde personally or not, all wept and mourned his death. In a tearful elegy for Singde, Gu recalls how when he first read Singde’s poem, the lines “In this life, my sole regret is that we met too late/ I pray that we meet sooner in the life after/May our bond forged in a single day/Endure through all cycles of existence!” struck him as being ominous, and how it pains him now that this poetic prophecy in Xingde’s poem has tragically come to pass.
- Translation slightly modified based on Ruth Rogaski, “Landscape of Exile” in Knowing Manchuria: Environments, the Senses, and Natural Knowledge on an Asian Borderland, (University of Chicago Press, 2022), p.31. ↩︎