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Chinese Poetry (XII): A Love Song 卜算子

This entry is part 17 of 35 in the series Chinese Art Song

Lǐ Zhīyí 李之儀
Bǔsuànzi卜算子
I live near the headwaters of the Long River 我住長江頭[1]

我住長江頭，君住長江尾。
I live near the headwaters of the Long River,
You live near the basin of the Long River.
日日思君不見君，共飲長江水。
Day after day, thinking of you but not able to see you,
Still, we both drink the water of the Long River.

* * * * * * * * *

此水幾時休，此恨何時已。
This water, when will it stop flowing?
This grief! when will it end?
只願君心似我心，定不負相思意。
I only hope that your heart is like mine:
I will never betray your devotion.

__Lǐ Zhīyí 李之儀

Lǐ Zhīyí (1038～1117), courtesy name Duānshú 端叔, art name Gūxī姑溪居士, was a writer of the Song Dynasty. His official correspondences were praised by several scholars/writers of the Southern Song Dynasty.[2] Editors of Siku Quanshu 四庫全書 of the Qing Dynasty extended their admirations on his works in other categories, calling them “spirited and superior, often possessed the style of Su Shì. . ..”[3] In the annotated catalogue of Siku Quanshu 四庫全書總目, Li was recognized as “a skillful ci writer, especially with xiǎolìng 小令—the short lyrics.[4]

In his early years, Lǐ was under the tutelage of Fàn Chúnrén 范純仁, the son of the prominent scholar and philosopher Fàn Zhòngyān 范仲淹. Later, he befriended Sū Shì 蘇軾, Huáng Tíngjiān 黃庭堅, and Qín Guān 秦觀, members of the so-called “Yuányòu group” 元祐黨人, opponents of the new policies being implemented by the imperial court .[5] Because of his association with them, his political career was checkered and unfulfilled.

In 1103, Li was banished to Taipin Prefecture 太平州, today’s Anhui Province. Within a few years, he lost his daughter-in-law, son, and daughter. In 1105, his beloved wife of forty years Hú Shúxiu 胡淑修 also passed away. His health rapidly declined under political pressure and personal losses.

At the lowest point of his life, Lǐ Zhīyí met a songstress Yang Shu 楊姝, who’s beauty and musical talent were celebrated among elite literary circles.[6] Despite of their age differences—Li in his seventies and she, a teen, they found companionship in each other and later wed. Together, they endured challenges through time.[7] Lǐ Zhīyí’s most known work “Bǔsuànzi” was a dedication to Yang Shu and a declaration of love.

__The Tune

The word 卜[bǔ] means “to predict future,” most likely using the Eight Trigram Chart—Baguà 八卦. 算 [suàn] means “to count,” or “to compute”—literally and figuratively. The term 卜算子 [bǔsuànzi] refers to “a fortune teller.”

There are several hypotheses of the origin of the tune and its name:

•Luò Binwang 駱賓王, a poet of the Tang Dynasty, often included numbers in his verses. People nicknamed him 卜算子. Qing-Dynasty scholar Mao Xianshu 毛先舒 (1620-1688) suggested that the tune, thus, gained its name.[8]

•Another possible source of the tune name was a verse by Huáng Tíngjiān: “似扶著, 賣卜算,” referencing street fortune tellers.

•One of the tune’s variant names “bǎichǐ lóu” 百尺樓 (“Hundred-feet tower”) was taken from a poem by Qin Zhan 秦湛.[9]

The original form of Bǔsuànzi, a typical xiaoling, consisted of forty-four words in two stanzas. It was popular among poets of the Northern Song Dynasty. Later, it expanded into a two-stanza manci –卜算子慢 with eighty-nine or ninety-three words. There were variations in both the short and the long forms.

__I lived near the headwaters of the Long River

As one of the leading ci writers, Su Shi believed that ci and shi shared the same origin, and that ci was “descendants” of shi.[10] He wished to break away from the ornate vocabulary of the early ci and “elevate” the genre with the elegance of shi. Despite his close friendship with Su, Li Zhiyi had a very different appreciation of ci. He opened his essay “Epilogue to Wu Sidào’s Xiaoci” 跋吳思道小詞 by declaring that ci had its own style and structure, and that a slight departure from the framework would cause discord.[11]

He cited Yangquan qiu 陽關曲[12] to explain the differences between fitting a tune to an existing poem and creating lyrics for a particular melody—thus, the origin of the ci genre. For him, when writing ci poem, the author must appreciate the origin and meanings of every chosen word. A skillfully crafted ending would be most intriguing: As the words ended, the expressions carry on; after the expressions fade away, the emotions linger.

Through a gentle female voice, Li presented a love story in his “Busuanzhi.”[13] The protagonist was separated from her lover by the great distances of the Long River. Paradoxically, the river was the one thing that linked them together, as they both drank from its water. Every day, it reminded her of the never-ending separation. How and when would her sorrow end? By professing her love, she wished for a reciprocal devotion. The simplicity of Li’s “Busuanzhi” recalled the folk-song-like character of Yuefu. It also reflected the plebeian root of ci genre. However, the elegant vocabulary and the subtle delivery rendered such refinements only found in elite literature.

[1] Chang Jiang 長江 is the common name in Chinese for the Yangtze River. The latter is used mostly in the Western world.
[2] 王明清 (1127-?), 《揮麈後錄》, 卷6: “端叔於尺牘尤工. . .”. 吳芾, “姑溪居士前集序”: “元祐間余始得其尺牘, 頗愛其言思清婉有晉宋人風味. . .”
[3] 《四庫全書》, 姑溪居士前集提要: “然他作亦皆神鋒俊逸, 徃徃具蘓軾之一體. . .”
[4] 《四庫全書總目》, 卷一百九十八, 集部五十一：“. . . 之儀以尺牘擅名，而其詞亦工，小令尤清婉峭，殆不減秦觀。” Xiǎolìng小令: Verses within 58 words.
[5] The mutual appreciations between Li and Su were well documented in their correspondences. New_Policies_(Song_dynasty)_Wiki Steles with 309 names of opponents of the New Policy were erected in 1105. The black-listed officials and their descendants were not allowed to pursue political careers.
[6] Upon the departure of Huáng Tíngjiān into exile, Yang Shu played an ancient piece “Lǚ Shuāng Cāo” 履霜操, hinting the injustice of his fate and warning him to be cautious. Huang penned several poems in response. She was only thirteen years of age at the time.
[7] 《揮麈後錄》: “郡娼楊姝者，色藝見稱於黃山谷詩詞中。端叔喪偶無嗣，老益無謬，因遂畜楊於家，已而生子，遇郊禋受延賞。會蔡元長再相，功父知元長之惡端叔也，乃訹豪民吉生者訟於朝，謂冒以其子受蔭，置鞫受誣，又坐削籍。. . . 楊姝者亦被決。. . .”
Wang Mingqing, Huizhu houlu: “[There was a] prefectural songstress Yang Shu, who’s beauty and skills were praised by Huang Shangu [Tíngjiān] in his shi and ci. [Li] Duanshu, who had lost his spouse and was without issue, old and with no one to rely on, took her into his household. Later she bore him a son, who received official privilege during local sacrificial ceremony. When Cai Yuanzhang regained his grand councillorship, [Guo] Gonfù knowing that Cai hated Duanshu, persuaded Ji Sheng, a powerful man, to report to the court, charging Li letting his son receive privilege fraudulently. Li went under investigation; was falsely accused and stripped of his official position. Yang Shu was convicted as well. . ..” Later, Li’s nephew Lin Yànzhèn 林彥振 and his disciple Wu Kěsi 吳可思 sought official help and litigated in court. Eventually, he was vindicated; regained his position and the guardianship of his son.
[8] 毛先舒, 《填詞名解》。
[9] 萬樹, 《詞律》, 卷三: “羌城云駱義烏詩用數名, 人謂之卜算子, 故牌名取之. 按山谷詞 “似扶著賣卜算,” 蓋取義以今賣卜算命之人也, 因秦詞 “極日煙中百尺樓 故巧名百尺樓。”
[10] 蘇軾, <祭張子野文>: “微詞宛轉，蓋詩之裔”
[11]李之儀_《跋吳思道小詞》
[12] Song of Yangguan_www.silkqin.com ; Three-Refrains-of-Yangguan/goldfishodyssey.com
[13] Even though the word 君 can be simply translated as “you,” in Literary Chinese, it usually refers to a male. It is often used as an honorific title.

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Mind games

I have been reading translations of Chinese poetry: some by native speakers and some by western scholars. Some translators made great attempts to fit their words into a western format, meters and rhymes in tow. Others focused on remaining true to the original wording. Occasionally, some translations, while delivering vivid expressions, departed from the sources—words and forms, almost entirely.

Poetry, as a form of expression, reflects not only the personal sentiments of the poets, but also the social/historical background of their times. Their structures are the results of linguistic developments and literary trends. To me, only comprehensive knowledge of the works can lead to good interpretations and translations of poetic works.

The standard pronunciations of Mandarin Chinese bear little resemblance to those of Old Chinese and Middle Chinese. Despite the prescribed rules, it is a challenging task for most modern readers to fully grasp the rhyme schemes. Instead of fixating on pairing sounds, I prefer more flexible phrasings and cadences.

Words are route maps into the poets’ private domains: the images, the sounds and the scents in the air. What in their surroundings inspired them? Who were their audiences? Were their messages unspoken secrets? Were they shouting out to thousands? Each poem is a game of its own. Finding the right cues is the key to good readings and interpretations.

Reconstruct a poem in a different language is more than putting a puzzle together—as there are always missing pieces. The monosyllabic characters and tonal cadences of Chinese language beg for layers of considerations and reconsiderations. I don’t believe there are perfect solutions to these conundrums.

Translators of Li Qingzhao’s “shēng-shēng-màn” would be confronted by a delicate matter immediately: whether to pay homage to the word repetitions in the opening verses. In Chinese language, word repetition is a common practice which enhances the meaning of the words. Li’s handling of this device not only deepened the emotional impact but also solidified the prosodic effects. Her knowledge and sensibility to the tonality of words and its relationship to music led me to believe that the element of sound should not be overlooked by readers, interpreters, and translators alike.

While it is futile to match the sound of the original words, it is possible to catch Li’s intention. Four characters in her opening verses “清,” “淒,” “慘,” and “戚” share the same initial consonance /t͡sʰ/ in Middle Chinese.[1] One can hear in these words the sounds of rustling leaves—sounds of autumn. Even though I was not able to recreate such effects, I attempted in my translation to use words of similar sounds.

The first two words尋 and 覓 both can be translated as “search” in English. Ideogrammic elements of 尋 link the character with “hand” and “mouth”—hence, searching with hands and by calling. 覓 indicates searching by hand and by looking. I settled with “search” and “seek.”

The term冷清 means “desolation.” Separately, 冷 means “cold” and 清, “pure” or “quiet.” I chose the words “chill” and “still.” The following three words “淒,” “慘,” and “戚” all have the meaning of “misery” and “agony.” A friend reminded me to stay with monosyllabic words. Thus, “grim,” “bleak,” and “grief.” In comparison, matching “點點滴滴” in the second stanza with “drip, drip, drop, drop” was a much straightforward task.

Reading the words “乍暖,” my mind switched to “appena caldo” in Italian. 乍and appena both signal a sharp change immediately following the occurrences of a phenomenon or an event. Such perfect transition into English, unfortunately, was not to be found.[2] How interesting—yet, at the same time, frustrating—are the games of words! As I continue playing with words, I can only hope that my efforts contribute, though minutely, to further the exchange of ideas across cultures and times.

[1] Voiceless_alveolar_sibilant_affricate_Wiki Although the pronunciations of these words have changed over the centuries, the similarity is still audible in Mandarin Chinese.
[2] I had a similar experience translating the lyrics of a folk song. The phrase “留戀地張望” can be explained as “lingering around to look [at her].” The Italian word “mirare”—gazing admiringly—would have provided a much satisfactory interpretation than “look.”