Category: Cross-cultural

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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.”

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Finding a voice: Chinese art songs

This entry is part 1 of 35 in the series Chinese Art Song

I was searching for some rare recordings on YouTube and came across several performances of Chinese art songs.[1] I grew up knowing these songs and had studied—both singing and playing—a few of them. Unfortunately, without a Chinese-speaking singer around me, I have not had the chance to introduce them to a new audience here in the States.

The majority of these works were written in the first half of the twentieth century at the dawn of modern China. Their musical and literary structures combine Western and traditional Chinese elements. They are among the best testaments of the vibrant creative spirit during a transitional, at times tumultuous, period of Chinese history.

On September 4, 1839, war broke out between Britain and the Qing Dynasty of China over the control of opium trade.[2] After a series of battles which lasted for almost three years, the Chinese Imperial court was forced to sign the “Treaty of Nanking.”[3] Among the terms, China agreed to the cession of Hong Kong. In the following decades, the Qing Dynasty continued to suffer blows from Western colonial powers as well as the newly risen Empire of Japan.[4] More unequal treaties were signed, more territories lost.[5]

Internally, these treaties weakened economic growth and caused political upheavals.[6] While the general public suffered the consequences of these disruptions, the elites became aware of the power that propelled Western invasion. Beyond the guns and boats, there was knowledge of science and culture. There was a struggle to explore these new things while maintaining thousands of years of traditions.

Since the late sixteenth century, Western cultures were introduced in China as part of missionary work, first by Jesuits, and later, other branches of Christianity. During the second half of the nineteenth century, large numbers of Chinese emigrated to Western countries for better opportunities and, consequently, further increased the possibilities for cultural exchange.

By early twentieth century, piano playing and Western style of singing were practiced among the elites. Art song, a genre which explores the beauties of words and music, became a new vehicle for many creative minds. Similar to German Lieder, French mélodies and Italian songs, most Chinese art songs were written for solo voice with piano accompaniment. While the vocal lines bear the characteristics of traditional melodies, the harmonic structures follow the tonal practice of Western music. The singer and the pianist, as in Western tradition, are equal partners in delivering the expressions of the texts.

For thousands of years, there was not a unified spoken language in China. Regional dialects were not mutually intelligible. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, there were various attempts in creating a standardized language. Eventually, the court language—Mandarin—based on the Beijing dialect was chosen as the national tongue.[7]

Diction of Chinese art songs is based on the phonological characters of Mandarin Chinese. There are four tones—pitches or levels of inflections—dark-level 陰平, light-level 陽平, rising上, departing 去.[8] In the first two tones, the sounds stay leveled; in the third tone, the sound bends upwards; in the fourth tone, the sound drops. Ideally, the melodic contours should match the tonal inflections of the texts. Following the nature of the language, the melodic setting is mostly syllabic. Melismatic phrases are used mostly as rhetorical devices.

From the late Spring and Autumn Period (c. fifth century BC) to the first decade of the twentieth century, Classical Chinese 文言文 was the formal written language of Chinese literature and documents. A stylized language of precise grammar and vocabulary, it was distinguished from vernacular Chinese. Only highly educated people were able to comprehend and use this written language. During the 1910s, scholars and students led the “New Culture Movement,” revolting against Confucianism and feudalism. They promoted, instead, democracy, individuality, science education and vernacular literature. Beautifully written prose and free-formed poetry became the new norm. Some of these fashionable literary works were used as art songs texts, along with classical poems.

Collectively, Chinese art songs sounded the desires of a generation of Chinese artists to find a new voice. By combining Western and traditional elements, they created a genre which was not only uniquely Chinese but also uniquely of their time.

[1] Among the selections was a 1957 recital by bass-baritone Yi-Kwei Sze 斯義桂 in Taipei.
Yi-Kwei Sze & Nancy Lee Sze, Chinese songs_YouTube
[2] First_Opium_War_Wiki
[3] Treaty_of_Nanking_Wiki
[4] First_Sino-Japanese_War_Wiki
Japanese colonization of Taiwan was part of the aftermath of the first Sino-Japanese War.
[5] Unequal_treaty_Wiki
[6] Between 1850 and 1864, there was the Taiping rebellion 太平天國, a Christianity-proclaimed Hakka-led revolutionary movement. Taiping_Rebellion_Wiki
In the 1880s, Sun Yat-sen began organizing revolutionary groups and uprisings against the Qing Imperial power.
[7] Italian language went through a similar unification process. Although Tuscan dialect was used in many great literary works, it became the standard Italian only after the unification of the Italy in 1861. Even today, regional dialects are still used in informal communications.
[8] The tonal system evolved throughout the history of the Chinese language. The phonology of Middle Chinese, in use from the Northern and Southern Dynasties 南北朝 of the late fourth century/early fifth century to Tang Dynasty 唐朝 (618-907 AD), was the root of the rhyming system in Chinese poetry, described in two important sources: Yunshu 韻書, and Yunjin 韻鏡. The four tones in Middle Chinese are “level 平,” “rising上,” “departing去,” and “entering入.” The fourth— “entering入,” stop consonance—does not exist in Mandarin but is common in many regional dialects.