A Poem Written While Driving East on the GCP

Tonight just after
Passing Creedmoor
On my way out East
A flock of starlings
Dipped sharply into
The traffic flowing
Towards the Northern State
When the meanings all converged
And suddenly the car
Was a dynamo
A stick of dynamite
In my hands whose fuse
Was lit as I raced ahead

This poem was written in reply to DuFu's Song of a Madman, which I recently translated.  You can read my translation of DuFu's great poem by clicking here.

The Fisherman's Song

The Fisherman's Song is an old prose poem in the form of a dialog that dates back to China's Warring States period (475 to 225 BC).  It is often attributed to the statesman Qu Yuan, although his authorship seems highly unlikely based on a common sense reading of the poem.  Qu Yuan was a much venerated figure in Chinese history as the embodiment of high-minded loyalty to the state.  He was a minister who endured exile while maintaining his loyalty to the emperor of the Kingdom of Chu.  According to historical legend, when the emperor failed to heed his advice and the Kingdom of Chu was eventually overrun by its rivals, Qu Yuan drowned himself by clutching a rock and wading into the Miluo River, as is foreshadowed in the fifth stanza of the poem.  His death is commemorated in the Dragon Boat Festival still celebrated in China today; but venerated as he may be, it's hard not to think that the old fisherman got the better of him in this dialog, as reflected in the final stanza.

Qu Yuan banished into exile

Roamed the shores of rivers and lakes

Singing his sorrowful songs
He grew listless and full of longing

One day he met an old fisherman

Who spoke to him and said:

You look like a great Imperial minister

What brings you wandering this way?

And Qu Yuan replied:

The whole world has been muddied

I alone remain clean

The flock of mankind swills its wine

I alone remain sober

So you see me here

 To which the old fisherman replied:

Would great sages be troubled thus?

Let the world go its own way

Let the people all be muddy

Each getting muddier still

They’ll be carried off on their own wave

Let the people all be drunken

Why not let them be sated

Drinking down to the dregs

Why trouble yourself

Over such lofty matters

Only to end up exiled

In such a remote place

And Qu Yuan answered:

I’ve heard it said that

When you’re freshly bathed

You must wrap yourself up

In clothes and a cap

So your body stays

Spotless and clean

But to accept things

As the river flows

How can that be?

I would rather end up adrift

And drowned in the river

Deep in the belly of a scaly beast

Content to find peace there

In that spotless white place

Than to lose myself in the world

Of dust and mud

The old fisherman smiled

Raised his oar aloft and laughed

Before finishing his song

When Tsang Lang’s waters are clean

Then I can wash my cap and gown

But when Tsang Lang’s waters

Run brown and muddy

Then I only rinse my toes

Whereupon the old fisherman

Spoke no more

漁父辭   屈原

屈原旣放 游於江潭

行吟澤畔 顔色憔悴 形容枯槁

漁父見而問之曰: 子非三閭大夫與? 何故至於斯?

屈原曰: 擧世皆濁 我獨淸. 衆人皆醉 我獨醒. 是以見放 

漁父曰

聖人 不凝滯於物 而能與世推移

世人皆濁 何不淈其泥 而揚其波?

衆人皆醉 何不飽其糟 而歠其醨?

-->

何故深思高擧 自令放爲?

屈原曰 吾聞之 新沐者必彈冠 新浴者必振衣

安能以身之察察 受物之汶汶者乎?

寧赴湘流 葬於江魚之腹中 安能以皓皓之白 而蒙世俗之塵埃乎

漁父莞爾而笑 鼓枻而去 乃歌曰

滄浪之水淸兮 可以濯吾纓

滄浪之水濁兮 可以濯吾足

遂去不復與言

The Song of a Mad Man (by Du Fu)

I've just published a new issue of the Tang Spirit newsletter that explores the deep and abiding importance of reading the poetry of Du Fu in the Age of Trump.  Click here to sign up for your free copy of the newsletter if you're not already a subscriber.

And here's my translation of one of Du Fu's wonderful poems, called the Song of a Mad Man.  This poem was written in the midst of the An Lushan Rebellion, a time when the political situation was still in turmoil, forcing Du Fu and his family to travel into the southwestern hinterlands of the empire, in pursuit of safe haven from hardship and unrest. 

Over the west bridge

A thousand miles distant

There’s a small grass hut

Where a hundred flowers bloom

Alongside deep green waters

Just like Tsang Lang in fact

The wind stirs within

The bamboo grove giving it

A graceful green shudder

The red lotus flowers are laden

With raindrops which

Makes their fragrance

Disperse slowly

Old friends still immersed

In their worldly fortunes

Have fallen far out of touch

While living here amidst hunger

The young children always look

Wan and doleful

I’m full of longing

Like a deep ravine that

Remains wild and untrammeled

I laugh at myself

Such a mad old man

Growing madder still

狂夫

杜甫

       万里桥西一草堂       

百花潭水即沧浪

      风含翠筱娟娟静       

雨裛红蕖冉冉香

      厚禄故人书断绝       

恒饥稚子色凄凉

       欲填沟壑唯疏放       

自笑狂夫老更狂

Please click here to sign up for the Tang Spirit Newsletter is you'd like to learn more about the Song of a Mad Man and Du Fu's incredible poetry.