Arrival of the Fire Horse - Horse Poems by Li He

The twelfth moon is waning and the first new moon will soon announce the arrival of Lunar New Year.  It promises to be singularly auspicious occasion.  This is the Year of the Fire Horse, after all, which is an omen signifying major changes are in the works.  It is a time for personal initiative and daring.

The Fire Horse’s arrival is sudden and dramatic.  Who better to turn to unravel its meaning than the Tang poet Li He, who wrote a series of 23 short verses paying tribute to the Fire Horse spirit.  Li He was an expert on the subject, having been born in the Year of the Horse, it was his guiding spirit and integral to his poetry; as a  young man, he would ride out on his favorite horse (a tired old nag, by some accounts) and compose his poems to the rhythm of its hoofbeats. 

This series of horse poems is understood by most scholars to be Li He’s way of writing about himself, and his struggle to come to turn with his own vast talent. It’s like the Tang Dynasty equivalent of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel poem - a deeply personal account of the poet’s life written at a cantor or gallop.  Like Plath, Li He’s life came to an early tragic end, as he was unable to keep up with the galloping pace of his own genius.

Here is my translation of the first five poems in the series.

Horse Poems by Li He 

马诗 - 李賀

Number 1

Stretched out like a dragon’s spine

Or a long string of cash

With silver hooves at the ready 

To trample the mist

 

Riderless with a silken blanket

Who will forge for you a golden lash?

 

龍脊貼連錢

銀蹄白踏煙

 

無人織錦韂

誰為鑄金鞭

Number 2

 

By year’s end the sweetness

Has retreated into the grasses’ roots

The capital city streets

Are filled with snow

That sparkles like salt

 

Who knows whether

It will be harsh or gentle

As this horse takes the bridle

With spikes and all

Into its mouth?

 

 

臘月草根甜

天街雪似鹽

 

未知口硬軟

先擬蒺藜銜

Number 3

 

Suddenly recalling Mu

The Emperor of Zhou

Rushing up Jade Mountain

In his speedy chariot

 

The colts bray when leaving

Phoenix Garden

The Fire Horse

Is the clear favorite

 

忽憶周天子

驅車上玉山

鳴騶辭鳳苑

赤驥最承恩

 

Number 4

 

This is no ordinary horse

But one that came from a herd

That's part of a heavenly constellation

 

As it charges forward

If you strike its slender bones

You’ll hear the clang of bronze

 

此馬非凡馬

房星本是星

 

向前敲瘦骨

猶自帶銅聲

Number 5

 

 

Desert sands shimmer like snow

The moon hangs over Mount Yan

Like a scimitar blade

 

When will this horse

With its golden bridle

Come galloping forward

Swift as the spirit of autumn?

 

大漠沙如雪

燕山月似钩

何当金络脑

快走踏清秋

A Poem by Dōgen for the New Year

 This is one of Dōgen's Chinese poems which he wrote about celebrating New Year in the mountain retreat of Eiheiji Temple where he lived in his later years.

Living in a Mountain Retreat

Three hundred shards of empty sky

Is more than enough to buy

A single branch of plum blossoms

For the coming New Year

 

Lucky to be on a cloudy peak

The moon above

The cold valley below

Feeling spring’s warmth deep within

Also brings joy and laughter

虚空三百有餘枚　   
買得一枝窮臘梅       

巖頂瑞雲寒谷月　   
含春温至笑咍咍  

Drinking Alone to Finish a Poem. (Du Fu)

Here’s a Du Fu poem about the highs and lows of the creative process. First comes the exhilaration of writing a new poem, with help from a bottle of wine, followed almost immediately by sense of dejection upon completion.  How fleeting creative joy can be, especially when it has been induced by alcohol or other intoxicants.  

Drinking Alone to Finish a Poem

The lamplight shimmers

A sense of pure joy 

Here with my dear friend

A bottle of fragrant wine  

Tipsy from its company

I’m alive to the mystery

A new poem takes form

Then a clash of arms

Before my eyes

What’s the use

Of scholarly training now 

Hard is the life 

Of a petty magistrate

In this shameful state

Low my head bows

獨酌成詩

燈花何太喜

酒綠正相親

醉裡從為客

詩成覺有神

兵戈猶在眼

儒術豈謀身

苦被微官縛

低頭愧野人

 

A Mind of Winter (Tang Dynasty edition)

  

It’s been a long while since I’ve translated a Tang poem, but lately I’ve felt the need for some spiritual nourishment, which I am almost always able to find by reading classical Chinese poetry.  Where better to look than in the collected works of Du Fu.

This is a poem Du Fu wrote in the late 750s called Facing Snow. 

 

Facing Snow

 

Fighting back tears

For many fresh ghosts

A lonely old man

Reciting his woes

 

A welter of clouds

As darkness descends

Snow swirling swiftly

Dancing in the wind

 

An empty wine bottle

The ladle discarded

Embers in the stove

Give lingering heat

 

Of the world beyond

Nothing but silence

While I sit and fret

Over an empty page

对雪

 

戰哭多新鬼

愁吟獨老翁

 

亂雲低薄暮

急雪舞回風

瓢棄尊無綠

爐存火似紅

 

數州消息斷

愁坐正書空

How do I find spiritual uplift in this otherwise bleak poem?  In part, it lies in the simple pleasure of the deep human connection that it provides – with the snow swirling about, the 1200 years that separate us from this winter scene simply melt away as Du Fu sits right before us at his desk.  The poem serves as an invitation to briefly inhabit his life and world. This is a distinguishing quality of so much great Tang poetry – a vivid sense of the poet’s presence.  

 

And there’s something else about this poem that helps revive my spirits.  It was written in the late 750s, at the height of the An Lushan rebellion, a dark time for Du Fu, as well as for the Chinese people.  The Emperor Xuanzong had recently fled the capital and abdicated the throne.  Food was scarce, famine rampant.  Du Fu was living in semi-captivity, separated from his family, and consumed with anxiety.  And still, despite facing this wall of worries, he managed to write this as well as several dozen other of his very finest poems.

 

So it's a good reminder as we face our own dark times.  It may be winter in America, a season of ice, as Gil Scott-Heron called it. A season of frozen dreams and frozen nightmares. Frozen aspirations and inspirations. Lord knows I've spent far too many hours staring at my own empty pages. It's time to start writing and translating again.        

   

A Few Poems About the Joys of Sleeping in Small Boats

Fisherman Drunk Along the Reed Bank

By Tang Yin  

An oar sticks up  

Amidst the reeds

Tied to it there’s a small boat

 

It’s around midnight

The moon hides behind

The head of the oar

 

The old fisherman

Is dead drunk

Call him but he won’t stir

 

When he finally does get up

His jacket will be

Covered in frost

*****

This scroll with a poem is by the Ming artist/poet Tang Yin.  It is currently part of the collection of the Museum of Metropolitan Art in NYC.  I thought of it recently and decided to translate the poem after coming across another, much shorter poem by the Japanese poet Masaoka Shiki.  Shiki takes a very different approach by providing a first hand account about the joy of sleeping in a small boat.  Sorry I don't have the original Japanese text of Shiki's haiku but here is my translation:

Asleep in a boat

I lie side by side with it ...

River of Heaven

 

And I'd like to add my own contribution to this emerging sub-genre about the joys of sleeping in a small boat, which I've written in response to Shiki: 

Asleep in a boat

The waves keep murmuring

About eternity