FIGHTING AT LUNG-TOU

The road that separates me mounts eight thousand feet,
The river that parts me hangs one hundred fathoms
In summer the brambles so thick that one cannot pass—
In winter the snow so high that one cannot climb!
With branches that interlace Lung Valley is dark;
Against cliffs that tower one's voice beats and echoes.
I turn my head and it seems only a dream
That I ever lived in the streets of Hsien-yang.

Hsü-ling--Sixth Century A. D.

ON BARBAROUS MODERN INSTRUMENTS

Of cord and cassia-wood is the harp compounded.
Within it lie ancient melodies-

Ancient melodies, weak and savorless,

Not appealing to present men's taste.

Light and color are faded from its jade stops;
Dust has covered its rose-red strings:

Decay and ruin came to it long ago.

But the sound that is left is still cold and clear,

And I do not refuse to play it to you.

But even if I play, people won't listen.

How did it come to be neglected so?

It was because of the Ch'iang flute and the Ch'in flageolet.

Po Chü-i-Eighth and Ninth Centuries

Translated by Arthur Waley

The Woman

THE TIRED WOMAN

Messengers of Rest

Messengers of Light

Messengers of Beauty
The Apparition

A present-day myth-play

Scene: A street of ugly red-brick rooming-houses. It is sunny but clouds are visible. The Woman is walking slowly. Messengers of Rest, clad in dark-grey and carrying a flowered carpet, appear.

First Messenger, spreading the carpet:

Bend, grains of wool,

Keep the blows

Of the sharp earth

From her tired feet.

Second and third Messengers:

-Curl under,

Bend halfway,
Lift them gently,

Push them softly.

First Messenger:

As the sea-children at play

Carry a ship,

As the delicate grass-spirits a bird.

[They disappear. Messengers of Light, dressed in gleaming greyish white, and riding on silver horses with gold reins, appear. They carry tall urns.]

Messengers of Light, pointing to the cloudy sky:
Odd-shaped monsters,

Some with tails and some with wings,
Pursued us,

But our gleaming silver horses

Outran them.

We see them—
Hurry-hurry!

[They pour from the urns something which makes the pieces of wood and stone shine, and then disappear. Messengers of Beauty, clad like wall-painters, and carrying long brushes, appear.]

First and second Messengers of Beauty, painting the walls and sprinkling through the open windows:

Sorrow and squalor

Fly, fly away!

Third and fourth Messengers of Beauty:'

Spirit of beauty,

Spirit of youth,

Blow on tired hearts,

Breathe on tired eyes.

Fifth, sixth and seventh:

Pop up from your corners,

Delicate little joys

Peeping joys,

Sleeping joys.

Wake up sleeping lights,

Sleeping colors!

[The woman sits down on a bench in a little park which The Apparition comes slowly and sits down on

is near.

the edge of the bench.]

The Apparition:

Did I frighten you?

Shall I go away?

The Woman-in a low voice as if to herself:

Have I seen you before?

I think I can remember

A glimpse of your face

In the distance . . . always

The Apparition—enigmatically:

Half of your kisses

Were for me.

The Woman:

For you? [As if from a trance.]

I climbed a mountain,

I waded a thick wood,

Your face always shone before me.
The butterfly

I could not catch

The Apparition:

And later in later years

The Woman:

Yes,

In later years—