From the archive
Nature in Miniature: Poems of Yang Wanli
Translated by Tom Ehrman
Yang Wanli, who lived from 1127 to 1206, is considered one of the "Four Masters" of late Song dynasty poetry, but he distinguishes himself for writing poems that feel remarkably modern. In 1162, Yang burned his early poems, dissatisfied with their imitation of earlier masters. By 1178, he had developed his own distinctive poetic style, rooted in direct observation. He decided to write exactly what he saw and felt, leading to the creation of his Chengzhai style (named after the place in which he worked—"the studio of sincerity"). This style is characterized by its playfulness, humor, spontaneity, careful observation of nature (often in almost microscopic detail), and the enlightenment to be found in simple, everyday moments.
He was heavily influenced by Chan (Zen) Buddhism, then at the height of its development, and Yang often described the poetic moment as something that strikes one suddenly—a flash of illumination—when, say, observing a bee, a drop of dew, or a shadow.
Yang believed that poetry should be "alive," often bestowing on every element of nature—not only animals and plants but also mountains, rivers and clouds—thoughts and feelings to suit the occasion. Later critics dubbed his poems "paintings in words." Although famous in China, Yang remains underappreciated in the English-speaking world. Despite earlier translations and a new collection by David Hinton published this summer, Yang remains relatively unfamiliar to English-speaking readers, whose appreciation of Chinese poetry has traditionally centered on the earlier Tang dynasty.
小池
泉眼無聲惜細流,樹陰照水愛晴柔。
小荷才露尖尖角,早有蜻蜓立上頭。
Small Pond
The mouth of the spring is almost silent,
As though begrudging its trickle of water.
Shadow of a tree reflected in a pond,
Fallen in love with the sun’s soft light.
A tiny lotus bud reveals its pointed tip,
And perched there already—a dragonfly.
寒蠅
窗間脫遺一寒蠅, 暖處摩挲自不知。
日腳才移還旋去, 忽然飛過別窗兒。
Cold Fly
Cold fly abandoned on windowsill, gently sunning itself, unaware of how the
Dying light shifts slowly on. Suddenly, buzz, it’s off, looking for a warmer spot.
落花
紅紫成泥泥作塵，顛風不管惜花人。
落花辭樹雖無語，別倩黃鸝告訴春。
Falling Blossoms
Reds and purples turn to mud, mud then turns to dust;
What does the wind care for those who cherish flowers?
Tell our story to the spring, they beg a passing oriole
As, torn from the tree, they come tumbling one by one.
東園步月
月從東岭上來遲，天為詩人理舊期。
一寸清光一寸樂，何須苦詠斷腸詩。
Walking by Moonlight in the East Garden
The moon rises late from the eastern ridge,
Secret rendezvous arranged for this poet by the skies.
An inch of its pure light is an inch of joy;
Why bother with bitter chanting and mournful cries?
泉石軒初秋乘涼小荷池上
芙蕖落片自成船，吹泊高荷傘柄邊。
泊了又離離又泊，看它走遍水中天。
Enjoying the Cool of Early Autumn Beside a Lotus Pool
Fallen lotus petal becomes a boat of its own,
Blown to harbour under towering lotus stems.
It moors then leaves, once left it moors again.
I watch its watery reflection crossing the sky.
南齋前眾樹披猖紅梅居間不肆因為剪剔
道是司花定有神，元來造化在詩人。
掃除碧樹無情朵，放出紅梅恣意春。
Pruning a Grove of Trees to Make Way for Red Plums
They say a goddess takes care of the flowers,
But it’s really the poet who decides their fate.
Trimming the heartless blossoms of other trees,
I let red plums enjoy the spring as they please.
題青山市汪家店
小小樓臨短短牆，長春半架動紅香。
楊花知得人孤寂，故故飛來入竹窗。
Wang’s Shop at Qingshan Market
Meagre hut slung low along ramshackle wall;
Red fragrance hovers over half a rack of Indian rose.
White down of poplar feels a lonely presence within
And drifts through bamboo slat to pay a call.
題趙昌平所藏花卉四首
一朵紅花壓亂枝，不教春色去如飛。
卻疑昨夜西風惡，折取殘妝寄阿誰。
On a Floral Painting Belonging to Zhao Changping’s Collection
Tangle of branches, weighed down by a single spray of
Red blossom, unwilling to let the spring be blown away.
That westerly wind must have been fierce last night.
To whom can we entrust these battered remnants of beauty?
舟中讀白樂天集
老子平生懶，開編讀兩行。
雨聲入船背，雲影度灘長。
一鳥鳴深樹，孤花落野塘。
詩成無人解，獨對水沉著。
Reading Bai Juyi’s Poems* on a Boat
This old man’s been a sluggard all his life,
Opening a book only to read a line or two.
Sound of rain in the stern of the boat,
Shadow of clouds over stretch of shore.
A bird calls out from deep in the woods,
A single blossom falls, plop, into a pond.
Poem now finished, but it made no sense.
Facing the placid waters, I sit here alone.
*Bai Juyi was a famous poet of the Tang dynasty
句
露窠蛛恤緯，風語燕懷春。
Fragment (preserved from a lost poem)
The spider frets over the threads of her dew-drenched web,
While, murmuring in the wind, swallows yearn for the spring.
