Ch`en Tzu Ang

A.D. 656-698

Famous for writing that kind of impromptu descriptive verse which the Chinese call "Ying". In temperament he was less Chinese than most of his contemporaries. His passionate disposition finally brought him into trouble with the magistrate of his district, who had him cast into prison, where he died at the age of forty-two.

Whatever his outward demeanour may have been, his poetry gives us no indication of it, being full of delicate mysticism, almost impossible to reproduce in the English language. For this reason I have chosen one of his simpler poems as a specimen.

The Last Revel

From silver lamps a thin blue smoke is streaming, And golden vases 'mid the feast are gleaming; Now sound the lutes in unison, Within the gates our lives are one. We'll think not of the parting ways As long as dawn delays.

When in tall trees the dying moonbeams quiver: When floods of fire efface the Silver River, Then comes the hour when I must seek Lo-Yang beyond the furthest peak. But the warm twilight round us twain Will never rise again.

Sung Chih-Wen Died A.D. 710

The son of a distinguished general, he began his career as attache to the military advisers of the Emperor. These advisers were always drawn

from the literary class, and their duties appear to have been chiefly administrative and diplomatic. Of his life, the less said the better. He became involved in a palace intrigue, and only saved himself by betraying his accomplices. In the end he was banished, and finally put to death by the Emperor's order. It is necessary, however, to dissociate the man from his poetry, and Sung Chih-Wen's poetry often touches a high level of inspiration.

The Court of Dreams

Rain from the mountains of Ki-Sho Fled swiftly with a tearing breeze; The sun came radiant down the west, And greener blushed the valley trees. I entered through the convent gate: The abbot bade me welcome there,

And in the court of silent dreams I lost the thread of worldly care.

That holy man and I were one, Beyond the bounds that words can trace: The very flowers were still as we. I heard the lark that hung in space, And Truth Eternal flashed on me.