The history of Chinese literature begins with the Shih Ching or
Book of Songs, an anthology of 305 lyrics of various types, compiled
ca. 600 B. C. Most of the songs probably were composed and sung between
1000 and 700 B. C., mostly at Chou court ceremonies (and thus provide a
cross-section of early-Chou culture). Some Sinologists have suggested, however,
that certain lyrics from the Book of Songs may represent much earlier
work, dating from the Shang dynasty (as early as ca. 1700 B. C.).
Whatever the work's true dates of composition, two important traditions
account for the origin and survival of the Book of Songs. The first,
recorded by a Chinese historian from the first century B. C., maintains
that Confucius personally selected these 305 poems from an earlier collection
of over three thousand. Choosing poems which exemplified his ideas about
statecraft and harmonious personal relations, Confucius arranged them in
their present order, revising the musical scores to which the songs were
customarily sung.
Though current scholarship now discounts much of this tradition, we do
know that Confucius cherished the songs, urged his disciples to study them
carefully, and frequently referred to them as he taught. This endorsement
by the Master himself helped the Book of Songs survive--even a book
burning mandated by the first Ch'in Emperor. In addition, when Confucian
principles later became the dominant Chinese social doctrine (from ca. 100
B. C. onward), many individual lyrics from the Book of Songs were
glossed as political allegories that interpreted, commented on, and satirized
significant events in Chou history. Even simple lyrics of courtship and
celebration were read as veiled political/social commentaries; for centuries
thereafter, the poems remained sacred and potent vehicles of protest.
The second tradition, related to the first, dates from the third century
B. C. According to this story, the songs were collected by court officials
sent out among the people by the Chou ruler. By listening to their poems,
the King hoped to gauge accurately whether his subjects lived well and happily
under his reign. It was from this earlier compilation, the tradition asserts,
that Confucius chose the 305 songs that make up the work we possess today.
The Book of Songs was originally divided into three major sections:
I. feng -- "Airs of the States"
II. ya -- "Courtly Songs"
III. sung -- "Hymns"
Arthur Waley (whose translations appear in our text) does away with this
traditional structure, renumbering the poems and grouping them thematically.
The Chinese character used as this section's title means, literally,
"wind." In addition, it has been variously interpreted as "mores,"
"folkways," or "customs" (perhaps "folksongs"?).
But the character may also be read as "influence" or "criticism"--especially
by those Confucian commentators who stress the poems' political significance.
Most scholars, however, opt for the less-emotionally-charged word "Airs,"
which suggests songs somehow characteristic of a given region. The section
contains 160 songs and is subdivided geographically into fifteen sections,
one for each of fifteen states in northern China. Four of these were within
the Chou domain. Although clearly folksongs taken from different regions,
the poems' consistent style seems to indicate they were revised and polished
by court officials. Most of them deal, however, with the lives of the common
people--their work, play, festivities, joys, and hardships. As Burton Watson
says,
we have songs of courtship and marriage, work songs, songs about hunts and songs to accompany games and dances. We read of jilted sweethearts and neglected wives, harsh officials, fickle friends, families sorrowing for their absent sons, and soldiers grumbling of the weariness of war. These are the heart of the [feng], the songs that hold the greatest appeal for the modern reader. (Early Chinese Literature , 204)
Of the twenty-five poems in our text, the twenty lyrics listed below come from section I ("Airs of the States"):
10 |
56 |
17 |
57 |
18 |
63 |
22 |
75 |
24 |
101 |
25 |
122 |
26 |
148 |
28 |
191 |
34 |
276 |
54 |
278 |
The second section of the Book of Songs, known as the ya
or "Courtly Songs," consists of 105 poems. Ya translates
as "elegant" or "refined," the word here seeming to
indicate that most of the songs are by courtiers or members of the aristocracy,
not the common folk. The ya are further subdivided into seventy-four
hsiao ya ("Lesser Courtly Songs") and thirty-one ta
ya ("Greater Courtly Songs"), probably distinguished on the
basis of differing musical accompaniments, now lost.
The "Lesser Courtly Songs" are generally longer than the lyrics
contained in the "Airs of the States" and, except for some poems
in the latter part of the section, concern the aristocratic life centering
around the Chou court. Even these latter poems, while seeming to focus on
romantic love, have traditionally been viewed as allegories--political satires
disguised as folksongs. And, indeed, there are many bitter reflections on
war, as well as outright complaints about misgovernment, lying officials,
administrators living luxuriously, and other political scams. The poems
in this section also contain many references to specific historical persons
and events--are topical, in other words; a few, likewise, include some kind
of identification of the poet in the last line, especially the political
complaints. Of the poems in our anthology, numbers 109 and 131 are taken
from the "Lesser Courtly Songs."
The thirty-one poems in the next sub-section, the ta ya ("Greater
Courtly Songs"), often seem little different than the "Lesser
Courtly Songs." They manifest, however, a difference in tone and superior
literary artistry. More reverent, ornate, and formal, a number of these
poems celebrate the myths and legends of the Chou dynasty. Many poems exhibit
considerable length, yet are marked by more variety and consistency in their
rhyme schemes, tighter transitions between stanzas, and sustained thematic
development. The most common themes are good wishes, congratulations, eulogies,
offerings to gods and ancestors, and dining and drinking. But there are
also poems of "change"--sharp, passionate outcries against rulers
whose indecent behavior brings grief to their subjects and threatens their
kingdoms with ruin. Numbers 238 and 242 are examples of the "Greater
Courtly Songs."
Section III of the Book of Songs is the sung or "Hymns."
These forty sacrficial and temple songs are subdivided into three parts
on the basis of geographical origin--thirty-one attributed to the Chou court,
four to the court of the Duchy of Lu, and five hymns attributed to the Shang
dynasty, which preceded Chou. These songs seem to have been sung to the
accompaniment of music and group dancing when the King or lord worshipped
his ancestors and commemorated their heroic deeds. The poems in this section
are hymns of praise, ritual pieces describing sacrifices, feasts, musical
performances, or celebrations of the dynasty's glory and its military victories.
The mood of the poems is celebratory throughout--no complaints about misrule,
disorder, or personal hardships. As a result, most critics regard these
poems as Chou propaganda pieces. The poems in this section are believed
to be the earliest in the Book of Songs, some composed as early as
1700 B. C. (Shang dynasty) and many by no later than 700 B. C. This antiquity
accounts for the stylistic awkwardness displayed in a number of the songs.
Of the poems in our text, number 157 provides an example of the sung.
COMMENTARY
# 10
As mentioned earlier, Waley discards the original structure of the Book
of Songs, renumbering his poems and grouping them within thematic sections.
This poem he includes under "Courtship." In Waley's version, the
speaker seems to be a woman, since the object of her affection wears a plain
cap, coat, and leggings--normally male garments, especially the cap. In
addition, she begs her hearer to take her to his home (probably his parents'
home), which would have been the usual living arrangements for a young Chinese
couple. The poem also suggests thast something about the garments' plainness
excites the speaker's longing, pain, and grief. If this is so, perhaps
she is surprised that she--who may have nourished dreams of noble lovers
and silken finery--is so passionately attracted to a simple peasant who
wears the clothes of a workman.
In the original version of the Book of Songs, this poem is number
147 of the feng, labeled as an "Air of Kwei." Confucian
commentators view the poem as expressing sorrow over the decay of filial
piety. In this version, the speaker supposedly deplores how children no
longer observe the traditional mourning period after the death of their
parents. (Tradition dictated that mourners were to wear white ["plain"]
clothes for three years after a parent's death. "Were I to see such
a person who venerates this old custom," says the speaker, "I
would be tempted to go home with him."
# 17
Waley also includes this poem in his "courtship" section. Again,
the speaker seems to be a young woman, anxious about getting married, reminded
of the passing of time (and her own ripe readiness) by the ripe plums which
fall from a tree near her parents' home.
In the first stanza, she notices that seven plums remain--a lucky number
for the Chinese, as with us--and she hopes a courting gentleman will take
advantage of this propitious moment. By the second stanza, more time has
passed--only three plums remain, and she seems more acutely aware of "time's
winged chariot." In the third stanza, all the plums have fallen, and
she has helped gather them into storage baskets. While the act of harvesting
might suggest her devotion to domestic duties (an important wifely virtue),
the full baskets of ripe fruit seem to symbolize her own bounty and fertility--treasures
that may well pass their prime unnoticed and unappreciated. Waley suggests
that the poem may be a "love divination," a ritual resembling
the game people often play as they pluck petals from a flower, reciting,
"He loves me; he loves me not."
In his The Book of Songs ( pp. 66-7), William McNaughton labels this
lyric as a type of carpe-diem poem. Comparing it to Edmund Waller's "Go,
Lovely Rose," Mc Naughton suggests that both poems contain similar
implications (and invitations!).
In the original version of the Book of Songs, this poem is # 20
in the feng, labeled an "Air of Shaou and the South." Some
Confucian commentators suggest that the young woman's anxiety is motivated
not by the desire merely to be married, but by the desire to be married
in accordance with propriety--the age by which people should be married
(for women it was before twenty)--and the season of the year most proper
for marriages (Spring). Although we can not infer the speaker's age from
the poem, the ripened and gathered plums may suggest the season of harvest
(perhaps late summer or early autumn). Some plum trees normally blossom
and bear early, however, so the season is unclear in the poem; in addition,
they often drop immature fruit in June, so this may be the fruit-fall the
speaker discusses. And yet, since June is often a traditional month for
weddings, even this dating would smoothly integrate within the poem's overall
meaning. In stanzas two and three, traditional commentaries seem bothered
by what they consider the young woman's outspoken directness (unseemly for
a proper Chinese maiden); and, in the final lines, they criticize her apparent
willingness to dispense with proper courtship formalities: she appears to
advocate that any young man speak out directly about his interest in her.
Legge's translation, for example, renders the lines as follows: "Would
the gentlemen who seek me/[only] speak about it!"
#18
Viewing this poem as another lyric of courtship, Waley suggests that
this piece represents a traditional courting ritual--the exchange of gifts
(in this case apparently initiated by the young woman, who gives her beau
a quince, peach, and plum). In each case, he repays her gift with one of
greater value--three different semi-precious stones with which she can ornament
her sash. The young man makes a point of mentioning that his gifts are not
simply "requital"--repayment in kind. She will regard his costly
gifts, he hopes, as proof that he will love her forever.
In Legge's translation of the Book of Songs, this lyric is number
10 from the "Airs of Wei." Some traditional commentators view
this poem as metaphorical, expressing the grateful sentiments of the people
of Wei to Duke Hwan, who rescued them from invasion. Scholars extract the
following moral from this poem: "Small gifts of kindness should be
responded to with greater; but friendship is more than any gift." Those
with a less-metaphorical turn-of-mind, however, simply suggest that the
poem refers to an exchange of courtesies between a lover and his mistress.
Legge comments that we "need not seek any particular interpretation"
of the poem; "what is metaphorically set forth," he says, "may
have a general application" (Chinese Classics, Vol. IV, 108).
# 22
This too is a poem that presents an example of gift-giving. But this
one also details a hoped-for meeting that is derailed by a young girl's
shyness. Pacing, scratching his head in frustration (a fine, telling detail!),
her disappointed suitor--prompted by the woman's failure to appear--reflects
upon her beauty and the gifts she has given him. Her rather prosaic presents--a
red flute and some rush-wool gathered from the fields--are, in the eyes
of the young man, invaluable because they have been given by the woman he
adores.
Traditional commentators disagree violently on their interpretations
of this poem. One suggests that the lyric describes the virtues of a correct
and modest lady (who will thus make a fitting wife for a certain prince).
But another scholar maintains that the poem refers to a "licentious
connection" between two young persons. A third glosser simply suggests
that the piece was directed against the lax morality of the state of Wei,
among whose songs this air appears.
#s 25-26
Possessing somewhat similar structures, these two poems bear interesting
resemblances to a western poetic form--the aubade (dawn or morning
song). Like their counterparts from other cultures, these two lyrics express
regrets of one or both lovers upon parting at daybreak. These two poems
also utilize a partial or complete dialogue between the lovers as a structuring
device. But the tone and intent of each is quite different.
In # 25, the knight's lady awakens him as the cock crows. Loath to abandon
the comfort of their bed, the knight tries to postpone the inevitable with
a most-familiar response: "It's still pitch-black outside!" But
his lady will not be denied. Dark it may be, but the morning star presages
sunrise, and he has his work to do--hunting ducks and geese in the pre-dawn
chill. And yet, her persuasively arranged responses are not marred by abusive
ill-humor.
Indeed, she seems to promise--if he performs this one duty--a lifetime
of domestic tranquility. She will prepare his game, they will drink wine,
play music, and grow old together in a happy home. Even more, she promises
to bestow gifts (gemstones) on all whom the knight befriends, thereby honoring
both them and her husband (and proving her worthiness as the perfect wife).
# 26, however, may present two unmarried lovers who spent the night together
and now must go their separate ways. In this poem, the woman rouses her
lover, providing specific proofs that the time of his leavetaking is at
hand. As does the husband in the previous poem, this man wishes to prolong
the night just elapsed. Thus, he counters every one of her details with
his own alternative interpretation. He even ends by trying to lure her back
to bed: "It would be sweet to share a dream with you" (not a bad
line, in reality). And the woman's response is capable of two opposite interpretations,
given the ambiguous evidence the poem supplies: (1) either she gives in
to his blandishments and returns to bed, protesting half-heartedly as she
surrenders; or, (2) she refuses his offer. In this reading, there is no
picture of domestic bliss promised (as in # 25). Whether motivated by a
guilty conscience, fear of shame and scandal, or a dawning distaste for
her partner, the woman is blunt and unequivocal. He must get up and go to
his home, or she will have good cause to hate him.
Some Confucian commentators interpret # 25 as providing a picture of
the perfect marriage common in the "good old days," hoping thereby
to criticize the decadent morals of the age when the poem was written. They
view # 26 as a morning argument between a nobleman and his wife. Hoping
to avoid the shame created by his tardy appearance at court, she nags her
husband about rising early and proving to his prince that he is a go-getter.
# 28
This poem provides an interesting version of the carpe-diem motif. In
the first two stanzas, citing nature's wintry inhospitality, the young man
pleads with the girl to be kind, love him, take his hand, and go away with
him. Despite his fervent invitation, the harsh surroundings, and the specter
of time irretrievably lost, she hesitates. Perhaps frustrated by her indecision,
the young man tries to convice her of his good intentions by using an analogue
from nature. Nothing is redder than the fox, blacker than the crow, and
no one is truer or more loving than I. Despite his inventive reassurances,
however, the young woman seems to remain unconvinced.
Some Confucian commentators read this poem as a protest against conditions
of oppression and misery in the kingdom of Wei, wherein this poem originated
(Wei was infamous to the ancient Chinese as a most dissolute realm). In
this version, the speaker tries to convince others to abandon their harsh
lives, citing the excessive presence of foxes and crows (both regarded as
creatures of evil omen)--could this be why the young woman above hesitates?--as
proof that remaining will bring only disaster.
# 34
Glossing this as a lyric of "separation/hopeless passion,"
Waley recognizes that the young woman searches both up and down stream,
over difficult ways, to find "he whom I love." In each case, she
appears to see him, but the poem suggests no more than this. Even when she
does see him, it is from afar; he remains separated and distant from her.
Perhaps she is too shy or too proud to show herself; perhaps he is unable
or refuses to take notice of her presence. What overarches all is the unrequited
search, the sense of a great distance dividing the questing woman on the
tangled bank from the man she loves, always half a river away.
Traditional commentators regard this poem as something of a riddle, venturing
only the general opinion that one man seeks for but can not find another.
# 54
Waley regards this poem (and the next three) as lyrics that discuss "Broken
Faith"--lovers' promises made but unfulfilled. Structured in the form
of a dialogue, this poem seems to present a young man making excuses why
he can not/will not meet the young woman. Whether she simply imagines him
providing these rationalizations for his failure to appear (or he really
is speaking), the results are the same: She waits by the ferry, refusing
to cross until accompanied by her "friend." But, we sense, he
will not come. The gourd's bitter leaves (an ill omen? a reflection of his
bitter heart?), the deep water too treacherous to ford (what about the ferry?),
the pheasant's "baleful" cry--all these may provide convenient
obstacles that prevent his appearance. She, however, sensibly rebuts and
disposes of each quibbling objection, remarking that the proper time for
honoring his commitments (for a knight to bring home his bride) is at hand.
And yet, at poem's end, she remains alone.
Some Confucian commentators, on the other hand, regard this poem as directed
against the licentious manners of the Kingdom of Wei. According to this
gloss, the first two lines in each stanza representy the traditional, correct
way of doing things, while the last two show the reckless, unseemly manner
in which those being criticized choose to respond.
# 56
The speaker in this poem seems no longer close to the person being addressed.
Whether the speaker is a jilted lover or a friend fallen out of grace with
a peer or superior, the emotions expressed are pure, simple, and touching.
What the speaker once felt (and perhaps still feels) for this other who
has spurned him moves the speaker to seek a moment's recognition, no matter
how the other person responds.
Regarding this poem as criticism directed at social climbers who snub old friends, some traditional commentators suggest that our good fortune should not cause us to abandon old friends who are not similarly blessed.
# 57
In # 54 we see a woman who waits for her lover. In this poem, we sympathize
with a speaker whose lover has failed to appear for an assignation. The
couple had planned to meet at dusk, in the concealing sanctuary of thickly
massed willow trees growing near a village's eastern gate. But now, dawn
breaks and the speaker, who perhaps has been waiting all night, stands alone.
Traditional commentators agree with this general interpretation, but
one school suggests that the person who does not appear has not fulfilled
a contract of marriage. Another suggests, more generally, that the poem
simply discusses a lovers' tryst that never happens. Whatever view you accept,
another traditionalist argues, the lyric is an illustration of the light
and loose manners of Ch'ing.
# 63
This too is a poem about desertion, but this abandonment may be of much
graver aspect. The somber image of a dead doe--one of nature's gentlest
creatures--dominates this poem. The "we" of the poem have discovered
a dead deer in the wild and piously covered her with white rushes. This
image of compassionate (and perhaps proper) ritual is immediately and ironically
juxtaposed with another--that of a young woman (like the doe, one of nature's
innocents?)--whose virtue has been murdered through a young man's seduction,
perhaps near the clump of oaks mentioned in line 5. But for this victim
(whose sweet fancy longs for the joys of springtime love), there are no
tender, ceremonious rituals proffered by a courtly swain. For her, there
is only the brtutal, unseemly assault chronicled in the poem's third stanza.
Several Confucian commentators look upon this piece in an interesting
way. Most agree that in the poem a virtuous young woman successfully resists
the attempts of a seducer; but several also suggest that the lyric is meant
to teach disgust at the want of proper ceremonies, the lust and license,
that prevailed at the end of the Shang Dynasty.
# 101-109
Waley suggests that these two poems deal with "separation and difficulties
after marriage." And they do share several similarities--a speaker
whose aggrieved tone suggests abandonment, and initial images of stormy
weather, whose unsettled darkness parallels the pain and sorrow raging in
the speakers' hearts. But nature's indifferent depredations upon the speakers
are used in distinct ways in each poem. In # 101, for example, threatening
weather seems to call forth comforting responses from the speaker's companion--a
joke and laugh (stanza one), an offer to visit (stanza two). And yet, these
initial solicitations turn, as sharply as the wild weather, into cruel jest,
mocking laughter, and a promised visit forgotten. Perhaps, too, the speaker
sees the worsening weather as emblematic of the partner's growing neglect
and distaste. But in the end, the bad weather also parallels the doom the
speaker feels--alone and abandoned in a threatening world.
Agreeing in general with this interpretation, some traditional commentators
wish to view this poem as the complaint of a specific noblewoman (Chwang
Keang) who has been abandoned by her husband (Chow-yu).
In poem # 109, hostile natural images do double-duty--paralleling both
old, more troubled times of threat (which, ironically, drew the couple closer
together), and the hostility the speaker's partner now manifests. When times
were tough, the speaker says, you treasured me. Now that ways are smooth,
you throw me out with the trash. The poem ends with harsh winds, rocky hills,
withering vegetation, and a disintegrating love that, although it withstood
the worst of times, can not survive the best.
Traditional commentators fail to find a specific historical context for
# 109, preferring to label it "allusive"--without identifying
that to which it alludes. Legge's gloss says, "Someone complains of
the alienation of him from an old friend, produced by the change for the
better in the circumstances of the latter" (349).
# 122
This poem seems to be the age-old complaint of a conscript, a soldier
far from home and family, prevented from returning by his "prince's
concerns." What makes his predicament even more touching--apart from
the expected mud and rain--is his factual yet shocked recognition that so
many of his comrades have perished.
Traditional commentators suggest that the poem represents the complaint
of military officers who are urging their prince to return home from Wei,
within whose section of the Book of Songs this lyric appears.
# 131
One of the most famous of all Chinese lyrics, this too is a war poem
that details (according to traditional commentators) a particular military
campaign of the first Duke of Chou against the "hsien-yun" (northern
non-Chinese barbarians). While such scholars look at the poem as an attempt
to bolster martial spirit and patriotism, the lyric's graphic presentation
of the soldeirs' suffering catches our attention--hunger, thirst, loneliness,
dislocation, the ever-present threat of combat and death. But it also suggests
(in the repetition of the initial 17
two lines in the first three stanzas), another Chinese custom: the soldiers
farmed the land they occupied, reclaiming it for their agrarian society
even as they wrested it from barbarian control. Despite their desperate
wish to return home, however, they take great pride in their prince's fine
war-chariot and his horses, which seems to stiffen their resolve. More important,
they appear to realize the necessity of their sacrifice: the Hsien-yun are
characterized as fierce and dangerous enemies. Finally, at poem's end, they
return home, perhaps from a successful campaign. But they march through
a bitter, wintry landscape, convinced that no one else can ever know or
care about the agony and terror of their war.
# 148
Another martial poem, this lyric presents a much more positive and patriotic
spirit. The King is raising an army, and one conscript is eagerly preparing--gathering
armor and sharpening weapons. But another neighbor seems less enthused.
Pleading that he lacks the proper clothing for a military campaign, he hopes,
perhaps, to excuse himself from the fray. But the more bellicose speaker
will brook no such shirking. He offers the "conscientious objector"
rug, clothing, and companionship.
Although some traditional commentators suggest that this lyric condemns
an unfeeling ruler who involves his subjects in frequent, unnecessary hostilities,
others read it as a celebration of the patriotic readiness of the people
of Ch'in to fight in the service of their prince.
# 157
Regarded as a sacrificial ode of Chou, this poem celebrates the ageless
rituals undergirding agrarian cultures--clearing land, preparing and planting
it, and harvesting its riches. Fertile areas are cleared, plowed, planted,
and weeded through a finely articulated communal effort. Every level of
society, from the highest to the most humble, does its ordained part to
benefit the common good. The emphasis here is on the cooperative group,
on proper procedure, and on pious ritual. Equally important motifs, however,
are the timeless continuity of the work--"from long ago it has been
thus"--and our sense that this individual scene is repeated in every
one of China's fields ("not only here is it like this"). As it
was, it is now, and shall be forever.
Most traditional commentators agree that this poem, which appears as
an "Ode of the Temple and Altar," was probably a hymn of thanksgiving,
an accompaniment of some royal sacrifice--perhaps when the king plowed a
symbolic furrow in the spring and prayed to the spirits of land and grain
for an abundant harvest.
# 191
That Waley includes this piece in his section entitled "Feasting"
suggests what the poem seems to imply--another version of the carpe-diem
theme. Not an invitation to sexual dalliance, however, this poem advises
its listener to enjoy the pleasures and comforts enriching his life. And
life, it seems, has been good to him--long robes, carriages and horses,
a fine house with courtyards, the pleasures of music, good food and wine.
Thus, the poem takes an epicurean (and perhaps fatalistic) twist, cautioning
the hearer to use and enjoy his life's treasures. If you don't glory in
them now, says the speaker, some stranger surely will enjoy them when you're
in your grave.
Each stanza of the poem begins with the characteristic natural image
that suggests something about (or works as a metaphor for) the human situation
detailed later in the stanza. Although the intent of these images remains
somewhat obscure, several possible interpretations suggest themselves. In
this case, each stanza presents an initial image of two different trees--one
that grows on the mountain, the other in the lowlands. These images may
suggest that nature puts to good and timely use its own various bounty,
arraying itself fittingly and to its own best advantage in each situation,
something the subject of the poem has not yet learned to do. Or the images
may suggest that nature distributes gifts variously to its different locales.
The highlands receive certain distinct flora, the valleys are bequeathed
others. Perhaps here there is a subtle reminder to the poem's subject that
his life has bestowed unique blessings--more than those received by someone
of lower status. What good fortune gives, the images may suggest, humans
should enjoy as naturally and inevitably as each geographical clime boasts
and glories in its own specific beauties. There may also be a suggestion
here that one should take time to enjoy what he has worked so hard to create.
The Great Preface (a major critical work detailing Confucian commentaries
on the poems) suggests that this piece was specifically directed against
the Marquis Ch'aou (744-738 B. C.), who could not govern the state well,
nor use the resources that he had to protect his domain from its enemies.
Most other glossers discount this specific application, suggesting that
the carpe-diem reading is sufficient.
# 242
Waley presents this poem as one of several "dynastic legends"
that detail the founding of the Chou Dynasty. The preceding poem (# 238)
tells the story of the miraculous birth of Lord Millet, who created agriculture
and whom the Chou royal house revered as its mythical progenitor. This poem
celebrates King Wen (fifteen generations removed from Hou Chi), whose virtues
and talents helped him lay the foundations for the royal Chou dynasty brought
to fruition by his son, King Wu (when he overthrew the decadent Shang dynasty
ca. 1020 B. C.), becoming the first Chou ruler.
In his An Anthology of Chinese Literature, Stephen Owen points
out that this poem might best be described as "propaganda of Chou"
(p. 20), celebrating the dynasty's founding after it received the "Mandate
of Heaven," a divine dispensation to rule which imposes upon a monarch
the duty to reign justly (and gives his subjects the right to rebel if their
king does not honor his obligations).
The poem is ostensibly the address of King Wen to Show, the last ruler
of the Yin-Shang dynasty, in which Wen chides his peer for his dissolute
ways. Wen begins by reminding his listeners of God's might, His exacting
demands, and His swift retribution should those demands not be met. God
has created the people, given the king power over them, and given them all
laws to follow, complicated laws whose fulfillment is at first easy, but
becomes more difficult as humans grow both more assured and lax. King Wen
calls upon the Yin-Shang rulers, chastising them for a laundry list of their
failings: violence; arrogance; betrayal of the peoples' trust; failure to
husband their power and use it wisely; impious disregard of tradition; their
refusal to discharge the lawful duties imposed on them by the Mandate of
Heaven. Like an Old-Testament prophet, King Wen remonstrates with the Yin-Shang:
in the old days, he says, you followed God's laws; now you wallow in dissolute
wretchedness and sinful squalor, even though your subjects long to be led
into the paths of righteousness. And, true to the prophetic persona, King
Wen ends with a foretelling of doom. Though the great tree of the Shang
may topple, only the rotten trunk will be destroyed. The leaves and branches
(the people?) can be saved. Just as you replaced the Hsia (whose dissolute
behavior lost them Heaven's Mandate), so too will the righteous Chou cast
the sinful Shang into the outer darkness.
Some traditional commentators regard this poem as a covert deprecation
of King Li of Chou (878-842 B. C.), but there is little internal evidence
to support this reading.
# 276
Waley includes this poem in the section he calls "Lamentations."
Most such lyrics, he says, bewail the disorder and injustices of public
life. The speaker seems to be a spokesman of sorts for all those peasants
who have labored mightily for three years, only to see the fruits of their
toil taken by those who do no work at all. Like rats thieving from a granary,
the corrupt officials profit from the sweat of others' brows. The poem,
then, provides us with a fine example of political satire--a clear potshot
aimed at the fat cats who scam the honest workers and create dissatisfaction
and misrule. Here, the workers have had enough and seem ready to leave the
corrupt administrators behind.
Some Confucian commentaries believe that this poem specifically expresses
the anger of the people of Wei, who were victimized by the domination of
the Ch'in.
# 278
The exact date of this poem can be determined by the death of Duke Mu of Ch'in, recorded as occurring in 621 B. C. (Ch'in was the state that began to supplant the Chou dynasty as early as the 6th century B. C., although the actual consolidation of China under Ch'in rule didn't take place until 221 B. C.). Such live burial was widely practiced during the Shang Dynasty, but fell into general disfavor with the waxing of Chou power. The state of Ch'in, however, occasionally continued the grisly tradition of interring living retainers or liegemen in the tomb with the corpse of their noble lord. Legge's comment here is instructive:
Duke Mu, after playing an important part in the northwest of China for thirty-nine years, . . . requir[ed] the three officers here celebrated to be buried with him, and the composition of the piece in consequence. The 'Historical Records' say that the barbarian practice began with Duke Ching, Muh's predecessor, with whom 66 persons were buried alive, and that 170 in all were buried alive with Duke Muh. (pp. 198-99).
Each stanza begins with an image from nature--an oriole singing as it
alights on the boughs of various trees. Free to move from one place to another,
the singing bird contrasts ironically with the men forced to follow their
lord to the grave. In addition, the complete naturalness and propriety of
a bird in a tree comments on the unnatural home the men are forced to occupy.
And each man was a hero, a worthy--but still a man, nonetheless, fearing
his undeserved death. And each man was of immense value to his comrades,
a hundred of whom would willingly lay down their lives to rescue the three
unfortunates. But the heroes' fate is sealed, and one wonders with the speaker,
how the blue heaven could have reposed its mandate in so insatiable a ruler.
Given the historical records defining and placing this poem, traditional commentators offer no differences in interpretation; thus, they suggest that the poem laments the live burial of these three worthies of Ch'in.
To: Confucius