Songgang kasa: a shijo poet at the court of King Sonjo by Chong Ch΄ol - HTML preview
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Untitled Shijo
do not bring your brothers to trial.
Servants and fields are easily acquired,
but where
can a brother find a brother? Don't glower
at each other so.
Kwanghwamun was the main gate to Kyongbok Palace, the royal palace in Seoul.
I'm duty officer tonight.
Fifth Watch: twenty-three strokes of the gong.
Between the strokes
remnants of the past lie like dreams.
Pongnaesan was one of the mountains where the Immortals lived. It was also the summer name for the Diamond Mountains. Here it refers to the royal palace in Seoul. Kangnam refers not to the area south of the Han River in Seoul but to Chong Ch’ol's home in Cholla Province, Ch'angp'yong.
On Pongnaesan where my true love lives,
the watch gong
reverberates across the fortress, passes through the clouds, and rides the soft breeze.
What will I do
when I'm in Kangnam and I long to hear the sound.
Stock from boiled bitter greens
is tastier than meat.
My straw hut is tiny, but it best suits my station.
My problem
is this longing for my love: it fills my heart with care.
Poet and scholar in the kingdom of Jin, Liu Ling was renowned for his wine drinking. Kyeham was one of Chong Ch'ol’s names.
He was a star of Chin.
Who's this Kyeham? A lunatic from the present.
So be it:
What's the use in quizzing stars or lunatics?
The next two poems seem to be a pair. There are different interpretations of the text: the bran and chaff interpretation is the one given by Chong Pyong'uk in Shijo sajon. Another version interprets the phrase as meaning someone tottering from drink, meaning that if the man of the house is drunk all the time, who will you turn to for support. The first line of Listen here is not gender specific; the speaker may be addressing the man or woman of the house. The translation avoids the problem by the cryptic "Listen here" rather than something like “My good man," or "Woman of the house"
how can you live like this:
cooking pots broken, gourds all gone?
Need I add:
When all you have is wheat bran and rice chaff,
who will you turn to for support?
Poverty is not the issue here. If the speaker can be sure of love, all problems disappear. It seems best to take the speaker to be a woman. The beloved may be the king or the husband of the woman speaker. Chong Ch’ol may again be using the technique of using different characters to portray aspects of his personality and his love for the king.
Whether I eat wheat bran or rice chaff,
whether I have a gourd dipper or not,
though the world falls into total disarray,
if my lovely love
will but love me, faith will sustain my life.
The next three poems form a group; they are a humorous dialogue with wine. The poet is the speaker in Ten years I followed you; wine is the speaker in If you truly hoped to achieve something, and in I say it once again the poet is again the speaker. Because of vagueness in Korean with regard to pronouns, it is often difficult to decide who is speaking to whom. Other interpretations are possible.
believing I'd be an achiever.
But you say you hate me, that I've achieved nothing. Perhaps
I should write a book on temperance as a token of farewell.
If you truly hoped to achieve something,
would you have cultivated me from the start?
You always seemed pleased to see me; so I followed you around.
Now you tell me
I'm bad: you'll have to give me up.
I cannot live without you.
You let me forget the bad and the bitter.
Can I now
discard an old friend in favor of a new love?
Human life lasts a hundred years;
of course it's a burden.
In this burdened, floating life what do you hope to achieve
that you tell me
you want to cut back on the cups I proffer?
Pongnaesan was a mountain in China where the Immortals dwelt; it was also the summer name for the Diamond Mountains. In poems of loyalty, however, it often refers to the royal palace in Seoul. The idea seems to be that the speaker is in the country, out of favor in the court. He longs to go back, ostensibly to see the king, but circumstances at the moment make it impossible.
and flapped them twice or thrice,
I'd see my beloved on the highest peak of Pongnaesan.
But what's the point
in discussing things that are impossible?
to float it in the stream.
When the water reaches the shallows in the Han,
my love sickness
for my lord may find a cure.
to form a moon
and hang brightly in a far corner of the sky.
Then I'll go
to my love and shine my light upon him.
Taebang Fortress is today's Namwon in North Cholla Province.
The rise and fall of nations are myriad;
Taebang Fortress is covered with autumn grass.
To the herdsman's pipes I'll leave my ignorance of the past
and I'll drink
a cup to this great age of peace.
The speaker is again out of office, thinking back to early days in officialdom. He recalls his junior posting in the Royal Archives and remembers seeing the king. Shin Kunmang (Shin Ungshi), an official who served under Myongjong, was from Yongwol. Kunjong Gate was the south gate of Kunjong Hall.
When Shin Kunmang was a fifth rank official in the Royal Archives
I had a sixth rank post
with guard duties that took me outside Kunjong Gate.
The jade face
of my lord flickers before me.
Shady Nook Pavilion was built by Kim Songwon (1525-1597) on Mount Star. Kim Songwon is the hermit hero of Chong Ch'ol's kasa, “Songsan pyolgok.”
shines on Shady Nook Pavilion,
the broad sea can repeatedly become a mulberry patch,
but starlight
ever renewed knows no diminishment.
The toast is offered on an occasion like a sixtieth birthday wishing the guest of honour long years. The poem has been traditionally interpreted as referring to the king. There seems to be no intrinsic evidence for this.
That zelkova planted on the terrace,
how long has it been growing?
When the seedling branch is just as old,
I'll take
the cup and offer a toast again.
The poet longs to be restored to the bureaucracy.
above the clouds in the blue sky,
do you come among us because man is so good?
you will not fly
away though your long feathers moult.
The komun'go is a traditional stringed instrument.
When I strike the great string of the komun'go,
My heart melts.
Rising to the fourth string dominant I play allegro forte.
Not a trace
of sadness; but how can I deal with parting?
The poet longs to be restored to the bureaucracy.
I'll flap my wings again
and soar above the cloudy blue, where I'll see
a fresh, unimpeded world.
Now that I'm keeper of the state guesthouse
visitors throng this way.
Bows when they come; bows when they go; bows, bows, bows by the score.
One careful
look reveals it's all a dreadful bore.
Now that I'm keeper of the state guesthouse
I don my sedge cape and rain hat,
A gentle breeze angles the fine rain. I slant a fishing pole across my shoulder,
the first of
many trips to a riverbank of red knotweed and white water chestnut.
Pyokche was a scenic area outside Seoul.
Now that I'm keeper of the state guesthouse
I close the brushwood gate again.
I throw myself among flowing waters and blue mountains;
these I take as friends.
Boy,
should a caller say he's from Pyokche, tell him I'm out.
A royal tutor cried himself to death at the demise of one of the Sui kings.
When I think of King Chang Sha's tutor
I have to laugh.
He took upon himself the worries of all.
Were not sighs
and tears enough; did he have to scream his grief as well?
as finely featured as others.
I've given up rouge, put aside powder.
I have no desire
to savour my true love's love.
A political allegory on the fate of prominent men who fall from grace.
no one rests in its pavilion.
When it stood tall and verdant, no one passed it by.
But the leaves
have fallen, the boughs are broken; not even birds perch there now.
Yesterday I heard that Master Song
from over the hill has new wine.
I kicked the ox to its feet, threw on a saddlecloth and
rode up here.
Boy,
is your master home? Tell him Chong Ch'ol has come.
After a ten-year interval I see again
the white jade wine cup in the Royal Academy.
The clear white sheen is as it was yesterday.
But the heart
of a man, why does it change morning and evening?
This poem deplores the confusion in the court in drafting a policy to deal with the Hideyoshi Invasion.
beams and supports?
A host of opinions greet the leaning, skeleton house. Carpenters
with rulers and ink keep milling around.
brings a tickle to my nose.
Forced coquetry, I fear, destroys the fullness of love.
Until the sweet wine
matures, better not flirt with affection.
about who's staying and who's going.
No horse laughs, please, about who's drunk and who's sober.
Is it so terrible
to throw off your cape on a rainy day?
We'll strain sour wine and drink
until we can't abide the taste.
We'll boil bitter greens and chew until they become sweet.
We'll stay
on the road until the nails that hold the heels to our clogs
are worn away.
eight hundred years old,
resonates to the successive strokes of the great metal bell,
highlighting
the twilight view across the field of a solitary mountain pavilion.
splatters the lotus leaf,
but I cannot find the track of water.
I wish my heart
were like that leaf, that nothing ever stained it.
the pavilion is empty.
Were I to disappear so, when would I return?
Come or go,
I'll drink a cup of wine.
my lowly raw silk jacket,
dry it in sunlight, iron it again and again,
then drape it
over the buoyant shoulders of my love.
Scrivener Ko has built his straw hut.
He has given it flowers and a moon, rocks and water.
Even wine
he has provided, and he's asked me to visit.
My old loves are still my loves,
yesterday's amours are today's.
When I think of it, it's all a dream; old traces are all that remain.
When old affections
are unchanged, there's no reason to turn away.
I'm fifty now, no longer young:
yet wherever I go, at the mere sight of wine,
I break into a broad toothy grin. Why, why? Wine is an old,
old acquaintance; I can never forget him.
has been there from the start.
Things left thoughtlessly to chance can prove serious.
I wake
and turn away; there's real cause for alarm.
and sigh after another's smiles?
Shall I put my cup aside and join another club?
What can change
the pristine jade-like quality of my heart?
Don't waken babies from sweet sleep;
infants invariably cry.
Babies fight for the breast; don't fuss about it, with a "Who's this child,
or who's that? It's unbecoming on an adult's lips.
Forty thousand boxes of bright jewels
caught in the lotus leaves.
Gathered, measured, where shall I send them?
Pattering drops,
they are so vibrantly gay!
my time has almost gone.
Bustling, shoving; what have I achieved?
So be it:
people keep saying, "Enough, enough!" What can I do
but enjoy myself?
As I move the goosefoot forward
the great string of the komun'go resounds,
like water once ice-bound bursting now from its stream.
Somewhere
rain falls on lotus leaves; is it trying to match the sound?
tell me it's autumn
A fine rain falls in the clear river; the night air has an edge.
I parted from
my love 1,000 li away: I fear I'll get no sleep tonight.
I've been gone such a very long time;
leaves fly in the autumn wind.
Ice and snow melt; it's time for spring flowers to bloom.
I have no news
of my love: this makes me sad.
The peach paradise is the royal court and the clouds are the evil officials that brought about the poet's banishment.
the peach paradise last night.
A brace of lovely phoenix vied in dalliance.
Why search
for feathers that fell among men?
goes for a load of salt,
anyone can tell he's good for a thousand li.
Why is it
the men of today think of him only as fat?
This song is directed to a paper kite. The ascription is doubtful. Kwon P'il's Sokchu chip records a Chinese version.
of our household,
drop them not on men; hang them on a tree.
In wind and wet
they'll fade naturally away.
Poems proclaiming loyalty to the king were often couched in the language of a lover to his beloved.
Snow falling in the pine forest,
every branch a flower.
I'll cut a branch and send it to my love.
If my love
but see it first, what matter though it melt?
A shadow is reflected in the water:
a monk is crossing the bridge.
Monk, stay a moment; let me ask you where you're going?
Stick pointed
at white clouds, he passes without a backward glance.
Paduk (Go) is a very popular board game.
The lad has gone to dig fernbrake;
the bamboo grove is empty.
Who will pick up the pieces scattered across the paduk board? Reclined
against a pine tree root, inebriate, I do not feel the approach of day.
There are different interpretations of the Chinese term, which is pronounced soksa in Korean. Chong Pyong'uk says it means ordinary; other commentators say it means a worldling. The worldling interpretation seems at odds with the speaker's heart.
my love would not forsake me.
Better be ordinary, for then I could stroll with my love.
Not even
being ordinary, I fear I'll never see my love.
This poem, sometimes attributed to Yu Huiryong (1480-?), is structurally unusual: the first part of the final chang (line 4) has only two syllables.
Butterflies hover in pairs where flowers blossom thick;
orioles perch in pairs on the branches of green willows.
Flying creatures, crawling creatures, all are in pairs.
Tell me,
why am I alone without a mate?
Pearly raindrops on green hills,
how can you deceive me?
Sedge rain cape and horsehair hat, how can you deceive me?
Two days ago
I took off my silk robes; now nothing soilable remains.
the new moon rises.
"Monk," I cry, to the lone figure crossing
the single-log bridge:
"How far to
your temple? I can hear the beating of the drum."
river and sky are a single hue.
Wildgoose, crying for autumn leaves and reed flowers,
the season's
done and still I have no news of my love!
Two stone Buddhas, naked and fasting,
face each other on the road.
Exposed to wind, rain, snow, and frost they may be,
but of human
parting they know nothing! For this I envy them.
tears flow down my breasts.
Milk salted; the infant frets.
What sort of man
would ask me to be his?
buffeted by stormy seas?
Black clouds are bundled in the sky; why did it sail?
Be careful,
sailors of fragile craft!
so near the road?
I wish it stood a little back, perhaps in the hollow behind.
Everyone
geared with rope and axe will want to cut it down.
Kangho, translated here simply as water, is a reference to a district in China with three rivers and five lakes mentioned in a poem by Du Fu (712-70). It describes the world of a hermit.
floating on the water,
it was an accident my spit hit you on the back.
White gull,
don't be angry: I spat because the world is a dirty place.
already they're falling in the autumn breeze.
The ice and snow have melted, spurring spring flowers into bloom.
No news yet
from my love. I am greatly saddened.
The poem is built around a pun on Chin'ok (genuine jade), the name of a kisaeng who had an intimate relation with Chong Ch'ol.
I thought it mere imitation.
Now that I see it, I must admit, it is indeed pure jade.
I have
a fleshly awl and with it I will drill.
Qu Yuan was banished as a result of palace intrigue in old China. He died by drowning. The reference here is to his loyal heart.
do not fish these waters.
Qu Yuan's bitterness is in the bellies of the fish.
You can boil
the fish, but you can't boil out the loyalty of Qu Yuan's heart.
I promised to return to rivers and lakes,
but I've had ten busy years.
The white gulls, unaware of the facts, chide me for being late,
but the king's
favor is so precious, I must repay it before I go back.
When the paulownia leaves fell
I knew it was autumn.
A fine drizzle falls on the blue river: the night air is chilly.
I left my love
a thousand li away; I cannot sleep tonight.