Untitled Shijo

 

People of Kangwon Province,

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 race through Kwanghwamun;

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.

When did Liu Ling live?

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"

Listen here;

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.

Ten years I followed you

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 say it once again:

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.

If I lifted my wings

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?

I wish to dismember my body,

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.

I'll cut out my heart

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.”

When the South Pole Star

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.

Crane, flying high

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.

When my long feathers moult,

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?

I'm aware that I'm not

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.

The tree is diseased;

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.

What happens if you pull down

beams and supports?

A host of opinions greet the leaning, skeleton house. Carpenters

with rulers and ink keep milling around.

Holding back a horse laugh

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.

No moaning, please,

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.

A tall Shilla pagoda,

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.

A sudden shower

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.

Where has the crane gone;

the pavilion is empty.

Were I to disappear so, when would I return?

Come or go,

I'll drink a cup of wine.

I'll wash and rewash

my lowly raw silk jacket,

dry it in sunlight, iron it again and again,

then drape it

over the buoyant shoulders of my love.

Somewhere on Namsan Mountain

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.

My carelessness

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.

Shall I put my worries aside

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!

Somehow or other

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?

The falling paulownia leaves

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.

Clouds shrouded

the peach paradise last night.

A brace of lovely phoenix vied in dalliance.

Why search

for feathers that fell among men?

When our droopy-eared horse

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.

Take all the misfortunes

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.

Were I brilliant,

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.

Sleep bound birds fly home;

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."

The evening sun slants low;

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.

Husband dead;

tears flow down my breasts.

Milk salted; the infant frets.

What sort of man

would ask me to be his?

Where is that boat going,

buffeted by stormy seas?

Black clouds are bundled in the sky; why did it sail?

Be careful,

sailors of fragile craft!

Why does that pine tree stand

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.

White gull,

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.

When did the leaves come out,

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.

Genuine jade, they said;

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.

Fishermen of the Chu River,

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.