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Poems of the Late T'ang
Classical Chinese poetry reached its pinnacle during the T'ang Dynasty (618-907 A.D.), and the poets of the late T'ang-a period of growing political turmoil and violence-are especially notable for combining strking formal inovation with raw emotional intensity. A. C. Graham’s slim but indispensable anthology of late T’ang poetry begins with Tu Fu, commonly recognized as the greatest Chinese poet of all, whose final poems and sequences lament the pains of exile in images of crystalline strangeness. It continues with the work of six other masters, including the “cold poet” Meng Chiao, who wrote of retreat from civilization to the remoteness of the high mountains; the troubled and haunting Li Ho, who, as Graham writes, cultivated a “wholly personal imagery of ghosts, blood, dying animals, weeping statues, whirlwinds, the will-o'-the-wisp”; and the shimmeringly strange poems of illicit love and Taoist initiation of the enigmatic Li Shang-yin. Offering the largest selection of these poets’ work available in English in a translation that is a classic in its own right, Poems of the Late T’ang also includes Graham’s searching essay “The Translation of Chinese Poetry” as well as helpful notes on each of the poets and on many of the individual poems.
175 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1965
About the author
A.C. Graham
23 books8 followersAngus Charles Graham (1919-1991) was born in Penarth, Wales. He studied theology at Oxford University and served as an interpreter in Malaya and Thailand while in the Royal Air Force. In 1946 he enrolled in the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, where he remained throughout his career. An important Sinologist, Graham is credited with introducing into English several little- or poorly-known works of Chinese classical literature and philosophy, and is celebrated for his insightful analysis of these texts. Among his books are translations of Lieh-tzu and Chuang-tzu; a partial reconstruction of the anti-Confucian writings of Mo-tzu and a study of Mahoism, Later Mohist Logic, Ethics, and Science; a comparison of Eastern and Western religions, The Disputers of the Tao; and Yin-Yang and the Nature of Correlative Thinking.
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July 26, 2012
James J. Y. Liu observed in "An Introduction to Chinese Poetry" that many translated poems from Chinese can sound the same. Just as the eccentric hills and remote dwellings of much of Chinese painting can seem repetitive, many of the standard tropes of Chinese poetry--the observations of nature, the longing for a distant friend or lover--can, in unskillful hands, make poems seem very much alike. The good news is that A. C. Graham, in this book is very skillful at selecting, translating and explaining these poems. The introduction to the book is one of the best pieces I have seen on Chinese poetry. And he stretches beyond the best known T'ang poets: Li Po is absent and only Tu Fu's late period is included. That is a virtue: Li Po and Tu Fu, besides being very familiar, could easily overwhelm the rest of the selection. Their absence allows a few less famous voices their moment, which particularly welcome since it was an era in which poets sought new means of expression well beyond the established methods. (Graham argues that the period is an aberration, a side channel, that seems closer to the Western sense of poetry but did not endure, perhaps like the English Metaphysical poets, who with their ever-wilder metaphors, were left behind). Li Ho is particularly vivid, whether describing an exorcism. ridiculing an Emperor who sought immortality, or writing in the harrowing "Don't Go Out the Door": "Heaven is inscrutable,/Earth keeps its secrets/The nine-headed monster eats our souls..." Meng Chiao sharpens the theme of loneliness of much Chinese poetry: "The drip of the chill dew breaks off my dream,/The cold wind harshly combs my bones./On the mat, the print of a sickly contour;/Writhing cares twist in my belly." Tu Mu was more wistful: "Sadness at the hairs in the mirror is new no longer./The stains on my coat are harder to brush away." Lu Shang-Yin, who Graham judges the best of the poets after Li Po and Tu Fu, struck a theme very familiar to the West: "In the cool of the day, after the Rain Feast, with him behind the fence, look,/... Come home, toss and turn till the fifth watch./Two swallows in the rafters hear the long sigh." Lu Shang-Yin aside, much of this poetry is concerned with loss and distance from home. The T'ang Dynasty was much admired later in Chinese history, particularly, as with the Yuan and Qing Dynasties, when foreigners ruled. As much as poets wrote of distance, longing and loneliness, it must have been a troubled era. In those themes at least, the later T'ang poets were following the sorrow expressed by Li Po and Tu Fu.
February 20, 2015
I first heard of this slim volume when I learned that Pink Floyd had borrowed some lines from it to use as lyrics in "Set the Controls For the Heart of the Sun" and "Cirrus Minor", two of their more atmospheric early psychedelic songs. The band's approach to the source material was more for the evocative quality of the lines than an attempt to set the poems to music, but the power of the lines still stood out. The actual poems themselves, however, are far more interesting, even if many of them are quite short, due both to the high qualities of the original works, as well as Graham's superb translations and keen sensitivity to the nuances that might have escaped a less diligent interpreter.
The poems included here date from somewhat after the midpoint of the T'ang Dynasty, from the mid-8th to the mid-9th century AD, and were authored by a variety of poets from various parts of China. That range of time and space means that this collection doesn't focus on a single poetic scene or region, so don't imagine that it's akin to a sampling of Lost Generation authors or Beat poets or anything that unified. Without a single theme, each poem can stand more or less on its own, which gives an air of discovery to the reading process, each turn of the page beginning a a new struggle for understanding.
Graham has a long introduction, modestly titled "The Translation of Chinese Poetry", with several great examples of how difficult translating this stuff is, both on the formal word-to-word level and on the higher meaning level. The extreme terseness of many classical Chinese poets, combined with the deceptively simple grammar of the language, further complicated by the typical use of poetic metaphors that take detailed knowledge of historical context, makes translating even very brief lines a challenge. Graham presents a couplet from the first poem in Tu Fu's "Autumn Meditation". A straightforward word-by-word translation would read thusly:
"Cluster chrysanthemum two open / other day tear
Lonely boat one (wholly) tie / former garden heart"
He next gives four possible translations - two his own, one from Amy Lowell, and finally William Hung's attempt:
1. "The clustered chrysanthemums have twice opened. Another day's tears.
The lonely boat is tied once and for all. Thoughts of my 'former garden' [cliché for 'home']."
2. "The clustered chrysanthemums have twice released another day's tears,
The lonely boat wholly ties the thoughts of my former garden."
3. "The myriad chrysanthemums have bloomed twice. Days to come -- tears.
The solitary little boat is moored, but my heart is in the old-time garden."
4. "The sight of chrysanthemums again loosens the tears of past memories;
To a lonely detained boat I vainly attach my hope of going home."
To the eye of a reader ignorant of the subtleties of the original, each of the various renditions on their own are equally plausible; presented together they become equally suspect. He continues:
"Neither of the translators can be convicted of saying anything not implicit in the original; they differ so widely because the English language imposes choices which the poet refrained from making. Is it the flowers which burst open or the tears, the boat which is tied up or the poet's heart? Is the 'other day' past, or a future day which may be as sad as the two autumns in which he has already seen the chrysanthemums open in this unfamiliar country? Are the tears his own, or the dew on the flowers? Were they, or will they be, shed on another day, or is he shedding them now for the sorrows of another day? Are his hopes wholly tied to the boat which may take him home, or tied down once for all by the boat which will never sail? Is his heart tied here with the boat, or or has it travelled home in his imagination to see other chrysanthemums in his former garden?"
He eventually offers his own final version:
"The clustered chrysanthemums have opened twice, in tears of other days:
The forlorn boat, once and for all, tethers my homeward thoughts."
All this for two short lines! Woe to the translator who has to fit each word in its line, each line in its couplet, each couplet in its poem, and each poem in the whole body of work while still producing a readable and enjoyable poem in English. Many of these poems can come off as flat or prosaic, through no fault of the original poet or the translator.
This isn't news to any readers of translated literature; much the same occurred with Nabokov's version of Eugene Onegin, or Michael Kandel's rendition of The Cyberiad, or Andrew Hurley's selection of Borges' poetry, and so on ad nauseum, though all of those works are excellent. I don't mean to focus on translations issues so much over the actual works, except that I found many of these works to be excellent, but probably not in the ways that the original authors intended.
Let's take the example of Li Ho's "Musing". Aesthetic considerations aside, it's hard to get the references here, and I'm honestly unsure if I'm reacting to anything "really" in the poem:
"Ssu-ma Hsiang-ju pondered Leafy Mound
Where the green grasses drooped by the stone well,
Plucked his lute and gazed at Wen-chun,
And the spring breeze in her hair blew shadows on her temples.
The Prince of Liang, the Emperor Wu,
Had cast him off like a snapped stalk:
His only memorial, one writing on bamboo,
To be sealed in gold on the summit of Mount T'ai."
Li Ho's "Up in Heaven", however, has vivid nature imagery and seems to be a little easier for a contemporary American to get into:
"The River of Heaven turns in the night and floats the stars round.
A stream of cloud between silver shores mimics the sound of water.
The cassia tree of the Jade Palace has never shed its flowers,
A houri plucks their fragrance to hang at her jewelled sash.
The Ch'in princess rolls back the blind, day breaks at the north window:
Before the window the straight wu-t'ung dwarfs the blue phoenix.
The prince blows the long goose-quills of the pan-pipes,
Calling to the dragon to plough the mist and plant the jasper herb.
With ribbons of pale dawn-cloud pink and lotus-root fibre skirts
Fairies walk on Azure Isle gathering orchids in the spring.
They point at Hsi-ho in the Eastern sky, who so deftly speeds his horses,
While out of the sea the new land silts beneath the stony mountains."
As a contrast, a poem like Li Shang-Yin's "Written On a Monastery Wall" offers both an interesting look at Buddhist philosophy and some good lines:
"They rejected life to seek the Way. Their footprints are before us.
They offered up their brains, ripped up their bodies; so firm was their resolution.
See it as large, and a millet grain cheats us of the universe:
See it as small, and the world can hide in a pinpoint.
The oyster before its womb fills thinks of the new cassia;
The amber, when it first sets, remembers a former pine.
If we trust the true and sure words written on Indian leaves
We hear all past and future in one stroke of the temple bell."
Not being either formally trained in poetry or classical Chinese culture, I feel hesitation in trying to articulate why so many of the poems in this volume speak so strongly to me - maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see. Maybe my love of Robinson Jeffers has primed me for nature imagery, even if none of these poets share his Inhumanist philosophy. I think Pink Floyd did fine to just pluck arresting images out of the stream of words here to set to music; art is where you find it, and something about lines like "A thousand miles of moonlight later", or "One inch of love is one inch of shadow" have a clear power even out of context in late-60s prog rock songs. I also don't think it's a cop-out to compliment Graham on his translations as much as credit the original poets for their vision, even if the poets themselves surely deserve pride of place for having written the original material; the amount of work that went into this is phenomenal, and he deserves thanks for bringing this stuff to the world at large.
One final work of melancholy, Tu Fu's "At the Corner of the World":
"By Yangtse and Han the mountains pile their barriers.
A cloud in the wind, at the corner of the world.
Year in, year out, there's no familiar thing,
And stop after stop is the end of my road.
In ruin and discord, the Prince of Ch'in-ch'uan:
Pining in exile, the courtier of Ch'u.
My heart in peaceful times had cracked already,
And I walk a road each day more desolate."
The poems included here date from somewhat after the midpoint of the T'ang Dynasty, from the mid-8th to the mid-9th century AD, and were authored by a variety of poets from various parts of China. That range of time and space means that this collection doesn't focus on a single poetic scene or region, so don't imagine that it's akin to a sampling of Lost Generation authors or Beat poets or anything that unified. Without a single theme, each poem can stand more or less on its own, which gives an air of discovery to the reading process, each turn of the page beginning a a new struggle for understanding.
Graham has a long introduction, modestly titled "The Translation of Chinese Poetry", with several great examples of how difficult translating this stuff is, both on the formal word-to-word level and on the higher meaning level. The extreme terseness of many classical Chinese poets, combined with the deceptively simple grammar of the language, further complicated by the typical use of poetic metaphors that take detailed knowledge of historical context, makes translating even very brief lines a challenge. Graham presents a couplet from the first poem in Tu Fu's "Autumn Meditation". A straightforward word-by-word translation would read thusly:
"Cluster chrysanthemum two open / other day tear
Lonely boat one (wholly) tie / former garden heart"
He next gives four possible translations - two his own, one from Amy Lowell, and finally William Hung's attempt:
1. "The clustered chrysanthemums have twice opened. Another day's tears.
The lonely boat is tied once and for all. Thoughts of my 'former garden' [cliché for 'home']."
2. "The clustered chrysanthemums have twice released another day's tears,
The lonely boat wholly ties the thoughts of my former garden."
3. "The myriad chrysanthemums have bloomed twice. Days to come -- tears.
The solitary little boat is moored, but my heart is in the old-time garden."
4. "The sight of chrysanthemums again loosens the tears of past memories;
To a lonely detained boat I vainly attach my hope of going home."
To the eye of a reader ignorant of the subtleties of the original, each of the various renditions on their own are equally plausible; presented together they become equally suspect. He continues:
"Neither of the translators can be convicted of saying anything not implicit in the original; they differ so widely because the English language imposes choices which the poet refrained from making. Is it the flowers which burst open or the tears, the boat which is tied up or the poet's heart? Is the 'other day' past, or a future day which may be as sad as the two autumns in which he has already seen the chrysanthemums open in this unfamiliar country? Are the tears his own, or the dew on the flowers? Were they, or will they be, shed on another day, or is he shedding them now for the sorrows of another day? Are his hopes wholly tied to the boat which may take him home, or tied down once for all by the boat which will never sail? Is his heart tied here with the boat, or or has it travelled home in his imagination to see other chrysanthemums in his former garden?"
He eventually offers his own final version:
"The clustered chrysanthemums have opened twice, in tears of other days:
The forlorn boat, once and for all, tethers my homeward thoughts."
All this for two short lines! Woe to the translator who has to fit each word in its line, each line in its couplet, each couplet in its poem, and each poem in the whole body of work while still producing a readable and enjoyable poem in English. Many of these poems can come off as flat or prosaic, through no fault of the original poet or the translator.
This isn't news to any readers of translated literature; much the same occurred with Nabokov's version of Eugene Onegin, or Michael Kandel's rendition of The Cyberiad, or Andrew Hurley's selection of Borges' poetry, and so on ad nauseum, though all of those works are excellent. I don't mean to focus on translations issues so much over the actual works, except that I found many of these works to be excellent, but probably not in the ways that the original authors intended.
Let's take the example of Li Ho's "Musing". Aesthetic considerations aside, it's hard to get the references here, and I'm honestly unsure if I'm reacting to anything "really" in the poem:
"Ssu-ma Hsiang-ju pondered Leafy Mound
Where the green grasses drooped by the stone well,
Plucked his lute and gazed at Wen-chun,
And the spring breeze in her hair blew shadows on her temples.
The Prince of Liang, the Emperor Wu,
Had cast him off like a snapped stalk:
His only memorial, one writing on bamboo,
To be sealed in gold on the summit of Mount T'ai."
Li Ho's "Up in Heaven", however, has vivid nature imagery and seems to be a little easier for a contemporary American to get into:
"The River of Heaven turns in the night and floats the stars round.
A stream of cloud between silver shores mimics the sound of water.
The cassia tree of the Jade Palace has never shed its flowers,
A houri plucks their fragrance to hang at her jewelled sash.
The Ch'in princess rolls back the blind, day breaks at the north window:
Before the window the straight wu-t'ung dwarfs the blue phoenix.
The prince blows the long goose-quills of the pan-pipes,
Calling to the dragon to plough the mist and plant the jasper herb.
With ribbons of pale dawn-cloud pink and lotus-root fibre skirts
Fairies walk on Azure Isle gathering orchids in the spring.
They point at Hsi-ho in the Eastern sky, who so deftly speeds his horses,
While out of the sea the new land silts beneath the stony mountains."
As a contrast, a poem like Li Shang-Yin's "Written On a Monastery Wall" offers both an interesting look at Buddhist philosophy and some good lines:
"They rejected life to seek the Way. Their footprints are before us.
They offered up their brains, ripped up their bodies; so firm was their resolution.
See it as large, and a millet grain cheats us of the universe:
See it as small, and the world can hide in a pinpoint.
The oyster before its womb fills thinks of the new cassia;
The amber, when it first sets, remembers a former pine.
If we trust the true and sure words written on Indian leaves
We hear all past and future in one stroke of the temple bell."
Not being either formally trained in poetry or classical Chinese culture, I feel hesitation in trying to articulate why so many of the poems in this volume speak so strongly to me - maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see. Maybe my love of Robinson Jeffers has primed me for nature imagery, even if none of these poets share his Inhumanist philosophy. I think Pink Floyd did fine to just pluck arresting images out of the stream of words here to set to music; art is where you find it, and something about lines like "A thousand miles of moonlight later", or "One inch of love is one inch of shadow" have a clear power even out of context in late-60s prog rock songs. I also don't think it's a cop-out to compliment Graham on his translations as much as credit the original poets for their vision, even if the poets themselves surely deserve pride of place for having written the original material; the amount of work that went into this is phenomenal, and he deserves thanks for bringing this stuff to the world at large.
One final work of melancholy, Tu Fu's "At the Corner of the World":
"By Yangtse and Han the mountains pile their barriers.
A cloud in the wind, at the corner of the world.
Year in, year out, there's no familiar thing,
And stop after stop is the end of my road.
In ruin and discord, the Prince of Ch'in-ch'uan:
Pining in exile, the courtier of Ch'u.
My heart in peaceful times had cracked already,
And I walk a road each day more desolate."
December 28, 2019
Late poems of Tu Fu (712 - 770)
Meng Chiao (751 - 814)
Han Yu (768 - 824)
Lu Tung (died 835)
Li Ho (791 - 817)
Tu Mu (803 - 852)
Li Shang-yin (812 - 858)
Meng Chiao (751 - 814)
Han Yu (768 - 824)
Lu Tung (died 835)
Li Ho (791 - 817)
Tu Mu (803 - 852)
Li Shang-yin (812 - 858)
Read
June 13, 2021'The danger of the road is not in the distance
Ten yards is enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.'
Ten yards is enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.'
March 11, 2009
Witness the man who raved at the wall as he wrote his questions to Heaven.
that was my favorite line in this book (from Li Ho's "Don't Go Out of the Door"), and i think it's because it's the single line least like any of the others. i don't know; poetry is hard for me, and chinese poetry is like calculus, or trying to read braille, or something. it's just very, very hard. there are are these cultural problems-- i don't get any of the allusions-- and then there's the fact that all these poems seem to be exactly the same in sentiment and feel. there is never really much of a narrative spine; nothing much "happens." but neither do they seem to be meditative or calm; just kind of opaque and... boring.
i am sure this has more to do with me and my limitations as a reader than anything else. i try, but i just don't get it. all this crap about White Women and the jade this and the jade that, and "cassia," every poem mentions cassia, some kind of flower or plant or something... moons like pearls, water, water, sky, clouds... all right already... where's the yellow fog that rubs against the window panes? where's the patient etherized upon the table? i don't want to hear another description of the garden...
but, of course, there are exceptions.
here, i like this one:
Travelling in the Mountains
by Tu Mu
Far up the cold mountain the stony path slopes:
Where the white clouds are born there are homes of men.
Stop the carriage, sit and enjoy the evening in the maple wood:
The frosty leaves are redder than the second month's flowers.
and this one, although it is kind of corny (and seems almost shakespearean somehow?):
Impromptu
by Meng Chiao
Keep away from sharp swords,
Don't go near a lovely woman.
A sharp sword too close will wound your hand;
Woman's beauty too close will wound your life.
The danger of the road is not in the distance,
Ten yards is far enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
p.s. the introduction, a forty-page primer on the process and difficulties of translation, is absolutely fascinating.
that was my favorite line in this book (from Li Ho's "Don't Go Out of the Door"), and i think it's because it's the single line least like any of the others. i don't know; poetry is hard for me, and chinese poetry is like calculus, or trying to read braille, or something. it's just very, very hard. there are are these cultural problems-- i don't get any of the allusions-- and then there's the fact that all these poems seem to be exactly the same in sentiment and feel. there is never really much of a narrative spine; nothing much "happens." but neither do they seem to be meditative or calm; just kind of opaque and... boring.
i am sure this has more to do with me and my limitations as a reader than anything else. i try, but i just don't get it. all this crap about White Women and the jade this and the jade that, and "cassia," every poem mentions cassia, some kind of flower or plant or something... moons like pearls, water, water, sky, clouds... all right already... where's the yellow fog that rubs against the window panes? where's the patient etherized upon the table? i don't want to hear another description of the garden...
but, of course, there are exceptions.
here, i like this one:
Travelling in the Mountains
by Tu Mu
Far up the cold mountain the stony path slopes:
Where the white clouds are born there are homes of men.
Stop the carriage, sit and enjoy the evening in the maple wood:
The frosty leaves are redder than the second month's flowers.
and this one, although it is kind of corny (and seems almost shakespearean somehow?):
Impromptu
by Meng Chiao
Keep away from sharp swords,
Don't go near a lovely woman.
A sharp sword too close will wound your hand;
Woman's beauty too close will wound your life.
The danger of the road is not in the distance,
Ten yards is far enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
p.s. the introduction, a forty-page primer on the process and difficulties of translation, is absolutely fascinating.
August 4, 2012
There are so many things i love about chinese poetry from this period. The wandering poets who were also profound naturalists, taoist mystics, and exiles. The spirit of their poetry was one of humilty, lack of ambition, musings on the changes of life and its transience (all that remains are the statues of the immortals even though dynasties come and go) I also liked how in this collection there was a commentary on each poem which fused it with more meaning as i was able to understand more clearly the references (which emperor was being spoken of, mythology of the weaver girl and herdboy stars, hare on the moon, etc...) i found the commentary to be just as interesting and poetic as the poems themselves. This collection as well as the T'ang poets will be influential to me and my way of thinking for years to come.
May 10, 2011
Includes an excellent introduction on the challenges of translating Chinese poetry. Graham is a skilled translator, rending his selection of excellent poems in early- to mid-20th century style free verse. My only complaint is that this book does not contain the original texts as well as Graham's translations.
March 26, 2018
Maybe it's the selection or the translation, I'm not one to judge either, but this volume impressed less than recent single author collections of poetry from the same period. The translations of Tu Fu especially seemed a bit off. The inclusion of Li Ho makes it worth the go, though, and Tu Mu, too, since both are underrepresented in translation.
May 13, 2010
This is an excellent collection of Chinese poetry from the late T'ang dynasty. Although I still think that Li Po is my favorite poet, I was introduced to a number of other excellent poets in this collection. Particularly Tu Fu and Li Ho, both of whom I would like to delve further into.
September 24, 2011
Great short book of translated poems of the T'ang period of Chinese classical literature. The translations are nuanced, skillful, and capture the harrowing grace and beauty of the original. The introduction to this volume is also very worthwhile in understanding the poetry in context.
October 5, 2022
This collection of Tang poems was pretty underwhelming compared to Rexroth's One Hundred Chinese poems. I suspect it's Graham's bloodless translations that are to blame. Graham has a long apologetic introduction that justifies his literal translations, which ultimately sacrifice the pathos and the style for exactitude into English.
Based upon other reviews, while only featuring the Tang poets Tu Fu and Li Po, whereas Graham's anthology contains half a dozen poets, the Penguin edition is the way to go to experience the exemplary of poetry of the Tang Dynasty.
Based upon other reviews, while only featuring the Tang poets Tu Fu and Li Po, whereas Graham's anthology contains half a dozen poets, the Penguin edition is the way to go to experience the exemplary of poetry of the Tang Dynasty.
October 2, 2025
Worth the price of admission for Graham's thoughtful introductory essay about the perils and challenges of translating poetry. Few of the poems themselves resonate for me, but his notes make the case for the value of the literary tradition even if its strengths are difficult to bring across the translation barrier.
May 20, 2025
usually, i’m filled to the brim spilling over in very stupid things to say about everything i read, but here, love seems to stop me in my tracks, transfixed and speechless. it is nice to shut up and perch in awe, even if it is only for a little while. to see beauty again after it has been warped unrecognisably into horror is as easy as learning to walk again without the sunken light of the new moon.
August 31, 2025
I was put off by the translations of Li Po and almost put the book down. I am so happy that I did not. The remainder was absolutely amazing and has introduced me to a couple new poets.
December 31, 2025
Contains some of the most beautiful verses I think I've ever read -- a perfect final read of the year
August 25, 2018
I've been playing at knowing China for years, but of course I do not. (For instance, I picked this calm, modest book up unwittingly, and learn it is the gold standard translation by the greatest Western sinologist of the day.) It's a great hook: supposedly, Chinese poetry (world poetry?) peaked in the Ninth Century. For almost their whole history, passion and violence were considered inappropriate topics for poetry! They resented melodrama and fantasy in their poets! I must be jaded to think this is great.
The poets seem all to be old men trying not to care about death - "snail shell men", in Ancient Chinese. They are mainly ultra-concrete - lots of masterpieces about mountains and rice and fish. Graham is a droll, masterful guide, making the requisite comparisons to Baudelaire and Pound for me, the clunking reader. (I can only assume the strange meters he uses are good approximations to the original.) The war between Confucianism and Buddhism is prominent here, and is hard for me to imagine -probably because I have a Hollywood understanding of these two "serene" "coping" philosophies. Li Shangyin's (李商隐的) "On a Monastery Wall":
Like a typical Westerner, I like the weirdoes: Li He (李賀), who's their wild fantasist (Blake?) and Meng Jiao (孟郊), barren kin of Poe. I enjoyed this, but don't really have the tools to judge:
The poets seem all to be old men trying not to care about death - "snail shell men", in Ancient Chinese. They are mainly ultra-concrete - lots of masterpieces about mountains and rice and fish. Graham is a droll, masterful guide, making the requisite comparisons to Baudelaire and Pound for me, the clunking reader. (I can only assume the strange meters he uses are good approximations to the original.) The war between Confucianism and Buddhism is prominent here, and is hard for me to imagine -probably because I have a Hollywood understanding of these two "serene" "coping" philosophies. Li Shangyin's (李商隐的) "On a Monastery Wall":
They rejected life to seek the way. Their footprints are before us.
They offered up their brains, ripped up their bodies: so firm was their resolution.
See it as large, and a millet grain cheats us of the universe:
See it as small, and the world can hide in a pinpoint.
The oyster before its womb fills thinks of the new cassia:
The amber, when it first sets, remembers a former pine.
If we trust the true and sure words written on Indian leaves
We hear all past and future in one stroke of the temple bell.
Like a typical Westerner, I like the weirdoes: Li He (李賀), who's their wild fantasist (Blake?) and Meng Jiao (孟郊), barren kin of Poe. I enjoyed this, but don't really have the tools to judge:
December 23, 2017
autumn hills and spring rain
Reading poetry in translation is always a dubious activity, but what recourse do we have since obviously we can't learn every language ? When two languages as unlike as Chinese and English are concerned, there's a very real question. Are you reading the translator's poetry or the original poet's ? Back in the 1960s, when I bought this book as a graduate student, A.C. Graham did an excellent job explaining just what translating centuries-old Chinese poetry involved. For anyone interested in the translation process, the first part of this book would be well-worth reading. As for the translated material, no doubt the Chinese poetry of the eighth and ninth centuries A.D. is one of Mankind's great treasures. Readers cannot fail to be struck at the common emotions we have, shared with people of such distant time and place. How you finally estimate the book depends on whether you like the translations, for such efforts produce widely varied results. After reading this book, you might try some of Arthur Waley's work. You'll definitely feel a difference. It seemed to me that Graham tries to be more faithful to the original; Waley tries to make you feel the "poetry" of the poems. Both are successful in their own way. The nature of China dominates the imagery---mountains, rivers, clouds, seasons; human emotion sways in time to nature's beat. What will modern Chinese poetry look like amongst the forests of skyscrapers, the industries, the superhighways ? I think it must become more personal. I have no idea if it has.
Reading poetry in translation is always a dubious activity, but what recourse do we have since obviously we can't learn every language ? When two languages as unlike as Chinese and English are concerned, there's a very real question. Are you reading the translator's poetry or the original poet's ? Back in the 1960s, when I bought this book as a graduate student, A.C. Graham did an excellent job explaining just what translating centuries-old Chinese poetry involved. For anyone interested in the translation process, the first part of this book would be well-worth reading. As for the translated material, no doubt the Chinese poetry of the eighth and ninth centuries A.D. is one of Mankind's great treasures. Readers cannot fail to be struck at the common emotions we have, shared with people of such distant time and place. How you finally estimate the book depends on whether you like the translations, for such efforts produce widely varied results. After reading this book, you might try some of Arthur Waley's work. You'll definitely feel a difference. It seemed to me that Graham tries to be more faithful to the original; Waley tries to make you feel the "poetry" of the poems. Both are successful in their own way. The nature of China dominates the imagery---mountains, rivers, clouds, seasons; human emotion sways in time to nature's beat. What will modern Chinese poetry look like amongst the forests of skyscrapers, the industries, the superhighways ? I think it must become more personal. I have no idea if it has.
March 31, 2024
Ah, subtle, dense, allusive, rich in sensory delight, there is nothing quite like Chinese poetry, even in translation. This little volume provides a taster of the riches in store for the serious reader of Chinese verse. There is much to recommend here. Li Ho and Tu Mu, are two of my special favourites with Li Shang-yin another pleasure.
A.C. Graham's notes and explanations provide another layer of richness to this collection. He attempts to elucidate the allusions and references which underlie and enhance the bare imagery. He attempts to clarify the difficulties in translation Chinese into English - especially difficult with poetry.
A.C. Graham's notes and explanations provide another layer of richness to this collection. He attempts to elucidate the allusions and references which underlie and enhance the bare imagery. He attempts to clarify the difficulties in translation Chinese into English - especially difficult with poetry.
April 12, 2025
EVENING: FOR CHANG CHI SND CHOU KUANG
By Han Yü (768 - 824)
The sunlight thins, the view empties:
Back from a walk, I lie under the front eaves.
Fairweather clouds like torn fluff
And the new moon like a whetted sickle.
A zest for the fields and moors stirs in me,
The ambition for robes of office has long since turned
to loathing.
While I live, shall I take your hand again
Sighing that our years will soon be done?
I’m glad that we still have poetry from the 9th century, but I found most of the poems in here to be quite boring. Mainly putting the blame for that on the translator.
April 15, 2008
If you only ever read one book of Chinese poetry, make it this one. There are some of the greatest Chinese poems of all time in this slim volume, to be sure. But more than that, Graham includes literal translations, commentary, and notes on alternate translations, as well as interpretations. The result is a fascinating primer on how to translate Chinese poetry and why it's so hard to do well. You also get real insight into the Chinese language and how different it is from English. An eye-opening book.
December 10, 2013
The poetry was beautiful, but I may have liked the introduction and commentary even more. Graham's selective explanations of context, allusion, and translation choices were helpful not only for understanding these poems and the poetic landscape of the late Tang, but for understanding broader challenges in the translation of Chinese generally. A lovely and accessible intro to this period.
January 11, 2009
Fantastic book, especially for the poems of Li Ho, though there are excellent samplings of Tu Fu, Tu Mu, and Li Shang-yin among others. This is a book I'll be reading over and again. A.C. Graham's introduction regarding the translation of Chinese poetry is a huge help.
February 10, 2013
worth it for the introduction alone wherein I learnt more about translation, chinese poetry, imagist poetry, modernism, and a bunch of other stuff, in a dozen or so pages, than i had learned in my whole life before.
November 24, 2008
Can't recommend it highly enough.
March 31, 2009
Classic. Gorgeous. Essential. The work of Meng Chiao is a special gift.
October 5, 2022
This is a very readable and enjoyable collection of poetry from the late Tang dynasty.
These translations have a number of moving parts. Always, there is an introduction, with the translator's take on his job; there are the poems themselves, in English; and there are the notes for specific poems along the way. All are done well here, IMO, though the poems that I least enjoyed are among the most celebrated--so that's a bummer.
A. C. Graham does an outstanding job of showing, in some detail, with specific examples, the manner in which these elliptical and allusive Chinese poems are translated into English, illustrating the difficulties in attempting to convey as much of the literal meaning, connotations, rhythm, rhyme, and other elements as possible without harming the other aspects of the poetry. The tradeoffs are obvious--forcing the poems to rhyme in the target language adversely affects the word choice, while focusing on exact meaning not only makes rhyme impossible but makes it more difficult to employ anything near the original rhythm: "As these lines illustrate," the translator tells us in the introduction, "the ideal of perfect literalness is soon betrayed by concessions to idiomatic smoothness, rhythm, and immediate intelligibility." He describes the balance he attempted to achieve between the varying demands of the original, and I find I agree with his determination.
I also approve of his within-text notes, which are mostly spare, though he troubles himself to fully annotate a few poems. (These are the ones I liked least, some poetry that is so densely packed with hints and allusions and metaphors and culture-bound idiom that it is utterly opaque to the reader without the notes and not very interesting with it.) In general, I found the occasional notes useful and not too disruptive to the reading. Other similar volumes are so packed with notes and helpful intrusions that it dries the poetry out to the texture of a stiff old textbook, a fate I feel he has avoided.
Some of the poetry here, like much of Tang poetry that I've encountered before, is direct and clear and comprehensible, filled with concrete imagery, universal experience, and relatively natural language. (The stuff I like.) Much of it, however, is more mannered, more difficult, based more on poetic models emerging from a mature tradition. These poems, according to the notes, are some of the most admired in the canon, at least among Chinese readers, but they are the least successful in translation. Understanding them even a little is more of an academic exercise (not a bad thing, all in all) than an aesthetic one. But, IMO, there are enough of the former that I still have an overall appreciation for the book.
Recommended most for students of Tang poetry or those who've already pored over the most common collections. There is a lot to enjoy here, and a great deal to work through if one is interested.
These translations have a number of moving parts. Always, there is an introduction, with the translator's take on his job; there are the poems themselves, in English; and there are the notes for specific poems along the way. All are done well here, IMO, though the poems that I least enjoyed are among the most celebrated--so that's a bummer.
A. C. Graham does an outstanding job of showing, in some detail, with specific examples, the manner in which these elliptical and allusive Chinese poems are translated into English, illustrating the difficulties in attempting to convey as much of the literal meaning, connotations, rhythm, rhyme, and other elements as possible without harming the other aspects of the poetry. The tradeoffs are obvious--forcing the poems to rhyme in the target language adversely affects the word choice, while focusing on exact meaning not only makes rhyme impossible but makes it more difficult to employ anything near the original rhythm: "As these lines illustrate," the translator tells us in the introduction, "the ideal of perfect literalness is soon betrayed by concessions to idiomatic smoothness, rhythm, and immediate intelligibility." He describes the balance he attempted to achieve between the varying demands of the original, and I find I agree with his determination.
I also approve of his within-text notes, which are mostly spare, though he troubles himself to fully annotate a few poems. (These are the ones I liked least, some poetry that is so densely packed with hints and allusions and metaphors and culture-bound idiom that it is utterly opaque to the reader without the notes and not very interesting with it.) In general, I found the occasional notes useful and not too disruptive to the reading. Other similar volumes are so packed with notes and helpful intrusions that it dries the poetry out to the texture of a stiff old textbook, a fate I feel he has avoided.
Some of the poetry here, like much of Tang poetry that I've encountered before, is direct and clear and comprehensible, filled with concrete imagery, universal experience, and relatively natural language. (The stuff I like.) Much of it, however, is more mannered, more difficult, based more on poetic models emerging from a mature tradition. These poems, according to the notes, are some of the most admired in the canon, at least among Chinese readers, but they are the least successful in translation. Understanding them even a little is more of an academic exercise (not a bad thing, all in all) than an aesthetic one. But, IMO, there are enough of the former that I still have an overall appreciation for the book.
Recommended most for students of Tang poetry or those who've already pored over the most common collections. There is a lot to enjoy here, and a great deal to work through if one is interested.
November 26, 2020
Since regrettably I do not read Classical Chinese, I cannot comment on the fidelity of the translations here; however, this volume is worthwhile for AC Graham’s extensive notes on Tang poetry alone.
Tang poetry, as he observes, pushed the Chinese language of its time to the limits. It generally grew more complex over the course of the sublime dynasty’s history, sometimes verging into the surreal or hallucinatory as with the dense, almost inscrutable poems of Li Ho.
Graham strikes the delicate balance of providing context for these poems (since modern American readers obviously cannot be expected to know some of the nuances here), while also allowing them to speak for themselves.
Although many of the poems require careful study and background knowledge of Chinese history, there are moments of beauty that struck me despite all of the space and time between the poet and myself:
“Easy to sense the trend in the drift of life, / Hard to compel one creature out of its course.” (From ‘The Autumn Wastes’ by Tu Fu)
“If heaven too had passions even heaven would grow old” (from ‘A Bronze Immortal Takes Leave of Han’ by Li Ho)
Or the delightful short poem by Han Yu:
“Not a twig or a leaf on the old tree,
Wind and frost harm it no more.
A man could pass through the hole in its belly,
Ants crawl searching under its peeling bark.
Its only lodger, a toadstool which dies in a morning,
The birds no longer visit in the twilight.
But its wood can still spark tinder.
It does not care yet to be only the void at its heart.”
Poems such as these—or the many other Tang poems that I love dearly—remind one that great art can transcend even the distance of continents or millennia, because it is built on the power of innate human emotions. My introduction to Tang poems was Tu Fu, who writes compellingly of loneliness, aging, and friendship. Although I am a middle class, young(ish) suburban American of no distinction, I can still relate intimately to many of poems written by an ancient Chinese bureaucrat of middle rank.
Graham makes an admirable effort to explain his philosophy of translation and to introduce English speaking readers to poets who are rarely read in the West. Nevertheless, I would not recommend this volume to somebody new to Tang poetry. Start instead with a collection of Li Bai and Tu Fu (sometimes transliterated Du Fu), who are the two most important poets of the time and possibly of all Chinese history. And, of course: Be sure to read the introductions, which will usually provide helpful guidance to the novice.
Tang poetry, as he observes, pushed the Chinese language of its time to the limits. It generally grew more complex over the course of the sublime dynasty’s history, sometimes verging into the surreal or hallucinatory as with the dense, almost inscrutable poems of Li Ho.
Graham strikes the delicate balance of providing context for these poems (since modern American readers obviously cannot be expected to know some of the nuances here), while also allowing them to speak for themselves.
Although many of the poems require careful study and background knowledge of Chinese history, there are moments of beauty that struck me despite all of the space and time between the poet and myself:
“Easy to sense the trend in the drift of life, / Hard to compel one creature out of its course.” (From ‘The Autumn Wastes’ by Tu Fu)
“If heaven too had passions even heaven would grow old” (from ‘A Bronze Immortal Takes Leave of Han’ by Li Ho)
Or the delightful short poem by Han Yu:
“Not a twig or a leaf on the old tree,
Wind and frost harm it no more.
A man could pass through the hole in its belly,
Ants crawl searching under its peeling bark.
Its only lodger, a toadstool which dies in a morning,
The birds no longer visit in the twilight.
But its wood can still spark tinder.
It does not care yet to be only the void at its heart.”
Poems such as these—or the many other Tang poems that I love dearly—remind one that great art can transcend even the distance of continents or millennia, because it is built on the power of innate human emotions. My introduction to Tang poems was Tu Fu, who writes compellingly of loneliness, aging, and friendship. Although I am a middle class, young(ish) suburban American of no distinction, I can still relate intimately to many of poems written by an ancient Chinese bureaucrat of middle rank.
Graham makes an admirable effort to explain his philosophy of translation and to introduce English speaking readers to poets who are rarely read in the West. Nevertheless, I would not recommend this volume to somebody new to Tang poetry. Start instead with a collection of Li Bai and Tu Fu (sometimes transliterated Du Fu), who are the two most important poets of the time and possibly of all Chinese history. And, of course: Be sure to read the introductions, which will usually provide helpful guidance to the novice.
January 26, 2026
The Poems of the Late T'ang period contain some of China's most evocative and masterful poetry. This collection has no shortage of beautiful and quaint descriptions of green hills and lush foliage, lonely mountains and emotional skies. In the heat of political violence, the poetry of this era was not tinged with any ill-temper or anger; instead, there is a subtlety about certain poems that are able to transfer the reader into the area being described and feel the unifying melancholy of these lonely poets.
Here are some standout poems and verses that I enjoyed:
1: Tu Fu
Easy to sense the tread in the drift of life,
Hard to compel one creature out of its course,
[...]
Age and decline are content to be poor and sick,
Praise and blame belong to youth and glory.
My heart in peaceful times had cracked already,
And I walk a road each day more desolate.
2: Meng Chiao
Complaint of a Neglected Wife
My reproach is like mottled bamboo:
Anguished roots twist beneath.
Before the shoot was out of the ground
Already it bore the scars of secret tears.
[...]
The peril in love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
3: Han Yee
A Withered Tree
Not a twig or a leaf on the old tree,
Wind and frost harm it no more.
[...]
The birds no longer visit in the twilight.
But its wood can still spark tinder.
4: Lu T'ung
The Eclipse of the Moon
6: Tu Mu
On the Road
7: Li Shang-Yin
An inch of love is an inch of ashes.
-
The first four poets, Tu Fu, Meng Chiao, Han Yee, and Lu T'ung, were all of the upmost quality in all of the Chinese poetry that at least I have read. There is an alienated beauty that feels so secure to nature, almost like a oneness similar to that found in Daoism. This collection succeeds in its genuine, moving appreciation for nature and honesty in the face of old age, loneliness, and dripping of time.
Here are some standout poems and verses that I enjoyed:
1: Tu Fu
Easy to sense the tread in the drift of life,
Hard to compel one creature out of its course,
[...]
Age and decline are content to be poor and sick,
Praise and blame belong to youth and glory.
My heart in peaceful times had cracked already,
And I walk a road each day more desolate.
2: Meng Chiao
Complaint of a Neglected Wife
My reproach is like mottled bamboo:
Anguished roots twist beneath.
Before the shoot was out of the ground
Already it bore the scars of secret tears.
[...]
The peril in love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
3: Han Yee
A Withered Tree
Not a twig or a leaf on the old tree,
Wind and frost harm it no more.
[...]
The birds no longer visit in the twilight.
But its wood can still spark tinder.
4: Lu T'ung
The Eclipse of the Moon
6: Tu Mu
On the Road
7: Li Shang-Yin
An inch of love is an inch of ashes.
-
The first four poets, Tu Fu, Meng Chiao, Han Yee, and Lu T'ung, were all of the upmost quality in all of the Chinese poetry that at least I have read. There is an alienated beauty that feels so secure to nature, almost like a oneness similar to that found in Daoism. This collection succeeds in its genuine, moving appreciation for nature and honesty in the face of old age, loneliness, and dripping of time.
February 9, 2026
Some interesting concepts, and I think I could see myself really enjoying T'ang era poetry, but the most frustrating element was either the inconsistency of translation explanation, or a consistent interest in referencing untranslated poems. Also, the poetry toward the end feels very thrown together, the translation is odd, and there is no end commentary by Graham. Overall, a very underwhelming reading experience.
I found these two reviews, in juxtaposition, to be far more entertaining than the majority of my reading experience: Jo's comment, "It's very hard to judge translated poetry. these translations as english language poems leave something to be desired (through no fault of the translator)...", followed by Zachary Scott, "I’m glad that we still have poetry from the 9th century, but I found most of the poems in here to be quite boring. Mainly putting the blame for that on the translator".
I found these two reviews, in juxtaposition, to be far more entertaining than the majority of my reading experience: Jo's comment, "It's very hard to judge translated poetry. these translations as english language poems leave something to be desired (through no fault of the translator)...", followed by Zachary Scott, "I’m glad that we still have poetry from the 9th century, but I found most of the poems in here to be quite boring. Mainly putting the blame for that on the translator".
December 14, 2018
I bought a copy of this book prior to 1979. I wore it out. This is my new copy (I like the cover better in this one).
A. C. Graham was a noted sinologist and a very skilful translator. The first 37 pages are Dr. Graham's discusson on Chinese Poetry, how it is set up, the difficulties and pleasures of translation, and (enjoyably for me) an example of how three translators (Amy Lowell, William Hung and the author) handled the translation of the same poem. He also gives illustrations of his attempts to translate, showing what choices he made to best convey the poetry.
Does all this sound dry? Perhaps - I enjoy understanding how people's minds work.
The meat of this book, however, is the poetry. Graham has footnotes (under the poems) that are interesting and not intrusive. There's a reason I wore my copy of this book out. I'm glad to have a new one.
A. C. Graham was a noted sinologist and a very skilful translator. The first 37 pages are Dr. Graham's discusson on Chinese Poetry, how it is set up, the difficulties and pleasures of translation, and (enjoyably for me) an example of how three translators (Amy Lowell, William Hung and the author) handled the translation of the same poem. He also gives illustrations of his attempts to translate, showing what choices he made to best convey the poetry.
Does all this sound dry? Perhaps - I enjoy understanding how people's minds work.
The meat of this book, however, is the poetry. Graham has footnotes (under the poems) that are interesting and not intrusive. There's a reason I wore my copy of this book out. I'm glad to have a new one.
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