The first anthology of Sung dynasty ci (tz’u) poems in English, Beyond Spring includes one hundred and fifty translations from the golden age of ci in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries.
Ci poetry is one of the two most important lyric forms in the Chinese literary tradition. First composed and performed by prostitutes in the singing houses, ci became the favorite of emperors and high-ranking ministers who transformed it from a genre of bawdy songs to one of a lyric that could “stay the moving clouds”. A mixture of confession and elegy, these songs remain fresh despite their thousand-year history. The genre– written in meter to the original tunes from the brothels–flourished well into the twentieth century.
Beyond Spring includes best-known ci poems by fifteen of the most celebrated poets of the period, including a king who lost his country, an emperor who lost his empire, and a woman who lost everything.
Praise:
“Julie Landau’s translations are exquisite, conveying these old poems with fresh poignancy, with clarity of image, and with a truly evoked `essence beyond the image.'”
–Richard Wilbur
Stylishly printed and presented, it’s an excellent example of the kind of book which will draw the uninitiated into the world of Chinese poetry, motivate the learner to further study, and still provide the specialist with surprises and delights . . . Warmly recommended.”
–Asian Affairs
“Over a hundred fifty translates from the tenth through the twelfth centuries are included in this exceptional, unique collection.”
–The Bookwatch
“At first glance, Beyond Spring is an erudite and esoteric collection of Chinese poetry written over 1000 years ago . . . after one begins reading Landau’s remarkable translations, one hears the echoes of modern-day lyrics and realizes that these selections are accessible and relevant to young people.”
–School Library Journal Review
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Sample translations from Beyond Spring:
Mu lan hua
Yen Shu (991–1055)
The water in the pond was green, the wind a little warm
When first I saw her–
To the ring of the melody’s opening bars
She came dancing, waist spinning red confusion
Beneath the rail’s jade arabesques, there by the fragrant steps
We drank so much we didn’t know the sun had set
Then you were there–
Now, less than half of us are left!
~~~
Chiang ch’eng tzu
Su Shih (1037–1101)
On the twentieth day of the first moon, 1075, I record the night’s dream
Ten years living and dead have drawn apart
I do nothing to remember
But I can not forget
Your lonely grave a thousand miles away . . .
Nowhere can I talk of my sorrow–
Even if we met, how would you know me
My face full of dust
My hair like snow?
In the dark of night, a dream: suddenly, I am home
You by the window
Doing your hair
I look at you and can not speak
Your face is streaked by endless tears
Year after year must they break my heart
These moonlit nights?
That low pine grave?
~~~
Wu ling ch’un
Li Ch’ing-Chao (1084–1155)
The wind has dropped leaving the earth fragrant with fallen flowers
I know it’s late, but what’s the use of doing my hair?
Things go on, all but you–everything is finished
And all I had to say has turned to tears
Along the Shuang, I hear it’s still spring–
If only I could take the skiff there!
But I’m afraid–that light boat on the Shuang–
How could it carry so much sorrow?
Julie Landau 