Drunken,I Walk Alone to Visit the Four Lis

The Drunken Cartography: Cognitive Split, Bovine Navigation, and the Confucian Wind in Su Shi's "Drunken, I Walk Alone to Visit the Four Lis"

The Drunken Topology: Cognitive Split and the Tropical Labyrinth

The first of Su Shi's diptych—<Bei Jiu Du Xing (被酒独行—drunken, walking alone)—initiates its somatic regime with a state of consciousness that is neither unified nor stable: Ban xing ban zui wen zhu li. (半醒半醉问诸黎。). The reduplicative ban xing ban zui (半醒半醉—half-awake, half-drunk) is not a gradient but a schism. The subject is split between two incompatible cognitive states, neither fully sovereign. The wen (问—to ask) is therefore not a rational inquiry but a cry for help issued from the fog of intoxication. The zhu li (诸黎—the various Lis, the Li family members, the local Li friends) are the recipients of this drunken query, and their identity as li (黎—Li, a common local surname in Hainan, also the name of the indigenous Li people) establishes the cross-cultural context of the encounter. The poet is not merely lost; he is lost in a landscape that is linguistically and ethnically outside his native register. The second line delivers the vegetal obstacle: zhu ci teng shao bu bu mi (竹刺藤梢步步迷—bamboo thorns and vine tips, step by step, lost). The zhu ci (bamboo thorns) and teng shao (vine tips) are the tactile architecture of the Hainan tropics, a vegetal density that resists the pedestrian body. The reduplicative bu bu (step by step) transforms each footfall into a discrete cognitive event, and the mi (lost) is the cumulative result. The drunken topology is therefore a space where the body cannot pass without injury, and the mind cannot orient without assistance. The tropical labyrinth is not merely geographic; it is the physical manifestation of the poet's own divided consciousness.

The Material Navigation: Dung as Cartography and the Bovine Coordinate

The first quatrain's terminal couplet delivers the poem's most famous material realism: Dan xun niu shi mi gui lu, jia zai niu lan xi fu xi. (但寻牛矢觅归路，家在牛栏西复西。). The dan xun (但寻—only seeking, merely looking for) introduces a reduction of navigational technology to its absolute minimum. The niu shi (牛矢—cow dung, bovine droppings) is the cartographic instrument, the material trace that marks the path. In the absence of paved roads, signposts, or celestial orientation, the poet uses organic waste as his compass. This is the material navigation of the exile: the body that once navigated the imperial capital by its boulevards now navigates the Hainan bush by its animal feces. The second line delivers the spatial coordinate: jia zai niu lan xi fu xi (家在牛栏西复西—home is west of the cattle pen, west again). The niu lan (cattle pen) is the landmark, and the reduplicative xi fu xi (west and west again) performs a spatial stutter. The poet does not say "west then north" or "two li west"; he says "west, then west again," as if the direction has entered a loop. The home is not at a fixed coordinate but at the end of a repetitive westward motion, a place that can only be reached by continuing in the same direction until the repetition itself becomes the destination. The bovine coordinate is therefore both the starting point and the structural principle of the journey: the poet finds his way home by following the cows, and he knows he is home when the cows have nowhere further west to go.

The Acoustic Childhood: Onion Leaf and the Ritual of Cross-Cultural Reception

The second quatrain shifts from the drunken adult to the indigenous child: Zong jue Li jia san xiao tong, kou chui cong ye song ying weng. (总角黎家三小童，口吹葱叶送迎翁。). The zong jue (总角—the hair-knots of childhood, the ancient hairstyle of prepubescent children) is a classical signifier that here marks the cultural distance between the Han poet and the Li children. The children are not merely young; they are marked by a hairstyle that belongs to the poet's own cultural archive, yet they are Li jia (黎家—of the Li family, of the Li people), a different ethnic register. The san xiao tong (three little boys) are a miniature chorus, and their instrument is the cong ye (葱叶—onion leaf, scallion leaf), a vegetal reed that they blow through pursed lips. The kou chui (mouth-blowing) is the most primitive acoustic technology, and the song ying weng (送迎翁—seeing off and welcoming the old man) is the social ritual. The children perform a dual function: they welcome the poet's arrival and accompany his departure. The acoustic childhood is therefore a cross-cultural medium: the onion leaf is the instrument of communication that requires no shared language, and the children's breath is the sound of a hospitality that operates below the threshold of literacy and bureaucracy. The poet, who was lost among the bamboo thorns, is now found by the children's music.

The Confucian Wind: Denial of Distance and the Reactivation of the Rain Dance

The poem's terminal couplet delivers the philosophical consolation: Mo zuo tian ya wan li yi, xi bian zi you wu yu feng. (莫作天涯万里意，溪边自有舞雩风。). The prohibitive mo (莫—do not, must not) is addressed to the poet himself, or perhaps to the reader who would pity him. The tian ya wan li yi (天涯万里意—the feeling of being ten thousand li at the edge of heaven, the consciousness of extreme exile) is the standard emotional register of the Tang-Song banishment narrative. The poet commands himself not to indulge this feeling, not to measure his distance from the capital, not to calculate the kilometers of his displacement. The second line delivers the replacement spatiality: xi bian (溪边—beside the stream, by the brook) is the local, the immediate, the non-metropolitan. The wu yu feng (舞雩风—the wind of the Rain Dance Altar, the breeze of the Wu-yu) is the most exquisite classical allusion in the poem. It refers to the famous passage in the Analects (Book XI) in which Confucius's disciple Zeng Xi describes his ideal life: "In late spring, with the spring clothes already made, I would like to bathe in the Yi River and enjoy the breeze at the Wu-yu Rain Dance Altar, and return home singing." The poet, standing by a Hainan stream with Li children blowing onion leaves, claims that this is the same wind. The Confucian wind is therefore a reactivation: the classical ideal of spiritual freedom, originally located in the heartland of Lu, is discovered in the tropical periphery. The exile is not a punishment but a relocation of the Rain Dance to a new geography. The poet does not deny that he is far from home; he denies that distance matters. The wind at the Wu-yu is the wind at the Hainan stream, and the old man who was lost among the cow dung is now found in the oldest Confucian dream of happiness.