The courtyard is full of yellow chrysanthemums
all broken and drooping along the hedge
two flowers, hibiscus and image,
gape at each other's reflections
I put my hat back on the table—
no going out in this wind and rain
and I'm too tipsy to recall where
I put down my golden cup.
满庭黄菊篱边拆，两朵芙蓉镜里开。
落帽台前风雨阻，不知何处醉金杯。
Seven-character poem
Yang festival is the ninth day of the ninth month. And it's raining cats and dogs. No hints of Yu Xuanji's life here beyond the continuing evidence that she liked to drink. What get's translated as wine in Chinese poetry is rarely grape wine. The Chinese, like the French, made spirits out of everything fermentable. And the resulting alcohol content could very from "not too much" to "way too much." I wonder how much of the drinking of the literati comes from the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove who, in the Jin dynasty, retired to the wilds to preserve culture and consume vast quantities of "wine." Note that America's love of guns began when the Texas Rangers famously defeated Mexican troops left and right with their new Walker Colts. After that, everybody wanted their own gun. So maybe after the Seven Sages everyone literate wanted their wine. It could happen....
Classical Chinese poetry thrives on Concision and Ambiguity. Without tense or number, the words create a timeless space where the reader becomes the co-creator of the poem's meaning.
Look for Contrasts: light and shadow, movement and stillness. Don't just translate the words; feel the Yijing (artistic conception) that lingers long after the last character.
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