In Ba’s mountains, Chu’s rivers — a desolate place;
For twenty-three years, here I lived in disgrace.
Nostalgic, I vainly chant “Rhapsody of Hearing the Flute”;
Returning home, I feel like the man with the rotted-ax, mute.
By the side of a sunken boat, a thousand sails go past;
Before a withered tree, ten thousand woods spring fast.
Today, hearing you sing this song, so kind and true;
For a while, with this cup of wine, I lift my spirit anew.
Original Poem
「酬乐天扬州初逢席上见赠」
刘禹锡
巴山楚水凄凉地，二十三年弃置身。
怀旧空吟闻笛赋，到乡翻似烂柯人。
沉舟侧畔千帆过，病树前头万木春。
今日听君歌一曲，暂凭杯酒长精神。
Interpretation
This poem was composed in the winter of 826 AD, during the Baoli era of Emperor Jingzong of Tang, at a banquet in Yangzhou where Liu Yuxi and Bai Juyi met for the first time. This year marked a full twenty-three years since Liu Yuxi’s exile from the capital following the failure of the "Yongzhen Reform." In 805 AD, a 34-year-old Liu Yuxi, along with allies like Liu Zongyuan, embarked on ambitious political reforms that ended in swift failure, condemning him to a long journey of exile. From Langzhou to Lianzhou, from Kuizhou to Hezhou, his path wound through the remote and desolate commanderies nestled between the rivers and mountains of Chu and the highlands of Ba. His former comrades had either died in despair or met tragic ends—Liu Zongyuan himself had already succumbed to illness in Liuzhou in 819 AD, at the age of only forty-seven.
At the banquet, Bai Juyi presented the poem "Drunk, for Envoy Liu the Twenty-Eighth," expressing profound sympathy for Liu Yuxi’s misfortunes: "诗称国手徒为尔，命压人头不奈何。亦知合被才名折，二十三年折太多。" This understanding and solace from a friend deeply moved Liu Yuxi. He composed this poem in immediate reply, serving as both a profound reflection on his twenty-three years of exile and a heartfelt response to his friend’s consolation. Liu Yuxi was passing through Yangzhou while journeying to the capital in response to a royal summons. Facing a return after twenty-three years, yet uncertain how to face it—this complex state of mind finds profound expression in the poem. The magnanimity in lines like "Past a sunken ship, a thousand sails speed on; / Before a dying tree, ten thousand saplings bloom" and the resilient defiance in "For now, with this cup of wine, let my spirit be revived!" reveal the unbroken core of Liu Yuxi’s spirit, tempered through long hardship.
First Couplet: "巴山楚水凄凉地，二十三年弃置身。"
Bā shān Chǔ shuǐ qīliáng dì, èrshísān nián qìzhì shēn.
These desolate lands of Ba’s high hills and Chu’s vast streams,
For twenty-three long years, the place that held this castaway.
The poet begins with a heavy, solemn tone, offering a distilled summation of his twenty-three-year exile. "These desolate lands of Ba’s high hills and Chu’s vast streams" encapsulates the vast geography of his displacement—Langzhou in the lands of Chu, Kuizhou in Ba-Shu, all regions considered remote wilderness in his time. "Desolate" describes both the physical landscape and the condition of his heart; the barrenness of the scenery mirrors the desolation within. "For twenty-three long years, the place that held this castaway": the word "castaway" speaks volumes of the bitterness of being forgotten by the court and cast aside by the times. The poet does not detail the experiences of those twenty-three years, but the weight of these seven characters allows the reader to feel all the sorrow he swallowed alone throughout that long span.
Second Couplet: "怀旧空吟闻笛赋，到乡翻似烂柯人。"
Huáijiù kōng yín Wéndí Fù, dào xiāng fān sì Lànkē rén.
In vain, for memories' sake, I chant "The Dirge by Xiang Xiu";
Returning home, I seem the woodcutter whose axe-handle rotted through.
This couplet employs two allusions in succession, deepening the emotional resonance. "The Dirge" refers to the "Si Jiu Fu" (Dirge for Bygone Friends) written by Xiang Xiu mourning his friends Xi Kang and Lü An, executed by Sima Zhao. Liu Yuxi uses this to express deep grief for his fellow reformers, most now deceased—"in vain" conveys the sorrow of finding the world changed, old friends gone, with nowhere to direct his mourning. "The woodcutter whose axe-handle rotted" alludes to the Jin dynasty tale of Wang Zhi, who entered the mountains, watched a celestial chess game, and returned to find his axe handle had rotted away, signifying the passage of immense time. Liu Yuxi uses this to describe his own return, as if a lifetime had passed. Twenty-three years were enough to render his hometown unrecognizable and himself a stranger. One allusion mourns the past, the other laments the altered present; together, they evoke a profound sense of dislocation in time and place—old friends are gone, the old home is no more; he has become a relic of a bygone era, standing alone upon a fault line in time.
Third Couplet: "沉舟侧畔千帆过，病树前头万木春。"
Chén zhōu cè pàn qiān fān guò, bìng shù qián tóu wàn mù chūn.
Past a sunken ship, a thousand sails speed on;
Before a dying tree, ten thousand saplings bloom.
These two lines are the poem’s immortal, oft-quoted verses and its pivotal spiritual turn. The poet uses "sunken ship" and "dying tree" as metaphors for himself, acknowledging his own predicament and decline—a seemingly pessimistic stance. Yet, from this seemingly hopeless vantage, he perceives another scene: beside the wreck, a thousand sails press forward, undeterred; before the ailing tree, ten thousand saplings greet the spring, undiminished. This is a cosmic perspective that transcends personal gain and loss—the sinking of an individual cannot halt the era’s advance; the decay of one cannot stifle nature’s vitality. The poet does not linger in self-pity. Instead, with a clarity bordering on stark realism, he accepts the inevitable law of the new superseding the old. More remarkably, this acceptance is not passive resignation. While acknowledging fate, he still maintains an appreciative gaze toward the "thousand sails" and "ten thousand saplings." This vision—seeing the thriving fleet and the blooming forest from the perspective of the wreck and the blight—is precisely Liu Yuxi’s unique blend of resilience and magnanimity.
Final Couplet: "今日听君歌一曲，暂凭杯酒长精神。"
Jīnrì tīng jūn gē yī qǔ, zàn píng bēi jiǔ zhǎng jīngshén.
Today, listening to the song that you have sung for me,
For now, with this cup of wine, let my spirit be revived!
This couplet returns to the occasion hinted in the title ("in response"), concluding the poem on a note of tempered warmth. "Listening to the song that you have sung for me" responds to Bai Juyi’s gift of verse and bears witness to the friendship between the two. The line "For now, with this cup of wine, let my spirit be revived!" is both gratitude for a friend’s solace and a reaffirmation of his own resolve. The phrase "let my spirit be revived" is particularly forceful—having endured twenty-three years as a castaway, witnessed the passing of comrades, and acknowledged his own state as a wreck and a blight, yet still being able to "revive" his spirit—this is where Liu Yuxi is most profoundly moving. He needs no facile comfort and refuses to wallow in sorrow, choosing instead to draw renewed strength for the journey ahead from a shared cup with a kindred spirit.
Holistic Appreciation
This poem reads like a condensed life epic, beginning in mournful lament and concluding with spirited resolve. The first two couplets recount the past, establishing a tone of desolation with "desolate lands" and "castaway," deepening the grief with allusions to "The Dirge" and the "woodcutter," the emotion somber and forlorn. The third couplet marks a dramatic turn. The lines "Past a sunken ship…" soar from the depths of dejection, reaching their most elevated point at the moment of lowest ebb, forming the emotional climax of the entire poem. The final couplet returns to the present moment, concluding with "let my spirit be revived," responding to the friend while asserting the poet’s own will. The emotional arc is potent and varied, yet the transitions feel entirely natural, devoid of artifice. Particularly noteworthy is how the poem balances a profound recognition of personal fate with a magnanimous understanding of universal principles. The interweaving of individual sorrow and the way of Heaven and Earth grants this poem a vitality that transcends its age.
Artistic Merits
- Apt Allusion, Profound Emotion: The two allusions, "The Dirge by Xiang Xiu" (mourning the past) and "the woodcutter…" (lamenting the altered present), aptly convey the poignant grief of loss and the shock of time's passage. They are classical yet not obscure.
- Precise Parallelism, Profound Philosophy: The couplet "Past a sunken ship…" features impeccable parallelism and vivid imagery, embedding deep philosophy within a natural scene, securing its status as an immortal line.
- A Dynamic, Well-Paced Emotional Arc: The progression from the solemnity of the first couplet, to the poignant sorrow of the second, to the magnanimous turn of the third, and the resolute uplift of the finale, flows naturally, revealing the poet's rich inner world.
- Laconic Language, Rich Connotation: The poem contains no superfluous words; it is condensed and suggestive. Images like "sunken ship," "dying tree," "thousand sails," and "ten thousand saplings" are simple yet resonant, inviting endless contemplation.
Insights
This poem first prompts us to contemplate the relationship between individual destiny and historical progress. With "Past a sunken ship, a thousand sails speed on; / Before a dying tree, ten thousand saplings bloom," Liu Yuxi tells us: the sinking of an individual cannot halt the era's advance; personal failure is not the end of all things. In our current age of rapid change, where many succumb to self-doubt after missed opportunities or setbacks, Liu Yuxi's lines act as a bracing tonic—to acknowledge one's own "sunken ship" and "dying tree," while also seeing the "thousand sails" speeding past and the "ten thousand saplings" blooming ahead. This stance—neither evading reality nor abandoning hope—is a spiritual resource profoundly needed today.
Secondly, the conception of time and view of life embedded in the poem merit deep reflection. Twenty-three years is nearly the span of an entire career. Liu Yuxi’s metaphor of the "woodcutter" expresses the profound alienation wrought by time—to return is to enter a different world. Yet, he is not crushed by this alienation. Instead, in "Today, listening to the song that you have sung for me," he finds a momentary anchor. This reminds us: facing the flow of time and the transformations of an era, an individual’s sense of powerlessness is real. But the bonds between people, moments of shared understanding and solace, are equally real and potent, enough to sustain our onward journey.
On a deeper level, the poem also invites us to ponder how to maintain spiritual fortitude in adversity. What is remarkable about Liu Yuxi is not an absence of pain—on the contrary, his pain is palpable and profound. He does not, however, let pain be the end. From within the pain grows a strength that transcends it. This capacity to "revive" one’s spirit is neither innate optimism nor blind self-deception, but a stubborn will to struggle on even after seeing the truth of one’s fate. In our uncertain world, this spiritual quality may hold more wisdom than any specific doctrine of success.
Finally, the poem’s sentiment—of having weathered life’s storms without losing a fundamental warmth—is deeply affecting. Twenty-three years a castaway, old friends fallen, the world transformed, yet faced with Bai Juyi’s poem, Liu Yuxi could still respond, "For now, with this cup of wine, let my spirit be revived!" There is no bitterness towards heaven or man, no affectation of nonchalance—only a clarity and warmth born of endured hardship. This ability to preserve tenderness towards others and life itself, even amidst pain, is perhaps the quality we are most in need of today.
About the poet
Liu Yuxi(刘禹锡), 772 - 842 AD, was a native of Hebei. He was a progressive statesman and thinker in the middle of the Tang Dynasty, and a poet with unique achievements in this period. In his compositions, there is no lack of poems reflecting current affairs and the plight of the people.
