From beach to beach the torrent splashes down its way;
It's hard to sail in the Three Gorges since olden day.
But human heart is more dangerous than a whirlpool;
You may be drowned in it though it seems calm and cool.
Original Poem
「竹枝词九首 · 其七」
刘禹锡
瞿塘嘈嘈十二滩，此中道路古来难。
长恨人心不如水，等闲平地起波澜。
Interpretation
TThis poem was composed in the second year of the Changqing era (822 AD) under Emperor Muzong of Tang, while Liu Yuxi was serving as the Prefect of Kui Prefecture. This marked the second large-scale period of exile in his life. Fourteen years prior, due to the failure of the Yongzhen Reform, he was demoted to the position of Marshal of Lang Prefecture, an exile that lasted ten years. A decade later, upon being summoned back to the capital, he was again exiled—this time to Lian, Kui, and He Prefectures—for composing poems satirizing powerful officials, wandering between the mountains and rivers of Ba and Chu. Kui Prefecture was located in the upper reaches of the Yangtze River; the Qutang Gorge, the gateway to the Three Gorges, was famed since antiquity for its perilousness, with sheer cliffs on both banks and numerous reefs in the river's heart. The local Bamboo Branch Songs were folk songs from the Ba-Yu region, where singers danced holding bamboo branches, their lyrics rustic and their melodies plaintive. After assuming his post, Liu Yuxi was deeply moved by these folk ballads. He thus imitated their tunes to create Nine Bamboo Branch Songs, recording the local customs of Kui Prefecture and conveying his personal sentiments.
"The Qutang Gorge's twelve rapids roar and race"—These waters, he knew them all too well. Fourteen years ago, exiled to Lang Prefecture, he had traveled upstream along this river; fourteen years later, exiled again to Kui Prefecture, he once more passed these treacherous rapids. The river was still as turbulent, the reefs still as jagged, yet he had aged from a robust thirty-four-year-old to a white-haired man knowing the decrees of heaven. However, this poem does not describe the hardships of the exile journey, but something even more unpredictable than the river waters: the human heart. He had witnessed slander arising from calm waters in the court and experienced the fickleness of human relationships that surged from level ground in his official career. Those former colleagues, old friends, and even the court he served had all been as capricious and merciless as these Qutang waters. Thus, he distilled the pain of these twenty years into four short lines of folk song—rapid waters can still be crossed, but the peril of the human heart is immeasurable.
First Couplet: "瞿塘嘈嘈十二滩，此中道路古来难。"
Qútáng cáocáo shí'èr tān, cǐ zhōng dàolù gǔlái nán.
The Qutang Gorge's twelve rapids roar and race; / The way through here was hard in any case.
The opening is straightforward description, yet each word carries immense weight. "Roar and race" uses sound to convey force, pouring the roar of the rushing waters crashing against reefs directly into the reader's ears; "twelve rapids" uses number to convey peril, emphasizing the multitude of shoals and the urgency of the current. This is not generic scenery-writing; it is the bone-deep memory of a man exiled, who had traversed this waterway countless times.
The three words, "was hard in any case," abruptly stretch open time—the peril of Qutang is not newly discovered today, not experienced by Liu Yuxi alone, but a conclusion drawn over centuries. This stroke embeds his personal ordeal within a vaster span of time and space, granting his pain of exile the universality of historical fate.
Yet the true intent of this couplet lies not in describing the water, but in building momentum for what follows. The first two lines describe the peril of the waterway to the extreme, as preparation; the next two lines suddenly pivot, stating that the human heart is more fearsome than this water—this is using the extreme peril of water to contrast the extreme peril of the heart.
Second Couplet: "长恨人心不如水，等闲平地起波澜。"
Cháng hèn rénxīn bùrú shuǐ, děngxián píngdì qǐ bōlán.
I have long regretted that men's hearts are less secure than water; / Which on the level ground will waves stir at its leisure.
This couplet is the soul of the poem and also one of the most poignant metaphors for the human heart in classical Chinese poetry. The two words, "long regretted," are not resentment over a single event or moment, but a conclusion reached after years of accumulation and repeated reflection. What Liu Yuxi regrets is not a specific person or event; he regrets that the human heart can capsize so easily.
"Less secure than water" is the poetic eye of the entire piece. Water is perilous, yes, but its peril is visible—treacherous shoals, urgent waves, jagged reefs. The peril of the human heart, however, is invisible: it can arise when you are utterly unprepared, from those you most trusted, on seemingly calm and peaceful days, stirring waves on level ground.
The two words, "at its leisure," are the coldest. It is not deliberate, not premeditated, not born of deep-seated hatred—it simply, "casually," stirs up waves. This casualness is more chilling than calculated malice. It implies that the evil of the human heart needs no reason, no motive, not even a cost.
Liu Yuxi does not vent anger here, does not accuse, does not name names. He merely uses the calmest tone to state a truth he finally acknowledged after being repeatedly pummeled by fate.
Holistic Appreciation
This poem is a microcosm of Liu Yuxi's poetic realm in his later years—bearing the weight of personal history with the lightness of folk song. The poem's shell is the Ba-Yu bamboo branch song, rustic and comprehensible, like the words of farmers and old men; its core, however, is the crystallized blood and tears of two decades of exile, profoundly poignant. The poet expresses the most painful realization of his life in the plainest language, endowing this short piece with both the immediacy of folk song and the depth of philosophical reflection.
The poem's four lines: the first two describe the peril of Qutang, the last two the peril of the human heart. This is not parallelism, but progression, reversal, contrast. The poet uses the extreme peril of the river as a comparison, not merely to say the human heart is more perilous than water—he is saying: the peril of water has form, the peril of the heart leaves no trace; the peril of water can be avoided, the peril of the heart is hard to guard against. This is the unique interweaving of Liu Yuxi's "heroic" and "painful" aspects. He never stoops to naming his persecutors in poetry, much less to weeping and wailing. He simply states the truth, in the cleanest language, the calmest tone. Then he leaves the power of judgment to the reader.
Artistic Merits
- Perfect Fusion of Folk Song Form and Literati Substance: The poem's language is rustic, its rhythm bright and clear, conforming to the tonal qualities of the bamboo branch song; yet the emotions and reflections it expresses are the insights of a middle-aged literatus who has weathered the ups and downs of officialdom. This strategy of simplicity in form, elegance in substance is Liu Yuxi's greatest contribution to the bamboo branch song genre.
- Dual Progression of Contrast: The first two lines and the last two form a layered contrast—water is already extremely perilous, yet the human heart is more so; water's peril is in the open, the heart's peril is hidden. This dual progression intensifies the poem's critical force layer by layer, concluding like a heavy hammer striking a drum.
- The Austere Power of "At Its Leisure": The most crucial words in the poem are "at its leisure." It is not "suddenly" or "occasionally," but "easily," "casually." This stroke transforms the capriciousness of the human heart from "possible" to "normal," from "individual" to "universal." A cold-eyed observation, yet it sends shivers down the spine.
- Creative Construction of the Water-Heart Metaphor: Using water to metaphorize the human heart was not Liu Yuxi's invention, but in this poem he achieves a creative transformation of this motif. He does not write of the human heart as flowing water (lamenting time), nor as clear water (characterizing virtue), but writes of the human heart as water generating waves—and these waves arise on level ground, without cause, easily. This image henceforth becomes a classic metaphor for the fickleness of human relationships.
- The Universality Rhetoric of Omitting the Subject: The poem contains no first-person "I," nor any specified target. This suspension of the subject makes the "human heart" in the poem not that of a specific person or group, but a universal psychological flaw of humanity. Readers need not know what Liu Yuxi experienced to find this line reflected in their own lives.
Insights
This work tells us: The hardest place to cross in the world is the few inches within the human heart. Liu Yuxi spent his life alongside treacherous rapids. Exiled to Lang Prefecture, he traveled upstream; exiled to Kui Prefecture, he passed through these waters once more. He understood better than anyone the peril of Qutang, the density of reefs, the urgency of the rapids. Yet he ultimately admitted: none of these visible perils are as fearsome as the invisible ones. For the peril of water can be mapped, circumvented, awaited until winds calm and waves subside. The peril of the human heart has no map, no warning, no season. It may come from those you once trusted, may occur at the moment you believe safest, may have no reason at all—just the two words, "at its leisure," are enough to capsize your life.
However, Liu Yuxi wrote this poem not to instill despair. Rather, it represents his choice—after acknowledging the unpredictable nature of the human heart—to live with lucidity within that very unpredictability. He did not declare, "Henceforth, I shall trust no one," nor did he claim, "All human hearts are evil," nor did he retreat into isolation and indifference. He simply stated the truth, and then continued on his own path. In contemporary society, we, too, encounter moments of "waves stirred on level ground at its leisure"—misunderstandings, framings, betrayals, baseless malice. This poem reminds us: while rapids can be charted, the human heart cannot be predicted. Acknowledging this is not pessimism, but maturity. And true maturity is, after recognizing the waves that may rise from the human heart, still being willing to maintain, within the field of one's own heart, a stretch of level ground where no waves rise.
"But human heart is more dangerous than a whirlpool;"—This regret is the millennial sigh Liu Yuxi uttered on behalf of all those toyed with by capricious fate.
Poem translator
Xu Yuan-chong (许渊冲)
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.
