《伊川擊壤集》Vol. 11

Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) recorded several poems rich in life philosophy in Volume 11 of his "Jirang Ji" written in Yichuan:

On the Shangsi Festival (Third Day of Third Month) while admiring flowers, seeing the same splendid blossoms as previous years, I couldn't help missing friends who once enjoyed these sights with me. Now I know not where those companions wander—alone I face the distant breeze with wine in hand.

In "Playfully Addressed to Prince Wu's Chamberlain," he jested: In recent years people don't cherish fine flowers, unwittingly angering the Spring God (Dongjun). Now a single peony's price has soared a hundredfold—the entire spring of Luoyang has been bought out. My peony named "Enhanced Crimson" blooms with twenty-four stems, each breathtakingly beautiful. Fearing cold winds might ruin this splendor, I quickly preserve this beauty in verse.

"Warblers' Chant" depicts orioles migrating in early spring: Not long departed from mountain valleys, their tender yellow tongues like newly made reeds, feathers like freshly forged golden robes. They speak for blossoms of "dazzling" brilliance, voice the willows' "lingering" tenderness. Beyond willow groves they sing at dusk, before flower beds they chant at dawn. Their calls grow frequent during rainy spells, dwindle as spring wanes. Travelers, don't listen too intently—lest you lose your way amid such springtime splendor.

"The Art of Flower Appreciation" discusses aesthetic discernment: Ordinary viewers admire only outward form, while connoisseurs perceive the flower's vital spirit (Shen). Color may be imitated, but that essential vitality (Jing-Qi) cannot be counterfeited.

"The Art of Wine Drinking" explains drinking philosophy: Unskilled drinkers crave intoxication, while masters seek subtle inebriation. Drunkenness harms the body, but proper measure brings a healthy glow.

"Simplicity's Chant" extols minimalist wisdom: Fewer worries mean fewer dreams, less speech means fewer faults. Curtain shadows reveal the sun's slow march, still willows whisper of gentle breezes. Attend only to blossoms' coming and going, ignore worldly gossip. Why seek immortal realms? Such living feels no emptiness.

"Spring's Chant" laments: Ninety days of spring, most filled with wind and rain. Rare are fine blossoms, harder still to calm restless hearts.

"The World's Chant" observes: Amid worldly tumult, who finds true leisure? How fortunate am I, reclining to admire Luoyang's springscape.

"Springwater's Chant" depicts: Spring waters ripple emerald—yet what can this jade hue conquer? Unable to dye other things, it merely stains sheer silken gauze.

"Spring Rain's Chant" describes: Spring rain fine as silk threads—how can such misty drizzle compare to torrents that awaken all creation?

These poems from The Collection of Striking Earthen Vessels in Yichuan express the poet's lamentations on the fleeting nature of time and the impermanence of life, while advocating a philosophy of cherishing the present moment and seizing joy while one can.

In Lament of What's Lost, the poet sighs at the transience of spring's beauty—though orioles still sing in the garden as before, the companions who once shared these strolls are gone, evoking a melancholic sense of change amid familiar scenes.

Song of Wearing Flowers depicts the poet mustering his spirits to pin blossoms in his hair and drink wine. Though the flowers are lovely and the wine fine, he worries that tomorrow's illness may deepen, revealing the tension between carpe diem indulgence and the body's inevitable decline.

Spring's Departure adopts a more accepting stance toward seasonal transitions. While mourning the remnants of spring, the poet also delights in the lush shade of early summer, demonstrating the wisdom of aligning with nature's rhythms.

In Farewell Poem for Grand Councilor Li Junxi's Dragon Diagram, the flourishing of myriad blossoms becomes a metaphor for talented individuals, urging companions not to part lightly—a testament to the value placed on friendship.

The Three Replies to Li Xichun, Agricultural Officer series reflects on dwindling friendships while advocating timely gatherings. Scenes of leisurely life by bamboo groves and streams, beneath moonlight and breezes, express deep appreciation for kindred spirits. The final poem laments years slipping by with achievements unfulfilled, tinged with quiet resignation.

The Poems on Old Age Meeting Spring sequence explores elderly encounters with spring through six perspectives:

• The opening couplet advises the aged not to doubt spring's arrival, but to understand the Dao (the Way) of all things waxing and waning.
• The second couplet suggests that only in old age does one truly cherish spring light, particularly when beholding lavish blooms.
• The third describes exotic flowers as if comprehending an old man's heart.
• The fourth uses nearly exhausted gold as a metaphor for twilight years, proposing that only by relinquishing desire can one find contentment.
• The fifth celebrates tipsy conversations with friends.
• The closing couplet portrays half-opened blossoms at their most delicate and fragrant—an implicit metaphor for life's beauty residing in poised potential.

Written in unadorned language, these works employ seasonal imagery and everyday details to convey Daoist ideals of harmonizing with nature and finding sufficiency, alongside Confucian values of treasured relationships and timely action. The use of proper nouns like "Dongjun" (Spring Deity) and "Fuxi" (legendary ancient ruler) lends classical elegance.

The poems from Yichuan Jirang Ji reveal the literati lifestyle and Daoist philosophy of Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) during the Song Dynasty through his poetic exchanges with friends. The first poem suggests that painting cannot fully capture life's true essence, much like the self-forgetting state achieved when admiring flowers while intoxicated. It depicts returning tipsy through night rain to a quiet Daoist hall where friends converse leisurely over wine.

The second set comprises poetic replies to friends. Sima Guang's poem (addressed as "Junshi") prompts self-reflection—wondering if he might be someone from Fuxi's ancient era who no longer tracks the sun and moon, perceiving seasons only through blossoms' cycles. Wang Gong's poem ("Junkuang") leads him to recognize how the "Shaowei Star" (symbolizing recluses) aligns with celestial patterns, realizing carefree individuals without worldly attachments may unexpectedly encounter destiny. Xie Anzhi's verse enlightens him that the character "安" (peace) represents a Daoist cultivation ladder—though plagued by illness, he grasps the true meaning of "安然快乐" (serene joy). When Xie Kaishu inquires about worldly affairs, he responds that only by reclusing in forests can one attain the supreme state of "无求无事" (desire-free tranquility).

The final group consists of farewell poems. He humbly compares his relocation to Luoyang with Confucius' travels between states, claiming inferior talent. When friends praise his verses as if composed by immortals in mountain caves, he attributes their refinement merely to borrowing inspiration from wind and moon—transcendent beauty unattainable by ordinary people. Throughout these poems flows the Daoist philosophy of Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness, where quotidian activities like wine-drinking, flower appreciation, and reclusive mountain living embody spiritual detachment and the unity of heaven and humanity.

Selected Passages from The Collection of Striking the Earth at Yichuan

In Reply to Lord Xie Duanming

Talents like those of Cao and his son (referring to Cao Cao and his descendants) inspire me to craft splendid writings today. Within elegant verses, phrases as graceful as orchids unfold. Though illness weighs on my body and summer heat scorches the tower, reciting your poetry brings the most comfort—cool breezes arrive of their own accord.

Ode to Grand Calligraphy

Half-drunk with poetic inspiration, I transcribe with a brush as thick as a rafter. Knowing when to stop is the height of joy; only when emotion peaks do I dip the brush lightly. Lu Yang’s skill in halting the sun still falls short, and Zong Que’s ambition to ride the wind is not yet lofty enough. Capturing the ineffable beauty of a peaceful age—let the world praise such merit as it will.

Teaching My Son

Few among ten thousand truly understand their rightful place in life. Though one may grasp principles, the key lies in practice. Only when innate talent meets profound insight can one stand out; only by surpassing the ordinary can one become an honored guest. Why is the gap between good and evil so vast? It stems from both natural endowment and diligent cultivation.

Lament of an Aching Arm

First, headaches plagued my body; now, arm pain adds to my woes. It hinders formal gestures but not drinking, prevents combing my hair yet allows reading. I seek no quick cure from physicians, only laughter to ease the pain. All things wear out with age—how can humans escape illness in their later years?

Reflections on the World

True leisure in this world lies in knowing how to steal moments of peace—my whole life has been one of unhurried grace. Time, though limited, brings inevitable aging, but boundless winds and moonlight console the heart. At home, only bamboo and water keep me company; when I climb high, clouds and mountains fill my gaze. Drunk, I nap beneath flowering branches, waking only when their shadows shift.

Ode to Unconventional Writings

Who says only phoenixes nest at Dan Mountain (legendary home of the phoenix)? My brush reveals the nine patterns of the phoenix. Inspired lines lend the strength of a tiger’s wings; grand compositions seem to converse with the divine. A thousand bolts of Shu brocade take new forms; ten thousand spring blossoms sway on warm branches. Like a heavenly steed roaming the eight extremes, I ponder wind and moonlight by lamplight.

Two Poems on the Whirlwind

How can hearts remain unsettled in an age of peace? When minds are calm, contention fades. I care not for clever moves in chess but often delight in the truth within zither notes. In youth, I sought only imperial classics; in old age, I dwell on the texts of Fu Xi. I know where my true gain lies—pine and cypress show their green in deepest winter, while wild grasses flourish in midsummer. Time passes like a traveler; life’s fortunes spin like a whirlwind.

These poems from The Collection of Yichuan's Earthenware express the life reflections and mental state of the author Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) in his later years.

The first poem discusses worldly strife: people are often driven by profit into conflict, yet human hearts are fundamentally similar—the key lies in maintaining a peaceful mindset. In all matters, one should not hesitate but always act toward auspicious outcomes. The peace of the world depends on equality of heart.

The second and third poems reflect on illness: though frequently unwell, he avoids seeking medical treatment, instead leisurely observing bees gathering honey and swallows building nests, finding delight in nature's rhythms. He jokes that his lack of musical skill, not a scarcity of kindred spirits, explains why he seldom plays the qin. The old cannot relive youth, nor can the young grasp an elder's state of mind—only quiet sitting to nurture the spirit (Shen) and reciting poetry in tranquility remain.

Ode to Headaches speaks of suffering: despite migraines, he still laughs and sings freely. Differences between people are slight—why fuss over them? Closing his eyes brings darkness, but opening his heart broadens the world. Relying on cunning schemes only cultivates "heroes" skilled in manipulation.

Reply to a Guest discusses conduct: debates often grow extreme, yet the great Dao (the Way) bends and stretches with ease. Good fortune is rare in life, but where in the world are talents not found? In old age, he walks freely with his cane and writes when poetic inspiration strikes. Fearing verse might constrain his nature, he boldly scrawls large characters instead.

Song of Growing Old recounts his twilight years: though achieving little, he refuses to drift with the tide. Middle-aged and convalescing, he finds solace in poetry. To ease his heart, he prefers blunt speech. All worldly worries are alike—what else remains for humanity? At dusk, he strolls by Tianjin Bridge with his cane, whispering to sandpipers not to startle away.

The final poem, For Wang Anzhi, praises virtue: most consider one good deed commendable, yet you cultivate a hundred. Once clinging to a mother's care, you served long in office without craving glory. Though your rank was modest, your character stands lofty and refined.

These poems reveal Shao Yong's late-life detachment from fame and wealth, his harmony with nature, and his penetrating insight into worldly affairs. Even in illness, his serenity reflects the Daoist philosophy of accepting circumstances with equanimity.

The Plain Interpretation of "Yichuan Jirang Ji":

The venerable scholar formed a literary society in Luoyang, yet political circumstances kept them apart, forcing many joyful gatherings to be abandoned.

"Song of Understanding" teaches: True wisdom lies in discerning human hearts, and comprehending the times reveals human nature. But excessive speculation about others proves harmful, while extreme shrewdness erodes innocence.

"Song of Rare Joy" reflects: Though I've never chased fame or fortune, why does joy remain scarce? Valuing oneself through the Dao (the Way) is right, yet pointless entanglements are meaningless. Ascension to immortality in broad daylight is likely myth, and trading golden sables for wine doesn't guarantee true intoxication. Who claims sorrow looms like mountains? These are but ordinary human troubles.

"Song of Recovery from Illness" describes: Bedridden for over a month, never expecting such prolonged sickness. Meals became difficult day and night, weakness beyond words. Only when able to toast guests again did I take up my brush. Then I understood—the will commands Qi (vital energy), and when the heart finds ease, grave illness naturally retreats.

The two "Songs of Half-Drunk" depict the bliss of tipsy homecomings: Boarding the carriage half-intoxicated, wheels rolling smoothly homeward. Cool breezes caress my face, emerald willows brush overhead. This state of mind feels like commanding three armies, yet also like effortlessly directing ten thousand troops. Such leisurely wealth, I suspect, remains incomprehensible to most.

"Song of Mirror Gazing" captures a morning reflection: At dawn, white-haired in the mirror, I rejoice at becoming an aged immortal. Still bold enough to speak truths for all, clearly voicing the world's fundamental principles. Though the world naturally knows no troubles, why must it always have sages? What purpose has my life served? Only this: I'm perfectly suited for retiring to forest springs.

"Song of Human Longevity" contemplates lifespan: A hundred years brim with hardships—at sixty-three, I've surely passed midway. Gauntness isn't nobility, nor white hair longevity. Dying now wouldn't be premature, especially while health persists.

"Song of Old Age" portrays twilight years: Aging in peaceful times, leisure brings deeper contentment. Neither noble nor lowly, neither hungry nor cold. When guests come, wine flows; laughter opens daily. On life's smoothest road—does companionship follow?

Fragment from "Song of the Ancient Zither" mentions: With zither, chess, books, and paintings as constant companions, even poverty can't part us. Jade forms the tuning pegs, while gold...

Baihua Interpretation of Yichuan Jirang Ji:

Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) expresses his observations of worldly affairs and insights into life through his poetry. Regarding the way of hosting guests, he reminds hosts to guard against servants’ laziness—just as one must carefully tend to boiling a crane (a metaphor for wasting precious resources).

In The Chant of Seeking Trust, he discusses three realms of trust: Initially, one seeks others’ trust, with some believing and others not; later, one seeks self-assurance, yet more people come to understand; ultimately, one reaches a state where trust need not be deliberately sought, naturally facing all with ease.

The Chant of Scorpions and Snakes uses these creatures as metaphors for dangers in the world—snake venom is deadly but strikes from afar, while scorpion venom, though weaker, lurks close at hand. Between heaven and earth, perils abound, leaving people "fearful at both ends."

The Chant of Freedom depicts physical and mental liberation: The human heart is but a tiny space, so why constrain hands and feet? The body spans only a few feet, so why confine the steps? Everyone drinks and reads, yet few are as free as Yaofu (Shao Yong’s self-reference).

The Chant of Peaceful Mind explores the relationship between mental state and circumstance: A peaceful mind brings a peaceful body, and a peaceful body naturally makes one’s dwelling spacious. When both mind and body are at peace, how can external things disturb? For one with a peaceful mind, a tiny space can be as firm as Mount Tai, and a cramped room as vast as heaven and earth.

Regarding poetic composition, he believes poetry expresses intent—one must refine language for fine lines, but more crucially, refine the artistic conception for lingering depth.

The Chant of Doing Good advocates that virtue is one’s duty; utmost sincerity can move metal, stone, spirits, and gods. Act in accordance with heaven’s will, speak from the depths of the heart—there’s no need to care whether others know.

The Chant of Immediate Matters advises facing situations with sincerity and decisiveness, following goodness like flowing water. Even thieves have their principles, yet humans may lack benevolence. Righteousness has no fixed form—where the heart is at peace, there lies one’s foundation.

The Chant of Chance Realization states that the sun and moon are the essence of all phenomena, and humans are the pinnacle of all beings. All things arise from heaven, speech gains credibility through people, and moonlight depends on the sun for brightness. When humans and nature are in harmony, the world naturally finds peace.

The Chant of Sitting in Stillness contemplates destiny: Human life has its fate, all things have their course. Though humans are the most spiritual of beings, sometimes they live less uprightly than other creatures. Even if ghosts and demons could cause death, beyond death lies a higher pursuit, for human life ultimately belongs to the Dao of heaven.

These verses from the Yichuan Jirang Collection reveal Shao Yong's profound reflections on life, morality, and society. Here is a modern interpretation:

Regarding the question of "spiritual efficacy of ghosts and deities," the author states: Even if ghosts and deities truly possess spiritual power, what can they do about the Mandate of Heaven (Tianming)? This expresses reverence for the inevitability of cosmic order.

In The Ode of Serene Joy, a transcendent attitude toward life is described: With harmonious weather through all four seasons, every place feels like spring. Transforming carefree happiness into tangible bodily sensations. Quietly appreciating poetry, leisurely discussing principles with others. Though unaccompanied by music, such joy is rare in this world.

The Ode of Manhood proposes: To be a true man, one must properly handle four matters: wealth breeds greed, beauty fosters obsession, fame cultivates arrogance, and power creates dependency. Only by overcoming these four pitfalls can one transcend worldly attachments.

Verses about drought express concern for the people: During prolonged summer drought, all under heaven worry in sorrow. How one wishes for a single cloud to relieve human suffering. Occasional rain may settle the dust, but cannot revive withered crops.

The Ode of Righteousness contrasts petty men and noble gentlemen: Petty men, lacking wisdom, see only profit; noble gentlemen never deceive others, and when gaining something, still consider whether it aligns with righteousness (Dao). Some would sacrifice life for righteousness, while others forget righteousness for profit—these opposing attitudes stem from whether one's heart maintains inner peace.

The Ode of Wealth explains the nature of money: Gold and silk serve varied purposes. Betrothal gifts are called "ritual offerings," presents "tokens," trade goods "merchandise," stored valuables "treasures," bribes "ill-gotten gains," and stolen items make one a "thief."

The depiction of thieves is vivid: When eyeing valuables, thieves fear taking too little; after being exposed, they regret taking too much. If only they could be as content after exposure as before!

The Ode of Treating Things emphasizes sincerity: In dealing with people and matters, sincerity is paramount—only sincerity can traverse the world unobstructed. The principles of all things are actually clear; value righteousness and reason without flaunting talent. The vain ornaments of worldly fame ultimately prove empty.

The Ode of Yao and Shun discusses governance: Using the eyes of all people as your eyes is called "seeing in all directions"; using the ears of all people as your ears is called "hearing all counsel." The jade beads and silk tassels hanging before and behind the emperor's crown remind rulers not to be blinded by close ministers. What appears as non-action (Wuwei) is in fact all-encompassing action.

The Ode of Sunning Books states: Bookworms cause minor harm, but moth-eaten minds cause greater damage. Sunning eliminates bookworms—but how to mend corrupted hearts?

Finally, The Ode of Dual Realization laments: Such learning and endeavors are hard to transmit, such cultivation is rare in the world. Viewing heaven through a window is commonplace, but perceiving the Dao of Heaven without windows—that is true understanding.

Selected Passages from Volume 11 of Yichuan Jirang Ji Interpreted:

When rain is desperately needed yet fails to fall, disaster-stricken regions suffer ever more severely. All crops wither before our eyes, scorched and parched, leaving only wild grasses and weeds across the barren fields.

The Ode to No-Matters states: Human affairs spin like a millstone, endlessly caught in calculations of gain and loss, flourishing and decay. Only one state remains untouched by such duality—the primordial chaos before Heaven and Earth divided.

Inviting Friends from My Pavilion depicts: Gentle breezes whisper through the small tower beside the main road. Unwilling to hoard such perfect moments alone, I summon companions to share this joy.

Recalling a Dream reveals: Though my household is poor, my heart knows contentment; my body grows idle, yet emotions stay true. Open my robe—you see gaunt bones; hear me speak—pure innocence flows forth.

Two Songs of Grand Calligraphy proclaim: Writing bold characters brings exhilarating freedom—their momentum like silver mountains of crashing waves, like hundred-foot sails billowing in wind. I delight in small cups of wine but adore grand strokes of poetry. Who else in this world understands such bliss?

The Ode to Self-Congratulation reflects: The people's prosperity reveals the ruler's virtue; peaceful times manifest the emperor's merit. How much more fortunate are we elders of longevity, dwelling within this golden age of tranquility.

(Note: "Jirang" refers to an ancient throwing game, here symbolizing the carefree spirit of the poetry collection. "Grand calligraphy" denotes artistic brushwork, while "silver mountains" metaphorically describe the majestic energy of brushstrokes.)