《伊川擊壤集》Vol. 16

The Yichuan Jirang Ji is a poetry collection by Shao Yong, a Northern Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian philosopher. The selected poems here reveal his open-minded attitude toward life and philosophical reflections.

In Answering Someone’s Poem, the poet questions whether his sinews, bones, Qi (vital energy), and blood remain as vigorous as in his youth but takes comfort in the fact that his wit and laughter at banquets remain undiminished. This conveys an acceptance of the passage of time.

Ode to Winter’s Chill depicts the grace of pines and cypresses in the cold: only in winter can their hardy nature be truly seen—their sound heard in the wind, their verdant hue observed against the snow. This subtly alludes to how a noble character reveals itself in adversity.

In Rhyme, Thanking Commissioner Ren for Sending a Carefree Pillow humorously remarks that though a friend has gifted him a "carefree pillow," his physical form has yet to attain true carefreeness—only in dreams can he seek such a state. This reflects the Daoist pursuit of spiritual transcendence.

Ode to Qi and Zheng draws on historical anecdotes of two virtuous ministers—Zichan of Zheng and Yan Ying of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period—to illustrate that talent requires the right stage to realize its fullest potential.

Letter to Deputy Lü on His Behalf employs the allusion of King Mu of Zhou’s eight legendary steeds to praise a friend’s treasured collection, expressing regret that despite their proximity, he has never seen them in person.

With Wang Anzhi After the Rain captures the joy of long-awaited rain: the croaking of frogs and buzzing of mosquitoes no longer matter, for this downpour not only nourishes all things but also eases the burden of taxes. The poet’s contentment with his reclusive mountain life shines through.

In Response to Imperial Attendant He’s Gift modestly admits his own inadequacy in worldly affairs, having kept his doors shut all year. Though he admires the soaring achievements of high office, he finds greater solace in the quiet simplicity of bamboo groves and courtyards. While he delights in flowers and wine, he laments his aging body, unable to match the vigor of younger talents.

Ode to Clarity and Harmony explores the dynamic between "clarity" and "harmony": excessive purity risks narrow-mindedness, while unvarying harmony may lead to frivolity. True cultivation lies in knowing when to act and when to stop.

Ode to Difference and Sameness critiques two extremes: brilliance often descends into rashness, while caution can stagnate into pedantry. People often mistake their own views for truth while dismissing all dissent, making it impossible to grasp the true Dao (the Way).

Ode to Immediate Matters satirizes those who flatter the powerful in life and curry favor with spirits in death. It points out that such opportunistic mindsets—seeking wealth in life and absolution in death—are fundamentally a loss of one’s true heart.

The poems from the Yichuan Jirang Ji reveal Shao Yong's serene contentment with life and his philosophical reflections.

The first poem conveys: Humans are naturally endowed with keen senses and sound bodies—precious gifts from heaven. Only by exploring the mysteries of the moon (a metaphor for probing the origins of things) can one truly understand all phenomena; only by reaching the "celestial root" (the cosmic source) can one comprehend human nature. When the Qian hexagram meets the Xun hexagram (two of the Eight Trigrams/Bagua), observe the lunar abyss; when thunder rumbles from the earth, contemplate the celestial root. Thus freely traversing between heaven and earth, all thirty-six palaces (referring to the body or cosmic divisions) brim with vitality.

The second poem discusses human disposition: The honest and simple often lack cleverness, while the quick-witted frequently lack steadiness. Where might one find someone both pure-hearted and wise to discuss life's myriad affairs together?

Drinking Alone depicts his twilight years: Sip wine when it's available—what more could one desire nearing seventy? Teeth loosen while children's marriages remain unsettled; drought leaves fields barren. After guests depart, idle hours pass combing hair in the sun. White hairs grow endlessly, adorning poetic inspiration—even fit for painting.

Autumn Reflections laments time's passage: Spring has barely faded when wild geese return beyond the clouds, heralding autumn. Seasons shift before our eyes; years vanish overhead. Though youthful ambitions linger, the body now declines. Thankfully, the heart often finds joy—even comprehending truths sages deemed obscure.

In a poem responding to Wang Anzhi, he writes: Though spring and summer inspire verse, what purpose does writing serve? Living like Yan Hui (Confucius' contented disciple) in poverty is easy; debating like Hui Shi (the Logician) is hard. Facing moonlit breezes stirs boundless emotion; gazing at misty mountains deepens contemplation. These rhyming lines offer scant comfort—how dare I compare to Wang Anzhi or Zhang Jingzhi?

Another records an autumn gathering: Deep in the courtyard, kin and friends rejoice to exquisite new melodies. Fluttering sleeves gleam under red candles; painted boats rest where duckweed drifts. Old companions from golden halls now prepare to leave the "Phoenix Pool" (officialdom). I dwell incognito in the bustling capital, calling my home a "snail's shell"—yet Shao Yong presumes to be your neighbor.

A final apology poem reads: Endless autumn rain churns roads to mud; each day I long for clear skies. Eager friends await, but age and chill deter travel. Though distance is slight, twice plans have failed. Two thoughts war within—leaving me fretful, restless at my desk.

Selected Interpretations from the Yichuan Jirang Collection

A poetic response following Wang Anshi's "Autumn Appointment with Shaoqing": The vicissitudes of life are not worth excessive concern—in the end, we all return to the same patch of wild grass. Over the millennia, our drifting forms, like clouds and water, resemble crops that must follow the rhythm of balanced warmth and cold. Henceforth, may the joy of our frequent exchanges never wane.

For my eldest son, Bowen, upon failing the imperial exams: Confucianism esteems virtue and literary excellence, yet human destiny has no fixed course—just as the flourishing and withering of plants are unpredictable. Seeking fame and merit requires effort, but gain and loss are ordinary matters; external things cannot be forced. These words carry profound meaning.

Year-end self-reflection: Heaven and Earth do not linger forever in spring, nor does the earth yield only treasures. One must embrace the harmonious Qi of the Mean to nurture pure and excellent individuals. Fertile fields grow millet and rice, while barren lands sprout only thorns. Useless trees like the Ailanthus and oak are fit only for firewood. As the most spiritual of the myriad beings, we ought to embody their essence; lacking spirituality, we merely categorize them in vain. To speak precious words, one must first possess precious thoughts; to manifest a glorious name, one must first perform glorious deeds. Benefiting the world is beautiful, but awakening to the Dao is truly precious. Alas, I have achieved neither.

A scene of noblemen drinking: Fathers are kind, sons filial; elder brothers are friendly, younger ones respectful. Every household enjoys abundance, and the year brings favorable weather. Bodies are healthy, neighbors harmonious. Noblemen drink and revel—their joy is boundless.

Reflections on reading The Biography of Zhang Liang: Zhang Liang's contributions as the foremost architect of the Han dynasty were extraordinary, but his ability to begin well and end well is even rarer. One might suspect that the immortal Chisongzi of later times was none other than the old man from Mount Huangshi who once taught him military strategy. Adapting to circumstances—whether employed or idle—knows no bounds; advancing or retreating lies entirely within one's grasp. The ancients are gone beyond our sight; how lamentable that few today embody such virtue.

Two poems on observing nature (composed in the ninth year of Xining reign): The willow's nature is supremely pliant, growing over ten feet in a year. Though it flourishes easily, it also withers readily. All grains depend on timely rain; after extreme desiccation comes abundant prosperity. How can we obtain such sweet dew to nourish all living things?

Five reflections on order and chaos: Chaos outlasts order; calamities outweigh benefits; sorrows surpass joys; ugliness exceeds beauty. Why does Yin-Yang transformation unfold this way? This ancient land of the Central Plains once gave birth to the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors. Yet among their descendants, some are destitute, others exalted.

On the philosophy of "refined meaning entering spirit": To deeply comprehend subtle principles until one attains spiritual mastery—this is called "Shen (spirit)." Shen has no fixed position (referring to the Dao's boundless transformations).

Interpretation of "Yichuan Jirang Collection":

On the principle of mutual overcoming between Yin and Yang:

The Dao of Change has no fixed form, yet it manifests in the functions of all things and reveals its benevolence. Fire inherently overcomes water, but if fire cannot prevail over water, it will extinguish; water naturally follows the heating of fire, but if it resists, it will not warm. A husband should guide his wife—if he fails to do so, their bond will break; a wife should follow her husband—if she refuses, misfortune will follow. Heaven can create all things but cannot nurture them; Earth can nurture but cannot create. Fire can cook but cannot cool; water can cool but cannot cook. Even Heaven and Earth cannot possess all functions—how can water and fire be perfect? Only when opposites cooperate can they nourish each other; if they suppress one another, both will suffer.

"Thirty Years Reflection" on the passage of time:

Compared to thirty years ago, life today seems hard, but compared to thirty years from now, the present is leisurely. After long peace, people crave chaos; after prolonged chaos, they yearn for peace. If only one could ride a thousand-year crane and soar to the immortal mountains.

"On Illness" compares healing the body to governing a nation:

When the body is ill, seek a skilled physician—wrong medicine harms the body. When the nation is troubled, seek wise talent—wrong appointments endanger the state. Correct mistakes before urgency arises, or regret will come too late.

"Facing Flowers" expresses sentiment:

This year’s blossoms mirror last year’s; today’s hearts echo those of the past. With no worries in mind, joy overflows. Though years pass, the spirit stays young; though teeth and hair fade, resolve grows stronger. Asked if he had transcended worldly life, Shao Yong (Yao Fu) replied that he had just returned from the grotto-heavens.

"Self-Reflection" depicts a leisurely life:

Half-drunk in spring warmth and autumn cool, seated in a carriage, idly waving a horsetail whisk. Though his virtue does not bless the masses, his ease adds charm to an era of peace.

"On Departing Affairs" speaks of governance:

When noble men step down, the people gain blessings; when petty men leave office, the people avoid calamity.

"Leaning on a Staff" paints a spring scene:

Strolling through southern and northern gardens with a staff, spring’s beauty comforts an aging heart. After Lantern Festival, skies clear; before Cold Food Festival, winds warm. Tender grass sprouts by the pond; light mist lingers in the woods. The Spring God (Dongjun) now pours forth affection, crafting beauty unseen.

"Unwilling Aspirations" declares his heart’s desire:

He seeks no official rank or stipend, only lighter burdens for the people, that the world may find brief respite.

"Measuring Strength" advises conduct:

Act within your means, and regret nothing; accept circumstances, sparing yourself scheming. Guard integrity like a qilin’s horn, preserve virtue like a phoenix’s plume.

Interpretation of the "Yichuan Jirang Collection"

Shao Yong (courtesy name Yaofu) conveys various philosophical insights about life in this series of poems. Regarding opportunity, he observes: Just as a fine steed awaits its rider, one may never find a worthy master—like Bo Le, the legendary horse connoisseur—and thus remain unridden for life. He likens himself not to a galloping thoroughbred, but to someone who ventures out only once each spring and autumn.

On the meeting of wise rulers and virtuous ministers, the poems cite famous historical pairings: Gao Yao encountering Emperor Shun, Yi Yin assisting Tang of Shang, Wu Ding discovering Fu Yue, King Wen of Zhou gaining Jiang Ziya, Duke Huan of Qi recognizing Guan Zhong, Liu Bang employing Zhang Liang, Zhuge Liang establishing Shu Han, and Fang Xuanling supporting the Tang dynasty. These examples underscore the importance of harmonious ruler-minister relationships.

Concerning one’s approach to tasks, he emphasizes seizing the moment: The year’s plan lies in spring, the day’s plan in dawn, and life’s plan in youth—every endeavor must begin with earnest dedication. On the tension between righteousness and profit, he notes: Prioritizing profit diminishes righteousness, and vice versa. When righteousness prevails over profit, sincerity flourishes; when profit overrides righteousness, conflict arises.

Regarding self-cultivation, he asserts that sages emerge from ordinary people, and the heart-mind must be refined through practice—like sifting gold from sand or extracting jade from stone. Comparing plants to pine trees: Common grasses topple in wind and wither under frost, while pines sing in the wind and stand firm against frost, illustrating the distinction between the strong and the weak.

Perspective shapes perception: Looking upward, one envies those above as wealthy and noble; looking downward, one pities those below as poor and lowly. Viewing things with the original mind unifies all phenomena, while viewing the mind through external objects reveals shifting states. He reflects that though his dwelling is humble, it provides contentment—unlike many who live dependent on others.

The final poems offer life reflections: When admiring apricot blossoms, pin one in your hair to share the joy; choose a wife for both beauty and virtue, and hope sons emulate sages like Gao Yao or Kui; pursue good deeds wholeheartedly, for life is fleeting—seize happiness in time; spring never returns, flowers never rebloom, youth departs forever, and time flows irrevocably onward; shearing wool (a metaphor for governance) should not harm the people—cherish all living beings.

These poems from the Yichuan Jirang Collection primarily express the author's reflections on life, virtue, and nature. The first poem conveys a heart troubled for the nation and its people, akin to Zhuge Liang's unwavering loyalty, yet laments the difficulty of finding such virtuous talents in reality. The second emphasizes the importance of sincerity—mere words without action are empty posturing, and excessive selfishness blinds one to the truths of the world. The third, "Ode to the Six Attainments," states that one must have clear vision, keen hearing, kind speech, capable hands, an active body, and a heart that can let go—only then can life harmonize with the natural order of Heaven and Earth.

The fourth, "Ode to Rise and Fall," observes the impermanence of power and influence, noting that those who proclaim themselves virtuous often fall short of the title. The fifth, "Ode to Wealth and Honor," praises the legendary Emperor Shun for sharing both joy and hardship with the people, illustrating that a true nobleman remains unswayed by riches and status. The sixth, "Ode to No Delusion," warns against reckless speech and action, advising one to avoid deluded hearing, seeing, speaking, and thinking—this being the cultivation of sages.

"Ode to Good and Evil" criticizes those who recognize right and wrong yet fail to reform. "Spring Day in the Garden" depicts the joy of wandering through springtime gardens, likening it to the life of immortals. "Ode to Deciphering Characters" uses etymological analysis to explain the meanings of words like "trust," "clarity," "martial," and "broth." "Ode to Life's Affairs" laments how beautiful flowers are hard to bloom while weeds are hard to uproot, mirroring life's many inevitabilities. "Ode to Poverty and Success" teaches that one should maintain equanimity in both hardship and prosperity. "Ode to the Cosmos" suggests that humans can merge with the myriad things of the universe. "Ode to Long Drought" reflects on the human tendency to yearn for rain after drought and sunshine after endless rain.

Written in plain language, these poems blend concern for worldly affairs with wisdom on self-cultivation, embodying the author's detached attitude toward fame and fortune and his alignment with the natural flow of life.

"The Song of Perfecting Nature" teaches that if one can preserve the purity of their innate nature with undivided focus, why worry about failing to reach the ancient sages' realm?

"The Song of the Path" states: Life's path must remain broad—when it narrows, none will walk alongside. Untrodden paths grow wild, for human affairs are often thorny. This reminds us to embrace others with generosity and tolerance.

"The Song of the Great Man" observes: The Dao of heaven (natural law) is profound, while the Dao of humanity (human affairs) is immediate. Fulfilling human sentiment aligns with heavenly principle. This illustrates that virtuous conduct requires both wisdom and compassion.

"The Song of Primordial Nature, Presented to Xing Heshu" describes: Our primordial nature resembles the Supreme Void (cosmic origin), manifesting most authentically in desireless stillness. Those inwardly fulfilled never boast; true talent often goes unrecognized. Those who understand Dao speak with reason; those content in righteousness dwell at ease anywhere. Only with serene equilibrium can one become a man of unshakable integrity.

"The Song of Reflecting on Affairs" emphasizes: Practice goodness within your means; comprehend principles by observing human sentiments first. With this understanding, action flows effortlessly. Handled rightly, all paths open; contrary to Dao, even doorsteps grow thorns. Though these truths are plain, few truly heed them.

"The Song of Vast Chanting" asserts: True wisdom lies in seizing subtle timing. Advance or retreat rests in one's grasp—yet depends on circumstance. Often we regret knowing others too late, or discerning events too slowly. Only in unity with heaven's Dao can one fully grasp the sages' way.

"The Song of Fame and Gain" declares: Unburdened by reputation or profit, the heart finds natural peace. Love and hatred alike are maladies—when will the spirit know true rest? This counsels relinquishing attachments.

"The Song from the Heights" laments: Who can transform worldly cruelty into profound grace? Alas, the ancient worthies are gone—we can only sigh from mountain peaks.

"The Song of Exhausted Intent" proclaims: Focus intent on substance; let speech spring from sincerity. Affectation and repressed emotion are not my way.

Two additional "Songs of Vast Chanting" observe: Grief and joy hang by a thread; order and chaos share one essence while rivers and peaks endure. Distant flute songs carry; green foliage stretches afar. Somewhere on a high tower, someone leans on railings watching sunset. Another verse adds: Since enlightened rulers are rare, retreat is wiser. Frost underfoot still warns, but felled trees never revive. Cornered beasts strike back; wild geese soar beyond reach. The starving need food—all else is illusion.

Finally, "The Song of Gentleness" admonishes: Measure noble minds by warmth and kindness; recognize petty minds by their artifice. This is the sober truth of our world.

Excerpts from Yichuan Jirang Ji in Modern Interpretation:

The passage "Superior Mechanisms Overcome Malice" describes how those who cultivate the Dao transcend worldly troubles, experiencing time's flow slowing within the gourd paradise (the miniature celestial realm where Daoist immortals dwell in legend). Noble minds pursue righteousness while petty ones chase profit; those who honor virtue flourish daily, while the covetous decline. The virtuous prioritize De (Virtue), while the ignoble rely on force – nurturing De accumulates blessings, whereas coercion breeds enmity. The noble accumulate fortune through goodness, the petty through domination – goodness naturally begets rewards, while malice inevitably invites calamity.

"Innate Nature Verse" expounds the philosophy of aligning with cosmic principles: following the innate patterns of nature ensures harmony with the Dao, while adapting to temporal circumstances seizes opportunity. Those who never oppose nature's course remain timelessly attuned, whereas those forcibly chasing trends exhaust themselves.

"Pleasures Admonition" offers health preservation wisdom: savor rich foods sparingly, indulge joyful acts moderately, heed flattering words selectively, and restrain physical indulgence. "Ultimate Sincerity Verse" reveals: only by avoiding excessive craving can one attain; only through persistent study can one comprehend. To maintain perpetual mental clarity, supreme sincerity is essential.

"Jade Metaphor Verse" employs mineral allegory: other mountains' stones may be carved into jade, yet human life has limits and aging is inevitable. Shao Yong (the author) refines his temperament through poetry, regulates his body with wine, and sixty-six years of serene living have polished his mind to moonlit clarity.

When responding to Scholar Ning's request for verse, he remarks: recluse's casually chanted poems – three hundred suffice for contemplation. "Poetry and Wine Verse" unveils creative truth: the sage's realm transcends words; only tranquil hearts perceive reality, and only clear eyes discern the Dao's workings. Poetry depicts spirits' forms; wine unveils creation's mysteries.

"White Hair Verse" exposes aging's essence: gray strands are natural, yet mine owe not to sorrow but worldly desires. Diminish cravings, preserve equanimity, and aging's march slows naturally.

"Kindred Spirits Verse" cites Confucius (Zhongni) and Mencius: only at the sage's level can one neither seek fame nor be swayed by externals. Like mountain streams – seemingly ordinary yet profoundly meaningful – true resonance needs no forced seeking, for kindred souls converge effortlessly.

In the deep mountains one might still find white jade (symbolizing the pure Daoist heart), but searching for gold within one's body (representing worldly fame and fortune) proves utterly futile. How dare we claim to have attained enlightenment? Yet who's to say there aren't true kindred spirits in this world?

This passage contrasts "white jade in mountains" with "gold on the body" to illuminate how spiritual seekers should pursue inner refinement rather than external materialism. The rhetorical questions that follow embody the proper humility of Daoist cultivation—neither presumptuous self-importance nor despair about finding fellow travelers on the path.