《伊川擊壤集》Vol. 17

"Chant on Humans and Objects":

When people or objects are damaged, they require repair. Yet no matter how much they are mended, they will ultimately perish completely. Humans have their innate nature, and objects follow their own laws. Though humans and objects belong to different categories, the underlying principle is the same.

"Chant of Casual Thoughts":

Leisurely and carefree in the woods, I nap by day and sip wine to ease fatigue. Upon waking, even my dreams are half-forgotten, leaving only fragments to drift away with the wind and rain.

"Chant on Observing Things":

When chaos first divided, the two polarities (Yin-Yang) took form—the heavens round, the earth square. As heaven and earth evolved, animals and plants emerged, with humans being the most intelligent and precious among them.

"Chant on the Warring States":

The Warring States era thrived on military conquest, where the strong and the cunning displayed their prowess. Lian Po and Bai Qi excelled in warfare, while Su Qin and Zhang Yi mastered political strategy. Some rose from commoners to high officials in a day; others reveled in wealth one morning only to face execution by night. What thoughts stirred Fan Ju as he resigned his ministerial post? By what means did Cai Ze secure his place in Qin? The First Emperor of Qin raised his arms and unified the realm, yet his successor could not even live as an ordinary man. Three thousand retainers seethed with discontent as the Han dynasty replaced Qin. All that remains are empty names—the withered grass and mountains at dusk, fleeting as a spring dream.

"Chant on Reflecting Events":

Swords sharp enough to slice jade like mud do exist, but who in this world recognizes the worth of the Kunwu blade? Eloquence does not make a true hero; skill in navigating life defines a great man. Scholars retreating to the mountains may be admirable, but whose fault is it when common folk are displaced? Though it does not concern me, my heart still aches. Better to cherish the texts left by Fuxi.

Excerpt from "Another Five Chants":

All things possess their essence, yet humans are the most spiritual of beings. One must first grasp the nature of things before discussing human affairs. When breath (Qi) is calm, the body is at peace; when the mind is unhurried, life is tranquil. Even the sage-kings of antiquity governed the world by upholding these principles.

Treating illness with medicine is like waging war—how can conflict bring peace? Seeking safety only breeds unrest; curing disease only worsens it. Before tonics can restore the body, one craves rich and heavy flavors. How can this lead to longevity? Only when the auspicious star of longevity appears is it a true blessing.

All things revolve around the Dao (the Way), yet each differs in form. Though innate nature has no hierarchy, principles vary in refinement. Though humanity flourishes most, we must recognize the coexistence of all things. That I was born in this age is fortune—at least I have not sunk into mediocrity.

Plain Language Interpretation of Yichuan Jirang Ji:

Regarding life experience, hearing about something is not as good as seeing it with one's own eyes, and seeing is not as good as personally experiencing it. Since one has already comprehended it with the heart, why waste words explaining further? Through revising poetry one can understand the Dao (the Way) of cultivation, while tasting wine reveals the principles of harmonizing soup. All human affairs, when considered, follow this same underlying truth.

Human life is fleeting—before us stretch hundreds of millions of years, and after us will come hundreds of millions more, yet a person scarcely lives beyond a century. If in this lifetime one neither speaks virtuous words nor performs virtuous deeds, then though possessing human form, one lacks the true worth of being human.

The Ode to Walking the Dao says: Every era has those who carry forward the radiance of De (Virtue/Power). Today, numerous worthy scholars gather in the western suburbs. The refined pursuits of this peaceful age surpass even the golden era of the Yuanhe period.

Admonition on Righteousness teaches: When you witness good deeds, act accordingly; if unseen, let it be. Act according to your capacity, giving only what strength you have.

An Ode on Observing Things uses animal metaphors for human nature: Those as serene as phoenixes are born either loyal or kind; those as skittish as rats and sparrows are born either cruel or deceitful.

On Lords and Nobles criticizes the powerful: Lords and nobles are objects of public admiration—careless imitation damages their dignity. If one hasn't perfected oneself, how can one attend to others? Not only does this stray from the Dao, it breeds greed. Wearing Confucian caps while clinging to Buddhist thoughts, seeking peace but disturbing the heart instead—this resembles teaching children theft rather than righteousness.

Poem of Self-Reflection, the author's late-life account: Old and unaccomplished, with failing teeth and hair—what can one nearing seventy still achieve? Normally taking no medicine when healthy, composing verses only when moved. Delighting in fish swimming where water is drawn, pleased when butterflies accompany plucked flowers. A lifetime of learning proves of little use—only an untroubled heart is sought.

Another Ode on Observing Things states: Painters labor years to depict objects, while mirrors reflect instantly. Yet mirrors lack precision, and paintings inevitably err. Nothing in the world is as level as water, yet water only reveals surfaces. Only sages penetrate both exterior and interior, observing words and deeds with perfect truth. To exhaust the nature of things, eliminate selfish attachments. Those with De can surely explain principles, yet eloquent speakers may lack corresponding action.

On the Ability to Sleep discusses rest: Great shock, grief, injury, illness, or joy all prevent sleep—only inner peace brings slumber. Sleeplessness comes from mental burdens; sound sleep arrives when the heart is unencumbered.

Partridge Songs (two poems; specific content not provided here—interpretation withheld).

These poems from Yichuan Jirang Ji express profound philosophy through simple language.

The first poem observes that while people value gold, what truly delights the heart is the crisp freshness of distant mountains and the song of hidden birds. Spring’s beauty fades quickly—better to sit quietly and listen to the partridge’s call. Their cries are more pleasing than the clinking of wine cups, as they freely chase one another north and south, singing with the coming and going of spring. Yet these very sounds startle wanderers from dreams, bringing tears and boundless sorrow.

The second poem states that the innate (referring to the Dao) is wordless; only through later cultivation must effort be applied. Even the mightiest strength to lift mountains means nothing before the Dao.

The third depicts the joy of reclusion: unicorns and phoenixes actually dwell in the wilds—why chase them desperately in times of peace? Delight in hearing of good deeds, copy down fine books when found. Draw clear water beneath bamboo, watch the crimson sun through pine boughs. Awakening to sit before a grassy nest—why bother defending oneself against others’ mockery?

The fourth observes that the people’s collective will determines the rise and fall of nations: when the people are happy, harmony begets auspicious signs; when they grieve, malice breeds calamity. Auspicious signs bring gentle rains and abundance, while calamities lead to floods, droughts, and famine.

The fifth praises the peony as king of flowers, its four hues transforming into a hundred shades, a hundred fragrances.

The sixth uses the metaphor of gold refined a hundred times to achieve purity, illustrating how the human heart is clearer than still water or a mirror. Never forget old friends; hold fast to sincerity like the evergreen pines in winter’s cold.

The seventh warns that minor ailments ignored become grave illnesses hard to cure. Humility leads to a good end; stubbornness invites great loss. Between Heaven and humanity, not the slightest error is tolerated. Understanding that the highest joy remains unchanged across ages spares one much trouble.

The final poem jests that too many verses have been written—most scattered abroad, not yet returned to this nest of peace and comfort.

Interpretation of Yichuan Jirang Ji:

Shao Yong (a Northern Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian philosopher) expresses in this poetry collection his attitude of following natural spontaneity. His verse-writing never aimed at deliberate literary embellishment, but rather flowed with his innate nature to give voice to inner sentiments. He believed all things of creation are contained within human body and mind—that Heaven and Earth never betray humanity, though the swift passage of time makes one sigh at youth's fleetingness. The poems reference the alternating cycles of "lunar cavern" (the moon) and "celestial root" (the sun), illustrating how natural rhythms follow their own cadence; humans should harmonize with these patterns while enjoying the pleasures of poetry and wine.

His concept of "the Great Image naturally empty at its core" suggests true Dao manifests through emptiness and stillness (Wuwei). Rather than pursuing a thousand clever techniques, one should maintain inner purity. Regarding health cultivation, he observes all ailments stem from emotional disturbances—when desires grow faint, illnesses naturally diminish. Autumn's tranquil mountain hues and spring's flourishing foliage represent nature's true "enterprise," whereas human striving proves futile.

The poems depict his simple, unconstrained lifestyle: during spring's moderate warmth, he'd roam freely in his small carriage, finding joy everywhere. The imagery of "striking the earthen mound" (an ancient throwing game) and "wandering nests" (mobile dwellings) reveals his philosophy of cheerful acceptance. The final two poems describing a friend's garden compare its exotic peaks and ancient trees to celestial realms, presenting such serene environs as life's ultimate happiness for peaceful retirement.

Collectively, these works embody Shao Yong's synthesis of Daoist naturalism with Confucian self-cultivation, advocating the comprehension of cosmic principles through simple living while rejecting artificial pursuit of worldly splendor.

The Yichuan Jirang Collection presents these poems that convey various life philosophies in accessible language:

The first poem depicts an elderly man still brimming with vigor. Though vegetation has yellowed and years have advanced, his bones remain strong, undiminished in his enthusiasm for climbing heights to gaze afar or singing heartily over wine.

"The Unworthy Chant" critiques two types of unreliable people: those who idle about aimlessly with wandering minds all day, and those prone to empty boasts who can't manage themselves, let alone their households.

"The Noble Man's Chant" illustrates the way of gentlemen: they move through the world with ease, maintaining balanced relationships—neither overly familiar nor harboring resentment, preserving equanimity.

"The Petty Man's Chant" sketches the visage of small-minded people: lacking principles, they forget righteousness at the sight of profit, scheming for advantage when pleased and seizing by force when angered.

"The Handshake Chant" discusses friendship: those who clasp hands merrily in your wealth will turn cold in your poverty, while true friends proven in hardship endure. Bonds like gold and jade grow finer with time, unlike fleeting wine-and-meat companionships.

"The Great Change Chant" employs Yijing concepts to explain creation's mutual generation and restraint: after Heaven and Earth take their positions, transformations arise—mountains and marshes exchange breath, thunder and wind interact intensely, water and fire oppose yet complement. The Four Symbols and Eight Trigrams combine to form sixty-four hexagrams.

"The Ceasing-to-Chant Chant" reflects on poetic inspiration: intending to lay down the brush, one is stirred anew by wondrous insight. True poetry apprehends the nature of things and penetrates celestial mysteries—such verses endure through millennia without fading.

"The Golden Chant" speaks of worldly wisdom: when one possesses inner "golden" qualities, one won't drift with the current. True wisdom lies not in eloquence but in tolerance and understanding, just as only those who play the stringless zither truly comprehend music.

"The Partridge Chant" observes renewal: things perpetually replace the old with the new, this transformation indifferent to human will. Rather than lament time's passage—as orioles and flowers always herald spring—better to raise cups cheerfully and chant for joy.

The final two "Leisurely Chants" depict the pleasures of unhurried living: idleness holds its own lingering charm, savoring wooded hills and rocky springs, far from market clamor. Revel in sagely texts and natural beauty, yet guard against heartache—for nothing wounds the body deeper than sorrow.

These poems from the Yichuan Jirang Ji embody the Daoist attitude of leisurely contentment and philosophical reflection.

The first poem depicts the beauty of reclusive living: savoring the true delights of heaven and earth in idleness, free as a celestial immortal. The joy of possessing mountain forests and springs, far from the clamor of markets. Penetrating the profound principles of sages while lying drunk among flowers. It reminds us not to engage in sorrowful matters, for such matters tend to recur and entangle.

"The Azure Chant" explores the relationship between heaven and humanity: all men live beneath the same azure sky, yet not without purpose. One must understand the patterns of heavenly Dao and human relations to comprehend the mysteries of creation. Rank and wealth pale beside the joy found in wine cups, while life's achievements merge into poetry. I reckon none understands the true flavor of leisurely pleasure better than I.

"The Round Moon Chant" uses the moon as metaphor: round as a polished mirror, crescent like a silver hook, cycling endlessly through seasons. The Dao of heaven is unfathomable, worldly affairs ever-changing. All rejoice at the full moon, all grieve at its waning. All creatures have moments to breathe—why wait until the Wu ox pants at the moon (allusion: oxen in Wu mistaking the moon for the sun and panting from imagined heat)?

"Writing in Reply" is an epistolary poem: Over a year apart, missing you most at year's end. Grateful for your earnest letter, this idle correspondent replies briefly. Though aged and frail, I harbor no sorrow. In leisure I write forty characters as reply.

"The Lost Poem Chant" describes composition: Storms howl within my breast, characters slither like dragons from my brush. Three thousand poems already scattered among mortals.

"The Refusal to Depart Chant" expresses late-life sentiment: At sixty-six, I cannot forsake two things—offering poems to the True Ruler of heaven and earth (the Dao governing all things), and toasting the Image Emperor (the Celestial Lord). My face not yet flushed, heart already drunk, harmonious qi fills heaven and earth, my conscience clear.

"Governance Chant" surveys history: From Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor through Yao, Shun, Shang and Zhou rulers, from the Five Hegemons of Spring and Autumn to successive dynasties—the principles of ruler and subject, father and son broke during Qin. After Han, Three Kingdoms divided; east, west, south and north in endless strife. During the Sixteen Kingdoms of Five Barbarians, the heavenly Dao nearly perished until Tang revived it and Song continued. Predicting myriad generations hence, the Central Plains will still produce inheritors of the Dao.

"Knowing Others Chant" discusses discernment: The noble recognize others through wisdom, the petty through self-interest. The wise affirm what accords with principle, reject what violates it; the self-interested affirm what matches themselves, reject what differs.

"Words and Deeds Chant" emphasizes practice: Eloquence comes easy, action proves hard. Only a true man can stand with clear conscience.

"Time's Flight Chant" laments passing years: Three hundred sixty-six days whirl by like flying wheels. Cycling endlessly without pause—how could the four seasons stay forever spring?

"Raising the Cup Chant" expresses wine's joy: Wine holds true delight needing no words.

Plain Interpretation of the "Yichuan Jirang Collection"

When leisurely drinking with good friends, each cup seems to carry the sensation of blooming flowers. Elegant words, freshly spoken, give rise to an auspicious Qi (vital energy) from the depths of the heart. This transcendent state is not something deliberately sought—the sense of springtime felt among companions does not come from the turning of seasons. If governing the world could be so harmonious, what worries would the people have left?

"Ode to Little Wine" reflects on the constraints of limited drinking: Life has been frugal lately, and only occasionally can a few cups be enjoyed. For this old man, wine is as precious as tea, yet to friends and family, it tastes as bitter as medicine. Before drinking, I already worry about running out; when pouring, I dare not be too generous. When will I be like Tao Yuanming, with a white-robed friend delivering wine to share on the Double Ninth Festival?

Two "Quatrains on Watching Chess" depict the game: The first describes how players, though seemingly not yet engaged in battle, have already calculated victories and losses in their hearts. There is clearly a sure path to triumph, yet no one ever discovers it. The second laments how players quarrel before even making a move, too fixated on winning. In truth, there is a peaceful way to a draw—if only anyone were willing to take it.

"Ode to Growing Old" expresses the sentiments of aging: Having achieved little in old age, with hair already white, I should indulge in carefree leisure. Why chase fame beyond the clouds and mountains? Better to lose myself in poetry and wine. Writing grand verses fulfills my simple aspirations; sipping from small cups brings a rosy flush. Like spring thunder startling a dormant dragon, my brush conjures the image of a soaring azure dragon.

"Ode to Scattered Stones" uses stones as metaphors for people: Luoyang is full of rough rocks, yet one searches among them for treasure. True jade is hard to find—even stones that merely resemble jade are rare. Some are smooth and green (lulu qing), others streaked with white (linlin bai), yet they lack both the clear ring of jade and its warm luster.

Two "Odes on the Unattained" discuss conduct in life: The first observes how one may make countless enemies before achieving any merit, ultimately gaining nothing while losing much. The second notes how refusing to yield an inch leads only to futile struggle—sacrificing substance for empty reputation.

"Admonition to My Son" offers guidance: The most precious pearls have no cracks; flawless jade bears no blemishes. If even gems are thus, how can humans be without faults? To know one’s errors yet not correct them, or to see the virtuous yet not draw near—such a person may live in the world, but cannot be called truly human. Neither the standards of the Duke of Zhou (Zhougong) and Confucius (Kongzi), nor the teachings of Mencius (Mengzi) and Yang Xiong (Yang Xiong), are enough to follow. To defy reason, one might as well dwell among barbarians. The great Dao (the Way) is never far from man—Heaven and Earth reside within. Who can step beyond Heaven and Earth to seek another universe?

"Ode to Hu and Yue" reflects on human relations: Even the ancient enemies, the Hu and Yue peoples, could unite in purpose, while husband and wife may turn to enmity. Human affairs, great or small, often hinge on a single thought.

"Ode to Skillful Living" speaks of navigating life: To handle matters well is to avoid difficulty; to grasp the proper measure ensures smooth progress. When the heart is undisturbed by external things, even the lands of the Man and Mo barbarians can be a peaceful abode.

These poems from The Collection of Yichuan's Rustic Beats reveal Shao Yong's profound insights into the vicissitudes of human life.

Reflection on a Hundred Years laments how swiftly a century of life passes like east-flowing waters that none can retain. As years slip by, even the greatest accomplishments cannot prevent the hair from graying. Though aspirations remain, the mind loses its former sharpness. Were it not for inner realization, one might well chase after the path of immortality.

Year's End Verses depict time's relentless flight—days and years slipping away unnoticed. Even those who achieve greatness cannot escape the inevitable decline of age.

Observations on a Chess Game uses the metaphor of chess to illustrate life's paradox: what appears leisurely play conceals fierce struggles of gain and loss. Like the Duke of Zhou taking two years to quell the Three Supervisors' rebellion, or Confucius requiring but seven days to execute Shao Zhengmao. In peaceful times one might emulate Zhuge Liang reclining in Nanyang, yet reality seldom offers such ease.

Another Poem on Lending Out Verses describes the joy of dwelling in his "Nest of Peace and Bliss" (Shao Yong's hermitage), yet notes how lending out his poems left visits from guests strangely joyless.

In Response to Wang Guifu's Gift declares true friendship endures millennia, like pines and osmanthus surviving winter's chill. Without Yang Xiong's scholarship bridging heaven and humanity, Zhuangzi's Inner and Outer Chapters would not exist. They vow to admire white stones by Moon Slope's stream and savor clear springs in Golden Valley Garden. Let the world chatter as it will—here they stand unmoved.

Reply to a Friend's Urging to Drink exposes life's contradictions: all crave high office and titles, yet attainment breeds insatiable greed. The more gained, the greater the fear of loss—anxiety springs from endless wanting. The poet dares not compare his capacity to talents, knowing his limits in wine as in life. If youth allowed no forcing, how much less now with hair like winter's snow?