《伊川擊壤集》Vol. 8
About this page. The original text of 《伊川擊壤集》 Vol. 8 (Taixuan 太玄部, 20 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 8 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
Reading modes explained
- Horizontal: ordinary left-to-right reading; the interpretation can be shown.
- Scroll: vertical text running right to left; the wheel scrolls sideways (no interpretation in this mode).
- Wheel: columns of vertical text turn around a drum; use the wheel, drag or arrow keys, or auto-play.
- Pages: about 200 characters per page; use the buttons, swipe or arrow keys.
Source textInterpretation
The eighth volume of Yichuan Jirang Ji presents a series of poems depicting Shao Yong's (courtesy name Yaofu) leisurely and contented life as a recluse. The first poem describes a mid-autumn visit to friends: on a fine mid-autumn day, he visits the reclusive Zhang brothers in their southern garden. Reveling in wine, he forgets to return home and ends up spending the night in this crystal-clear retreat, accompanied by mist and rosy clouds.
Next is a poem about wandering Longmen with his friend Wang Anzhi: he has always loved exploring secluded and scenic spots, visiting Dragon Mountain four or five times a year, coming and going as he pleases, free from the entanglements of fame and fortune. For days, he strolls along the Yi River, lodging overnight in the stone pavilion of Fragrant Mountain, where cool breezes carry distant thoughts, and misty rain deepens the hues of autumn.
A poem written upon returning to the city expresses his reluctance to leave: having roamed every quiet corner of Dragon Mountain, he feels as though he is walking through a painting. Regrettably, there is no fine wine to enhance the mood, and just as he wishes to linger, he must depart. Another poem describes leaning on a railing in the early autumn chill, gazing into the distance: the pine study (home of Wang Anzhi’s younger brother) shrouded in mist resembles an ink-wash painting.
Leaving an Inscription at Hermit Zhang’s Retreat reflects on the past through historical allusions: even those who reached the highest rank of the Three Dukes (ancient highest official titles) still sought longevity—such is the nature of human blessings. Though dwelling in a thatched hut as a recluse, one does not forget the ruler, just as one gazes at the Longevity Peak from Mount Song.
A Letter to Cheng Zhengshu is a family letter written on behalf of another: his father guards west of Jianmen, a model of filial devotion. The golden age of governance in Shu under the Tang prime ministers remains vivid, and the people still live in peace. Anchoring his boat at Haitang Isle, halting his horse at Golden Goose Bridge, he imagines Cheng’s concern for the world—who else but him would care so deeply?
The final poem, Year’s End, a Gift to Myself, is a year-end reflection: once, his ambitions soared to the clouds, but looking back now, he feels only shame. Forced efforts reveal triviality; without grasping the true Dao (the Way), all seems obscure. Quietly observing all things, he cannot hide their subtlety; in old age, reading grows ever more rewarding. Engaging in leisurely conversations with guests, he repeatedly declines court summons. Having already won the favor of wise men, why fret over his wife and children’s complaints about his white hair? He dares not compare himself to Zheng Zhen, the recluse of Valley Mouth, and laughs at the youth of Shouling who tried to imitate the gait of Handan (alluding to Zhuangzi’s fable). No longer does he guard the "dragon and tiger in the cauldron" (a Neidan/internal alchemy metaphor for balancing Yin-Yang), nor does he debate the shifting fortunes of the chessboard. Waking by the sunlit window to birdsong, he thinks—such forest and spring scenery is well worth trading for poetry.
(Note: "Dragon and tiger in the cauldron" refers to Daoist alchemical terminology, where dragon and tiger symbolize water-fire or Yin-Yang; "Zheng Zhen of Valley Mouth" alludes to the Han dynasty recluse Zheng Zizhen; "the youth of Shouling" comes from Zhuangzi’s parable about imitating another’s walk in vain.)
These are selected philosophical verses by Shao Yong (known as Master Yichuan), a Northern Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar, expressing life insights in accessible language:
When drinking in the beauty of wind and moon, three hundred sixty days fly like arrows from a bow—why let idle sorrow occupy one's heart? At sixty-one, my bones still strong, I've witnessed two dynasties (referring to the transition before and after the Northern Song's founding). How can such a transformation of life be called brief? Moreover, with health and no worries, why not rejoice in each passing day?
In solitude beneath blossoms and bamboo, no words are needed—even emerald birds understand this tranquility. Though vipers and scorpions are venomous, their forms differ, just as the lovely wind and moon of four seasons are often marred by trivial concerns. The lands of Sanchuan (around Luoyang) receive the harmonious Qi of heaven and earth, making rare flowers bloom naturally. Those who truly understand flowers need not seek far, for fine blossoms never withhold their fragrance.
Why frown at flowers over worldly troubles accumulated through the years? A thousand calculations only whiten hair—better release attachments of the heart. Wind and moon are inherently tender; fine wine can flush cheeks with warmth, yet people insist on barricading their hearts. Though I live simply, I rest easy, composing a hundred new poems while contemplating the principles of things.
The mystery of Tianxin (cosmic origin) lies in "wu" (nothingness), but if "wu" truly meant nothing, how could gold emerge from water? Wine cups reflect crimson blossoms, and in half-drunkenness, one merges with the Taichu (primordial unity). What of Qin Shihuang unifying the nine provinces? In a blink, empires change hands—why boast of fleeting splendor and waste effort?
When longing for old friends, fine wine brimming in cups cannot bridge a thousand miles—yet slender willows by the pond and blossoms beneath eaves deepen affection. The scholars of the Imperial Academy understand flowers, brewing tea amid myriad blooms to share spring's essence with kindred spirits by Tianjin Bridge. To admire flowers in South Garden is truly to savor life's essential joy.
On the third day of the third month when flowers bloom in splendor, I leisurely ascended the spring terrace with dear friends. Though usually abstaining from wine, this day I drank deeply until thoroughly intoxicated—yet still raised my goblet high. Before the blossoms I drank, beneath the flowers I fell drunken, then clutching flowering branches sang in self-delight. Let not the blossoms laugh at this white-haired elder—how many glorious blooms has this hoary head witnessed!
When admiring peonies alone, viewing flowers proves easy but truly understanding them remains difficult. The genuine connoisseur leans solitary against the rail, observing nature's miraculous craftsmanship through dewy nourishment, appraising floral beauty as one might judge celestial beings. Ordinary folk can only discuss current fashions—only those with transcendent vision articulate truths beyond worldly conventions. Heaven's bestowed talents run deep indeed—worth a lifetime of leisurely enjoyment.
As the third moon wanes, spring cannot be detained; when spring departs, even its essence grows indistinct. Those who speak of "returning" must have homes awaiting—but where, pray tell, is spring's abode? Where ultimately does spring return? Countless vernal sorrows remain unspoken. I'd entrust migrating orioles to inquire, yet cuckoos cry "Better go home!"
Spring's arrival brings sorrow through blossoms; spring's departure brings sorrow through lingering wine. How often I resent sorrow's abundance and wine's weakness—know you, flowers, of this springtime malady?
In my peaceful dwelling I console myself: When things are properly obtained, all proves beautiful—what fairness exists in excessive calculation? Stir no storms in the world, and one's heart knows neither ice nor fire. Disasters fall like autumn leaves before frost; wealth blooms like spring flowers after rain. The Creator's arrangements elude common understanding—how much effort governs rise and fall?
A toast before blossoms: Drink heartily when spring reigns and flowers flourish—when spring departs, petals scatter. Not drinking before blossoms means fleeting joy. Wine should be drunk amid flowers; flowers admired in drunkenness—failing this, a whole year's spring is wasted.
Reflections after reading "The Supreme Principles Governing the World": Since Fuxi's era of pristine simplicity faded, human society established norms. Years transform easily; historical records prove incomplete. Yao and Shun initiated abdication; the Three Sage Kings established moral codes. The Five Hegemons of Spring and Autumn ruled by might; the Seven Powers of Warring States contended fiercely. Han dynasties soared like dragons and phoenixes; Three Kingdoms clashed like tigers and wolves. Western Jin's refinement fell to barbarian invasion; Eastern Jin maintained purity through Song, Qi and Liang. By Chen dynasty's time, only Jiangnan's sorrows remained. Northern Wei rose through Jin's decline, nearly achieving prosperity, yet after moving to Luoyang split into Eastern and Western Wei. Northern Qi flickered like faint firelight; Northern Zhou shone like starlight. Sui's unification blessed all under heaven.
The Five Dynasties of Tang were like transient inns, with the world in constant turmoil. Without the emergence of a truly enlightened ruler, how could the Central Plains find stability? Across ten thousand miles of territory and four thousand years of history, the rise and fall of five hundred rulers unfolded. Some established seventy states, expanding their domains; others unified the realm or carved out their own territories. Some laid the foundation, while others inherited the legacy; some enjoyed long reigns, while others perished prematurely. Some rose in defiance as their dynasties crumbled, while others seized already prosperous regimes. Some encountered unforeseen calamities, while others received ominous blessings. Some disasters arose from regional warlords, while others stemmed from palace intrigues. Some ailments began at the lips and teeth, while others festered beyond cure. Seeds of misfortune were sown in casual laughter, and battlefields opened amid feasts. Once desires were indulged, interests clashed and harmed one another. Power devoured recklessly, and calamity knew no bounds. The mountains and rivers briefly displayed superficial prosperity, only to wither again in the blink of an eye. Thorns proved hard to uproot, while fragrant orchids struggled to bloom. Dragons and snakes slithered across the plains, and jade shattered atop the Kunlun peaks. Those skilled in governance revered the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, while those who sought harmony with all things emulated Laozi and Zhuangzi. Alas, people only lament their own afflictions—how could they ever grasp the true essence of the Dao (the Way)?
The chapter "Gathering on the Path" states: Ordinary people seek the pleasures of the clamorous world, while my companions pursue the joys of purity and nobility. Purity needs no fanfare—it connects directly to antiquity. In ancient times, harmony prevailed, and neighbors shared deep bonds, blending talent with refinement. A single day of such fellowship surpassed ten months of spring. Luoyang, an ancient sacred land, was meticulously described by the Duke of Zhou for its distinct seasons, orderly alternation of cold and heat, and roads extending in all directions. Every era has its exceptional talents, but this place brimmed with them. As for its flora, nothing in the world could compare. How many in this world could encounter such beauty and auspicious moments and laugh heartily? Noble sentiments can pierce metal and stone; impassioned discourse can startle ghosts and deities. They regarded heaven and earth as but a finger’s breadth and wealth and rank as fleeting clouds. In times of clarity, ambitions were realized gradually, and under the bright sun, endeavors unfolded leisurely. Better to accompany joyful friends and raise a toast to this noble one (referring to wine). Six hundred miles of Shangyu land and forty thousand catties of gold could not buy such joy—what else is there to say? When caps were worn askew, the moon rose from the sea; when carriages overturned, the mountain sage returned to Tianjin (referring to Luoyang).
In remembrance of Chen Zhimo of Zhengzhou, moved by his passing before we could meet:
Exquisite things demand peerless solitude; extraordinary figures emerge once in an age. The Creator surely found their making no easy task. Tales of rare genius may reach the ears, but contemporaries may behold them with their eyes. Chen was of our time—why could I only hear of his name?
"Thanks to the Four Zhang Brothers from South City Who Braved Snow to Visit with Wine and Dishes"
The four Zhang brothers from South City came through heavy snow bearing wine and delicacies. The winter drought had persisted, and local prayers for rain proved futile. Riding side by side like wild geese, they arrived just as thick snow began to fall. Wine flushed their faces with joy as guests reveled in delight. By midnight when they left Tianjin Bridge (Luoyang's famed crossing), the bridge stood desolate in sudden silence.
"Ode to Great Cold"
Old snow lingers unmelted while fresh drifts bar the door.
Frost carpets silver steps, icicles hang like stalactites.
The pale sun dims its glow as fierce winds howl—
Though all men have tongues, none can speak through frozen lips.
"Responding to Academician Li Shenyan's 'Heavy Snow'"
Overnight, countless trees blossom with jade-white flowers,
Blanketing heaven and earth in endless white.
The Moon Goddess (Su’e) pauses her slender waist’s dance,
Yet urgent calls echo from jade halls beyond.
A poor scholar pores over military texts by his window,
While battlefield troops march mute with gag-wood in teeth.
The recluse’s gaunt frame nears collapse—
Thank heaven for occasional cups of warming wine.
"The Cart’s Journey"
Drunken joy surpasses even the legendary Thousand-Day Wine;
Cherish spring’s splendor—flowers bloom through all seasons.
Wherever this cart rolls, hearts lighten with cheer,
Till all Luoyang feels like home.
"In Rhyme with Fiscal Commissioner Ren of Zhe Circuit"
Rare indeed to find kindred spirits in officialdom—
How could one squander Luoyang’s springtide?
Though separated by three thousand miles from lakeside friends,
Let not the hometown folks pine too fiercely.
"Requesting Plum Blossoms from Song the Undersecretary (1072)"
Though four plum varieties grace this small garden,
None bloom as in Jiangnan’s twelfth-month glory.
Often I chide the Spring God (Dongjun) for lacking flair—
Why must he tarry so to unleash spring?
"Red and Yellow Plums in Full Bloom at East Pavilion: A Note to Friends"
Once a year twin-hued plums grace our sight—
How many such viewings in a lifetime?
Human life barely spans a century;
At sixty now, ignore trifles—raise your cup!
"Recalling Plums with Department Head Ren"
Grieve how swiftly plum blossoms flare and fade—
Their withered forms too pitiful to behold.
Year after year, their fragrance fools me anew;
Better idle hours planting bamboo shoots.
"Weeping Willows"
Before my gate, willows sway with tender grace,
Tossed anew by eastern winds in endless dance.
Forgotten now this aged frame of mine—
For a dazed moment, youth returns.
"Ode to Ultimate Numen"
Most numinous among beings is man,
Most exalted among men, the sovereign.
Bright realms have sun and moon to shine;
Dark realms host spirits and ghosts unseen.
"Ode to Men and Ghosts"
If one cannot serve the living,
How then serve ghosts and spirits?
Though men and ghosts differ in form,
The Dao (Way) governing them—is it not one?
Plain Language Interpretation of Yichuan Jirang Ji
On Human Relationships
In my dealings with others, I neither harm myself nor betray others, and thus others never harm me in return.
On Knowledge
What the eyes see is called "perception"; what the ears hear is called "understanding." Sadly, those in the world with true insight are exceedingly rare.
Natural Phenomena
When wind blows through the forest, no branch remains still; when it sweeps across the pond, no wave stays calm. If even the trees and waters cannot find stillness, how then should birds and fish find their place?
Social Issues
Servants oppressing their masters, barbarians encroaching on the Central Plains—these injustices have been known since ancient times, yet they have never been fully eradicated.
Leisurely Living
Living in a humble hut in the woods, I often drink freely among the flowers. True joy in this world surely belongs to those who understand leisure. Why wait until one's hair turns white before thinking of retreating to the countryside?
The Way of Sages
To comprehend all principles is called "sagehood"; to embrace all things like Heaven is called "benevolence." Such perfect benevolence and sageliness—no one in the world can match it.
Poem for a Friend
The world is as harsh as the "Great East" described in the Book of Songs. True friends need no words when they meet. You compare yourself to Zhuge Liang, but I dare not claim to be the Old Man of the Yellow Stone. When discussing the rise and fall of dynasties, one must see it through to the end; nurturing talent is even more precious—do not imitate the extravagance of the Western Jin.
Reflections on Cultivation
People often speak of immortals dwelling in caves, but these are likely just fables. If one truly seeks the Nine-Cycle Golden Elixir (Jindan) and eternal life, it is better to cherish the present. In my humble abode, with flowers and wine, joy overflows—I feel as though I am already an immortal in a cave.
Lament for Spring’s Passing
Beautiful things are always fleeting—spring arrives for but a few days before wind and rain ravage it. Wealth and honor are like waking from drunkenness; seeking immortality is like rousing from a grand dream. Yet the wandering crowds do not pause, still leaning on railings to gaze afar.
Garden Scene
Along the garden path, flowers and bamboo intertwine; I walk this way four or five times a day. Deliberately, I let the blossoms stretch toward the bamboo, while bamboo shadows dapple the flowers. Petal-scent clings to my sleeves; bamboo reflections drift into my wine cup. Who says a mountain hermit lacks refinement? This harmony of red and green is the warmest delight.
Reply to a Friend
We Confucians already possess the highest joy—it is a shame most refuse to follow it. If one takes Chan meditation as pleasure, it only adds another layer of vexation.
(Note: Shao Yong’s poetry reflects the Northern Song Neo-Confucian contemplation of the relationship between Heaven and humanity, as well as self-cultivation. His plain language carries profound philosophy, embodying the transcendent lifestyle of the "Joyous Recluse.")
The Yichuan Jirang Collection presents several poems that embody the leisurely contentment and transcendent mindset of Daoist reclusive life.
The first poem discusses discerning truth from illusion: genuine wisdom flows unimpeded, as every being has its inherent destination. Clinging to delusions like artificial flowers pales before awakening to the true nature of blossoms.
Ode to the Vast Azure paints nature's eternal tableau: across ages, people gaze at the same boundless sky where sun and moon trace their timeless courses. Thunder shakes mountains and rivers, while sweet dew nourishes fragrant grasses. Ghostly shadows may lurk in darkness, yet auspicious signs appear in tranquility. Spring flowers bloom like cascading rain, while autumn frost withers them overnight. Such profound meaning awaits contemplation by the wise.
The Five Chants Beneath the Grove series depicts the joys of reclusion:
The first celebrates nature's impartial creativity, awakening content in the "Nest of Peaceful Joy," sipping mildly intoxicating "Supreme Harmony Elixir," strolling with a cane through ripening fields. The body rests in perfect serenity, white beard fluttering freely in the wind.
The second reveals how old age in this peaceful nest holds its own springtime charm, with worldly concerns forgotten and limbs at ease. When courtyard blossoms bloom, cool mats are spread; when eaves gather snow, soft quilts are laid. This seemingly clumsy mountain elder truly understands self-nourishment.
The third describes the blissful haze from "Supreme Harmony" wine, like an alchemical pill transforming bones. In joy, one dances spontaneously; in wordless ecstasy, songs arise—such authentic delight overwhelms restraint.
The fourth shares "flowing sunset" wine with old friends, white-haired now, reminiscing about official careers past, gently reminding youth not to mock elders' nostalgic ramblings.
The fifth observes never tilling yet harvesting autumn's bounty yearly. Random cups and plates become feasts; ordinary ponds transform into pleasure grounds. Wind-blown petals and moonlit snow rival wealthy nobles; bamboo-lined streams and cloud-crowned mountains surpass fiefdoms. Why fret about life's uncertain span?
Self-Reflection in the Nest of Peaceful Joy declares the poet's creed: no contention in worldly dust, only seeking fewer faults. Passing days idly, like the ancient sage Qu Boyu who reformed upon recognizing errors. These poems collectively manifest the Daoist attitude of harmonizing with nature and finding contentment in simplicity.
Shao Yong (a Northern Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar) expresses in this series of poems his philosophy of returning to simplicity and authenticity. The first poem reflects how only when his hair turned white did he truly comprehend the profound meaning behind Confucius's (Xuan Ni) study of the Book of Changes. Though realizing that the pure Yang Qi (a Daoist cultivation term referring to the most refined energy within the human body) could be refined into the Golden Elixir (jade), he still worries his spiritual practice might lack sufficient foundation.
The second poem depicts his modest dwelling. Without need for ornate carvings or lavish decorations, the natural shade of verdant trees provides all the beauty required. Should future generations artificially embellish it with extravagant adornments, they would violate the innate purity and simplicity of its original essence.
The third poem describes his flower-adorned retreat, where blossoms bloom continuously through the seasons while the master lives in tranquil simplicity (yanxiu, meaning serene repose). In this state of harmony with nature, even the passage of time seems to leave no trace of aging. The term "heavenly authenticity" (tianzhen) alludes to the Daoist ideal of natural genuineness, while "supreme Yang Qi" subtly conveys Neidan (internal alchemy) philosophy. Collectively, these verses embody Shao Yong's integration of Neo-Confucian cultivation with Daoist naturalism in his way of life.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5d0065）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback