Wiping the Dust at the Five-Hundred-Stone Grotto Heaven, Vol. 1

Five Hundred Stone Cave-Heaven Brush-Waving Volume 1

Page Six

Master Hengfu's Hengfu is the courtesy name of a scholar-poet, likely from the Qing dynasty period when these types of literary miscellanies were common. "modern style" poetry is still worth studying, but his "old style" seven-character long poems are truly transcendent. They follow the brush of Li Bai original: 太白 (Taibai); Li Bai (701–762) is one of China’s most famous poets, known for his "celestial" and unconstrained style. so closely they seem real. Every time I look down and chant them, I cannot help but feel a sense of awe, as if looking out at a vast ocean. It is also like the legendary Cheng Lian playing the zither Cheng Lian was a master of the guqin who famously taught his student Bo Ya by taking him to the desolate islands of the East China Sea to hear the "music of nature.": the sea and sky are vast and grey, the clouds and water mysterious and swirling. One feels their power to move the emotions, yet one cannot quite name why they are so wonderful. The original poems are often buried in heavy anthologies and are not easy to find. His personal collection has passed through many wars and fires 兵燹 (bīngxiǎn); a term specifically referring to the destruction caused by military conflict and the resulting fires, so it is rarely seen by the public. I have excerpted a few poems here to share with fellow enthusiasts.

Song of Longing for Home says:

Alas! I am not like the Scholar of Luoyang original: 洛陽生 (Luoyang Sheng); referring to the Han dynasty statesman Jia Yi, who wept over the state of the empire., weeping with such passion out of worry for the Imperial Court.
Nor am I like the Elder of Changli original: 昌黎 (Changli); the poet Han Yu, known for his bold petitions to the throne., carrying my writings and generously seeking favor from those in power.
My elderly mother is in the high hall, yet I cannot return; all day I turn away from others and sigh to myself.
In Youzhou An ancient region in the north, near modern-day Beijing, known for its harsh winters., September is already early with cold; I want to make a sable fur coat, but it has lost its luster.
Vicious winds blow sand until the sky vanishes; the city walls look dismal, like black smoke.
A thousand bells and ten thousand chimes swallow bitter sounds; I, too, pace hesitantly among them.
Have you not seen? Beyond the Blue Sea referring to Qinghai Lake, iron cavalry crisscross and banners gather.
Have you not seen? On the banks of the Yellow River, money is squandered as lightly as mud and sand.
Since ancient times, achievement and fame are matters of luck and fate.
This seven-foot body, worn by poverty and sorrow, has drifted for ten years—who is to blame for this mistake?
The household is left to my weak wife; who will teach the lessons original: 句讀 (jù dòu); the traditional method of punctuation and reading for children. to my dear children?
The taro tubers original: 芋魁 (yù kuí) are ready to be roasted; the snails original: 螄腹 (shī fù) are already fat.
Why do you not think of your fields and gardens? How can you bear to abandon your kin and stay here?
Last night in a dream, I played and soared to the gates of Heaven, among the Celestial Hounds...