Good rain knows the right time To fall when spring comes And follows the wind in the night Silently, moistening every thing
A wild path black and cloudy A riverboat fire alone and bright Dawn has the look that is red and wet In Brocade City, Guancheng*
Spring Night, Happy Rain by Du Fu, written in Chengdu, 759 – 763, during the An Lushan Rebellion.
*Chengdu is known as Brocade City. Guancheng’s meaning is less clear, but probably references the fact that Chengdu is the the provincial (official) capital of Sichuan.
After the Rain
Let it rain, let it rain, but only after sundown. Like Eric Clapton’s Let it Rain, and the Broadway musical Camelot where “The rain may never fall till after sundown,” these are ideas we associate with rain — the rain that nourishes life, and washes away our troubles.
After a sleepless night, after the rain, Du Fu arose before dawn, went for a walk in the dark, spied a riverboat with it lantern, and then, as the dawn broke over Chengdu, composed this poem.
I confess I like the first half of Du Fu’s poem, Spring Night, Happy Rain, over the second half.
The rain knows its time, it comes like a thief in the dark, quietly falling on everything. Well, not like a thief, to steal, but to give life. That is a pretty thought.
Next, Du Fu walks along a wild path next to the river, dark and cloudy, a single light on a river boat, in the distance the dawn is red and wet, in Chengdu City. Beginning in the winter of 759, in the midst of the An Lushan Rebellion, Du Fu and his family made a home here. He stayed for almost four years and wrote over 240 poems including Happy Rain.
His thatched cottage was located near a brook known as Huanhua. Today it is a popular tourist spot.
In the battle’s aftermath, many spirits cry, Alone, an old man hums his worrisome chant. Confusion sets in amid the clouds at dusk, A violent snow dances in the swirling wind
There lies an abandoned ladle and an empty green jug, But the stove still looks fiery red. With bad news from many places I sit in grief, but cannot read my books
Imagine, it is the winter of 757, Chang’an, Shanxi province, China in the age of the Tang dynasty..
General An Lushan and his rebel army, having begun a revolt against the Tang dynasty in December of 756, have, by now, taken Chang’an, the Tang capital. The defeated Emperor Xuanzong has fled to Sichuan. The poet Du Fu has taken his family to safety, but now, trying to reach Sichuan, he is captured by rebel forces, and taken back to Chang’an.
You are left behind in the devastated Tang capital of Chang’an. For months, the rebel forces have pillaged and looted. Long caravans are hauling away the loot to the North.
You are Chinese poet Du Fu, 45 years old, now left to face enemy and the snow alone. And in this cold and empty place, he cannot read his books.
Meanwhile, back in the USA
Here in the Midwest, we are facing a terrifically cold winter weather system. The blowing snow and bitter cold make for dangerous conditions. The weather has been unusually cold in February of 2021. Even Dallas, Texas has experienced 0 degree weather, along with rolling black outs as the demand for energy rises.
Perhaps not as cold as China’s Shaanxi province, where the Tang capital Chang’an was located. Nor as cold as the three Chinese states — Pinglu, Fanyang and Hedong, north of Chang’an, north of the Yangtze, bordering Mongolia, where General An Lushan was military commander.
Temperatures there,. in January and February, dip down below zero into double digits, which is what we are now experiencing. The wind too is unusually strong, and the falling snow when swirling is quite a sight.
Here in the Midwest, for two days, the clouds filled the sky. The wind whipped up the snow, not quite a blizzard but close. Not a creature stirred outside. Then, yesterday, the sun came back, there was no wind, and the squirrels scrambled down from their nest in the large oak tree outside my window to look for sunflower seeds that I had left for the birds.
My water pipes had burst and I had to resort to melting snow. My predicament lasted only a day.
Du Fu’s predicament reminds me of the Twilight Zone episode Time Enough to Last* (1959). This black and white episode starred Burgess Meredith as a much heckled bank teller and bookworm who couldn’t get enough time to read. In the aftermath of a nuclear war, he finds himself in a bank vault and the only one left on the planet.
Now he has time enough to read, but in a moment of happiness, he drops his glasses and steps on them, and is left bereft and full of grief.
Meanwhile, in 8th century Britain
The Roman empire collapsed in the 5th century and Britain, as well as most of Europe, entered the Dark Ages. Dark because there is little literature to explain what was going on and what people were thinking.
Take for example the life of King Offa who ruled from 757 until his death in 796. But nothing down of him, and little remains but a few coins and Offa’s Dyke.
We do have the works of the Venerable Bede, but most of his works are religious, and many of these are lost. Ballads were told in the Saxon Great Halls, but these were oral. Beowulf, a Norse tale, can be dated within a three hundred year span, from 700 AD to 1000 AD. Fortunately for us, it was then written down with some Christian add-ons. A century later King Alfred the Great caused the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles to be written and history was saved.
This is not to say that those who lived in 8th century Britain did not experience emotions similar to Du Fu. Between the fussing and feuding, and barely surviving, they had good days and bad, experiencing both joy and grief. I would refer those interested to check out The Wanderer and The Ruin, whose writing predates the Norman Invasion, but by how much, is unknown.
Notes on Translations
The title 对雪, duì xuě, in English becomes Facing the Snow, or Snowstorm. It is an obvious euphemism for facing one’s difficulties. The snow, a reference to General An Lushan, whose rebel forces came from the cold snowy North.
The early part of the rebellion went badly for the Tang forces. Defeat followed defeat, tens of thousands of soldiers died. Millions of citizens were displaced. Ghosts roamed the battlefields and an old man, Du Fu, made his worrisome chant. Du Fu followed Buddhism, but he must have felt confused and lost, trying to make his way between the competing forces. He was no more than a single snowflake caught up in the maelstrom, blown about, dancing in the wind.
The fifth line,. 瓢弃尊无绿, piáo qì zūn wú lǜ, literally translates as “abandoned ladle, nothing in the green wine jug”. To abandon the ladle is to give up all sense of civilized behavior. Zun (尊) is the wine vessel. Its color is green lǜ, 绿 being the most highly prized color, a sign of status. By implication, the capital is empty of members of the royal court. Compare Du Fu’s line with the Chinese idiom, wú yōu wú lǜ, 无忧无虑 , without worries and care free, a French or Spanish, “Comme Ci, Comme Ça.” Compare lǜle lǜle, 绿了, 虑了, are you green are you worried? In Du Fu’s case, the well known imbiber of wine is not so worried that he must drink without a lad.e, but that the pot of wine is empty.
Line six, wait the fire is still going and seems to be red, hóng 红, a sign of joy and one to ward off evil demons.
Line seven, shù zhōu, 数州, literally, several states, referring to the several Chinese provinces fending for themselves against the rebel forces. One either gets the sense of “no news,” 消息, xiāo xī, or that the news is “decidedly bad,” 断, duàn, which implies that Du Fu is cut off from events elsewhere.
Du Fu’s coup de grâce
Du Fu’s ending twist, his coup de grâce, in that cold and empty place, is like that which befalls Burgess Meredith’s character, he cannot read his books!
Chinese and Pinyin
战哭多新鬼 愁吟独老翁 乱云低薄暮 急雪舞回风
瓢弃尊无绿 炉存火似红 数州消息断 愁坐正书空
zhàn kū duō xīn guǐ chóu yín dú lǎo wēng luàn yún dī bó mù jí xuě wǔ huí fēng
A bird of prey in the sky soaring high Two white gulls on the river walking by The predator, ready to strike, floating on the wind, The prey, mewing, lazily rocking to and fro
Why is the grass wet with dew? Why is a spider web untouched? Heaven’s mysteries remain unanswered? And I, stand alone, with ten thousand worries
Standing alone,Du Fu, circa 758
Hello Du Fu
If the 20th century British pop group The Beatles met 8th century poet and Chinesesuperstar, Du Fu what song and what poem would they care to share with one another?
For the Beatles I have chosen Let It Be and for Du Fu, Standing Alone.
When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me Speaking words of wisdom, let it be And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me Speaking words of wisdom, let it be…
Let it be, The Beatles (1970)
Art is a shared experience. And a good song or poem is timeless. What words of wisdom do John, Paul, George and Ringo have for the deeply worried Du Fu? As you read along, ask yourself is Du Fu the seagull taken or left behind? (By 758, Du Fu’s career was descending.) Is John Lennon the Walrus? (A reference to the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour.) What am I, what are you? Is Du Fu the Confucian, seeking but never attaining perfection; are the Beatles disciples of Buddha, accepting?
Sitting alone, somewhere in a bamboo grove Plucking on a zither, whistling along Deep in the forest, where I can’t be found At least, not until the bright moon shines
I Want to be Alone
We’re social critters who need to be strongly connected with other people. But, as every poet knows, solitude can be just as important. Space, we need space, and social distancing, but more than that sometimes we want to be alone, as Greta Garbo famously said.
Alone, Li Bai sat and watched Mt. Jiangshan. Alone, Du Fu sat in a grassy grove on a warm summer’s day. Wang Wei wrote at least two poems about being alone, one on an autumn night. And this one in a secluded bamboo grove, plucking a zither, whistling alone except for the moonlight.
Around the year 747, Wang Wei’s mother died. Wang Wei was then 48 years old. As a good son, devout Buddhist, and follower of Taoism, he retired from public life for a period of mourning at his family estate in Lantian County, Shaanxi province. He put the time to good use writing a collection of poems with Pei Di (裴迪) called Wangchuan Ji, or in English, the Wang River Collection or Wheel River Collection.
Think of Wang Wei as an ancient Henry David Thoreau walking the woods on Walden Pond. Or Ansel Adams taking pictures in the High Sierras. Songs – those of you looking for a 21st century connection can find many. Perhaps none better than Gilbert O’Sullivan’s Alone Again(1972). Prefer Chinese, try 王嘉爾 Jackson Wang, 一個人 Alone.
It’s a “Zenthing”
The poem is relatively straight forward, but I will give you my thoughts on translation as I differ in the last line with other translators.
From the title, Zhú Lǐ Guǎn, 竹裏館, we learn that Wang Wei has fashioned a secluded shelter in his bamboo grove. Guàn doing double-duty as a homophone for a Taoist place of worship. In line one, we find Wang sitting alone, 獨坐, Dú zuò. Where? Somewhere in a bamboo grove. 篁裏, huáng lǐ. Lǐ acts here as an indistinct unit of measure, somewhere.In line two, we see and hear him plucking a zither, 琴,qín. No confusion there, a zither, the seven string Chinese Guqin. But 長嘯, chángxiào requires some explanation. Chángxiào is a Taoist transcendental whistling, a long-drawn out whistling that functions as a yogic exercise. A skillful whistler could, it is believed, summon animals or communicate with supernatural beings.
Perhaps, in Wang Wei’s case, he is whistling to his departed mother.
The real trickery is in the last line where Wang is hidden from all the world except for the all seeing bright moon. Only if one has walked in a deep dark forest does one know what Wang Wei means.
One hears, it’s said, Chang’an is a game of chess
A century of events beyond sorrow
Where princely palaces have new owners and
Civilian and military clothes have changed from the past
To the north of the mountain pass, gongs and drums sound
In the western campaign, wagons and horses and feathered dispatches are slowed
The dragons and fish are lonely, the autumn river is cold
My thoughts are always of the Motherland in peace
Tang Emperor Xuanzong fleeing Chang’an, painting 11th century, anonymous
Motherland at War
In 756, Chang’an, capital of the Tang dynasty, the largest empire in the world, fell to the rebel forces of General An Lushan.
The Imperial Chinese Emperor Xuanzong fled to Sichuan. There he abdicated in favor of his son, the new Emperor Suzong. Thereafter, between 757 and 763, Chang’an became a pawn in the battle between Imperial and rebel forces where moves and counter moves of the two armies were laid out as if on a chessboard. Flags were used in the day to signal troop movements. Gongs and drums were used at night, drums to attack, gongs to retreat. The continuous fighting went back and forth. Feathered dispatches indicated urgency, that is, thick and fast.
In war, delay spells the difference between success and failure in battle.
The Tang capital has fallen, the battle goes back and forth. Fleeing south, Du Fu is captured by the rebels and taken back to Chang’an where he witnesses the changes he writes about. He watches the horse drawn wagons lumber on and sees couriers with feathered dispatches flying off. Here and there one hears the reports of the campaign in the West (征西, zhēng xī).
One pauses for reflection at line seven.
Separately, the first two characters, 鱼龙 yú lóng, translate as fish and dragon. The dragon, 龙, the symbol of the Tang emperor, the fish, 鱼 , of his people. 寂寞 jì mò, each indicate loneliness, together to an extreme, i.e. desolateness. The line concludes with 秋江冷 qiū jiāng lěng, the autumn river is cold, a familiar motif in Tang poems indicating that life was coming to an end.
Two golden orioles sing in the emerald green willow, One row of white egrets fly in the blue sky.
From my window to the west, I spy the snowy mountains of Xiling, From my door to the east, come ships from far away.
A Pair of Golden Orioles Sing
Even the simplest poems present a challenge to the translator.
While we read the poet’s words, we do not see with his eyes, a two golden orioles, huangli. No doubt a pair, perched in the emerald-green willow, cuì liǔ. Are they courting, or have they mated, and now they feed their young?
Overhead a row of snowy egrets graceful in the sky. Perhaps, they are a symbol of purity, patience, and long life? And more, …perhaps, in the egrets, báilù, we recognize Du Fu’s fellow poets coming to seek his counsel.
We do not sense the distance to the snowy Xiling mountains that Du Fu views from his window. Nor do we appreciate that in the recent past An Lushan had come from the distant far away, qian qiu, north.
A life of study – hán chuāng
For those interested in chronology, we can date this poem to the period when Du Fu took up residence in Chengdu. For starters, this is December of 759 AD, when, trying to avoid the vicissitudes of war and political intrigue, he built a thatched cottage. In 762 he left because of a rebellion but returned in 764, and left the following year.
Life is not always easy. The poet knows that a life of strenuous studies, hán chuāng 寒窗, is what it takes. This applies to the translator as well.
A winding stream, the smell of pine in the wind, A gray rat flees under ancient tiles. I don’t know whose royal palace is this, Mislaid beneath steep cliffs.
In dark rooms ghostly fires glow green, A sorrowful stream flows over a broken path. A million sounds from the earth are the true flutes and reeds Autumn is sprinkled in colors positively sad.
Palace beauties have turned into yellow dust, And what’s more, scattered are their powders and paints. Where once they awaited a glorious golden chariot, Now, of those things, only the stone horse remains.
Cares come, and to the grass I sink, Singing loudly, while tears fill my hands. On and on, a traveler slowly on his way But who is he who lives forever?
Du Fu’s Yuhua Palace is an example ofhuaigu 懷古, a reflection on things past, a type of nostalgia recognizing the transitory nature of all things. Death comes to us all. Palace beauties turn into dust, and of golden chariots, only the statues of horse remain. The Roman and Latin equivalent is Sic transit gloria mundi, Thus passes the glory of the world.
The generally accepted date for this poem is 757. If correct, then it was written during the An Lushan Rebellion (755 – 763), after the fall of the capital of Chang’an, when all of China was in chaos. If we attempt to be more specific with the date, it may have been written during that period of time when Du Fu was granted leave by the Imperial court in exile to visit his family. Du Fu would continue to write poems in the Qiang Village where his family waited out the rebellion.
Yuhua Palace, in far western Shaanxi province, built in 647 by Emperor Taizong as a Summer Palace. In 651, it was converted into a temple where the Buddhist master Xuanzang (602-664) lived and died, working on translating Indian Buddhist texts.
Shaanxi province on the edge of the Huangtu Plateau (literally, Yellow Earth plateau), is the location of the terra cotta army that contains vast numbers of statues of soldier and horses. .
Notes on translating Yuhua Palace
The first four lines seem straight forward. Du Fu approaches the ruins of the ancient palace walking along a meandering stream. In the air is the wind blown scent of pine trees, 松 風, sōng fēng, literally pine and wind, wind in the pines, or, as I prefer, the scent of pine in the wind. The palace is empty, save the gray rats that scurry in the ruins.
In the fifth line, Du Fu makes reference to a green ghostly fire, 鬼 火, guǐ huǒ. This may refer to the phosphorescence sometimes seen in caves or more likely to sighting the will o wisp, an atmospheric ghostly light travelers often see at night in marshy areas. Du Fu then refers to a myriad of natural vents in the earth that emit a sound similar to two types of Chinese flutes, 笙 and 竽, shēng and yú.
In line nine, Du Fu remarks that the palace beauties have all turned to yellow dust, 黃土, huángtǔ, literally yellow earth . This is a popular Chinese belief that the Yellow Earth is made up of the Chinese people. The historic northern boundary of China is the Yellow River, 黄河, Huáng Hé.
Again, in line 9, Du Fu uses the Chinese characters 美人, měi rén, which should be translated as a lady or as a consort. Such ladies would be escorted about the area in a golden chariot drawn by horses. Now, the ladies are gone, turned to yellow dust, the wooden chariots gone, and the only thing remaining, are the famous statues of terra cotta horses.
In the last four lines, Du Fu becomes thoughtful. Overcome with sorrow, he sinks to the ground, and begins to sing loudly, we assume using a Buddhist chant, tears welling up in his eyes, his hands clasped together in prayer.
Then, Du Fu acknowledges that he too is a lonely traveler, and that life is transitory.
A constant rumble of war carts And never ending horse whinnies Soldiers with bows at their waists Fathers and mothers, wives and children rushing to see them In the dust and dirt one cannot see Xianyang bridge Pulling clothes, stamping feet, blocking the way and weeping The sound of weeping rising above to heaven Along the wayside a passerby asks a soldier The soldier’s simply replies, we are called up often Some of us, at fifteen, were sent north to guard the river And then, til forty, went west to farm for the army Each time we left, the village head wrapped our heads in cloth Coming back our hair was white, still we manned the borders At the border outpost, the flow of blood fed the ocean waters Emperor Wu’s desire to conquer more had not yet ceased Sir, have you not heard, that in the Han empire there are 200 prefectures east of the mountains And now a thousand villages and ten thousand hamlets are overgrown with briars and thorns And even there are women healthy enough to plow The crops planted in the fields are in disorder Since the dynasty of Qin, how can a soldier endure such bitter warfare Driven on, no different than like dogs or chickens You sir may ask But a soldier dare not state his resentment For example, this winter At Guanxi, soldiers have not yet been relieved While county tax officials seek new taxes But where will these taxes come from? It’s true, I know, to bear a son is bad Bearing a daughter, I can marry her to a neighbor Bearing a son, he will be buried in the midst of a hundred grasses Sir, have you not seen the shores of Lake Qinghai Where white bones lie and no man comes to collect them Where new ghosts are troubled by the cries of the old The sky is gray, it rains, it’s wet, and all about, the sound of constant wailing
The history behind Du Fu’s Ballad of War Carts
This rather long poem by Du Fu tells the story of the common peasant who is conscripted into the Chinese army and sent away for years to serve the emperor. Wisely, Du Fu has chosen to place this story in the Han dynasty during the 54 year reign of Emperor Wu, 武皇 (157 BC – 87 BC). It was a time of expansion to the west, the north, the south, and into the Korean peninsula. Obviously, this increased the prestige and power of Emperor Wu, but only at the expense of the peasant who was conscripted for years on end, and saw his land ruined by taxes and neglect.
The River, line 10, (河, hé) the Yellow River (huáng hé 黄河), considered the cradle of Chinese civilization.
Xianyang and Xianyang bridge in line five refers to the city of Xianyang, the capital of the Qin dynasty that preceded the Han dynasty. In 1974 farmers digging wells east of Xianyang, found a buried vault containing a terra-cotta army of life-size figures, including warriors, horses, and wooden chariots. The mention of 200 prefectures east of the mountains refers to the fact that the majority of Han Chinese lived east of the capital.
In 2012, the 2,000 year old remains of the largest wooden bridge in the world was discovered at ancient Xianyang. This may have been the bridge that Du Fu refers to (China People’s Daily, July 30, 2012).
Han and Qin Dynasty – The Han dynasty was China’s second imperial dynasty (206 BC–220 AD), preceded by the Qin dynasty (221–206 BC). Much like the Tang dynasty, the four centuries of the Han emperors was considered a Golden Age in China.
Guanxi (關西) – the area west of Hangu Pass, separating the upper Yellow River and Wei River valleys. I was the site of many battles, thus the earlier reference to blood that flows into the ocean.
Lake Qinghai (青海) – a shallow alkaline lake on the Tibetan plateau. The province of Qinhai is the source of the Yellow River. During the Tang dynasty an area contested by Tibetan and Chinese forces. Alkaline lakes bleach bones white.
Every translator takes some liberties with translation. I have done so with the title, Ballad of War Darts. Du Fu’s original title, 兵車行, Bīng chē xíng, obviously rhymes. The first two characters, 兵車 are a compound which in modern parlance translates to an armored personnel carrier, but in the era of the Tang dynasty, a war cart, pulled by horses, transporting supplies. To this Du Fu adds the character 行, xíng, which does not mean ballad as many translators choose. Actually, it is a verb meaning go.
For this reason, one could choose the title, As War Carts Go, and remain closer to the Du Fu’s original meaning.
Already, the sticks I tied are withered and falling, The calabash leaves are thin and sparse. Luckily the white flowers have born their fruit, And peacefully the green leaves have faded. Autumn insects speak not a sound, What’s must sparrows think at dusk? For bitter cold is now our prison; So, Life too has such beginnings.
Autumn 759, Tang dynasty
The Tang Dynasty lasted from 618 to 907. This is often referred to as the golden age of Chinese history. This prosperous time was interrupted by the An Lushan Rebellion (755-763) which caused the capital of Chang’an to fall, the emperor to flee to the south, along with massive human casualties before the succeeding emperor Suzong began the process of reestablishing imperial rule.
The poet Du Fu suffered throughout the rebellion, though he realized that his troubles were little when compared to the peasant. He escaped the capital and made his way to the imperial court in exile. In 757, he was given leave to visit his family in a Qiang village Du Fu had placed his family for safety. There he wrote three poems title Qiang Village 1, 2, and 3.
Late in 757, Du Fu returned to Chang’an along with the imperial court . He was then given a position of some importance, but this lasted only until the summer as Du Fu was one who spoke freely, and sound advice is not always well taken. Thus, Du Fu was relegated to remote Huazhou where he was made Commissioner of Education, a post not to his liking.
In the spring or summer of 759, Du Fu moved on to Qinzhou (Tianshui, Gansu province), west of the capital of Chang’an, where he wrote more than sixty poems including the one above. In a way this has brought Du Fu full circle to the Qiang village where his family had sought safety during the worst of the An Lushan rebellion.
The poem Taking down the Trellis is best understood by a gardener who sees and understands the cycle of life. The trellis refers three or more staked sticks, the technique of raising the vines off the ground so that insects and ground animals will not eat the fruit.
Du Fu picked the calabash 瓠 to grow on the trellis. The calabash is a traditional Chinese vegetable consumed when young and used as utensils when mature. The gourd being smaller than a pumpkin is lighter and the vine can grow in a pot or staked to sticks tied together to save space.
除架, chú jià, the title, literally means removing the frame, or in this case the sticks that hold up the vine, poetically, taking down the trellis.
寒事, Hán shì, this “cold thing” I translate to bitter cold, also may refers to the Han dynasty, an earlier dynasty of four centuries that also succumbed.
牢落, láo luò, seems to have two meanings, “prison” and “fasten”; 落 luò, maning leaving behind, suggesting the idea of leaving our earthly world (prison) behind.
人生 rén shēng means life, one’s time on earth.
The Qiang 羌 people (the Chinese character 羌 is itself a combination of sheep 羊 and a man 人) is an ancient term for pastoral nomads who lived in the west on the border with Tibet. This would have given Du Fu an affinity for the people based on his own itinerant life.
An old man marking time, Returning home, his joys are few. My darling son clutches my knee, Dreading that I will leave again. I remember when we sought out cool spots, And walked among the trees beside the pool. Now, the North Wind’s whistling is strong, And I’ve a hundred different worries. At least, I know, the wheat harvest goes well, Already, I catch the drip of the mash-press For now, there is enough to fill my cup, Comfort for one near the end.
May you live in interesting times
There is an apocryphal quote attributed to the ancient Chinese that goes, “May you live in interesting times.” The quote was intended as a curse, predicting and hoping that one’s wish for excitement will be of the worst kind.
This curse explains the life of Du Fu at the time of Tang China’s An Lushan Rebellion.
For a period of eight years beginning in 755, China experienced the horror of war and famine the likes of which it had not experienced before on such a massive scale. Barbarians invaded from the north, the emperor fled, the capital fell, the dynasty teetered on the edge of collapse, the peasant caught in the middle of the conflict starved or was impressed into the war, the outcome was always in doubt. If we take the census records as an accounting of the damage done, then China lost more than half its population in the span of these terrible 8 years.
Du Fu in a time of war
Du Fu was an accomplished poet and mediocre civil servant, as his head-strong ways often rubbed administrators and the emperor the wrong way. Nevertheless he was tolerated for his great poetic abilities. When the capital of Chang’an fell, Du Fu had been away. Asa precaution, he took his family to a Qiang village where his newborn son died, then attempted to join the court of the new emperor, but he was captured by the rebels and taken to Chang’an. He escaped after several months and made his way to the court in exile in Sichuan.
That fall the Imperial Court gave him leave to visit his family, which is the source of the three poems entitled Qiang Village.
If the first poem was about the surprise of one finding his way home and the joy felt at homecoming, then the second is about the fleeting nature of that joy. We enjoy what little comfort we can find while living in such interesting times.
At the end of his life, Du Fu was the proverbial peripatetic poet. He died in 768, five years after the rebellion was put down. At the time he was living in Hunan Province. He was survived by his wife and two remaining sons.