In Praise of lmpoverished Gentlemen

I

All the myriad creatures have their refuge,

The lonely cloud alone has no support

But vanishes darkling in the empty sky.

Will ever any afterglow survive?

The morning sun disperses last night's mist

And focks of birds all Hy away together.

Slowly from the woods a bird emerges

To return again before the close of day.

Having taken stock, he stays at home

Where there is no avoiding cold and hunger.

Since none today is left who understands,

It's finished now-I have no complaint.

II

Sharp and chill the year draws near its close,

On the porch I clutch my coat and sun myself.

The southern garden holds no sprig of green

Withered branches fill the northern orchard.

I tilt the bottle and no drop comes out

I glance at the stove but see no smoke.

The classic books lie piled beside my seat

The sun declines, and leaves no time for study.

Without a job is not a 'crisis in Ch'en',

But with me too are those who show resentment.

What consolation is there left for me?

All those gentlemen since ancient times.

III

Old man Jung wore a belt of rope

Rejoicing then, he played his lute.

Master Yuan pulled on broken shoes

And clearly sang his pure Shang mode song.

It is long from Ch'ung-hua's time to mine

And always gentlemen in povcrty,

Whose ragged robes were out at elbows,

Who never had enough thin soup.

He had not forgot how fine furs feel

But lacked respect for ill-got gains.

All Tzu-kung could do was quibble

Into my mind he had no insight.

IV

Content to be poor, resolved to stay humble

Since ancient times Ch'ien Lou was the man:

'Exalted rank brings me no glory,

I will accept no rich rewards.'

And then one day when his life was done

His rags were too short to cover him.

Not that he did not know hardship

His only concern was for the Way.

In the thousand years since then

His like has never been seen again.

If today you live with goodness and virtue

Tonight you may die with no regrets.

V

By Yuan An's gate the snow was piled up deep;

Unconcerned, he would not trouble others.

When Master Juan saw money coming in

He resigned his post the selfsame day.

In hay he found familiar warmth

Of wild rice he made his morning meal.

It was harsh enough in truth,

But it was not the cold he feared, or hunger.

Wealth and poverty wage constant war,

When the Way wins out, the face shows no concern.

His perfect virtue capped both state and town

His purity lighted up the western pass.

VI

Chung-wei was fond of his poverty-.

Around his house the weeds grew tal.

Retired, he gave up social ties

And wrote poems which were not bad.

In all the world none knew his worth

Save one man only, Liu Kung

How did he come to be like this?

Because there were so few like him.

Aloof, he was content with his lot

His joy was not in success or failure.

Surely clumsy in worldly things,

All one can do is to follow him.

VII

Of old there was Huang 'Tzu-lien

Who dusted his cap to serve the state.

He resigned one day and went back home,

For pure poverty he's hard to equal.

In famine time he was touched by his noble wife

Who turned to him a tear-stained face:

'A man may have a high resolve,

But still his children are his care.'

One encounter and Hui-sun sighed,

In the end renouncing lavish gifts.

Who says it's hard to be firm in trouble

With worthy models like these in the past!