Water Spirits of the South

The Songs of the South are a collection of poems from the ancient state of Chu to which Jiangnan belonged. It is the first instance of Chinese literature from the south, and describes an era between the arrival of Confucian hegemony and the extinction of shamanistic culture. Water is richly conceived as the mysterious abode of spirits, agents beyond the control of mortal beings that needed to be found and courted and appeased before their watery domain could be harnessed. 

The third song amongst the Nine Songs (Jiu ge) collected in the Songs of the South, is dedicated to the Goddess of the Xiang River. It is sung by a shaman, paddling his boat in search of a water spirit. The version below was sung in spring, its sister verse being dedicated to autumn. In Songs of the South; An Anthology of Ancient Chinese Poems (1985), David Hawkes writes of the poem;

 "The shaman's love-song as he pursues, through rivers, lakes and wooded islands, a brooding presence which he senses and sometimes believes he can hear, but never, or only in faint, fleeting glimpses, ever sees, evokes for us, with an extraordinary vividness, an ancient, forgotten time in which men loved, even more than they feared, the mysterious world of nature that surrounded them."

The goddess comes not, she holds back shyly.

Who keeps her delaying within the island,

Lady of the lovely eyes and the winning smile?

Skimming the water in my cassia boat,

I bid the Yuan and Xiang still their waves

And the Great River make its stream flow softly.

I look for the goddess, but she does not come yet.

Of whom does she think as she plays her reed-pipes?

North I go, drawn by my flying dragon,

Steering my course to the Dong-ting lake;

My sail is of fig-leaves, melilotus my rigging,

An iris my flag-pole, my banner of orchides.

Gazing at the distant Cen-yang mooring

I waft my magic across the Great River.

I waft my magic, but it does not reach her,

The lady is sad, and sighs for me;

And my tears run down over cheek and chin:

I am chocked with longing for my lady.

My cassia oars and orchid sweep 

Chip all in vain at ice and snow.

I am gathering wild figs in the water!

I am looking for lotuses in the tree-tops!

The wooing is useless if hearts are divided;

The love that is not deep is quickly broken.

The stream runs fast through the stony shallows,

And my fling dragon wings swiftly above it,

The pain is more lasting if loving is faithless:

She broke her tryst; she told me she had not time.

In the morning I race by the bank of the river;
At evening I halt at this north island.
The birds are roosting on the roof-top;
The water laps at the foot of the hall.
I throw my thumb-ring into the river.
I leave my girdle-gem in the bay of the Li.
Pollia I've plucked in the scent-laden islet
To give to the lady in the depth below.
Time once gone cannot be recovered:
I wish I could play here a little longer.

from Songs of the South.

Translated by David Hawkes