Wei Yingwu

Wei Yingwu (Wei Ying-wu) belonged to a once-wealthy family that was already in decline when the An Lushan Rebellion destroyed what was left of their fortune. He secured a government position but was fired after disciplining two soldiers he saw beating up some townsfolk. He moved his wife and children into a Buddhist temple for a few years, said to be the happiest of his life. He was a serious man who didn’t like crowds and always swept the ground and lit incense before sitting down. Wei never remarried after his wife died. After he died many years later in another part of the country, his children moved his body to bury him with her. The only example we have of his handwriting comes from her epitaph.

In an empty room with nothing to do
you loosened your hat strings and waited for a friend
it wasn’t a night for reading
but for writing poems about the moon
after listening to the bell and sleeping in comfort
we rolled up dew-covered blinds
and sensed another fall was near
while the fading river tried to hold off dawn

Like silk that’s been dyed
or wood that’s now ash
I recall the person I lived with
gone and not coming back
to whom I was wedded for twenty years
who respected me as if we just met
our betrothal occurred during troubled times
our separations were due to disasters
a model of gentleness and simplicity
she was courteous and always proper
but public office has no room for oneself
and my duties undercut her beauty
this morning when I entered the women’s quarters
the rooms were covered with dust
ever since this person left
whatever I touch is painful
a widower now I pass the time
wiping our children’s tears
I try to push my fantasies away
but these feelings are hard to stop
suddenly my daydreams look real
startled I begin pacing again
this heart is utterly relentless
and our house is surrounded by weeds

White water surges along the embankment
mist swirls in a sunny sky
green is taking over the trees
there’s jade on a thousand mountains
fish are swimming up to the surface
lotuses aren’t thick yet
I come here to be alone with my thoughts
I regret lacking social skills

Ten years after leaving Loyang
I visited our East Grove doorway
I couldn’t look at the landscape
confronted by thoughts about life and death
time has moved on but her traces remain
we left here together but I’m back alone
I can still see pigeons through the window
circling the courtyard at sunset

You came here with New Year’s greetings
walking here alone in the bitter cold
knocking on a bamboo temple gate at night
covered with snow from your hike through the hills
after starting a fire deep in my stove
and closing the door to my empty room
we shared a gourd full of wine
and didn’t speak of all the things that went wrong