qiu jin — II
Picking up where we left off with the poet Qiu Jin (Ch'iu Chin), we see that the two years she spent in Japan, 1904 to 1905, were productive ones. Chang and Saussy describe them this way:
In June 1904, having outgrown Beijing and her friends, Qiu left for Japan after arranging for the care of her children. During her roughly eighteen months in Tokyo (early July 1904 to late December 1905, interrupted by a four-month return to China), she studied at Jissen School for Women and participated eagerly in feminist and anti-Manchu activities, eventually attending workshops on bomb making and joining the Restoration Society (Guangfu hui) and the Revolutionary Alliance (Tongmeng hui). She also edited the Baihua bao (Colloquial language monthly) … all her [poetry] of this period have feminist and patriotic themes, the one often interlaced with the other. Despite incantational evocations of modern Western events and personalities, her mind–set is profoundly traditional-Chinese in its reverence for Han legitimacy and racial ancestors, virulent denigration of the Manchus, and glorification of individual, quasi-solitary heroes, including failed assassins, who affected the course of history through the repercussions of their successful or failed actions. For the first time we see expressions of her own willingness to die for China. (633)
But by late 1905 she decided to return home to help with preparations for war. Giles reports of an incident on her return that led to her poetry being preserved for the ages:
Two of her friends, Mr. T'ao and another, met her on her return to Shanghai, and saw her off on the final stages of her journey home. Knowing her to be an accomplished scholar, they begged for some autograph composition as a memento, and Ch'iu Chin responded by copying out, before she left Shanghai, a small volume containing the product of her muse — that is to say, 150 short pieces of poetry of various kinds. It is to this fortunate incident that we probably owe the preservation of her poems, for after her death the manuscript was printed and published. (7–8)
I find this poem remarkable for it speaks to her frustration of wanting to do great and noble things, but being hampered by unfair social norms. I do not think you need to be fighting a revolutionary war to feel similar emotions:
滿江紅
小住京華﹐
早又是中秋佳節。
為籬下黃花開遍﹐
秋容如拭 。
四面歌殘終破楚﹐
八年風味徒思浙。
苦將儂強派作蛾眉﹐
殊未屑﹗
身上得，男兒列。
心卻比，男兒烈。
算平生肝膽上因人熱。
俗子胸襟誰識我﹖
英雄末路當折磨。
莽紅塵何處覓知音﹖
青衫濕！
Here is my translation. Again, I am sure there are mistakes but the nice thing about rough drafts is that I can always go back and fix them:
A short rest in the Capital,
now it is already Mid-Autumn Festival.
There beneath the fence
chrysanthemums are all in bloom,
even autumn looks cleansed.
Fragments of song makes me long for my home, Chu;
after eight years, in vain I long for the flavor of Che.
How cruel of them to have sent us by force into femininity,
they show never a shred of mercy!Despite my ability, I am not allowed into the ranks of men,
but my heart burns fiercer than any man's!
Let me say this: often in my life
my body has been roused to fury for the sake of others.
what vile men can claim to know who I am?
Heroism is borne out of the ordeals at the end of the road.
In the red dust of this foul world,
where can I find an understanding friend?
My green robe is soaked with my own tears.
Here is a translation I found in the anthology Women writers of traditional China: an anthology of poetry and criticism (I would highly recommend this book to anyone wanting to get a good overview of ancient and not so ancient women poets of China):
A short stay in the capital,
So soon again the fine Mid-Autumn festival.
There beneath the fence
Yellow flowers are all in bloom,
Their autumn looks seem cleansed.
Fragments of songs all round finally shattered Chu,
Eight years of tastes and flavors: in vain I've longed for Zhe.
How cruel to have been forced to be a lady,
Really, never a shred of mercy!I cannot get into
The ranks of men.
But my heart burns
More fiercely than a man's.
Let me say that in my life
My spleen has often been roused to fury for others' sake.
What vulgar man could ever know me?
Heroes confront ordeals at the end of the road.
In this dirty world of red dust,
where can I seek an understanding friend?
My green robe is soaked with tears. (651)
This is a version from Voices of the Song Lyric in China:
Short sojourn in the capital,
so once again it is the fine festival of midautumn.
There beneath the hedge, the yellow flowers are all in bloom,
their autumn looks seem cleansed.
As songs lingered on the four sides, Ch'u was finally penetrated;
after eight years, vainly I long for the local flavors of Che.
How unkind to have sent me by force to be a woman—
surely there has been no caring.My body cannot get into the ranks of men,
but my heart burns more fiercely than men's.
Let me say that in my life my mettle has often been roused to fury for others.
What vulgar man would have a mind to know me?
For the hero, there would be ordeal at the end of the road.
In this ill-bred world of red dust,
where can I seek an understanding friend?
My green robe is tear-soaked. (143 – 45)
Finally, this is a translation I discovered by Michael Mikita, III, of San Francisco State University:
Just a short stay at the Capital
But it is already the mid autumn festival
Chrysanthemums infect the landscape
Fall is making its mark
The infernal isolation has become unbearable here
All eight years of it make me long for my home
It is the bitter guile of them forcing us women into femininity
We cannot win!
Despite our ability, men hold the highest rank
But while our hearts are pure, those of men are rank
My insides are afire in anger at such an outrage
How could vile men claim to know who I am?
Heroism is borne out of this kind of torment
To think that so putrid a society can provide no camaraderie
Brings me to tears!
Works Cited
"Coda: The Heroic Feminine" from Yu, Pauline, editor. Voices of the Song Lyric in China. Berkeley: University of California Press. (1994)
Giles, Lionel. Ch'iu Chin: a Chinese Heroine. London: East & West, LTD. (1917)
Mikita, III, Michael A. A New Translation of Qiu Jin's Crimson Flooding into the River. Comparative Literature Student Association at San Francisco State University. (2005)
Sun Chang, Kang-i and Haun Saussy (eds) Women writers of traditional China: an anthology of poetry and criticism. Charles Kwong, associate editor; Anthony C. Yu and Yu-kung Kao, consulting editors. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. (1999)
Tsan-chih, Chʻiu. Chʻiu Chin chuan. Taipei: Lian huo tu shu kung shih. (1969)