Du, Fu
(Gongxian, Henan 712-770) : Dichter
Name Alternative(s)
Tu, Fu
Subjects
Index of Names : China
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Literature : China
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Periods : China : Tang (618-906)
Chronology Entries (7)
| # | Year | Text | Linked Data |
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| 1 | 1915 |
Klabund. Dumpfe Trommeln und berauschtes Gong : Nachdichtungen chinesischer Kriegslyrik [ID D11994]. Quellen : Hervey de Saint-Denys, Léon. Poésies de l'époque des Thang [ID D2216]. Gautier, Judith. Le livre de jade [ID D12659]. Harlez, Charles Joseph de. La poésie chinoise [ID D12693]. Pfizmaier, August. Das Li-sao und die neun Gesänge [ID D4776]. Strauss, Victor von. Schi-king [ID D4648]. Forke, Alfred. Blüthen chinesischer Dichtung [ID D664]. Grube, Wilhelm. Geschichte der chinesischen Literatur [ID D798]. Heilmann, Hans. Chinesische Lyrik [ID D11976]. Hauser, Otto. Li-tai-po [ID D4640] und Die chinesische Dichtung [ID D12694]. Folgende Dichter sind darin enthalten : Li Bo (12) und Du Fu (9), Shi jing (3), Qu Yuan (1), Konfuzius (1), Wang Changling (1) sowie drei Gedichte aus angeblich unbekannter Herkunft. Er schreibt an den Insel-Verlag : Es handelt sich bei den Nachdichtungen um Nachdichtungen in Reimen – eine Behandlunsweise, die für das Verständnis des Chinesischen in den Gedichten wesentlich erscheint : die chinesische Lyrik als Lyrik reimt sich immer. Im Nachwort beschreibt Klabund die Wesensmerkmale der chinesischen Sprache und Lyrik. Er schreibt : Die vorliegenden chinesischen Gedichte sind durchaus keine Übersetzungen. Sondern Nachdichtungen. Aus dem Geist heraus. Intuition. Wiederaufbau. (Manche Säulen des kleinen Tempels mussten versetzt oder umgestellt werden)… Die chinesische Kriegslyrik überrascht durch die Kraft ihrer Anschauung und die Unerbittlichkeit ihrer Resignation, die sie von der meist hymnisch oder episch gearteten Kriegsdichtung aller übrigen Völker scharf unterscheidet… In seinem Sohn allein erscheint der Mensch verewigt. In der Familie ist er unsterblich. Darum heisst Krieg für den Chinesen : fern von der Heimat sterben… unbestattet im Mondlicht verwesen… die Knochen nicht von frommer Kinder Hand gesammelt… kein Ahne sein… sterben… Dscheng, Fang-hsiung : Klabund geht einher mit seiner geänderten Einstellung zum Kriege : Klabund, zutiefst überzeugt von der chinesischen Abneigung gegen Krieg und Gewalt, distanziert sich von … seiner anfänglichen Kriegsbegeisterung und wandelt sich – noch zur Zeit der deutschen Kriegserfolge – zum Pazifisten. Seine chinesische Kriegslyrik beschäftigt sich daher… vor allem mit der Verurteilung der Gewalt oder der Klage einer Geliebten um den im Kriege weilenden Gatten. Kuei-fen Pan-hsu : Der exotische Kriegsschauplatz dient dazu, den Blick des Autors von Europa un der Gegenwart abzuwenden. Er führt ihn nicht zu einem endgültigen Gesinnungswandel. Dieser Gedichtband kann später nur als ein schwacher Vorwand dienen. Klabund verteidigt sich, dass er anfangs an den vorgetäuschten Idealismus der deutschen Regierung geblaubt, bald aber den Irrtum erkannt habe, als er im Frühling 1915 die chinesische Kriegslyrik, die Sprache der Menschlichkeit gedichtet hat. |
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| 2 | 1933 |
Ehrenstein, Albert. Das gelbe Lied [ID D12454]. Quellen : Arthur Waley und Erwin von Zach. Darin enthalten : Gedichte aus dem Shi jing (33), von Li Bo (58), Du Fu (30), Bo Juyi (158) und 55 andere Gedichte. Han Ruixin : Ehrenstein hat an der Verbesserung und Erweiterung seiner Nachdichtungen chinesischer Lyrik gearbeitet. Themen sind Kummer und Leiden des Daseins, Armut, soziale Ungerechtigkeit, Krieg, Sehnsucht nach Liebe, Heimweh, Vergänglichkeit und Einsamkeit. |
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| 3 | 1966 |
The Cassia tree : a collection of translations & adaptations from the Chinese. David Rafael Wang ; in collaboration with William Carlos Williams [ID D29171]. Note : These poems are not translations in the sense that Arthur Waley's versions are translations. They are rather re-creations in the American idiom – a principle to which William Carlos Williams dedicated his poetic career. (D.R.W.) Popular T'ang and Sung poems I Meng Hao-chuan (689-740) [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] In spring you sleep and never know when the morn comes, Everywhere you hear the songs of the birds, But at night the sound of the wind mingles with the rain's, And you wonder how many flowers have fallen. II Li Po (701-762) [Li Bo] Spotting the moonlight at my bedside, I wonder if it is frost on the ground. After raising my head to look at the bright moon, I lower it to think of my old country. III Liu, Chung-yuan, 773-819 [Liu Zhongyuan] The birds have flown away from the mountains, The sign of men has gone from the paths, But under a lone sail stoops an old fisherman, Angling in the down-pouring snow. IV Ho Chi-chong = Ho Chih-chang), 659-744 [He Zhizhang = Jizhen] [(Xiaoshan, Zhejiang 659-)] Returning after I left my home in childhood, I have kept my native accent but not the color of my hair. Facing the smiling children who shyly approach me, I am asked from where I come. V Meng Hao-chuan = Meng Hao-jan (689-740) [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] Steering my little boat towards a misty islet, I watch the sun descend while my sorrows grow : In the vast night the sky hangs lower than the treetops, But in the blue lake the moon is coming close. VI Wang Wei (699-759) Alighting from my horse to drink with you, I asked, 'Where are you going ? ' You said, 'Retreating to lie in the southern mountains' Silent, I watch the white clouds endless in the distance. VII Li Yu (The last king of the Southern T'ang dynasty, 937-978) Silently I ascend the western pavilion. The moon hangs like a hairpin. In the deep autumn garden The wu-t'ung stands alone. Involute, Entagled, The feeling of departure Clings like a wet leaf to my heart. The maid (Ancient folk poem) Drives sheep through ravine, With the white goat in front. The ole gal unmarried, Her sigh reaches heaven. Aihe ! Aihe ! Endless dream of the shepherd. 'Hold man's left arm, Turn and toss with him'. 'Stroke man's whiskers, watch changin' expression'. The shepherd unmindful Can she force him ? Cho Wen-chun (Han poetess, 2nd century B.C.) [Zhuo Wenjun, ca. 179-ca. 117 B.C.] Lament of a graying woman White as the snow on mountaintop, Bright as the moon piercing the clouds, Knowing that you have a divided heart, I come to you before you are gone. We have lived long together in this town. What need is there for a feast of wine ? But a feast we must have today, For tomorrow we'll be by the stream And I'll lag behind you at the fork, Watching the waters flow east or west. Tears and still more tears. Why should we lament ? If only there is a constant man Till white-hair shall we never part ! SOCIETY OF POETS I To Li Po Tu Fu 712-770 [Du Fu] The floating cloud follows the sun. The traveler has not yet returned. For three nights I dreamt of you, my friend, So clearly that I almost touched you. You left me in a hurry. Your passage is fraught with trouble : The wind blows fiercely over lakes and rivers. Be watchful lest you fall from your boat ! You scratched your white head when leaving the door, And I knew the journey was against your wishes. Silk-hatted gentlemen have swamped the capital, While you, the poet, are lean and haggard. If the net of heaven is not narrow, Why should you be banished when you are old ? Ten thousand ages will remember your warmth ; When you are gone the world is silent and cold. II To Meng Hao-jan Li Po [Li Bo] I love Meng-fu-tsu. His name is known throughout China. While rosy-cheeked he gave up his office ; Now with white hair he lies in the pine clouds. Drunk with the moon he is a hermit-saint ; Lost in flowers he will not serve any kings. Can I reach him who is like a high mountain ? I am contented if I only breathe in his fragrance. III To Wang Wei Meng Hao-chuan [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] Quietly, quietly, why have I been waiting ? Emptily, emptily, I return every day alone. I have been in search of fragrant grass And miss the friend who can accompany me. Who will let me roam his private park ? Understanding ones in the world are rare. I shall walk back home all by myself And fasten the latch on the gate of my garden. Meng Hao-chuan [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] After the party The guest, still drunk, sprawls in my bed How am I going to get him awake ? The chicken congee is boiling on the stove And the new wine is heated to start our day. Meng Hao-chuan [Meng Haoran 689/691-740] Late spring In April the lake water is clear Everywhere the birds are singing The ground just swept, the petals fall again The grass, though stepped on, remains green My drinking companions gather to compare fortunes Open the keg to get over the bout of drinking With cups held high in our hands We hear the voices of sing-song girls ringing. Wang Wei (699-759) Ce-Lia the immortal beauty The beauty of a maiden is coveted by the world. So how could a girl like Ce-Lia be slighted for long ? In the mourning she was just another lass in the village, But in the evening she has become the king's concubine. Was she different from the rest in her days of poverty ? Now that she is favored, all begin to realize her beauty is rare. She can command her maids to powder and perfume her face, And is no longer obliged to don her own clothing. The adoration of her Emperor has brought pride to her being, And the king's 'Yes' and 'No' vary in accordance with her caprice. The companions who washed at the brookside along with her Are not entitled any more to ride back home in the same carriage. Why should we bother to sympathize with these rustic girls, Since they'll never have Beauty to accompany them, Even if they should master the art of coquetry ? Wang Wei The peerless lady Look, there goes the young lady across the street She looks about fifteen, doesn't she ? Her husband is riding the piebald horse Her maids are scraping chopped fish from a gold plate. Her picture gallery and red pavilion stand face to face The willow and the peach trees shadow her eaves Look, she's coming thru the gauze curtains to get into her chaise : Her attendants have started winnowing the fans. Her husband got rich early in his life A more arrogant man you never find around ! She keeps busy by teaching her maids to dance She never regrets giving jewels away. There goes the light by her window screen The green smoke's rising like petals on wave The day is done and what does she do ? Her hair tied up, she watches the incense fade. None but the bigwigs visit her house Only the Chaos and the Lees get by her guards But do you realize this pretty girl Used to beat her clothes at the river's head ? There goes the light by her window screen The green smoke's rising like petals on wave The day is done and what does she do ? Her fair tied up, she watches the incense fade. None but the bigwigs visit her house Only the Chaos and the Lees get by her guards But do you realize this pretty girl Used to beat her clothes at the river's head ? Li Po [Li Bo] A letter My love, When you were here there was a hall of flowers. When you are gone there is an empty bed. Under the embroidered coverlet I toss and turn. After three years I smell you fragrance. Your fragrance never leaves, But you never return. I think of you, the yellow leaves are ended And the white dew dampens the green moss. Li Po [Li Bo] Spring song A young lass Plucks mulberry leaves by the river Her white hand Reaches among the green Her flushed cheeks Shine under the sun The hungry silkworms Are waiting Oh, young horseman Why do you tarry. Get going. Li Po [Li Bo] Summer song The Mirror Lake (Three hundred miles), Where lotus buds Burst into flowers. The slippery shore Is jammed with admirers, While the village beauty Picks the blossoms. Before the sails Breast the rising moon, She's shipped away To the king's harem. Li Po [Li Bo] In the wineshop of Chinling The wind scatters the fragrance of the willows over the shop The sing-song girls pour the rice wine heated for the guests My friends have gathered to say goodbye Drinking cup after cup, I wonder why I should start 'Say, can you tell me about the east-flowing river – Does it stretch as long as this feeling of departure ?' Li Po [Li Bo] Solo The pavilion pierces the green sky Below is the white jade chamber The bright moon is ready to set Casting its glance behind the screen window Solitary she stands Her thin silk skirt ruffled by autumn frost She fingers softly the séchin Composing the Mulberry Song. The sound reverberates And the wind circles the crossbeams Outside the pedestrians are turning away And the birds are gone to their nests. The weight of feeling Cannot be carried away by song and She longs for someone To soar with her like a mandarin drake. Li Po [Li Bo] The youth on horseback The youth from the capital rides by the east of the city. His white horse and silver saddle sail through the spring breeze. Having trampled all the flowers where else could he go ? Smiling, he enters the barroom of the white prostitute. Li Po [Li Bo] The Knight In March the dust of Tartary has swept over the capital. Inside the city wall the people sigh and complain. Under the bridge the water trickles with warm blood And bales of white bones lean against one another. I departed east for the Kingdom of Wu. Clouds block the four fortresses and the roads are long. Only the crows announce the rise of the sun. Someone opens the city gate to sweep away the flowers. Wu-t'ungs and willows hover above the well. Drunk, I come to the knight-errant's home. The knights-errant of Fu Feng are rare in this world : With arms around their friends they'll heave mountains. The posture of the generals means little to them And, drinking, they ignore the orders of the cabinet. With fancy food on carved plates they entertain their guests. With songs and dance their sing-song girls unwind a fragrant wind. The fabulous dukes of the six kingdoms Were known for their entertainment : In the dining hall of each three thousand were fed. But who knew which one would remember to repay ? They stroke their long swords, arching their eyebrows ; By the clear water and white rock they decline to separate. Doffing my hat I turn to you smiling. Drinking your wine I recite only for you. I have not yet met my master of strategy – The bridgeside hermit may read my heart. Li Po [Li Bo] Drinking together We drink in the mountain while the flowers bloom, A pitcher, a pitcher, and one more pitcher. As my head spins you get up. So be back any time with your guitar. Li Po [Li Bo] The march The bay horse is fitted with a white jade saddle. The moon shivers over the battlefield. The sound of iron drums still shakes the city walls And in the case the gold sword oozes blood. Li Po [Li Bo] Long Banister Lane When my hair was first trimmed across my forehead, I played in front of my door, picking flowers. You came riding a bamboo stilt for a horse, Circling around my yard, playing with green plums. Living as neighbors at Long Banister Lane, We had an affection for each other that none were suspicious of. At fourteen I became your wife, With lingering shyness, I never laughed. Lowering my head towards a dark wall, I never turned, though called a thousand times. At fifteen I began to show my happiness, I desired to have my dust mingled with yours. With a devotion ever unchanging. Why should I look out when I had you ? At sixteen you left home For a faraway land of steep pathways and eddies, Which in May were impossible to traverse, And where the monkey whined sorrowfully towards the sky. The footprints you made when you left the door Have been covered by green moss, New moss too deep to be swept away. The autumn wind came early and the leaves started falling. The butterflies, yellow with age in August, Fluttered in pairs towards the western garden. Looking at the scene, I felt a pang in my heart, And I sat lamenting my fading youth. Every day and night I wait for your return, Expecting to receive your letter in advance, So that I will some traveling to greet you As far as Windy Sand. Adaptation of Li Po [Li Bo] The visitor See that horseman from the distant land, Greeneyed and wearing a tigerskin hat, Smiling, he lifts two arrows from his case, And ten thousand people shy away. He bends his bow like a circling moon And from the clouds white geese spin down in pairs. Shaking his whip high in the air, He starts out hunting with his pack. Once out of his dooryard what does he care ? What matters if he dies pro patria ? Prouder he is than five filtans And has the wolf's love for seeking out a herd. He drives the cattle further north And with a tiger's appetite tastes the freshly killed. But he camps at the Swallow Mountain, Far from the arctic snow. From his horse a woman smiles at him, Her face a vermilion vessel of jade. As his flying darts haunt birds and beasts, Flowers and the moon land drunk in his saddle. The light of the alien star flashes and spreads While war gathers head like the swarming of wasps. From the edge of his white sword blood drips and drips. It covers the floating sand. Are there any more reckless generals left ? – The soldiers are too tired to complain. Tu Fu [Du Fu] Profile of a lady A pretty, pretty girl Lives in the empty mountain Came from a celebrated family Now alone with her fagots. In the civil war All her brothers were killed. Why talk of pedigree, When she couldn'd collect their bones ? World feeling rises against the decline, Then follows the rotating candle. Husband has a new interest : A beauty subtle as jade. The acacia knows its hour The mandarin duck never lies alone. Husband listens to the laughter of new girl Deaf to the tears of the old. Spring in the mountains is clear, Mud underfoot. She sends the maid to sell jewels Pick wisteria to mend the roof Wears no fresh flower Bears cypress boughs in her hands. Leans cold against the bamboo Her green sleeves flutter. Tu Fu [Du Fu] Visit The life we could seldom meet Separate as the stars. What a special occasion tonight That we gather und the candle-lamp ! How long can youth last ? Our hair is peppered with white. Half of our friends are ghosts It's so good to see you alive. How strange after twenty years To revisit your house ! When I left you were single Your children are grown up now. They treat me with great respect, Ask where I came from. Before I can answer You send your son for the wine. In the rain you cut scallions And start the oven to cook rice. 'It's hard to get together Let's finish up these ten goblets.' After ten goblets we are still sober The feeling of reunion is long. Tomorrow I have to cross the mountain Back to the mist of the world. Wang Ch'ang-ling (circa 727) [Wang Changling (698–756)] Chant of the frontiersman I The cicadas are singing in the mulberry forest : It is August at the fortress. We pass the frontiers to enter more frontiers. Everywhere the rushes are yellow. The sodbusters from the provinces Have disappeared with the dust they kicked up. Why should we bother to be knights-errant ? Let us discuss the merits of bayards. II I lead the horse to drink in the autumn river. The river is icy and the wind cuts like knives. In the desert the sun has not yet gone down ; In the shade I see my distant home. When the war first spread to the Great Wall, We were filled with patriotic fervor. The yellow sand has covered the past glories ; The bleached bones are scattered over the nettles. Wang Chen (circa 775) [Wang Zhen] The newlywed's cuisine The thir night after wedding I get near the stove. Rolling up my sleeves I make a fancy broth. Not knowing the taste Of my mother-in-law, I try it first upon her Youngest girl. Li Yu Bella donna Iu Spring flowers, autumn moon – when will you end ? How much of the past do you recall ? At the pavilion last night the cast wind sobbed. I can hardly turn my head homeward In this moonlight. The carved pillars and the jade steps are still here. But the color of your checks is gone. When asked : 'How much sorrow do you still have ?' 'Just like the flood of spring water Rushing eastward.' Li Ts'un-hsu (Emporor Chuang of the later T'ang Dynasty, 10th century. [Zhuang Zong] In dream's wake We dine in a glade concealed in peach petals. We dance like linnets and sing like phoenixes. Then we part. Like a dream, Like a dream, A mist envelops the pale moon and fallen blossoms. Kuo Mo-jo (1893-) [Guo Moruo] From Phoenix undying Ah ! Our floating and inconstant life Is like a delirious dream in a dark night. Before us is sleep, Behind us is sleep ; It comes like the fluttering wind, It comes like the trailing smoke ; Enters like wind, Departs like smoke. Behind us : sleep, Before us : sleep. In the midst of our sleep we appear Like the momentary wind and smoke. Mao Tse-tung (1893-) [Mao Zedong] Spring in the now-drenched garden The northern countryside of China Is bound by miles and miles of ice. Snow flies over the border, And outside of the Great Wall Waste land stretches as though endless. The great Hwang Ho rushes in torrents Up and down the skyline. The mountains thrash like silvery snakes, Their contours soar like waxen elephants Vying with the gods in height. On a fine day, The landscape unveils like a maiden Dressing up in her boudoir. Such enchanting mountains and rivers Have led countless heroes to rival in homage. Pity that the founders of Ch'in and Han Were unversed in the classics ; Pity that the great kings of T'ang and Sung Were deficient in poetry ; Pity that the magnificent, the pride of heaven, Genghis Khan Could only shoot with bows and arrows. All these were of the past ! For the greatest man yet – only My dynasty, my era will show. Ping Hsin (1902-) [Bing Xin] The old man and the child The old man to the child : 'Weep, Sigh, How dreary the world is !' The child, laughing : 'Excuse me, mister ! I can't imagine what I Haven't experiences.' The child to the old man : 'Smile, Jump, How interesting the world is !' The old man, sighing : 'Forgive me, Child ! I can't bear recalling what I have experienced.' Tsong Kuh-chia = Tsang Ko-chia (1910-) [Zang Kejia] Three generations The child Is bathing in the mud. The father Is seating in the mud. The grandfather Is buried in the mud. D.R.W. [David Rafael Wang] Cool cat For Gary Snyder The rain has soaked the cabin The wind has shaken the mast My mistress's red petticoat is wet And knitted are the eyebrows of my lovely wife I tie the boat to the nearest tree And observe the flowering billows The bamboo blinds are left sagging The broken teacups litter the deck On my way back I feel a sudden calmness : Autumn has invaded the summer I dry my sleeves in a Yoga posture And leave the girls to fret and chatter. |
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| 4 | 1966 |
Rexroth, Kenneth. An autobiographical novel [ID D32236]. Chap. 34. Witter Bynner was just beginning to translate Chinese poetry. He was the first person I had met with whom I could share my own interest. He had a very sensible Chinese informant, and bad never fallen victim to the outrageous ideographic theories of Ezra pound and Amy Lowell. He introduced me to the major Sinologists in French and English, in those days still a rather limited study, and recommended a Chinese student at the University of Chicago who was a great help to me the next winter. He also helped me to shift my focus of interest from the poetry of Li Tai Po, in those days considered by most Westerners China's greatest poet, to Tu Fu. For this-an hour's conversation in a sun-baked patio—I have reason to be eternally grateful to Witter Bynner. Tu Fu has been without question the major influence on my own poetry, and I consider him the greatest nonepic, jiondramatic poet who ever lived. In some ways he is a better poet than either Shakespeare or Homer. At least he is more natural and intimate. Tu Fu comes from a saner, older, more secular culture than Homer and it is not a new discovery with him that the gods, the abstractions and forces of nature are frivolous, lewd, vicious, quarrelsome, and cruel, and only men s steadfastness, love, magnanimity, calm, and compassion redeem the nightbound world. It is not a discovery, culturally or historically, but it is the essence of his being as a poet If Isaiah is the greatest religious poet, Tu Fu is not religious at all. But for me his response to the human situation is the only kind of religion likely to outlast this century, "Reverence of life" it has been called. I have saturated myself with his poetry for thirty years. I am sure he has made me a better man, as a moral agent and as a perceiving organism. I say this because I feel that, above a certain level of attainment, the greatest poetry answers out of hand the problems of the critics and the esthetician. Poetry like Tu Fu's is the answer to the question "What is the purpose of art?" |
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| 5 | 1981 |
Wang, An-yan Tang. Subjectivity and objectivity in the poetic mind : a comparative study of the poetry of William Butler Yeats and Tu Fu [ID D30271]. The purpose of this thesis is to examine how a poet's concept of man, the world, and reality determines the degree of subjectivity and objectivity in the process of poetic creation. The discussion centers on a comparison of two poets from two distinctly different cultural traditions: Tu Fu (712-770) from the Chinese classical tradition, and William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) from the Western post-Romantic tradition. Each poet's idea of man, the world, and reality is considered against the background of his own cultural tradition, whether the poet accepts that tradition in to or devises his own ways of reacting against it. In the Western tradition reality is seen dualistically, with the ideal world of spirit opposed to the actual world of matter. Chinese philosophy, however, recognizes a reality which is an unified whole of spirit and matter existing here and now. Then these concepts are shown to govern the reflection of the external world in the works of each poet: while Yeats emphasizes the supremacy of the poetic mind over the objective world, Tu Fu aims at a harmonious communion between the mind and the objective world. Finally, the thesis explores the temporal and spatial dimensions of the "world" created by each poet, comparing Tu Fu's and Yeats's treatment of history and of landscape. The conclusion reached is that : when a poet sees intrinsic value in man and in the objective world, and accepts these as realities - as in the case of Tu Fu - his poetry aims at representing life in all its immediacy. His poetic world, therefore, corresponds quite closely to the objective world, indicating a mind more charitably inclined towards objectivity. A harmony develops between his mind and the external world, and the expression of this harmony in poetry is often lyrical and produces a poetry that is naturally metaphysical. Such a harmony between the mind and the world tends to become diminished when a consciousness of separation of the mind and the matter takes place. This loss of harmony is often accompanied by a conviction that the physical world and human life is absurd and insignificant. But a great poet does not turn away in loathing from human life and the world. He insists on finding a way of bridging the gulf between the ideal and the actual, and to justify life's struggles. Thus Yeats's poetry often points toward the redemption of man through conflict. In this attempt his poetry is often subjective, demonstrating a mind working to overpower and manipulate what the poet sees as shortcomings of the world as well as his own self. The poetic world so constructed reveals the conscious workings of a subjective mind. The poetry is thus frequently characterized by conflict and power, whose effect is dramatic. |
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| 6 | 1986 |
Rexroth, Kenneth. Tu Fu : poems [ID D32237]. [Du Fu]. "Tu Fu is, in my opinion, and in the opinion of a majority of those qualified to speak, the greatest non-epic, non-dramatic poet who has survived in any language." This is certainly true, but it dodges the issue – what kind of poet is Tu Fu? Not epic, not dramatic, but not in any accepted sense lyric either. Although many of his poems, along with others of the Tang Dynasty, have been sung from that day to this, and although the insistent rhythms, rhymes, and tonal patterns of Chinese verse are lost in free-verse translation so that we do not realize how musical even the most irregular Chinese verse is (the most irregular curiously enough, owes its very irregularity to the fact that it' was written to pre-existing melodies), almost none of Tu Fu's verse is lyric in the sense in which the songs of Shakespeare, Thomass Campion, Goethe, or Sappho are lyric. Rather, his is a poetry of reverie, comparable to Leopardi's "L'lnfinito", which might well be a translation from the Chinese, or the better sonnets of Wordsworth. This kind of elegiac reverie has become the principal form of modern poetry, as poetry has ceased to be a public art and has become, as Whitehead said of religion "What man does with his aloneness". It is this convergence of sensibilities across the barriers of time space, and culture that accounts for the great popularity of Chinese poetry in translation today, and for its profound influence on all major modern American poets. In addition, Tu Fu, although he was by no means "alienated" and at war with society like Baudelaire was in fact cut off from it and spent his life, after a brief career as a high official of Ming Huang, The Bright Emperor, as a wandering exile. His poetry is saturated with the exile's nostalgia and the abiding sense of the pathos of glory and power. In addition, he shares with Baudelaire and Sappho, his only competitors in the West, an exceptionally exacerbated sensibility, acute past belief. You feel that Tu Fu brings to each poetic situation, each experienced complex of sensations and values, a completely open nervous system. Out of this comes the choice of imagery—so poignant so startling, and yet seemingly so ordinary. Later generations of Chinese poets would turn these piercing, uncanny commonplaces into formulas, but in Tu Fu they are entirely fresh, newborn equations of the conscience, and they survive all but the most vulgar translations. Tu Fu is not faultless. As Court Censor, a kind of Tribune of the Patricians, under Su Tsung, the son of Ming Huang, he seems to have been a cantankerous courtier. He took his sinecure job seriously and, an unregenerate believer in the Confucian classics, proceeded to admonish the Emperor on his morals and foreign policy. He was dismissed and spent the rest of his life wandering over China. He stayed longest in his famous grass hut in the suburbs of Ch'eng Tu in Szechuan. As the dynasty disintegrated and China entered on an interregnum, a time of troubles, he started wandering again, slowly, down the great river, always longing for the capital. His last years were spent on a houseboat, and on it, at 59, he died, possibly from overexposure during a flood and storm. This is a troubled enough life, but Tu Fu writes of it with a melancholy that often verges on self-pity. He is a valetudinarian. By the time he was thirty, he was calling himself a white-haired old man. He always speaks of his home as a grass hut and presents himself as being very poor. Actually, though they were thatched, his various houses were probably quite palatial, and he seems never to have relinquished ownership of any of them and always to have drawn revenue from the farms attached to them. He had the mildest literary affection for his wife, whom he did not see for many years. He wrote no love poems to women; as with most of his caste, his passionate relationships were with men. Much of this is just convention, the accepted tone of Chinese poetry of the scholar gentry. Tu Fu's faults are microscopic in comparison with the blemishes that cover Baudelaire like blankets. Behind Baudelaire's carapace is a sensibility always struggling for transcendence. In Tu Fu the vision of spiritual reality is immanent and suffuses every item presented to the senses. Behind the conventions, behind the faults which make him human and kin to all of us, are a wisdom and a humanness as profound as Homer's. No other great poet is as completely secular as Tu Fu. He comes from a more mature, saner culture than Homer, and it is not even necessary for him to say that the gods, the abstractions from the forces of nature and the passions of men, are frivolous, lewd, vicious, quarrelsome, and cruel and that only the steadfastness of human loyalty, magnanimity, compassion redeem the nightbound world. For Tu Fu, the realm of being and value is not bifurcated. The Good, the True, and the Beautiful are not an Absolute, set over against an inchoate reality that always struggles, unsuccessfully, to approximate the pure value of the absolute. Reality is dense all one being. Values are the way we see things. This is the essence of the Chinese world view, and it overrides even the most ethereal Buddhist philosophizing and distinguishes it from its Indian sources. There is nothing that is absolutely omnipotent, but there is nothing that is purely contingent either. Tu Fu is far from being a philosophical poet in the ordinary sense, yet no Chinese poetry embodies more fully the Chinese sense of the unbreakable wholeness of reality. The quality is the quantity the value is the fact. The metaphor, the symbols are not conclusions drawn from the images; they are the images themselves in concrete relationship. It is this immediacy of utterance that has made Chinese poetry in translation so popular with modern Western poets The complicated historical and literary references and echoes disappear; the vocal effects cannot be transmitted. What comes through stripped of all accessories, is the simple glory of the facts—the naked, transfigured poetic situation. The concept of the poetic situation is itself a major factor in almost all Chinese poems of any period. Chinese poets are not rhetorical; they do not talk about the material of poetry or philosophize abstractly about life—they present a scene and an action "The north wind tears the banana leaves." It is South China in the autumn. "A lonely goose flies south across the setting sun." Autumn again, and evening. "Smoke rises from the rose jade animal to the painted rafters." A palace. "She toys idly with the strings of an inlaid lute." A concubine. "Suddenly one snaps beneath her jeweled fingers." She is tense and tired of waiting for her master. This is not the subject matter, but it is certainly the method, of almost all the poets of the modern, international idiom, whether Pierre Reverdy or Francis Jammes, Edwin Muir or William Carlos Williams, Quasimodo or the early, and to my taste best, poems of Rilke. If Isaiah is the greatest of all religious poets, then Tu Fu is irreligious. But to me his is the only religion likely to survive the Time of Troubles that is closing out the twentieth century. It can be understood and appreciated only by the application of what Albert Schweitzer called "reverence for life." What is, is what is holy. I have translated a considerable amount of his poetry, and I have saturated myself with him for forty years. He has made me a better man, a more sensitive perceiving organism, as well as, I hope, a better poet. His poetry answers out of hand the question that worries aestheticians and critics, "What is poetry for?" What his poetry does superlatively is what is the purpose of all art. |
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| 7 | 1993 |
Snyder, Gary. Sixteen T'ang poems : [translations]. [ID D29196]. Note dat. 14.1.93 In the early fifties I managed to get myself accepted into the Department of Oriental Languages at UC Berkeley as a graduate student. I took seminars in the reading of T'ang and Sung poems with Professor Ch'en Shih-hsiang, a remarkable scholar, calligrapher, poet, and critic who had a profound appreciation for good poetry and of any provenance. Ch'en Hsien-sheng introduced me to the Han-shan poems, and I published those translations back in the sixties. The poems translated here also got their start in those seminars, but I never considered them quite finished. From Berkeley I went to Japan and for the subsequent decade was working almost exclusively with Ch'an texts. Another twenty years went into developing a farmstead in the Sierra Nevada and working for the ecological movement. In the last few years I have had a chance to return to my readings in Chinese poetry and bring a few of the poems I started back then to completion. The little collection is dedicated to the memory of Ch'en Shih-hsiang. Two poems by Meng Hao-jan Meng, Hao-jan [Meng Haoran]. Spring dawn. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : The Peabody review ; winter (1989-1990). Spring sleep, not yet awake to dawn, I am full of birdsongs. Throughout the night the sounds of wind and rain Who knows what flowers fell. Meng, Hao-jan [Meng Haoran]. Mooring on Chien-te river. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : The Peabody review ; winter (1989-1990). The boat rocks at anchor by the misty island Sunset, my loneliness comes again. In these vast wilds the sky arches down to the trees. In the clear river water, the moon draws near. Five poems by Wang Wei Wang, Wei. Deer camp. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : Journal for the protection of all beings ; no 4 (Fall 1978). Empty mountains : no one to be seen. Yet – hear – human sounds and echoes. Returning sunlight enters the dark woods ; Again shining on green moss, above. Sekundärliteratur : Eliot Weinberger : Surely one of the best translations, partially because of Snyder's lifelong forest experience. Like Rexroth, he can see the scene. Every word of Wang has been translated, and nothing added, yet the translation exists as an American poem. Changing the passive is heard to the imperative hear is particularly beautiful, and not incorrect: it creates an exact moment, which is now. Giving us both meanings, sounds and echoes, for the last word of line 2 is, like most sensible ideas, revolutionary. Translators always assume that only one reading of a foreign word or phrase may be presented, despite the fact that perfect correspondence is rare. The poem ends strangely. Snyder takes the last word, which everyone else has read as on, and translates it with its alternative meaning, above, isolating it from the phrase with a comma. What's going on? Moss presumably is only above if one is a rock or bug. Or are we meant to look up, after seeing the moss, back toward the sun: the vertical metaphor of enlightenment? In answer to my query, Snyder wrote: "The reason for .. moss, above'... is that the sun is entering (in its sunset sloping, hence 'again'—a final shaft) the woods, and illuminating some moss up in the trees. (NOT ON ROCKS.) This is how my teacher Ch'en Shih-hsiang saw it, and my wife (Japanese) too, the first time she looked at the poem." The point is that translation is more than a leap from dictionary to dictionary; it is a reimagining of the poem. As such, every reading of every poem, regardless of language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader's intellectual and emotional life. As no individual reader remains the same, each reading becomes a different—not merely another—reading. The same poem cannot be read twice. Snyder's explanation is only one moment, the latest, when the poem suddenly transforms before our eyes. Wang's 20 characters remain the same, but the poem continues in a state of restless change. Wang, Wei. Bamboo Lane House. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Sitting alone, hid in bamboo Plucking the lute and gravely whistling. People wouldn't know that deep woods Can be this bright in the moon. Wang, Wei. Saying farewell. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Me in the mountains and now you've left. Sunset, I close the peelpole door. Next spring when grass is green, Will you return once more ? Wang, Wei. Thinking of us. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Read beans grow in the south In spring they put out shoots. Gather a lapful for me – And doing it, think of us. Wang, Wei. Poem. Transl. by Gary Snyder. You who come from my village Ought to know its affairs The day you passed the silk window Had the chill plum bloomed ? Three poems for women in the Service of the Palace Tu, Mu [Du, Mu]. Autumn evening. Transl. by Gary Snyder. A silver candle in the autumn gloom by a lone painted screen Her small light gauze fan shivers the fireflies On the stairs of heaven, night's color cool as water : She sits watching the Herd-boy, the weaving-girl, stars. Yuan, Chen [Yuan Zhen]. The Summer Palace. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Silence settles on the old Summer Palace Palace flowers still quiet red. White-haired concubines Idly sit and gossip of the days of Hsüan Tsung. Po, Chü-i [Bo Juyi]. Palace song. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Tears soak her thin shawl dreams won't come. In the dark night, from the front palace, girls rehearsing songs. Still fresh and young, already put down, She leans across the brazier to wait the coming dawn. Tu, Fu [Du Fu]. Spring view. Transl. by Gary Snyder. The nation is ruined, but mountains and rivers remain. This spring the city is deep in weeds and brush. Touched by the times even flowers weep tears, Fearing leaving the birds tangled hearts. Watch-tower fires have been burning for three months To get a note from home would cost ten thousand gold. Scratching my white hair thinner Seething hopes all in a trembling hairpin. (Events of the An Lushan rebellion) Liu, Ch'ang-ch'ing [Liu, Changqing]. Parting from Ling Ch'e. Transl. by Gary Snyder. Green, green bamboo-grove temple Dark, dark, the bell-sounding evening. His rainhat catches the slanting sunlight, Alone returning From the distant blue peaks. Wang Chih-huan [Wang Zhihuan]. Climbing Crane Tower. Transl. by Gary Snyder. The Whie sun has gone over the mountains The yellow river is flowing to the sea. If you wish to see a thousand li Climb one story higher in the tower. Liu, Tsung-yüan [Liu Zongyuan]. River snow. Transl. by Gary Snyder. These thousand peaks cut off the flight of birds On all the trails, human tracks are gone. A single boat—coat—hat—an old man! Alone fishing chill river snow. Wang, Ch'ang-ling [Wang Changling]. Parting with Hsin Chien at Hibiscus tavern. Transl. by Gary Snyder Cold rain on the river we enter Wu by night At dawn I leave for Ch'u-shan, alone. If friends in Lo-yang ask after me, I've "A heart like ice in a jade vase." Two poems written at Maple Bridge near Su-chou Chang, Chi [Zhang Ji ]. Maple bridge night mooring. Transl. by Gary Snyder. In : Cloudline : no 1 (1985/86). Moon set, a crow caws, frost fills the sky River, maple, fishing-fires cross my troubled sleep. Beyond the walls of Su-chou from Cold Mountain temple The midnight bell sounds reach my boat. Snyder, Gary. At Maple Bridge (1984) Men are mixing gravel and cement At Maple bridge, Down an alley by a tea-stall From Cold Mountain temple ; Where Chang Chi heard the bell. The stone step moorage Empty, lapping water, And the bell sound has travelled Far across the sea. |
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Bibliography (17)
| # | Year | Bibliographical Data | Type / Abbreviation | Linked Data |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 1929-1934 | Tu, Fu. Tu Fu : the autobiography of a Chinese poet, A.D. 712-770 : including an historical year record, a biographical index, and a topographical note, as well as maps, plans, and illustrations. Arranged from his poems and transl. by Florence [Wheelock] Ayscough. Vol. 1-2. (Boston ; New York, N.Y. : H. Mifflin, 1929-1934). Vol. 2 : Travels of a Chinese poet : Tu Fu, guest of rivers and lakes, A.D. 712-770. [Du Fu]. | Publication / Ays5 |
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| 2 | 1935-1940 | Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. Gedichte. Übersetzt von Erwin von Zach. In : Monumenta serica ; vol. 1-4 (1935-1940)]. | Publication / ZEV15 | |
| 3 | 1952 |
Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. Gedichte. Übersetzt von Erwin von Zach ; ed. with an introd. by James Robert Hightower. Vol. 1-2. (Cambridge, Mass. : Harvard University Press, 1952). (Harvard-Yenching Institute studies ; 8). [Ursprünglich erschienen in : Monumenta serica ; vol. 1-4 (1935-1940)]. |
Publication / ZEW14 | |
| 4 | 1956 | Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. Die grossen Klagen : Nachdichtungen von Werner Helwig. (Bremen : Schünemann, 1956). | Publication / Helw1 | |
| 5 | 1957 | Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. Desiderio di pace. A cura di Margherita Guidacci. (Milano : All'insegna del pesce d'oro, 1957). | Publication / DuFu1 | |
| 6 | 1962 |
Du, Fu. Selected poems = Du Fu shi xuan. Compiled by Feng Chih ; transl. By Rewi Alley. (Peking : Foreign Languages Press, 1962). [Feng Zhi]. 杜甫诗选 |
Publication / Alley20 |
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| 7 | 1967 | Hawkes, David. A little primer of Tu Fu. (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1967). [Du Fu ; enthält Übersetzung von Gedichten]. | Publication / Haw5 |
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| 8 | 1984 | Zingend roei ik huiswaarts op de maan : gedichten van Meng Haoran, Wang Wei, Li Taibai, Du Fu en Bai Juyi. Uit het chinees vertaald door W[ilt] L. Idema. (Amsterdam : De Arbeiderspers, 1984). | Publication / Ide15 | |
| 9 | 1987 | Li, Po [Li, Bo] ; Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. Bright moon, perching bird : poems. Transl. from the Chinese by J.P. Seaton and James Cryer ; calligraphy by Mo Ji-yu ; portraits and title page by Huang Yong-hou. (Middletown, Conn. : Wesleyan University Press, 1987). (Wesleyan poetry in translation). | Publication / Sea12 | |
| 10 | 1987 | Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. Thirty-six poems. With text by John Yau ; transl. by Kenneth Rexroth ; with twenty-five etchings by Brice Marden. (New York, N.Y. : Peter Blum, 1987). | Publication / Rex18 | |
| 11 | 1988 | Li, Po ; Tu, Fu [Li, Bo ; Du, Fu]. Coppe di giada. A cura di Vilma Costantini. (Milano : Editori associati, 1988). (I tascabili degli Editori associati ; 7). | Publication / LiBo3 | |
| 12 | 1988 | [Tao, Qian ; Du, Fu]. Due antichi poeti cinesi : Tao Yuan-ming e Tu Fu. A cura di Margherita Guidacci. (Milano : Scheiwiller, 1988). (Poesia ; 21). | Publication / TaoQ1 | |
| 13 | 1989 | Du, Fu. De verweesde boot : klassieke Chinese gedichten. Vert. [uit het Chinees] en toegel. door W[ilt] L. Idema. (Amsterdam : Meulenhoff, 1989). | Publication / Ide30 |
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| 14 | 1989 | Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. The selected poems of Tu Fu. Transl. by David Hinton. (New York, N.Y. : New Directions, 1989). | Publication / Hint15 | |
| 15 | 1994 | Li, Bai [Li, Bo] ; Du, Fu. Lune di giada : poesie cinesi. A cura di Carlo D'Alessio ; trad. da Arturo Onofri. (Roma : Salerno, 1994). (Omikron ; 50). | Publication / LiBo4 | |
| 16 | 1999 |
Du, Fu. Han Ying dui zhao hui tu ben Du Fu shi xuan = Selected poems by Du Fu. Yang Xianyi, Dai Naidie [Gladys Yang] yi ; Li Shiji hui. (Beijing : Zhongguo wen xue chu ban she, 1999). (Ling long shi hua). 汉英对照绘图本杜甫诗选 |
Publication / Yan30 | |
| 17 | 2014 | Tu, Fu [Du, Fu]. A drawing of a horse by General Ts'ao Secretary Wei Feng's house. Translated from the Chinese by Witter Bynner and Kiang Ganghu. (Pittsburgh : Laboratory Press, 1931). (Students' Projet (Carnegie Institute of Technology Laboratory Press) ; Specimen, no. 112). | Publication / Byn13 |
Secondary Literature (17)
| # | Year | Bibliographical Data | Type / Abbreviation | Linked Data |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 1930-1939 |
Zach, Erwin von. Sinologische Beiträge : Grammatik, Lexikographie, Übersetzungen. (Batavia : Druckerei Tong AH, 1930-1939). I.1. Zum Ausbau der Gabenlentz'schen Grammatik. I.2. Verbesserungen zu Couvreur's Dictionnaire classique. I.3. Verbesserungen zum Shanghaier Tz'u-yüan. II. Übersetzungen aus dem Wên hsüan. III.1. Tufu's Gedichte (nach der Ausgabe des Chang Chin) : Buch XI-XX. III.2. Aus dem Wên Hsüan. III.3. Der chinesische Dichter Yü Hsin. III.4. Zum Ausbau der Gabelentz'schen Grammatik. III.5. Anhang. IV.1. Yang Hsiung's Fa-yên (Worte strenger Ermahnung) : ein philosophischer Traktat aus dem Beginn der christlichen Zeitrechnung. Aus dem Chinesischen übersetzt. [Ci yuan ; Wen xuan ; Du Fu ; Yu Xin ; Yang Xiong Fa yan]. |
Publication / ZEV11 | |
| 2 | 1930 |
Zhang, Changgong. Mi'erdun yu Du Fu. In : Chen xing yue kan ; vol. 2 (1930). [John Milton und Du Fu]. 彌爾頓與杜甫 |
Publication / Milt37 |
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| 3 | 1934 | Ayscough, Florence Wheelock. Travels of a Chinese poet Tu Fu : guest of rivers and lakes. A.D. 712-770. II-A.D. 759-770. (London : Jonathan Cape, 1934). | Publication / Ays9 | |
| 4 | 1940 |
Du shi yin de = A concordance to the poems of Tu Fu. Hong Ye [William Hung et al.]. Vol. 1-3. (Peking : Yenching University, 1940). (Yin de ta kan ; 14 = Harvard-Yenching Institute sinological index series suppl. ; 14). [Du Fu]. 杜詩引得 |
Publication / Hung11 |
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| 5 | 1952 | Hung, William. A supplementary volume of notes for Tu Fu : China’s greatest poet. (Cambridge, Mass. : Harvard University Press, 1952). [Du Fu]. | Publication / Hung51 |
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| 6 | 1952 | Hung, William. Tu Fu : China’s greatest poet. (New York, N.Y. : Russell and Russell, 1952). [Enthält Gedichte von Du Fu]. | Publication / Hung55 |
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| 7 | 1962 |
Hung, William. Du Fu : wo zen yang xie Du Fu. (Xingjiapo : Nanyang shang bao, 1962). Übersetzung von Hung, William. Tu Fu : China’s greatest poet. (New York, N.Y. : Russell and Russell, 1952). [Enthält Gedichte von Du Fu]. 我怎樣寫杜甫 |
Publication / Hung56 |
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| 8 | 1967 | Hawkes, David. A little primer of Tu Fu. (Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1967). [Du Fu ; enthält Übersetzung von Gedichten]. | Publication / Haw5 |
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| 9 | 1968 |
Hung, William. Wo zen yang xie Du Fu : fu shi cun. (Xianggang : Nan tian shu ye gong si, 1968). (Dong fang cong shu). 我怎樣写杜甫 : 附詩存 |
Publication / Hung60 |
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| 10 | 1968 |
Rexroth, Kenneth. Tu Fu, Poems. In : Rexroth, Kenneth. Classics revisited. (Chicao, Ill. : Quadrangle Books, 1968). [Du Fu]. http://www.bopsecrets.org/rexroth/cr/4.htm. |
Publication / Rex2 |
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| 11 | 1981 |
Wang, An-yan Tang. Subjectivity and objectivity in the poetic mind : a comparative study of the poetry of William Butler Yeats and Tu Fu. Diss. Indiana University, 1981. http://sunzi.lib.hku.hk/ER/detail/hkul/4575634. |
Publication / Yea4 | |
| 12 | 1982 | So, Susan Suk-ning. Modern verse defined by W.B. Yeats : a comparative study of romance, tragedy, and the lyric, with an introduction to Tu Fu and his antithetical tradition. Dissertation Princeton University, 1982. (Ann Arbor, Mich. : University Microfilms International, 1985). | Publication / Yea3 | |
| 13 | 1988 | Kahn, Paul. Kenneth Rexroth's Tu Fu. In : Yearbook of comparative and general literature, vol. 37 (1988). | Publication / Rex9 | |
| 14 | 1989 | Wu, Chuan-cheng. A comparative study of the poetic sequence : Tu Fu and W.B. Yeats. Dissertation University of Washington, 1989. (Ann Arbor, Mich. : University Microfilms International, 1989). | Publication / Yea5 | |
| 15 | 1994 | Motsch, Monika. Mit Bambusrohr und Ahle : von Qian Zhongshus Guanzhuibian zu einer Neubetrachtung Du Fus. (Frankfurt a.M. : P. Lang, 1994). Habil. Univ. Bonn, 1992). | Publication / Mot5 | |
| 16 | 1998 |
Motsch, Monika. Guan zhui bian yu Du Fu xin jie. Mozhiyijia zhu ; Ma Shude yi. (Shijiazhuang : Hebei jiao yu chu ban she, 1998). (Qian Zhongshu yan jiu cong shu ; 2). Übersetzung von Motsch, Monika. Mit Bambusrohr und Ahle : von Qian Zhongshus Guanzhuibian zu einer Neubetrachtung Du Fus. (Frankfurt a.M. : P. Lang, 1994). Habil. Univ. Bonn, 1992). 管锥编与杜甫新解 |
Publication / Mot4 | |
| 17 | 2005 | Bibliographische Beiträge zu Ostasien : Das Ausland - Magazin für die Literatur des Auslandes - Geist des Ostens - Ho Ping Pao - Traditionelle medizinische Literatur in der Bibliothèque nationale de France - Han Yü's Poetische Werke - Tu Fu's Gedichte. Inhaltsverzeichnisse und Register von Hartmut Walravens. (Bochum : Europäischer Universitätsverlag, 2005). (Sinica ; Bd. 15). | Publication / Wal26 |