I can’t speak to the quality of Wendy Chen’s translations in The Magpie at Night: The Complete Poems of Li Qingzhao, neither reading nor speaking Chinese. And not being a scholar of Chinese literature, or just a great reader, I have no basis for comparison in relation to past translations. Best I can do therefore, is simply review the book as I experienced the poems themselves. I’ll leave it other far more versed/learned in the field and/or the language to comment on accuracy, stylistic changes, etc.

As for the experience, I thoroughly enjoyed this collection, finding myself frequently moved by image and tone. Chen offers up a welcome prologue giving the reader some background and context on Qingzhao’s life and more generally on Chinese poetry of the time. She also explains a few of her translator decisions, such as which poems to include (the number of “accepted” poems varies greatly amongst academics) and her perhaps controversial choice to eschew the “common practice in ancient Chinese poetry” of not employing an explicit first-person. Wen instead uses first (and third) person pronouns in hope that it “helps create poems that sound more natural to English readers . . . and facilitates a glimpse into the life of a woman in Li Qingzhao’s position.” I certainly found the “I” of the poems created a sense of intimacy with the speaker that enhanced the emotional impact of many of the poems both singly and cumulatively.

Finally, with regards to the text outside of the poems, Chen closes with an appendix of notes that explain the various allusions in the works, such as to historical events/personages, myths, cultural elements like festivals, traditional symbolic meanings of certain elements such as flowers or winds, and references to other poets and their work. I’m glad Chen chose this route rather than use footnotes or margin notes as this way we get to enjoy the poems on their own, as their own work. I read the collection through then reread after perusing the notes. Yes, the notes made me more informed about the poems, but I still was happy I came to them first wholly innocent of the illusions and without the temptation of interrupting a read by glancing at a note.

The poems themselves tend to the short, with a few exceptions, with a focus on brief moments caught in images and expressions of emotional state of mind. Especially toward the end there’s a sense of grief and loss, a mourning of time’s passage, while throughout the collection there’s always a strong expression of longing in all its forms, the element that moved me the most in individual poems and in the slow accretion over the length of the collection. There’s a grace and ease to many of the poems and a nice understated use of sound, while the images stand out in their stillness and moments of precision. A highly recommended collection. I’ll end with a few favorite passages:

“A Cutting of Plum Blossoms”
Flowers, by themselves, fall.
Water too runs alone.
One shared longing,
Parted between two.
Unrelenting, it falls
From the brows, only to rise
In the heart.
“At Phoenix Tower”
I am too listless
To comb my hair
And indifferent
To the dust on the mirror …
Only the running stream before me
Keeps me company.
From now on, where I gaze,
Pour a wash of new sorrows.

“The Fisherman’s Pride”
I have studied poetry
And attempted startling phrases
To no use.

“The feelings I make into poems”
The feelings I make into poems
are like the magpie at night,
circling three times, unable to settle.

I loved reading these brief, but evocative poems. I had not been introduced to Li Qingzhao before and reading about her life was an excellent start to the book. It gave the context necessary to the verses, as well as their ordering.

<i>My heartfelt thanks to NetGalley & Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the opportunity to read the ARC in exchange for an honest review.</i>

Despite its almost millennium-long vintage, this collection of Li Qingzhao (1084-1151) reads like a stunningly contemporary book that could rub shoulders (covers?) on your bookshelf with, say, Ocean Vuong, or, depending on which thematic cluster you focus on, Constantine Cavafy (compare her "Two poems matching Zhang Wenqian's "Wuxi Restoration Ode Tablet"" with Cavafy's <a href="https://www.onassis.org/initiatives/cavafy-archive/the-canon/neros-deadline">Nero's Deadline</a>: very similar composition, very similar modern sense of the passage of history as a tragic loss, told with an ironic note).

Like, look at that wonderful enjambment (like the narrator needs to pause mid-phrase before admitting her longing) & the easy veering from very objective, almost pedestrian descriptions to metaphors here:

<i>Thin fog, thick clouds. The day
is a stretch of longing.
Sticks of camphor burn away
in the mouths of golden beasts.</i>

Look at this seemingly straightforward and quotidian depiction of banana leaves under heavy rain that then turns on a dime and punches the reader with a description of a refugee's grief in unfamiliar surroundings (Li Qingzhaon was forced to flee her home after the Jin invasion of Northern Song territory in 1125 CE) (I mean, refugee stories aren't a contemporary theme per se--much of classical European literature, from the Aeneid to Dante and onward, is about refugee experiences--but this did read very contemporary):

<i>Pained, I listen
from my pillow
to the midnight rain.
Each cold, bitter drop.
Each cold, bitter drop.
Their sorrow hurts a northerner like me,
unused to rising and hearing them.</i>

(Repetitions became one of the stumbling stones for me here. Clearly they play an important role in Li Qingzhaon's poetics--there's even a poem that reads like <i>"Searching, searching. Seeking, seeking. Cold, cold. Bleak. Bleak. Icy, icy. Misery, misery. Grief, grief,"</i> which I would definitely date to centuries later, if I had to guess--but what is it that they do? Was it an individual choice or a demand of her poetic form (some of the poems were originally songs meant to be sung)? Is it kind of like the dual meaning in Frost's "miles to go before I sleep," or is it driven by metric/rhythmic considerations? So many questions I want to know the answers to but cannot parse on my own without proper knowledge of other works from that time and place!)

Anyway, or look at this whimsical beauty:

<i>The feelings I make into poems
are like the magpie at night,
circling three times, unable to settle.</i>

Or look at this almost surrealist awareness of absences and nonexistences:

<i>I sat alone in a room, surrounded by the absence of my life’s belongings. [...]
Within stillness, I encounter my true selves:
Mr. Nonexistent, Sir Void.</i>


A fascinating introduction by the translator Wendy Chen adds to this picture of Li Qingzhao as a quintessentially modern figure in terms of aesthetic choices, thematic preoccupations and even an interest in inscribing female voices into a tradition defined by the male gaze and developing a female literary genealogy (Chen highlights Li Qingzhao's interest in mentoring other female poets):

<blockquote><i>Ci was an art form centered on the interiority of women but shaped by the male imagination and performed for the male gaze. [...] Li Qingzhao’s illuminating vision of the world is evident in the confidence with which she subverts tradition while operating within it; in how she injects a real, lived persona into a formerly invented space of female interiority</i></blockquote>

But, whatever else it might be, modern poetry it wasn't. These very old poems stem from a poetic language and tradition that has no obvious continuity even with contemporary Chinese poetry, I suspect, not to mention with any modern European literary tradition. Of course, there might be coincidences in sensibility, or tropes, or whatever, but one is inevitably haunted by the question of the role of the translator. How creative the translator's choices have been? Was there a more literal/academic approach that would result in something ostensibly more "faithful" to the original, at the expense of readability to contemporary readers? Is it something like <i>Cathay</i> by Ezra Pound (wonderful modernist poetry, but not necessarily the most straightforward rendition of the original?). Whatever the answer, it sure was a wonderful reading experience.

Li Quingzhao's poetry is simply beautiful. The poetic voice's identity is closely connected to nature, which I always love in poems.
Nature becomes in Li Quingzhao's verse the embodiment of feelings such as grief and melancholy. This creates very powerful imagery; "Unhappy, I crushed their petals until my clothes were stained with tears." I also really liked the order of the poems chosen by Wendy Chen. Further I want to thank her for the translation, which, I think, has managed to encapsulate the intensity of the emotions afore mentioned.

Moreover, I should have written first about the Introduction to this collection; introduction for which I am very grateful, as I was not that familiar with Chinese literature, especially poetry. I simply ate it up :)

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to experience such moving verse!

I have read a few of the poems before and I was very glad to revisit them. It's not modern but still holds up. Thought provoking! Thanks to NetGalley, the publisher and the author for a chance to read this book.

Li Qingzhao writes with swooning appreciation for detail. Her words feel soft on the heart and speak tenderly through each poem. Rich with powerful suggestion, imagery and emotions, she lays down her message of hope, resistance and beauty with great impact and dignity.

Ms. Li Qingzhao is a legend in Chinese poetry.

Thank you Farrar, Straus and Giroux and thank you Netgalley for the ARC.

Lovely collection with an essential and informative introductory essay! Learned a lot about a writer and period I didn't know anything about.

"The feelings I make into poems
are like the magpie at night,
circling three times, unable to settle."

The Magpie at Night is a translation of the complete poems of 12th century female poet. Li Qingzhao. Luminous is a bold and evocative descriptor and this translation more than lived up to it. Packed with rich sensory detail (pear blossoms "dipped in the moon's slanting light", burning incense, the displaced poet awoken by the unfamiliar sound of rain on banana leaves) that conjures Li Qingzhao's world with precise clarity that somehow seems intensely modern. The introductory essay helps place the poems in context of Li Qingzhao's life and painted a picture of a fascinating woman who was celebrated for her talent at a time when women were not expected to have a voice.

Thank you to Wendy Chen, Farrar Straus & Giroux and NetGalley for the ARC in return for my review.

"The feelings I make into poems
are like the magpie at night,
circling three times, unable to settle."

I want to be the sort of person who already knew of Li Qingzhao and was familiar with her poetry. But, alas, I am not. Which is why I found the introductory material interesting and informative. Also, the notes at the end were invaluable for understanding the poems. The poetry itself was both completely foreign to me - different time, place, and culture - and beautiful. I admit I don't have the background necessary to fully understand the poems, even with the supplemental material provided in the book. But there were lines which sliced through space and time to land in my heart like an arrow from an almost mythical past. Thank you to Wendy Chen for the translation, and Farrar, Straus and Giroux, and NetGalley for the eARC.

"Who will drink with me
from wine and poems?"

When I studied Chinese language and history, I had a professor who said that she wasn't allowed to cover art and poetry in the history classes because of their social science designation. And then she did it anyway, exposing us to these beautiful works in context of the historical times. That was where I got the appreciation for this kind of poetry, which is deceptively simple.
This is a collection by an author I was unfamiliar with. Reading ger descriptions of nature is relaxing, but the words and perception are so sophisticated and intelligent. It's amazing to think that I can relate this much to someone from that far away and that long ago.
Her life was really interesting too, and it seems as though she was a strong, interesting lady.
Thanks to NetGalley for letting me read this

A fascinating bundle of poems of an 12th century female poet. Li Qingzhao her work is full of nature depictions and melancholy, and feels remarkably modern at times
Now, I can no longer embrace
anything near the past.

Idle, I have doubts numerous
as moonbeams.
- Fragrant Courtyard, a Modulation

I had never heard of Li Qingzhao before, a Song dynasty poet, finally translated by a female scholar and poet Wendy Chan.
The life of Li Qingzhao is fascinating. Displaced (and losing an acclaimed library and antiquities collection) by the fall of the Northern Song, losing her husband Zhao Mingcheng to dysentery.
Being physically abused by her second husband, who she got convicted and exiled for corruption. However women who brought their husbands to court where jailed, imprisonment only her late husband’s familial ties could help her escape of.
Even in her later years her talent is clear, with records of her presenting poems to the court of the emperor, even though in her poems she was critical of the abandonment of the Northern Song lands.

I also learned a lot about Chinese poetry in its many forms. Ci, poems set to music meters, wen, essays and shi, political writings, are some of the types of works Li Qingzhao produced.
Her poems are very visual and vivid, evoking both natural and domestic settings.
Seasons, passage of time, wine, plum blossoms and migrating birds appear often. Many festivals mark the passage of time. Tranquility and transience for main grounding themes in the grouping Wendy Chan made, ranging from initially more light and spring oriented poems to more wintery, melancholy ones at the end of the bundle.

An interesting bundle from a woman who lived through extraordinary times, skilfully brought to life for a modern audience.

Poems:
Do not resent their vanishing
fragrance, their falling
jade petals.
Have faith feelings will remain
when all traces have been swept away.
- Fragrant Courtyard

Longing saturates the human world,
the heavens.

A stair of clouds to the moon.
A thousand locked gates.
- Offering Incense

A breeze blows in
misty rain.

The pear blossoms want
to wither.

I fear
I cannot stop them.
- Silk-washing Stream

I fear our bitter parting,
your absence.

Still so much
I want to say
but cannot.
- At Phoenix tower remembering the tune of the flute

Who will drink with me
from wine and poems?

Tears ruin
the powder on my face.
- Butterflies long for the flowers

My journey is long, I say
and the sun is setting.
I have studied poetry
and attempted startling phrases
to no use.
- The Fisherman’s Pride

Soft wind. Pale sun.
Spring is just beginning.

I feel good
in my lined jacket.

But rising from sleep,
I am a little cold.

The plum blossoms in my hair
have withered.

Where is my homeland?
Only drunk can I forget.

The incense burning while I sleep
is gone when I awake.
Still, more wine remains.
- Barbarian Bodhisattva

Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for providing me with an eARC of this poetry collection, however, all thoughts and opinions are my own.

Before seeing this on Netgalley I had never heard of Li Qingzhao and now I'm about to preorder this and see what other books I can hunt down. It's a new sort of niche interest I suppose, but I find Li Qingzhao's life equal parts interesting and tragic. I used to live in Hangzhou where she eventually settled at one point and now I wish I had known about her then. I'm sure that if I had shown an interest one of my students would have mentioned her, but I didn't know enough at the time. However, based on my Google Maps history I did visit her Memorial Hall/Pavillion while I was there. For me, it is both a miracle that so many of her poems survive, but also disappointing that more didn't.

Her poetry has a descriptive and yet ethereal quality to me. However, there is a distinct shift in tone from her earlier poetry to her later poetry. I wish that some of her essays survived, but in my research it seems that mostly only her ci form poetry survived. Wendy Chen does an excellent job giving us readers an overview of Li Qingzhao's life and poetry at the beginning of the book, but also for stoking the flames of curiosity to learn more.

Overall, I think that fans of classic Chinese poetry will probably have already read the poems here, but I this could be a chance to reexamine or compare. Fans of poetry looking to dip their toes into classic Chinese poetry will find this to be a friendly and enchanting place to start. I can't wait to get my hands on a copy of this for my shelf and to seek out some friends to go next to it. I also hope that Wendy Chen does more work either for Li Qingzhao or some other aspects of Chinese poetry/culture. I found her writing in the beginning to be clear, concise, and educational.

I saw this ARC and wanted to read it because I really know nothing about Chinese poetry. Reading the translated poems, I must admit that they are not something that lights a spark in me. I can't read the original, but I believe Wendy Chen did a great job - which means I am simply not a fan of Chinese "ci".

On the other hand, reading about the poetess who survived a war and loss of her husband and fortune, abusive second husband, imprisonment and defied cultural expectations for women was such a pleasure for me. Many interesting informations about life and law in 12th century China caught my interest and made me respect Li Qingzhao even more.