Last night, while going for a walk, my daughter suddenly remembered that she had a page of review material to memorize. She took it out and saw that it was an explanation of “Seven-Character Verse: Long March,” which was obviously from the teaching reference of the Chinese textbook. This is not the first time that a child has been assigned to memorize the teaching reference explanation of poetry, but when I saw it, the explanation of this poem really left me speechless. I said that it would be better not to memorize this kind of explanation, and that she must go for a walk when it is time to go for a walk. But my daughter insisted that she knew this kind of thing was boring, she had known it was boring since second grade, but she couldn’t pass the test if she didn’t memorize it, and the teacher said that if she didn’t memorize it tonight, she would not be allowed to attend the New Year’s party. Xiaoyin’s mother also chimed in. Hey, I can’t stop her from making progress. Okay, I said, then you can go downstairs with a flashlight and recite as you walk. This is how I usually memorize things.
Walking in the bitterly cold yard, my daughter carried me on her back all the way. The sound reached my ears, and I felt pity and anger. I couldn’t help but interrupt and comment, which made my daughter protest loudly. Xiaoyin’s mother quickly sent me aside to watch the dog and cool down herself.
The child’s memory is truly astonishing. After just one walk, she’d memorized the entire page of incredibly dry and boring text. Amazing! I told her to forget it right after the test. Never read poetry like that; it’s more harmful than helpful!
When I got home, I quickly grabbed my daughter and told her: When reading a poem, you must have your own feelings and understanding. You must read it carefully and think about its advantages and disadvantages. In fact, such a poem can also be discussed seriously.
First, let’s talk about the poem’s structure. The explanation says a regulated verse is divided into four lines: the opening couplet, the second couplet, the third couplet, and the last couplet. Do you know how this is divided in this poem? (My daughter said, “The teacher doesn’t require this, and it’s not on the exam.”) I said, “Yes, no one has ever tested this on me since I was a child.” But we are human beings, not animals that live for exams. We should understand what we should know.
In fact, these couplets are easy to understand. To put it simply, they are the top of the head couplet, the chin couplet, the neck couplet and the tail couplet. They are very vivid and you can understand them at a glance. They are as follows:
First couplet
Second couplet
Neck couplet
Last couplet
The Red Army is not afraid of the long march, and thousands of mountains and rivers are just a piece of cake.
The winding Wuling Mountains are covered with surging waves, and the majestic Wumeng Mountains are covered with mud.
The water of Jinsha River hits the cliffs and is warm, while the iron chains of Dadu Bridge are cold.
I am even more happy to see the thousands of miles of snow on Mount Min, which makes the three armies all smile after passing by.
However, your book says “four sentences”, which is a very bad and inconvenient way of saying it. It should be said “eight sentences and four couplets”. I will explain later why we should say eight sentences instead of four.
As for the rhyme issue, I’ll need your mother’s help. First, look at the last character of each couplet: xian, wan, han, yan. Actually, xian and yan rhyme well in Mandarin, and wan and han are also good, but there’s still a slight difference between them. But have your mother pronounce these characters in Cantonese and listen. Xian and han are very similar. Cantonese is closer to ancient Chinese, and pronunciation has changed from ancient times to the present. Modern regulated verse writers can be more free with their rhyme schemes, as long as one side is roughly consistent. It’s likely that this poem will rhyme better in Hunan dialect.
The last words of the poem’s first and fifth lines, “difficult and warm,” also rhyme with the last word of each couplet. This is not necessary, and it’s fine. However, if the third and seventh lines also rhyme, it would be a disaster. Nothing should be overdone.
Rhyme also involves the issue of level and oblique tones. As we’ve mentioned, Mandarin Chinese has four tones: the first and second tones are level, and the third and fourth tones are oblique. So, does this poem rhyme with a level or oblique tone? Obviously, the second tone of the characters “闲,” “丸,” “寒,” and “颜” is a yang-level level, so it rhymes with a level tone. Why is this so important? Because regulated verse must rhyme with a level tone! This poem is titled “Seven-Character Verse: Long March,” so it must rhyme with a level tone; otherwise, it would be considered classical poetry, not regulated verse!
Speaking of level and oblique tones, the reason why regulated verse is called regulated verse is because it pays attention to the rules of level and oblique tones. If it does not conform to the rules, it is not regulated verse. It can be a very good poem, but it is not a regulated verse in form. For example, the level and oblique tones of this poem are very typical of regulated verse. To see whether the level and oblique tones of regulated verse conform to the rules, generally you can only look at the second, fourth, and sixth words of each sentence, as follows:
The army is afraid of conscription
, water mountain
wait .
ridge
Thin,
Thick mud
.
sand
shoot
Cliff, Crossing
Horizontal rope.
happiness
In the mountains,
After the military
.
Ping Ze Ping
, flat
Ping.
narrow
Pingze,
Ping Ze Ping
.
flat
narrow
Ping, Ze
Level and oblique.
narrow
Pingze,
Ping Ze Ping
.
There are two characters to pay special attention to here: the “bo” in “pengbo” (boshou), which is now pronounced with the second tone in Mandarin, and the “pai” in “pai” (pai), which is now pronounced with the first tone. If this were the case, the reading would not conform to the rhythm of ping and ze. Why is this so? Did the author make a mistake? No! The author is actually quite knowledgeable on this point. These two characters were pronounced as entering tones in ancient Chinese, and perhaps even in Hunanese, at least in Cantonese. So when we read this poem, when we encounter these two characters, we should try to pronounce them with the falling tone. You can try pronouncing them with a short fourth tone: “bo” is pronounced as “bo,” with the fourth tone followed by a quick ending; “pai” is pronounced as “po,” with the fourth tone followed by a quick ending. This will create a more rhythmic reading.
Then, look at the rhythmic patterns of these lines. It’s obvious: the rhythmic tones of lines one and two, lines three and four, lines five and six, and lines seven and eight are exactly opposite in rhythmic tone. This is called “matching.” Precisely because of this, there’s a natural rhythmic pattern: the rhythmic tones of lines two and three, lines four and five, and lines six and seven are exactly the same. This is called “sticking.” Therefore, if the rhythmic tone of the first line of a perfectly regulated verse is determined (either starting with a flat or an oblique tone), the rhythmic tones of the following lines will naturally follow. You see, it sounds complex, but in reality, it’s just that simple when read.
I’ll talk about this later. Earlier I said that regulated verse is better in eight lines than in four. Now it’s clear. If it’s in four lines, then explaining the rules of level and oblique tones becomes really long-winded. Something like “the second half of the first couplet should be connected to the first half of the second couplet” is so weird O(∩_∩)O haha~
This poem, “Seven-Character Verse: Long March,” is indeed a good example of the rules of regulated verse. Furthermore, its parallelism is very neat.
In a regulated verse, the first and last couplets generally do not need to be antithetical, and sometimes even need to be avoided to prevent dullness. However, the middle two couplets generally require antitheticality. This is the case in “Seven-Character Regulated Verse: Long March”:
The winding Wuling Mountains are covered with surging waves, and the majestic Wumeng Mountains are covered with mud.
Wuling and Wumeng, as place names, are in sync; 鶶翤 is paired with 宏浩 (magnificent); 腾 (teng) is paired with 走 (zou); 细浪 (xilang) is paired with 泥丸 (niwan). It is important to note that not only are their meanings and parts of speech in sync, but their tones and rhythms are also largely in sync.
The water of Jinsha River hits the cliffs and is warm, while the iron chains of Dadu Bridge are cold.
This couplet goes like this: Jinsha (river) versus Dadu (river), again, place names versus place names; water lapping versus bridge crossing; cloud cliffs versus iron chains; warm versus cold. The pairing of warm and cold is particularly interesting here. They’re both places and battlefields, so why is one warm and the other cold? It’s not that dropping bombs on the Jinsha River warmed it up. No, it’s referring to that feeling. Perhaps the strategically placed Jinsha River crossing was thrilling, while the ferocious capture of the Dadu Bridge was arduous, so thinking about one brings warmth and the other brings chill. I suspect that’s the meaning.
So far, we’ve been discussing the poem’s form. It’s truly a well-formed regulated verse, serving as a model for learning regulated verse. But is it a good poem as a whole? That’s another question entirely.
One thing is certain: to judge the quality of a poem, one must personally experience it, carefully reflect on it, analyze, and compare it. Children these days either blindly memorize it, following instructions from teaching materials. Not only do they lose track of the poem’s meaning, but they also struggle to grasp the memorized explanations. Or they simply take the literal meaning and make up their own interpretations. For example, when reading the line “I rejoice even more at the thousand-mile snow on the Min Mountains, as the three armies pass through, their faces are filled with joy,” some children might say that so many Red Army soldiers died climbing the snowy mountains and crossing the grasslands that they couldn’t even begin to weep. Such casual remarks are not good either. Reading poetry requires proper poetry reading; only then can one become a cultured and well-educated person.
I’ll briefly share my understanding and feelings about this poem. While not necessarily correct, they are certainly the result of my careful consideration. As the saying goes, there’s no fixed interpretation of poetry, and when reading it, one should never force oneself to follow a single pattern. Du Fu was such a master of poetry; his “Eight Poems on Autumn” reached the pinnacle of regulated verse, a masterpiece. Yet, many people still dislike it. Even great scholars like Hu Shi and poets like Zang Kejia had differing opinions. How much more so is regulated verse written by modern poets?
Read this poem. The opening line, “The Red Army is not afraid of the difficulties of a long march,” is a commonplace phrase; it reads like plain language. Is it good? It depends. I think if it were written by a military general, it would have a rough tone, revealing his personality and possessing its own flavor. But the author of this poem is a man of profound cultural background. In another poem, he writes, “The Tang and Song dynasties were slightly inferior in literary talent,” clearly showing his superiority over the ancients in terms of literary talent. So, I think the merit of this line should at least be questioned. And then the next line, “Ten thousand rivers and mountains are but a passing glance,” serves as a lead-in for the following sentences, providing an early summary.
Next come two neatly balanced couplets: “The winding Five Ridges create waves, the majestic Wumeng Mountains sweep across the muddy plains.” The waters of Jinsha River lap against the cliffs, warm; the iron chains of Dadu Bridge are cold. Four place names are mentioned here in quick succession, the first two or three characters of each sentence being the place name, followed by a state or feeling. We now know the author is referring to battles fought along the Red Army’s Long March. The underlying message is: while seemingly difficult, the Red Army overcame them effortlessly, hence the waves and muddy plains.
There’s a word worth noting here: 瀶翤 (meaning “winding”), which describes the continuous, winding course of mountains and rivers. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with its use here, but I find it a bit strange. Look at the last line, “Wumeng is majestic and imposing, but the Red Army marching past it feels like they’re treading on balls of mud.” This is a contrast: the first line exalts—it’s majestic and imposing, while the second line depresses—“walking on balls of mud.” As for the 瀶翤 line, the latter part is of course depressing; it’s nothing spectacular, just like surging waves. But how can the former be so exalted? 瀶翤 doesn’t generally mean majestic, but rather beautiful, twisting and turning. So, when we use the word 瀶翤, we don’t need to learn how to use it in the same way as in this poem. When leaders use it, it’s considered innovation if it’s not used by their predecessors, and inheritance and development if it’s used by their predecessors. Regardless, many secretaries will follow suit to smooth things over. Ordinary people should learn to use it in its original, common sense. The eighth poem of Du Fu’s “Eight Poems on Autumn” has the first sentence “Kunwu Imperial Stay is winding”, which also uses the word “winding” and means walking on a mountain road. However, he was originally recalling an outing and enjoying the mountains and rivers along the way, so the word “winding” is very appropriate here.
At this point, only the last two lines remain. There’s a preliminary summary, and four place names are mentioned in the middle. How do the last two lines end? “I am even more delighted by the thousand-mile snow on the Min Mountains.” Wow, another place name is mentioned, and then “The three armies are all delighted after passing by.” This last line is another common saying, plain language, and it actually echoes the first line.
To summarize, my basic feeling is that this poem, composed of two plain lines at the beginning and end, a preliminary summary at the beginning, and five place names in the middle, constitutes a poem. Perhaps a poem like this could be considered good if written by an author of exceptional status, but ordinary people like us, ordinary scholars, cannot write poetry in this way. If we want to learn, we should emulate the works of ordinary people.
For example, in the eighth poem of “Eight Poems on Autumn,” mentioned above, Du Fu also uses four place names, but only in the first couplet, where they are closely connected and varied. “Kunwu Imperial Lodge winds its way, the shadow of Zige Peak falls upon Mi Pond.” The following line describes the reflection of Zige Peak in the waters of Mi Pond—how beautiful! Then, the second couplet, “Parrots peck at the remaining grains of fragrant rice, phoenixes roost on the old branches of the green wutong tree,” describes the local produce and beauty. The third couplet, “A beautiful woman picks green jade leaves, asking about spring; a fairy couple sails together in the evening,” recalls the beauty of a spring outing. The final couplet, “The brush once painted with vigor, now my white hair droops in sorrow,” shifts directly from reminiscing about his proudest past to the present, his struggling present. Reading such regulated verse, you can’t help but imagine and deeply experience the author’s feelings, which gradually transform into your own inner emotional power. Then, you can’t help but read it again and again, making it a complete part of your own. I believe this is what truly great poetry should be like.
Now let’s look back at the children’s feelings and reactions to the line “I delight even more at the thousand-mile snow on the Min Mountains, as the three armies pass through, their faces are filled with joy.” Children don’t understand the circumstances of the time, nor do they experience war and suffering. Honestly, neither do our generation. But as we grow older, gain more experience, and read more, we may gain more indirect experience, which can also be used to appreciate poetry. Honestly, I don’t particularly like this line. Putting myself in their shoes, I realize the Red Army suffered heavy casualties along the way, and the hardships of crossing the snow-capped mountains were beyond human endurance. From a heroic perspective, I think this feeling is more of a tragic and heroic one. Perhaps from the perspective of a leading commander, while the loss of so many men is regrettable, the ultimate victory is still a cause for celebration, as the saying goes, “One general’s success is the product of the sacrifice of thousands of lives.” But even from this perspective, our predecessors felt differently.
Lao Tzu said: “When many are killed, weep with sorrow; when victory is won, treat it with mourning.” If this is the case with the enemy, how much more so when so many of our own men have been sacrificed? Speaking of Zhuge Liang, the figure most familiar to children, he crossed the Lu River in May and captured Meng Huo seven times, his military exploits immortal. However, upon his return to the capital, Kongming held a grand ceremony on the banks of the Lu River to commemorate the soldiers on both sides who had lost their lives in the war to pacify the south. He read the eulogy, tears welling up in his eyes.
When I was little, I loved watching a movie called “The Visitor on the Iceberg.” There’s a scene in it about a squad leader who died in a snowstorm. His comrades were heartbroken, and one soldier, playing the piano, sang with deep emotion: “Ah, dear comrade! I will never see your majestic figure, your kind face again. Ah, dear comrade! You will never hear me play the piano again, never hear me sing again.” It’s a sentiment comradely, a profound one. I still get a tear in my eye when I hear that song.
So, looking back at the last couplet, the feeling of “greater joy” and the state of “brightness” are primarily the author’s, reflecting his unique personality. Given a certain personality, some people may enjoy it, while others may not, and this is perfectly normal. If everyone were to ecstatically enjoy it and lavishly praise it, that would be truly bizarre.
I believe that wars, whether just or unjust, are both extremely cruel. Stories about such wars, poems expressing the emotions of such wars, should both celebrate victory and confront the cruelty. Telling them to future generations, especially children, is meant to make them cherish peace and yearn for justice. Peace and justice are rooted in humanitarianism, or what we now call “people-centeredness.” Blindly exaggerating the victory of a war is not a good attitude and should be approached with caution.
Do you remember the story of Zhang Song’s mission to meet Cao Cao in “Romance of the Three Kingdoms”? Zhang Song refused to bow his head in Cao Cao’s palace, patting his chest and declaring, “How could there be such a person in Shu?” A flatterer is someone who flatters with flowery words. Those who fail to distinguish between good and evil, who speak flatteringly simply to curry favor with others without self-reflection, are shameful. When reading anyone’s writing or poetry, regardless of the author, we should approach it with a balanced mind. If one insists on praising someone’s writing or poetry simply because of their special status, then that person is a flatterer and unworthy of respect.
Express your own opinions. Even if they are incorrect, you can learn and correct them. But don’t be a slanderer.
December 30, 2010, Argentina’s First Division League, recorded on Red Mud
