Name Qiao Ji Role Dramatist | Died 1345 | |
Qiao Ji (simplified Chinese: 乔吉; traditional Chinese: 喬吉; Wade–Giles: Ch'iao Chi, died 1345) also known as Qiao Jifu (乔吉甫) was a major Chinese dramatist and poet in the Yuan Dynasty. He was originally from Taiyuan in Shanxi, but lived in the West Lake area in Zhejiang province. His courtesy name was Mengfu (梦符) and his pen name was Shenghao Weng (笙鹤翁). Qiao was said to have maintained an aloof and intimidating demeanor, to the point people were in awe of him, according to the Record of Ghosts (录鬼簿. Of his many plays eleven are extant.
Both his plays Jinqian Ji (金钱记) and Yangzhou Meng (扬州梦) reached the pinnacle of notoriety in his day and are still celebrated. His extant sanqu lyric poetry are also numerous. There are 209 xiaoling lyrics exist as well as 11 taoshu suites. All were collected into the Complete Sanqu Poems. In addition his collected works, Qiao Ji Ji, appeared in 1986. An object of the poet's lyrics was a combination of literary elegance and the language of the street. The poet insisted on what was his "six character prescription" which he explained as a lyric poem with a "phoenix head, pig's belly and a leopard tail." The poet tells us that he “wandered for forty years.” He traveled around many of the central and southern areas of China. Qiao's influence on later drama was considerable.
Quotations
Enjoying Leisure
I refine autumn mists in my alchemist stove
And heat pure snow in my tea boiler.
Blossoms fall and waters swirl by my thatch hut,
Like the spring breeze in places long lost.
Call a woodcutter, tip the gourd and drink the dregs of cloud-pale grog.
Lean against a screen, I’m a saint drunk on dew on a pure bed of cold stone.
Hanging on a vine
A wild gibbon talks to the moon, bright through my pale papered window.
Expressing my sorrow on a winter day
Winter and Cold,
The time of snow.
Who will be the withered plum’s companion?
A fisherman’s skiff
Is moored by an islet;
His coat of green reeds cannot keep out the wind and frost.
A fish takes the barb of his hook.
Wind
Blows his hair thin;
Frost
Myself
Never counted among the dragons,
Never entered the lists of greats.
Always the wine sage,
Everywhere the verse seer.
A graduate of mists,
A drunken saint of river and lake.
Jokes and laughs were my official career;
Got stuck.
Wrote notes for forty years instead
Leisure
In the hills among trees,
Hut of thatch secluded and fine.
Faded green pines, bright green of bamboos
Fit for a painting;
Three or four homes near the misty village.
The soaring dream pursued falling flowers,
For the taste of the world was like a chewed candle.
This man need only bear his own whitened head,
Not follow the monkey of his mind.
I plant my melons,
Pick my tea,
Smelt cinnabar in the alchemist stove;
Read a chapter of the Way and Power,
Talk a while the chat of a fisherman.
At leisure enclosed in my groves and fences;
Lie down drunk beneath a bottle-gourd trellis,