ETHAN MCGUIRE is a writer and computer scientist whose essays, poems, short stories, and translations have appeared in Blue Unicorn, The Dispatch, Emerald Coast Review, New Verse News, VoegelinView, and other publications. He is an editor at Tar River Poetry, Literary Matters, and New Verse Review and the author of Songs for Christmas (Harmonia Mundi) and Apocalypse Dance (Wipf & Stock). Ethan lives with his wife and children in Fort Wayne, Indiana.
Original author’s bio:
Chinese folk hero YUE FEI (AD 1103-1142) was a warrior poet of the highest order – a master and a founder of multiple martial arts, a dedicated Confucianist, a Taoist student, a great military strategist, a successful Song Dynasty general, and a poet. However, Yue Fei began to experience bouts of depression after the 1127 “Humiliation of Jingkang,” a turning point of the Jin-Song Wars in which Jurchen forces from the Jin Dynasty conquered the northern Song Dynasty capital of Kaifeng, captured two Song emperors, and isolated the remaining emperor and his armies to the South. Yue Fei fought a long campaign against the invading Jurchens to protect the Southern Song people and to recapture their northern Song territory, but just before he retook Kaifeng, the Emperor recalled him, to seek peace with the Jin Dynasty. To prevent a civil war and avoid exile, Yue Fei returned to the southern Song capital of Lin’an, where the Emperor imprisoned him in compliance with Treaty of Shaoxing requirements and eventually had him executed on false charges. Amidst these troubles, Yue Fei wrote some of the Song Dynasty’s most memorable poems, including “Red River” (“Man Jiang Hong”) which is still beloved throughout China today.
A POEM ON THE WALL OF XIAO TEMPLE NEAR QINGNI MARKET
Hear me!
My spirit’s strong—majestic!—
Piercing through the bull in battle.
Great heaven’s gods shall be my witnesses:
Today, I vow I will avenge our faithful emperor
With my straight sword: I—will!—cut down, wipe—out!—
The stubborn wicked, and—
returning from the war
Triumphant in my chariot, ignoring fame—
Restore our temples, and repair
Ten thousand households’ torn-down doors.
A POEM AT THE TEMPLE OF THE EMERALD CLIFF
The harvest winds have halted
the royal army’s river journey,
Forcing us to slowly march
toward the emerald mountains.
As clouds descend, I think:
the righteous loyalty we need!—
To guard clear boundary waters—men
desiring glory and honor.
There’s no use fleeing to the howling
mountain forests now.
The desert bandits will wreak havoc
anyway. Let us, instead,
March back through the three mountain passes,
to rescue the three sages,
Those golden chieftains—harried, captured—
returned then to their people.
SENDING OFF MASTER ZHEN TO MOUNT LUSHAN
Where do the sage’s forest paths,
in clouds, become confused?
The wise ones said, “The trails
at hand are—the—paths—we—have used!”
Vegetable leaves, from time
to time, drift with the river’s flow,
Reminding me of all the huts
near Cui Wei thatched with reeds.
It’s not a waste, with drink in hand,
to talk till night recedes;
The mist, the rain, the snow—
these likewise come and, unrushed, go.
Like them, though suddenly,
in all directions, we set out
Again, into the countless mountains,
jade dust strewn throughout.
TOURING THE TOWERING ROCK MOUNTAIN TEMPLE
Before the mountain stones, a temple stands,
Hidden amidst the woods, sat by a spring.
The Buddha’s image there is purple and gold;
White snow has gathered on the old monks’ heads.
A pond’s cold water nightly births the moon;
The wind through bands of pines bears Autumn’s chill.
I’ve come this way to share the dragon’s words,
To serve, as rain, to ease this people’s worries.
SEEING OFF MASTER ZHENG OF PURPLE ROCK ON HIS WAY TO THE NORTHERN CAMPAIGN
An exhortation
The commands come on the wind, in thunderclaps—
The orders from the heavens shake the mountains—
The drive is long across the Luo River—
The storm-attack goes to the underworld—
The horses hooves splash through red-trampled blood—
The banners soar like owls o’r chieftains’ heads—
Go give this clear report to our wise ruler—
Keep fighting to restore the ancient realm.
ONE THOUSAND REBUKES FROM THE CLASSIC PAVILION
Three hundred poems from the great Tang masters;
Six hundred verses holding old Han rhymes:
The ancient gods, ghosts, monsters haunt the land;
The mothers, fathers weep and wipe their last tears.
This morning, my own tears wet my cheeks and hand—
I must remind my country of those times. . .
A QUICK POEM AT SHANGZHU TEMPLE
Written impromptu and tacked to a wall at the temple—
When passing by—
While returning to attend to my duties—
Barbarians surged through the golden gate
And only stopped once south of Yangtze River.
One emperor has vanished, two souls vanquished;
Their minister alone fights in a fervor.
Yet even with sword of magic, mind-state of Siddhartha,
He’s only emptied desert plains. . .—
If he restores the rivers and mountains
—one day—
That night he’ll let his body fade away.
A POEM AT CHI ZHOU’S JADE TEMPLE
Leaning against this lovely temple’s wall,
I wonder, who might join me? To recall
How, here, fine clouds dance slowly past the sun
And cast light shadows down upon this hill,
How mugwort grows with river island trees
And midday haze obscures a quiet sail.
Like the river, I am strong, yet (still!) I yearn
To join the passing clouds—I will return.
ETHAN MCGUIRE is a writer and computer scientist whose essays, poems, short stories, and translations have appeared in Blue Unicorn, The Dispatch, Emerald Coast Review, New Verse News, VoegelinView, and other publications. He is an editor at Tar River Poetry, Literary Matters, and New Verse Review and the author of Songs for Christmas (Harmonia Mundi) and Apocalypse Dance (Wipf & Stock). Ethan lives with his wife and children in Fort Wayne, Indiana.