I. Theories of Modern Poetry Creation and Criticism
Chapter One: The Formal Evolution of Chinese Modern Poetry
This article was published in Issue No. 40 of Congrong Literature, Taiwan, January 2025.
Modern Chinese poetry was inspired by Western culture and originated in China following the May Fourth Movement in 1919. It was part of the "New Culture Movement," which drew from Western ideologies of democracy ("Mr. Democracy") and science ("Mr. Science"). In Taiwan, modern poetry began during the Japanese colonial period with the "Taiwan New Literature Movement." Poet Chen Qianwu of the Bamboo Hat Poets (笠詩社) first proposed the "dual root theory" for the origins of Taiwanese modern poetry. According to this view, one origin is the colonial periods influence from Japanese literary circles, exemplified by figures such as Yano Hōjin and Nishikawa Mitsuru, who introduced the spirit of modern poetry. A representative example is the Windmill Poetry Society (風車詩社), founded in 1933 by poets including Yang Chichang.
This contrasts with the "Modernist Movement" of 1956. Poet Ji Xian asserted that Taiwanese modern poetry was inherited from the Chinese mainland, especially the "Modernist" style advocated by poets such as Dai Wangshu and Li Jinfa, introduced to Taiwan by Ji Xian and Tan Tzu-hao.
From the modern to the contemporary era, the form of modern poetry underwent numerous transformations. Generally, it evolved through several phases: "vernacular poetry," "free verse," "new metrical verse" (Xin Yue Pai), "symbolism," "imagism," and eventually "modernism."
(1) Vernacular Poetry
This refers to poetry written in everyday spoken language after the May Fourth Movement and the New Culture Movement, breaking away from traditional poetic forms. Also known as "colloquial poetry," it featured flexible line lengths and a conversational tone. Hu Shi famously proposed the principle of "writing as one speaks" (我手寫我口), thereby challenging the dogma that "without rhyme, it is not poetry." In addition to its use of vernacular Chinese, its most notable trait is freedom of form, unbound by traditional metrics. This liberation of poetic form was deeply influenced by Western free verse, allowing for great variation in rhythm, form, and subject matter.
Example: "Hope" by Hu Shi
I came from the mountains,
Bringing orchid grass.
Planted in my little garden,
I hoped it would bloom well.
Three times a day I looked,
But days passed bloomless;
Impatiently I waited—
Not a single bud.
Seeing autumn arrive,
I moved the pot indoors.
When spring returns next year,
I wish you a pot full of flowers.
(2) Free Verse
The term "free verse" originates from the French vers libre, characterized by a lack of fixed structure or meter. Rhymes are used flexibly, or not at all, though a sense of rhythm and musicality is still sought. The guiding principle of free verse is "form follows content." Elements like rhythm, rhyme, punctuation, line length, and stanza division are all determined by the thematic needs of the poem. Form must serve and adapt to content. Poets are not required to follow established norms or aesthetic conventions based solely on outward structure; the demands of thematic expression take precedence. This also means that if a particular theme requires the use of metrical syntax, free verse can accommodate that as well.
Although there are few strict rules for writing free verse, some general principles do exist. Like prose, free verse uses punctuation to mark syntactic boundaries. However, it also uses "lines" as units of abstract poetic meaning. When a word or phrase needs emphasis, free verse may isolate it on its own line. Conversely, two or three complete sentences can be combined into a single line. In other words, the abstract poetic idea and the surface syntactic meaning, as well as their rhythm and tone, are shaped entirely by line breaks and punctuation. Ultimately, the lines should conform to the natural rhythm of spoken language. The use of lineation and punctuation determines the pace and emphasis of the poem.
The core assertion of free verse is to break away from all formal constraints—such as fixed meter and rhyme—in order to prevent the poetic theme and content from being restricted or distorted to "fit the shoe by cutting the foot." However, a common shortcoming of free verse is that it can become loose and rambling, lacking in refinement, and thus degenerating into "prose broken into lines."
In the early 1920s, Chinese poets introduced and promoted the free verse of 19th-century American poet Walt Whitman, whose long, conversational lines profoundly influenced the form. Since then, free verse has become the most popular poetic form in China. Numerous examples exist; for instance, Guo Moruo’s Goddess is a well-known early free verse collection. Most of Ai Qings works are also free verse, including his representative poems Snow Falls on China’s Land and Da Yanhe—My Nanny.
"Snow Falls on China’s Land" / Ai Qing
Snow falls on China’s land.
Cold is sealing off China…
The wind, like an old woman too full of sorrow,
Follows closely,
Extending her cold claws,
Tugging at the travelers’ coats.
Like the ancient earth itself,
She chatters on incessantly…
That figure emerging from the forest,
Driving a cart—
You, farmer of China,
Wearing a fur hat,
Braving the heavy snow—
Where are you going?
Let me tell you,
I am also descended from farmers—
Because of your face,
Etched with the wrinkles of suffering,
I came to understand so deeply
The hardship of those
Who live on the vast plains.
And I am no happier than you—
Lying in the river of time,
The waves of suffering
Have swallowed me again and again—
Wandering and imprisonment
Have stolen the most precious days of my youth.
My life,
Like yours,
Is worn and haggard.
Snow falls on China’s land.
Cold is sealing off China…
Along the snowy night’s river,
A tiny oil lamp drifts slowly.
In the tattered boat with a birdcage cover,
Bathed in lamplight,
With head bowed low—
Who is sitting there?
—Ah, you,
The woman with tangled hair and a dirt-smeared face,
Is it that
Your home—
That nest of warmth and happiness—
Has been burned down
By the brutal enemy?
Is it that,
On a night like this,
With no man to protect you,
You have already suffered
The mocking stabs of enemy bayonets
In the terror of death?
Alas, on such a frigid night,
Countless of our aging mothers
Curl up in homes not their own,
Like exiles—
Not knowing what path
Tomorrow’s wheels will roll down.
—And yet,
China’s roads
Are so rugged,
So muddy…
Snow falls on China’s land.
Cold is sealing off China…
Across the snowy night’s prairie,
In regions gnawed by war and flames,
Countless tillers of the soil
Have lost the poultry they once raised,
Have lost their fertile farmlands,
Now crowded into
The filthy alleys of despair.
From the earth of opportunity,
Toward the darkened sky,
They stretch trembling arms
In desperate supplication.
China’s suffering and catastrophe—
They are as vast and endless
As this snow-filled night.
Snow falls on China’s land.
Cold is sealing off China…
China—these powerless verses
Written in the lampless night—
Can they offer you
Even a little warmth?
(3) New Metrical Poetry
In 1926, Wen Yiduo systematically proposed the concrete concept of "New Metrical Poetry" in his essay The Pattern of Poetry. He advocated for "symmetry of stanzas and uniformity of lines," with end rhymes and equal numbers of "metrical feet" (also known as "rhythmic units," a translation of the English term feet) in each line. These metrical units were to be composed of harmonious syllables to create balanced lines of verse. He also emphasized that this metrical form should be tailored "to suit the content." Through his promotion, metrical poetry gained popularity and became a recognized form within modern Chinese poetry.
In the 1950s, He Qifang proposed the development of "modern metrical poetry" in essays such as On Writing and Reading Poetry and On Modern Metrical Poetry, laying out specific requirements. These included lines with the same number of rhythmic beats (tones), typically in three-, four-, or five-beat lines; the final beat of each line should preferably be a disyllabic word; rhymes should be relatively consistent; and stanza lengths should follow a regular pattern due to the consistent rhyme scheme.
In the early 1960s, Zang Kejia suggested that new metrical poetry should be concise, generally symmetrical, and rhymed. He allowed for slight variations in the alignment of rhythm between lines within a stanza, provided they were roughly equivalent. Although the views of these poets were not identical, they all leaned toward the idea that new metrical poetry should employ rhyme, have relatively even lines, and adhere to a certain degree of metrical form—though this form could vary greatly.
New metrical poetry follows a set of repeatable rules that determine the number of lines, stanzas, metrical feet, and rhyme schemes. Each lines syllable count, stanza length, and rhythm are subject to regular patterns, and rhyme is often emphasized. Poets sometimes formulate their own formal rules for each poem to cultivate musicality, visual beauty, and structural elegance.
The two major characteristics of metrical poetry are its visual aesthetics and auditory beauty. Poets in this tradition value the "symmetry of stanzas" and "uniformity of lines," aiming for a harmonious relationship between lines. In each stanza, at least two lines often mirror each other in syllable count and metrical rhythm, creating a strong sense of cadence when read aloud. Metrical poets believe that the emotional power of poetry lies in its rhythm—thus, for them, meter is rhythm. Many metrical poems are composed of four-line stanzas with equal syllable counts per line, forming square-like visual blocks often humorously dubbed "tofu block poems."
"Dead Water" / Wen Yiduo
This is a ditch of hopeless dead water.
A breeze cannot stir a single ripple.
Might as well throw in rusty metal scraps,
Or dump your leftover soup and kitchen waste.
Perhaps the copper will turn jade green,
And peach blossoms bloom on rusty cans;
Let the grease weave a silken gauze,
While mold steams up some colored clouds.
Let the dead water ferment into green wine,
Foaming with pearl-like white bubbles;
Small bubbles laugh and swell into big ones,
Only to be popped by thirsty flower-mosquitoes.
Then this ditch of hopeless dead water
Could perhaps boast a kind of brilliance.
If frogs can no longer bear the silence,
Maybe dead water could sing out.
This is a ditch of hopeless dead water—
Surely not a place where beauty dwells.
Let the ugly come reclaim this land,
And see what kind of world they make of it.
New metrical poetry became a commonly used form of the Crescent School (Xinyue pai) after 1928. Notable poets included Wen Yiduo, Xu Zhimo, Bian Zhilin, Liang Zongdai, and Wu Xinghua. Unfortunately, it never became mainstream. Xu Zhimo and others began to relax the rigid constraints of stanza symmetry and line uniformity, keeping only the symmetry of stanzas and rhyme schemes.
"Chance Encounter" / Xu Zhimo
I am a cloud in the sky,
Casting a shadow upon your rippling heart—
You need not be surprised,
Nor need you rejoice—
I will vanish in an instant.
We meet on the sea in the dark of night,
You have your course, and I have mine;
Whether you remember or not,
Best that you forget—
The light we shared in that fleeting moment.
After the 1940s, works in this form gradually decreased. In modern society, most poetic subjects are better suited to free verse, making metrical poetry topics relatively rare. In the 1950s, metrical poetry was heavily criticized by Taiwan’s Modernist Movement, and it has since faded from prominence.
However, new metrical poetry experienced a kind of "resurrection" in the form of ballad-style verse, which emphasizes musical repetition and cyclical structures. Representative examples include Xu Zhimo’s Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again and Yu Guangzhong’s Nostalgia series.
(4) Symbolist Poetry
Symbolism began in France as a poetic movement in the latter half of the 19th century. The earliest work associated with the Symbolist movement was Les Fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil, 1857) by Charles Pierre Baudelaire (1821–1867). Following this, poets like Paul Verlaine (1844–1896), Stéphane Mallarmé (1842–1898), and Arthur Rimbaud (1854–1891) further developed Symbolist poetry through works such as Mallarmé’s L’Après-midi d’un faune (The Afternoon of a Faun) and Rimbaud’s Voyelles (Vowels). In 1886, the Symbolist Manifesto was published in Le Figaro, marking the formal maturation of Symbolism as a literary movement.
In China, early Symbolist poetry appeared in the 1920s, with key representatives such as Li Jinfa and Dai Wangshu. Other poets associated with Symbolism or who wrote Symbolist poems include Wang Duqing, Mu Mutian, and Feng Naichao. Symbolist theories and practices began influencing Chinese modern poetry in the vernacular during the 1920s. In 1925, Li Jinfa published Misty Rain, China’s earliest Symbolist poetry collection, followed by additional Symbolist works over the next four years.
In 1926, Mu Mutian, in his letter On Poetry: A Letter to Guo Moruo, argued that poetry should possess modes of thinking and expression distinct from prose. He emphasized suggestion and obscurity, introducing the concept of "pure poetry." This concept included two main aspects. First, that poetry and prose belonged to entirely different realms: “purely expressive realms should be reserved for poetry, while prose should deal with worldly life.” He stated, “The poetic world is one of subconsciousness,” and that poetry is “a reflection of the inner life,” “a symbol of inner reality.” Second, he asserted that poetry should employ a different mode of thought and expression than prose: “Poetry is meant to suggest; it must never explain. Explanation belongs to the world of prose. Behind every poem should lie deep philosophy, but poetry cannot explain philosophy.” He continued, “Poetry is not something as clear as H2 + O = H2O. The less clear a poem is, the better. Clarity belongs to the world of concepts, which poetry must avoid.”
Li Jinfa’s poem The Abandoned Woman exemplifies key features of his Symbolist poetry (and the Symbolist school in general). First, it breaks conventional logic, omitting ordinary associative steps and instead relying on leaps of thought to spark the reader’s imagination. Second, it employs novel metaphors and suggestive imagery. Li not only uses unique metaphors to express the abandoned woman’s sorrow and despair but also uses her as a symbol for the poet’s own fate. Themes such as social cruelty, human indifference, and the twists of fate are not directly stated but implied through fleeting and obscure images. Third, the poem applies the technique of synesthesia—crossing sensory experiences. Phrases like “boredom turned to ashes,” “the frayed skirt groans,” “countless nomads shiver,” and “night and mosquitoes march in step” combine unrelated sensory elements to create a multi-dimensional sensory effect. Fourth, symbolic imagery reveals hidden subjective consciousness. The entire poem uses the figure of the abandoned woman to symbolize human fate, and on a deeper level, expresses the poet’s complex understanding of society, pain, and despair. The gap between surface imagery and latent meaning deepens the poem’s atmosphere but can also make it obscure and difficult to interpret.
In short, although symbol-rich poems like The Abandoned Woman are rare in Li Jinfa’s body of work, his decadent, dreamlike mood, Europeanized syntax, mixture of classical and vernacular language, and obscure images are clearly evident. Nevertheless, Li Jinfa and the early Symbolist school he represented made meaningful explorations and contributions to the artistic development of Chinese modern poetry.
The Abandoned Woman / Li Jinfa
My long hair hangs before my eyes,
Blocking every shameful, hateful stare,
And the swift streams of blood, the slumber of dry bones.
Night and mosquitoes march in step,
Round the corner of this low wall,
Shrieking behind my innocent ears,
Like wild wind howling on the plains:
It sends a shiver through countless nomads.
Leaning on a blade of grass, I shuttle with God’s spirit through empty valleys.
Only the brain of the wandering bee
Can deeply engrave my sorrow;
Or flow with mountain springs off cliffs,
Then drift away with crimson leaves.
The inner sorrow of the abandoned woman piles up in her gestures.
The fire of the setting sun cannot turn time’s boredom
Into ashes flying out a chimney—
It stains the feathers of a roving crow,
Which will rest with me upon the tsunami stone,
Listening quietly to the boatman’s song.
The frayed hem of an aging skirt sighs in lament,
Wanders beside the graveyard,
Never shedding a tear,
Dropping instead upon the grass,
As decoration for the world.
In traditional Chinese society, a qi fu (abandoned woman) was a wife cast out by her husband. There was no concept of legal divorce at the time—separation came only through the husbands repudiation, usually due to some perceived grave fault. She often returned to her natal family in shame, where even her own relatives might treat her poorly. Thus, an abandoned woman was effectively rejected by society.
After the May Fourth New Culture Movement, marginalized figures such as abandoned women, prostitutes, and beggars began appearing in literature—driven by emerging ideals of compassion and equality. These characters often symbolized the writer’s own feelings of alienation or opposition to society.
In this poem, the abandoned woman appears as:
"My long hair hangs before my eyes"—her face covered in shame and dishevelment, signaling disgrace. Yet her hair also serves as her only shield, cutting her off from the worlds contempt and cruelty—"swift streams of blood," "dry bones in slumber." The gesture expresses that the world no longer has value for her. Yet this protection is feeble; the world still disturbs her, as described in the following lines with the howl of mosquitoes.
“Night and mosquitoes march in step / round the corner of this low wall / shrieking behind my innocent ears / like wild wind howling on the plains / sending a shiver through countless nomads.”
Though mosquito cries are faint, they pierce her with psychological violence. The fact that the sound comes from behind the ears makes the shock even greater.
The abandoned woman dwells in a deserted valley:
"Leaning on a blade of grass, I shuttle with God’s spirit through empty valleys / only the brain of the wandering bee can deeply engrave my sorrow / or flow with mountain springs off cliffs / then drift away with crimson leaves."
The "spring, cliff, and crimson leaves" describe the void of the valley; her “dialogue with God” is only mockery, a sign that her sorrow has no recipient.
Having no one to speak to is the deepest agony. Her anguish stems from human relationships, and only human connection could resolve it. Can fire burn away her troubles? No.
“The fire of the setting sun cannot turn time’s boredom / into ashes flying out a chimney / it stains the feathers of a roving crow.”
This line is remarkable—“boredom” cannot be burned, nor can it stain a crow, which is already black. This shows that her troubles are inescapable. The crow, a symbol of ill omen, further reinforces this.
Yet this crow is at least loyal—it accompanies the abandoned woman:
"Will rest with me upon the tsunami stone / listening quietly to the boatman’s song."
The crow, like the poet himself, cannot save her, but can share her sorrow in silence. Psychologically, they are aligned.
The final stanza severs her last ties to the world:
"Never shedding a tear / dropping instead upon the grass / as decoration for the world."
This abandoned woman, from beginning to end, remains utterly resolute and defiant.
(5) Imagist Poetry
Imagism was a movement in modern Anglo-American poetry and one of the earliest, most significant, and most influential schools of the American New Poetry movement. It emerged just before World War I as a reaction against Romanticism, particularly the Late Romanticism and Victorian poetic style that dominated the British and American literary scenes at the time.
In late spring or early summer of 1912, Ezra Pound (1885–1972), together with H.D. and Richard Aldington, agreed on three core principles for poetry composition:
(1) Direct treatment of the “thing,” whether subjective or objective;
(2) Use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation;
(3) As to rhythm: to compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in the sequence of a metronome.
Pound defined an "image" as “an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time.” This definition implies two layers to the images structure: the inner layer, meaning, represents the poet’s fusion of reason and emotion—what Pound called the "complex"; the outer layer, form, refers to the concrete visual presentation of this inner state. Both layers are essential. The internal aspect emphasizes the blend of thought and emotion—the core of meaning—while the external side demands that this complex be conveyed visually and instantaneously as an image. This idea draws from Henri Bergson’s (1859–1941) “intuitionism,” where the image projects imagination in a visually suggestive form. Pound advocated for precise depiction of objects to ensure a truthful and accurate reflection of both external and internal experience.
Pound’s famous poem In a Station of the Metro is said to have originally been 31 lines, but he pared it down to just two:
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
The poem is densely poetic, but what exactly is it expressing? Perhaps it suggests fleeting glimpses of individuality in a sea of anonymity.
Another of Pound’s poems, A Girl, reads:
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast –
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child – so high – you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
This poem leaves a strong impression, especially the final line, which delivers a sweeping negation that is quite striking. The poem is structured like a letter in two parts: the first part uses the voice of a mother (“I”) describing how her body is overtaken by a tree (her daughter), symbolizing maternal sacrifice. The second part addresses the daughter directly, illustrating her growth from a tree (childhood), to moss (rebellious adolescence), to violets in the breeze (graceful maturity). Despite giving her all for her daughter, society sees it as a mother’s duty—unworthy of special mention. This poem reflects the quiet but genuine power of maternal love, which may appear ordinary to the world but is deeply precious to the mother herself.
Imagism had a notable influence on Chinese modern poets. During the May Fourth era, figures like Liu Bannong, Shen Yimo, Liu Dabai, Kang Baiqing, and Wang Tongzhao were influenced by this trend. In Taiwan, it was introduced through translations by Qin Zihao and significantly influenced poets such as Yu Guangzhong, Xiang Ming, and Rongzi, particularly among members of the Blue Star Poetry Society.
(6) Modernist Poetry
In January 1956, Ji Xian (紀弦) initiated and convened the First Congress of Modernist Poets in Taipei, with the participation of poets such as Fang Si, Zheng Chouyu, Shang Qin, and Lin Hengtai. At the congress, they officially established the “Modernist School.” In addition to the aforementioned poets, key members included Luo Men, Yang Lingye, Xin Yu, Lisha, Ji Jiang, Ye Ni, Lin Leng, Rongzi, and Cao Yang.
Ji Xian’s “Modernist School” inherited the essential spirit of Dai Wangshu’s earlier “Modern School” but advanced it in a more avant-garde direction in terms of form. In February 1956, in the 13th issue of Modern Poetry, Ji Xian raised the Modernist banner and declared the magazine to be a “common journal for Modernist poets.” Their literary agenda was to “lead a new revolution in poetry and promote poetic modernization,” including the articulation of the “Six Tenets of Modernism,” one of which asserted: “Modern poetry is a horizontal transplantation, not a vertical inheritance.”
Ji Xian’s Modern Poetry marked a clear and deliberate transplantation of Western modernist poetics into Taiwan. Although the six tenets provided a theoretical foundation for the explosive growth of the modernist poetry movement in Taiwan, the Modernist School remained a loosely organized group of literary peers. The tenets were not universally or rigorously practiced, and Ji Xian himself would later write poems that diverged from his own doctrines.
The movements theoretical basis largely came through Lin Hengtai’s translations of French modernist ideas, especially those that emphasized “horizontal transplantation” and rationality. This radical anti-traditional and pro-Western stance drew criticism from various quarters. Ji Xian later reflected on and amended his views, even publicly confessing in 1959 that he had led New Poetry astray and announced his withdrawal from the Modernist School. Modern Poetry ceased publication on February 1, 1964.
Despite this, Ji Xian’s role as a standard-bearer for modernist poetry is still widely recognized in Taiwanese literary circles. Over its decade-long run, Modern Poetry published 45 issues, embracing a diversity of styles and forms and nurturing nearly a hundred poets, thus playing a pivotal role in fostering innovation and development in Taiwanese modern poetry.
The Wolf’s Solitary Walk / Ji Xian
I am a wolf, wandering alone in the wilderness,
Not a prophet,
Without even a single sigh.But with several utterly piercing howls,
I shake the empty heavens and earth,
So that they shudder like malaria-stricken bodies,
And stir up a cold, eerie wind that chills me to the bone.
This is a kind of force –
A kind of ecstasy.
The Wolf’s Solitary Walk reflects the poet’s inner self-image. In the first stanza, the “wilderness” is a significant metaphor. While wolves typically dwell in forests and prey on others, here the wolf is in the open wild—exposed, without cover, without food, wandering alone. The desolation is palpable. The poet uses the wolf as a metaphor for his own proud solitude, unaccepted by society yet unwavering and unapologetic in his independence. In Western culture, the “prophet” often symbolizes the poet, but the author denies such a role, presenting himself instead as a common man.
