Chapter 3. “The Prodigal Son and the Chivalrous Wanderer”

—On the Wanderer Archetype in the Poetry of Cheng Chou-yu

Taking The Collected Poems of Cheng Chou-yu I as an Example

This paper is respectfully dedicated to the memory of Teacher Chen Yu-ling.

Introduction

In his essay “The Legend of Cheng Chou-yu,” Yang Mu made the following evaluation of Cheng Chou-yu (1928– ):

“Ever since modernism arrived, China has also had some foreign poets who wrote their modern sensibilities in awkward and inferior Chinese. But Cheng Chou-yu is a Chinese poet of China, writing in excellent Chinese. His imagery is precise, his musicality magnificent, and yet he is absolutely modern.”

Yang Mu's remarks point out two observations:

(1) Modernism, which prevailed in Taiwan from the 1950s through the 1970s, together with the group of Modernist poets deeply influenced by that literary movement, shared a common weakness: they failed to express the techniques of Modernism accurately and elegantly in written Chinese. This was manifested primarily in the excessive Europeanization of grammar and word formation, as well as a weak foundation in classical Chinese poetry.

(2) Cheng Chou-yu's achievement lies in his ability to incorporate the beautiful artistic conception of classical Chinese poetry while integrating it with the expressive techniques of Western Modernism, creating a perfectly unified whole.

Cheng Chou-yu once said:

“The essence of poetry is to express feelings, emotions, and poetic sensibility. A good poet should possess both poetic talent and poetic emotion. Besides requiring poetic form created through the arrangement of language, metaphor, and poetic imagery expressed through pictorial perception, the most important element is still poetic meaning—the expression of the poet's temperament. Beyond expressing the poet's own temperament, poetic meaning should also embody perception and concern for the disasters and blessings within the human condition, or, in other words, a sense of compassion.”¹

As a poet, both the talent for writing poetry and the emotions conveyed through poetic works are equally important. If one possesses poetic talent but one's works lack genuine feeling, they inevitably become mere verbal exposition, resembling doctrinal instruction. Conversely, if one possesses deep emotion but lacks the corresponding artistic talent to express it, one certainly cannot produce excellent poetry. As the Qing scholar Zhang Chao (Xinzhai) observed:

“The single word emotion sustains the world;
the single word talent adorns the universe.”

Neither poetic talent nor poetic emotion can be neglected.

Based on the theory of Archetypal Criticism, specifically the Wanderer Archetype, this paper analyzes and interprets selected texts in Cheng Chou-yu's works that embody both the sentiments of the wandering prodigal and the spirit of the chivalrous knight. During the interpretation of the texts' signified meanings, rhetorical theory is also employed to explain the expressive forms and methods utilized by the poet throughout the poems and their individual sections.

Keywords

Archetypal Criticism

Fore-structure

The Wanderer

Paradox

Synesthesia

Chiasmus

Omniscient Point of View

Claustrophobia

I. Literary Criticism and Textual Interpretation

The French New Criticism scholar Roland Barthes once remarked:

“Criticism is not science. Science studies meaning; criticism produces meaning.”

Whether discussing literary works (or what New Critics call texts) or works in other fields, the common function of criticism is the production of meaning.

Literary interpretation is concerned with the meaning of the text. Its purpose is “to explain the meaning of a work, to uncover its subtle implications, and to transform obscurity into clarity.”

Literary criticism, by contrast, focuses upon **what the work signifies to the critic and what textual significance it provides.**²

Accordingly, regardless of which methodology a critic adopts as a writing strategy or policy, and regardless of whether the intention is to criticize or to interpret a text, the critic must ultimately be capable of producing meaning.

With this understanding, the present author borrows the concept of fore-structure proposed by the German philosopher Martin Heidegger in Being and Time in order to explain the Wanderer Archetype.

Through analyses and interpretations of Cheng Chou-yu's works—including the evaluations made by previous poetry critics—the author identifies those images possessing the referential significance of the Wanderer Archetype, together with the character images constructed from those poetic images and the plots developed from them, thereby summarizing the various manifestations of the Wanderer Archetype.

II. Fore-structure: The Wanderer Archetype

The Wanderer insists that the most important content of life is not suffering but adventure.³

The poetic persona in Cheng Chou-yu's works is precisely such a wanderer: embarking upon journeys for the sake of adventure and facing the unknown future alone.

That unknown future may become

“a cold land of dreams”

(On the Dreamland),

or it may become an endless ocean.

Therefore,

“I came from the sea, bringing back twenty-two stars from my voyage.
You ask me about my voyage; I laugh toward the sky.”

(When the Mist Rises)

Yet the poet clearly realizes that the wandering self possesses neither name nor identity:

“Some call me happiness, some call me joy,
yet I have no name.
I possess only deep footprints, and they are impressed only upon the road of history.”

(Song of Truth)

The poet experiences both the lonely destiny of the wanderer and the impermanence of a drifting life.

Carol S. Pearson writes:

“The Wanderer refuses to surrender to fate. Wanderers cast aside the social roles they have long worn to guarantee security and to please others, attempting instead to discover themselves and explore what they truly desire.” (Carol S. Pearson, 2000, p.72)

As one who refuses to accept the arrangements of fate, we may search through Cheng Chou-yu's poetry for the footprints of his wandering.

III. Decoding the Text: Comprehensiveness and Hierarchy of Discussion

The reason Cheng Chou-yu's poetry continues to attract readers of different generations must be examined from four perspectives:

the selection of subject matter (what is written),

expressive techniques (how it is written),

artistic conception (what messages are conveyed),

and style (what distinctive characteristics it possesses).

Such a method of discussion not only establishes clear analytical levels but also provides comprehensive coverage.

(I) Examination from the Perspective of Subject Matter

A typological analysis based upon subject matter generally requires statistical tables together with quantitative analysis. Interpretation and inference should be based upon the proportional distribution of various categories rather than relying solely upon illustrative description.

The author first classifies the poems into statistical categories, converts the totals into percentages, and then develops relatively objective discussions based upon those numerical results.

In designing the statistical table, the author advocates first classifying the texts according to the people, events, time, place, and objects to which they refer, arranging them under the categories of:

Homesickness,

Travel,

Lyricism,

Characters,

Object Writing and Landscape Description,

Politics and War,

Social Phenomena.

The texts belonging to each category are then grouped together, with the number of poems serving as the numerator and the total number of poems serving as the denominator for calculating percentage values.

For texts simultaneously involving two or more thematic categories, the principal category is determined according to whichever subject encompasses the greater proportion of the plot or imagery.

From the proportional relationships among these thematic categories, one may infer the creator's personal preference, determine whether the poet is fundamentally an impressionistic poet or a realistic poet, and further establish a foundation for stylistic analysis.

Subject Category	Homesickness	Travel	Lyricism	Characters	Object Writing & Landscape	Politics & War	Social Phenomena
Number of Poems	16	47	38	10	34	5	3
Percentage	10%	31%	25%	7%	22%	3%	2%

The titles belonging to each category are as follows:

Homesickness

Longing

Dream of Travel

Epilogue

Chant by the Harbor

Native Accent

The Train Without a Terminal Station

Ruined Fortress

Wayside Inn

Shepherdess

Visitor at Dusk

Picking Up

Explorer

Beitou Valley

Island Valley

When the Mist Rises

Song of Homeward Voyage

Travel

Gatha

Chiayi

Zuoying

Station of the Small Station

The Boat of Ten Oars

Piyanan Tribal Village

On the Northern Peak

Autumn Sacrifice

Nunugali Terrace

Dwelling at South Lake

Luchang Great Mountain

Madaraxi Valley

Impressions of Bashang

Residence Above the Sea of Clouds (I), (II), (III)

Snow Mountain Lodge

Rain God

Flower Season

City of Wind

Dawu Shrine

Ancient South Tower

Border Tavern

Drunken Stream Region (I), (II), (III)

Yanyun I–X

September

April

December

June

Vertical Earth

Returning to Yehliu Cape

Beijing, Beijing

The Wheat Restaurant

Kinmen Collection (I), (II), (III)

Lyricism

God of Spring

A Brief Pause in Life

Destiny

When I Am Resurrected

Rolling Curtain Pattern

Heart of the Zither

Book Beyond the Mountains

Days in the Mountains

Lowering the Sail

Upon the Cliff

The Red and the Blue

July

Three Years

With This Gentle Song I Test You

The Little Island

Longing

Love

Threads of Rain

Certainty

Mistake

On the Dreamland

Remembering Wind and Rain

Farewell

Gathering Shells

Sister Harbor

Ward 104

When the West Wind Passes

Promise

Life

Ordination Certificate

Untitled

Water Alley

Night Song

The Naked Prophet

When Fully Dressed

The Person on the Right

Grassland

Summoning the Soul

Characters

Old Sailor

The Captain's Solitary Walk

Belleville

Daughter-in-law

Mistress

The Last Imperial Examination

To the Buried Hunter

The Prodigal Ma Qin

The Summons

Homesick Wanderer

Object Writing and Landscape

Seashell

Little River

Little Stream

Meteorite

Bay

Sailor's Knife

Morning Star

Star Eclipse

Little Poetry Brocade

New Year's Eve

The Passing of the Evening Rainbow

Snow Line

Evening Clouds

Bell Sound

Visitors Come to the Small Town

Harbor Night

Morning

Afternoon

Paramecium

Still Life

Qingming Festival

Aristocrat

Buddhist Chant

Skylight

Wind-Knowing Grass

April Gift

The Slave Girl Outside the Window

Above the South China Sea

Clouds of the Rainy Season

Weaving Autumn Grass

Bone Pagoda

Shepherd Star

Silken Waterfall

Spring Suite

Politics and War

Song of Freedom

Song of Truth

Prostitute

Warrior's Dream

The Legacy of Revolution

Social Phenomena

The Great Agricultural Age

Typhoon Flatbed Cart

Journey

Note: Yanyun I through X constitutes a sequence poem and is therefore counted as a single poem.

Overall, Cheng Chou-yu's subject matter demonstrates diversity and coexistence among multiple themes. However, it is clearly concentrated in lyricism (25%), travel (31%), object writing (22%), and homesickness (10%), all of which lean toward impressionistic expression.

By contrast, poems concerning characters (7%), politics and war (3%), and social phenomena (2%)—subjects more closely associated with realism—receive relatively little attention.

One may therefore preliminarily classify him as an impressionistic poet.

The impressionistic poet corresponds precisely to what Wang Jing'an (Wang Guowei) referred to as the subjective poet:

“The subjective poet need not possess extensive worldly experience. The less worldly experience one has, the more genuine one's temperament becomes. Li Houzhu is such an example.”

Cheng Chou-yu's strongest subjects are concentrated primarily upon the expression of personal emotion. Consequently, works of broader historical and social scope, such as Grassland and The Legacy of Revolution, appear especially distinctive within his poetic corpus.

(2) Examination from the Perspective of Expressive Techniques

From the 1950s through the 1970s, the tide of Western Modernism swept in. In 1956, the poet Ji Xian, in his "Manifesto of the Modernist School," advocated the concept of "horizontal transplantation," which provoked severe criticism from Qin Zihao of the Blue Star Poetry Society, triggering a debate between "tradition and modernity" and "Westernization and Sinicization." Poets living within the radius of this Modernist storm were influenced to varying degrees in both concepts and creative techniques. These influences were manifested primarily in Europeanized grammar and formal experimentation (such as "visual poetry"). Although the poet Zheng Chouyu was likewise affected by this trend, he understood how to internalize the expressive methods of Modernism into his own creative techniques while still preserving the implicit aesthetic vision and elegant lyrical melody of traditional Chinese poetry.

Zheng Chouyu employed Modernist expressive techniques with remarkable flexibility, mainly in the following aspects:

1. The Adjustment of Europeanized Grammar:

For example:

"Let there be a resonant dream;
Taking advantage of the night, I pass down the sorrowful command of the general,
From the strings of the zither..."
— The Ruined Fortress

Although the poem employs inverted sentence structures bearing traces of Europeanized syntax, its content remains entirely Chinese: the spatial and temporal landscape of the northwestern frontier and the great desert, together with the traveler's imagination traversing time and the bold, desolate chanting of the traditional man of letters.

It was precisely for this reason that the poet Yang Mu commented on this poem:

"The use of inverted syntax creates the effect of suspense followed by resolution. Zheng Chouyu inherited the virtues of classical Chinese poetry and, with clear and clean vernacular language, conveyed to us a tragic mood of both time and space."4

2. The Pursuit of Musicality

This mainly includes:

(1) The Use of Onomatopoeia

For example:

"The clip-clop of horse hooves" (Error),

"The tinkling earrings" (When the Mist Rises),

"The pottery bottle that rings with a tinkling sound" (Skylight).

Through the use of onomatopoeia, the poet endows objects with sound and tone, delighting both ear and eye while enriching the rhythm between the poem's sections.

(2) Natural Rhythm

Zheng Chouyu does not rely upon folk-song-like forms, nor does he create rhyme through repeated parallelism or recurring end rhymes. Instead, he adopts a more colloquial "speech rhythm," allowing the free verse to flow naturally like running water.

Poet Yang Mu referred to this as "meter within variation." 5

Consider the opening stanza of "Parting":

This time I leave you—it is the wind, it is the rain, it is the night.
You smiled a little; I waved my hand.
A lonely road then stretched toward two directions.
Thinking that by now you have already returned to your riverside home,
I imagine you combing your long hair or arranging your rain-soaked coat,
While my own journey home through wind and rain is still long.
The mountains retreat far away, and the open plain stretches even wider.
Ah, this world—I fear that darkness has truly taken shape...

The rhythm of "Parting" is exceptionally gentle. This effect is achieved through the frequent use of sentence-ending particles with prolonged phonetic resonance, such as "le" and "de." Furthermore, the poet links short lines with medium and long lines within the same verse, extending the wavelength of the rhythmic sound and producing overlapping echoes and resonances.

As discussed in my essay "The Musicality of Modern Poetry," this causes the poem to unfold with an increasingly slow, beautiful, and moving rhythm. Reading it resembles listening to a male singer with a deep, husky, rich bass voice whose magnetic tone lingers in one's heart, inviting repeated reflection.

Another example is:

"When you have finished singing this song of mine,
My heart has grown weary,
My horse has grown tired.
By then—
Twilight has deepened,
The wineskin has been emptied..."
— The Shepherdess

Among these six lines, the sentence-ending particle "le" appears four times, softening the forced near-rhymes among the adjectives "weary," "tired," "deepened," and "emptied," thereby producing a lingering resonance that continues to echo in the reader's ear.

3. The Use of Symbolism

Zheng Chouyu employs symbolic imagery—for example in "Letter from the Mountains"—and symbolic technique, as in "Paramecium." In the former poem, the two symbolic images of "mountains" and "the sea," possessing opposing qualities, are juxtaposed in an intersecting contrast,6 producing a powerful visual opposition and expressing the sharp value conflict between stability and wandering.

"Letter from the Mountains"

Do not worry about me; I am in the mountains...
Clouds from the sea
Say the sea's silence is too profound.
Winds from the sea
Say the sea's laughter is too boundless.
I am one who came from the sea.
The mountains are waves frozen into stillness.
(I no longer believe the messages of the sea.)
My longing to return
No longer surges.

The line "The mountains are waves frozen into stillness" is especially profound.

The undulating forms of mountains and waves resemble one another in appearance, yet differ completely in nature. By placing the adjective "frozen" before the noun "waves," the poet creates a striking transformation.

Judging from the contextual relationship of the poem, the contours of the mountains first enter the poet's vision, awakening an association with waves. Waves are inherently characterized by perpetual movement and fluctuation, yet the poet's aesthetic experience ingeniously overturns this natural property.

It is as though the poet's eye were a camera lens, freezing the ever-changing waves into a single frame. Once frozen, the waves assume the very appearance of mountains. This association through visual illusion is highly imaginative, yet thoroughly convincing.

The poet Du Ye explains:

"Since he has just come from the sea, where waves are everywhere, he has become accustomed to seeing them. Upon entering the mountains, he unconsciously views the mountains from this perspective. This line not only depicts the outward resemblance between mountains and waves but also expresses the poet's inner thoughts."

Those inner thoughts are precisely the longing for a stable life like the mountains. He cherishes the mountains—those waves that remain unchanged and at rest—while growing weary of the real waves upon the sea, forever shifting and rising and falling.

In other words, after wandering for so long upon the restless and ever-changing ocean, he longs to return to the shore. He longs for things that are frozen like the mountains and for a peaceful, stable living environment.

This is the principal reason why he leaves his seafaring life behind and returns to the mountains.

(2) An Examination from the Perspective of Expressive Techniques

From the 1950s to the 1970s, the tide of Western Modernism swept in. In his “Modernist Manifesto” published in 1956, the poet Chi Hsien advocated the idea of “horizontal transplantation,” which drew severe criticism from Ch'in Tzu-hao of the Blue Star Poetry Society, giving rise to a debate over “tradition versus modernity” and “Westernization versus Sinicization.” Poets living within the radius of this modernist storm were influenced to varying degrees in both their concepts and creative techniques. These influences were mainly manifested in Europeanized syntax and formal experimentation (such as “visual poetry”). Although Cheng Chou-yu was undoubtedly affected by this movement, he understood how to internalize modernist methods into his own creative techniques while still preserving the restrained aesthetics and elegant lyrical cadence of traditional Chinese poetry.

Chou-yu flexibly employed modernist expressive techniques, as demonstrated in several aspects:

1. The Adaptation of Europeanized Syntax:

For example:

"Give me a sonorous dream;
Taking advantage of the night, I pass down the mournful General's Command
From the strings of the zither..."
— "The Ruined Fortress"

Although this poem employs inverted sentence structures that bear traces of Europeanized syntax, its content remains entirely Chinese: the northwestern frontier, the vast desert landscape, the imagination of a traveler crossing through time, and the resonant chanting of a man of letters amid desolation. Therefore the poet Yang Mu commented on this poem:

"The use of inverted syntax creates an effect of suspense followed by resolution. Cheng Chou-yu inherited the virtues of classical Chinese poetry and, through clear and clean vernacular language, conveyed to us a tragic atmosphere of both time and space." 4

2. An Emphasis on Musicality

This mainly includes:

(1) The Use of Onomatopoeia

For example:

"the clip-clop of horse hooves" — "Error"

"the tinkling earrings" — "When the Mist Rises"

"the pottery jar ringing with tinkling sounds" — "Skylight"

The use of onomatopoeia enriches objects with auditory qualities, delights both the ear and the eye, and enhances the rhythmic movement between poetic passages.

(2) Natural Rhythm

Chou-yu does not rely on ballad-like forms, nor does he create rhyme through repetitive parallelism and recurring end rhymes. Instead, he adopts a relatively colloquial "spoken rhythm," allowing the free verse to flow as naturally as running water. Poet Yang Mu referred to this as "metrical patterns within variation." 5

Consider the opening stanza of "Farewell":

"This time I leave you—it is wind, it is rain, it is night.
You smiled a little; I waved my hand.
A lonely road then stretched toward two directions.
Thinking that by now you have already returned to your riverside home,
I imagine you combing your long hair or arranging your rain-soaked coat,
While my homeward journey through wind and rain is still long.
The mountains have retreated far away; the open wilderness has spread even wider.
Ah, this world—I fear that darkness has truly taken shape..."

The rhythm of "Farewell" is remarkably gentle. This results from the poet's frequent use of sentence-final particles such as "le" and "de," whose sounds create an effect of prolonged resonance.

Moreover, the poet joins short lines with medium-length and long lines within the same verse, further extending the wavelength of the poem's rhythm and producing overlapping echoes. As a result, the poem unfolds with an unhurried cadence, making it even more sorrowfully beautiful and emotionally moving. Reading it is like listening to a male singer with a deep, husky, emotionally rich bass voice, whose magnetic tone lingers in one's ears and invites repeated contemplation. (See the author's essay "The Musicality of Modern Poetry.")

Another example:

"When you finish singing this song of mine,
My heart has grown weary.
My horse has grown tired.
By then—
The dusk has deepened.
The wineskin has been emptied..."
— "The Shepherdess"

Among these six lines, the sentence-final particle "le" appears four times in succession, eliminating the forced similarity of rhyme among the adjectives "weary," "tired," "deepened," and "emptied," while creating a lingering resonance.

3. The Use of Symbolism

Chou-yu frequently employs symbolic imagery, as in "Letter Beyond the Mountains," and symbolic techniques, as in "Paramecium."

In the former, the two opposing symbolic images—mountains and the sea—are juxtaposed in a crosswise contrast 6, producing a striking visual opposition and expressing the sharp conflict between stability and wandering.

"Letter Beyond the Mountains"

"Do not worry about me.
I am in the mountains...
The clouds from the sea
Say the sea's silence is too profound.
The wind from the sea
Says the sea's laughter is too boundless.
I am a man from the sea.
The mountains are frozen waves.
(I no longer believe the news from the sea.)
My longing to return
No longer surges."

The line "The mountains are frozen waves" is especially profound.

The undulations of mountains resemble those of waves in form, yet their essential natures are fundamentally different. By placing the adjective "frozen" before the noun "waves," the poet suggests, through the correspondence of the surrounding context, that the contours of the mountains first entered his vision, awakening an association with waves.

Ordinarily, waves possess the quality of constant movement. Yet the poet's aesthetic experience ingeniously overturns this expectation. His eyes become like a camera lens, freezing the ever-changing sea waves into a still frame. Once frozen, the waves assume a form almost identical to mountains.

This kind of associative illusion is remarkably strange, yet highly convincing.

The poet Tu Yeh explains:

"Having just come from the sea, where waves are everywhere, he has become so accustomed to them that upon entering the mountains he unconsciously views the mountains from the same perspective. This line not only describes the formal resemblance between mountains and waves, but also expresses the poet's inner thoughts."

Those inner thoughts reveal the poet's yearning for a stable life like that of the mountains. He cherishes the mountain as an unchanging, stable wave, while growing weary of the real sea, whose waves are forever shifting and restless.

In other words, after wandering for so long upon the ever-changing, turbulent sea, he longs to return to land. He longs for things that are frozen like mountains—for a stable and tranquil environment. This is precisely the primary reason he leaves his life at sea and returns to the mountains.

IV. The Singer of Space: The Imagistic Formation of the Wanderer

In Cheng Chou-yu’s poetry, we encounter a wide variety of wanderer figures: the sailor, the traveler or sojourner in a foreign land, the border garrison soldier or passionate youth, the lover or faithless man, and the destitute man in turbulent times. All these character types converge toward a single shared proposition: the wanderer’s habitual acceptance of impermanence.

Therefore, Chou-yu repeatedly declares in his poems a desire to end wandering:

“I have wandered for so long, I wish to return.
It is as if I no longer belong to anything here.
I will take down the long-hanging mast lamp,
Take down the final signal of the voyage,
I wish to return…”
— “When the Mist Rises”

He even cries out without concealment:

“No more wandering. I refuse to be a singer of space;
I would rather be a stone man of time.
Yet I am still a wanderer of the universe.
Earth, you do not need to keep me.
I come from one side of this land
And depart toward all eight directions.”
— “Verse”

However, the wanderer in his poems never finds his “Spetsia Bay” (the legendary place where Shelley is said to have disappeared). The boat of wandering never anchors or reaches shore. Thus Chou-yu never truly stops his wandering footsteps, and his image as a wanderer is thereby fully formed.

Chou-yu himself does not agree with this interpretation. He said:

“Because I grew up during the War of Resistance, I was exposed to the suffering of China and the unstable wandering lives of its people, and I wrote these into my poems. Some therefore call me a ‘wanderer poet.’ In fact, what influenced my childhood and youth even more was the traditional spirit of chivalry.”

Perhaps it is precisely the fusion of chivalric spirit and wanderer consciousness that gives Cheng Chou-yu’s poetry such compelling artistic charm.

Let us now examine how Chou-yu expresses, through his poetry, the emotions and experiences of the wanderer:

(1) The Sailor

The figure of the “sailor” first appears in Chou-yu’s youth (from 1950 onward). The saying “everywhere without a home is everywhere home” is the true description of a sailor’s life.

The adventurous lifestyle of sailors first captivated the young poet’s imagination:

“Open the window—
We live upon the sea,
We laugh upon the sea,
Our songs resound upon the sea…”

This series includes the following poems:
“The Old Sailor,” “Longing,” “The Captain’s Solitary Walk,” “Belleville,” “The Sailor’s Knife,” “When the Mist Rises,” “Song of Return Voyage,” “Harbor Night,” “The Naked Prophet”—nine poems in total.

The unstable maritime life of sailors was, for Chou-yu—who once served in the navy—deeply familiar. Let us examine the figure of the “old sailor” as constructed in his poetry:

“The Old Sailor”

Not because of
unbearable loneliness
or to pass away
the emotions of twilight
you carry an old coat
and open
tired and illusory eyes
you come ashore
you only wish to see
this stretch of land
these unmoving houses
and faces so unfamiliar
that they no longer feel unfamiliar
in this drizzling dusk
the quiet corner of the city
the small streets under rows of banyan trees
you do not understand
yet you are very familiar with them
you turn over all your memories
perhaps suddenly remembering
the rainy season of your childhood hometown
ah—
the rainy season of your hometown
your heart becomes damp
I imagine
water, hometown, and women
are inseparable in your life
you long for them
and you also reject them
yet you remain silent
and your silence is a pen
on all the harbors you have stepped upon
on your long eyebrows
and the wrinkles at the corners of your mouth
you write poetry…
we cannot read these lines
but we can hear within them
a faint
melancholy and sobbing

The old sailor, who has spent years making a living at sea, occasionally comes ashore, yet only to look at land itself—this unmoving architecture—and the people living upon it. Wherever he goes, he encounters only unfamiliar faces.

For a sailor who has long lived inside the ship’s cabin, living an isolated existence almost equivalent to self-imprisonment, the only moment of freedom is the brief return to the real world when he steps ashore, temporarily escaping the cage that confines his body and mind: his identity as a sailor and the ship’s cabin.

Life at sea moves from one unfamiliar harbor to another. Different countries, yet always the same unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar port landscapes. Even though he may occasionally be moved by what he sees and recall fragments of childhood and his hometown, his emotional world remains internally contradictory.

During long periods of ascetic life at sea, sailors may seek physical relief in port cities, yet regarding the three inseparable elements of his existence—water, hometown, and women—his emotions are paradoxical: he both longs for them and rejects them.

Pearson explains this paradoxical psychology:

“Heroes are often told that the prison is paradise, and leaving it will inevitably mean the loss of grace; thus the prison is the best condition we can have. The first task of the Wanderer is to recognize the truth: to declare or realize that a prison is a prison, and that the jailer is the villain.”
— (The Inner Hero, p. 73)

The old sailor recognizes that the ship is his prison, and thus he simultaneously experiences both longing and rejection toward this maritime life.

On one hand, he wishes to break free from the ship’s confinement; on the other hand, he cannot abandon his identity as a sailor, for leaving the ship means losing his livelihood entirely.

The joys and sorrows of maritime life were approached with openness by the young Chou-yu. When friends asked him about the sea, he could only smile without answering (“When the Mist Rises”). Even romantic attachment could not bind him:

“A tropical thread of affection like ivy
With one wave of the hand, it is severed.”
— “The Sailor’s Knife”

This is not because the sailor is heartless or deliberately detached, but because such an unstable wandering life makes him unable to make any emotional commitments.

As he reveals in another poem:

“I come from the sea, and you possess so many treasures of the sea…
welcoming shells that please people, evening clouds that anger them,
and coral reefs that prevent me from approaching too closely…”

The sailor avoids emotional attachment precisely because he does not wish to run aground upon the coral reefs and become anchored as husband and father.

He knows that his wandering self cannot promise happiness to a wife and children; therefore, he would rather continue his journey of wandering.

Yet human beings are not fish that breathe through gills. Eventually, the sailor grows tired of life at sea, for:

“Land and sea have taken away all prosperity,
leaving this edge of loneliness to you.”
— “Belleville”

When his state of mind becomes increasingly barren upon the vast sea, the desire to return inevitably arises:

“I have wandered for so long, I wish to return…”
— “When the Mist Rises”

The exhausted sailor longs to return to the harbor, which is like a mother’s embrace, soothing his soul:

“The distant sound of anchors is like a broken bell.
Clouds drift like small fish into a softly moving sphere…
Small waves carry a mature laziness,
gently pressing against the ship’s side—soft and tender.
The stone steps of the harbor descend into depth and melancholy.
This harbor sleeps like being soothed by a mother’s hand.
Lights stretch across the water into golden towers.
The shadow of a small boat passes like an eagle, like the wind…”
— “Harbor Night”

Thus the sailor loudly expresses his longing:

“I wish to return.
At the edge of the sky lies a deep blue empty seat,
a banquet where constellations wash away dust.
Where clouds and sails disappear,
my lamp shall rise there…”
— “Song of Return Voyage”

He decides to find a place where clouds and sails disappear, and there end his life as a sailor and begin a new existence.

(II) Travelers or Expatriate Wanderers

Around 1949, due to the “Chinese Civil War,” those from mainland provinces who fled in panic and became displaced on the island of Taiwan, in the early 1950s to 1960s, mostly still believed that Chiang Kai-shek and the Kuomintang would lead them back to their homeland: mainland China. Therefore, they regarded Taiwan merely as a temporary place of residence rather than a willingly accepted refuge like a utopian retreat. What lingered in their minds and dreams was still the rivers and mountains of their homeland. Under such a spatiotemporal background, most mainlanders considered themselves “exiled wanderers,” living on this tropical island of Taiwan with the mentality of “passers-by.”

In the early period (the 1950s), poetry by mainland Chinese poets largely centered on the theme of nostalgia, which was naturally related to the fact that the time since leaving their homeland was still not long, and memories of their hometown had not yet become blurred. In my examination of Zheng Chouyu’s works, I likewise find that this type of nostalgic and travel-related subject matter occupies a considerable proportion, including “Travel Dream,” “Spring God,” “Song of Freedom,” “Song of Truth,” “Mountain Exterior Letter,” “Conclusion,” “Explorer,” “Beitou Valley,” “Harbor Side Chant,” “Stream,” “Hometown Sound,” “Verse,” “Small Town Guest,” “Afternoon,” “Qingming,” “Chiayi,” “Zuoying,” “Promise,” “Life,” “Buddhist Sound,” “Skylight,” “The Buried Hunter,” “Small Station,” twenty poems from the ninth collection “Records of the Five Great Mountains,” “Boundary Hotel,” “Drunken Stream Basin” (I) and (II) from the tenth collection “Grassland,” ten linked poems from the eleventh collection “Yan Yun,” four poems from the twelfth collection “Great Korean Collection,” as well as “Vertical Soil,” “Wanderer of Hometown,” “Hemp Rope Hands,” “Return Visit to Yehliu Cape,” and two poems from “Kinmen Collection,” totaling 66 poems, approximately more than two-fifths of the entire poetry collection (153 poems). In such thematic categories, Zheng Chouyu most frequently appears in the image of either a “traveler” or an “exiled wanderer (drifter),” two closely related character types.

Zheng Chouyu’s sentiment of travel begins with “Travel Dream” (approximately completed after 1950):

“Travel Dream”
I come from a rainy land / here, it has been sunny for a long time / dust flies on the road / the pond under the sun shines with gold / I come from a rainy land / my eyes are still wet / like the car window glass / lying quietly with long strings of water beads / I think: I should see that land / elm trees form a vast threshing ground / where the vehicle stops, wife runs from under the trees / I think, the children have already grown up / on the steps, supporting the old mother looking toward me / then we silently embrace / asking each other with tearful eyes / then, we exchange simple words / shaking off foreign dust at our own doorway / the car bumps forward / my heart is beating anxiously / I think, the long-separated village is near / crossing the barren hill ahead / perhaps still climbing a bridge / I think, the creaking sound of the millstone / I will hear... / ah, I come from a rainy land / my eyes are wet and blurred / here is a deceptive season of wind and sand / do not wake me / I am still walking on foreign land.....

This poem describes the poet dreaming of returning to his hometown, imagining in the dream the scenes seen along the way while driving home. The wheels rush along a bumpy road, raising flying dust along the journey, and his long-separated village and family still require crossing mountains and bridges to be seen. The poet imagines the scene of meeting his wife, children, and elderly mother: “wife runs from under the tree / I think, the children have already grown up / on the steps, supporting the old mother looking toward me / then we silently embrace / asking each other with tearful eyes / then, we exchange simple words / shaking off foreign dust at our own doorway.” However, “it is easy to part, difficult to meet again”; all of this remains only imagination, because the poet repeatedly uses four instances of “I think,” reminding himself that these are merely illusions of the subconscious.

In times of war and chaos, the mainlanders who drifted to Taiwan mostly did not leave their homeland by choice, but were forced to embark on a journey of wandering, beginning an exploration of life and experiencing the loneliness and desolation of having no kin nearby. Their spirits were distorted by war, becoming wanderers who abandoned wives and children. In an unfamiliar context of lost family ties and cultural roots, they inwardly shrank into emotional “orphans.” Unless they fully realize that political belief is in fact the source of their suffering, and take responsibility for their choices and pay the corresponding cost—as Carol S. Pearson says: “People often become more fully self-aware only when they resolve what are sometimes unbearable oppositions. Through gradual decisions they understand themselves more clearly, attempting to reconcile care for others and responsibility for themselves. Maturity arises from a mixture of taking responsibility for one’s prior choices and using imagination to find ways to continue the journey” (Inner Hero, p. 89)—in other words, they must accept the consequences of their earlier choices. Only then can they identify with the Kuomintang’s strategy of “retreat” (or exile/flight). Such collective exile or large-scale migration caused by political opposition, in which one adapts to and integrates into this self-exiled group, continues to pursue growth within it, achieves self-identification, and finds one’s position through adjustment, thus continuing the journey of exploration.

Regarding this self-exile under political belief, Zheng Chouyu makes a more explicit statement in another poem from the same period, “Spring God”:

“Who hears the sound of the door closing / and who hears the whisper between Spring God and Death God? / A cruel transaction is taking place / we have already been written into a contract of servitude / of course, they have paid their years / the material of spring is time, forever exchanged, never given.”

He says that his generation has already been written into a contract of servitude by politicians, forced to embark on a journey of exile. The situation and mentality of each wanderer who has experienced war are similar to his: “I know that on nights of great storms / I curl up like a broken-shelled snail” (“Song of Freedom”). In such turbulent times, many people experience humiliating fates, like snails curled up in dark corners of reality, living days without sight of future or hope.

Zheng Chouyu’s travel poems, within limited length, are capable of simultaneously narrating, describing scenery, and expressing emotion. Although they are not his most widely celebrated works, they are among those in which he invests the greatest effort. These travel poems mostly arise from a shared foundation of “nostalgia.” If classified by scene depiction, one part takes Taiwan as its setting, such as “Beitou Valley,” “Harbor Side Chant,” “Chiayi,” “Zuoying,” twenty poems in the ninth collection “Records of the Five Great Mountains,” “City of Basin” in the thirteenth collection, and “Return Visit to Yehliu Cape,” etc. Another part is presented through imagined journeys back to the homeland, such as “Travel Dream,” “Small Town Guest,” “Hemp Rope Hands,” etc. Even when using Taiwan as the scene, Zheng Chouyu still frequently lets the scenery evoke sorrow, revealing longing for the homeland: “Standing lightly in the southern entrance hall, rain is falling away / on the walls of the Tropic of Cancer, shivering and resting / small clouds from the north, in rows and lines / hurriedly die, and then you step across / that flowing water, your footprints pass through many, many names” (“Chiayi”).

In the heart of a wanderer, deep affection for the homeland never fades. As an ancient poem says: “The horse from the north leans toward the northern wind; the bird from the south returns to the southern branch.” This precisely reflects the mentality of wanderers. However, facing the political reality of being unable to return home, they can only continue to drift abroad. Their hearts conceal sighs and regrets: “That wanderer who left his mother easily in youth / twenty years now, still sleeping by others’ windows / that wanderer afflicted with alcoholism and rheumatism...” (“Hemp Rope Hands”). People bound by chaotic times have nothing but dreams and memories; they have lost their once-beautiful time and the kinship of their homeland: “The wanderer not yet old returns home, heroic spirit for crossing the broken river / flying long hair, sounding into the roaring wind” (“Return Visit to Yehliu Cape”). For those exiled wanderers, what could be more painful than “rootlessness”? Only “homesickness,” in moments of memory triggered by scenery, constantly stirs every wandering heart: “How one wishes to step out, one step becomes homesickness / that beautiful homesickness, within reach” (“Boundary Hotel”). Especially when the poet stands at the border looking toward his homeland, the dilemma of “return or stay” becomes even more vividly expressed on the page.

(III) Frontier Soldiers or Passionate Youth

In the collection Borderland Suite, Zheng Chouyu takes the desert frontier and border regions beyond the Great Wilderness as his setting. Within the scope of memory, he constructs a series of poems characterized by frontier landscapes and local color. Poems such as “Ruined Fortress,” “Desert Inn,” “Shepherdess,” “Evening Visitor,” and “Small River” all belong to works from 1951. These poems present a bleak and desolate desert scene, entirely different from the Jiangnan waterside scenery with lyrical, ballad-like qualities found in the later On the Dream Land collection (three years afterward), such as “Mistake” and “Guest Comes to the Small Town.”

“Ruined Fortress”
The garrisoned men have already returned, leaving behind / the ruined fortress of the borderland / it can be seen that the grasslands of the nineteenth century / have now become a stretch of sand dunes… / the startled and empty arrow slits / iron nails that once hung war horns / the stone battlements of the watchtower worn smooth / by dusk and boots longing for return / ah, everything has grown old / everything is covered with the rust of wind and sand / the place where heroes tied their horses a hundred years ago / the place where warriors sharpened their swords a hundred years ago / here I dismount in sorrow / the lock of history has no key / my baggage carries no sword / give me a sonorous dream then / under moonlight, I pass down the mournful “General’s Command” / from the strings…

The entire poem presents a vast frontier vision. On the desolate expanse stands a ruined fortress left from a former dynasty. What meets the traveler’s eyes are broken towers, empty arrow slits, rusted nails, and smoothed battlements. The poet passes through this place and dismounts to rest. Moved by the scene, he uses imagination to traverse time and space. Through associative linkage, he recalls how a century ago frontier soldiers tied their horses, sharpened their swords, and defended the land against enemies. This poem is a typical narrative structure of “emotion arising from scenery.”

“Desert Inn”
Who is it who passes down this profession of poets / in the dusk hangs up a lamp / ah, they come / camels with fate hanging around their necks / travelers with loneliness contained in their eyes / who is it who hangs up this lamp / on the wilderness, a blurred home / smiling quietly… / there are places with pinewood fires and soft singing / there are places with roasted lamb and liquor / people exchange directions of wandering…

This poem depicts the scene of camel caravans traveling back and forth across the northern and southern deserts, or along poetic routes, resting at an unnamed post station during their journey. At dusk, as the sky darkens, the station lights a lamp to attract passing travelers. Those who stay for the night sit around fires of burning pine branches, eating meat and drinking wine freely. People from different directions temporarily gather together; after dawn, they once again go their separate ways. The poem reveals the wandering mentality of merchants and travelers—the solitude of those who set out alone on an adventurous journey and their sense of life’s impermanence. This is a chosen way of life: a self-imposed exile paid for with spiritual loneliness and physical wandering, so that in the journey of drifting, growth and transformation are difficult to achieve.

“Evening Visitor”
Who is it who rides toward this place / here there is upright cooking smoke / and sleepy camel bells / perhaps you are a lonely traveler from the desert / passionate and bright / a child of the border town / perhaps you carry exiled anger, lashes like eyebrows thrown downward / yet you have a soft whistle / softly— / lift the heavy dusk and let me light the lamp / like a watchful wild goose

This poem is narrated in the first person “I,” while a second person “you” also clearly exists as the addressed subject. The two are in a dialogic relationship, thus it belongs to a “dialogue form.” Through conversations between the old keeper of the station and various visitors, it recounts life in the desert frontier, mutually expressing inner feelings. Within the poem are vast wilderness, hurried journeys, and warm human connection.

“Summoning Souls,” written in 1964, and “The Inheritance of Revolution,” along with “Spring Suite,” can be inferred from Postscript to the Inheritance to be works from the mid-1960s onward. Both “Summoning Souls” and “The Inheritance of Revolution” are character-centered poems. “Summoning Souls” carries the subtitle “For the Tenth Anniversary of Yang Huan’s Death”; “The Inheritance of Revolution” uses the ten revolutionary attempts of Sun Yat-sen, the founding father of the Republic of China, as its narrative blueprint. The founding father’s biography forms the narrative axis, while the poet’s own sentiment as a displaced loyal subject and heroic martyr forms the thematic weave. The poem combines commentary and narration into a long structure, revealing an ambition of “writing history through poetry.” “Spring Suite” similarly portrays modern Chinese history from the late Qing revolutionary beginnings, through the Japanese invasion of the 1920s and the war of resistance, all the way to retreat to Taiwan—presenting a nation enduring repeated calamities under war.

In “The Inheritance of Revolution” and “Spring Suite,” the suffering of China in a turbulent era becomes the spatial setting. The poet bears witness to history with a weighty brush, expressing a strong sense of mission characteristic of passionate youth. Consider the following passages:

“That was an age in which blood nourished everything / the hearts of youth often blossomed for a slogan / for an ideology / in that age, young people’s hands were used for / publishing newspapers, throwing bombs, writing farewell notes—” (“The Inheritance of Revolution”)

“Then everyone crossed their own River Yi / when the pain of life and death passed through their mothers / farewell became another kind of bridge—” (“Spring Suite”)

“In an age when living past thirty was considered shameful / there were many such nights / walking into taverns in groups / writing death poems on coarse linen garments / there were many such nights / sitting close in debate, sighing with clasped arms / as if forging a nation like a burning craftsman / at that time, apart from blood, martyrs had nothing to rely on—” (“Spring Suite”)

Although these two works were produced in the context of the “anti-communist literature” dominant between the 1950s and 1970s, and are filled with strong nationalism, militaristic thinking, and patriotic doctrine, if one sets aside ideological politics, both poems in terms of language style, imagery selection, and rhythmic arrangement are clearly different from Zheng Chouyu’s earlier romantic, leisurely wanderer-like lyrical tone. They reveal a masculine, forceful dimension, and read with passionate intensity and emotional fervor.

The image of the passionate youth has in fact moved beyond the passive wanderer archetype of cultural rootlessness and developed into that of a “warrior.” However, such transformation was shaped by the ideological conditioning of a socially closed era. Society, through political slogans, constructed a false battlefield in which people of the time (including Zheng Chouyu) lived, making it impossible for them to rationally know what they were truly fighting for. Carol S. Pearson states: “The ‘warrior’ believes in that which gives them a certain hope and meaning in life, enabling them to walk tall and embrace truths that change the world” (Inner Hero, p.115). “Eliminate the Communist Bandits, recover the nation” was the “truth” shared by mainlanders drifting on Taiwan during that era (1950s–1970s), and most firmly believed it.

However, in terms of literary development, such an expansion of scale foreshadows a new stage and stylistic transformation. From Yen Ren Xing onward, Zheng Chouyu’s poetry increasingly becomes more profound, heavy, and penetrating.

(IV) Men of Pure Affection or Fickle Lovers

Poems with love as their theme have always been the most enchanting part of Zheng Chouyu’s work, such as “Qinxin,” “A Small Island,” “Longing,” “Rain Threads,” “Error,” “On the Dreamland,” “Memories of Wind and Rain,” “Farewell Song,” “Zhaocaili Protozoan,” “Collecting Shells,” “Sister Harbor,” “When the West Wind Passes,” “Mistress,” “Female Slave,” “Water Alley,” “Night Song,” “Grassland,” and so on. In these works, the poet sometimes appears as a man of pure affection, and sometimes as a fickle wandering lover:

1. The Man of Pure Affection

“Water Alley”

Surrounded on all sides by mountains too high, the clear sky appears
like a wash of blue on a window…
We often draw down the curtains of clouds
when it is overcast, and tassels of rain are drifting
I originally loved listening to the sound of the qing and the bell
but now I grieve for you in the changing weather of the small courtyard
Forget it
whether a lifetime’s fate is worth a thousand years of wisdom-root affinity
who let you and me meet
and meet in this small water alley like two fish

The emergence of emotion often begins with a shocking encounter. The poet says that he originally lived in a monastic emptiness, loving to hear the sound of the qing and the bell, living a life of desirelessness and purity in a monastery, but ever since he met “you,” he has involuntarily fallen into the three realms, and from then on there has been worry and attachment, yet the poet has no regret. In this poem, the protagonist’s image is that of a man of pure affection.

“A Small Island”

The small island where you live is what I am thinking of
there it belongs to the tropics, belongs to a green and lush country
on the shallow sands, schools of five-colored fish always rest
small birds jump and sound on the branches, like the rise and fall of piano keys
there the cliffs all love to gaze, draped with long vines like hair
there the grasslands all know how to wait, laid out with wildflowers like plates
there the sunlight bathing you is blue, the sea wind is green
thus your health is lush, and love is slow
the humor of clouds and the faint laughter of thunder
the dance music of the forest and the cold flowing song
the small island where you live I cannot fully describe
cannot describe how there midday sleep has a gentle earthquake
if I go there, I will carry my flute-staff
then I will be a shepherd boy and you a little sheep
or else, if I go there, I will become a firefly
using my entire life to light a lamp for you

When loving men and women are separated in two places, the waterweeds of longing naturally grow in their respective hearts. At the beginning of the story, the poet uses “imagined manifestation” to detach space-time from reality and imagines a lover living on a tropical island. What kind of island is it? The poet uses considerable writing to imagine the scenery of the island: a green country, five-colored fish resting on shallow beaches, birds joyfully jumping on branches like piano keys… The poet longs for the lover’s island and wishes to go there and stay together for life, but is unable to do so for some reason. Although they cannot meet, the poet still sincerely declares his vow of love and is willing to stay with the lover forever, unwavering in this feeling.

A man burdened by love often does not embark on a journey of self-exploration, because he is trapped in the role of protector. He feels responsibility not only toward children but also toward a seemingly fragile wife who cannot take care of herself. A man who truly loves his partner should strengthen his independence, competitiveness, and adventurousness. Pearson says: “Whenever men retreat from their journey because of women’s incompetence and dependence, they reinforce in the feminine psyche the image of the protector, while also making her appear useless.” (“Inner Hero: p.75”) In other words, men of pure affection are closer in temperament and values to the “orphan” and the “martyr.” They believe that in order to obtain love, one must compromise the true self, and may shorten or prematurely end their journey of growth (exploration) in order not to endanger certain relationships. Sometimes they fear that if they do not sacrifice themselves and treat others well, the beloved may be harmed. In certain situations, they even believe that if they truly become themselves completely, they will ultimately end up alone, friendless, and impoverished.

2. The Fickle Wandering Lover

The image of the “fickle wandering lover” repeatedly appears in Zheng Chouyu’s lyric poetry, becoming the central figure in the poems. Through the first-person “I” stance and tone of the protagonist, and through narrative modes of “monologue” (such as “Mistress”) or “dialogue” (such as “Error” and “Farewell Song”), the poet vividly portrays “I”’s personality, feelings, emotions, thoughts, and values. The “I” in these poems reveals romantic, free-spirited, impulsive, selfish, and other traits of an “egocentric personality,” and these traits are accepted and legitimized by traditional patriarchal male chauvinist values under the image of the “wanderer.”

“Error”

I passed through Jiangnan
that face waiting in the season like the blooming and falling of lotus flowers
the east wind does not come, the willow catkins of March do not fly
your heart is a small lonely city
like the stone streets facing dusk
footsteps do not ring, the spring curtains of March are not lifted, your heart is a small window tightly shut

my hoofbeats are a beautiful error
I am not the returning traveler, but a passerby……

In this poem “Error,” the poet appears in the posture of a “passerby,” yet adopts an omniscient narrative perspective, thus able to describe the woman waiting for her returning lover, whose infatuation deepens day after day and year after year, her appearance seeming to change with the blooming and falling of lotus flowers; and also able, while riding past this small stone city, to infer from the face of the woman looking out the window her longing and anticipation for a lover returning from afar.

The first two sections of this poem consist of seven lines in total. The poet carefully depicts the inner feelings of a “boudoir woman” behind the window in this stone city. From the literal wording of the poem, these are subjective conjectures by the “omniscient” narrator “I,” but readers may also interpret it differently: from the woman’s perspective, the sound of hoofbeats from the passing rider awakens her, and she believes the approaching sound may be her long-absent lover. She hastily opens the window to look out, only to discover that the rider is not her long-awaited beloved but a passing stranger, thus unable to conceal her disappointment and melancholy.

If we interpret this poem through the waiting and loss of the woman, its mood resembles Wang Changling’s “Lament of the Boudoir”:
“In the boudoir the young woman does not know sorrow…”

A fickle man may in fact be only a “false wanderer.” Pearson points out that the “false wanderer,” even if inclined toward wandering, will still obey the mode they believe in. When they feel love and respect through the role they perform while hiding their true self (which may contain many repressed desires), they can never truly feel loved; they only feel that their role is loved. In reality, they neither can be independent nor fully give love, nor can they calmly accept the love and care of others. Furthermore, their love may ultimately harm others, because such love is often coercive, possessive, controlling, and dependent. Their sense of self-identity comes from “possessing” (owning) a child, boyfriend, or girlfriend, and their needs must be satisfied in a specific way. Even if the call of the journey of exploration urges them to leave, the false “wanderer” still demands the partner remain by their side. (“Inner Hero: p.78”)

“Mistress”

In a small stone-paved city, there lives my mistress
and I leave nothing for her
only a patch of golden-thread chrysanthemums, and a tall window
perhaps, letting in a trace of the loneliness of the vast sky
perhaps… and golden-thread chrysanthemums are good at waiting
I think, loneliness and waiting are good for women
therefore, when I go, I always wear a blue robe
I want her to feel that it is a season, or
the coming of migratory birds
because I am not the kind of person who often returns home

A fickle man is a wanderer on the road of emotion. For women, what such men demand is only “pleasurable intimacy,” that is, starting from sensual pleasure and physiological satisfaction, without the slightest consideration for the other’s feelings. Moreover, due to a strong sense of autonomy, they unilaterally regard women as playthings and the female body as an instrument for releasing physical desire. In their hearts there is no sense of responsibility or care. Their autonomy makes them, in intimate relations with women, insist on retaining absolute control and choice. On the one hand, they do not believe that women dare to leave or betray them; on the other hand, they believe they can demand whatever they wish from their women, and at the same time, whenever possible, casually develop another intimate relationship with other women. And when they feel bored or weary of a certain intimate relationship, they immediately turn cold, deny all ties, and walk away without emotion.

In the poem “Mistress,” the male protagonist is a typical “fickle wanderer.” The “mistress” in the small stone city is like the wanderer’s captive, imprisoned in a life of loneliness, because the wanderer “leaves nothing for her / only a patch of golden-thread chrysanthemums, and a tall window,” and moreover, the wanderer subjectively believes that “golden-thread chrysanthemums are good at waiting / I think, loneliness and waiting are good for women,” thereby rationalizing his own possessive desire, claiming it is for her sake, so that she will not be unable to endure loneliness and become unfaithful. If we reverse the situation, we may imagine whether this “mistress,” imprisoned in the small stone city as a “kept woman in a golden house,” truly consents to such a secretive “intimate relationship.” In her innermost being, has she long been enveloped by a psychological shadow of “claustrophobia”? All of this deserves deeper exploration.

This kind of man with a wandering temperament is precisely the “false wanderer” described by Pearson. He has a strong sense of autonomy in love, and this autonomy manifests in desires such as “coercion, manipulation, possession.” Pearson believes that such wandering-type men like to infantilize women, never believing that women would dare leave them and abandon intimacy to choose independence. They want to keep their wives (editor’s note: here “mistress” may also replace the role of wife), and if not binding women physically or through pregnancy, at least prevent them from acquiring the skills and confidence needed to build their own careers. In this way, the wanderer continues to be served, while women, due to deep dependence on male colleagues, supervisors, or even subordinates’ care, would rather violate their own ethical beliefs and value judgments than risk choosing independence, thus being excluded from the “boys’ club.” (Inner Hero: p.79)

From “Error” and “Mistress,” the author observes how, in the ancient feudal patriarchal society of China, patriarchal ideology tightly controlled women’s personal freedom (including the freedom to choose an independent life), marital freedom, and governed the various relationships between the sexes: “active and passive,” “chooser and chosen,” “independence and dependence.” “Home” thus becomes a “cage” that imprisons women’s bodies and thoughts, as feminist scholar Professor Chen Yuling describes: “Home is the stage of traditional women’s activity, and also like an invisible cage, restricting their freedom, making them confined to the kitchen and cradle. In patriarchal culture, women’s destined roles are good daughters, virtuous wives and good mothers, obeying the orders of fathers and husbands and social behavioral norms. Women’s living space is limited to the ‘family’ under the shadow of father and husband’s power—this also symbolizes the ‘cage’ that seals women’s courage and growth.” (11)

Under patriarchal society, how both sexes perform gender roles is deeply analyzed by Pearson: “Traditional gender roles are one of the main fixations in our culture. The reason is that culture turns sex and love into artificially scarce commodities, which people must spend endless time trying to manipulate in order to obtain satisfaction. Education tells us that we must conform to certain images of femininity or masculinity in order to be loved and to be sexually attractive. However, as long as we are playing roles rather than exploring the journey of life, we can never feel loved, nor experience true intimate sexual relationships. Thus we may have many lovers, yet still feel empty, hungry, and greedy.” (Inner Hero: p.77) Indeed, if relationships between the sexes merely involve playing roles to meet the expectations of the other and building intimate sexual relations accordingly, while losing individuality and autonomy, such relationships cannot produce well-functioning interaction or achieve real balance.

Although a small number of avant-garde inclined younger generations shout slogans such as “bad men are loved by women,” “no sexual harassment, only sexual climax,” or “no desire for everlasting love, only one-night stands,” most women in fact do not like wandering-type men, because such men remain at the stage of “false wanderer.” They are clearly not choosing the journey of exploration for the sake of growth. Choosing independence (autonomy and selfhood) and maintaining good intimate relationships are, in our cultural cognition and social structure, often believed to be difficult to achieve simultaneously, so many men fear intimacy and choose independence, while women fear loneliness and choose intimacy. Pearson says: “Ironically, this choice causes both sides to fail to obtain what they truly want. First, because people want both. Second, it is impossible to have one without the other.” (Inner Hero: p.78)

Facing this dilemma of values, Pearson proposes a solution. First, she believes that “if we choose intimacy rather than independence, we cannot fully be ourselves in the relationship; we invest too much energy in maintaining it, merely ‘playing it safe,’ carefully performing roles, wondering why we feel so lonely. Conversely, if we choose independence, the desire for intimacy does not disappear.” (Inner Hero: p.79) Therefore, the more we are ourselves (independent), the less lonely we feel. Because a person who possesses the self does not feel loneliness. (Inner Hero: p.101)

The “wanderer,” risking loneliness and loss of love, still unconditionally chooses the self and the integrity of personality. This is the prerequisite for the wanderer to learn independence and growth through the journey of exploration, successfully transforming into a “hero,” and ultimately being able to be both autonomous and loving others: “Only at this time is it possible to both respect the other with compassion and also satisfy one’s own needs.” (Inner Hero: p.98–99)

(V) The Destitute Man in a Chaotic Age

Among Zheng Chouyu’s wandering figures, the most moving and deeply affecting poems are those of the “destitute man in a chaotic age,” such as “When the West Wind Passes,” “Drunken Stream Basin,” and “Journey.” In particular, “Journey,” set against a turbulent historical background, profoundly describes how a family is torn apart by war as an external force, leading to the tragic death of the pregnant wife—this is precisely a deep “reflection” of Zheng Chouyu’s adolescent experience of displacement.

This image of the “destitute man in a chaotic age,” who has endured the suffering and emotional vicissitudes of his era, often regresses or inwardly shrinks from the “wanderer archetype” to the “orphan archetype,” and after experiencing great joys and sorrows of life and death, his spirit is purified. Sometimes it expresses an elevated “innocent child” state of purity; or, “when the orphan seeks liberation from suffering, the ‘martyr’ embraces him, believing it can bring redemption.” (Inner Hero: p.138) From the martyr’s compassion and self-sacrifice, spiritual liberation is sought.

Pearson points out that human life is full of hardship and experiences of abandonment. When feelings of loneliness and abandonment increase, the “orphan archetype” personality traits are formed. In other words, orphan traits are learned from painful experiences. In the process of growth, “the orphan is a disappointed idealist, a disillusioned innocent. While the innocent believes that goodness and courage will be rewarded, the orphan knows that goodness and righteousness are not necessarily rewarded, and believes that in fact evil people often benefit.” And “when orphan traits fill our lives, the world appears hopeless. We are betrayed and abandoned by those who should save us. We are left in a place where only the weak, the sacrificed, and the powerful (those who sacrifice or ignore others) exist. Emotionally, the feeling of abandonment is like a baby crying in a cradle, who eventually stops crying after realizing no one will come, but remains internally painful and lonely. This experience sometimes brings a sense of rejection and isolation.” (The Twelve Archetypes That Influence Your Life: p.85–87)

(IV) The man who is pure in love or is fickle

Poems whose theme is love have always been the most captivating part of Zheng Chou-yu’s work, such as “Zither Heart,” “The Tiny Island,” “Longing,” “Rain Threads,” “Error,” “On Dreamland,” “Memories of Wind and Rain,” “Farewell,” “Paramecium,” “Collecting Shells,” “Sister Ports,” “When the West Wind Passes,” “Mistress,” “Female Slave,” “Water Alley,” “Night Song,” and “Grassland Plain,” among others. In these works, the poet sometimes appears in the image of a man pure in love, and sometimes appears as a fickle wanderer:

1. The man pure in love

“Water Alley”

The surrounding green mountains are too high, making the clear sky
like a window painted in blue……
We often draw shut the curtain of clouds
that is overcast, and drifting with rainy tassels

I originally loved to listen to the sound of bells and chimes
but now I am sorrowful for you in the courtyard’s changing weather

Forget it then
whether a lifetime’s fate is worth a thousand years of spiritual root

Who made you and me meet
and meet in this small water alley like two fish

The arising of emotion often begins with a startling encounter. The poet says he originally dwelt in a monastic emptiness, loving the sounds of bells and chimes, living a life of restrained desire and purified mind in a monastery-like existence. But since meeting “you,” he has involuntarily fallen into the three realms, and from then on has had worries and attachments, yet the poet has no regret. In this poem, the protagonist is the image of a man pure in love.

“The Tiny Island”

The tiny island where you live is what I miss
there it belongs to the tropics, belongs to a green country
on the shallow sand, there always rest schools of multicolored fish
birds jump and resound on branches, like the rise and fall of piano keys

The cliffs there all love to gaze, draped with long vines like hair
the grasslands there all are good at waiting, spread with wildflowers like plates

The sunlight bathing you there is blue, the sea breeze is green
thus your health is lush, and your love is gentle

The humor of clouds and the faint laughter of thunder
the dance music of forests and the cold flowing song

The tiny island where you live I cannot describe
I cannot depict how there the midday sleep has a slight earthquake

If I went there, I would bring my flute staff
then I would be a shepherd boy and you would be a lamb

Or else, if I went there, I would become a firefly
using my entire life to light a lamp for you

When lovers are separated in two places, the reeds of longing will naturally arise in their respective hearts. At the beginning of the story, the poet uses “imagined manifestation” to detach space and time from reality, imagining the lover living on a tropical island. What kind of island is it? The poet uses a great deal of description to imagine its scenery: a green country, shallow shores where schools of colorful fish rest, birds joyfully jumping on branches like piano keys… The poet longs for the lover’s island and deeply wishes to go there and live with the lover until old age, yet for some reason cannot make the journey. Although unable to meet, the poet still sincerely declares his vow of love, willing to remain together with the lover forever, unwavering in this feeling.

A man entangled in emotion often does not embark on a journey of self-exploration, because he is trapped in the role of protector. Such men not only feel responsible for children, but also feel responsible for wives who appear fragile and unable to take care of themselves. A man who truly loves his partner should strengthen his own independence, competitiveness, and adventurous aspect. Pearson says: “Whenever men retreat from their own journey because of women’s incapacity and dependence, they thereby reinforce in women the self-image of the protector, while also making her appear useless.” (Inner Hero, p.75)

In other words, the pure-in-love male temperament and values are closer to the “orphan” and “martyr” archetypes. They believe that in order to obtain love, they must compromise their true selves, and may shorten or prematurely end their journey of growth (exploration) in order not to endanger certain relationships. At times they fear that if they do not sacrifice themselves and treat others well, their lovers may be harmed. In some situations, they even believe that if they truly become themselves, they will end up lonely, friendless, and poor.

1. The fickle wanderer

The image of the “fickle wanderer” repeatedly appears in Zheng Chou-yu’s lyrical poetry as the protagonist figure. Through the first-person “I” posture and tone of the protagonist, and through narrative forms such as “monologue” (as in “Mistress”) or “dialogue” (as in “Error” and “Farewell”), the character’s personality, feelings, emotions, thoughts, and values are vividly depicted. This “I” in the poem reveals romanticism, ease, spontaneity, selfishness, and other “self-centered” personality traits, and these traits are accepted and recognized by the traditional patriarchal male chauvinist value system as the image of a “wanderer”:

“Error”

I pass through Jiangnan
that face waiting in the season is like the blooming and falling of a lotus

The east wind does not come, the willow catkins of March do not fly
your heart is like a small lonely city

like a green stone street facing dusk
footsteps do not sound, the spring curtain of March is not lifted your heart is like a small window tightly shut

My horse’s hooves are a beautiful mistake
I am not the returning one, I am merely a passerby……

In the story of “Error,” the poet appears as a “passerby,” yet adopts a controlling “omniscient perspective” in narration, thus able to speak of the longing woman waiting for her returning lover, whose beauty fades day after day, year after year, like the blooming and falling of lotus flowers. And as he rides quickly past this small green-stone town, he can infer from the expression of the woman peeking from the window her longing gaze, originally waiting for a lover returning from afar.

The first two sections of the poem consist of seven lines in total. The poet carefully depicts the “boudoir woman” inside a house in this green-stone town, describing her emotional state of waiting. On the literal level of the poem, these are subjective conjectures made by the “I” narrator with omniscient stance. However, readers may also reverse the perspective: from the viewpoint of the woman, when the sound of horse hooves passing by disturbs her, she may believe that the approaching rider is her long-lost lover, so she hurriedly opens the window to look out, only to discover that the visitor is a stranger passing by, and she cannot conceal her disappointment and melancholy. If one interprets the poem from this emotional state of waiting and loss, it resembles Tang poet Wang Changling’s “Boudoir Grievance”: “She does not know sorrow in the boudoir; in spring she dresses and goes up the green tower. Suddenly seeing willow-green at the roadside, she regrets sending her husband in pursuit of titles.”

The fickle man is very likely a “false wanderer.” Pearson points out that the “false wanderer,” even if inclined toward wandering, still submits to the form they recognize. When they feel love and respect from the role they perform, and hide their true selves (which may contain many repressed desires), they can never truly feel loved; they only feel that their role is loved. In reality, they cannot independently be themselves, and therefore cannot give much love, nor can they calmly accept the love and care of others. Moreover, their love may ultimately harm others, because such love is often coercive, possessive, controlling, and dependent. Their sense of identity comes from “possessing” (owning) a child, boyfriend, or girlfriend; their needs must be satisfied in a particular way. Even when the journey of exploration calls them away, the false “wanderer” still requires the partner to remain by their side.

V. Conclusion: the union of wanderer sentiment and knight-errant spirit

The reason why Zheng Chou-yu’s poetry has been able to become widely loved and remain popular to this day is that, in terms of style, beyond the free and unrestrained wanderer sentiment found in his poems, there is also the inherited legacy of ancient sword-wielding knight-errants’ spontaneous and sincere spirit, which readers can carefully savor in his “Borderland Suite” and “Yanyun Collection.”

In terms of creative technique, he is able to fuse Western modernist expressive methods with his own grounding in Chinese classical poetry into a single furnace, unfolding his poems with a near-colloquial spoken rhythm, while at the same time endowing the poetic text with considerable narrativity (narrative structure), making him stand out strikingly and brilliantly among poets of his generation.

As a long-term reader and admirer of Zheng Chou-yu’s poetry, many young people of the fifth and sixth generations may, like the author, have grown up under the beautiful reverie of the sound of horse hooves of “da-da.” Zheng Chou-yu’s poetry moved our generation; although we did not experience real war and chaos, we love the soft chanting tone in his poems, which feels like a naturally beautiful voice of heaven. We are even more fascinated by the wanderer sentiment and knight-errant spirit in his poetry, which constitute the most romantic utopia in our minds.

Notes

1: see “Poets Always Have a Feeling of Being Loved,” an article based on an interview conducted by Xinhua News Agency reporter Chen Min with the renowned “wanderer poet” and Yale University professor Zheng Chou-yu, December 25, 2002.

2: Cai Yuan-huang, From Romanticism to Postmodernism, Taipei: Athena Publishing, 1992, p.230.

3: Carol S. Pearson, Ph.D., The Heroes Within, translated by Hsu Shen-shu, Chu Kan-ju, and Kung Cho-chun, Taipei: Lichih Publishing, 2000, p.72.

4: Yang Mu, “A Legend of Zheng Chou-yu,” in Modern Poetry Reading Guide: Criticism Volume, Taipei: Hometown Publishing, 1979, p.213.

5: same as note 5, p.217. Yang Mu considers Xu Zhimo’s “Farewell Again to Cambridge” to rely on the harmony of rhyme and the parallel antithetical structure of regulated verse, forming an interplay of sound and rhyme, belonging to “variation within formal regulation,” whereas Zheng Chou-yu’s “Farewell” is “regulation within variation.”

6: related discussion can be found in Professor Chen Qi-you (Du Ye), “A Poetic Letter from Zheng Chou-yu,” which states: “This is a short poem written using symbolism and contrast. ‘Sea’ in this poem symbolizes drifting and wandering, while ‘mountain’ symbolizes rest and stability; these two images form a strong contrast…,” included in Du Ye on Modern Poetry, Taipei: Liming Cultural Publishing, 1983.

7: Huang Qing-xuan, Rhetoric, p.231, Taipei: Sanmin Book Co., 1983.

8: Cai Yuan-huang, “Major Terms of New Criticism,” in From Romanticism to Postmodernism, Taipei: Athena Publishing, 1992, p.132.

9: Zhang Han-liang, introductory reading of “Border Hotel,” in Modern Poetry Reading Guide I, p.141, Taipei: Hometown Publishing, November 1979 first edition.

10: Professor Chen Yu-ling, “Chapter 3: The Patriarchal Home—Section 4: Women in the Cage, Part 1: The Theory of Claustrophobia,” in Searching for the Absent Woman in History, Taipei: Nanhua Management College, p.98.

11: same as note 10, p.97.

Main bibliography

[1] The Heroes Within, Carol S. Pearson, Ph.D.; translated by Hsu Shen-shu, Chu Kan-ju, and Kung Cho-chun. Taipei: Lichih Cultural Enterprise Co., Ltd., first edition, second printing, July 2000.

[2] Awakening the Heroes Within, Carol S. Pearson, Ph.D.; translated by Zhang Lan-xin. Taipei: Life Potential Cultural Enterprise Co., Ltd., first edition, third printing, October 2000.