Author: Congyu

  Across the ages, the Sun, Moon, and stars have stirred the imagination and inspired poets and writers. Let us explore the poetry in the night sky—and the night sky in poetry.

“The Fisherman's Pride”
Li Qingzhao
The sky meets waves of cloud joined with the dawn mist; the River of Stars begins to turn, and a thousand sails dance.
My dreaming soul seems to return to Heaven's court. I hear Heaven speak, asking kindly where I am bound.
I answer that the road is long and daylight is fading; though I have studied poetry, my startling lines are of no use.
The great roc now rises on a wind of ninety thousand li. Wind, do not cease—carry my reed boat to the three immortal isles.

  When a poet known for restrained, delicate verse writes with grandeur and abandon, the result is a work as sweeping and ethereal as this one. “The River of Stars begins to turn, and a thousand sails dance”: just as the Sun and Moon rise in the east and set in the west, the stars appear to wheel across the sky as Earth rotates. Astronomers call this diurnal apparent motion. The magnificent star trails captured by astrophotographers are among its clearest expressions.

  The Tang poet Li Shangyin wrote of the same phenomenon:

“Chang'e”
Li Shangyin
Deep falls the candle's shadow on the mica screen; the Silver River sinks, and the morning star descends.
Chang'e must regret stealing the elixir, alone each night beneath the blue sea of heaven.

  Candlelight flickers across a screen as the Milky Way sets and the morning star fades. Chang’e stole the elixir of immortality, only to spend night after night alone beneath the endless blue sky. This poem, too, evokes diurnal apparent motion. Its “morning star” may be Venus, known in ancient China as Qiming when it appeared before sunrise. Venus is the planet that comes closest to Earth on average, and it is the brightest planet in the night sky. Another of its ancient names appears in this line:

Changeng and the waning Moon shine brightly, as though keeping each other company.

  The line comes from the first of Su Shi’s “Seven Poems in Response to Tao’s The Poor Scholar.” It pictures Venus beside a waning Moon after sunset. The ancients called Venus Taibai. Because it is an inferior planet, we can see it only before sunrise or after sunset. Rising with the dawn, it was Qiming; setting with the twilight, it was Changeng. The other planets visible to the naked eye also had ancient Chinese names: Mercury was Chenxing, Mars Yinghuo, Jupiter Suixing, and Saturn Zhenxing.

“Autumn Evening”
Du Mu
In the autumn glow of a silver candle, the painted screen feels cold; with a light silk fan, she chases fireflies.
The night beside the palace steps is cool as water; she lies watching the Cowherd and Weaver stars.

  A cool autumn night, clear as water: fireflies and stars make a delicate evening scene. Altair, known in Chinese astronomy as Hegu II, lies in the constellation Aquila. Vega, or Zhinü I, is the brightest star in Lyra. Together with Deneb in Cygnus, they form the Summer Triangle, gracing the nights of summer and early autumn alongside the brilliant Milky Way that runs through it.

  After taking in the vast starry sky, let us turn to the center of attention each Mid-Autumn Festival: the Moon. In the universally known “Prelude to Water Melody,” Su Shi reflects on life’s uncertainties and uses the Moon to express his sorrow at parting:

People meet joy and sorrow, parting and reunion; the Moon waxes bright or dark, full or incomplete. Since ancient times, nothing has ever been perfect. May we both live long, sharing the Moon's beauty though a thousand miles apart.

  Human life, like the Moon in its waxing and waning, is never perfect. The lunar phases are closely tied to the traditional Chinese calendar. A cycle begins with the new Moon, shuo, on the first day of the lunar month. It passes through first quarter to the full Moon, wang, on the fifteenth day, then through last quarter and back to shuo. This 29.5-day cycle is called a synodic month. Mid-Autumn is not the only traditional Chinese festival suited to moon-watching. Another appears in the following five-character regulated verse:

“At Lantern Festival,” to the Tune *Sheng Cha Zi*
Ouyang Xiu
On Lantern Night last year, the flower market shone as bright as day.
The Moon rose above the willow tips; we met after dusk.
On Lantern Night this year, the Moon and lanterns remain the same.
But the one I met last year is gone; tears soak the sleeves of my spring gown.

  On Lantern Festival night, the lanterns shine like day, and the Moon bears witness to a lovers’ meeting. Yet generations pass without end while the Moon above the river looks much the same from year to year. The jade disc remains, but the person who once admired it is gone; after all, “nothing has ever been perfect.” Even so, “may we both live long,”