Wine Cannot Wash Away Sorrow

By Jiang Chun-hui

Men may stretch out their hands and cry, "Time, stop!" But they will still be left with only its bare branches and a few scraps of red leaves clinging to their fingers.

Ruby liquid and crystal cups;
Drops of wine flowing like red pearls.
Delicate tears o'ersprinkle the sumptuous meal;
Sweet breezes embrace silken curtains.
Dragon flute and turtle drum;
Beautiful songs, graceful dances.
Youth is but a day hurrying by;

Like blossoms raining down from the peach tree.
Better to get drunk every day,
For wine never reached Liu Ling's grave!

Li He was an old Chinese poet who seemed to value time more than anything else. Even as a young man he was already famous and his name has constantly been listed among the greatest literary figures. Nevertheless, Li spent most of his life in poverty and he was only 27 when he died. Among his poems, one frequently comes upon lines like "The moon is cold and the sun is hot; and life is short", "A thousand years have gone by like a galloping horse", expressing his anxiety and frustration in the search for eternal life. This is true in the poem quoted above, a poem supposedly describing a magnificent banquet and yet revealing the poet's despair in the face of death.

Words like crystal, ruby and pearl reflect the lavishness of the banquet with its rich wines. Then come sumptuous meal and silky curtains, evoking and describing the glorious setting of the party. But what is the purpose behind all this luxury? Is it for fun? for pleasure? As we move on, we begin to feel the accelerating rhythm of the party: Dragon flute and turtle drum; Beautiful songs, graceful dances. The series of short stanzas echo the rapid tempo of the music, leaving the audience little time to watch and listen. So this is no longer an ordinary dinner party; it is party madness gone to extremes!

Is tomorrow the end of the world? No. Youth is a day hurrying by; Like blossoms raining down from the peach tree. Yes, youth is beautiful and yet it hurries by. Have you experienced this sight of blossoms raining down in a peach garden? It is indeed a beautiful spectacle. But every moment of its beauty is paid for by death. What an extravagant beauty! Men may stretch out their hands and cry, "Time, stop!" But all that remains are its bare branches and some scraps of red leaves clinging between their fingers. In the downpour of the blossoms and the shadows of twilight, the accelerated tempo of the music symbolizes the scurrying steps of those trying to catch up with time. To the steady and ruthless rhythm of time, the wine lingering on their lips starts to turn sour.

So how should we act, then? the poet goes on to ask the question that countless people have asked over thousands of years - should we build ourselves a great career and grab a place in the history books? But how did all the great emperors fare? By special astuteness and ability they may have established their dynasties and scaled the pinnacles of political power, but only to discover that they still could not save themselves from the rhythm of time. So they squandered all their resources on the search for the elixir of life. And of course there was none. Legend has it that one emperor's coffin burst open and his dead body ascended to heaven in a cloud. This, of course, is not true. When another emperor died they had to use large quantities of abalone to quench the smell of his dead corpse.

All the searches for fame and longevity come to nothing. So the poet says: "Fine, then. Let's indulge ourselves in drinking and partying, because life is short. Let's just get drunk so that we can put our sorrows to rest. After all, no wine ever reached Liu Ling's grave". But can drink really put our sorrows to rest? Liu Ling often got drunk, but did he ever manage to escape from sorrow? Why did he never wake up? He seemed to be speaking in grand style when he told his servants to follow him around with a shovel, ready to bury him when he died. But did he really not care about death? If he really didn't care, then why was he so anxious about whether he was buried or not?

We seem to have stepped out into ultimate despair. Time continues to push us forward. Our quest for fame is like a reflection of the moon in a pond and our search for pleasure is like chasing flying clouds. Some may say that life is like the morning dew. But morning dews don't last. Others say, don't even bother because all parties must come to an end. If our allotted span is one hundred years, then why should we bother searching for eternity? Despite this, behind all the jollity of a cozy family dinner, or as you reach heights of happiness or contentment under the tranquillity of a star-laden midnight sky, do you ever feel that deep in your soul there is an emptiness that you would like to fill with eternity?

The author is a graduate student in the Chemistry Department at Stanford.