Poems of Meng Jiao
Chu's blood is still wet on our clothes.
A thorny rainbow shines above its tomb.
Its treasure may be damaged but not its body.
I embrace its uncarved gem and await its return.
The more Tang poems I translate, the more I run across their affinity for the Chu Kingdom. And I slowly come to understand the resonances they feel, comparing Chu's tale to their own. But I still don't get it. I don't see why they identify so deeply with the Chu. And it's not just this or that Tang poet. It is more or less all of them, including the women, who certainly don't grasp the world identically with men. So what is it about the Chu that cuts across all differences in poet and propels itself onto the poem?