I have been reading the poems of Li Qingzhao, a female poet who wrote in the 12th Century in the late Song dynasty. Li was adept at the Ci-Poem, which was originally a kind of melody tuned to folk music, but which later developed into a new form of written verse. Lines were of different lengths and the poems have a fixed number of (Chinese) characters conforming to strict meter and rhyme schemes.

She wrote many of these poems though only about 70 survive and she is renowned in China for her mastery of the form. Li's life was informed by a few shattering events which coloured her perspective. In 1127 the Northern Song fell to a Jin invasion and her family fled south. Two years later, her beloved husband died of typhoid fever. It is fair to say that she never really got over these losses, as the superb poem that follows only too amply shows.

Spring Ends.

The wind has subsided,
Faded all the flowers:
In the muddy earth
A lingering fragrance of petals.
Dusk falls. I'm in no mood to comb my hair.
Things remain, but all is lost
Now he's no more.
Tears choke my words.

I hear "Twin Brooks'" is still sweet
With the breath of spring.
How I'd, too, love to go for a row,
On a light skiff.
I only fear at "Twin Brooks" my grasshopper of a boat
Wouldn't be able to bear
Such a load of grief.

(Twin Brooks was a well-known beauty spot and resort at that time.)