Wen Yiduo: End of Days (From Chinese)

End of Days

By Wén Yīduō

Translated by A.Z. Foreman 

     Dew sobs in the choked waterpipes' bamboo. 

Green plantain tongues lick at the window like a bone.

    As chalky white walls back away from me

The room is now too huge for me to fill alone.

     I light a firepit up in my heart's chamber.

Waiting for my guest from afar, I hush and brood

     feeding the flame with telltale turds of rats.*

A mottled scaly snakeskin is my kindlewood. 

     The cock crows hurry. Ash heaps in the pit. 

A cold dark wind glances my mouth in one soft blow

     and there's my visitor before my eyes.

I close my eyes at last to follow him and go.

*The original reads literally "spider silk/webs and rat turds", a play on 蛛絲鼠跡 "spider webs and rat traces" which carries the idiomatic meaning of "subtle clues". 

The Original:

末日

聞一多

露水在筧筒裏哽咽着，
芭蕉的綠舌頭舐着玻璃窗，
四圍的堊壁都往後退，
我一人填不滿偌大一間房。

我心房裏燒上一盆火，
靜候着一個遠道的客人來，
我用蛛絲鼠矢餵火盆，
我又用花蛇的麟甲代劈柴。

雞聲直催，盆裏一堆灰，
一股陰風偷來摸着我的口，
原來客人就在我眼前，
我眼皮一閉，就跟着客人走。

Wen Yiduo: Silent Night (From Chinese)

This poem, never published in Wen's lifetime, explores the conflict of a dedicated family man who feels himself called to take risks for his country and for the larger society to which he cannot help but belong. It has been published with two different titles "Heartbeats" and "Silent Night". The latter alludes to a very famous Tang poem by Li Bai whose theme is rather germane.

Silent Night 

By Wen Yiduo

Translated by A.Z. Foreman

This lamp and these four walls bright with its bleach,

this desk and chair like faithful friends in reach,

this paper fragrance of old books beside

my darling teacup white as a chaste bride,

my young son nursing at his mother's breast,

my elder son whose snores announce good health and rest...

This eerie silent night. This rounded peace. These notes

of a thanksgiving hymn swell in my throat

to crack into a cursing diatribe.

No, silent night. I can't — won't take your bribe.

Who can enjoy a peace between four walls in here,

when his world reaches out to real frontiers?

These walls cannot block out the blast of war.

How can they halt my heart pounding? What for?

Better to choke my mouth with mud and sand

than croon the joy or grief of just one man.

Better lend mice my skull to burrow through

and feed this bag of flesh to maggots too,

if for a book of verse, a glass of wine and slight

comfort tick-tocking through a silent night

I fall deaf to my neighbors as they moan,

blind to those orphaned, widowed, shivering alone,

to men twitched dead in trenches, to madmen who chew

their beds, and all the horrors that life grinds us through.

Oh no, good fortune. I can't take your bribe.

My world is not what these walls circumscribe.

Just hear the gunfire! Death is roaring, reaving.

Silent night, how could you keep my heart from heaving?  

The Original:

靜夜

這燈光，這燈光漂白了四壁；
這賢良的棹椅，朋友似的親密；
這古書的紙香一陣陣的襲來；
要好的茶杯貞女一般潔白；
受哺的小兒接呷在母親懷裏，
鼾聲報道我大兒康健的消息……
這神秘的靜夜，這渾圓的和平，
我喉嚨裏顫動著感謝的歌聲。
但是歌聲馬上又變成了詛咒，
靜夜！我不能，不能受你的賄賂。
誰希罕你這牆內尺方的和平！
我的世界還有遼闊的邊境。
這四牆既隔不斷戰爭的喧囂，
你有什麼方法禁止我的心跳？
最好是讓這口裏塞滿了沙泥，
如其它只會唱著個人的休戚！
最好是讓這頭顱給田鼠掘洞，
讓這一團血肉也去餵著屍蟲，
如果只是為了一盃酒，一本詩
靜夜裏鐘擺搖來的一片閒適，
就聽不見了你們四鄰的呻吟，
看不見寡婦孤兒抖顫的身影，
戰壕裏的症攣，瘋人咬著病褟，
和各種慘劇在生活的磨子下。
幸福！我如今不能受你的私賄，
我的世界不在這尺方的牆內。
聽！又是一陣砲聲，死神在咆哮。
靜夜！你如何能禁止我的心跳？

Wen Yiduo: Dead Backwater (From Modern Chinese)

Deadwater

By Wén Yīduō
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Click to hear me recite the original in Chinese

This is a dead ditch rank with despair’s backwater.

A brisk wind can’t raise a ripple from its skin.

Why not junk some more scrap tin and copper here,

or dump your rotten dinner leftovers in.

Maybe the copper will turn to an emerald green,

and peach blossoms bloom out of the tin pots’ rust.

Then let the grease weave a layer of silk brocade

where germs brew a mist like twilit clouds at dusk.

Let the dead ditchwater ferment to green liquor

bubbling up floating pearls out of its white foam,

little pearls growing to bigger pearls in chuckles

that burst when liquor-raiding mosquitos come.

And so a dead ditch rank with despair’s backwater

can claim something lively, bright and all its own.

If the frogs here can’t handle the solitude

this stagnant muck can gurgle them up a tune!

This is a dead ditch rank with despair’s backwater.

No place for a Thing of Beauty in its juice.

Let’s just let Hellion Ugliness culture it

and see what kind of world it can produce.

The Original:

死水　　　　　　　　　Sǐshuǐ
聞一多　　　　　　　　Wén Yīduō

這是一溝絕望的死水，　Zhè shì yìgōu juéwàngde sǐshuǐ,
清風吹不起半點漪淪。　qīngfēng chuī bùqǐ bàndiǎn yìlún
不如多扔些破銅爛鐵，　Bùrú duō rēng xiē pòtóng làntiě,
爽性潑你的剩菜殘羹。　shuǎngxìng pō nǐde shèngcài cángēng.

也許銅的要綠成翡翠，　Yěxǔ tóngde yāo lǜ chéng fěicuì,
鐵罐上鏽出幾瓣桃花；　tiěguàn shàng xiù chū jǐ bàn táohuā;
再讓油膩織一層羅綺，　zài ràng yóunì zhī yì céng luōqǐ,
黴菌給他蒸出些雲霞。　méijūn gěi tā zhēng chū xiē yúnxiá.

讓死水酵成一溝綠酒，　Ràng sǐshuǐ jiàochéng yì gōu lǜjiǔ,
飄滿了珍珠似的白沫；　piāo mǎnle zhēnzhū shìde báimò;
小珠們笑聲變成大珠，　xiǎo zhūmen, xiàoshēng biànchéng dà zhū,
又被偷酒的花蚊咬破。　yòu bèi tōujiǔde huāwén yǎopò.

那麼一溝絕望的死水，　Nàme yì gōu juéwàngde sǐshuǐ,
也就誇得上幾分鮮明。　yějiù kuā déshàng jǐfēn xiānmíng.
如果青蛙耐不住寂寞，　Rúguǒ qīngwā nàibuzhù jìmò,
又算死水叫出了歌聲。　yòusuàn sǐshuǐ jiàochūle gēshēng.

這是一溝絕望的死水，　Zhè shì yì gōu juéwàngde sǐshuǐ,
這裡斷不是美的所在，　zhèlǐ duàn bùshì měide suǒzài,
不如讓給醜惡來開墾，　bùrú ràng géi chǒu'è lái kāikěn,
看他造出個什麼世界。　kàn tā zàochū gè shénme shìjiè.

Lady Bao Junhui: Moon Over Frontier Mountains (From Classical Chinese)

Moon Over Frontier Mountains
By Lady Bao Junhui
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Risen high — the moon of fall
Glows north on a Liaoyang¹ barricade
The border is far — the moon gleams farther
Ice-bows flash as winds invade
Soldiers gaze back — home beats at the heart
And war-steeds balk at the beat of a drum
The north wind grieves in the frontier grass
And barbarous sands hide hordes to come
Frost freezes the swordblade into the sheath
Wind wears the banners to bits on the plain
Oh someday— someday —to bow near the palace
And never hear camp-gongs clang again

¹: Liaoyang- a frontier town which has the distinction of being one of the most fiercely, gruesomely and perennially contested pieces of real estate in Chinese history.


The Original:
(Medieval Chinese transcribed using a system developed by David Branner)

Han Characters　 關山月　　 鮑君徽　 高高秋月明，　 北照遼陽城。　 塞迥光初滿，　 風多暈更生。　 徵人望鄉思，　 戰馬聞鼙驚。　 朔風悲邊草，　 胡沙暗虜營。　 霜凝匣中劍，　 風憊原上旌。　 早晚謁金闕，　 不聞刁斗聲。

Medieval Chinese　 kwan2a sran2b ngwat3a báu2 kwen3a hwi3a kau1 kau1 tshou3b ngwat3a meing3a pek1 tsyàu3 lau4 yang3 dzyeing3b sek1 ghwéing4 kwang1 tshruo3b mán1 pung3b te1 ghwèn3a kèing2a sreing2a treng3 nyen3b màng3 hang3 si3d tsyàn3b má2 men3a bei4 keing3a srok2 pung3b pi3cx pan4 tsháu1 ghuo1 sra2 àm1a lúo1 yweing3b srang3 ngeng3 ghap2b trung3b kàm3a pung3b bèi2b ngwan3a dzyàng3 tseing3b　 tsáu1 mán3a at3a kem3x khwat3a pet3a men3a tau4 tóu1 syeing3b

Modern Chinese　 Guān shān yuè　　 Bào Jūn hūi　　 Gāo gāo qiūyuè míng　　 Běizhào liáoyáng chéng　　 Sāi jiǒng guāng chū mǎn　　 Fēng duō yún gèngshēng　　 Zhēng rén wàng xiāngsī　　 Zhànmǎ wén pí jīng　　 Shuòfēng bēi biān cǎo　　 Hú shā àn lǔ yíng　　 Shuāng níng xiá zhōng jiàn　　 Fēng bèi yuán shàng jīng　　 Zǎowǎn yèjīn què　　 Bù wén diāodǒushēng

Anonymous: "Waiting on Him: A Dunhuang Song" (From Chinese)

A popular song from the mid-Tang dynasty, from a collection recovered in a scroll-cave at Dunhuang. Unlike most Song verse in this genre in the early period (but like most other lyrics in the peculiar collection it is taken from, the 雲謠集) this lyric appears to have been actually composed by a woman, rather than by a man in a woman's voice.

Waiting On Him (To the tune of "Bowing to the Moon")
By Anonymous
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Off to another land my wayward man has gone　
 　But now the new year has well-nigh come
And he hasn't made it home　
 　I hate his love that runs like water　
So reckless and so ready to roam　
He couldn't care less for home　
　Beneath the flowers I turn and pray
 　To the powers of heaven and earth and say 
　　Till this very day
He has left me in this empty room alone　

 I see above me the blues of heaven's dome
　I am sure the moon and stars and sun 　
Must know about my pain　
　I lean at the window-screen alone 　
　And let the tears come streaming down
　　On my gold-beaded silken gown
And cry away at unlucky fate　
 　And how messed up my karma has become
Still I pray I see his face　
 　And I swear I'll give him hell when he gets home


The Original:

拜新月

蕩子他州去　　
已經新歲未還歸
堪恨情如水　　
到處輙狂迷　　
不思家國　　　
花下遙指祝神明
直至于今　　　
拋妾獨守空閨　

上有宆蒼在　　
三光也合遙知　
倚帡幃坐　　　
淚流點滴　　　
金縷羅衣　　　
—自嗟薄命　　
緣業至于思　　
乞求待見面　　
誓辜伊　　　

Li Qingzhao: "A Cut of Plum" (From Classical Chinese)

To the tune "A Cut of Plum"
By Li Qingzhao
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Now fragrance of red lotus fades,    my mat feels autumn-blown.

    I loosen my gauze robe for bed,

    the boat I float in on my own.

Who's sent a lover's brocade letter    this way across the clouds?

    Skywriting geese return as moonlight

    fills the chill tower of one alone.

Flowers fall and scatter on their own    as waters run and drain.

    A singular longing links us in

    two places with one pointless pain.

This feeling clings and I can't find it    in me to put it out.

    It only falls out of my face

    to surface in the heart again.

The Original:

一剪梅
李清照

紅藕香殘玉簟秋。
輕解羅裳，
獨上蘭舟。
雲中誰寄錦書來？
雁字回時，
月滿西樓。

花自飄零水自流。
一種相思，
兩處閒愁。
此情無計可消除，
才下眉頭，
卻上心頭。

Bian Zhilin: Air Force Fighters (From Chinese)

Written some time between 1937 and 1940.

Air Force Fighters
Biàn Zhīlín
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

With lightning and with thunder
Defend the skies of light
Defend the clouds of white
Dark smudges come to plunder

Falcons of liberty
Linked earthward from the skies
To keep our country clear
You have sharp eyes

Lighter than feathers you fly
Weightier than Mount Tai
Freely in your duty and deadly arts
 
Immortals of the sky
Who in five minutes die
In a hundred million worrying hearts
 
Notes:

L9-10: The first two lines (which literally read "lighter than a wildgoose feather, heavier than Mt. Tai"), both proverbial idioms in Chinese, are an allusion to a passage from the famous Letter to Ren An by the Han dynasty historian Sīmǎ Qiān. The passage reads: a man may die but once, and whether death is to him as weighty as Mount Tai, or light as a goosefeather, depends on why he dies and what for. The most important thing is not to disgrace one's ancestors.

L11: literally "free and easy (carefree) within your responsibility." The "free and easy" is a callback to a chapter of Zhuangzi.


The Original:
 

空軍戰士　　　Kōngjūn Zhànjī
卞之琳　　　　Biàn Zhīlín

要保衛藍天，　Yào bǎowèi lántiān,
要保衛白雲，　yào bǎowèi báiyún,
不讓打污印，　bù ràng dǎ wū yìn,
靠你們雷電。　kào nǐmen léidiàn.

與大地相連，　Yǔ dàdì xiānglián,
自由的鷲鷹，　zìyóude jiùyīng,
要山河乾淨，　yào shānhé gānjìng,
你們有敏眼。　nǐmen yǒu mǐn yǎn.

也輕於鴻毛，　Yě qīng yú hóngmáo,
也重於泰山，　yě zhòng yú tàishān,
責任內消遙，　zérèn nèi xiāo yáo,

勞苦的人仙！　láokǔde rénxiān!
五分鐘死生，　Wǔ fēnzhōng sǐshēng,
千萬顆憂心！　qiānwàn kē yōuxīn!

Bian Zhilin: Road (From Chinese)

Road
By Biàn Zhīlín
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Ah roads oh prolongations of my footprints
Like tunes composed of print notes to a song
That, soundless or resounding, I play over
Like counting rosary beads — threading along

Past the pavilion-stop, the bridge and — stop!
Right here is where I lost something back then:
A tiny little notebook that contained
The addresses of how many real friends?

I can remember somewhere grasping my
Handful of worldly life at fullest flower;
Some ten or twenty paces on, it turned
Out to be nothing but one pretty flower.

Alright then. Bury it amid the weeds
With the silk sash. For all is vanity.  
Stars in the sky streak down as shooting stars;
The white ship's trail reverts into blue sea.

Notes: 

L8: 故舊 really means "old friend, friend of long standing" but I translate this as "real friend" because the implication is that these would be friends who stuck with him. Not ex-friends. How many friends remained of old times? The implication is not many.


L14: in Chinese this line reads literally "tired of 'holding a silk sash in vain'" and contains a classical quotation from a poem by Li Yu, the last ruler of the southern Tang, more competent as a poet than as a ruler. The lines being quoted, in their entirety, are 空持羅帶，回首恨依依 "holding a silk sash pointlessly, I look back with lingering regret." Li when he wrote this had been recently dethroned, and was surveying Nanking, depopulated after a year of siege, and now fallen to Taizong. Along with the passing of spring he has been lamenting the desolation of the town, still treasuring a time when he was possessed of a kingdom. The silk sash was a status symbol in Imperial China. One's station and success in life were displayed in the color and patterning of the sash, and in the sorts of ornaments and accessories one would wear on it. Li Yu's old sash would have been distinctively regal.

An expanded paraphrase of the sentiment behind the passage being quoted might be: "I cling to the trappings in which I continue to invest my identity, even though I intellectually know that it is all ephemeral, that I've lost what I once had, that things like this kingly sash are meaningless outside of a context now forever gone. Yet I go on obsessing over the past, plagued by nostalgia and regret, because that is the only way I am capable of existing. I understand all of this and still I do it. That is how hard it is to let go of the way things were. I keep this sash because of what it still means to me, reminding me of a time when it still meant something to others. I cannot fully reconcile myself to this change even as I know that, like the change of seasons, it is simply the way of things."

Ideas (drawn from Buddhism and Taoism) concerning self-alienation, and the fragmentation and illusory nature of a coherent self, inform quite a few of Biàn's poems.

The Original:


路　　　　　　　　　　Lù
卞之琳　　　　　　　　Biàn Zhīlín

路啊，足印的延長，　　lù wa, zú yìnde yáncháng,
如音調成於音符，　　　rú yīndiào chéng yú yīnfú,
無聲有聲我重弄，　　　wúshēng yǒushēng wǒ zhòng nòng,
像細數一串念珠。　　　xiàng xì shǔ yī huàn niànzhū.

穿過亭，穿過橋，停！　Chuānguò tíng, chuānguò qiáo, tíng!
這裡我丟過東西：　　　Zhèlǐ wǒ diūguò dōngxī:
一本小小的手冊，　　　Yīběn xiǎoxiǎode shǒucè,
多少故舊的住址。　　　duōshǎo gùjiùde zhùzhǐ.

記得在什麼地方　　　　Jìdé zài shénme dìfāng
我掏過一掬繁華，　　　wǒ tāoguò yījū fánhuá,
走了十步，二十步：　　zǒule shí bù, èrshí bù:
原來是一朵好花！　　　Yuánlái shì yī duǒhǎo huā!……

也罷，給埋在草里，　　Yěbà, gěimái zài cǎo lǐ,
既厭了空持羅帶。　　　jì yànle kōng chí luōdài.
天上星流為流星，　　　Tiānshàng xīng liú wèi liúxīng,
白船跡還諸藍海。　　　bái chuánjī huán zhū lánhǎi.

Zheng Min: Death of a Poet #2 (From Chinese)

From Death of a Poet (Poem 2 of 19)
By Zheng Min
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Songs never sung aloud
Dreams incompletely dreamt
stare down at me from the edge of a cloud
like migrant birds in fog's bewilderment

Here the primordial age is just beginning
but sans the dinosaur's vitality
history wanders lost in the confusion
spring will not arrive so easily

Take away the notes you did not sing
Take away your incompletely painted dream
On that side: sky 　and on the other: earth

Already the long long lines carrying
true feelings long ago washed clean
compose our story's sequel going forth

The Original:

没有唱出的歌　　　　　　　Méiyǒu chàng chūde gē
没有做完的梦　　　　　　　Méiyǒu zuò wánde mèng
在云端向我俯窥　　　　　　zài yúnduān xiàng wǒ fǔkuī  
候鸟样飞向迷茫　　　　　　hòuniǎo yàng fēi xiàng mímáng

这里洪荒正在开始　　　　　zhèlǐ hónghuāng zhèngzài kāishǐ
却没有恐龙的气概　　　　　què méiyǒu kǒnglóngde qìgài
历史在纷忙中走失　　　　　lìshǐ zài fēn mángzhōng zǒushī
春天不会轻易到来　　　　　chūntiān bú huì qīngyì dàolái

带走吧你没有唱出的音符　　dàizǒu ba nǐ méiyǒu chàngchūde yīnfú
带走吧你没有画完的梦境　　dàizǒu ba nǐ méiyǒu huàwánde mèngjìng
天的那边，地的那面　　　　tiān dì nàbiān dì dì nà miàn

已经有长长的从伍一　　　　yǐjīng yǒu zhǎngde cóng wǔyī
带着早已洗净的真情　　　　dài zhe zǎoyǐ xǐ jìngde zēngqíng
把我们的故事续编。　　　　bă wŏmende gùshì xùbiān

Zheng Min: Death of a Poet # 1 (From Chinese)

From Death of a Poet (Poem 1 of 19)
By Zheng Min
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Who is it, who is it who's
the one whose mighty fingers break
This winter day's narcissus, make
the white juice ooze

out of jade green and scallion-white stems?
Who is it, who is it
Who is it whose mighty fist
shattered this elegant antique vase to bits?

Who makes the juice of life
gush from the breast?
The narcissus is withering

Destruction of the illusions of a new wife
is the hand that makes a life
taking back a song with more to sing

The Original:

是谁，是谁　　　　　　Shì shéi, shì shéi
是谁的有力的手指　　　shì shéi de yǒulì de shóuzhǐ
折断这冬日的水仙　　　zhéduàn zhè dōngrì de shuǐxiān
让白色的汁液溢出　　　ràng báisè de zhīyè yìchū

翠绿的，葱白的茎条？　cuìlǜ de, cōngbái de jīng tiáo?
是谁，是谁　　　　　　Shì shéi, shì shéi
是谁的有力的拳头　　　shì shéi de yǒulì de quántóu
把这典雅的古瓶砸碎　　bǎ zhè diányǎ de gǔ píng zá suì

让生命的汁液　　　　　ràng shēngmìng de zhīyè
喷出他的胸膛　　　　　pēn chū tā de xiōngtáng
水仙枯萎　　　　　　　shuǐxiān kūwěi

新娘幻灭　　　　　　　xīnniáng huànmiè
是那创造生命的手掌　　shì nà chuàngzào shēngmìng de shóuzhǎng
又将没有唱完的歌索回　yòu jiāng méiyǒu chàng wán de gē suǒ huí

Zheng Min: One Glance (From Chinese)

One Glance
By Zheng Min
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Rembrandt: Young girl at a half open door


What's beautiful are those two shoulders sinking
Into shadows locking the orchard-rich chest
Only the radiant face appearing as a dream of a sudden
Corresponds to the slender fingers on the low gate, at rest

And the river of time bears off another leaf from the tree
From her half-lowered riddling eyes flows such a dazzling silence
Her unchangeable calm is headed for a limited life — as she
Casts one long-lived glance at this changeling world in a chance twilight

The Original:

一瞥
郑敏

优美的是那消失入阴影的双肩，
和闭锁着丰富如果园的胸膛
只有光辉的脸庞像一个梦的骤现
遥遥的呼应着歇在矮门上的手，纤长。

从日历的树上，时间的河又载走一片落叶
半垂的眸子，谜样，流露出昏眩的静默
不变的从容对于有限的生命也正是匆忙
在一个偶然的黄昏，她抛入多变的世界这长住的一瞥。


注：此诗有关荷兰画家伦伯朗的一幅画《门口的年轻女子》。

Wang Guowei: Lyrics to a Forgotten Tune (From Chinese)

Wang Guowei in the early 20th century realizing as he writes in the classical style, that what he's saying doesn't match what he's thinking. The traditional poetry once had a vital social function, served as a means of refined expression, and was normally taken to be non-fictional. Now it corresponds to no reality whatever. It's become a heap of clichés that don't align with the world he knows, an arabesque of refined wordgames.

Lyrics to a Forgotten Tune
Wang Guowei
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Does something real lie in the words　
　　　　　　　　　　to these new songs of yours?
To maiden heads such fancy phrases　
　　　　　　　　　　sound laughably soft-core*
"Lamplight o'er a broken heart..."　
　　　　　　　　　　just who'd you write that for?
Behind my desk I peer around 　
　　　　　　　　　　at recent works of mine
Then dim the lights and reckon out　
　　　　　　　　　　the joys of bygone times
All trivial affairs of the heart　
　　　　　　　　　　where not one line aligns

* This line is a pun about puns. The term 綺語 means either "ornate writing, fancy phrasing" or more euphemistically "smutty language, erotica." The term 胡盧 means "loud laughter" or "calabash, bottle gourd" (in this latter sense also written 葫蘆.) Calabash may be used to allude to the closed world of women, to various hidden forbidden delights, or to the vagina and the delights sequestered therein. It could be read to mean "ornate writing like this is just hilarious" or else something like "this kind of innuendo belongs between the sheets." To top it off 綺語 is also a homophone for 岐語 "double entendre"

The Original:


浣溪沙

本事新詞定有無，
這般綺語太胡盧。
燈前腸斷為誰書？
隱几窺君新製作，
背燈數妾舊歡愉。
區區情事總難符。

Anonymous: South of the Walls We Fought (From Chinese)

South of the Walls We Fought
Anonymous (Han-era)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

"South of the wall we fought　
North of the city we died　
Dead in the wastes unburied for crows to eat — we rot　

Call to the crows for us　
Say — cry for these strangers brave and true　
Dead in the wastes who go unburied　
Their rotting flesh has no escape from you" 　

The water is deep 　roiling and moiling
The reeds in darkness　 spread and sway 
Here fearless horsemen　 fought to the death
Their weary mounts　 still pace and neigh 

"They've built guardposts at the bridge　
Now the people can't go north　
And the people can't go south　
We want to be loyal — but how? 　
How can we harvest the grain　how can our master eat? 
We hoped to be loyal subjects　but what can we do now?" 

"I think of you — my faithful subjects　
My faithful men — how could I not?　
At dawn — you set off to attack　
Night fell — you never came back"　

The Original, with transcription of Late Han pronunciation:


戰城南　　　　　tɕanh dʑeŋ nǝm 
死郭北　　　　　siɁ kuɑk pək
野死不葬烏可食　jaɁ siɁ pu tsɑŋh Ɂɑ kʰɑiɁ ʑiǝk

為我謂烏　　　　wɑih ŋɑiɁ wǝs Ɂɑ
且為客豪　　　　tsʰiaɁ wɑih kʰak gɑu
野死諒不葬　　　jaɁ siɁ liɑŋh puh tsɑŋh
腐肉安能去子逃　puoɁ ɲuk Ɂɑn nəŋ kʰiɑh tsiəh dɑu

水深激激　　　　ɕuiɁ ɕim kǝk kǝk
蒲葦冥冥　　　　bɑ wuiɁ meŋ meŋ
梟騎戰鬥死　　　keu giɑih tɕanh toh siɁ
駑馬裴回鳴　　　nɑ maɁ pui ɣuəi mieŋ

梁築室　　　　　liɑŋ ʈuk ɕit 
何以南　　　　　gɑi jəɁ nəm 
何以北　　　　　gɑi jǝɁ pǝk
禾黍而穫君何食　guɑi ɕɑɁ ɲə ɣuɑk kun gɑi ʑiǝk
願為忠臣安可得　ŋionh wɑih ʈuŋ gin Ɂɑn kʰɑiɁ tək

思子良臣　　　　siə tsiəh liɑŋ gin
良臣誠可思　　　liɑŋ gin dʑeŋ kʰɑiɁ siə
朝行出攻　　　　ʈɑu gɑŋ tɕʰus koŋ
莫不夜歸　　　　mɑk pu jas kui

Du Fu: Staying the Night in a Riverside Villa (From Chinese)

Staying the Night in a Riverside Villa
By Du Fu
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Visible darkness　 grows up mountain paths
　I enter my study　 over River Gate
A wispy cloud　 lodged all night on cliff's edge
　the lonely moon　 atumble in senseless waves
A line of cranes　 flies past on a silent hunt
　a pack of wild dogs　 brawls violent over prey
I get no sleep　 mind worrying over war　
　I have no power　 to spare the world its fate 

The Original:

宿江邊閣
杜甫

暝色延山徑，
高齋次水門。
薄雲巖際宿，
孤月浪中翻。
鸛鶴追飛靜，
豺狼得食喧。
不眠憂戰伐，
無力正乾坤。

Du Fu: The Conscription (From Chinese)

Written in 759 during the height of the An Lushan rebellion. "Stonemoat" (Shíháo) is a village in Henan province. Press-gangs were combing the villages, looking for men who could be forced into military service to replace the imperial army's massive losses against An Lushan.

The Conscription
By Du Fu
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

So I stopped at sundown　to rest in Stonemoat Village
　They came in the night 　to collar more men for war
The old inn-keeper　slipped out over a wall
　While his elderly wife　went out to the front door
Such angry curses 　the pressgang officer bellowed
　Such pitiful tears　the woman sobbed away
I listened to her　proffer regretful pleas:
　I had three sons　all serving at posts in Yeh¹
One of my boys　 just told me in a letter
　The other two 　were killed in the attack
The one alive　 won't last on borrowed time
　The dead are gone 　dead boys do not come back 
There aren't any more　men left to this household
　Just my grandson　still nursing with his mother
My daughter cannot　leave him here just yet
　And a shredded skirt 　is all she has for cover 
I'm an old woman 　I know my strength is gone
　But please let me come 　tonight with your convoys
If you've urgent need 　in Heyang² I can be there
　In time to cook　 some breakfast for our boys
As night drew on 　all sounds of speaking stopped
　I thought I heard　a whimper being choked down
Rising at dawn　 to get back on the road 　
　I took my leave 　of the old man alone　

Notes:

¹ Yèchéng — city about 300 miles northeast of Stonemoat, where imperial forces had suffered a severe defeat at the hands of the rebels earlier in the year

² Héyáng — name of a place about 125 miles down the Yellow River from Stonemoat, and the site of an encampment for imperial forces that year.

The Original:

石壕吏

暮投石壕村，
有吏夜捉人。
老翁逾墻走，
老婦出門看。

吏呼一何怒，
婦啼一何苦。
聽婦前致詞：
三男鄴城戍，

一男附書至，
二男新戰死。
存者且偷生，
死者長已矣。

室中更無人，
惟有乳下孫。
有孫母未去，
出入無完裙。

老嫗力雖衰，
請從吏夜歸。
急應河陽役，
猶得備晨炊。

夜久語聲絕，
如聞泣幽咽。
天明登前途，
獨與老翁別。

Meng Jiao: Failing the Imperial Examination (From Chinese)

Meng Jiao had one of the most chronically sad lives a man of his privileged station could have, short of something like living in a warzone. He failed the examinations repeatedly (though he passed on the fourth attempt), lost his wife, had all of his sons die young, spent his life in embarrassingly low posts, and died completely unhappy. If you gave his life story to a fictional character, people would call it implausibly tragic. It shaped him, however, into something new as a poet, thanks in no small part to the tutelage of the sympathetic Han Yu who, though quite an asshole in some ways, was willing to push the envelope of language. He wrote things unlike anything anyone else had done. Many of his contemporaries found his deliberate harshness and turns of language to be rather weird. (Hell, I find him weird sometimes, and occasionally downright incomprehensible.) 

Failing the Imperial Examination
By Meng Jiao
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

It's hard for a dawn moon to keep up its light　　
　Hard on a sorrowing man are the things he feels
Who said that all things flourish come the spring?　　
　Could he not see the frost upon the leaves? 
The lordly eagle — his potency lost — falls ill 　　
　The little wren gets borrowed plumes to fly
Rejected once — and rejected once again　　
　The things I feel: like stab-wounds from a knife

The Original:

落第
孟郊

曉月難為光，
愁人難為腸。
誰言春物榮，
獨見葉上霜。
雕鶚失勢病，
鷦鷯假翼翔。
棄置復棄置，
情如刀劍傷。

Zhang Yanghao: Meditating on the Past at Tong Pass (From Chinese)

Meditation on the Past at Tong Pass
By Zhang Yanghao
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Peaks and ridges mass together
River breakers blast in wrath 　
In and out through river and hill 　
Goes the road through old Tong Pass　
I gaze at the western capital　
　All my thought distraught　　
This is the place that breaks the heart 　
　Where Han and Qin marched past
Palaces and towers and halls　
　All turned dirt at last　　
Dynasties rise　
　The people suffer
Dynasties fall　
　The people suffer



The Original, with transcribed Yuan Dynasty pronunciation:

山坡羊潼關懷古

峰巒如聚，　　　　　fuŋ lɔn ry dzỳ
波濤如怒，　　　　　pwɔ daw ry nù
山河表裏潼關路。　　ʂan ɣɔ pɛ́w lí duŋ kwan lù
望西都，　　　　　　wàŋ si tu 
意躊躇。　　　　　　ì dʐiw dʐy 
傷心秦漢經行處，　　ʂaŋ sim dzin xàn kjiŋ ɣjiŋ tʂʰý
宮闕萬間都做了土。　kyuŋ kyɛ̯' wàn kjan tu tsaw' lɛw tʰú
興，　　　　　　　　xjìŋ
百姓苦；　　　　　　paj' sìŋ kʰú
亡，　　　　　　　　waŋ
百姓苦！　　　　　　paj' sìŋ kʰu

Li Bai: Seeing a Friend Off (From Chinese)

Li Bai wrote this poem in 754 while saying goodbye to a good friend in Xuanzheng. The Shuiyang River still encircles what remains of the city's east wall.

Seeing a Friend Off
By Li Bai
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Beyond the north wall　 dark green mountains stretch  
　Round the east city　 the clear white river flows¹
Once we two 　have parted in this place
　Lone tumbleweed 　has thousands of miles to blow
A drifting cloud:　the mind of a traveler     　
　Sinking sun:　the mood of old friends going
We wave our hands　taking leave from here　
　Our hesitant horses 　in parting neigh and moan



Notes:
¹- Chinese cities were usually protected by two sets of walls: an inner one, made of stone, and an outer rampart made of rammed earth. Kept between these two was enough farmland to keep the town supplied with food in the event of a siege. It was customary for friends to say their goodbyes at the outer rampart.

The Original:

Han Characters　 送友人　 　 李白　　 青山橫北郭，　　 白水繞東城，　　 此地一為別，　　 孤蓬萬里征. 　　 浮雲遊子意，　 落日故人情，　　 揮手自茲去，　　 蕭蕭班馬鳴。

Medieval Chinese　 sùng1b ghóu3b nyen3b lí3d beik2a tsheing4 sran2b ghweing2a pek1 kwak1      beik2a sywí3c nyàu3 tung1b dzyeing3b tshí3b drì3c et3by ghwi3bx bat3bx kuo1 bung1b màn3a lí3d tsyeing3b bou3b ghwen3a you3b tsí3d ì3d lak1 nyet3b kùo1 nyen3b dzeing3b hwi3a syóu3b dzì3c tsi3d khùo3b sau4 sau4 pan2a má2 meing3a

Modern Chinese　 Sòng yǒurén　　 Libái.　　 Qīngshān héng běi guō,　　 Báishuǐ rào dōngchéng,　　 Cǐdì yī wéi bié,　　 Gū péng wàn lǐ zhēng;　　 Fúyún yóuzǐ yì,　　 Luòrì gùrén qíng,　　 Huīshǒu zì zī qù,　　 Xiāoxiāo bān mǎmíng.

Li Bai: Pouring Myself Drinks Alone By Moonlight (From Chinese)

Pouring Myself Drinks Alone By Moonlight
By Li Bai
Translated by A.Z. Foreman


Amid the flowers — a flask of wine　
　I pour alone — no company
I raise my cup to invite the moon　
　Then moon, my shadow and I are three
But no the moon knows not how to drink 　
　And my shadow does naught but follow me
Yet I quickly make friends of moon and shadow　
　Enjoy what spring there may yet be
I sing — the moon just maunders on　
　I dance —my shadow flails away
Still lucid — we share in common pleasure　
　Blind drunk — each goes his separate way
Let us join to roam beyond all cares　
　And meet afar in the Milky Way





The Original:
(Medieval Chinese transcribed using David Branner's lovely system)

Han Characters　 月下獨酌　 李白　 花間一壺酒， 　 獨酌無相親；　 舉杯邀明月， 　 對影成三人。　 月既不解飲， 　 影徒隨我身；　 暫伴月將影， 　 行樂須及春。　 我歌月徘徊，　 我舞影零亂；　 醒時同交歡，　 醉後各分散。　 永結無情遊，　 相期邈雲漢。

Medieval Chinese　 ngwat3a ghà2 duk1b tsyak3 lí3d beik2a hwa2 kan2b et3by ghuo1 tsóu3b duk1b tsyak3 muo3c sang3 tshen3b kúo3b pei1a au3y meing3a ngwat3a twèi1a éing3a dzyeing3b sam1b nyen3b ngwat3a kì3a pet3a ghèi2a ém3x éing3a duo1 zwi3b ngé1 syen3b dzàm1b bàn1 ngwat3a tsang3 éing3a gheing2a lak1 suo3c gep3x tshywen3b ngé1 ke1 ngwat3a bei1a ghwei1a ngé1 múo3c éing3a leing4 lwàn1 séing4 dzyi3d dung1b kau2 hwan1 tswì3c ghòu1 kak1 pen3a sàn1 wéing3a kat4 muo3c dzeing3b you3b sang3 gi3d mok2 wen3a hàn1

Modern Chinese　 Yuè xià dú zhuó　 Lǐ Bái　 Huā jiān yī hú jiǔ, 　 dú zhuó wú xiāngqīn;　 Jǔ bēi yāo míngyuè, 　 duì yǐng chéng sān rén.　 Yuè jì bù jiě yǐn, 　 yǐng tú suí wǒ shēn;　　 Zàn bàn yuè jiāng yǐng,　　 xínglè xū jí chūn.　 Wǒ gē yuè páihuái,　　 Wó wǔ yǐng língluàn;　 Xǐng shí tóng jiāo huān,　 Zuì hòu gè fēnsàn.　 Yǒng jié wúqíng yóu,　 Xiāngqī miǎo yúnhàn.

Zhang Rong: Poem of Parting (From Chinese)

Poem of Parting
By Zhang Rong
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

White clouds are gone　 away from the hills.
Pure breezes have paused　 beneath the pines.
You really want 　to taste parting's grief?
Climb a lone tower 　and watch the moon shine.

The Original:

別詩
張融

白雲山上盡
清風松下歇
欲識離人悲
孤臺見明月