Yuan Mei: Three Poems
Yuan Mei (1716-1799) was one of the few great poet scholars in Qing Dynasty that I love. Whenever poeple talk about Classical Chinese poetry, the names such as LI Po, DU Fu, Bo Juyi, Tao Yuanming, Su Shi would pop up into their minds, and for good reasons, too. For the dynasties that came after the greatest poem dynasty Tang, regulated verse appeared to be in the decline. However, the regulated poetry has always been the most respected genre in China, even with the popularity of lyrics (ci-poem) in Song Dynasty that followed Tang. Yuan Mei's poetry is sometimes very colloquial, and almost every object in the daily life could enter his poetry, such as chopsticks etc. He was influenced by Zen Buddhism, and the following poems may exemplify the point.
Passing by
Passing by the Green Creek, by chance,
Where spring water runs through the misty wilderness,
I noticed a fishing rod on the ground
And saw no one around.
偶过
偶过青溪上，濛濛野水春。
钓鱼竿在地，不见钓鱼人。
偶accidental 过pass by
偶accidental 过pass by青Green溪Creek上over
濛濛misty 野wide 水water 春spring
钓to fish with a hook鱼fish竿rod在 (be/exist) on地ground
不not 见see钓fishing鱼fishing 人man
Call on someone
That night, I tried to call on someone
in the mountain, under the thick moonlight.
I knocked on the gate,
no one seemed to be alarmed,
and only a crane answered.
访客
夜访山中客，濛濛月色凝。
敲门人未觉，仙鹤一声应。
访visit客guest
夜night访visit山mountain中amid客guest
濛濛misty月moon色color凝thickening
敲know门gate人man未not yet觉sense
仙immortal鹤crane一one 声sound应respond
The Window Pushed Open
All the night, rain and wind are charging hard,
And my brushwood door has been shut tight.
The mountain must have been missing me for too long,
For it pushes open the window, coming at my face.
推窗
连宵风雨恶，蓬户不轻开。
山似相思久，推窗扑面来。
推push窗window
连link宵night风wind雨rain恶evil
蓬brushwood户door不not轻easily开open
山mountain似seem相思miss/long for久long
推push窗window扑throw at面face来come
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Cheng Ying: Memory
Cheng Ying: Memory
Memory
by Cheng Ying tr. Fan Jinghua
Old women, do they recollect in the same way?
I’ve spent too much time remembering,
Not solely because life is boringly long—
I bring forth to my offspring what has been engraved on my body,
And what’s been written by the body, I deliver once and again
Till it frees itself through nerve-ends. At midday,
I pluck the berries of my hard work
To feed my diligent breasts;
As for the seeds of pain, I pick them out
And once every month I see them off to Lethe.
记忆
成婴
年老的女人，会这么回忆吗
我花费太多的时间，用以记忆
不尽然是生命冗长---
我将刻录到身体的，孕养给后代
身体所铭写的，一遍遍传送
直到逸出神经末梢。午间
我摘下辛勤劳获的浆果
喂养孜孜难倦的乳房
疼痛的籽实，拣择出来
每月一次，我亲自送往忘川
About the Author:
Cheng Ying, born in 1971 in Guangdong, is a researcher on architectural history and a documentary film director. She received her MA in architecture from Tsinghua University, focusing on the study of Confucian Temples and Schools. She has published a book of poetry Sitting on the Roof Beam. She now resides in Beijing.
成婴，71年生，广东人，获得硕士，主攻庙学，现居北京。建筑史研究者和纪录片导演，著有诗集《坐房梁》。
Memory
by Cheng Ying tr. Fan Jinghua
Old women, do they recollect in the same way?
I’ve spent too much time remembering,
Not solely because life is boringly long—
I bring forth to my offspring what has been engraved on my body,
And what’s been written by the body, I deliver once and again
Till it frees itself through nerve-ends. At midday,
I pluck the berries of my hard work
To feed my diligent breasts;
As for the seeds of pain, I pick them out
And once every month I see them off to Lethe.
记忆
成婴
年老的女人，会这么回忆吗
我花费太多的时间，用以记忆
不尽然是生命冗长---
我将刻录到身体的，孕养给后代
身体所铭写的，一遍遍传送
直到逸出神经末梢。午间
我摘下辛勤劳获的浆果
喂养孜孜难倦的乳房
疼痛的籽实，拣择出来
每月一次，我亲自送往忘川
About the Author:
Cheng Ying, born in 1971 in Guangdong, is a researcher on architectural history and a documentary film director. She received her MA in architecture from Tsinghua University, focusing on the study of Confucian Temples and Schools. She has published a book of poetry Sitting on the Roof Beam. She now resides in Beijing.
成婴，71年生，广东人，获得硕士，主攻庙学，现居北京。建筑史研究者和纪录片导演，著有诗集《坐房梁》。
Monday, February 21, 2011
Fan Jinghua: Self-Distanciation
Self-Distanciation
Pull me closer to rub off my desire for you, let me lean
Against your bubble; besiege me with those luscious Greek goddesses
Etched on the cold ground glass walls
Whitewash me with the paint of social conduct, layer upon layer, coating my
Self that has grown into my flesh and veins, until I am airtight
And bloated with the muzak of subliminal knowledge about the way of the world
My arms dare not open to let into my bosom
The lower fever of the surreality of your dream
This is also not geomantically auspicious for self-conservation
Blood-colored sunrays shower on the beach of your words and wishes
Untrodden, where I breeze-bathe, despairingly sad
And erect like a coconut tree arced toward the lonely sea
Shroud my faculty for feeling the wind, moonlight and the sound of the tide
Cast your spell, and feed me with lotus seeds and moly juice
Feb. 20, 2011
自离歌
别松手，拉我，柔韧地，让我贴着你的泡泡
搓掉我对你的欲望，在我四周竖起隔音的毛玻璃墙
把我关在丰腴的古希腊女神的蚀刻中间
用社会准则的油漆涂抹那长进了我筋脉与肌肉的自我
一层又一层地粉刷，直到我密不透风，我的内脏鼓胀
如气球，人世之道的背景音乐从意识之下潜入
我的双臂再也不必向你的梦境张开
不必让它超现实的低烧涌入我的胸怀
这也不符合风水自养的吉利
残阳如血，斜照在你言词与愿望的沙滩
这儿人迹罕至，我赤裸于风中，绝望而悲伤地挺起
犹如一棵椰子树向着独孤的大海倾斜
恳请你蒙蔽我感受海风、月光和潮音的能力
降下你的咒，喂我莲子和魔草汁
2011年2月21日
Pull me closer to rub off my desire for you, let me lean
Against your bubble; besiege me with those luscious Greek goddesses
Etched on the cold ground glass walls
Whitewash me with the paint of social conduct, layer upon layer, coating my
Self that has grown into my flesh and veins, until I am airtight
And bloated with the muzak of subliminal knowledge about the way of the world
My arms dare not open to let into my bosom
The lower fever of the surreality of your dream
This is also not geomantically auspicious for self-conservation
Blood-colored sunrays shower on the beach of your words and wishes
Untrodden, where I breeze-bathe, despairingly sad
And erect like a coconut tree arced toward the lonely sea
Shroud my faculty for feeling the wind, moonlight and the sound of the tide
Cast your spell, and feed me with lotus seeds and moly juice
Feb. 20, 2011
自离歌
别松手，拉我，柔韧地，让我贴着你的泡泡
搓掉我对你的欲望，在我四周竖起隔音的毛玻璃墙
把我关在丰腴的古希腊女神的蚀刻中间
用社会准则的油漆涂抹那长进了我筋脉与肌肉的自我
一层又一层地粉刷，直到我密不透风，我的内脏鼓胀
如气球，人世之道的背景音乐从意识之下潜入
我的双臂再也不必向你的梦境张开
不必让它超现实的低烧涌入我的胸怀
这也不符合风水自养的吉利
残阳如血，斜照在你言词与愿望的沙滩
这儿人迹罕至，我赤裸于风中，绝望而悲伤地挺起
犹如一棵椰子树向着独孤的大海倾斜
恳请你蒙蔽我感受海风、月光和潮音的能力
降下你的咒，喂我莲子和魔草汁
2011年2月21日
Friday, February 11, 2011
Fan Jinghua: Self Healing
Self-Healing
Winter’s quilt falls on the earth, an enshrouding safety,
And Heaven’s arch door is locked by two latches.
A silkworm coils up in the semi-darkness, glowing as silk strings.
Imaginary matchsticks do not shed wax tears of a candle,
They are melting the mound and creek under the cupping hands.
In the cave of metaphor, Platonic roses bloom on the bed,
Coldness still lingers outside the window, and a prolonged drought
Is temporarily relieved with the first snow that comes late.
The earth’s blue veins swell like cobra roots of banyans,
And the queen of the night has a pot of tea ready for the summer sunset
To fall and steal into a dusky yard where the apparition of a peach flower
Reminds a once down-and-outer of a maiden from his past.
Expectation since the harvest moon is scarring over, itchy,
But it is healing by itself under the quilt of the winter.
Feb. 11, 2011
自愈
冬日的大被是安全的，天的拱门
插上了钌铞，蚕宝宝雌伏
在黑暗中，发出如丝如弦的幽光
想象的火柴棒不滴烛泪，融化双手覆盖的
山丘和溪水，柏拉图的春花开在隐喻的洞穴
而窗外依旧清冷，干旱因一场迟来的初雪
得到暂时缓解，大地靛青的静脉如菩提树根
暗潮纠结，昙花已备好一壶茶
为配合夏夜潜入庭院而预演一次桃花魅影
秋收以来的期待开始结疤，痒，但正在痊愈
2011年2月11日
Winter’s quilt falls on the earth, an enshrouding safety,
And Heaven’s arch door is locked by two latches.
A silkworm coils up in the semi-darkness, glowing as silk strings.
Imaginary matchsticks do not shed wax tears of a candle,
They are melting the mound and creek under the cupping hands.
In the cave of metaphor, Platonic roses bloom on the bed,
Coldness still lingers outside the window, and a prolonged drought
Is temporarily relieved with the first snow that comes late.
The earth’s blue veins swell like cobra roots of banyans,
And the queen of the night has a pot of tea ready for the summer sunset
To fall and steal into a dusky yard where the apparition of a peach flower
Reminds a once down-and-outer of a maiden from his past.
Expectation since the harvest moon is scarring over, itchy,
But it is healing by itself under the quilt of the winter.
Feb. 11, 2011
自愈
冬日的大被是安全的，天的拱门
插上了钌铞，蚕宝宝雌伏
在黑暗中，发出如丝如弦的幽光
想象的火柴棒不滴烛泪，融化双手覆盖的
山丘和溪水，柏拉图的春花开在隐喻的洞穴
而窗外依旧清冷，干旱因一场迟来的初雪
得到暂时缓解，大地靛青的静脉如菩提树根
暗潮纠结，昙花已备好一壶茶
为配合夏夜潜入庭院而预演一次桃花魅影
秋收以来的期待开始结疤，痒，但正在痊愈
2011年2月11日
Friday, February 4, 2011
Plath: The Moon and the Yew Tree
Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 153
The Moon and the Yew Tree
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky—
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness—
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness—blackness and silence.
22 October 1961
普拉斯《诗全编》
第153首
月亮与紫杉
这是心智的光，冷，飘忽。
心智的树都是黑的。光，是蓝的。
青草将哀伤卸在我脚下，似乎我就是上帝，
刺扎着我的足踝，低诉它们的谦卑。
灵性的袅袅的雾霭居住在这个地方，
与我的屋子仅有一排墓石相隔。
我实在看不出还有什么地方可去。
月亮绝非一扇门。它自身便是一张脸，
像指关节一样白，而且不安到了极点。
它拖着大海，像拖着一宗黑暗的罪行；它很安静，
有着彻底绝望的圆型哈欠。我住在这儿。
每个礼拜天，钟声两次震惊天空——
八只巨大的舌头确认着耶稣复活。
到最后，它们肃穆洪亮地念出自己的名字。
那株紫杉直指夜空，呈现哥特式形状。
眼睛沿树向上，便会发现那轮月亮。
月亮是我母亲。她不像玛丽亚那样甜美。
她的蓝罩衣释放出小蝙蝠和猫头鹰。
我多么愿意相信温情——
那张模拟像的脸，因为烛光竟也和蔼，
还特别对我垂下它温柔的眼睛。
我已在堕落之途走得很远。云正在绽放
蓝色与神秘的花朵，挡住了星星的脸。
教堂内，圣人们将会全身蓝色，
借助脆弱的双脚，漂浮于冷冷的长椅之上，
他们的手与脸，因神圣而僵硬。
这一切，月亮什么都没看见。她是光秃的，野生的。
而紫杉的信息是一片玄黑——玄黑和沉默。
1961年10月22日
No. 153
The Moon and the Yew Tree
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky—
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness—
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness—blackness and silence.
22 October 1961
普拉斯《诗全编》
第153首
月亮与紫杉
这是心智的光，冷，飘忽。
心智的树都是黑的。光，是蓝的。
青草将哀伤卸在我脚下，似乎我就是上帝，
刺扎着我的足踝，低诉它们的谦卑。
灵性的袅袅的雾霭居住在这个地方，
与我的屋子仅有一排墓石相隔。
我实在看不出还有什么地方可去。
月亮绝非一扇门。它自身便是一张脸，
像指关节一样白，而且不安到了极点。
它拖着大海，像拖着一宗黑暗的罪行；它很安静，
有着彻底绝望的圆型哈欠。我住在这儿。
每个礼拜天，钟声两次震惊天空——
八只巨大的舌头确认着耶稣复活。
到最后，它们肃穆洪亮地念出自己的名字。
那株紫杉直指夜空，呈现哥特式形状。
眼睛沿树向上，便会发现那轮月亮。
月亮是我母亲。她不像玛丽亚那样甜美。
她的蓝罩衣释放出小蝙蝠和猫头鹰。
我多么愿意相信温情——
那张模拟像的脸，因为烛光竟也和蔼，
还特别对我垂下它温柔的眼睛。
我已在堕落之途走得很远。云正在绽放
蓝色与神秘的花朵，挡住了星星的脸。
教堂内，圣人们将会全身蓝色，
借助脆弱的双脚，漂浮于冷冷的长椅之上，
他们的手与脸，因神圣而僵硬。
这一切，月亮什么都没看见。她是光秃的，野生的。
而紫杉的信息是一片玄黑——玄黑和沉默。
1961年10月22日
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Mao Pang: Dawn of the New Year
Today is the Eve of Chinese New Year (Lunar New Year), and I translate one classic Chinese ci-poem (song lyrics) and wish everyone who comes to visit me here a happy and prosperous Year of the Rabbit (2011).
元日（玉楼春）[宋]毛滂
一年滴尽莲花漏，碧井屠苏沉冻酒。
晓寒料峭尚欺人，春态苗条先到柳。
佳人重劝千长寿，柏叶椒花芬翠袖。
醉乡深处少相知，只与东君偏故旧。
元primordial日day（玉jade楼tower春spring）
[宋song (dynasty)]毛Mao (surname) 滂Pang (given name)
一one 年year滴drip 尽over 莲lotus 花flower漏waterclock
碧bluish green 井well 屠苏a kind of herb沉sink冻iced酒wine
晓morning 寒chillness 料峭cold尚still 欺bully 人people
春spring 态manner 苗条slender 先first 到come 柳willow
佳beautiful人people 重once and again 劝urge 千thousand 长寿longevity
柏cypress叶leave椒pepper花flower 芬sweet 翠bright green袖sleeve
醉drunken 乡country 深deep处place 少few 相each other知know
只only与with东君East Lord (the Sun) 偏to lean故旧old friend
My translation:
Dawn of the New Year
(to the Tune of Spring Befalling the Jade Pavilion)
[Song Dynasty] Mao Pang (1061?-?)
Another year is dripping to its end on the Lotus Water-clock,
My favorite herbal wine kept deep in the green well.
While the cold winter air is still bullying people,
The spring has been badgering with the willows with its light manners.
My women urge me to drink more of the tonic,
Their bright-patterned sleeves fanning out its aroma of cypress and pepper.
In the realm of wine and poetry, I have few bosom friends,
And the sun may be the only visitor as if like my own kith and kin.
元日（玉楼春）[宋]毛滂
一年滴尽莲花漏，碧井屠苏沉冻酒。
晓寒料峭尚欺人，春态苗条先到柳。
佳人重劝千长寿，柏叶椒花芬翠袖。
醉乡深处少相知，只与东君偏故旧。
元primordial日day（玉jade楼tower春spring）
[宋song (dynasty)]毛Mao (surname) 滂Pang (given name)
一one 年year滴drip 尽over 莲lotus 花flower漏waterclock
碧bluish green 井well 屠苏a kind of herb沉sink冻iced酒wine
晓morning 寒chillness 料峭cold尚still 欺bully 人people
春spring 态manner 苗条slender 先first 到come 柳willow
佳beautiful人people 重once and again 劝urge 千thousand 长寿longevity
柏cypress叶leave椒pepper花flower 芬sweet 翠bright green袖sleeve
醉drunken 乡country 深deep处place 少few 相each other知know
只only与with东君East Lord (the Sun) 偏to lean故旧old friend
My translation:
Dawn of the New Year
(to the Tune of Spring Befalling the Jade Pavilion)
[Song Dynasty] Mao Pang (1061?-?)
Another year is dripping to its end on the Lotus Water-clock,
My favorite herbal wine kept deep in the green well.
While the cold winter air is still bullying people,
The spring has been badgering with the willows with its light manners.
My women urge me to drink more of the tonic,
Their bright-patterned sleeves fanning out its aroma of cypress and pepper.
In the realm of wine and poetry, I have few bosom friends,
And the sun may be the only visitor as if like my own kith and kin.
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