1. Moonlit Night on the Spring River
Tang Dynasty: Zhang Ruoxu
The spring river was in Lian Haiping, and the bright moon was born at sea.
I follow the waves for thousands of miles, where there is no moon on the riverside!
The river flows around Fangdian, and the moonlight shines on the flowers and forests like graupel.
the frost in the air doesn't fly, but you can't see it on the white sand.
there is no dust in the sky on the river, and there is a solitary moon wheel in the sky.
who saw the moon on the riverside? When did Jiang Yue take photos at the beginning of the year?
life is endless from generation to generation, and the moon looks similar every year.
I don't know who Jiang Yue is waiting for, but I see the Yangtze River sending water.
the white clouds are gone, and the green maple is hard to worry about.
who's boating tonight? Where do you miss the bright moon building?
Poor people wander around the upstairs and the moon, so they should leave people to make up the mirror table.
The curtain of Yuhu couldn't be rolled up, but it was brushed back on the anvil.
at this time, I don't know each other, and I hope that China will shine on you every month.
The swan goose flies in the sky, and the fish Long Qian jumps into the water.
last night, I dreamt of falling flowers, but I didn't come home in spring.
the river flows away in spring, while the river falls on the moon and sets in the west.
The slanting moon hides the sea fog, and Jieshi Xiaoxiang has an infinite road.
I don't know how many people will return by the moon, and the moon will shake the trees all over the river.
2.
Difficulties in Shu Dao
Tang Dynasty: Li Bai
alas, the danger is almost high! The difficulty of Shu Dao is difficult to go to the sky!
until two rulers of this region, pushed their way through in the misty ages!
forty-eight thousand years had passed is not connected with Qin Sai.
and the Great White Mountain, westward, still has only a bird's path, up to the summit of Emei Peak.
which was broken once by an earthquake and there were brave men lost, and then the ladder and stone stacks are linked.
high, as on a tall flag, six dragons drive the sun, while the river, far below, lashes its twisted course.
such height would be hard going for even a yellow crane, so pity the poor monkeys who have only paws to use.
the Mountain of Green Clay is formed of many circles, each hundred steps, we have to turn nine turns among its mound.
panting, we brush Orion and pass the Well Star, then, holding our chests with our hands and sinking to the ground with a groan.
we wonder if this westward trail will never have an end? The formidable path ahead grows darker, darker still.
with nothing heard but the call of birds hemmed in by the ancient forest, male birds smoothly wheeling, following the females.
jathyapple, and there come to us the melancholy voices of the cuckoos, is a lonely mountain.
It's hard to get through the Shu Road, but it's hard to get into the sky, even to hear of it turns the cheek pale!
with the highest crag barely a foot below heaven, dry pines hang, head down, from the face of the cliffs.
and a thousand plunging cataracts outroar one another, and send through ten thousand valleys a thunder of spinning stones.
with all this danger upon danger, why did you come from afar?
though Dagger-Tower Pass be firm and grim, and while one man guards it and ten thousand cannot force it.
what if he be not loyal, but a wolf toward his fellows?.
there are ravenous tigers to fear in the day, and venomous reptiles in the night; With their teeth and their fangs ready, killing people like hemp.
though the City of Silk be delectable, I would rather turn home quickly.
it's hard to get to the sky when you're in the Shu Road. Look sideways and look west for advice!
3.
Into the Wine
Tang Dynasty: Li Bai
I have no idea, how the Yellow River's waters move out of heaven, entering the ocean, never to return.
I don't see you, how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers, though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow.
oh, let a man of spirit venture where he pleases, and never tip his golden cup empty toward the moon!.
since heaven gave the talent, let it be employed!, spin a thousand pieces of silver, all of them come back!.
cook a sheep, kill a cow, whet the appetite, and make me, of three hundred bowls, one long drink!.
master cen, Dan qiusheng, will drink, and don't stop drinking.
let me sing you a song!, please listen to me.
what are bell and drum, rare dishes and treasure?, I wish I'd stay drunk forever.
sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten, and only the great drinkers are famous for all time.
prince Chen paid at a banquet in the Palace of Perfection, ten thousand coins for a cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip.
why say, my host, that your money is gone?, go and buy wine and we'll drink it together!.
five-flowered horse, thousand-golden-golden-qiu, and hand them to the boy to exchange for good wine, share the same sorrow with you.
4.
Tang Dynasty: Bai Juyi
Tian Jia was less idle in the moon, and people were twice as busy in May.
at night, when the south wind comes, the wheat turns yellow.
the mother-in-law pays for food, and the child carries the kettle pulp.
She goes with Xiang Tian, and Ding Zhuang is in Nangang.
it's full of rustic heat, and my back is burning in the sun.
I don't know the heat, but I regret the long summer.
There is a poor woman again, holding her son by her side.
Her right hand holds the ear and her left arm hangs over the basket.
it's sad to hear what they care about.
I've lost all my taxes, so I'll take this to satisfy my hunger.
what merits do I have today? I have never been involved in farming and mulberry.
Li Lu has three hundred stones, and Yan has surplus grain at the age of 3.
I feel ashamed of this privately, and I can't forget it every day.
5. Pipa Trip/Pipa Introduction
Tang Dynasty: Bai Juyi
I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River, where maple-leaves and full-grown rushes rustled in the autumn.
I, the host, had dismounted, my guest had boarded his boat, and we raised our cups and wished to drink-but, alas, there was no music.
for all we had drunk we felt no joy and were parting from each other, when the river widened mysteriously toward the full moon.
we had heard a sudden sound, a guitar across the water, host forgot to turn back home, and guest to go his way.
we followed where the melody led and asked the player's name? The sound broke off...then reluctantly she answered.
we moved our boat near hers, invited her to join us, summoned more wine and lanterns to recommence our banquet.
yet we called and urged a thousand times before she started toward us, still hiding half her face from us behind her guitar.
...She turned the tuning-pegs and tested several strings, we could feel what she was feeling, even before she played.
each string a meditation, each note a deep thought, as if she were telling us the ache of her whole life.
she knit her brows, flexed her fingers, then began her music, little by little letting her heart share everything with ours.
she brushed the strings, twisted them slow, swept them, plucked them, after the beginning of "Nishang", was Liu Yao.
the large strings hummed like rain, the small strings whispered like a secret.
hummed, whispered-and then were intermingled, like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
The flower bottom of Guan Ying's speech is slippery, but it's difficult to flow under the ice in the deep throat spring.
when the ice spring is cold and astringent, the string will freeze, and the freeze will never stop.
into a depth of sorrow and concealment of lament, told even more in silence than they had told in sound.
a silver vase abruptly broke with a gush of water, and out leapt armored horses and weapons that clashed and smote.
and, before she laid her pick down, she ended with one stroke, and all four strings made one sound, as of rending silk.
there was quiet in the east boat and quiet in the west, and we saw the white autumnal moon enter the river's heart.
thoughtfully in the plucked string, she rose and smoothed her clothing and, formal, courteous.
told us how she had spent her girlhood at the capital, living in her parents' house under the Mount of Toads.
and had mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, with her name recorded first in the class-roll of musicians.
her art the admiration even of experts, her beauty the envy of all the leading dancers.
how noble youths of Wuling had lavishly competed, and numberless red rolls of silk been given for one song.
and silver combs with shell inlay been snapped by her rhythms, and skirts the colour of blood been spoiled with stains of wine.
season after season, joy had followed joy, autumn moons and spring winds had passed without her heeding.
till first her brother left for the war, and then her aunt died, and evenings went and evenings came, and her beauty faded.
The pommel horse was neglected in front of the door, so that finally she gave herself as wife to a merchant.
who, prizing money first, careless how he left her, had gone, a month before, to Fuliang to buy tea.
and she had been tending an empty boat at the river's mouth, no company but the bright moon and the cold water.
and sometimes in the deep of night she would dream of her triumphs, and be wakened from her dreams by the scalding of her tears.
her very first guitar-note had started me sighing, now, having heard her story, I was sadder still.
we are both unhappy -- to the sky's end, we meet. We understand. What does acquaintance matter?!
I came, a year ago, away from the capital, and am now a sick exile here in Jiujiang.
and so remote is Jiujiang that I have heard no music, neither string nor bamboo, for a whole year.
my quarters, near the River Town, are low and damp, with bitter reeds and yellowed rushes all about the house.
and what is to be heard here, morning and evening?? The bleeding cry of cuckoos, the whimpering of apes.
on flowery spring mornings and moonlit autumn nights, I have often taken wine up and drunk it all alone.
of course there are the mountain songs and the village pipes? But they are crude and-strident, and grate on my ears.
and tonight, when I heard you playing your guitar, I felt as if my hearing were bright with fairymusic.
do not leave us. Come, sit down. Play for us again., translated Pipa for you.
...Moved by what I said, she stood there for a moment, then sat again to her strings-and they sounded even sadder.
although the tunes were different from those she had played before, the feasters, all listening, covered their faces.
but who of them all was crying the most?? This Jiujiang official. My blue sleeve was wet.