any-which-way-poetry

[any-which-way-poetry]

translation zine 2023 is here!!!

link to the PDF (108 kB) - 16 poems in translation and 2 original poems by me.

I really wanted to have "Epang Palace Rhapsody" by Du Mu in there too, but the last stanza is something I don't want to tackle...

[any-which-way-poetry]

Hiatus

Hi everyone! I'm going to take a break from this project until mid-December. Thanks so much for listening!

(The mp3s are all downloadable directly from the soundcloud widget btw! They're not going anywhere, but I plan to have this blog and all the files backed up to my neocities site soon just in case.)

[any-which-way-poetry]

[Episode transcript here.]

苏轼 Su Shi (Su Dongpo) 江城子·乙卯正月二十日夜记梦 Dream, 20/1/1075

十年生死两茫茫， 不思量，自难忘。 千里孤坟， 无处话凄凉。 纵使相逢应不识， 尘满面，鬓如霜。

夜来幽梦忽还乡， 小轩窗，正梳妆。 相顾无言， 惟有泪千行。 料得年年肠断处， 明月夜，短松冈。

ten years -- the haze of distance between the living and the dead one doesn't think on it much one never forgets it

a thousand miles of lonely graves nowhere for my living voice to speak misery

even if we meet again, you would hardly know me a face full of dust white in my hair

with a strange dream at night i am suddenly back home that little window where you are getting ready

we look at each other, but words don't come only a thousand lines of tears

i will be waiting every year at the place of my heartbreak the bright moon at night a mound of short pines

Further reading:

#gushiwensday translation by garden-ghoul

Notes by Nina Du, Runqi Zhang, and Dante Zhu; translation by Quan Jia (Global Medieval Sourcebook)

[any-which-way-poetry]

Transcript: 苏轼 Su Shi - 江城子·乙卯正月二十日夜记梦 Dream, 20/1/1075

[Listen to the episode here.]

This is 江城子·乙卯正月二十日夜记梦 jiāngchéng zǐ · yǐmǎo zhēngyuè èrshírì yè jì mèng Dream, 20th day 1st month, 1075 (to the tune "River Town") by 苏轼 Su Shi.

---

十年生死两茫茫， shí nián shēng sǐ liǎng mángmáng, 不思量，自难忘。 bù sī liang, zì nán wàng.

ten years -- the haze of distance between the living and the dead one doesn't think on it much one never forgets it

千里孤坟， qiān lǐ gū fén, 无处话凄凉。 wú chù huà qī liáng.

a thousand miles of lonely graves nowhere for my living voice to speak misery

纵使相逢应不识， zòng shǐ xiāng féng yīng bù shí, 尘满面，鬓如霜。 chén mǎn miàn, bìn rú shuāng.

even if we meet again, you would hardly know me a face full of dust white in my hair

夜来幽梦忽还乡， yè lái yōu mèng hū huán xiāng, 小轩窗，正梳妆。 xiǎo xuān chuāng, zhèng shū zhuāng.

with a strange dream at night i am suddenly back home that little window where you are getting ready

相顾无言， xiàng gù wú yán, 惟有泪千行。 wéi yǒu lèi qiān háng.

we look at each other, but words don't come only a thousand lines of tears

料得年年肠断处， liào dé nián nián cháng duàn chù, 明月夜，短松冈。 míng yuè yè, duǎn sōng gāng.

i will be waiting every year at the place of my heartbreak the bright moon at night a mound of short pines

---

This poem is an eulogy for Su Dongpo's first wife, 王弗 Wang Fu, who died in 1065 at the age of 27.

Inspired by ghoul's guest reading last week, here are some alternate translations from my notes for the first line:

ten years makes Life and Death far-off and hazy each on a far-off shore

ten years. the living and the dead are infinitely distant from each other

ten years separates the living and the dead with infinite distance

ten years make a great distance between two people, the living and the dead

I also want to note that my translation of the line "a thousand miles of lonely graves" could be more literally interpreted as "it's a thousand miles to your lonely grave", as Wang Fu was buried with her parents, and that was in an entirely different province from where Su Shi was working. But I'm also in love with the image of the speaker wandering through many places, all equally desolate because of the experience of living with grief, and still unwelcoming to any voicing of that grief. [laughs] Y'know, society!

I mean, it may very well have been acceptable, even encouraged, for a Confucian widower in that period to be open about his grief? Um, I don't have enough background knowledge to say. But I am realizing in retrospect that this does track with my personal history with grief and mental illness and family. So, yeah.

[any-which-way-poetry]

[Episode transcript can be found here.]

无题 Untitled 李商隐 Li Shangyin

Guest episode from ghoul, my friend and frequent collaborator, presenting Li Shangyin's 无题·相见时难别亦难 "Untitled (finding time to meet is hard; parting is hard too)" in three interwoven translations.

相见时难别亦难，东风无力百花残。 春蚕到死丝方尽，蜡炬成灰泪始干。 晓镜但愁云鬓改，夜吟应觉月光寒。 蓬山此去无多路，青鸟殷勤为探看。

finding time to meet is hard; parting is hard too. the east wind brings in the new season gentle, but it withers the flowers all the same.

spring silkworms until they die spin out worries without rest; a candle burns down to ash and only then its tears begin to dry.

in the morning mirror you comb over and over your lovely hair. you recite verse instead of sleeping, in the cold light of the moon—

but there’s not much road between here and the queen mother’s mountain. she’s close; her green bird always comes to check on you.

---

we had a hard time meeting, I had a hard time leaving you the flowers wither when the spring wind's all blown through

the silkworm sits and spins her thoughts out till the very last the candle turns to ash and suddenly the tears are in your past

at sunrise check my mirror and my roots are showing through at moonrise stumbling over psalms while my lips turn blue

a mile or two on down the road is the immortal mountain queen mother's crow says girl stop sitting counting days without him

Further reading:

W. May, In the Same Light: 200 Tang Poems for Our Century (2022)

translator's notes

my Dessa pastiche translation

[any-which-way-poetry]

Transcript: Guest episode 李商隐 Li Shangyin - 无题 Untitled

[Listen to the episode here.]

Three translations of an untitled poem by Li Shangyin.

---

finding time to meet is hard; parting is hard too.    we had a hard time meeting, I had a hard time leaving you the east wind brings in the new season gentle, but it withers the flowers all the same.    the flowers wither when the spring wind's all blown through

      it's hard to meet you in time. it's hard to leave you.       the east wind is so soft it can't even move flowers.

spring silkworms until they die spin out worries without rest;   the silkworm sits and spins her thoughts out till the very last     spring silkworms spin their lives into thread until they run out.

a candle burns down to ash and only then its tears begin to dry.    the candle turns to ash and suddenly the tears are in your past       a candle’s tears can’t dry until it’s worn itself to ash.

in the morning mirror you comb over and over your lovely hair. you recite verse instead of sleeping, in the cold light of the moon---

   at sunrise check my mirror and my roots are showing through    at moonrise stumbling over psalms while my lips turn blue

      the morning mirror shows my hair clouding over, changing into something else.       night. I can't sleep. poems run out of me. the cold moon watches over my shoulder.

but there's not much road between here and the queen mother's mountain.    a mile or two on down the road is the immortal mountain       not many roads stray close to the mountain dreaming, but

she's close; her green bird always comes to check on you.    queen mother's crow says girl stop sitting counting days without him       the three-legged bird flies to me to say: our lady of peaches is worried for you.

---

Trying to find a pleasing way to arrange these alternate translations together has thrown it into sharp relief for me which lines are very literal and hard to misinterpret, and which lines could be read in multiple ways. The couplet about the silkworm and the candle only varies by minor changes in word order, whereas the line about the east wind and the line about the roads to Mt Penglai can be read in two completely opposite ways. I think my favorite part of this was finding different ways to interpret the allusion to Mt Penglai; in the text it just says “Mt Peng,” but the reader understands this is a mythical mountain, idiomatically something like fairyland, and that the green bird is a messenger of the Queen Mother of the West, who keeps the peaches of immortality and presides over prosperity, longevity, and eternal bliss (according to Wikipedia). She’s a fitting patron for a girl who’s worried about love, and invoking her also gives the poem an east-to-west direction, like the travel of the sun.

[any-which-way-poetry]

[Episode transcript can be found here.]

国殇 Our Martyrs 屈原 Qu Yuan

(from the Nine Songs, Songs of Chu)

操吴戈兮被犀甲，车错毂兮短兵接。 旌蔽日兮敌若云，矢交坠兮士争先。 凌余阵兮躐余行，左骖殪兮右刃伤。 霾两轮兮絷四马，援玉枹兮击鸣鼓。 天时怼兮威灵怒，严杀尽兮弃原野。 出不入兮往不反，平原忽兮路超远。 带长剑兮挟秦弓，首身离兮心不惩。 诚既勇兮又以武，终刚强兮不可凌。 身既死兮神以灵，子魂魄兮为鬼雄！

grasping Wu pikes—wearing rhinoceros armour, chariot axles enmeshing—short-swords joining.

banners blotting the sun—foes like clouds, raining arrows twofold—men eager to be first.

my formation scattered—my line trampled, my left horses dead—my right sword-gashed.

a duststorm for two wheels—traces a team of four, “reinforcements!” the jade drumsticks—“attack!” the drums call.

the heavenly hour resents us—the mighty spirit rages, sternly slaying first to last—hometown fields abandoned.

going but not coming—departing but not returning, the plains untended—the roads unending.

bearing long swords—clutching Qin bows, heads and bodies parted—hearts still untried.

indeed both courageous—and accompanied by Wu, staunch to the end—broken by none.

bodies stopped in death—both spark and spirit, steadfast souls—heroes among ghosts.

Further reading: G. Sukhu, The Songs of Chu (2017)

[any-which-way-poetry]

Transcript: 屈原 Qu Yuan - 国殇 Our Martyrs

[Listen to the episode here.]

This is 国殇 Our Martyrs, by Qu Yuan.

grasping Wu pikes—wearing rhinoceros armour, chariot axles enmeshing—short-swords joining.

banners blotting the sun—foes like clouds, raining arrows twofold—men eager to be first.

my formation scattered—my line trampled, my left horses dead—my right sword-gashed.

a duststorm for two wheels—traces a team of four, “reinforcements!” the jade drumsticks—“attack!” the drums call.

the heavenly hour resents us—the mighty spirit rages, sternly slaying first to last—hometown fields abandoned.

going but not coming—departing but not returning, the plains untended—the roads unending.

bearing long swords—clutching Qin bows, heads and bodies parted—hearts still untried.

indeed both courageous—and accompanied by Wu, staunch to the end—broken by none.

bodies stopped in death—both spark and spirit, steadfast souls—heroes among ghosts.

---

I haven't done a bilingual reading this time, you'll notice, for a couple different reasons.

First, it's long compared to the average length of the types of poem I focus on translation. And every time I've sat down to record this it's been brutally hot in my non-air-conditioned building (makes doing anything other than sleeping very hard).

Second, much of the vocabulary is deeply archaic even by the standards of classical Chinese poetry. Um, let's see, I've done readings of work by Li Qingzhao, that's Song dynasty or 1084-1155 CE. By Du Mu and Du Fu, that's slightly different parts of the Tang dynasty (803-852 and 712-770 CE respectively). Whereas the collection that this poem comes from, the highly foundational Chuci or Songs of Chu, dates from the third century BCE. And while Tang and Song poetry would've been performed in Middle Chinese, the Chuci would've been in a southern Chu version of Old Chinese. That is more than 2200 years of linguistic change, and as an amateur that is way above my paygrade. I don't know, I'm going a tangent -- modern Mandarin does not really resemble either Middle Chinese or Old Chinese, very much. Again, two millennia of linguistic change.

I mean, that said, this comes from such a well-known classic I'm sure there's no problem finding videos of other people doing readings of this poem.

[any-which-way-poetry]

Next reading will be released next week due to illness. Thanks for being here!

[any-which-way-poetry]

[Episode transcript can be found here.]

早秋苦热堆案相仍 Awful heat in early autumn, piles of paperwork keep coming 杜甫 Du Fu

七月六日苦炎蒸，对食暂餐还不能。 常愁夜来皆是蝎，况乃秋后转多蝇。 束带发狂欲大叫，簿书何急来相仍。 南望青松架短壑，安得赤脚踏层冰。

august sixth. baking in this awful heat about time for a hasty meal? think again

I suffer. and when night comes, so do the scorpions – only to be replaced, come fall, by the flies

I’m going to go mad from my ties and belts. I want to scream ledgers and documents (cannot be urgent) keep coming. they keep coming

travelling in my mind to those green pines by the ravines south of here oh the satisfaction of bare feet breaking through a crust of ice

Further reading:

"a lot of people QTd this with stuff like "'twas ever thus" which is interesting…", @AsFarce (Twitter)

D. Young, Du Fu: A Life in Poetry (2008)

B. Watson, Selected Poems of Du Fu (2003)

[any-which-way-poetry]

Transcript: 杜甫 Du Fu - 早秋苦热堆案相仍 Awful heat in early autumn, piles of paperwork keep coming

[Listen to the episode here.]

This is 早秋苦热堆案相仍 "Awful heat in early autumn, piles of paperwork keep coming" by Du Fu.

七月六日苦炎蒸， qī yuè liù rì kǔ yán zhēng, 对食暂餐还不能。 duì shí zàn cān hái bù néng.

august sixth. baking in this awful heat about time for a hasty meal? think again

常愁夜来皆是蝎， cháng chóu yè lái jiē shì xiē, 况乃秋后转多蝇。 kuàng nǎi qiū hòu zhuǎn duō yíng.

I suffer. and when night comes, so do the scorpions – only to be replaced, come fall, by the flies

束带发狂欲大叫， shù dài fā kuáng yù dà jiào, 簿书何急来相仍。 bù shū hé jí lái xiāng réng.

I’m going to go mad from my ties and belts. I want to scream ledgers and documents (cannot be urgent) keep coming. they keep coming

南望青松架短壑， nán wàng qīng sōng jià duǎn hè, 安得赤脚踏层冰。 ān de chì jiǎo tà céng bīng.

travelling in my mind to those green pines by the ravines south of here oh the satisfaction of bare feet breaking through a crust of ice

---

Um, happy old man Monday?? This started when I saw this Twitter thread by Liz Crash @AsFarce - this initial tweet was just captioned "Du Fu, circa 758 AD", which is the two lines about wanting to scream in his office. Presumably a lot of people found this relatable.

The original Twitter poster did a follow-up thread, which I think is important to consider for a fuller picture of 'how we got here'. Quoting:

I was instead struck by how imperial China pioneered much of what we take for granted about the modern world, particularly modern bureaucracies. writing as such emerges hand in hand with state formation. so written history is the history of states.

And also:

the British civil service was strongly influenced by the much older Chinese civil service. China is where Europe got the idea for state functions administered by politically independent qualified professionals rather than someone’s nephew

The other bit of particular context for this particular poem - which is kind of scratching the surface, really - is that this was written in the middle of the An Lushan rebellion! This was, uh, 'the previous emperor has abdicated and his third son has retaken the capital city and is forming a government. And guess who has to do a lot of work to stabilize this new government!' But y'know, truly, props to Du Fu for tweeting through it.

I really - I was really vindicated to find this blogpost on Medium by Delaine Rogers which is like a summary of five Tang-dynasty poets, and the section about Du Fu just begins:

If any ancient poet were to be on Twitter, documenting his daily experiences and thoughts, it would be Du Fu

To that end, I highly recommend David Young's book of Du Fu poetry, just entitled Du Fu: A Life in Poetry, published by Alfred A. Knopf. I find he gives Du Fu just this really wonderful, distinctive, and consistent Old Man Voice that has really made its impact on me, personally - on my personal idea of who Du Fu was.

[any-which-way-poetry]

New episode will be out next Friday!

[any-which-way-poetry]

[Episode transcript can be found here.]

寄扬州韩绰判官 Sent to Official Han Chuo in Yangzhou 杜牧 Du Mu

青山隐隐水迢迢， 秋尽江南草未凋。 二十四桥明月夜， 玉人何处教吹箫？

the mountains are as hazy as the river winding on autumn takes Jiangnan, still so lush and green

among the twenty-four bridges under moonlit night where is my dear virtuoso? teach me once more.

Further reading:

#gushiwensday translation by garden-ghoul

"Du Mu and the Making of a New Fengliu Ideal", by Y. Hong (2019)

[any-which-way-poetry]

Transcript: 杜牧 Du Mu - 寄扬州韩绰判官 Sent to Official Han Chuo in Yangzhou

[Listen to the episode here.]

This is 寄扬州韩绰判官 jì Yángzhōu Hán Chuò pànguān “Sent to Official Han Chuo in Yangzhou” by Du Mu.

---

青山隐隐水迢迢， qīng shān yǐn yǐn shuǐ tiáo tiáo, 秋尽江南草未凋。 qiū jìn Jiāngnán cǎo wèi diāo.

the mountains are as hazy as the river winding on autumn takes Jiangnan, still so lush and green

二十四桥明月夜， èr shí sì qiáo míng yuè yè, 玉人何处教吹箫？ yù rén hé chù jiāo chuī xiāo?

among the twenty-four bridges under moonlit night where is my dear virtuoso? teach me once more.

---

Now “江南 jiangnan” is a general term - the region south of the Yangtze river, which according to this paper ‘is often associated with feminine beauty, wealth and pleasure, retirement and exile, and the last rulers of the Southern Dynasties.’

The gendered, uh - the ambiguity of the reference in the last line is very interesting. Um, “玉人 yu ren” means “beautiful person”, in Tang poetry it could be gender-neutral - it literally means “jade person.” We don’t know for sure if it was referring to a specific entertainer that Du Mu and his friend knew, or if Du Mu was constructing this hypothetical, imaginary, sensual situation, or perhaps “yu ren” refers to his friend.

Going back to this paper by Hong, “Du Mu and the Making of a New Fengliu Ideal”, there’s actually some more discussion of this line and how readers have interpreted it over the years, centuries, and kind of… kind of like, tamed, blunted it to be more conventionally about a feminine object. Like the verb [pronouncing it two ways] “教 jiao1” or “教 jiao4” , could mean either “to teach” or “to make or to command someone to do something”.

Uh, 'The change in the recipient’s gender,’ I’m quoting from this paper again, 'may have led to further changes; namely, the word jiao 教 in the last line is changed to zuo 坐 (to sit) in some variants and to xue 學 (to learn) in others. These changes may have something to do with different norms of romantic behavior for elite men and female entertainers. Ninth-century writers might have considered it romantic for a man to teach a young woman to play the flute, but less so for an entertainer to teach a man or a woman. This being the case, she then changes from an instructor who “teaches” to a performer who “sits and plays” or a beautiful young woman who “learns to play.”’

And so now obviously in my translation, you know I love that ambiguity and that playing around with gendered expectations? I have the speaker, you know, being a little bit bratty, I don’t know - um, addressing this virtuoso, this yu ren, this talented flute player directly. You know, 'come and teach me, I want to be taught.’

[any-which-way-poetry]

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(additional links: Translation Zine 2022, #gushiwensday)

“老去诗篇浑漫与”

[any-which-way-poetry]

[Episode transcript can be found here.]

李清照 Li Qingzhao 行香子·七夕 Qixi Festival

草际鸣蛩。 惊落梧桐。 正人间、天上愁浓。 云阶月地， 关锁千重。 纵浮槎来，浮槎去，不相逢。

星桥鹊驾， 经年才见， 想离情、别恨难穷。 牵牛织女， 莫是离中。 甚霎儿晴，霎儿雨，霎儿风。

crying crickets by the field's edge shake loose the wutong leaves sorrow lies heavy upon both earth and heaven

cloud stairs between the moon and earth a thousand locks bar the way one raft drifts on the sea one on the heavenly river never meeting

when the magpies draw the star bridge only then can you meet each year your loss and longing must be bottomless

dear cowherd, dear weaver are you still waiting on either side? just now there was sun no, it was rain no, wind

---

Further reading:

#gushiwensday translation by garden-ghoul

The Works of Li Qingzhao, by R. Egan (open access ebook)

English translation (c)2023 Laurence Zhen

[any-which-way-poetry]

Transcript: 李清照 Li Qingzhao - 行香子·七夕 Qixi Festival

[Original track here.]

This is 行香子·七夕 xíng xiāng zi · Qīxī "Qixi Festival" (to the tune 'Offering Incense') by Li Qingzhao.

---

草际鸣蛩。 cǎo jì míng qióng 惊落梧桐。 jīng luò wú tóng 正人间、天上愁浓。 zhèng rén jiān tiān shàng chóu nóng.

crying crickets by the field's edge shake loose the wutong leaves sorrow lies heavy upon both earth and heaven

云阶月地， yún jiē yuè dì 关锁千重。 guān suǒ qiān chóng. 纵浮槎来， zòng fú chá lái 浮槎去， fú chá qù 不相逢。 bù xiāng féng.

cloud stairs between the moon and earth a thousand locks bar the way one raft drifts on the sea one on the heavenly river never meeting

星桥鹊驾， xīng qiáo què jià 经年才见， jīng nián cái jiàn 想离情、别恨难穷。 xiǎng lí qíng bié hèn nán qióng.

when the magpies draw the star bridge only then can you meet each year your loss and longing must be bottomless

牵牛织女， Qiānniú Zhīnǚ 莫是离中。 mò shì lí zhōng. 甚霎儿晴， shèn shà ér qíng 霎儿雨， shà ér yǔ 霎儿风。 shà ér fēng.

dear cowherd, dear weaver are you still waiting on either side? just now there was sun no, it was rain no, wind

---

Li Qingzhao is one of the most famous poets in the canon. She lived in the Song dynasty and was celebrated for her works in the wanyue, or graceful and refined, school of poetry.

Qixi Festival celebrates the legendary romance between the cowherd and the weaver, two stars separated by the Silver River, a.k.a. the Milky Way. And some folklore says that if it rains on Qixi, it’s a river in the sky washing the magpie bridge away; and so the two lovers will not be able to reunite that year.

Li Qingzhao dwells on the bitterness of their separation and the fragility of their once-a-year chance at reunion.