I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Hsun-yang 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 -
First the air of The Rainbow Skirt, then The Six Little Ones.
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.
We heard an oriole, liquid, hidden among flowers.
We heard a brook bitterly sob along a bank of sand.
By the checking of its cold touch, the very string seemed broken
As though it could not pass; and the notes, dying away
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 armoured 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 .
. . . When she had slowly placed the pick back among the strings,
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 Wu-ling 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 -
With ever fewer chariots and horses at her 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 Fou-liang 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 Kiu-kiang -
And so remote is Kiu-kiang 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 fairy-music.
Do not leave us. Come, sit down. Play for us again.
And I will write you a ballad to the tune you have just sung."
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 Kiu-kiang official. My blue sleeve was wet.
Original Poem:
「琵琶行」
白居易
浔阳江头夜送客，枫叶荻花秋瑟瑟。
主人下马客在船，举酒欲饮无管弦。
醉不成欢惨将别，别时茫茫江浸月。
忽闻水上琵琶声，主人忘归客不发。
寻声暗问弹者谁？琵琶声停欲语迟。
移船相近邀相见，添酒回灯重开宴。
千呼万唤始出来，犹抱琵琶半遮面。
转轴拨弦三两声，未成曲调先有情。
弦弦掩抑声声思，似诉平生不得志。
低眉信手续续弹，说尽心中无限事。
轻拢慢捻抹复挑，初为《霓裳》后《六幺》。
大弦嘈嘈如急雨，小弦切切如私语。
嘈嘈切切错杂弹，大珠小珠落玉盘。
间关莺语花底滑，幽咽泉流冰下难。
冰泉冷涩弦凝绝，凝绝不通声暂歇。
别有幽愁暗恨生，此时无声胜有声。
银瓶乍破水浆迸，铁骑突出刀枪鸣。
曲终收拨当心画，四弦一声如裂帛。
东船西舫悄无言，唯见江心秋月白。
沉吟放拨插弦中，整顿衣裳起敛容。
自言本是京城女，家在虾蟆陵下住。
十三学得琵琶成，名属教坊第一部。
曲罢曾教善才服，妆成每被秋娘妒。
五陵年少争缠头，一曲红绡不知数。
钿头银篦击节碎，血色罗裙翻酒污。
今年欢笑复明年，秋月春风等闲度。
弟走从军阿姨死，暮去朝来颜色故。
门前冷落鞍马稀，老大嫁作商人妇。
商人重利轻别离，前月浮梁买茶去。
去来江口守空船，绕船月明江水寒。
夜深忽梦少年事，梦啼妆泪红阑干。
我闻琵琶已叹息，又闻此语重唧唧。
同是天涯沦落人，相逢何必曾相识！
我从去年辞帝京，谪居卧病浔阳城。
浔阳地僻无音乐，终岁不闻丝竹声。
住近湓江地低湿，黄芦苦竹绕宅生。
其间旦暮闻何物？杜鹃啼血猿哀鸣。
春江花朝秋月夜，往往取酒还独倾。
岂无山歌与村笛？呕哑嘲哳难为听。
今夜闻君琵琶语，如听仙乐耳暂明。
莫辞更坐弹一曲，为君翻作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立，却坐促弦弦转急。
凄凄不似向前声，满座重闻皆掩泣。
座中泣下谁最多？江州司马青衫湿。
Interpretation:
This poem was written in the fall of 816 A.D. during the poet’s relegation to the post of Secretary of Jiujiang . Through the description of the pipa girl’s excellent playing skills and her unfortunate experience, the poem exposes all kinds of irrational phenomena in the feudal society, expresses the poet’s deep sympathy for her, and also expresses the poet’s resentment towards his own innocence of being relegated.
In 815 A.D., the poet was relegated to the post of Secretary of Jiujiang. In the next year, he met a pipa girl when he was sending off a guest, and because he sympathized with her misfortune and triggered the feeling that “we are the same as the world’s fallen people”, he wrote this poem as a gift to her.
The poem begins with a description of the regret of having no music at the farewell banquet, invites the merchant woman to play the pipa, describes the tone of the pipa in detail, and portrays the image of the pipa woman. The first line explains the place, time, characters and events, and the second line emphasizes the setting. The poet takes the initiative to get to know the pipa girl, who has “come out after a thousand calls” due to her “lack of ambition in her life”. Through the description of the pipa’s sound, it shows the pipa girl’s excellent playing skills and her skillful and natural movements. The thick strings are heavy and majestic “like the rapid rain”, the thin strings are fine and fragile like “whispers”, and the sound is crisp and mellow like the size of beads falling on a jade plate, and like the warbler’s words under the flower, describing it from the perspective of vision and hearing. The image depicts the artistic realm of endless sound and infinite meaning. The words “the east boat and the west boat are silent” set off the infectiousness of the pipa sound, and at the same time imply the pipa woman’s heartbeat.
The poet tells her life on behalf of the merchant woman, and her experience from a young girl to a merchant woman is also like the excitement and depression of the pipa sound.
The poet then describes the poet’s feelings of sadness, the pain of being relegated, causing the emotional resonance of “the same people at the end of the world, why not have met each other”, and can not help but tell their own encounters. The poet and the pipa girl are both from the prosperous capital to this remote place, the poet’s sympathy is full of sighs of their own misfortune, the pipa sound also tells the poet’s inner injustice.
The language of this poem is clear and elegant, combining feelings and imagination, using a series of similes to describe the tone of the pipa, drawing shapes and sounds, particularly graphic. It is written in a realistic style and expresses sincere feelings.
Poem translator:
Kiang Kanghu
About the poet:
Bai Juyi (白居易), 772-846 AD, was originally from Taiyuan, then moved to Weinan in Shaanxi. Bai Juyi was the most prolific poet of the Tang Dynasty, with poems in the categories of satirical oracles, idleness, sentimentality, and miscellaneous rhythms, and the most influential poet after Li Bai Du Fu.
