This night to the west of the river-brim
There is not one cloud in the whole blue sky,
As I watch from my deck the autumn moon,
Vainly remembering old General Hsieh.
I have poems; I can read;
He heard others, but not mine .
...Tomorrow I shall hoist my sail,
With fallen maple-leaves behind me.
Original Poem
「夜泊牛渚怀古」
李白
牛渚西江夜，青天无片云。
登舟望秋月，空忆谢将军。
余亦能高咏，斯人不可闻。
明朝挂帆去，枫叶落纷纷。
Interpretation
Composed during Li Bai's nighttime mooring at Ox-Jaw (Niuzhu), a historic site on the Yangtze associated with the Eastern Jin literati Yuan Hong and General Xie Shang. Legend tells how Xie Shang, moved by Yuan's poetic recitation here, became his patron and launched his career. On this same moonlit autumn night, Li Bai finds no such patron, left only to lament his unrecognized genius through poignant historical analogy.
First Couplet: "牛渚西江夜，青天无片云。"
niú zhǔ xī jiāng yè, qīng tiān wú piàn yún.
Night-moored at Ox-Jaw's western flow—/ A cloudless sweep of indigo.
The opening grounds us in time and space with crystalline clarity. "Cloudless indigo" not only paints the pristine night sky but foreshadows the moon's radiant dominance. This minimalist brushwork conjures vast emptiness, immersing readers in the solitude of riverine night.
Second Couplet: "登舟望秋月，空忆谢将军。"
dēng zhōu wàng qiū yuè, kōng yì xiè jiāng jūn.
On deck I gaze at autumn's moon—/ Vainly recall General Xie's boon.
The tranquil moon-viewing scene turns bittersweet with "vain recall." The poet invokes Xie Shang's legendary patronage of Yuan Hong, highlighting the cruel contrast between past opportunity and present isolation. The same moon now illuminates only absence.
Third Couplet: "余亦能高咏，斯人不可闻。"
yú yì néng gāo yǒng, sī rén bù kě wén.
I too can chant with soaring art—/ But no Xie hears this poet's heart.
Here the historical parallel crystallizes into personal anguish. Like Yuan Hong, Li Bai possesses dazzling talent—yet no Xie Shang attends his recitation. The couplet's parallel structure ("I too…But no…") underscores cruel cosmic irony, elevating private frustration to universal pathos.
Fourth Couplet: "明朝挂帆去，枫叶落纷纷。"
míng zhāo guà fān qù, fēng yè luò fēn fēn.
At dawn I'll raise my sail and part—/ Maple leaves descending, heart to heart.
The conclusion masterfully externalizes emotion through nature. Drifting maple leaves mirror the poet's rootless destiny, while "heart to heart" suggests silent communion between falling foliage and falling hopes. No explicit sorrow is stated; the image alone carries infinite resignation.
Overall Appreciation
This lyrical masterpiece transforms historical nostalgia into profound self-reflection. Moving from crystalline nightscapes to aching absence, then to talent's cruel invisibility, it culminates in nature's wordless elegy. The poem's power lies in its restraint—using sparse imagery to convey bottomless melancholy, where every detail vibrates with unspoken longing.
Stylistic Features
- Landscape as psyche: The cloudless sky and falling leaves become objective correlatives for the poet's desolation.
- Historical resonance: The Xie-Yuan典故 serves as both foil and indictment, deepening the poem's cultural weight.
- Emotional thermodynamics: Each couplet intensifies the anguish, from observation → recollection → protest → quiet surrender.
- Linguistic transparency: Deceptively simple language (无片云/落纷纷) achieves sublime suggestiveness.
Insights
The poem articulates every exceptional mind's terror: that their light might expire unseen. Yet Li Bai's very act of inscribing this fear—creating art from absence—proves talent's indestructibility. His maple leaves still fall for us today, whispering across centuries that recognition matters less than the courage to create without it. True patronage comes not from contemporary Xies, but from time itself.
Poem translator
Kiang Kanghu
About the poet
Li Bai (李白), 701 - 762 A.D., whose ancestral home was in Gansu, was preceded by Li Guang, a general of the Han Dynasty. Tang poetry is one of the brightest constellations in the history of Chinese literature, and one of the brightest stars is Li Bai.
