狱中寄子由 From Prison, to my Brother Ziyou

狱中寄子由

（予以事系御史台狱，狱吏稍见侵，自度不能堪，死狱中，不得一别子由，故作二诗授狱卒梁成，以遗子由，二首。）

原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋）

新版及赏析: 闵晓红(2023)

其一

圣主如天万物春，

小臣愚暗自亡身。

百年未满先偿债，

十口无归更累人。

是处青山可埋骨，

他年夜雨独伤神。

与君世世为兄弟，

更结来生未了因。

From Prison, to My Brother Zi You

(Intro: Imprisoned in the Censorate, roughly treated. I may not survive, and fear I will never see my brother again. I have written two last poems and asked the guards to deliver them to Ziyou.)

written by Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Dongpo')

Revision+ annot. by Julia Min (2023)

(first poem)

The emperor is Heaven, our living saint,

Who, like spring, gives all a new beginning.

But I, in ignorance, have sought my own ruin.

This body, tho’ not old, must pay for the “sin”-

A debt, perhaps, rolled over from a prior life.

I am sorry to leave you with a house of ten.

Don't seek a famous peak to mark my grave.

Any green hill mound can settle what remains.

Sorry to leave you alone to future dark rains,

I wish to be a better brother, a better gentleman,

Not just in the next life, but in many to spend,

To honour our ongoing sibling bond without end.

For Appreciation:

The year 1079 marked a turning point, not just for Su Shi, but for the freedom of speech that China had cherished for centuries. Arrested in Huzhou, he was unjustly sentenced to the grim confines of the Censorate, ominously nicknamed "the Crows' Court" (乌台). His crime? Poetry. Just words, written in good faith, twisted by opponents into treason.

For over three agonising months, he languished, gripped by dread for his family's safety and future. Then a cruel misunderstanding deepened his despair. Before his imprisonment, he had made a pact with his son, Su Mai: ordinary food meant safety; a fish dish would signal a death sentence. When Mai was unable to deliver messages himself, he sent a friend instead—who, unaware of the code, brought a beautiful fish. Su Shi received it as a sign. Convinced his execution was imminent, he wrote two poems as his final words to his brother Su Zhe (Ziyou).

At forty-four, with ten mouths depending on him, the poems that emerged read like a deathbed will—heavy with sorrow, love, and the quiet dignity of a man facing the end.

He begins with the required reverence for the Emperor, but the gratitude with an underlined hope for "new beginnings" lands uneasily from a prison cell. Then comes the couplet that reveals his state of mind:

“Don't seek a famous peak to mark my grave.Any green hill mound can settle what remains.”

This is not false modesty, but acceptance—a man letting go of legacy, asking only to be covered and forgotten. The satire some readers find here, that a famous poet's grave would become a peak whether he wished it or not, is present, but subtly muted. What matters more is what follows:

“I am sorry to leave you with a house of ten.”

The poem closes with a promise across lifetimes: to be a better brother, not just in the next life but in many to come. The fish that delivered false news had done its damage. But the words it inspired would survive—and so, as it happened, would Su Shi.

Reference:

1. Blooming Alone in Winter by Gordon Osing, Julia Min, and Huang Haipeng， published by the People's Publication House Henan Province in 1990 (《寒心未肯随春态》戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红，黄海鹏) (“From Prison to my Brother Zi You" – "Noble Emperor Shengzong be praised! Everything is in spring./ Political foolishness brought me down this road to doom./ I’m not old yet, and still ask you to pay my debts. / I trouble you with my ten mouths to feed, and no home. / My body you can bury any place the hills are green. / A year from now you’ll grieve alone on nights it rains./ Listen, in this life and the next we will be brothers./ Our love’s not finished, not in this world or any other.”)

2. picture from the magazine