行香子 . 秋与 The Message of Autumn

行香子 . 秋与

  苏轼

昨夜霜风, 先入梧桐。

浑无处、回避衰容。

问公何事，不语书空。

但一回醉一回病，一回慵；

朝来庭下，飞英如霰，

似无言、有意伤侬。

都将万事，付与千钟。

任酒花白，眼花乱，烛花红。

The Message of Autumn

--to the tune of Xingxiangzi

written by Su Shi (11th Century)

En. version by Julia Min (May.2025)

The first message of Autumn is the parasol

when last night the leaves turned yellow.

The Wind also found me lost in the frost.

He greeted me, asking why so sick and old.

Speechless, in the air I wrote:

“seized by sickness,

lost in drinking, and

fallen with my lazy soul.”

This morning, I woke up to a falling world.

The courtyard has turned into a snowfield.

It could be the Wind’s wordless response：

I’m getting to the end of my life cycle.

No hope, so let my life be the drink I fill,

soaked in wine,

dazed in sight, and

watching the wick flower consumed, alone.

photo from “小话诗词”

For Appreciation:

Autumn frost and wind in Chinese literature are often associated with the helpless transition from youth or prime years to old age. The sentiments here reflect Su Shi's (Dongpo's) melancholy over his life and health, and his despair over his political ambition.

This poem was most likely composed after the death of his concubine and soulmate Zhaoyun (王朝云) during his second banishment, further south to the border town of Huizhou (today's Guangdong Province). For readers familiar with Su Shi, this may come as a shock. He was not a man easily crushed. The optimistic Dongpo was always able to get back on his feet quickly, finding consolation in local cuisine, in wine, in the company of friends. But this time was different—his world was gone forever with the wind. He had to give it all up.

Little did he realise that this pessimistic mood would attract something even worse — his third banishment to the most desolate place of all, Hainan Island, known as the "End of the World."

The poem moves through three stages. First, the wind's question — why so sick and old? — met with silence and a confession written in air: sickness, drinking, a lazy soul. Second, the dawn revelation: the courtyard has turned into a snowfield, the wind's wordless response that he is reaching the end of his life cycle. Third, the acceptance: no hope, so let my life be the drink I fill — soaked in wine, dazed in sight, watching the wick flower consumed, alone.

That final image is the heart of the poem. The wick does not simply burn. It flowers — opening, spending, consuming itself in a small, useless beauty. And he watches it alone. Not resigned. Not protesting. Just present, at the end, a tender, self-aware idleness.

As for translation: a poem is not for translation but for recreation. A good version must stand on its own for the target reader. "He greeted me, asking why so sick and old" — not a deviation but an addition that serves the poem's emotional logic. The original simply asks, "What's the matter, sir?" Supplying the greeting shows the Wind's respect for 公 (sir) and creates a brief pause before the painful question. That slowdown makes the silence that follows — speechless, in the air I wrote — land harder.

Reference:

1. baike.baidu.com