Farewell to Lingju on Double 7th Festival --to the tune “Celestial lovers on the Magpie Bridge” Chinese original: Su Shi English version & annotation: Julia Min (Sept. 2024) Unlike the foolish weaver bound to mortals, fallen to her cowherd, to the earthly sorrow, A young soul, Prince Jin, rose up on Mt Gou when his mind was free from worldly control. He flew on a crane while waving to the people. His flute phoenix tune reached Moon’s cradle. Legend says a rainstorm sent a bamboo boat From the sea to Starry River’s rippling flow. Perhaps in a past life, we were very close, Meant to meet here and drink until mellowed. Life is a floating leaf in a clime unforetold— Who knows where we’ll meet after you go? Notes: Lingju — Chen Lingju, a close friend of Su Shi (Su Dongpo), to whom this poem was addressed. Double Seventh Festival (Qixi) — Often called Chinese Valentine's Day, celebrated on the evening of the 7th day of the 7th lunar month. It honours the annual reunion of the Weaver and the Cowherd. The Weaver and the Cowherd — A legendary love story. The Weaver, a celestial maiden, fell in love with a mortal cowherd. They married and had two children, but Heaven punished them by separating them across the Starry River (the Milky Way). Only on the night of the Double Seventh Festival may the family reunite, crossing a bridge formed by magpies. Ziqiao (Prince Jin / Wang Ziqiao) — According to legend, Wang Ziqiao (Prince Jin) became a celestial immortal on Mount Gou (today's Mt Songshan in Henan Province). People witnessed him flying on the wind while playing his flute — the legendary "phoenix tune." Appreciation: This poem offers a distinctive and elevated perspective on the theme of lovers' day, making it deeply resonant and original. It was composed in the evening at a farewell party on the Double Seventh Festival — Chinese Valentine's Day. While other gentlemen indulged in charming verses about youthful, erotic love, Su Shi steered attention away from the stereotyped theme of earthly joy. Instead, he elevated the discourse to a transcendent theme: freeing oneself from earthly attachments that bind the pure soul — a Daoist pursuit of ascending beyond the mortal cycle of reincarnation into the celestial realm. Thus, in Su Shi's understanding, the Weaver and her Cowherd are not romantic heroes but foolish souls bound by attachment. The poem serves as his wake-up call to fellow mortals. The Dao applies not only to romantic relationships but also to kinship and friendship. Meetings and partings are but natural expressions of karma — a system of cause and effect. There is no need for excessive sentiment. Take it lightly. Accept what comes. Once you overcome the obstacles on your path, your spirit transcends to a new level, drawing closer to a freer soul. Similar ideas appear throughout Su Shi's poetry, such as in "How I Compare the New Arrivals in a Life Journey" (《和子由渑池怀旧》), also translated elsewhere on this site. 鹊桥仙·七夕送陈令举 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 缑山仙子，高清云渺， 不学痴牛騃女。 凤箫声断月明中， 举手谢、时人欲去。 客槎曾犯，银河微浪， 尚带天风海雨。 相逢一醉是前缘， 风雨散、飘然何处？ Reference: m.gushiwen.cn(古诗文网）

Last Year at the city gate we kissed farewell (a letter per pro a young wife) --to the tune of “A Young Traveller” Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English translation & annotation: Julia Min (Oct. 2024) Last year at the city gate, we kissed farewell. Hangzhou snowed like catkins from willows. This year, Spring still holds for your way home, Catkins fly like snow, seeking where you roam. Drinking alone by the window, curtains rolled, I ask the fair Moon to join me for a toast. She replied thru the gauze in the night’s cold, beaming on the roof beam: a pair of swallows. Analysis: Su Shi was 37 and held the post as Governor/Magistrate of Hangzhou in 1074. It was probably during a social function where he was approached by a lady to write a letter on her behalf. Such scenarios were common then, as many women were illiterate. The antithesis between last year and this year reads smoothly, leaving a strong impression. Snow and catkins swap roles across the two stanzas—last year snow fell like catkins; this year catkins fly like snow. Nature has reversed its order, but the husband has not yet returned. Catkins in classical Chinese literature often carry a yearning, seeking, or helpless sentiment. Here, they "seek your smile," giving the natural object an active, almost desperate agency. The second stanza unrolls a touching picture: a young lady drinking alone by her moonlit window. In classical Chinese architecture, the roof beams of newlyweds' chambers were often carved or painted with loving swallows, magpies, mandarin duck pairs, or other creatures bearing romantic meanings. The moon does not speak in words—she responds by illuminating that very beam, revealing a paired set of swallows. The response is wordless, visual, and devastating: the wife sees what she lacks. The present tense ("responds," "beaming") brings the moment alive, as if the moon is acting now, not in past memory. The internal rhyme of "beaming on the roof beam" adds a subtle musical quality, drawing attention to the exact spot where the swallows rest. This short poem falls into Su Shi's sentimental profile, which may seem pale beside his highly recognised heroic and robust style. Yet the young wife's romantic sentiments are implied beneath the line through symbolism rather than on the line through direct language like "I miss you." The vocabulary remains simple, everyday language. The final image—a pair of swallows illuminated by moonlight, saying everything without a word—is the poem's quiet masterpiece. 少年游·去年相送 (润州作, 代人寄远) 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 去年相送，余杭门外，飞雪似杨花。 今年春尽，杨花似雪，犹不见还家。 对酒卷帘邀明月，风露透窗纱。 恰似姮娥怜双燕，分明照、画梁斜。 Reference: m.gushiwen.cn(古诗文网）

江城子·墨云拖雨过西楼 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.08) 墨云拖雨过西楼。 水东流，晚烟收。 柳外残阳，回照动帘钩。 今夜巫山真个好， 花未落，酒新篘。 美人微笑转星眸。 月华羞，捧金瓯。 歌扇萦风，吹散一春愁。 试问江南诸伴侣， 谁似我，醉扬州。 Over the red chambers, clouds of ink drift by --to the tune of Jiangchengzi Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English translation & annotation: Julia Min (Aug. 2024) Over the red chambers, clouds of ink drift by, dragging pebbles of rain across a sunset sky. The Yangtse rolls eastward in waves of white, taking with it the last breath of cloudy clime. On the banks, willows bow to the golden light that gilds curtain hooks to shimmer and shine. A blooming garden with newly filtered wine, all sweetly tuned for a lush terrace of delight. My beauty has a smile like the starry night. The silver moon, now pale and shy, has to hide. Her singing is the gentle whisper of moonlight. A fair fan in hand, she soothes my moody mind. To River South, my peers in the endless fight: “Such fun in Yangzhou, I won’t change for thine.” Appreciation: It’s a sentimental poem, spur-of-the-moment yet well-structured, with a yin-yang revolving pattern for a dynamic outcome built with words. Your imaginary eye would follow the poet from west to east, then from the distant to the near, only to highlight the main role - the beauty, then to friends afar, and back to ‘me’ here. This could be quite impressive to many people, but nothing unique in literature among the Chinese literati. It has been a habitual mindset, like a code pattern set in the Chinese ideological bloodline. And Su Shi was a master of the format. Let’s dig a little deeper. The readers here are entertained by a passing storm over the red chambers, which were usually located on the west side of a residential complex, and in Chinese literature, the west chambers imply the living section for ladies. It could be a luxurious place with a two-story pavilion, where the upper level was used as a drawing room. And this main pavilion is usually linked by covered corridors to one-level rooms, with a small garden in the middle. Sometimes there is also a pond and lotus flowers. It could also be a place of entertainment for the gentry—a socialising venue where they would compose ci lyrics to popular tunes for singers to perform at the occasion. Here, the river flowing to the East Sea, taking the cloudy clime, suggests that his cloudy days were over, or were supposed to be over, for a clearer and freer world. The spring view, the beauty, the wine, and the music were supposed to put him on the moon. Yet something was bothering him, revealed, as usual, in the last couplet, which underlines the endless fight between the conservative old party and the new party, pointing to the miseries of the people even after a prosperous year, as they were compelled to pay much higher debt and tax under the New Law. Dongpo was the Magistrate/Mayor of Yangzhou from March to August 1092, after serving as the Secretary-General to the Emperor and Governor of Zhejiang. He was likely greeted by local officials and the gentlemen's society at a party, where he was invited to compose a poem for the occasion. It was a brief stay in Yangzhou, but the local people have since loved him for, among other achievements, his significant efforts to reduce their debt, which the emperor finally waived for one year. Reference: 2. baike.baidu.com

浣溪沙.软草平莎过雨新 (徐州石潭谢雨，道上作五首。潭在城东二十里，常与泗水增减清浊相应。) 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.08) 软草平莎过雨新， 轻沙走马路无尘。 何时收拾耦耕身？ 日暖桑麻光似泼， 风来蒿艾气如薰。 使君元是此中人。 My horse loves the sandy edge along the river (The 5th of five poems composed on my way to and from a ceremony to thank the Rain God for the rain after a drought at Stone Lake, about 10 km east of Xuzhou City. Records show that the lake often contrasts with River Si in water level and clarity.) Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English translation & annotation: Julia Min (Aug. 2024) My horse loves the sandy edge along the river, where grasses and sedges are fresh after rain. A dormant heart hears a yearning call for return to a country life in fields—a commoner again. A sea of wormwood and mugwort in sweet scent. A land of hemp and mulberry in summer glint. Life’s easy and breezy working with countrymen. This mayor was once a farmhand just like them. Appreciation: This poem painted a pastoral setting, vividly touched with personified details about the subject and the relationship between man and nature. The enduring appeal of country life has been a constant presence in Dongpo’s work ever since his service in the Royal Court, especially after he was sent to jail in his late 40s. He was not alone in this. It was a popular mood among the gentlemen who had once been farmers in the country before settling in the cities. His love for the land is further explored here in his yearning to return with his brother to a simple country life in their hometown, Meizhou, Sichuan. In the second stanza, the theme is enriched by a happy image of his life among the people he governed with love. Su Shi has indeed always been remembered as a great leader of the people. Reference: picture from “百家号/视觉中国” https://www.gushiwen.cn/

江城子·十年生死两茫茫 （乙卯正月二十日夜记梦） 苏轼 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，唯有泪千行。 料得年年肠断处， 明月夜，短松冈。 It's ten years you're gone and I'm living - to the tune of Jiangchengzi (my dream on January 20th,1075) Chinese original: Su Shi ( 11th Century) old English version: G. Osing, J. Min & H. Huang(1991) new English version: Julia Min (2025) It’s ten years you’re gone, and I’m living, in two worlds apart, and wearing. I’ve tried to feign a numb forgetting, Yet memory lives in death, forever staying. A thousand miles away lies your resting place; To whom can this loneliness be confessed? You would not know me by now: Time has silvered my temples and laid its dusty trace across my brow. In the hush of night when dreams run deep, you return to me, still young, still fair; -- by the latticed window, poised in grace, soft hands adorning your long hair. Our eyes meet and freeze, -- a silent speech softening into tears. Then the dream shatters, leaving only thin air. Where ur small pines cried in cold moonlight, my heart grows thinner year on year. Picture retrieved from Google Notes: 1. ‘It's ten years …’: Su Shi's wife Wang Fu died in 1065 and was buried in Pengshan County, Sichuan Province, quite far from Mizhou where Dongpo wrote this poem. 2. ‘ridge of pines’: the site of her burial was within Su Shi’s family burial yard where Dongpo planted, as the legend has it, 3000 pine trees for her and his father as they were buried there at the same time. For Appreciation: This poem is widely regarded as one of the earliest and most touching elegies written in the ci form. Unlike the grand, rhetorical mourning poems of earlier times, this ci is characterised by a quiet intimacy with a brief tender moment they once shared. When Su Shi composed this poem in 1075, ten years had passed since the death of his first wife, Wang Fu. During that decade, he himself had experienced major political ups and downs, with dramatic shifts in various official posts. Yet the loss that remained most vivid—perhaps the one untouched by time—was the memory of his wife. The poem’s second stanza is particularly admired: a dream of domestic simplicity, free from flowering rhetoric. It recalls a small, private scene: her small, crafted window, her dressing table, her loosened hair, and two people gazing at each other as if words had no play. In the understated authenticity of this memory, scholars find an enduring tenderness rarely matched in classical literature. What gives the poem its lasting effect is its subtlety. Dongpo does not lament loudly; instead, he preserves love through ordinary details —gestures, familiar postures, unspoken emotions. This demonstrates the unique ability of ci poetry to express subtle, deeply human feelings: grief without despair, longing without excess, memory without artifice. This elegy stands today not only as a testament to Su Shi’s personal sorrow but also as a masterpiece that enriches the expressive possibilities of Song-dynasty literature, illuminating how love, even in loss, can transcend the boundaries of time. You may also compare this elegy with a dream-vision counterpart in the West, where you’ll find similar sentiments in John Milton’s sonnet: “Methought I saw my late espoused saint” written after the death of Milton’s second wife. The wife appears in a dream, radiant, silent, unreachable. The poem ends with awakening—loss renewed: “I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.” There was also Lord Byron's "When We Two Parted" Reference： 1. old English version: Blooming Alone in Winter by Gordon Osing, Julia Min and Huang Haipeng，published by the People's Publication House Henan Province in 1991 (《寒心未肯随春态》戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红，黄海鹏) – “January12,1075: My Dream – to the tune of jiangchengzi”(It’s ten years now you’re gone and I’m living, worlds apart and fading./If I’ve tried hard not to miss you, I say also I can’t forget./It’s a thousand miles to your tomb; to whom can I tell my loneliness?/You’d not know me now, my face so lined, my temples frosted.//In the mist of my dream-world at night I go home once again/And watch you adorning yourself carefully in your dressing room./Our eyes meet, we’re together in silence, the dream ends in tears./I swear my heart breaks further each year/where the moon brightens your ridge of little pines.) Pinying and Word -For-Word Translation: jiāng chéng zǐ （yǐ mǎo zhèng yuè èr shí rì yè jì mèng ）- to the tune of Jiangchengzi --- a night dream on January 20 in 1075 ( 3 days after the first full moon, Chinese calendar) shí nián shēng sǐ liǎng máng máng – ten years the alive and the dead both distant apart. bú sī liàng ，zì nán wàng – not always think about you but difficult to forget. qiān lǐ gū fén - thousand li desolate tomb, wú chù huà qī liáng – nowhere to tell loneliness. zòng shǐ xiàng féng yīng bú shí - even if we meet again, should not recognize, chén mǎn miàn ，bìn rú shuāng – dust covers my face, temples like frost. yè lái yōu mèng hū hái xiāng – at night gloomy dream suddenly return my native place. xiǎo xuān chuāng ，zhèng shū zhuāng - by small room window, she is making up. xiàng gù wú yán - face each other no word, wéi yǒu lèi qiān háng - only there are tears thousand lines. liào dé nián nián cháng duàn chù -guess year by year heart-broken place; míng yuè yè ，duǎn sōng gāng - bright moon night, short pine tree ridge

Till his Temples Turned Grey in Autumn Years --to the tune “River Rhyme (prelude)” (When I was in Mizhou last year, I composed a ci poem to my younger brother Ziyou in this tune.) This year, he came to join us for the family reunion in Xuzhou and stayed for months, until after the Autumn Festival. On departure, he shared his new ci poem in the same tune, but with a sad note. So I wrote this poem, trying to cheer him up while urging him to consider an early retirement, so that we may enjoy a peaceful life together for good.) Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English version & annotation: Julia Min (Sept. 2024) Till his temples turned grey in autumn years, Anshi had a peaceful life near the East Sea. To kins and friends, he bid farewell in tears. Only the flute and guqin could ease his grief. He promised to return eastward on the River after he settled State matters and the border. Yet, fatally sick, he reached the West Gate. His promise ended in regret, shaped by his fate. His country life was a dream in the lofty place. Our prime years are gone; only stories are left. A thousand miles is our hometown to the west. It’s time we decide when we both may retire, to be commoners somewhere nice and near. For a detached life, just music and verse; For worldly cares, only wine can clear. Should I fall, I know you’ll have my back. Well, Liu Bei might mock us from his tower, But here’s to our common life in common wear. Notes: 1. Anshi: Lord Xie An (social name Anshi, 320-385 AC) was a Chinese politician of the Eastern Jin dynasty (317-420 AC). He was already well known for his elegance and eloquence when he lived a free life at his East Hill by the Yangtse River near the East Sea. But after his brother died in a fierce battle at the border, he had to come out of his secluded comfort zone for his family and the State. Great achievements followed soon after. Not only was his family’s status consolidated as one of the Big Three in the ruling class, but Jin’s state territory also expanded because of his presence in the Court. The idiom ‘rise like the phoenix’ (东山再起) came from his story. 2. West Gate: It was recorded that Anshi came through the West Gate on his way home after he fell sick and never recovered. Superstition held that the Sun sets on the west side, implying the decline of his fate. 3. Liu Bei: lived from 161 to 223 AC, the first emperor of Shu Han, one of the Three Kingdoms. He was a remarkable politician and a brilliant leader whom Su Shi admired. Please refer to other works by Su Shi – “A Drink in the Moon River at Red Cliff” (《前赤壁赋》) and “Meditating on the Past at Red Cliff” (《念奴娇. 赤壁怀古》). Appreciation: This poem captures a farewell moment between the brothers after their reunion, when both were around forty, an age similar to Anshi’s when he ‘rose’ from his East Hill to begin his career in officialdom. The theme is simple, while the reference to Anshi and Liu Bei is intriguing, rippling a persuasive and powerful association in our imaginations. Su Shi’s intention is further crystallised by his emphasis on a detached life in the commoners’ world. No wonder the later banishment to Huangzhou couldn’t crush him. Instead, we see a momentous change in him. He grew in spirit and took the opportunity to enjoy a country life, like a farmer or a fisherman. The extraordinary experience gilded his most productive period, yielding the best poetry of his life. Many poems and prose pieces were exchanged between the brothers over the years they worked far apart. With a more moderate disposition, Ziyou had a much smoother official career and gradually assumed a big-brother role, financing Zizhan continuously during the three well-known banishments. This reminds me of Vincent and Theo, the Van Gogh brothers. Su Shi’s highly celebrated poem “When was the Moon ever so Bright” (《水调歌头.明月几时有》) was written the year after seven years of separation. They didn’t know when they could meet again. Thus, Su Zhe had every reason to express his melancholy at his departure. In fact, the two brothers exchanged many poems and prose pieces. It’s a genuine kinship and penship we can only hopelessly admire in today’s society. 水调歌头. 安石在东海 (余去岁在东武，作《水调歌头》以寄子由。今年子由相从彭门居百余日，过中秋而去，作此曲以别。余以其语过悲，乃为和之，其意以不早退为戒，以退而相从之乐为慰云耳) 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.09) 安石在东海，从事鬓惊秋。 中年亲友难别，丝竹缓离愁。 准拟东还海道，扶病入西州。 雅志困轩冕，遗恨寄沧洲。 岁云暮, 须早计, 要褐裘。 故乡归去千里,佳处辄迟留。 我醉歌时君和, 醉倒须君扶我, 惟酒可忘忧。 一任刘玄德，相对卧高楼。 Reference: baike.baidu.com

洞仙歌·冰肌玉骨 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.07) (仆七岁时，见眉州老尼，姓朱，忘其名，年九十岁。自言尝随其师入蜀主孟昶[chǎng]宫中，一日大热，蜀主与花蕊夫人夜纳凉摩诃[hē]池上，作一词，朱具能记之。今四十年，朱已死久矣，人无知此词者，但记其首两句，暇日寻味，岂《洞仙歌》令乎？乃为足之云. ) 冰肌玉骨，自清凉无汗。 水殿风来暗香满。 绣帘开，一点明月窥人， 人未寝，倚枕钗横鬓乱。 起来携素手，庭户无声， 时见疏星渡河汉。 试问夜如何？夜已三更。 金波淡，玉绳低转。 但屈指西风几时来？ 又不道流年暗中偷换。 Pure as Snow Her Complexion Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English version & annotation: Julia Min (July. 2024) (There was an old nun in my hometown, Meizhou. I’m not sure of her first name, but I’m pretty sure her family name was Zhu. I was about seven, and she was in her nineties. I remember she was quite proud to tell us that she had often accompanied her master on visits to the palace of King Meng Chang, the ruler of Shu State. She was also quite impressed by a ci poem composed by the King when he and his Consort Flora were enjoying a cool night by Mohe Pool on a hot summer evening. She could literally remember every line. But the poem can’t be retrieved now, as forty years have passed and she must be long dead. I can only remember the first two lines, and I often linger on the rhymes and the vibe of the tune. As it happened, the tune “The Celestial from the Cave” came to mind. So here it is, an effort towards a possible complete version.) Pure as snow, her complexion, the grace of jade from within. Infused in the gentle breeze, a subtle scent sneaks from her bath pool of blossoms. Naughty is the wind that opens for the moon her embroidered curtains for a quick glimpse. There she is, leaning on a soft cushion, her eyes vacant, her long hair loosened. Gently, she raises herself, her fair hand in mine, stepping to the garden. The stars drift in the Milky River, twinkling, as Alioth of the Dipper is about to descend. She asks for the time, and I reply: “My darling, it has now passed midnight.” From brimming to dimming, the Moon turns. She figures with her fingers, sighing: “It’s drawing nearer, the falling season. Another year of gold will soon be stolen.” Notes： 1. Shu State: a state conquered by the Great Song ( Northern Song Dynasty). 2. Meng Chang(孟昶): Shu State’s last king, in reign from 934 to 964 AC, who died 7 days after 被那个kept under house arrest in Bianliang (Kaifeng today), the capital of Northern Song. He’s well known for his talent in art, including his ci poems. 3. Consort Flora(花蕊夫人): the most favoured consort of Meng Chang, well-known for her beauty and her poems. Legend has it that the Song Emperor was impressed by her beauty and poetic talent, and he kept her in the palace as his consort. 4. Mohe Pool: the historical site can still be traced today in Zhaojue Temple in Chengdu City. The word Mohe (摩诃) originated in Buddhist scripture and means "wisdom." Appreciation: Based on the prelude, we can infer that Dongpo was about 47 years old when he wrote this poem, so the year could be around 1983/84, the last year of his banishment in Huangzhou (in today’s Hubei Province). This is another example of Su Shi’s sentimental poems, romantic and sophisticated in their vibes, though outshone by his heroic poems. The rhyming wave flows from the beauty’s secret bath pool of fresh flowers to her chamber, then to the garden in the company of her lover, the king, and extends to the Starry River, hinting that the happy night is about to end. The theme is explored further through the seasons and the year, deepening the sentiment that nothing gold can stay. It’s a sigh from the beauty, but also a sigh from Dongpo, who strongly felt his prime years were wasted there at Huangzhou and that his ambition was as if gone with the west wind. Such was the tune of his writings during his five-year banishment, full of regrets yet still wishing to be pardoned and summoned back to the Court, as you can find in his “Meditating on the Past at Red Cliff” and his prose poems on his boat drinks at Red Cliff（前后赤壁赋）. It is, in fact, a universal sigh in the human world about mortality, about the helplessness of holding a good moment. Nature could be defined as ‘cruel’ in human understanding. Robert Frost’s poem came to my mind again— “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. Reference: 1. baike.baidu.com;

Flower Shadow Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English translation & annotation: Julia Min (Aug. 2024) Shadow came in tiers on the blooming terrace. I had servants sweep them away, but in vain. Thank goodness the setting sun took them off. Yet, they are sent back by the moon again! Appreciation: Imagine Dongpo is with friends in a gracious garden in its fullest bloom. After a few cups of wine, he drifted into a tipsy mood. The place was bathed in shimmering golden light—except for the shadow, which swells and stretches as the sun set, as if attempting to overrule the flowers it relied on for its existence. The greater value of this short poem is the implied message under the simple lines. It was written in 1076, shortly after Wang Anshi returned as Prime Minister to reimpose his New Law—a law that had already crushed the commoners once before. As a leader of the conservative party, Su Shi could only sigh: Here we go again! 花影 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.08) 重重叠叠上瑶台， 几度呼童扫不开。 刚被太阳收拾去， 又教明月送将来。（‘又教’有版本作‘却教’） Reference: picture from dongya.com gushiwen.cn

吉祥寺赏牡丹 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.07) 人老簪花不自羞， 花应羞上老人头。 醉归扶路人应笑， 十里珠帘半上钩。 A Feast on Peony Blooms at Lucky Temple Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English translation & annotation: Julia Min (July. 2024) The street sees jolly gents arrayed with a twist. They totter and stagger on tipsy tiddly steps. Peonies have styled their grey hair with regret. The bead curtains are half-rolled miles ahead. Notes： 1. Written in May 1071, when Su Shi was Hangzhou’s Tongpan (a role, similar to an advisor to the Magistrate / Mayor, started in the Northern Song Dynasty to supervise and control the magistrate from arbitrariness) It is said that Su Shi and Shen Li (the Magistrate) were invited to a celebration party at the Lucky Temple of Hangzhou, where the peony was in full bloom. The next day, the magistrate showed him paintings of scenes from the peony festival. Su Shi was quite impressed and wrote this short poem right there and then. 2. Peonies: regarded by many Chinese as the national flower, have a long history radiating from the Capital of the Great Song, Bianliang City ( Kaifeng today). A grand flower festival was held in the most vibrant month of May. And it was quite common for gentlemen to wear a flower during the festival, though a bit amusing still, and more so when celebrities like Su Shi and his old peers celebrated the occasion with people in the street. 3. Bead curtains: hanging curtains decorated with beads of all kinds, often found in ancient poems and artistic works. Appreciation: Another good example of qijue (4-line poem with 7-character verse), which is very short but nothing short of ambition in exploring the theme to the maximum, where the underlined message is far greater than four lines. A brief moment on the street evokes in readers’ minds a stream of vivid images of the festival – the romantic sentiments in Song’s lifestyle, the shared happiness of high-ranking officials and common people, and the openness and freedom in the general governing attitude in Hangzhou. Su Shi was a celebrity but approachable, not hindered by pride and prejudice. He loved people and was loved by people wherever he went. Today, he is probably most loved among contemporary readers as the best of what Great Song could offer. Interestingly, the first artistic work that came to my mind is the painting “Monk Testing Wine” by Antonio Casanova y Estorach. Reference: 1. 徐培均《苏轼诗词选注》(上海远东出版社) 2. baike.baidu.com

减字木兰花 原作：【宋】李清照 英译：闵晓红 卖花担上， 买得一枝春欲放。 泪染轻匀， 犹带彤霞晓露痕。 怕郎猜道， 奴面不如花面好。 云鬓斜簪， 徒要教郎比并看。 Budding blooms - To the tune of Jianzi Mangnolia written by Li Qingzhao ( 12th century) translated by Julia Min From a flower peddler in neighbourhood, I bought budding blooms in spring mood. The pink tips are covered in thick dews, twinkling with gleaming golden hues. Her natural beauty may charm my mate. I regret my silly choice, surely too late. So pinned on hair near my cheeks fair, I wear the blossom for him to compare. Appreciation: Composed in her early marriage days when she was still a teenage girl, this ci poem is the only one in this music tune pattern from her collection left today. She was the happiest lady in the world living with her beloved husband who was then a carefree student at the Royal Academy in the capital city of Northern Song Dynasty. A glimpse of their daily life is manifested here, which is a treat for us to enjoy, especially the clever and witted zoom-in of a minute moment in the secret little mind of a young lady. Other versions for your reference (茅于美）: https://www.en84.com/dianji/ci/200912/00000857.html Notes: 1. jiǎn zì mù lán huā – the music pattern for this ci poem; 2. chūn yù fang – spring flowers that are just budding, which most likely refers to plum blossoms , the first bloom in spring. 3. tú: used as an adverb here, meaning ‘in vain”; Pinyin and word-for-word translation: jiǎn zì mù lán huā – the music pattern Jianzi Mangnolia; mài huā dān shàng – flower peddler loads on; mǎi dé yī zhī chūn yù fàng – bought one branch of Spring Budding； lèi rǎn qīng yún – teardrops soaked evenly； yóu dài tóng xiá xiǎo lù hén – as if with red rays morning dews traces； pà láng cāi dào – worried that my husband might think； nú miàn bú rú huā miàn hǎo – my face not as pretty as the flower; yún bìn xié zān – cloud hair sideway pin; tú yào jiāo láng bǐ bìng kàn – in vain ask husband to compare;

减字木兰花.莺初解语 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2024.08) 莺初解语，最是一年春好处。 微雨如酥，草色远看近却无。 休辞醉倒，花不看开人易老。 莫待春回，颠倒红英间绿苔。 Spring’s First Blush Chinese original: Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Zizhan', art name 'Dongpo') English translation & annotation: Julia Min (Aug. 2024) Spring’s first blush appears when orioles sing, a warm embrace, attuned to a crisp rain. Winter lawn wakes to a green impression— obvious afar, obscure anear—budding spring. Let your young heart relish her charm again. Let your eyes feast on the blossoms bursting. Her golden glory waits for no man behind, who’d lament to see her weakened or fallen. Appreciation: This is a highly descriptive poem Su Shi sent to his younger brother on his way to a new post in February 1063, likely just after the Chinese New Year, when he had to say goodbye to his family. He was only 28, approaching 30. This poem may have been his first sigh as his youth gave way to maturity and greater social responsibilities. The first stanza, on scenery, brings us a joyful early spring with chirping golden orioles, misty warm drizzle, and subtle changes on the lawn. The second stanza expresses his appreciation for the promise of spring and his awareness that his spring days are fleeting, so he urges his brother to cherish every beautiful moment. ‘crisp rain’(如酥) happens to be a poetic equivalent, preserving the dual sensory register (rain + bakery). What makes it work is that both meanings in English are positive, spring-associated, and tactile. A "crisp rain" feels good on the skin; a "crisp croissant" feels good in the mouth — same as the original. I'm excited to find this small miracle of cross-linguistic resonance. Sensual, clever, faithful — and uniquely possible in English. While translating this poem in Melbourne’s early spring, my mind wandered to William Wordsworth’s “Lines Written in Early Spring” and “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”. Reference: picture from 个人图书馆360doc.com徐你一世 baikebaidu.com

From the Inner Garden -to the tune Blossoms Fading in the Rain Chinese original: Su Shi English version: Julia Min (Apr. 2024) From the inner garden, behind curtains and drapes, A yearning poem slips out for a moonlight date— Over west chamber, the moon awaits its other half. Blossoms start fading, leaving butterflies in dismay. Whose flute melody streams from the North Ridge? It has a hold on her heart, a touch on her fair face. So shy behind her screen, so eager on his flute; So close are the hearts, yet a thousand miles apart. Over the low fence, where his eyes have long gazed, A swelling bough leaning, the red apricot in grace. Alas, shy love is often betrayed by flushing cheeks, Trying in vain to hide the desire in a familiar street— A few stolen joys between the cold and the bleak Of long hours in waiting, silent and incomplete. An open love often plays safe with a steady hand, A routine ride on a known course to a destined land: It is free of social walls, but also of yearning fire. Yet lovers’ taste grows keen on uncharted mire. What makes pleasure deep, tender and intense? The stolen ecstasy of secret, forbidden suspense. Appreciation: I'd say this poem stands out as a 101 in Su Shi's collection. Of all his romantic works, rarely do we find him pushing the limits on the private feelings of sensual pleasure. The pornographic vibes beneath the lines add a new colour to his profile as one of the greatest minds in Chinese history. Composed in early spring 1078, the poem was inspired by a painting of Cui Wei, a Tang Dynasty beauty. Su Shi immediately associated it with Yuanzhen's A Tale of Yingying — a story of love colliding with identity, duty, and social judgment. Both protagonists ended up marrying others, yet never stopped longing for each other. Similar explorations of sensual pleasure appear across world literature — from Ovid's Amores and Shakespeare's Sonnet 151 to Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress" and Lord Byron's Don Juan — though often with more explicit frankness. As the translator, I have tried to walk the line between fidelity and freedom — a tension every translator knows, much like a gardener walking the line between cultivation and wildness. Su Shi's genius lies in how he subtly hides the heat of desire beneath the coolness of form: a blush, the west chamber, a branch leaning over a wall. The same restraint appears in classical Chinese poetics. The unsaid, the withheld, the stolen — these are what make the heart race. 雨中花慢.邃院重帘 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 英译: 闵晓红(2024.04) 邃院重帘何处，惹得多情，愁对风光。 睡起酒阑花谢，蝶乱蜂忙。 今夜何人，吹笙北岭，待月西厢。 空怅望处，一株红杏，斜倚低墙。 羞颜易变，傍人先觉，到处被着猜防。 谁信道，些儿恩爱，无限凄凉。 好事若无间阻，幽欢却是寻常。 一般滋味，就中香美，除是偷尝。 Reference: 1. Baikebaidu.com（百度百科） 2. Oxford Academic (Oxford University Press)/ Shakespeare and Sexuality by Stanly Wells; 3. Picture from Google search on