惠崇春江晚景 （第二首） 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(2025) 两两归鸿欲破群，依依还似北归人。 遥知朔漠多风雪，更待江南半月春。 On “The Spring River, Breathing into Evening” （ 2/2) --an inscription for the painting by Monk Hui Chong Chinese original by Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Dongpo') English version + annot. by Julia Min (2025) A flock of wild ducks set off, heading north; while two lagged behind the flight V-form. The desolate desert lies in snow and wind; Best to linger awhile in River South spring. 宋人《芦雁图》著录于《石渠宝笈》 Appreciation: (quoted from  On “The Spring River, Breathing into Evening” 1/2) Hui Chong (965–1017, Song dynasty) was a Buddhist monk and painter, best known for his landscape works of mountains and water, often animated by geese, ducks, and other birds, scenes of rural life and everyday vitality, which modern scholarship might describe as a form of early humanism. A collector of Hui Chong’s painting likely sought an inscription from Su Shi, whose literary authority would have further elevated the work.   Regrettably, as with so many artworks of the period, the painting itself did not survive. It was most likely lost during the invasions of the Jin and Liao, or in later upheavals. Yet the artwork has breathed through Su Shi’s poem, which has been celebrated ever since. Today, nearly every school student in China can recite it, and its second line in particular is frequently quoted in literary and cultural discourse.   In this poem, Su Shi gives voice to the precise moment when nature awakens—when disparate sensations of sight, sound, and movement are subtly compressed into the single plane of a painting. The painting delights the eye as poetry delights the ear and the imagination, rendering the image in rhythmic motion. As the Song thinkers would have it: poetry may be painted, and painting, in turn, may be composed with words.   For your interest, the western landscape painting genre didn’t emerge as a distinct genre until a few hundred years later, during the Renaissance and peaking in the Industrial Revolution.

惠崇春江晚景 (第一首) 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 旧版英译:戈登.奥赛茵, 闵晓红, 黄海鹏(1990) 新版修改及赏析: 闵晓红(2023) 竹外桃花三两枝， 春江水暖鸭先知。 蒌蒿满地芦芽短， 正是河豚欲上时。 On “The Spring River, Breathing into Evening”  (1/2) --an inscription for the painting by Monk Hui Chong   Chinese original by Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Dongpo') old En. version by G. Osing, J. Min & H. Huang (1990) revised En. version+ annot. by Julia Min (2023)   When old bamboos set off a few peach blooms And a lone wild duck calls out: “The water’s fine.” And asparagus and wormwood show green shoots, Then surfaces the globefish, in the nick of time. Appreciation: Hui Chong (965–1017, Song dynasty) was a Buddhist monk and painter, best known for his landscape works of mountains and water, often animated by geese, ducks, and other birds, scenes of rural life and everyday vitality, which modern scholarship might describe as a form of early humanism. A collector of Hui Chong’s painting likely sought an inscription from Su Shi, whose literary authority would have further elevated the work.   Regrettably, as with so many artworks of the period, the painting itself did not survive. It was most likely lost during the invasions of the Jin and Liao, or in later upheavals. Yet the artwork has breathed through Su Shi’s poem, which has been celebrated ever since. Today, nearly every school student in China can recite it, and its second line in particular is frequently quoted in literary and cultural discourse.   In this poem, Su Shi gives voice to the precise moment when nature awakens—when disparate sensations of sight, sound, and movement are subtly compressed into the single plane of a painting. The painting delights the eye as poetry delights the ear and the imagination, rendering the image in rhythmic motion. As the Song thinkers would have it, poetry may be painted, and painting, in turn, may be composed with words.   For your interest, the western landscape painting genre didn’t emerge as a distinct genre until a few hundred years later, during the Renaissance and peaking in the Industrial Revolution. 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) (“Spring Dawn at the Hui Chong River” --“When old bamboo sets off a few peach blooms/And one wild duck calls out, “The water is fine!”/And onion tips and asparagus shoot green--/Then surfaces globefish, in the nick of time.”) 2. picture from baidu

浣溪沙. 游蕲水清泉寺 （游蕲水清泉寺，寺临兰溪，溪水西流。） 原作：苏轼（ 1082） 英译：闵晓红(2022) 山下兰芽短浸溪， 松间沙路净无泥。 潇潇暮雨子规啼。 谁道人生无再少？ 门前流水尚能西！ 休向白发唱黄鸡。 A visit to the Clear Stream Temple -       to the tune “The Washing  Sandstream“ (Today, in Qishui County, I visited the Clear Stream Temple, which overlooks Orchard Stream at the foot of the hill. The river flows westward.) Chinese original by: Su Shi English Version by: Julia Min   Down the hill, along the silver sandy reach, Young orchids dip lightly into the stream. A sand path winds into the pine trees, mud-free. Dusk drizzles, softening the cuckoos’ melodies.   Who said time cannot go back to youth, to teens? Look here, westward flows the Orchid Stream! Do not sigh over your greying hair. No need. It’s just a daily fear of the cock’s crow you feed. Notes: 1.     ‘cuckoos’ melodies: implying a traveller’s homesickness in Chinese culture; 2.     ‘westward’: most rivers in China flow from west to east, with the Yangtse and the Yellow River both sourced in the Himalaya region; 3.     ‘the Orchid Stream’: named in the Tang dynasty for the wild orchids growing like endless clouds along the river’s wet sandy belt. It was later changed to Xishui River. Interestingly, the name Orchid is still used today for the lower part of the river until it joins the Yangtse River; Appreciation: The year 1082 may have been the most productive of Su Shi’s life. For more than a thousand years, the closing lines of this poem have been recited whenever one mourns the passing of spring or the advance of age. Su Shi’s answer is gentle, almost playful: it is not time that weighs upon us, but the anxious heart that wakes too early.   Standing before the temple, he felt light-hearted and joyful at the mesmerising sight of a river flowing from the sunrise in the east toward the sunset in the west. In that moment, his inward eye, suddenly exhilarated, arrived at a new understanding of life—one that lifted the spirit and brought a quiet, blissful joy.   This riverside town is also my birthplace. I spent my childhood and school days walking along a broad sandy reach much like the one Su Shi describes. The landscape might have changed a lot since Dongpo’s days, but the river, the orchids, the long, wide sandy reach mottled by rocks during the dry season, the misty distant hills to the east where the sun rose on my morning walk to school, and the many murmuring streams flowing down from the hilly riverbanks remain. The river was clear enough for drinking; orchids were few, but wildflowers thrived along the shallows and on exposed sandbanks. In the east, misty hills caught the first light of morning when I crossed the river to school. Streams murmured down the slopes. The temple still stands today, yet the clear water, the orchids, the pines, and the cuckoo calls are gone. The river flows on, thinner now, as so many rivers do.   Sometimes I wonder what Dongpo would say if he returned. And yet, in reading and translating his poem, I find that moment again: orchids fluttering, water flowing west, fear loosening its hold. Across centuries, the human heart still listens—and nature still answers.   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)（"At the foot of the hill, sweet shoots of thoroughwort root in the stream;/Off into the pines goes the sand road that never is mud./Dusk and the rains are incessant; the cuckoo gives forth./Who says, when all's said, you can never again be young?/Back to the west flows the River, past this temple's porch,/So White Hair, why hasten the morning with old rooster's song."） 2. Picture by An Tian

定风波.莫听穿林打叶声 ( 三月七日，沙湖道中遇雨。雨具先去，同行皆狼狈，余独不觉。已而遂晴，故作此词。 ) 原作：苏轼（ 11th Century） 英译：闵晓红 莫听穿林打叶声， 何妨吟啸且徐行。 竹杖芒鞋轻胜马， 谁怕？ 一蓑烟雨任平生。 料峭春风吹酒醒， 微冷， 山头斜照却相迎。 回首向来萧瑟处， 归去， 也无风雨也无晴 Barely, I hear the rain -       to the tune “ Pacify the Turmoil” (On 7 March, we encountered stormy weather on our way to Sand Lake. Unfortunately, our rain gear was taken before us, so we were all soaking wet. Everyone else felt out of place except me. The sky cleared a moment later when I wrote this ci poem.)   Written by: Su Shi ( 11 th  AC) English version: Julia Min (2022)   Barely, I hear the rain Slip through the woods, beating the leaves. Why should any of these ruin my chanting, my walk at ease? A bamboo staff, and straw shoes -- Just as good as riding a steed. Who cares! One straw raincape is all you need for a lifetime’s beating rain and dark mist.   A crisp wind wakes me to a spring chill from a cosy wine dream. Yet there, on a crest ahead, slanting beams of a sunset rise to greet me! Looking back at the road taken, where the rain rattled the trees, I see no difference: Just a tempest stirring in a cup of tea -- No fair or foul, no wind or rain. Appreciation: This ci, too, dates from March 1082. It was the third year of his exile in the remote town of Huangzhou, following three months in prison after being framed in a setup by his political opponent, Shen Kuo. Dongpo and his friends were on their way to Sand Lake when a storm suddenly swept across the terrain. Everyone else felt out of place, soaked to the skin, but our poet saw this as his banishment to this town, too, shall pass.   The ci tune is well chosen to express his strong courage, gained through a deeper philosophical understanding of his reality. ‘Steed’ here implies his previous success in the Royal Court, while the bamboo stick, the straw shoes and the straw raincape are associated with the ordinary life of common people — one he now accepts with composure and ease.   The English translation is restructured to capture the more dynamic, free and brave spirit conveyed in the lines of this revised version. “The road taken” is used here to associate with Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” (1915). “Tempest in a cup of tea” comes from the English proverb: a storm/tempest in a teacup, underscoring the poem’s central insight: that hardship is often magnified by perception, while inner freedom lies beyond such distinctions. 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)（"Barely, I hear the rains invading the woods, lashing the leaves…/I can’t have it bothering my reciting of poems, walking in ease./Straw shoes and a bamboo stick are lighter than horseback,/ Why fear one straw raincape in the smoke of a lifetime’s rains? //A crisp Spring wind clears out the wine, but leaves me chilled. /Then, on a crest, angling rays of a sunset greeting me!/Looking back at my path, where the rainstorm rattled the trees,/I fear no changes, no storm in the forest, nor clarities."） 2. Picture from jianshu.com（ 简书 ）

阳关曲.中秋月 --写给子由 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 旧版英译:戈登.奥赛茵, 闵晓红, 黄海鹏(1990) 新版修改及赏析: 闵晓红(2023) 暮云收尽溢清寒， 银汉无声转玉盘。 此生此夜不长好， 明月明年何处看。 The Mid- Autumn Moon (to Ziyou) -composed to “Yangguan Tune” written by Su Shi (11th AC, social name 'Dongpo') old En. trans. by G. Osing, J. Min & H. Huang (1990) Revision+ annot. by Julia Min (2023) Evening shadows gathered-in, A bright chill spills over the land. The jade plate spins As the Milky Way remains silent. This night, this life, -- No good time stays for good. Who knows, next year’s full moon, If we’ll see her together again? Notes: 1. Jade plate: the full moon; Appreciation: The Moon Festival is an important day for family reunion after the harvest, as Chinese believe the full moon represents fulfilment and union. This belief is reflected in many aspects of life. For example, Chinese usually use a round table for dining, and a round face is regarded as a happy face that would bring luck to the family. A circular shape corresponds with a square shape, a yin-yang balance as in nature with human society, ideas that, to a degree, shaped Chinese culture.    This short ci lyric excels not only in its rhymes but also in other poetic features such as ‘pin ze’ and ‘dui zhang’ (平仄和对仗), which are special to Chinese poems thanks to the character form and sound benefits. It’s a ‘qi jue’ (七绝), a strict 4-line format with 7 characters, deliberately arranged based on yin-yang theory. This has been a popular poetic form (since 200s AC) with two couplets, where every word or phrase echoes the previous line in grammatical function and tone, and the subjects should correspond with each other as well, such as ‘此生此夜’ with ’明月明年’（ ‘this night this life…/ next moon, next year….’）   The subject is easier to capture in this short poem. It’s been 7 years of separation for the brothers before this day, and it was a blissful night together under the beautiful full moon and a serene, cloudless sky dotted with the Milky Way. The first two lines usher us into the natural scene, and then the subject turns to his sentiment in the second couplet, hinting at the unpredictable future of official careers in the chaotic Song period during the practice of the New Law, when Su Shi and all his followers faced more turmoil on the way. A profound impact on the readership – ce la vie! 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) ( “ The Mid- Autumn Moon -- Evening shadows gathered-in, a bright chill spills over the land. / The Milky Way is silent and the jade plate spins. / This night – this life – we don’t have the good things for long. / And next year’s moon – who knows? – if we’ll see her together again.”) 2. picture from calligraphy by Pan, Wangjing (潘望京书法)；

阳关曲·中秋月 原作：苏东坡 (11世纪) 英译：闵晓红（2022） 暮云收尽溢清寒， 银汉无声转玉盘。 此生此夜不长好， 明月明年何处看？ The Mid-autumn Moon --to the tune of “Yangguan Tune” Chinese original: Su Shi ( 11th Century) English version: Julia Min (2022) The clouds at dusk are fully cleared, and here, you and I, beneath the cool, blue empyrean. The Milky Way, so quiet, comes into shape, lifting the jade plate, both high and near. This night, this life, will soon have slipped away. Where shall we be on Moon Festival next year? For appreciation: This poem moves from outward scenery to inward reflection, a common and effective mode in classical Chinese poetry. The original consists of a single four-line stanza; the English version has been expanded into six lines to allow the images and emotions to unfold more gradually. The poem was composed in 1077, when the brothers Su Shi and Su Zhe were finally reunited for the Mid-Autumn Festival after eight years of separation. The previous Mid-Autumn gathering had already given rise to Su Shi’s masterpiece “When Was the Moon Ever So Bright.” One can easily imagine their quiet joy as they sat together in the garden, perhaps with a few close friends, waiting for the dusk clouds to drift away and reveal a clear blue sky. Stars appeared one by one; the Milky Way slowly took shape; then the full moon rose in the distance, growing brighter as it climbed overhead. The Mid-Autumn Festival follows the golden harvest in China—a moment when the year’s labor is largely complete and life turns inward, toward family reunions, weddings, and gatherings with friends, before the cycle begins again with the Lunar New Year. The moon has long been one of the most cherished subjects in Chinese art, associated with romance and loneliness, homesickness and reunion, the gentleness of nature, and the purity of spirit. On this night, poets composed verses and riddles for social gatherings. The most celebrated examples come from the Song dynasty, when ci lyrics were written to popular tunes and sung on the spot—something like a Western garden party, infused with elegance and romance. Food was secondary: mooncakes accompanied flower tea, oranges, nuts, and seasonal fruits. In halls or upstairs pavilions, amid curling incense smoke, members of the gentry played guqin, painted, wrote calligraphy, and composed new lyrics in response to one another’s poems. Reading this scene today, one cannot help feeling that this—if anything—is what an art club once looked like, and perhaps what it could be again. 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) (“Mid-Autumn Moon: Evening shadows gathered in, a bright chill spills over the land./The Milky Way is silent and the jade plate spins./This night - this life - we don't have the food things for long./And new year's moon-- who knows? -- if we'll see her together again.”) 2. pictures from 潘望京书法

阳关曲 · 赠张继愿 原作：苏东坡 (11世纪) 英译：闵晓红（2022） 受降城下紫髯郎， 戏马台南古战场。 恨君不取契丹首， 金甲牙旗归故乡。 An Ode to Emperor Zhang Jiyuan -       to the tune of Yangguan   Written by: Su Shi ( 11 th  AC) English trans. by: Julia Min (2022)   In Three Surrender Towns stood the purple-beard man, on the old battlefield by the south of Reviewing Stand. I lament that Jiyuan did not claim every Qidan head, before his gold armour and banners returned homeland. Notes： 1.  Three Receive-Surrender Towns: According to the Ancient Tang Book, there was a man named Zhang Jiyuan who had three towns built in the year 707 to protect the Tang’s north border. 2.  Reviewing Stand: the big stand for reviewing cavalry, built by Xiang Yu, who once fought a famous battle here with Liu Bang, the Han Emperor, hence ’the old battlefield’. 3.  Qidan: a barbarian minority in the north of the Liao State in the late Yi Dynasty; Appreciation: This poem was composed in 1078. In its opening two lines, Su Shi looks back with a sigh toward the Tang dynasty, an era remembered for its strong frontier defences and formidable military preparedness against northern invasions.   Zhang Jiyuan, praised in the poem, was credited with a remarkable strategic design: a defensive system comprising three interconnected frontier cities spanning hundreds of kilometres along the northern reaches of the Yellow River. These fortifications were arranged so that if invaders breached the first city, the residents could withdraw safely to the second, preserving both manpower and morale while exhausting the enemy. The system stood as a symbol of Tang military ingenuity and resolve.   Against this historical backdrop, Su Shi offers an implicit critique of his own time. What has declined is not merely the physical condition of the Three Surrender Cities but the Song dynasty’s overall military strength and political will. The poem’s lament—“I lament that Jiyuan did not claim every Qidan head”—is less a call for bloodshed than an expression of frustration with missed resolve and unfinished defence.   The Khitan (Qidan) were a powerful northern nomadic people, founders of the Liao dynasty, and persistent military adversaries of the Song. By invoking them, Su Shi sharpens the contrast between past firmness and present hesitation. The poem thus serves not only as an ode to a historical figure but also as a measured, ironic admonition: when defensive strength weakens, symbolic victories replace decisive action.   Through compressed imagery and historical allusion, Su Shi transforms a short poem into a meditation on decline, responsibility, and lost momentum, revealing his enduring concern for the state's fate even when writing in a restrained, classical voice. 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) (“To Zhang Jiyuan - to the tune of Yangguan: At the City-That-Knows-No-Defeat stood steadfast Zhang,/South of the reviewing stands at the old battlefield scene./I hate that you didn't take all the Qi Dan's heads./Your gold armor and flagstaffs covered with teeth, they came home clean.”) 2. pictures from google

水调歌头 黄州快哉亭赠张偓佺 原作：苏轼（ 11th Century） 英译：闵晓红(2023) 落日绣帘卷， 亭下水连空。 知君为我， 新作窗户湿青红。 长记平山堂上， 欹枕江南烟雨， 杳杳没孤鸿。 认得醉翁语， 山色有无中。 一千顷，都镜净， 倒碧峰。 忽然浪起， 掀舞一叶白头翁。 堪笑兰台公子， 未解庄生天籁， 刚道有雌雄。 一点浩然气， 千里快哉风。 At the Pavilion of Breezy Joy (to my friend Zhang Woquan at Huangzhou) —    to the tune of “River Tune’s Prelude”   Chinese original: Su Shi (style name 'Dongpo') English version: Julia Min ( Feb. 2023)   At sunset, the brocade blinds are rolled up. The river before the porch joins the sky.    The paint is still wet on the new windows, just for me, this pavilion, this ancient sight. I often recall my days at the Hall of Mt Ping amid the mist and rain of River South’s spring. The best view leaned on the window cushions— A wild goose cried past, vanishing from sight. When tipsy, I could taste Xiu’s mind in his poem. “The hills disappear to appear” in drifting smoke.   The river at the lower reach spreads far and wide, like an open sea, mirroring ranks of green peaks. A wind raises waves, lifting as if a white leaf --      An old boy in his skiff drifts down the stream, light as a feather, and free as a bird on the wind. I start to feel amused by Lord of Orchid Spring. Totally deaf to Zhuangzi’s “Celestial Melody”, he named the wind but lost nature’s turning. Here, with a noble heart, a fearless mind at ease, You can sail in breezy joy through a rocky sea. Appreciation： This is another heroic ci by Su Dongpo, written during his exile in Huangzhou after “Meditating on the Past at the Red Cliff.” Like that earlier masterpiece, it was immediately embraced by contemporary scholars—including the emperor himself—and quickly entered the canon. The closing couplets of both stanzas have been especially admired and frequently quoted in later literature. Daoism was one of Dongpo’s great spiritual refuges in adversity. A devoted reader of Zhuangzi, he absorbed the Daoist vision of transcendence beyond worldly entanglements. Zhuangzi often recounts the story of Liezi, who learned to ride the wind only after relinquishing the weight of human purpose and social attachments. When the mental barrier between self and world dissolves, so too does the heaviness of the body. As Liezi says, in Eva Wong’s translation: “Without knowing it, I was being carried by the wind. Drifting here and there, I did not know whether I rode on the wind or the wind rode on me.” A parallel vision appears in Zhuangzi’s famous butterfly dream, as translated by Burton Watson: “Suddenly he woke up… But he did not know whether he was Zhuang Zhou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that he was Zhuang Zhou.” The philosophical resonance is unmistakable. This poem centres on transformation, transcendence, and union with the universe. From this Daoist perspective, distinctions such as good and bad, noble and humble, rich and poor, and right and wrong dissolve. These are social constructs belonging to the human world of duality—a necessary soil in which the spirit matures, yet one that must ultimately be transcended. Such insight nourished Dongpo’s unrestrained ethos, evident across his poetry, prose, painting, and calligraphy, and inspired generations after him. One might even argue that this spiritual freedom marks the essential distinction between the heroic, unrestrained school of ci poetry and the restrained, sentimental school that focuses solely on personal sorrow. Structurally, the poem is equally a masterpiece. The first stanza unfolds a vast landscape through rhythmic shifts in distance and focus, creating a dynamic yin–yang movement. This spatial breadth is enriched by a joyful recollection of the past through the historical figure Ouyang Xiu, which subtly recalls the poet’s own years of official success, when his talent was recognised and nurtured by his great mentor. The second stanza turns inward, revealing Dongpo’s Daoist impulse to withdraw from the world of duality. Here he expresses a desire to release social values and distinctions, merge with heaven and earth, and experience existence as freely as a bird in flight or as lightly as a feather borne on the wind. Notes: 1. “The Bracing Pavilion” (Kuai Zai Ting): Built by Zhang Woquan, who—like Su Shi—was banished to Huangzhou. The two became close friends and often met at this pavilion overlooking the Yangtze River. 2. “Xiu”: Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072), historian, poet, calligrapher, and leading scholar of the Northern Song Hanlin Academy. Deeply impressed by the talent of the Su brothers, he once remarked to his son: “This man will become so famous that the world will forget me.” Revered by Su Shi as his greatest teacher, Ouyang had built a pavilion on Mount Ping in Yangzhou, celebrated for its sweeping views—an image Dongpo subtly adopts here. 3. “River South” (Jiangnan): A broad term for the fertile and culturally rich lands south of the Yellow River, long idealised as China’s most prosperous and beautiful region, including cities such as Yangzhou and Hangzhou. 4. “My pillow”: Both Ouyang Xiu and Su Shi once served as local administrators in Yangzhou. The Hall of Mount Ping thus became one of Dongpo’s favourite gathering places, a site of friendship, memory, and cultivated leisure. 5. Song Yu (宋玉): A gifted prose writer of the Warring States period (c. 298–222 BC), associated with the Chu court. In his dialogue “On Wind,” Song Yu distinguishes between “noble” winds that pass the ruler and “humble” winds that touch common people—an argument often read as an oblique critique of political inequality. Su Shi refers to him here as the “Lord of the Orchid Terrace.” 6. Zhuangzi (庄子): The Daoist philosopher Zhuang Zhou classified sound into three kinds: heavenly sounds (wind, rain, birds, waterfalls), earthly sounds (wind interacting with terrain), and human sounds (instrumental music). This taxonomy underscores the Daoist hierarchy that privileges natural spontaneity over human artifice. 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)（"The embroidered curtain rolled at sunset, /the river beneath the porch disappears into sky./Just for me, this window, this scene, /the ink and scarlet shining, wet paint./I find myself recalling times of Ouyang Xiu /Gazed from his pillow south along the river at the smoke and rains. /And in the farthest distance saw no lonely wild-goose./I seem to see that drinker’s words, /“Mountains appear to disappear.”//The river is a thousand miles wide, /mirrors easily all the green peaks. /A wind rises in the distance, /lifting a white-haired bird on a leaf, /an old boy in his boat. /Here I can laugh at the feudal sprout of Lantai /Who can’t understand Zhuang Zhou’s theory of moving air, /Who pretends royal-male and ordinary-female are its categories. /Here, just that old boy’s spirit is enough to live in the strongest winds. "） 2. painting from Google；

西江月. 照野弥弥浅浪 ( 顷在黄州，春夜行蕲水中，过酒家饮。酒醉，乘月至一溪桥上，解鞍曲肱，醉卧少休。及觉已晓，乱山攒拥，流水锵然，疑非尘世也。书此语桥柱上。) 原作：苏轼（ 11th Century） 照野弥弥浅浪, 横空隐隐层霄。 障泥未解玉骢骄, 我醉欲眠芳草。 可惜一溪明月， 莫教踏碎琼瑶。 解鞍欹枕绿杨桥， 杜宇一声春晓。 The moon stirs the river into a soft melody -       to the tune “The Moon on West River”   (Intro: This was composed during my spring outing on horseback from Huangzhou to Qishui Town. After a few drinks at a local tavern, I felt tipsy as I reached a bridge under a bright moon. I unsaddled the horse and lay by the bridge for a nap. I woke at dawn to the murmuring spring river winding from a distant mountain range to nearby rolling hills – a dream world of serene beauty. Hence, I wrote this poem on a baluster of the bridge.)   Chinese original: Su Shi ( 11 th  AC) English version: Julia Min (2022)   The moon stirs the river into a soft melody. The sky grows dim, veiled in the thinnest mist. Too tipsy to loosen the saddle of my steed, I long for a bed of grass by the sandy stream.   The river gleams, cradling a fallen moon； I can’t bear to see it erased by passing tread. Unsaddled, he rests with me at Willow Bridge till dawn, a cuckoo wakes me to the spring stream. Appreciation: This Ci was composed in March 1082, Su Shi’s third spring in Huangzhou. He was riding along the Orchard River (today’s Xi River in Xishui County, not far from Huangzhou, Hubei). I’m quite familiar with the place, as it is my birthplace, where I cherish many childhood memories (1968-82). The bridge, now called the Old Bridge, was on my way to my primary and middle schools on the temple side. I can still picture it, built with rammed earth on a wooden structure with wooden tiers, deep into the fast-running sand river, which was about 150-200 metres wide, exposing a wide sandy beach on the temple side in the dry seasons. We also practised school military training there in the summer. The other side of the river was less sandy, usually covered with wild flowers. I used to collect them after school. There was no cement, no bridge railing on either side, and there were many holes. As children, we used to jump over them for fun, totally ignorant that it was a dangerous bridge, on the brink of collapse after many years of neglect.   The landscape in Su Shi’s time must have been far more pristine, with few buildings to interrupt the river’s open sweep. One can imagine him visiting the nearby temple, riding along the riverbanks and pausing at a roadside tavern for a few cups of local wine. Tipsy and unhurried, he likely lay down by the bridge for a brief rest—only to find that the moment invited something deeper: a surrender to the night itself.   The poem suggests a timeless suspension, a desire to step outside the pressures of official life and yield to the slow, self-sufficient rhythms of nature. This impulse is quietly expressed in his decision to restrain his horse’s restless energy and lie down in the lush grass rather than press on. Here, a Daoist spirit is strongly felt—an aspiration toward harmony with ziran  (自然), a return to the maternal embrace of the natural world. Notes: 1. Willow Bridge; The site lies east of present-day Xishui County, Hubei Province. A modern bridge now stands beside the old ruins. The location is approximately half a mile from Clear Stream Temple, where Su Shi composed another celebrated work, “A Visit to Clear Stream Temple by the Orchard River Flowing East.” 2. Cuckoos: In Chinese tradition, the cuckoo’s springtime cry is closely associated with homesickness and longing, especially in the heart of a weary traveler—an undertone that quietly deepens the poem’s serenity with emotional resonance. 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)（The moon brightens the wild murmurings of a shallow stream;/a haziness in the sky might be the thinnest clouds./Ok as is,/But I’m drunk and want to lie down in rich grasses. // They’re lovely, the full stream and the white moon./I can’t let him trample to pieces of broken jade all this./I’ll unsaddle him here, rest my head on Green Willow Bridge,/Till cuckoo wakes me and it’s already a Spring dawn.）

蝶恋花 . 花褪残红青杏小 原作：苏东坡 (11世纪) 英译：闵晓红（2022） 花褪残红青杏小。 燕子飞时， 绿水人家绕。 枝上柳绵吹又少。 天涯何处无芳草。 墙里秋千墙外道。 墙外行人， 墙里佳人笑。 笑渐不闻声渐悄。 多情却被无情恼。 When Catkins Vanish in the Weakening Wind — to the tune “Butterflies in Love with Flowers”  Chinese original: Su Dongpo (Su Shi, 11th century) English version: Julia Min (2025)   When catkins vanish in the weakening wind, spring blossoms yield to apricots, still green. Swallows wheel round houses, skim the waters; There is splendour in grass, as glory in flowers.   Behind the walls, some girls laugh on swings. before the walls, a traveller, in pensive motion. Slowly, the cheers of joy fade into the distance— the innocence of spring, the yearnings of autumn. For appreciation: This poem was most likely composed during Su Dongpo’s exile in Huangzhou, Hubei Province, a period marked by both political marginalisation and profound spiritual transcendence. Its structure is built on a series of contrasts: youth and age, joy and melancholy, enclosure and exposure, and, at a deeper level, the favoured “new party” within the Song court and the banished “old party” outside it. In the first stanza, the poet introduces the passing of spring. The fading blossoms, green apricots, wheeling swallows, and flourishing grass collectively suggest transformation rather than loss. Although decline is visible, Dongpo deliberately turns the tone, as often in his poems, towards consolation: “there is splendour in grass, as glory in flowers.” This line serves as philosophical self-reassurance—an assertion that life’s value does not reside solely in brilliance and success. It reflects the mature optimism of a mind tempered by experience, an understanding that plenitude persists even as forms change. This is the “philosophic mind” that emerges only with age and endurance.   The second stanza sharpens the emotional contrast and deepens the poem’s political implications. The laughter of young girls within the walls represents carefree innocence and untroubled favour, while the lonely traveller outside embodies exile, reflection, and thwarted ambition. As the laughter gradually fades, so too does the poet’s connection to official life and recognition. The concluding line delivers a restrained yet piercing irony: “the sentimental is troubled by the heartless.” Here, Dongpo employs the antonyms inside and outside not merely as spatial markers but as moral and emotional symbols—the inside signifying unthinking privilege, the outside bearing the weight of conscience and compassion.   Thus, the poem is both a lyrical meditation on seasonal change and a subtle, sardonic commentary on political injustice. Without bitterness or overt protest, Su Dongpo transforms personal disappointment into reflective insight, allowing restraint, balance, and humanity to speak more powerfully than complaint – all achieved in plain, simple everyday language.   A similar sentiment is shared in an English poem “Dover Beach” by Mathew Arnold: “The world inside laughs; the thinker stands outside.” -- a sense of historical and personal displacement, and a solitary observer watching innoc ence retreat.  In  additio n, ‘splendour in grass’ and ‘the glory in flowers’ are borrowed from Wordsworth’s verses: "...The radiance which was once so bright Is now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass Of glory in the flower We will grieve not Rather find strength in what remains behind.” Reference: 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) (“It's time for flowers to fade and wither; the tiny apricots are green./And swallows dart over the fish ponds around the houses./ The wind can't scatter the catkin willows any more./Where is not the spice of all things growing?//Inside a wall a lady swings, outside I have my road, apart./Outside the wall a wanderer walking, inside a lady's pretty laughing./It seems that laughter fades forever on the wanderer's ears;/He feels too much and knows that laughing knows no heart.”) ChatGPT; pictures from 汪国新

永遇乐. 明月如霜 (彭城夜宿燕子楼，梦盼盼，因作此词) 原文：苏轼 英译：闵晓红 明月如霜，好风如水， 清景无限。曲港跳鱼，圆荷泻露， 寂寞无人见。紞如三鼓，铿然一叶， 黯黯梦云惊断。 夜茫茫, 重寻无处， 觉来小园行遍。 天涯倦客，山中归路， 望断故园心眼。 燕子楼空，佳人何在， 空锁楼中燕。古今如梦，何曾梦觉， 但有旧欢新怨。异时对、黄楼夜景， 为余浩叹。 The moon’s frost white - to the tune of “Everlasting Joy” Chinese original: Su Shi ( 11th century) English version: Julia Min   The moon’s frost white, the wind, freshly cool. An endless stillness -- till a fish breaks the winding pool. Dews slide down lotus leaves. A loneliness without form. Three drumbeats from the dark mist; Then, one leaf falls.   Startled awake from deep sleep, A familiar sadness seizes me. Out in the garden I seek: “Where’re thee, beauty of my dream?” I feel her everywhere, yet nowhere can she be seen. The night stretches long, here in the far east.   Weary of the world, a traveller drained his heart’s eye of hope towards the western mountains, looking for the sign of home. The Swallow Pavilion, long empty, Where’s the beauty? Dust keeps its promises within; Only abandoned nests remain.   Past and present, Just dreams that never cease. What gathers in the mind -- old memories and new regrets. Someday, some visitors will climb my Yellow Pavilion. Before such a midnight scene, I wonder, will they sigh for me? Appreciation: In the Tang dynasty, the Swallow Pavilion was built by the military governor Zhang Jianfeng in Peng City (present-day Xuzhou) for his newlywed concubine, Guan Panpan, a renowned singer and dancer. The pavilion stood by a lake and soon attracted many swallows to nest there, giving it its name. After Zhang’s death, Guan Panpan lived on, refusing to remarry, remaining faithful to his memory. Her story became a lasting poetic symbol of lost love and unfulfilled happiness.   This ci poem was composed in 1078, shortly after Su Shi completed his own architectural project, the Yellow Pavilion, during his tenure as governor of Xuzhou. One night, Su Shi stayed at the Swallow Pavilion and is said to have dreamed of the brief appearance of the beautiful lady’s spirit. The late-autumn night scene under a full moon—a recurring motif in Chinese poetry—often evokes a sense of love once whole but now irretrievably lost.   Su Shi’s political circumstances deepen the poem’s melancholy at the time. His position at court was increasingly precarious amid fierce factional conflict. Daoist thought offered him solace, turning his mind toward nature and toward his homeland in the western mountains of Sichuan. Throughout his life, this tension persisted: whether to devote himself fully to official service or to withdraw into reclusion. Yet Su Shi was ultimately a man shaped by his age and its currents—deeply engaged with the world, unable to relinquish public responsibility entirely for a Daoist life apart.   A Western analogue may be found in Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey,” where reflection before a familiar landscape becomes a meditation on memory, loss, and the divided self across time. Reference: 古诗文网https:// so.gushiwen.cn/ ChatGPT All pictures are selected from google search.

寒食雨二首 原作：苏轼 英译+注解：闵晓红 其一 自我來黃州，已過三寒食。 年年欲惜春，春去不容惜。 今年又苦雨，兩月秋蕭瑟。 臥聞海棠花，泥污燕支雪。 暗中偷負去，夜半真有力。 何殊病少年，病起頭已白。 On the Cold Food Festival Chinese original: Su Shi ( 11th AC) English version: Julia Min Poem One Since my banishment to this hinterland, three years have now elapsed in a flash. Huangzhou also has the return of Spring, yet my spirit fails before the full swing. Rain pours on the flooded land in torrents, Cold as dark autumn, the March east wind.   In sickbed I hear my beloved begonia Has been stripped bare by wind and rain, like a youth turned grey by sudden illness, like a beauty taken at night by unseen hands. Her rouge-snow blossoms fall to muddy ruin. As ever, beyond us all is Creator's governance. Notes: 1.     Huangzhou, an old town by the Yangtze River, witnessed Su Shi’s greatest stumble – The Poetry Case at the Crows Court, so called because everyone knew it was a set-up against their beloved Su Shi. Yet it was here that he fulfilled his worldview, which gave birth to most of his masterpieces of art.  2.     rouge-snow: the Yanzhi Mountain, where the soil is red. When it snows, the surface looks pink, which is often used by writers to imply young beauties. 其二 春江欲入戶，雨勢來不已。 小屋如漁舟，濛濛水雲裏。 空庖煮寒菜，破竈燒溼葦。 那知是寒食，但見烏銜紙。 君門深九重，墳墓在萬里。 也擬哭途窮，死灰吹不起。 Poem Two The Yangtze roars over the river banks, the sky’s still loaded, claiming rain season. My little home looks like a fishing boat, disappearing in the mist that’s thickening. The kitchen is empty, only some veggies, and some wet fire-reeds in the stove broken.   A crow passes, with paper money unburned, I know only then the day’s fire is forbidden. Out of reach the Crown in the palace forbidden, Thousands of miles away the tombs of my kin, Shedding Yuan Ji’s tears at road’s dead end, I regret the soaked ash unable to burn again. Notes: 1. The palace forbidden: the Royal Palace; 2. Yuan Ji: the leader of seven noble men of The Bamboo School in the Three Kingdom Period; It’s said that he’d often shed tears whenever he reached the end of a road, sighing over his unappreciated talent and unachieved ambition. Appreciation: Dongpo wrote this poem in Huangzhou three years after being released from prison due to the famous The Poetry Case at the Crows Court, a false charge lodged by his political rivals. He wrote this on a long scroll (199.5 cm x 34.2 cm), and the calligraphy, which captures so much of the moment, has been regarded as the 3 rd  on the top list of Chinese semi-cursive script, and the calligraphy has exceeded the poem in popularity ever since. The original scroll can still be appreciated in the Royal Palace Museum in Taiwan, together with comments handwritten by Huang Tingjian, Emperor Gaozong (Qin Dynasty), and many other notable men in history. It is an invaluable asset of art.  Reference: 1. picture from google.com