水龙吟. 似花还似飞花 (次韵章质夫杨花词） 原作: 苏轼（11世纪北宋） 英译: 闵晓红(2025) 似花还似飞花， 也无人惜从教坠。 抛家旁路， 思量却是，无情有思。 萦损柔肠， 困酣娇眼，欲开还闭。 梦随风万里， 寻郎去处，又还被莺呼起。 不恨此花飞尽， 恨西园，落红难缀。 晓来雨过， 遗踪何在？一池萍碎。 春色三分， 两分尘土，一分流水。 细看来，不是杨花， 点点是离人泪。 An Ode to Catkins -      to the tune of Shuilongyin (in the same rhyming scheme as “An Ode to Catkins” by Zhang Zhifu)   Chinese original: Su Shi English version: Julia Min   Like and yet unlike flowers, No one grieves their fall or heeds their grace. Cast off to roadsides, drifting in empty air, They’re read as women’s shifting desires. Yet I see her inner world— A tender heart budded in the leaf’s slender eye, Poised to open, but in a wind-dream it lingers, Seeking her distant husband when orioles cry.   It’s not the catkin’s parting flight I fear,But West Garden’s bloom, fallen beyond recall.After dawn’s chasing rain, the remnants, where? Shattered into duckweed, driven here and there. If the blooming spring has three endings, Two must be in dust, one in water.      Look closer — They are not catkins, but a world of tears!   Like and yet unlike flowers, No one grieves their fall or heeds their grace. Cast off to roadsides, drifting in empty air, They’re read as women’s shifting desires. Yet I see her inner world— A tender heart budded in the leaf’s slender eye, Poised to open, but in a wind-dream it lingers, Seeking her distant husband when orioles cry.   It’s not the catkin’s parting flight I fear,But West Garden’s bloom, fallen beyond recall.After dawn’s chasing rain, the remnants, where? Shattered into duckweed, driven here and there. If the blooming spring has three endings, Two must be in dust, one in water.      Look closer — They are not catkins, but a world of tears! Notes: 1.     Zhang, Zhifu: an official in Hubei who enjoyed writing poems in the same rhyming scheme as Su Shi’s ci poem. Su Shi did the same, echoing Zhifu’s ci poems. 2.     ‘the leaf’s slender eye’: A poetic reference to the shape of willow leaves, which resemble a woman’s eyebrows. Appreciation: Although Dongpo is better known for his heroic poetry, his sentimental ci poems are also well received; this is a good example. This ci dates back to 1087, when the poet and politician had already had an intention of resigning from the Royal Court after witnessing the fierce struggle between the old and the new parties over the New Laws.   Catkins from weeping willows are often used in literature as a motif for the helpless fate of drifting on flowing water, suggesting a fate beyond one’s control. Here, they are associated with his official career and ambitions driven by the big social machine or program. The tender eyes of the budding leaves clearly suggest the poem by Jiu Changxu (Tang Dynasty) “Spring Grief”, where a lovesick lady dreams of a reunion with her husband, only to be disrupted by the oriole singing at her window. She cries out: “Drive the birds away. She breaks my dream of my love far away in West Liao.” The insinuation here is an interrupted, distracted moment of beauty, as in the chaos of social activities intruding on the poet’s pursuit of living true to his own desires.    “West Garden” here could refer to his followers in the Old Party. Su Shi was then a leading figure in the party, sometimes called the “The West Shu Party” (West Shu refers to his native place in Sichuan Province in western China). Soon after he was sentenced to prison, his followers were removed from key political roles, one by one. Thus, he sighed that his spring days were over, yet most regretfully, his downfall affected the fate of all his followers. Here, Su Shi famously divides the fate of spring into three parts: "Two must be in dust, one in water."  This reflects the Buddhist-influenced view of the transience of life—everything eventually dissolves back into the elements.   The implied meaning of flying catkin in Chinese today is often associated with disloyal wives who go with the flow of their sexual chemistry, leaving their husbands and families behind. There was a traditional Chinese belief that fallen catkins turned into duckweed (floating aquatic plants) upon contact with water. This imagery emphasises a life that never finds a "root" or a home.   It's also worth noting the format of this ci, in which Su Shi wrote with the same rhyming scheme and sequence, even using the same rhyming words as in Zhifu’s ci poem. He was indeed very strict with himself! Recognised as one of the great poets among the gentry class, Su Shi was often challenged to such intellectual entertainment, which was quite popular at his time. Su’s poem wins over Zhang’s in many ways. I’m attaching a copy of Zhang’s poem for your entertainment if you can read Chinese. 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) ("Like and yet unlike flowers, /No one honours their obedience to a fate of falling./They’re called ungrateful there at the roadside, but I see/It’s not heartless, the sorrow and drift of their flying./Their twining flowers wound a heart whose tender eyes /Are trying to open, but close upon a dream ten-thousand miles /Away, seeking her husband where he’s gone. Then oriole wakens! //No, I don’t hate the catkin willows, completely barren. /I do fear I can’t put back the flowers, in the West Garden. /The morning after a good rain, though. Their remnants, where’d they go? /Into the pool of duckweed, driven one way then another./There are three Springs, two dust, one water, flowing away./Look closer: they’re not catkins; each fallen one’s a lady’s desolate tear.") 2. 章质夫杨花词《水龙吟》：燕忙莺懒芳残, 正堤上、柳花飘坠。轻飞乱舞，点画青林，全无才思。闲趁游丝，静临深院，日长门闭。傍珠帘散漫，垂垂欲下，依前被、风扶起。//兰帐玉人睡觉，怪春衣、雪沾琼缀。绣床旋满，香球无数，才圆却碎。时见蜂儿，仰粘轻粉，鱼吞池水。望章台路杳，金鞍游荡，有盈盈泪。 3. painting from Google；

满庭芳.归去来兮 （元丰七年四月一日，余将去黄移汝，留别雪堂邻里二三君子，会仲览自江东来别，遂书以遗之。） 原作: 苏轼（11世纪北宋） 新英版: 闵晓红(2025) 旧英版: 戈登.奥赛茵, 闵晓红, 黄海鹏(1990) 归去来兮，吾归何处？ 万里家在岷峨。 百年强半，来日苦无多。 坐见黄州再闰， 儿童尽、楚语吴歌。 山中友，鸡豚社酒， 相劝老东坡。 云何，当此去， 人生底事，来往如梭。 待闲看秋风，洛水清波。 好在堂前细柳， 应念我、莫剪柔柯。 仍传语，江南父老， 时与晒渔蓑。 Farewell to Huangzhou —To the tune of Mantingfang   (On 1 April, 1084, I’m about to leave Huangzhou after being reappointed to another post in Ruzhou. It’s an unforgettable moment to say farewell to my Snow Hall, my good neighbours, and a few gentleman friends. My friend Zhongluan also came all the way from River East.)   Chinese original: Su Shi (1084) new Eng. version: Julia Min (2025) Old Eng. version: G. Osing, J. Min & H. Huang (1990)   Go back to my mountains, but where are they? —A thousand miles away, Mt. Min and Mt E Mei. I’m half a hundred now, not much left of my days, Yet still here in the second leap year, idling away. My kids have embraced Wu songs and Chu lingo. And I have many village friends from nearby hills. With wine for the shrine, gifts of poultry and swine, They’re tempting me to grow old at my East Slope.   Yet, I’m taking my leave today. What can I say? Time flies faster than a weaver’s shuttle game. I’d forget the hustle and bustle, and float away For the autumn breeze and Luo’s rippling waves. My willows by the Snow Hall will miss me, I know. Please spare the tender boughs and let them sway; And tell my fishing buddies on the river south also, To air out my straw raincape often, come what may. Notes: 1.     Mt. Min and Mt. Emei: the two major mountains (Sichuan Province) where our poet’s native place, Meishan, is located; 2.     leap year: A calculation based on the Chinese Calendar, where every four years there’s a leap month. During his time in Huangzhou, there were two leap years -- 1080 and 1084. 3.     Wu songs and Chu lingo: Huangzhou was a town of the Chu people during the Warring States (475-221 B.C.) and of the Wu people during the Three Kingdoms (228-265 A.D.). 4.     Luo’s rippling waves: River Luo in central China; Appreciation: This ci was written in 1084, just as Su Shi was leaving Huangzhou after being assigned a post in Ruzhou, which was closer to the Royal Court. He had lived here for over four years and had seen his children speaking the local dialect. Being Su Dongpo, he could make friends wherever he went, even with the local villagers. The Huangzhou people loved him and helped him in the fields and with many other tasks. They honoured him as ‘the Big Scholar’. With their help, Su Shi built the Snow Hall, where he taught local students. Many years later, although Su Shi never returned, the local descendants continued to rebuild his favourite place —Dongpo’s Red Cliff by the Yangtze River.   Today, Huangzhou is home to some of China’s best high schools. I was born in a nearby town, a half-hour drive from Red Cliff, which was linked to my first teaching venue, Huanggang Normal Institute. For three years, my students joined me for morning exercise and reading at Red Cliff every school day. I feel as if my life has been arranged for this translation mission. What can I say? It’s such an honour and privilege indeed!   This poem opens with “Go back to the mountains!” (“归去来兮”), a famous line from the great poet Tao Yuanming. It reflects a strong Daoist inclination toward a return to nature and rural life, away from the fame-seeking world. This theme runs straight through to the end. At this first downturn, Dongpo’s mind had begun drifting away from the hustle and bustle of society towards a simple village life. Reference: Older version： 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) (""{Go back to the mountains! But where are they?/It’s more than a thousand miles back to Min and E Mei./I’m half-a-hundred now, my days are numbered./I’ve already stayed here past two leap years./My children all speak your lingo, sing your songs, too./Friends in from the hills, with chickens, pigs, sacrificial wine,/Tempt me to grow old out at Dong-po. //As I take my leave what can I say?/In life, things fly by like the shuttle in the loom./I’ll watch the autumn wind’s waves on the Luo River in days to come./Who’ll take care of my slender willows at Snow Hall?/If you remember me, don’t cut their delicate branches down./Tell my old fishing buddies, too, on the south side of the River,/To air-out my straw rain cape for me, and do it often...") 2. painting from https://zhuanlan.zhihu.com/（知乎）；

浣溪沙. 细雨斜风作晓寒 (元丰七年十二月二十四日，从泗州刘倩叔游南山。) 原作: 苏轼（11世纪北宋） 英版: 闵晓红(2023) 细雨斜风作晓寒， 淡烟疏柳媚晴滩。 入淮清洛渐漫漫。 雪沫乳花浮午盏， 蓼茸蒿笋试春盘。 人间有味是清欢。 A chill wind sways willows in drizzling rain (I visited Mt South with Liu Qianshu in Sizhou on 24 Dec. 1084) -       to the tune “The Washing Stream"   Chinese original: Su Shi (1084) English version: Julia Min (2023)   A chill wind sways willows in drizzling rain, Embracing the riverbanks in drifting smoke. River Luo feeds into River Huai in vast folds.   Lunch is smartweed, mugwort, bamboo shoots, with tea crema on my cup like smooth snow. Only in simplest life does truest joy unfold. . Appreciation: 1. Historical & Personal Transition In 1084, Su Shi was in a state of professional and spiritual "limbo". After years of political turmoil in Huangzhou, he was being moved to Ruzhou. This poem is more than a travel log; Donpo uses sensory details to signal a major life transition—evidence of his early intent to retire. Having lived through the chaos and complexity of civilisation, Su Shi uses this moment in Sizhou to meditate on his return to basics in pursuit of a Daoist, detached experience. 2. The Structural Metaphor: Rivers to the Soul The poem follows a deliberate architectural flow: Five branch rivers: The first five lines depict five subjects—the weather, the trees, the rivers, the tea, and the food. The mainstream: All these sensory details feed slowly into the final line. The ‘truest joy’ is the ocean where all these simple experiences eventually meet. 3. Sensory Symbolism The Tea (Dian Cha 点茶): The ‘tea crema‘ refers to the Song Dynasty art of whisking tea into a thick, milky froth. By comparing it to ‘smooth snow,‘ Su Shi contrasts the physical cold of the morning wind with the aesthetic warmth and beauty of his drink. The Spring Plate: The smartweed, mugwort, and bamboo shoots represent a relearning of the original taste. To Su Shi, these humble wild vegetables were more flavoursome than a royal banquet because they were untainted by political ambition. For Su Shi, the ‘truest joy’ was the realisation that he no longer needed the world's approval to be content.   Notes: 1.     Liu Qianshu: a friend who lived in Sizhou (approximately in Si County, Anhui Province today); 2.     Mt South: located to the southeast of Sizhou. 3.     River Luo: a river branch flowing from northwest to northeast in Anhui, joining River Huai there. 4.     Tea: Tea-making in the Song dynasty was a major part of daily life, with a variety of teas served at the table. This creamy tea-making was called ‘Dian Cha’, still seen today in Japan and some countries in South Asia, in the names of ‘Cha Latte’ and ‘Mocha’. Reference: 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) (A light rain showing the cold angle of the wind cleared out/And then we saw the thin smoke of a home, scattered willows tending an empty bank/Where Luo Creek feeds easily as clear into the River Huai.// White as snow, white like milk-flowers boils my cup of tea at noon./My Spring plate is full of the taste of fresh lettuce and wild greens,/Better these simple luxuries than bowls-full of greasy society. ) 2. painting from google；

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.）