游金山寺 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(2023) 我家江水初发源，宦游直送江入海。 闻道潮头一丈高，天寒尚有沙痕在。 中泠南畔石盘陀，古来出没随涛波。 试登绝顶望乡国，江南江北青山多。 羁愁畏晚寻归楫，山僧苦留看落日。 微风万顷靴文细，断霞半空鱼尾赤。 是时江月初生魄，二更月落天深黑。 江心似有炬火明，飞焰照山栖鸟惊。 怅然归卧心莫识，非鬼非人竟何物？ 江山如此不归山，江神见怪惊我顽。 我谢江神岂得已，有田不归如江水。 注： 1071年苏轼赴杭州任通判，途径镇江金山寺，留宿。二更夜看见寺前的长江现异象，遂写此诗记下。 My Unforgettable Visit to Jinshan Temple written by: Su Shi English version: Julia Min ( Feb. 2023) This river source is Mt Min in my hometown. My career followed the waves all the way down. It’s said she loses peace to roaring tides at times, rolling sands down to where the ocean hides. Yet, the rocks by Zhongling Stream on the south Stand fast through all the waves, soft or loud. I climb the peak for a glimpse of my native place, Green ranges crowd my gaze, losing Min’s trace. It’s time to go home, but I can’t find my boat. As my mind wanders, the day’s getting late. The monks bid me stay: The sunset is best — Rosy clouds parade, a symphony of shades. Far and near, the breeze rolls rippling waves. As the new moon pins the darkening sky, a bright object suddenly appears on the river. The hills are floodlit, and crows caw in fear. The River is consumed by the dark right after. I cannot sleep, lost in reasoning for a judgment. Maybe River God’s vexed with this wanderer, who lingers after fame, this far from homeland. I seek His pardon — driven not by my choice, and swear to return when I can own some land. Notes: 1. Jinshan Temple: an old temple complex on Mt. Jin (‘shan’ meaning a hill here) in Zhenjiang City, Jiangsu Province, today. The complex land was once an island in the middle of the Yangtze River during Su Shi’s time, but is now just a part of the south bank. 2. Mt Min: Su Shi was born in Meizhou, a small town nestled at the bottom of the great Mt Min, which was believed back then to be the source of the Yangtze River. 3. Zhongling Stream: a stream running down Mt Jin to the Yangtze River; Appreciation： On his way to his new post as the mayor of Hangzhou, Su Shi was invited by his friends, two monks at Jinshan Temple, to visit the famous complex. It may have been the monks’ idea to hide Su Shi’s boat so they could spend more time with their beloved friend. That night, under a crescent moon, they saw with awe a supernatural sight in the middle of the Yangtze River, which, in modern terms, could be an unidentified object. It happened at about 10 pm on November 3, 1070, according to the Chinese lunar calendar, around early December in the solar calendar.   This poem in 7-character verse could be read simply as a travelogue. But the touch of a celebrity, with his sentiment at that moment, enhances the artistic effect through dramatic imagination. It is structured into three parts, so it can be reasonably divided into three stanzas to suit today’s poetry format. (Ancient Chinese writings didn’t use paragraph format or punctuation.) It begins with a melancholy sigh that he’s wandering further away on his official journey from his hometown on the Yangtze River, foreshadowing the ending verse.   The sightseeing and aesthetic values are detailed here, with the rocks on the south bank symbolising his obstinate personality, hinting that he’s so buried in the hustle and bustle of the fame-hunting game that he’s not awakened to free his true nature. The 2nd stanza tells the main incident of the miraculous object in flames, lighting up both banks of the river. He sought to conclude this experience with an intellectual interpretation, echoing his precious melancholy with fantasy and a promise of returning to the mountains. 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) (" For how long now have these shores been altered by waves!/I climb a peak to look for my native place…./There are only the river, north and south, and mountainous green./Homesick, afraid, and finally, I remember my boat,/But the old monk bids me watch the sun go down./A light wind blows over the wide river, like a wavering sail.//The last of the clouds, mid-air, are red fishtails./And now the moon must five the river light;/Now midnight nears and day is deepest dark./What are those, torches? Out in mid-stream, burning?/What is it startling crow from his nightly home?//How sadly I go to bed, my heart not knowing/If it was spirit, trick, or man, or what it was./“Why not return here, it’s all so beautiful.”/The river god’s mystery accuses foolish me./I thank his silver mercies, what else can I do?/If I’ve a land an don’t abide there, make me this river ) 3. painting from Google；

江城子·天涯流落思无穷 (别徐州) 原作：苏轼 英译：闵晓红 天涯流落思无穷； 既相逢，却匆匆。 携手佳人，和泪折残红。 为问东风余几许? 春纵在，与谁同! 隋堤三月水溶溶； 背归鸿，去吴中。 回首彭城，清泗与淮通。 欲寄相思千点泪， 流不到、楚江东。 A traveller of the world, a seeker of the soul (Leaving Xuzhou) - to the tune of Jiangchengzi written by: Su Shi ( 11th century) translated by: Julia Min A wanderer of the world, a seeker of the soul, I feel as if we’ve just met; now I’m set to go. How much spring is left me? I ask east wind， plucking the last bloom for my love in sorrow. And who would be my spring mate in Huzhou?   The March river ripples on along the Sui Levees, I head southward, my back to the returning geese. When the Si-Huai river-joint is stolen from view, all the memories come to life, a brimming stream. How can I flow my tears now to Chu River East? Notes： 1.     east wind: the main wind direction in spring, and spring is also called ‘East God’, another name for ‘Spring God’. 2.     Sui Levees: the Grand Canal built during the Sui and Tang dynasties to channel water north. Here, it refers to the water from the Bian River (a branch of the Si River) to the Huai River. 3.     returning geese: the wild geese would fly from south to north in spring. Although Su Shi was governor of Xuzhou for only two years, he already felt at home, hence ‘returning’. Huzhou is in the south of Xuzhou. 4.     Chu River: the other name for River Si, which flows through Xuzhou and joins River Huai in Xuzhou City. However, Huzhou is some distance away from the river. Appreciation: This is a farewell lyric, a ci song composed upon leaving Xuzhou for Huzhou after Su Shi was appointed governor of Huzhou. In only 23 months in Xuzhou, Governor Su had already established himself as a father-like figure loved by the locals, a memory still fresh among the Xuzhou people. Every school child knows him through the poems in their textbooks. For a thousand years, no other governor or mayor has surpassed him in the minds of Xuzhou people. He led the people in building levees (the Su Levees) and the Yellow Tower to combat floods, opened coal mines for the winter, and restored the local iron metallurgical industry, among many other achievements. He also left behind some famous calligraphy and three hundred poems, and this one is probably the last he composed before arriving at his new post in Huzhou.   At the age of 42, Su Shi and his followers were known as ‘the Old Party’ or ‘Yuanyou Party’, a name defined against ‘The New Party’. The New Party was at the peak of implementing the New Law at this time. Disfavoured by the Throne, Su Shi chose to be dispatched from the Court to take on hands-on work in regional administration. He quite enjoyed his stay in Xuzhou, though his political ambition for the Song remained a hard knot, hence the human inquiry: “How much spring is left me? I ask East God.” Indeed, Su Shi, with his temples thinning by the year, aspired to return to the Court with his followers to bring things back to order for a stronger and greater Song. Instead, he was dispatched, travelling north and south, even as far away as Hainan Island, footing the biggest map ever in the entire history of civil servants’ dispatchment in the Song Dynasty. Yet his life was intensely lived with vigour and passion shared by everyone around him. And his artistic vibes have become ever more vibrant over a thousand years.   Reference: Old version – “Upon leaving Xuzhou” ( I’ve wandered over the world for years, considering everything:/We are no sooner met than I must make plans for leaving./We shake hands tearfully; trees shed the last blooms remaining./How many good times are left me? I ask the east wind;/And who will be my friends in what’s left of Spring?//’Between the Sui Levees the Bian River in March is wide and murmuring./Southward, to Huzhou, I’m bound, my back to the geese returning./Looking back to Xuzhou I see the Si and Huai Rivers joining./I’d send you my lonely tears in the River Huai,/But it doesn’t flow past Huzhou, where I’ll be pining 杰华《苏轼在徐州》 无犀 原创 ( souhu.com)

饮湖上初晴后雨 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(2023) 水光潋滟晴方好， 山色空蒙雨亦奇。 欲把西湖比西子， 淡妆浓抹总相宜。 A moment from shine to rain on West Lake Chinese original by Su Shi (11th Century, social name 'Dongpo') English version by Julia Min ( Feb. 2023) A sea of sparkling ripples when it shines, A mystic place with misty hills in rain. One shade the more, one ray the less, Can barely touch the nameless grace. A toast to West Lake for her rare beauty Like Xishi, and her values, shine or rain. Notes: 1.     West Lake: a most beautiful lake in Hangzhou, near Shanghai (still a popular tourist destination today); 2.     “‘One shade the more, one ray the less,/had half impaired the nameless grace.’”: borrowed from Byron’s famous poem “She Walks in Beauty” for imaginative association; 3.     Xishi (西施/西子): one of the four most admired beauties in ancient China, namely, Xishi, Wang Zhaojun, Diaochan and Yang Yuhuan. Xishi lived in the State of Yue during the Spring and Autumn period (770-476 BC). Appreciation: This famous poem was written while Su Shi served as the Magistrate of Hangzhou (1071–1074). It was a happy time for him, filled with beautiful memories shared with family and friends. Even today, the people of Hangzhou think of him fondly, calling him "The Legendary Mayor Su Shi" for everything he did for their city.   This short, four-line poem (known as 7-Jue verse) is loved all over China. It’s so catchy and sweet that it’s often sung to children to cheer them up. Like all great art, it uses simple words that everyone can understand, but it also has a deeper meaning for those who look closer. To Su Shi, the lake was more than just water; it represented a person’s inner strength. No matter how many hard times his political rivals put him through, he stayed true to himself—beautiful and steady, "come rain or shine".   The English version can be regarded as a recreation that can stand on its own, capturing the lake’s "nameless grace" through a warm tone. First, the use of the word "values" in the final line perfectly connects the lake’s beauty with Su Shi’s spirit. Second, by setting the poem as a "toast" to the lake, it avoids dry, literal styles and instead revives the poet’s "heroic and romantic quality", making a 1,000-year-old masterpiece feel fresh for a modern audience. 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) (" Drinking Wine by West Lake After Rain : The waters gleam and ripple freshly after a good rain;/She’s no less rare or lovely among the misting hills./I see her captivating as Xi Zi of ancient song,/Changing pale colors for bright, and always the more beautiful.”) 2. “One shade the more, one ray the less,/had half impaired the nameless grace.” : borrowed from Byron’s famous poem “She Walks in Beauty” for an associating imagination; 3. painting from Google；

醉书 （六月二十七日望湖楼） 原作: 苏轼（字子瞻, 号东坡居士; 11世纪北宋） 新版英译及赏析: 闵晓红(2023) 旧版英译:戈登.奥赛茵, 闵晓红, 黄海鹏(1990) 黑云翻墨未遮山， 白雨跳珠乱入船。 卷地风来忽吹散， 望湖楼下水如天。 Drinking lines for the West Lake (at the Lakeside Pavilion, Hangzhou, 27 June, 1072) Chinese original by Su Shi New En. version+ annot. by Julia Min (2023) old En. version by G. Osing, J. Min & H. Huang (1990)   A tide of cloud surges rolling ink past the hills. White pearls of rain dance into my little boat. Then quick as the scene’s swept, the storm’s left. Where lake melts into sky, the porch cannot tell.  Appreciation: This poem is the first in a series of five Su Shi wrote while governing Hangzhou. Like a masterful handscroll painting, it begins with this intimate, first-hand experience on the boat, before panning out to the broader, contemplative view from the Lakeside Pavilion.   The poem itself unfolds like a dynamic sketch of the weather. It opens with the swift, ink-wash strokes of a storm—dark clouds rolling, rain dancing—only for the scene to be swept clean by a sudden wind. The final vista is one of profound stillness, where lake and sky merge into a seamless, tranquil whole. This rapid transition is more than just scenic drama; it feels like a lens on life itself. The initial turbulence mirrors passing troubles, while the expansive calm suggests a deeper, enduring harmony. This movement from chaos to clarity, from separation to unity, resonates with Daoist acceptance of nature's flowing changes. In the end, the poem masterfully layers all these meanings—vivid observation, philosophical insight, and personal serenity—into a single, panoramic moment that continues to reveal itself long after the first reading. 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) ("Drinking lines for the West Lake (in Hangzhou on June 27th) / Black clouds roll, ink almost flooding the hills, / Great raindrops dance around my boat like jewels; / Then, quick as the scene’s swept, the clouds dispelled,Where Lake becomes the sky my porch can’t tell.") 3. pictures from Google；

贺新郎.乳燕飞华屋 原作: 苏轼（11世纪北宋） 英译: 闵晓红(2023) 乳燕飞华屋， 悄无人、桐阴转午， 晚凉新浴。 手弄生绡白团扇， 扇手一时似玉。 渐困倚、孤眠清熟。 帘外谁来推绣户？ 枉教人梦断瑶台曲。 又却是、风敲竹。 石榴半吐红巾蹙, （cù） 待浮花浪蕊都尽， 伴君幽独。 秾艳一枝细看取， 芳心千重似束。 又恐被、秋风惊绿。 若待得君来向此， 花前对酒不忍触。 共粉泪、两簌簌。( sù) When a young swallow flies up the mansion —to the tune of “The First Flight of the Young Swallow” Chinese original: Su Shi English version: Julia Min When a young swallow flies up the mansion, no one is there to see. The parasol tree gathers its own noon-shadow; then a lady steps from her bath into the cool of the evening. Her hand, idle yet busy, waves a round fan of fine silk, Both fan and hand are as jade, as poetry in motion. Even so, she slowly wearies, reclines and drifts on dream-wings. But who is it, knocking beyond her brocade blinds? Not him, just bamboo shadows shaking in the wind. When spring’s bright petals and stamens fall away, no one comes to soothe this loneliness, only pomegranates, half-crowned, red scarves folded in. Look closely at any glowing branch: each bloom is heavy with yearning, afraid to fall if startled by the autumn wind. Yet still, she holds on until the long-awaited appearance, to raise a tearful toast to her own beauty, knowing too this is her final crowning moment of blossoming. Appreciation: In China, the pomegranate symbolises passion, fertility, peace, and prosperity. In this sentimental  ci  poem, Su Shi adopts the voice of a lonely lady whose melancholy deepens as spring fades. The poem may have been composed during an intellectual gathering where musical courtesans performed new lyrics to pre-existing tunes—a popular practice in the Tang and Song Dynasties known as “writing new  ci  to old tunes.” Though superficially about a solitary beauty and flowers, such poems often carried deeper layers of meaning, expressing the writer’s personal or political sentiments. This piece is a fine example of that dual-theme tradition. The hidden theme here could well be Su Shi’s growing disappointment with the Royal Court during a period of decline, which culminated in his banishment to Huizhou. According to Chen Gu in his book on famous people of the Song, Dongpo’s concubine Zhaoyun had the nickname “Liuhua” (i.e. Pomegranate Flower). She was the only one to follow him to Huizhou (a very desolate place then) after he was banished again at the age of 58 in 1094. Not only was she gifted in singing, but she was also praised for her strength as a loyal companion. Su Shi valued her dearly as a soul mate. She was perhaps the only comfort for Su Shi other than poetry, but not for long. The severe climate and living conditions of Huizhou took her away two years later. She was only 34. FYI, this is Deepseek’s comment: “Julia Min's version is a poetic re-creation for the contemporary literary readership. She sacrifices formal constraints to build a sustained, atmospheric and psychological portrait that many argue captures the essence of Su Shi's emotional landscape—loneliness, latent desire, and the pathos of beauty in isolation—more fully for a modern audience.” “Her interpolations ("as poetry in motion," "final crowning moment") are not betrayals but amplifications—using the tools of modern English lyricism to build the precise aesthetic and emotional atmosphere that the original  ci  built with its own classical tools. She trusts her reader to navigate subtlety.” Do you agree? Let me know what you think. 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 the Tune of Hexinglang” -- When the young swallow winged over the grand mansion,/No one was home to see, filling its own noon-shadow, the parasol tree. /Now from her bath at evening’s cool a lady comes./Her hand is idle if busy as her white, round silken fan, both seeming jade. /Even at this she gradually wearies, reclines, and passes into sleep. /But who’s that, at the outside curtain, knocking at her gate?/Nothing more than the wind shaking the bamboo together. //The red scarf folds of the half-bloomed pomegranate/Could comfort, Lady, your still loneliness./Look closely at any of her bright branches;/In each bloom’s fragrance is enfolded the heart of a girl,/Fearing only the dry winds of Autumn, that startle, leaving her green./If I delay until you come to this /I’ll not have heart to toast your weathered flower./Then two will weep together, hour by hour.") 2. 百度百科网站: 南宋 陈鹄 《 耆旧续闻 》录陆辰州语，说晁以道在看到东坡真迹后转告陆辰州说：苏轼有妾名朝云、榴花。朝云客死岭南，惟榴花独存，故苏词下阕专说榴花，并有“待浮花浪蕊都尽，伴君幽独”之语。 3. picture from Google；

行香子.清夜无尘 原作: 苏轼（11世纪北宋） 英译旧版: 戈登.奥赛茵, 闵晓红, 黄海鹏(1990) 英版修改: 闵晓红(2023) 清夜无尘，月色如银。 酒斟时，须满十分。 浮名浮利，虚苦劳神。 叹隙中驹，石中火，梦中身。 虽抱文章，开口谁亲？ 且陶陶，乐尽天真。 几时归去，做个闲人。 对一张琴，一壶酒，一溪云。 The Night Is Pure —to the tune of Xingxiangzi   Chinese original: Su Shi (1084) English version: Julia Min (2025)   The night is pure, The moonlight, soft silver, I’d pour wine till my cup’s brimming. Why serve for fame and profit, chasing — a flashlight in a crack, a stone spark that sears, and a dream self in the air.   There are worlds I hold in mind, Yet, where could I share? I’d rather be away and be free, for a simple country life — together with my Qin for music, and a full jug of wine， by a cloud-drifting river. Appreciation: Composed after he returned to the Royal Court in 1086, this ci poem is no longer a timeless sigh but a sensational monologue spoken over wine with a trusted friend. The opening lines—"The night is pure... I’d fill my cup till it brims over"—become a vivid stage setting. The "purity" of the night contrasts with the "dust" of court politics he has just left behind in conversation. Overfilling the cup is a deliberate, symbolic gesture of excess and cleansing.   Every image sharpens under this light. Chasing fame is not merely vain—it is a “flashlight in a crack,” a small, futile beam against the dark. The question “where could I share?” echoes with the loneliness of a voice that has lost its public stage.   And so, the closing vision is not an escape but a conscious embrace and a promise of a freer self. The qin, the lyre of the Chinese soul, is not a prop—it is his new voice. The wine, the river, the clouds: these become his chosen companions, the elements of a life reclaimed.   A powerful Western resonance can be found in the work of W. B. Yeats (1865-1939), specifically his poem "The Lake Isle of Innisfree". 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) ("The night is pure, free of the commotions of dust, the moonlight silver./Pouring the wine into my cup, I’d see it over-filled./What a waste to slave in vain for fame and profit, both bubbles…/A white steed racing in a rift -- stone sparks -- a dream of self.//For though I had worlds in mind to say to others, who will share?/Be glad as you can, my heart, content to be simply entertained. /When can I return to my mountains, be unofficial, freed/To face my old qin, a pot of wine, and a stream of clouds. ") 2. painting from Google；

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