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

浣溪沙 . 簌簌衣巾落枣花（其三） 原作：苏轼 英译：戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红 簌簌衣巾落枣花， 村南村北响缲车。 牛衣古柳卖黄瓜。 酒困路长惟欲睡， 日高人渴漫思茶， 敲门试问野人家。 Blossoms of date trees rain down on shirts and kerchiefs  - to the tune of Huanxisha Chinese original: Su Shi (11 th  century) Old English version: G. Osing, J. Min & H. Huang (1991) New English version: Julia Min (2025)   Blossoms of date trees rain down on shirts and kerchiefs, The village hums with joy as spinning wheels grow busy. An old man in cape sells cucumbers by an old willow tree.   And me, drinking wine along the way drowsing in fatigue. The sun is high and I feel dry, really, for a cup of tea; - Good as home is the first door here in the hills I can see. Appreciation: This is very much in Su Shi’s key: rustic detail, bodily fatigue, gentle humour, and sudden warmth at the end. A series of five short poems was composed there and then, reflecting the simple but intense lives of the villages he experienced during his stay, offering a glimpse of the lives of common subjects in artistic works, a change from the Tang’s ‘Glorious Grace’. It’s also a major shift in the East Renaissance.    In the spring of 1078, there was a drought around Xuzhou area where Su Shi, as the governor, led local people in prayers before altars for rains – a traditional service in China even in some remote countryside today. By early summer, the land was relieved by rains and followed with a harvest, so it was time to show gratitude to the gods.   For your information, the smell of the cocoons’ being boiled actually is anything but inviting, but it is fragrant to the people in times of good harvest after the long dry spell is lifted. Reference: Reference: Old 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) – “Blossoms of date trees rain down on shirts and kerchiefs/when, everywhere in the village, the spinning wheel is heard./An old man in his staw cape sells cucumbers under the oldest willow./And me? I’ve been drinking again along the way and want only to drowse./The sun is high and I’m thirsty, really, for a cup of tea./The first door I come to here in the hills is good as home.” 古诗文网https:// so.gushiwen.cn/ All pictures are selected from google search.

浣溪沙 . 麻叶层层苘叶光（其二） 苏轼 麻叶层层苘叶光， 谁家煮茧一村香? 隔篱娇语络丝娘。 垂白杖藜抬醉眼， 捋青捣麨软饥肠， 问言豆叶几时黄? Nothing beats arriving at a village ( PoemTwo） - to the tune of Huanxisha Chinese original: Su Dongpo English version: Julia Min (2025) Nothing beats arriving at a village filled with the aroma of boiling cocoons, and strolling through a piemarker’s foliage,- lush green fields glowing on a sunny afternoon. Women laugh as they chat through the fences, while winding cane giant katydids to the full. A tipsy elder leans on his goosefoot cane, gathering some green grain to pound it for food. I asked if the bean leaves would go golden soon. Appreciation: For appreciation, please go to the last poem in this series: " Blossoms of date trees rain down on shirts and kerchiefs " Reference: Old 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) – “Through dense foliage of hemp, brushing aside branches of piemarker, shining and luxuriant./What’s better than coming to a village filled with the fragrance of boiling cocoons?/The ladies go on chatting through the fences, winding all the while cane giant katydids./A white-haired fellow on his goose-foot cane raises drunk eye-lids/And goes on gathering the green grain to pound for food for hungry bellies/ I can’t help asking how soon the bean leaves will turn yellow.” baike.baidu.com (百度百科) picture selected from Google search.

卜算子. 缺月挂疏桐 （黄州定慧院寓居作） 原作：苏东坡 (11世纪) 英译：闵晓红（2022） 缺月挂疏桐， 漏断人初静。 谁见幽人独往来？ 飘缈孤鸿影。 惊起却回头， 有恨无人省。 拣尽寒枝不肯栖， 寂寞沙洲冷。 A Waning Moon Descended the Parasol Tree （composed at Dinghui Monastery,Huangzhou） -       to the tune of Busuanzi written by Su Dongpo（11th century） translated by Julia Min (2025)   A waning moon descended the parasol tree near a wanderer in the dark -- just the old me. The night smiled calmly as water clock ceased, and a goose lingered alone in the judging mist.   It startled into the air, turned his head to check, His regret found only a place barren and bleak. No company, no home on cold branches to rest, Just a stubborn sense of pride on a sandy beach. For appreciation: Composed in 1082 during his first career downturn after being banished from the Royal Court to this remote little town of Huangzhou (in today’s Hubei Province), located on the north bank of the Yangtze River. He arrived here in 1080 with his family and had to live in a modest house in Dinghui Monastery, still under the oversight of the town’s magistrate. Without any income from government, he had to plough the fields for food like the local farmers – a challenge that tested his tolerance and endurance, but it also shaped him into a resilient and gracious mind, as well as a great poet, calligrapher, and painter. Huangzhou indeed witnessed most of his greatest works, cherished for a thousand years onward.   The poem includes a few metaphorical touches. A waning moon suggests a decline in life. A parasol tree symbolises decent and noble qualities, as it is the only tree the king of birds, the phoenix in China, would rest upon. Here, the leafless parasol tree in winter represents a miserable time for a noble being. The goose is simply a personification of the poet himself. Chinese culture has long regarded the wild geese as symbols of loyalty, trust, and devoted love for family.  The concluding lines are seen as his courage to face challenges and resist drifting away with the social current.   The mood and tone remind me of Du Fu's "A Solitary Wild Goose" (《孤雁》), and in the western world, Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" --"Alone, alone, all, all alone, / Alone on a wide wide sea!"    Reference: 1. 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) (“A waning moon hung in the Decembered limbs of the parasol tree,/The top of the hourglass is empty, and people are deeply asleep./Who’ll see the loneliness of my coming and going/In the mists, faint as that shadow of a swan.//Startled into the air, looking back startled?/But no one cares about the disdains of such an one./Who would not take shelter in all the frozen branches,/Wants no chances but choosing rest in wintered sand.”) 2. pictures from baike.baidu.com（百度百科）

望江南·春未老  （ 超然台作） 原作：【宋】苏轼 (11th Century) 英译：闵晓红（ 2025） 春未老，风细柳斜斜。 试上超然台上望， 半壕春水一城花。 烟雨暗千家。 寒食后，酒醒却咨嗟。 休对故人思故国， 且将新火试新茶。 诗酒趁年华。 When Spring is not yet old (written on the Transcending Tower) - to the tune of Wangjiangnan   original composed by: Su Dong-po (11th Century) English version by Julia Min ( 2025) When Spring is not yet old, Soft wind gently kissing the willows, Come to the Transcending Tower with me, To see the town’s blooms embraced by the moat, Gleaming through the misty rain on many homes. After Forbidden Fire, a day of cold, I woke up, still a little tipsy, full of woes. Why all this sentiment among friends of old? Let's try the new tea brewed on the new wood, And spend our best years tasting wine and poems. Picture retrieved from Google Appreciation: Standing in Mizhou (modern Zhucheng, Shandong), the Transcending Tower was a building rebuilt by Su Shi during his governorship and named by his beloved brother, Su Zhe. In the spring of 1076, from this vantage point, Su Shi watched a scene that stirred a profound meditation on memory and belonging. It was the time of the Festival of Forbidden Fires, a two-day period preceding Qingming. This festival recalls the ancient, tragic tale of Zi-tui, a loyal follower so wounded by his king's neglect that he chose to perish in a mountain fire rather than accept a belated reward.   For Su Shi, this story of ultimate sacrifice and honour cast a long shadow. As the living paid tribute to their ancestors—tidying tombs and honouring the dead—the traveller Su Shi felt a strong sense of absence. In this masterpiece, he transformed the universal symbols of the season—the fresh willows, the spring flowers, the moat's reflective waters—into something intensely personal. This is not merely a description of nature, but a soul's melancholy. He painted the landscape with his own longing, bringing a lyrical intimacy that a Western reader would instantly recognise as profoundly romantic. One can almost hear a distant echo from Wordsworth in his solitary gaze, finding the universal within the deeply personal.   Notes:  1.Forbidden Fire Day, or Cold Food Festival, two days before Qingming Festival. People were not allowed to make fires, so no hot food on that day. 3. ‘斜’and ‘嗟’ in the original：the modern pinyin doesn’t rhyme in the poem, so these two, I reckon, are likely pronounced as ‘xiá’ and ‘jiā’ in the Song Capital Bianliang ( today’s Kaifeng city in Henan Province). Reference： 1. Blooming Alone in Winter by Gordon Osing, Julia Min and Huang Haipeng (《寒心未肯随春态》戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红，黄海鹏) “From Heavenward Pavilion – to the tune of Wangjiangnan – The spring is not yet old and a soft wind mixes the willow branches./Come up onto Heavenward Pavilion to see with me,/ See the half-full moat this Spring, watering a whole city’s blooms./The fog and mists of the Spring rains envelope so many homes./After the Festival of Forbidden Fires. I woke-up drunk, turned-over, and sighed,/Don’t think about homesickness when you’re with old friends./Let’s make a fresh fire and boil new tea together./How fine to spend our best years drinking poems and wine.” Pinying and Word -For-Word Translation: wàng jiāng nán - the musical tune for this ci poem（Looking at South of the River） （chāo rán tái zuò ）- (write on Transcending Platform) chūn wèi lǎo - spring not yet old， fēng xì liǔ xiá xiá - wind soft willows swaying back and forth。 shì shàng chāo rán tái shàng wàng - try go up to transcending platform to see， bàn háo chūn shuǐ yī chéng huā - half full moat spring waters a whole town flowers。 yān yǔ àn qiān jiā - smoke rain gloomy thousand homes。 hán shí hòu - after the Cold Food Festival, jiǔ xǐng què zī jiā - drunk awake but sigh。 xiū duì gù rén sī gù guó - stop before old friend miss home / native place， qiě jiāng xīn huǒ shì xīn chá - let's try new fire to new tea， shī jiǔ chèn nián huá -poems wine spend golden years。

浣溪沙 . 旋抹红妆看使君（其一） 原作：苏轼 英译：戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红 旋抹红妆看使君， 三三五五棘篱门。 相挨踏破茜罗裙。 老幼扶携收麦社， 乌鸢翔舞赛神村。 道逢醉叟卧黄昏。 The women rush home for a touch of makeup (Poem One) --to the tune of Huanxisha Original Chinese: Su Dongpo English version: Julia Min (2025)   The women rush home for a touch of makeup, back in threes and fives as the governor comes. At their thorn-fenced gates, they jostle on tiptoe, Scuffing the trains of their new crimson robes.      Folk songs and drums call the gods to the streets. The crows and eagles dive low in greedy sweeps. By dusk, no one’s around but me, half drunk,-- A cheerful old man dozing off in the settling dust. Appreciation: For appreciation, please go to the last poem in this series: Blossoms of date trees rain down on shirts and kerchiefs . Reference: 1. baike.baidu.com (百度百科) 5. All pictures are selected from google search.

南乡子·重九涵辉楼呈徐君猷 原作：苏轼 霜降水痕收，浅碧鳞鳞露远洲。 酒力渐消风力软，飕飕，破帽多情却恋头。 佳节若为酬，但把清尊断送秋。 万事到头都是梦，休休，明日黄花蝶也愁。 A Toast on the Double Ninth Festival — to Xu Junyou at Sunray Pavilion — composed to the tune of Nanxiangzi Chinese original by: Su Shi ( 11th AC) English Version by: Julia Min (Jul.2022) Since First Frost, the river recedes to shallows, distant sandbars revealed with gleaming ripples. The wine’s magic slowly leaves me to a breeze, Hissing, hissing -- Ruffling through my old hat for old memories. What gift have I to honour this hallowed time? But your wine to pour for Autumn’s final prime. Someday, all that we hold dear will disappear, Near and nigh - Chrysanthemum will fade in butterflies' despair. Appreciation: On the Double Ninth Festival of 1082, a man found himself nearing fifty yet further away from achieving his ambition. For nearly four years, Su Shi had lived in exile in Huangzhou, a fallen star from the Song court. His official host—and de facto warden—was Governor Xu Junyou. Yet, in a twist of fate, Xu had proven not a jailer but a brother, sustaining the poet through the long aftermath of the "Crows Platform Poem Case." As they would often do in the Song after a few rounds of wine in Hanhui Tower, Xu called for a verse. Su Shi's response was immediate and profound. What flowed from his brush was a toast to autumn and a sigh for a life that is, in the end, a fleeting dream. The poem captures a moment of painful clarity: his prime has slipped away, his political dreams are dissolving, and he must now make peace with his fate in the dusty quiet of Huangzhou. Reference: 1. Blooming Alone in Winter by Gordon Osing, Julia Min and Huang Haipeng (《寒心未肯随春态》戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红，黄海鹏) “On the Double Ninth Festival at Hanhui Pavilion” (By Frost’s Descent the water level falls/ To shallows glittering like clear dcales, disclosing sands./The way wine’s power slowly leaves the mind to a light wind,/Rustling my worn-out hat full of tenderness, that loves my head./How can I honor a special, festival time?/I’ve only this cup of wine to say farewell to autumn./Everything at last turns back into thin air./It’s over: tomorrow the mums wither and the butterflies despair.) 2. picture from https://www.sohu.com/a/349362465_727694