"Qing Yu'an: Remembrance of Old Times in Suzhou" and "At Yong ..."
吳綃 Wu Xiao (mid-17th century)
Suzhou used to be a bustling place
But now I feel lonely. I have no friends.
Time flies by and it's the end of spring.
Many a morning is clear and warm,
But it's often windy and rainy.
How easily spring comes and goes.
My curtains block the full view of the road to my house.
It hurts to think that the swallows have flown away from the engraved roof beams.
When feelings are strong I have only myself to talk to.
I remember poetry and wine amidst the flowers,
Flutes and drums at the banks of the pond.
A misty scene of catkins all over the sky.
---
"At Yong, Unable to Sleep, I Was Surprised by Rain"
Black clouds blow up on all sides in the strong wind.
Tens of thousands of warring soldiers gallop towards the green sky.
Cracking gorges, collapsing mountains, wolves and tigers grapple;
Stirring up whirlpools, thrashing against the waves, dragons attack each other.
My spirit is startled, I lie in bed without sleeping.
Dying embers twinkle, on the verge of extinction.
Outside my curtain the noise of waves is ceaseless;
Exhausting my brain with thoughts of poetry, I sit and wait for night to end.
[Trans. Ellen Widmer]
Some sources list her as 吳琪 Wu Qi's younger sister, "apparently a reference not to blood ties but to common membership in a circle of women poets ..." (375). An "exceptional talent," she excelled in the usuals - poetry and painting - but was also a talented musician playing a number of instruments (ibid).
She wrote shi, ci, and sanqu, her topics as diverse as the styles she utilized. She had a number of literary luminaries as acquaintances, was well known for her piety, and also harbored dreams of becoming a Daoist immortal (373).
There's a lovely selection in here - several pages worth - and I wanted to include some of her 'flower' poems from a sanqu. I am starting to see the pattern of the original Chinese emerge when reading translation - a testament, I suppose, to some of the translators' ability to stick close to the original without sounding too clunky.
The first poem made me inordinately sad; the second made me wish for rain tonight (it's windy & overcast, so perhaps there is hope).
[375-82]
Suzhou used to be a bustling place
But now I feel lonely. I have no friends.
Time flies by and it's the end of spring.
Many a morning is clear and warm,
But it's often windy and rainy.
How easily spring comes and goes.
My curtains block the full view of the road to my house.
It hurts to think that the swallows have flown away from the engraved roof beams.
When feelings are strong I have only myself to talk to.
I remember poetry and wine amidst the flowers,
Flutes and drums at the banks of the pond.
A misty scene of catkins all over the sky.
---
"At Yong, Unable to Sleep, I Was Surprised by Rain"
Black clouds blow up on all sides in the strong wind.
Tens of thousands of warring soldiers gallop towards the green sky.
Cracking gorges, collapsing mountains, wolves and tigers grapple;
Stirring up whirlpools, thrashing against the waves, dragons attack each other.
My spirit is startled, I lie in bed without sleeping.
Dying embers twinkle, on the verge of extinction.
Outside my curtain the noise of waves is ceaseless;
Exhausting my brain with thoughts of poetry, I sit and wait for night to end.
[Trans. Ellen Widmer]
Some sources list her as 吳琪 Wu Qi's younger sister, "apparently a reference not to blood ties but to common membership in a circle of women poets ..." (375). An "exceptional talent," she excelled in the usuals - poetry and painting - but was also a talented musician playing a number of instruments (ibid).
She wrote shi, ci, and sanqu, her topics as diverse as the styles she utilized. She had a number of literary luminaries as acquaintances, was well known for her piety, and also harbored dreams of becoming a Daoist immortal (373).
There's a lovely selection in here - several pages worth - and I wanted to include some of her 'flower' poems from a sanqu. I am starting to see the pattern of the original Chinese emerge when reading translation - a testament, I suppose, to some of the translators' ability to stick close to the original without sounding too clunky.
The first poem made me inordinately sad; the second made me wish for rain tonight (it's windy & overcast, so perhaps there is hope).
[375-82]