639: Ch'ang-Kan Village Song
"Ch'ang-Kan Village Song"
Li Po
These bangs not yet reaching my eyes,
I played at our gate, picking flowers,
and you came on your horse of bamboo,
circling the well, tossing green plums.
We lived together here in Ch'ang-kan,
two little people without suspicions.
At fourteen, when I became your wife,
so timid and betrayed I never smiled,
I faced wall and shadow, eyes downcast.
A thousand pleas: I ignored them all.
At fifteen, my scowl began to soften.
I wanted us mingled as dust and ash,
and you always stood fast here for me,
no tower vigils awaiting your return.
At sixteen, you sailed far off to distant
Yen-yü Rock in Ch'ü-t'ang Gorge, fierce
June waters impossible, and howling
gibbons called out into the heavens.
At our gate, where you lingered long,
moss buried your tracks one by one,
deep green moss I can't sweep away.
And autumn's come early. Leaves fall.
It's September now. Butterflies appear
in the west garden. They fly in pairs,
and it hurts. I sit heart-stricken
at the bloom of youth in my old face.
Before you start back from out beyond
all those gorges, send a letter home.
I'm not saying I'd go far to meet you,
no further than Ch'ang-feng Sands.
Translated by David Hinton
Version three.
Li Po
These bangs not yet reaching my eyes,
I played at our gate, picking flowers,
and you came on your horse of bamboo,
circling the well, tossing green plums.
We lived together here in Ch'ang-kan,
two little people without suspicions.
At fourteen, when I became your wife,
so timid and betrayed I never smiled,
I faced wall and shadow, eyes downcast.
A thousand pleas: I ignored them all.
At fifteen, my scowl began to soften.
I wanted us mingled as dust and ash,
and you always stood fast here for me,
no tower vigils awaiting your return.
At sixteen, you sailed far off to distant
Yen-yü Rock in Ch'ü-t'ang Gorge, fierce
June waters impossible, and howling
gibbons called out into the heavens.
At our gate, where you lingered long,
moss buried your tracks one by one,
deep green moss I can't sweep away.
And autumn's come early. Leaves fall.
It's September now. Butterflies appear
in the west garden. They fly in pairs,
and it hurts. I sit heart-stricken
at the bloom of youth in my old face.
Before you start back from out beyond
all those gorges, send a letter home.
I'm not saying I'd go far to meet you,
no further than Ch'ang-feng Sands.
Translated by David Hinton
Version three.