(My apologies but I don't have the original Chinese versions, just these translations by Anne Birrell. Sadly, the tunes and Han-era pronunciations are lost to us and we are only left with the words.)
ONE - HYMN
We Have Chosen a Timely Day
We have chosen a timely day,
We wait with hope,
Burning fat and artemisia
To welcome the Four Direction.
Ninefold doors open
For the Gods journey forth,
They send down sweet grace,
Bounteous good fortune.
The chariot of the Gods
Is hitched to dark clouds,
Yoked to flying dragons,
Feather pennants amassed.
The coming down of the Gods
Is like wind-driven horses;
On the left turguoise dragon,
On the right white tiger.
The coming of the Gods
Is divine! what a drenching!
First bringing rain
Which spreads in sheets.
The arrival of the Gods
Is lucky shade withing shade.
All seems confused,
Making hearts tremble.
The Gods are now enthroned,
The Five Tones harmonise.
Happy till the dawn
We offer the Gods pleasure.
Cusps of ritual beasts swelling,
Vessels of millet sweet,
Goblets of cassia wine,
We host the Eight Quarters.
The Gods serenely linger,
We change "Green" and "Yellow".
All round meditate on this,
Gaze at the green jade hall.
A crowd of beauties gathers,
Refined, perfect loveliness:
Faces like flowering rush,
Rivals in dazzling glamour,
Wearing flowery patterns,
Interwoven misty silks,
With trains off white voile,
Girdles of pearl and jade.
They bear Blissful-night and Flag-orchid,
Iris and orchid perfumed.
Calm and peaceful
We offer up the blessed chalice.
TWO - SONG
ReplyDeleteVermilion Ibis
Vermilion ibis
A fish spat out:
Ibis hates the vile.
Where does ibis feed?
It feeds under lotus.
It won't eat this.
It won't spit it out.
Let's go and ask the executioner.
THREE - SONG
ReplyDeleteYoung Pheasant Fancy-plume
Young Pheasant,
How fancy-plumed you are!
Going to pheasant-millet
Don't run into the old man and his lad!
Young pheasant,
Know that when pheasants fly they go high and settle,
When brown geese fly they go one thousand leagues -
Such wonderful strength!
Drake comes flying after his hen,
Young Pheasant hurries long the lone pheasant.
Young Pheasant,
The great carriage yoked, the horses racing,
A lively escort goes to the open fields.
Wheel round, fly from royal princes!
FOUR - SONG
ReplyDeleteSouth of the River
South of the river we can pick lotos,
Lotos leaves so bushy, bushy!
Fish play among lotos leaves,
Fish play east of lotos leaves,
Fish play west of lotos leaves,
Fish play south of lotos leaves,
Fish play north of lotos leaves.
ok, here's a song of love lost
ReplyDeleteFIVE - SONG
The One I Love
The one I love
Is south of the great lakes.
What shall I send you?
A tortoisesshell hatpin with twin pearls,
With jade I'll braid and plait it.
I hear that you have another love -
I will break it, smash and burn it,
Smash and burn it,
Face into the wind, scatter its ashes.
From this day on
Nevermore will I love you.
My love for you is severed.
Cocks crow, dogs bark.
My brother and his wife must find out.
Alas! Oh my!
Autumn winds sough, sough. Dawn Wind hastens.
The east at a blink whitening will find out!
A lovely little song about heartache
ReplyDeleteSIX - BALLAD
Heartache
Shine, shine, white bright moon,
Let gleaming rays lighten my bed.
One in despair cannot sleep,
Restless, restless nights so long.
Soft breezes blow the bedroom door,
Silk curtains unmoved flare and drift.
I take my robe trailing its long sash,
Slip into shoes, leave the high hall.
East, West, which way shall I go?
I hesitate and falter.
A spring bird soaring flies south,
Flutters, flutters, circling alone.
Sad its voice calling to its mate,
Mournful cries that wound my guts.
Moved by nature I long for my lover,
Sudden spilling tears drench my coat.
I stand still, spitting out loud sighs.
To soothe my rage I complain to the domed blue.
SEVEN - SONG
ReplyDeleteIn Ch'angan There is a Narrow Lane
In Ch'angan there is a narrow lane,
A narrow lane not admitting carriages.
By chance two youths meet:
Hubs wedged, one asks, "And your lord's house?"
"My lord's house is near Newmarket,
Easy to recognise and hard to forget.
The oldest son is of two-thousand-bushel rank,
The middle son is a Filial-Pure aide,
The youngest son has no offical post,
Capped and gowned he serves at Loyang.
The three sons enter the house together,
In the house appears a brilliant light.
The eldest's wife weaves silk fine and plain,
The middle wife weaves flowing yellow,
The youngest's wife has nothing to do;
Clasping her lute she goes up the high hall:
"Husband, hush, now hush!
My tuning, la! is not midway!"
This is an interesting Anti-War ballad
ReplyDeleteEIGHT - BALLAD
At Fifteen I Joined the Army
At fifteen I joined the army,
At eighty I first came home.
On the road I met a villager,
"At my home what kin are there?"
"Look over there - that's your home!"
Pine, cypress, burial mounds piled, piled high,
Hares going in through dog-holes,
Pheasants flying in through rafter tops;
The inner garden grown wild with corn,
Over the well wild mallow growing.
I pound grain to serve for a meal,
I pick mallow to serve for broth.
Once broth and meal are cooked
I'm at a loss to know whom to feed.
I leave by the gates, look east.
Tears fall and soak my clothes.
NINE - CHILDREN'S DITTY (from the early years of the Emperor Huan of Latter Han)
ReplyDeleteCrows on the City Walls
Crows on the city walls,
Tails down in retreat.
Father became an officer,
Son became a conscript.
One soldier dies,
One hundred chariots.
Chariots clatter, clatter
As they enter Ho-chien.
At Ho-chien a pretty girl is skilled at counting cash,
With her cash she makes a mansion, with gold she makes a hall.
On the stone-mill, greedy, greedy, she pounds yellow millet.
Under the rafter there is a hanging drum.
I want to strike it, but the minister will be angry.
A soldier's song
ReplyDeleteTEN - SOLDIER'S BALLAD
We Fought South of the City Wall
We fought south of the city wall.
We died north of the ramparts.
In the wilderness we dead lie unburied, fodder for crows.
Tell the crows for us:
"We've always been brave men!
In the wilderness we dead clearly lie unburied,
So how can our rotting flesh flee from you?"
Waters deep, rushing, rushing,
Reeds and rushes, darkening, darkening.
Heroic horsemen fought and died fighting,
Flagging horses shinnied in panic.
Raftered houses we built,
As and south, alas! and north;
If grain and millet aren't reaped, what will you eat, Lord?
We longed to be loyal vassals, but how can that be?
I remember you, good vassals,
Good vassals I truly remember:
In the dawn you went out to glory,
At nightfall you did not return.
Another love song, sung by a female to her lover.
ReplyDeleteELEVEN - SONG
Almighty on High!
Almighty on High!
I long to know m'lord,
Let our love never fade or die
Till mountains have no peaks,
Or rivers run dry,
Till thunder roars in winter,
Or snow pours down in summer,
Till the skies merge with the ground -
Then may I die with m'lord!
This one is a poem translated by Arthur Waley
ReplyDeleteTWELVE - POEM
Woman
How sad it is to be a woman!
Nothing on earth is held so cheap.
Boys stand leaning at the door
Like Gods fallen out of Heaven.
Their hearts brave the Four Oceans,
The wind and dust of a thousand miles.
No one is glad when a girl is born:
By her the family sets no store.
Then she grows up, she hides in her room
Afraid to look a man in the face.
No one cries when she leaves her home--
Sudden as clouds when the rain stops.
She bows her head and composes her face,
Her teeth are pressed on her red lips:
She bows and kneels countless times.
She must humble herself even to the servants.
His love is distant as the stars in Heaven,
Yet the sunflower bends toward the sun.
Their hearts more sundered than water and fire--
A hundred evils are heaped upon her.
Her face will follow the years' changes:
Her lord will find new pleasures.
They that were once like substance and shadow
Are now as far as Hu from Ch'in.
Yet Hu and Ch'in shall sooner meet
Than they whose parting is like Ts'an and Ch'en.
A poem about life.
ReplyDeleteTHIRTEEN - POEM
Ku-Shi no. 15 of the "Nineteen Old Poems"
Life's years do not last a century,
Man ever nurses worries of one thousand years.
Morning is short alas! night is long,
Why not hold a candle and have fun?
Make merry we must while there's time!
Can I wait for next year?
The fool who begrudges spending
Will just make posterity laugh out loud!
The immortal Wang Tzu-ch'iao,
It's hard to expect to equal him.
FOURTEEN - POEM (Arthur Waley translation)
ReplyDeleteGreen, green,
The grass by the river bank.
Thick, thick,
The willow trees in the garden.
Sad, sad,
The lady in the tower.
White, white,
Sitting at the casement window.
Fair, fair,
Her red-powdered face.
Small, small,
She puts out her pale hand.
Once she was a dancing-house girl,
Now she is a wandering man's wife.
The wandering man went, but did not return.
It is hard alone to keep an empty bed.