Du Fu: My Translations to English 杜甫

 THOUGHTS OF THE NIGHT TRAVELLER

Slender grass in the shore breeze.

Tall mast on a lonely boat.

Stars sink over spreading fields.

The moon rides on the river.

Too old and sick for office--

and will scribblings make my name?

Drifting, drifting, what am I?

One gull between earth and sky.


旅夜书怀

细草微风岸
危墙独夜舟
星垂平野阔
月涌大江流
名岂文章著
官应老病休
飘飘何所似
天地一沙鸥


lǚ yè shū huái

xì cǎo wēi fēng àn
wēi qiáng dú yè zhōu
xīng chuí píng yě kuò
yuè yǒng dà jiāng liú
míng qǐ wén zhāng zhù
guān yìng lǎo bìng xiū
piāo piāo hé suǒ sì
tiān dì yī shā ōu

MOONLIT NIGHT

Just now, alone in our room,

you gaze at the Fuzhou moon.

Our children--I ache for them

from far away--they don't see

why you brood upon Changan.

Fragrant fog scents your gathered hair.

Lustrous moon chills your slender arms.

When, between the gauzy curtains,

will we lean together again,

these tears dried on our faces,

their traces limned in moonlight?


月夜                                

今夜鄜州月
闺中只独看
遥怜小儿女
未解忆长安
香雾云鬟湿
清辉玉臂寒
何时倚虚幌
双照泪痕干


yuè yè

jīn yè fū zhōu yuè
guī zhōng zhǐ dú kān
yáo lián xiǎo ér nǚ
wèi jiě yì cháng ān
xiāng wù yún huán shī
qīng huī yù bì hán
hé shí yǐ xū huǎng
shuāng zhào lèi hén gān




SPRING PROSPECT

The nation in ruins,

mountains and rivers remain.

The city in spring's

deep in grass and trees.

My tears at the passing days

fall as dew from the flowers.

Embittered by separation,

I startle at birdsong.

Beacon fires have blazed

for all these three months.

For a letter from home

I'd give ten thousand in gold.

I've pulled so at my white hair

my hatpin hardly holds.

--Du Fu

Thanks to Joel Lipman, the poet laureate of Lucas County, for the suggestion to separate the couplets. Helps to break up the clunkiness, in English, of always-endstopped lines.

Another Version:

The nation in ruin,

mountains and rivers remain.

The city in spring,

deep in grass and trees.

Lost in wretched times,

weeping over flowers.

Sunk in loneliness,

startling at birdsong.

Beacon fires,

burning for three months.

Family letters,

worth thousands in gold.

I've pulled so at my white hair

that my hatpin barely holds.


春望

国破山河在
城春草木深
感时花溅泪
恨别鸟惊心
烽火连三月
家书抵万金
白头搔更短
浑欲不胜簪


chūn wàng

guó pò shān hé zài
chéng chūn cǎo mù shēn
gǎn shí huā jiàn lèi
hèn bié niǎo jīng xīn
fēng huǒ lián sān yuè
jiā shū dǐ wàn jīn
bái tóu sāo gèng duǎn
hún yù bù shēng zān

On the River I Saw the Water Surging like the Ocean:  A Sketchy Account

I have always been a little off,

      so driven by love of well-made verse,

pursuing that word of startling rightness,

      I'd sooner die than rest.

In my reckless old age,

      my words and I overwhelm each other.

So you needn't fear, birds and flowers,

     for the secrets of your spring.

Just now, I've put in a pier

      to dangle a fishing line from.

Before, I was angling from an anchored raft

      in place of a boat.

Who could I get with the mind of a master

      like Tao or Xie

to help out with my writing

      and wander the nearby world with me?

--Du Fu

Birds are whiter on the blue river.

Flowers flame up on the green mountain.

Spring, I see, has come and gone again.

What day--what year--will I return home?