<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 自京赴奉先縣詠懷五百字>
<Format: 五言古詩>
<Year: 2008>
<BookName: Du Fu A Life in Poetry>
<Translator: David Young>
<TranslatedTitle: FIVE HUNDRED WORDS ABOUT MY JOURNEY TO FENGXIAN>
<BookPage: 63-66>
<UsedPage: 4>
<Feature: 1, 3>
<End Header>
<Poem>
杜陵有布衣，
老大意轉拙。
許身一何愚，
竊比稷與契。
居然成濩落，
白首甘契闊。
蓋棺事則已，
此志常覬豁。
窮年憂黎元，
嘆息腸內熱。
取笑同學翁，
浩歌彌激烈。
非無江海志，
蕭灑送日月。
生逢堯舜君，
不忍便永訣。
當今廊廟具，
構廈豈云缺？
葵藿傾太陽，
物性固莫奪。
顧惟螻蟻輩，
但自求其穴。
胡為慕大鯨，
輒擬偃溟渤？
以茲誤生理，
獨恥事干謁。
兀兀遂至今，
忍為塵埃沒？
終愧巢與由，
未能易其節。
沈飲聊自遣，
放歌破愁絕。
歲暮百草零，
疾風高岡裂。
天衢陰崢嶸，
客子中夜發。
霜嚴衣帶斷，
指直不得結。
凌晨過驪山，
御榻在嵽嵲。
蚩尤塞寒空，
蹴蹋崖谷滑。
瑤池氣郁律，
羽林相摩戛。
君臣留歡娛，
樂動殷膠葛。
賜浴皆長纓，
與宴非短褐。
彤庭所分帛，
本自寒女出。
鞭撻其夫家，
聚斂貢城闕。
聖人筐篚恩，
實欲邦國活。
臣如忽至理，
君豈棄此物？
多士盈朝廷，
仁者宜戰栗。
况聞內金盤，
盡在衛霍室。
中堂舞神仙，
煙霧蒙玉質。
暖客貂鼠裘，
悲管逐清瑟。
勸客駝蹄羹，
霜橙壓香橘。
朱門酒肉臭，
路有凍死骨！
榮枯咫尺異，
惆悵難再述！
北轅就涇渭，
官渡又改轍。
群冰從西下，
極目高崒兀。
疑是崆峒來，
恐觸天柱折。
河梁幸未坼，
枝撐聲窸窣。
行旅相攀援，
川廣不可越。
老妻寄異縣，
十口隔風雪。
誰能久不顧？
庶往共飢渴。
入門聞號咷，
幼子餓已卒！
吾寧舍一哀，
里巷亦嗚咽！
所愧為人父，
無食致夭折！
豈知秋禾登，
貧窶有倉卒。
生常免租稅，
名不隸征伐。
撫迹猶酸辛，
平人固騷屑。
默思失業徒，
因念遠戍卒。
憂端齊終南，
澒洞不可掇！
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Imagine a man in commonplace clothes,
advancing years,

impractical and even strupid,
struggling on

he wanted to rank with sages
instead he has white hair and failure

he'll stick with his goals, though, until
they close him into his coffin

a poet who writes from the heart,
anxious about the poor

for which his fellow scholar laugh at him!
well, I will not stop singing

even though I dream
of traveling far away

I have to think the emperor still cares
about this realm of his

the sunflower turns to the sun
that is its very nature

the ant seeks security
retreats to its own burrow

why should it imitate the whale
trying to swallow the seas?

but oh I am sick of begging 
whining about my obscurity

I know it all ends in dust
and I think about famous hermits

the only things that relieve my heart
are poetry and drinking

Year's end, the grasses withered
a great wind scouring the high ridges

in bitter cold at midnight I set out
along the imperial highway

sharp frost, my belt snaps
my fingers are too stiff to tie it

around dawn I pass
the emperor's winter palace

army banners against the sky
the ground tramped smooth by troops

thick steam from the hot green springs
imperial guards rub elbows

cabinet ministers live it up
the musci drifts through the wintry landscape

the hot baths here are for important people
nothing for common folks

the silk the courtiers wear
was woven by poor women

while soldiers beat their husbands
demanding tribute

of course our emperor is generous
he wants the best for us 

we have to blame his ministers
when government is bad

plenty of good people at the court
must be especially worried

when they see the palace gold plate
carted off by royal relations

women like goddesses are dancing inside
all silk and perfume

guests in sable furs
music of pipes and fiddles

camel-pad broth is served
with frosted oranges, pungent tangerines

behind those red gates
meat and wine are left to spoil

outside lie the bones
of people who starved and froze

luxury and misery a few feet apart－
my heart aches to think about it!

But now I must go on 
to cross the Wei and Jing

the ferry landing has been moved
because of floods

one bridge is still in tact
above the surging waters

thinking ahead to my wife
trying to cope with this weather

desperate to be with my family
I arrive at last to learn

my little son has died
probably from sheer hunger

and I stand and weep in the street
the neighbors crowd round me, weeping

my shame overwhelms me, a father
who couldn't feed his family

I who have never paid taxes
never been conscripted

I realize I've had an easy life
and I think again of the poor

losing thier farms, sons sent to war
no end to their griefs

till my sorrow becomes a mountain
whose peak I cannot see.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Imagine a man in commonplace clothes,
advancing years, impractical and even strupid,
struggling on
he wanted to rank with sages
instead he has white hair and failure
he'll stick with his goals, though, until
they close him into his coffin
a poet who writes from the heart,
anxious about the poor
for which his fellow scholar laugh at him!
well, I will not stop singing 
even though I dream 
of traveling far away
I have to think the emperor still cares 
about this realm of his 
0
0
0
the sunflower turns to the sun
that is its very nature
the ant seeks security
retreats to its own burrow
why should it imitate the whale
trying to swallow the seas?
but oh I am sick of begging 
whining about my obscurity
0
I know it all ends in dust
and I think about famous hermits
the only things that relieve my heart
are poetry and drinking
0
Year's end, the grasses withered
a great wind scouring the high ridges
in bitter cold at midnight I set out
along the imperial highway
sharp frost, my belt snaps
my fingers are too stiff to tie it
around dawn I pass the emperor's winter palace
army banners against the sky
the ground tramped smooth by troops
thick steam from the hot green springs
imperial guards rub elbows
cabinet ministers live it up
the musci drifts through the wintry landscape
the hot baths here are for important people
nothing for common folks
the silk the courtiers wear
was woven by poor women
while soldiers beat their husbands
demanding tribute
of course our emperor is generous
he wants the best for us 
we have to blame his ministers
when government is bad
plenty of good people at the court
must be especially worried
when they see the palace gold plate
carted off by royal relations
women like goddesses are dancing inside
all silk and perfume
guests in sable furs
music of pipes and fiddles
camel-pad broth is served
with frosted oranges, pungent tangerines
behind those red gates
meat and wine are left to spoil
outside lie the bones
of people who starved and froze
luxury and misery a few feet apart－
my heart aches to think about it!
But now I must go on to cross the Wei and Jing
the ferry landing has been moved because of floods
one bridge is still in tact above the surging waters
0
0
0
0
0
0
0
thinking ahead to my wife
trying to cope with this weather 
desperate to be with my family
0
I arrive at last to learn
my little son has died probably from sheer hunger
0
and I stand and weep in the street
the neighbors crowd round me, weeping
my shame overwhelms me, a father
who couldn't feed his family
0
0
I who have never paid taxes
never been conscripted
I realize I've had an easy life
and I think again of the poor
losing thier farms, sons sent to war
no end to their griefs
till my sorrow becomes a mountain
whose peak I cannot see.
<End Formatted Translation>