<Header>
<Author: 李白>
<Title: 無家別>
<Format: 五古>
<Year: 1981>
<BookName: Tu Fu -A New Translation>
<Translator: Wu, Juntao>
<TranslatedTitle: Parting of the Homeless Man>
<BookPage: 88-91>
<UsedPage: 4>
<Feature: 1, 2, 4>
<End Header>
<Poem>
寂寞天寶後，
園廬但蒿藜。
我裏百餘家，
世亂各東西。
存者無消息，
死者爲塵泥。
賤子因陣敗，
歸來尋舊蹊。
久行見空巷，
日瘦氣慘悽，
但對狐與狸，
豎毛怒我啼。
四鄰何所有，
一二老寡妻。
宿鳥戀本枝，
安辭且窮棲。
方春獨荷鋤，
日暮還灌畦。
縣吏知我至，
召令習鼓鞞。
雖從本州役，
內顧無所攜。
近行止一身，
遠去終轉迷。
家鄉既蕩盡，
遠近理亦齊。
永痛長病母，
五年委溝溪。
生我不得力，
終身兩酸嘶。
人生無家別，
何以爲蒸黎。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Since the rebellion of the Tianbao period , 
In wormwoods and pigweeds the farms are buried . 
There were a hundred families in our town , 
East or west they've fled ere they could settle down . There is no news from those who are alive ,
 And dust and mud are those who lost their life . 
From the rout of Ye City I come back
To find in my birth place the dear old track . 
The empty lanes meet my eyes all the way , 
The sun seems to be haggard , the air dreary . 
Me the foxes and racoon-dogs do defy , 
With their hair standing up , and furiously cry . 
What are there in my neighbour's houses all round ? 
Only one or two widows can be found . 
Clinging to their old perch , the tired birds fly , 
Shall I leave my poor nest and further ply ? 
In spring I shoulder a hoe to farm alone , 
And water vegetable plots in gloom . 
But the official knows I'm back $(a farmer)$ ,
He calls me to be trained as a drummer ! 
To serve within the County , $(it's all very well ,)$ 
Yet at home I've no one to bid farewell . 
All by myself , to a near camp I make way , 
I would be the more at sea if far away . 
Near or far , it makes no difference to me , 
While all's gone in town , but a blank to see . 
I'm torn with grief , my mother died of disease 
Five years ago , the gutter was her release . 
How worthless I was born and live above ground , 
My mother and I suffer without bound ! 
A homeless man to part with his birth place , 
What a shame , being one of the human race !
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Since the rebellion of the Tianbao period , 
In wormwoods and pigweeds the farms are buried . 
There were a hundred families in our town , 
East or west they've fled ere they could settle down . There is no news from those who are alive ,
 And dust and mud are those who lost their life . 
From the rout of Ye City I come back
To find in my birth place the dear old track . 
The empty lanes meet my eyes all the way , 
The sun seems to be haggard , the air dreary . 
Me the foxes and racoon-dogs do defy , 
With their hair standing up , and furiously cry . 
What are there in my neighbour's houses all round ? 
Only one or two widows can be found . 
Clinging to their old perch , the tired birds fly , 
Shall I leave my poor nest and further ply ? 
In spring I shoulder a hoe to farm alone , 
And water vegetable plots in gloom . 
But the official knows I'm back $(a farmer)$ ,
He calls me to be trained as a drummer ! 
To serve within the County , $(it's all very well ,)$ 
Yet at home I've no one to bid farewell . 
All by myself , to a near camp I make way , 
I would be the more at sea if far away . 
While all's gone in town , but a blank to see . 
Near or far , it makes no difference to me , 
I'm torn with grief , my mother died of disease 
Five years ago , the gutter was her release . 
How worthless I was born and live above ground , 
My mother and I suffer without bound ! 
A homeless man to part with his birth place , 
What a shame , being one of the human race !
<End Formatted Translation>