<Header>
<Author: 李頎>
<Title: 聽安萬善吹觱栗歌>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 2009>
<BookName: Three Hundred TANG POEMS>
<Translator: Harris, Peter>
<TranslatedTitle: Listening yo An Wanshan playing a song on the bamboo pipe>
<BookPage: 146-147>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
南山截竹爲觱栗，
此樂本自龜茲出。
流傳漢地曲轉奇，
涼州胡人爲我吹。
傍鄰聞者多歎息，
遠客思鄉皆淚垂。
世人解聽不解賞，
長飆風中自來往。
枯桑老柏寒颼飀，
九雛鳴鳳亂啾啾。
龍吟虎嘯一時發，
萬籟百泉相與秋。
忽然更作漁陽摻，
黃雲蕭條白日暗。
變調如聞楊柳春，
上林繁花照眼新。
歲夜高堂列明燭，
美酒一杯聲一曲。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
In the mountains of the south
they cut the bamboo up
To make the bamboo pipe, which came
originally from Kucha,
Passed on to us in the lands of the Han
its tunes have turned out strange,
As we hear when a Tartar from Liangzhou
plays the pipe for us.
Listeners from hereabouts
heave many a heartfelt sigh;
Travellers from far away
all weep and think of home.
People like to hear the pipe
but they don’t appreciate it –
It comes and goes of its own accord,
out of a drawn-out whirlwind,
Whistling cold in withered groves
of mulberry and old cedar,
Then wildly twittering, a nest
of noisy phoenix chicks.
A dragon and tiger roar as one
and dozens of bubbling springs
And the myriad piping sounds of nature
mingle into autumn.
Suddenly there’s a change and it plays
the drum song of Yuyang,
And yellow clouds hang desolate
under a darkening sun.
The tune moves on, and now it seems
we hear the willows in spring,
And see afresh the wealth of flowers
within the Upland Wood.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and in the great hall
bright candles are laid out;
We have a cup of fine ale to drink –
and for music we have a tune.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
In the mountains of the south, they cut the bamboo up
To make the bamboo pipe, which came originally from Kucha,
Passed on to us in the lands of the Han its tunes have turned out strange,
As we hear when a Tartar from Liangzhou plays the pipe for us.
Listeners from hereabouts heave many a heartfelt sigh;
Travellers from far away all weep and think of home.
People like to hear the pipe but they don’t appreciate it –
It comes and goes of its own accord, out of a drawns-out whirlwind,
Whistling cold in withered groves of mulberry and old cedar,
Then wildly twittering, a nest of noisy phoenix chicks.
A dragon and tiger roar as one and dozens of bubbling springs
And the myriad piping sounds of nature mingle into autumn.
Suddenly there’s a change and it plays the drum song of Yuyang,
And yellow clouds hang desolate under a darkening sun.
The tune moves on, and now it seems we hear the willows in spring,
And see afresh the wealth of flowers within the Upland Wood.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and in the great hall bright candles are laid out;
We have a cup of fine ale to drink and for music we have a tune.
<End Formatted Translation>