<Header>
<Author: 杜甫>
<Title: 兵車行>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 1987>
<BookName: 300 Tang Poems: A New Translation>
<Translator: 許淵冲, 陸佩弦, 吳鈞陶>
<TranslatedTitle: Song of the Conscripts>
<BookPage: 142-143>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
車轔轔，
馬蕭蕭，
行人弓箭各在腰。
耶孃妻子走相送，
塵埃不見咸陽橋。
牽衣頓足闌道哭，
哭聲直上干雲霄。
道傍過者問行人，
行人但云點行頻。
或從十五北防河，
便至四十西營田。
去時里正與裹頭，
歸來頭白還戍邊。
邊亭流血成海水，
武皇開邊意未已。
君不聞漢家山東二百州，
千村萬落生荊杞。
縱有健婦把鋤犁，
禾生隴畝無東西。
況復秦兵耐苦戰，
被驅不異犬與雞。
長者雖有問，
役夫敢申恨。
且如今年冬，
未休關西卒。
縣官急索租，
租稅從何出？
信知生男惡，
反是生女好。
生女猶是嫁比鄰，
生男埋沒隨百草。
君不見青海頭，
古來白骨無人收。
新鬼煩冤舊鬼哭，
天陰雨溼聲啾啾。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Chariots rumble
                   And horses grumble.
The conscripts march with bow and arrows at the waist.
Their fathers, mothers, wives and children come in haste
To see them off, the bridge is shroud'd in dust they've raised.
They clutch their coat, and stamp the feet and bar their way,
Their grief cries loud and strikes the cloud straight, straight-away.
A onlooker by roadside asks an enrolee.
"The conscription is frequent," only answers he.
"Some went north at fifteen to guard the rivershore,
And were sent west to till the land at forty-four.
The Elder bound their young heads when they went away,
Just home, they're sent to the frontier though their hair's gray.
The field on borderland becomes a sea of blood,
The emperor's greed for land is still at its high flood.
Have you not heard two hundred districts east of the Hua mountains lie,
Where briers and bambles grow in villages far and nigh?
Although stout women can wield the plough and the hoe,
They know not east from west where thorns and weeds o'ergrow.
The enemy are used to hard and stubborn fight,
Our men are routed just like dogs or fowls in flight.
                   You are kind to ask me,
                   To complain I'm not free.
                   In winter of this year
                   Conscription goes on here.
                   The magistrates for taxes press.
                   How can we pay them in distress!
                   If we had known sons bring no joy,
                   We'd prefer a girl to a boy.
A daughter can be married to a neighbour, alas!
A son can only be buried under the grass!
                   Have you not seen
                   On borders green
Bleached bones since olden days unburied on the plain?
The old ghosts weep and cry while the new ghosts complain,
The air is loud with screech and scream in gloomy rain."
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Chariots rumble
                   And horses grumble.
The conscripts march with bow and arrows at the waist.
Their fathers, mothers, wives and children come in haste
To see them off, the bridge is shroud'd in dust they've raised.
They clutch their coat, and stamp the feet and bar their way,
Their grief cries loud and strikes the cloud straight, straight-away.
A onlooker by roadside asks an enrolee.
"The conscription is frequent," only answers he.
"Some went north at fifteen to guard the rivershore,
And were sent west to till the land at forty-four.
The Elder bound their young heads when they went away,
Just home, they're sent to the frontier though their hair's gray.
The field on borderland becomes a sea of blood,
The emperor's greed for land is still at its high flood.
Have you not heard two hundred districts east of the Hua mountains lie,
Where briers and bambles grow in villages far and nigh?
Although stout women can wield the plough and the hoe,
They know not east from west where thorns and weeds o'ergrow.
The enemy are used to hard and stubborn fight,
Our men are routed just like dogs or fowls in flight.
                   You are kind to ask me,
                   To complain I'm not free.
                   In winter of this year
                   Conscription goes on here.
                   The magistrates for taxes press.
                   How can we pay them in distress!
                   If we had known sons bring no joy,
                   We'd prefer a girl to a boy.
A daughter can be married to a neighbour, alas!
A son can only be buried under the grass!
                   Have you not seen On borders green
Bleached bones since olden days unburied on the plain?
The old ghosts weep and cry while the new ghosts complain,
The air is loud with screech and scream in gloomy rain."
<End Formatted Translation>