<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 琵琶行>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 1989>
<BookName: 100 TANG POEMS 唐詩一百首>
<Translator: Zhang Tingchen & Bruce M. Wilson>
<TranslatedTitle: Song of the Pipa>
<BookPage: 154-161>
<UsedPage: 8>
<Feature: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5>
<End Header>
<Poem>
潯陽江頭夜送客，楓葉荻花秋瑟瑟。
主人下馬客在船，舉酒欲飲無管絃。
醉不成歡慘將別，別時茫茫江浸月。
忽聞水上琵琶聲，主人忘歸客不發。
尋聲闇問彈者誰，琵琶聲停欲語遲。
移船相近邀相見，添酒回燈重開宴。
千呼萬喚始出來，猶抱琵琶半遮面。
轉軸撥絃三兩聲，未成曲調先有情。
絃絃掩抑聲聲思，似訴平生不得志。
低眉信手續續彈，說盡心中無限事。
輕攏慢撚抹復挑，初為霓裳後綠腰。
大絃嘈嘈如急雨，小絃切切如私語。
嘈嘈切切錯雜彈，大珠小珠落玉盤。
間關鶯語花底滑，幽咽泉流冰下難。
冰泉冷澀絃凝絕，凝絕不通聲暫歇。
別有幽愁闇恨生，此時無聲勝有聲。
銀瓶乍破水漿迸，鐵騎突出刀槍鳴。
曲終收撥當心畫，四絃一聲如裂帛。
東船西舫悄無言，唯見江心秋月白。
沉吟放撥插絃中，整頓衣裳起斂容。
自言本是京城女，家在蝦蟆陵下住。
十三學得琵琶成，名屬教坊第一部。
曲罷常教善才服，妝成每被秋娘妒。
五陵年少爭纏頭，一曲紅綃不知數。
鈿頭銀篦擊節碎，血色羅裙翻酒汙。
今年歡笑復明年，秋月春風等閒度。
弟走從軍阿姨死，暮去朝來顏色故。
門前冷落車馬稀，老大嫁作商人婦。
商人重利輕別離，前月浮梁買茶去。
去來江口守空船，繞船月明江水寒。
夜深忽夢少年事，夢啼妝淚紅闌幹。
我聞琵琶已歎息，又聞此語重唧唧。
同是天涯淪落人，相逢何必曾相識。
我從去年辭帝京，謫居臥病潯陽城。
潯陽地僻無音樂，終歲不聞絲竹聲。
住近湓江地低溼，黃蘆苦竹繞宅生。
其間旦暮聞何物，杜鵑啼血猿哀鳴。
春江花朝秋月夜，往往取酒還獨傾。
豈無山歌與村笛，嘔啞嘲哳難為聽。
今夜聞君琵琶語，如聽仙樂耳暫明。
莫辭更坐彈一曲，為君翻作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立，卻坐促絃絃轉急。
淒淒不似向前聲，滿座重聞皆掩泣。
座中泣下誰最多？江州司馬青衫濕。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
One night, while maples and flowering reeds 
Were rustling in the wind, 
I saw a friend off by the Xunyang River 
Having dismounted our horses and boarded his boat, 
We raised our cups, in silence, having ordered no music, 
To find that drunkenness could not dispel our grief at parting. 
As the moon sank into the mist-covered river, 
Suddenly upon the waters came the music of the pipa, 
And I forgot my turning home, my friend his setting forth. 
Following the sound, in a low voice I asked who played. 
The 00 music halted, but the player would would not respond.
We relit the lanterns, replenished food and wine, 
And moved the boat around to issue our invitation. 
Only after much cajoling did she then appear, 
Cradling the pipa, her face half hidden. 
Just her turning of the frets to tune the instrument 
Sang the depth of her emotion. 
Every note and every chord 
Gave utterance to a life of yearning.
With lowered head, she played as if at random, 
Emptying her heart of endless passion. 
Pressing, sliding, stroking, plucking, 
First she played The Rainbow Skirts and then Six Minor Notes. 
Loud as drumming rain, soft as whispered secrets, 
Pearls of varied sizes cascaded on a tray of jade, 
An oriole warbled from within the flowery branches, 
A stream sobbed its way across its 00 $sandy$ shoals. 
$The stream then turned to ice, the note to crystal,$
0
0
0
To a perfect crystal silence that spoke more loudly than sound. 
As water gushes forth from a shattered silver bottle, 
And armored steeds charge into clashing sword and spear
She swept her plectrum across the strings to make an end, 
The four strings sounding together 
Like a single piece of splitting silk. 
All around us the boats were silent. 
We could only see the mid-stream whiteness of the autumn moon.
Pensively, she slipped the plectrum back beneath the strings, 
And, straightening her clothes, she rose with great solemnity. 
"In the capital I was born, 00 just below Xia Muoling. 
Mastering the pipa at thirteen 
I was ranked among the most accomplished in the land. 
Famed masters listened spellbound to my playing. 
Made up, I was the envy of all the other courtesans. 
Young dandies vied to give me silk. 
In a single performance I don't know 
How many bolts of silk they threw me, 
How many precious things they broke while beating time, 
How many blood red robes of silk they ruined spilling wine. 
Year after year I spent in ceaseless gaiety, 
Minding neither spring wind nor autumn moon. 
My brother went to war, my aunt died; 
As dawn yields to dusk my beauty faded, 
And before my gate the carriages were few. 
Too old, I married a merchant, 
Who values profit and makes light of parting. 
Last month he went to Fuliang to buy tea;
By the river's mouth I've waited on an empty boat, 
Chill moonlit water my only company.
Deep in the night I'll dream suddenly of youth, 
And dreaming, stain rouged cheeks with tears." 
Already, the pipa's song had made me sigh, 
But these words made me utterly forlorn.
Both losers in this wide world, 
By chance both here, 
It mattered not that we had never met before. 
"Last year I left the capital. 
$Demoted,$ 00 lying ill in Xunyang, 
0
Throughout the year I've been deprived of music. 
I live by the River Pen, in a low, damp place, 
Surrounded by yellow reeds and bitter bamboo. 
Morning to evening nothing can be heard 
But cuckoos' bloody cry, and the lonely wail of apes.
On flowery spring mornings or moonlit autumn nights 
I take my wine $along the riverside$ and drink alone. 
0 
Of course there are the caws and grunts and whoops 
$That they call music here, $
But tonight 00000 it seemed that fairy music sharpened my senses once again.
Please don't refuse to sit and play another piece, 
And for you I'l write the Song of the Pipa. 
Moved by my words, she stood long in silence, 
Then sat down to play with great intensity, 
And with even greater sadness than before, 
So that we hid our tears behind uplifted sleeves. 
Among us, none wept more bitterly than I: 
Drenched with tears were the robes of office 
Of the Assistant Prefect of Jiujiang.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
One night, I saw a friend off by the Xunyang River 
while maples and flowering reeds Were rustling in the wind, 
Having dismounted our horses and boarded his boat, 
We raised our cups, in silence, having ordered no music, 
To find that drunkenness could not dispel our grief at parting. 
As the moon sank into the mist-covered river, 
Suddenly upon the waters came the music of the pipa, 
And I forgot my turning home, my friend his setting forth. 
Following the sound, in a low voice I asked who played. 
The 00 music halted, but the player would not respond.
And moved the boat around to issue our invitation. 
We relit the lanterns, replenished food and wine, 
Only after much cajoling did she then appear, 
Cradling the pipa, her face half hidden. 
Just her turning of the frets to tune the instrument 
Sang the depth of her emotion. 
Every note and every chord 
Gave utterance to a life of yearning.
With lowered head, she played as if at random, 
Emptying her heart of endless passion. 
Pressing, sliding, stroking, plucking, 
First she played The Rainbow Skirts and then Six Minor Notes. 
Loud as drumming rain, 
soft as whispered secrets, 
Pearls of varied sizes cascaded on a tray of jade, 
An oriole warbled from within the flowery branches, 
A stream sobbed its way across its 00 $sandy$ shoals. $The stream then turned to ice, the note to crystal,$
0
0
0
To a perfect crystal silence that spoke more loudly than sound. 
As water gushes forth from a shattered silver bottle, 
And armored steeds charge into clashing sword and spear
She swept her plectrum across the strings to make an end, 
The four strings sounding together Like a single piece of splitting silk. 
All around us the boats were silent. 
We could only see the mid-stream whiteness of the autumn moon.
Pensively, she slipped the plectrum back beneath the strings, 
And, straightening her clothes, she rose with great solemnity. 
"In the capital I was born, 
00 just below Xia Muoling. 
Mastering the pipa at thirteen 
I was ranked among the most accomplished in the land. 
Famed masters listened spellbound to my playing. 
Made up, I was the envy of all the other courtesans. 
Young dandies vied to give me silk. 
In a single performance I don't know How many bolts of silk they threw me, 
How many precious things they broke while beating time, 
How many blood red robes of silk they ruined spilling wine. 
Year after year I spent in ceaseless gaiety, 
Minding neither spring wind nor autumn moon. 
My brother went to war, my aunt died; 
As dawn yields to dusk my beauty faded, 
And before my gate the carriages were few. 
Too old, I married a merchant, 
Who values profit and makes light of parting. 
Last month he went to Fuliang to buy tea;
By the river's mouth I've waited on an empty boat, 
Chill moonlit water my only company.
Deep in the night I'll dream suddenly of youth, 
And dreaming, stain rouged cheeks with tears." 
Already, the pipa's song had made me sigh, 
But these words made me utterly forlorn.
Both losers in this wide world, 
By chance both here, It mattered not that we had never met before. 
"Last year I left the capital. 
$Demoted,$ 00 lying ill in Xunyang, 
0
Throughout the year I've been deprived of music. 
I live by the River Pen, in a low, damp place, 
Surrounded by yellow reeds and bitter bamboo. 
Morning to evening nothing can be heard 
But cuckoos' bloody cry, and the lonely wail of apes.
On flowery spring mornings or moonlit autumn nights 
I take my wine $along the riverside$ and drink alone.  
0
Of course there are the caws and grunts and whoops $That they call music here,$ 
But tonight 00000
it seemed that fairy music sharpened my senses once again.
Please don't refuse to sit and play another piece, 
And for you I'l write the Song of the Pipa. 
Moved by my words, she stood long in silence, 
Then sat down to play with great intensity, 
And with even greater sadness than before, 
So that we hid our tears behind uplifted sleeves. 
Among us, none wept more bitterly than I: 
Drenched with tears were the robes of office Of the Assistant Prefect of Jiujiang.
<End Formatted Translation>