5: A Few Words on Li Bai

Li Bai holds one of the most august thrones in the history of Chinese poetry, as Matt mentioned in the introduction to Li Bai he published here back in November. Li Bai was also a man of his time - a man, that is, on the border of many worlds.

I mentioned during my translations of Zhang Jiuling that, while Westerners tend to think of Chinese history as largely separate from the larger world, the Tang Dynasty was defined by international trade, border wars, and multiculturalism. The Tang capital at Chang'an, which is known today as Xi'an, was the gateway to the Silk Road, an intersection between the Turkic peoples of Central Asia and the Han Chinese. The spices, cloth, poetry, and blood of many cultures flowed through Chang'an, and left a mark that can be seen to this day in the city's cuisine, architecture, and cosmopolitan attitude. Li Bai's life story shares something of this character.

He was born either in southern Gansu province, or (according to some soruces) even further out on the Silk Road, near the modern city of Tokmok, in Kyrgyzstan. Contemporary biographical sources are sparse, but he apparently grew up speaking Turkish as well as Chinese. His family moved to the more central province of Sichuan during his youth, and in his childhood he was captivated by Daoist mysticism and swordplay. He was a frequent and, apparently, enthusiastic duelist. After achieving initial success at court, he offended a chief Imperial eunuch, and found his hopes of advancement within the Tang bureaucracy blocked. During the chaos surrounding the An Lushan Rebellion, Li Bai joined a smaller rebel faction, and was exiled to Anhui province after the rebellion's failure.

Li Bai spoke the Turkish language and fought in a Turkish general's rebellion against the Tang emperor, and yet his poems are a wellspring of Chinese culture. In this nationalist age, it can be hard to imagine someone straddling worlds and lives to such an extent. Then again, that's what many of us try to do today, with travel, with translation, and with the internet: introduce one world to another, or live one life in the context of many others. In that case, maybe we should be looking at artists like Li Bai to help chart the way.

5: Sharing Wine and the Night with a Recluse Beneath Zhongnan Mountain, by Li Bai (part deux!)

The last month has been a bit hectic for both Matt and myself - sorry for the confused schedule! I took a week off in London and never quite recovered. In light of some great vocabulary notes I received for the Li Bai poem I posted toward the end of November, I've decided to offer a revised translation. Commentary to follow!

005李白:下终南山过斛斯山人宿置酒

暮從碧山下, 山月隨人歸,
卻顧所來徑, 蒼蒼橫翠微.
相攜及田家, 童稚開荊扉.
綠竹入幽徑, 青蘿拂行衣.
歡言得所憩, 美酒聊共揮.
長歌吟松風, 曲盡河星稀.
我醉君復樂, 陶然共忘機.

Twilight from a green mountain falls; the
mountain moon follows a man's return.

And yet he looks back up the path he came,
a gray, gray slash on a blue-green ridge.

Watch him led to the house in the fields: a
child opens the chaste-wood gate.

Green bamboo lines the quiet way;
green vines brush the gown.

With happy words, reach a place of rest.
This beautiful wine, we scatter together.

The pine-tree wind sings long songs,
melodies sparse as the Milky Way's stars.

I am drunk, and you are once more happy.
Joyous, carefree - all forgotten, the world's designs.

---

mù cóng bìshān xià, shān yuē suí rén guī,
Twilight from green mountain down, mountain moon follow person return
què gǔ suǒ lái jìng, cāngcāng héng cuìwēi.
however look back place where comes path, gray gray across blue green hillside
xiàng xié jí tiān jiā, tóng zhì kāi jīng fēi.
watch taken by the hand to the farmer's house; a child opens the chaste-tree gate
lǜ zhú rù yōu jìng, qīng luò fú xíng yī
Green bamboo enters the secluded path, Green radishes are brushed aside by the gown.
huān yán dé suǒ qì, měi jiǔ liáo gǒng huī.
Happy words receive this rest, beauty wine for a time share and scatter
cháng gē yín sōng fēng, qǔ jìn hē xīng xī.
Long songs hum pine wind, melodies all Milky Way sparse
wǒ zuì jūn fù lè, táo rán gǒng wàng jī
I drunk you again happy, happy and carefree all forgotten mechanism

Bonus Poem! Tao Qian, Miscellaneous Poems No. 8

Bo-nus! Tao Qian is one of China's greatest poets, and this is the beginning of one of my favorite of his poems.

Miscellaneous Poems, Number Eight

Human life is without root, fluttering like dust on unknown roads,
Scattering apart in the slowly turning wind; this is not its eternal form.
Just as it falls to the dirt, it becomes young brothers. What need have kin of flesh or bone?
Attain contentment and make of it pleasure, and with wine gather closer with your neighbors.
Glorious years do not come again, days dawn but cannot twice rise.
When you can, take advantage, for time attends not man.

Oh, the white sun rolls West, and the bleached moon leaves the Eastern cliffs.
Rolling, rolling, an endless distance glimmers; empty, empty, the middle of the sky.
The wind comes into my house and my chamber; in the middle of the night my pillow and mat are cold.
The air shifts, and I awake to the change; I cannot sleep and know the eternity of the night.
Desire for speech, with no one to talk to; I raise a cup and drink to my lonely shadow.
The sun and the moon meet men, then go; even those of will cannot win their release.
Memory of this fills me with bitter regret; at the last I know I cannot be at peace.

40: Midnight Four Season Song: Summer, Li Bai

Very sorry for the delay! Completely my fault, and so in recompense I'll offer another *bonus* translation tonight.

Midnight Four Season Song: Summer

On 300 li of Mirror Lake

young lotuses reveal flowers.

In the fifth month Xi Shi plucks,

others fill the shore watching.

Then, back to the boat without attending the moon,

returning to the House of the King of Yue.