左辅·《南浦·夜寻琵琶亭》英译

浔阳江上，

恰三更、

霜月共潮生。

断岸高低向我，

渔火一星星。

何处离声刮起？

拨琵琶、

千载剩空亭。

是江湖倦客，

飘零商妇，

于此荡精灵。

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且自移船相近，

绕回阑、

百折觅愁魂。

我是无家张俭，

万里走江城。

一例苍茫吊古，

向获花、

枫叶又伤心。

只琵琶响断，

鱼龙寂寞不曾醒。

 

Nan Pu

Tso Fu

 

On the Hsün-yang River

Frost fell at the third watch, as moon and tide rose together.

Facing me, the bank curved in dips and ridges;

Lights from fishermen shone, each a star.

Where was that song of parting sung, the sound of a guitar

Thrumming a thousand years ago? The empty shelter still is there.

He, the way-worn passer-by;

The merchant’s wife, a driven leaf.

Here, it must be here their spirits wander!

 

And I brought my boat in closer,

Walking round the curved gunwale seeking those sad souls.

Homeless, a wanderer like Chang Chien,

Travelling countless miles by city and river,

At ease in desolate haunts of men, I search in the past.

And finding here the plumed rushes and maple leaves my heart was touched.

Only, I heard no sound of a guitar.

Fish and dragon slept, deep and still.