七言古诗，白居易《七言古诗·琵琶行（引）》附多个英译本
2014-12-26 11:54阅读：
网图诚谢。
Tune: Seven - Across
Pipa Germination of
By Tang Dynasty Bai Juyi Tr.
David Wei
The Xunyang River pier night to send the guests, and
the
Maples and autumn winds and miscanthus flowers.
And master dismount - the passenger on ship
their,
Where raised wine - cup you but
no
orchestral.
So not a happy drunk, the empty miserable
farewell,
W
hile the vast river the moonlight - dip.
Suddenly, where the water came music Piba,
The master forgot to return, the boat was not starting
up.
To explore the 'acoustic Lute secretly asked
Who?
The Lute muise stops, and
like language to defer;
And move the boat close to each other, invite each
other,
Then added wine back to the light to re- open the
feast.
The long - awaited and call, who was out, -
Still holding a Piba; and
One half face masked
the
Where rotation the axis masked three 'twice,
That unsuccessfully melody first
mood.
When string and chord of, hide control sounds
minds,
Or Like her life unsuccessful hint.
O beautiful bows, accompanied by free hands plucked the
heart,
To say the minds of infinite
thing it.
One gently stroked slowly twist, 'wipe, then provoked
OK!
The beginning of 'Seduction' and 'Of the Six Shake '
-
Cao Cao as big chord rapid rain,
Gentle as a small string whisper;
Cao Cao-murmur mixed play; when -
Big and pearls and
little
Falling -
into one jade
plate.
And wooden wheels rhythms like orioles, over the flower
mood,
The resentment spring sound like that in the
ice.
When cold spring and bitter cold and strings
solidified,
That bleak despair, the
music
pause.
In addition there are quiet melancholy to give birth secretly
hate,
- this time, silence was better than the sound.
And suddenly felling, like silver bottle burst suddenly
'sputtered,
And cavalry - storm appeared along with swords
ringing;
At the end of the tune, plucked strings such as heart light
painting,
That last four strings sound like tearing
brocade.
O, east of the boat, west of the boats,
silent-silent,
Only saw the river central pale fall moon was
O pondered with the plectrum inserting strings
the
Rhythm, sorting clothes, stood up to clean up the
appearance.
Then said to herself, her essentially is the capital of the
woman,
Family lived in the Frog Mausoleum.
And thirteen study completed Pibas
In the name belonged to the Royal
Music
School of First
Division.
Then every the music ended, gave people understood music
breaths,
And I was good makeup, always been a Fallmoon-beauty
jealousy.
So the capital spoiled rich kid fight gifts,
A 'red silk song' Then I do not know the
numbers.
So gold headdress, silver grate, that break the
chastity,
And bloody, silk satin skirts waved with wine and
dirt.
That smile fairs this year to repeat next year; the spring
winds
And autumn moon, the scenery
powerless to spend.
While brother in the army, gone; aunt died,
And twilight came and went, so color it.
Then doors to cold, pommels horse scarce,
And aging older, so married businessman wife the
Businessman, materialistic - contempt in parting,
yes,
And previous month, over the floating bridge to buy tea
and.
So the river of, who go-come back often to keep the empty
boat,
Follow the sun - moon changes boat entangled in the
cold
rivers.
Sometimes, late at night suddenly dreamed boy
things,
The dream to cry, wet clothes makeup, tears drip dry until
nights.
When I have heard sighing Lute,
Again the words of this woman, and more pity;
The same world people;
we
Meet why have
known!
And left the capital last year
I,
now
Demotion? Confined to bed in Xunyang city;
Xunyang secluded no joy Concert,
Throughout the year, do not listen to orchestral
sound.
The residence near the river flowing in
humidity,
Yellow reeds, low and long sections of bamboo growing around
house.
You Living in the middle of the morning - evening news what
things?
When Cuckoos blood, whether ape whine the
Then river in spring, the bloom early sun
and the autumn
moonlight;
Wine also often taken trance alone dump is
Is not the village folk flute?
Nor is it; is elegant enough and noisy mocking my
minds.
Tonight I hear your Piba
'languages,
Such as listening to fairy music, the ears temporarily
out.
And organization silently rhetoric, late at night play a song
for you it,
For us to re- write an 'Pipa
Germination.'
I say these words to feel her beautiful long
standing,
But sitten down the chord 'chord turn pro
anxious.
Although still desolately, but do not like the forward
of
sounds,
And people here, hear the multiple meanings, all cover
weep.
That among those who tears up?
Jiangzhou Sima -
General
greener gown wet downs -
ups.
Preface
Tang of Yuan dynasty years and I moved
to Jiujiang - County Sima post. The fall of the second year,
visitor out flowing of water PuKou, who heard the boat the night
playing the Pipa, listen to which
voice, clank and then - there capital sound. Asked the man, she
replied originally Chang'an showgirl, once try learning the
Luto in Mu Cao two teachers; after
seniors and useless, committed a businessman's wife. Then ordered
wine, playing a few songs so fast. End of the song - compassion
naturally born. while
the autobiography of joy when she was young
thing, now drift perish haggard, was removed in between the rivers
and the lakes. And I am out of the capital two years, a quiet calm
and self- peaceful, thinking her speech perception, the night began
to feel the exile meaning. So do long sentences, the songs to grant
her; the usual text- totaling six hundred ten six words. Title
'Pipa
Germination.'
2014-7-22
时态难弄。
背景音乐:Eyes On Me--王菲
琵琶引 / 琵琶行【唐】白居易
元和十年，予左迁九江郡司马。明年秋，送客湓浦口，闻舟中夜弹琵琶者，听其音，铮铮然有京都声。问其人，本长安倡女，尝学琵琶于穆、曹二善才，年长色衰，委身为贾人妇。遂命酒，使快弹数曲。曲罢悯然，自叙少小时欢乐事，今漂沦憔悴，转徙于江湖间。予出官二年，恬然自安，感斯人言，是夕始觉有迁谪意。因为长句，歌以赠之，凡六百一十六言，命曰《琵琶行》。
浔阳江头夜送客，枫叶荻花秋瑟瑟。
主人下马客在船，举酒欲饮无管弦。
醉不成欢惨将别，别时茫茫江浸月。
忽闻水上琵琶声，主人忘归客不发。
寻声暗问弹者谁？琵琶声停欲语迟。
移船相近邀相见，添酒回灯重开宴。
千呼万唤始出来，犹抱琵琶半遮面。
转轴拨弦三两声，未成曲调先有情。
弦弦掩抑声声思，似诉平生不得志。（不得志
一作：意）
低眉信手续续弹，说尽心中无限事。
轻拢慢捻抹复挑，初为《霓裳》后《六幺》（六幺 一作：绿腰）。
大弦嘈嘈如急雨，小弦切切如私语。
嘈嘈切切错杂弹，大珠小珠落玉盘。
间关莺语花底滑，幽咽泉流冰下难。
冰泉冷涩弦凝绝，凝绝不通声暂歇。
别有幽愁暗恨生，此时无声胜有声。
银瓶乍破水浆迸，铁骑突出刀枪鸣。
曲终收拨当心画，四弦一声如裂帛。
东船西舫悄无言，唯见江心秋月白。
沉吟放拨插弦中，整顿衣裳起敛容。
自言本是京城女，家在虾蟆陵下住。
十三学得琵琶成，名属教坊第一部。
曲罢曾教善才服，妆成每被秋娘妒。
五陵年少争缠头，一曲红绡不知数。
钿头银篦击节碎，血色罗裙翻酒污。(银篦一作：云)
今年欢笑复明年，秋月春风等闲度。
弟走从军阿姨死，暮去朝来颜色故。
门前冷落鞍马稀，老大嫁作商人妇。
商人重利轻别离，前月浮梁买茶去。
去来江口守空船，绕船月明江水寒。
夜深忽梦少年事，梦啼妆泪红阑干。
我闻琵琶已叹息，又闻此语重唧唧。
同是天涯沦落人，相逢何必曾相识！
我从去年辞帝京，谪居卧病浔阳城。
浔阳地僻无音乐，终岁不闻丝竹声。
住近湓江地低湿，黄芦苦竹绕宅生。
其间旦暮闻何物？杜鹃啼血猿哀鸣。
春江花朝秋月夜，往往取酒还独倾。
岂无山歌与村笛？呕哑嘲哳难为听。
今夜闻君琵琶语，如听仙乐耳暂明。
莫辞更坐弹一曲，为君翻作《琵琶行》。
感我此言良久立，却坐促弦弦转急。
凄凄不似向前声，满座重闻皆掩泣。
座中泣下谁最多？江州司马青衫湿。
附：
杨宪益、戴乃迭/张廷琛、魏博思/许渊冲 译 白居易·《琵琶行》
来自：
http://blog.sina.com.cn/weatherall
诚谢！
Song of the Lute
Player
Bai Juyi
杨宪益、戴乃迭译
In the tenth year of
the reign of Yuanhe, I was demoted to the assistant prefectship of
Jiujiang. The next autumn, while seeing a friend off at Pengpu, I
heard someone strumming a lute in a boat at night, playing with the
touch of a musician from the capital. I found upon inquiry that the
lutist was a courtesan from Chang'an who had learned from the
musicians Mu and Cao but growing old and losing her looks, she had
married a merchant. Then I ordered drinks and asked her to play a
few tunes. After playing, in deep distress, she told me of the
pleasures of her youth and said now that her beauty had fades she
was drifting from place to place by rivers and lakes. In my two
years as an official away from the capital I had been resigned
enough, my mind at peace, but moved by her tale that night I began
to take my demotion and exile to heart. So I wrote a long poem and
presented it to her. It has 612 words and I call it the Song of
the Lute Player.
By the Xunyang River a guest is seen off one night;
Chill the autumn, red the maple leaves and in flower the
reeds;
The host alights from his horse, the guest is aboard,
They raise their cups to drink but have no music.
Drunk without joy, in sadness they must part;
At the time of parting the river seems steeped in moonlight;
Suddenly out on the water a lute is heard;
The host forgets to turn back, the guest delays going.
Seeking the sound in the dark, we ask who is the player.
The lute is silent, hesitant the reply.
Rowing closer, we ask if we may meet the musician,
Call for more wine, trim the lamp and resume our feast;
Only after a thousand entreaties does she appear,
Her face half-hidden behind the lute in her arms.
She tunes up and plucks the strings a few times,
Touching our hearts before even the tune is played;
Each chord strikes a pensive note
As if voicing the disillusion of a lifetime;
Her head is bent, her fingers stray over the strings
Pouring out the infinite sorrows of her heart.
Lightly she pinches in the strings, slowly she strums and plucks
them;
First The Rainbow Garments, then The Six Minor
Notes.
The high notes wail like pelting rain,
The low notes whisper like soft confidences;
Wailing and whispering interweave
Like pearls large and small cascading on a plate of jade,
Like a warbling oriole gliding below the blossom,
Like a mountain brook purling down a bank,
Till the brook turns to ice, the strings seem about snap,
About to snap, and for one instant all is still
Only an undertone of quiet grief
Is more poignant in the silence than any sound;
Then a silver bottle is smashed, out gushes the water,
Armoured riders charge, their swords and lances clang!
When the tune ends, she draws her pick full across
And the four strings give a sound like the tearing of silk.
Right and left of the boat all is silence —
We see only the autumn moon, silver in midstream.
Pensively she puts the pick between the strings,
Straightens her clothes, rises and composes herself.
She is, she says, a girl from the capital
Whose family once lived at the foot of Toad Hill.
At thirteen she learned to play the lute
And ranked first among the musicians;
Her playing was admired by the old masters,
Her looks were the envy of other courtesans;
Youths from wealthy districts vied in their gifts to engage
her,
A single song brought her countless rolls of red silk;
Men smashed jeweled and silver trinkets to mark the beat;
Silk skirts as red as blood were stained by spilt wine.
Pleasure and laughter from one year to the next.
While the autumn moon and spring breeze passed unheeded.
Then her brother joined the army, her aunt died,
The days and nights slipped by and her beauty fades,
No more carriages and horsemen thronged her gate,
And growing old she became a merchant's wife.
The merchant thought only of profit: to seek it he leaves
her.
Two months ago he went to Fuliang to buy tea,
Leaving her alone in the boat at the mouth of the river;
All around the moonlight is bright, the river is cold,
And late at night, dreaming of her girlhood,
She cries in her sleep, staining her rouged cheeks with
tears.
The music of her lute has made me sign,
And now she tells this plaintive tale of sorrow;
We are both ill-starred, drifting on the face of the earth;
No matter if we were strangers before this encounter.
Last year I bade the imperial city farewell;
A demoted official, I lay ill in Xunyang;
Xunyang is a paltry place without any music,
For one year I heard no wind instruments, no strings.
Now I live on the low, damp flat by the River Pen,
Round my house yellow reeds and bitter bamboos grow rife;
From dawn till dusk I hear no other sounds
But the wailing of night-jars and the moaning of apes.
On a day of spring blossoms by the river or moonlit night in
autumn
I often call for wine and drink alone;
Of course, there are rustic songs and village pipes,
But their shrill discordant notes grate on my ears;
Tonight listening to your lute playing
Was like hearing fairy music; it gladdened my ears.
Don't refuse, but sit down and play another tune,
And I'll write a Song of the Lute Player for you.
Touched by my words, she stands there for some time,
Then goes back to her seat and played with quickened tempo
Music sadder far than the first melody,
And at the sound not a man of us has dry eyes.
The assistant prefect of Jiangzhou is so moved
That his blue coat is wet with tears.
Song of the Pipa
With Initial Narrate
Bai Juyi
张廷琛、魏博思译
In 815, the tenth year of Yuan He, I was demoted and
sent to Jiujiang to assume the duties of Assistant Prefect. The
following autumn, seeing off a friend at Penpu, I heard someone
skillfully playing the pipa aboard a boat. Inquiring, I learned
that the player was a former courtesan from Chang-an who had
studied the pipa with famous masters. Growing old and losing her
looks, she had married a merchant. Then I ordered wine and asked
her to play. After her performance, deeply distressed, she told me
of her youth and of her present life of drifting from place to
place. I thought that I had long become resigned to my own fall in
life, but after hearing her story I began to take my exile more to
heart. So I wrote this long poem of Six hundred and sixteen
characters to present to her. I call it the Song of the
Pipa.
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 music halted, but the player 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 not 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 sandy
shoals.
The stream then turned to ice, the note to
crystal,
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 round 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,
In a household 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 roughed cheeks with
tears.”
Already, the pipa’s song had made me
sign,
But there words made me utterly
forlorn.
Both losers in this wider world,
By chance both here,
It mattered not that we had never met
before.
“Last year I left the capital.
Demoted, lying ill in Xunyang,
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.
Of course there are the caws and grunts and
whoops
That they call music here,
But tonight it seemed that fairy music sharpened my
senses once again.
Please don’t refuse to sit and play another
piece,
And for you I’ll 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 are the robes of
office
Of the Assistant Prefect of
Jiujiang.
Song of a Pipa
Player
Ba Juyi
许渊冲译
One night by riverside I bade a friend
goodbye;
In maple leaves and rushes autumn seemed to
sigh.
My friend and I dismounted and came into the
boat;
Without flute songs we drank our cups with heavy
heart;
The moonbeams blended with water when we were to
part.
Suddenly o’er the stream we heard a pipa
sound;
I forgot to go home and the guest stood
spell-bound.
We followed where the music led to find the
player,
But heard the pipa stop and no music in the
air.
We moved our boat towards the one whence came the
strain,
Brought back the lamp, asked for more wine and drank
again.
Repeatedly we called for the fair player
still.
She came, her face half hidden behind a pipa
still.
She turned the pegs and tested twice or thrice each
string;
Before a tune was played we heard her feelings
sing.
Each string she plucked, each note she struck with
pathos strong,
All seemed to say she’d missed her dreams all her life
long.
Head bent, she played with unpremeditated
art
On and on to pour out her overflowing
heart.
She lightly plucked, slowly stroked and twanged
loud
The song of “Green Waist” after that of “Rainbow
Cloud”.
The thick strings loudly thrummed like the pattering
rain;
The fine strings softly tinkled in a murmuring
strain.
When mingling loud and sot notes were together
played,
You heard orioles warble in a flowery
land,
Then a sobbing stream run along a beach of
sand.
But the stream seemed so cold as to tighten the
string;
From tightened strings no more song could be heard to
sing.
Still we heard hidden grief and vague regret
concealed;
Then music expressed far less than silence
revealed.
Suddenly we heard water burst a silver
jar,
And the clash of spears and sabers come from
afar.
She made a central sweep when the music was
ending;
The four strings made one sound, as if silk one was
rending.
Silence reigned left and right of the boat, east and
west;
We saw but autumn moon white in the river’s
breast.
She slid the plectrum pensively between the
strings,
Smoothed out her dress and rose with a composed
mien.
“I spent,” she said, “in the capital my early
springs,
Where at the foot of Mount of Toads my home had
been.
At thirteen I learned on the pipa how to
play,
And my name was among the primas of the
day.
I won my master’s admiration for my
skill;
My beauty was envied by songstresses fair
still.
The gallant young men vied to shower gifts on
me;
One tune played, countless silk rolls were given with
glee.
Beating time, I let silver comb and pin drop
down,
And spilt-out wine oft stained my blood-red silken
gown.
From year to year I laughed my joyous life
away
On moonlit autumn light as windy vernal
day.
My younger brother left for war, and died my
maid;
Days passed, nights came, and my beauty began to
fade.
Fewer and fewer were cabs and steeds at my
door;
I married a smug merchant when my prime was
o’er.
The merchant cared for money much more than for
me;
One month ago he went away to purchase
tea,
Leaving his lonely wife alone in empty
boat;
Shrouded in moonlight, on the cold river I
float.
Deep in the night I dreams of happy bygone
years,
And woke to find my rouged face crisscrossed with
tears.”
Listening to her story, I signed again and
again.
Both of us in misfortune go from shore to
shore.
Meeting now, need we have known each other
before?
“I was banished from the capital last
year
To live degraded and ill in this city
here.
The city’s too remote to know melodious
song,
So I have never heard music all the year
long.
I dwell by riverbank on a low and damp
ground
In a house with wild reeds and stunted bamboos
around.
What is here to be heard from daybreak till
nightfall
But gibbon’s cry and cuckoo’s homeward-going
call?
By blooming riverside and under autumn
moon
I’ve often taken wine up and drunk it
alone.
Thought I have mountain songs and village pipes to
hear,
Yet they are crude and strident and grate on the
ear.
Listening to you playing on pipa
tonight,
With your music divine e’en my hearing seems
bright.
Will you sit down and play for us a tune once
more?
I’ll write for you an ode to the pipa I
adore.”
Touched by what I said, the player stood for
long,
Then sat down, tore at strings and played another
song.
So sad, so drear, so different, it moved us
deep;
Those who heard it hid the face and began to
weep.
Of all the company at table who wept
most?
It was none other than the exiled blue-robed
host.
