李清照·《声声慢》英译

Sheng Sheng Man

Li Qingzhao

Seeking, seeking,

Chilly and quiet,

Desolate, painful and miserable.

Even when it’s warmer there is still a chill,

It is most difficult to keep well.

Three or two cups of light wine,

How can they ward off the strong morning wind?

Wild geese fly past, while I’m broken-hearted;

But I recognize they are my old friends.

Fallen chrysanthemums piled up on the ground,

So withered,

Who would pluck them?

Leaning on the window,

How can I pass the time till night alone?

The drizzle falls on the wutong trees,

Rain-drops drip down at dusk.

At a time like this,

What immense sorrow I must bear!

（杨宪益、戴乃迭 译）

Shengshengman

I’ve a sense of something missing I must seek.

Everything about me looks dismal and bleak.

Nothing that gives me pleasure, I can find.

Even the weather has proved most unkind.

‘Tis warm, but abruptly it turns cold again.

An unbroken rest — most difficult to obtain.

Three cups of thin wine would utterly fail —

To cope with the rising evening gale.

Myself, into woe, a flight of wild geese has thrown.

But with them, very familiar I have grown.

About the ground, chrysanthemums are bestrewn.

Gathering into heaps — bruised — withering soon.

With myself in utter misery and gloom,

Who cares to save them from their approaching doom?

Standing by the window — watching in anguish stark,

Could I bear alone the sight until it is dark?

Against the tung and plane trees, the wind rises high.

The drizzle becomes trickles, as even draws nigh.

How, in the word “Miserable,” can one find—

The total effects of all these on the mind!

（徐忠杰 译）

Beats Slowing Down

Fumbling and searching, at a loss I feel,

At a loss in such lonely melancholy

And plaintive solitude as seem unreal.

Th’ turn of cold and warmth is, incredibly,

The most miserable time to endure,

Of th’ chill of morning winds how can I cure

Myself with a few cups of wine impure?

‘Tis heart-rending to see th’ wild geese in th’ sky —

My acquaintances of old — southward fly!

Chrysanthemums now flourish here and there,

But who would care to pluck them, feeling blue?

Sitting alone at th’ window in despair,

Ere night falls I know not how to pull through.

Now dripping and dropping incessantly

On the Chinese parasols is the rain.

Alas, much much more than anxiety,

At such a time, is what one must sustain!

（卓振英 译）