李清照·《声声慢》英译

The Single Word for the Scene

(shengsheng-man)

Longing, longing,

Missing, missing;

Lone, lone,

Bleak, bleak;

Sad, sad; sorrowful, sorrowful; forlorn, forlorn.

At this season, now warm now cold,

It is most difficult to keep well.

How could a remnant of soft wine, two or three cups

Withstand the wind that comes rushing up at dusk?

The wild geese have passed over,

While I feel heartbroken, and only to know

There are my old friends of the past!

Yellow flowers are piled all over the ground.

Withered as they are,

Who cares to pick them?

I am staying alone by the casement,

How terribly dark!

Tick-tack, tick-tack,

The rain drips onto the paulownia-tree upto gloaming.

Such a scene is

Too much for the single word “Sorrow”!

（贺淯滨 译）

Tune: SHENGSHENGMAN

Li Qingzhao

Searching, searching,

Finding nothing

But cold, sad loneliness,

I live a dreary life,

A weary life, and miserable,

A sudden warmth—

But the cold goes on, and on.

How can you recover, at such an hour?

Can a few cups of stale wine

Keep off the cold night wind?

Wild geese fly past,

Stirring grief deep in my heart.

Oh, my old friends,

Once you carried messages

Back and forth, between me

And my beloved.

Chrysanthemums yellow the ground.

They shiver, they wither, they hand their heads.

Who will love them for their delicacy,

Who will pluck them for their beauty?

Sitting by the window

I wait, alone, sad,

For darkness to fall.

And when darkness comes

And rain drizzles down,

Wutong leaves will drip, will drop,

And I will be so deep in misery

That even a word like “wretched” could not explain,

Could never explain.

（丁祖馨、Burton Raffel 译）

Melancholy

Li Qingzhao

Lonely and lonely, sad and sad, cold and cold.

It turns suddenly warm, but is still cold.

It is hard to keep oneself from catching cold.

Two or three cups of weak wine

Can hardly withstand the strong wind.

Wild geese have passed by in the sky,

Making me grieved and sign.

Yet they are old acquaintances of mine.

The ground is all covered

With chrysanthemums withered and dry.

Now, who has the zest to pluck these dear flowers of mine.

Sitting by the window all day long,

How can I endure till dusk alone?

It is drizzling outside,

Making Phoenix trees drip, drip, dusk until.

Facing such scenes,

How can I define my sentiment

With the word melancholy?

（张炳星 译）