陶渊明·《自祭文》英译

岁惟丁卯，律中无射。天寒夜长，风气萧索，鸿雁于征，草木黄落。陶子将辞逆旅之馆，永归于本宅。故人凄其相悲，同祖行于今夕。羞以嘉蔬，荐以清酌。候颜已冥，聆音愈漠。呜呼哀哉！茫茫大块，悠悠高旻，是生万物，余得为人。自余为人，逢运之贫，箪瓢屡罄，絺绤冬陈。含欢谷汲，行歌负薪，翳翳柴门，事我宵晨，春秋代谢，有务中园，载耘载籽，乃育乃繁。欣以素犊，和以七弦。冬曝其日，夏濯其泉。勤靡余劳，心有常闲。乐天委分，以至百年。惟此百年，夫人爱之，惧彼无成，愒日惜时。存为世珍，殁亦见思。嗟我独迈，曾是异兹。宠非己荣，涅岂吾缁？捽兀穷庐，酣饮赋诗。识运知命，畴能罔眷。余今斯化，可以无恨。寿涉百龄，身慕肥遁，从老得终，奚所复恋！寒暑愈迈，亡既异存，外姻晨来，良友宵奔，葬之中野，以安其魂。窅窅我行，萧萧墓门，奢耻宋臣，俭笑王孙，廓兮已灭，慨焉已遐，不封不树，日月遂过。匪贵前誉，孰重后歌？人生实难，死如之何？鸣呼哀哉！

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A Requiem for My Soul

Tao Yuanming

Ding-mao is the year; the season, late autumn¹.

Cold are the days; long, the nights; bleak is the weather and disconsolate. Yellowing grass, falling leaves, southward migrate the wild geese. At the end of his sojourn, Mr. Tao is returning for good and all to the place from where he came.

Present are my friends, come to pay me a last tribute of sorrow; for this evening is set the memorial service. Laid out on the altar are offerings of food and wine. But lo, faded are the features of those around; distant and hollow, the words they mumble. How woefully sad²!

Vast is the universe; boundless, the sky. Life began; into being I came as man. As man I came into life, fated to be poor. The kitchen vessels were empty; in summer clothes I shivered through the cold seasons. And yet, with a light heart I would go for water down the dale; bundles of firewood I would carry home, blithely singing on my way. The days and nights I passed within my wicker gate. In keeping with the change of season, I went about my labours in the garden—weeding and hilling, breeding and raising. Pleasure I found in my books and relished my zither’s soothing tone. I basked in the winter sun; in summer I washed myself at cool springs. To my duties I attended, heart and soul, without overstraining my limbs; my mind was relaxed at all times. In tune with nature and content with my lot, I’ve now completed my life span.

People treasure their term of life. Out for success, they snatch at the fleeting moments and cling to each passing day. To be revered while alive and remembered when dead is a desire shared by all. Differently inclined, I had been going my own way. In princely favour I saw no honour; no dirt could drag me down. Rejoicing in my humble cottage, I reveled in the pleasures of poetry and wine. Aware of nature’s ways and what to expect of life, my leave I take without regret. Having attained a ripe old age and gloried in reclusiveness, now that I’ve lived out my days, nothing there is to hold me back.

The seasons roll on. Since to die is to be no more, my in-laws arrived in the morning hours; friends streamed in by starlight. To put my soul at rest, my body will be buried in the wilds. Dark and extended is my passage; the wind wails round the tomb’s gate. The Song minister’s extravagance brought shame upon himself³. Wang Sun’s frugality made him an object of ridicule⁴.

My soul is fading in the void. Alas, it has drifted quite a way! Raise no mound over my grave! Plant no trees around my tomb! Time will pursue its usual course. Having made light of glory while alive, I can’t care less about posthumous praise. Hard it was to trudge through life. Would it be any the easier to cope with death? How woefully sad!

1. The ninth lunar month.

2. A set of formula used in elegiac writings.

3. A minister of the Spring and Autumn Period, whose artisans had spent three years carving out a stone shell (outer coffin) for him without bringing the work to completion. Confucius was aid to have been taken aback by such extravagance.

4. Wang Sun of the Western Han Dynasty, who, on his deathbed, enjoyed his son(s) to dispose of his body in these terms: “As I want to be buried in a state of nature and returned to my original condition, when I have been lowered seven feet into the ground, pull down the mortuary bag from me and give my body up to the earth.”