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lnhammerI’ll stop submitting these North Tower letters
And go back to my shabby South Mountain hut:
The Bright Lord has discarded worthless me
Estranged from old friends by my many ills.
These white hairs hasten on an old man’s age—
The spring’s green sun compels the year to leave.
I’ve held these worries long, and cannot sleep …
A pine-tree moon—an empty window at night.
岁暮归南山
北阙休上书，
南山归敝庐。
不才明主弃，
多病故人疏。
白发催年老，
青阳逼岁除。
永怀愁不寐，
松月夜窗墟。
The North Tower is the northern gate-tower of the imperial palace, where officials waited to be summoned by the court, and while the South Mountain might be the one by Wang Wei’s estate (#123), the Mt. Xianshou of #125 of his hometown seems more likely. Bright Lord is (like Enlightened Sage) a flattering title for a ruler or high minister. “Green sun” is literal while “spring” is a gloss—the season of spring formally began at New Year’s, roughly early February on the lunisolar calendar. The rhythm of the current l.2 makes me wince, but I’ve yet to come up with a better version that doesn’t downgrade “shabby” to the unacceptably weaker “worn.”
All these poems about job-seeker angst has made me look askance at Li Bai’s description of Meng in #100.
---L.
And go back to my shabby South Mountain hut:
The Bright Lord has discarded worthless me
Estranged from old friends by my many ills.
These white hairs hasten on an old man’s age—
The spring’s green sun compels the year to leave.
I’ve held these worries long, and cannot sleep …
A pine-tree moon—an empty window at night.
岁暮归南山
北阙休上书，
南山归敝庐。
不才明主弃，
多病故人疏。
白发催年老，
青阳逼岁除。
永怀愁不寐，
松月夜窗墟。
The North Tower is the northern gate-tower of the imperial palace, where officials waited to be summoned by the court, and while the South Mountain might be the one by Wang Wei’s estate (#123), the Mt. Xianshou of #125 of his hometown seems more likely. Bright Lord is (like Enlightened Sage) a flattering title for a ruler or high minister. “Green sun” is literal while “spring” is a gloss—the season of spring formally began at New Year’s, roughly early February on the lunisolar calendar. The rhythm of the current l.2 makes me wince, but I’ve yet to come up with a better version that doesn’t downgrade “shabby” to the unacceptably weaker “worn.”
All these poems about job-seeker angst has made me look askance at Li Bai’s description of Meng in #100.
---L.
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Date: 25 February 2022 15:44 (UTC)no subject
Date: 25 February 2022 16:45 (UTC)