Du Fu

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Du Fu Song of the Wagons The wagons rumble and roll, The horses whinny and neigh, The conscripts each have bows and arrows at their waists. Their parents, wives and children run to see them off, So much dust's stirred up, it hides the Xianyang bridge. They pull clothes, stamp their feet and, weeping, bar the way, The weeping voices rise straight up and strike the clouds. A passer-by at the roadside asks a conscript why, The conscript answers only that drafting happens often. "At fifteen, many were sent north to guard the river, Even at forty, they had to till fields in the west. When we went away, the elders bound our heads, Returning with heads white, we're sent back off to the frontier. At the border posts, shed blood becomes a sea, The martial emperor's dream of expansion has no end. Have you not seen the two hundred districts east of the mountains, Where thorns and brambles grow in countless villages and hamlets? Although there are strong women to grasp the hoe and the plough, They grow some crops, but there's no order in the fields. What's more, we soldiers of Qin withstand the bitterest fighting, We're always driven onwards just like dogs and chickens. Although an elder can ask me this, How can a soldier dare to complain? Even in this winter time, Soldiers from west of the pass keep moving. The magistrate is eager for taxes, But how can we afford to pay? We know now having boys is bad, While having girls is for the best; Our girls can still be married to the neighbours, Our sons are merely buried amid the grass. Have you not seen on the border of Qinghai, The ancient bleached bones no man's gathered in? The new ghosts are angered by injustice, the old ghosts weep, Moistening rain falls from dark heaven on the voices' screeching." Song of My Cottage Unroofed By Autumn Gales In the eighth month autumn's high winds angrily howl, And sweep three layers of thatch from off my house. The straw flies over the river, where it scatters, Some is caught and hangs high up in the treetops, Some floats down and sinks into the ditch. The urchins from the southern village bully me, weak as I am; They're cruel enough to rob me to my face, Openly, they carry the straw into the bamboo. My mouth and lips are dry from pointless calling, I lean again on my cane and heave a sigh. The wind soon calms, and the clouds turn the colour of ink; he autumn sky has turned completely black. My ancient cotton quilt is cold as iron, My darling children sleep badly, and kick it apart. The roof leaks over the bed- there's nowhere dry, The rain falls thick as hemp, and without end. Lost amid disorder, I hardly sleep, Wet through, how can I last the long nights! If I could get a mansion with a thousand, ten thousand rooms, A great shelter for all the world's scholars, together in joy, Solid as a mountain, the elements could not move it. Oh! If I could see this house before me, I'd happily freeze to death in my broken hut! Welcome Rain on a Spring Night The good rain knows its season, When spring arrives, it brings life. It follows the wind secretly into the night, And moistens all things softly, without sound. On the country road, the clouds are all black, On a riverboat, a single fire bright. At dawn one sees this place now red and wet, The flowers are heavy in the brocade city. Official at Stone Moat Village At dusk, I stopped to rest at Stone Moat village, An officer came that night to capture men. The old man escaped by climbing over the wall, The old wife went to look outside the door. How angrily the officer now shouted, How bitterly the wife did weep out loud! I heard the words the wife was sending forth: "Three sons of mine were sent to defend Yecheng. From one of my sons, a letter has arrived, The other two have recently died in battle. The one who survived has kept alive for now, The dead ones though have met their final end. Inside this house, there are no people left, There's just a grandson suckling on the breast. The grandson's mother also cannot go, She goes about without a skirt intact. Although I'm an old woman with failing strength, I ask you to take me with you tonight. If you should need workers at Heyang, I can prepare the morning meal for you." Her voice then died away into the night, I seemed to hear her sob and whimper still. At dawn, before I set upon the road, It's only from the old man that I part.

Song of the Wagons

The wagons rumble and roll,
The horses whinny and neigh,
The conscripts each have bows and arrows at their waists.
Their parents, wives and children run to see them off,
So much dust's stirred up, it hides the Xianyang bridge.
They pull clothes, stamp their feet and, weeping, bar the way,
The weeping voices rise straight up and strike the clouds.
A passer-by at the roadside asks a conscript why,
The conscript answers only that drafting happens often.
"At fifteen, many were sent north to guard the river,
Even at forty, they had to till fields in the west.
When we went away, the elders bound our heads,
Returning with heads white, we're sent back off to the frontier.
At the border posts, shed blood becomes a sea,
The martial emperor's dream of expansion has no end.
Have you not seen the two hundred districts east of the mountains,
Where thorns and brambles grow in countless villages and hamlets?
Although there are strong women to grasp the hoe and the plough,
They grow some crops, but there's no order in the fields.
What's more, we soldiers of Qin withstand the bitterest fighting,
We're always driven onwards just like dogs and chickens.
Although an elder can ask me this,
How can a soldier dare to complain?
Even in this winter time,
Soldiers from west of the pass keep moving.
The magistrate is eager for taxes,
But how can we afford to pay?
We know now having boys is bad,
While having girls is for the best;
Our girls can still be married to the neighbours,
Our sons are merely buried amid the grass.
Have you not seen on the border of Qinghai,
The ancient bleached bones no man's gathered in?
The new ghosts are angered by injustice, the old ghosts weep,
Moistening rain falls from dark heaven on the voices' screeching."

Song of My Cottage Unroofed By Autumn Gales

In the eighth month autumn's high winds angrily howl,
And sweep three layers of thatch from off my house.
The straw flies over the river, where it scatters,
Some is caught and hangs high up in the treetops,
Some floats down and sinks into the ditch.
The urchins from the southern village bully me, weak as I am;
They're cruel enough to rob me to my face,
Openly, they carry the straw into the bamboo.
My mouth and lips are dry from pointless calling,
I lean again on my cane and heave a sigh.
The wind soon calms, and the clouds turn the colour of ink;
he autumn sky has turned completely black.
My ancient cotton quilt is cold as iron,
My darling children sleep badly, and kick it apart.
The roof leaks over the bed- there's nowhere dry,
The rain falls thick as hemp, and without end.
Lost amid disorder, I hardly sleep,
Wet through, how can I last the long nights!
If I could get a mansion with a thousand, ten thousand rooms,
A great shelter for all the world's scholars, together in joy,
Solid as a mountain, the elements could not move it.
Oh! If I could see this house before me,
I'd happily freeze to death in my broken hut!

Welcome Rain on a Spring Night

The good rain knows its season,
When spring arrives, it brings life.
It follows the wind secretly into the night,
And moistens all things softly, without sound.
On the country road, the clouds are all black,
On a riverboat, a single fire bright.
At dawn one sees this place now red and wet,
The flowers are heavy in the brocade city.

Official at Stone Moat Village

At dusk, I stopped to rest at Stone Moat village,
An officer came that night to capture men.
The old man escaped by climbing over the wall,
The old wife went to look outside the door.
How angrily the officer now shouted,
How bitterly the wife did weep out loud!
I heard the words the wife was sending forth:
"Three sons of mine were sent to defend Yecheng.
From one of my sons, a letter has arrived,
The other two have recently died in battle.
The one who survived has kept alive for now,
The dead ones though have met their final end.
Inside this house, there are no people left,
There's just a grandson suckling on the breast.
The grandson's mother also cannot go,
She goes about without a skirt intact.
Although I'm an old woman with failing strength,
I ask you to take me with you tonight.
If you should need workers at Heyang,
I can prepare the morning meal for you."
Her voice then died away into the night,
I seemed to hear her sob and whimper still.
At dawn, before I set upon the road,
It's only from the old man that I part.