Попередній перегляд перекладу

[Music I]\n\n[Qin]\n\nListening to the Monk Jun of Shu Play the Qin\nLi Bai\nThe monk from Shu brings his lute of jade green; down from Mount Emei's peak he comes, serene.\nHe strums for me a single sweeping tone; as if I hear pines sigh in valleys lone.\nMy heart is cleansed by flowing stream's refrain; its lingering notes melt into frosty bell's strain.\nUnaware, green hills have faded into night; autumn clouds have dimmed the sky's last light.\n\nListening to Lu Zishun Play the Qin Under the Moon\nLi Bai\nIn the quiet night I sit beneath the moon so bright; the hermit plays his plain qin, a calming sight.\nThe tune of "Sad Wind" suddenly takes its flight; it echoes like the pines in winter's might.\n"White Snow" dances beneath his flying hand; "Green Water" cleanses his heart, a tranquil land.\nBut Zhong Qi has long gone from this world's strand; no one alive can ever understand.\n\nListening to Monk Ying's Qin Song\nLi He\nClouds leave the shore for Cassia Isle's domain; from Shu's strings come a pair of phoenixes' strain.\nLotus leaves fall, the autumn phoenix flies; the King of Yue by night to Tianmu hies.\nDark pendants worn by pure ministers ring; across the sea, fair brows lead white deer in spring.\nWho sees the sword-bearer to Long Bridge stride? Who sees the hair-dipper write on bamboo's side?\nThe Dharmic monk stands forward at my gate; his brow's high ridge shows truth in solemn state.\nThe great qin's pegs are eight feet long and straight; old Fengyang wood, not from the tung-tree's fate.\nIn cool pavilion, strings startle this sick guest; my medicine bag I leave, my rush mat's rest.\nPray sing, but only for the lords and peers; what use is my low office through the years?\n\nPlaying the Qin on a Night Boat\nBai Juyi\nThe birds are perched, the fish lie still and deep; the moon shines on the river in the night so steep.\nOutside myself, I have no worldly care; inside the boat, only the qin is there.\nThe seven strings are friends to me so true; my two ears are the listeners that knew.\nWhen heart is still, the sound grows faint and low; in this I find no ancient or modern, just the flow.\n\n[Zheng]\n\nListening to the Zheng\nLi Duan\nThe golden-pegged zither sounds so grand; her fair hands play in the jade chamber's strand.\nTo win the master's lingering glance, with art; she strikes a wrong note now and then, with heart.\n\nZheng\nBai Juyi\nHer cloud-like hair in greenish hues is dressed; her flower face in rosy red is blessed.\nHer eyes can cut the autumn water's gleam; her fingers peel the spring onion's green stream.\nThe Chu's fair style is her noble gate; the Qin's clear tone is her skill innate.\nHer silver nails are bright with polished shine; her jade pegs touch with tinkling chime divine.\nThe ape's sad cry complains the moon's late hour; the oriole's sweet voice speaks to the wind's power.\nShe draws her grief into her fingertips; she sends her sorrow through the strings and tips.\nThe Zhao zither's pure notes seem the same; the Hu fiddle's loud stirs a different flame.\nA slow tune makes the wild geese seem to part; a quick one whirls the flying reed's art.\nHer frost-like pendants tinkle and sway; her icy springs now choke, now flow away.\nA thousand beats like pearls break in the air; one single cut ends the tune with a flare.\nHer grace refined gives her spirit stead; her pride and skill her moods have wed.\nWhen she stops, her feelings still remain; when she rests, her thoughts retain.\nBeneath the lamp, this youth of spring night's time; before the cup, an old man in his prime.\nI'll listen, for I ought to hear it all; my aging ears have not yet lost their call.