月曜日, 4月 04, 2005

Su Shih, "The Red Cliffs". Translation-on-the-fly, part 1

Original here.

It is autumn of the year Ren Syu, the seventh month full upon us. My guest and I sailed our skiff down the Yangtze to below the Red Cliffs. A light breeze wafted over us, but excited no ripples in the clear water. I raised my cup of ale towards my guest, and we recited poems of the bright moon and sang songs of youth. Soon, the moon rose over the eastern mountains, lingering between the Shepherd and the North Star. White mists spanned the river, its diffuse lights joining those in the sky. Our lone skiff drifted at its own will, soaring over an uncomprehending deep--Great as though at the reins of the wind, steering it against the nothingness, never knowing when it will end. Floating as though forsaking the world to stand alone, joining the Immortals...