Old Private School - Three Hundred Poems of Song (Part 1)

Author: Wang Hui
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 1999-03-01
Features: This book is one of the series titled "Old Private Schools," and "Three Hundred Songs of the Song Dynasty" is divided into two volumes. This book is the first volume. The entire book aims to introduce hundreds of selected Song Dynasty poems in a simple, concise, and essential manner. The annotations are intended to be brief and clear, explaining the meaning of the words; the colloquial translations strive to accurately convey the original poetic essence through straightforward language, with elegant and fluent expressions, and to reflect the artistic flavor of the original poems as much as possible. The interpretations are intended to be concise and insightful artistic analyses, explaining the imagery, emotions, and expressive techniques of the poems, providing a certain reference for Song Dynasty poetry enthusiasts to appreciate and enjoy the art of Song Dynasty poetry.
Yan Shanting Zhao Ji Beigong Jian Xianghua
Shearing ice silk, lightly layered in several layers, lightly dyed with yànzhī (a red pigment). New-fashioned makeup is dazzling, overflowing with fragrance, making even the blossoms of the palace of flowers ashamed. It is easy to wither and fall, and there are more sorrowful winds and rains. Autumn is bitter, asking in a desolate courtyard, how many springs have passed? Entrust heavy sorrow, how could these twin swallows understand, speak for people? Heaven is far, earth is far, ten thousand rivers and mountains, knowing where his former capital is? How can he not think? Except in dreams, sometimes he goes back. Without basis, even dreams have not recently.
[Explanation] It seems to be a masterpiece of a skilled craftsman, cut from white and transparent silk. The light, overlapping petals are layered like a light yànzhī (red pigment) evenly blended. The new-style makeup is beautiful, the color is dazzling, and the fragrance is melting. The heavenly palace ladies would be ashamed to see her. But the beautiful flowers are easily withered and scattered, and there are so many sorrowful winds and rains, indifferent and heartless. The scene is really bitter, not knowing how many springs have passed, leaving a desolate courtyard behind. I was imprisoned and went north, who could entrust this heavy sorrow? How could these swallows understand human language and feelings? Heaven is far, earth is far, ten thousand rivers and mountains have passed, looking south, how to know where my former capital is? How can he not deeply miss his homeland. I once occasionally returned to my hometown in a dream, but now even the empty dream does not do so.