You ask when I’m coming, I do not know
It's autumn and the night rain
is flooding the mountain pool.
When can we trim wicks again by the window
When can we talk all night while the
—Li Shang Yin
translated by Francis Chin
Time out in the mountain
RAIN falls through the night while one sits snug and warm inside one’s little house in the mountain, makes for a heart-tugging picture. To complete this charming scene, one has one’s beloved companion – wife, soul-mate, collaborator in one's scheme of happiness – to share the night in loving recollection and doing the petite tasks that make life pleasant and endearing.
In modern terms, I could describe the poem as “multimedia”, generating vivid images, sound and sensation in the reader’s mind of a night in the mountain, and the ceaseless drone of the rain. It is all atmosphere and flashbacks – we are not told who the poet’s companion was (some say his wife) but he recalled they once shared a rainy night together in the mountain.
The poem is very condensed, packing a universe of sentiments into a single word or phrase. Translating it into English is tricky. A too-literal translation makes it wobbly. A free translation may be easy to read aloud and truer to the spirit of the poem, but it may end up adding far more than what the poet has intended. As always, the secret is to strike a happy balance.
A word-for-word rendering:
Night-rain letter north You-asked return-date no-such date Ba-shan (Ba mountain) night-rain fills autumn-pool When old-times together trim western-window wicks And talk Ba-shan night-rain time
Here's a staccato, windy translation by two Singaporeans, Lien Wen Sze and Foo Check Woo, in Tang Poems Revisited (1996):
You ask my date of return I know not the date On this mountain the night rain brims the autumn lake When shall we By the west window Together trim the candle And recollect this moment A rainy night in the mountain.
And here's another freer translation, by American poet Witter Bynner:
You ask me when I am coming, I do not know I dream of your mountains and autumn pools brimming all night with the rain Oh when shall we be trimming wicks again, together in your western window When shall I be hearing your voice again, all night in the rain?
Note: The Chinese text is arranged in the traditional vertical column format, reading from right to left. The first column is the title and the poet’s byline.
—Francis Chin, July 7, 2002