Song of the Pipa, one of 10 scroll paintings by Yao Yuxin.
Suddenly we heard a pipa from across the water
THE SONG of the Pipa, by Bai Chi-yi, is one of the most well-loved of Tang Dynasty lyrical poems. Generations of schoolchildren have memorised its melodious lines and generations of scholars with noble sentiments have sighed over its quiet pathos.
About 30 years ago when I was working as in Singapore's then newly-launched Business Times, I wrote a weekly column on Chinese culture and literary stuff to pad the Monday edition was used to be rather thin in news reports because not much business went on over the weekend. One of my earliest pieces was an English translation of the Song of the Pipa. Since then, I have worked and reworked the English phrases but still find it impossible to convey correctly the naunced thoughts of the original.
Introduction
In the 10th Year of Emperor Yuan Ho, I was banished and demoted to Jiu-jiang district as an assistant official. In the summer of the next year, as I was seeing a friend off, we heard from a neighbouring boat a pipa [four-string lute] played in the style of the Capital. On inquiry, I learnt that the player used to be a sing-song girl from the Capital who was now married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to play for us. She also related to us her story and unhappiness. Since my departure from the Capital I had not felt sad; but that night after, I began to feel the weight of my exile. So, I wrote this poem in 612 words:
By the head water of the Hsin-yang River
Where maple leaves and bulrushes sigh in the autumn wind,
I said goodbye to a friend departing in the night.
When I got down from my horse, my guest was already in the boat.
Silently, we lifted our cups for a final farewell toast
But the wine could not soothe our sadness
That flowed with the rising tide and flooded the moon.
Suddenly we heard the sound of a pipa across the water.
The host forgot his return, the guest the journey on.
In the darkness we asked for the player.
The music broke off, whoever wishing to reply seemed uncertain.
So we re-lit the lamp, reset our table with food and wine,
And moved our boat nearer, hoping to see the player.
But only after much urging did she appear
Still clutching her pipa that half-covered her face.
She turned the pegs and tested the strings
And as she strummed we could sense her deep feeling
For each chord and every note was heavy with thought
Telling a sorrowful tale of life.
With lowered brows and sure hands, she poured into the music
The limitless depths of her heart.
She plucked the strings, brushed them and swept on...
With a song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Six Little Ones.
The major chords chanted like falling rain,
The minor chords whispered as in a secret,
In delightful medley
Like pearls clinking on a jade plate,
Like the notes of a nightingale among the flowers,
Like a brook singing as its water passed the bank.
The music was checked by a cold touch,
And the silence revealed her innermost sorrow
For now the stillness told more than any music could.
