Song of the Pipa, one of 10 scroll paintings by Yao Yuxin.
Suddenly we heard a pipa across the river
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 all 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 following 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 since that night, 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 reeds 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 rose with the rising tide and flooded the moon.
Suddenly we heard a pipa across the water.
I, the host, forgot my 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 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 secrets,
In a delightful medley
Like the clinking of pearls on a jade plate,
Like the notes of a nightingale among flowers,
Like the singing of a brook as its water rushed the bank.
A cold touch suddenly froze the music,
And in the silence we heard her innermost sorrow
For now the stillness told more than any music could.
