PHẦN ÂM HÀNH
山川滿目淚沾衣，
Phú quý vinh hoa năng kỷ thì ?
富貴榮華能幾時?
Bất kiến chỉ kim Phần thuỷ thượng,
不見只今汾水上，
Duy hữu niên niên thu nhạn phi.
惟有年年秋雁飛。
Khúc hát trên sông Phần
của Lý Kiệu (đời Đường)
Nhìn núi sông tràn đầy trong tầm mắt, khiến rơi lệ thấm ướt cả áo
Thử hỏi phú quý, vinh hoa, có tồn tại được bao lâu ?
Chỉ không thấy vinh hoa phú quý ấy trên mặt nước sông Phần ngày nay mà thôi
Nhưng chỉ có cánh nhạn vẫn hằng năm bay về mỗi khi thu sang.
Ta tìm gì trên con nước cũ
Sông xa bất tận núi cao ngần
nhớ cảnh quê xưa lệ bần thần
người đi tìm kiếm vinh hoa nhỉ
hỏi đã bao năm được những gì ?
Nước sông man mác chảy về đâu
phú quý vinh hoa cũng lặng sầu
chỉ còn cánh nhạn nghìn năm cũ
vẫn nhớ về qua lúc thu sang.
Montréal, chớm thu, tháng Tám 2022
Trí Như cảm tác
Ballad of Fen-yin
by Li Chiao ( 664-713 )Mountains and rivers fill my eyes, tears soak my robes,
Riches, glory, and honor—how long can they endure?
Don’t you see right now, there above the river Fen,
Only the autumn geese, flying by year after year.
Translation by Stephen Owen, in The Poetry of the Early T'ang.
汾阴行
李峤 〔唐代〕
君不见昔日西京全盛时，汾阴后土亲祭祀。
斋宫宿寝设储供，撞钟鸣鼓树羽旂。
汉家五叶才且雄，宾延万灵朝九戎。
柏梁赋诗高宴罢，诏书法驾幸河东。
河东太守亲扫除，奉迎至尊导鸾舆。
五营夹道列容卫，三河纵观空里闾。
回旌驻跸降灵场，焚香奠醑邀百祥。
金鼎发色正焜煌，灵祇炜烨摅景光。
埋玉陈牲礼神毕，举麾上马乘舆出。
彼汾之曲嘉可游，木兰为楫桂为舟。
櫂歌微吟彩鹢浮，箫鼓哀鸣白云秋。
欢娱宴洽赐群后，家家复除户牛酒。
声明动天乐无有，千秋万岁南山寿。
自从天子向秦关，玉辇金车不复还。
珠帘羽扇长寂寞，鼎湖龙髯安可攀。
千龄人事一朝空，四海为家此路穷。
豪雄意气今何在，坛场宫馆尽蒿蓬。
路逢故老长叹息，世事回环不可测。
昔时青楼对歌舞，今日黄埃聚荆棘。
山川满目泪沾衣，富贵荣华能几时？
不见只今汾水上，唯有年年秋雁飞。
Ballad of Fen-yin
Li Chiao
Haven’t you seen in olden days when the western Capital was in full glory,
His Majesty himself made sacrifice to the Earth at Fen-yin.
In the fasting room he spent the night, set out the offering,
Then they rang bells, beat the drums, planted the feathered banners.
The House of Han’s fifth generation, brilliant and bold,
Who banqueted the hosts of spirits, who brought the barbarians to court.
And when the great feast and poem session at Po-liang was over
An edict was made and the Royal Coach went on tour to Ho-tung.
The Governor of Ho-tung himself swept the region clean,
Humbly welcomed the Most High, led the belled palanquin.
Set out as guards, Imperial Armies lined all the roads,
The three River Provinces permitted to watch, their villages emptied.
Banners circled, His Majesty halted on the field where the spirits come down,
Incense was burned, libations offered, to invite a hundred blessings.
The golden tripod’s beauty shone forth its aureate sheen,
The spirits and Earth God shimmered, unfurling their radiance.
Jades were buried, sacrifices spread, the rites were ended,
Then pennons lifted, horses mounted, and He left on the palanquin.
The bends of the river Fen were perfect for excursions,
His oars were of magnolia, his boat of cassia.
Rowing songs hummed softly, painted cormorant prows drifted,
Flutes and drums played mournfully, an autumn of white clouds.
Then joyous banquets were provided and gifts for great princes
Home after home sent men to court, all given meat and wine.
The sounds and the brilliance stirred Heaven, such joy there has never been,
“A thousand autumns, ten thousand years—live as long as South Mountain!”
But since the Son of Heaven went back toward the passes of Ch’in,
The jade-fitted palanquins, gilded coaches never returned again.
The pearled screens and feather fans are silent forever
How can one hold to the dragon’s whiskers that leap from Tripod Lake?
A thousand years of human deeds can vanish in a morning,
The whole world is an emperor’s home, but not the road there.
Where now are their bold manners, their proud spirits?—
Altar fields and palace halls, all covered in weeds.
On the road I met an old man and he heaved a great sigh:
“The way of the world is a whirling ring, not to be fathomed,
Where in the blue brothels long ago they faced the songs and the dances,
Today there is yellow dust clusters of brambles and thorns.”
Mountains and rivers fill my eyes, tears soak my robes,
Riches, glory, and honor—how long can they endure?
Don’t you see right now, there above the river Fen,
Only the autumn geese, flying by year after year.
Translation by Stephen Owen
