Hearing Dong Play the Hujia, and a Message to Chamberlain Fang
English translation and interpretation are being reviewed.
一弹一十有八拍。
胡人落泪沾边草，
汉使断肠对归客。
古戍苍苍烽火寒，
大荒沉沉飞雪白。
先拂商弦后角羽，
四郊秋叶惊摵摵。
董夫子，
通神明，
深山窃听来妖精。
言迟更速皆应手，
将往复旋如有情。
空山百鸟散还合，
万里浮云阴且晴。
嘶酸雏雁失群夜，
断绝胡儿恋母声。
川为静其波，
鸟亦罢其鸣。
乌孙部落家乡远，
逻娑沙尘哀怨生。
幽音变调忽飘洒，
长风吹林雨堕瓦。
迸泉飒飒飞木末，
野鹿呦呦走堂下。
长安城连东掖垣，
凤凰池对青琐门。
高才脱略名与利，
日夕望君抱琴至。
English translation
The lady Cai of old made the music of the Tartar reed, one playing yields eighteen measures in all.
The Tartars shed tears that wet the frontier grass, the Han envoy's heart broke, facing the one returning home.
The ancient garrisons are gray, the beacon fires cold, the great waste lies deep and dark, the flying snow white.
First he sweeps the shang string, then jue and yu, the autumn leaves on every side rustle in alarm.
Master Dong, you have communed with the spirits, from the deep mountains demons come to listen in secret.
Slow notes and swift, all answer to your hand, going and returning, wheeling, as if there were feeling.
In the empty hills a hundred birds scatter and gather again, ten thousand li of drifting clouds, now dark, now clear.
The plaintive cries of a young goose that has lost its flock at night, the breaking voice of a Tartar child who longs for its mother.
The rivers still their waves, the birds too cease their singing.
Far from home in the lands of Wusun, the dust of Lhasa gives birth to grief and complaint.
The hidden notes change key, suddenly scattering and drifting, a long wind through the forest, rain falling on the tiles.
A bursting spring hisses, flying past the treetops, a wild deer calls, running beneath the hall.
The walls of Chang'an join the eastern palace side, Phoenix Pool faces the blue-lacquered gate.
A man of high gifts, careless of fame and profit, morning and evening I hope you will come, your lute in your arms.
Meaning
Long ago Cai Yan made melodies for the Hu reed pipe; this tune she played had eighteen stanzas in all.
The Hu who heard it wept until the tears wet the grass of the frontier; the Han envoy, facing the traveller returning, was torn with grief.
The border towns lie vast and dim, the beacon fires are still; upon the steppe, sombre and dark, the white snow falls.
First he plays a light and rapid air, then a low and solemn strain, and all around the autumn leaves are startled into shivering fall.
Master Dong's art is so sublime it touches the spirits; even the ghosts and gods of the deep forest come out to listen in secret.
Slow plucking and swift sweeping answer to his hand perfectly; his turnings and returnings seem to hold feeling within the sound.
It sounds like the hundred birds in the hills scattering and gathering again; the tune is as the drifting clouds over ten thousand li, now dark, now bright.
Like a young goose, lost from the flock, crying in the night; like a child of Hu crying out its heart for its mother.
The rivers hush their waves to listen to the tune; the birds too cease their singing at the sound.
It is like the Princess of Wusun yearning for her distant home; like the Princess Wencheng in her resentment against Tubo.
The plaintive notes suddenly change to something light and free
Background
Read the background
Li Qi's poem was written in about 747 or 748 (the sixth or seventh year of the Tianbao era). Dong the Eldest is Dong Tinglan, a famous zither master of the day. The "sound of the hu jia" refers to "The Hu Jia Air," a piece arranged for the zither after the tunes of the hu jia reed pipe. Thus Dong the Eldest played the zither, rather than blowing the hu jia.