Sometimes
a
nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.
nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.
Li Po
It would be easier to climb to Heaven
than to walk the Szechwan Road.
Since Ts'an Ts'ung and Yu Fu ruled the land, forty-eight thousand
years had gone by; and still no human foot had passed from Shu to
the frontiers of Ch'in. To the west across T'ai-po Shan there was a
bird-track, by which one could cross to the ridge of O-mi. But the
earth of the hill crumbled and heroes[20] perished.
[20] The "heroes" were five strong men sent by the King of Shu to fetch
the five daughters of the King of Ch'in.
So afterwards they made sky ladders and hanging bridges. Above, high
beacons of rock that turn back the chariot of the sun. Below, whirling
eddies that meet the waves of the current and drive them away. Even the
wings of the yellow cranes cannot carry them across, and the monkeys
grow weary of such climbing.
How the road curls in the pass of Green Mud!
With nine turns in a hundred steps it twists up the hills.
Clutching at Orion, passing the Well Star, I look up and gasp. Then
beating my breast sit and groan aloud.
I fear I shall never return from my westward wandering; the way is
steep and the rocks cannot be climbed.
Sometimes the voice of a bird calls among the ancient trees--a male
calling to its wife, up and down through the woods.
Sometimes a
nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.
It would be easier to climb to Heaven than to walk the Szechwan Road;
and those who hear the tale of it turn pale with fear.
Between the hill-tops and the sky there is not a cubit's space.
Withered pine-trees hang leaning over precipitous walls.
Flying waterfalls and rolling torrents mingle their din. Beating the
cliffs and circling the rocks, they thunder in a thousand valleys.
Alas! O traveller, why did you come to so fearful a place? The Sword
Gate is high and jagged. If one man stood in the Pass, he could hold it
against ten thousand.
The guardian of the Pass leaps like a wolf on all who are not his
kinsmen.
In the daytime one hides from ravening tigers and in the night from
long serpents, that sharpen their fangs and lick blood, slaying men
like grass.
They say the Embroidered City is a pleasant place, but I had rather be
safe at home.
For it would be easier to climb to Heaven than to walk the Szechwan
Road.
I turn my body and gaze longingly towards the West.
* * * * *
[When Li Po came to the capital and showed this poem to Ho Chih-ch'ang,
Chih-ch'ang raised his eyebrows and said: "Sir, you are not a man of
this world.
than to walk the Szechwan Road.
Since Ts'an Ts'ung and Yu Fu ruled the land, forty-eight thousand
years had gone by; and still no human foot had passed from Shu to
the frontiers of Ch'in. To the west across T'ai-po Shan there was a
bird-track, by which one could cross to the ridge of O-mi. But the
earth of the hill crumbled and heroes[20] perished.
[20] The "heroes" were five strong men sent by the King of Shu to fetch
the five daughters of the King of Ch'in.
So afterwards they made sky ladders and hanging bridges. Above, high
beacons of rock that turn back the chariot of the sun. Below, whirling
eddies that meet the waves of the current and drive them away. Even the
wings of the yellow cranes cannot carry them across, and the monkeys
grow weary of such climbing.
How the road curls in the pass of Green Mud!
With nine turns in a hundred steps it twists up the hills.
Clutching at Orion, passing the Well Star, I look up and gasp. Then
beating my breast sit and groan aloud.
I fear I shall never return from my westward wandering; the way is
steep and the rocks cannot be climbed.
Sometimes the voice of a bird calls among the ancient trees--a male
calling to its wife, up and down through the woods.
Sometimes a
nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.
It would be easier to climb to Heaven than to walk the Szechwan Road;
and those who hear the tale of it turn pale with fear.
Between the hill-tops and the sky there is not a cubit's space.
Withered pine-trees hang leaning over precipitous walls.
Flying waterfalls and rolling torrents mingle their din. Beating the
cliffs and circling the rocks, they thunder in a thousand valleys.
Alas! O traveller, why did you come to so fearful a place? The Sword
Gate is high and jagged. If one man stood in the Pass, he could hold it
against ten thousand.
The guardian of the Pass leaps like a wolf on all who are not his
kinsmen.
In the daytime one hides from ravening tigers and in the night from
long serpents, that sharpen their fangs and lick blood, slaying men
like grass.
They say the Embroidered City is a pleasant place, but I had rather be
safe at home.
For it would be easier to climb to Heaven than to walk the Szechwan
Road.
I turn my body and gaze longingly towards the West.
* * * * *
[When Li Po came to the capital and showed this poem to Ho Chih-ch'ang,
Chih-ch'ang raised his eyebrows and said: "Sir, you are not a man of
this world.
