Tonight (written last night) I was kind of melancholy so I searched for a poem to reflect my gloom. With my limited command of the language, I will have to be very lucky to find something that can paint my mood. But what do you know? Luck favours the one who try.
I am happy to find this simple yet beautiful poem by 辛弃疾 xīnqìjí. As I translated the poem, I transferred my feelings to the words so I’ll be picking mulberries before I go to sleep tonight.
采桑子 cǎisāngzǐ
Picking Mulberries
少年不知愁滋味,爱上层楼。
爱上层楼,为赋新诗强说愁。
shàonián bùzhī chóu zīwèi, ài shàngcéng lóu.
ài shàngcéng, wèi fù xīnshī qiáng shuō chóu.
When young I know not melancholy's flavor, but love to go upstairs.
Love to go upstairs, to write of imagined sorrow.
而今识尽愁滋味,欲说还休。
欲说还休,却道天凉好个秋!
érjīn shí jìn chóu zīwèi, yù shuō hái xiū.
yù shuō hái xiū, què dào tiān liáng hǎo gè qiū.
But now that I have tasted its bitterness, I hesitated to speak.
Hesitated to speak, except to sigh "what a cold autumn!"
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