The first poem of the Book of Odes 詩経, translated by Ezra Pound. Pound originally wanted the Chinese to be included alongside his translation, but his publisher at the time didn’t care and this has never been done before this blog post. Pound also wanted a phonetic transliteration, but this is a lot of work because of the changes to Chinese over the centuries. I here include a rather butchered version of Pan Wuyun’s reconstructed phonology. You can compare with other translations on Matt’s blog.

關關雎鳩，

在河之洲。

窈窕淑女，

君子好逑。 Kroon kroon skha ku,

zuu’ gaal kju tju.

Quuw’ g-leew’ gljiwg na’,

klunsy’ hmhuu’ gu. “Hid! Hid!” the fish-hawk saith,

by isle in Ho the fish-hawk saith:

“Dark and clear,

Dark and clear,

So shall be the prince’s fere .” 參差荇菜，

左右流之。

窈窕淑女，

寤寐求之。 Shuum skhraal graang’ shuus,

saal’ ghwu’ ru kju.

Quuw’ g-leew’ gljiwg na’,

ngaas mids gu kju. Clear as the stream her modesty;

As neath dark boughs her secrecy,

reed against reed

tall on slight

as the stream moves left and right,

dark and clear,

dark and clear. 求之不得，

寤寐思服。

悠哉悠哉，

輾轉反側。 Gu kju pu tuug,

ngaas mids snu bug.

Luw stuu luw stuu,

ndens ton’ pan’ skrug. To seek and not to find

as a dream in his mind,

think how her robe should be,

distantly, to toss and turn,

to toss and turn. 參差荇菜，

左右采之。

窈窕淑女，

琴瑟友之。

參差荇菜，

左右芼之。

窈窕淑女，

鐘鼓樂之。 Shuum skhraal graang’ shuus,

saal’ ghwu’ shuu’ kju.

Quuw’ g-leew’ gljiwg na’,

Grum sbrig ghwu’ kju.

Shuum skhraal graang’ shuus,

saal’ ghwu’ maaw kju.

Quuw’ g-leew’ gljiwg na’,

tjong khwaa’ nggraawgs kju. High reed caught in ts’ai grass

so deep her secrecy;

lute sound in lute is caught,

touching, passing, left and right.

Bang the gong of her delight.

This is possibly the best translation ever made from the Book of Odes. It is far more wild than literal, but it has uncanny accuracy. A prince (klunsy’, Japanese kunshi) is to marry a “modest, retiring, virtuous, young lady,” as James Legge literally puts it. The word “lady” is straightforward, which is why Pound sought out “fere” instead. The two words describing her, quuw’ g-leew’ 窈窕, are less so. They are both written with the radical for “hole”, which is rarely seen in Japanese these days outside of the word 穴 “hole” itself and 空 “sky”. (Not actually true, thanks Leoboiko.) 窈 literally means “deep”, perhaps with a connotation of “concealed,” and 窕 means some sense of “refined”. Pound finds two wonderful yin-words to express the passiveness of the lady: “dark and clear.” While one may wonder where the second definition came from, the phrase 窈窕 was used much later by Tao Yuanming to refer to a mountain stream, so I think Pound has it spot on. He knows this so well that he repeats it twice.

In the second verse a lot of compromises are made. The word “stream” comes up twice where the text speaks only of flowing, “modesty” and “dark boughs” come lurching out of nowhere, and waterlilies become “reeds”. But this framework allows some of the repetition of the original to come through without sounding cloying to the modern ear. Finally the phrase “dark and clear” comes up again twice. The literal text is again referring to the lady, but in the next line it is made apparent that she is not yet meeting with anyone, but we are only hearing of the man being consumed with thoughts of her, both in waking and in dreaming. Pound uses the fuzzy impression of color and water, offering a dreamlike state, before translating the specific image of dreaming in the following verse.

In the third verse the word “distantly,” included in the ancient Chinese sense of 思, is worked in nicely. The translation falters a bit after this, though. The addition of the word “robe” does not really fit the poem; even this would have been a little too physical in ancient China. And there is no sense that the “reeds” are being gathered and picked by human hands, in preparation for a wedding celebration. Instead, the plants continue to bump around until the end of the poem. Still, it ends with a satisfying bang.

Posted: April 18th, 2015 | Odes