Top 10 Greatest Poems by the Poet Bai Juyi

Endless Longing (I)
Biện River flows,
Four rivers flow,
Flowing to the old ferry at Qua Châu.
The mountains of Wu, wherever I look, bring sadness.

The journey is endless,
The sorrow is endless,
When will this sorrow fade away, when we reunite?
The person waits alone under the bright moonlight.

Translation:
The Biện River flows endlessly,
The Four Rivers flow endlessly,
Flowing to the old ferry at Qua Châu.
The mountains of Jiangnan make me feel sadness no matter where I am.

The longing is endless,
The sorrow is endless,
When will this sorrow end, until we meet again?
The person waits alone under the moonlight.

Willow by the River
Once, willows were planted along the banks of the Yangtze,
Since leaving, it has been two spring seasons.
The distant view remembers the green hue (of the willows) by the riverbank,
Unaware who now is the one to break off the branches.

Translation:
Once, willows were planted along the Yangtze River,
Since departing from the region, two spring seasons have passed.
From afar, the green color (of the willows) on the riverbank is recalled,
Not knowing who now plucks the branches.

The Peach Blossoms of Dailam Temple
In the human world, the fragrance of April has long faded,
But the peach blossoms in the mountain temple begin to bloom.
One resents that spring left without a trace,
Unaware that it has simply moved here.

Translation:
In the mortal realm, the scent of April has completely disappeared,
Yet the peach blossoms in the temple on the mountain are now in full bloom.
I lament that spring has left with no sign,
Not realizing it has only shifted to this place.

Viewing the New Trees at the Pavilion, Reflecting on My Thoughts
In the fourth month, the landscape begins to shift,
New leaves on the trees bring the sound of rustling.
Winds stir the scenery, bringing tears to the eye,
The pavilion and courtyard seem deep and mysterious.
In summer, there is no idle person,
The sun feels distant in the shaded corner.
Yet when I observe these surroundings,
They seem to dissolve all my troubles.
Here, among the stillness, the voice of nature speaks,
Sometimes I listen to a poet’s recitations.
The beauty of spring settles, painting the scenery,
And within my heart, I grasp the meaning of music.
By chance, I encounter a scene of solitude,
Which satisfies my soul, freeing it from worldly ties.
True hermits are known by their deeds,
Not necessarily secluded in mountains and forests.

Mộng Vi Chi
Dạ lai huề thủ mộng đồng du,
Thần khởi doanh cân lệ mạc thu.
Chương Phố lão thân tam độ bệnh,
Hàm Dương túc thảo bát hồi thu.
Quân mai tuyền hạ nê tiêu cốt,
Ngã ký nhân gian tuyết mãn đầu.
A Vệ, Hàn Lang tương thứ khứ,
Dạ đài mang muội đắc tri phầu?

Dịch nghĩa:
Đêm qua nằm mộng thấy cùng dắt tay nhau dạo chơi,
Sáng ra tỉnh dậy, nước mắt ướt đẫm khăn không thể ngăn được.
(Tôi) thân già gửi ở Chương Phố đã ba lần ốm,
(Ông) ở Hàm Dương dưới nấm cỏ yên đã tám mùa thu.
Ông ở dưới suối vàng, bùn đất tiêu xương cốt,
Tôi gửi thân mình ở chốn nhân gian, tuyết phủ trắng đầu.
A Vệ, Hàn Lang đã lần lượt theo nhau đi,
Dưới mồ mờ mịt ông có biết hay không?

Twilight at Bodhi Temple
The tall buildings and steep embankments are distant and deep,
The mountain's light and the water's hue blend quietly and darkly.
Drifting mists and shadows fade as the evening falls,
The ripples on the calm surface reflect a soft green tint.
As the birds fly away, their forms blur and fade,
And the distant winds carry the fragrance of distant flowers.
Who knows if they ever depart from the warmth within the branches,
Leaving one to wander freely with a peaceful heart?

The Song of Khuê
The soft wind through the curtains remains still and quiet,
The evening light grows dim, and the greenery settles down.
At Liêu Dương, the spring fades and brings no more warmth,
As the night gathers, the flowers from yesterday fall once more.

The Pipa Song
At the dusk on the banks of the Tầm Dương River, the winds of autumn blow through the maple leaves, their soft rustling creating a melancholic atmosphere. The host dismounts from his horse, while the guest remains on the boat. They raise a cup of wine, longing to drink but without the sound of music to accompany them. Though intoxicated, there is no joy, only sorrow over their separation. As they part, the moonlight casts a dim glow over the river. Suddenly, the sound of a pipa arises from the water's surface, but the host is too deep in thought to notice, and the guest does not yet leave. The host follows the music, asking who plays the pipa. The melody stops abruptly as if hesitating, only to resume as the host insists on meeting the player. They move their boats closer, and a fresh round of wine is poured. The music flows like a river, emotions pouring out with every note. The pipa resonates in the air, playing a tune full of sorrow and longing. Every string resonates with the unspoken melancholy of a life not lived to its fullest. She plays a piece of music, light and soft at first, before building up in intensity with faster and louder tones. The music transitions, each shift of sound reflecting the depth of emotion. As the music rises and falls, it mimics the ebb and flow of the river and the changing of the seasons. The moon glows, shining over the still waters of the Tầm Dương, while the host watches, unable to look away from the sadness in the pipa's song. She reveals herself to be a woman from the capital, her name known throughout the musical circles. Having learned the pipa at a young age, she once captivated all who heard her play. But now, she sits by the river, her music a quiet cry for lost time. Her life had once been full of promise, but now, she mourns the years passed. The moon shines on her face, its pale light like a memory fading. The song continues, resonating deeply with the listeners, as the music swells with grief and regret. The host, moved by the beauty of the music, feels his heart ache, and the room falls silent in shared sorrow.

The Flower that is Not a Flower
The flower is not truly a flower,
And the cloud is not truly a cloud.
It arrives at midnight,
And by dawn, it is gone.
When it comes, it is like a fleeting spring dream,
When it leaves, it is like the clouds in the sky, vanishing without a trace!

Interpretation:
The flower is not a real flower,
And the cloud is not a real cloud.
It arrives at midnight,
And by morning, it is already gone.
Its arrival is like a spring dream, too short-lived,
Its departure like the drifting clouds, impossible to find again.