行香子.清夜无尘The Night Is Pure

行香子.清夜无尘

原作: 苏轼（11世纪北宋）

英译: 闵晓红(2025)

清夜无尘，月色如银。

酒斟时，须满十分。

浮名浮利，虚苦劳神。

叹隙中驹，石中火，梦中身。

虽抱文章，开口谁亲？

且陶陶，乐尽天真。

几时归去，做个闲人。

对一张琴，一壶酒，一溪云。

The Night Is Pure

—to the tune of Xingxiangzi

Chinese original: Su Shi (1084)

English version: Julia Min (2025)

The night is pure,

The moonlight, soft silver,

I’d pour wine till my cup’s brimming.

Why serve for fame and profit, chasing —

a flashlight in a crack,

a stone spark that sears,

and a dream self in the air.

There are worlds I hold in mind,

Yet, where could I share?

I’d rather be away and be free,

for a simple country life — together

with my Qin for music,

and a full jug of wine，

by a cloud-drifting river.

Appreciation:

Composed after he returned to the Royal Court in 1086, this ci poem is no longer a timeless sigh but a sensational monologue spoken over wine with a trusted friend. The opening lines—"The night is pure... I’d fill my cup till it brims over"—become a vivid stage setting. The "purity" of the night contrasts with the "dust" of court politics he has just left behind in conversation. Overfilling the cup is a deliberate, symbolic gesture of excess and cleansing.

Every image sharpens under this light. Chasing fame is not merely vain—it is a “flashlight in a crack,” a small, futile beam against the dark. The question “where could I share?” echoes with the loneliness of a voice that has lost its public stage.

And so, the closing vision is not an escape but a conscious embrace and a promise of a freer self. The qin, the lyre of the Chinese soul, is not a prop—it is his new voice. The wine, the river, the clouds: these become his chosen companions, the elements of a life reclaimed.

A powerful Western resonance can be found in the work of W. B. Yeats (1865-1939), specifically his poem "The Lake Isle of Innisfree".

Reference:

Blooming Alone in Winter by Gordon Osing, Julia Min and Huang Haipeng，published by the People's Publication House Henan Province in 1990 (《寒心未肯随春态》戈登.奥赛茵，闵晓红，黄海鹏) ("The night is pure, free of the commotions of dust, the moonlight silver./Pouring the wine into my cup, I’d see it over-filled./What a waste to slave in vain for fame and profit, both bubbles…/A white steed racing in a rift -- stone sparks -- a dream of self.//For though I had worlds in mind to say to others, who will share?/Be glad as you can, my heart, content to be simply entertained. /When can I return to my mountains, be unofficial, freed/To face my old qin, a pot of wine, and a stream of clouds. ")

2. painting from Google；

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