English Translation 1 by David Lunde

Wagons rattling and banging,

horses neighing and snorting,

conscripts marching, each with bow and arrows at his hip,

fathers and mothers, wives and children, running to see them off–

so much dust kicked up you can’t see Xian-yang* Bridge!

And the families pulling at their clothes, stamping feet in anger,

blocking the way and weeping–

ah, the sound of their wailing rises straight up to assault heaven.

And a passerby asks, “What’s going on?”

The soldier says simply, “This happens all the time.

From age fifteen some are sent to guard the north,

and even at forty some work the army farms in the west.

When they leave home, the village headman has to wrap their turbans* for them;

when they come back, white-haired, they’re still guarding the frontier.

The frontier posts run with blood enough to fill an ocean,

and the war-loving Emperor’s dreams of conquest have still not ended.

Hasn’t he heard that in Han*, east of the mountains,

there are two hundred prefectures, thousands and thousands of villages,

growing nothing but thorns?

And even where there is a sturdy wife to handle hoe and plough,

the poor crops grow raggedly in haphazard fields.

It’s even worse for the men of Qin*; they’re such good fighters

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they’re driven from battle to battle like dogs or chickens.

Even though you were kind enough to ask, good sir,

perhaps I shouldn’t express such resentment.

But take this winter, for instance,

they still haven’t demobilized the troops of Guanxi*,

and the tax collectors are pressing everyone for land-fees–

land-fees!–from where is that money supposed to come?

Truly, it is an evil thing to bear a son these days,

it is much better to have daughters;

at least you can marry a daughter to the neighbor,

but a son is born only to die, his body lost in the wild grass.

Has my lord seen the shores of the Kokonor*?

The white bones lie there in drifts, uncollected.

New ghosts complain and old ghosts weep,

under the lowering sky their voices cry out in the rain.”

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English Translation 2 by David Hawkes

The carts squeak and trundle, the horses whinny, the conscripts go by, each with a bow and arrows at his waist.  Their fathers, mothers, wives, and children run along beside them to see them off.  The Hsien-yang (Xianyang) bridge cannot be seen for dust.  They pluck at the men’s clothes, stamp their feet, or stand in the way weeping.  The sound of their weeping seems to mount up to the blue sky above.  A passer-by questions the conscripts, and the conscripts reply:

“They’re always mobilizing now!  There are some of us who went north at fifteen to garrison the River and who are still, at forty, being sent to the Military Settlements in the west.  When we left as lads, the village headman had to tie our headcloths for us.  We came back white-haired, but still we have to go back for frontier duty!  On those frontier posts enough blood has flowed to fill the sea, but the Martial Emperor’s dreams of expansion remain unsatisfied.  Haven’t you heard, sir, in our land of Han, throughout the two hundred prefectures east of the mountains briers and brambles are growing in thousands of little hamlets; and though many a sturdy wife turns her own hand to the hoeing and ploughing, the crops grow just anywhere, and you can’t see where one field ends and the next begins?  And it’s even worse for the men from Ch’in (Qin).  Because they make such good fighters, they are driven about this way and that like so many dogs or chickens.

Though you are good enough to ask us, sir, it’s not for the likes of us to complain.  But take the winter, now.  The Kuan-hsi (Guanxi) troops are not being demobilized.  The District Officers press for the land-tax, but where is it to come from?  I really believe it’s a misfortune to have sons.  It’s actually better to have a daughter.  If you have a daughter, you can at least marry her off to one of the neighbors, but a son is born only to end up lying in the grass somewhere, dead and unburied.  Why look, sir, on the shores of the Kokonor the bleached bones have lain for many a long year, but no one has ever gathered them up.  The new ghosts complain and the old ghosts weep, and under the grey and dripping sky the air is full of their baleful twitterings.  

Note:  Chinese place names originally translated using the older Wade-Giles romanization system have also been rendered in the more commonly used pinyin system in parentheses to assist the reader.