思親詩(shī)

為潘文則作

穆穆顯妣，

德音徽止。

思齊先姑，

志侔姜姒。

躬此勞瘁，

鞠予小子。

小子之生，

遭世罔寧。

烈考勤時(shí)，

從之于征。

奄遘不造，

殷憂是嬰。

咨予靡及，

退守祧祊。

五服荒離，

四國(guó)分爭(zhēng)。

禍難斯逼，

救死于頸。

嗟我懷歸，

弗克弗逞。

圣善獨(dú)勞，

莫慰其情。

春秋代逝，

于茲九齡。

緬彼行路，

焉托予誠(chéng)。

予誠(chéng)既否，

委之于天。

庶我顯妣，

克保遐年。

亹亹惟懼，

心乎如懸。

如何不吊，

早世徂顛。

于存弗養(yǎng)，

于后弗臨。

遺愆在體，

慘痛切心。

形景尸立，

魂爽飛沈。

在昔蓼莪，

哀有余音。

我之此譬，

憂其獨(dú)深。

胡寧視息，

以濟(jì)于今。

巖巖叢險(xiǎn)，

則不可摧。

仰瞻歸云，

俯聆飄回。

飛焉靡翼，

超焉靡階。

思若流波，

情似坻頹。

詩(shī)之作矣，

情以告哀。

Thinking of My Late Mother

Written on Behalf of Pan Wenze

Dignif ied and distinguished was my late mother,

beautiful both her virtue and her fame!

In thought she was equal to the ancient matriarchs,

and in will comparable to Jiang and Si1.

She labored to her exhaustion

to nurture me, her little son.

When her little son was born

the world was not at peace.

My late father labored hard,

and I followed him on the road.

Suddenly, a disaster struck,

And I was besieged by a deep sorrow. 2

Endlessly I sigh and lament my loss,

back at our ancestral home.

People were scattered to the border regions,

as different states fought one another.

Catastrophes closed in everywhere,

your life may be saved with the blade at your neck.

How I longed to go home,

but my wish was not to be granted.

Alone my virtuous mother labored,

with no one there to console her.

Spring and autumn pass in turn,

it has been nine years.

Long were the roads to travel,

where was I to entrust my heart?

With no means to convey my feelings,

I left it up to Heaven,

hoping that my distinguished mother

would live for many years.

I spent my days in constant fear,

as if my heart was hanging in suspense.

What a cruel fate it was

that she was felled by early death!

In her life I failed to look after her,

At her death I was not there to mourn.

The guilt is left in my body,

piercing and cutting my heart.

My shadow stands like a corpse,

my soul flies and dives in loss.

The ancient “Tarragon” poem 3

lingers in me with its melancholy tone;

its relevance with me

is especially sad and deep.

How could I even see and breathe

until this day?

On those craggy mountains dangers pile up,

they cannot be scaled.

I look up at the returning clouds,

and bend to listen to the roaring wind.

I wish to fly, but have no wings,

and want to climb, but f ind no footholds.

My thought is like the flowing waters,

my feelings are like the crumbling slopes.

Thus I write this poem

to tell of my grief.

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