53. Mu Lan Hua (Yan Jidao)

「东风又作无情计」，分量落在「又」上：花去年被吹落过一次，今年的风是旧案重犯，「无情计」三个字把风写成一个会筹算的角色。「艳粉娇红」按字面读是颜色，落到实处是拟人的落花，吹满一地等于一场散场。上阕结句「还似去年今日意」回头接住这个「又」字：碧楼帘影遮不住的愁所以认得出来，因为它是去年今天已经有过的那一种，按日期对上了。一句起、一句收：起句让风二次动手，结句把愁收回人这一头，两处吹落全部对在同一个日子上。

The load of the opening line sits on the little word yòu (again): the blossoms were blown down last year as well, so this year's east wind is an old offender repeating itself. wú qíng jì names it a schemer, a thing that plans heartless deeds — language for people, handed to the weather. yàn fěn jiāo hóng reads, character by character, as bright powder and tender red; on the ground it is the blossoms themselves, a stage after the crowd has gone. The upper stanza closes by turning back to that yòu once more. hái sì qù nián jīn rì yì: this sorrow resembles last year on this very day. The curtain shadows of the blue tower cannot screen it out, and it is recognizable precisely because it is not a fresh blow — it is the same sorrow, checked against a date. The stanza opens with again and closes with same: the east wind acts a second time, the closing line hands the sorrow back to the speaker, and both fallings of blossom are set against one date.

下阕不先写景，先给自己定一桩差事：「谁知错管春残事」。「管」是当差的「管」，残春本没有哪一个职务可领，人却像领了这个职务一样登临、流泪；「错」字是他事后自己承认的。「曾费泪」的「曾」把这份差事推到今年以前，不止眼前这一个春天；「到处」补出它的规模，东登一处、西临一处，泪跟着散在整个春天里。「谁」字又站到外面看，像旁人替他叫屈。两句合起来是一个意思的两端：「错」认领了职务，「费」支出这个职务上花掉的东西。

The lower stanza does not begin with scenery. It opens with a verdict on the self: shuí zhī cuò guǎn chūn cán shì — who knew I had wrongly taken charge of spring's last days. guǎn, to take charge, is the language of office and duty; nobody was ever appointed to a post called surviving-the-end-of-spring, yet the speaker has served one, climbing towers and shedding tears as if under orders. cuò, wrongly, is his own after-the-fact confession of having accepted it. céng fèi lèi puts that service back before this year, beyond this single spring: the tears were paid out climb after climb, at site after site, wherever dào chù, everywhere, spreads the itinerary. shuí, who, steps outside for a moment, as if a bystander were asking how any person came to hold such a post. Read together, cuo in one line and fèi, spent, in the next state one thing from two ends: the post was accepted, and what it has cost has been paid out.

两个结句要放在一起读。上阕结句「还似去年今日意」向后算，把愁的年头报到去年今天；下阕结句「看尽落花能几醉」向前算，「看尽落花」是一季的期限，「能几醉」问这样的日子还剩几回。中间的一转在「此时金盏直须深」：「直须」是只管、务必，带着被期限逼出来的狠劲，不是从容劝酒的口气。费泪的差事做不动了，眼前只剩一只杯来应付同一个落花局面。向后的一句认下旧愁，向前的一句数剩下的日子，各自落在自己一阕的收束处，两次清算在这里接上。

The two closing lines belong side by side. The upper stanza's closing line counts backward, dating its sorrow to last year on this very day; the lower stanza's counts forward — kàn jìn luò huā, watching the blossoms all the way out, sets a term for the season, and néng jǐ zuì asks what stock of drunk-to-see-them days remains. The pivot stands between them: cǐ shí jīn zhǎn zhí xū shēn, where zhí xū means must, and only must — a command forced out by that remaining stock, not the relaxed voice of a toast at leisure. The old post of climbing and paying tears can no longer be worked, so the same field of falling petals is now met with the cup at hand. One closing line takes the old sorrow in; the other counts the days that remain. Each settles at the end of its own stanza, and it is there that the two reckonings meet: sorrow with a date behind it, drinking with a ceiling in front.