17. Thinking of Xin the Elder at the South Pavilion on a Summer Day | Meng Haoran
Text
English translation
Original Chinese text
山光忽西落，池月渐东上。
English translation
The light on the hills suddenly drops away west; over the pond the moon comes slowly up from the east.
"Suddenly" and "slowly" sit against each other here — the sun going and the moon rising are two speeds of one same stretch of evening.
Original Chinese text
散发乘夕凉，开轩卧闲敞。
English translation
Hair loose, he takes the evening cool; window open, he lies in the roomy emptiness.
Loose hair means untied. A man tied his hair up when he had to keep propriety, so letting it down is setting that aside. The two words for "idle" and "open" describe the room and the man at once.
Original Chinese text
荷风送香气，竹露滴清响。
English translation
Wind off the lotus brings the scent over; dew on the bamboo drips with a clear sound.
One line serves the nose, the other the ear, and neither serves the eye. In the dark there is little to see, so scent and sound are what is left.
Original Chinese text
欲取鸣琴弹，恨无知音赏。
English translation
He thinks of taking up the lute and playing, and is sorry there is no one who would understand it.
"Would take" is an action just about to start; the word for regret holds it back. The poem turns on this thought, from cooling off to wanting someone.
Original Chinese text
感此怀故人，中宵劳梦想。
English translation
Moved by all this he thinks of an old friend, and at midnight wears himself out with dreaming.
The verb for exerting oneself is exact: to want a person so much as to go looking in a dream is work. Ending in the dream also says no answer ever came.
赏析 · Commentary
「忽」与「渐」 · "Suddenly" and "Gradually"
前两句写的是同一段时间。「忽」写日光退得快，「渐」写月色来得慢，两个副词摆在对称的位置上，一个收一个放。到第三句人已经在这段时间里坐定了：散发、开窗、躺着。孟浩然不写他看了多久，只给两个动作的结果，中间那段空白正好安放他的闲。这一联把傍晚的两种速度并排放好，后面四句都发生在那段慢的里面。
The first couplet covers one stretch of time. "Suddenly" is the daylight leaving fast, "gradually" the moonlight arriving slowly; the two adverbs stand in matched positions, one closing and one opening. By the third line the man is already settled inside that stretch — hair down, window open, lying there. Meng Haoran does not say how long he watched, only the outcome of two movements, and the gap between them is where his idleness sits. This couplet lays the two speeds of evening side by side, and the four lines after it take place inside the slow one.
一个只有气味和声音的夜 · A Night of Scent and Sound Only
第三联两句各管一种感觉：风送荷香是闻到的，露滴竹响是听到的。眼睛在这首诗里几乎退场。这不是疏忽。夜里光弱，看得见的东西少，气味和声音反而清楚。两句都不用形容词，荷香怎么送、露水怎么滴，全交给动词。孟浩然写夜不铺陈景致，只拣两样在黑暗里仍然有效的东西来写。
The third couplet gives one sense to each line: wind carrying lotus scent is smell, dew striking bamboo is sound. Sight has all but left the poem. This is not an oversight. In low light there is little to see, so scent and sound sharpen instead. Neither line uses an adjective; how the wind carries and how the dew falls is left to the verbs. Meng Haoran writes night not by spreading out scenery but by choosing the two things that still work in the dark.
从纳凉到想人 · From Cooling Off to Wanting Someone
第四联是全诗的转轴。前面三联动都没出这个院子，到这里忽然有个做不完的动作：想弹琴，又没有听的人。琴的念头一起，「无知音」就把他推到第五联的故人身上。末句的「劳」不轻，思念在梦里变成一件耗气力的事。前面写得那样凉那样静，是为了让这一句的落空有分量。
The fourth couplet is the hinge. For three couplets nothing has left the courtyard; here an unfinished action appears — he wants to play, and there is no one to hear. Once the lute comes to mind, having no one who understands pushes him toward the old friend of the last couplet. The final verb is not light: longing becomes an effortful thing in a dream. All the coolness and quiet before it exist so that this disappointment carries weight.