170. Gazing from the Open Country | Du Fu
Text
English translation
Original Chinese text
西山白雪三城戍,南浦清江万里桥。
English translation
Beneath the white snow of the western hills lie the three garrison towns; over the clear river at South Bank spans the Ten-Thousand-Li Bridge.
The three towns are the frontier strongholds of Song, Wei and Bao; the bridge stands south of Chengdu — one line of border alarm, one of home ground, north and south laid out in a single stroke.
Original Chinese text
海内风尘诸弟隔,天涯涕泪一身遥。
English translation
The wind and dust of war have scattered my brothers across the land; at the sky's edge, one body alone, I gaze far off with tears.
From place the poem turns to feeling: war has parted the brothers, and one man remains. Brothers parted, one body far — the deepest grief of Du Fu's life, told in the plain tone of narration.
Original Chinese text
唯将迟暮供多病,未有涓埃答圣朝。
English translation
All I can give my late years to is this sickly body; not one drop or speck of service have I returned to the sagely court.
Inside the pairing of all I can give and not one drop lies pure self-reproach: old age, sickness, and no help rendered to the court. A drop and a speck are the smallest units of measure.
Original Chinese text
跨马出郊时极目,不堪人事日萧条。
English translation
I ride out to the open country and gaze to the far limit, time after time; affairs of the world wither day by day, more than the heart can bear.
Affairs withering covers both the state and the family. The word time after time is the heaviest: not one look but constant looking — and looking changes nothing.
赏析 · Commentary
一句边警,一句家园:首联的张力 · One Line of Border Alarm, One of Home Ground: the Tension of the Opening
西山白雪三城戍是军事消息:吐蕃进逼,三城告急;南浦清江万里桥是诗人脚下的成都。两句并排,一北一南、一远一近、一战争一日常,中间没有任何连接词。读者随视线从雪山回到清江,就完成了从「天下」到「一身」的过渡。这种用地名与方位组织诗的结构在杜甫七律里极为常见(《登楼》《阁夜》皆然),首联等于给全诗定好了坐标系:远的在山上,近的在脚下,而诗人自己站在两者之间,一头挂着国事,一头挂着家事。
Beneath the white snow of the western hills lie the three garrison towns is military news: Tibetan pressure, three strongholds on alert. The clear river at South Bank and the Ten-Thousand-Li Bridge are the Chengdu at the poet's feet. The two lines sit side by side — north and south, far and near, war and daily life — with no connective between them. As the reader's eye returns from the snowy range to the clear river, the passage from all under heaven to one man is complete. This organization by place names and compass points runs through Du Fu's regulated verse (The Climbing Tower, Night in the Tower alike); the opening couplet fixes the poem's coordinates: the far things on the mountain, the near things underfoot, and the poet standing between, the state hung on one side, the family on the other.
「唯将」「未有」:自责的算术 · All I Can Give, Not One Drop: the Arithmetic of Self-Reproach
颈联的两个动词供与答构成一笔账:收入是迟暮与多病,支出是涓埃——没有。一个把整个余生交给病体的人,账面上对朝廷一无所出。这种自责在杜甫诗里反复出现,却从不显得空洞,因为他真的在算:病是真的,老是真的,没能报答也是真的。旧评家说杜诗的忠爱之情「无一字虚设」,这一联就是样本——句式对仗工整,内容却是一笔自我的清账。与《登楼》的「万方多难」对读,可见杜甫晚年两种自处的姿态:一则责朝廷之多难,一则责自身之无补,两面合起来才是完整的杜甫。
The two verbs of the third couplet, give and repay, set up an account: the income is late years and sickness; the outlay, a drop and a speck — nothing. A man who has handed his remaining years over to a sick body reckons, on the court's ledger, zero. Such self-reproach recurs through Du Fu yet never rings hollow, because he is truly doing the sums: the sickness is real, the age is real, and so is the service never rendered. Old critics said the loyalty in Du Fu's verse contains not one empty word, and this couplet is the specimen — the couplet-form impeccable, the content a clearing of accounts with himself. Read against The Climbing Tower's ten thousand troubles on every side, the two late postures appear: there, reproach at a court beset; here, reproach at a self that helps nothing. Both together are the whole Du Fu.
野望与望野:题目里的姿态 · Gazing from the Open Country: the Posture Inside the Title
野望这个题目平淡到近乎没有信息,却规定了全诗的姿态:人在野外,视野放开,望的对象既非楼台也非宫阙,是天与地的交界。杜甫在成都草堂时期写过两首《野望》,这一首的五十六字里塞进了边防、兄弟、自责、时局四层,末句人事日萧条把所有的线收成一团。骑马出郊四个字开头于尾联,像是补叙:前面所有的看,原来发生在一个骑马的人身上——他为什么骑马出郊?因为屋子里坐不住。这个没说出来的原因,才是这首诗真正的起点。
The title gazing from the open country is so plain it almost carries no information, yet it fixes the poem's posture: a man in the open field,视野 thrown wide, gazing at neither towers nor palaces but at the meeting line of sky and earth. Du Fu wrote two poems titled Gazing from the Open Country in his Chengdu years; this one packs four strata into fifty-six characters — the frontier, the brothers, the self-reproach, the state of the world — and the last line, affairs withering day by day, gathers every thread into one knot. The four characters ride out to the open country arrive only in the final couplet, like a supplement: all that gazing, it turns out, was done by a man on horseback. Why did he ride out? Because he could not sit still indoors. That unspoken reason is the true starting point of the poem.