A hundred years —in this life span on earth talent and destiny are apt to feud. You must go through a play of ebb and flow* and watch such things as make you sick at heart. Is it so strange that losses balance gains?* 5 Blue Heaven's wont to strike arose from spite.* By lamplight turn these scented leaves and read a tale of love recorded in old books. Under the Chia-ching reign when Ming held sway,* all lived at peace —both capitals stood strong.* 10
Trăm năm trong cõi ngườ i ta, Chữ tài chữ mệnh khéo là ghét nhau. Trải qua một cuộc bể dâu, Những điều trông thấy mà đau đớ n lòng. Lạ gì bỉ s sắc tư phong, Trời xanh quen thói má h ồng đánh ghen. Cảo thơm lần giở trước đèn, Phong tình c ổ lục còn truyền sử xanh. Rằng: Năm Gia -tĩnh triều Minh, Bốn phương phẳ ng lặng hai kinh ch ữ vàng.
There was a burgher in the clan of Vuong,* a man of modest wealth and middle rank. He had a last born son, Vuong Quan —his hope* to carry on a line of learned folk.
Có nhà viên ngo ại họ Vương,
Gia tư nghỉ cũng nghỉ cũng thường thườ ng bậc trung. Một trai con th ứ rốt lòng, Vương Quan là chữ nối dòng nho gia.
Two daughters, beauties both, had come before: 15 Thuy Kieu was oldest, younger was Thuy Van.* Bodies like slim plum branches, snow pure souls: each her own self, each perfect in her way. In quiet grace Van was beyond compare: her face a moon, her eyebrows two full curves; 20 her smile a flower, her voice the song of jade; her hair the sheen of clouds, her skin white snow. Yet Kieu possessed a keener, deeper charm, surpassing Van in talents and in looks. Her eyes were autumn streams, her brows spring hills. 25 Flowers grudged her glamour, willows her fresh hue. A glance or two from her, and kingdoms rocked! Supreme in looks, she had few peers in gifts. By Heaven blessed with wit, she knew all skills: she could write verse and paint, could sing and chant. 30 Of music she had mastered all five tones* and played the lute far better than Ai Chang.* She had composed a song called Cruel Fate* to mourn all women in soul rending strains. A paragon of grace for womanhood,* 35 she neared that time when maidens pinned their hair.* She calmly lived behind drawn shades and drapes, as wooers swarmed, unheeded, by the wall.*
Đầu lòng hai ả tố nga, Thúy Kiều là chị em là Thúy Vân. Mai cốt cách tuyết tinh thần, Mỗi người một vẻ mười phân vẹn mười. Vân xem trang tr ọng khác vời, Khuôn trăng đầy đặ n nét ngài n ở nang. Hoa cười ngọc thốt đoan trang, Mây thua nước tóc tuyết nhường màu da. Kiều càng sắc sảo mặn mà, So bề tài sắc lại là phần hơn. Làn thu th ủy nét xuân sơn, Hoa ghen thua th ắm liễu hờn kém xanh. Một hai nghiêng nướ c nghiêng thành, Sắc đành đòi một tài đành họ a hai. Thông minh vốn sẵn tính tr ời, Pha nghề thi họa đủ mùi ca ngâm. Cung thương làu bậc ngũ âm, Nghề riêng ăn đứ t hồ cầm một trương. Khúc nhà tay l ựa nên xoang, Một thiên Bạc mệnh lại càng não nhân. Phong lưu rất mực hồng quần, Xuân xanh x ấp xỉ t tới tuần cập kê. £m đềm trướng rủ màn che, Tường đông ong bướm đi về mặc ai.
Swift swallows and spring days were shuttling by — of ninety radiant ones three score had fled. 40 Young grass spread all its green to heaven's rim; some blossoms marked pear branches with white dots. Now came the Feast of Light in the third month* with graveyard rites and junkets on the green. As merry pilgrims flocked from near and far,* 45 the sisters and their brother went for a stroll. Fine men and beauteous women on parade: a crush of clothes, a rush of wheels and steeds.*
Ngày xuân con én đưa thoi, Thiều quang chín ch ục đã ngoài sáu mươi. Cỏ non xanh t ận chân trời, Cành lê tr ắng điểm một vài bông hoa. Thanh minh trong ti ết tháng ba, Lễ là tảo mộ hội là đạp thanh. Gần xa nô n ức yến anh, Chị em sắm sửa bộ hành chơi xuân. Dập dìu tài t ử giai nhân, Ngựa xe như nướ c áo quần như nêm.
Folks clambered burial knolls to strew and burn sham gold or paper coins, and ashes swirled. 50 Now, as the sun was dipping toward the west, the youngsters started homeward, hand in hand. With leisured steps they walked along a brook, admiring here and there a pretty view. The rivulet, babbling, curled and wound its course 55 under a bridge that spanned it farther down. The Tale of a Beautiful and Talented Vietnamese Girl Authored by Nguyen Du Translated by Michael Counsell It's always been the same: good fortune seldom came the way of those endowed, they say, with genius and a dainty face. What tragedies take place within each circling space of years! 'Rich in good looks' appears to mean poor luck and tears of woe; which may sound strange, I know, but is not really so, I swear, since Heaven everywhere seems jealous of the fair of face. When bamboo covers case old manuscripts of countless price preserved in fragrant spice, sit by a lamp and study well the story that they tell: how in the dynasty of Ming when Jia-ching was the king and all his empire was at rest, among those who were blessed with learning was a man named Vuong. He had a son, the young Vuong-Quan, to carry on his name and literary fame; and two girls, Thuy_Van and Thuy-Kieu, who were as slim as two young poplar-trees, as pure as snow, as fair as heaven, though quite different in their perfect grace. Van’s moon-like round clear face her honest simple heart displayed; eyebrows two arches made; Her voice like jade, clear, free from guile, was comedy as her smile which blossomed like an opening rose. What beauty have the snows to that with which she was endowed? What is a floating cloud
Ngổn ngang gò đố ng kéo lên, Thoi vàng vó r ắc tro tiền giấy bay. Tà tà bóng ng ả về tây, Chị em thơ thẩn dan tay ra v ề. Bước dần theo ngọn tiểu khê, Lần xem phong c ảnh có bề thanh thanh. Nao nao dòng nướ c uốn quanh, Nhịp cầu nho nhỏ cuối ghềnh bắc ngang.
compared with Thuy- Van’s flowing hair? But Kieu was yet more fair;
the elder’s merits took the prize. Like autumn seas her eyes, eyebrows like spring hills far away. Flowers wished they were as gay; the aspen shook with envying her.
One glance of Kieu’s could stir
cities or empires to revolt! Her beauty had no fault, nor in her mind was any flaw: she’d wr ite in verse, or draw; excel at playing on the lute; and, choosing tunes to suit, compose songs for herself to sing. Once such, so sad a thing
the listeners wept, she called ―Cruel Fate‖. Remaining - from the date she dressed her hair – a child no more, behind a fastened door and modest curtains, brought up well, in brief peace could she dwell. Though suitors swarmed outside the wall Kieu never came at all to gratify their greedy gaze. Like shuttles flew the days, till, on the sixtieth day of spring, when trees are blossoming and petals lie upon the ground, the festival comes round to trim the grass on family graves. The crowds flow past in waves like flocks of swallows round their nest. Van, Kieu and Vuong-Quan dressed, and took a stroll among the throng. Fair ladies passed along, and noble, well-dressed gentlemen. The crowds divided when each vehicle and horse would pass. Scattered upon the grass were golden-paper ritual gifts for burning. Each fire lifts the ashes to the dead on high. Gold, too, the western sky,
from which the sinking sun’s late ray showed up the graves which lay like little hillocks all around. The three of them soon found
A little stream by which they strolled, while vistas new unrolled before them to admire until, meandering down, the rill passed underneath a narrow bridge.
