In a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering,
Birds are flying homeward over the clear lake and white sand,
Leaves are dropping down like the spray of a waterfall,
While I watch the long river always rolling on.
I have come three thousand miles away. Sad now with autumn
And with my hundred years of woe, I climb this height alone.
Ill fortune has laid a bitter frost on my temples,
Heart-ache and weariness are a thick dust in my wine.
Climbing a Terrace 杨宪益、戴乃迭译
Wind blusters high in the sky and monkeys wail; /
Clear the islet with white sand where birds are wheeling; /
Everywhere the leaves fall rustling from the trees, /
While on for ever rolls the turbulent Yangtse. /
All around is autumnal gloom and I, long from home, /
A prey all my life to ill health, climb the terrace alone; /
Hating the hardships which have frosted my hair, /
Sad that illness made me give up the solace of wine.
Climbing the Heights 柳无忌译
When winds rage and the sky is high, gibbons cry mournfully; /
Over white sands on a clear riverbank, birds fly and whirl. /
Leaves fall from deep woods – rustling and soughing; /
The Long River rolls on, forever, wave after wave. /
Ten thousand miles away in sad autumn, I often find myself a stranger; /
My whole life afflicted by sickness, I mount alone the high terrace. /
Beset by hardships, I resent the heavy frost on my temples; /
Dispirited, I have by now abandoned my cup of unstrained wine.
The Heights W. J. B. Fletcher译
The wind so fresh, the sky so high /
Awake the gibbons’ wailing cry. /
The isles clear-cut, the sand so white, /
Arrest the wheeling sea-gulls’ flight. /
Through endless space with rustling sound /
The falling leaves are whirled around. /
Beyond my ken a yeasty sea /
The Yangtze’s waves are rolling free. /
From far away, in autumn drear, /
I find myself a stranger here. /
With dragging years and illness wage /
Lone war upon this lofty stage. /
With troubles vexed and trials sore /
My locks are daily growing hoar: / Till Time, before whose steps I
pine, / Set down this failing cup of wine!
On the Heights ( I ) 许渊冲译
The wind so swift, the sky so steep, sad gibbons cry; /
Water so clear and sand so white, backward birds fly. /
The boundless forest sheds its leaves shower by shower; /
The endless river rolls its waves hour after hour. /
Far from home in autumn, I’m grieved to see my plight; /
After my long illness, I climb alone this height. /
Living in hard times, at my frosted hair I pine; /
Pressed by poverty, I give up my cup of wine.
On the Heights ( II ) 许渊冲译
The wind so swift and sky so wide, apes wail and cry; /
Water so clear and beach so white, birds wheel and fly. /
The boundless forest sheds its leaves shower by shower; /
The endless river rolls its waves hour after hour. /
A thousand miles from home in autumn, I’m grieved at autumn’s plight; /
Ill now and then for years, ,alone I’m on this height. /
Living in times so hard, at frosted hair I pine; /
Cast down by poverty, I have to give up wine.
Written on an Autumn Holiday Rewi Alley译
These days of autumn, the clouds /
Are high; wind rises in strength; /
Far away the cry of monkeys can /
Be heard, giving people a sorrowful /
Feeling; skimming the white sands /
And the water, waterfowl fly; falling /
Leaves rustle as they come through /
The air; The Yangtse seems endless /
With its waters rolling on incessantly; /
So many autumns have I now spent /
Away from home, with sickness for /
A companion; now do I climb high /
Above the river by myself, /
Troubles and sorrow have turned my hair /
Grey; sick and poor, I now
/ Even stop drinking wine!
I Climb High Florence Ayscough译
Wind is strong, sky is high, gibbons wail sadly; /
Shoals are bright, sand gleam white, birds fly in circles. /
Without bounds is the forest, leaves fall, swish, swish, they drop; /
No ending has Great River, swirl, swirl, it comes. /
Ten thousand li sad Autumn! Have been long a wanderer; /
A hundred years, many illnesses! Alone I climb the tower. /
Sorrows, hardships, bitterness, grief, thickly frosted hair on my brows,
Inert I sink to ground; all fellowship ended; I drink muddy wine in my cup.
A Long Climb Witter Bynn译
In a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering, /
Birds are flying homeward over the clear lake and white sand, /
Leaves are dropping down like the spray of a waterfall, /
While I watched the long river always rolling on. /
I have come three miles away. Sad now with autumn /
And with my hundred years of woe, I climb this height alone. /
Ill fortune has laid a bitter frost on my temples, /
Heart-ache and weariness are a thick dust in my wine.
Climbing the Heights 谢文通译
Swift wind and a high ceiling mournful the monkeys sound,
/ From island to white beach the birds are wheeling round.
/ Everywhere falling leaves fall rustling to
/ The waves of the Long River onrushing without bound.
/ Who grieves for Autumn a thousand miles from home
/ Despite lifelong illness I climb the terrace alone.
/ Hardships and bitterness frosting many a hair,
/ I abjure the cup of wine that stopped my moan.
On the Heights 李惟建译，翁显良校
High wind blowing, high clouds floating, gibbons wailing, /
Sandbars gleaming white, the waters rippling clear, /
Birds coming home, leaves rustling down -- /
And the great river rolls on, ceaseless. /
A stranger here, far, far, from home, /
I can’t help feeling sad in autumn. /
Life is short, my health failing, here I stand alone. /
Life is hard, my temples greying, /
I’m filled with regret. /
Down and out, can’t even drink now, /
Can’t even drink now…
An Ascent 徐忠杰译
A stiff breeze is up; the vault of heaven seems high. /
Monkeys on the hills are making their plaintive cry. /
The islets become clearer; the sandbanks, clean and white; /
Water-birds are hovering over them in their flight. /
For miles around, rustling leaves are falling without pause. /
The Yang-tze-kiang is tumbling on in its onward course. /
Far from home, autumn strikes me as adding to my grief. /
An invalid, I mount the heights alone for relief. /
Long suffering has left its cruel mark on my hair. /
I’ve ceased anew to drink in utter despair.
Mounting 吴钧陶译
From heaven high the winds are whirling down with monkey’s whine, /
And over the white sanded hursts the birds are cleaving fine. /
The boundless forests shed their yellow leaves with rustles; /
The everflowing Yangtze on its way rolls and wrestles. /
Autumn is chilling me – always a thousand-miles-roameer, /
Alone mounting the mountain, and a life-long sufferer. /
I deeply loathe my rime-like temples as in these hard times; /
Of late Senility yet forces me to give up wines!
登高由来
古代岁时民俗。即在节日登上山岭高处。其初多与避灾除厄的迷信传说关，后乃成为游览健身活动的一种。多在人日、正月十五日或其他节日举行。至魏晋后，因费长房、桓景传说，相率于九月九日（重九）进行，遂以为俗。较朝梁吴均《续齐谐记》：“汝南桓景随费长房游学累年，长房谓之曰：‘九月九日，汝家当有灾厄，急宜去令家人各作绎囊，盛茱萸以系臂，登高饮菊花酒，此祸可消。’景如言，举家登山，夕还家，见鸡狗牛羊一时暴死。长房闻之曰：代之矣。今世人第六至九日，登山饮酒，妇人带茱萸囊是也。”茱萸，传有避疫之效。《南齐书.礼志》：“宋武帝在彭城时，九日上项羽戏马台登高。”唐五维《九月九日忆山东兄弟》诗：“独在异乡为异客，每逢佳节倍思亲。遥知兄弟登高处，遍插茱萸少一人。”明刘侗、于奕正《帝京景物略.春场》：“九月九日，载酒具、茶炉、食榼，曰登高。香山诸山，高山也；法藏寺，高塔也；显灵宫、报国寺，高阁也，释不登。凭园亭，闯坊曲为娱耳。”清顾禄《清嘉录.九月.登高》：“登高，旧俗在吴山治平寺中牵羊赌彩，为摊钱之戏。今吴山顶机王殿，犹有鼓乐酬神，喧阗终日者。或借登高之名，遨游虎阜，箫鼓画船，更深乃返。”
Climbing a Terrace 杨宪益、戴乃迭译
Wind blusters high in the sky and monkeys wail; /
Clear the islet with white sand where birds are wheeling; /
Everywhere the leaves fall rustling from the trees, /
While on for ever rolls the turbulent Yangtse. /
All around is autumnal gloom and I, long from home, /
A prey all my life to ill health, climb the terrace alone; /
Hating the hardships which have frosted my hair, /
Sad that illness made me give up the solace of wine.
Climbing the Heights 柳无忌译
When winds rage and the sky is high, gibbons cry mournfully; /
Over white sands on a clear riverbank, birds fly and whirl. /
Leaves fall from deep woods – rustling and soughing; /
The Long River rolls on, forever, wave after wave. /
Ten thousand miles away in sad autumn, I often find myself a stranger; /
My whole life afflicted by sickness, I mount alone the high terrace. /
Beset by hardships, I resent the heavy frost on my temples; /
Dispirited, I have by now abandoned my cup of unstrained wine.
The Heights W. J. B. Fletcher译
The wind so fresh, the sky so high /
Awake the gibbons’ wailing cry. /
The isles clear-cut, the sand so white, /
Arrest the wheeling sea-gulls’ flight. /
Through endless space with rustling sound /
The falling leaves are whirled around. /
Beyond my ken a yeasty sea /
The Yangtze’s waves are rolling free. /
From far away, in autumn drear, /
I find myself a stranger here. /
With dragging years and illness wage /
Lone war upon this lofty stage. /
With troubles vexed and trials sore /
My locks are daily growing hoar: / Till Time, before whose steps I
pine, / Set down this failing cup of wine!
On the Heights ( I ) 许渊冲译
The wind so swift, the sky so steep, sad gibbons cry; /
Water so clear and sand so white, backward birds fly. /
The boundless forest sheds its leaves shower by shower; /
The endless river rolls its waves hour after hour. /
Far from home in autumn, I’m grieved to see my plight; /
After my long illness, I climb alone this height. /
Living in hard times, at my frosted hair I pine; /
Pressed by poverty, I give up my cup of wine.
On the Heights ( II ) 许渊冲译
The wind so swift and sky so wide, apes wail and cry; /
Water so clear and beach so white, birds wheel and fly. /
The boundless forest sheds its leaves shower by shower; /
The endless river rolls its waves hour after hour. /
A thousand miles from home in autumn, I’m grieved at autumn’s plight; /
Ill now and then for years, ,alone I’m on this height. /
Living in times so hard, at frosted hair I pine; /
Cast down by poverty, I have to give up wine.
Written on an Autumn Holiday Rewi Alley译
These days of autumn, the clouds /
Are high; wind rises in strength; /
Far away the cry of monkeys can /
Be heard, giving people a sorrowful /
Feeling; skimming the white sands /
And the water, waterfowl fly; falling /
Leaves rustle as they come through /
The air; The Yangtse seems endless /
With its waters rolling on incessantly; /
So many autumns have I now spent /
Away from home, with sickness for /
A companion; now do I climb high /
Above the river by myself, /
Troubles and sorrow have turned my hair /
Grey; sick and poor, I now
/ Even stop drinking wine!
I Climb High Florence Ayscough译
Wind is strong, sky is high, gibbons wail sadly; /
Shoals are bright, sand gleam white, birds fly in circles. /
Without bounds is the forest, leaves fall, swish, swish, they drop; /
No ending has Great River, swirl, swirl, it comes. /
Ten thousand li sad Autumn! Have been long a wanderer; /
A hundred years, many illnesses! Alone I climb the tower. /
Sorrows, hardships, bitterness, grief, thickly frosted hair on my brows,
Inert I sink to ground; all fellowship ended; I drink muddy wine in my cup.
A Long Climb Witter Bynn译
In a sharp gale from the wide sky apes are whimpering, /
Birds are flying homeward over the clear lake and white sand, /
Leaves are dropping down like the spray of a waterfall, /
While I watched the long river always rolling on. /
I have come three miles away. Sad now with autumn /
And with my hundred years of woe, I climb this height alone. /
Ill fortune has laid a bitter frost on my temples, /
Heart-ache and weariness are a thick dust in my wine.
Climbing the Heights 谢文通译
Swift wind and a high ceiling mournful the monkeys sound,
/ From island to white beach the birds are wheeling round.
/ Everywhere falling leaves fall rustling to
/ The waves of the Long River onrushing without bound.
/ Who grieves for Autumn a thousand miles from home
/ Despite lifelong illness I climb the terrace alone.
/ Hardships and bitterness frosting many a hair,
/ I abjure the cup of wine that stopped my moan.
On the Heights 李惟建译，翁显良校
High wind blowing, high clouds floating, gibbons wailing, /
Sandbars gleaming white, the waters rippling clear, /
Birds coming home, leaves rustling down -- /
And the great river rolls on, ceaseless. /
A stranger here, far, far, from home, /
I can’t help feeling sad in autumn. /
Life is short, my health failing, here I stand alone. /
Life is hard, my temples greying, /
I’m filled with regret. /
Down and out, can’t even drink now, /
Can’t even drink now…
An Ascent 徐忠杰译
A stiff breeze is up; the vault of heaven seems high. /
Monkeys on the hills are making their plaintive cry. /
The islets become clearer; the sandbanks, clean and white; /
Water-birds are hovering over them in their flight. /
For miles around, rustling leaves are falling without pause. /
The Yang-tze-kiang is tumbling on in its onward course. /
Far from home, autumn strikes me as adding to my grief. /
An invalid, I mount the heights alone for relief. /
Long suffering has left its cruel mark on my hair. /
I’ve ceased anew to drink in utter despair.
Mounting 吴钧陶译
From heaven high the winds are whirling down with monkey’s whine, /
And over the white sanded hursts the birds are cleaving fine. /
The boundless forests shed their yellow leaves with rustles; /
The everflowing Yangtze on its way rolls and wrestles. /
Autumn is chilling me – always a thousand-miles-roameer, /
Alone mounting the mountain, and a life-long sufferer. /
I deeply loathe my rime-like temples as in these hard times; /
Of late Senility yet forces me to give up wines!
