詩経

柏舟

Anonymous

Fàn bǐ bǎi zhōu

泛彼柏舟

yì fàn qí liú

亦泛其流

Gěng gěng bù mèi

耿耿不寐

rú yǒu yǐn yōu

如有隐忧

Wēi wǒ wú jiǔ

微我无酒

yǐ áo yǐ yóu

以敖以游

Wǒ xīn fěi jiàn

我心匪鉴

bù kě yǐ rú

不可以茹

Yì yǒu xiōng dì

亦有兄弟

bù kě yǐ jù

不可以据

Bó yán wǎng sù

薄言往愬

féng bǐ zhī nù

逢彼之怒

Wǒ xīn fěi shí

我心匪石

bù kě zhuǎn yě

不可转也

Wǒ xīn fěi xí

我心匪席

bù kě juǎn yě

不可卷也

Wēi yí dì dì

威仪棣棣

bù kě xuǎn yě

不可选也

Yōu xīn qiāo qiāo

忧心悄悄

yùn yú qún xiǎo

愠于群小

Gòu mǐn jì duō

觏闵既多

shòu wǔ bù shǎo

受侮不少

Jìng yán sī zhī

静言思之

wù pì yǒu biào

寤辟有摽

Rì jū yuè zhū

日居月诸

hú dié ér wēi

胡迭而微

Xīn zhī yōu yǐ

心之忧矣

rú fěi huàn yī

如匪浣衣

Jìng yán sī zhī

静言思之

bù néng fèn fēi

不能奋飞


翻訳

That cypress boat drifts, drifting with the current. Wakeful, I cannot sleep, as if I hold a hidden grief. It is not that I have no wine, with which to wander and take ease. My heart is not a mirror; it cannot receive everything. I do have brothers, yet they cannot be relied upon. I go to tell my grief, but meet only their anger. My heart is not a stone; it cannot be turned. My heart is not a mat; it cannot be rolled up. My bearing is orderly and composed; it cannot be picked apart at will. My grieving heart is quiet and heavy, resented by a crowd of petty people. The troubles I have met are many; the insults I have suffered are not few. Quietly I think on this, and waking, beat my breast in pain. O sun, O moon, why do you take turns growing dim? The sorrow in my heart is like clothing not yet washed clean. Quietly I think on this, but I cannot rise and fly away.

解説

"Bai Zhou" is one of the most powerful poems of inner distress in the Book of Songs. It has traditionally been read in more than one way: as the voice of a worthy minister slandered and isolated, or as the voice of a woman trapped in an oppressive domestic or marital situation. In either reading, the central drama is the same: a person of integrity suffers misunderstanding, insult, and confinement, yet refuses to surrender the self. The opening image is a cypress boat drifting with the current. Cypress is a strong, durable wood, but the boat still moves according to the water. This becomes the poem's first emotional symbol: the speaker's inner nature is firm, yet external circumstances carry them along against their will. "Wakeful, I cannot sleep, as if I hold a hidden grief" gives the inner condition. The grief is "hidden," not because it is small, but because it cannot be freely spoken. The speaker is awake, lucid, and troubled. "It is not that I have no wine" is crucial. The speaker has access to pleasure and distraction. Wine and wandering exist, but they cannot solve this kind of sorrow. The poem distinguishes deep moral distress from ordinary sadness. "My heart is not a mirror; it cannot receive everything." A mirror reflects whatever comes before it. The speaker refuses such passive acceptance. There are things the heart cannot and should not absorb: insult, injustice, false accusation, moral compromise. The lines about brothers intensify the isolation. The speaker has kin, yet cannot rely on them. Even when going to complain or explain, the speaker meets anger. The pain here is not only public or external; it includes the failure of intimate support. The most famous declaration follows: "My heart is not a stone; it cannot be turned. My heart is not a mat; it cannot be rolled up." These lines assert inner dignity. The speaker's mind is not an object to be manipulated, rotated, folded, or stored away. This is one of the clearest statements of personal integrity in early Chinese poetry. The poem then names the social source of suffering: petty people, resentment, trouble, insult. The speaker is surrounded by hostile forces. Yet the poem does not dissolve into rage. Its tone remains controlled, which makes the pain sharper. The final stanza turns cosmic. The speaker addresses sun and moon: why do they alternately grow dim? The question is not only astronomical. It asks why light itself seems obscured, why clarity and justice do not remain visible. The grief is compared to unwashed clothing: heavy, stained, uncomfortable, impossible to forget. The closing line, "I cannot rise and fly away," is devastating. The speaker imagines escape but cannot achieve it. The poem ends not in resolution, but in trapped consciousness. The greatness of "Bai Zhou" lies in its combination of suffering and self-respect. It is not merely a lament. It is a poem about refusing to be morally folded, turned, or erased.

作者紹介

Anonymous, a poet from the pre-Qin period whose name is unknown. The Book of Songs (Shijing) is the earliest anthology of Chinese poetry, containing more than three hundred poems from roughly the early Western Zhou to the mid-Spring and Autumn period, divided into three sections: Airs (Feng), Elegantiae (Ya), and Hymns (Song). "Bei Feng" preserves songs from the Bei and Wei regions, many of which reflect politics, marriage, family conflict, social pressure, and deep emotional distress.