吴藻（1799～1862），女，清代著名女曲作家、词人，字苹香，自号玉岑子，浙江仁和（今杭州）人，祖籍安徽黟县。幼而好学，长则肆力于词，又精绘事，自绘饮酒读骚图，又题饮酒读骚图曲。著有《花帘词》一卷、《香南雪北词》一卷、《饮酒读骚图曲》（又名《乔影》）、《花帘书屋诗》等。
Wu Zao (1799-1862), female, was a famous female composer and lyricist in the Qing Dynasty. Her courtesy name was Pingxiang and her self given name was Yucenzi. She was born in Renhe, Zhejiang (now Hangzhou) and her ancestral home was Yixian, Anhui. I am eager to learn from a young age, but as I grew up, I devoted myself to writing lyrics and was skilled in depicting events. I drew drinking and reading erotic paintings on my own, and even wrote songs about drinking and reading erotic paintings. He has written a volume of “Hualian Ci”, a volume of “Xiangnan Xuebei Ci”, “Drinking and Reading Sao Tu Qu” (also known as “Qiao Ying”), “Hualian Bookstore Poetry” and so on.
Wu Zao’s Man Jianghong, with its unique artistic style and profound emotional connotation, shows the author’s complex emotional world and superb literary attainments.
吴藻·《满江红》
门掩斜阳，
满院里、零花瘦草。
疏帘卷、纸窗风紧，玉炉烟袅。
天末数声征雁过，
林边几点归鸦噪。
悄无人、落叶冷空阶，红谁扫。
题不尽，
伤心稿。
消不尽，
闲烦恼。
算眼前愁境，
又添诗料。
翠影自怜双袖薄，
病魂已约三秋老。
待巡檐、索笑问寒梅，
春还早。
Man jiang hong
Wu Zao
A gate shut in twilight,
A yard full of forlorn flowers, thinning grasses!
The sparse shades rolled up,
The wind presses the papered window
As smoke from the jade urn curls out.
A few cries from the sky’s edgemigrant geese pass;
Some specks by the forest-homing crows caw.
Still and vacant
Fallen leaves trembling on empty steps.
Who’d sweep their red?
There’s no end to writing
This grief-stricken draft;
There’s no end to routing
This idle distress.
I reckon such sad scenes before my eyes
As added matter for verse.
My shadow pities its two slender sleeves.
My sick soul contracted three autumns’ age.
Let’s round the eaves
To ask in jest the freezing plums:
Spring’s too early yet?
（Antony C. Yu 译）
Tune: Man Chiang hung (Full River Red)
Wu Tsao
Shut the door against the setting sun
The yard is full of broken flowers, faded glass!
Sparse shades rolled up, the wind blows taunt the paper window
Smoke curls from the incense burner
From the sky’s end cry the migrating geese that have passed
From the edge of the forest caw a few spots of disappearing crows
…
There is no one-softly, leaves fall on the cold empty step—
Who swept away the petals?
I set down endlessly
The draft of a broken heart
Words don’t keep pace
With idle sorrow
Whatever I see
Adds to the stuff of poetry.
Even my own shadow pities me—thin sleeves,
Sick soul already three autumns old—
Wait! Inspect the eaves! Absurd—but ask the freezing plum:
Is it still too soon for spring?
（Julia Landau 译）
