By Su Shi (Song Dynasty)
In the autumn of the Renxu year, on the sixteenth day of the seventh month, I sailed with my guests beneath the Red Cliff. A gentle breeze blew softly; the river lay calm without a ripple. Raising my cup to toast my companions, I recited poems of the bright moon and sang verses of grace and elegance. Soon the moon rose above the eastern mountains, lingering between the constellations Dou and Niu. White dew spread across the river; the shimmering water met the sky. We let our reed-like boat drift wherever it pleased, gliding over the vast expanse of water. Vast and boundless, we seemed to ride the wind through empty space, not knowing where we would stop; light and ethereal, we felt as though detached from the world, transformed into immortals ascending to heaven.
Thus, drinking deeply in joy, I tapped the gunwale and sang:
“My osmanthus oar, my orchid paddle –
I strike the limpid glow, rowing against the stream of light.
My longing is distant and faint;
I gaze toward my beloved, far away beyond the sky.”
One of the guests played the bamboo flute, accompanying my song. The sound was mournful – like sorrow, like yearning; like weeping, like lamentation. Its lingering notes trailed on, thin as a thread that never breaks – enough to make hidden dragons in deep ravines dance and widows in lonely boats weep.
My expression turned solemn. I straightened my robe, sat upright, and asked the guest, “Why do you sound so melancholy?”
He replied, “‘The moon is bright, stars are sparse; crows fly southward.’ Is this not a line from Cao Mengde‘s poem? Looking westward to Xiakou and eastward to Wuchang, we see mountains and rivers entwined, dense and verdant – wasn’t this precisely where Mengde was defeated by Zhou Yu? At that time, having conquered Jingzhou and captured Jiangling, he sailed eastward down the river – his warships stretched a thousand li, his banners blotted out the sky. Standing by the river with wine poured, spear in hand, he composed poetry. Truly, he was a hero of his age! But where is he now? And we – mere fishermen and woodcutters by the riverbank, companions to fish and shrimp, friends to deer – sail a tiny leaf of a boat, raising gourd cups to toast each other. Like mayflies adrift between heaven and earth, like a single grain in the vast ocean – we grieve the brevity of life and envy the endless flow of the Yangtze. We dream of flying with immortals to wander freely, embracing the bright moon for eternity. Yet we know such dreams cannot be suddenly fulfilled, so we entrust our sorrow to the mournful wind.”
I said, “Do you understand the river and the moon? What flows away is like this – yet it never truly departs. What waxes and wanes is like that – yet ultimately neither increases nor diminishes. If we observe from the perspective of change, then heaven and earth cannot remain unchanged even for an instant. But if we view things from the standpoint of constancy, then all things – and I myself – are eternal. So what is there to envy? Moreover, within the universe, everything has its rightful owner. If something does not belong to me, I would not take even the slightest bit. Only the pure breeze on the river and the bright moon among the hills – heard by the ear as sound, seen by the eye as color – can be taken without prohibition and used without exhaustion. These are the inexhaustible treasures bestowed by nature, shared equally by you and me.”
The guest smiled with delight and laughed. We rinsed our cups and refilled them. All dishes were consumed; plates and goblets lay scattered in joyful disorder. We leaned against each other, asleep in the boat, unaware that the east was already turning white with dawn.
Note
The Former Ode to the Red Cliff was written by Su Shi (also known as Su Dongpo), one of China’s greatest poets and essayists, during one of the most difficult periods of his life – his exile in Huangzhou (modern-day Huanggang, Hubei Province).
In 1079, Su Shi was accused of “defaming the court” through his poetry. The incident, known historically as the “Crow Terrace Poetry Case” (Wutai Shian), began when Su submitted a routine official letter – the Memorial on Assuming Office in Huzhou – which conservative political rivals interpreted as sarcastic and subversive. He was arrested, imprisoned for months, and subjected to harsh interrogation. Only after widespread appeals from friends, family, and even Empress Dowager Cao was he spared execution.
In late 1079, Su Shi was released but demoted to the minor post of Deputy Commander of the Militia in Huangzhou – a symbolic title with no real authority. He was forbidden from handling official business or leaving the area without permission, effectively living under semi-imprisonment.
It was during this period of political disgrace and personal reflection (around 1082) that Su Shi took two boat trips to the Red Cliff (Chibi) – a site traditionally (though mistakenly) believed to be the location of the famous Three Kingdoms naval battle of 208 CE. Inspired by the moonlit river, philosophical contemplation, and conversations with friends, he composed two lyrical prose-poems: the first, written on the 16th day of the seventh lunar month, became known as The Former Ode to the Red Cliff; the second, written later that autumn, as The Latter Ode to the Red Cliff.
Though outwardly describing a peaceful night on the river, the Former Ode subtly expresses Su Shi’s inner struggles – his sorrow over human transience, his admiration for cosmic permanence, and ultimately, his Daoist-Buddhist-inspired realization that true freedom lies not in worldly power, but in harmony with nature and acceptance of life’s impermanence. This work stands as a masterpiece of Chinese literature, blending poetic beauty, philosophical depth, and personal resilience.
《前赤壁赋》宋·苏轼
壬戌之秋，七月既望，苏子与客泛舟游于赤壁之下。清风徐来，水波不兴。举酒属客，诵明月之诗，歌窈窕之章。少焉，月出于东山之上，徘徊于斗牛之间。白露横江，水光接天。纵一苇之所如，凌万顷之茫然。浩浩乎如冯虚御风，而不知其所止；飘飘乎如遗世独立，羽化而登仙。
于是饮酒乐甚，扣舷而歌之。歌曰：“桂棹兮兰桨，击空明兮溯流光。渺渺兮予怀，望美人兮天一方。”客有吹洞箫者，倚歌而和之。其声呜呜然，如怨如慕，如泣如诉；余音袅袅，不绝如缕。舞幽壑之潜蛟，泣孤舟之嫠妇。
苏子愀然，正襟危坐，而问客曰：“何为其然也？”客曰：“‘月明星稀，乌鹊南飞。’此非曹孟德之诗乎？西望夏口，东望武昌，山川相缪，郁乎苍苍，此非孟德之困于周郎者乎？方其破荆州，下江陵，顺流而东也，舳舻千里，旌旗蔽空，酾酒临江，横槊赋诗，固一世之雄也，而今安在哉？况吾与子渔樵于江渚之上，侣鱼虾而友麋鹿，驾一叶之扁舟，举匏樽以相属。寄蜉蝣于天地，渺沧海之一粟。哀吾生之须臾，羡长江之无穷。挟飞仙以遨游，抱明月而长终。知不可乎骤得，托遗响于悲风。”
苏子曰：“客亦知夫水与月乎？逝者如斯，而未尝往也；盈虚者如彼，而卒莫消长也。盖将自其变者而观之，则天地曾不能以一瞬；自其不变者而观之，则物与我皆无尽也，而又何羡乎！且夫天地之间，物各有主，苟非吾之所有，虽一毫而莫取。惟江上之清风，与山间之明月，耳得之而为声，目遇之而成色，取之无禁，用之不竭。是造物者之无尽藏也，而吾与子之所共适。”
客喜而笑，洗盏更酌。肴核既尽，杯盘狼籍。相与枕藉乎舟中，不知东方之既白。
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