Not Dead

Yeah, I’m still alive. My sister scared the hell out of me yesterday, by calling my cell phone from the U.K. Apparently, there was an enormous earthquake in Pu’er City not far from Kunming (our home), but we didn’t even feel it. The quake killed three people, injured 290, and forces tens of thousands of people from their homes. Sounds awful.

I memorized a poem for class today. It’s called 游子吟 (You2zi3 Yin2) or “A Song for a Traveler”. It is often recited on Mother’s Day because it’s about a mother’s love for her child. Her child is about to leave home, and she is sewing his clothes.

慈母手中线, ci2mu3 shou3zhong1 xian4,
游子身上衣, you2zi3 shen1shang4 yi1.
临行密密缝, lin2xing2 mi4mi4 feng2,
意恐迟迟归. yi4 kong3 chi2chi2 gui1.
谁言寸草心, shui2 yan2 cun4 cao3xin1,
报得三春晖. bao4de2 san1chun1hui1.

Here’s my rough translation:

A loving mother with thread in her hand,
A traveler with clothes on his body.
Before he leaves she so, so carefully sews,
Fearing it will be a long, long time before he returns.
No one claims the new blades of grass feel
Any gratitude for three months of spring sun.

From what I can gather is it’s about us, your damn, ungrateful children, who don’t appreciate the sacrifices you make and abandon you without so much as a “thank you”. But I might have this wrong. [UPDATE: Yes, I was wrong.] Here are some other translations:

Song of the Wanderer

The thread moves in the hand of the mother kind,
To weave a garment for the wanderer to wear.
As the mother plies the needle with much care,
Anxiety for her son’s tarry out so troubles her mind.
Oh, can the tender plant have enough to pay,
For the sunshine of so many a spring day?
Source: Learn Chinese Mandarin London

A thread is in my fond mother’s hand moving.
For her son to wear the clothes ere leaving.
With her whole heart she’s sewing and sewing.
For fear I’ll e’er be roving and roving.
Who says the little soul of grass waving.
Could for the warmth repay the sun of spring.

The thread in the hands of a fond-hearted mother
Makes clothes for the body of her wayward boy;
Carefully she sews and thoroughly she mends,
Dreading the delays that will keep him late from home.
But how much love has the inch-long grass
For three spring months of the light of the sun?

These two are both from: bbs.netat.net

The poet is Meng Jiao (751 – 814), who lived during the Tang Dynasty (618 – 907).