Lin Huiyin Translations

These are my English translations of poems by Lin Huiyin, a Chinese poet, novelist, historian and modern China’s first female architect.

Apr 08, 2025

Lin Huiyin (1904-1955), also known as Phyllis Lin, Lin Whei-yin and Phyllis Whei Yin Lin, was a Chinese architect, historian, novelist and poet. She modern China’s first female architect.

The Day after the Rain
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love the day after the rain
and the meadow's green expanses!
My heart endlessly rises with wind,
gusts with wind ...
away the new-mown grasses and the fallen leaves ...
away the clouds like smoke ...
vanishing like smoke ...

Music Heard Late at Night
Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

for Xu Zhimo

I blushed,
hearing the lovely nocturnal tune.

The music touched my heart;
I embraced its sadness, but how to respond?

The pattern of life was established eons ago:
so pale are the people's imaginations!

Perhaps one day You and I
can play the chords of hope together.

It must be your fingers gently playing
late at night, matching my sorrow.

Xu Zhimo died in a plane crash in 1931, while allegedly flying to meet Lin Huiyin.

Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again
Xu Zhimo (1897-1931)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
quietly I wave good-bye
to the sky's dying flame.

The riverside's willows
like lithe, sunlit brides
reflected in the waves
move my heart's tides.

Weeds moored in dark sludge
sway here, free of need,
in the Cam's gentle wake ...
O, to be a waterweed!

Beneath shady elms
a nebulous rainbow
crumples and reforms
in the soft ebb and flow.

Seek a dream? Pole upstream
to where grass is greener;
rig the boat with starlight;
sing aloud of love's splendor!

But how can I sing
when my song is farewell?
Even the crickets are silent.
And who should I tell?

So quietly I take my leave,
as quietly as I came;
gently I flick my sleeves ...
not a wisp will remain.

(6 November 1928)

Xu Zhimo's most famous poem is this one about leaving Cambridge. English titles for the poem include "On Leaving Cambridge," "Second Farewell to Cambridge," "Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again," and "Taking Leave of Cambridge Again."

Seeking a Mooring
by Wang Wei
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A leaf drifts through infinite space,
a cold wind rends distant clouds.
The river flows seaward,
the tide repulses.
Beyond the moonlit reeds,
in unseen villages, I hear
fullers’ mallets
pounding wet clothing,
preparing for winter.
Crickets cry ceaselessly,
mourning the autumn frost.
A traveler’s thoughts
wander ten thousand miles
in such a night of strange dreams.
The tinkling sounds of bells
cannot disperse sorrows to come.
What will I remember
of this journey’s darkest hour?
Only ghostly veils of desolate mist
and a single fishing boat.

Ho Shuang-Ch’ing aka Shuangqing has been called “China's peasant woman poet.” She wrote in the 18th century.

To the tune “A Watered Silk Dress”
by Ho Shuang-Ch’ing
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Deepest feelings are hardest to divulge.
How to reveal a hidden love?
Swallowed tears well up again, return.
My hands twist, wilted flowers.
I lean speechless against my screen.

I’m frightened by my figure in the mirror,
a too-thin, wasted woman.
Not a springtime face,
nor an autumn face:
can this be Shuang-ch'ing?

To the tune “Washing Silk in the Stream”
by Ho Shuang-Ch’ing
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The warm rain falls unfelt
like delicate silk threads.
The farmer cocks a flower behind his ear,
trundles the grain from his field
to the threshing-room floor.
I rose early to water his field,
but he snapped I was too early.
I cooked millet for him
with smoke-reddened eyes
but he snapped I was too late.
My tender bottom was sore the entire day.

Bitter Rain
by Wu Tsao
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bitter rain drenches my courtyard
as autumn wilts into winter.

I have only vague feelings
I’m unable to assemble into poems
because words diffuse with the drifting clouds and leaves.

After the golden sunset the cold moon rises out of a dismal mist.

But I will not draw down the blinds from their silver hooks.

Rather, my dreams will fly with the wind,
suffering the bitter cold,
to the jasper pagoda of your divine flesh.

Michael R. Burch Main Translation Page & Index:

The Best Poetry Translations of Michael R. Burch

Translation Pages by Language:

English Translations of Chinese Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Female Chinese Poets by Michael R. Burch

Martin Mc Carthy

Apr 8

This little poem by Lin Huiyin is very sad and meaningful and really touched my heart - especially when I read the little note you included at the bottom of it. Thanks for this, Mike!

Music Heard Late at Night

Lin Huiyin (1904-1955)

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

for Xu Zhimo

I blushed,

hearing the lovely nocturnal tune.

The music touched my heart;

I embraced its sadness, but how to respond?

The pattern of life was established eons ago:

so pale are the people's imaginations!

Perhaps one day You and I

can play the chords of hope together.

It must be your fingers gently playing

late at night, matching my sorrow.

Xu Zhimo died in a plane crash in 1931, while allegedly flying to meet Lin Huiyin.

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