Phoenix Terrace, Remembering the Xiao Flute (Incense Grows Cold in the Golden Brazier) - Li Qingzhao
/凤凰台上忆吹箫(香冷金猊) - 李清照/
Where Parting, Memory, and Newfound Sorrow Intertwine
【Original Chinese】
凤凰台上忆吹箫(香冷金猊)
香冷金猊，被翻红浪，起来慵自梳头。
任宝奁尘满，日上帘钩。
生怕离怀别苦，多少事、欲说还休。
新来瘦，非干病酒，不是悲秋。
休休，这回去也，千万遍《阳关》，也则难留。
念武陵人远，烟锁秦楼。
惟有楼前流水，应念我、终日凝眸。
凝眸处，从今又添，一段新愁。
【Literal English Translation (Line by Line)】
Phoenix Terrace, Remembering the Xiao Flute (Incense Grows Cold in the Golden Brazier)
Incense grows cold in the golden brazier;
Blankets lie in disarray like crimson waves—
I rouse myself but feel too languid to comb my hair.
Let the jeweled mirror gather dust; the sun climbs past the door-curtain’s hook.
I dread the pangs of parting and farewell—so many things remain unsaid, yet I cannot speak.
Grown thinner lately—not from lingering illness or sorrow at autumn’s approach.
Enough, enough—this time you truly depart.
A thousand repeats of “Yang Guan” could hardly make you stay.
I think of how far my dear one roams, hidden by mist around Qin Tower.
Only the water flowing before the tower may remember me, gazing all day.
At that place where I fix my eyes, from now on, there is a new sorrow.
凤凰台上忆吹箫(香冷金猊)
香冷金猊，被翻红浪，起来慵自梳头。
任宝奁尘满，日上帘钩。
生怕离怀别苦，多少事、欲说还休。
新来瘦，非干病酒，不是悲秋。
休休，这回去也，千万遍《阳关》，也则难留。
念武陵人远，烟锁秦楼。
惟有楼前流水，应念我、终日凝眸。
凝眸处，从今又添，一段新愁。
【Literal English Translation (Line by Line)】
Phoenix Terrace, Remembering the Xiao Flute (Incense Grows Cold in the Golden Brazier)
Incense grows cold in the golden brazier;
Blankets lie in disarray like crimson waves—
I rouse myself but feel too languid to comb my hair.
Let the jeweled mirror gather dust; the sun climbs past the door-curtain’s hook.
I dread the pangs of parting and farewell—so many things remain unsaid, yet I cannot speak.
Grown thinner lately—not from lingering illness or sorrow at autumn’s approach.
Enough, enough—this time you truly depart.
A thousand repeats of “Yang Guan” could hardly make you stay.
I think of how far my dear one roams, hidden by mist around Qin Tower.
Only the water flowing before the tower may remember me, gazing all day.
At that place where I fix my eyes, from now on, there is a new sorrow.
“Phoenix Terrace, Remembering the Xiao Flute (Incense Grows Cold in the Golden Brazier)” ranks among Li Qingzhao’s most evocative ci poems. Written to the tune “Fenghuang Taishang Yi Chui Xiao,” it depicts the emotional intensity surrounding a lover’s or close companion’s departure.
From the poem’s first lines, everyday objects and subtle details become mirrors of the poet’s state of mind: the golden incense brazier has cooled, indicating both the passing of night and a fading warmth. The disarray of the bedding (“blankets like crimson waves”) and her reluctance to groom herself suggest emotional exhaustion—she cannot muster the energy to face the day. The mention of the dusty mirror and the sun advancing overhead underscores the poet’s withdrawal from usual routines, heightening the sense of existential languor.
Midway through, Li Qingzhao highlights a universal dilemma: parting when there are “so many things” left unspoken. She acknowledges that her recent physical change—“grown thinner”—is not caused by a typical malady or even by lamenting autumn’s approach (a frequent motif in Chinese poetry), but by the anguish of separation. Rather than a single factor, it is this complex interplay of regret, longing, and unarticulated feeling that weighs on her.
In the poem’s second half, Li Qingzhao references the famed farewell tune “Yang Guan” (based on the Tang poem “送元二使安西”), traditionally played or sung at partings between friends. Even that iconic piece fails to keep her companion from leaving. Next, the poet envisions “mist around Qin Tower” and flowing water that might “remember her” in her solitude. Water is a powerful, time-honored symbol of continuity and memory in Chinese verse—evoking how life persists even when people cannot remain together.
The poem closes on an image of the poet gazing, day after day, in the direction of her beloved’s departure. “A new sorrow” (一段新愁) emerges from that unending, vacant gaze—a poignant realization that this heartbreak will linger long into the future.
Stylistically, Li Qingzhao merges inner emotion with small, everyday surroundings—mirrors, draperies, incense—imbuing each with layers of significance. Readers witness how even the most mundane aspects of daily life can become fraught with meaning when overshadowed by farewell and regret.
Ultimately, “Phoenix Terrace, Remembering the Xiao Flute” illustrates a hallmark of Li Qingzhao’s poetry: her ability to capture complex psychological states in concise, beautifully structured verses. Her voice resonates through centuries as one intimately acquainted with separation’s keen sting, making the poem remain a cherished part of the Chinese literary canon.
Key points
• Conveys the poet’s emotional fragility through everyday objects (incense, bedding, mirrors).
• Highlights the ache of parting, with references to iconic Chinese farewell motifs like “Yang Guan.”
• Blends personal grief with universal symbols (flowing water, misty towers) to amplify a sense of timeless longing.
• Ends on the note of “new sorrow,” implying that parting’s ache endures beyond the immediate farewell.
