Program Notes:

Wars are remembered by the banks of two rivers,  

by the ocean waves that swallow the metallic taste of swords and daggers, 

by the snow-cloaked prairies pockmarked with the hooves of cavalry  

as the mountains weep above. 

去年战，桑乾源，今年战，葱河道

洗兵条支海上波，放马天山雪中草

Each weary mile of the soldiers’ march only brings them closer to their final beds.  

The Huns till the yellow soil with corpses, growing desolation.  

On the Qin’s fortress walls, the beacons burn an endless red, 

never resting until the bloodshed ends.  

万里长征战，三军尽衰老

匈奴以杀戮为耕作，古来唯见白骨黄沙田

秦家筑城避胡处，汉家还有烽火然

烽火燃不息，征战无已时

Soldiers fall in barren fields, never to rise again,  

their last cries drowned by the screams of their horses.   

Their bodies are looted by crows, who take the intestines   

as their war spoils.  

野战格斗死，败马号鸣向天悲

乌鸢啄人肠，衔飞上挂枯树枝

The generals gain nothing but this portrait of battle,  

of wild grass painted with blood.   

They say soldiers are weapons,  

The Saint has no choice but to use them.  

士卒涂草莽，将军空尔为

乃知兵者是凶器，圣人不得已而用之

- Original Poem by Li Bai 李白, English Translation by Chelsey Zhu

There is nothing heroic or glorifying about war…