I sit alone in a secluded bamboo grove, playing the qin for a while, then chanting freely aloud.

Deep in the grove, no one knows I am here; yet the bright moon seems to have come especially to my side, bathing me in its clear light.

竹里馆: “The Lodge in the Bamboo Grove,” one of the titles for scenes at Wangchuan; this poem is included in Wang Wei’s Wangchuan Collection. The title identifies a place within a bamboo grove; the poem does not describe an ornate lodge.

幽篁: A deep, secluded, quiet bamboo grove. 篁, pronounced huáng, means a bamboo grove.

复: again. 长啸: to draw out one’s voice in a long, free chant, a way of expressing feeling; the character 啸 should not automatically be understood as a terrified shout or sorrowful crying.

深林: Corresponding here to 幽篁, it still means a deep, secluded bamboo grove. 人不知: No one else knows of or attends to the speaker's activities in the grove; this need not imply that he has been abandoned.

相照: Shining on me. 相 here refers to one side of the action, rather than suggesting that the person and moon emit light toward each other; 来 gives the moonlight the sense of coming to visit and keep company.

Reading guide: This five-character quatrain describes only sitting alone in a bamboo grove, playing the qin, whistling at length, and receiving the bright moon's light. It gives no account of a journey and introduces no visitor. Sound enhances the stillness, making the grove feel deeper and more accommodating of one person's unrestrained activity. When reading that no one knows he is there, there is no need to hastily supply a sorrowful life story; the moon shining upon him in the next line already makes solitude a moment to enjoy peacefully through the gentlest of turns.

The opening “独” (“alone”) tells us how many people are present, while “幽” (“secluded”) describes the character of the surroundings. Together, however, they create no sense of oppression. Playing the qin produces a delicate, restrained sound; the long chant releases the voice freely. Both restraint and release arise from the figure’s own inclination. The poem does not tell readers what tune he plays or why he chants. By omitting such explanations, it lets the actions seem natural, with no need to perform for an onlooker.

The last two lines connect being unknown to anyone with the bright moon coming to shine, and their consistently peaceful tone is essential. Alone, the first line might make solitude seem like neglect; once the moon “comes,” the surrounding natural world acquires a gentle initiative. The poet accepts the clear light before him without seeking attention elsewhere. Nor does the poem turn moonlight into a supernatural story: bamboo, zither, sound, and moonlight remain things felt in ordinary life. Its language is simple, but its resonance comes from what is left open: it does not prescribe sadness or joy, only places one person's figure deep in the woods, lets the sound ring out, and lets the moonlight keep shining.