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力 匕 你来自何方 一勺风 | 译 阝 勹 廴 匚 厶
译前言 这首诗是我高中学校一位语文老师写的，当时学校举行“春天送你一首诗”活动，他在全校师生面前读了他写的这首诗。朗诵者几度哽咽，听者无不潸然泪下。如今读来，依然很感动。所以，就把这首诗翻译成了英文。译者水平有限，不足之处在所难免，欢迎批评指正！ 你来自何方 Where Were You from 作者：马建新 By Ma Jianxin 翻译：一勺风 Translated by Frank 父亲 Father, Where were you from? And where had you gone? For thirty years being father and son, I remember your voice, your face, your smile, But I cannot find the road on which you left.
Is it the road in the north of our village? Grandma told me that that road leads to your primary school. You stepped on it during those few years, Until you quitted your study, Out of poverty.
Is it the road in the west of our village? Grandma told me that You became an apprentice, After you dropped out of school, And you suffered all kinds of maltreatment. Grandma also told me, Determined as you were, You never shed tears, even a drop. 是村南的那条路吗 Is it the road in the south of our village? Grandma told me that You pictured your own ambitions, after you acquired bread-earning skills. Go outside to forge a future, And never give up. And then, You put a green military uniform, of your own on. Nanjing, Became another place embracing you But for your hometown.
I know, Many years ago, You left where you’d been working after military service, with tears dropping on, For the sake of your aged parents. Since then, You walked forward and backward on that road, To earn bread and milk for the whole family, Once and again.
And now, I know, When the tracks of our life, intersects for the first time, Your heart Is filled with all but sorrow.
The road in the north; The road in the west; The road in the south; The road in the east. You measured every inch of every road Merely through your steps. To make a living, You even went to the Northeast, And entered the wild woods.
But How could you find a road In such wild forests. I guess, Not many people really see The sorrow hidden in your heart; Nor many really understand Why so easily you cried every time you drank.
Poor, Or rich, The sun rises, and it sets. But tomorrow, it will rise again.
Decades wore on, One after another, You saw off your father and mother. Six years ago, You fell ill. And since that day, You had to stay on the bed. I could see your bitterness through your eyes. -Dim eyes Stared at a certain spot. I knew, You were reading. Reading the transient life, And the mundane world. 你病了 I hadn’t noticed That so many wrinkles climbed on your face, Until you fell ill. But, they were not wrinkles, But roads Where time left its secrets.
As your son, I believe our hearts were connected. Because At the night you passed away, I tossed about on the bed, and by no means fell asleep. As soon as the day broke, I hurried home. With the chrysanthemums I bought on the road. Five, Only five flowers. I put them on your bed. I prayed and prayed Not for another five years, neither five months, but five more days. But, I was late. You were gone before anyone got the news, like mild wind, like tiny dirt. I touched your face which was still warm. I wanted to cry, But failed. I don’t know whether there are souls in Heaven. All I know is that, you and me Are father and son once and forever. Here flowing your blood in my vessels. And my eyes Are full of determination, Just like yours. Gently, Gently, You returned to the soil, And became the yellow dirt. However, I lost control of my heart, At last. It was flooded by sorrow. When the ocean of sadness nearly drowned me, I seemed to hear you say: “Boy, Do not Cry! I couldn’t feel - any pain. Do not cry! All you need do Is to slightly pray for me.
I picked another hand of dirt To cover your body. I feared that you would feel cold. And I toasted you a cup of wine, To console your soul. I feared that you would feel lonely. ．．．．．． Father, Where were you from, And where had you gone? For thirty years being father and son, I remember your voice, your face, your smile, But I cannot find the road on which you left. 铺开生活的纸 生活是一张铺开的纸， 每个人手中都有一支笔， 写下有形的 和无形的 文字 |
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