作品原文

郭沫若 《银杏》

银杏，我思念你，我不知道你为什么又叫公孙树。但一般人叫你是白果，那是容易了解的。
我知道，你的特征并不专在乎你有这和杏相仿的果实，核皮是纯白如银，核仁是富于营养——这不用说已经就足以为你的特征了。
但一般人并不知道你是有花植物中最古的先进，你的花粉和胚珠具有着动物般的性态，你是完全由人力保存了下来的奇珍。
自然界中已经是不能有你的存在了，但你依然挺立着，在太空中高唱着人间胜利的凯歌。
你这东方的圣者，你这中国人文的有生命的纪念塔，你是只有中国才有呀，一般人似乎也并不知道。
我到过日本，日本也有你，但你分明是日本的华侨，你侨居在日本大约已有中国的文化侨居在日本的那样久远了吧。
你是真应该称为中国的国树的呀，我是喜欢你，我特别的喜欢你。
但也并不是因为你是中国的特产，我才是特别的喜欢，是因为你美，你真，你善。
你的株干是多么的端直，你的枝条是多么的蓬勃，你那折扇形的叶片是多么的青翠，多么的莹洁，多么的精巧呀！
在暑天你为多少的庙宇戴上了巍峨的云冠，你也为多少的劳苦人撑出了清凉的华盖。
梧桐虽有你的端直而没有你的坚牢；
白杨虽有你的葱茏而没有你的庄重。
熏风会媚妩你，群鸟时来为你欢歌；上帝百神——假如是有上帝百神，我相信每当皓月流空，他们会在你脚下来聚会。
秋天到来，蝴蝶已经死了的时候，你的碧叶要翻成金黄，而且又会飞出满园的蝴蝶。
你不是一位巧妙的魔术师吗？但你丝毫也没有令人掩鼻的那种的江湖气息。
当你那解脱了一切，你那槎桠的枝干挺撑在太空中的时候，你对于寒风霜雪毫不避易。
你没有丝毫依阿取容的姿态，但你也并不荒伧；你的美德像音乐一样洋溢八荒，但你也并不骄傲；你的名讳似乎就是“超然”，你超在乎一切的草木之上，你超在乎一切之上，但你并不隐遁。
你的果实不是可以滋养人，你的木质不是坚实的器材，就是你的落叶不也是绝好的引火的燃料吗？
可是我真有点奇怪了：奇怪的是中国人似乎大家都忘记了你，而且忘记得很久远，似乎是从古以来。
我在中国的经典中找不出你的名字，我很少看到中国的诗人咏赞你的诗，也很少看到中国的画家描写你的画。
这究竟是怎么一回事呀，你是随中国文化以俱来的亘古的证人，你不也是以为奇怪吗？
银杏，中国人是忘记了你呀，大家虽然都在吃你的白果，都喜欢吃你的白果，但的确是忘记了你呀。
世间上也尽有不辨菽麦的人，但把你忘记得这样普遍，这样久远的例子，从来也不曾有过。
真的啦，陪都不是首善之区吗？但我就很少看见你的影子；为什么遍街都是洋槐，满园都是幽加里树呢？
我是怎样的思念你呀，银杏！我可希望你不要把中国忘记吧。
这事情是有点危险的，我怕你一不高兴，会从中国的地面上隐遁下去。
在中国的领空中会永远听不着你赞美生命的欢歌。
银杏，我真希望呀，希望中国人单为能更多吃你的白果，总有能更加爱慕你的一天。

作品译文

Ginggo
Guo Mo-ruo

Gingko, I hold your dear, but I, at a loss as to why you are called Grandpa Tree. However, as to the name White Fruit the average man gives you that is within my easy reach.
To my knowledge, the characteristics you show are not confined to the similarity between you and the apricot in your fruit, the pure silver white of the peel and the rich nutrition contained in the core—the characteristics are just self-evident.
Nevertheless, it is beyond the knowledge of the average man that you boast the remotest antiquity among flowering plants, and your pollen and ovules are reminiscent of the natural properties of an animal. You are a rare treasure, having defied the passage of time entirely by virtue of human preserving power.
Though you are nameless in Nature, you stand upright, in a supercilious manner, with your resonant song of the triumph of the human world echoing in the air.
You are an oriental sage and a living monument in Chinese culture. It is in China alone that you exist, which seems unknown to the average man.
When I visited Japan, I found you there. But you are definitely an overseas Chinese residing in Japan, and your residence in Japan could have witnessed an equal length of time with that of Chinese culture in Japan.
You are entitled to the honor of the national tree in China. I like you, and I dote on you, not because you are a specialty in China, but because you are beautiful, true and benign.
You are noted for upright trunks, luxuriant branches and folding-fan-like green leaves, so pure, so exquisite!
In summer, you helmet countless temples with lofty canopies and shelter numerous laborers with overhanging cool shade.
The parasol tree is not as firm as you, though equally upright.
The white poplar is not as dignified as you, though equally luxuriant.
A soft breeze will curry favor with you and flocks of birds will sing melodious madrigals for you. I feel that whenever the bright moon climbs high in the sky, God and immortals, should there be God and immortals, would enjoy a get-together at your feet.
The season of autumn sets in when butterflies have come to their lives' end. However, when your jade green leaves turn golden yellow, gardens are likewise alive with flying butterflies in the air.
Aren't you an expert magician? But you are devoid of any contemptible world-wise airs.
When you are stripped of leaves with your bare twigs sticking up towards the sky, you never flinch even a wee bit from the cold wind and the frosty snow.
You look so dignified and detached. I'm afraid that no monk could have been so noble as you ever since Buddhist dharma came into being.
You strike no affected or submissive attitude, but you are never vulgar; your virtues travel far and wide like music floating everywhere, but you are not conceited. You impress people with the spirit of “transcendence”, transcending al herbs and plants, transcending everything earthly, but you do not retire into solitude.
Isn't it right that your fruit could be used as nourishment for human health, that your body could be made into solid instruments, and that your dead leaves could serve as an ideal kindling fuel?
So I really feel perplexed: why do most Chinese seem to have sunk you into deep oblivion, into such deep oblivion ever since remote ancient times?
To my knowledge, your name does not enjoy a proper place in China's classics, for I rarely find that you are eulogized in the verses composed by Chinese poets and seldom see that you are visually presented in the paintings made by Chinese artists.
How earth is it so? As a witness to the ancient Chinese civilization, don't you feel equally puzzled?
Gingko, you have indeed slipped from the memory of Chinese people though your white fruit enjoys popularity among them. It is a fact that they fail to have committed you into their memory.
It is not rare that there do exist a large number of people who fail to tell beans from wheat, but is certainly rare that such a plant as you has escaped from the memory of so much humanity for such a long time.
Hey, isn't Chongqing, the interim capital, the best place? Even there, I can hardly find the faintest shadow of you. Why are all the locusts planted along the streets? Why are all the eucalyptuses in the gardens?
How I miss you, gingko! I sincerely hope that you won't forget China.
It is really hard to hold you here. You might vanish from this soil of China once you feel offended, I'm afraid.
Your melodious song of praising the beauty of life can never be echoing in the air of China.
Gingko, it is my sincere hope that the day will come when, simply because they can enjoy more of your white fruit, Chinese people will love you.