作品原文

穆旦 《赞美》

走不尽的山峦的起伏，河流和草原，
数不尽的密密的村庄，鸡鸣和狗吠，
接连在原是荒凉的亚洲的土地上，
在野草的茫茫中呼啸着干燥的风，
在低压的暗云下唱着单调的东流的水，
在忧郁的森林里有无数埋藏的年代。
它们静静地和我拥抱：
说不尽的故事是说不尽的灾难，沉默的
是爱情，是在天空飞翔的鹰群，
是干枯的眼睛期待着泉涌的热泪，
当不移的灰色的行列在遥远的天际爬行；
我有太多的话语，太悠久的感情，
我要以荒凉的沙漠，坎坷的小路，骡子车，
我要以槽子船，漫山的野花，阴雨的天气，
我要以一切拥抱你，你，
我到处看见的人民呵，
在耻辱里生活的人民，佝偻的人民，
我要以带血的手和你们一一拥抱。
因为一个民族已经起来。

一个农夫，他粗糙的身躯移动在田野中，
他是一个女人的孩子，许多孩子的父亲，
多少朝代在他的身边升起又降落了
而把希望和失望压在他身上，
而他永远无言地跟在犁后旋转，
翻起同样的泥土溶解过他祖先的，
是同样的受难的形象凝固在路旁。
在大路上多少次愉快的歌声流过去了，
多少次跟来的是临到他的忧患；
在大路上人们演说，叫嚣，欢快，
然而他没有，他只放下了古代的锄头，
再一次相信名词，溶进了大众的爱，
坚定地，他看着自己溶进死亡里，
而这样的路是无限的悠长的
而他是不能够流泪的，
他没有流泪，因为一个民族已经起来。

在群山的包围里，在蔚蓝的天空下，
在春天和秋天经过他家园的时候，
在幽深的谷里隐着最含蓄的悲哀：
一个老妇期待着孩子，许多孩子期待着
饥饿，而又在饥饿里忍耐，
在路旁仍是那聚集着黑暗的茅屋，
一样的是不可知的恐惧，一样的是
大自然中那侵蚀着生活的泥土，
而他走去了从不回头诅咒。
为了他我要拥抱每一个人，
为了他我要失去了拥抱的安慰，
因为他，我们是不能给以幸福的，
痛哭吧，让我们在他的身上痛哭吧，
以为一个民族已经起来。

一样的是这悠久的年代的风，
一样的是从这倾圮的屋檐下散开的
无尽的呻吟和寒冷，
它歌唱在一片枯槁的树顶上，
它吹过了荒芜的沼泽，芦苇和虫鸣，
一样的是这飞过的乌鸦的声音。
当我走过，站在路上踟蹰，
我踟蹰着为了多年耻辱的历史
仍在着广大的山河中等待，
等待着，我们无言的痛苦是太多了，
然而一个民族已经起来，
然而一个民族已经起来。

作品译文

Glorification
Mu Dan

The undulation of mountains that stretch endlessly beneath the feet, rivers and grasslands,
The densely located villages which are innumerable, cock crowing and dog barking,
Connected to the Asian land which is originally desolate,
The dry wind is blowing across the vastness of wild grass,
The east-flowing water is singing monotonously under the low hanging murky clouds,
And countless ages and years are buried in the somber forest.
They embrace me silently:
Countless stories are countless miseries, and what is taciturn
Is love, is the flock of hawks soaring in the sky,
And is the hot tears surging like a spring which is expected by dried and withered eyes.
When the unchangeable gray lines are crawling in the distant horizon,
I have too many words to tell, and too long-standing emotion to reveal;
I will, with the desolate desert, bumpy roads, and mule-drawn cart,
I will, with a trough boat, a mountainful of wild flowers, and overcast and rainy weather,
I will embrace you with all, you,
The people I see everywhere, O,
People living in humiliation, stooping people,
I will embrace you one by one with my blood-stained hands,
Because a nation has stood up.

A peasant, his unshaped body is moving in the field;
He is the son of a woman, and the father of many children.
How many dynasties have experienced the ups and downs beside him
While hopes and disappointment are heaped upon him,
And he is always turning and turning wordlessly after the plough.
The same earth is turned over and what has ever dissolved his ancestors
Is the same crucified image which is concreting by the road.
How many joyful songs have elapsed on the road,
And how many times have his hardships come hither.
People are delivering a speech, clamoring and merry-making,
But he is not, and he only puts down the ancient hoe.
He once more believes nouns, and popular love has been transfused;
With determination, he sees himself dissolve into death.
But such a road is infinitely long,
And he is not entitled to shed tears;
He does not shed tears, since a nation has stood up.

In the bosom of mountains, under the azure sky,
When spring and autumn pass through his homestead,
The most pregnant sorrow lies latent in the deep and serene valley:
An old woman is expecting children, and many children are expecting
Hunger, while restraining themselves in hunger.
By the road is still the thatched hut which gathers darkness;
The unknowable fear is the same, and the earth
Which is encroaching life in the great nature is the same,
But once he departs he never turns back to curse.
For the sake of him I will embrace everybody,
For the sake of him I will lose the comfort of embrace;
Because of him, we cannot grant happiness.
Cry then, let’s cry to our heart’s content over him,
Since a nation has stood up.

The centuries-old wind of the ages is the same,
And endless coldness and groans which are scattered
From under the dilapidating eaves are the same.
It is singing atop a withered tree;
It has blown across deserted swamp, reeds, and insect chirping;
The voice of the crow flying over is the same.
When I pass by, and loiter on the road,
I loiter for the many years of humiliation,
And I am still waiting in the boundless mountains and rivers;
Waiting, our wordless affliction is too heavy to bear.
But a nation has stood up,
But a nation has stood up.