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初夏
何其芳
绿叶牵满你屋檐下，
长脚蜂在寻它的旧巢，
那是初夏吗？郊游的归途上
一片白水误认是河流，
到疏耸的林木下去徙倚，
想起故乡，故乡的渔船……
真送你走了，让火车载着
瘦弱的你去过黄河铁桥。
已几个初夏了。检点衣衫
曾湿过隔年的故乡雨，
失悔竟没有去看你的病，
看你屋侧的塘，看你的钓竿。
我在家里作了一点远方客，
匆忙的远方客，没有在木窗下
追思那些消逝的童时，
没有在废楼的蛛丝尘里
发掘缺足的小臂椅，
没有去看我少年时的朋友
（睡在墓里已五年了），
常爱墓前挂剑的古人，
但竟没有去说点异乡景物
与他听就走了，回来了……
黄昏瞑坐在靠背椅上，
想卖草鞋的老人坐在架上
（清早对于他也象日暮），
看门前长长的石板路：
多少人来了又去了，
多少人穿着他手编的草鞋，
到城里买布，山里贩药材。
他记得白莲教的造反，
记得从前的铜钱用绳子穿，
留着白了又脱发的小辫子，
嘲笑时间的迁移，世界的变，
过路人说他越老越强健。
象棵树，他自己明白快倒下了……
想我就是那故事里的老人，
无论是黄昏还是清早，
瞑坐在窗前的靠背椅上。
你该来邀我出去走走了，
若是这时仍同住在会馆里。
我也邀自己到深深的树林里，
去洗一洗满身的尘土。
但北方的园子里没有深林，
而且：“劳驾，哪儿是樱花呢？”
“早谢了，先生，你来晚了。”
一九三四年五月七日
Early Summer
Ho Ch’i-fang
The green leaves mass and spread under your eaves,
The long-legged bee seeks out its old hive,
Is this the first month of summer? On my way back from the borderland
I mistake a stretch of calm water for a river.
Under the few, tall trees I linger,
Thinking of my native district, our native fishing-boats….
It’s true I saw you off, letting the steam-train carry you,
Thin and weak, over the Yellow River’s Iron Bridge.
Already several Mays have passed. I sort out my clothes,
Last year soaked in the rain in my native district,
And grieve that I did not visit you then in your illness,
To see the pool by your home, to see your fishing-rod.
At home I acted like a guest from a distant land,
A hurried guest from afar; not once, under the window,
Did I think of those bygone childhood times,
Nor did I go to visit my childhood friend
(Five years already sleeping in the graveyard),
I always liked the man of old who hung his sword before the grave,
But never did I go with traveller’s tales
To tell him, but left and came back here.
At twilight I sit in the dark in the high-backed chair
And think of the man who sells straw shoes from his bench
(Dawn to him is the same as dusk),
Looking at the long cobbled street outside the door:
So many people come and go,
So many people, wearing the straw shoes he has made,
Going to buy cloth in town, or peddle medicines in the mountain wilds.
He remembers the White Lotus uprisings,
He remembers the old strings of cash with copper coins,
He keeps his white and wispy queue
And laughs at the passage of time, at changes in the world,
Passers-by say he gets stronger as he gets older,
Like a tree, he himself knows he will soon fall….
I think I am this old man in the story,
Not caring whether it is dusk or dawn,
As I sit in the dark in the high-backed chair before the window….
You would come and invite me for a stroll,
If we were now still together in the boarding-house,
And I invite myself into the deep forest,
To wash clean my dust-covered body.
But in the northern parks there are no forests,
Or else, “Excuse me, where are the cherry blossoms?”
“They’ve already faded, sir, you came too late.”
7 May [1934]
（Bonnie S. McDougall 译）
贺墨香中华两周年
女人芳华
女人芳华，女人的味道
来源：英文巴士
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