Rabindranath Tagore
The Home
I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent.
Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of the evening.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugarcane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the coconut and the dark green jack-fruit trees.
I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers' hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.
The Beginning
Where have I come from, where did you pick me up? the baby asked its mother.
She answered half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast, "you were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made and unmade you then.
You were enshrined with our household deity; in his worship I worshipped you.
In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my mother you have lived.
In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have been nursed for ages.
When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered as a fragrance about it.
Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow in the sky before the sunrise.
Heaven's first darling, twin-born with the morning light, you have floated down the stream of the world's life and at last you have stranded on my heart.
As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong to all have become mine.
For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of mine?
The Further Bank
I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
?Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields.
Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the riverside pasture; Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the jackals to howl in the island overgrown with weeds.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the ferry when I am grown up.
They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank.
Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and thick reeds grow round the margins where water-birds lay their eggs;
Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny footprints upon the clean soft mud;
Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with white flowers invite the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the boys and girls of the village will wonder at me while they are bathing.
When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon, I shall come running to you, saying "Mother, I am hungry!"
When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees, I shall come back in the dusk.
I shall never go away from you into the town to work like father.
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
Sympathy
If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me, "Get away, you naughty little puppy?"
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me, and never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby, mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?
Would you shake your linger at me and say, "What an ungrateful wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night."
Then go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will never let you take me in your arms again.
[印度]羅賓德納特·泰戈爾
家
我獨自在橫跨過田地的小路上走著,夕陽像一個吝嗇鬼,正藏起它最后的一點金光。
?白晝漸漸地沒入深深的黑暗之中,那收割后的田野孤寂、沉默地躺在那里。
天空突然被一個男孩子尖銳的歌聲劃破,他穿過黑暗,留下歌聲回蕩在靜謐的黃昏里。
他的家就在荒地邊緣的村落里,在甘蔗田的后面,藏在香蕉樹、瘦長的檳榔樹、椰子樹和深綠色的榴蓮的陰影里。
星光下,我在獨自行走,途中停留了片刻,看著黃澄澄的大地展開在我面前,正用她的雙臂擁抱著無數(shù)的家庭,在那里有搖籃和床鋪,有母親們的愛心和夜晚的燈光,還有年幼的生命,他們滿心歡樂,卻渾然不知這樣的歡樂對于世界的價值。
開始
“我是從哪里來的,您在哪里把我撿起來的?”孩子問他的媽媽。
她把孩子緊緊地摟在胸前,似哭似笑地答道:“你曾被我當做心愿藏在我的心里,我的寶貝?!?/p>
“你曾藏在我孩童時玩的泥娃娃身上;每天早晨我用泥土塑造我的神像,那時我反復地將你塑造又捏碎。”
“你曾和我們家的守護神一同受祀奉,我崇拜家神時也就崇拜了你?!?/p>
“你曾活在我所有的希望和愛里,活在我的生命里,活在我母親的生命里。”
“在支配著我們家庭的不朽“精神”的膝上,你已經(jīng)被撫育了好幾代了?!?/p>
“當我在女孩時代時,我的心如花瓣兒張開,你就像一股花香似的散發(fā)出來。”
?“你柔軟的溫柔,在我青春的肢體上開花了,像太陽出來之前劃過天空的第一道曙光。”
“上天的第一寵兒與晨曦一同降臨,你沿著世界生命的溪流而下,終于停泊在我的心頭。”
“當我凝視你的臉時,神秘之感震撼著我,原屬于一切人的你,竟成了我的?!?/p>
“為了怕失去你,我把你緊緊地擁在懷里。是什么魔術(shù)把這世界的寶貝引到我這纖弱的手臂中的呢?”
對岸
我渴想到那個地方,河的對岸去。
在那邊,那些船兒排成一行系在竹竿上;
早晨人們乘船到那邊去,肩上扛著鋤頭,到他們遠處的田中去耕耘。
在那邊,放牛的人趕著他們的牛群涉水到對岸的牧場;
黃昏,他們都回家了,只留下豺狼在這長滿野草的島上哀叫。
媽媽,如果您不介意,我長大后,要當這渡船的船夫。
有人說在這個高岸的后面藏著許多古怪的池塘。
雨過后,一群群的野鴨飛到那里去,茂盛的蘆葦長滿了池塘的四周,水鳥在那里生蛋;
沙錐(一種鳥)搖著會跳舞的尾巴,在潔凈的軟泥上印下它們細小的足?。?/p>
黃昏時,長草頂著白花,邀月光在長草的波浪上漂蕩。
媽媽,如果您不介意,我長大后,要當這渡船的船夫。
我要從此岸到彼岸,渡來渡去,村里所有正在沐浴的男孩女孩,都要詫異地望著我。
太陽升到半空,早晨變?yōu)檎?,我會跑到您那里去,說道:“媽媽,我餓了!”
一天結(jié)束了,影子俯伏在樹底下,我會在黃昏時回家來。
我一定不會像爸爸那樣,離開你到城里去工作。
媽媽,如果您不介意,我長大后,一定要當這渡船的船夫。
同情
假如我只是一只小狗,而不是您的小孩,親愛的媽媽,當我想吃您盤子里的東西時,您會不會向我說“不”?
您是不是會把我趕開,對我說道:“滾開,你這淘氣的小狗?”
那么走吧!媽媽,我走了。當您喊我的時候,我再也不到您那里去了,也永遠不再要您喂東西給我吃了。
如果我只是一只綠色的小鸚鵡,而不是您的小孩,親愛的媽媽,您會把我緊緊地鎖住以防我飛走嗎?
您是不是會對我指指點點說:“真是一個不知感恩的賤鳥呀!整天只知道咬它的鏈子。”
那么走吧!媽媽,我走了。我要到樹林里去,我絕不再讓您抱我入懷了。
實戰(zhàn)提升
Practising & Exercise
導讀
羅賓德拉納特·泰戈爾(Rabindranath Tagore),印度著名詩人、作家、藝術(shù)家、社會活動家、哲學家和印度民族主義者。他生于加爾各答市一個有深厚文化教養(yǎng)的家庭,屬于婆羅門種姓。他于1913年憑借宗教抒情詩《吉檀迦利》獲得諾貝爾文學獎,是首位獲此殊榮的印度人。他與黎巴嫩詩人紀·哈·紀伯倫齊名,并稱為“站在東西方文化橋梁的兩位巨人”。
《家》選自泰戈爾著名的《新月集》。在這篇文章中,作者為我們塑造了一個迷人的兒童世界。他致力謳歌的是人類生活中最為寶貴的——童真,他以天才之筆塑造了一批神形兼?zhèn)涞奶焓拱愕膬和囆g(shù)形象。
核心單詞
miser [?maiz?] n. 吝嗇鬼;守財奴
areca [??rik?] n. 【植】檳榔樹;檳榔
enshrine [in??rain] v. 珍藏;銘記
ferry [?feri] n. 擺渡;渡輪
puppy [?p?pi] n. 小狗,幼犬
naughty [?n??ti] adj. 頑皮的,淘氣的;撒野的
翻譯
Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
Would you drive me off, saying to me, "Get away, you naughty little puppy?"
Then go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will never let you take me in your arms again.