赵红波《怀想那片青草地》 -英语翻译文学-中英双语赏析




 Yearning for That Piece of Green Meadow



It was a February day in early spring that I got to know that green meadow.


Everything around the green meadow was tranquil when it discreetly, with youthful vigor, slowly and quietly displayed the color of life, light yellow and soft green, the characteristics of the beginning of this season.


Spring had just renewed; the green meadow, like a long separated friend from a vast sea of faces or a breath of warmth during the freezing days of winter, gave a new life, and the life-loving strength, and courage to a solitary traveler just coming from the severe cold.


The grass seemed to have just been bathed; one or two dewdrops under the spring sun were rolling on the fresh leaves and showed a refraction of crystal-clear brilliance, like glistening pearls. Dewdrops trembled down off the tips of leaves when a breeze brushed over the lakeside. This reminded me of glittering raindrops falling from eaves in the spring rain, with the apricot blossoming and the growing course of life?


I stood for a long time by the shore of the lake, listening to the sound of life, with warm currents filling my heart. Suddenly spring inside me blossomed into luxuriance. I strongly felt that life was waking after being confined for the whole winter, and my heart was penetrated with a brand-new feeling. The persevering inflexibility of that, weak, yet indomitable grass, showed a primitive magnificence and beauty which helped me vividly realize the real essence and true meaning of life.


Afterwards, the thousands of silent and quiet lives began to bustle. And the grass, lifting up their banner of youth, and bathed in the spring breeze, danced cheerfully and sang to their heart’s content. My heart, which had dried up for so long, was filled with vitality from the green meadow.


Then, for the whole spring, the green meadow turned to the oasis where I set my heart out for pasture and it brought me the comfort, which diverted me from the vexations of the world. Watching the grass grow stronger and prettier day by day, I recalled a line from Tagore’s poems: “Grass, small as thy pace is, thou hath thy own land under thy feet.” And I felt I had my feet planted on the solid ground and, like the little grass, owned the earth beneath my feet.


During the snowing days, standing alone by the window, I recited silently Shelley’s famous lines that “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?” Watching the pure-white, graceful snowflakes falling in silence from the lead-gray sky, covering gently the withered meadow, I thought that in the coming year, the grass would flourish.


Yet, the meadow that had given me so much comfort has forever disappeared from my life. It disappeared when a path was constructed to the middle of the lake—a process of creating another form of beauty. Before the extermination however, the grass must have struggled for the right to live on! Just like the grass in Chekov’s “Prairie”: “She said she earnestly wanted to live on, she was still young. She would be more beautiful…”


But in the struggle of great disparity in strength, it was as easy as turning one?s hand over to strangle a life. Closing my eyes, I could see those half-dead, withering grass complaining with grief…that they?d never done anything wrong, yet they would be destroyed by man innocently…


I don?t know whether those kind road-builders had ever heard the sad complaint of the grass. But I believe that the silent grievance must have been a kind of swan song of life!


Now, the path winds its way to the middle of the lake―leading into the privacy and seclusion. On moonlit nights, the shadows of trees dance in the breeze. When I walk on the path occasionally, thinking of that green meadow and of the grass, where I placed my feelings and I was comforted, I would feel something moving and tragic filling up my heart, as if I were treading on the remains of the grass and hearing the painful groan and sigh of its soul under my feet!


If a soul does exist when a life comes to an end, then, could the soul of the grass be only one that groans and moans on the earth?


Now, early spring has appeared once more, with flecks of light yellow and soft green silently breeding. After experiencing the double devastation of nature and man, thousands upon thousands of lives will start a new samsara. Although the deceased is out of existence, the living still has to continue struggling for life!


In fact, in final analysis, life, being dynamic or unknown, is nothing but a solemn and stirring process. Yet just because of this solemn and stirring process, “the sun is new everyday!”


Therefore, I often think of the green meadow.

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