中篇
1
那个姑娘坐在对面铁条生锈的窗户后面，黝黑的面孔十分平静，犹如夏天干涸的河床上，在沙滩搁浅的一条船。
劳累了一天，我回到房间里，疲乏的双眼为她所吸引。
在我看来，她仿佛是月光下陶醉的、幽黑而孤寂的一湖碧水。
她只有通过窗户寻找自由，透进的晨光，与她的沉思相遇；借助晨光，她乌黑的眼睛，似遗失的流星，返回天空。
Behind the rusty iron gratings of the opposite window sits a girl, dark and plain of face, like a boat stranded on a sand-bank when the river is shallow in the summer.
I come back to my room after my day's work, and my tired eyes are lured to her.
She seems to me like a lake with its dark lonely waters edged by moonlight.
She has only her window for freedom, there the morning light meets her musings, and through it her dark eyes like lost stars travel back to their sky.
2
我仍记得那天的情景。
瓢泼大雨渐渐减弱为时下时歇的小雨，刚要静息，又被一阵风吹得亢奋起来。
我拿起乐器，心不在焉地弹拨弦丝，不知不觉，乐曲就有了风暴的疯狂旋律。
我看见她放下手里的针线活儿，站在我的门口片刻，步履迟缓地踅了回去。少顷，又走回来，站在门外，斜靠着墙壁，最后缓缓走进屋坐下。她低着头，默默地做着针线活儿；不一会儿便停住手，透过雨帘，怔怔地望着窗外影影绰绰的树木。
历历在目的，只有这段时光，只有这交织着树影、乐音和沉默的雨水淋湿的中午。
I remember the day.
The heavy shower of rain is slackening into fitful pauses, renewed gusts of wind startle it from a first lull.
I take up my instrument. Idly I touch the strings, till, without my knowing, the music borrows the mad cadence of that storm.
I see her figure as she steals from her work, stops at my door, and retreats with hesitating steps. She comes again, stands outside leaning against the wall, then slowly enters the room and sits down. With head bent, she plies her needle in silence; but soon stops her work, and looks out of the window through the rain at the blurred line of trees.
Only this-one hour of a rainy noon filled with shadows and song and silence.
3
她登上马车，回头匆匆向我投来作别的一瞥。
这是她送我的最后的礼物，可是我把这一瞥目光藏在何处，才能使之免受时光的践踏？
如同消融落日的余晖，难道黄昏也将融尽她痛楚的泪光？
如同冲走心碎的花朵珍藏的花粉，雨水也将冲走那一瞥目光？
且把帝王的荣华和富翁的财产留给死亡！可难道泪水不能让那激动的一刻投来的一瞥目光的记忆永葆新鲜？
“把它给我来保存吧，”我的歌儿说，“我从不接触帝王的荣华和富翁的财产，但这些细微之物，永远是我的。”
While stepping into the carriage she turned her head and threw me a swift glance of farewell.
This was her last gift to me. But where can I keep it safe from the trampling hours?
Must evening sweep this gleam of anguish away, as it will the last flicker of fire from the sunset?
Ought it to be washed off by the rain, as treasured pollens are from heart-broken flowers?
Leave kingly glory and the wealth of the rich to death. But may not tears keep ever fresh the memory of a glance flung through a passionate moment?
"Give it to me to keep, " said my song, "I never touch kings'glory or the wealth of the rich, but these small things are mine for ever."
4
你交托给我的你，像夜里开放的一朵花；花瓣上滴落的露珠，夜色中弥漫的花香，熟悉它的存在。作为春天最早的脚步，蓓蕾使枝叶更显稠密。
你像大潮的波浪，打断了我的思绪，我的心淹没在汹涌的歌声中。
我的心知道你来了，就像夜晚感觉到清晓的临近。云彩熠熠闪光，我的天空充满倾泻的喜悦的洪水。
You give yourself to me, like a flower that blossoms at night, whose presence is known by the dew that drips from it, by the odour shed through the darkness, as the first steps of Spring are by the buds that thicken the twigs.
You break upon my thought like waves at the high tide, and my heart is drowned under surging songs.
My heart knew of your coming, as the night feels the approach of dawn. The clouds are aflame and my sky fills with a great revealing flood.
5
我的歌儿犹如一群蜜蜂，在空中追寻你的芳踪——一段段你的忆恋，它们围绕着你的羞赧嗡嗡营营，急于找到其中深藏的珍奇。
当黎明的清新融进红日，当中午天空凝重的低垂，森林一片寂静时，我的歌儿回到家里，倦乏的纤翼沾满金晖。
My songs are like bees; they follow through the air some fragrant trace-some memory-of you, to hum around your shyness, eager for its hidden store.
When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, when in the noon the air hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent, my songs return home, their languid wings dusted with gold.
6
就像孩子烦躁地推开玩具，今日我的心摇摇头，对我推荐的每个词说：“不，这不是我要的。”
然而，混沌中苦挣的万千词汇，在我脑海里忽隐忽现，犹如山顶上浮动的雨云，等待偶然吹来的一阵风帮它卸去雨水的重负。
但是，我的灵魂，停止徒劳的努力吧，在黑暗中，缄默自会让它的歌曲成熟起来。
今天，我的生命像进行苦修的净修林，那儿的清泉不敢流淌，不敢汩汩地倾诉。
我的心爱，这会儿不是你跨过门槛的时候；只要想到你的足镯在路上叮当作响，花园的回声也感到害羞。
得知明天的歌曲还藏在今天的花蕾里，它们看见你走过来，它们那不成熟的心也许会紧张得破碎。
Like a child that frets and pushes away its toys, my heart to-day shakes its head at every phrase I suggest, and says: "No, not this."
Yet words, in the agony of their vagueness, haunt my mind, like vagrant clouds hovering over hills, waiting for some chance wind to relieve them of their rain.
But leave these vain efforts, my soul, for the stillness will ripen its own music in the dark.
My life to-day is like a cloister during some penance, where the spring is afraid to stir or to whisper.
This is not the time, my love, for you to pass the gate; at the mere thought of your anklet bells tinkling down the path, the garden echoes are ashamed.
Know that to-morrow's songs are in bud to-day, and should they see you walk by they would strain to breaking their immature hearts.
7
心爱啊，你从哪儿带来这一份忐忑不宁？
让我的心抚摸你的心，吻尽你沉默中的痛楚。
夜晚从它的深处抛出这片刻时光，从而让爱情在关闭的门内营造一个新世界，由这盏孤灯照亮。
可我们只有一支芦笛，两对嘴唇只得轮流吹奏情曲——只有一个花环，当作花冠，由我先戴在你的前额，之后簪在我的乌发。
我将把从胸前扯下的薄纱铺在地上，当作床榻；于是，一个热吻，一夜欢眠，将充实你我窄小而无涯的世界。
When do you bring this disquiet, my love?
Let my heart touch yours and kiss the pain out of your silence.
The night has thrown up from its depth this little hour, that love may build a new world within these shut doors, to be lighted by this solitary lamp.
We have for music but a single reed which our two pairs of lips must play on by turns-for crown, only one garland to bind my hair after I have put it on your forehead.
Tearing the veil from my breast I shall make our bed on the floor ; and one kiss and one sleep of delight shall fill our small boundless world.
8
我想我应该以爱的颜料书写爱的歌词，可它在心底，而泪水是透明的。
朋友啊，如果歌词是无色的，你能听懂吗？
我想我应该以爱的曲调唱爱的歌词，可我心底才有情曲，而我的眼睛是沉默的。
朋友啊，如果没有曲调，你能听懂吗？
I thought I would write love's words in their own colour; but that lies deep in the heart, and tears are pale.
Would you know them, friend, if the words were colourless?
I thought I would sing love's words to their own tune, but that sounds only in my heart, and my eyes are silent.
Would you know them, friend, if there were no tune?
9
葬礼结束，父亲从焚尸场回来了。
他七岁的儿子脖子上挂着金色护身符，站在窗口，睁大的眼睛充满他这个年龄不该有的忧思。
他父亲伸手把他抱在怀里，儿子问：“妈妈在哪儿？”
“在天堂。”父亲指着天空回答。
深夜，悲痛、疲惫的父亲不住地在噩梦中呻吟。
卧室门前，一盏孤灯闪着凄暗的光，一只蜥蜴在墙上追捕蛾子。
这个男孩从睡梦中醒来，双手摸索着空床，悄悄下床走到空寂的阳台上。
他抬起眼睛，许久默默地凝望着夜空。他迷茫的心里产生的疑问扩向漫漫黑夜：“天堂在哪儿？”
没有回答，只有疏星仿佛是无知的黑暗中涌出的滚烫的泪珠。
The father came back from the funeral rites.
His boy of seven stood at the window, with eyes wide open and a golden amulet hanging from his neck, full of thoughts too difficult for his age.
His father took him in his arms and the boy asked him: "Where is mother? "
"In heaven, " answered his father, pointing to the sky.
At night the father groaned in slumber, weary with grief.
A lamp dimly burned near the bedroom door, and a lizard chased moths on the wall.
The boy woke up from sleep, felt with his hands the emptiness in the bed, and stole out to the open terrace.
The boy raised his eyes to the sky and long gazed in silence. His bewildered mind sent abroad into the night the question: "Where is heaven? "
No answer came, and the stars seemed like the burning tears of that ignorant darkness.
10
这条河灰蒙蒙的，飞扬的沙尘昏暗了天空。
一个阴沉的早晨，鸟儿默不作声，鸟巢在风中晃动。我独自坐着问自己：“她在哪儿？”
我俩紧挨着坐在一起的日子已经远去，当时我俩开着玩笑，放声大笑，威严的爱情不对我们的幽会说三道四。
有时我的言谈使我显得有些渺小，而她絮絮叨叨，白白浪费了时光。
今天，风暴将至，天色阴暗，我徒劳地希望她在我身边，一起坐在灵魂的寂寞之中。
The river is grey and the air dazed with blown sand.
On a morning of dark disquiet, when the birds are mute and their nests shake in the gust, I sit alone and ask myself: "Where is she? "
The days have flown wherein we sat too near each other; we laughed and jested, and the awe of love's majesty found no words at our meetings.
I made myself small, and she trifled away every moment with pelting talk.
Today I wish in vain that she were by me, in the gloom of the coming storm, to sit in the soul's solitude.
11
她直呼我的小名，像一朵绽放的素馨花，覆盖着我们相爱的十七年。她叫我的声音，融合着透过树叶的光线的颤动、雨夜芳草的气息和一个懒散日子最后时分的忧郁的沉默。
应答者不是造物主的杰作；弹指间流逝的十七年间，她重新塑模他，仅仅是为了他一个人。
之后一年年漂泊的日子，迷茫，流失，未能聚集在她叫的名字之中。
它们问我：“谁会收留我们？”
我无言以答，默默地坐着，它们一面飘游一面大声对我说：“我们在寻找一位牧羊女。”
它们究竟应该找谁？
其实它们也不知道。它们像迷茫的暮云，在无辙痕的黑暗中游荡，迷失，被人遗忘。
The name she called me by, like a flourishing jasmine, covered the whole seventeen years of our love. With its sound mingled the quiver of the light through the leaves, the scent of the grass in the rainy night, and the sad silence of the last hour of many an idle day.
Not the work of God alone was he who answered to that name; she created him again for herself during those seventeen swift years.
Other years were to follow, but their vagrant days, no longer gathered within the fold of that name uttered in her voice, stray and are scattered.
They ask me: "Who should fold us? "
I find no answer and sit silent, and they cry to me while dispersing: "We seek a shepherdess! "
Whom should they seek?
That they do not know. And like derelict evening clouds they drift in the trackless dark, and are lost and forgotten.
12
我们的生命，在无人渡过的大海上扬帆远航，海浪追逐着，无休止地做着捉迷藏的游戏。
这永不憩息的变化之海，一次次的养育，一次次丢失一簇簇泡沫，击掌打破天空的宁静。
爱，位于周而复始的光明和黑暗的战舞的中心。你的爱是那座绿岛，那儿，太阳在吻害羞的林阴，一群鸟儿的歌声在向幽静求爱。
Our life sails on the uncrossed sea whose waves chase each other in an eternal hide-and-seek.
It is the restless sea of change, feeding its foaming flocks to lose them over and over again, beating its hands against the calm of the sky.
Love, in the centre of this circling war-dance of light and dark, yours is that green island, where the sun kisses the shy forest shade and silence is wooed by birds' singing.
13
一位画家在集市上卖画，这时，一位大臣的儿子由家丁簇拥着走了过来。大臣年轻时曾经欺骗画家的父亲，致使他极度悲伤而死。
那孩子在几幅画前站了片刻，选中了一幅画。可画家立刻用布把画盖起来，说这幅画他不卖了。
这孩子回去后天天惦念着这幅画，这幅画成了他的心病。末了，他父亲亲自出马，表示愿意出高价买这幅画。不料，画家把这幅画挂在画室墙上，拒绝出售。他神色冷峻地坐在画前，自言自语：“这是我的报复。”
这位画家每天早晨画一幅神像，以此作为对神的礼拜。
可现今他感到，他画的神像，一天天和以前画的不一样了。
他不明白缘何如此，这使他很苦恼。有一天，他画着画着突然惊叫一声，腾地站了起来。原来他想画神的眼睛，画的却是那个大臣的眼睛，嘴唇也是大臣的嘴唇。
他一面撕这张画，一面叫道：“我的报复回到我的头上了！”
A painter was selling pictures at the fair; followed by servants, there passed the son of a minister who in youth had cheated this painter's father so that he had died of a broken heart.
The boy lingered before the pictures and chose one for himself. The painter flung a cloth over it and said he would not sell it.
After this the boy pined heart-sick till his father came and offered a large price. But the painter kept the picture unsold on his shop-wall and grimly sat before it, saying to himself: "This is my revenge."
The sole form this painter's worship took was to trace an image of his god every morning.
And now he felt these pictures grow daily more different from those he used to paint.
This troubled him, and he sought in vain for an explanation till one day he started up from work in horror, the eyes of the god he had just drawn were those of the minister, and so were the lips.
He tore up the picture, crying: "My revenge has returned on my head! "
14
一
心上人啊，不只是我，你也渴望在爱的游戏中相逢。
你的嘴唇能够微笑，你的笛子吹出情曲，微笑、情曲，只有通过欣喜，才可进入我的爱；所以，你和我一样，心情急迫。
二
我坐在这儿的路上，别要求我走得更远。
没有我的爱，你的爱若能臻于完满，那就让我停止寻找你，踏上归程。
如果你不感到需要我，我断然拒绝再看你一眼的请求。
集市的尘土和中午炫目的阳光，使我看不清东西，我只得等待，期望我这颗心的情人——你的心，派你来找我。
三
你的气息把我注入鲜活的苦乐的乐章。
在夏天的雨水淋湿的清晨黄昏，我被塑造成音乐。
如若我完全融入飘绕的歌曲，我不会悲伤，因为乐音和我异常亲密。
四
我的心是他吹奏过的一管情笛，情笛如果落入别人手中，他尽可将它抛弃。
我心上人的情笛，对他来说极为珍贵，所以今日别样的气息假如进入笛管，吹出奇怪的音符，就让他的情笛砸碎，撒入尘土。
五
爱追求的，不是痛苦也不是欢乐，而仅仅是爱。
当自由的爱受缚，被分离损坏，破镜重圆，是要为爱做的一件事。
爱被爱点燃，如同火点燃火，然而，第一把火来自何方？
它在你的生存之中，在痛苦之杖下飘忽。
于是，当隐藏的火燃烧起来，内外便成为一体，所有的阻挠便烧成灰烬。
让痛苦急剧的膨胀，突破心胸，打退黑暗！你还用害怕吗？
诗人说：“不付出代价，谁能获得爱情？当你不能奉献自身，你就使整个世界变成了一个吝啬鬼。”
六
眼睛只能看到尘埃和泥土，但触觉和心灵能够领略纯正的快乐。
欢乐以各种形式在四面八方花儿般绽放，可哪儿是把它们编成花环的你的那条心灵之线呢？
万物中吹响我主的笛子，把我从任何地方我的房舍中吸引出来，我仄耳倾听，发觉我迈出的每一步，都在我主的广厦之中。
因为他是大海，是注入大海的河流，同时也是码头。
七
我客人的脚下有许多奇异的路。
他光临的时候，我还没有准备就绪，可我哪能拒绝他呢？
我高擎点燃的灯，通宵眺望；他待在远处；灯光熄灭，房间里空无一人时，他来了，要一张坐的椅子，我哪能让他再等呢？
我笑着和朋友们逗乐，忽然吃惊地站起，瞧，他神色阴郁，对我不理不睬，我省悟我是白欢喜了一场。
我心里伤感时，常看见他眼里闪烁着笑意，于是，我省悟我的忧伤是不真实的。
可我不理解他时，从不抱怨。
八
我是一叶扁舟，你是大海，也是船夫。
虽说你从不创造陆地，虽说你让我沉没，但我何必傻瓜似的害怕呢？
较之失去我和你，抵达海岸，难道是更大的奖赏？
如果你只是港口，那么，诚如他们所言，何为大海呢？
让大海汹涌澎湃起来，让我在波涛上摇晃吧！我将感到心满意足。
不管你以何种姿态怎样出现，我生活在你中间。拯救我还是杀我，随你的便，只是不要让我落入他人手中。
九
开辟通道吧，哦，蓓蕾，开辟通道！绽开你的心，开辟通道！
盛开的精神鼓舞着你，你哪能老是一个蓓蕾？
Ⅰ
This longing to meet in the play of love, my Lover, is not only mine but yours.
Your lips can smile, your flute make music, only through delight in my love; therefore you are importunate even as I.
Ⅱ
I sit here on the road; do not ask me to walk further.
If your love can be complete without mine let me turn back from seeking you.
I refuse to beg a sight of you if you do not feel my need.
I am blind with market dust and mid-day glare, and so wait, in hopes that your heart, my heart's lover, will send you to find me.
Ⅲ
I am poured forth in living notes of joy and sorrow by your breath.
Mornings and evenings in summer and in rains, I am fashioned to music.
Should I be wholly spent in some flight of song, I shall not grieve, the tune is so dear to me.
Ⅳ
My heart is a flute he has played on. If ever it fall into other hands let him fling it away.
My lover's flute is dear to him, therefore if today alien breath have entered it and sounded strange notes, let him break it to pieces and strew the dust with them.
V
In love the aim is neither pain nor pleasure but love only.
While free love binds, division destroys it, for love is what unites.
Love is lit from love as fire from fire, but whence came the first flame?
In your being it leaps under the rod of pain.
Then, when the hidden fire flames forth, the in and the out are one and all barriers fall in ashes.
Let the pain glow fiercely, burst from the heart and beat back darkness, need you be afraid?
The poet says: "Who can buy love without paying its price? When you fail to give yourself you make the whole world miserly."
Ⅵ
Eyes see only dust and earth, but feel with the heart, and know pure joy.
The delights blossom on all sides in every form, but where is your heart's thread to make a wreath of them?
My master's flute sounds through all things, drawing me out of my lodgings wherever they may be, and while I listen I know that every step I take is in my master's house.
For he is the sea, he is the river that leads to the sea, and he is the landing-place.
Ⅶ
Strange ways has my guest.
He comes at times when I am unprepared, yet how can I refuse him?
I watch all night with lighted lamp; he stays away;when the light goes out and the room is bare he comes claiming his seat, and can I keep him waiting?
I laugh and make merry with friends, then suddenly I start up, for lo! He passes me by in sorrow, and I know my mirth was vain.
I have often seen a smile in his eyes when my heart ached, then I knew my sorrow was not real.
Yet I never complain when I do not understand him.
Ⅷ
I am the boat, you are the sea, and also the boatman.
Though you never make the shore, though you let me sink, why should I be foolish and afraid?
Is reaching the shore a greater prize than losing myself with you?
If you are only the haven, as they say, then what is the sea?
Let it surge and toss me on its waves, I shall be content.
I live in you whatever and however you appear. Save me or kill me as you wish, only never leave me in other hands.
Ⅸ
Make way, O bud, make way, burst open thy heart and make way.
The opening spirit has overtaken thee, canst thou remain a bud any longer?