舒婷·《啊，母亲》英译

你苍白的指尖理着我的双鬓，

我禁不住象儿时一样

紧紧拉住你的衣襟。

呵，母亲！

为了留住你渐渐隐去的身影，

虽然晨曦已把梦剪成烟缕，

我还是久久不敢睁开眼睛。

我依旧珍藏着那鲜红的围巾，

生怕浣洗会使它

失去你特有的温馨 。

呵，母亲！

岁月的流水不也同样无情？

生怕记忆也一样退色呵，

我怎敢轻易打开它的画屏。

为了一根刺我曾向你哭喊，

如今带着荆冠，我不敢

一声也不敢呻吟。

呵，母亲！

我常悲哀地仰望你的照片，

纵然呼唤能够穿透黄土，

我怎敢惊动你的安眠。

我还不敢这样陈列爱的祭品，

虽然我写了许多支颂歌

给花、给海、给黎明 。

呵，母亲！

我的甜柔深谧的怀念呵，

不是瀑布，不是激流，

是花木掩映中唱不出歌声的枯井。

Mother

Shu Ting

When your pale fingers straightened the hair at my temples,

I couldn’t help tugging at your collar

As I used to in childhood.

O mother!

To retain your gradually fading image,

Though dawn has already dissipated the dream,

I have not dared open my eyes for a long while.

I still jealously guard that crimson scarf,

Lest washing rob it of

That faint scent of yours.

O mother!

Is not time as heartless as a flowing stream?

Lest memories also fade

I dare not open their scrolls.

A tiny pin-prick once made me scream out for you.

Today, though I wear a crown of thorns I dare not

Utter a single groan.

O mother!

In my grief I often gaze upon your portrait.

Even if cries could penetrate the yellow earth

How could I dare disturb your peaceful sleep?

I have never displayed my heart’s gifts like this before,

Though I often dedicated songs

To flowers, sea and dawn.

O mother!

The sweet, profound memory I cherish of you

Is no cascade, no rapids,

But an ancient, songless well, hidden among flowers and trees.

（庞秉钧、闵福德、高尔登 译）

To Mother

Shu Ting

Your pale fingers combing the hair at my temples

I can’t help holding tight to the front of your coat

Just as I did when I was little.

Oh Mother,

To keep intact the gradually fading shadow of your figure,

Though dawn’s first light scissored my dream to wisps of smoke

I still dared not open my eyes for a long time.

I still cherish your bright red scarf,

Yet am always afraid that washing may take away

Your special warm fragrance.

Oh Mother,

Isn’t the current of time just that ruthless?

How can I dare open the painted screen of memory

When I am afraid that its colours might likewise fade

I once came crying to you with a splinter,

Now wearing a crown of thorns, I dare not

Groan even once.

Oh Mother,

How often I look up sadly at your picture.

Even if my cry could pierce that clay soil,

How could I dare to bother your peaceful rest?

I still dare not display gifts of love like this,

Even though I have written many songs

To flowers, to the sea, to daybreak.

Oh Mother,

These sweet abiding memories I hold hear

Are neither swift current nor waterfall, but an ancient well

Overgrown with flowering shrubs and out of voice for singing.

（Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, and Edward Morin 译）