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[苑眉]

北方

作者：艾青

一天
那个科尔沁草原上的诗人
对我说：
“北方是悲哀的。”

不错，
北方是悲哀的。
从塞外吹来的
沙漠风，
已卷去北方的生命的绿色
与时日的光辉
——一片暗淡的灰黄，
蒙上一层揭不开的沙雾；
那天边疾奔而至的呼啸
带来了恐怖
疯狂地
扫荡过大地；
荒漠的原野
冻结在十二月的寒风里，
村庄呀，古城呀，山坡呀，
河岸呀，颓垣与荒冢呀，
都披上了土色的忧郁……
孤单的行人，
上身俯前
用手遮住了脸颊，
在风沙里
困苦地呼吸
一步一步地
挣扎着前进……
几只驴子
——那有悲哀的眼
和疲乏的耳朵的畜生，
载负了土地的
痛苦的重压，
它们厌倦的脚步
徐缓地踏过
北国的
修长而又寂寞的道路……

那些小河早巳枯干了
河底已画满了车撤，
北方的土地和人民
在渴求着
那滋润生命的流泉啊！
枯死的林木
与低矮的住房
稀疏地，阴郁地
散布在灰暗的天幕下；
天上，
看不见太阳，
只有那结成大队的雁群
惶乱的雁群
击着黑色的翅膀
叫出它们的不安与悲苦，
从这荒凉的地域逃亡
逃亡到
绿荫蔽天的南方去了……

北方是悲哀的
而万里的黄河
汹涌着浑浊的波涛
给广大的北方
倾泻着灾难与不幸；
而年代的风霜
刻划着
广大的北方的
贫穷与饥饿啊。

而我
——这来自南方的旅客，
却爱这悲哀的北国啊。
扑面的风沙
与入骨的冷气
决不曾使我咒诅；
我爱这悲哀的国土，
一片无垠的荒漠
也引起了我的崇敬
——我看见
我们的祖先
带领了羊群
吹着笳笛
沉浸在这大漠的黄昏里；
我们踏着的
古老的松软的黄土层里
埋有我们祖先的骸骨啊，
——这土地是他们所开垦
几千年了
他们曾在这里
和带给他们以打击的自然相搏斗，
他们为保卫土地
从不曾屈辱过一次，
他们死了
把土地遗留给我们——
我爱这悲哀的国土，
它的广大而瘦瘠的土地，
带给我们以淳朴的言语
与宽阔的姿态，
我相信这言语与姿态
坚强地生活在大地上，
永远不会灭亡；
我爱这悲哀的国土，
古老的国土呀，
——这国土
养育了为我所爱的
世界上最艰苦
与最古老的种族。

1938年2月4日 潼关


The North

WR. by Aiqing
TR. by Yuanmei

One day
A poet from Horqin Grassland
Said to me:
"The north is in woe."

Yes,
The north is in woe.
The desert wind
Rushing from outside the Great Wall
Has swept the northern living greenness
And daylight glory away
-- A stretch of dull grey yellow
Folded with a thick cloud of sanddust;
The roar rolling over from the horizon
Brings horrors,
And crazily,
Sweeps by the ground;
The desert wilds
Are frozen in the December cold wind;
Woe! The villages, the ancient towns, the hills,
The riverbanks, the crumbling walls and the abandoned graves
Are all covered with leaden grieves...
A lonely walker
Has to bow to struggle forward
Inch by inch
While shielding his face with one hand
And striving to grasp breathes
In the dust wind...
Some donkeys
-- Who have sad eyes and tired ears,
Are burdened with too much pain
Of the earth.
Their weary feet
Slowly tread on
The northern
Long desolate road...

The riverbed whose branches dried up long ago
Has been scarred by wheel tracks.
Oh, the northern land and people
Are thirsty
For a brook to moisten their lives!
The dead woods
And the low houses
Are sparsely and gloomily
Scattered under the dark grey sky;
In the sky,
The sun can't be seen.
Only a group of scared wild geese
Are beating their black wings
And crying out in restlessness and destress
To flee
From the desolate regions
To the green-shaded south...

The north is in woe.
In the vast land,
The Yellow River, for ten thousand miles,
Surging muddy waves,
Causes floods of disaster and misfortune;
And, alas, in the vast land,
Poverty and hunger
Are etched into
The years of wind and frost.

Yet, I, oh,
-- A traveler from the south,
Love the woeful northland.
The blowing sand
And the biting cold
Never make me curse.
I love the woeful land.
The endless desert
Obtains my worship as well
-- I see
Our ancestors
Herding a flock of sheep
While playing Hu Jia
And walking into the desert dusk;
Oh, there under the old soft loessland
We walk on
Buried the bones of our ancestors'
-- They developed the land
For thousands of years
They had been here fighting against
With nature that gave them blows.
They had never surrenered once
To defending the land.
They died
And left it to us --
I love the woeful land
Whose vast barren soil
Brings us such earthy words
And tolerant minds
That I believe the words and minds
Are strong to stay
And last for ever on the earth;
I love the woeful land,
Oh, the age-old land,
-- The land
That has bred the most suffering
And age-oldest race I love
Of all in the world

（In Tongguan, February 4, 1938）

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