STUDY IN CHINA GLOBAL (SCG)作品原文
季羡林 《月是故乡明》
每个人都有个故乡，人人的故乡都有个月亮，人人都爱自己的故乡的月亮。事情大概就是这个样子。
但是，如果只有孤零零一个月亮，未免显得有点孤单。因此，在中国古代诗文中，月亮总有什么东西当陪衬，最多的是山和水，什么“山高月小”、“三潭印月”等等，不可胜数。
我的故乡是在山东西北部大平原上。我小的时候，从来没有见过山，也不知山为何物。我曾幻想，山大概是一个圆而粗的柱子吧，顶天立地，好不威风。以后到了济南，才见到山，恍然大悟：山原来是这个样子呀。因此，我在故乡望月，从来不同山联系。像苏东坡说的“月出于东山之上，徘徊于斗牛之间”，完全是我无法想象的。
至于水，我的故乡小村却大大地有。几个大苇坑占了小村面积一多半。在我这个小孩子眼中，虽不能像洞庭湖“八月湖水平”那样有气派，但也颇有一点烟波浩渺之势。到了夏天，黄昏以后，我在坑边的场院里躺在地上，数天上的星星。有时候站在古柳下面点起篝火。然后上树一摇，成群的知了飞落下来。比白天用嚼烂的麦粒去粘要容易得多。我天天晚上乐此不彼，天天盼望黄昏早早来临。
到了更晚的时候，我走到坑边，抬头看到晴空一轮明月，清光四溢，与水里的那个月亮相映成趣。我当时虽然还不懂什么叫诗兴，但也顾而乐之，心中油然有什么东西在萌动。有时候在坑边玩很久，才回家睡觉。在梦中见到两个月亮叠在一起，清光更加晶莹澄澈。第二天一早起来，到坑边苇子丛里去捡鸭子下的蛋，白白地一闪光，手伸向水中，一摸就是一个蛋。此时更是乐不可支了。
我只在故乡呆了六年，以后就离乡背井，漂泊天涯。在济南住了十多年，在北京度过四年，又回到济南呆了一年，然后在欧洲住了近十一年，重又回到北京，到现在已经四十多年了。在这期间，我曾到过世界上将近三十个国家，我看过许许多多的月亮。在风光旖旎的瑞士莱茫湖上，在平沙无垠的非洲大沙漠中，在碧波万顷的大海中，在巍峨雄奇的高山上，我都看到过月亮，这些月亮应该说都是美妙绝伦的，我都异常喜欢。但是，看到它们，我立刻就想到我故乡那苇坑上面和水中的那个小月亮。对比之下，无论如何我也感到，这些广阔世界的大月亮，万万比不上我那心爱的小月亮。不管我离开我的故乡多少万里，我的心立刻就飞来了。我的小月亮，我永远忘不掉你！
我现在已经年近耄耋。住的朗润园是燕园胜地。夸大一点说，此地有茂林修竹，绿水环流，还有几座土山，点缀其间。风光无疑是绝妙的。前几年，我从庐山休养回来，一个同在庐山休养的老朋友来看我。他看到这样的风光，慨然说：“你住在这样的好地方，还到庐山去干吗呢！”可见朗润园给人印象之深。此地既然有山，有水，有树，有竹，有花，有鸟，每逢望夜，一轮当空，月光闪耀于碧波之上，上下空濛，一碧数顷，而且荷香远溢，宿鸟幽鸣，真不能不说是赏月胜地。荷塘月色的奇景，就在我的窗外。不管是谁来到这里，难道还能不顾而乐之吗？
然而，每值这样的良辰美景，我想到的却仍然是故乡苇坑里的那个平凡的小月亮。见月思乡，已经成为我经常的经历。思乡之病，说不上是苦是乐，其中有追忆，有惘怅，有留恋，有惋惜。流光如逝，时不再来。在微苦中实有甜美在。
月是故乡明，我什么时候能够再看到我故乡的月亮呀！我怅望南天，心飞向故里。
英文译文
Bright is the Moon over My Home Village
Ji Xianlin
Everyone has his hometown, every hometown has a moon, and everyoneloves the moon over his hometown. Presumably, that’s how things are.
However, the moon would look lonely if it hung in the sky all byitself. In classic Chinese poems or essays, therefore, the moon is alwaysaccompanied by something, most likely by a mountain or a river. Hence,”High is the mountain, and small is the moon,” and “Three towersreflected on the lake on a moonlight night,” etc. There are simply toomany such scenes to count.
My home village is located on a major plain in northwesternShandong. I never saw a mountain when I was small; as a result, I didn’t knowwhat a mountain was like. In my imagination, a mountain was probably a thickand round column, so tall that it pierced the sky and looked awesome. When Igrew up, I went to Jinan, where I saw some mountains for the first time.Suddenly I became aware of what a mountain was. The moon that I saw in myvillage when I was young, therefore, was never associated with any mountains.It was beyond my wildest dream to understand what the poet Su Dongpo said inhis poem: “The moon rises above the Eastern Mountain and lingers betweenthe Southern Dipper and Altair.”
As for water, there was plenty of it in my small village. Several reed-filledponds made up most of the village. In the eyes of a kid such as me, those pondswere not as magnificent as Lake Dongting whose “waters in August areplacid,” but they did seem to extend far and wide. On a summer evening, Iwould lie on the ground near a pond and try to count the stars in the sky.Occasionally a bonfire would be set under an old willow. Someone would climbonto the tree and shake it. And lo and behold, many cicadas would drop down.That was a much easier way of catching cicada than trying to get them glued tochewed wheat grains. Every evening I took great pleasure in doing that, andeverybody I looked forward to the early arrival of dusk.
Later in the evening, I would walk to a pond, where I looked up atthe moon in the sky, bright and clear, and down at the moon reflected, just asbright and clear, on the surface of the pond. Too young to know what a poemwas, I was nonetheless so impressed by what I had seen that there seemed to besomething stirring in my heart. On some days, I would play by the pond lateinto the night. Not until midnight did I go home to sleep. And in my dream, Iwould see two moons, one on the top of the other, their light shining all themore brightly and splendidly. The next day, early in the morning, I would go tothe pond to look for duck eggs in the reeds. Glistening, they were there for meto pick. I was happy beyond words.
I lived in my home village for only six years. Then I left it andbegan to live the life of an itinerant, roaming freely all over the world.First I spent a dozen or so years in Jinan, then I spent four years in Pekingand then I returned to Jinan for one more year. Following that, I lived inEurope nearly eleven years, only to return to Peking again. Altogether, it wasover forty years, during which I visited nearly 30 countries and saw the mooneverywhere I went. I saw it in Lake Leman in Switzerland, on the great desertin Africa, in the vast sea, and over huge mountains.
The moon was undisputedly beautiful wherever I saw it, and I likedit every time I saw it. But the sight of the moon in foreign lands wouldinvariably remind me of the small moon I had seen over my own village,reflected on the water of a pond. I always felt that, however big and beautifulthe foreign moon was, it could not be as bright and beautiful as the lovelymoon I saw over my small village. However distant I might be from my homevillage, the thought of that lovely moon would make my heart fly back. My dearlovely small moon, I’ll never forget you!
Now almost 70 years old, I live at Peking University in its LangrunGarden, which is itself a scenic attraction. To brag a bit, I would describe itas having lush bushes and slender bamboo with streams running merrily aroundseveral tiny hills. The scene is exquisitely beautiful. A couple of years ago,I had the pleasure of spending a summer vacation in Mt. Lushan, one of the bestsummer resorts in China. Back in Peking together with one of my old friends, heexclaimed at the sight of Langrun Garden, “Oh, with such a beautiful placeto live in, why should you have gone to Mt. Lushan for vacation?”
His words testified to the beauty of the Garden, which boasts ofhills, streams, trees, bamboo, flowers, and birds. On a night with the fullmoon in the sky, the Garden is certainly an ideal place to appreciate thepoetic beauty seen in the vast sky where the moon hangs, the lush trees wheresleepy birds sing, and the tranquil ponds where lotuses send out a delicatefragrance. The much-coveted sight of “moonlight over a lotus-coveredpond” is right next to my room window. Whoever comes to my home will bedelighted to see it.
On such beautiful nights, however, I will think of the ordinary moonover the pond in my home village. Indeed, seeing the moon never fails to makeme think of my home village. It is hard to say if nostalgia—a malady, isn’tit?—brings one sweetness or bitterness. As it is, nostalgia is filled with fondmemories, anxieties, regrets, or even pain. Time, once gone, is gone forever.Ultimately, nostalgia is sweet with a touch of bitterness.
Bright is the moon over my home village. When can I see that moonagain? As I look southward, my heart flies there.
