选自马永平遗著《漫步在星月之上》（长江文艺出版社，2020年版），马永波译，附有仝晓锋、赵松、晏榕、远人及马永波的短评。

https://sindhcourier.com/poetry-the-path-up-the-mountain/

Three Poems of Ma Yongping translated by Ma Yongbo

The Path Up the Mountain and the Path Down

Late at night, I take a walk on Purple Mountain,

along a stone-paved path leading upward,

wandering aimlessly.

The rising moon hangs between the branches of an oak tree,

around me, trees emerge in the dim light as

dark shadows, like figures,

standing silently there.

The night sky is vast, stars twinkle,

the mountain is silent. I walk slowly,

as if in a dream. I lose my way,

unsure how far the path to the summit remains,

nor how close the path down might be.

Suddenly, at a bend in the path,

two dark shadows flash toward me,

seeming to float before me in an instant.

I stop, gaze, and wait.

One of the shadows asks, "Master,

excuse me, which way is the path down the mountain?"

I say, "I don't know. I'm just wandering too,

lost like you."

Who knows how to take this path

up the mountain and the path down?

上山的路和下山的路

深夜，我在紫金山散步

沿着一条石彻的小路向山上

漫无目的地走着

初升的月亮挂在橡树的枝桠间

四周的树朦胧中显现出

一个个黑影，像一个个人

静靜地站在那里

夜空辽阔，群星闪烁

山中寂静，我慢慢地走着

仿佛走在梦境里，我迷路了

不知道通往山顶的路还有多远

也不知道离下山的路有多近

突然，在小路的拐弯处

闪出两个黑影迎面而来

好像一瞬间就飘到了我的面前

我停住脚步，注视，等待

其中一个黑影问，这位师付

请问您，下山的路该怎么走

我说，不知道，我也是瞎走

和你们一样迷路了

这上山的路和下山的路

该怎么走，有谁知道

I Crouch and Dart Out from the Courtyard Gate

I’m watching, keeping an eye on my mother,

to see what she’s doing, to check if she’s noticing me.

I spot Yongbo playing with mud balls alone on the earthen pit,

but I don’t know who gave them to him—maybe his second brother,

Yonggang. My sister went out long ago to play hopscotch.

My mother is by the windowsill, sewing clothes on a treadle machine,

she hasn’t noticed me yet; I think this is the perfect chance.

I push the door open gently, fearing she might hear the creak—

if she does, I’ll never get out, stuck playing in the courtyard,

forced to stay within her line of sight. But what fun is there in that yard?

The great river is so much better, with mountains beside it,

the water murmurs, and you can clearly see fish swimming among the pebbles.

I crouch low, dart out from the courtyard gate, and vanish without a trace,

when I return from the river, wisps of kitchen smoke rise straight into the sky.

我猫着腰从院门一闪而出

我在观察，观察我的母亲

看她在干什么，看她是否在注意我

我看见永波自己在土坑上玩泥球

但我不知道是谁给他的，可能是他二哥

永刚吧，我的姐姐早就出去跳方格了

母亲在窗台旁用缝纫机做衣服

她没有注意到我，我想这可是个好机会

我轻轻的推开房门，我怕被母亲听见开门声

那我就别想出去了，只能在院子里玩耍

只能在她的视线里玩耍，可是那院子里

有什么好玩的。那条大河多好啊，旁边还有山

河水潺潺能清晰地看见鱼在鹅卵石间游来游去

我猫着腰从院门一闪而出，便无影无踪

当我从大河回来，一缕缕炊烟笔直地升起

Sister, Rope, and Potatoes

A ray of sunlight falls on the kang.

A hemp rope: one end tied to the window frame,

the other looped around his waist.

His world on the kang spans only a meter,

there are several cooked potatoes on it,

an old leather trunk to the west, a stack of quilts.

He crawls back and forth,

the hemp rope swinging ceaselessly,

sometimes potatoes block his path

he pushes them aside with a small hand,

sometimes he props himself against the windowsill to stand,

but not for long.

He stares at sparrows leaping on poplar branches outside,

at a distant field of corn.

On the ground stands a little girl,

toes raised, hands gripping the kang’s edge,

only her eyes showing over the edge as she watches him.

When he cries, she fishes potatoes from the pot

and tosses them onto the kang,

at first he takes a few bites,

but later just looks at them or plays with them.

As dusk falls, the girl stands outside the door,

he leans on the windowsill again, gazing out,

this day, only a rope, his sister,

and a few potatoes keep him company.

His mother, returning from the fields,

will bring the warmth of night.

姐姐、绳子和土豆

一缕阳光照在炕上

一根麻绳，一头拴在窗框上

一头拴在他的腰间

他的世界在炕上只有一米范围

炕上有几个熟土豆

西面一个老式皮箱，一摞被褥

他在炕上爬来爬去

麻绳在不停摆动

有时土豆会挡住他的路

他用一只小手把它们扒拉到一边

有时他扶着窗台站起来

站不了多久

望着外面杨树上跳跃的麻雀

望着远处的一片玉米地

地上站着一个小女孩

翘着双脚，双手扒着炕沿

露出一双眼睛，看着他

他又时也会哭，她就从锅里

捞几个土豆扔在炕上

开始他还咬几口

后来只是看着或拿着玩

天色渐暗，小女孩站在门外

他又扶着窗台望着外面

这一天只有一根绳子和姐姐

还有几个土豆陪伴着他

下地干农活的母亲就要回来了

温暖的夜晚就要来临

Biography of the Author: Ma Yongping (1958–2020), a Chinese poet, native of Suihua, Heilongjiang Province, started writing poetry in 2008. He left behind more than 2,000 poems totaling over 20,000 lines. His posthumous collection Wandering Above the Stars and Moon, compiled by his younger brother Ma Yongbo, was published by Changjiang Literature and Art Publishing House in 2020.

Relevant Comments:

"Brother Yongping became a poet in middle age as if aided by divine inspiration, which is amazing! His works are rooted in his daily experiences, plain and simple, yet their purport rises above the mundane, reaching lofty spiritual heights."

— Tong Xiaofeng (Poet, Director, Professor)