Home > Translation > A Cold December Night by Mu Dan

A Cold December Night by Mu Dan

April 13, 2011

translated by Huiwen (Helen) Zhang

 

在寒冷的腊月的夜里

 

在寒冷的腊月的夜里,风扫着北方的平原,
北方的田野是枯干的,大麦和谷子已经推进了村庄,
岁月尽竭了,牲口憩息了,村外的小河冻结了,
在古老的路上,在田野的纵横里闪着一盏灯光,
一副厚重的,多纹的脸,
他想什么?他做什么?
在这亲切的,为吱哑的轮子压死的路上。

 

风向东吹,风向南吹,风在低矮的小街上旋转,
木格的窗子堆着沙土,我们在泥草的屋顶下安眠,
谁家的儿郎吓哭了,哇——呜——呜——从屋顶传过屋顶,
他就要长大了渐渐和我们一样地躺下,一样地打鼾,
从屋顶传过屋顶,风
这样大岁月这样悠久,
我们不能够听见,我们不能够听见。

 

火熄了么?红的炭火拨灭了么?一个声音说,
我们的祖先是已经睡了,睡在离我们不远的地方,
所有的故事已经讲完了,只剩下了灰烬的遗留,
在我们没有安慰的梦里,在他们走来又走去以后,
在门口,那些用旧了的镰刀,
锄头,牛轭,石磨,大车,
静静地,正承接着雪花的飘落。

*

A Cold December Night

A cold December night, the wind sweeps the northern plains,
The northern fields wither; wheat and corn are wheeled into the village,
Months and years end, mules and oxen fall asleep, the river outside the village freezes,
On the ancient road, amid the field’s crossing patterns, a lamp sparkles,
A thick, wrinkled face,
Thinking what? Doing what?
On this trusted road, pressed to death under the groaning wheels.

The wind blows to the east, the wind blows to the south, the wind swirls over the sunken narrow streets, 
The paper pane of the wooden lattice window piled with sand, we sleep calmly under the muddy grass roof,  
Whose boy is crying out in fear? wa—wu—wu—, roof to roof,
He is about to grow up and, with time, just like us, lie down, just like us, snore
Roof to roof, the wind
So wide and months and years so long,
We cannot hear, we cannot hear.

Is the fire out? Is the red coal flame quenched? A voice:
Our ancestors are already asleep, somewhere close to us,
All the stories are already told, only ashes left behind,
In our disconsolate dreams, once they’ve come and gone, 
At the gate those tired-out scythes,
Hoes, yokes, millstones, and carts
Quiet, treasuring snowflowers as they fall.

1941


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(thanks to Vic Udwin for the English reading)

Mu Dan 穆旦(1918-1977) is widely considered one of the most significant Chinese poets of the 20th century. He was driven by a passion and a talent for poetry since the age of 13; compelled by the Cultural Revolution to cease at 40, he was reborn as a poet at 57. During the war, he walked a circuitous 3000 miles from Peking to Kunming to attend the provisional wartime university, and joined the Chinese Expedition Army to Burman (now Myanmar). T.S. Eliot and W.H. Auden were strong influences on his early work. He translated poetry from Russian and English, developing a Chinese voice for Pushkin, Blake, Byron, Keats, and Shelley.

Huiwen (Helen) Zhang 张慧文 (website, blog) is a curious mind wandering in search of every possible experience and adventure from China through Germany to the United States; a limber voice rendering Chinese, German, and English into one another in quest of the seemingly unattainable congenial; an unyielding spirit striving in the wilderness of philosophy and poetry; and a faithful soul writing under the sign of blue flower and red coral. This translation is a companion to her earlier piece in the issue, “Meditation on the Road: Chinese Wartime Sonnets by Feng Zhi,” which were also written in 1941.

  1. steve
    April 14, 2011 at 4:49 pm

    such a moving poem – thanks for sharing it

  2. April 15, 2011 at 3:59 pm

    Beautiful reading by Huiwen Zhang and fine translation into English. If you are interested, there are, in existence, a few copies of Nimrod’s “China Today” issue of 1986 (the year hiatus before Tianeman Square, volume 29. number 2). It contains, in English and Chinese, poems by Gu Cheng, Bei Ling, Bei Dao, Chou Ping, Duo Duo, Gao Xiaosheng, Liang Heng, Mang Ke — with stunning calligraphy by Wang Fang-yu,and others. Since the issue is out-of-print, we would be pleased to find a way to share its contents with a larger audience. Though we have an active website, there is just so much we can do at this time, to accomodate on-line material. Francine Ringold, Editor-in-Chief, Nimrod

  1. May 9, 2011 at 3:32 pm
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