The Lane in Rain
Holding an oil-papered umbrella, alone
I hesitate in the lane in rain
Lengthy, lengthy and lonely,
I wish to meet amain
A lady borne with gloom
Like lilac-blooms in rain.
She owns
The lilac’s vein,
The lilac’s aroma,
And the lilac’s pain,
Hesitant and gloomy,
Gloomy in rain;
Holding an oil-papered umbrella
She is hesitating in this lonely lane in rain,
Like me,
And like me again
Walking in silence,
Melancholy, cold and fain.
In silence she approaches
And approaches, casting
A look as if to complain;
She is wafting near
Like a dream,
Melancholy and lost like a dream again.
Like lilac-blooms
Wafting near in dream,
This lady is wafting by me in vain;
In silence she recedes, and recedes
To the fence overlain,
Disappearing in the lane of rain.
In the wail of the rain,
Her rosy complexion no more does remain,
Her aroma does scatter,
Even together with her
Look as if to complain,
And the lilac’s pain.
Holding an oil-papered umbrella, alone
I hesitate in the lane in rain
Lengthy, lengthy and lonely,
I wish a lady to waft by me then
Borne with gloom
Like lilac-blooms in rain.
The Dream Seeker
Dream can bloom,
Dream can beautifully bloom:
Go and seek that invaluable treasure.
In the green sea,
In the bottom of the green sea,
Hides deep a golden shell.
Go and climb the iceberg for nine years,
Go and sail the drought sea for nine years,
Then you can meet that golden shell.
It has the heaven’s thundering sound,
It has the sea’s billowing sound.
And it will intoxicate your heart.
Water it in the sea for nine years,
Water it in the heaven for nine years,
Then, it will bloom in a dark night.
When you are white haired,
When you are dim eyed,
The golden shell will produce a rosy pearl.
Hold the rosy pearl with your arms,
Keep the rosy pearl at your pillow,
Then, a dream will arise in silence.
Your dream has bloomed,
Your dream has beautifully bloomed,
When you get old.
My Memory
My memory is loyal to me,
More loyal than my best friend.
It exists in a lit cigarette.
It exists on a pen painted with lilies.
It exists in an old broken powder-box.
It exists in the wood-fungi among ruins.
It exists in a half-emptied wine bottle,
In torn drafts of poetry,
On petals pressed dry,
Upon dim lamps,
Over still water,
Among all the things, soul or no soul.
It exists everywhere
The way I exist in the world.
It is cowardly,
Abhors the hustle-bustle of people,
But in seclusion,
It will pay me an intimate visit.
Its voice is low,
But it is long-winded, very long-winded,
Long, and trivial, and endless.
Its words are old;
It tells the same story over and over again.
Its tune is harmonious;
Iit sings the same song over and over again.
Sometimes it even mimics a sweet girlish voice
Which is feeble,
Mixed with tears, with sighs.
Its visits are erratic.
It may come any time, any place,
Often when I am in bed, dozing off into sleep,
Or very early in the morning.
People say that this is sill-mannered,
But we are old friends.
It will go on tediously and endlessly,
And will not stop until I cry
Or fall asleep,
But I never loathe it,
Because it is loyal to me.
[The editor's note:: The above work is selected from 300 New Chinese Poems (1917-2012), a Chinese-English college reader published by Poetry Pacific Press in October 2013.]
About the author:
Dai Wangshu (1905—1950)，was a native of Yuhang County, Zhejiang Province, and Nanjing, his ancestral homeland. In 1932, he went to study in France. After the breakout of Anti-Japanese War, he went to Hongkong to edit Sing Tao Daily. He was the editor-in-chief of the poetic journals of Modern Times, and Acme. In 1941, he was imprisoned by the Japanese army and was seriously maimed by them. In 1949, he taught in North China University. His major works include Drafts of Wangshu, Poem Drafts of Wangshu, and The Hard Years(collections of poems). His Complete Poems of Dai Wangshu and A Collection of Translated Poems by Dai Wangshu are known to the world.
(Tr. by Yang Xu)
戴望舒
雨巷
撑着油纸伞，独自
彷徨在悠长，悠长
又寂寥的雨巷，
我希望逢着
一个丁香一样地
结着愁怨的姑娘。
她是有
丁香一样的颜色，
丁香一样的芬芳，
丁香一样的忧愁，
在雨中哀怨，
哀怨又彷徨；
她彷徨在这寂寥的雨巷，
撑着油纸伞
像我一样。
像我一样地
默默彳亍着，
冷漠，凄清，又惆怅。
她静默地走近
走近，又投出
太息一般的眼光。
她飘过
像梦一般地，
像梦一般地凄婉迷茫。
像梦中飘过
一枝丁香地，
我身旁飘过这女郎；
她静静地远了，远了，
到了颓圮的篱墙。
走尽这雨巷。
在雨的哀曲里。
消了她的颜色，
散了她的芬芳，
消散了，甚至她的
太息般的眼光．
丁香般的惆怅。
撑着油纸伞，独自
彷徨在悠长，悠长
又寂寥的雨巷，
我希望飘过
一个丁香一样地
结着愁怨的姑娘。
寻梦者
梦会开出花来的，
梦会开出娇妍的花来的；
去求无价的珍宝吧。
在青色的大海里，
在青色的大海的底里，
深藏着金色的贝一枚。
你去攀九年的冰山吧，
你去航九年的旱海吧，
然后你逢到那金色的贝。
它有天上的云雨声，
它有海上的风涛声，
它会使你的心沉醉。
把它在海水里养九年，
把它在天水里养九年，
然后，它在一个暗夜里开绽了。
当你鬓发斑斑了的时候，
当你眼睛朦胧了的时候，
金色的贝吐出桃色的珠。
把桃色的珠放在你怀里，
把桃色的珠放在你枕边，
于是一个梦静静地升上来了。
你的梦开出花来了，
你的梦开出娇妍的花来了，
在你已衰老了的时候。
我的记忆是忠实于我的
忠实甚于我最好的友人，
它生存在燃着的烟卷上，
它生存在绘着百合花的笔杆上，
它生存在破旧的粉盒上，
它生存在颓垣的木莓上，
它生存在喝了一半的酒瓶上，
在撕碎的往日的诗稿上，
在压干的花片上，
在凄暗的灯上，
在平静的水上，
在一切有灵魂没有灵魂的东西上，
它在到处生存着，
像我在这世界一样。
它是胆小的，
它怕着人们的喧嚣，
但在寂廖时，
它便对我来作密切的拜访。
它的声音是低微的，
但它的话却很长，很长，
很长，很琐碎，而且永远不肯休；
它的话是古旧的，
老讲着同样的故事，
它的音调是和谐的，
老唱着同样的曲子，
有时它还模仿着爱娇的少女的声音，
它的声音是没有气力的，
而且还挟着眼泪，夹着太息。
它的拜访是没有一定的，
在任何时间，在任何地点，
时常当我已上床，朦胧地想睡了；
或是选一个大清早，
人们会说它没有礼貌，
但是我们是老朋友。
它是琐琐地永远不肯休止的，
除非我凄凄地哭了，
或者沉沉地睡了，
但是我永远不讨厌它，
因为它是忠实于我的。
作者简介：
戴望舒（1905—1950），浙江余杭县人，祖籍南京。1932年赴法国留学。抗日战争爆发后，去香港主编《星岛日报》。曾任《现代》、《顶点》诗刊主编。1941年被日军投入监狱，受伤致残。1949年任教于华北大学。主要作品有：诗集《望舒草》、《望舒诗稿》、《灾难的岁月》，另有《戴望舒诗全编》、《戴望舒译诗集》行世。
