秋兴
秋风一天凉似一天。风中桂花的幽香消散了，菊花的清香又飘起。窗外那棵老槐树，不知什么时候有了黄叶，风一紧，黄叶就飘到了窗台上。在热闹的都市里，要想品味大自然的秋色，已经不是一件容易的事情。在都市人的观念中，季节的转换，除了气温的变化，除了服装的更替，似乎再也没有别的什么了。
而我这个爱遥想的人，偏偏不愿意被四处逼来的钢筋水泥囚禁了自己的思绪。听着窗外的风声，我想着故乡的辽阔透明的天空，想着长江边上那一望无际的银色芦花，想着从芦苇丛中扑楞着翅膀飞上天空的野鸭和大雁，想着由翠绿逐渐变成金黄色的田野……唉，可怜的都市人，就像关在笼子里的鸟，只能用可怜的回忆来想象奇妙的自然秋色了。
小时候，背过古人吟咏秋天的诗句：“秋风起兮白云飞，草木黄落兮雁南归”，“落霞与孤骛齐飞，秋水共长天一色”，“秋明不散霜飞晚，留得枯荷听雨声”，“落叶西风时候，人共青山都疼’，“采菊东篱下，悠然见南山”……这些诗句使我对自然的秋色心驰神往。想起来，古人虽然住不进现代都市的深院高楼，享受不到很多时髦便捷的现代化，但他们常常被奇妙的大自然陶醉，他们的心境常常和自然融为一体，世俗的喧嚣和烦恼在青山绿水中烟消云散。这样的境界，对久居都市的现代人来说，大概只能是梦境了。
年轻时代，我的生命也曾和大自然连成一体。在故乡崇明岛“插队落户”多年，日出而作，日落而息，晒黑了皮肤，磨硬了筋骨，闻惯了泥土的气味，从外表上看，我曾经和土生土长的乡亲们没有了区别。然而骨子里的习性难改。当我一个人坐在江边的长堤上，面对着浩瀚的长江，面对着银波荡漾的芦苇的海洋，倾听着在天空中发出凄厉呼叫的雁群，我总是灵魂出窍，神思飞扬。我曾经想，在我们这个星球上，所有的生命都应该是有知觉的，其中包括一滴水，一株芦苇，一只大雁。我躺在涛声不绝的江边，闭上眼睛，幻想自己变成一滴水，在江海中自由自在地奔腾，变成一株芦苇，摇动着银色的头颅，在秋风中无拘无束地舞蹈，也变成一只大雁，拍动翅膀高飞在云天，去寻找遥远的目标……我曾经把自己的这些幻想写在我的诗文里，这是对青春的讴歌，是对人生的憧憬，是对生命和自然天真直率的诘问。如今再回头聆听年轻时的心声，我依旧怦然心动。当年的涛声、雁鸣、飞扬的芦花、掺杂着青草和野艾菊清香的潮湿的海风、荡漾着蟋蟀和纺织娘鸣唱的清凉的月光，仿佛仍在我的周围飘动鸣响。故乡啊，在你的身边，这一切都还美妙一如当年么?
然而一切都很遥远了。此刻，窗外流动的是都市的秋风，没有大自然清新辽远的气息。今年夏天回故乡时，我从长江边采了几枝未开放的芦花，回来插在无水的盆中，它们居然都—一开出了银色的花朵，使我欣喜不已。这些芦花，把故乡的秋色送到了我的面前。这些芦花，也使我联想到自己鬓边频生的白发，这是人生进入秋季的象征，谁也无法阻挡这种进程，就像无法阻挡秋天替代夏天，春天替代冬天一样。不过我想，人的心灵和精神的四季，大概是可以由自己来调节的。当生存的空间和生理的年龄像无情的网向你罩过来时，你的心灵却可以脱颖而出，飞向你想抵达的任何境界，只要你有这样的兴致，有这样的愿望，有这样的勇气。
是的，此刻，聆听着秋声，凝视着芦花，我在问自己：你，还会不会变成一只大雁，到自由的天空中飞翔呢?
1995年10月27日
Autumn Sentiments
Day by day the autumn wind gets colder. The quiet fragrance of osmanthus has dispersed, while the chrysanthemums begin to send out a delicate fragrance. The yellow leaves on the old locust tree outside my window – when did they turn yellow anyway? – drift onto my windowsill at every strong puff of the wind. In a big, bustling city, it is not an easy thing to indulge a leisurely appreciation of the natural scenery of autumn. What does the seasonal transition imply, a city dweller might argue, except the change in temperature and the replacement of garments?
As a person with a propensity for dreams and fantasies, however, I simply refuse to have my thoughts confined in the concrete cement that keeps pushing against me from all directions. Listening to the whistling wind outside, I see in my mind’s eye the vast and transparent sky in my hometown, the boundless fields of silvery reed catkins on the banks of the Yangtze River, the flocks of wild ducks and wild geese fluttering into the sky from the reed clusters, and the farmlands on a subtle shift from green to golden…Alas and alack for the poor city dwellers, who have to imagine the natural scenery of autumn with their haphazard memories like caged bird!
In my childhood, I was taught to recite the ancient poems about autumn:
“In rising winds white clouds pass;
Wild geese head south over withering grass.”
“A lone wild duck along the setting sun fly;
The autumn river mirrors the color of the sky.”
“Dark clouds never disperse and frosts descend late,
Leaving the ravaged lotus to the pattering rain.”
“As the west wind sweeps the fallen leaves,
Who’s lean, the green mountain or me?”
“I pluck hedge-side chrysanthemums with pleasure
And see the tranquil Southern Mount in leisure.”
How I craved for the natural scenery of autumn when reading these beautiful poems! In my opinion, the ancients, although unable to enjoy the benefits of today’ facilities and amenities in high-rise buildings of modern cities, could nevertheless indulge themselves in the wonderful landscapes and merge their sentiments with the natural environments, thus reducing all the noises and worries of the mundane world into clouds over green mountains and mists over limpid streams. Such transcendent experience must be well beyond the modern people who are used to an urban life!
In my youth, my life was one with the nature. When I lived and worked as an “Educated Youth” for many years in my hometown Chongming Island, as in the old saying “Sun up, I work; sun down, I rest,” I developed a robust physique as well as a hard tan, and grew so accustomed to the smell of the earth that I looked no different from a local farmer. Yet, my deep-rooted habits remained, even in such circumstances. When I sat on the dyke alone and faced the mighty Yangtze River, watching the silvery waves of reed catkins and listening to the shrill cries of wild geese flocks overhead, I often entertained some wild thoughts as if my soul just flew out of its shell. I once believed that all the life forms on the planet should be sentient, such as a drop of water, a stalk of reed, and a wild goose. Lying down by the boisterous and torrential river, I closed my eyes and imagined myself to be a drop of water traveling freely in rivers and seas, a stalk of reed swaying its silvery catkins in the autumn wind for a dance in unrestrained blitheness, or a wild goose flapping its wings across the sky in search of a distant target…I wrote down all these fantasies in my poems and essays in an effort to sing of my youth, to dream about future, and to raise naïve but frank questions on life and nature. Now, when I look back on these youthful queries and aspirations, I can’t help feeling a throb of heartwarming excitement as the past scenes are brought back to me: river tides, wild geese’s cries, dancing reed catkins, humid sea winds tinged with fresh smells of grasses and wild tansies, and the cool moonshine over a choir of chirping crickets and katydids…O my hometown, is everything as enchanting as in the old days?
All these are but distant memories, though. At this moment, breezing past my window is the city’s autumn wind, without the fresh and vast smells of nature. In a trip to my hometown this summer, I plucked several immature reed stalks at the bank of the Yangtze River. After I returned home, I inserted them in a waterless vase. To my great delight, they developed silvery catkins one by one, which brought the autumn senses of my hometown right before my eyes. The silvery catkins also reminded me of the locks of silver hair growing at my temples, a symbol of the advent of the autumn in my life. No one can stop the coming of the inevitable, as no one can prevent the fact that autumn follows summer and winter follows autumn. I do believe, however, that the seasons of one’s mind and spirit can be subject to self-regulation: When your living place and your physical age tend to trap you like a merciless net, you can still free your heart and let your imagination fly to any destination of your choosing, as long as you are enthusiastic enough, wishful enough, and courageous enough.
Right now, listening to the rustles in the autumn wind and looking at the reed catkins, I ask myself: Will you be a wild goose again to wing the free sky?
October 27, 1995
口译： 翻译资格考试二级口译模拟题
笔译： 翻译资格考试二级笔译模拟题
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