雙語(yǔ)詩(shī)歌翻譯|鄭燮-《板橋題畫·竹》

這是一首題畫詩(shī)，系板橋晚年總結(jié)自己 “四十年來畫竹枝” 的歷程和經(jīng)驗(yàn)，重點(diǎn)在第二聯(lián)上，屬論畫性質(zhì)。收在《鄭板橋集·補(bǔ)遺·題畫竹》中，原詩(shī)無(wú)題，今姑以總題為之。落款云： “乾隆戊寅十月下浣，板橋鄭燮畫并題?！笨芍饔谇《?1758) 十月二十一日至三十日之間，時(shí)年六十六歲，六年后板橋去世。

鄭燮·《板橋題畫·竹》

余家有茅屋二間，南面種竹。夏日新篁初放，綠蔭照人，置一小榻其中，甚涼適也。秋冬之際，取圍屏骨子，斷去兩頭，橫安以為窗欞；用勻薄潔白之紙糊之。風(fēng)和日暖，凍蠅觸窗紙上，咚咚作小鼓聲。此時(shí)一片竹影零亂，豈非天然圖畫乎！凡吾畫竹，無(wú)所師承，多得于紙窗粉壁日光月影中耳。

江館清秋，晨起看竹，煙光日影露氣，皆浮動(dòng)于疎枝密葉之間。胸中勃勃遂有畫意。其實(shí)胸中有竹，并不是眼中之竹也。因而磨墨展紙，落筆倏作變相，手中之竹又不是胸中之竹也?？傊庠诠P先者，定則也；趣在法外者，化機(jī)也。獨(dú)畫云乎哉！

余畫大幅竹好畫水，水與竹，性相近也。少陵云：“懶性從來水竹居”。又曰：“映竹水穿沙”。此非明證乎！渭川千畝，淇泉菉竹。西北且然，況瀟湘云夢(mèng)之間，洞庭青草之外，何在非水，何在非竹也！余少時(shí)讀書真州之毛家橋，日在竹中閑步。潮去則濕泥軟沙，潮來則溶溶漾漾，水淺沙明，綠蔭澄鮮可愛。時(shí)有鰷魚數(shù)十頭，自池中溢出，游戲于竹根短草之間，與余樂也。未賦一詩(shī)，心常癢癢。今乃補(bǔ)之曰：風(fēng)晴日午千林竹，野水穿林入林腹。絕無(wú)波浪自生紋，時(shí)有輕鰷戲相逐。月影天光暫一開，青枝碧葉還遮覆。老夫愛此飲一掬，心肺寒僵變成綠。展紙揮毫為巨幅，十丈長(zhǎng)箋三斗墨。日短夜長(zhǎng)繼以燭，夜半如聞風(fēng)聲、竹聲、水聲秋肅肅。

Inscriptions on Painting (Bamboo)

Zheng Xie

I live in a two-room thatched house, to the south of which are bamboo groves. In the summer, the new shoots are green and succulent, and I place my couch beneath their shade to keep cool. When autumn and winter arrive, I make a window from a screen and then paste it over with thin, white paper. When the weather is fine and gentle breeze is blowing, you can hear insects drumming on it, and bamboos cast dancing shadows across it. Is that not a painting executed by Nature? I have never studied the work of others in painting bamboos but instead have learned a great deal from the shadows cast on the window paper and the walls by the sun and the moon.

Once, while lodging at a riverside hostel in early autumn, I got up in the morning to look at the bamboos and saws the mist, sunlight and shadows floating amongst their sparse branches and dense leaves. Greatly inspired, I wanted to paint them. However, the bamboos in my mind went not the same as those I had seen. After preparing my ink and laying out my paper, I lifted the brush to paint. Suddenly the bamboos had changed. They did not resemble the bamboos I pictured in my mind. Having a conception before starting to paint is a guiding principle; however, the potential for variation outside that principle is what is interesting, and this does not apply to painting alone.

When I make a large scroll of bamboos, I take great delight in the application of water, because water and bamboo are so closely related. Shaoling1 once said in a poem, “Indolent by nature, I live near water and bamboo.” He also said, “Water courses through the reflections of bamboos in the river.” Isn’t this proof enough? Around the Weichuan River is a vast expanse of paddy-fields, and around the Qiquan Lake are green bamboo. This is also true in the northwest, to say nothing of the area between the Xiaoxiang River and the Yunmeng Marshes and beyond Dongting Lake. Where there is water there must be bamboo. I studied near Mao Family Bridge in Zhenzhou and always used to take walks among the bamboos there. When the tide recede, soft, sandy land appears; when it comes in again, the lovely green reflections of bamboos can be seen in the rippling water. Sometimes dozens of little fish can be seen near the surface, darting to and fro among the bamboo roots and stubbly grasses, almost as though playing with you. I regret that I did not write a poem then. It has remained something I’ve wanted to do, so I will give way to my desire today:

Forests of bamboo bask in the noon sun and gentle breeze,

A stream roaming through their midst.

Gentle ripples disturb its still surface,

And tiny fish dart to and fro, chasing one another.

Suddenly the sun emerges,

Shining over the green branches and leaves.

I cup some water in my hands and drink,

And my benumbed heart becomes green again.

Spreading out my paper, I paint a large scroll,

Three metres long, needing three pecks of ink.

The days are short and I must continue by candlelight,

On autumn nights I hear the wind, bamboo and water

Murmuring outside.