阿库乌雾：黄昏时分，我想起我母亲（彝英汉对照）
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黄昏时分，我想起我母亲
At Twilight, Longing for My Amo
Looking left, a black hand
To the right, a black hand
A dark curtain shrouding me when
At twilight I long for my amo
In the front yard, there may be a potato patch
Where potatoes probably bloom.
Those potato flowers may bear seed pods.
As those potato flowers are busy blooming
Amo’s sweat surges like a spring,
The drops of Amo’s sweat
Ringing on potato leaves.
There may be a buckwheat patch in the backyard,
Buckwheat leaves as wide as grain sifters,
Seeds the size of fists.
How many buckwheat leaves
Were nurtured from sprouts by Amo?
How many buckwheat kernels
Were so carefully raised by Amo?
Oh, my amo, her back stacked with firewood,
Staggering from the woods across from home;
I can’t say if her steps are steady or not,
As her feet may slip down the slope,
And her hands may grasp only thin air.
Oh, my amo, she cut a basket of grass
Walking straight from the grasses behind the house.
I wonder if she can see her way clearly?
Will she step upon a toad or poison snake?
Too hard to forget, too hard to forget!
Amo, busy borrowing money from the neighbor’s—
Will the neighbor’s dogs bite her?
Will the neighbor’s chickens peck her?
Don’t fear, don’t fear!
Not one of their dogs unkind,
Not one of their chickens unfriendly.
Don’t worry, don’t worry!
Amo may be in the sitting room, putting away food for hard times;
Or maybe busy cooking there around the fireplace.
Or sitting and eating in the sitting room
Or busy knitting or weaving under the eaves
Or busy making whatever is needed at home
Or busy leaving
A heritage for her descendants.
Don’t fear, don’t fear!
My amo seems busy grinding grain by the millstones,
Calling chickens by the door
Feeding pigs at the pigsty
Standing on the hilltop before the house
Gazing into the distance, awaiting her
Youngest son’s return home.
Oh, Amo!
Carrying a bucket of water thick as ink,
Carrying two buckets deep as the sea.
Tides surge behind the son.
The tidewaters are Amo’s milk,
The tidewaters are Amo’s sweat,
The tidewaters are Amo’s blood.
Tides surge behind the son.
The son’s body, milk;
His wisdom, sweat;
His life, blood.
Oh, Amo, you went to carry water,
Though the spring can never run dry,
Night comes.
What can I do? What can I do?
At twilight I long for my amo.
Looking down, I sense the warmth
As warm as before I raised my head;
I wish to push aside those ashes that lie
Angled in the fireplace.
黄昏时分，我想起我母亲
向左看，一只黑手
右边，一只黑手
黑暗的窗帘笼罩着我
黄昏时分，我想起我的母亲
前院里可能有一块土豆地
土豆可能开花的地方。
那些马铃薯花可能结出豆荚。
那些马铃薯花正忙着盛开
母亲的汗水像春天一样涌来，
母亲的汗珠
在土豆叶上叮当作响。
后院可能有一块荞麦地，
荞麦的叶子宽如谷物筛，
拳头大小的种子。
荞麦叶有多少片
是母亲从芽中培育出来的吗？
荞麦粒有多少
母亲是这么小心养大的吗？
哦，我的母亲，她的背上堆着柴火，
从家对面的树林里蹒跚而行；
我不能说她的脚步是否平稳，
因为她的脚可能会滑下斜坡，
她的手可能只能抓住稀薄的空气。
哦，天哪，她剪了一篮草
直接从房子后面的草地上走出来。
我想知道她是否能看清路？
她会踩到蟾蜍还是毒蛇？
太难忘记，太难忘记！
母亲忙着向邻居借钱--
邻居的狗会咬她吗？
邻居家的鸡会啄她吗？
不要害怕，不要害怕！
他们的狗没有一只不友善，
他们的鸡没有一只不友好。
别担心，别担心！
母亲可能在客厅里，为艰难的日子收拾食物；
或者可能正忙着在壁炉旁做饭。
或者坐在客厅里吃饭
或者在屋檐下忙着编织
或者忙着做家里需要的东西
或者忙着离开
这是她后代的遗产。
不要害怕，不要害怕！
我的母亲似乎正忙着用磨石磨谷物，
在门口叫鸡
在猪圈喂猪
站在房子前的山顶上
凝视着远方，等待着她
小儿子回家了。
哦，母亲！
提着一桶像墨水一样浓的水，
提着两桶深如大海。
潮水在儿子身后汹涌。
潮水是母亲的牛奶，
潮水是母亲的汗水，
潮水是母亲的血液。
潮水在儿子身后汹涌。
儿子的身体，乳汁；
他的智慧，汗水；
他的生命，鲜血。
哦，母亲，你去挑水了，
虽然春天永远不会干涸，
夜幕降临。
我该怎么办？我该怎么办？
黄昏时分，我想起我的母亲。
往下看，我感觉到了温暖
像以前一样温暖，我抬起头；
我想把那些灰烬推开
斜躺在壁炉里。
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母语诗人阿库乌雾
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