生 鳥

看！

在那棵樹上！

那一枝在搖。

這是那隻鳥，

又來了。

每天牠會在大概同一時間來，

棲息在同類樹上。

每天來，牠會唱一會，玩一會；

我會天天看牠玩，聽牠唱。

有時牠的聲調喜悅，

有時牠的聲調悲傷。

悲時我會偷哭、默歎，

喜時我會儍笑、夢想。

為甚麼你的歌聲有時候高興，

有的時候卻很悲哀？

為甚麼你的羽毛美麗，身型高雅，

看起來衰弱又不愉快？

你從甚麼地方來？

是在甚麼地方出生？

怎麼從前沒看到你，

最近常看到你的身影？

你是從我故鄉來的嗎？

我在家鄉時常看到你們。

你也是逃難到這裡來的嗎？

在家時被鬥爭又被掃地出門？

你是來告訴我故鄉的消息嗎？

還是來告訴我暴政的新暴行？

你高興能在這裡唱與玩嗎，

卻是悲痛離鄉又背井？

    ☆   ☆   ☆

這鳥兒讓我想起了我的鄉村生活，

也想起我懵懂快樂的兒童時代。

記起了我那年長的小學老師，

以及那些同村同校的小孩。

我們每天約有兩小時的〝風涼時間〞，

在家吃了午飯，再集體出去玩。

大概是從初夏或是晚春開始，

經過整個夏天到初秋才完。

有時我們去爬秀山，有時去探幽谷，

大部份時間會去小河旁的林地。

在河裡及岸邊瘋鬧一陣子後，

我會鑽進各色樹木的林裡。

身下鋪著我的衣服，項下枕著鞋子，

頭上蓋著草帽，身上掛著肚兜；

我會長時間安靜的躺在那裡，

來欣賞林中的音樂演奏。

樹木間住有多種的鳴禽與歌蟬，

每種都會為我展獻牠們的華服與歡唱。

我愛所有那些音樂家與表演者，

特別喜歡一種黃鳥，就像這隻一樣。

這種鳥的毛色純淨，體態高雅，

牠們的歌聲嘹亮，曲調宛轉。

卻是很少會碰到，很難被發現，

祇在遠處高大的樹上表演。

有時我會起身去捕蟬，

用一點樹脂塗在蘆葦的尖端。

牠們在我的衣袋裡吵著要飛去，

那種感覺是非常的好玩。

有時我會爬上樹枝，

去看雛鳥張大了嘴巴問我要食吃。

偶而我會同牠們的父母爭回一兩隻，

偷偷的馴養，驕傲的展示。

大部份時間我祇在那裡躺著，

耳聽目視，心裡作著白日夢。

有時候我會爬起來到外面跳叫一陣，

然後再回來躺下去聽、看、等。

    ☆   ☆   ☆

北國的夏季氣候溫和、風力柔和，

空氣中充滿了花草樹木的香氣。

就算是在一個鄉下小子的心裡，

我也會覺得那真是快樂無比。

被這種甜美的滋味所麻醉，

時常會不自覺的睡著了。

忘了時間，也忘了同伴，

他們會給我一腳，才隨隊回校。

當時間忘了我，同學們也忘了我，

把我獨自留在那裡沈睡。

忽然醒來，已是很晚！

祇得怕怕的回去，聽老師的教誨。

在臺灣祇有少量及少數幾種蟬，

而且其相貌及歌聲都不值得稱讚。

在這裡也有不少數量及不少種類的鳥，

卻很少有我家鄉的好聽又好看。

祇有這隻平常未見的黃鳥，

最近常來歌唱及遊玩；

才像我家鄉的品種，

看起來同樣美，聽起來同樣甜。

☆   ☆   ☆

為甚麼你最近才出現？

你現在住在那裡？

你真是從我的家鄉來，

也是為了找個避難之地？

和你的妻子兒女一同到這兒的？

還是結合你的同學或玩伴？

只是你自己單獨一個人，

像我於一九四八年來時一般？

是和你的父母兄弟一齊來的？

你們能不能還在一起居住，一起歌唱？

有沒有看到我的母親及妹妹們？

他們的情形怎樣，現在住在甚麼地方？

你認不認識我的老師及同學？

他們的政治情形怎麼樣？

我的老師有沒有被清算，仍舊在嗎？

同學們是否也都不在家鄉？

你知不知道我同學的孩子們？

他們是不是還有兩小時的〝風涼時間〞？

是不是還會在河邊及林地玩耍？

你們也同樣為他們歌唱及表演？

那麼遙遠的路，

那麼寬闊的海峽。

在這裡可有親戚朋友？

或是有個愛人在這裡嗎？

是因為再度發生了饑荒，

你們又要挨餓？

或是他們又有新的運動，

情勢更為險惡？

你怎麼能走出來？

他們給了你通行證？

撤除了層層看管、鐵柵，

最後開門放你行？

你怎麼能來到這裡？

申請到了入境證？

你費了多少手續及時間，

才得成功圓夢？

英文原詩附後

並請批評指正

       A Stranger Bird

There! In that tree! That twig sways.

It’s the bird, again coming to sing and play.

Every day it comes at about the same time of day,

and perches on the same kind of trees.

Every time it comes to sing a while and play a while;

I’d listen and watch it, all those whiles, all these days.

Sometimes it sings sadly and soulfully.

Sometimes it sings merrily and melodically.

When it’s sad, I’d weep and sigh secretly and silently.

When it’s merry, I’d dream and smile moonily and moronically.

 “Why are your songs at times sad, your voice sorrowful,

at other times, cheery and sweet?

Why are your feathers beautiful, your figure graceful,

but you look gloomy and weak?

Where do you come from?

Where is your birthplace?

Why is it you hasn’t come before,

but now you come every day?

Were you born in my father’s country?

Came from my mother’s county?

I often saw you at my home place.

Do you come here also

to escape the despotism

and to find a hiding place?

Are you coming to tell me

things of my home and news of the regime?

Do you feel joyful to live and sing here

but sorrowful to leave your family and sing as a refugee?

*                      *                     *

The bird causes me to recall my country boy life

and reminds me of my stupid but happy days.

I remember my aged elementary schoolteacher

and recollect my villager schoolmates.

We usually had a two-hour “cooling break”,

after lunching at home, together we went out to play;

beginning in early summer or late spring,

lasting the whole summer, until early autumn days.

We sometimes climbed the hills, or explored the dells,

but often went to the woodland along the clear stream.

After a brief frolic in the water, then on the sand and banks,

I often slipped into the woods of varied shrubs and trees.

With my clothes beneath my back, shoes pillowing my head,

a stomacher over my belly and straw-hat covering my face;

I’d lie there quietly, lie there silently,

to enjoy the concertos among the trees.

*                      *                     *

There were various cicadas and birds playing in the woods.

Every variety would offer to me its specific treat.

I loved all of those musicians and performers,

especially the yellow birds of this breed.

Their color was pure, their shape elegant;

songs, nice and sonorous; voice, rich and sweet. 

But, couldn’t often be encountered, difficult be located;  

they usually sung and played only in those tall and distant trees.

Sometimes, I rose to catch some cicadas

with a kind of tree resin stuck to a piece of reed.

They felt very funny and sounded comic

in my pocket, struggling, wrangling, to be freed.

Sometimes I climbed up over the branches

to see the nestling in their nest, crying and vying for my “prey”.

Occasionally I swore and sparred with their parents

to take one or two back home, secretly nursing and training, for play.

Mostly I just lay there listening and looking;

listening, looking, and dreaming, in the leafy shade.

At times I’d get up, sneak out, to gambol and yell;

then sneak back, lie down again, to listen, dream and wait.

The weather was warm, breeze was soft.

The air, with odors of dirt, flowers, grasses and trees.

Even in a child’s sense, to a boy’s taste,

I knew it was quite pleasing, very blissful, most great.

Anaesthetized by the sweetness,

sometimes I’d slowly slip into sleep.

Forgot the time, forgot my mates,

they’d give me a kick, when time to leave.

When time forgot me, my mates also forgot me;

they’d leave me alone, easefully and peacefully asleep.

When I suddenly arose!  It was late -- very late!

I’d timidly go back, to receive my teacher’s scold or “sweep”.

*                      *                     *

There are few kinds, small numbers, of cicadas here in Taiwan;

yet none of them looks or sings as my native breeds.

There are as many, as varied birds on this beautiful island,

but few are as pretty, as melodious, as my home breeds.

Only this song bird, this stranger yellow bird,

coming to sing every day, started from last week,

is like my home species, like my native yellow bird;

its look is likely beautiful; its songs are similarly sweet.

“Why did you come here only recently?

Where do you presently live or stay?

Are you really from my native country?

Do you also come here for sanctuary?

“Did you come with your wife and children?

Or along with your schoolmate -- playmate?

Or, just yourself, your single self alone,

as I was here, in nineteen forty-eight?

“Did you come along with your parents and siblings?

Could you live there together, together sing and play?

Had you ever seen my mother? Ever seen my sisters?

How did they live? Where did they live presently? 

“Did you know my school teacher, my schoolmates?

How was his health?  How were their political states?

Was my teacher still alive, or was he liquidated?

Were my schoolmates all around, or mostly away?

“Did you know their children, in their happy age?

Could they continue to have the break every day?

Would they also play in the woods, in the stream?

Did you also sing to them the same melody?

“Why did you come here, through such a long and rugged way,

and venture against the strong winds, cross the wide strait?

Do you have a family member, or a friend here?

Have a lover come here already?

“Because there was another famine,

you too had nothing to eat?

They had one more movement,

you’d also be liquidated?

“How did you come here, through such a difficult and dangerous way,

escape those close guards, penetrate so many barricades?

Did they loosen their control, and bestow to you a travel permit,

uproot the fences, remove the nets, open their gates?

“How could you send out, here, your application?

Did you have trouble with the investigation?

How could you obtain an admission?

“Did you have a long time to pray --

a long, long time to wait?”