40. 夜归鹿门山歌(孟浩然)

目录

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现代汉语译文

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山(shān)寺(sì)钟(zhōng)鸣(míng)昼(zhòu)已(yǐ)昏(hūn),()渔(yú)梁(liáng)渡(dù)头(tóu)争(zhēng)渡(dù)喧(xuān)。()

现代汉语译文

山寺的钟响了,白天已经暗下来;渔梁渡口上,人们争着渡河,一片喧闹。

一静一喧。钟声是散开的,渡口的喧闹是挤的,诗从这两种声音开始。

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人(rén)随(suí)沙(shā)路(lù)向(xiàng)江(jiāng)村(cūn),()余(yú)亦(yì)乘(chéng)舟(zhōu)归(guī)鹿(lù)门(mén)。()

现代汉语译文

人们顺着沙路走向江边的村子,我也乘船回鹿门。

「人」与「余」分开写。众人往村里去,他往山里去,同一条江边,方向相反。

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鹿(lù)门(mén)月(yuè)照(zhào)开(kāi)烟(yān)树(shù),()忽(hū)到(dào)庞(páng)公(gōng)栖(qī)隐(yǐn)处(chù)。()

现代汉语译文

鹿门的月光照下来,雾气里的树散开,忽然就到了庞公隐居的地方。

庞公是东汉隐士庞德公。月光把树影拨开,路一出来,人已经站在隐者的旧地。

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岩(yán)扉(fēi)松(sōng)径(jìng)长(cháng)寂(jì)寥(liáo),()惟(wéi)有(yǒu)幽(yōu)人(rén)夜(yè)来(lái)去(qù)。()

现代汉语译文

岩壁上的门和松间的小路长久寂寥,只有幽人在夜里来去。

「幽人」可以是庞公,也可以是他自己。收在无人处,前面渡口的喧闹已经隔得很远。

赏析 · Commentary

一静一喧的开头 · Opening on Two Sounds, One Still, One Loud

第一句是钟:山寺的钟一响,白天就算完了,这是散开的、慢慢延伸的声音。第二句是渡口:人们争着上船,喊成一片,这是挤在一处的、往上顶的声音。孟浩然把这两样并排放在开头,一静一喧,一散一挤。整首诗的走向也在这里定了:从喧处往静处走,从人群里退出来。

The first line is a bell: the hill temple's bell sounds and the day is over, a sound that spreads and lengthens. The second is the ferry: people jostling to board and shouting into one noise, a sound crowded together and pushing up. Meng Haoran sets the two side by side at the start, one still and one loud, one spreading and one packed. The direction of the whole poem is settled here too: away from the noise toward the quiet, out of the crowd.

「人」与「余」各走一边 · The Others and I Go Opposite Ways

第二句用一个「亦」字,把自己和众人并排放好,接着就分了岔:他们沿沙路去江村,他乘船回鹿门。同一时刻,同一条江边,两拨人朝相反的方向去。孟浩然不解释为什么,也不劝谁。这个分岔本身就是这首诗要说的事——他选的不是更热闹的那一头。

The second line uses one word, also, to set the poet beside the others, and then the road forks: they take the sand path to the river village, he takes a boat back to Lumen. Same hour, same riverbank, two groups heading opposite ways. Meng Haoran does not explain why or urge anyone to follow. The fork itself is what the poem is about — the louder side is not the one he picks.

「幽人」是庞公还是自己 · Is the Hidden Man Pang, or Himself

末句只留一个「幽人」在夜里来去,不给名字。前面刚提过庞公的旧隐处,读者自然会先想到庞公;可这一句的动作是「来去」,像是眼前有人还在走。孟浩然没有把两种读法分开,他让古人和自己重叠在同一个夜里。收在这样一个说不清的地方,比明说是谁更好。

The last line leaves only a hidden man coming and going at night, unnamed. Pang's old retreat was just named, so a reader will think of Pang first; yet the motion here is coming and going, as if someone were still walking now. Meng Haoran does not separate the two readings — he lets the ancient and himself overlap in the same night. Closing on a spot that cannot be pinned down serves better than saying which man it is.

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