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著名作家史鐵生于2010年12月30號(hào)下午16點(diǎn)，因突發(fā)腦溢血，之后經(jīng)搶救無(wú)效，在12月31號(hào)3點(diǎn)46分離開(kāi)人世。依史鐵生生前自己多次重申的意愿，將不舉行遺體告別。
生平簡(jiǎn)介：
史鐵生，1951年生于北京，1967年畢業(yè)于清華附中，1969年去延安一帶插隊(duì)。因雙腿癱瘓于1972年回到北京。后來(lái)又患腎病并發(fā)展到尿毒癥，需要靠透析維持生命。自稱是“職業(yè)是生病，業(yè)余在寫(xiě)作”。2002年獲華語(yǔ)文學(xué)傳媒大獎(jiǎng)年度杰出成就獎(jiǎng)。寫(xiě)有著名散文《我與地壇》鼓勵(lì)了無(wú)數(shù)的人 。
《我與地壇》選段英譯賞析：
我在好幾篇小說(shuō)中都提到過(guò)一座廢棄的古園，實(shí)際就是地壇。許多年前旅游業(yè)還沒(méi)有開(kāi)展，園子荒蕪冷落得如同一片野地，很少被人記起。
In a number of my stories, I’ve referred to an antiquated park: in fact, this is the Temple of Earth Park. Some years ago, before tourism had developed much, it was as desolate and neglected as a wasteland. People seldom gave it a thought.
地壇離我家很近。或者說(shuō)我家離地壇很近。總之，只好認(rèn)為這是緣分。地壇在我出生前四百多年就坐落在那兒了，而自從我的祖母年輕時(shí)帶著我父親來(lái)到北京，就一直住在離它不遠(yuǎn)的地方——五十多年間搬過(guò)幾次家，可搬來(lái)搬去總是在它周圍，而且是越搬離它越近了。我常覺(jué)得這中間有著宿命的味道：仿佛這古園就是為了等我，而歷盡滄桑在那兒等待了四百多年。
The Temple of Earth wasn’t far from my home, or perhaps it’s better to say my home wasn’t far from it. All in all, I felt I was related to it by fate. It had reposed there for four hundred years before my birth, and ever since, when my grandmother was a young woman, she had taken my father to live in Beijing, my family had lived near it: in more than fifty years, my family had moved several times, but always to a place in its vicinity. Each time, we moved closer to it. I often felt this was something foreordained—as if this old park were waiting especially for me: it seemed it had been waiting for four hundred years—through all the tumultuous changes of those centuries.
它等待我出生，然后又等待我活到最狂妄的年齡上忽地殘廢了雙腿。四百多年里，它剝蝕了古殿檐頭浮夸的琉璃，淡褪了門壁上炫耀的朱紅，坍圮了一段段高墻又散落了玉砌雕欄，祭壇四周的老柏樹(shù)愈見(jiàn)蒼幽，到處的野草荒藤也都茂盛得自在坦蕩。這時(shí)候想必我是該來(lái)了。十五年前的一個(gè)下午，我搖著輪椅進(jìn)入園中，它為一個(gè)失魂落魄的人把一切都準(zhǔn)備好了。那時(shí)，太陽(yáng)循著亙古不變的路途正越來(lái)越大，也越紅。在滿園彌漫的沉靜光芒中，一個(gè)人更容易看到時(shí)間，并看見(jiàn)自己的身影。
It had waited for me to be born, and then it had waited for me to be suddenly crippled in both legs during my wildly ambitious youth. In those four hundred years, it had been denuded of the colored glazes on the eaves of its old temple, the glorious vermilion of its gates and walls had faded, the high walls had collapsed, pieces of jade inlaid into the pillars had loosened and scattered, yet old dark green cypress trees surrounding the altar had become more and more serene, and everywhere, weeds and vines flourished with abandon. It was about the right time for me to come here. When the park was finally ready for me—a man at loose ends—I maneuvered my wheelchair into the park for the first time. The sun—on its ancient, unchanged path—was just growing bigger, and redder. In the still rays of light suffusing the park, it was easy for a person to see the time, and easy to see his own shadow.
自從那個(gè)下午我無(wú)意中進(jìn)了這園子，就再?zèng)]長(zhǎng)久地離開(kāi)過(guò)它。我一下子就理解了它的意圖。正如我在一篇小說(shuō)中所說(shuō)的：“在人口密聚的城市里，有這樣一個(gè)寧?kù)o的去處，像是上帝的苦心安排。
”Beginning with that afternoon when I happened to go to this park, I’ve never been away from it for long. I understood at once why it was there. As I said in one story, “In a densely populated city, it’s as if God painstakingly arranged for a place as serene as this.”
兩條腿殘廢后的最初幾年，我找不到工作，找不到去路，忽然間幾乎什么都找不到了，我就搖了輪椅總是到它那兒去，僅為著那兒是可以逃避一個(gè)世界的另一個(gè)世界。我在那篇小說(shuō)中寫(xiě)道：“沒(méi)處可去我便一天到晚耗在這園子里。跟上班下班一樣，別人去上班我就搖了輪椅到這兒來(lái)。園子無(wú)人看管，上下班時(shí)間有些抄近路的人們從園中穿過(guò)，園子里活躍一陣，過(guò)后便沉寂下來(lái)。”“園墻在金晃晃的空氣中斜切下一溜蔭涼，我把輪椅開(kāi)進(jìn)去，把椅背放倒，坐著或是躺著，看書(shū)或者想事，撅一杈樹(shù)枝左右拍打，驅(qū)趕那些和我一樣不明白為什么要來(lái)這世上的小昆蟲(chóng)。”“蜂兒如一朵小霧穩(wěn)穩(wěn)地停在半空；螞蟻搖頭晃腦捋著觸須，猛然間想透了什么，轉(zhuǎn)身疾行而去；瓢蟲(chóng)爬得不耐煩了，累了祈禱一回便支開(kāi)翅膀，忽悠一下升空了；樹(shù)干上留著一只蟬蛻，寂寞如一間空屋；露水在草葉上滾動(dòng)，聚集，壓彎了草葉轟然墜地摔開(kāi)萬(wàn)道金光。”“滿園子都是草木競(jìng)相生長(zhǎng)弄出的響動(dòng)，窸窸窣窣片刻不息。”這都是真實(shí)的記錄，園子荒蕪但并不衰敗。
The first few years after I was crippled, I couldn’t find work: I had no future; all of a sudden, it was almost as though I couldn’t find anything. And so I wheeled myself to the park almost every day: it was another world, one where I could escape this world. I wrote in one story, “With no place to go, I used to spend the whole day in the park every day: other people went to work; I went to the park. It was an abandoned park. When it was time to go to work or time to go home, people took shortcuts through the park, and it became animated for a while. Afterwards, it was still.” “In the dazzling golden sunlight, the park’s wall provided shade: I wheeled myself over there, put the back of the wheelchair down, and—either sitting or lying down—I read or thought. I would break off a cypress twig and drive away the insects who didn’t know any better than I did why they had been born in this world.” “A bee like a tiny piece of mist hung on in midair; an ant was deep in thought, its head wagging and its antennae quivering, and then, all of a sudden, it must have come up with the right answer, for it turned back and scudded off; the ladybug climbed around wearily, stopped to pray for a while, and then, flapping its wings, suddenly soared to the sky; on the tree trunk there was one cicada, as lonely as an empty room; dew rolled around on the leaves of weeds, and then coalesced, weighing the leaves down until they broke into thousands of rays of golden light.” “The whole park was astir with the sound of weeds, bushes, and trees growing, all shattering ceaselessly.” This was all true: the park was a wasteland, but far from going downhill.
