奥尔多·利奥波德文 曹明伦译析

The wind that makes music in November corn is in a hurry. The stalks hum， the loose husks whisk skyward in half-playful swirls， and the wind hurries on.

In the marsh， long windy waves surge across the grassy sloughs， beat against the far willows. A tree tries to argue， bare limbs waving， but there is no detaining the wind.

On the sandbar there is only wind， and the river sliding seaward. Every wisp of grass is drawing circles on the sand. I wander over the bar to a driftwood log， where I sit and listen to the universal roar， and to the tinkle of wavelets on the shore. The river is lifeless： not a duck， heron， marshhawk， or gull but has sought refuge from wind.

Out of the clouds I hear a faint bark， as of a far-away dog. It is strange how the world cocks its ears at that sound， wondering. Soon it is louder： the honk of geese， invisible， but coming on.

The flock emerges from the low clouds， a tattered banner of birds， dipping and rising， blown up and blown down， blown together and blown apart， but advancing， the wind wrestling lovingly with each winnowing wing. When the flock is a blur in the far sky I hear the last honk， sounding taps for summer.

It is warm behind the driftwood now， for the wind has gone with the geese. So would I—if I were the wind.

十一月的玉米地里，演奏音乐的风总是匆匆来去。玉米秆会迎风嗡嗡哼唱，松弛的苞衣会顽皮地旋动，朝天起舞，而风依然行色匆匆。

十一月的沼泽地里，风会拂过长草，掀起草浪，拍打远方的杨柳。有树挥舞其秃枝欲劝风留下，可风依然行色匆匆。

十一月的沙洲上只有风，还有那条流向大海的河。此时每片草叶都在沙地上打转。我漫步越过沙洲，在一根漂流木上坐下，倾听风响彻寰宇的呼啸，聆听浪轻拍河岸的涛声。此刻河面上了无生气，没有野鸭，没有苍鹭，没有泽鹰，连沙鸥也去了避风的地方。

我忽闻云中隐隐有声，像是犬吠声从远方传来。真奇妙，怎么整个世界都竖起了耳朵，想听出那是什么声音。声音很快清晰，是雁声嗷嗷，虽不见鸿影，但其鸣已近。

雁群从低云中穿出，像一面撕破的旌旗，忽垂忽扬，忽高忽低，忽聚忽散，但始终在前进，风怜爱地托起每一片被吹乱的翼羽。雁群在遥远的天际渐渐模糊，这时我听见最后一声嗈鸣，仿佛是在向夏天告别。

这时漂流木后边有了丝暖意，因为风已随雁群去向远方。假若我是风，我也要随雁群去向远方。

【背景知识】这篇散文选自美国生态作家利奥波德的自然随笔《沙乡年鉴》。秋风凉，雁南飞，古今中外多少作家诗人曾为此触景生情。《假若我是风》对秋风和雁群的描写别具一格，秋风行色匆匆，是为了追随雁群。利奥波德在《沙乡年鉴》序言中说“有机会看到大雁比观看电视更重要”，但在这篇短文中，他似乎已不满足于看到大雁，而想同秋风一样与大雁亲密接触，结伴同行。……