賈平凹雙語散文丑石

來這一篇散文，我們從課本里面學習過的，接下來，小編給大家準備了賈平凹雙語散文丑石,歡迎大家參考與借鑑。

賈平凹

我常常遺憾我家門前的那塊醜有呢：它黑黝黝地臥在那裏，牛似的模樣;誰也不知道是什麼時候留在這裏的，誰也不去理會它。只是麥收時節，門前攤了麥子，奶奶總是要說：這塊醜石，多礙地面喲，多時把它搬走吧。

於是，伯父家蓋房，想以它壘山牆，但苦於它極不規則，沒棱角兒，也沒平面兒;用鏨破開吧，又懶得花那麼大氣力，因爲河灘並不甚遠，隨便去掮一塊回來，哪一塊也比它強。房蓋起來，壓鋪臺階，伯父也沒有看上它。有一年，來了一個石匠，爲我家洗一臺石磨，奶奶又說：用這塊醜石吧，省得從遠處搬動。石匠看了看，搖着頭，嫌它石質太細，也不採用。

它不像漢白玉那樣的細膩，可以鑿下刻字雕花，也不像大青石那樣的光滑，可以供來浣紗捶布;它靜靜地臥在那裏，院邊的槐蔭沒有庇覆它，花兒也不再在它身邊生長。荒草便繁衍出來，枝蔓上下，慢慢地，竟鏽上了綠苔、黑斑。我們這些做孩子的，也討厭起它來，曾合夥要搬走它，但力氣又不足;雖時時咒罵它，嫌棄它，也無可奈何，只好任它留在那裏去了。

稍稍能安我們的，是在那石上有一個不大不小的坑凹兒，雨天就盛滿了水。常常雨過三天了，地上已經乾燥，那石凹裏水兒還有，雞兒便去那裏渴飲。每每到了十五的夜晚，我們盼着滿月出來，就爬到其上，翹望天邊;奶奶總是要罵的，害怕我們摔下來。果然那次就摔了下來，磕破了我的膝蓋呢。

人都罵它是醜石，它真是醜得不能再醜的醜石了。

終有一日，村子裏來了一個天文學家。他在我家門前路過，突然發現了這塊石頭，眼光立即就拉直了。他再沒有走丟，就住了下來;以後又來了好些人，說這是一塊隕石，從天上落下來已經有二三百年了，是一件了不起的東西。不久便來了車，小心翼翼地將它運走了。

這使我們都很驚奇!這又怪又醜的石頭，原來是天上的呢!它補過天，在天上發過熱，閃過光，我們的先祖或許仰望過它，它給了他們光明、嚮往、憧憬;而它落下來了，在污土裏，荒草裏，一躺就是幾百年了?!

奶奶說：“真看不出!它那麼不一般，卻怎麼連牆也壘不成，臺階也壘不成呢?”

“它是太醜了。”夫文學家說。

“真的，是太醜了。”

“可這正是它的美!”天文學家說，“它是以醜爲美的。”

“以醜爲美?”

“是的，醜到極處，便是美到極處。正因爲它不是一般的頑石，當然不能去做牆，做臺階，不能去雕刻，捶布。它不是做這些小玩意兒的，所以常常就遭到一般世俗的譏諷。”

奶奶臉紅了，我也臉紅了。

我感到自己的可恥，也感到了醜石的偉大;我甚至怨恨它這麼多年竟會默默地忍受着這一切，而我又立即深深地感到它那種不屈於誤解、寂寞的生存的偉大。

An Ugly Stone

Jia Pingwa

I used to feel sorry for that ugly black piece of stone lying like an ox in front of our door; none knew when it was left there and none paid any attention to it, except at the time when wheat was harvested and my grandma, seeing the grains of wheat spread all over the ground in the front yard of the house, would grumble: “This ugly stone takes so much space. Move it away someday.

Thus my uncle had wanted to use it for the gable when he was building a house, but he was troubled to find it of very irregular shape, with no edges nor corners, nor a flat plane on it. And he wouldn’t bother to break it in half with a chisel because the river bank was nearby, where he could have easily fetched a much better stone instead. Even when my uncle was busy with the flight of steps leading to the new house he didn’t take a fancy to the ugly stone. One year when a mason came by, we asked him to make us a stone mill with it. As my grandma put it: “Why not take this one, so you won’t have to fetch one from afar.” But the mason took a look and shook his head: he wouldn’t take it for it was of too fine a quality.

It was not like a fine piece of white marble on which words or flowers could be carved, nor like a smooth big bluish stone people used to wash their clothes on. The stone just lay there in silence, enjoying no shading from the pagoda trees by the yard, nor flowers growing around it. As a result weeds multiplied and stretched all over it, their stems and tendrils gradually covered with dark green spots of moss. We children began to dislike the stone too, and would have taken it away if we had been strong enough; all we could do for the present was to leave it alone, despite our disgust or even curses.

The only thing that had interested us in the ugly stone was a little pit on top of it, which was filled with water on rainy days. Three days after a rainfall, usually, when the ground had become dry, there was still water in the pit, where chickens went to drink. And every month when it came to the evening of the 15th of lunar calendar, we would climb onto the stone, looking up at the sky, hoping to see the full moon come out from far away. And Granny would give us a scolding, afraid lest we should fall down and sure enough, I fell down once to have my knee broken. So everybody condemned the stone: an ugly stone, as ugly as it could be.

Then one day an astronomer came to the village. He looked the stone square in the eye the moment he came across it. He didn’t take his leave but decided to stay in our village. Quite a number of people came afterwards, saying the stone was a piece of aerolite which had fallen down from the sky two or three hundred years ago what a wonder indeed! Pretty soon a truck came, and carried it away carefully.

It gave us a great surprise! We had never expected that such a strange and ugly stone should have come from the sky! So it had once mended the sky, given out its heat and light there, and our ancestors should have looked up at it. It had given them light, brought them hopes and expectations, and then it had fallen down to the earth, in the mud and among the weeds, lying there for hundreds of years!

My grandma said: “I never expected it should be so great! But why can’t people build a wall or pave steps with it?”

‘It’s too ugly,” the astronomer said.

“Sure, it’s really so ugly.”

“But that’s just where its Beauty lies!” the astronomer said, “its beauty comes from its ugliness.”

“Beauty from ugliness?”

“Yes. When something becomes the ugliest, it turns out the most beautiful indeed. The stone is not an ordinary piece of insensate stone, it shouldn’t be used to build wall or pave the steps, to carve words or flowers or to wash clothes on. It’s not the material for those petty common things, and no wonder it’s ridiculed often by people with petty common views.”

My grandma became blushed, and so did I.

I feel shame while I feel the greatness of the ugly stone; I have even complained about it having pocketed silently all it had experienced for so many years, but again I am struck by the greatness that lies in its lonely unyielding existence of being misunderstood by people.