【胡宗锋英译专栏】贾平凹： 我不是个好儿子（I am not a Good Son）
（微风读书会ID：weifeng279965337)
我不是个好儿子
文/贾平凹 译/胡宗锋
本文经两位老师授权在“微风读书会”首发
I am not a Good Son
Translated from the Chinese by Hu Zongfeng& Robin Gilbank
在我四十岁以后，在我几十年里雄心勃勃所从事的事业、爱情遭受了挫折和失意，我才觉悟了做儿子的不是。母亲的伟大不仅生下血肉的儿子，还在于她并不指望儿子的回报，不管儿子离她多远又回来多近，她永远使儿子有亲情，有力量，有根有本。人生的车途上，母亲是加油站。
Only afterreaching the age of forty and meeting frustrations in my decades-long,hard-fought, ambitious career, did I realise my faults as a son. The greatnessof a mother lies in that she not only gives birth to her own flesh and blood, ;kpbutalso never expects her son to do anything in return. Whether her son ends upfar away from or stays within her sight, she is the one who will succour to hissense of kinship and strength, keeping him conscious of his roots and base. Onthe life journey of a man, his mother serves as his filling station.
母亲一生都在乡下，没有文化，不善说会道，飞机只望见过天上的影子。她并不清楚我 在远远的城里干什么，惟一晓得的是我能写字，她说我写字的时候眼睛在不停地眨，就操心我的苦，“世上的字能写完？！”一次一次地阻止我。前些年，母亲每次到城里小住，总是为我和孩子缝制过冬的衣物，棉花垫得极厚，总害怕我着冷，结果使我和孩子都穿得像狗熊一样笨拙。她过不惯城里的生活，嫌吃油太多，来人太多，客厅的灯不灭，东西一旧就扔，说：“日子没乡下整端。”最不能忍受我们打骂孩子，孩子不哭，她却哭，和我闹一场后就生气回乡下去。母亲每一次都高高兴兴来，每一次都生了气回去。回去了，我并未思念过她，甚至一年一年的夜里不曾梦着过她。母亲对我的好是我不觉得了母亲对我的好，当我得意的时候我忘记了母亲的存在，当我有委屈了就想给母亲诉说，当着她的面哭一回鼻子。
My mother stayed in the countryside all her life, andwas illiterate, not good with words. As for aeroplanes, she had only observedtheir shadows in the sky. She was not clear about what I was occupied with faraway in the city; she only knew that I could write words. She told me that whenI wrote my eyes blinked all the time, then she would become worried about themisery I might be enduring. “Can you finishing writing all the words in theworld?” Again and again she tried to stop me in my tracks. Several years ago,when my mother came to live in the city for a short while, she would pass hertime sewing winter garments and other items for me and my child. Fearing thatwe might catch a chill, she would always stuff more cotton wadding into whatshe was making. As a result when we wore her handiwork, the kid and I wouldlook as clumsy as bears. She was not accustomed to life in the city,complaining that the food was too greasy and we had too many visitors and thatthe light in the sitting room was always on and that we threw away everythingas soon as it became old. She said: “Life here isn’t as orderly as in thecountryside.” The thing she found it hardest to bear was how we beat andscolded our child. The infant did not cry, yet she would. After we had patchedmatters up, she would become annoyed and go back to the countryside. Each time,she would come along joyfully, but leave in a temper. After she had gone, I didnot miss her. Year in year out I did not even dream about her at night. Mymother’s compassion towards me was never appreciated for what it was. When Isuccess turned my head, I would forget her very existence. When I nursed agrievance or felt wronged, I wanted to tell her about it and cry in front ofher.
母亲姓周，这是从舅舅那里知道的，但母亲叫什么名字，十二岁那年，一次与同村的孩子骂仗——乡下骂仗以高声大叫对方父母名字为最解气的——她父亲叫鱼，我骂她鱼，鱼，河里的鱼！她骂我：蛾，蛾，小小的蛾！我清楚了母亲是叫周小蛾的。大人物之所以大人物，是名字被千万人呼喊，母亲的名字我至今没有叫过，似乎也很少听老家村子里的人叫过，但母亲不是大人物却并不失却她的伟大，她的老实、本分、善良、勤劳在家乡有口皆碑。现在有人讥讽我有农民的品性，我并不羞耻，我就是农民的儿子，母亲教育我的忍字，使我忍了该忍的事情，避免了许多祸灾发生，而我的错误在于忍了不该忍的事情，企图以委屈求全却未能求全。
My mother’s surname was Zhou. I learnt that from mymaternal uncle, but I didn’t know her given name. Once when I was twelve yearsold I was exchanging curses with another child in the village – in thecountryside the best way to vent one’s gall is to yell out the names of yourantagonist’s parents. That girl’s father’s name was Fish, so I blurted out “Fish,fishy Fish lives in the river!” She cursed back: “Moth! Moth! Piffling Moth!” Ithen knew that my mother was called Little Moth Zhou. A big shot is a big shotsimply because his name is chanted by thousands of people. Up until then I hadnever spoken out my mother’s name. I had seldom heard our neighbours in ourvillage use that name. Although she was not a great luminary, her greatness wasnot diminished by this preclusion. Her honesty, simplicity, goodness, andindustry was universally acknowledged in my hometown. Nowadays, some peoplederide me for having the bearing of a farmer. I don’t feel ashamed of that. Iam the son of a farmer. My mother told me to have tolerance. I have toleratedeverything that I should and, consequently, have sidestepped many calamities. Myfault lies in that I have shown tolerance to those who did not deserve it, andhave tried unsuccessfully to make concessions in order to achieve my aim.
七年前，父亲作了胃癌手术，我全部的心思都在父亲身上。父亲去世后，我仍是常常梦到父亲，父亲依然还是有病痛的样子，醒来就伤心落泪，要买了阴纸来烧。在纸灰飞扬的时候，突然间我会想起乡下的母亲，又是数日不安，也就必会寄一笔钱到乡下去。寄走了钱，心安理得地又投入到我的工作中了，心中再也没有母亲的影子。老家的村子里，人人都在夸我给母亲寄钱，可我心里明白，给母亲寄钱并不是我心中多么有母亲，完全是为了我的心理平衡。而母亲收到寄去的钱总舍不得花，听妹妹说，她把钱没处放，一卷一卷塞在床下的破棉鞋里，几乎让老鼠做了窝去。我埋怨过母亲，母亲说：“我要那么多钱干啥？零着攒下了将来整着给你。你们都精精神神了，我喝凉水都高兴的，我现在又不至于喝着凉水！”去年回去，她真的把积攒的钱要给我，我气恼了，要她逢集赶会了去买个零嘴吃，她果然一次买回了许多红糖，装在一个瓷罐儿里，但凡谁家的孩子去她那儿了，就三个指头一捏，往孩子嘴一塞，再一抹。孩子们为糖而来，得糖而去，母亲笑着骂着“喂不熟的狗！”末了就呆呆地发半天愣。
Seven years ago, my father had an operation forstomach cancer. My whole heart and concern were focused upon him. When hepassed away, I still dreamt constantly about him. He continued to have a sicklyappearance. When I woke up, I would feel sorrowful and weep, then buy sometouch paper to burn for him. Once the ashes from the paper had flown away, mythoughts would immediately turn to my mother in the countryside. I would becomerestless for days. I would then send some money to her. After it had beendespatched, I could once more burrow myself into my work with my mind at restand a clear conscience. The shadow of my mother never loomed in my heart. In myvillage, everyone praised me for sending her money. However, I came tounderstand that doing this did not mean I cherished her deep down. Rather I wastrying to rectify my own psychological balance. My mother could not bringherself to spend this gift. I heard my younger sister say that she had found noplace to put it, so rolled the notes up and stuffed them into the cotton shoesunder the bed. The rats very nearly pilfered them as bedding. I complainedabout this to my mother, though she her response was: “What’s the use of mehaving so much money? I will just save my spare change and pay you back in fullwhen I can manage to. As long as you are all happy and in good health I amhappy to make do with cold water! But right now I’m not in such a needy statethat I have to drink un-boiled water!” last year when I went back, she didindeed reimburse me with the money she had saved. I was antagonised and askedher to go to the country fair and buy some nibbles. She did so and brought backa great deal of brown sugar which she put in a porcelain jar. Whenever kidscame to her place, she would dig three fingers in there and put a pinch ofsugar into their mouths. The children came for the sweet stuff and went awaycontented. My mother would smile and scold: “Greedy puppies – you’re all take,take, take and no give!” Afterwards, she would stare blankly for a long while.
母亲在晚年是寂寞的，我们兄妹就商议了，主张她给大妹看管孩子，有孩子占心，累是累些，日月总是好打发的吧。小外甥就成了她的尾巴，走到哪儿带到哪儿。一次婆孙到城里来，见我书屋里挂有父亲的遗像，她眼睛就潮了，说：“人一死就有了日子了，不觉是四个年头了！”我忙劝她，越劝她越流下泪来。外甥偏过来对着照片要爷爷，我以为母亲更要伤心的，母亲却说：“爷爷埋在土里了。”孩子说：“土里埋下什么都长哩，爷爷埋在土里怎么不再长个爷爷？”母亲竟没有恼，倒破涕而笑了。母亲疼孩子爱孩子，当着众人面要骂孩子没出息，这般地大了夜夜还要噙着她的奶头睡觉，孩子就羞了脸，过来捂她的嘴不让说。两人绞在一起倒在地上，母亲笑得直喘气。我和妹妹批评过母亲太娇惯孩子，她就说：“我不懂教育嘛，你们怎么现在都英英武武的？！”我们拗不过她，就盼外甥永远长这么大。可外甥如庄稼苗一样，见风生长，不觉今年要上学了，母亲显得很失落，她依然住在妹妹家，急得心火把嘴角都烧烂了。我想，如果母亲能信佛，每日去寺院烧香，回家念经就好了，但母亲没有那个信仰。后来总算让邻居的老太太们拉着天天去练气功，我们做儿女的心才稍有了些踏实。
My mother’s later years were lonely. We siblingsdiscussed the isue and decided that she could care for my younger sister’schildren. Tiring as it might prove the time would pass more easily when she hadthe youngsters on her heart. My little nephew duly became her tail, followingher wherever she went. Once, the grandma and grandson came to the city. Hereyes were moist when she saw the portrait of my deceased father hanging in thestudy. She said: “When a man is dead, it’s easy to count the number of hisdays. I didn’t realise that four years have passed.” I promptly tried to changethe subject. Still, the more I attempted that, the more tears dribbled from hereyes. My little nephew came forward impetuously and asked for “Grandpa” infront of the photo. I thought this would make her more broken hearted, but sheexplained: “Your Grandpa was buried under the earth.” The child replied: “Anythingthat’s buried grows up again. How come my Grandpa hasn’t grown out?” to mysurprise, mother was not irritated; instead she broke into a smile. My motherdoted on the child and in public she would upbraid him for being without shame.He seemed to be growing physically bigger, but every night would still go tosleep with her nipple in his mouth. The child would then be flushed with shameand come over to gag her lips with his hand. The grandmother and grandson wouldthen wrestle on the ground and she would smile out of breath. My younger sisterand I criticised her for pampering him. She conceded: “I’ve never known aneducation myself, but all of you are doing well for yourselves.” We could notout-manouevre her, so only hoped that the kids would remain just as he wasforever. Nonetheless, my nephew, like the crops, thrived once he had the blastof the wind upon him. Before we realised it was time for him to enroll atschool this year, my mother seemed quite lost. She continued to live in myyounger sister’s home. She was so anxious that the pent up fire in her heartwould break out and cause her lips to be chapped. I thought that if my motherwas a believer in Buddhism, she could go to the temple everyday to burn incenseand chant sutras on her return home. My mother had no such faith. Later, theold grandmothers around her pulled her outdoor to practice qigong breathingexercises. Then we siblings felt a semblance of relief.
沉思中的贾平凹（摄影：魏锋）
小时候，我对母亲的印象是她只管家里人的吃和穿，白日除了去生产队出工，夜里总是洗萝卜呀，切红薯片呀，或者纺线，纳鞋底，在门闩上拉了麻丝合绳子。母亲不会做大菜，一年一次的蒸碗大菜，父亲是亲自操作的，但母亲的面条擀得最好，满村出名。家里一来客，父亲说：吃面吧。厨房一阵案响，一阵风箱声，母亲很快就用箕盘端上几碗热腾腾的面条来。客人吃的时候，我们做孩子的就被打发着去村巷里玩，玩不了多久，我们就偷偷溜回来，盼着客人是否吃过了，是否有剩下的。果然在锅底里就留有那么一碗半碗。在那困难的年月里，纯白面条只是待客，没有客人的时候，中午可以吃一顿包谷糁面，母亲差不多是先给父亲捞一碗，然后下些浆水和菜，连菜带面再给我们兄妹捞一碗，最后她的碗里就只有包谷糁和菜了。那时少粮缺柴的，生活苦巴，我们做孩子的并不愁容满面，平日倒快活得要死，最烦恼的是帮母亲推磨子了。常常天一黑母亲就收拾磨子，在麦子里掺上白包谷或豆子磨一种杂面，偌大的石磨她一个人推不动，就要我和弟弟合推一个磨棍，月明星稀之下，走一圈又一圈，昏头晕脑的发迷怔。磨过一遍了，母亲在那里筛箩，我和弟弟就趴在磨盘上瞌睡。母亲喊我们醒来再推，我和弟弟总是说磨好了，母亲说再磨几遍，需要把麦麸磨得如蚊子翅膀一样薄才肯结束。我和弟弟就同母亲吵，扔了磨棍怄气。母亲叹叹气，末了去敲邻家的屋子，哀求人家：二嫂子，二嫂子，你起来帮我推推磨子！人家半天不吱声，她还在求，说：“咱换换工，你家推磨子了，我再帮你……孩子明日要上学，不敢耽搁娃的课的。”瞧着母亲低声下气的样子，我和弟弟就不忍心了，揉揉鼻子又把磨棍拿起来。母亲操持家里的吃穿琐碎事无巨细，而家里的大事，母亲是不管的，一切由当教师的星期天才能回家的父亲做主。在我上大学的那些年，每次寒暑假结束要进城，头一天夜里总是开家庭会，家庭会差不多是父亲主讲，要用功学习呀，真诚待人呀，孔子是怎么讲，古今历史上什么人是如何奋斗的，直要讲两三个小时。母亲就坐在一边，为父亲不住吸着的水烟袋卷纸媒，纸媒卷了好多，便袖了手打盹。父亲最后说：“你妈还有啥说的？”母亲一怔方清醒过来，父亲就生气了：“瞧你，你竟能睡着？！”训几句。母亲只是笑着，说：“你是老师能说，我说啥呀？”大家都笑笑，说天不早了，睡吧，就分头去睡。这当儿母亲却精神了，去关院门，关猪圈，检查柜盖上的各种米面瓦罐是否盖严了，防备老鼠进去，然后就收拾我的行李，然后一个人去灶房为我包天明起来吃的素饺子。
In my childhood I had the impression that my motheronly took care of the food and clothing in the family. During the daytime shewould go out to work with the Production Brigade and in the evening she wasalways rinsing radishes and slicing sweet potatoes or spinning thread andfashioning shoe soles. Otherwise, she would be weaving hemp, fastening the endsof the fibres onto the door latch. My mother didn’t know how to prepare fancyfare. Once a year, my father would be responsible for the single grand steamingbowl, though my mother was a skilled hand at kneading noodles. For this she wasrenowned all over the village. Whenever a visitor dropped by at our home, myfather would say “let’s have noodles.” Then we would hear the sound of thechopping board and the bellows. After a while, my mother would bring in severalbowls of piping hot noodles, using the abacus as a tray. As the guests tuckedin the children would be sent out to play in the lanes. Before long, we wouldsneak back stealthily to spy on how much the guests had eaten and if there wereany leftovers. As expected, there was roughly a bowl-and-a-half swilling aroundthe bottom of the cauldron. During those years of hardship, pure wheat flournoodles were only used to entertain guests. If no visitors were around, wewould satisfy ourselves with a lunch of cracked corn porridge mixed withnoodles. My mother would invariably ladle out some noodles for my father. Shewould then season the porridge with pickles and diced vegetables, serving themixture to each of the children in turn. Last of all, her bowl would onlycontain cracked corn and vegetables. In that period food and wood as well wereat a premium. Life was difficult, but we kids never wore a worried expression. Wewere as bouyant as it was possible to be. The most vexing thing for us was tohelp our mother turn the grindstone. Usually she would begin to clean the stoneafter nightfall. She sifted together white corn and beans as a prelude toprocessing a composite flour. So huge was the grindstone that she could notrotate it unaided. She would ask my younger brother and I to take hold of thehandle at the same time. Sparse were the stars and bright the moon as we trodcircuit after circuit around the axis. We persisted until our heads were dizzyand numb. When the first batch was ground, mother would sieve the grain. Myyounger brother and I would doze off, resting our heads against the stone. She wouldthen rouse us and want to set us to work again, though we would insist “That’senough, that’s enough.” Nevertheless, she said that it needed to be groundseveral more times until the bran was as thin as mosquito wings. We two wouldquarrel with her and toss aside the handle in pique. My mother would sigh andhead for the neighouring homes to ask for assistance, saying “Sister-in-law,could you please get up and help me turn the grindstone?” For a lot time therewas no reply, yet she continued to beg, imploring: “I repay you in kind; helpyou when you do the same job … The kids are off to school tomorrow, I daren’trisk them miss class.” My brother and I couldn’t bear to see our mother beingso lowly, so we rubbed our noses and retrieved the handle. She assiduously tookcare of all the mundane matters in the household, such as cooking and providingclothes. Whereas if major events arose, the last say was reserved for myfather, who was a teacher and returned home only on Sundays. During the yearswhen I was a university student, on the final evening of my summer or wintervacation our family would hold a meeting. The main speaker was invariably myfather. He would emphasise how we should study, urge us to treat others withsincerity, stress the sayings of Confucius, and relate stories of how folks hadachieved success by graft in both ancient times and the present day. As he heldforth for two or three hours, mother would sit at his side rolling tapers forhis water-pipe. After she had twisted so many, she was apt to nod off. As last,he would pronounce: “Does mother have her pennyworth?” She would then jolt awakeand he would scold her, saying: “You see. How can you fall asleep?” Somefurther words of blame would ensue. She could only smile and reply: “You are ateacher. You are able to gabble. What can I say?” Everybody would laugh,pointing out it was too late, and head for bed in their various directions. Atthis moment, my mother would become high spirited. She would go and latch thecourtyard gate and the pigsty, and check all the jars of perishables on thecounter to see if the lids were secure against rodents. After everything wasdone, she would enter the kitchen alone and prepare boiled vegetable dumplingsfor my breakfast the next morning.
父亲去世后，我原本立即接她来城里住，她不来，说父亲三年没过，没过三年的亡人会有阳灵常常回来的，她得在家顿顿往灵牌前贡献饭莱。平日太阳暖和的时候，她也去和村里一些老太太们抹花花牌，她们玩的是两分钱一个注儿，每次出门就带两角钱三角钱，她塞在袜筒。她养过几只鸡，清早一开鸡棚，一一要在鸡屁股里揣揣有没有蛋要下，若揣着有蛋，半晌午抹牌就半途赶回来收拾产下的蛋。可她不大吃鸡蛋，只要有人来家坐了，却总热惦着要烧煎水，煎水里就卧荷包蛋。每年院里的梅李熟了，总摘一些留给我，托人往城里带，没人进城，她一直给我留着，“平爱吃酸果子”，她这话要唠叨好长时间，梅李就留到彻底腐烂了才肯倒去。她在妹妹家学练了气功，我去看她，未说几句话就叫我到小房去，一定要让我喝一个瓶子里的凉水，不喝不行，问这是怎么啦，她才说是气功师给她的信息水，治百病的，“你要喝的，你一喝肝病或许就好了！”我喝了半杯，她就又取苹果橘子让我吃，说是信息果。
After my father passed away, I at first intended tobring her to live in the city. She refused and said that my father’s thirdanniversary had not come around yet. She maintained within this period, the soulof the deceased would often migrate home for a visit. She was duty-bound tooffer up food before the altar at every meal time. In her spare time, when theweather was warm, she would trundle off to the village to play cards with otherold grandmas. The stake was only one or two cents, so she carried with hertwenty or thirty cents in loose notes stuffed down the back of her sock. Earlyin the morning she would open the chicken coop and poke a finger up each hen’srear end, testing for eggs. If they were on the brink of laying, she wouldbreak off her card game half way through and come home and collect the bounty. Evenso, she herself would seldom eat eggs. When guests were visiting, she wouldannounce that she was going to boil water, but when she came back she wasbearing a pot with poached eggs inside. Every year, when plums ripened in thecourtyard, she would always ask people to take some for me in the city. Shouldno one be willing to act as courier, the fruit would be stored until my return.“Ping, he is fond of sour fruit.” Those words would hover on her lips for ages.She wouldn’t tip the fruits away until they were rotted to mush. She trainedherself in the practices of qigong atmy younger sister’s home, so that when I dropped in to see her, she would dragme over to the side room after the briefest of conversations. She urged me todrink cool water from a bottle, telling me that I had no choice. On asking herwhy, she answered that this was the “information water” from a qigong master and could cure the wholegamut of illness. She said: “You should drink. Afterwards, your liver ailmentmay be cleared up completely.” I consumed half. She then brought out apples andoranges to eat, introducing these similarly as “information fruits.”
我成不成为什么专家名人，母亲一向是不大理会的，她既不晓得我工作的荣耀，我工作上的烦恼和苦闷也就不给她说。一部《废都》，国之内外怎样风雨不止，我受怎样的赞誉和攻击，母亲未说过一句话。当知道我已孤单一人，又病得入了院，她悲伤得落泪，要到城里来看我，弟妹不让她来，不领她，她气得在家里骂这个骂那个，后来冒着风雪来了，她的眼睛已患了严重的疾病，却哭着说：“我娃这是什么命啊？！”
My mother never cared if I would become a big-shot ora specialist. Neither did she know the honour of my occupation. I never sharedwith her the tribulations and gloom encountered in my work. When The Abandoned Capital whipped up a stormboth at home and abroad, she never passed a single comment on whatever praiseor attack was meted out on me. But when she heard that I was ill and inhospital alone, she shed sad tears and wanted to visit me in the city. Mybrothers and sisters forbade her and were unwilling to be her escorts. She wasenraged and poked an accusing finger at each of them in her home. Later, shearrived in the midst of the storm and gale. Something was certainly amiss withher eyes, though still she wept and said: “What kind of a fate has my kid runinto?”
我告诉母亲，我的命并不苦的，什么委屈和劫难我都可以受得，少年时期我上山砍柴，挑百十斤的柴担在山砭道上行走，因为路窄，不到固定的歇息处是不能放下柴担的，肩膀再疼腿再酸也不能放下柴担的，从那时起我就练出了一股韧劲。而现在最苦的是我不能亲自伺候母亲！父亲去世了，作为长子，我是应该为这个家操心，使母亲在晚年活得幸福，但现在既不能照料母亲，反倒让母亲还为儿子牵肠挂肚，我这做的是什么儿子呢？把母亲送出医院，看着她上车要回去了，我还是掏出身上仅有的钱给她，我说，钱是不能代替了孝顺的，但我如今只能这样啊！母亲懂得了我的心，她把钱收了，紧紧地握在手里，再一次整整我的衣领，摸摸我的脸，说我的胡子长了，用热毛巾捂捂，好好刮刮，才上了车。眼看着车越走越远，最后看不见了。我回到病房，躺在床上开始打吊针，我的眼泪默默地流下来。
I informed my mother that my fate was far from poor. Icould put up with all the wrongs and sufferings. In my adolescent years I wouldcarry fifty kilos of firewood on my shoulders and walk along the mountainpaths. As the paths were narrow, one could not rest your load until oneparticular resting place had been reached, no matter how painful your shoulderand legs were. From then on I had cultivated a kind of power of forebearance. Thebitterest issue for me now was that I was unable to wait on my mother inperson. With my father being gone, I as the eldest son should take theresponsibility for allowing her to live out her dotages happily. Nonetheless, Iwas not in a position to care for her now and, on she was consumed with worryabout me. What kind of a son am I? Accompanying my mother out of the hospital,as she was about to clamber on the bus to go back, I took out all the money inmy pocket and gave it to her, saying: “Money cannot be any substitute forfilial piety. But this is all I can do now.” She understood me and accepted thecash, gripping it tightly in her palm. Once again, shook my collar until it wasarranged in good order and then touched my face, observing that my beard wastoo long. A hot towel should be applied as a compress and then the whiskersneatly shaved away. I could see the bus crawling gradually away until I lostsight of it. I returned to my ward, lay on my bed, and reinserted the drip,with tears rolling silently down from my eyes.
1993年11月27日草于病房。
Scribbled in my ward, 27th November1993
英译作者胡宗锋与著名作家贾平凹。
胡宗锋，西北大学外国语学院院长、陕西省翻译协会主席胡宗锋教授。自2008年以来，胡宗锋教授带领其翻译团队一直致力于陕西作家作品的英译工作。他们不仅翻译完成了贾平凹先生的《废都》《土门》《高兴》《白夜》《老生》外，还翻译了陈忠实、穆涛、方英文、红柯、吴克敬、叶广芩等陕西文坛名家作品。在胡宗锋教授的带领下，西北大学外国语学院已经形成了一支以青年教师为主力，以译介陕西作家作品传播中国文化为使命的工作团队。相信在胡院长的带领下，他们会让更多的优秀作家作品走出国门，让世界了解中国，不断增进相互的理解与沟通，为实现中西文化的共融共通助力！
【中英文独家连载】罗宾博士看陕西之： 东方一瞥——半坡与蓝田
【中国当代作家观察01】贾平凹：从棣花到西安后的回归—— （英）罗宾·吉尔班克 胡宗锋 译
魏锋专访（微风读书会ID：weifeng279965337)