 
字體：小 中 大 |
|
|
|
| 2020/10/20 05:31:06瀏覽634｜回應0｜推薦18 | |
Excerpt：《張愛玲譯作選》 廟宇像草一樣地生長著， 藝術必須服從，而不許超過。 被動的藝術家將他的手出借 給那超越他的龐大的靈魂設計。 樹立這廟宇的一種力量， 它也騎在裡面跪拜的信徒們身上。 那火熱的聖靈降臨節，它永遠 將無數的群眾都圍上一道火焰， 歌詠隊使人聽得出神， 祭司將靈感賦予心靈。 上帝告訴先知的語句充滿智慧， 刻在石碑上，很完整，並沒有碎。 預言家或是神巫在橡樹林下 或是金色的廟中所說的話， 仍舊在清晨的風中飄過， 仍舊向樂意聽的人低聲訴說。 聖靈的言語在世界上雖然被忽視， 然而一字一句也沒有失去。 我知道智慧的長老們的真言， 因為聖經就攤在我的面前， 古代的「黃金口才」和奥古斯丁最好的著作， 還有一位作者將二者貫通融合， 近代的「黃金口才」或寶藏就是他， 泰勒是牧師中的莎士比亞。 他的話在我聽來與音樂相仿， 我看見他穿著僧衣的可愛的畫像； 然而，不論他的信仰給了他何等的先見， 叫我做那好主教我還是不願。 https://poets.org/poem/problem The Problem Ralph Waldo Emerson - 1803-1882 I like a church; I like a cowl; I love a prophet of the soul; And on my heart monastic aisles Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles; Yet not for all his faith can see Would I that cowléd churchman be. Why should the vest on him allure, Which I could not on me endure? Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought; Never from lips of cunning fell The thrilling Delphic oracle; Out from the heart of nature rolled The burdens of the Bible old; The litanies of nations came, Like the volcanos tongue of flame, Up from the burning core below, -- The canticles of love and woe: The hand that rounded Peters dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew;-- The conscious stone to beauty grew. Knowst thou what wove yon woodbirds nest Of leaves, and feathers from her breast? Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, Painting with morn each annual cell? Or how the sacred pine-tree adds To her old leaves new myriads? Such and so grew these holy piles, Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, As the best gem upon her zone, And Morning opes with haste her lids To gaze upon the Pyramids; Oer Englands abbeys bends the sky, As on its friends, with kindred eye; For out of Thoughts interior sphere These wonders rose to upper air; And Nature gladly gave them place, Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date With Andes and with Arafat. These temples grew as grows the grass; Art might obey, but not surpass. The passive Master lent his hand To the vast soul that oer him planned; And the same power that reared the shrine Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. Ever the fiery Pentecost Girds with one flame the countless host, Trances the heart through chanting choirs, And through the priest the mind inspires. The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost. I know what say the fathers wise,-- The Book itself before me lies, Old Chrysostom , best Augustine, And he who blent both in his line, The younger Golden Lips or mines, Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines. The words are music in my ear, I see his cowléd portrait dear; And yet, for all his faith could see, I would not the good bishop be. |
|
| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
