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| 2024/09/12 05:56:05瀏覽129｜回應0｜推薦4 | |
| Selected poems：《凸面鏡中的自畫像：阿什貝利詩集》 書名：凸面鏡中的自畫像：阿什貝利詩集 作者：約翰·阿什貝利 譯者：少況 出版社：北京聯合出版公司 出版日期：2022/10/01 內容簡介 約翰·阿什貝利被公認為20世紀偉大的美國詩人之一。他的詩挑戰讀者拋棄對目的、主題、詩風的一切既往認識，反映語言之局限、意識之不居變動。本書收錄阿什貝利35篇詩作，呈現阿什貝利受現代視覺藝術影響，在“語言畫布”上的過程創作。本書同名長詩《凸面鏡中的自畫像》為阿什貝利著名的作品，受意大利畫家帕米賈尼諾同名繪畫啟發而作，蘊含阿什貝利對藝術和自我的深入思考。 作者簡介 約翰·阿什貝利（John Ashbery，1927—2017），影響力巨大的美國當代詩人。1927年7月18日出生於紐約羅切斯特。畢業於哈佛大學和哥倫比亞大學。出版超過25部詩集，早期作品《一些樹》獲選W.H.奧登編選的“耶魯青年詩人叢書”；詩集《凸面鏡中的自畫像》獲普利策獎、美國國家圖書獎、美國全國書評人協會獎三項大獎；《空中札記：後期詩選》獲格里芬國際詩歌獎。美國藝術與文學學院院士，也是美國藝術與科學院院士。曾兩次獲得古根海姆獎，1982年獲頒美國詩人學會的年度詩人獎。1985年獲得麥克阿瑟獎。2017年9月3日逝世于紐約。 〈藍色中的旅行〉 如同在一個早春的節日裡 潮灘在演習，空中很快在模仿： 船隻，帽子出現。而那些， 讀別人心思的人們，就在眼前。但是 要瞭解他們我們必須躲開他們。 所以，生命滲進我們的黑暗， 信守它那部分承諾。但是假如 房屋，此刻聳立著，破敗，荒涼，又如何： 這難道不是也美麗絕倫嗎？ 因為海市蜃樓曾經是的，生命一定是。 盛會，變得愈發好奇，抵達 一個最終的轉折點。現在一切都不會 是暗的，而是相反，充滿了如此多的光 它看上去是暗的，因為事物現在被密密麻麻包在一起。 我們是用牙齒看見它的。而一旦這個 遙遠的角落轉過去，一切 再不會成為新的，隨著理想的事物來到我們這裡， 它們將以舊的方式棲居在我們裡面， 然而，在擁有中，我們將成長，超越它， 進入一個上了深藍瓷釉的天空和剛毛金色星星的混合體。 日期進來的方式 沒有意義，它從未有過。 它應該已經警告過你 要更加仔細地去聽風下面的 話語，當風朝我們吹來。 也許，沈入那只激情四射的眼睛珍珠似的污漬， 那些時刻開始看上去像是它們所遭遇的排泄物， 一個顏色不再重要的時代。 它們對我們來說是作為我們注定不會獲得的品質， 因為太遠離我們封閉的狀態。 理想的話，它的鳴響 會具有一件回想起來的事情的魅力， 沒有化身，或者更遙遠，像某個聞所未聞的 國度裡的一次災難，我們的關切 也只是一長串重要事實中的另一個事實。 你和我和那條狗 在這裡，這才是現在重要的。 其它時間，事情會發生，沒有可能涉及現在的我們， 而這是好事，一件真實的東西，垂直於地面， 如同最新鮮、最不複雜和最早的記憶。 我們擁有他們全部，那些人們，而現在他們擁有我們。 他們的決定受到限制，等待我們主動出擊。 但現在我們已經這麼做了，結果高深莫測，彷彿 一個單一的含義從莖幹上動搖了整個宇宙。 我們時髦地受這個新的邊緣困擾，它在過去似乎是 有限的，而現在似乎是無限的，雖然被包圍在對任何影響 我們的事情的逐漸懷疑中。也許過時的時髦少一些貧瘠， 某樣更被期待的東西，相比這個 無雲的天空下果園中的早晨， 這種痛苦的新鮮，每一樣東西完全是它自己。 也許所缺少的就是時間。 人們掩護我們，他們年長， 曾經滄桑。他們不想和我們攪在一起， 只想死去，徹底了結。 不和所有正在伴隨他們的一切合拍， 但和它們一起深入事物的內部活著。 畢竟，重要的是文明，他們似乎 在說，我們和別人一樣是它的一部分， 只是我們更少，甚至根本不思考它，直到某個 傻瓜在黃昏時衝著森林裡面大聲報告 關於我們知道但不在乎的某樣東西的消息， 隨著遠方的城堡在為歡快的馬蹄聲 興高采烈，將禿鼻烏鴉直接放飛進完美無暇的空中， 與此同時，把它的影子越來越重地投在 鏡子般的河面上，圍住裡面有三個人影的小船。 Voyage in the Blue As on a festal day in early spring The tidelands maneuver and the air is quick with imitations: Ships, hats appear. And those, The mind-readers, who are never far off. But To get to know them we must avoid them. And so, into our darkness life seeps, Keeping its part of the bargain. But what of Houses, standing ruined, desolate just now: Is this not also beautiful and wonderful? For where a mirage has once been, life must be. The pageant, growing ever more curious, reaches An ultimate turning point. Now everything is going to be Not dark, but on the contrary, charged with so much light It looks dark, because things are now packed so closely together. We see it with our teeth. And once this Distant corner is rounded, everything Is not to be made new again. We shall be inhabited In the old way, as ideal things came to us, Yet in the having we shall be growing, rising above it Into an admixture of deep blue enameled sky and bristly gold stars. The way the date came in Made no sense, it never had any. It should have been a caution to you To listen more carefully to the words Under the wind as it moved toward us. Perhaps, sinking into the pearl stain of that passionate eye The minutes came to seem the excrement of all they were passing through, A time when colors no longer mattered. They are to us as qualities we were not meant to catch As being too far removed from our closed-in state. And ideally the chime of this Will come to have the fascination of a remembered thing Without avatars, or so remote, like a catastrophe In some unheard-of country, that our concern Will be only another fact in a long list of important facts. You and I and the dog Are here, this is what matters for now. In other times things will happen that cannot possibly involve us now And this is good, a true thing, perpendicular to the ground Like the freshest, least complicated and earliest of memories. We have them all, those people, and now they have us. Their decision was limited, waiting for us to make the first move. But now that we have done so the results are unfathomable, as though Asingle implication could sway the whole universe on its stem. We are fashionably troubled by this new edge of what had seemed finite Before and now seems infinite though encircled by gradual doubts Of whatever came over us. Perhaps the old chic was less barren, Morning in the orchards under an unclouded sky, More something to be looked forward to, than this This painful freshness of each thing being exactly itself. Perhaps all that is wanted is time. People cover us, they are older And have lived before. They want no part of us, Only to be dying, and over with it. Out of step with all that is passing along with them But living with it deep into the midst of things. It is civilization that counts, after all, they seem To be saying, and we are as much a part of it as anybody else Only we think less about it, even not at all, until some Fool comes shouting into the forest at nightfall News of some thing we know and care little of, As the distant castle rejoices to the joyous Sound of hooves, releasing rooks straight up into the faultless air And meanwhile weighs its shadow ever heavier on the mirroring Surface of the river, surrounding the little boat with three figures in it. 〈對死亡的恐懼〉 我現在怎麼了？ 是否我已經變成了這樣？ 難道不存在沒有以前和以後 邊界線的狀態？今天窗戶開著 空氣穿著裙子，帶著鋼琴聲 湧進來，彷彿要說：“看，約翰， 我帶來了這些還有這些”——即 少許貝多芬，一些勃拉姆斯， 少許優選的普朗克音符……是的， 它又自由了，這空氣，它必須不斷回來 因為它的好處就是這些。 我想和它待在一起，因為恐懼 讓我無法走上某些台階， 敲某些門，害怕獨自 老去，在小徑黃昏的盡頭 沒看見任何人，除了另一個自己 點頭打個招呼：“你已經有一段時間了， 但現在我們重歸於好，這才是最重要的。” 我路上的空氣，你可以縮短這個， 但微風已經減弱，沈默是最後的文字。 Fear of Death What is it now with me And is it as I have become? Is there no state free from the boundary lines Of before and after? The window is open today And the air pours in with piano notes In its skirts, as though to say, "Look, John, Ive brought these and these"—that is, A few Beethovens, some Brahmses, A few choice Poulenc notes.... Yes, It is being free again, the air, it has to keep coming back Because thats all its good for. I want to stay with it out of fear That keeps me from walking up certain steps, Knocking at certain doors, fear of growing old Alone, and of finding no one at the evening end Of the path except another myself Nodding a curt greeting: "Well, youve been awhile But now were back together, which is what counts.” Air in my path, you could shorten this, But the breeze has dropped, and silence is the last word. |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
