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| 2026/11/09 05:08:26瀏覽26｜回應0｜推薦0 | |
| Selected poems：羅伯特．勃萊（Robert Bly）的《從城堡偷糖》 在我看來，勃萊的詩是一種直觀，簡單，細膩，微妙，由詩人的敏感與直覺即時構思，即時完成，然後由讀者的敏感與直覺即時領悟的詩歌。更準確地說，詩人所做的也並不是構思，讀者所做的也並不是領悟，兩者所做的都是發現詩歌呈現為詞語（或詞語呈現為詩歌）的瞬間。我們可以使用一個博爾赫斯曾經使用過的類比：美味存在於口與食物接觸的瞬間，廚師是這瞬間的第一個發現者，食客是第二個，他將重新發現廚師的發現。前一種發現（詩人或廚師）的困難在於如何成為一個詩人或廚師，後一種（讀者或食客）則只需要讓自己成為一個中性或空虛的存在，然後向一首詩或一種美食敞開即可。然而博爾赫斯還說過莎士比亞和尤利西斯都是“無人”，因此也有可能兩種發現就是同一種。總之，當你成為詩人／廚師／讀者／食客或無人之後，發現本身是一件很容易的事，如前所述，是一瞬間的事。 ——〈譯後記〉 書名：從城堡偷糖 作者：羅伯特．勃萊（Robert Bly） 譯者：陳東飆 出版社：人民文學出版社 出版日期：2024/1 《從城堡偷糖》是勃萊的詩歌自選集，詩人從長達半個多世紀創作生涯中精選出兩百七十首詩結集出版，可以說這部自選集是勃萊畢生詩歌創作的精華，完整體現了詩人不同階段的寫作風貌。 〈十一月在麥克盧爾海灘的日子〉 獨自一人在麥克盧爾海灘南端的巉岩之上。天空低沈。海洋變得越來越私密，當下午繼續；天空下探得更近；未被察覺的水湧向視界線——夜晚一座山谷裡的奔馬。浪濤撞碎岩石；我發現海藻的旗幟在風蝕的崖頂，高四十英尺，是一夜間甩上去的；被分離開來的水仍窪集在那裡，像在翻騰的波瀾之上飛得落寞，淒涼而又歡愉的綠嘴黑鴨，從不“自傷自憐”，也“不醒著躺在那裡哭泣自己的罪孽”。在它們的血液細胞裡兀鷹滑行伸長毛茸茸的脖頸，掃視著荒漠尋找生命的跡象以便終止。我們需要哭泣的不是我們的生命。在我們之內有某種秘密。我們正循著一道狹窄的壁架環繞一山而行，我們正駕著骷髏般詭異的艦船駛過高漲的海洋。 November Day at McClures Beach Alone on the jagged rock at the south end of McClures Beach. The sky low. The sea grows more and more private, as afternoon goes on; the sky comes down closer; the unobserved water rushes out to the horizon-horses galloping in a mountain valley at night. The waves smash up the rock; I find flags of seaweed high on the worn top, forty feet up, thrown up overnight; separated water still pooled there, like the black ducks that fly desolate, forlorn, and joyful over the seething swells, who never "feel pity for themselves," and "do not lie awake weeping for their sins." In their blood cells the vultures coast with furry necks extended, watching over the desert for signs of life to end. It is not our life we need to weep for. Inside us there is some secret. We are following a narrow ledge around a mountain, we are sailing on skeletal eerie craft over the buoyant ocean. 〈一場跟一個我不認識的女人過一下午的夢〉 我醒來，就走了出去。還不到黎明。 一隻公雞聲稱他是鐮刀月亮。 風車是一架梯子終結於一朵灰雲。 一台飼料粉碎機正朝附近一家農場低吼。 霜凍一夜之間已鋪開了雜草的層雲。 在我的夢里我們稍停來喝咖啡。我們單獨坐 在一個火爐邊，靠近精緻的杯子。 我曾愛過那個下午，還有我的餘生。 A Dream of an Afternoon with a Woman I Did Not Know I woke up, and went out. Not yet dawn. A rooster claimed he was the sickle moon. The windmill was a ladder that ended at a gray cloud. A feed grinder was growling at a nearby farm. Frost has made clouds of the weeds overnight. In my dream we stopped for coffee. We sat alone Near a fireplace, near delicate cups. I loved that afternoon, and the rest of my life. 〈從城堡偷糖〉 我們是放學後留下來研習快樂的窮學生。 我們像那些印第安山嶺中的鳥兒一樣。 我是一個寡婦，孩子是她唯一的快樂。 裝在我螞蟻般腦袋里的唯一東西 是糖堡建造者的設計圖。 僅僅偷一粒糖就是一份快樂！ 像一隻鳥兒，我們從黑暗裡飛進前廳， 它由歌唱照亮，然後再飛出來。 被關在溫暖的前廳外面也是一份快樂。 我是一個掉隊者，懶漢，白痴。但我愛 讀那些人的事，他們瞥了一眼 那張臉，便在二十年後快樂而死。 我不介意你說我會很快死去。 即使在很快這個詞的聲音里，我也聽見 開始每一個快樂句子的你這個詞。 “你是個竊賊！”法官說。“讓我們看 你的手！”我在法庭上展示了我起繭的手。 我被判的刑罰是一千年的快樂。 Stealing Suger from the castle We are poor students who stay after school to study joy. We are like those birds in the India mountains. I am a widow whose child is her only joy. The only thing I hold in my ant-like head Is the builder’s plan of the castle of sugar. Just to steal one grain of sugar is a joy! Like a bird, we fly out of darkness into the hall, Which is lit with singing, then fly out again. Being shut out of the warm hall is also a joy. I am a laggard, a loafer, and an idiot. But I love To read about those who caught one glimpse Of the Face, and died twenty years later in joy. I don’t mind your saying I will die soon. Even in the sound of the word soon, I hear The word you which begins every sentence of joy. “You’re a thief!” the judge said. “Let’s see Your hands!” I showed my callused hands in court. My sentence was a thousand years of joy. 〈這麼多時間〉 十二月的愚蠢，餘燼落下，誘惑者們 起飛進入耳夢中的宮殿。事物移動得如此 緩慢在靈魂裡。必定是我們 已經哀痛了一百年。 老男人和女人都知道多少時間 可以在祈禱時流逝。我們不要嘗試 彼此鼓舞。這樣很好。 我們可以留在哀痛裡再多一百年。 It Takes a Long Time Let the insects go on shouting their hallelujahs; Let the crickets go on hiding their parents; Let the goats complain they can’t find Jerusalem. Eternity waits for the moose to start moving. The mouse keeps circling around for its own tail. Finally it just curls up and goes to sleep. We know how long it takes to make a waterfall, How many years the oak tree waits in the orchard, How long the caterpillar takes to wash his feet. The sitarist’s head bends over the skinny sitar. Notes come in from a hundred Indian villages. The long notes sweeten the sea bottom. It will be years before the great dragon returns. Meanwhile, our grandmother has a lot to do, And the tired birds keep flying over the ocean. It will be years before the busy sea calms down, And the wind stops blowing ships landward, And the goats give up looking for Jerusalem. |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
