以诗之名死亡旋舞
死,如秋叶静美……...
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain
I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -
And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -
And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,
As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -
我觉得脑子里有一场葬礼,
往来的悼念者脚步杂沓,
踩啊——踩啊——直到
所有感觉仿佛慢慢坍塌——
等到所有客人都已就坐,
仪式开始了,像有一面鼓——
敲啊——敲啊——然后
我的心仿佛已渐渐麻木——
接着我听到他们扛起棺材,
在我的灵魂里缓缓穿行,
那些铅做的靴子吱嘎作响,
然后,空间里灌满了钟声——
仿佛一切星球都变成了丧钟,
存在本身沦为了一只耳朵,
而我,还有某种诡谲的寂静
却在这里面,痛苦,落寞——
然后,意识里的木板突然断裂,
我不由自主地往下掉,往下掉——
掉一层就撞上一个新的世界,
接着,我就不再知晓。
往来的悼念者脚步杂沓,
踩啊——踩啊——直到
所有感觉仿佛慢慢坍塌——
等到所有客人都已就坐,
仪式开始了,像有一面鼓——
敲啊——敲啊——然后
我的心仿佛已渐渐麻木——
接着我听到他们扛起棺材,
在我的灵魂里缓缓穿行,
那些铅做的靴子吱嘎作响,
然后,空间里灌满了钟声——
仿佛一切星球都变成了丧钟,
存在本身沦为了一只耳朵,
而我,还有某种诡谲的寂静
却在这里面,痛苦,落寞——
然后,意识里的木板突然断裂,
我不由自主地往下掉,往下掉——
掉一层就撞上一个新的世界,
接着,我就不再知晓。
当我们在头脑里构想死亡,是什么样子,什么地方,是具体还是抽象,是疼痛还是安详?不知道,知道的人与我们生死两隔。人们对于不可知的东西总是怀着一点点的畏惧的。诗人没有去幻想死亡,而是描写了我们由生入死的过程。我们在哀悼者的哭声中丧失五感,心灵走向麻木,慢慢接受痛苦……葬礼不仅是活人对死人的告别,也是死人对活人,对一切生的留恋的告别。
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
“希望”是个有羽毛的东西—
它栖息在灵魂里—
唱没有歌词的歌曲—
永远,不会停息—
在暴风中,听来,最美—
令人痛心的是这样的风暴—
它甚至能窘困那温暖着
多少人的小鸟—
我曾在最陌生的海上—
在最寒冷的陆地,听到—
它却从不向我索取
些微的,面包。
什么东西支持着人活着——希望。我听过很多歌,最好的那些,一定是唱着希望的歌曲;我经历不多,可让我没有对“生”感到无味的,一定是对美的希望。它栖息在灵魂里—
唱没有歌词的歌曲—
永远,不会停息—
在暴风中,听来,最美—
令人痛心的是这样的风暴—
它甚至能窘困那温暖着
多少人的小鸟—
我曾在最陌生的海上—
在最寒冷的陆地,听到—
它却从不向我索取
些微的,面包。
艾米莉狄金森
第一次看到她的诗应该是开始做“以诗之名”栏目之后,她的名字早听过,和她的诗一起开始在脑海里趋于一致。我没有去了解她的生平,没有试图去“理解”她的所有东西,我觉得她的诗是为“我”服务的。我并不是说她是在为我而写诗。她为。自己写诗,但是当我读诗时,所有的感觉都是我的了。所以,我的感觉告诉我,这是好诗。上一次在王小波和李银河的书信中我提到了好友对于诗的定义改变了我的想法,他告诉我诗是追求美的文字。第一首“葬礼”是大学英语课学的,当时老师一句句给我们解构这首诗的时候我的心就开始感到痛苦和美了
我感到了对于疼痛的和死亡的美的描写是有多么的重要,死亡永远暗示着生的美,这是大家都知道的,向死而生。但是更重要的,我们在肃穆的死亡的感受里尽情地释放了所有的疼痛的感受,去感受也是去经历。所以艾米莉的诗并不是仅仅表达向死而生,或者说她并不屑于表达向死而生。所有直面死亡的人难道都是在寻找生的理由吗,生的理由是希望不是死亡。所以艾米莉的歌是更动人的。死如秋叶之静美。
主编:彭世佳
编辑:王明和
排版:王明和
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