2015年9月22日 星期二

Orphee, a poem by Neil Gaiman

Orphee, a poem by Neil Gaiman

Orpheus was a musician. He made songs. He knew mysteries. One day the panther girls high on wine and lust came past and tore him flesh from flesh. His head still sang and prophesied as it floated down to the sea.
(Do not look back. Do not look back.)
There was a girl, and he said she was his girl. He followed her to Hell when she died. You could do that when your girlfriend dies: there are entrances to Hell in every major city: so many doors, who has time to look behind each one?
When Orpheus was young he got the girl back from Hell safely. That’s where the years came from. Euridice comes home from Hell and the flowers bloom and the world puddles and quickens, and it’s Spring.
But that was never good enough.
And before that Spring story, it was a life and death tale. We got a million of them. If he hadn’t looked back, if he just hadn’t looked back, then all the people would come back from the dead all the time, each of us, no more ghosts, no more darkness.
I would go to Hell to see you once more. There’s a door on the third floor of the New York Public Library, on the way to the men’s toilets, by the little Charles Addams gallery. It’s never locked. You just have to open it. I would go to Hell for you. I would tell them stories that are not false and that are not true. I would tell them stories until they wept salt tears and gave you back to me and to the world.
It doesn’t have to be a year. I’d take a day. I’d take an hour. I’d walk in front of you to the light.
But I’d look back, wouldn’t I? We all would. The ones who can’t look back, who can only stare into the sunrise ahead of them, stare into the glorious future, those people don’t get to visit Hell.
So Orpheus came back and carried on, because he had to, and he made magic and sang songs. He taught that there was only truth in dreams. That was one of the mysteries: in dreams the veil was lifted and you could see so far forward you might as well have been looking back.
Some die in Washington DC or in London or in Mexico. They do not look forward to their deaths. They glance aside, or down, or they look back. Every hour wounds. That was what she told me. Every hour wounds, the last one kills.
And looking back now, she’s standing naked in the moonlight. Her breast is already blackening, her body a feast of tiny wounds. Izanagi followed his wife to the shadow lands, but he looked back: he saw her face, her dead face, and he fled.
I dreamed today of bone-white horses, stamping and nuzzling in the bright sunshine, and of orange poppies which swayed and danced in the spring wind.
(Do not look back.)

2015年9月11日 星期五

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird




Wallace Stevens

1879–1955


Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

BY WALLACE STEVENS
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,   
The only moving thing   
Was the eye of the blackbird.   

II
I was of three minds,  
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   
It was a small part of the pantomime.   

IV
A man and a woman   
Are one.   
A man and a woman and a blackbird   
Are one.   

V
I do not know which to prefer,   
The beauty of inflections   
Or the beauty of innuendoes,   
The blackbird whistling   
Or just after.   

VI
Icicles filled the long window   
With barbaric glass.   
The shadow of the blackbird   
Crossed it, to and fro.   
The mood   
Traced in the shadow   
An indecipherable cause.   

VII
O thin men of Haddam,   
Why do you imagine golden birds?   
Do you not see how the blackbird   
Walks around the feet   
Of the women about you?   

VIII
I know noble accents   
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   
But I know, too,   
That the blackbird is involved   
In what I know.   

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,   
It marked the edge   
Of one of many circles.   

X
At the sight of blackbirds   
Flying in a green light,   
Even the bawds of euphony   
Would cry out sharply.   

XI
He rode over Connecticut   
In a glass coach.   
Once, a fear pierced him,   
In that he mistook   
The shadow of his equipage   
For blackbirds.   

XII
The river is moving.   
The blackbird must be flying.   

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.   
It was snowing   
And it was going to snow.   
The blackbird sat   
In the cedar-limbs.

Wallace Stevens, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” from The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens. Copyright 1954 by Wallace Stevens. Reprinted with the permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.

innuendo
noun [C or U] plural innuendoes or innuendos
(the making of) a remark or remarks that suggest something sexual or something unpleasant but do not refer to it directly:
There's always an element of sexual innuendo in our conversations.

Pronunciation: /ˌɪnjʊˈɛndəʊ /

NOUN (plural innuendoes or innuendos)━━ n. (pl. ~(e)s) 暗示, あてこすり; 真意の説明語句.


An allusive or oblique remark or hint, typically a suggestive or disparaging one:she’s always making sly innuendoes[MASS NOUN]: a constant torrent of innuendo, gossip, lies, and half-truths
Origin

mid 16th century (as an adverb in the sense 'that is to say, to wit', used in legal documents to introduce an explanation): Latin, 'by nodding at, by pointing to', ablative gerund of innuere, from in- 'towards' + nuere 'to nod'. The noun dates from the late 17th century.



觀察烏鶇的十三種方式
(美國:史蒂文斯)


1
周圍,二十座雪山,
唯一動彈的
是烏鶇的一雙眼睛

2
我有三種想法,
就像一棵樹
上面蹦跳著三隻烏鶇

3
烏棟在秋風中盤旋。
那不是啞劇中的一個細節嗎?

4
一個男人,一個女人
是一個整體。
一個男人、一個女人和一只烏鶇也是一個整體。

5
我不知道更愛什麼,
是迴腸蕩氣呢
還是藏而不露,
是烏鶇的婉轉啼鳴
還是它的裊裊餘音。

6
冰柱,為長窗
增添了犬牙交錯的玻璃。
烏鶇的影子
在上面來回飛掠。
情緒
從掠動的影子中
依稀看出難以辨認的緣由

7
哦,哈潭佛德消瘦的男子啊,
你們為何夢想金鳥?
沒看見那烏鶇
在你們周圍
女子的腳邊梭巡?

8
我會押鏗鏘的音韻
也會用流利的、躲也躲不開的節奏;
可是我明白,
於我所知的一切
息息相關的
是烏鶇

9
當烏鶇飛出視野時,
它便成為
無數圓圈之一的邊緣了。

10
看見烏鶇
在綠光中翻騰,
連甜言蜜語的老鴇
也要失聲痛哭。

11
他乘一輛玻璃車輦
越過康涅狄克州。
有一次,恐懼刺穿了他的心,
在恐懼中,他竟以為
扈從,車輦的陰影
是烏鶇。

12
河水在流淌。
烏鶇必定是在飛翔。

13
整個下午如同黃昏。
血在降落
它還要繼續下,繼續下。
烏鶇
棲息在雪杉枝上。

(老樂注:在該詩的不同譯本中,我最喜歡李文俊這個譯本,李文俊還翻譯過福克納和卡夫卡的小說,雙向文化的修養非同一般。)

2015年9月9日 星期三

The Panther (subtitled: In Jardin des Plantes, Paris) is a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke

Kontext und Deutung[Bearbeiten]

Der Panther gilt als das berühmteste Dinggedicht Rilkes, in denen der Dichter zum Sprecher der „stummen Dinge“ wird. Der Panther wird in drei Strophen von seiner äußeren Erscheinung (Blick, Gang, Auge) beschrieben, um sein Inneres zu erschließen.
Der Entzug der Freiheit wird in der ersten Strophe durch den schleppenden Rhythmus ausgedrückt. Die zweite Strophe zeigt die innere Gefangenschaft des Panthers. Der Panther hat seine natürliche Wesensart verloren. Er ist selbstentfremdet. Die dritte Strophe bestätigt die äußere und innere Gefangenschaft des Panthers.
Es gibt auch andere Interpretationen. Die zweite Strophe zeigt: Der Wille des Panthers ist betäubt, konnte jedoch nicht gebrochen werden. Das Bild der Gefangenschaft, die Umwelt hinter Stäben, lässt er nicht zu seinem tiefsten Inneren hinein, da es für ihn Qual bedeutet. Er lebt sein Leben der Gefangenschaft traumatisiert, mit unerkanntem individuellen Wesen. Der gefangene Panther ist weder „Ding“ noch „Stück“, sondern ein gequältes, leidendes Tier mit Selbstbewusstsein.
Ein motivgleiches Gedicht mit dem Titel Tiger stammt von Alfred Wolfenstein. Dort heißt es:
Die große Sonne scheint in seine Zelle
Und zieht auf seinem bunt gestreiften Felle
Noch andre Striche: schwarzer Stäbe Schatten.
In Rilkes Schrift über Auguste Rodin heißt es: „Es giebt in Rodins Atelier den Abguß eines kaum handgroßen Panthers griechischer Arbeit (das Original befindet sich im Medaillen-Kabinett der Pariser National-Bibliothek); wenn man unter seinem Leibe durch von vorn in den Raum blickt, der von den vier geschmeidigstarken Tatzen gebildet wird, kann man glauben, in die Tiefe eines indischen Felsentempels zu sehen; so wächst dieses Werk und weitet sich zur Größe seiner Maße.“[2]

Context and Commentary [edit]
The Panther is considered the most famous poem of Rilke thing, in which the poet spokesman of the "dumb things" is. The Panther is in three stanzas of his appearance (look, gait, eye) in order to open up its interior.

The deprivation of liberty is expressed in the first stanza by the sluggish rhythm. The second verse shows the inner captivity of the Panthers. The Panther has lost its natural character. He is selbstentfremdet. The third verse confirms the outer and inner captivity of the Panthers.

There are also other interpretations. The second verse shows: The will of the Panthers stunned, however, could not be broken. The image of captivity, the environment behind bars, he can not enter his heart of hearts, since it means torture for him. He lives his life imprisonment traumatized, with unrecognized individual beings. The captured panther is not a "thing" or "piece", but a tortured, suffering animal with confidence.

A motivational same poem titled Tiger comes from Alfred Wolfenstein. It says:

The large sun shines in his cell
And pulls on his brightly striped pelts
Still other lines: black bars shadow.

In Rilke's essay on Auguste Rodin says, "There are in Rodin's studio to cast a little hand big Panthers Greek work (the original is in the Medals Cabinet of the Paris National Library); when you walk through from the front looks under his body in the space, which is formed by the four geschmeidigstarken paws, can you believe, to see into the depths of an Indian rock temple; so grows this plant and expands to the size of its dimensions. "[2]

Wikipedia
The Panther (subtitled: In Jardin des Plantes, Paris) is a poem by Rainer Maria Rilke written on 6 November 1902.[1] It describes a captured panther behind bars, as it was exhibited in the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. It is one of Rilke's most famous poems and has been translated into English many times, including by many distinguished translators of Rilke, like Stephen Mitchell, C. F. MacIntyre, J. B. Leishman and Walter Arndt, and poets like Robert Bly

Content[edit]

The poem consists of three stanzas (strophes), each containing four verses with alternating feminine and masculine cadence:

2015年9月7日 星期一

Lest we forget: memorising is useful

Despite the internet, we still have to remember some things – even, in times of need, a poem or two. In praise of memorising

Despite the internet, we still have to remember some things – even, in...
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