弹蓝吉他的男人
Wallace Stevens这首长诗，就象拉威尔的<<波莱罗舞曲>>，从开始比较简单的idea开始，一边重复一边长大。
插句话：比较打动我的往往是这样的声音：比如句尾的AABBCC，第一个B从A中跳出来，声音突然转折，好象一只水鸟突然埋头潜入表面汹涌的河水深处。这时我的意识会突然被拨转，下面的声音和词义再怎么融合，分裂，喘息中绽开气口，我都心甘情愿跟它走了。说来这没什么奇怪，而是英语诗中最常见的程式。不过，诗作为一个整体打动我的时候，我往往会先把它的奇气归结为声音---音流在某个当口转向，好象撞在礁石上，然后整个诗趁机借着礁石的反推婉转抽身，自己又洋洋洒洒奔流去也。由于文字的声音体系不同，英语诗歌长短轻重相间的动力感在中文中没有，但以我个人之见，屈原的楚辞九歌等等，那点缀着“兮” 字的句子倒似轻轻分出“音步” 。
WS肯定有很好的音乐修养。他就钢琴，莫扎特等等题材写过很多。不光如此，他的声音常常象玻璃一样，反射的同时也在折射，又放又收，躲躲闪闪间一种迷离效果就出来了，他的所谓“哲理” 也若隐若现。这些，似乎来自一种“计算” ，至少，是技艺修炼的结果。所以他的诗跟巴赫的音乐一样，不是激情四射，而是深得见不到底。我在表面探寻，仿佛在海上企图看到海底珊瑚。不过反正只要是WS的诗，我总是喜欢的。今天从图书馆借了一本诗选出来，等班车的时候在酷热中的阴凉里看，觉得心里哗哗哗哗到处是水中雪白的短促浪痕。随便翻翻，有看得懂的，看不懂的，自己的意识走走停停，一路上总是欢喜。
The Man with the Blue Guitar, 有兴趣的朋友，可以搜索一下。
第一节中，
The man bent over his guitar,
A shearsman of sorts. The day was green.
下面两行才接住了’ar’ 那个尾音，于是被高高吊起的green 也有了着落。这只是序幕而已。这个序幕提出主导动机：Things as they are/ Are changed upon the blue guitar.
接下来，整个世界万花筒一样在蓝吉他这种“不可能” 的乐器上，以高一个调的方式演奏。蓝吉他弹得出小夜曲吗？是一个人的小夜曲在弹蓝吉他吧。
世间万物万人都在蓝吉他上，一根弦上有一百万个人。这就是生活了，嗡嗡叫的苍蝇在秋天的空气里。。。天堂空空，要诗来填补，冰冷的蓝吉他，弦上是我们的世界。
“太阳分享我们的作品。月亮什么也不分享，它是海。” 。。。“太阳不再分享我们的工作，地球跟爬行的人一起呼吸。” 机械甲壳虫从不温暖，我要不要站在阳光中间？
蓝吉他象一只棱镜，透过它我们看太阳月亮不奇怪，奇怪的是各种情绪，存在，诗的观念等等，也在微微荡漾，错动。这首诗的词汇比较简单，不象WS多数诗那样充满了怪词，尤其是华丽的动物名和地名。它用的手段也很简单，但“蓝吉他” 象个奇点，松松紧紧放射出根根长线，语言本身的功能性瓜熟蒂落一般消失，代之的是irreality，比如绿太阳，红云彩，在现实和诗的对峙之间。WS有一首更有名的诗，结尾是“在红色的天气里捉老虎” 。断章取义地看，不过是哗众取宠而已，然而那句是一首诗的结尾，象一面明亮的旗子突然举起来，是大喧哗也是大宁静，那是一个决然的否定现世的姿态。
回到这首诗，第九节里说，The color like a thought that grows / out of a mood, the tragic robe / Of the actor, half his gesture, half/His speech, the dress of his meaning, silk/Sodden with his melancholy words, / The weather of his stage, himself.
颜色也是他喜欢玩弄的意象，可以作为一个物体摇摆。WS喜欢用修饰性名词来做名词，象颜色形状表情等等，体现一种“存在” 和“影像” 的相错相扰。WS是深受雪莱等浪漫主义诗人影响的，但我更能接受WS，他不是以一种呼吁的姿态导入一个“他世界” ，他干脆把这个世界就当成“他世界” 。
第十一节也是典型的WS方式：石头上的象牙慢慢变成石头，女人变成城市，孩子变成田野，浪里的男人变成海。是琴弦在变化他们。海淹没男人，田野陷落孩子。。。
第十四节里，一道光亮出来，然后另一道。天空里亮了一千道。一枝烛足够照亮世界。中午它在暗中亮，夜里它照着水果和酒。书和面包，things as they are., In a chiaroscuro where/ One sits and plays the blue guitar.
第十八节中，After long strumming on certain nights/ Gives the touch of the senses, not of the hand原来蓝吉他被弹过几夜(这个certain nights的certain在我看来特别意味深长)之后，弹吉他的指触就显现出来，天亮的时候，那触感慢慢出现，Rising upward from a sea of ex. 从梦到听到触到看，知觉滑移着，最后从未知的X之海中升起。接下来的第十九节， That I may reduce the monster to/Myself, and then may be myself. 又是典型的WS口吻。既然可以弹“蓝吉他” ，那么我就是魔鬼，梦就不是梦。What is there in life except one’s ideas,/Good air, good friend, what is there in life? 人除了idea, 好空气，好朋友之外还有什么？
还有什么？这个奇怪的问题贯穿着他的很多作品，简直“天问” 一样的口吻。只有这样问的人才有自己的答案，而不把idea, 好空气，好朋友当作重要的存在的人，自然也不会去拷问“还” 有什么。“有” 即是“信” ，Believe would be a brother full / Of love, believe would be a friend, / Friendlier than my only friend, / Good air. Poor pale, poor pale guitar..
第二十七节里说，北风造出了海。海在下落的雪中。海的黑暗阴郁。。海是一种谜。。。WS的名作The Idea of Order at Key West中，背景就是这样啸歌的海。花非花，雾非雾之间，水样的草穿过浪头，固定在照片里---死去的叶子在风中飘。
第二十九节终于引出教堂，(WS不是church goer, 但往往飘忽地以教堂，信仰，教徒做背景) ，The shapes are wrong and the sounds are false./ The bells are the bellowing of bulls./Yet Franciscan don was never more/Himself than in this fertile glass.
直到最终的第三十三节，诗人自说自话地，辩白着“实际” 的调子跟“想象”的调子之间的搏击，梦与梦象两个圆相交，
“Here is its actual stone. The bread/Will be our bread, the stone will be/ our bed and we shall sleep by night./We shall forget by day, except/ The moments when we choose to play / The imagined pine, the imagined jay.”
种种隐喻之后，白天/晚上/面包/石头/哀伤/喜乐这样的意象碎成一地。是这样的，开头WS就声明了，I cannot bring a world quite round/Although I patch it as I can. 他是裁缝，他手里的剪刀好象能修补世界，不过不能补得圆满。这个世界跟魔鬼(第二十七节里出现的) 好象照片的正负影像，在轻轻弹唱的声音里，在某些碎片一样的时间中隔雨相望。
作为一个读者我也在想这样的诗到底有什么意义。我在开头已经说过它的形式让我想起<<波莱罗舞曲>>，那么“意义” 就在铜管奏出的欢喜高潮中，我们把其中的意象串一串，就看到作者好象双手轮流抛掷彩球，有谜有醉中的天问。其实现在我的想法有所改变，我觉得它象巴赫的<<歌德堡变奏曲>>，那样一来“意义” 真的没有了。巴赫在那曲子开头用个小小的咏叹调，最后用它结束，然后可以循环往复，真真是从阿尔法到欧米加。蓝吉他，蓝吉他，不存在的乐器上演奏不存在的声音，一场游戏就是我们的床，我们的面包。
- Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勭敺浜�posted on 08/20/2005
最近许多人提到这诗，新的一期《今天》也有些几篇提及，这首诗的
标题倒是够诱人的，把“男”字去掉，“弹蓝吉他的人”是否更合于
标题呢？
这里有其全文：
http://www.geegaw.com/stories/the_man_with_the_blue_guitar.shtml
看来得好好读。谢谢你的注释，再读！ - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勭敺浜�posted on 08/20/2005
你说得对，应该是“人”！ - posted on 08/21/2005
XXXI
How long and late the pheasant sleeps...
The employer and employee contend,
Combat, compose their droll affair.
The bubbling sun will bubble up,
Spring sparkle and the cock-bird shriek.
The employer and employee will hear
And continue their affair. The shriek
Will rack the thickets. There is no place,
Here, for the lark fixed in the mind,
In the museum of the sky. The cock
Will claw sleep. Mourning is not sun,
It is this posture of the nerves,
As if a blunted player clutched
The nuances of the blue guitar.
It must be this rhapsody or none,
The rhapsody of things as they are.
说实在的，我读到这段时倍感绝望，It must be this rhapsody or none/The rhapsody of things as they are. Stevens在意识世界里走得太远了，觉得他就老在天空那么飘着，读他的诗是种智力/脑力游戏，若论心底踏实，我还是更倾心Frost那种潮湿温暖的泥土味儿。
马小姐拿Stevens和巴赫相比，倒是准确。这个家伙生前无几人懂得他的诗，盖曲高和寡也，死后才被人隆重“发现”（这点也象老巴赫），生前得过一次普利策奖，相反乡巴佬Frost得了四次，大概还是因为F的诗好懂。：）
- Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勭敺浜�posted on 08/21/2005
不过WS是俺最最喜欢的人阿！
虽然我能看懂的也有限 - posted on 08/21/2005
adagio不必绝望. :-) 下面这段来自他的叙事诗"Peter Quince at the Clavier". 讲的是苏珊娜沐浴时被长老偷看的故事, 里面也有很多音乐方面的东西. 我觉得要屏着呼吸读这一段. Stevens是将主观和客观fuse到几乎天衣无缝的地步的诗人. 他可能缺passion, 但绝不缺deeply felt emotion(后者我觉得更重要). Frost也很不错.
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melodys.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned--
A cymbal crashed,
And roaring horns.
adagio wrote:
XXXI
说实在的，我读到这段时倍感绝望，It must be this rhapsody or none/The rhapsody of things as they are. Stevens在意识世界里走得太远了，觉得他就老在天空那么飘着，读他的诗是种智力/脑力游戏，若论心底踏实，我还是更倾心Frost那种潮湿温暖的泥土味儿。
马小姐拿Stevens和巴赫相比，倒是准确。这个家伙生前无几人懂得他的诗，盖曲高和寡也，死后才被人隆重“发现”（这点也象老巴赫），生前得过一次普利策奖，相反乡巴佬Frost得了四次，大概还是因为F的诗好懂。：）
- posted on 08/21/2005
这就是我跟你说的那个跟Bloom做学生的小伙子, 跟马小姐差不多大吧. 现在中国的年轻人, 还是很令人感到欣慰的. :-)
Setting Art Against Nature:
I was totally ignorant of Wallace Stevens until I came to Yale and took Professor Harold Bloom's course "How to Read a Poem." American poetry, as I, a Chinese student of a non-English major, understood it, is Walt Whitman, T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound. In contrast, Wallace Stevens's name was strange to most Chinese intellectuals till recently. Even in his native country his rise to a canonical status was not immediate. Eliot's The Waste Land and Stevens' Harmonium debuted around the same time, but the former took all the spotlight. A mysterious "X" recurs in some of Stevens's letters and poems. This "X" refers to no other than Eliot, which may reflect a degree of frustration on the part of Stevens. Not until his late years did Stevens slowly but surely receive the recognition he deserved. A lagging effect in cross-lingual translation and interpretation may explain Stevens's relative invisibility to the Chinese audience. In addition, Stevens, especially in his later years, was highly meditative and philosophical, at times difficult and obscure, which also affected his accessibility to foreign readers.
Professor Bloom's class first initiated me into the force and beauty of Stevens's poetry. What intrigues me is that Stevens lived a double life. He was an insurance lawyer in profession and a poet in private, and seemed to have no difficulty alternating between the two seemingly incompatible roles. Just like his work is so original that they defy any easy label, Stevens's life is so eccentric that he contradicts the stereotype of what a poet is supposed to be like. This is particularly astonishing in the eyes of the Chinese, for in our tradition commerce and poetry have very little in common. Chinese poets are easily associated with scholars, officials, hermits, monks, artists, but it is hard to think of any example of successful poet-businessmen.
I especially love "The Poems of Our Climate," a short piece written in 1938, when the poet was 59 years old. It was a number of years on from "The Idea of Order in the Key West." For Stevens, it was a central poem. Stevens's poetic odyssey spanning over half a century was punctuated by two puzzling breaks: in 1898-1900, Stevens, a Harvard student poet, contributed regularly to Harvard Advocate. After he left Cambridge for New York, his poetry writing stopped short. After a complete silence of seven years when Stevens was struggling with his business career, in 1907 he began to present love songs to his muse Elsie Moll, and his creative faculty seemed to return. In 1923, Stevens, at the age of 44, finally published his first volume of poems, Harmonium. The book's poor reception and its author's growing domestic and corporate responsibilities almost led him to abandon poetry again. For four years Stevens published little. Not until 1929 did Stevens resume poetry writing. Like the Irish poet W.B.Yeats and the Chinese poet Du Fu, the bulk of Stevens's best work was not done until his late years. Interestingly, these three literary lions unanimously fall in love with the fall season: Yeats admires the trees in their autumn beauty in "The Wild Swans at Coole"; Du Fu composed a cycle of regulated poems under the general title of "Autumn Meditations"; Stevens' last major poetic endeavor is no other than "The Auroras of Autumn." These pieces actually reflect the poets' "autumnal personality." As they are approaching that season of their life, their works become increasingly sophisticated, retrospective and sublime. The following lines from John Keats' "Ode to Autumn" might be particularly pertinent to their situations:
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
"The Poems of Our Climate" was written in this "autumnal period" of the poet's life, thus belonging to the poetry of maturity. It is in three numbered sections. There is a break between each of the sections.
I
Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
Pink and white carnations. The light
In the room more like a snowy air,
Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
At the end of winter when afternoons return.
Pink and white carnations - one desires
So much more than that. The day itself
Is simplified: a bowl of white,
Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
With nothing more than the carnations there.
Stevens's difficulty often lies in referentiality. The first section seems to have nothing to do with the title. There is no direct reference whatsoever to either "poems" or "our climate." Ostensibly the poet-persona is watching a Japanese flower arrangement. Stevens had a passion for oriental arts and philosophies. He was a close reader of Okakura Kakuzo (1862-1913), and his library was full of all kinds of books about Japanese flower arrangement. He was not only deeply read in this subject, but also had a habit of ordering fresh flowers from shops. The opening sentence introduces the image of flower arrangement by creating a pleasing word picture of balance, harmony and form. "Clear water" seems to be redundant, yet this rhetorical excess emphasizes the crystalline transparency of water. "Brilliant" etymologically means "to emit light, to reflect light," thus accentuating the shiny surface of the container. The combination of "pink and white carnations" brings a festival of inviting colors and textures that are traditionally associated with feminine innocence, charm and gentility. The origin of the word "carnation" in Latin confirms the connection between the flower and human flesh. Behind this image of sexual provocation is a male observer's voyeuristic and fetishistic desire. The first sentence sketches the key components of a flower arrangement (through three nouns: water, bowl and carnations), with an emphasis on their optical and chromatic effects in the eyes of a spectator (through four adjectives: clear, brilliant, pink and white), and thus anticipates the "light" in the following sentence. "[...]. The light / in the room more like a snowy air, / Reflecting snow" embraces and extends the aura around the flower arrangement: the interior light is not like snow falling, but rather like air reflecting fallen snow. The observer is so subtle that he cannot help but elaborating the snow image: during the winter the afternoons have been very brief; but now, with afternoons elongating, winter is near the end and somehow meets early spring, and a fresh snow lies immaculate on the ground, like a breathtaking artwork of Nature, which gives a pure, refreshing and ethereal tone to the air reflecting snow. This late-winter scene suggests that the observer, like "the snowman," wants "a mind of winter," but not a mind of deep winter. The light that gives luster to the flower arrangement, like the rainwater that glazes a red wheelbarrow (William Carlos Williams, "A Red Wheelbarrow"), works beautifully on both formal and metaphorical levels. It represents a natural light, but as part of an art world it also becomes an aesthetic light.
So far the language is very pictorial, in the manner of a still life. When Stevens portrays an object, he often builds a simple yet powerful image, omitting all insignificant details. Therefore, his image is at once concrete and abstract, familiar and unfamiliar, and appropriately distances itself from reality. In the first stanza of "The Poems of Our Climate," the image is very concrete and real: this is about a Japanese flower arrangement. Meanwhile, there is no extravagant description of the object, but a word picture almost in the style of a Chinese xieyi ("to convey the spirit") painting. It highlights the principal components of the flower arrangement (water, bowl and carnations), and throws away lesser details (such as the spatial disposition of flowers, the effect of foliage). The aesthetic atmosphere is not only created by the description of the object itself; it is also a product of the language. To use minimalism to achieve maximal effect - this is also the case for the language. The diction is basic English words, mostly monosyllabic and disyllabic. Stevens only suggests and expects the reader to complete the picture by himself.
"Pink and white carnations" recurs verbatim in line 6, implying that the observer moves his meditative eyes back to the core image. Then the poem abruptly takes another direction: "One desires / so much more than that." This jump from imagistic to argumentative language is visually strengthened with the use of a hyphen to connect a noun phrase and a full sentence. Meanwhile, "desire" corresponds to the etymological hint of carnation, and the whole question about desire will continue to inform the rest of the poem. "The day" is in opposition to whatever "in the room," designating the world external to the flower arrangement. Thus "[...] The day itself / is simplified" suggests that art reduces the outside world. "[...] a bowl of white, / Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round, / With nothing more than the carnations there." Once again, Stevens returns to visual imagery, but this is not a wanton repetition of the earlier lines, but rather a repetition with nuanced variations or a deliberate revision, as if the observer observes through a closer perspective. "Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round" introduces new details about the container and unmistakably echoes the "cold pastoral" in Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn." While "a bowl of white" seems a neutral description of what is seen, the "cold porcelain," just like Keats's cold urn, implies that this is a lifeless, artificial work. Although Stevens appreciates the aesthetic effect of the flower arrangement, subliminally he is not satisfied with its lifelessness and otherness to human world. He desires more: in the closure of the next stanza, he will repeat the word "more" thrice, where "more" becomes almost obsessive.
Now, get back to the title. How to justify "The Poems of Our Climate"? There are poets whose titles are throwaways, but not Stevens. Stevens cares a great deal about titles. His titles are always precise and integral to his poems. The first stanza seems to totally leave out the title, yet on a deeper level flower arrangement is a metaphor for poem writing. Metaphor is not an ordinary association of one object with another, but a figuration or trope which suggests the essence of one object by identifying it with certain qualities of another. Like Whitman, Stevens has an amazing command of figuration. For him, metaphor is a powerful means through which imagination imposes order on reality. "The Poems of Our Climate" opens with an objective description of clear water, brilliant bowl, pink and white carnations, and snowy light. As the poet is projecting his imaginary magic on those things, they will go through a metamorphosis and become metaphorical references to poetry writing, for both are the objects of formal arrangement, and both use delicate minimalism to achieve elaborate effect. Because this transfiguring act of mind is rooted in an objective world, the aura of duality shines through the images: they are at once flower arrangement and poetry writing. Indeed, what makes this poem "poetic" is the dynamic shifting back and forth between the real object and the metaphorical meanings it prompts.
II
Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.
Stevens desires "complete simplicity," but such "simplicity" is a trope for reduction and deprives him of the necessary pain and suffering in writing a poem. The capitalistic "I" is arresting, since Stevens always uses the impersonal "one" ("one" occurs four times in this stanza and six times in the whole poem), yet here he says "The evilly compounded, vital I." In "Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction," "I" stands out again: "What am I to believe? ..." There is rhetorical power in the Stevensian "I," which is almost electrifying. It recalls Whitman's "real me" or "me myself" in "Song of Myself," for all these terms suggest a self that is one's consciousness but is a deeper and unknown part of one's consciousness. Stevens was very evasive about Whitman, one of his prime precursors. He never had anything good to say about Whitman in prose. Actually he blamed Whitman for Whitman's tramp persona. Yet, as Harold Bloom observes, "Whitman is a deeper and darker presence/absence in Stevens's work." Good poetry in any language always depends on allusiveness. This stanza echoes a couplet in "Song of Myself":
Dazzling and tremendous how quick the sun-rise would kill me,
If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me ...
As self-contradictory as the Whitmanian "real me" or "me myself," the Stevensian "I" is both "evilly-compounded" and "vital" (this word is never negative). Bloom unravels the paradox by arguing that "The `Vital I' is compounded evilly only because it is compounded at all." In other words, Stevens is talking about a radical duality of self or even a plurality of selves, on which he will not give a stable judgment. "Vital" is also to find its compelling resonance in "the never-resting mind" in the succeeding stanza. A critic believes that Stevens's inward peering "I" also implies its externally seeing homophone "eye." I agree with this insightful reading, for the whole poem is built upon the act of looking and seeing. "Still one would want more, one would need more, / More than a world of white and snowy scents" builds a crescendo of "mores" and reinforces the theme of desire. Stevens was from New Jersey and in his native language "scents" allegedly sounds like "senses," so here he might be making another homonymic pun.
In this stanza, "a world of white" recurs once more. This time, it is the word "brilliant-edged" that unfolds new information. The edge is between what two sides? Japanese flower arrangement draws materials from nature; meanwhile, it is cut and placed by people. Thus, it is a product of setting art against nature, so is poetry. The edge makes clear the dichotomy of art vs. nature. Fundamentally, high literature, especially poetry, is a continuous tradition. This poem explores a single motif that emerges again and again in a succession of strong poets - the relation between art and nature. Stevens is concerned with creating some shape of order in the wilderness and chaos of reality. On the other hand, he refuses to transform and harmonize reality at the cost of making violent imposition upon it. Shelley, in "A Defense of Poetry," realizes that "even the greatest poetry will, through time, become nothing more than signs for classes of thought, loosing its poetic edge as a result." To find the finer edge of words, Stevens urges us to get rid of the illusion of things and get to the truth. In Stevens's own words, "the hum of thoughts evaded in the mind." ("Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction")
This stanza is syntactically distinguished from the other stanzas for a single sentence runs through all seven lines, creating an extended "suspension system." The effect is to have the completion of meaning constantly delayed, and to make the delay a means of defamiliarizing the process of conferring meanings. "Say even that," like "more like" in line 3, is an American idiom, meaning "granted that." It introduces a concessive clause and distantly echoes the adverb "still" five lines later. This pair of connectives frames the whole sentence or stanza. While in the first stanza, imagery is the dominant device and noun structures prevail, this stanza is characterized by strong statements and powerful verbs. "Stripped," "concealed," "made it fresh" are positioned either at the beginning or the end of lines, and in sequence they make a set of structural parallels. This compels us to recognize their weight in the meaning-making process.
III
There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
If the last stanza closes with a litotes or an understatement in which one's desire is expressed by negating its opposite ("a world of white and snowy scents"), this stanza will directly address that keen desire of "the never-resting mind": "one would want to escape, come back / To what had been so long composed." Again and again in this poem, Stevens plays upon opposition and apposition. We have encountered "Stripped" and "concealed," "evilly-compounded" and "vital" before, and now the oxymoronic "escape" and "come back to" again force us to pause and think hard. "What had been so long composed" sounds like a Nietzschean cosmos, whose nut is hollow and lacking any purpose or unity. It also reminds us of the Shakespearean motto: "This is an art, which does mend nature, change it rather, but the art itself is nature" (Winter's Tale).
"The imperfect is our paradise" invites multiple readings as well. The first thing comes to mind is the famous biblical allusion. Since the fall, Adam and Eve had been expelled from the perfect Eden and living in the far-from-perfect earth. So, from the start human beings are destined to accept imperfection as our living paradise. This sentence also echoes the Robert Browning quote "A man's reach should exceed his grasp," suggesting that poetry writing is a tantalizing project. To achieve artistic perfection, one should attempt even those seemingly impossible things, despite all necessary pains and suffering. Moreover, "imperfect" in Latin means "unfinished." By brings back the etymological meaning of "imperfect," Stevens revisits the Whitmanian theme: "Nothing is final, he chants. No man shall see the end."
This imperfect world demands an imperfect language, that is to say "flawed words and stubborn sounds." The closing sentence starts with an imperative expression "Note that" and takes on the tone of an academic lecture. The shift of pronouns from "one" or "I" to "our" or "us" strengthens this sense of reaching out to others. As the poem moves towards closure, it is getting more and more disturbing, and the reader can feel a profound malaise on the part of the poet. Again, "bitterness" and "delight" are set in opposition, suggesting a puzzling psychic construction. "The imperfect is so hot in us" means the desire for imperfection is so fierce in us. "Hot" is used to contrast the earlier "cold" ("Cold, a cold porcelain"), and both words can apply respectively to their core meaning and extended meaning. "Lies" is an even more intriguing polyseme: delight tells us untruth in flawed words and stubborn sounds, and also consists in such words and sounds. In "Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction," Stevens brings forward three fundamental functions of poetry: It Must Be Abstract; It Must Change; It Must Give Pleasure. So, he shares Shelley's view that joy is what poetry emanates from ("A Defense of Poetry"). Yet such a joy is achieved by flawed words and stubborn sounds, in other words, the stylistic eccentricity and strangeness in Stevens's word choice and his experiment with the musical quality of poetry.
Finally, in what sense do we know Stevens? Stevens is a poet of profound subjectivity. He is always working on wordplays, suggestions and subtlety. He is endless. We go down and down and down, and cannot reach the bottom, and would still want more and need more. He carries us so deep into nature and art and their intricate interplay.
At the end of the mind:
Wallace Stevens is one of those rare writers who had a golden touch with words -- musical words, spellbinding imagery, and no boundaries to keep anyone from enjoying it. "The Palm at the End of the Mind : Selected Poems and a Play" brings together many of his best works, starting early in his writing career and stretching through the years.
Over his lifetime, Stevens wrote several books of poetry, but his exquisite poems are best taken by themselves: the languid splendour of "Sunday Morning," the spare eloquence of "Man With A Blue Guitar," and the hymnlike grandeur of "Le Monocle De Mon Oncle." ("I know no magic trees, no balmy boughs,/No silver-ruddy, gold-vermilion fruits./But, after all, I know a tree that bears/A semblance to the thing I have in mind.")
This volume also contains his little-known one-act play, "Bowl, Cat and Broomstick." Like many of his non-poetic works, this play deals with the nature of poetry, and is in the form of a dialogue between three seventeenth-century characters. It's part parody, part analysis. And while it's a bit weird, it's certainly worth reading.
Wallace Stevens began publishing poetry at an importance time in writing history, when the older styles were falling away. But instead of ignoring one type of poetry in favor of another, he took the best of all kinds -- his verse combines Victorian opulance with the more modern free-form verse.
Though he isn't as well known as Yeats or Williams, Stevens' poetry is one of the few kinds that is both technically good and emotionally rich. His poetry can be whimsical ("Every time the bucks went clattering/Over Oklahoma/A firecat bristled in the way"), but it is also meditative and philosophical, even tackling the nature of reality.
If nothing else, Stevens' writing can be read just because it is exquisitely beautiful. He lavished details all over almost every poem he wrote; his style tends to be a bit on the ornate side -- Stevens freely uses the more exotic terms -- such as "opalescence," "pendentives" and "muleteers" -- wrapped up in complex verse, sometimes with a rhyme scheme and sometimes free-form.
"The Palm at the End of the Mind" is a wonderful collection of Wallace Stevens' most significant long poems, his underrated play, and his equally important smaller ones. A must-have. - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/21/2005
奇怪，frost 我怎么也读不进去。第一我不喜欢叙事诗，第二不喜欢长句子。可以说，WS的特点都是我最喜欢的，内省，抽象，多义，音乐。。。连同他的冰冷。 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/21/2005
ha,正好我也刚借了Bloom的书 - posted on 08/21/2005
若之 wrote:
这就是我跟你说的那个跟Bloom做学生的小伙子, 跟马小姐差不多大吧. 现在中国的年轻人, 还是很令人感到欣慰的. :-)
好啊，俺先睡觉去，明天再拜读。刚掐了两首英文诗，累了。
你上面引的Stevens叙事诗是哪首啊？很平易近人嘛（简直不像老S)，音乐感也很好，我想找来全诗读读。
对了慧元（马小姐太官方了，俺们江湖人还是平易一点好），Frost的大量作品不是叙事诗，是短小的lyrics，我喜欢他对身边生活的观察精微，对自然的倾注，表达的简洁和深度，以及情感的控制（如若之说的，passion不如deeply felt emotion更吸引人，不过惠特曼那种先知式的激情又当别论了），当然还有他的音乐感。据说老F幼年读诗，深为爱伦坡的music和爱默生的meaningfulness吸引，有意要结合两者。他一般不用长句子，除了那些农庄生活对话的叙事诗（我也不太爱看那些）。
我最近又在重读Stevens的The Necessary Angel，他的诗论文集，两年前读过，现在重温，可能体会深些。 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勭敺浜�posted on 08/21/2005
好亚好亚，谢谢提醒，回头我看看。：) - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/22/2005
马慧元 wrote:
ha,正好我也刚借了Bloom的书.
好像在灌水"老刊物"那条线上读到你写的Bloom. 继续写啊, 等着读你新的感想. 哪天你想跟Bloom聊聊, 说不定可以给你联络联络. :-)
Adagio, 那诗是Peter Quince at the Clavier. Peter Quince is the stage manager of the inserted play "Pyramus and Thisbe" in Shaspeare's Midsummer Night's dream. - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/22/2005
若水是学文学的吗？ - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/22/2005
忍不住扑哧一笑，慧元小同志也有我老眼昏花的毛病。是若之不是若水，英美文学专业出身，目前写小说，曾师从William Gass，你大概读过Gass的东西，因为你似乎对英美现代文坛并不陌生。 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/22/2005
哈哈哈。
gass我还真不知道。现代的东西我看得少。其实我什么都看得少，自己觉得什么都没看过，什么都不知道，脑子一片空白滴。 - posted on 08/22/2005
你们俩个都是少眼昏花.:-) 我给Adagio说过很多次俺不能算英美文学专业, 她就是记不住. 不仅眼睛不好使,记性也不好使了. :-)
说正经的, 这个王敖的诗写得很不错的, 他跟黑蓝有些联系. 这个组织我有印象, 好像玛雅提过. 下面是他的几首短诗(长诗没耐性读):
绝句
王敖
很遗憾，我正在失去
记忆，我梳头，失去记忆，我闭上眼睛
这朵花正在衰老，我深呼吸，仍记不住，这笑声
我侧身躺下，帽子忘了摘，我想到一个新名字，比玫瑰都要美
绝句
我坐在摇椅上赞美酒精
它们深埋于空中的某处
我就象空瓶呼吸着
我所知道的地下水，我希望时光迅速矿化，重现往日的葡萄
彩船
窗子推开
寂静的光环和一条船
去那里居住，春天的竹管
簇拥着松软的小桥和房子，还是在那里停留
在褪色之中走过，那么多窗，在世上，那么多女人
拉开窗帘，其中有一个，真的是你，坐着梦，湿润我的纸纤维
过日本留念
睡很多而且看阿奎那
------米沃什
微小而微小的
酒精的波浪，载着一秒钟一昼夜的
飞行员，他是谁，仿佛生化实验中
爱的火焰-----被爱神所爱的，丢失了思维和习惯的
王敖在酣睡，树林上空
是火焰，而雨滴在远方倾斜着，当我们飞临
脆弱的日本，发动机的内部浴着血，轮子中的天使，轻松踩灭他自己
绝句
醉的船只，载我们上床，醉拳之后
怎能不相爱，就象核桃啊，躺在樱桃的身边
要静静相对，又想要交欢----
带我们回去吧，手臂上枕着脸庞，透澈的眼睛仿佛
落泪的水苍玉；有人要从树上落下；还有人在枝头红着胸前
绝句
为什么，星象大师，你看着我的
眼珠，仿佛那是世界的轮中轮，为什么
人生有缺憾，绝句有生命，而伟大的木匠
属于伟大的钉子；为什么，给我一个残忍的答案？
绝句
在我的两次，轻轻的崩溃之间
有一扇窗，一捧啤酒花，还有一位千变万化的朋友
用宝石色的眼睛，染着我身上的各种光, 我不停地爱上
从我身体中扯出的，一丝丝向前飘移的血，它们在窗外
仿佛雨后的樱桃树，我可不可以变回我自己呢，不需要告诉任何人
- Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/22/2005
诗写得不错。
如果我没搞错，王敖是黑蓝那里翻译WS的一位，有人拉我去看过。
我觉得，他做出的努力很可嘉，翻译的文意也比较准确，但WS真是不能翻译的，因为语言一变声音都没了，WS也不再是WS了。 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/23/2005
哈哈，我记得若之反正是文学专业出身，在英美和德法之间我的记忆选了前者。：）
王敖写的是现代诗，很遗憾，我还没进化到那一步。：）那首彩船倒是有古典味。 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
I read Wang Ao's article last night, well writen, I was delighted. Can't agree with him more when he said Stevens is a poet of "profound subjectivity" and is "endless". Wang's English is quite mature, a bit to my surprise.
I just bought a book by Harold Bloom - Wallace Stevens, The Poems of Our Climate. Hope it will help me to understand and appreciate more Stevens' poetry. - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
你是说上面那篇文章也是王敖写的？对，写得确实好！ - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
对呀, 对呀, 马小姐看来跟咱们一样粗心. 他现在在耶鲁念博士. 阿达玖, 想想这小伙子恐怕2000年左右才来美国, 他是很有语言天赋的. 明天要开课了, 心里还是很紧张的, 没心情陪两位高谈阔论了. 以后聊. :-)
马慧元 wrote:
你是说上面那篇文章也是王敖写的？对，写得确实好！ - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
都是高人哪！直让俺这土得掉渣的高粱花子不好意思承认曾经学过英美文学。十几年前念书时，还写过一篇关于WS看黑鸟诗的体会，现在想起来，当时根本就没读出什么名堂，惭愧涅！
三双蓝袜子
一穗红高粱 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
好啦, 这正宗学英美文学的终于鼓起勇气站出来了, 俺也可以歇口气了. :-) 廖兄, 等忙完这两天, 再去你说的那疙瘩去玩.
liaokang wrote:
都是高人哪！直让俺这土得掉渣的高粱花子不好意思承认曾经学过英美文学。十几年前念书时，还写过一篇关于WS看黑鸟诗的体会，现在想起来，当时大概根本没读出什么名堂，惭愧涅！
三双蓝袜子
一穗红高粱 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
廖兄为何自惭形秽？你的西方文学素养比一般人高，还记得你写荷马的那篇鸿文。你的英文功底我们也都知道的，岂是我这门外汉能比（我还曲解过你的一首Longfellow译诗呢，哈哈） - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/29/2005
An article on Homer? Where is it? I want to read. - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/30/2005
- Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/30/2005
毕业后，为谋稻梁，在公司做翻译，做培训，与文学是渐行渐远了。这一年多来，经常上网，才胡乱写了些东西。但见后生可畏，想想我当年，知道什么呀！
另客上这篇，可是有个大错，把俄底浦斯的恋母情结写成“恋父情结”。那时候刚入道，还没有一帮人砸砖挑错。 - Re: 寮硅摑鍚変粬鐨勪汉posted on 08/31/2005
liaokang wrote:
想想我当年，知道什么呀！
I still know nothing now :)
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