迪伦，迪伦 玛雅咖啡的摇滚和蓝调
- posted on 12/13/2006BBKing的蓝调俱乐部每天晚上有不同乐队演出，音乐非常好，以摇滚和蓝调为主。墙上都是著名歌手的画像。
迪伦，迪伦 玛雅咖啡的摇滚和蓝调
- posted on 12/13/2006
那天夜里，突然发现这块牌子竖在那什维尔第一所公立学校的前面。才知道诗人Randall Jarrell是这所学校的毕业生。Randall Jarrell是40-50s美国著名诗人。和Robert Lowell, Elizabeth Bishop友善。Lowell说：“Jarrell的诗歌是美国最好的诗歌之一".
诗人Randall Jarrell:
Gunner
Did they send me away from my cat and my wife
To a doctor who poked me and counted my teeth,
To a line on a plain, to a stove in a tent?
Did I nod in the flies of the schools?
And the fighters rolled into the tracer like rabbits,
The blood froze over my splints like a scab --
Did I snore, all still and grey in the turret,
Till the palms rose out of the sea with my death?
And the world ends here, in the sand of a grave,
All my wars over? How easy it was to die!
Has my wife a pension of so many mice?
Did the medals go home to my cat?
-- from "Little Friend, Little Friend"
October 13, 1946
The Breath of Night
The moon rises. The red cubs rolling
In the ferns by the rotten oak
Stare over a marsh and a meadow
To the farm's white wisp of smoke.
A spark burns, high in heaven.
Deer thread the blossoming rows
Of the old orchard, rabbits
Hop by the well-curb. The cock crows
From the tree by the widow's walk;
Two stars in the trees to the west,
Are snared, and an owl's soft cry
Runs like a breath through the forest.
Here too, though death is hushed, though joy
Obscures, like night, their wars,
The beings of this world are swept
By the Strife that moves the stars.
-- from "Losses"
April 4, 1948
A Country Life
A bird that I don't know,
Hunched on his light-pole like a scarecrow,
Looks sideways out into the wheat
The wind waves under the waves of heat.
The field is yellow as egg-bread dough
Except where (just as though they'd let
It live for looks) a locust billows
In leaf-green and shade-violet,
A standing mercy.
The bird calls twice, "Red clay, red clay";
Or else he's saying, "Directly, directly."
If someone came by I could ask,
Around here all of them must know --
And why they live so and die so --
Or why, for once, the lagging heron
Flaps from the little creek's parched cresses
Across the harsh-grassed, gullied meadow
To the black, rowed evergreens below.
They know and they don't know.
To ask, a man must be a stranger --
And asking, much more answering, is dangerous;
Asked about it, who would not repent
Of all he ever did and never meant,
And think a life and its distresses,
Its random, clutched-for, homefelt blisses,
The circumstances of an accident?
The farthest farmer in a field,
A gaunt plant grown, for seed, by farmers,
Has felt a longing, lorn urbanity
Jailed in his breast; and, just as I,
Has grunted, in his old perplexity,
A standing plea.
From the tar of the blazing square
The eyes shift, in their taciturn
And unavowing, unavailable sorrow.
Yet the intonation of a name confesses
Some secrets that they never meant
To let out to a soul; and what words would not dim
The bowed and weathered heads above the denim
Or the once-too-often washed wash dresses?
They are subdued to their own element.
One day
The red, clay face
Is lowered to the naked clay;
After some words, the body is forsaken
The shadows lengthen, and a dreaming hope
Breathes, from the vague mound, Life;
From the grove under the spire
Stars shine, and a wandering light
Is kindled for the mourner, man.
The angel kneeling with the wreath
Sees, in the moonlight, graves.
-- from "Losses"
May 2, 1948
The Olive Garden
(Rainer Maria Rilke)
He went up under the gray leaves
All gray and lost in the olive lands
And laid his forehead, gray with dust,
Deep in the dustiness of his hot hands.
After everything this. And this was the end.
-- Now I must go, as I am going blind.
And why is it Thy will that I must say
Thou art, when I myself no more can find Thee.
I find Thee no more. Not in me, no.
Not in others. Not in this stone,
I find Thee no more. I am alone.
I am alone with all men's sorrow --
All that, through Thee, I thought to lighten,
Thou who art not, O nameless shame ...
Men said, later: an angel came.
Why an angel? Alas, there came the night,
And leafed through the trees, indifferently.
The disciples moved a little in their dreams.
Why an angel? Alas, there came the night.
The night that came was no uncommon night:
So hundreds of nights go by.
There dogs sleep; there stones lie,
Alas a sorrowful, alas any night
That waits till once more it is morning.
For then beseech: the angels do not come,
Never do nights grow great around them.
Who lose themselves, all things let go;
They are renounced by their own fathers
And shut from their own mothers' hearts.
-- from "The Seven League Crutches"
September 19, 1954
- Re: 閭ｄ粈缁村皵锛岀敯绾宠タ 锛圢ashville,TN锛�---BBKing 钃濊皟淇变箰閮紝璇椾汉Randall Jarrell锛岃�佺伀杞︾珯posted on 12/13/2006
那什维尔的老火车站，现改称旅馆,(我住在这里）非常精美的设计。那块列车时刻表仍然挂在那里。
- Re: 閭ｄ粈缁村皵锛岀敯绾宠タ 锛圢ashville,TN锛�---BBKing 钃濊皟淇变箰閮紝璇椾汉Randall Jarrell锛岃�佺伀杞︾珯posted on 12/13/2006
July到处走，可真好。：） - Re: 閭ｄ粈缁村皵锛岀敯绾宠タ 锛圢ashville,TN锛�---BBKing 钃濊皟淇变箰閮紝璇椾汉Randall Jarrell锛岃�佺伀杞︾珯posted on 12/13/2006
那什维尔的街景:
- posted on 12/13/2006
- Re: 閭ｄ粈缁村皵锛岀敯绾宠タ 锛圢ashville,TN锛�---BBKing 钃濊皟淇变箰閮紝璇椾汉Randall Jarrell锛岃�佺伀杞︾珯posted on 12/13/2006
Nice photos, as always. :-)
那个老火车站现在是个旅馆。看上去还不错。没住过。
Please paste HTML code and press Enter.
(c) 2010 Maya Chilam Foundation