http://bbs.tianya.cn/post-books-553901-1.shtml
- posted on 12/26/2015
伯恩哈德说,一想到死亡,世间的一切都是可笑的。中文翻成的可笑,德文原是lcherlich,准确该是荒谬、荒诞。从天上往地下看,哪些东西不渺小呢?人如蚂蚁老鼠,蝇营狗苟。
可此时此刻,即便阴司小鬼把生死薄扔在我面前,眼前这鸟语花香一点都不可笑,唯有甜美安详。凌晨430am,月色温柔,一切都在柔光镜里,风是柔的,海浪是轻的,花草是香的,海鸟儿睁着亮眼睛,落在廊下,只有主人的猫还在酣睡。
有一首日本名曲《荒城之月》,你记得吗?“荒城十五明月夜,四野何凄凉。”从前,听那断肠的弦音读这样的句子,是不敢在夜黑风高的时候单人出来看月亮的,害怕被月亮迷了心窍陷入恐惧疯狂。“浩渺太空临千古,千古此月光。人世枯荣与兴亡,瞬息化沧桑。”
这里没有沉重污糟的历史,没有人类厮杀后荒寂的古战场,没有繁华落尽的尸骨累累,甚至没有荒岛小说里描述的海难后船浆桅杆的残骸,洞穴里没有被饿死渴死的水手尸骨。没有密密匝匝的人群嘶喊喧嚣,自然界里的一切平静安详,飞得悠闲,唱得欢快,鸟兽安就其位,花儿饱满地盛开,小兽睡熟,一睁眼,山水清凉。
这岛虽荒凉人烟稀落,却不清冷孤寂,没有葛藤古松,只有含笑的花叶。没有一处断壁颓垣可以让我悲伤凭吊,也没有一处高楼可以凭阑兴叹,感慨家国天下忧愁喜乐,在这个时辰,只我一个旅人,斜躺在吊床上,听海潮海鸥,任明月的温柔手掌抚摸,前也不思,后也不想。
- posted on 12/28/2015
THE CELEBRATION OF MY UTERUS
By: Anne Sexton
Everyone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.
They said you were immeasurably empty
but you are not.
They said you were sick unto dying
but they were wrong.
You are singing like a school girl.
You are not torn.
Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
and of the soul of the woman I am
and of the central creature and its delight
I sing for you. I dare to live.
Hello, spirit. Hello, cup.
Fasten, cover. Cover that does contain.
Hello to the soil of the fields.
Welcome, roots.
Each cell has a life.
There is enough here to please a nation.
It is enough that the populace own these goods.
Any person, any commonwealth would say of it,
“It is good this year that we may plant again
and think forward to a harvest.
A blight had been forecast and has been cast out.”
Many women are singing together of this:
one is in a shoe factory cursing the machine,
one is at the aquarium tending a seal,
one is dull at the wheel of her Ford,
one is at the toll gate collecting,
one is tying the cord of a calf in Arizona,
one is straddling a cello in Russia,
one is shifting pots on the stove in Egypt,
one is painting her bedroom walls moon color,
one is dying but remembering a breakfast,
one is stretching on her mat in Thailand,
one is wiping the ass of her child,
one is staring out the window of a train
in the middle of Wyoming and one is
anywhere and some are everywhere and all
seem to be singing, although some can not
sing a note.
Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
let me carry a ten-foot scarf,
let me drum for the nineteen-year-olds,
let me carry bowls for the offering
(if that is my part).
Let me study the cardiovascular tissue,
let me examine the angular distance of meteors,
let me suck on the stems of flowers
(if that is my part).
Let me make certain tribal figures
(if that is my part).
For this thing the body needs
let me sing
for the supper,
for the kissing,
for the correct
yes.
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(c) 2010 Maya Chilam Foundation