顯示具有 2025 標籤的文章。 顯示所有文章
顯示具有 2025 標籤的文章。 顯示所有文章

2026年3月12日 星期四

《夏志清夏濟安書信集》讀後

《夏志清夏濟安書信集》(王洞、季進編)讀後
 
六百多封信,終於看完。兄弟間文辭摯誠,令人動容。而二人偶然對英語文學的談論心得(雖或只片言隻語),亦足教讀者如我獲益良多。書海無涯,讀書毋寧是「摸石頭過河」;故若一旦遇着一二牢靠的踏石,自也是令人心生慰藉的。此所以有感於夏氏兩位先生。
 
7/1/2025

2025年12月8日 星期一

答友人問有關「刨古文」的問題

友人:最近在刨古文觀止,讀古文的話有什麽推薦的方法嗎? 

我:我想首先是善用工具書吧。數千年的古文,context各異,語言習慣各異,何況還有種種傳抄缺漏(我們不應忘記,能流傳下來的古文,在某意義上,其實都是殘缺的文本[1]),看不明白其實很正常。重要是懂得查注解。如遇字不識,比起只google白話字典,中文系至少應要懂得直接查康熙字典、廣韻、說文等(ctext的字典有合併版,極方便)。仍看不懂的話,便去查十三經注疏(或其他經典批注)。如讀《左傳》時不會不看杜預注(孔疏較長,有需要才睇埋),讀《莊子》時不會不用郭慶藩的集釋(集合了郭象注、成玄英疏,還有其他補充)。這些都不是甚麼僻書,在國學導航網站(或ctext網)都有。中國古文學冇嘢多,多的就是注解。而看注解的意義,也不在於100%解通文本。而是讓你體會到:

這些「古文」,原來不單是你,而是連古人在閱讀時也面對着同樣的困難。(但政府又要靠它來出題考試,不然哪用得着這麼多「注本」?這麼多缺文、錯字,這麼多地方的含義、語義不確定,而又要抽取它「可解」的地方來考、來做文章,很苦的。) 

而當你漸漸讀多了,遇有疑難時比照不同注釋,發現即使是那些學富五車的學者,如鄭玄、朱熹等,面對古文,也時有不確定或解錯的時候,其實不知不覺間對你自己讀古文的信心亦會增強不少(你冇番咁上下「料子」,又怎發現人家的錯?)。 

最重要的,是保持一種「openmindedness」。古文也只是人寫的文字而已。看不懂人家寫甚麼,有甚麼出奇?換轉你現在貿然打開人家的whatsapp紀錄,也不一定立即看得懂吧(一笑)。王安石在〈答曾子固書〉裏寫得很好: 

「然世之不見全經久矣。讀經而已,則不足以知經。故某自百家諸子之書,至於《難經》、《素問》、《本草》諸小說,無所不讀。農夫女工,無所不問。然後於經為能知其大體而無疑。蓋後世學者,與先王之時異矣,不如是,不足以盡聖人故也。揚雄雖為不好非聖人之書,然於墨、晏、鄒、莊、申、韓亦何所不讀。彼致其知而後讀,以有所去取,故異學不能亂也。」

另外的則是周作人和止庵的意見:古文而論,以先秦為最佳(春秋末年百家爭鳴,思想之自由、廣闊、靈活與深邃,以至在語言上的原創性和創造力,在中國史上可一不可再);魏晉南北朝時的文章受佛學浸染,質樸自然,與其時政治現實之黑暗相比照,也是值得品讀的(《文選》已收有不少,而清代的《六朝文絜箋注》也是有口碑的選本)。而唐宋以後,理學抬頭,格局漸細,士人們多惟科舉是尚(亦即周作人常謂的「奔競躁進氣」,見《苦口甘口·我的雜學二》及《秉燭後談·東萊左氏博議》諸文),所以到底還是六朝以前的文章思想會開闊些。唐宋以後好文章也不是沒有,但可能便要「捐窿捐罅」一點,如李贄、洪邁、龔自珍、徐渭、王思任、張岱或屈大鈞的《廣東新語》等;太出名、大路的選文最好避一避,即韓愈或蘇洵、蘇徹、顧炎武那些(其實周作人認為中國文章之衰落,正由韓愈始)。在八大家裏,我個人以為較值得讀的應是歐陽修、柳宗元、蘇軾和王安石這幾位。宋明理學也有其細緻的地方,然受時代所限,很多時亦不免陷於虛玄或重複,胡同總比見解多。這大概也是人世不可免的寫照吧。

[1] 即所謂「書缺有間」也。

友人:但點解避韓愈?

我:韓愈的問題較複雜,也非三言兩語說得清。他作品中固然也是有好的,如〈柳子厚墓誌銘〉。惟其最大的毛病在於:每每但求文章有「氣勢」,而不顧人情事理之信實與否。說話前先擺款(也許也是當時現實中的不得已,你不擺款根本沒人留意你),只是為了議論得有「氣勢」,而不是真正探求誠實的寫作。「名篇」劣作如〈祭鱷魚文〉者,文筆或內容便俱一無可取了。(28/11/2025)

附王安石(1021—1086年)〈答曾子固書〉:

  某啟:久以疾病不為問,豈勝嚮往!
 
  前書疑子固於讀經有所不暇,故語及之。連得書,疑某所謂經者佛經也,而教之以佛經之亂俗。某但言讀經,則何以別於中國聖人之經?何以要着意分開其信中所言之「經」與古代聖人之經呢子固讀吾書每如此,亦某所以疑子固於讀經有所不暇也。
 
  然世之不見全經久矣,讀經而已則不足以知經。故某自百家諸子之書,至於《難經》、《素問》、《本草》諸小說,無所不讀。農夫女工,無所不問。然後於經為能知其大體而無疑。蓋後世學者,與先王之時異矣,不如是,不足以盡聖人故也。揚雄雖為不好非聖人之書,然於墨、晏、鄒鄒衍,陰陽家代表人物、莊、申、韓亦何所不讀彼致其知而後讀先存致知之心而後閱讀,以有所去取,故異學不能亂也。惟其不能亂,故能有所去取者,所以明吾道而已。子固視吾所知以其學識,為尚可以異學亂之者乎?非知我也。方今亂俗不在於佛,乃在於學士大夫沉沒利慾,以言相尚,不知自治修養自身的德性而已。子固以為如何?
 
  苦寒,比日近日侍奉萬福。自愛。

2025年11月3日 星期一

試譯:〈棕櫚下,皇家廣場〉 保羅·布萊克本【Plaza Real With Palmtrees-Paul Blackburn】

〈棕櫚下,皇家廣場〉  保羅·布萊克本(試譯:淺白)
 
七點鐘,夏日的傍晚
他們擠聚到那些小石凳處
背對背坐着
五至六個一張;
年輕的母親
老年男人
返家途中的工人,停
下來。他們面孔
停懸在疲憊和空白之中
恢復着
攝入那黃昏底涼意
五到六個一張長凳;
孩子太小未會走路
騎在他們的母親膝上
        構成
七到八個一張長凳。
 
         年紀大些的玩着彈珠
           追逐着別人
            或鴿子。
陽光攫住了樓頂,一邊
          的拱廊;
而全個廣場都被影子覆蓋着,在傍晚
七到八點之間。
 
         那握着氣球的男人
         幾乎,是揚升在它上方了
         他的臉凹癟而安靜
                  空白
         廓空了城市的內容
         一如城中蕩淨了空氣
         綁紥在他手裏的氣球線
         向上指而紋絲不動;
         他佇站在廣場的邊緣
         沒有在叫賣,或是觀視着甚麼
                  那賣糖果的
         手推車,有餵給白鴿的食物……
 
                   一種止息,
           一種群動中的止息;
           一處內灣,在這城市的汒洋
           朝內裏漂湊
五到六個一張長凳
七至八個一張長凳
            現在
            空氣觸動着棕櫚
            、人面。
            一切皆輕柔
 
巴塞隆拿,五五年六月廿七
 
4/11/2025初稿
 
Plaza Real With Palmtrees
By Paul Blackburn
 
At seven in the summer evenings 
they crowd the small stone benches 
back to back 
five and six to a bench; 
young mothers 
old men
workers on their way home stopping 
off. their faces
poised in the tiredness and blankness 
recouping 
taking the evening coolness 
five and six to a bench. 
Children too young to walk, 
on the knees of their mothers 
                                               make
seven and eight to a bench. 
 
                                               The older ones play immies 
                                                      or chase each other 
                                                           or pigeons.
Sun catches the roofs, one side 
                                               of the arcade; 
the whole of the plaza in shadow between 
seven and eight of an evening. 
 
                                               The man with balloons 
                                               rises above it almost 
                                               his face deflated & quiet 
                                                                                       blank 
                                               emptied of the city 
                                               as the city is emptied of air. 
                                               The strings wrapped to his hand 
                                               go up and do not move. 
                                               He stands at the edge of the square 
                                               not calling or watching at all. 
                                                                                     The cart 
                                               with candy has food for the pigeons... 
 
                                                                                       A lull, 
                                               a lull in the moving, 
                                               a bay in the sea of this city 
                                               into which drift
five and six to a bench 
seven and eight to a bench 
                                               Now 
                                               the air moves the palmtrees, 
                                               faces. 
                                               All of it gentle
 
Barcelona. 27. VI. 55






Placa Reial,圖片源自網絡。


2019年8月7日攝於尖沙咀。

2025年10月30日 星期四

試譯:〈父親們〉 弗朗茨·賴特【Fathers-Franz Wright】

〈父親們〉 弗朗茨·賴特(試譯:淺白)

啊,且建一個城市
──為每個希望

死去的人,在那兒
他們也許能助彼此一把

而從不至於感到自慚
或者還能交個朋友
之類。

星辰和大海的創造者
下來,下來吧

以祢的靈,作成
一種新的心地

在我身內,讓我
再次發生──

曼哈頓的無家者
寒冬下你死去中的子民

我並沒有太多時間
去想及它,光是嘗試存活下去,

對我而言,這

大概也是下個瞬間你會做的事吧──是凍到這個地步

而我是多麼常會走到那條真實的河的河邊,去加入你
 
30/10/2025初稿
 
Fathers
By Franz Wright (from his 2003 collection Walking to Martha's Vineyard)
 
Oh build a special city 
for everyone who wishes 
 
to die, where 
they might help one another out 
 
and never feel ashamed 
maybe make a friend,
etc. 
You 
 
who created the stars and the sea
come down, come down 
 
in spirit, fashion 
a new heart 
 
in me, create 
me again— 
 
Homeless in Manhattan 
the winter of your dying 
 
I didn't have a lot of time 
to think about it, trying to stay alive 
 
To me 
 
it was just the next interesting thing you would do—that is how cold it was 
 
and how often I walked to the edge of the actual river to join you 

2025年10月24日 星期五

試譯:〈跳着,陪傑克森〉 羅伯特·克里利【Jumping with Jackson-Robert Creeley】

〈跳着,陪傑克森〉  羅伯特·克里利(試譯:淺白)

怨不了太多
年紀之類的話。

單單是呼吸、
自在──已夠意思了

何況還有你這種朋友
能一路坦誠面對

生命,以及那些
我們所為了、和得到的。
 
24/10/2025初稿
 
Jumping with Jackson
By Robert Creeley (From his Unpublished Poems)
 
Cant say much 
Of age and such, 
 
Just its fun to breathe 
And take ones ease 
 
With a friend like you 
Who keeps it true 
 
To life and what 
We came here for and got. 

2025年10月20日 星期一

試譯:〈湍流〉 約翰·蒙塔格【White Water-John Montague】

〈湍流〉  約翰·蒙塔格(試譯:淺白)
給萊恩·麥凱
 
那泛着光、塗上焦油的
可弋船的皮膚,凌駕
且承受着水流,
──拋蕩並回應着
海濤苛酷的漲落。

在木造的肋骨裏面
一陣滑曳的顫亂:光澤
那團銀綠色、黑橫紋、撲騰着的鯖魚;
那虹彩般的弧圈
一尾喘着氣的海鱒。

正如一條魚
死前照爍,那最強熾的光,
那盲鰻的鱗片
也閃耀着一種急繁、
窳爛底殘輝:

微亮、漂白的──
湍流──
那光,際乎海峽之間
在風暴驟發前。

21/10/2025初稿

譯者按:可弋船currach,愛爾蘭一種傳統、簡便的木舟,多以獸皮包覆,內為格狀的木製骨架。
 
White Water
By John Montague (from his 2004 collection Drunken Sailor)
for Line McKie
 
The light, tarred skin 
of the currach rides 
and receives the current, 
rolls and responds to 
the harsh sea swell. 
 
Inside the wooden ribs 
a slithering frenzy; a sheen 
of black-barred silvergreen and flailing mackerel: 
the iridescent hoop 
of a gasping sea trout. 
 
As a fish gleams most 
fiercely before it dies, 
so the scales of the sea-hag 
shine with a hectic 
putrescent glitter: 
 
luminous, bleached— 
white water 
that light in the narrows 
before a storm breaks. 

"Something I’ve always admired in Montague’s work is the way he insists on a slow, close, patient looking at things most of us might flinch from. He looks, and keeps looking, until he finds an adequately specific language for the object under his attention. ‘Peer closely,’ he instructs himself (and us) in one poem, ‘All those small / scarlet petals are shivering.’ He will not turn away from hard matters, but insists — with a mixture of fascination, sympathy, and what might be called rapt detachment — on seeing exactly what’s there and then saying it in a manner that’s both plain and at the same time ritualistic — formalized by line and stanza into a fixed ritual instant."

"In the first stanza... it’s the word ‘skin’ that holds my attention... What the speaker sees is a feeling body. Then the difficult circumstance of the boat’s existence is acknowledged, the way it manages what both supports and opposes it — the sea swell it ‘rolls and responds to’. That the swell is ‘harsh’ accentuates feeling as part of the picture."

"...this habit of Montague’s reveals the overarching aesthetic of his verse to be a mix of the visual and the metaphysical. Video ergo sum — I see therefore I am — whatever the cost. For this brave, self-sustaining poet, a diamond clarity of seeing is, I’d hazard, as close as he can come to faith: if all things glow when they’re seen as closely as he insists on seeing them, then that is ‘vision’ in both senses. And I wonder if this obsessive seeing might be connected with the poet’s childhood sense of being seen by Christ, as this appears in ‘Scraping the Pot’, a poem about early Confession experiences... Being visible and vulnerable, he pushes back by means of his own calamitous (and ‘confessional’) clarity of seeing. At the very centre of Montague’s tirelessly vigilant imagination, then, shines this clarity of sight-becoming-insight, vision becoming visionary — a marvellous, marvel-making force that for all these years has won the admiration, affection and gratitude of so many of us."

-From Chosen Lights: Poets on Poems(ed. by Peter Fallon), Eamon Grennan on the poem

圖片源自網絡。

2025年10月14日 星期二

試譯:〈杜爾街〉 保羅·布萊克本【Rue Du Taur-Paul Blackburn】

〈杜爾街〉  保羅·布萊克本(試譯:淺白)
給讓·塞吉
 
  奇跡是已發生了。
在此處,長冬過後,看到
      這個男人
   凝視着他的城鎮
穿過了它的空氣
雖則日光在牆上仍然淺淡
但透過早春的空氣
看着太陽在那些牆上
 
  嗅着它
   頭仰起
一眼也沒有瞥向那賣書舖的櫥窗
──那是他每次經過時
都不免要注目 5 分鐘的
        在整個冬季。
             圖盧茲,三月,一九五五年
 
14/10/2025初稿
 
Rue Du Taur
By Paul Blackburn
for Jean Séguy
 
   THE MIRACLE HAS happened. 
Here, after long winter, to see 
              this man 
      looking at his town, 
walking thru the air of it, 
tho the sun is still pale on the walls 
but thru the air of spring 
looking at the sun on the walls 
 
    smelling it 
      head high. 
Not a glance at the window of the bookstore 
which has taken  5  minutes of his attention 
each time he has passed it 
                             all winter. 
                                         Toulouse, March 1955

試譯:〈一捆鮮木〉 愛德·多恩【The Rick of Green Wood-Edward Dorn】

〈一捆鮮木〉  愛德·多恩(試譯:淺白)
 
鮮木和乾木,在木場裏
如扇狀排開──後面
           一個山谷在底下
放眼的好所在
 
木柴堆在電圓鋸旁。我聽到
那砍樹人在林翳裏面。我不要那些
一大捆的鮮木,我告訴他
我要的是櫻桃木或榿木,或某些
強挺而幼的,或粗厚但乾身的;但我不要
那些鮮木,我老婆可能死的
 
她的背很幼弱
我必不能讓拿回去的木
整日價的笮壓得她太厲害
 
啊對的,木確是有鮮
有乾──那些櫻桃的樹皮很薄
七月砍的。
 
我名字叫伯林蓋姆
那砍樹工說。
我叫多恩,我說。
我逢星期五鋸木,若天氣涼的話
伯林蓋姆說,名姓報夠了。
 
  林翳之外,我的女兒正在踱着步
哼着歌──
    回溯着馬匹的蹄印
  是今晨早些時,那砍樹工的馬
  拉曳着榿木、冷杉、鐵杉
  而遺留在那空谷之上
             十一月的
 
空氣裏,那愈發寒冷的,世界之中的
──當我們佇立在木場內,愉快地
談着,有關鮮木和乾木之種種。
 
13/10/2025初稿
 
譯者按:鮮木(green wood,日本又稱「生木」),指新鋸下來、未經風乾程序的木材,內裏仍含水份,故較重贅,與輕身的乾木相對。
  
The Rick of Green Wood
By Edward Dorn
 
In the woodyard were green and dry
woods fanning out, behind
                                     a valley below
a pleasure for the eye to go.
 
Woodpile by the buzzsaw. I heard 
the woodsman down in the thicket. I don't 
want a rick of green wood, I told him
I want cherry or alder or something strong 
and thin, or thick if dry, but I don't
want the green wood, my wife could die
 
Her back is slender 
and the wood I get must not 
bend her too much through the day. 
 
Aye, the wood is some green
and some dry, the cherry thin of bark 
cut in July. 
 
My name is Burlingame
said the woodcutter.
My name is Dorn, I said.
I buzz on Friday if the weather cools
said Burlingame, enough of names.
 
    Out of the thicket my daughter was walking 
singing— 
        backtracking the horse hoof 
    gone in earlier this morning, the woodcutter's horse 
    pulling the alder, the fir, the hemlock 
    above the valley 
                   in the november 
 
air, in the world, that was getting colder 
as we stood there in the woodyard talking 
pleasantly, of the green wood and the dry. 
 
1956

2025年10月9日 星期四

試譯:〈不在〉 羅伯特·克里利【Absence-Robert Creeley】

不在  羅伯特·克里利(試譯:淺白)

太陽在葉子邊緣,
紋路,缺席的愉悅;
它所曾意味的一切
而今已聚在一起。

日子悉盡過去
雲朵都退得遠遠,
而天空亦即天堂本身;
一個人也只是想

也許是永遠自己一個留在
這無一人的地方──而
身下,卻又恰仍是
它本來的所在。
 
9/10/2025初稿
 
Absence 
By Robert Creeley (from his 2006 collection On Earth)
 
Sun on the edges of leaves, 
patterns of absent pleasure, 
all that it meant 
now gathered together. 
 
Days all was away 
and the clouds were far off 
and the sky was heaven itself,
one wanted to stay 
 
alone forever perhaps 
where no one was, 
and here again it is 
still where it was. 

"No matter what becomes of it, art is local, local to a place and to a person, or group of persons, or just what's in the air despite how vague that sounds. It happens somewhere, not everywhere. When it does so happen everywhere, it has become... purely, a vogue or fashion..."

"...'originality' should imply, in any sense, that he should, is hard to follow. The light moves, so to speak, and those who see it have secured an 'originality' quite beyond that qualified by terms of personality or intent... Taste operates here as well, of course, but again Pound is relevant in that he said, damn your taste, I would like first to sharpen your perceptions, after which your taste can take care of itself."

-Robert Creeley, "Why Bother?", 1962. From (https://publishing.cdlib.org/ucpressebooks/view?docId=ft4t1nb2hc&chunk.id=d0e16379&toc.depth=1&toc.id=d0e15852&brand=ucpress;query=Upanishads#1)

攝於28/8/2019

2025年10月8日 星期三

試譯:〈在田野的角落處〉泰德·庫瑟【In the Corners of Fields-Ted Kooser】 淺白

 〈在田野的角落處〉  泰德·庫瑟(試譯:淺白)
 
有點甚麼正在呼喚我
出自四下田野的角落
──殘存的鐵絲網
曬着弛懈、曲捲的線圈,而被拋出
犁溝的石頭,安詳的
睡在暖和的垃圾堆裏;
舊牌子,寫着「不准打獵」的
那些──它們灰色的臉孔
呢喃進風中,
而乾涸的馬槽
升湧起太陽花的噴泉;
一隻飛蛾,抖着翅
從牧場那邊飛了入來,
被麻雀趕逐、追擾,
乃至棲停在一根樁柱上
如此肯定於其生命
遂爾平和地,展開雙翅。
 
9/10/2025稿
 
In the Corners of Fields
By Ted Kooser (from his 1980 collection Sure Signs)
 
Something is calling to me 
from the corners of fields, 
where the leftover fence wire
suns its loose coils, and stones 
thrown out of the furrow 
sleep in warm litters; 
where the gray faces 
of old No Hunting signs 
mutter into the wind, 
and dry horse tanks
spout fountains of sunflowers;
where a moth
flutters in from the pasture,
harried by sparrows, 
and alights on a post, 
so sure of its life 
that it peacefully opens its wings. 
 
另附非馬譯本,〈原野的角落〉:
 
有東西在向我召喚
自原野的角落,
那裡殘存的鐵絲網
在曬它鬆捲的太陽,從犁溝拋出的
石頭,在暖和的垃圾堆裡睡覺;
那塊不准打獵的舊牌子
灰頭鼠臉
在風中嘀咕,
乾涸的馬槽
湧起向日葵的噴泉;
一隻飛蛾
被麻雀追逐
自牧場飛了過來,
停落在一根柱子上,
那麼篤定地
舒展它的翅膀。
 
Fromhttp://poetrysky.com/quarterly/40/kooser.html

圖片源自網絡。

試譯:〈世上〉 弗朗茨·賴特【On Earth-Franz Wright】

〈世上〉 弗朗茨·賴特(試譯:淺白)
 
窗外,那棵小蘋果樹
 
的甦發,葉子
新近的光
在四月
引過她注目,忘掉吧
忘卻吧──
但怎樣呢
對於死,一個人怎樣
開始着手呢?
地表之上
有誰會來教我──
這世界
充滿着的
都是未曾死過的人們
 
8/10/2025初稿
 
On Earth
By Franz Wright (from his 2003 collection Walking to Martha's Vineyard)
 
Resurrection of the little apple tree outside
 
my window, leaf- 
light of late
in the April
called her eyes, forget
forget 
but how 
How does one go
about dying? 
Who on earth
is going to teach me— 
The world
is filled with people
who have never died 

圖片源自網絡。

試譯:〈初曙〉 弗朗茨·賴特【First Light-Franz Wright】

〈初曙〉  弗朗茨·賴特(試譯:淺白)
 
雨下着
在死去的語言裏。
 
空屋內充滿聲音
 
是你名字
被突然輕聲說出
 
一次,
 
在你最終安睡前。
 
7/10/2025初稿
 
First Light
By Franz Wright (from his 1998 collection Ill Lit: Selected & New Poems)
 
It's raining
in a dead language. 
 
The empty house filled with the sound
 
of your name
abruptly whispered,
 
once,
 
before you finally slept. 

圖片源自網絡。

2025年10月7日 星期二

試譯:〈葬禮〉 保羅·布萊克本【The Funeral-Paul Blackburn】

 〈葬禮〉  保羅·布萊克本(試譯:淺白)
 
從葬禮回來時,
   看見她而生了好感。
空氣很安靜
     在近春之際。
 
整整一周,我都有機會撩她;
而在第二周的後三天,甚至
和她有幸共享過
       某些空間。
 
18/9/2025初稿
 
The Funeral
By Paul Blackburn
 
Returning from the funeral
             I saw her and liked her. The air
was very quiet
                    near spring.
 
For a week I had opportunity to flirt; 
and the last three days of the second week, 
fortunate enough to share certain 
                       spaces with her.
 
1953

圖片源自網絡。

2025年9月18日 星期四

試譯:〈助力〉 保羅·布萊克本【The Assistance-Paul Blackburn】

助力  保羅·布萊克本(試譯:淺白)
 
在農場是無所謂的;糧倉
後面,隨便一處草叢,背挨着
任何近便的樹;冬天時
的木棚,退處到一角
如果真見需要的話。
 
但在一個八百萬人的城市中,人
   不能不自為謹戒,在
西59街底停車場裏
它早已荒爛成一片碳渣。
 
但在第三街某爿店外
那淺窄的門道,際乎
  街燈與黑暗之間,
那是我身前那同是喝酒的人的行列
          畀了我勇氣
        (lo que me dió valor.*
 
17/9/2025初稿
 
*原文為西班牙文,與「what gave me courage」義同。

The Assistance
By Paul Blackburn
 
On the farm it never mattered; 
behind the barn, in any grass, against 
any convenient tree; the 
woodshed in winter, in a corner 
if it came to that.
 
But in a city of eight million one 
       stands on the defensive 
In the West 59th Street parking lot 
it has long since sunk into the cinders. 
 
But in the shallow doorway of 
a shop on Third Avenue, between 
       the dark and the streetlight, 
it was the trail of the likewise drinking-man who preceded me 
                                that gave me courage 
                                lo que me dió valor.
 
1953
 
按:此乃據Donald Allen所編The New American Poetry, 1945-1960裏的版本。

"I'd like to speak personally of this extraordinary poet, and take that license insofar as these poems are personal, often bitterly so. I wonder if any of us have escaped the painful, self-pitying and meager defenses of person so many of them invoke. What we had hoped might be, even in inept manner worked to accomplish, has come to nothing—and whose fault is that, we ask. Certainly, not mine? Having known both of these dear people, and myself, I have to feel that there will never be a human answer, never one human enough.

When Paul Blackburn died in the fall of 1971, all of his company, young and old, felt a sickening, an impact of blank, grey loss. I don't know what we hoped for, because the cancer which killed him was already irreversibly evident—and he knew it far more literally than we. But his life had finally come to a heartfelt peace, a wife and son so dear to him, that his death seemed so bitterly ironic.

Recalling now, it seems we must have first written to one another in the late forties, at the suggestion of Ezra Pound, then in St. Elizabeth's Hospital. We shared the same hopes for poetry, the same angers at what we considered its slack misuses. Paul was without question a far more accomplished craftsman than I... He was the first poet of my generation and commitment I was to know, and we talked non-stop, literally, for two and a half days. I remember him showing me his edition of Yeats' Collected Poems with his extraordinary marginal notes, tracking rhythms, patterns of sounds, in short the whole tonal construct of the writing. He had respect then for Auden, which I did not particularly share... He was already well into his study of Provencal poetry, which he'd begun as a student in Wisconsin, following Pound's direction and, equally, his insistence that we were responsible for our own education.

As it happened, we shared some roots in New England, Paul having lived there for a time with his mother's relatives when young. But the Puritanism he had to suffer was far harsher than what I had known. For example, his grandmother seems to have been classically repressed (her husband, a railroad man, was away from home for long periods) and sublimated her tensions by repeated whippings of Paul. He told me of one such time, when he'd been sent to the store with the money put in his mitten, on returning he'd stopped out front and the change, a nickel, somehow slipped out into a snowdrift. And as he scrabbled with bare hands trying to find it, he realized his grandmother was watching him from behind the curtains in the front room, then beat him when he came in. Those bleak Vermont winters and world are rarely present directly in his poems, but the feelings often are, particularly in his imagination of the South and the generous permission of an unabashed sensuality. At one point during his childhood, a new relationship of his mother's took him out of all the grey bleakness to a veritable tropic isle off the coast of the Carolinas. I know that his mother, the poet Frances Frost, meant a great deal to him-and that her own painful vulnerabilities, the alcoholism, the obvious insecurities of bohemian existence in the Greenwich Village of her time, pervades the experience of his own sense of himself. His sister's resolution was to become a nun.
...
During the sixties I was able to see Paul quite frequently, although he lived in New York and I was usually a very long way away. He and Sara were good friends to us, providing refuge for our daughter Kirsten on her passages through the big city... Elsewise Paul certainly did drink, did smoke those Gauloises and Picayunes, did work at exhausting editing and proofing jobs for Funk & Wagnall's, etc., etc. It's a very real life.

The honor, then, is that one live it. And tell the old-time truth. Of course there will be human sides to it, but Paul would never argue that one wins. To make such paradoxic human music of despair is what makes us human to begin with. Or so one would hope."

-Robert Creeley, Preface from "Against the Silences", from(https://writing.upenn.edu/epc/authors/blackburn/blackburn_creeley_preface_to_against_the_silences.html)

圖片源自網絡。

2025年9月14日 星期日

試譯:〈延續性〉 保羅·布萊克本【The Continuity-Paul Blackburn】

延續性  保羅·布萊克本(試譯:淺白)
 
那砌磚工對巴士司機說:
(而我在旁只有聽着)
 
酒鋪那單搶劫,你聽到嗎?
  有個警探
盯他盯了十分鐘
          他還是照搶了
 
  沿百老匯街溜了
         是嗎?

  而我:
     那間在大環路的?
             嗯
唔?我今晚早些還在那裏呢。
 
那延續性:共卌二圓大洋
我花在一瓶酒上,如今
在一個沿百老匯街開溜的男人袋裏。
 
到目前為止,這傳播還是口頭的
 
然後一個街童借了我的筆
記下了他報紙的銷量。
 
14/9/2025初稿
  
The Continuity
By Paul Blackburn
 
The bricklayer tells the busdriver 
and I have nothing to do but listen: 
 
Th' holdup at the liquor store, d'ja hear? 
        a detective 
watch't'm for ten minutes 
       He took it anyway 
 
       Got away down Broadway. 
                              Yeah?
Yeah.
       And me: 
            the one on the Circle? 
                              Yeah.
Yeah? I was in there early tonight. 
 
The continuity. A dollar forty- 
two that I spent on a bottle of wine 
is now in a man's pocket going down Broadway. 
 
Thus far the transmission is oral. 
 
Then a cornerboy borrows my pencil 
to keep track of his sale of newspapers.
 
1953

按:此乃據Donald Allen所編The New American Poetry, 1945-1960裏的版本。


圖片源自網絡。

2025年9月7日 星期日

試譯:〈阿拉米達〉 保羅·布萊克本【Alameda-Paul Blackburn】

阿拉米達  保羅·布萊克本(試譯:淺白)
 
     星期一的清早
     星期日的夜深
 
一架電車駛過,出站去
載着那些晚歸的酒客
不曾稍息的觀影者
或女孩們的花簇,連帶護伴
 家
  就寢
 
最尾一更的車長
穿着拖鞋站在那裏
   面朝着路軌
 
女士們兩個兩個在咖啡廳坐着
一個老人坐在桌旁
     自個兒讀着
 
  新一天的新聞
讓他的啤酒放暖
讓天空就此足夠。
 
1956-57年冬
馬拉加。
 
8/9/2025初稿
 
Alameda
By Paul Blackburn (from his 1967 collection The Cities)
 
         Monday morning early 
         Sunday evening late 
 
A tram goes by, outbound 
taking the late drinkers 
the restless moviegoers 
or the blossoms of girls with their escorts 
home
      sleep
 
The conductor on the final run 
standing there in his slippers  
         facing the track 
 
The ladies sit at cafe tables in twos 
An old man sits 
        reading at a table alone 
 
       the new day's news 
letting his beer get warm 
letting the sky be enough 
 
Winter 1956-57
Malaga. 

圖片源自網絡。

2025年8月24日 星期日

試譯:〈輕輕的,趨就你的位置〉 托馬斯·金瑟拉【Soft, to your Places-Thomas Kinsella】

〈輕輕的,趨就你的位置〉 托馬斯·金瑟拉(試譯:淺白)
 
輕輕的,動物們,且過來你的位置:
你的天職傳喚你。
──這事,對於我和我愛人來說
無疑是幸運的;
然而我們都見證過:一切無非烏有
只要是稍有聽聞過愛之難處者
 
而如果說,那簡單的櫻草花,
正正揭示了龐然而潛隱的勞動,必須
先在地下進行──在它能為我們
開出那饒有意味的奇蹟前?
只因我們知道,美,
原是再簡單不過的事,這就夠了
 
然則,啊,當美發生的時候
時間可會擱下他的沙漏
並且安於將手
搭在那紀念塔的上面?
除非真是這樣吧,──呵,心靈
的職志,就是要赤裸、無把握地走前去
 
輕輕的,愛人,且趨就你的位置;
我吻,為了它是,它就是。
 
24/8/2025初稿

Soft, to your Places 
By Thomas Kinsella (from his 1956 collection Poems*)
 
Soft, to your places, animals.
Your legendary duty calls. 
It is, to be
Lucky for my love and me 
And yet we have seen that alls
A fiction that is heard of loves difficulty. 
 
And what if the simple primrose show
That mighty work went on below 
Before it grew
A moral miracle for us two? 
Since of ourselves we know 
Beauty to be an easy thing, this will do. 
 
But O when beautys brought to pass
Will Time set down his hour-glass 
And rest content,
His hand upon that monument? 
Unless it is so, alas
That the hearts calling is but to go naked and diffident. 
 
Soft, to your places, love; I kiss
Because it is, because it is. 
 
*published within the first year of the poet’s marriage.






2020年1月15日攝於鷹巢山。

2025年8月23日 星期六

試譯:〈童年聖誕〉 柏德烈·卡凡納【A Christmas Childhood-Patrick Kavanagh】

〈童年聖誕〉  柏德烈·卡凡納(試譯:淺白)
 
一、

一邊的馬鈴薯坑結着白霜──
多麼美好,那可是多麼美好啊!
而當人將耳朵湊近木柵欄時,
那音聲傳來,是何等飄渺奇幻。

那點乾草與稻草垛間的光源
是個洞,在天堂的山牆外。一棵蘋果樹
和它爍閃的十二月的果實──
啊,夏娃,你就是那世界

誘我吃掉那生自黏坭的知識
而死于其內核!直至如今
我仍不時會想起那明亮的、屬於
童年的花園,那內裏的一點甚麼:如是

一行行牲口到飲水處的腳跡,
一塊躺在水溝旁的綠石;或任何
平凡底景象,那溶溶解變的面容:
源自一種美,未曾為世間觸及。

二、

我父親吹着口風琴
在自家的門柵外;
將曙的東方有星群閃耀
依着他的音樂起舞。

掠過一帶野沼地,他那琴聲
喚呼着藍儂和卡倫兩家人;
當我連忙穿上褲子,曉得
某些異事已然發生。

我媽媽在牛棚外
捻弄着擠奶的音樂;
她那馬廄內的燈泡是顆星
在伯利恒的霜中霎閃着。

一隻水雞在沼裏啼叫,
赴彌撒的腳步
踩裂路上窪坑的薄冰;有人
扭拽着風箱的輪,憂傷地。

我的小孩詩眼逐一識辨出
那灰石上的字體;
一個神奇的、裹銀的聖誕鎮區,
霜冷下閃閃䀹着眼的晨旦。

仙后座懸掛在
卡茜迪山的上方;
我望去,但見三個金雀花叢
馳逸過地平線——那東方的三賢王。

一個老人經過時說:
「他究竟會不會吹的──
那傢伙。」我躲在門道之後,
並勒緊了自己那工字褶夾衣的腰帶。

我刻了六條刻痕,在門柱上
用我的袖珍摺刀──
當中有把小的是將來切煙草的;
而我正是六個聖誕之齡。

我父親吹着口風琴,
我媽幫牛擠着奶,
而我暗自禱了個願,像朵白玫瑰
別在聖母瑪利亞的衣襟。
 
17/8/2025初稿

A Christmas Childhood 
By Patrick Kavanagh
 
I
 
One side of the potato-pits was white with frost—
How wonderful that was, how wonderful!
And when we put our ears to the paling-post
The music that came out was magical.
 
The light between the ricks of hay and straw
Was a hole in Heavens gable. An apple tree
With its December-glinting fruit we saw—
O you, Eve, were the world that tempted me
 
To eat the knowledge that grew in clay *
And death the germ within it! Now and then
I can remember something of the gay
Garden that was childhoods. Again 
 
The tracks of cattle to a drinking-place, 
A green stone lying sideways in a ditch
Or any common sight the transfigured face 
Of a beauty that the world did not touch.
 
II
 
My father played the melodion 
Outside at our gate; 
There were stars in the morning east 
And they danced to his music.
 
Across the wild bogs his melodion called
To Lennons and Callans. 
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I knew some strange thing had happened.
 
Outside in the cow-house my mother
Made the music of milking; 
The light of her stable-lamp was a star 
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
 
A water-hen screeched in the bog, 
Mass-going feet 
Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes, 
Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel. 
 
My child poet picked out the letters
On the grey stone,
In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland,
The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.
 
Cassiopeia was over
Cassidys hanging hill, 
I looked and three whin bushes rode across
The horizon—the Three Wise Kings.
 
An old man passing said: 
Cant he make it talk— 
The melodion. I hid in the doorway 
And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat. 
 
I nicked six nicks on the door-post 
With my penknifes big blade— 
There was a little one for cutting tobacco. 
And I was six Christmases of age. 
 
My father played the melodion, 
My mother milked the cows, 
And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned
On the Virgin Mary’s blouse.
 
Note: Part I first published in the Irish Press, 24 December, 1943; part II in the Bell, December 1940.
*“we are the clay, and thou our potter” (Isaiah 64:8)


圖片為AI生成。