好莱坞笨鸭
(选自 Houseboat Days )
作者: (美)约翰.阿什贝利( John Ashberry)
译者:剑郭琴符
某些奇怪的东西正爬过我。
塞莱斯蒂娜刚在头几个酒吧
唱“我回想你”或《高卢的阿马迪吉》(亨德尔歌剧)
某些柔和的歌,什么---一块薄荷糖---都可以
拉姆雷德无铝泡打粉,胶片耳环,
飞毛腿冈萨雷斯,来自海伦.托普.米勒最新创意的
写字台,胚布上一捆性挑逗的照片,毛边的
存货---撞击声穿过彩虹的棚架
(那里)开心果大道塞进2300块投掷排房的
高地。他许诺他会把我从这一个地方弄出去,
那意味着老漫画家,但现在同时看一看
他对我做了什么吧!我很少敢接近我在那个轮毂中的杯子
减弱的反射,如此狭隘,如此狼狈
是它的典型特征---嬉戏,毫无疑问,为一些冒牌颅相学者的
羊齿阻塞等待房间,但你命名的几乎不是
友善的。事情都窒息到沉默的
那一点。刚才,一场磁性的暴风雨挂在福得斯车库上
天空的布样上,减弱着---激烈地--
直到铅黄绿日志关进
加兹登采购的纪念封面那个氛围。突然所有的事情
开始憎恶。我不再想走回头路。你遇到
足够茫然的人,在翡翠绿交通岛上---不,
没有人,来或去,更多的是: 喃喃自语,泼洒,
古怪而有效地装备着乐到疯的
蔬菜骚乱步兵,羽毛状,指向那稍微带点白色的
在磨坊上运转的硬纸板堡垒。“顺着
那懒洋洋的河,我们能多么快乐?”
它怎么终结? 阿拉罕(在加利福尼亚州)的天竺葵
发出的微光具有骚乱的行为,
被埃特纳火山大小的爆竹阅读,它最后一分钟炸为
一张招标地图,在它较低右手一角
(股癣沙坑坚固地环绕着
施虐色情狂夜晚分枝的芦笋斑
) 阿玛迪斯
正在哄骗克莱夫斯公主午夜排尿从中取乐
在塔米吉(沃尔特,布鲁松,和小
斯里泽克斯)在一条“借自”电影中的奥利的有金属丝的平底船上
瓦利特斯恐惧情妇的礼袍。等待!
我要宣布!这宽阔,不温不火蜿蜒而行,
文明的忘川(一个人几乎不能辨认出五朔节花柱
和莎草岸必要的披肩)流向地狱,那些
闹鬼的垃圾场,不太适合居住的旅游胜地
一些旅客从此返回!这整个瞬间是一个
至今还在缠绕我们沉睡的
先天性的巨人的大腿根。再见, 小树林,
皮革厂, 水草地。寓言无声无息来到
太快了;有蛀孔的桃花心木鱼叉密集落下
就是在龙卷风之间需要注意的全部。我仅仅拥有
间歇的生命在你的思想中活着
就像在另一个语言中思想着。一切
都依赖于是否某人提醒你想起我。
这是虚构, 那些“其他时间”
事实上都是灵魂的寂静,从冥河丝绒的
钻石上挑选出,问题比它应有的少。
时间的天才应该被安排去说服他们
我们生活在一个维度,他们在我们的维度中。在国外
当我穿过所有被黑暗破坏的海岸线,
为我们所有人寻求拯救,在那种语言中思考:它的
语法,虽然折磨人,却为道路
每段新路提供了亭子。彩粉画救护车
飞快抱起他们急驶到医院。
“都是零碎的东西, 闪光金属片,补丁,真的;没有东西
单独站立。创造性进化发生了什么?”
阿格拉文叹息道。然后对她,塞莉塞特(1)说:“如果他的
成就只是最终到达比别人少了厌倦的目的,
是什么让我们呆在这儿?为什么不马上离开?
他们坐在那儿时,我不得不呆在这儿,
发笑,喝酒,有快乐的时间。在我的日子
一个人躺在无情的绿叶下,
假装不在意他们怎么把血放进
天空的水中, 飘然而去,无色的区域假装
不关心我们。所以我们也
来到别人来的地方: 肉体忍耐力的黑夜,
或者如果,白天,我们的无政府行为
是恰当的,至少按新野性主义标准,以前的同意
后来都变成了沉默寡言。我们精神饱满
离开了平底驳船,在乳脂软糖黑暗的遮盖下。
它不是不完整的纠缠,但却是已经完成的
产品的诡异。实话说,问少了是愚蠢,然而
如果他是他自己的结果,对于他来说
我们应该是多少才更好!多少,最后,
我们把这考虑在内! 一箱皱茜草缎
一次握住一个决斗手枪夹子就是我们
仅有的对那颜色的承认吗?我不喜欢这个,
我想,但我们这失望的续篇
已经在伦敦和圣彼得堡被赞赏。在某地
渡鸦为我们祈祷。”暴风雨停止了冲泡。因此
她问所有那些走进大门的人,但她发现没有人
听说过阿马迪斯,
也没有(听说过)严厉的奥伦泽贝,他的第一个恋人。这些人
对于他们一点也不重要:因为所有
被定义的都是完备的(所以
在完全的黑暗中他们是合乎逻辑的),为什么不
接受它,就像愉快地展示它自己?就像
矮摩天大楼从更低挂的云在那儿显示
一座塔楼的时候那样, 一个建筑风格陡坡在这儿,最后也许是
可以承载感觉的形式,但
停留在隐藏的神秘的页码中。
不是我们看见的,而是我们如何看见它的影响。一切都
相似,相同,我们欢迎他宣告
变化,就像我们会欢迎变化自身。
一切生命只是一个虚构;相反,从你手上滑下的
袖珍典籍也许不是
与这看不见的野餐失踪的联系,它的影响
覆盖了我们关于它的感觉。因此, 我们在
这宽大的, 亚麻色公路临时露营, 含蓄的顾忌
疲惫的难题畅行无阻。早晨
是短暂的。抓紧性事,在地平线上
飘荡,就像一个男孩
在一次钓鱼的旅行。没人真的知道
或关心是否这就是全部,其部分
被给予---一次---但漫步在其
传统中多于妥善保管它。这覆盖消遣的东西
保持他们的兴趣和忙碌,当那巨大的,
模糊的玩意儿能确定它想要什么---什么地图,什么
模范城市,多少浪费的空间。生命,至少
我们的生命,都互相在其间。我们不再介意
或关注天空是绿色的,一只鹦鹉
一个人,但我们热心于它带我们到哪里去冒险,
虚伪,好奇,邀请更多的人,
总是援引回声,一个夏日的白天。
(1)《阿格拉凡和塞莉塞特》(1896)是梅特林克的最富灵感的戏剧
附记:本诗典故又很多,<圣经>中<最后的晚餐>关于你中有我,我中有你的典故是中心.
Daffy Duck in Hollywood
Something strange is creeping across me.
La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars
Of "I Thought about You" or something mellow from
Amadigi di Gaula for everything--a mint-condition can
Of Rumford's Baking Powder, a celluloid earring, Speedy
Gonzales, the latest from Helen Topping Miller's fertile
Escritoire, a sheaf of suggestive pix on greige, deckle-edged
Stock--to come clattering through the rainbow trellis
Where Pistachio Avenue rams the 2300 block of Highland
Fling Terrace. He promised he'd get me out of this one,
That mean old cartoonist, but just look what he's
Done to me now! I scarce dare approach me mug's attenuated
Reflection in yon hubcap, so jaundiced, so déconfit
Are its lineaments--fun, no doubt, for some quack phrenologist's
Fern-clogged waiting room, but hardly what you'd call
Companionable. But everything is getting choked to the point of
Silence. Just now a magnetic storm hung in the swatch of sky
Over the Fudds' garage, reducing it--drastically--
To the aura of a plumbago-blue log cabin on
A Gadsden Purchase commemorative cover. Suddenly all is
Loathing. I don't want to go back inside any more. You meet
Enough vague people on this emerald traffic-island--no,
Not people, comings and goings, more: mutterings, splatterings,
The bizarrely but effectively equipped infantries of happy-go-nutty
Vegetal jacqueries, plumed, pointed at the little
White cardboard castle over the mill run. "Up
The lazy river, how happy we could be?"
How will it end? That geranium glow
Over Anaheim's had the riot act read to it by the
Etna-size firecracker that exploded last minute into
A carte du Tendre in whose lower right-hand corner
(Hard by the jock-itch sand-trap that skirts
The asparagus patch of algolagnic nuits blanches) Amadis
Is cozening the Princesse de Cleves into a midnight micturition spree
On the Tamigi with the Wallets (Walt, Blossom, and little
Sleezix) on a lamé barge "borrowed" from Ollie
Of the Movies' dread mistress of the robes. Wait!
I have an announcement! This wide, tepidly meandering,
Civilized Lethe (one can barely make out the maypoles
And châlets de nécessitê on its sedgy shore)leads to Tophet, that
Landfill-haunted, not-so-residential resort from which
Some travellers return! This whole moment is the groin
Of a borborygmic giant who even now
Is rolling over on us in his sleep. Farewell bocages,
Tanneries, water-meadows. The allegory comes unsnarled
Too soon; a shower of pecky acajou harpoons is
About all there is to be noted between tornadoes. I have
Only my intermittent life in your thoughts to live
Which is like thinking in another language. Everything
Depends on whether somebody reminds you of me.
That this is a fabulation, and that those “other times”
Are in fact the silences of the soul, picked out in
Diamonds on stygian velvet, matters less than it should.
Prodigies of timing may be arranged to convince them
We live in one dimension, they in ours. While I
Abroad through all the coasts of dark destruction seek
Deliverance for us all, think in that language: its
Grammar, though tortured, offers pavillions
At each new parting of the ways. Pastel
Ambulances scoop up the quick and hie them to hospitals.
“It's all bits and pieces, spangles, patches, really; nothing
Stands alone. What happened to creative evolution?”
Sighed Aglavaine. Then to her Sélysette: “If his
Achievement is only to end up less boring than the others,
What's keeping us here? Why not leave at once?
I have to stay here while they sit in there,
Laugh, drink, have fine time. In my day
One lay under the tough green leaves,
Pretending not to notice how they bled into
The sky's aqua, the wafted-away no-color of regions supposed
Not to concern us. And so we too
Came where the others came: nights of physical endurance,
Or if, by day, our behavior was anarchically
Correct, at least by New Brutalism standards, all then
Grew taciturn by previous agreement. We were spirited
Away en bateau, under cover of fudge dark.
It's not the incomplete importunes, but the spookiness
Of the finished product. True, to ask less were folly, yet
If he is the result of himself, how much the better
For him we ought to be! And how little, finally,
We take this into account! Is the puckered garance satin
Of a case that once held a brace of dueling pistols our
Only acknowledging of that color? I like not this,
Methinks, yet this disappointing sequel to ourselves
Has been applauded in London and St. Petersburg. Somewhere
Ravens pray for us.” The storm finished brewing. And thus
She questioned all who came in at the great gate, but none
She found who ever heard of Amadis,
Nor of stern Aureng-Zebe, his first love. Some
They were to whom this mattered not a jot: since all
By definition is completeness (so
In utter darkness they reasoned), why not
Accept it as it pleases to reveal itself? As when
Low skyscrapers from lower-hanging clouds reveal
A turret there, an art-deco escarpment here, and last perhaps
The pattern that may carry the sense, but
Stays hidden in the mysteries of pagination.
Not what we see but how we see it matters; all's
Alike, the same, and we greet him who announces
The change as we would greet the change itself.
All life is but a figment; conversely, the tiny
Tome that slips from your hand is not perhaps the
Missing link in this invisible picnic whose leverage
Shrouds our sense of it. Therefore bivouac we
On this great, blond highway, unimpeded by
Veiled scruples, worn conundrums. Morning is
Impermanent. Grab sex things, swing up
Over the horizon like a boy
On a fishing expedition. No one really knows
Or cares whether this is the whole of which parts
Were vouchsafed--once--but to be ambling on's
The tradition more than the safekeeping of it. This mulch for
Play keeps them interested and busy while the big,
Vaguer stuff can decide what it wants--what maps, what
Model cities, how much waste space. Life, our
Life anyway, is between. We don't mind
Or notice any more that the sky is green, a parrot
One, but have our earnest where it chances on us,
Disingenuous, intrigued, inviting more,
Always invoking the echo, a summer's day.
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