哈咯大家好！欢迎来到“掉下的牙齿说胡话”，我是二话。 今天带来的是一首写于1582年的诗，"On Monsieur's Departure"，作者是（我想不到居然会作诗的）女王伊丽莎白一世。在大二上英国文学史的时候就很喜欢这首诗了，一开始是被里面的各种矛盾修辞paradox给吸引的。很巧的是课上也学了培根的《论爱情》("Of Love")，发现了两个作品中的爱都被称作"passion"而且都让人脆弱，不过"passion"所承载的意思却完全不同——女王笔下的passion是一种精神上的痛苦，而培根所说的则是一种肉体上的欲望。 我会先给大家读一下这首诗，然后和培根的《论爱情》对比起来分享下我的解读，希望大家会喜欢！吼吼！ 【下面是诗歌原文】 On Monsieur’s Departure I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate． I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned, Since from myself another self I turned． My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when pursue it, Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done． His too familiar care doth make me rue it． No means I find to rid him from my breast, Till by the end of things it be suppressed． Some gentler passion slide into my mind, For I am soft and made of melting snow； Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind． Let me or float or sink, be high or low． Or let me live with some more sweet content, Or die and so forget what love are meant． 在他离别后 吕志鲁译 我忧伤却不敢流露怨愤， 我挚爱却只能强装痛恨， 我有意却只能谎称无情； 心里有千言万语， 口中却唖然无声； 我已死, 我还生； 我是烈火，我是寒冰； 只因我把自我分作两半， 再也无法恢复我的原形。 心中的牵挂， 如影随形； 我跟它逃， 我逃它跟； 事事都来搀和， 时时纠缠不清； 对他过多的思念， 使我懊恼烦闷； 永世难以把他从心底驱走， 除非就此把一切了结干净。 爱神啊， 爱神！ 请给我心里装一些甜蜜的情意， 因为我柔弱如融雪天成； 要么对我更加残忍， 要么对我大发善心； 让我升天或者入地， 让我或浮或沉； 让我死，以便我忘却爱的真谛； 让我生，就该多一些爱的温馨。

因为小说课第一次读Toni Morrison，读的是《宠儿》。第一遍读有一种在迷雾里拼接肢体碎片的感觉，第二遍则是在婴儿洗澡盆里摇摆的感觉。下面是节选的原文和翻译： It was not a story to pass on. They forgot her like a bad dream. After they made up their tales,shaped and decorated them, those that saw her that day on the porch quickly and deliberately forgot her. It took longer for those who had spoken to her, lived with her, fallen in love with her, to forget, until they realized they couldn't remember or repeat a single thing she said, and began to believe that, other than what they themselves were thinking, she hadn't said anything at all. So, in the end, they forgot her too. Remembering seemed unwise. They never knew where or why she crouched, or whose was the underwater face she needed like that. Where the memory of the smile under her chin might have been and was not, a latch latched and lichen attached its apple-green bloom to the metal. What made her think her fingernails could open locks the rain rained on? It was not a story to pass on. So they forgot her. Like an unpleasant dream during a troubling sleep. Occasionally, however, the rustle of a skirt hushes when they wake, and the knuckles brushing a cheek in sleep seem to belong to the sleeper. Sometimes the photograph of a close friend or relative--looked at too long--shifts,and something more familiar than the dear face itself moves there. They can touch it if they like, but don't,because they know things will never be the same if they do. This is not a story to pass on. Down by the stream in back of 124 her footprints come and go,come and go. They are so familiar. Should a child, an adult place his feet in them, they will fit. Take them out and they disappear again as though nobody ever walked there. By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what it is down there. The rest is weather. Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for,but wind in the eaves, or spring ice thawing too quickly. Just weather. Certainly no clamor for a kiss. Beloved. （译者：潘岳 雷格） 那不是一个可以继续的故事。 他们像忘记一场噩梦一样忘记了她。那些看见她出现在门廊里的人们，先是编造故事，添枝加叶，随即又迅速地、故意地忘记了她。那几个同她说过话、与她一起住过、爱过她的人，用了更长的时间来忘记她，直到他们发现，自己不能记起也不能复述她说过的一句话，只好开始相信，她其实什么也没说过，不过是他们自己无中生有罢了。于是，到头来，他们也将她遗忘了。记忆似乎是不明智的。他们永远不知道她在哪里或者为了什么蜷作一团，也不知道她如此渴求的那张水底的面孔究竟是谁。有关她颚下笑纹的记忆本该留下却荡然无存，那里门闩紧闭，地衣又将它苹果绿的花朵覆满了铁锁。她又怎能妄图用指甲开启雨水淋蚀的铁锁呢？ 那不是一个可以重复的故事。 于是他们忘掉了她。好像忘掉睡不安稳时做过的一个不快的梦。然而，他们醒来的时候，偶有一条裙子的窸窣声倏然而逝，而那在梦乡里擦着脸颊的指节也似乎是酣睡者自己的。有的时候，一个亲朋故友的相片—盯着看得太久—也会变样，上面移动着比亲人的脸更为熟悉的什么。愿意的话，他们摸得到它，可是千万不要摸，因为他们知道：一旦碰了，一切将不会安然如故。 这不是一个可以流传的故事。 一百二十四号后面的小溪边，她的脚印来了又去，去了又来。它们是这样熟悉。无论是孩子还是大人，把脚丫放进去，都会合适。拔出脚来，它们又会消失，仿佛从没有人打那里走过。 渐渐地，所有痕迹都消失了，被忘却的不仅是脚印，还有溪水和水底的东西。留下的只有天气。不是那被遗忘的来历不明者的呼吸，而是檐下的熏风，抑或春天里消融殆尽的冰凌。只有天气。当然再不会有人为一个吻而吵吵闹闹了。 宠儿。