勃莱作品

董继平

罗伯特·勃莱（Robert Bly，1926- ），20世纪美国后现代主义诗歌流派“新超现实主义”（又称“深度意象”）的领袖人物，散文诗大师。他从50年代开始发表诗作，迄今已出版《雪地里的宁静》《身体周围的光》《穿黑衣的人转身》《从两个世界爱一个女人》《早晨的诗》《我的判决是一千年的欢乐》《对着驴耳谈话》等多卷，获得过1968年美国全国图书奖。他提倡“客体散文诗”，其散文诗集主要有《牵牛花》《这个躯体由樟木和香槐构成》《通过死亡我丧失了什么？》等。

警告读者

有时，在所有燕麦或小麦消失，风把粗糙的地面吹扫干净的时候，农场的谷仓就变得特别美丽。站在里面，我们看见我们周围有一条条和一道道阳光，穿过收缩的木板墙之间的缝隙射进来。于是在一首关于囚禁的诗里，一个人看见一点光芒。

然而有多少鸟儿在这些谷仓里投入罗网而死去了。鸟儿，一次次振翅飞上墙壁，却又坠落回来。出路就在老鼠进入又离开之处，然而老鼠洞在低低的地面上。如果，作者，通过把阳光展示在墙上，而不给焦虑惊慌的黑鸟许诺一条出路，那么要小心一些！

我对读者说，要当心。热爱光明的诗篇的读者可能会躬身坐在角落里，他们的胃里已经四天未曾进食，光芒衰落，目光变得呆滞……他们的结局可能就像一堆羽毛，以及开阔的木地板上的一个颅骨……

WARNING TO THE READER

Sometimes farm granaries become especially beautiful when all the oats or wheat are gone， and wind has swept the rough floor clean. Standing inside， we see around us， coming in through the cracks between shrunken wall boards， bands or strips of sunlight. So in a poem about imprisonment， one sees a little light.

But how many birds have died trapped in these granaries. The bird， seeing freedom in the light， flutters up the walls and falls back again and again. The way out is where the rats enter and leave; but the rats hole is low to the floor. Writers， be careful then by showing the sunlight on the walls not to promise the anxious and panicky blackbirds a way out！

I say to the reader， beware. Readers who love poems of light may sit hunched in the corner with nothing in their gizzards for four days， light failing， the eyes glazed ……

They may end as a mound of feathers and a skull on the open boardwood floor ……

树 桩

我们几乎走过的树桩容易被忽视。然而，一旦被注意到，它就栩栩如生，就像一头身躯被射掉的大象的腿。低矮的壁垒依然存留，它们上上下下的树皮被雨水浸泡得松弛，露出一段光滑的银白木头，手指摸起来很粗糙，如同在医院反省数周那样崎岖不平。很显然，大锯并没有割断一切，塔尖伫立在低矮的塔楼上，就像被违背的誓言。常春藤爬了进来，落下的绿色之针让那低矮的塔楼似乎欢快。

在这树桩上面，别的树继续生长，扩展到空中。葡萄藤攀爬树干，爬向光芒。然而，生活中有某种不知道怎样攀爬的东西，它清楚，在它周围，那能夠帮助它爬上去的一切都死了，或者不可靠。我垂下眼睛，与别的人一起继续走向那堡垒。

THESTUMP

The stump we almost walked past is easily overlooked. But it is vivid when noticed， and resembles an elephants leg with the body shot off. The short walls still left， their bark loosened here and there by rain， show a wood sleek and silvery， which feels rough to the fingers， uneven as weeks of hospital introspection. Its clear that the big saw did not sever all; and spires stand on its low tower， resembling broken vows. Ivy has crept in; and fallen green needles make the low tower seem gay.

Above the stump other trees go on growing， expanding into the air. Vines climb trunks toward light. But there is something in life that doesnt know how to climb; it is sure everything around it that could help it to go upward is dead， or unreliable. I drop my eyes， and walk on with the others to the Fort.

一片地衣

這片干枯的地衣依附在缅因州的一块岩石侧边，为了得到它，我不得不弯腰，双膝蹲伏，在岩石侧边把手伸下去。它拥有那从空中俯瞰到的智利黑色沙漠的连绵不绝。

这片地衣，看起来就像一块公牛皮，在托尔①的一场黑暗的暴风雨中被四处吹动，叭哒地扑动着，越过拉斯维加斯附近的道路，翻转又翻转，滚动之际恐吓着兔子和狐狸。它的边缘上翻或下翻。

显然，有什么东西如今正在掉出这个花杯，仿佛它干枯的子宫不能容纳它曾经容纳过的东西。有什么东西正在掉出来，仿佛那黑色之物移动了，仿佛那干枯之物将出现，已经出现，我们濒临被那黑色的干枯所滚过的危险——那黑色的干枯在黑色的干枯之夜里是无形的。

这地衣容易脱落，没有深深依附。当我们把它翻转过来，我们就知道它所愿意拥有的唯一东西就是足够的水，带着你穿过半年的时光。

当偷了毯子的窃贼回家，他把偷来的毯子扔在房间一角。如果他叠起毯子，那又有谁来将它展开呢？

注：①北欧神话中的雷神。

A PIECE OF LICHEN

This piece of dried lichen was clinging to a rockside in Maine， and I had to bend over， crouching on my knees， reach down over the side of the rock， to get it. It has the consistency of black Chilean deserts seen from the air.

The lichen piece looks like an ox-skin blown about in a dark Thor storm， flopping across the roads near Las Vegas， turning over and over， frightening rabbits and foxes as it rolls. Its edges turn up or under.

Its clear that something is falling out of this chalice now， as if its dried womb cannot contain what it once contained. Something is falling out as if the black one has made a move， as if the dry one will appear， has appeared， and we are in danger of being rolled over by black dryness—invisible in the dry black nights.

The lichen came away easily， was not deeply attached. When we turn it over， we know what its like to have only enough water to carry you through hall of the year.

When the thief who has stolen the blanket arrives back home， he throws the stolen

Blanket down in a comer of his room. If he folds he blanket， who is there to unfold it？

芦苇根筑成的鸟巢

在大海冲击岩石的时候，这巢穴白得就像被抛起来的浪沫！它半透明，就像维多利亚式门上面的那些阴沉的横窗，就像热情的护士的头发那样漩动，在克里米亚①病房中的长夜之后，显得灰白，纠缠。它是被创造而又被遗忘的东西，就像在我们漂浮，接近那我们将再生、陶醉又发黑的海岸的时候，我们将完全遗忘自己在坟墓中的生活。

注：①乌克兰南部伸入黑海的半岛。

A BIRD'S NEST MADE OF WHITE REED FIBER

The nest is white as the foam thrown up when the sea hits rocks！ It is translucent as those cloudy transoms above Victorian doors， and swirled as the hair of those intense nurses， gray and tangled after long nights in the Crimean wards. It is something made and then forgotten， like our own lives that we will entirely forget in the grave， when we are floating， nearing the shore where we will be reborn， ecstatic and black.