他山之石 | 诗歌、渗透力和疗愈 下
用诗歌实现乡村孩子自由的情感表达 | 第 314 期
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他山之石,为是光新的固定栏目。通过定期翻译国外关于“现代诗歌”的朗读、创作、活动的文章,实现诗歌更大程度上的探索和借鉴推广。
本文的作者是美国当代著名诗人简·赫希菲尔德(Jane Hirschfield)。此文最初发表在美国诗人学会的双年期刊《美国诗人》2018年春夏一期上,后转载于美国诗人学会的网站上。整篇文章尝试回答诗歌何以治愈人心的创伤这个问题,语言或许较为抽象,但反复读通之后会有顿悟的快感。
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I think of it as the secret happiness of poems. No matter how grief-filled a poem may be in its contents, the making of it allows the poet to drink from the wellspring of freedom—and that increase of freedom and invention cannot help but afford the poet a balancing sense of happiness. When we call a poem “powerful,” that is the power we mean: the power to move the psyche and mind and through them, perhaps, the world’s future.
Stanley Kunitz once said, “At every stage in life we need to create a self that we can bear to live and die with.” Every time I think of that sentence, I find myself encouraged by its foundational premise: that we can create, and can create a self. Even the poems that come out of theoretical ground that pulls against what Kunitz describes are enactments of the indomitable resourcefulness of the creative mind and heart.
库尼茨(Stanley Kunitz)曾经说过:“在人生的每个阶段,我们都需要创造出一个自己甘愿以之生和死的自我。”每次想到这句话,我都会感到自己被它隐含的基本前提所鼓舞:那就是我们能够创造,并且能够创造自我。连那些诞生于与库尼茨的叙述相左的理论基础的作品都是我们那富有创造力的头脑和心灵的不屈智慧之证明。
Another element of poetry’s capacity to act as a force of healing is its grounding in connection and interconnection. There is solace in recognizing that whatever happens to a person, someone before us has known it as well. Poetry’s evidence tells us that we are not singled out by our suffering; we are brought into the shared life of all who have lived and died before and with us.
诗歌另一个疗愈的本领是植根于联结和互联。认识到“太阳底下没有新鲜事”这一事实能让我们感到一丝慰藉。诗歌作品中的证据告诉我们,受伤不会让我们成为孤岛;所有人都活在我们共同的生活里,和历史,和所有生命一起同呼吸、共命运。
Think of the Buddhist parable of the mustard seed. A woman whose child has died is inconsolable. She goes to the teacher Shakyamuni, who she has heard teaches a way to lift human hearts from their suffering, and asks him to bring back her dead child. He answers that he will of course do this, if she can bring him a single mustard seed from any house that has not known death. As the woman goes from house to house, finding no one who has escaped mourning and loss, her grief changes: not a weight erased but a weight made bearable.
这里,可以思考一下佛教关于芥菜种子的寓言故事。一位母亲无法平复内心的丧子之痛。她听说有位叫释伽牟尼的老师能教导人从苦难中超脱出来,便去请他让自己的孩子死而复生。释伽牟尼回答道,只要她能找到一个从没有承受过丧亲之痛的家庭并带回一粒芥菜种子,他就可以帮助她。结果,这位母亲挨家挨户地打听,发现没有任何人可以逃过这样的劫难,她的哀痛之心便起了变化:并不是心灵的重荷被抹去,而是变得可以承受了。
We understand the image of a mountain because we have seen mountains, heard mountains, walked their loose-rock steepness.
我们能读懂一座山的意象,恰是因为我们见过、听过、从碎石嶙峋的陡峭中穿行过。
Think of the courts of restorative justice in Rwanda—through the full telling of the stories of what had happened, the ability of people to live together, even after the terror and madness of genocide, was slowly, tentatively, necessarily returned.
这里可以参照卢旺达修复式法庭的例子,通过完整地复述事件经过,即便是在狂暴骇人的种族大屠杀之后,人们得以共处的能力也都在缓慢但坚定地逐渐复原。
The images, words, metaphors, and sounds of poems harness passion and, with it, compassion, to do this work of mutual recognition and expansion. Reading these records of connection, witness, and experience, we begin to remember our continuity, our permeability, our kaleidoscopic participation in a shared whole, the colors and scents, the stories of earth.
诗歌的意象、词语、隐喻和声音唤起了人的热情和同情,以实现互相认同和扩展的目的。阅读这些对于人与人之间的联系、事件的目击和经历的记载,我们开始记住在我们共同拥有的整体中历史的连续性、裂痕中的渗透力和每个人独特的参与度,记住这色彩,这味道,这地球的物语。
I’d like to close with one brief poem I often turn to, a poem of brokenness, permeability, and inclusion. The process of figuring out what it meant, when I co-translated it with Mariko Aratani for The Ink Dark Moon, was, for me, permanently life-changing. This five-line Japanese Tanka, written a thousand years ago, taught me that to be whole requires letting into your life what you might believe you’d prefer to keep out. It showed me that a fully rounded human life means agreeing to everything—hard or embraced—that all lives will bring.
我想以一首我个人经常反复去读的小诗作为结尾,这是一首关于破碎、渗透和包容的诗。在我与荒谷真理子(中文名周宇音,英文名Mariko Aratani)合译《墨色的月亮》一书时,整个读懂这首诗的过程,于我而言,是永久性地改变了我的生命。这首写于一千多年以前的五行日本短歌教会了我一个道理,做一个健全、完整的人需要让那些你或许坚信自己情愿拒之门外的事物进入你的生命。它告诉我,无论艰难还是欢喜,拥有全面发展的人生意味着接受生命带给你的一切。
Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.
尽管狂风
肆虐地钻进来,
月光也从
这座破房子
屋顶木板的缝隙中漏下。
译者·苏岩
曾经的老师,现居美国,一名全职妈妈。兴趣广泛,爱好专一。被大宝带着,喜欢上了诗歌,2019年2月加入“是光”,不定期地翻译国外诗歌创作、欣赏和教学方面的文章,给自己充电,也和大家分享。
Source:https://poets.org/text/poetry-permeability-and-healing
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