神话编织者
[推荐阅读]吴铭越:《采冰者》
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-12-10 07:24:28
我快要冻僵了吗?是的,请切割得仔细些,
哪怕是凝固的气泡,不要吝惜。雪,已经离开我,
那些曾经覆盖我的雪,飘到松花江南岸。
冰镩发出喀喀声,那是另一个我,学会破坏的我。
刨出眼睛,那么多,那么多终于睁开的眼睛。
我没有疼痛,即使被扎穿。水涌上来,冒着热气,
裹住一条鱼,眼睛细长,那是时常注视我的鱼。
她没有历史,未成年,喜欢在水里游荡。
我凝固,她就可以听到心跳,直至我被切开。
电锯让我透明,或者融化,藏在雪里,不规则。
碎片在江面上滑向远方——经过失去弹性的救生圈,
划开一个大口子,没有呼吸,那里藏着什么?
我试着重新裹住一条鱼,装在运冰车上,
送往春天的背影里。我的身体丢失一块长方体,
被另一个我拖上岸,藏在厚玻璃中。
我可以变薄,伪装成大酒杯,把他灌醉,
让那个嘴唇青紫的我熟睡,枕着我,和我一样冷。
我们去开采另一块冰,刮开积雪,狠狠跺上几脚。
声音在冰槽里刺耳,在松花江上奔跑,那么多雪,
那么多脚印,那么多的我变得僵硬。
我们可以再丢失一块长方体,伤口沾着残雪。
裹住一棵草,有草籽,无笑脸,风怎么也吹不动。
这是首略带陌生感和神秘气息的诗,对我这位生长在南方的读者来讲,对冰雪的感受、感情与想象,大概是不可能有诗人吴铭越这般复杂和深切的。采冰是怎样一种职业?迄今我对此几乎没有感性认识。以前读《诗经·豳风·七月》,中有“二之日凿冰冲冲,三之日纳于凌阴”之句,始知我国周代便有凿冰者,有采冰工作了。在一个尚无现代制冰技术的时代,人类依地理气候因素而有采冰、藏冰的风习,也不足为奇。况且,根据古书记载,采集的冰块多用在重要的仪礼场合,可见采冰、藏冰之不易,冰源之珍贵。当代中国东北的采冰工作,根据网上相关信息,也多是将采到的冰块用于制作冰雕、冰雪景观,或储藏以待来年夏秋季出售他用。了解了相关知识,似乎并不能助我更深切地理解《采冰者》一诗。初读它时,我联想到西默斯·希尼的《沼泽女皇》和玛格丽特·阿特伍德的《来自地下的交替沉思》等给我的印象。可以说,连同《采冰者》,这几首诗作都带着一种与死亡对话的神奇气味。且说吴铭越这首,开头部分,采冰者明明看到了一个死去的自己,被风雪掩埋,与冰融为一体,被另一个我切割、搬走。这是艰辛劳苦的采冰工作造成的幻觉?或是对冰雪的热爱使得采冰者宁愿被当作一块透明的冰对待?抑或,作者传达的毋宁说是对采冰行为的一种批判?被切割的冰块,如同被切割的“我”,松花江上的采冰业很可能是对环境的破坏,诗人用了“丢失”、“伤口”、“僵硬”等词语,环境被拟人化、身体化。难道这是一首环保诗?
裹住一棵草,有草籽,无笑脸,风怎么也吹不动。
帕斯卡·葩蒂《用魔幻现实主义书写艰难的个人主题》(一)
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-12-02 15:46:08
帕斯卡·葩蒂:《用魔幻现实主义书写艰难的个人主题,或,我是如何以魔幻现实主义手法书写我艰难的“自白诗”的?》(周瓒译) (未完待续)
“防火、防盗、防记者”
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-11-15 00:18:17
前日(11月12日),“中坤国际诗歌奖”颁奖仪式在京举行,京城内的一伙诗人们都被叫去捧场。我也跟去凑热闹,顺便见见老朋友,特别是获得A奖的翟姐姐。颁奖仪式热热闹闹的,本人因为老实,虽几次因为久坐后的腰腿不适而溜到场外瞎逛,但也基本听满全场,特别是翟姐姐的发言和朗诵,还有伯纳富瓦的答奖辞录影,颇有感触。今日晚,又与翟姐姐、克非导演相约喝粥,就说到昨天的《新京报》有关诗歌奖的报道,调笑翟姐姐的照片咋显得那么胖,还有就是接受该报记者说的话。翟姐姐当即回道:“照片不好,就算啦,滥就滥呗(注:我记得不准确,这是四川话,意即破罐子破摔),可是,我根本就没有接受《新京报》记者的采访。新京报的记者在报道中完全杜撰了我说的话,加了引号的,表示是我说的。只有最后一句是从我的受奖辞里摘抄的,前面说什么‘不知不觉,我写诗一写就是20多年。20多年前,诗歌是受人尊敬的艺术,随便在大街上丢一块石子,就可以砸到一个诗人;20年后,即使下一场大雨也淋不到一个诗人。’完全是杜撰。我怎么可能用这么拙劣的比喻!”
翟姐姐又说了她曾经在成都接受某报记者采访,也被杜撰了一整篇根本就没说过的话,那次教训后,她的朋友刘家琨告诉她上述戏言,并叮嘱她,凡以后接受采访必要求给看稿子后才同意发表。“可是,像《新京报》,根本就没采访我,叫人怎么防?!”翟姐姐说。
近作:《在地铁四十二街》,想念纽约!
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-10-21 13:20:40
[推荐阅读]倪湛舸《挽歌》
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-10-19 10:25:37
编译文字不可信
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-10-12 00:15:34
多丽丝·莱辛:女权运动纯属瞎胡闹
赵武平
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“60年代的女权运动,光在讨论和把她们自己结成团体上,就消耗去太多精力。”莱辛说。“我称之为‘看我的屁股运动。”她相信,女权运动太过于以意识形态为根据,而且“浪费了妇女的潜力。”
莱辛已出版两卷回忆录,叙述其从童年到50年代的生活。人们曾认为,她接下的书该是回忆录的第三部分,内容将写到60年代。
恰好相反,她却用小说手法描写这段生活,并取名《最甜蜜的梦》(The Sweetest Dream),定于9月出版。她在这本书里,通过讲弗兰西斯和其前夫约翰尼的故事,探讨“妇女如何在60年代转错方向”。
“我不喜欢60年代,”莱辛说。“我不喜欢女性那时的所说所为,比如像她们吹嘘和多少男人睡过觉。”
在关于妇女的进攻性方面,贝克维尔同意莱辛的见解。她说,“我憎恨所有那些毫不遮掩的粗鲁行为。妇女已经变得越来越无礼,虽说她们要争取同工同酬是合理的。我同意莱辛的意见,那就是某些妇女今天太有些自以为是。”
原文刊于2001年04月26日
下文是英国作家Jeanette Winterson 对多罗丝·莱辛的批评。
What planet is Doris on?
Feminist icon Doris Lessing says men are the new 'silent victims' in the sex war. Yeah right, says Jeanette Winterson
Wednesday August 15, 2001
The Guardian

Is Lessing living on planet Zog, or is it just that she is 81? There is an elder-statesman syndrome that seems to affect literary types such as Lessing and Naipaul and even David Mamet, who is a bit too young to join the End of Everything club. Just as Naipaul and Mamet drone on about the End of Culture, now Lessing is lamenting the End of Feminism ("lazy and insidious"), or maybe it's just the End of Men.
And what a ball the boys are having. Lessing says we've got equal pay and equal opportunity: is that why only 3% of university professors are women? Is that why the highest-paid journalists and TV presenters are men? Why are there still so few women in government and at the top table in the boardroom? Women are catching up, but we don't run the world. As far as the power struggle goes, men are still on top - which everybody knows, except those "kind and most intelligent men", who will now be reading the Guardian wearing their "I Love Doris" boxer shorts.
I decided to conduct a modest vox pop. I asked my hairdresser, who is female, intelligent and sexy, whether she reckoned that men were running scared. Interestingly, she thought they were not suffering at all in terms of work and status, but absolutely when it came to sex - and, as she pointed out, with men, it always does come down to sex, doesn't it?
She told me that all the men she knows are terrified of their wives and girlfriends having an affair. To me, women having affairs means that women are sexually and socially confident. For untold centuries, women have endured bad marriages and male infidelity - never forget that the suffragist slogan was Votes for Women and Chastity for Men. Women seeking sexual pleasure or emotional fulfilment is an inevitable consequence of a shift in the dynamics of male/female relationships. Women may not have the power yet, but maybe we are losing our fear.
My taxi driver told me that he thinks of himself as boss in his marriage, but he understands why his wife won't do his ironing. He doesn't care - he was one of the first to buy a Power Iron. Him and his mates do it together trying to get the fastest time while they watch the football. I bet Doris Lessing knows nothing about competitive ironing.
I meet a lot of young people who read my books. What excites me about these kids is their easiness with one another. Sure, feminism can claim some incredible legal and social victories, but for me its great achievement is in creating a new generation equipped to recognise each other as equals. Women are not automatically inferior any more. Boys do not expect a woman to take care of them and give up work. Best of all, there is a playfulness on the streets that gender politics misses. Even builders are allowed to whistle at you these days - and you know what? It's fun.
So come on, Doris, lighten up. It was your generation of feminists, the 70s, the golden age of the women's movement, that gave us the really damaging, batty stuff; all men are rapists, all sex is power, pornography is abuse, marriage is a crime. And what about separatism and political lesbians? Thank God those days are gone.
Men will have to cope with a bit of criticism. That said, men and women are good for each other and we need each other. I am optimistic about the new shapes we are making. If it is hard for some men, well, that is their share of the work to be done. Sorry if it's tough. Meanwhile, as my rampantly heterosexual assistant from Yorkshire explains to her husband every day: "You can't help it, love, you're just a bloke."
[推荐阅读]曹疏影《致扎铁工人》
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-10-08 17:17:05
曹疏影
通过你们的手臂,刚刚离开钢筋和铁柱
进入此般空气的骨和肉
不错,空气是飘忽的,它在而不在,它营运着光
而你们是在黑暗深处扭聚光成固体的——人?
不,生命——当那骨、肉接触光,当光被挤压
深入更暗处的血。
我们的血,亦是在,而不在,当世界遭折叠
树林宛如手语,湖泊被囤积,河流被截断如舌
而海洋被填充,填充,填充如胆固醇过高的心脏
我们的红色与蓝色,被静悄悄粘贴在闪电和滚雷背后
那么用我们背部的所有汗腺重新学习肉体
它们被支开到宇宙的最外层,那里大气薄脆,但让它们贴紧
让目光向前,如滚雷,看乌云淬出暴雨
看山脉紧贴大地,向外凸起,看矿层呼之欲出
然后是铁,铁中黧黑的漩涡
闪电间我们的肉体以阴影的方式降临
行走于这一切褶皱
2007.8.25
已开创久未更新新记录:俩月
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-09-21 15:02:37
对话两则:
的哥与我:
地点:朝阳门 时间:7月某日
我:怎么这点儿也堵?
的哥:交通管制,有人民公仆通过。
我:人民公仆?
的哥:没错儿,你是主人呢。
我:彼此彼此。
的哥:这届领导算好的啦,也就管制三五分钟。江那会儿,整条街清空。
我:好是好些了,可还是耽误人家事儿啊!
的哥:知足吧。这届好多了。开两会,以前,代表们都坐小车,都从我们北汽征用出租车。现在,代表们改乘大巴了。也征
车,不过是为了拉文件。
。。。。。。。。
我:前头那俩车怎么了?
的哥:较劲儿呢!
我:就这街上也能较上劲儿?
的哥:一辆军车,一辆切诺基。军车是有点儿野,估计惹恼了切诺基啦。
我:?
的哥:开切诺基的都是大爷。
我:怎么说?
的哥:有钱的主儿,爱车的主儿,舍得花油钱的主儿呗。
东大桥路自行车道上,由于交通拥堵,小汽车驶上自行车道,一位北京老大爷慢悠悠地骑车挡在一辆白色小车前,小车按喇叭。另一位骑车的小伙子跟在老大爷身边。
老大爷:我操!你按喇叭!我让你再按喇叭,我就不让你过!
(小车继续按喇叭)
小伙子:你就是让他过,他也过不去。这路这么堵!
老大爷:我就不让,看他能怎样?敢从我身上压过去?这是自行车道。
(小车又按喇叭)
小伙子:老爷子,您消消气。您就是我们心目中的偶像。你做了别人想做但不敢做的事情,我敬佩您。您消消气儿。
老大爷:我就不让,看他能怎样!这是自行车道,我操!。。。。。
三轮车师傅:也就是北京人敢这么做。
[推荐阅读]宇向《洪》
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-07-21 01:13:30
初读宇向这首短诗,被它所传达的一种痛楚感深深震撼。这首诗所写作的时间显示,它显然是诗人受到05年6月10日黑龙江省牡丹江地区安宁市沙兰镇山洪灾害中小学生死难惨剧触发写下的,但诗人在论坛贴出诗作时,注明不是为“诗生活网”就“沙兰惨剧”而发起的“纪念专题”而写。由此,可以看出诗人的写作态度,即她试图超越一种社会关怀,而达到一种更深切的精神承担与反省。第二节写到诗人从浏览网页中获悉灾难的消息,诗人用“停电”、“我的死”这两个词又一次概括了死亡的打击力。以停电喻死,并直接把他人的死视为“我的死”,显示了诗人举重若轻的概括能力。这种举重若轻还表现在诗的口吻上,一种极端克制的冷静甚至刻薄(针对自己的)中透露出的大悲伤。当诗人写下,“多年来,我参与了人类毁灭的教育”,这一刻,我相信,触及对整个人类精神史的沉痛内省。
玛丽安·莫尔:《一座坟墓》
猫来猫去 发表于 2007-07-16 00:25:20
[美]玛丽安·莫尔(Marianne Moore)
周 瓒译
一座坟墓
人看海,
看法取自那些对它有发言权的人,你自己也这么看,
站在事物的中心,乃是人类天性,
然而你不能站在海的中心;
海并不给予什么,它只是一座挖好了的坟墓。
冷杉成行,每棵树顶都有一个翠绿的欧洲花梗,
矜持如其外表,什么也不言说;
但是,克制并非大海最显著的个性;
海是一个收藏家,飞快地报以贪婪的一瞥。
除你之外,还有其他人曾有过那种神情——
他们的表情不再是一种抗议;游鱼也不再探查他们
因为他们的尸骨没有被保留:
男人们撒下鱼网,并未意识到他们是在亵渎一座坟墓,
反而迅速地把船划开——桨叶好似
水蜘蛛的脚,一齐挥动,就像不存在死这回事。
波纹推进,有如方阵——在泡沫的网下,显现出美,
继而枯萎,无声无息,当海水急速蜿蜒于海草间;
而鸟儿飞快地穿游天空,同时发出刺耳的尖叫——
海面就如龟甲一般,在悬崖的脚下辗转抱怨;
而海洋,在灯塔的震动下,在浮标的喧闹中,
依旧前进,看不出它是落物必沉的那片大海——
在水中,要是那些落物侧身翻转,那既非出于自愿,也不带有知觉。
A GRAVE
Man looking into the sea,
taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to yourself,
it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing,
but you cannot stand in the middle of this;
the sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave.
The firs stand in a procession, each with an emerald turkey-foot at the top,
reserved as their contours, saying nothing;
repression, however, is not the most obvious characteristic of the sea;
the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.
There are others besides you who have worn that look--
whose expression is no longer a protest; the fish no longer investigate them
for their bones have not lasted:
men lower nets, unconscious of the fact that they are desecrating a grave,
and row quickly away--the blades of the oars
moving together like the feet of water-spiders as if there were no such thing as death.
The wrinkles progress among themselves in a phalanx--beautiful under networks of foam,
and fade breathlessly while the sea rustles in and out of the seaweed;
the birds swim through the air at top speed, emitting cat-calls as heretofore--
the tortoise-shell scourges about the feet of the cliffs, in motion beneath them;
and the ocean, under the pulsation of lighthouses and noise of bellbuoys,
advances as usual, looking as if it were not that ocean in which dropped things are bound to sink--
in which if they turn and twist, it is neither with volition nor consciousness.

