徐誌摩的《偶然》和 Octavio Paz《Concert in the Garden》

卿寶 · 2021-11-14 14:18:26Z

徐誌摩的《偶然》和 Octavio Paz《Concert in the Garden》簡介

來源: 卿寶於 2021-11-14 14:18:26 [檔案] [博客] [舊帖] [給我悄悄話] 本文已被閱讀：次 (10023 bytes)

看簡班提到徐誌摩的偶然，我以前讀到過小謝的一個帖子，是翻譯墨西哥詩人Octavio Paz的詩《Concert in the Garden》, 我的感覺是有《偶然》的影子，還貼了首齊秦演唱的《偶然》的YouTube。再允許我貼個舊帖哈：）一直沒有得到過原玉小謝的評論（仔細又看了下，原來最初來自影雲），所以也希望能看到他們的想法:-）

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我這兩天把能找到的有關Octavio Paz和這首詩的網上的材料讀了個遍。開始我真覺得這首詩味同嚼蠟，怎麽也不理解garden, concert, body, wind, earth的含義，其實現在可能也不算理解。舞蹈是視覺的藝術，音樂是聽覺的藝術，美食是味覺的藝術，詩歌是感覺的藝術，可意會不可言傳就是詩的魅力所在之一吧。就象紅樓夢，每個人心中都有自己的一部紅樓。Gardens 時常出現在Paz的作品當中，以下兩段對Paz的解讀結合閱讀Paz的生平和寫作特點給了我一些啟迪：

"the garden which is the wanderer and his or her wandering through all that he lusts and fears to encounter, the unknown, the beyond, the wholly other, the wild, and which mysteriously at the same time is the body, stability, a place to be, a home. That is, the beauty of the garden is not the static form of its appearance, but this plus the action to make it, the knowledge that it grows and decays and must be renewed in concert with nature, and the realization that even within it there are paths we must wander and will sometimes be lost on, seeking. "

"It is a human beauty, part of a human garden, one that we carry within and manifest in poems. 2 “There are no more gardens than those we carry within,” say Octavio Paz. This garden of course is a garden tradition, a series of gardens, or series of attempts at the garden. It is compacted of natural growth and renewal, architectural beauty of the cemetery manifesting human genius, decay, simple pleasure in the spring, sadness and horror and despair at death, longing and struggle. It is hard to define, in fact, as beauty. It seems to lead toward a definition of beauty almost as tragedy, almost as frustration and defeat and annihilation. And yet, unremitting responsiveness to these is its comprehensive and particular element."

因此，我還是認為這首詩與飲食男女有關，而且與其把它與海子的那首詩相提並論，我更覺得它與徐誌摩的《偶然》有幾分相似。我試著以我的理解意譯如下：

《CONCERT IN THE GARDEN》

by Octavio Paz

It rained.

The hour is an immense eye.

Inside it, we come and go like reflections.

The river of music

enters my blood.

If I say body, it answers wind.

If I say earth, it answers where?

The world, a double blossom, opens:

sadness of having come,