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1、【国外英文文学】Men, Women and GhostsMen, Women and Ghostsby Amy Lowell. . . See small portions of the Eternal World that ever groweth: . . . . So sang a Fairy, mocking, as he sat on a streakd tulip, Thinking none saw him: when he ceasd I started from the trees, And caught him in my hat, as boys knock down
2、a butterfly. William Blake. Europe. A Prophecy. Thou hast a lap full of seed, And this is a fine country. William Blake.PrefaceThis is a book of stories. For that reason I have excluded all purely lyrical poems. But the word stories has been stretched to its fullest application. It includes both nar
3、rative poems, properly so called; tales divided into scenes; and a few pieces of less obvious story-telling import in which one might say that the dramatis personae are air, clouds, trees, houses, streets, and such like things.It has long been a favourite idea of mine that the rhythms of vers libre
4、have not been sufficiently plumbed, that there is in them a power of variation which has never yet been brought to the light of experiment. I think it was the piano pieces of Debussy, with their strange likeness to short vers libre poems, which first showed me the close kinship of music and poetry,
5、and there flashed into my mind the idea of using the movement of poetry in somewhat the same way that the musician uses the movement of music.It was quite evident that this could never be done in the strict pattern of a metrical form, but the flowing, fluctuating rhythm of vers libre seemed to open
6、the door to such an experiment. First, however, I considered the same method as applied to the more pronounced movements of natural objects. If the reader will turn to the poem, A Roxbury Garden, he will find in the first two sections an attempt to give the circular movement of a hoop bowling along
7、the ground, and the up and down, elliptical curve of a flying shuttlecock.From these experiments, it is but a step to the flowing rhythm of music. In The Cremona Violin, I have tried to give this flowing, changing rhythm to the parts in which the violin is being played. The effect is farther heighte
8、ned, because the rest of the poem is written in the seven line Chaucerian stanza; and, by deserting this ordered pattern for the undulating line of vers libre, I hoped to produce something of the suave, continuous tone of a violin. Again, in the violin parts themselves, the movement constantly chang
9、es, as will be quite plain to any one reading these passages aloud.In The Cremona Violin, however, the rhythms are fairly obvious and regular. I set myself a far harder task in trying to transcribe the various movements of Stravinskys Three Pieces Grotesques, for String Quartet. Several musicians, w
10、ho have seen the poem, think the movement accurately given.These experiments lead me to believe that there is here much food for thought and matter for study, and I hope many poets will follow me in opening up the still hardly explored possibilities of vers libre.A good many of the poems in this boo
11、k are written in polyphonic prose. A form about which I have written and spoken so much that it seems hardly necessary to explain it here. Let me hastily add, however, that the word prose in its name refers only to the typographical arrangement, for in no sense is this a prose form. Only read it alo
12、ud, Gentle Reader, I beg, and you will see what you will see. For a purely dramatic form, I know none better in the whole range of poetry. It enables the poet to give his characters the vivid, real effect they have in a play, while at the same time writing in the decor.One last innovation I have sti
13、ll to mention. It will be found in Spring Day, and more fully enlarged upon in the series, Towns in Colour. In these poems, I have endeavoured to give the colour, and light, and shade, of certain places and hours, stressing the purely pictorial effect, and with little or no reference to any other as
14、pect of the places described. It is an enchanting thing to wander through a city looking for its unrelated beauty, the beauty by which it captivates the sensuous sense of seeing.I have always loved aquariums, but for years I went to them and looked, and looked, at those swirling, shooting, looping p
15、atterns of fish, which always defied transcription to paper until I hit upon the unrelated method. The result is in An Aquarium. I think the first thing which turned me in this direction was John Gould Fletchers London Excursion, in Some Imagist Poets. I here record my thanks.For the substance of th
16、e poems - why, the poems are here. No one writing to-day can fail to be affected by the great war raging in Europe at this time. We are too near it to do more than touch upon it. But, obliquely, it is suggested in many of these poems, most notably those in the section, Bronze Tablets. The Napoleonic
17、 Era is an epic subject, and waits a great epic poet. I have only been able to open a few windows upon it here and there. But the scene from the windows is authentic, and the watcher has used eyes, and ears, and heart, in watching. Amy Lowell July 10, 1916.Contents Figurines in Old SaxePatterns Pick
18、thorn Manor The Cremona Violin The Cross-Roads A Roxbury Garden 1777 Bronze TabletsThe Fruit Shop Malmaison The Hammers Two Travellers in the Place Vendome War PicturesThe Allies The Bombardment Lead Soldiers The Painter on Silk A Ballad of Footmen The Overgrown PastureReaping Off the Turnpike The G
19、rocery Number 3 on the Docket Clocks Tick a CenturyNightmare: A Tale for an Autumn Evening The Paper Windmill The Red Lacquer Music-Stand Spring Day The Dinner-Party Stravinskys Three Pieces Grotesques, for String Quartet Towns in Colour Red Slippers Thompsons Lunch Room - Grand Central Station An O
20、pera House Afternoon Rain in State Street An AquariumThe two sea songs quoted in The Hammers are taken from Songs: Naval and Nautical, of the late Charles Dibdin, London, John Murray, 1841. The Hanging Johnny refrain, in The Cremona Violin, is borrowed from the old, well-known chanty of that name. -
21、 Men, Women and Ghosts - Figurines in Old SaxePatternsI walk down the garden paths, And all the daffodils Are blowing, and the bright blue squills. I walk down the patterned garden-paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. With my powdered hair and jewelled fan, I too am a rare Pattern. As I wander down The
22、 garden paths.My dress is richly figured, And the train Makes a pink and silver stain On the gravel, and the thrift Of the borders. Just a plate of current fashion, Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes. Not a softness anywhere about me, Only whalebone and brocade. And I sink on a seat in the s
23、hade Of a lime tree. For my passion Wars against the stiff brocade. The daffodils and squills Flutter in the breeze As they please. And I weep; For the lime-tree is in blossom And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.And the plashing of waterdrops In the marble fountain Comes down the garden-p
24、aths. The dripping never stops. Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her. What
25、 is Summer in a fine brocaded gown! I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground. All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths, And he would stumble after, Bewildered by my laughter. I should see the sun flashing from his sword-
26、hilt and the buckles on his shoes. I would choose To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths, A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover, Till he caught me in the shade, And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me, Aching, melting, unafraid. With the shadows of t
27、he leaves and the sundrops, And the plopping of the waterdrops, All about us in the open afternoon - I am very like to swoon With the weight of this brocade, For the sun sifts through the shade.Underneath the fallen blossom In my bosom, Is a letter I have hid. It was brought to me this morning by a
28、rider from the Duke. Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell Died in action Thursday sennight. As I read it in the white, morning sunlight, The letters squirmed like snakes. Any answer, Madam, said my footman. No, I told him. See that the messenger takes some refreshment. No, no answer. An
29、d I walked into the garden, Up and down the patterned paths, In my stiff, correct brocade. The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun, Each one. I stood upright too, Held rigid to the pattern By the stiffness of my gown. Up and down I walked, Up and down.In a month he would have been my
30、 husband. In a month, here, underneath this lime, We would have broke the pattern; He for me, and I for him, He as Colonel, I as Lady, On this shady seat. He had a whim That sunlight carried blessing. And I answered, It shall be as you have said. Now he is dead.In Summer and in Winter I shall walk U
31、p and down The patterned garden-paths In my stiff, brocaded gown. The squills and daffodils Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow. I shall go Up and down, In my gown. Gorgeously arrayed, Boned and stayed. And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace By each button
32、, hook, and lace. For the man who should loose me is dead, Fighting with the Duke in Flanders, In a pattern called a war. Christ! What are patterns for?Pickthorn Manor IHow fresh the Dartles little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round clouds, blown away
33、, Let drop the yellow sunshine to gleam through And tip the edges of the waves with shifts And spots of whitest fire, hard like gems Cut from the midnight moon they were, and sharp As wind through leafless stems. The Lady Eunice walked between the drifts Of blooming cherry-trees, and watched the rif
34、ts Of clouds drawn through the rivers azure warp. IIHer little feet tapped softly down the path. Her soul was listless; even the morning breeze Fluttering the trees and strewing a light swath Of fallen petals on the grass, could please Her not at all. She brushed a hair aside With a swift move, and
35、a half-angry frown. She stopped to pull a daffodil or two, And held them to her gown To test the colours; put them at her side, Then at her breast, then loosened them and tried Some new arrangement, but it would not do. IIIA lady in a Manor-house, alone, Whose husband is in Flanders with the Duke Of
36、 Marlborough and Prince Eugene, shes grown Too apathetic even to rebuke Her idleness. What is she on this Earth? No woman surely, since she neither can Be wed nor single, must not let her mind Build thoughts upon a man Except for hers. Indeed that were no dearth Were her Lord here, for well she knew
37、 his worth, And when she thought of him her eyes were kind. IVToo lately wed to have forgot the wooing. Too unaccustomed as a bride to feel Other than strange delight at her wifes doing. Even at the thought a gentle blush would steal Over her face, and then her lips would frame Some little word of l
38、oving, and her eyes Would brim and spill their tears, when all they saw Was the bright sun, slantwise Through burgeoning trees, and all the mornings flame Burning and quivering round her. With quick shame She shut her heart and bent before the law. VHe was a soldier, she was proud of that. This was
39、his house and she would keep it well. His honour was in fighting, hers in what Hed left her here in charge of. Then a spell Of conscience sent her through the orchard spying Upon the gardeners. Were their tools about? Were any branches broken? Had the weeds Been duly taken out Under the spaliered pe
40、ars, and were these lying Nailed snug against the sunny bricks and drying Their leaves and satisfying all their needs? VIShe picked a stone up with a little pout, Stones looked so ill in well-kept flower-borders. Where should she put it? All the paths about Were strewn with fair, red gravel by her o
41、rders. No stone could mar their sifted smoothness. So She hurried to the river. At the edge She stood a moment charmed by the swift blue Beyond the river sedge. She watched it curdling, crinkling, and the snow Purfled upon its wave-tops. Then, Hullo, My Beauty, gently, or youll wriggle through. VIIT
42、he Lady Eunice caught a willow spray To save herself from tumbling in the shallows Which rippled to her feet. Then straight away She peered down stream among the budding sallows. A youth in leather breeches and a shirt Of finest broidered lawn lay out upon An overhanging bole and deftly swayed A wel
43、l-hooked fish which shone In the pale lemon sunshine like a spurt Of silver, bowed and damascened, and girt With crimson spots and moons which waned and played. VIIIThe fish hung circled for a moment, ringed And bright; then flung itself out, a thin blade Of spotted lightning, and its tail was winge
44、d With chipped and sparkled sunshine. And the shade Broke up and splintered into shafts of light Wheeling about the fish, who churned the air And made the fish-line hum, and bent the rod Almost to snapping. Care The young man took against the twigs, with slight, Deft movements he kept fish and line
45、in tight Obedience to his will with every prod. IXHe lay there, and the fish hung just beyond. He seemed uncertain what more he should do. He drew back, pulled the rod to correspond, Tossed it and caught it; every time he threw, He caught it nearer to the point. At last The fish was near enough to t
46、ouch. He paused. Eunice knew well the craft - Whats got the thing! She cried. What can have caused - Where is his net? The moment will be past. The fish will wriggle free. She stopped aghast. He turned and bowed. One arm was in a sling. XThe broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket Must hang f
47、rom, held instead a useless arm. I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it. He smiled, for she had spoke aloud. The charm Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced When you must play your fish on land as well. How will you take him? Eunice asked. In truth I really cannot tell. Twas stupid of me, but it simply chanced I never thought of that until he glanced Into