巴黎市井闲话

【美】肯尼斯·科赫    陈子弘 译

他们常常会这么开头：“巴黎！多么希望能在那里啊！”
有人说，“巴黎是美国良才的的终极归宿。”
“滴答，滴滴嗒嗒，”是说雨点
落在阿波利奈尔诗《雨》写的巴黎。
“我在巴黎那么快乐，”我说。“就像
爱一个人一样。我前三次离开那里诗的都哭了的。”
有些人说：“我不喜欢巴黎。”另的人又说，“巴黎又好起来了。”
“如果你见到的人只有门房和侍应生，
怎么可能喜欢一个地方呢？”另一个人说，“法国人没有朋友，
他们只有亲戚。”一个法国人说，“法语并不聪明，
太快。”“巴黎被毁了，”某些人一直这样说。
“19世纪时巴黎才最好。”
“两次大战之间巴黎最美好。” “老巴黎已经不在了，”
波德莱尔这样说过。“城市的形态
变化太快啊！比人心更快！”
“巴黎！钟上的指针！”有人叫道。另一个人却说，
“给我一瓶威士忌，我就跟你去巴黎！”
就这么说： “巴黎春天。”

一天，女孩们聚在街角，
男孩们的眼光热望着她们。
汽车飞驰而过，事情就是这样。

这不像是种种可以想象的
深渊、沟壑和荒山野岭的
电车交道口中间被香水喷洒的香氛
弥漫，被乳房文化重包围的非洲原始情趣。

“跟我到电话亭里去吧，”
法国母亲面朝穿蓝色短裤的男孩。
“这是您的孩子，”他礼貌地低语，
“我会照您说的去做。”之后，母亲的乳房
在马克·夏尔丰大街上向她的情人敞开。
小男孩则玩着一只猫头鹰。
三年后，他就读弗罗芒坦中学，
我们现在看到他放学路上带着一本黄色笔记本
回德斯卡莱格街的公寓，那里是他小小的家，
小家倒还在一起，尽管妈妈到处胡搅蛮缠，
他们住在充满魅力的二楼公寓——
古老但又吸引人的家具迎接那孩子，
他一头扎进那古旧的扶手椅中。

再不会有人爬坡上兰比克啤酒街
去烧洗澡水了，优雅的怪癖，
因为澡盆业已征服了这梦幻之都。

情侣们在别处找到胡闹的法子。
此前，习惯性的开放与老式做派
相结合带来了色情躲猫猫游戏的刺激，
这舒适感也无从寻觅,提都不要提了。

我的巴黎不是你的巴黎，
你的巴黎也不是我的。
我们俩坐在雪白人体躯干般的路缘石上，
映衬着十二月阿尔卑斯山一样的静谧。
阳光明媚。巴黎一定是在谋划生计。
自己出去遛弯儿。之后我停下步子，
我才发现阳光正在洒满我全身。

巴黎的酷男们四处穿梭在
女人之间、桌子之间，话语之间。
更热情的男人感到有些糊涂
却自认为要比那些酷男自我感觉良好
要高明一筹。一阵风
吹开了百叶窗，直到出现一定的光亮。

“啊，您是一位诗人！”在圆亭咖啡馆
一位侍者说我，“而我，
有诗人的签名：弗朗西斯·耶麦！”
“这怎么来的？”当我看到他
带着像一面白旗的餐巾回来时
问他。“我爸就这么
给了我。” “他是喜欢耶麦的
诗么？”“不，我觉得
他没读过。我也是。
不过说真的，我这个签名挺出名的！”

在巴黎，我从未哑口。
有人对我说，
“我在贝鲁特时是的士司机，”
还有，“我现在是法兰西学院成员。”

你说巴黎的社交生活太窄了，
还有“巴黎不像纽约是个小城市。”
“在巴黎再也没有人情味了。” “人们
又变得很客气了。”
“只有美国人和多愁善感的傻瓜才会
这样写巴黎——
这些地方其实没什么看头” “巴黎，
她是一个漂亮女人！”“巴黎是一个巨大的胯骨。”
“巴黎是迷宫的中心，
而入口在罗马。”“我根本不该给你说巴黎的事。
现在你会来这里，毁了它给我的美好。”
“我希望我是在巴黎长大的。” “你根本不了解巴黎。”
“亨利·詹姆斯和屠格涅夫曾在巴黎相遇。”
“生命中最美好的就是年轻并身处巴黎。”
“我从未像在巴黎那样感到孤独过。”
“巴黎的餐馆允许带狗出入。” “巴黎被毁了。”
“平安夜的巴黎，
所有人都会熬夜到天明。” “你可以吃巧克力而不是
喝咖啡来开启一天。” “我不想离开这里。”
“巴黎是世界上最大的阿拉伯城市。”

【诗人简介】肯尼斯·科赫（Kenneth Koch，1925年2月27日—2002年7月6日）美国诗人、剧作家和教授，20世纪美国文学的重要人物之一。他毕业于哈佛大学（1948年）和哥伦比亚大学（1959年获得博士学位），并在哥伦比亚大学任教多年。科赫是纽约诗派的核心成员之一，其诗歌风格以机智、超现实和实验性著称，他的诗歌风格和创作理念对后世诗人产生了深远影响，他的诗歌生涯跨越了五十年，见证了美国诗歌从传统到现代再到后现代的转变。

KENNETH KOCH

What People Say About Paris

They often begin by saying, “Paris! How I wish I were there!”
Someone said, ‘Paris is where good Americans go when  they die.”
“Pit pat, pit pit patter,”say the raindrops
Falling on Paris in Apollinaire’s poem ‘‘La Pluie.”
“I was so happy in Paris,” I said. “It was like
Loving somebody. The first three times I left there, I cried.”
“I don't like Paris,” say some. And others, ‘Paris is getting nice again.”
“If you don’t meet anyone but concierges and waiters,
How can you like any place?” Another says, “The French do not have friends,
They have relatives.” A Frenchman says, “Le frangais n’est pas intelligent,
Il est rapide.” “Paris is ruined,” say certain, all the time.
“Paris was at its best in the nineteenth century.”
“Paris was wonderful between the wars.” "Old Paris is no more,”
Said Baudelaire. ‘The form of a city
Changes more quickly, alas! than a mortal’s heart!”
“Paris! Like the dial of a clock!’’ cried one. And another,
“Give me the bottle of whiskey and I'll go with you to Paris!”
It is said: “Paris in the spring!”

One day the girls were clustered on the street corner
And the boys were moving toward them with their eyes.
The automobiles sped past and let this happen.

It is not like the primitive joys
Of Africa to be be-spattered by perfumes
And breast culture in the midst of a tramway crossing
Of gulfs, gulches, and wild cliffs of every imaginable costume.

“Come into the telephone kiosk with me,”
Said the French mother to the blue-shorts-clad boy.
“Tam your son,” he gallantly whispered,
“And I shall do as you say.” Later the mother’s breasts popped open
To her lover, on the avenue Marc Chalfont. The boy played with an owl.
Three years later he entered the Lycée Fromentin
From which we see him carrying a yellow notebook now
On his way home to the rue Descaligues, where his little family,
Still together, despite his mother’s fooling
Around, has a second-floor apartment full of charm—
Its old but attractive furniture welcomes the boy
Who flings himself into an ancient armchair’s arms.

No longer does one walk up the lambic street
To fire the bathwater there, an elegant freak,
For the bathtub industry has conquered this city of dreams.

Lovers found ways to clown around elsewhere.
Earlier, the combination of obligatory openness
With old-fashionedness gave thrills of an erotic hide-and-seek
With comfortableness no longer to be found, even considered.

My Paris was not your Paris
And your Paris was not mine.
We both sat down on the quick white Valentine
Of the torsoed curb that makes December Alpine.
The sun shines. Paris must be earning a living.
I take myself out with my walk. Then my walk leaves me
And I realize that the sun is shining on me.

The cool men of Paris move back and forth
From woman to woman, table to table, word to word.
The warmer men are confused
But feel superior to the cool ones who feel
Superior to them. A wind blows
The shutters open, till there is a certain degree of shine.

“Ah, you are a poet!” said the waiter
At La Rotonde, “and I,
I have the name of a poet: Francis Jammes!”
“How did this come about?” I said
When he came back with his napkin
Like a white flag. “My father just
Gave it to me.” “He liked Jammes’s
Poetry?” “‘No, I don’t
Think he’d read it. Neither have I.
It’s true, I have a name that is quite well-known!”

In Paris I was never mute.
“I was once a cab driver in Beirut,”
Someone said to me. And, ‘I am a member of the Institute.”

The social life, you say, is too limited in Paris.
Also, ‘‘Paris is a small town, unlike New York.”
“You can no longer find any courtesy in Paris.”“People have
again become courteous in Paris.”
“Only an American and a sentimental fool would write this
way about Paris—
Places don’t really mean anything any more.”’ “‘Paris, it is
A beautiful woman!” ‘Paris, it is a giant’s hip bone.”
“Paris is the center of a maze
Whose entrance is in Rome.” “I should never have told you about Paris.
Now you will come here and ruin it for me.”
“I wish that I had grown up in Paris.” “You know nothing of Paris.”
“Henry James met Turgenev in Paris.”
“The best thing in life is to be young and in Paris.”
“T have never been so lonely as I’ve been in Paris.”
“Dogs are allowed in restaurants in Paris.” “Paris is ruined.”
“On Christmas Eve in Paris
Everyone stays up until dawn.” “You can have chocolate in
the morning instead of coffee.” “I never want to leave.”
“Paris is the largest Arab city in the world.”

                                                                        from Poetry