钢琴手自述

【美】艾伦·格罗斯曼　　陈子弘 译

尸体在葬礼上复活时，

愤怒吊客杀了它；而亡者

的灵魂没入诗人

之身，是它还有话要说。

他坐到无人能弹的钢琴前，
那叫弥赛亚或世界的调节器，
在一幅穿着宽松裙子，袒露一乳的
红发女人画像之下，

钢琴已屹立五十载，这我知道
而他弹奏的作曲家S遗作，
是关于上帝（我坚信）的无能为力
因为祂不能不创造万物。

那年秋天，阴雨绵绵，

音乐响起。音乐家技艺高超
非凡，但弥赛亚却走调音不准

扭曲了时间和音调。长达一小时，
诗人弹奏这世界的调节器

在灵魂指引下，踏上

祂的力量之路——而吊客们
负有沉重的罪恶感

惊愕于这怪异的行列

而殡仪承办人正在算账。

——我们想到一架未曾演奏的乐器

游离在纪念氛围之外
房间渐暗漫向最深处墙壁
一位女士她的头发十一月雨夜

如秋天般凋零，而风
从北和西北庄严吹来，

从死亡囊袋播撒她云臀般
羁跘的种子。看吧，

我让我认识的恶魔来解你之困，
一个操持完美乐器并不完美之人，
弹起世界的调节器去
阻止辉煌毁灭我们。
女士！作曲家S最后的大师——
用音律把你的客厅变暗。
我青葱并盛放于春天时，
我是哑木，现在我死了我唱歌。

诗人简介：艾伦·格罗斯曼（Allen Grossman,1932-2014）美国诗人、评论家和教授。他毕业于哈佛大学（学士、硕士）和布兰代斯大学（博士），并在布兰代斯大学任教至1991年，之后担任约翰·霍普金斯大学安德鲁·梅隆人文学科教授，直至2005年。格罗斯曼以其高度浪漫主义的风格而闻名，他从叶芝、史蒂文斯和克兰那里汲取灵感，创作出融合叙事、哲学和抒情的诗歌。他的作品探讨了诗歌在保护人类经验免于死亡方面的作用。作为一位著名学者，他与马克·哈利德合著的《有视力的歌手》（1992年）是诗学领域的开创性著作。格罗斯曼曾荣获多项重要奖项，包括古根海姆奖和麦克阿瑟奖。作为一名诗人，他将诗歌视为一种集体的爱与对抗存在主义消亡的行为。2014年，格罗斯曼因阿尔茨海默症并发症去世，享年82岁

ALLEN GROSSMAN

The Piano Player
Explains Himself

When the corpse revived at the funeral,

The outraged mourners killed it; and the soul

Of the revenant passed into the body

Of the poet because it had more to say.

He sat down at the piano no one could play
Called Messiah, or The Regulator of the World,
Which had stood for fifty years, to my knowledge,
Beneath a painting of a red-haired woman

In a loose gown with one bared breast, and played
A posthumous work of the composer S
About the impotence of God (I believe)
Who has no power not to create everything.

It was the Autumn of the year and wet,

When the music started. The musician was
Skillful but the Messiah was out of tune

And bent the time and the tone. For a long hour
The poet played The Regulator of the World

As the spirit prompted, and entered upon

The pathways of His power—while the mourners
Stood with slow blood on their hands

Astonished by the weird processional

And the undertaker figured his bill.

—We have in mind an unplayed instrument

Which stands apart in a memorial air
Where the room darkens toward its inmost wall
And a lady hangs in her autumnal hair

At evening of the November rains; and winds
Sublime out of the North, and North by West,
Are sowing from the death-sack of the seed
The burden of her cloudy hip. Behold,

I send the demon I know to relieve your need,
An imperfect player at the perfect instrument
Who takes in hand The Regulator of the World
To keep the splendor from destroying us.
Lady! The last virtuoso of the composer S——
Darkens your parlor with the music of the Law.
When I was green and blossomed in the Spring
I was mute wood. Now I am dead I sing.

                                   from Grand Street