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Tropic of Cancer[北回归线][En/Cn]

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第3节

我以前的偶像的一些所做所为使我流泪,那是捣乱、混乱、暴力,最主要的还是他们引起的仇恨。一想到他们残缺不全的肢体、他们选择的荒诞风格,他们所从事的工作的浮夸和乏味、他们耽溺于其中的杂乱无章状态以及他们在自己身边设置的种种障碍—我便觉得异常高兴。他们陷在自己拉的屎中不能自拔,他们都是喜欢不厌其烦地絮絮叨叨的人。这是千真万确的,我差一点儿就会说,“指给我一个说起话来没完的人,我就会说这是一个伟大的人!”被称作他们的“详尽探讨”的东西正对我的胃口—这是争斗的征兆,这是缠绕着各种纤维的争斗,是不和谐精神的气氛和环境。你指给我看一个能说会道的人,我不说他不够伟大,可我会说他吸引不了我……我向往那些会叫人生厌的特性。我想到艺术家毫不含糊地给自己规定的任务是推翻现存价值观念、是把周围的一片混乱按自己的方式整理得井井有条,散布争斗和不和以得到情感上的解脱并使死者复活,于是这时我兴高采烈地跑到那些伟大而又不完美的人那儿去,他们的困惑滋润了我。他们结结巴巴的话在我听来犹如仙乐。我在漂亮地膨胀起来,在被打断之后接着往下写的书页上看到被抹去的小段插入的闲话、肮脏的脚注,也可说是胆小鬼、骗子、贼、蛮子和诽谤者留下来的。我从他们美妙的喉咙的肿胀肌肉上看出把轮子翻转过来时,从掉队的地方加快脚步赶上来时,他们一定费了惊人的力量。在日常烦恼和骚扰后面,在软弱和懒惰的人的下贱、矫饰过的恶意后面,我看见那儿立着人生中令人心灰意懒的象征,我看到那个制定秩序、散布争斗和不和的人,他深受意志力的影响,这样一个人势必一次次为自己的行为受苦受难,直至被绞死拉倒。我从他的高雅手势后看到一个荒谬的幽灵在徘徊—他不仅崇高,而且还荒谬。

Things, certain things about my old idols bring the tears to my eyes: the interruptions, the disorder, the violence, above all, the hatred they aroused. When I think of their deformities, of the monstrous styles they chose, of the flatulence and tediousness of their works, of all the chaos and confusion they wallowed in, of the obstacles they heaped up about them, I feel an exaltation. They were all mired in their own dung. All men who over‑elaborated. So true is it that I am almost tempted to say: "Show me a man who over‑elaborates and I will show you a great man!" What is called their "over-elaboration" is my meat: it is the sign of struggle, it is struggle itself with all the fibers clinging to it, the very aura and ambience of the discordant spirit. And when you show me a man who expresses himself perfectly I will not say that he is not great, but I will say that I am unattracted… I miss the cloying qualities. When I reflect that the task which the artist implicitly sets himself is to overthrow existing values, to make of the chaos about him an order which is his own, to sow strife and ferment so that by the emotional release those who are dead may be restored to life, then it is that I run with joy to the great and imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me, their stuttering is like divine music to my ears. I see in the beautifully bloated pages that follow the interruptions the erasure of petty intrusions, of the dirty footprints, as it were, of cowards, liars, thieves, vandals, calumniators. I see in the swollen muscles of their lyric throats the staggering effort that must be made to turn the wheel over, to pick up the pace where one has left off. I see that behind the daily annoyances and intrusions, behind the cheap, glittering malice of the feeble and inert, there stands the symbol of life's frustrating power, and that he who could create order, he who would sow strife and discord, because he is imbued with will, such a man must go again and again to the stake and the gibbet. I see that behind the nobility of his gestures there lurks the specter of the ridiculousness of it all – that he is not only sublime, but absurd.


  我曾一度认为做到有人情味是一个人可望达到的最高目标,可我现在明白这意味着要毁掉自己。如今我骄傲地说自己没有人味,我不属于其他任何人和政府,任何信条和原则都同我没有任何关系。我与人性这部吱吱作响的机器毫无关联,我是属于地球的。我睡在枕头上这样说,这时自己可以感觉到太阳穴处冒出了两只角。我可以看到我的疯狂的祖先围着床在跳舞,他们宽慰我、给我打气、用毒蛇般的舌头抽打我、用藏在暗处的脑袋朝我嘻笑。我不是人!我带着疯狂的、幻觉般的狞笑这样说,哪怕天上落下鳄鱼我也要一直这样说下去。我的话后面是那些咧着嘴嘻笑、藏在暗处的脑袋,有些死掉的人的脑袋长时间地笑,有些像患了牙关紧闭症一样笑,有些又扮出鬼脸来狞笑,这是一直在进行中的事情的预演和结果。我自己狞笑的脑壳是看得最清楚的,我看到自己的骷髅在风中跳舞,毒蛇从腐烂的舌头里爬出来,描写欣喜的膨胀的书页被粪弄脏了。

Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity – I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples. I can see about me all those cracked forebears of mine dancing around the bed, consoling me, egging me on, lashing me with their serpent tongues, grinning and leering at me with their skulking skulls. I am inhuman! I say it with a mad, hallucinated grin, and I will keep on saying it though it rain crocodiles. Behind my words are all those grinning, leering, skulking skulls, some dead and grinning a long time, some grinning as if they had lockjaw, some grinning with the grimace of a grin, the foretaste and aftermath of what is always going on. Clearer than all I see my own grinning skull, see the skeleton dancing in the wind, serpents issuing from the rotted tongue and the bloated pages of ecstasy slimed with excrement.


  我把我的脏东西、我的屎尿、我的疯狂,我的欣喜都投进通过肉体地下铁道流动的大循环中去,所有这些自然的、不受欢迎的、醉后吐出的东西将通过这些人的脑子无休止地向前流动,一直流到一个装着人类历史、永远不会枯竭的罐子里。同人类并驾齐驱的还有另一类生物,他们就是那些没有人性的人,是艺术家这类人,他们受已知的冲动驱使掌管了无生命的人类,他们用狂热和激情鼓动人类,以此把这团生面变成面包,把面包变成酒,再把酒变成歌曲。他们从废弃的肥料和死气沉沉的废料中造出一首散发着臭气的歌。我看到这一类人在洗劫世界,他们把一切翻个底朝天,他们的脚总踩在血泊中,他们的手总是空的,总是在抓抓不到、握不上的神。为了使撕咬他们的要害的妖魔平静下来,他们毁掉了能够得到的一切,他们用力揪自己的头发以领悟、了解这个永远难以理解的难题,他们像发疯的熊那样大吼大叫、乱撕、乱顶,他们做这些事情时我都看到了,我看到这是对的,没有其他道路可走,一个属于这一族类的人必须站在高处,口中胡说八道,把自己的肠肚剖出来。这是正当的、正义的,因为他必须这样做!任何达不到这一吓人场面、任何不那么令人战栗、不那么可怕、不那么疯狂、不那么令人兴奋、不那么具有污染性的东西都不是艺术,都是伪造的,是人性的,是属于生命和无生命的。

And I join my slime, my excrement, my madness; my ecstasy to the great circuit which flows through the subterranean vaults of the flesh. All this unbidden, unwanted, drunken vomit will flow on endlessly through the minds of those to come in the inexhaustible vessel that contains the history of the race. Side by side with the human race there runs another race of beings, the inhuman ones, the race of artists who, goaded by unknown impulses, take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread and the bread into wine and the wine into song. Out of the dead compost and the inert slag they breed a song that contaminates. I see this other race of individuals ransacking the universe, turning everything upside down, their feet always moving in blood and tears, their hands always empty, always clutching and grasping for the beyond, for the god out of reach: slaying everything within reach in order to quiet the monster that gnaws at their vitals. I see that when they tear their hair with the effort to comprehend, to seize this forever unattainable, I see that when they bellow like crazed beasts and rip and gore, I see that this is right, that there is no other path to pursue. A man who belongs to this race must stand up on the high place with gibberish in his mouth and rip out his entrails. It is right and just, because he must! And anything that falls short of this frightening spectacle, anything less shuddering, less terrifying, less mad, less intoxicated, less contaminating, is not art. The rest is counterfeit. The rest is human. The rest belongs to life and lifelessness.


  比方说,每当我想到斯太甫罗根,我便会联想到某一个妖魔站在高处向我们扔自己撕裂的肠子。在《魔鬼》中发生了地震,这不仅是降临在富于想象力的人头上的大灾难,而是一大半人类被埋葬于其中、永远被消灭的大地震。斯太甫罗根就是陀思妥耶夫斯基,陀思妥耶夫斯基是所有这些矛盾的总和,它们不是使一个人麻痹就是领他爬上高处。没有一个地方太低,他进不去;也没有一个地方太高,他不敢爬上去。遗憾的是我们再也没有机会见到一个被置于神秘的中心的人,他的光芒为我们照亮黑暗的深邃和广大。

When I think of Stavrogin for example, I think of some divine monster standing on a high place and flinging to us his torn bowels. In The Possessed the earth quakes: it is not the catastrophe that befalls the imaginative individual, but a cataclysm in which a large portion of humanity is buried, wiped out forever. Stavrogin was Dostoevski and Dostoevski was the sum of all those contradictions which either paralyze a man or lead him to the heights. There was no world too low for him to enter, no place too high for him to fear to ascend. He went the whole gamut, from the abyss to the stars. It is a pity that we shall never again have the opportunity to see a man placed at the very core of mystery and, by his flashes, illuminating, for us the depth and immensity of the darkness.


  今天我感觉到了自己的血统,我没有必要去求助占星术或查阅家谱表。我对星星上或我的血液里写着什么一无所知,只知道我是由人类的某些神话中的创始人繁衍的。那个把神圣的瓶子举到唇边的人、那个跪在集市上的罪犯、那个发现所有的尸体都会发臭的纯洁的人、那个跳舞时手中发出闪电的疯子、那个撩起长袍朝大地上撒尿的修道士、那个翻遍所有图书馆要找到《圣经》的宗教狂—所有这些人合成了我,所有这些人造成了我的仟侮、我的欣喜。假如我没有人味儿,那是由于我所生活的世界已经超出人性的界线了,那是由于做个有人味儿的人像是在做一件可怜的、令人遗憾的、凄凉悲苦的事情,它受到种种理智限制,受到种种道德规范的制约,由种种老生常谈和这个那个主义固定范围。我将葡萄汁一饮而尽,我从中得到了智慧,不过我的智慧并非来自葡萄,我沉醉也根本不是因为酒……我想绕过那些高大荒芜的山脉,一个人会在那儿渴死、冻死。这就是“超瞬时”历史,就是不存在人、兽、草木的绝对时空,在那儿一个人寂寞得发疯,语言则只是词语而已,那儿的一切都是自由自在的,与时代不谐调的。我想要一个男人、女人、树木都不讲话的世界(因为如今的世界上话讲得太多了)!

Today I am aware of my lineage. I have no need to consult my horoscope or my genealogical chart. What is written in the stars, or in my blood, I know nothing of. I know that I spring from the mythological founders of the race. The man who raises the holy bottle to his lips, the criminal who kneels in the marketplace, the innocent one who discovers that all corpses stink, the madman who dances with lightning in his hands, the friar who lifts his skirts to pee over the world, the fanatic who ransacks libraries in order to find the Word – all these are fused in me, all these make my confusion, my ecstasy. If I am inhuman it is because my world has slopped over its human bounds, because to be human seems like a poor, sorry, miserable affair, limited by the senses, restricted by moralities and codes, defined by platitudes and isms. I am pouring the juice of the grape down my gullet and I find wisdom in it, but my wisdom is not born of the grape, my intoxication owes nothing to wine…


  我想要一个河流能把人载到各地去的世界,不是成为古老传说的河流,而是能叫人同别的男女,同建筑、宗教、植物、动物接触的河流。是上面有船只的河流。人们在这样的河里溺死,并非淹没在神话、传说、书籍和以往的尘土中,而是淹没在时间、空间的历史中。我要能造出莎士比亚和但丁这样的大海的河流,要不会在以往的空泛中干涸的河流、大海。对了,让我们有更多的海吧,新的、挡住过去的大海,创造新的地质构造、新的地形景观、陌生而且令人恐惧的大陆的大海,在摧毁的同时也保护我们的大海,我们可以在上面航行,去探求新发现、新视野的大海。让我们得到更多的大海、更多的动乱、战争和大毁灭吧。让我们得到一个男男女女大腿间都装有发电机的世界,一个充满自然的愤怒、激情、行动、戏剧、梦幻、疯狂的世界,一个孕生欣喜而不是干放屁的世界。我坚信今天比以往任何时候都更应寻求写一本书,哪怕它只有一大页呢。我们必须寻找碎片、碎屑、脚趾甲,任何含有矿物质、任何得以使肉体和灵魂复活的东西。

I want to make a detour of those lofty arid mountain ranges where one dies of thirst and cold, that "extratemporal" history, that absolute of time and space where there exists neither man, beast, nor vegetation, where one goes crazy with loneliness, with language that is mere words, where everything is unhooked, ungeared, out of joint with the times. I want a world of men and women, of trees that do not talk (because there is too much talk in the world as it is!, of rivers that carry you to places, not rivers that are legends, but rivers that put you in touch with other men and women, with architecture, religion, plants, animals – rivers that have boats on them and in which men drown, drown not in myth and legend and books and dust of the past, but in time and space and history. I want rivers that make oceans such as Shakespeare and Dante, rivers which do not dry up in the void of the past. Oceans, yes! Let us have more oceans, new oceans that blot out the past, oceans that create new geological formations, new topographical vistas and strange, terrifying continents, oceans that destroy and preserve at the same time, oceans that we can sail on, take off to new discoveries, new horizons. Let us have more oceans, more upheavals, more wars, more holocausts. Let us have a world of men and women with dynamos between their legs, a world of natural fury, of passion, action, drama, dreams, madness, a world that produces ecstasy and not dry farts. I believe that today more than ever a book should be sought after even if it has only one great page in it: we must search for fragments, splinters, toenails, anything that has ore in it, anything that is capable of resuscitating the body and soul.


  也许我们命中注定要遭厄运,也许我们当中没有一个人有希望活下去。如果是这样,那就让我们发出最后一声听了叫人胆寒、叫人毛骨惊然的吼叫吧,这是挑战的呼叫,是战斗的怒号!悲伤,去它的!挽歌和哀乐,去它们的!传记、历史、图书馆和博物馆,去它们的!让死人去吃掉死人。让我们活着的人在火山口边上跳舞吧,这是临死前的一场舞,不过它仍是一场舞。

It may be that we are doomed, that there is no hope for us, any of us, but if that is so then let us set up a last agonizing, bloodcurdling howl, a screech of defiance, a war whoop! Away with lamentation! Away with elegies and dirges! Away with biographies and histories, and libraries and museums! Let the dead eat the dead. Let us living ones dance about the rim of the crater, a last expiring dance. But a dance!


  我们时代的伟大诗人弥尔顿说,“我爱流动的一切。”今天早晨我高兴地拼命大叫着醒来时正想着他,我正在想他的河流、树木和他的摸索的整个黑暗世界。是啊,我对自己说,我也爱流动的一切:河流、阴沟、熔岩、精液、血、胆汁、词和句子。

"I love everything that flows," said the great blind Milton of our times. I was thinking of him this morning when I awoke with a great bloody shout of joy: I was thinking of his rivers and trees and all that world of night which he is exploring. Yes, I said to myself, I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences.


  我爱从羊膜中溅出的羊水;我爱生着引起痛苦的的结石、肾砂和诸如此类东西的肾脏;我爱撒出的热呼呼的尿和久治不愈的淋病;我爱歇斯底里的疯话、像拉痢疾一样一泻而出的句子和灵魂全部病态的映像;我爱亚马逊河和奥里诺科河这样的大河,那儿摩拉瓦基乃之流的狂人在一只无顶的小船上漂过了梦和古老的传说,淹死在瞎眼的河口中;我爱流动的一切,甚至爱女人来月经时流出的血,它冲走了生育能力不强的精子;我爱会流动的手稿,不论它们是用象形文字写的、深奥的、反常的、多形体的或是单边音的;我爱流动的一切,一切其中有时间的和适当的东西,它们把我们带回永远不会结束的开始中,即先知们激烈、令人狂喜的猥亵,宗教狂的智慧,牧师和他的橡皮连祷文,妓女的下流话,从排水道里漂走的唾液,乳房里的奶汁和子宫里流出的带苦味的蜜水,以及一切流质的、溶化的、放荡的和有溶解力的,所有在流动中得到静化的脓和脏物,那些失去其出身意识的东西和那些将大循环驱向死亡和瓦解的东西。这个伟大的乱伦愿望与时间一起向前流动,将来世的伟大概念同此地此刻融汇起来,这是一个空幻、自杀的愿望,它被言词阻挡,被思想麻痹。

I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with its painful gallstones, its gravel and what‑not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul; I love the great rivers like the Amazon and the Orinoco, where crazy men like Moravagine float on through dream and legend in an open boat and drown in the blind mouths of the river. I love everything that flows, even the menstrual flow that carries away the seed unfecund. I love scripts that flow, be they hieratic, esoteric, perverse, polymorph, or unilateral. I love everything that flows, everything that has time in it and becoming, that brings us back to the beginning where there is never end: the violence of the prophets, the obscenity that is ecstasy, the wisdom of the fanatic, the priest with his rubber litany, the foul words of the whore, the spittle that floats away in the gutter, the milk of the breast and the bitter honey that pours from the womb, all that is fluid, melting, dissolute and dissolvent, all the pus and dirt that in flowing is purified, that loses its sense of origin, that makes the great circuit toward death and dissolution. The great incestuous wish is to flow on, one with time, to merge the great image of the beyond with the here and now. A fatuous, suicidal wish that is constipated by words and paralyzed by thought.

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