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做个心灵写手

(2006-12-11 23:43:08)
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杂谈

分类: 工作室
    初识Mr. Dillhunt 是在院里的专业课上,上课迟到了,进门却撞见一个190的大个子老外,不免心生疑虑, 差点退出教室看有没有走错;然后才得知是访问学者给我们上英文写作课。

一直固执的以为外教的课总是过低的估计了中国学生的语言技能水平,从来只是鼓吹三段式的论文写作,然后走进了Cliff的写作生活,那些灵动文字一瞥,都让人久久回味。让徘徊在生活困顿的我们,心头绽放了一丝暖意,毕竟,笔尖流露的才是最真的情感,用细腻的文字记录人生,一种莫大的幸福。

从经历看,原本算是个工科出身的教授,怎么会转而成为闻名文学界的诗人呢,这其中的跨度未免有些大了,问到为什么转而写诗,他说:

“I write to find out where I fit in, where the words fit in. I write to hear my poems think, to hear their answers, their questions. It is a form of travel. I want to see where I go, where I came back from- wondering if I’ll come back. I write to find a voice I’ve never heard before, to hear the familiar voice, to listen. I write for the thrill of it, for the fear of it. I write to hold each day down, to let each day go. I write as a form of thanksgiving, a way of being here.”

Cliff 的生活是充满变数的,从宗教教育,儿童文学到计算机编程;从教师,学者,到诗人;从美洲,欧洲,到亚洲;从科研,教学,旅行,到冒险——多面的人生,赋予了他灵动的思想源泉,深厚的文字功底,传递了笔者深邃的思想,点点滴滴,平平淡淡的每一天,却因此而绽放着光彩。

                                           Words I’ll Miss

                                         Friend Spring New

Now
        Later
                  Soon
Day
        Moon
                  Noon
Wind
        Flower
                  Song
Mother
        Sister
                  Strong
Water
        Daughter
                  Son
Apple
        Dapple
                  Fun
Father
        Tree
                   Tall
Brother
         Winter
                   Fall
Summer
          Lover
                   You
      看看这些奇妙的词语吧?横向,纵向,能带来什么样的启迪呢?
      找把舒适的椅子,一杯espresso,窗外蒙蒙细雨,阴天,当目光划过这些文字的时候,你也有心灵触动的一瞬么?
 What I Think is Good
 
I think it is good
to hold books
to rise early
 
to tell jokes
to count lies
to tell the truth
 
to make believe
to make believe you are making believe
to not know what is good
 
to tell stories about what is good
to walk backwards on Wednesdays
to say only Tuesdays count
 
to hate weekends
to write in books
to want to live forever
 
to joke about the dead
to be dead
to be alive
 
to write poems without books
to write poems without words
to record everything except words
 
to make up new words
to become an old word
to go to bed early
 
to believe there are eight days in a week
to look for the ninth
to eat while sleeping
 
to live while dying
to write once head
to hold another as you would hold a book
 
to be a book
to count books
to play with books
 
to build houses with old& new books
to light the sun each morning
to make believe you never sleep
 
to wish for death
to wish for life
to hold unwritten books

2004年,继第一本诗歌集 Double Six1994)Cliff的第二本诗歌集 Girl Saints问世。这是一部凝结一个大家庭温馨的合作成果,弟弟 Jack 亲手绘制了精美的封面,其他家庭成员pat, Drew也参与了册子的设计和编写,扉页上还清楚地注明 For Kathy ,献给妻子,册子里还记录了年迈的父亲的疑问趣事。一本洋溢着家庭温馨的册子,会给读者带来多大的触动呢?

A Story About My Father

…………..

I remember this spring asking him how he remembered such poetry. Did he see whole pages at once? Full lines? Or verses? When he hesitated, I tried again, wondering aloud if he thought it was at all like it is with his music.

 Stopping, staring at me as if reading something there, he said: “No, no, it’s not that way. Remembering music is easy- it’s the notes, I see the notes. With poetry, I don’t see anything, I listen. I hear words. One leads to the next.” 

And I remember, now, how he started repeating a poem for me, right then, word for word, loudly (as if the room were full), going back and forth until he got it right and said quietly to himself as he finished: “There, there it is.” 

正如文中所言,诗歌是一种生活方式,诗歌的只字片语岂是你所写,其实是那些文字谱写你的故事,你的思想,你的灵魂。当你想方设法想去创作的时候,他们往往都溜走了,不要狠狠的挖掘,好的文采,是自然而然的流露。

想想用文字记录一下生活的细节吧~每到一处,每听到一丝,即使在采访中,吃饭时,课堂上,闲聊间,Cliff都会拿出随身的笔记本,话语就自觉的跑出来,印在白纸上,欣然的跳跃着,闪烁着活力。

Cliff鼓励我们说,试着总是很开心的去写一些东西不吧,不要停止你的忙碌的笔翼,因为他们载着希望和幸福。

Morning with Cardinal

 She asks me if I write everyday. I lie.

I mean I mean to. I mean I try to. I mean I want to. I mean I do but maybe not the way you’d think. I must push myself. Every day. I mean to. I push. This writing. I do it inside myself. And there’s the time it takes to get the pen inside. Inside yourself.

 Don’t you see? Look.

 The graffiti, a haiku here and there, prose pieces, broken, some lyric lines, nothing quite finished, sometimes a perfect rhyme sometimes not. I’m scribbling, counting, trying to get it all down, to cover everything. My bones, lives, lungs, you know, inside my veins even. Writing. And asking always, is this writing? Maybe it’s just me, but I feel I’ve already written at least once on every available spot inside my body. My head, my brains, my ears, my heart, arms, legs, neck,. It’s where I am. Oh, my toes, my nose, ah, hair and nails, so well written, how I hate to see you go. This writing. Gatherer of my soul. My unwritten, my unwriteable soul.

 Writing. I meant to.

Female cardinal
Not red at all calling with
Orange beak- morning

 

(注:Cardinal 一种北美红雀,雄鸟红羽风头,喙为橙色;雌鸟为素白;经常一对雌雄结伴出现,以“情鸟”著称)

Cliff最后给我们每人发了一张明信片,一位诗人的肖像,生平,故事陪伴我们去捕捉灵感的迸发,在我们自己的写作之路上走得更稳一些,更远一些,更快乐一些,更坚定一些。那么,你呢?也给心里的故事写一张明信片,让属于自己的文字娓娓动听吧~!

最后与大家分享寞莫非常喜欢的一篇散文诗:

The Window Washer of Prague
 
    am the window washer of Prague. I am not picky about age or height or style. The builders, owners and occupants are of no interest to me. I don’t care about location, color or size. Architects, designers?Romanesque? Gothic? Baroque? The only history I know is now. I prefer cubist, tire of art nouveau, and wonder about Americans who think everything is art deco. Deco schmeco. Why even have this discussion? I do my work between the walls. When I am good, no one notices.
 
      I am the glass man, the watch-him-up-so-high man., the isn’t-he-afraid-he’ll-fall-man. No one knows my name, but the buildings know my hands, my elbows, my feet. I prefer to think of myself as a building hugger, a dirt mugger, a wall crawler, a rope dope, a pail and rail sort of guy. I only have one goal. I desire each building. I covet their shapes,. Being next to a building is my life. I am the mortar of sunshine splashed on your favorite building. Let me be high. Let me be low. I enjoy cleaning from the sidewalk as much as from the top.
      Overhanging it all.
 
      Yes, I think about my work. Going down, going up. I think about what I have done, what I will do. I talk to my windows. Mostly, I thank them. They have given me a reason to live. I would be just as happy to go from window to window, floor to floor doing something else. Don’t you see? T’s the seeing of both sides. And it’s the weather. How I long to be the weather blowing, falling, pouring, whining, slapping, clapping, sliding, slipping, slopping along the rooftops, walls, over and around my window, under doors, going into crevices. Cracks I’ll never see, never touch. I am the window washer. I am the toucher of buildings, the comforter of the city walls, the singer to her glass, the shiner of sunshine. Iam the glass man, the sleight of hand man. I am the hang man, the up man , the down man, the city man, the Prague man.
 
      I am the no-style man, though you may call me either fin de siecle or secession. You will not recognize me on the street, I will not recognize you, I do not recognize me either. I never look at my work when I am done. When I am not on the building, crawling the building, holding the building, I am not. If you want to talk to me, talk to Prague. If you want to hold me, hold my city. If you love me as I love you, you too are the window washer. I am the glass man, the all-hands man, the wish-i-were-a-building man. The window washer of Prague.
                                                       
                                                                                 CX Dillhunt

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