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Tag Archives: Federico Garcia Lorca

《公众》| THE PUBLIC

27 Tuesday Jan 2026

Posted by babylon crashing in Chinese, drama, Translation

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Chinese translation, 费德里科·加西亚·洛尔迦, Federico Garcia Lorca, The Public, 公众

费德里科·加西亚·洛尔迦 | Federico Garcia Lorca

Translation by ZJC (2026)

The Director / Enrique舞台导演 / 恩里克

Man 1 / Gonzalo男 1 / 冈萨罗

Man 2男 2

Man 3男 3

Servant仆人

White Horse 1白马 1

White Horse 2白马 2

White Horse 3白马 3

White Horse 4白马 4

Black Horse黑马

Director-Harlequin哈莱奎因导演

Woman in Pajamas穿睡衣的女人

Elena艾琳娜

Figure in Bells铃铛人

Figure in Vine Leaves藤叶人

The Child孩子

The Emperor皇帝

The Centurion百夫长

Juliet朱丽叶

The Harlequin Costume哈莱奎因戏服

The Ballerina Costume芭蕾舞裙戏服

The Foolish Shepherd痴愚的小牧人

The Red Nude红色裸人

The Nurse护士

Student 1, 2, 3, 4, 5学生 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Lady 1, 2, 3, 4女士 1, 2, 3, 4

The Boy男孩

Thief 1, 2小偷 1, 2

The Prompter提示员

The Prestidigitator (Magician)魔术师

The Lady (Mother of Gonzalo)女士(冈萨罗之母)

沙幕下的剧院 | The Theater Beneath the Sand

费德里科·加西亚·洛尔卡于 1930 年创作的 《公众》(El Público)不仅是一部剧作,它更是“沙幕下的剧院”这一革命性理念的宣言。传统的“露天剧院”满足于面具、社会习俗和安逸的谎言,而洛尔卡的愿景则要求对人类灵魂进行挖掘。

在这个双语版本中,我们航行于一个梦境之中,在这里,身份是流动的,演员与角色之间的界限业已消融。洛尔卡挑战观众去窥视屏风背后的真相——去见证那“坟墓的真相”。在那里,爱不再是一场磨光了的性别表演,而是一种原始的、不断流变的生命力。

Federico García Lorca’s The Public (El Público), written in 1930, is not merely a play; it is a manifesto for a revolutionary “Theater Beneath the Sand.” While the traditional “Theater of the Open Air” contents itself with masks, social conventions, and comfortable lies, Lorca’s vision demands an excavation of the human soul.

In this bilingual edition, we navigate a dreamscape where identity is fluid and the boundary between the actor and the role dissolves. Lorca challenges the audience to look behind the screen—to witness the “Truth of the Tombs” where love is not a polished performance of gender, but a raw, shifting force.

ACT 1 | 第一幕
[导演坐着。穿着晨礼服。蓝色布景。墙上印着一只巨大的手。窗户是X光片。] [The DIRECTOR is seated. He wears a morning coat. Blue setting. A large hand is printed on the wall. The windows are X-ray films.]

男仆: 先生。 SERVANT: Sir.

导演: 什么事? DIRECTOR: What is it?

男仆: 公众到了。 SERVANT: The public has arrived.

导演: 让他们进来。 DIRECTOR: Let them in.

[(四匹白马走进来。)] [(Four white horses enter.)]

导演: 你们想要什么?[(马群吹响号角。)] 如果我是个会叹气的人,事情就会是这样。我的剧院将永远是露天的!但我赔光了所有家产。否则,我会毒化这露天的空气。我只需要一支能刮掉伤口血痂的注射器。滚出去!从我家里滚出去,马群!和马睡觉的床早就发明出来了。[(哭泣。)] 我的小马。 DIRECTOR: What do you want? [(The horses sound their horns.)] If I were a man who sighed, this is how things would be. My theater will always be outdoors! But I’ve lost my entire fortune. Otherwise, I would poison this open air. I only need a syringe capable of scraping the scabs from a wound. Get out! Get out of my house, horses! The bed for sleeping with horses has already been invented. [(Weeping.)] My little horses.

马群: [(哭泣。)] 为了三百比塞塔。为了两百比塞塔,为了一碗汤,为了一个空香水瓶。为了你的唾液,为了你剪下的指甲。 HORSES: [(Weeping.)] For three hundred pesetas. For two hundred pesetas, for a bowl of soup, for an empty perfume bottle. For your saliva, for your fingernail parings.

导演: 出去,出去,出去![(按响铃铛。)] DIRECTOR: Out, out, out! [(He rings a bell.)]

马群: 为了虚无!曾经,你的双脚发臭,而我们才三岁。我们在厕所里等,在门后等,然后我们的泪水浸湿了你的床。[(男仆进来。)] HORSES: For nothing! Once, your feet stank, and we were only three years old. We waited in the toilets, we waited behind doors, and then our tears soaked your bed. [(The SERVANT enters.)]

导演: 给我皮鞭! DIRECTOR: Give me the whip!

马群: 你的鞋子里全是汗水,但我们懂得,月亮与草丛中腐烂的苹果有着同样的联系。 HORSES: Your shoes are full of sweat, but we understand that the moon has the same connection to a rotting apple in the grass.

导演: [(对男仆。)] 把门打开! DIRECTOR: [(To the Servant.)] Open the door!

马群: 不,不,不。太可恶了!你浑身长毛,还偷吃不属于你的墙皮石灰。 HORSES: No, no, no. How loathsome! You are covered in hair, and you steal the plaster from walls that doesn’t belong to you.

男仆: 我不开门。我不想走进剧场里去。 SERVANT: I won’t open the door. I don’t want to walk into the theater.

导演:[(打他。)] 给我打开! DIRECTOR: [(Striking him.)] Open it!

[(马群掏出长长的金色号角,伴随着它们的歌声节奏缓慢起舞。)] [(The horses pull out long golden horns and dance with a slow rhythm to the sound of their singing.)]

马 1 和 2:[(愤怒地。)] 太可恶了。 HORSES 1 & 2: [(Furious.)] How loathsome.

马 3 和 4: 布莱那米波亚 [1] HORSES 3 & 4: Blenamiboya. [1]

马 1 和 2:[(愤怒地。)] 太可恶了。 HORSES 1 & 2: [(Furious.)] How loathsome.

马群: 布莱那米波亚。 HORSES: Blenamiboya.

[(男仆打开了门。)] [(The SERVANT opens the door.)]

导演: 露天剧院!滚出去!快走!露天剧院。从这儿滚出去![(马群退出。对男仆:)] 继续。[(他坐到桌子后面。)] DIRECTOR: Open-air theater! Get out! Go! Open-air theater. Get out of here! [(The horses exit. To the Servant:)] Continue. [(He sits behind the desk.)]

男仆: 先生。 SERVANT: Sir.

男仆: 公众到了! SERVANT: The public has arrived!

导演: 让他们进来。 DIRECTOR: Let them in.

[(导演将他的金色假发换成了一顶深色的。三个男人走进来,穿着同样的晨礼服,长得一模一样。他们都留着黑胡须。)] [(The DIRECTOR exchanges his golden wig for a dark one. Three men enter, wearing identical morning coats, looking exactly alike. All three have black beards.)]

男 1: 您就是“露天剧院”的导演吗? MAN 1: Are you the director of the “Open-air Theater”?

导演: 愿为您效劳。 DIRECTOR: At your service.

男 1: 我们是来祝贺您的新作的。 MAN 1: We have come to congratulate you on your new work.

导演: 谢谢。 DIRECTOR: Thank you.

男 3: 极具原创性。 MAN 3: Deeply original.

男 1: 还有那个美丽的书名!《罗密欧与朱丽叶》。 MAN 1: And that beautiful title! “Romeo and Juliet.”

导演: 一个男人和一个女人的相爱。 DIRECTOR: The love of a man and a woman.

男 1: 罗密欧可以是一只鸟,朱丽叶可以是一块石头。罗密欧可以是一粒盐,朱丽叶可以是一张地图。 MAN 1: Romeo can be a bird and Juliet can be a stone. Romeo can be a grain of salt and Juliet can be a map.

导演: 但他们永远不会停止作为罗密欧与朱丽叶。 DIRECTOR: But they will never cease to be Romeo and Juliet.

男 1: 而且在相爱。您相信他们是在相爱吗? MAN 1: And in love. Do you believe they are in love?

导演: 我亲爱的朋友……我又不在他们身体里…… DIRECTOR: My dear friend… I am not inside their bodies…

男 1: 够了!够了!你在自投罗网。 MAN 1: Enough! Enough! You are falling into your own trap.

男 2:[(对男 1:)] 慎重行事。这是你的错。你为什么要来剧院门口?你可以呼唤森林,它也许会轻而易举地让你的耳朵听见树液流动的声音。但这可是剧院! MAN 2: [(To Man 1:)] Proceed with caution. This is your fault. Why did you come to the theater door? You could have called the forest, and it might have easily let your ears hear the sound of the sap flowing. But this is the theater!

男 1: 人们必须敲响的就是剧院的门;是在剧院,为了…… MAN 1: The door of the theater is precisely the one that must be knocked upon; it is in the theater, for the sake of…

男 3: 为了让坟墓的真相大白。 MAN 3: For the truth of the tombs to be revealed.

男 2: 带着煤气灯、广告和长排座位的坟墓。 MAN 2: Tombs with gaslights, advertisements, and long rows of seats.

导演: 先生们…… DIRECTOR: Gentlemen…

男 1: 是的,是的。“露天剧院”的导演,《罗密欧与朱丽叶》的作者。 MAN 1: Yes, yes. The Director of the “Open-air Theater,” the author of “Romeo and Juliet.”

男 2: 导演先生,罗密欧是怎么撒尿的?看到罗密欧撒尿难道不美吗?为了陷入那场受难的喜剧,他多少次假装从塔楼上跳下去,只为了被人接住?导演先生,当什么都没发生的时候,到底在发生着什么?还有那座坟墓呢?为什么到最后,你没有走下坟墓的台阶?你本可以看见一个天使带走了罗密欧的性别,却留下了另一个——他自己的,那个本就属于他的性别。如果我告诉你,这一切的主角其实是一朵有毒的花,你会怎么想?回答我。 MAN 2: Mr. Director, how does Romeo urinate? Wouldn’t it be beautiful to see Romeo urinating? How many times, to fall into that comedy of suffering, did he pretend to jump from the tower only to be caught? Mr. Director, when nothing is happening, what exactly is happening? And what about the tomb? Why, in the end, did you not go down the steps of the tomb? You could have seen an angel take away Romeo’s sex, only to leave another—his own, the sex that truly belonged to him. What would you think if I told you the protagonist of all this was actually a poisonous flower? Answer me.

导演: 先生们,那不是问题所在。 DIRECTOR: Gentlemen, that is not the issue.

男 1:[(打断:)] 没有别的问题了。因为大家的懦弱,我们不得不埋葬这座剧院,而我也不得不对自己开枪。 MAN 1: [(Interrupting:)] There is no other issue. Because of everyone’s cowardice, we have to bury this theater, and I am forced to shoot myself.

男 2: 冈萨罗! [2] MAN 2: Gonzalo! [2]

男 1(缓慢地): 我必须对自己开枪,以此来开启真正的剧院:沙幕下的剧院。 MAN 1: (Slowly): I must shoot myself to inaugurate the true theater: the theater beneath the sand.

导演: 冈萨罗…… DIRECTOR: Gonzalo…

男 1: 什么?……[(沉默。)] MAN 1: What?… [(Silence.)]

导演(反应过来): 但我做不到。一切都会崩塌。那就像是刺瞎我孩子们的双眼,到那时,我该拿公众怎么办?如果我拆掉了大桥的扶手,我该拿公众怎么办?面具会反过来吞噬我。我曾见过一个人被面具吞噬。城里最强壮的青年举着带血的长矛,把一团团废旧报纸塞进他的屁股;在美国,曾有一个少年被面具吊死,就挂在他自己的肠子上。 DIRECTOR: (Recovering): But I cannot do it. Everything would collapse. It would be like blinding my own children; in that case, what would I do with the public? If I tore down the handrails of the bridge, what would I do with the public? The masks would turn and devour me. I once saw a man devoured by the masks. The strongest youth in the city, holding bloodied spears, stuffed wads of old newspaper into his behind; in America, a boy was hanged by the mask, suspended by his own intestines.

男 1: 壮丽! MAN 1: Magnificent!

男 2: 你为什么不在剧院里说这些? MAN 2: Why don’t you say these things in the theater?

男 3: 这是剧情的开端吗? MAN 3: Is this the beginning of the plot?

导演: 无论如何,这是一个结局。 DIRECTOR: Regardless, it is an ending.

男 3: 一个由恐惧造成的结局。 MAN 3: An ending caused by fear.

导演: 这很清楚,先生。您不会以为我有能力把面具带上舞台吧。 DIRECTOR: That is clear, sir. You surely don’t think I am capable of bringing the mask onto the stage.

男 1: 为什么不呢? MAN 1: Why not?

导演: 那道德呢?观众的胃口呢? DIRECTOR: And morality? The appetite of the audience?

男 1: 有些人看到章鱼被翻转过来会呕吐,有些人听到带着某种意图说出“癌症”这个词会脸色苍白;但你知道,对抗这些,我们有锡箔、石膏、迷人的云母,最后还有纸板——这些都是任何财力都能负担得起的表达手段。[(他站起身。)] 但你想要的只是欺骗我们。欺骗我们,好让一切保持原样,让我们永远无法拯救死者。我准备好的四千瓶橙汁里掉进了苍蝇,这都要怪你。我必须再次开始铲除根基。 MAN 1: Some people vomit when they see an octopus turned inside out; some turn pale when they hear the word “cancer” spoken with a certain intent. But you know that to fight these things, we have tin foil, plaster, charming mica, and finally cardboard—means of expression affordable to any budget. [(He stands up.)] But all you wanted was to deceive us. To deceive us so that everything stays the same, so that we can never save the dead. Flies have fallen into the four thousand bottles of orange juice I prepared, and it’s all your fault. I must begin to uproot the foundations once again.

导演(站着): 我不想争论,先生。但你到底想从我这里得到什么?你是带了新剧本吗? DIRECTOR: (Standing): I don’t want to argue, sir. But what exactly do you want from me? Have you brought a new script?

男 1: 还有什么戏能比留着胡须的我们……和你,更像新戏呢? MAN 1: What play could be newer than us with our beards… and you?

导演: 和我……? DIRECTOR: And me…?

男 1: 是的……你。 MAN 1: Yes… you.

男 2: 冈萨罗! MAN 2: Gonzalo!

男 1(看着导演): 我还能认出他,我仿佛看见那个早晨,他把一只跑得飞快的野兔锁进一个书包里。还有一次,在他第一次发现中分发型的那天,他在耳朵里插了两朵玫瑰。而你,你认得我吗? MAN 1: (Looking at the Director): I can still recognize him; I seem to see that morning when he locked a fast-running hare into a small satchel. And another time, on the day he first discovered a center part in his hair, he stuck two roses in his ears. And you, do you recognize me?

导演: 这不是剧情。看在上帝的份上![(大喊。)] 艾琳娜,艾琳娜![(他跑向门口。)] DIRECTOR: This is not the plot. For God’s sake! [(Screaming.)] Elena, Elena! [(He runs toward the door.)]

男 1: 但我必须把你带上舞台,不管你愿不愿意。你让我受了太多的苦。快!屏风!屏风![(男 3 搬出一扇屏风,放在舞台中央。)] MAN 1: But I must bring you onto the stage, whether you like it or not. You have made me suffer too much. Quick! The screen! The screen! [(MAN 3 brings out a screen and places it in the center of the stage.)]

导演(哭泣): 公众会看见我的。我的剧院会倒塌。我创作了本季最好的戏剧,可现在!…… DIRECTOR: (Weeping): The public will see me. My theater will collapse. I created the best play of the season, and now!…

[(马群的号角声响起。男 1 走到后方打开门。)] [(The horses’ horns sound. MAN 1 goes to the back and opens the door.)]

男 1: 进来吧,和我们在一起。这出戏里有你们的位置。所有人。[(对导演:)] 而你,走到屏风后面去。 MAN 1: Come in, be with us. There is a place for you in this play. Everyone. [(To the Director:)] And you, go behind the screen.

[(男 2 和男 3 推着导演。他走过屏风,从另一边出来时变成了一个穿着白色缎面衣服、脖子上戴着白色拉夫领的少年。这个角色必须由女演员扮演。他背着一把黑色的小吉他。)] [(MAN 2 and MAN 3 push the Director. He walks behind the screen and emerges from the other side transformed into a youth dressed in white satin with a white ruff around his neck. This role must be played by an actress. He carries a small black guitar on his back.)]

男 1: 恩里克(Enrique)!恩里克![(他用手捂住脸。)] MAN 1: Enrique! Enrique! [(He covers his face with his hands.)]

男 2: 别让我穿过屏风。让我清静会儿。冈萨罗! MAN 2: Don’t make me go behind the screen. Leave me in peace. Gonzalo!

导演(冷冷地,拨动吉他弦): 冈萨罗,我得朝你身上狠狠地吐唾沫。我想朝你吐唾沫,用小剪刀剪碎你的晨礼服。给我丝线和针。我想绣花。我不喜欢纹身,但我喜欢用丝线绣花。 DIRECTOR: (Coldly, plucking the guitar strings): Gonzalo, I must spit on you with all my might. I want to spit on you and shred your morning coat with small scissors. Give me silk thread and a needle. I want to embroider. I don’t like tattoos, but I like embroidering with silk thread.

男 3(对马群): 随便坐吧。 MAN 3: (To the horses): Sit anywhere.

男 1(哭泣): 恩里克!恩里克! MAN 1: (Weeping): Enrique! Enrique!

导演: 我要在你的肉体上绣花,我喜欢看你睡在屋顶上。你兜里有多少钱?烧了它![(男 1 划着火柴,烧掉了钞票。)] 我永远看不清那些图案是如何在火焰中消失的。你没钱了吗?你真穷,冈萨罗!我的口红呢?你没有胭脂吗?真讨厌。 DIRECTOR: I want to embroider upon your flesh; I love watching you sleep on rooftops. How much money do you have in your pocket? Burn it! [(MAN 1 strikes a match and burns the bills.)] I can never see clearly how the patterns disappear into the flames. Are you out of money? You are so poor, Gonzalo! Where is my lipstick? You have no rouge? How annoying.

男 2(怯生生地): 我有一点。[(他从胡须下掏出口红递过去。)] MAN 2: (Timidly): I have a little. [(He reaches under his beard, pulls out a lipstick, and hands it over.)]

导演: 谢谢……但是……但是你也在吗?去屏风那儿!你也去屏风那儿。你还忍得下去吗,冈萨罗? DIRECTOR: Thank you… but… are you here too? To the screen! You go to the screen too. Can you still endure this, Gonzalo?

[(导演粗暴地推搡男 2,屏风另一边出现了一个穿着黑色睡裤、头戴罂粟花冠的女人。她拿着一把粘着金色胡须的长柄眼镜,她会在戏里的某些时刻把胡须贴在唇上使用。)] [(The DIRECTOR roughly shoves MAN 2; on the other side of the screen appears a woman dressed in black pajamas, crowned with poppies. She holds a lorgnette with a golden beard attached, which she places to her lips at certain moments in the play.)]

男 2(干巴巴地): 把口红给我。 MAN 2: (Dryly): Give me the lipstick.

导演: 哈哈哈哈!噢,马克西米莉安娜,巴伐利亚女皇!噢,恶毒的女人! DIRECTOR: Hahahaha! Oh, Maximiliana, Empress of Bavaria! Oh, malicious woman!

男 2(把胡须贴在唇上): 我建议你保持安静。 MAN 2: (Placing the beard to her lips): I suggest you keep quiet.

导演: 噢,恶毒的女人!艾琳娜!艾琳娜! DIRECTOR: Oh, malicious woman! Elena! Elena!

男 1(大声地): 别叫艾琳娜。 MAN 1: (Loudly): Don’t call Elena.

导演: 为什么不?当我的剧院还是露天的时候,她是那么爱我。艾琳娜! DIRECTOR: Why not? When my theater was still outdoors, she loved me so much. Elena!

[(艾琳娜从左侧上场。她穿着希腊服装。蓝色的眉毛,白发,石膏做的脚。她的衣服正面完全敞开,露出穿着粉色紧身网袜的大腿。男 2 把胡须贴在唇边。)] [(ELENA enters from the left. She is dressed in Greek costume. Blue eyebrows, white hair, plaster feet. Her garment is completely open at the front, revealing thighs clad in pink fishnet stockings. MAN 2 holds the beard to her lips.)]

艾琳娜: 又来这套? ELENA: This again?

导演: 又来了。 DIRECTOR: Again.

男 3: 你为什么出来,艾琳娜?如果你不打算爱我,你为什么要出来? MAN 3: Why have you come out, Elena? If you have no intention of loving me, why did you come out?

艾琳娜: 谁告诉你的?可你为什么这么爱我?如果你惩罚我,跟别的女人走,我会亲吻你的脚。但你太崇拜我了,而且只崇拜我一个。这一切必须有个了断。 ELENA: Who told you that? But why do you love me so much? If you punished me, if you went off with another woman, I would kiss your feet. But you adore me too much, and only me. All this must come to an end.

导演(对男 3): 那我呢?你不记得我了吗?你不记得我被拔掉的指甲吗?我怎么可能认识别人而不认识你?我为什么要叫你,艾琳娜?我为什么要叫你,我的折磨? DIRECTOR: (To Man 3): And what about me? Don’t you remember me? Don’t you remember my torn-out fingernails? How could I possibly know anyone else and not know you? Why should I call you Elena? Why should I call you my torment?

艾琳娜(对男 3): 跟他走吧!现在向我坦白你瞒着我的真相。我不在乎你是不是喝醉了想找借口,但你吻了他,你们睡在同一张床上。 ELENA: (To Man 3): Go with him! Now confess to me the truth you’ve been hiding. I don’t care if you’re drunk and looking for excuses, but you kissed him, and you slept in the same bed.

男 3: 艾琳娜![(他迅速走过屏风,出来时没有胡须,脸色惨白,手里拿着鞭子。他戴着镶有金钉的皮护腕。)] MAN 3: Elena! [(He quickly walks behind the screen and emerges without a beard, pale-faced, holding a whip. He wears leather wristbands studded with gold.)]

男 3(鞭打导演): 你总是在说,你总是在撒谎,我必须毫不留情地结果了你。 MAN 3: (Whipping the Director): You are always talking, you are always lying; I must finish you off without mercy.

马群: 怜悯!怜悯! HORSES: Mercy! Mercy!

艾琳娜: 你可以继续打上一个世纪,我也不会相信你。[(男 3 走向艾琳娜,捏住她的手腕。)] 你可以继续捏着我的手指打上一个世纪,也别想让我发出一声呻吟。 ELENA: You could keep striking for a century, and I still wouldn’t believe you. [(MAN 3 walks toward Elena and squeezes her wrist.)] You can keep squeezing my fingers for a century, and you won’t get a single groan out of me.

男 3: 我们走着瞧,看谁更强! MAN 3: We shall see who is stronger!

艾琳娜: 是我,永远是我。 ELENA: It is I, always I.

[(男仆出现。)] [(The SERVANT appears.)]

艾琳娜: 快带我离开这儿!带上我!带走我![(男仆走过屏风,以同样的方式——他的“真实”自我——出来。)] 带走我!去远方![(男仆把她抱在怀里。)] ELENA: Quick, take me away from here! Take me! Carry me away! [(The SERVANT walks behind the screen and emerges in the same way—as his “true” self.)] Take me away! Somewhere far! [(The SERVANT takes her in his arms.)]

导演: 我们可以开始了。 DIRECTOR: We can begin.

男 1: 随时奉陪。 MAN 1: At your service.

马群: 怜悯!怜悯! HORSES: Mercy! Mercy!

[(马群吹响长长的号角。角色们僵在原地。)] [(The horses sound their long horns. The characters freeze in place.)]

)(*)(

ACT 2 | 第二幕
[幕布缓缓升起。第二场。罗马废墟。一个全身覆盖着红藤叶的人坐在一个柱头上吹着笛子。另一个全身覆盖着金色铃铛的人在舞台中央跳舞。] [The curtain rises slowly. Scene Two. Roman Ruins. A man completely covered in red vine leaves sits on a capital playing a flute. Another man, completely covered in golden bells, dances in the center of the stage.]

铃铛人: 如果我变成一朵云? FIGURE IN BELLS: What if I turned into a cloud?

藤叶人: 我就变成一只眼睛。 FIGURE IN VINES: Then I would turn into an eye.

铃铛人: 如果我变成排泄物? FIGURE IN BELLS: What if I turned into excrement?

藤叶人: 我就变成一只苍蝇。 FIGURE IN VINES: Then I would turn into a fly.

铃铛人: 如果我变成一个苹果? FIGURE IN BELLS: What if I turned into an apple?

藤叶人: 我就变成一个吻。 FIGURE IN VINES: Then I would turn into a kiss.

铃铛人: 如果我变成乳房? FIGURE IN BELLS: What if I turned into a breast?

藤叶人: 我就变成一张白床单。 FIGURE IN VINES: Then I would turn into a white sheet.

画外音(讽刺地): 好极了! VOICE OFFSTAGE (Ironically): Magnificent!

铃铛人: 如果我变成一条翻车鱼? FIGURE IN BELLS: What if I turned into a moonfish?

藤叶人: 我就变成一把刀。 FIGURE IN VINES: Then I would turn into a knife.

铃铛人(停止跳舞): 但为什么?你为什么要折磨我?如果你爱我,无论我带你去哪儿,你为什么不跟我走?如果我变成翻车鱼,你会变成海浪,或者海藻——如果你因为不想吻我而想去很远的地方,你会变成满月——但你却要变成一把刀!你以打断我的舞蹈为乐。而跳舞是我爱你的唯一方式。 FIGURE IN BELLS (Stopping his dance): But why? Why must you torture me? If you love me, why won’t you follow me wherever I take you? If I turn into a moonfish, you should turn into a wave, or seaweed—or if you wanted to go far away because you didn’t want to kiss me, you would turn into the full moon—but instead, you turn into a knife! You take pleasure in interrupting my dance. And dancing is the only way I know how to love you.

藤叶人: 当你在床边和屋里的物件周围徘徊时,我跟着你;但当你想满腹诡计地把我引向某些地方时,我不跟。如果你变成翻车鱼,我会用刀把你切开,因为我是个男人,因为我别无他求:一个男人,比亚当更像男人的男人,我希望你比我更像男人。像到当你走过时,枝头不会发出一点声响。但你不是个男人。如果我没有这支笛子,你会逃到月亮上去——那个盖满蕾丝手帕、沾满女人鲜血的月亮。 FIGURE IN VINES: I follow you when you wander around the bed and the objects in the room; but I will not follow when you try to lead me to certain places with your tricks. If you turn into a moonfish, I will cut you open with a knife, because I am a man, and because I desire nothing else: a man, more of a man than Adam, and I want you to be more of a man than I am. So much so that when you pass by, not a single branch makes a sound. But you are not a man. If I didn’t have this flute, you would escape to the moon—that moon covered in lace handkerchiefs and stained with the blood of women.

铃铛人(怯生生地): 如果我变成一只蚂蚁? FIGURE IN BELLS (Timidly): What if I turned into an ant?

藤叶人(有力地): 我就变成大地。 FIGURE IN VINES (Forcefully): Then I would turn into the earth.

铃铛人(更强硬地): 那如果我变成大地? FIGURE IN BELLS (Harder): And what if I turned into the earth?

藤叶人(变弱了): 我就变成水。 FIGURE IN VINES (Weakening): Then I would turn into water.

铃铛人(响亮地): 那如果我变成水? FIGURE IN BELLS (Loudly): And what if I turned into water?

藤叶人(虚弱地): 我就变成一条翻车鱼。 FIGURE IN VINES (Faintly): Then I would turn into a moonfish.

铃铛人(颤抖着): 那如果我变成翻车鱼? FIGURE IN BELLS (Trembling): And what if I turned into a moonfish?

藤叶人(站起身): 我就变成一把刀。一把磨了四个漫长春天的刀。 FIGURE IN VINES (Standing up): Then I would turn into a knife. A knife sharpened over four long springs.

铃铛人: 带我去浴室,把我淹死。那是你能看到我赤裸全身的唯一方式。你以为我怕血吗?我知道怎么征服你。你以为我不了解你?我要征服你到这种程度:如果我问“如果我变成翻车鱼?”,你会回答我“我会变成一袋微小的鱼卵”。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Take me to the bath and drown me. That is the only way you will ever see me completely naked. Do you think I fear blood? I know how to conquer you. You think I don’t understand you? I will conquer you to such an extent that if I ask, “What if I turned into a moonfish?”, you will answer me, “I would turn into a sack of tiny fish eggs.”

藤叶人: 拿把斧子砍断我的腿。让废墟里的昆虫来来往往。因为我鄙视你。我希望你沉入最深处。我唾弃你。 FIGURE IN VINES: Take an axe and chop off my legs. Let the insects of the ruins come and go. Because I despise you. I want you to sink to the deepest depths. I spit on you.

铃铛人: 这就是你想要的吗?再见。我很冷静。如果我走下废墟,我会继续寻找爱,越来越多的爱。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Is this what you want? Goodbye. I am calm. If I go down into the ruins, I will continue to search for love, more and more love.

藤叶人(苦恼地): 你要去哪儿?你要去哪儿? FIGURE IN VINES (Distressed): Where are you going? Where are you going?

铃铛人: 你不想让我走吗? FIGURE IN BELLS: You don’t want me to go?

藤叶人(声音微弱): 不,别走。那如果我变成一粒砂? FIGURE IN VINES (Weakly): No, don’t go. What if I turned into a grain of sand?

铃铛人: 我就变成一条皮鞭。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Then I would turn into a whip.

藤叶人: 那如果我变成一袋微小的鱼卵? FIGURE IN VINES: And what if I turned into a sack of tiny fish eggs?

铃铛人: 我就变成另一条皮鞭。一条用吉他弦做的皮鞭。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Then I would turn into another whip. A whip made of guitar strings.

藤叶人: 别抽我! FIGURE IN VINES: Don’t lash me!

铃铛人: 一条用船缆做的皮鞭。 FIGURE IN BELLS: A whip made of ship’s cables.

藤叶人: 别打我的肚子! FIGURE IN VINES: Don’t hit my stomach!

铃铛人: 一条用兰花雄蕊做的皮鞭。 FIGURE IN BELLS: A whip made of orchid stamens.

藤叶人: 你会弄瞎我的! FIGURE IN VINES: You’ll blind me!

铃铛人: 弄瞎你,因为你不是个男人。我是个男人。一个男人,像到当猎人们醒来时我会昏倒。一个男人,像到当有人折断一根茎秆时——无论它多么细小——我的牙齿都会感到剧痛。一个巨人。一个巨人,大到我能在新生儿的指甲上绣出一朵玫瑰。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Blind you, because you are not a man. I am a man. A man, so much so that when the hunters wake up, I faint. A man, so much so that when someone breaks a stalk—no matter how tiny—my teeth feel a sharp pain. A giant. A giant, so big that I could embroider a rose on a newborn’s fingernail.

藤叶人: 我在等待黑夜,废墟的洁白令我苦恼,这样我才能爬到你的脚下。 FIGURE IN VINES: I am waiting for the night; the whiteness of the ruins distresses me. Only then can I crawl to your feet.

铃铛人: 不。不。你为什么要告诉我这些?是你必须强迫我这么做。你不是个男人吗?一个比亚当更像男人的男人? FIGURE IN BELLS: No. No. Why are you telling me this? It is you who must force me. Aren’t you a man? A man more of a man than Adam?

藤叶人(倒在地上): 哎!哎! FIGURE IN VINES (Falling to the ground): Ay! Ay!

铃铛人(低声走近): 如果我变成一个柱头? FIGURE IN BELLS (Approaching in a whisper): What if I turned into a capital?

藤叶人: 我命苦啊! FIGURE IN VINES: Woe is me!

铃铛人: 你会变成柱头的影子,仅此而已。然后艾琳娜会来到我的床边。艾琳娜,我的心肝!而你,躲在垫子下面,浑身流汗——那汗水不是你的,是属于马车夫、消防员和给癌症做手术的医生的。然后我会变成一条翻车鱼,而你只不过是一个在人手之间传递的小粉盒。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Then you would turn into the shadow of the capital, and that’s all. And then Elena would come to my bedside. Elena, my sweetheart! And you, hiding under the cushions, covered in sweat—sweat that isn’t yours, but belongs to coachmen, firefighters, and doctors who operate on cancer. Then I would turn into a moonfish, and you would be nothing more than a small powder compact passed between human hands.

藤叶人: 哎! FIGURE IN VINES: Ay!

铃铛人: 又来了?你又在哭?我得昏倒好让农民们过来。我得叫黑人们来——那些被丝兰刀刺伤、日夜与河泥搏斗的巨大黑人们。从地上爬起来,懦夫。昨天我在铸工家里定了一根链条。别离开我!一根链条。我哭了一整夜,因为我的手腕和脚踝都在疼,可当时我甚至还没戴上它。[(藤叶人吹响了银哨子。)] 你在干什么?[(哨声再次响起。)] 我知道你想干什么,但我有时间逃跑。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Again? You’re crying again? I must faint so the peasants will come. I must call the Black men—those giants stabbed by yucca knives, who fight day and night with the river mud. Get up from the ground, coward. Yesterday I ordered a chain at the foundry. Don’t leave me! A chain. I cried all night because my wrists and ankles hurt, even though I hadn’t even put it on yet. [(The Figure in Vines blows a silver whistle.)] What are you doing? [(The whistle sounds again.)] I know what you want to do, but I have time to escape.

藤叶人(站起身): 想逃就逃吧。 FIGURE IN VINES (Standing up): Escape if you want.

铃铛人: 我会用野草保护自己。 FIGURE IN BELLS: I will protect myself with weeds.

藤叶人: 试试保护你自己。[(哨声响。从天花板掉下一个穿着红色网袜的孩子。)] FIGURE IN VINES: Try and protect yourself. [(Whistle. A child wearing red fishnet stockings falls from the ceiling.)]

孩子: 皇帝!皇帝!皇帝! CHILD: Emperor! Emperor! Emperor!

藤叶人: 皇帝。 FIGURE IN VINES: The Emperor.

铃铛人: 我会演你的角色。别露面。这会要了我的命。 FIGURE IN BELLS: I will play your part. Don’t show your face. This will be the death of me.

孩子: 皇帝!皇帝!皇帝! CHILD: Emperor! Emperor! Emperor!

铃铛人: 我们之间的一切都只是个游戏。我们只是在玩。现在我要模仿你的声音来服侍皇帝。你可以躺在那根大柱头后面。我从没告诉过你。那儿有一头牛在给士兵们做饭。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Everything between us is just a game. We’re only playing. Now I’m going to imitate your voice to serve the Emperor. You can lie behind that large capital. I never told you—there’s an ox there cooking for the soldiers.

藤叶人: 皇帝!现在没救了。你扯断了蜘蛛丝,我已经感觉到我那巨大的双脚正变得微小又恶心。 FIGURE IN VINES: Emperor! Now it’s hopeless. You’ve torn the spider’s silk, and I can already feel my giant feet becoming tiny and disgusting.

铃铛人: 你想喝茶吗?在这废墟里上哪儿去找热饮呢? FIGURE IN BELLS: Would you like some tea? Where would one find a hot drink in these ruins?

孩子(在地上): 皇帝!皇帝!皇帝! CHILD (On the ground): Emperor! Emperor! Emperor!

[(号角响起,罗马皇帝出现。随行的是一名穿着黄色长袍、皮肤灰暗的百夫长。在他们身后是四匹吹着号角的马。孩子走向皇帝。皇帝把他抱在怀里,他们消失在柱头林中。)] [(Horns sound, the Roman Emperor appears. He is accompanied by a Centurion wearing a yellow robe with dusky skin. Behind them are four horses blowing horns. The child goes toward the Emperor. The Emperor takes him in his arms, and they disappear into the forest of capitals.)]

百夫长: 皇帝在寻找那个“唯一”。 CENTURION: The Emperor is searching for the “One.”

藤叶人: 我就是那个。 FIGURE IN VINES: I am the One.

铃铛人: 我就是那个。 FIGURE IN BELLS: I am the One.

百夫长: 你们两个中哪一个是? CENTURION: Which of you two is it?

藤叶人: 我。 FIGURE IN VINES: Me.

铃铛人: 我。 FIGURE IN BELLS: Me.

百夫长: 皇帝会猜出你们两个谁才是那个“唯一”。用刀还是用炙叉。该死的,你们这种人!就是因为你们,我才在路上奔波,睡在沙地上。我的妻子像大山一样美丽。她能同时在四五个地方分娩,中午在树下打鼾。我有两百个孩子。我还会生更多。该死的,你们这种人! CENTURION: The Emperor will guess which of you is the “One.” With a knife or a spit. Damn you, people like you! It’s because of you that I’m always on the road, sleeping on the sand. My wife is as beautiful as a mountain. She can give birth in four or five places at once, and snores under the trees at noon. I have two hundred children. I’ll have more. Damn you, people like you!

[(百夫长吐唾沫,唱歌。柱子后面传来一声长长的、持续的尖叫。皇帝出现,擦着额头。他脱下黑手套,接着是红手套,他的双手显露出一种古典的洁白。)] [(The Centurion spits and sings. From behind the columns comes a long, sustained scream. The Emperor appears, wiping his forehead. He takes off black gloves, then red gloves, and his hands reveal a classical whiteness.)]

皇帝(冷淡地): 你们两个中哪一个是那个“唯一”? EMPEROR (Coldly): Which of you two is the “One”?

铃铛人: 是我,陛下。 FIGURE IN BELLS: It is I, Your Majesty.

皇帝: 一就是一,永远是一。我已经砍了四十多个不肯这么说的男孩的头。 EMPEROR: One is one, and always one. I have already cut off the heads of more than forty boys who refused to say so.

百夫长(吐唾沫): 一就是一,不多不少就是一。 CENTURION (Spitting): One is one, no more and no less than one.

皇帝: 没有二。 EMPEROR: There is no two.

百夫长: 因为如果有两个,皇帝就不会在路上寻找了。 CENTURION: Because if there were two, the Emperor would not be out on the road searching.

皇帝(对百夫长): 剥光他们! EMPEROR (To the Centurion): Strip them!

铃铛人: 我才是那个,陛下。那个人是废墟里的乞丐。他以草根为食。 FIGURE IN BELLS: I am the One, Your Majesty. That man is a beggar in the ruins. He feeds on roots.

皇帝: 闪开。 EMPEROR: Step aside.

藤叶人: 你认识我。你知道我是谁。[(他剥下藤叶,呈现为一个白色石膏裸体。)] FIGURE IN VINES: You know me. You know who I am. [(He strips off the vine leaves, appearing as a white plaster nude.)]

皇帝(拥抱他): 一就是一。 EMPEROR (Embracing him): One is one.

藤叶人: 永远是一。如果你吻我,我张开嘴,只是为了让你随后把剑刺进我的脖子。 FIGURE IN VINES: Always one. If you kiss me, I open my mouth only so that you may later plunge the sword into my neck.

皇帝: 我会这么做的。 EMPEROR: I will do so.

藤叶人: 把我那颗充满爱的头颅留在废墟里。那一颗永远是一的头颅。 FIGURE IN VINES: Leave my love-filled head in the ruins. That head which is always one.

皇帝(叹息): 一。 EMPEROR (Sighing): One.

百夫长(对皇帝): 这很难,但就在这儿了。 CENTURION (To the Emperor): It was difficult, but here it is.

藤叶人: 他得到了,是因为他永远无法得到。 FIGURE IN VINES: He got it because he could never get it.

铃铛人: 背叛!背叛! FIGURE IN BELLS: Treachery! Treachery!

百夫长: 闭嘴,老耗子!扫帚生的儿子! CENTURION: Shut up, you old rat! Son of a broom!

铃铛人: 冈萨罗!救我,冈萨罗! FIGURE IN BELLS: Gonzalo! Save me, Gonzalo!

[(铃铛人拉动一根柱子,柱子展开成了第一幕里的那扇白色屏风。三名留胡须的男人和舞台导演从后面走出来。)] [(The Figure in Bells pulls a column, which unfolds into the white screen from Act One. Three bearded men and the Stage Director emerge from behind it.)]

男 1: 背叛! MAN 1: Treachery!

铃铛人: 他背叛了我们! FIGURE IN BELLS: He betrayed us!

导演: 背叛! DIRECTOR: Treachery!

[(皇帝正拥抱着的藤叶人。)] [(The Emperor is embracing the Figure in Vines.)]

落幕。 [Curtain.]

)(*)(

ACT 3 | 第三幕
[第三场。沙墙。左边墙上画着一个透明的月亮,几乎像果冻一样。中央有一片巨大的、长矛形状的绿叶。] [Scene Three. A wall of sand. On the left wall, a transparent moon is painted, almost like jelly. In the center, a giant, spear-shaped green leaf.]

男1:(上场)这不是所需要的。在发生了那一切之后,如果我再回去和孩子们说话、观察天空的喜悦,那将是不公正的。 MAN 1: (Entering) This is not what is needed. After all that has happened, it would be unjust if I went back to speak with children or observe the joy of the sky.

男2: 这是个坏地方。 MAN 2: This is a bad place.

导演: 你目睹了那场博弈吗? DIRECTOR: Did you witness that game?

男3:(上场)他们两个都该死。我从未见过比这更血腥的盛宴。 MAN 3: (Entering) They both deserve to die. I have never seen a bloodier feast.

男1: 两头狮子。两个半神。 MAN 1: Two lions. Two demigods.

男2: 两个半神,如果他们没有肛门的话。 MAN 2: Two demigods, if only they didn’t have an anus.

男1: 但肛门是人类的惩罚。肛门是人类的失败;是他的羞耻,也是他的死亡。他们两个都有肛门,所以谁也无法与那闪耀的大理石的纯粹之美抗衡,那些大理石保留着被无瑕表面保护着的隐秘欲望。 MAN 1: But the anus is man’s punishment. The anus is man’s failure; it is his shame and his death. Both of them have an anus, so neither could withstand the pure beauty of that shining marble, which keeps its secret desires protected by a flawless surface.

男3: 当月亮出来时,乡下的孩子们聚在一起排便。 MAN 3: When the moon comes out, the children in the country gather together to defecate.

男1: 在芦苇丛后,在回水的清凉岸边,我们发现了人类的脚印,这让赤裸的自由变得恐怖。 MAN 1: Behind the reeds, on the cool banks of the backwaters, we found human footprints, which made naked freedom terrifying.

男3: 他们两个都该死。 MAN 3: They both deserve to die.

男1:(有力地)他们本该胜利。 MAN 1: (Forcefully) They should have triumphed.

男3: 怎么赢? MAN 3: How?

男1: 通过双双成为真正的男人,不让自己被虚假的欲望拖走。通过成为彻底的男人。一个男人能停止成为男人吗? MAN 1: By both becoming true men, not allowing themselves to be dragged away by false desires. By becoming total men. Can a man ever stop being a man?

[(男3 用手捂住脸。)] [(MAN 3 covers his face with his hands.)]

男1:(对导演)就是他——你现在认出他了吗?那个勇敢的人,在咖啡馆里,在书本里,把我们的血管压碎成细长的鱼刺。那个在孤独中爱着皇帝、在港口酒馆里寻找他的人。恩里克,仔细看他的眼睛。看他肩膀上垂下的那一小串葡萄。他骗不了我。但现在我要去杀掉皇帝。不用刀,就用这对连女人都嫉妒的脆弱双手。 MAN 1: (To the Director) It’s him—do you recognize him now? That brave man who, in cafes and in books, crushes our veins into thin fishbones. The one who loves the Emperor in solitude and searches for him in harbor taverns. Enrique, look closely at his eyes. Look at that small bunch of grapes hanging from his shoulder. He cannot deceive me. But now I am going to kill the Emperor. Not with a knife, but with these fragile hands that even women envy.

[(墙壁打开,维罗纳的朱丽叶墓出现了。朱丽叶躺在墓穴里。她穿着白色的歌剧礼服。她那两个由粉色赛璐珞制成的乳房袒露在外。)] [(The walls open, revealing the Tomb of Juliet in Verona. Juliet lies in the tomb. She is wearing a white opera gown. Her two breasts, made of pink celluloid, are exposed.)]

朱丽叶:(从墓中跳起)请帮帮我。尽管穿过了三千多个空荡荡的拱门,这一路上我连一个女性朋友也没碰见。请帮帮我。一点帮助,和一片睡眠的海。(唱道):睡眠的海。白色的土地和天空中空荡荡的拱门。我穿过船只、穿过海藻的长裙。我穿过时间的长裙。时间的海。伐木工人蠕虫的岸边,穿过樱桃树的水晶海豚。噢,终点那纯净的石棉!噢,废墟!噢,没有拱门的孤独!睡眠的海! JULIET: (Leaping from the tomb) Please help me. Though I have passed through more than three thousand empty arches, I haven’t met a single female friend along the way. Please help me. A little help, and a sea of sleep. (Sings): Sea of sleep. White earth and empty arches in the sky. I pass through ships, through my long skirt of seaweed. I pass through the long skirt of time. Sea of time. Shore of the woodcutter-worm, crystal dolphins through the cherry trees. Oh, pure asbestos of the end! Oh, ruins! Oh, solitude without arches! Sea of sleep!

白马1:(上场,手里握着一把剑)去爱! WHITE HORSE 1: (Entering, holding a sword) To love!

朱丽叶: 是的。用一种只持续一瞬间的爱。 JULIET: Yes. With a love that lasts only a moment.

朱丽叶:(哭泣)够了。我不想再听了。你为什么要带我走?“欺骗”就是爱的代名词——破碎的镜子,水中的脚步。在那之后,你会再次把我留在坟墓里,就像所有人试图说服听众“真爱是不可能的”时所做的那样。我已经累了。我站起来寻求帮助,要把那些对我心存幻想的人,和那些用大理石小镊子撬开我嘴巴的人,通通赶出我的坟墓。 JULIET: (Weeping) Enough. I don’t want to hear anymore. Why do you want to take me away? “Deception” is a synonym for love—broken mirrors, footsteps in the water. After that, you will leave me in the tomb again, just as everyone does when they try to convince an audience that “true love is impossible.” I am tired. I stand up to seek help, to drive out from my tomb all those who harbor fantasies about me, and those who pry open my mouth with little marble tweezers.

三匹白马: 脱吧,朱丽叶,露出你的臀部,迎接我们尾巴的鞭打。我们要复活![(朱丽叶躲到黑马身后。)] THREE WHITE HORSES: Strip, Juliet, show us your hips and receive the lashing of our tails. We want to be resurrected! [(JULIET hides behind the Black Horse.)]

朱丽叶:[(有力地:)]我不是让琥珀尖刺钉进乳房的奴隶,也不是那些在城门前因爱颤抖的人的神谕。我整个梦境都是无花果树的香气,和那个割断茎秆的人的腰身。谁也别想穿过我!是我穿过你们! JULIET: (Forcefully): I am not a slave to let amber spikes be driven into my breasts, nor am I an oracle for those who tremble with love at the city gates. My entire dream is the scent of fig trees and the waist of the man who cuts the stalks. No one shall pass through me! It is I who pass through you!

导演: 恩里克?恩里克就在那儿。[(他迅速脱下戏服扔到柱子后。哈莱奎因戏服出现了。)] DIRECTOR: Enrique? Enrique is right there. [(He quickly strips off his costume and throws it behind a column. The Harlequin Costume appears.)]

哈莱奎因戏服: 我冷。电光。面包。他们在烧橡胶。[(他变得僵硬。)] HARLEQUIN COSTUME: I’m cold. Electric light. Bread. They are burning rubber. [(He becomes rigid.)]

男1:(大喊)变成翻车鱼;我只想要你变成翻车鱼!变成翻车鱼![(他猛地追了出去。)] MAN 1: (Screaming) Turn into a moonfish; I only want you to turn into a moonfish! Turn into a moonfish! [(He rushes out in pursuit.)]

[(那个蛋脸人不停地用手拍打着脸。在雨声之上,真正的夜莺开始歌唱。)] [(The egg-faced man continuously slaps his face with his hands. Above the sound of the rain, a real nightingale begins to sing.)]

落幕。 [Curtain.]

)(*)(

ACT 4 | 第四幕
[舞台中央有一张面向前方且垂直摆放的床,仿佛是由一位原始艺术家画出来的;床上躺着一个戴着蓝色荆棘冠的红色裸人。背景中,拱门和阶梯通向一座大剧院的包厢。右边是大学的入口。幕布升起时,传来一阵掌声。] [In the center of the stage is a bed facing forward and placed vertically, as if drawn by a primitive artist; on the bed lies a red naked man wearing a crown of blue thorns. In the background, arches and stairs lead to the boxes of a large theater. To the right is the entrance to the University. As the curtain rises, a burst of applause is heard.]

裸人: 你什么时候能完事? NAKED MAN: When will you be finished?

护士:(匆匆上场)等骚乱停止的时候。 NURSE: (Entering hurriedly) When the riot stops.

裸人: 他们在要求什么? NAKED MAN: What are they demanding?

护士: 他们在要求处死舞台导演。 NURSE: They are demanding the execution of the Stage Director.

裸人: 那他们怎么说我? NAKED MAN: And what are they saying about me?

护士: 没提你。 NURSE: They haven’t mentioned you.

学生1: 这种时刻才来通知? STUDENT 1: Why are we not lining up to crawl out through the iron bars?

学生2: 小巷里全是武装人员;从那儿很难逃掉。 STUDENT 2: The alleys are full of armed men; it’s hard to escape from there.

学生4: 当人们看到罗密欧和朱丽叶是真心相爱时,骚乱开始了。 STUDENT 4: The riot began when people saw that Romeo and Juliet truly loved each other.

学生2: 恰恰相反。骚乱是在他们意识到两人并不相爱、甚至永远无法相爱时开始的。 STUDENT 2: On the contrary. The riot began when they realized the two did not love each other, and could never even love each other.

学生1: 这就是所有人犯的大错,也是剧院濒死的原因。公众不该窥探诗人在卧室里升起的丝绸和纸板。罗密欧可以是一只鸟,朱丽叶可以是一块石头。罗密欧可以是一粒盐,朱丽叶可以是一幅地图。这对公众有什么关系? STUDENT 1: This is the great mistake everyone makes, and the reason the theater is dying. The public should not spy on the silk and cardboard the poet raises in the bedroom. Romeo can be a bird, and Juliet can be a stone. Romeo can be a grain of salt, and Juliet can be a map. What does that matter to the public?

[(两个小偷拿着点燃的蜡烛坐在床脚。场景陷入半黑暗。提示员出现。)] [(Two Thieves sit at the foot of the bed with lit candles. The scene falls into semi-darkness. The PROMPTER appears.)]

裸人: 还要多久? NAKED MAN: How much longer?

护士: 快了。第三遍铃已经响了。就在皇帝把自己伪装成旁提乌斯·彼拉多的时候。 NURSE: Soon. The third bell has already rung. Just as the Emperor is disguising himself as Pontius Pilate.

裸人: 父啊,我将我的灵魂交托在你手里。 NAKED MAN: Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

护士: 你抢先了两分钟。 NURSE: You’re two minutes early.

裸人: 成了。 NAKED MAN: It is finished.

[(床轴转动,裸人消失。床的另一面躺着男1,依然穿着燕尾服,留着黑胡子。)] [(The bed pivots; the Naked Man disappears. On the other side of the bed lies MAN 1, still in his evening coat with his black beard.)]

男1:(闭上眼睛)临终的苦难! MAN 1: (Closing his eyes) The agony of death!

学生4: 公众的态度太差劲了。 STUDENT 4: The attitude of the public is wretched.

学生1: 差劲透顶。观众永远不该成为戏剧的一部分。人们去水族馆时,不会去谋杀海蛇、水鼠或长满麻风病的鱼;相反,他们的目光滑过玻璃,并在其中学习。 STUDENT 1: Beyond wretched. The audience should never become part of the drama. When people go to an aquarium, they don’t go to murder the sea snakes, the water rats, or the leprous fish; instead, their gaze glides over the glass, and they learn within it.

学生5:(非常快乐地)看,我拿到了朱丽叶的一只鞋。修女们在给她裹尸,我偷出来的。 STUDENT 5: (Very happily) Look, I’ve got one of Juliet’s shoes. The nuns were wrapping her shroud, and I stole it.

学生4:(惊讶地)难道你没意识到,墓穴里的那个朱丽叶是个伪装的少年,是舞台导演的诡计,而真正的朱丽叶被塞住嘴关在座位底下吗? STUDENT 4: (Surprised) Don’t you realize that the Juliet in the tomb was a boy in disguise, a trick of the Stage Director, while the real Juliet was gagged and shut away under the seats?

学生5:(爆发出一阵大笑)嘿,我喜欢!她看起来非常美。如果是个伪装的少年,我一点也不在乎;反倒是那个像猫一样在椅子底下呻吟、满身灰尘的女孩,我是绝不会去捡她的鞋子的。 STUDENT 5: (Bursting into laughter) Hey, I like it! She looked beautiful. If it’s a boy in disguise, I don’t care at all; on the contrary, that girl groaning like a cat under the chairs, covered in dust—I would never go and pick up her shoe.

男1: 临终的苦难。人在梦境中的孤独,充满了电梯和火车,在那里你以无法掌控的速度旅行。建筑、角落、沙滩的孤独,在那里你再也不会出现了。 MAN 1: The agony of death. The solitude of man in dreams, full of elevators and trains, where you travel at an uncontrollable speed. The solitude of buildings, of corners, of beaches, where you will never appear again.

男1:(声音微弱)恩里克!恩里克! MAN 1: (Faintly) Enrique! Enrique!

[(场景陷入黑暗。男孩1 的手电筒照亮了男1 死去的脸。)] [(The scene falls into darkness. BOY 1’s flashlight illuminates the dead face of MAN 1.)]

落幕。 [Curtain.]

)(*)(

INTERLUDE | 间奏
[蓝色幕布。中央有一个巨大的衣柜,里面装满了表情各异的白色面具。每个面具前都有一盏微小的灯。痴愚的小牧人从右侧上场。他穿着野蛮人的兽皮,头上戴着一个塞满羽毛和小轮子的漏斗。他摇着手摇风琴(aristón),迈着缓慢的节奏跳舞。] [A blue curtain. In the center is a giant wardrobe filled with white masks of various expressions. In front of each mask is a tiny lamp. The Foolish Shepherd enters from the right. He wears barbarian skins and a funnel on his head stuffed with feathers and small wheels. He cranks a hand-organ (aristón) and dances with a slow rhythm.]

牧羊人: 痴愚的小牧人守着这些面具。那些乞丐的面具,还有那些在胡兀鹫飞过静水时将其杀死的诗人们的面具。那些动用拳头、在蘑菇下腐烂的孩子们的面具。撑着拐杖的老鹰的面具。那个用克里特石膏制成、在谋杀朱丽叶时化作紫罗兰色粉末的面具中的面具。谜语。小谜语。这没有池座的剧院和满是椅子、留着面具空洞的天空的微型谜语。咩——,咩——,咩——,叫吧,面具们。 SHEPHERD: The Foolish Shepherd guards these masks. Masks of beggars, and masks of poets who kill the bearded vulture as it flies over still waters. Masks of children who use their fists and rot under mushrooms. Masks of eagles on crutches. The mask of masks, made of Cretan plaster, which turned into violet powder during the murder of Juliet. Riddles. Tiny riddles. The miniature riddle of this theater without a pit, full of chairs and the hollowed sky of the masks. Baa—, baa—, baa—, cry out, masks.

[(面具们像羊一样发出“咩咩”的叫声,其中一个在咳嗽。)] [(The masks bleat like sheep; one of them is coughing.)]

牧羊人: 马群吃掉了蘑菇,在风向标下腐烂。老鹰动用拳头,在彗星下沾满泥土,而彗星吞噬了那只曾抓伤诗人胸膛的胡兀鹫。咩——,咩——,咩——,叫吧,面具们!欧洲撕掉了她的乳房,亚洲失去了她的池座,而美国是一只不需要面具的鳄鱼。小小的音乐,那受伤的尖刺与药瓶的微型音乐。 SHEPHERD: The horses ate the mushrooms and rot beneath the weather vanes. The eagles used their fists and are covered in mud beneath the comet, and the comet devoured the bearded vulture that once clawed the poet’s chest. Baa—, baa—, baa—, cry out, masks! Europe has torn off her breasts, Asia has lost her theater pit, and America is a crocodile that needs no mask. Tiny music, the miniature music of wounded spikes and medicine vials.

[(他推着装有轮子的衣柜消失了。面具们继续咩咩叫着。)] [(He pushes the wheeled wardrobe and disappears. The masks continue to bleat.)]

)(*)(

ACT 5 | 第五幕
[布景同第一幕。左边地上放着一个巨大的马头。右边,一个巨大的眼睛和一组带着云朵的树木靠墙放着。舞台导演与魔术师一起上场。魔术师穿着燕尾服,一件垂到脚面的白色缎面斗篷,戴着大礼帽。导演穿着第一幕里的西装。] [Setting the same as Act One. On the left, a giant horse’s head lies on the floor. On the right, a giant eye and a group of trees with clouds lean against the wall. The Stage Director enters with the Prestidigitator. The Prestidigitator wears a tuxedo, a white satin cape reaching his feet, and a top hat. The Director wears the suit from Act One.]

导演: 无论是魔术师、医生、天文学家,还是任何人都解决不了这件事。放走狮子,然后往它们身上撒硫磺,这很简单。别再说了。 DIRECTOR: Neither a magician, nor a doctor, nor an astronomer, nor anyone else can solve this. Releasing lions and then throwing sulfur on them is easy. Say no more.

魔术师: 在我看来,你作为一个戴面具的人,并不记得我们使用的是黑幕。 PRESTIDIGITATOR: It seems to me that you, as a man in a mask, do not remember that we use a black curtain.

导演: 当人们身处天堂时是那样;但告诉我,在这样一个空气如此狂暴、连人们都被剥光,甚至连孩子都带着小刀去割背景幕布的地方,能用什么样的幕布呢? DIRECTOR: That’s how it is when people are in heaven; but tell me, what kind of curtain can be used in a place where the air is so violent that even people are stripped bare, and even children carry knives to slash the backdrops?

导演: 所有的戏剧都源于幽闭的潮湿。所有真正的戏剧都带着一股陈年岁月的腐臭。当戏服开口说话时,活人早已成了髑髅地墙上的骨制纽扣。我挖通隧道是为了夺取那些戏服,并通过它们,在公众除了关注别无选择时,向他们展示一股隐藏力量的轮廓,让他们充满精神并被行动所征服。 DIRECTOR: All drama originates from a claustrophobic dampness. All true theater carries the stench of rotted years. By the time the costumes begin to speak, the living have long since become bone buttons on the walls of Calvary. I dug those tunnels to seize those costumes, and through them—when the public has no choice but to pay attention—to show them the outline of a hidden force, to fill them with spirit and conquer them through action.

魔术师: 毫不费力地,我就能把一瓶墨水变成一只戴满古老戒指的断手。 PRESTIDIGITATOR: Without any effort, I could turn a bottle of ink into a severed hand covered in ancient rings.

导演:(恼怒地) 但那是谎言,那是戏!如果我花了三天时间与根须和巨浪搏斗,那就是为了摧毁戏剧。 DIRECTOR: (Exasperated) But that is a lie, that is theater! If I spent three days struggling with roots and giant waves, it was to destroy the theater.

导演: 一个人必须摧毁剧院,或者生活在剧院里!从窗户里吹口哨是没用的。如果狗儿温柔地呻吟,就必须毫无防备地拉开幕布。 DIRECTOR: One must either destroy the theater or live within it! It is useless to whistle from the windows. If the dogs groan softly, the curtain must be pulled back without defense.

魔术师: 当你说“爱”时,我感到惊讶。 PRESTIDIGITATOR: I am surprised when you say “love.”

导演: 我看到每一颗沙粒都变成了一只非常有活力的蚂蚁。 DIRECTOR: I see every grain of sand turning into a very energetic ant.

魔术师: 有可能。(停顿)但对于一个在沙幕下开启剧院的民族,还能指望什么呢?如果你打开那扇门,这里就会塞满猛犬、疯子、暴雨、畸形的叶子和下水道的老鼠。 PRESTIDIGITATOR: It’s possible. (Pause) But what can one expect from a people who open a theater beneath a curtain of sand? If you open that door, this place will be filled with rabid dogs, madmen, rainstorms, deformed leaves, and sewer rats.

女士: 我的儿子在哪儿?今天早上渔民们给我带回来一条巨大的翻车鱼,苍白、腐烂,他们对我喊道:“这就是你的儿子!” LADY: Where is my son? This morning the fishermen brought me a giant moonfish, pale and rotten, and they shouted at me: “This is your son!”

哈莱奎因戏服:(哭泣)恩里克。 HARLEQUIN COSTUME: (Weeping) Enrique.

导演: 我冷。 DIRECTOR: I am cold.

魔术师:(扇着风) “冷”是个很漂亮的词。 PRESTIDIGITATOR: (Fanning himself) “Cold” is a very beautiful word.

导演: 谢谢你所做的一切。 DIRECTOR: Thank you for everything.

魔术师: 别客气。拿走很容易。难的是给予。 PRESTIDIGITATOR: You’re welcome. Taking away is easy. The hard part is giving.

仆人:(跪倒在地)先生!公众在那儿。 SERVANT: (Falling to his knees) Sir! The public is there.

导演:(脸朝下倒在桌子上) 让他们进来! DIRECTOR: (Falling face down on the table) Let them in!

[(魔术师在空气中猛力挥动扇子。雪花开始落在舞台上。)] [(The Prestidigitator waves his fan violently through the air. Snow begins to fall on the stage.)]

幕布缓缓落下。 [The curtain falls slowly.]

《论“杜恩德”的理论与游戏》On the Theory and Practice of “Duende”

19 Monday Jan 2026

Posted by babylon crashing in Spanish, Translation

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Chinese translation, English translation, 论“杜恩德”的理论与游戏, Federico Garcia Lorca, on the theory and practice of Duende

费德里科·加西亚·洛卡 著

Federico Garcia Lorca

第一部分 | Part I
女士们,先生们:自1918年我进入马德里学生公寓起,直至1928年完成哲学与文学学业离开为止,在那间精致的大厅里——西班牙旧贵族为涤荡自身那沾染法国海滩气息的轻佻而常聚之处——我听了近千场讲座。 Ladies and gentlemen: From the year 1918, when I entered the Residencia de Estudiantes in Madrid, until 1928, when I finished my studies in Philosophy and Letters, I have listened to about a thousand lectures in that refined hall where the old Spanish aristocracy gathered to wash away the frivolity of French beaches.

渴望空气与阳光的我,厌倦得如此之深,以至于每次离席时,都仿佛身披一层细灰,几欲化作呛人的胡椒。不。我绝不让那可怕的“无聊之虻”飞入此厅——它用一根细若游丝的睡意之线,串起所有人的头颅,更往听众的眼里,刺入簇簇针尖。 Hungry for air and sun, I was so profoundly bored that upon leaving, I felt covered in a fine ash, almost turning into irritating pepper. No. I will not let that terrible “fly of boredom” enter this room—that fly which strings all heads together on a thin thread of sleep and pricks the eyes of the listeners with clusters of needles.

因此,我将以一种朴素的方式,用我诗性声音中并无木质光泽、没有毒芹的曲折,也没有忽然变成讽刺之刀的羊群的语调,试着给诸位讲一堂关于痛苦的西班牙之隐秘精神的简单课程。 Therefore, in a simple manner, with a register in my poetic voice that has no wooden luster, no twists of hemlock, and no tone of a flock that suddenly turns into a knife of irony, I will try to give you a simple lesson on the hidden spirit of suffering Spain.

生活在这张牛皮般展开、介于胡卡尔河、瓜达莱特河、西尔河或皮苏埃尔加河之间的土地上的人们(我不愿提及那条水波如狮鬃般摇动的拉普拉塔河),时常会听到这样一句话:“这东西很有杜恩德。”安达卢西亚人民中的伟大艺术家曼努埃尔·托雷斯曾对一位歌者说:“你有嗓音,你懂曲式,可你永远不会成功,因为你没有杜恩德。” Those who live on this land spread out like a bull’s hide, between the Júcar, the Guadalete, the Sil, or the Pisuerga rivers (I do not wish to mention the Plata, its waters rippling like a lion’s mane), often hear the phrase: “This has much duende.” Manuel Torre, a great artist of the Andalusian people, once said to a singer: “You have a voice, you know the styles, but you will never succeed, because you have no duende.”

在整个安达卢西亚——哈恩的岩石与加的斯的海螺之间——人们不断谈论杜恩德,并凭借敏锐的本能在它一出现时便将其识别。杰出的歌者埃尔·莱布里哈诺,《德布拉》的创造者曾说:“那些我带着杜恩德歌唱的日子,没有人能胜过我。”老吉普赛舞者拉·马莱娜在听到布拉伊洛夫斯基演奏巴赫的一段时惊呼:“哦嘞!这有杜恩德!”可她听格鲁克、勃拉姆斯和达里乌斯·米约时却感到厌烦。而我所见过血液中蕴含最大文化的人——曼努埃尔·托雷斯——在聆听法雅的《赫内拉利费夜曲》时,说出了这句壮丽的话:“凡是拥有黑色声音的东西,便有杜恩德。”没有比这更大的真理了。 Throughout Andalusia—between the rocks of Jaén and the seashells of Cádiz—people speak constantly of the duende and recognize it with instinctive precision as soon as it appears. The magnificent singer El Lebrijano, creator of the Debla, used to say: “On the days when I sing with duende, no one can touch me.” The old Gypsy dancer La Malena once exclaimed, upon hearing Brailowsky play a passage of Bach: “Olé! That has duende!” yet she found Gluck, Brahms, and Darius Milhaud tiresome. And Manuel Torre—the man with the greatest culture in his blood that I have ever known—said a magnificent phrase while listening to Falla’s Nocturno del Generalife: “All that has black sounds has duende.” There is no greater truth than this.

这些“黑色声音”正是神秘本身,是扎根于我们都熟知、却又一无知的淤泥之中的根系——正是从那里,艺术中最本质的东西来到我们这里。西班牙的民间之人说“黑色声音”,而他与歌德不谋而合:歌德在谈到帕格尼尼时这样定义杜恩德:“一种人人感受得到,却没有任何哲学家能够解释的神秘力量。” These “black sounds” are the mystery itself, the roots that fasten into the mire that we all know, and all ignore, but from which comes the very substance of art. The common man in Spain speaks of “black sounds,” and in this, he agrees with Goethe, who defined the duende when he spoke of Paganini: “A mysterious power that everyone feels and no philosopher can explain.”

因此,杜恩德是力,而非行;是搏斗,而非思辨。我曾听一位老吉他大师言道:“杜恩德不在喉咙;杜恩德自脚底攀升。”换言之,它与才能无关,关乎的是真正活着的姿态——是血液,是古老至髓的文化,是进行时的创造。 So, the duende is a power, not a work; it is a struggle, not a thought. I have heard an old guitar master say: “The duende is not in the throat; the duende climbs up from the soles of the feet.” That is to say, it is not a matter of ability, but of real, living form; of blood; of a culture ancient to the marrow; of creative action in the moment.

这种“人人感受得到,却没有任何哲学家能够解释的神秘力量”,归根结底,是山岭的精神;是同一个杜恩德,曾紧紧抱住尼采的心。尼采曾在里亚托桥的外在形式中,或在比才的音乐里寻找它,却未能找到——而他并不知道,自己追逐的杜恩德,早已从神秘的希腊人那里,跳跃到了加的斯的舞者身上,或银里奥那首西吉里亚中被割喉般的狄俄尼索斯之呼喊里。 This “mysterious power that everyone feels and no philosopher can explain” is, in the end, the spirit of the earth; the same duende that once gripped the heart of Nietzsche. Nietzsche looked for it in the outer forms of the Rialto Bridge or in the music of Bizet, but failed to find it—not knowing that the duende he chased had already leaped from the mysterious Greeks to the dancers of Cádiz or the Dionysian cry, like a slit throat, in Silverio’s Siguiriya.

因此,我不愿任何人将我所说的杜恩德,与神学中怀疑的恶魔混为一谈——那个路德在纽伦堡出于酒神般的冲动向其掷出墨水瓶的存在;也不要把它与天主教中那种愚钝而具有破坏性的魔鬼混为一谈——它会化身为母狗潜入修道院;也不要与塞万提斯《嫉妒的戏剧与安达卢西亚的森林》中,那个带着会说话猴子的通译混为一谈。 Therefore, I do not want anyone to confuse the duende I speak of with the theological demon of doubt—that being at whom Luther, in Nuremberg, threw an inkwell out of a Dionysian impulse; nor with the blunt, destructive devil of Catholicism who enters convents disguised as a bitch; nor with the interpreter with the talking monkey in Cervantes’ The Jealous Cavalier and the Andalusian Forests.

不。我所说的杜恩德,阴暗而战栗,是苏格拉底那位最欢快的守护灵的后裔——那位由大理石与盐构成的存在,在苏格拉底饮下毒芹的那一天,曾愤怒地抓挠他;也是笛卡尔那位忧郁的小妖精的后裔——它像一颗青杏仁般微小,厌倦了圆与线条,沿着运河走出,只为听水手醉酒的歌唱。 No. The duende I speak of, dark and quivering, is a descendant of Socrates’ most cheerful daemon—that being of marble and salt who scratched him in anger the day he drank the hemlock; and a descendant of Descartes’ melancholy imp—tiny as a green almond, who grew tired of circles and lines and walked out along the canals just to hear the drunken singing of sailors.

诚如尼采所言,每个人、每位艺术家,在通往自身完善之塔的每一级阶梯上,其代价皆是与一位杜恩德的搏斗——而非与天使(世人常如此说),亦非与缪斯。此一区分,关乎作品的根本。 As Nietzsche said, every man, every artist, on every step of the ladder of his perfection, pays the price of a struggle with a duende—not with an Angel (as is often said), nor with a Muse. This distinction is fundamental to the work.

天使指引并赐予,如圣拉斐尔;防卫并回避,如圣米迦勒;预示并告知,如圣加百列。天使令人目眩,却飞翔在人类头顶之上,位于高处,倾洒恩典;人在毫不费力的情况下,完成他的作品、他的情感或他的舞蹈。大马士革之路上的天使,或从亚西西阳台缝隙中进入的那一位,或追随恩里克·苏松脚步的那一位,发号施令——而人无法反抗其光芒,因为它在被预定者的空气中拍击着钢铁般的翅膀。 The Angel guides and endows, like St. Raphael; defends and avoids, like St. Michael; announces and informs, like St. Gabriel. The Angel dazzles, but flies over the heads of men, high above, pouring out grace; the man, without effort, completes his work, his emotion, or his dance. The Angel on the road to Damascus, or the one who entered through the cracks of the balcony in Assisi, or the one who followed in the footsteps of Heinrich Suso, commands—and man cannot resist its light, because it beats its iron wings in the air of the predestined.

缪斯则是口述,有时轻轻吹拂。她的力量相对有限,因为她早已遥远,也如此疲惫(我曾两次见过她),以至于我不得不给她安上一颗半大理石的心。受缪斯支配的诗人听见声音,却不知道来自何处;那是激励他们的缪斯,有时甚至会把他们吞噬。正如阿波利奈尔的例子——这位伟大的诗人,被那位神圣而天使般的卢梭为他描绘的可怕缪斯所摧毁。缪斯唤醒智性,带来柱廊般的风景与虚假的桂冠滋味;而智性往往是诗歌的敌人,因为它过度模仿,因为它把诗人抬举到锋利的高度,使他忘记自己随时可能被蚂蚁吃掉,或被一只巨大的砒霜蝗虫砸中头颅——对此,小沙龙里单眼镜中的缪斯,或淡漆玫瑰中的缪斯,皆无能为力。 The Muse dictates and sometimes whispers. Her power is relatively limited because she is already distant and so weary (I have seen her twice) that I had to give her a half-marble heart. The poet governed by the Muse hears voices but does not know where they come from; it is the Muse who inspires them, and sometimes even consumes them. Such was the case with Apollinaire—the great poet destroyed by the terrible Muse depicted for him by the divine and angelic Rousseau. The Muse awakens the intellect, bringing colonnaded landscapes and the taste of false laurels; but the intellect is often the enemy of poetry because it imitates too much, because it lifts the poet to sharp heights where he forgets he could be eaten by ants at any moment or struck on the head by a giant arsenic locust—against which the Muse with a monocle in the little salon, or the Muse of the pale-varnished rose, is powerless.

天使与缪斯,来自外部:天使赐予光,缪斯赋予形(赫西俄德曾受教于她们)。那金色的面包,或衣袍的褶皱——诗人在月桂林中,领受规训。 The Angel and the Muse come from without: the Angel gives light, and the Muse gives form (Hesiod was taught by them). The golden bread, or the folds of the tunic—the poet receives the discipline in the laurel grove.

而杜恩德,必须从血液最深处的暗房中,将它唤醒。并拒绝天使,踢开缪斯,摆脱对十八世纪诗歌散发的紫罗兰芬芳的恐惧,摆脱那架玻璃中熟睡、因局限而生病的缪斯望远镜的束缚。真正的斗争是与杜恩德的斗争。 But the duende must be awakened in the remotest mansions of the blood. And one must reject the Angel, kick out the Muse, and lose the fear of the violet scent exhaled by eighteenth-century poetry, and free oneself from the telescope of the Muse sleeping in glass, sick with limitations. The real struggle is with the duende.

第二部分 | Part II
世人皆知寻觅上帝之路,从苦行僧的蛮野之法,到神秘主义者的精微之途。可以如圣特蕾莎般筑塔高攀,亦可如圣胡安·德·拉·克鲁斯般三径并寻。纵使我们终须以赛亚之声呼喊:“你真是自隐的上帝啊”,但归根结底,上帝赐予寻觅者的,不过是最初那一丛燃烧的荆棘。 Everyone knows the path to find God, from the wild ways of the ascetic to the subtle paths of the mystic. One can climb like St. Teresa or seek through the three paths like St. John of the Cross. Although we must eventually cry out with the voice of Isaiah, “Truly You are a God who hides Yourself,” in the end, God grants the seeker nothing more than the first burning bush.

然而,寻觅杜恩德,既无地图,亦无教程。唯一确知的是,它能如玻璃般灼烧血液,使人精疲力竭;它拒绝一切习得的、甜美的几何学,击碎所有既定曲式。正是它,让戈雅——那位在灰色、银色与英式油画粉彩中游刃有余的大师——以膝与拳泼洒出恐怖如沥青的墨黑;让辛托·维尔达格尔神父在比利牛斯的严寒中赤身裸体;让豪尔赫·曼里克在奥卡尼亚的荒原上静候死神;让兰波纤弱的躯体套上滑稽戏子的绿衣;让洛特雷蒙伯爵的眼睛,在清晨的林荫大道上,如死鱼般凝滞。 However, for the search for the duende, there is neither map nor discipline. One only knows that it burns the blood like powdered glass, that it exhausts, that it rejects all learned, sweet geometry, and breaks all established forms. It was the duende that drove Goya—the master who moved with ease through greys, silvers, and the pastels of English oil painting—to splash on terrifying blacks of bitumen with his knees and fists; that left Father Jacinto Verdaguer naked in the cold of the Pyrenees; that made Jorge Manrique wait for death on the moors of Ocaña; that clad Rimbaud’s frail body in the green coat of a circus performer; and fixed the eyes of the Comte de Lautréamont like dead fish on the morning boulevards.

安达卢西亚的伟大学者——无论是吉普赛人还是弗拉门戈艺人——都深谙此理:歌唱、舞蹈或演奏,若无杜恩德,则真情永不可及。他们或许能蒙骗观众,伪造出杜恩德在场的幻象(一如那些每日欺瞒我们的作家、画匠或文学裁缝),但只要观者稍加留意,不为其冷漠所蔽,便能戳穿伪装,令那粗鄙的赝品仓皇遁逃。 The great scholars of Andalusia—whether Gypsies or Flamenco artists—know this well: singing, dancing, or playing without duende means the truth is forever out of reach. They might deceive the audience, forging an illusion of duende (like the writers, painters, or literary tailors who deceive us daily), but if the observer pays close attention and is not blinded by indifference, they will pierce the disguise and watch that vulgar forgery flee in haste.

有一回,安达卢西亚歌手帕斯托拉·帕翁,人称“梳子少女”,那位阴郁而伟大的西班牙天才,其想象力堪与戈雅或“拉法埃尔·埃尔·加利奥”比肩,在加的斯一家小酒馆里献唱。她将声音如黑影、如熔锡、如覆苔般把玩,任其缠绕发间,浸入甘菊,或迷失于远方幽暗的灌木丛。然而,一切皆是徒劳——满座寂然。 Once, the Andalusian singer Pastora Pavón, “The Girl with the Combs”—that dark and great Spanish genius whose imagination rivaled Goya or “Rafael el Gallo”—was singing in a little tavern in Cádiz. She played with her voice like a shadow, like molten tin, like moss, letting it coil in her hair, soak into chamomile, or lose itself in far-off, dark thickets. However, all was in vain; the house was silent.

席间有伊格纳西奥·埃斯佩莱塔,俊美如罗马石雕。曾有人问他:“你怎么不工作?”他报以阿尔甘托尼奥式的微笑,答道:“我如何能工作?我可是加的斯人。”还有那热烈的贵族埃洛伊萨,塞维利亚的烟花女子,索莱达·巴尔加斯的直系后裔,年方三十便拒绝了罗斯柴尔德的求婚,只因“血统不合”。还有佛罗里达家族,世人皆以为他们是屠夫,实则是传承千载的祭司,至今仍向革律翁献祭公牛。角落里端坐着威严的牧牛人巴勃罗·穆鲁贝,浑身散发着克里特岛面具般的气息。帕斯托拉·帕翁在一片死寂中唱完了。唯有一个小个子男人——那种会突然从白兰地酒瓶里蹦出来的舞者——低声讥讽道:“巴黎万岁!”那语气仿佛在说:“技巧、形式、技艺,我们毫不在乎。我们在乎的,是别的东西。” In the audience was Ignacio Espeleta, beautiful as a Roman statue. Someone once asked him, “Why don’t you work?” He gave an Argantonio-like smile and replied, “How can I work? I am from Cádiz.” There was also the fiery aristocrat Eloísa, the Sevillian courtesan, a direct descendant of Soledad Vargas, who at thirty refused Rothschild’s proposal because “the blood didn’t match.” There were the Florida family, whom the world took for butchers, but who were actually priests of a thousand-year tradition, still sacrificing bulls to Geryon. In the corner sat the majestic cattleman Pablo Murube, exhaling the air of a Cretan mask. Pastora Pavón finished in a dead silence. Only one small man—the kind of dancer who would suddenly pop out of a brandy bottle—muttered sarcastically: “Long live Paris!” His tone implied: “Technique, form, skill—we don’t care. We care for something else.”

于是,“梳子少女”如疯似狂地站起身,身躯扭曲如中世纪的哭丧妇人,猛灌下一口火焰般的烈酒,坐下重唱——这次,无声、无息、亦无色,只余喉咙灼烧,但……杜恩德降临了。她扼杀了歌曲的全部架构,只为给那愤怒炽烈的杜恩德让路。杜恩德如沙尘暴般席卷,听众的衣衫几欲随节奏撕裂,仿佛置身安的列斯黑人祭仪,众舞者正环绕圣芭芭拉神像疯狂舞动。 Then “The Girl with the Combs” rose like a madwoman, her body twisted like a medieval mourner, downed a glass of fire-like brandy, and sat down to sing again—this time without voice, without breath, without color, with a burning throat, but… the duende arrived. She killed the entire scaffolding of the song to make way for a furious and flaming duende. The duende swept through like a sandstorm, and the audience’s clothes nearly tore with the rhythm, as if in an Antillean Negro rite, with dancers circling the statue of Saint Barbara in madness.

《梳子少女》必须撕裂自己的声音,因为她知道听众是挑剔之人,他们不求形式,而求形式的骨髓——以紧凑的身体承载纯粹的音乐,使其悬于空中。她必须舍弃能力与安全;也就是驱逐缪斯,自我孤立,让杜恩德降临,与之全力搏斗。她唱出了怎样的歌声!声音不再嬉戏,而是因痛苦与真诚而涌出的血流,从双脚伸展开,像十指之掌,却又充满风暴,如同胡安·德·胡尼的基督雕像。 “The Girl with the Combs” had to tear her own voice because she knew the audience was demanding; they did not seek form, but the marrow of form—pure music carried in a tight body, suspended in the air. She had to abandon ability and safety; that is, to exile the Muse, isolate herself, and let the duende descend and fight with all its might. What singing she produced! The voice no longer played, but became a flow of blood surging from pain and sincerity, stretching from her feet like a ten-fingered palm, yet full of storms, like the Christ of Juan de Juni.

杜恩德的到来总意味着所有旧形式的彻底革命,带来前所未有的新鲜感,如初生的玫瑰般奇迹般的质感,几乎引发宗教般的热情。在阿拉伯音乐、舞蹈、歌曲或挽歌中,杜恩德到来时常以“阿拉,阿拉!”、“上帝,上帝!”的高呼回应,几乎等同于斗牛场的“奥莱!”;在整个西班牙南部,杜恩德出现后,真诚的“上帝万岁!”随之而起——深沉、有人情味、温柔的呼喊,通过五感与杜恩德的震动,使舞者的声音与身体脱离尘世,如十七世纪罕见诗人佩德罗·索托·德·罗哈斯在七座花园间所达成的纯净,如胡安·卡利马克通过颤抖的哭泣音阶所达成的纯净。 The arrival of the duende always means a radical revolution of all old forms, bringing a sense of freshness unknown until then, with the quality of a miracle like a newly created rose, producing an almost religious enthusiasm. In Arabic music, dance, song, or lament, the arrival of the duende is often answered with cries of “Allah, Allah!”, “God, God!”, almost equivalent to the “Olé!” of the bullring; throughout southern Spain, after the duende appears, a sincere “Viva Dios!” arises—a deep, human, tender cry, which through the five senses and the vibration of the duende, detaches the dancer’s voice and body from the earth, reaching the purity achieved by the rare seventeenth-century poet Pedro Soto de Rojas among seven gardens, or Juan de Kalimako through a trembling scale of weeping.

自然,当这种超脱实现时,每个人都能感受到它的效果:有经验者看到形式战胜贫乏材料,无知者感受真实情感的“不可言说”。多年前,在赫雷斯·德拉弗龙特拉的舞蹈比赛中,一位八十岁的老妇击败腰肢如水的美丽女子,仅因举起双臂、昂首、踏脚一击;而在天使与缪斯汇聚之场——美貌与微笑交错——那位临死的杜恩德拖着锈刀般的翅膀赢得了比赛。 Naturally, when this detachment is achieved, everyone feels its effect: the experienced see form triumph over poor material; the ignorant feel the “ineffable” of real emotion. Years ago, in a dance competition in Jerez de la Frontera, an eighty-year-old woman defeated beautiful women with waists like water, simply by raising her arms, lifting her head, and striking the floor with one stomp; in a field where Angels and Muses gathered—beauty and smiles intertwining—that dying duende dragging its wings like rusty knives won the prize.

所有艺术都有杜恩德,但它最能施展的,当然是音乐、舞蹈与口语诗歌,因为这些需要活体来表达,形式不断诞生与消亡,并在当下的瞬间升起轮廓。 All arts have duende, but it has the most room in music, dance, and spoken poetry, for these require a living body to express them—forms that are born and die continually, and raise their contours in the precise present.

杜恩德常从音乐家传给演奏者,有时在演奏者或诗人缺席时,演奏者的杜恩德创造出新的奇迹,其外表仅保留原始形式。如被杜恩德附体的艾莱奥诺拉·杜塞,她寻求失败的作品以创造成功;或歌德所述的帕格尼尼,让平凡旋律发出深沉之声;又如我曾见到一名圣玛利亚港的女孩唱跳意大利可怕的曲子《O Mari!》,节奏、停顿、意图,使粗陋意大利曲子化作金色蛇形光环。实质上,她们发现了前所未有的新元素,将鲜血与技艺注入空洞身体。 The duende often passes from the musician to the performer; sometimes in the absence of the performer or poet, the performer’s duende creates new wonders where only the original form remains in appearance. Such as Eleonora Duse possessed by the duende, who sought out failing works to create successes; or Paganini as described by Goethe, making deep sounds from trivial melodies; or a girl I once saw in El Puerto de Santa María singing and dancing the terrible Italian tune “O Mari!”, where rhythm, pause, and intent transformed the crude song into a golden serpent-like halo. In essence, they discovered new elements never seen before, injecting blood and skill into empty bodies.

所有艺术,甚至国家,都有杜恩德、天使与缪斯的能力。正如德国(有例外)有缪斯,意大利常伴天使,西班牙自古则由杜恩德驱动——音乐与舞蹈的千年之国,凌晨榨取柠檬的国度,也是死亡之国,向死亡敞开的国度。 All arts, even nations, have the capacity for duende, Angel, and Muse. Just as Germany (with exceptions) has the Muse and Italy is often accompanied by the Angel, Spain since antiquity has been driven by the duende—a millennial country of music and dance, a country that squeezes lemons at dawn, and also a country of death, a country open to death.

在世界各地,死亡都是终点——帷幕落下。而在西班牙,帷幕升起。许多人活在墙内,直至死亡被晒于阳光下。西班牙的死者,比任何地方更鲜活:其轮廓如剃刀般锋利。西班牙人熟悉死亡及其静观的幽默。从克韦多的《骷髅之梦》,到瓦尔德斯·莱亚尔的《腐烂主教》,再到十七世纪马贝拉的产死之女,吟道: In all other countries, death is an end—the curtain falls. In Spain, the curtain rises. Many live within walls until death is brought out into the sun. The dead in Spain are more alive than anywhere else: their silhouettes are sharp as razors. The Spaniard is familiar with death and with its contemplative humor. From Quevedo’s Dream of the Skulls, to Valdés Leal’s Rotting Bishops, to the seventeenth-century woman of Marbella who died in childbirth, singing:

血从我腹中 覆盖马背 你马的蹄 喷射焦油之火…… The blood from my womb covers the horse’s back and the hooves of your horse strike sparks of tar and fire…

再到萨拉曼卡青年死于公牛,呼喊: Or the young man from Salamanca, killed by a bull, who cries:

朋友们,我要死了; 朋友们,我病得很重。 三条手帕在内 这条算第四…… Friends, I am dying; Friends, I am very ill. I have three handkerchiefs inside and this one makes the fourth…

西班牙有盐花围栏,供观死者的民众远眺,或以耶利米的粗犷诗句,或以香柏点缀抒情一侧;这是一个将最重要的事物赋予死亡终极价值的国家。西班牙的刀刃与车轮、牧羊人锋利胡须、剥光的月亮、苍蝇、湿漉橱柜、废墟、镶蕾丝的圣像、石灰、屋檐与瞭望台的锐线——都蕴含微小的死亡草木、暗示与可觉察的声音,唤起警觉的精神,使我们以死寂之气忆起自己的过渡。西班牙所有与山岭相关的艺术——满是蓟与坚石——非偶然;普莱贝里奥的哀歌或何塞·马里亚·德·巴尔迪维索的舞蹈非孤例;西班牙民谣独特之处亦非偶然: Spain has walls of saltpetre for the crowds who gaze at death, either with the rugged verses of Jeremiah or with cedar decorating the lyrical side; it is a country where the most important thing of all has an ultimate value in death. The Spanish blade and wheel, the shepherd’s sharp beard, the stripped moon, the flies, damp cabinets, ruins, lace-trimmed icons, lime, and the sharp lines of eaves and watchtowers—all contain the tiny plants and minerals of death, hints and perceivable sounds that evoke an alert spirit, reminding us of our passage with a breath of silence. It is no accident that all Spanish art related to the mountains—full of thistles and hard stone—exists; the laments of Pleberio or the dances of José María de Valdivieso are no isolated cases; nor is the uniqueness of the Spanish ballad an accident:

若你是我美丽的朋友, 为什么不看我呢? 我看你的眼睛 给了阴影 If you are my beautiful friend, why do you not look at me? The eyes with which I looked at you I have given to the shadows.

若你是我美丽的朋友, 为什么不吻我呢? 我吻你的嘴唇 给了山脉 If you are my beautiful friend, why do you not kiss me? The lips with which I kissed you I have given to the mountains.

若你是我美丽的朋友, 为什么不拥抱我呢? 我拥抱你的双臂 用虫子覆盖 If you are my beautiful friend, why do you not embrace me? The arms with which I embraced you are covered with worms.

在我诗歌初启之时,这样的歌声也常响起: In the beginning of my poetry, such songs often sounded:

在园中,我将死去 在玫瑰丛,他们将我杀毙 我去寻找我的母亲, 在园中遇见死亡 我去采摘我的母亲, 在园中遇见死亡 在园中,我将死去 在玫瑰丛,他们将我杀毙 In the garden, I shall die In the rosebush, they will kill me. I went to look for my mother, In the garden I found death. I went to gather my mother, In the rosebush I found death. In the garden, I shall die In the rosebush, they will kill me.

第三部分 | Part III
从苏尔瓦兰笔下月光般冰冷的头颅,到格列柯那黄闪黄乳脂的色调;从西贡萨神父的叙述,到戈雅的鸿篇巨制;从埃斯科里亚尔修道院的后殿壁画与彩塑,到奥苏纳公爵府的地穴、梅迪纳-德里奥塞科贝纳文特教堂的吉他陪葬——这一切,连同圣安德烈斯朝圣中列队行进的死者、阿斯图里亚斯妇女在十一月寒夜手持火把吟唱的亡灵歌谣、马略卡与托莱多大教堂的西碧拉歌舞、阴郁的“托尔托萨的‘雷科尔特’舞”,以及无数耶稣受难日的仪式——当然,还有斗牛这崇高的节日——共同构成了西班牙式死亡的民间凯旋。这世上,唯有墨西哥堪与我的祖国在此意境上比肩。 From the moonlight-cold heads of Zurbarán to the yellow-flash-and-custard tones of El Greco; from the narratives of Father Sigüenza to the colossal works of Goya; from the frescoes and sculptures in the apse of El Escorial to the crypt of the Dukes of Osuna, and the guitar-burials in the Benavente church in Medina de Rioseco—all of this, along with the marching dead of the San Andrés pilgrimage, the ghost-songs of Asturian women on November nights with torches, the Sibyl dances in the cathedrals of Mallorca and Toledo, the gloomy “Record” dance of Tortosa, and the endless ceremonies of Good Friday—and of course, the bullfight, that sublime festival—all constitute the popular triumph of Spanish death. In this world, only Mexico can rival my homeland in this sentiment.

当死亡逼近,缪斯会阖上门扉、抬高基座,或挪动骨灰瓮,用她蜡制的手书写墓志铭;但转瞬之间,她又会撕裂那顶在两缕微风间犹疑不决的沉默桂冠。在颂歌颓圮的拱顶下,她以丧葬般的精确,聚拢十五世纪意大利画师笔下的花朵,并呼唤卢克莱修那护卫安宁的雄鸡,以驱散不期而至的暗影。 When death approaches, the Muse closes her doors, raises her pedestal, or moves the urn, writing epitaphs with her waxen hand; but in an instant, she tears that crown of silence that wavers between two breezes. Under the crumbling vaults of the ode, she gathers the flowers of fifteenth-century Italian painters with funeral precision and calls upon the Lucretian rooster who guards the peace to disperse the unexpected shadows.

当死亡逼近,天使会缓缓盘旋,用冰泪与水仙编织哀歌——我们曾见这哀歌在济慈的指间颤抖,在比利亚桑迪诺、埃雷拉、贝克尔与胡安·拉蒙·希梅内斯的笔下颤抖。然而,倘若天使那柔嫩的粉足上,沾了一粒最细小的沙尘,那将是何等骇人的景象! When death approaches, the Angel circles slowly, weaving laments from ice-tears and narcissus—laments we have seen trembling between the fingers of Keats, and in the pens of Villasandino, Herrera, Bécquer, and Juan Ramón Jiménez. However, what a terrifying sight it would be if a single grain of the smallest dust were to touch the Angel’s soft, pink foot!

而杜恩德,倘若不见死亡的可能性,不知它将徘徊于自家厅堂,不确信自己将撼动我们每个人与生俱来、永难抚慰的生命之枝,它便绝不会降临。 But the duende does not come at all unless he sees that death is possible, unless he knows that death can surround the house, and is certain that he will shake those branches of life that we all carry, which have no solace.

杜恩德偏爱危险的边缘,它以其理念、声响或动作,与创造者正面交锋。天使与缪斯携着小提琴或节拍器逃之夭夭,而杜恩德却造成创伤;正是在这永不愈合的伤口的痛楚中,孕育了人类作品中最奇异、最具创造性的部分。 The duende loves the edge of things, the wound, and he draws close to places where forms fuse in a yearning beyond visible expression. The Angel and the Muse flee with their violins or metronomes, while the duende causes a wound; and it is in the pain of this never-healing wound that the strangest and most creative parts of human work are born.

诗的魔力,在于它常被杜恩德附体,从而能以幽暗之水为所有凝视它的人施洗。因为杜恩德在场,去爱与理解变得轻易,同时也必然被爱与被理解。而这番为了表达与交流而进行的搏斗,在诗歌中,有时甚至具有致命的性质。 The magic of poetry lies in its being possessed by the duende, so that it can baptize all who look upon it with dark water. Because the duende is present, it becomes easy to love and understand, and necessarily to be loved and understood. And this struggle to express and communicate, in poetry, sometimes even takes on a fatal character.

回想那位最富弗拉门戈气质、最具杜恩德的圣特蕾莎——她之所以弗拉门戈,并非因为驯服狂牛并完成三次华丽的动作(她确实做到了),也不是为了在“可怜的胡安”面前炫耀美貌,亦非为给教皇公使一记耳光,而是因为她是少数几个被杜恩德(而非天使——天使从不攻击)以利箭穿透之人,欲杀她以夺回最后的秘密——那微妙桥梁,连通五感与活肉、活云、活海般的中心,连接超越时间的自由之爱。 Think of St. Teresa—the most Flamenco and most possessed by the duende. She was Flamenco not because she tamed wild bulls and completed three brilliant passes (which she did), nor to show off her beauty before “poor Juan,” nor to slap the papal legate, but because she was one of the few whom the duende (not the Angel—the Angel never attacks) pierced with a sharp arrow, wishing to kill her to reclaim the final secret—that subtle bridge connecting the five senses with the center of living flesh, living clouds, and living seas, connecting the free love that transcends time.

这位勇敢无畏的杜恩德征服者,与费利佩二世正好相反——后者渴望在神学中寻找缪斯与天使,却被冷烈杜恩德囚禁于埃斯科里亚尔的作品中,在那里几何与梦境相邻,而杜恩德戴上缪斯面具,成为伟大国王的永恒惩罚。 This brave and fearless conqueror of the duende was the exact opposite of Philip II—who sought the Muse and the Angel in theology but was imprisoned by the cold, fierce duende in the works of El Escorial, where geometry and dreams reside side by side, and the duende wore the mask of the Muse to become the eternal punishment of the great king.

我们已说过,杜恩德喜爱边缘、伤口,并靠近那些形式融入超越可见表达的渴望之地。在西班牙(如同东方那些以舞蹈为宗教表达的民族),杜恩德在加的斯舞者的身体上有无限领域——马尔提亚尔赞美过的胸脯,尤维纳利斯赞美过的歌者胸膛;在斗牛的礼仪中,杜恩德同样存在——真实的宗教戏剧,正如弥撒中崇拜并献祭神明。仿佛古典世界的全部杜恩德汇聚于此完美的节日——它体现了一个民族的文化与敏感,发掘人类最深的愤怒、胆汁与哭泣。无论是西班牙舞蹈还是斗牛,参与者从未寻求乐趣;杜恩德负责通过戏剧使之受苦,借由活的形式,并为脱离现实铺设阶梯。 We have said that the duende loves the edge, the wound, and draws near to those places where forms dissolve into the longing for expression beyond the visible. In Spain (as with those Oriental peoples whose dance is a religious expression), the duende has an infinite realm on the bodies of the dancers of Cádiz—the breasts praised by Martial, the chests of singers praised by Juvenal; in the ritual of the bullfight, the duende is also present—a true religious drama, like the worship and sacrifice of a god in the Mass. It is as if all the duende of the classical world gathered at this perfect festival—representing a people’s culture and sensitivity, unearthing man’s deepest rage, bile, and weeping. In neither Spanish dance nor the bullfight do the participants seek pleasure; the duende is in charge of making them suffer through the drama, using living forms, and providing the ladder for an escape from reality.

杜恩德作用于舞者的身体,如空气作用于沙地。它能神奇地将少女化作月亮的瘫痪之身,或让破败的老者满面红晕,在酒馆乞讨,发出港口夜色的气息;它时时作用于手臂,孕育所有时代舞蹈的母体。但它绝不重复——这一点非常值得强调。杜恩德如风暴中的海浪般,不会重复其形式。 The duende acts upon the dancer’s body as wind acts upon sand. It can magically transform a young girl into the paralyzed body of the moon, or give a flush of red to an old, broken man begging in a tavern, exhaling the scent of the harbor night; it acts constantly on the arms, giving birth to the matrix of all dances of all ages. But it never repeats—this point is well worth emphasizing. The duende, like waves in a storm, never repeats its forms.

在斗牛场,它获得最令人印象深刻的音调——因为它必须一面与可能毁灭它的死亡搏斗,一面与几何、尺度——节日的基本准则——搏斗。公牛有其轨道,斗牛士有其轨道;轨道之间,存在危险之点——可怕游戏的顶点。可用缪斯掌控红布、天使掌控彩旗,也许成为“好斗牛士”,但在斗篷舞、清晰无伤的公牛面前,以及最后致命一刻,需要杜恩德的助力,才能击中艺术真理的中心。在广场以鲁莽震慑观众的斗牛士,其实不算斗牛——他只是站在任何人都可触及的可笑平面上,拿生命作赌注。而被杜恩德咬中的斗牛士,奏出毕达哥拉斯式乐章,使人忘记他不断将心抛向牛角。 In the bullring, it acquires its most impressive tones—because it must struggle on one side with the death that could destroy it, and on the other with geometry and measure—the fundamental rules of the festival. The bull has its orbit, the matador has his; between these orbits exists the point of danger—the apex of the terrible game. One can control the muleta with the Muse or the banderillas with the Angel, and perhaps become a “good matador,” but in the cape-dance, before a clear and uninjured bull, and in the final fatal moment, the help of the duende is needed to strike the center of artistic truth. The matador who shocks the crowd with recklessness is not truly bullfighting—he is merely standing on a ridiculous plane accessible to anyone, gambling with his life. But the matador bitten by the duende performs a Pythagorean movement, making one forget that he is constantly throwing his heart against the bull’s horns.

拉加蒂霍与其罗马杜恩德,何塞利托与其犹太杜恩德,贝尔蒙特与其巴洛克杜恩德,卡甘乔与其吉普赛杜恩德——他们从斗牛场暮色中,向诗人、画家与音乐家传授西班牙传统的四大路径。 Lagartijo with his Roman duende, Joselito with his Jewish duende, Belmonte with his Baroque duende, Cagancho with his Gypsy duende—from the twilight of the bullring, they teach poets, painters, and musicians the four great paths of Spanish tradition.

西班牙是唯一一个将死亡作为国民表演的国家——死亡吹响春天的长号,其艺术永远受敏锐杜恩德主导,这赋予了其差异与创造力。 Spain is the only country where death is a national spectacle—where death blows the trumpets of spring—and its art is forever governed by a sharp duende that gives it its distinctiveness and its creative quality.

那个首次以血填充雕塑中圣徒面颊的杜恩德,与让圣胡安·德拉克鲁斯呻吟,或燃烧洛佩宗教十四行诗中裸体仙女的杜恩德,是同一个。那个在萨阿贡高塔建塔,或在卡拉塔尤德、特鲁埃尔搬热砖的杜恩德,是同一个打破格雷科云彩、踢翻奎维多执法者与戈雅幻兽的杜恩德。雨时,它让委拉斯开兹神秘附体,潜藏于灰色王权之下;雪时,它让埃雷拉裸身示人,证明寒冷无法杀人;火焰中,它将贝鲁格特卷入烈焰,促使其为雕塑发明新空间。 That duende who first filled the cheeks of saints in sculptures with blood is the same one who made St. John of the Cross moan, or burned the naked nymphs in Lope’s religious sonnets. That duende who built the towers in Sahagún or moved hot bricks in Calatayud and Teruel is the same one who broke El Greco’s clouds, kicked over Quevedo’s magistrates, and Goya’s chimeras. In rain, it possess Velázquez mysteriously, hiding under the grey of royalty; in snow, it leaves Herrera naked to prove that cold cannot kill; in fire, it pulls Berruguete into the flames, urging him to invent new space for sculpture.

当贡戈拉的缪斯与加尔西拉索·德·拉·维加的天使遇到圣胡安·德拉克鲁斯的杜恩德,桂冠必须让路,当 鹿受伤 自山岗探头 When Góngora’s Muse and Garcilaso de la Vega’s Angel meet the duende of St. John of the Cross, the laurel must give way when: The wounded deer peeks from the hill.

冈萨洛·德·贝尔塞奥的缪斯与希塔牧区神父的天使也必须退开,为豪尔赫·曼里克让路,当他死伤临贝尔蒙特城堡门口。格雷戈里奥·埃尔南德斯的缪斯与何塞·德·莫拉的天使也必须避开,为梅纳的杜恩德之泪与马丁内斯·蒙塔涅斯的亚述公牛头杜恩德让路。正如加泰罗尼亚忧郁缪斯与加利西亚湿透天使,也必须以慈爱惊讶之眼凝视卡斯蒂利亚杜恩德——远离温热面包与甜美牛奶,遵循被扫净天空与干旱山岭的规则。 The Muse of Gonzalo de Berceo and the Angel of the Archpriest of Hita must also step aside for Jorge Manrique when he lies wounded at the gates of Belmonte castle. The Muse of Gregorio Hernández and the Angel of José de Mora must avoid the tears of Mena’s duende and the Assyrian bull-head duende of Martínez Montañés. Just as the melancholy Muse of Catalonia and the soaked Angel of Galicia must gaze with loving, surprised eyes at the Castilian duende—away from warm bread and sweet milk, following the rules of swept skies and dry mountains.

克维多的杜恩德与塞万提斯的杜恩德——一方以绿色磷光海葵装饰,一方以鲁伊德拉石膏花点缀——共同为西班牙杜恩德祭坛加冕。每种艺术自然有其专属杜恩德,但皆根源于同一点——曼努埃尔·托雷斯的“黑色声音”,最后物质、共同基础、不可控而颤栗的木、音、布与词。这些黑色声音背后,温柔地蛰伏着火山、蚂蚁、微风与银河紧束腰间的浩夜。 The duende of Quevedo and the duende of Cervantes—one adorned with green phosphorescent anemones, the other with Ruidera plaster flowers—together crown the altar of the Spanish duende. Every art naturally has its own duende, but all root in the same point—Manuel Torre’s “black sounds,” the final substance, the common ground, the uncontrollable and shivering wood, sound, cloth, and word. Behind these black sounds, volcanoes, ants, breezes, and the vast night with the Milky Way tightened around its waist, sleep tenderly.

女士们,先生们:我已竖起三道拱门,用笨拙的手将缪斯、天使与杜恩德置于其中。缪斯静止不动;她可穿小褶的长袍,或如庞培所绘的四面鼻子牛眼,毕加索的挚友所画。天使可挥动安东内洛·德·梅西纳的发丝,披里皮的长袍,小提琴来自马索利诺或卢梭。 Ladies and gentlemen: I have raised three arches and with a clumsy hand I have placed within them the Muse, the Angel, and the duende. The Muse remains motionless; she can wear a tunic with small folds, or a four-sided nose and ox-eyes like those painted by Pompey or by Picasso’s close friend. The Angel can wave the hair of Antonello da Messina, wear the tunic of Lippi, and the violin comes from Masolino or Rousseau.

杜恩德……杜恩德在何处?从空拱门透入的,是一股思维之风,它执着吹拂死者头顶,寻找未知的风景与音调——带着孩童口水、碾碎青草与水母薄纱的气息,预示新生事物不断的洗礼。 The duende… where is the duende? Through the empty archway comes a wind of the spirit, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents—a wind with the scent of a child’s saliva, of crushed grass, and jellyfish veils, announcing the constant baptism of newly created things.

a pretty piece of flesh, please

26 Sunday Jan 2025

Posted by babylon crashing in Kreyòl, Translation

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Blood Wedding, Federico Garcia Lorca, Haitian Creole, Haitian Creole translation, poem, Poetry, quote unquote

This is a scene from Federico Garcia Lorca’s 1933 surreal drama, Bodas de sangre (Blood Wedding). Set in rural Spain, the story concerns a doomed love triangle swirling around the nameless Bride, Groom and Leonardo Felix, who once was in love with the Bride but is now married to another. Driving the tragedy is the Groom’s bitter Mother, who has lost her husband and older son to an ancient feud with the Felix family. It is during the wedding itself that the Bride unexpectedly flees with Leonardo, leaving the Groom with no choice but to follow them. The two men kill each other and the rest of the play deals with the fallout for all the female characters.

Lorca loved his psychedelic Romanticism and this play does not disappoint. During the chase scene all manner of bizarreness happens, from a trio of otherworldly lumberjacks to the Moon making a walk-on appearance. Perhaps the strangest is Death, who takes the appearance of a curvaceous pauper (though, except for some stage directions, she is only referred to as “The Beggar Woman” throughout). As the scene opens, two young women sit, spinning wool, while the Little Girl (who turns up in the play whenever a comedic line is needed) runs about being sassy. Soon Death shows up and asks, Yon bèl moso vyann, tanpri. [A pretty piece of flesh, please.]

LITTLE GIRL. Ale ale! [Go away!]
BEGGAR WOMAN. Poukisa? [Why?]
LITTLE GIRL. Paske w ap plenyen: ale. [Because you’re whining: go away.]
BEGGAR WOMAN. Mwen te kapab mande pou je ou! Yon bann zwazo swiv mwen: ou vle youn? [I could ask for your eyes! A flock of birds is following me: do you want one?]
LITTLE GIRL. Mwen vle ale lwen ou! [I want to get away from you!]
YOUNG WOMAN I. [To the Beggar Woman.] Pa koute l! [Don’t listen to her!]
YOUNG WOMAN II. Eske ou soti nan rivyè a? [Are you from the river?]
BEGGAR WOMAN. Se konsa mwen te vini. [That’s how I got here.]
YOUNG WOMAN I. [Timidly.] Èske mwen ka poze w yon kesyon? [Can I ask you a question?]
BEGGAR WOMAN. Mwen te wè yo; yo pral byento la: de torrent lapè finalman ant gwo wòch yo, de gason nan pye chwal la. Mouri nan bote nan mitan lannwit lan. [Pauses.] Mouri, wi, mouri. [I saw them; they will be there soon: two river torrents at peace at last between the rocks, two men trampled between the horse’s feet. Dying in the beauty of the night. Dying, yes, dying.]
LITTLE GIRL. Fèmen bouch, dam toutouni, fèmen bouch! [Shut up, naked lady, shut up!]
BEGGAR WOMAN. Flè ranpli twou je yo, ak dan yo se de ti ponyen nèj difisil. Yo tou de tonbe, pandan lamarye a te rive, abiye ak cheve tache san. Anba dra san tache yo pral retounen, pote sou zepòl bèl ti gason. Se konsa, pa gen anyen ankò ka fè. Li jis. Tout sa ki rete yo se flè an lò sou sab sal. [Flowers fill their eye sockets, and their teeth are two handfuls of hard snow. They both fall, as the bride arrives, dressed in blood-stained hair. Under the blood-stained sheets they will return, carried on the shoulders of a handsome boy. So there is nothing more to be done. It is fair. All that remains are golden flowers on the dirty sand.][Vanishes.]
YOUNG WOMAN I. Sal se sab la. [The sand is dirty.]
YOUNG WOMAN II. Sou flè an lò. [On the golden flower.]
LITTLE GIRL. Sou flè an lò a mò yo pote tounen soti nan kouran an. Brown se youn, mawon se lòt la. Ki rossinyol ki nan lonbraj vole ak fè jouda sou flè an lò! [Beneath the golden flower they carry them from the river. Dark-haired is one, dark-haired is the other. Let the shadow of the nightingale fly and call to the golden flower!]

grows

08 Wednesday May 2024

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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blithe spirit, Federico Garcia Lorca, poem, Poetry, quote unquote, sonnet, Spanish translation

“La una era la otra/ y la muchacha era ninguna” ~ Federico Garcia Lorca

I am petty. Splintered bones, skirt of green

fire, the skulls of all my foes hung around

my neck. I am mean, ravenously mean:

a hog’s head worth. The ribs over my wound

are all bent outwards. That which was dwelling

within woke hungry. Decades go by. Greed?

A glint. A hint. It’s never gone. Growing

the way greed grows without logic or need,

until it wakes. Wakey-wakey, monster.

You mean, pretty cocksucker. Here’s my hog

sticking knife, pretty-pretty. Damnation

of queens. All that can curl closed my finger

opens. Grey greed blue hue greenish fog smog

kiss. Mist’s kiss of flesh. Wet smack of toxin.

][][

Notes.

The Garcia Lorca quote comes from a longer trippy poem, Casida de las Palomas Obscuras (Song of the Dark Doves) where the roots of this poem started, only to head off in a different direction by line 2. Inspiration can be a surreal beast, I suppose.

Por las ramas del laurel
van dos palomas oscuras.
La una era el sol,
la otra la luna.
«Vecinitas» les dije,
«¿dónde está mi sepultura?»
«En mi cola» dijo el sol.
“En mi garganta» dijo la luna.
Y yo que estaba caminando
con la tierra por la cintura
vi dos águilas de nieve
y una muchacha desnuda.
La una era la otra
y la muchacha era ninguna.
«Aguilitas» les dije,
«¿dónde está mi sepultura?»
«”En mi cola» dijo el sol.
«En mi garganta» dijo la luna.
Por las ramas del laurel
vi dos palomas desnudas.
La una era la otra
y las dos eran ninguna.

In the laurel tree’s branches
I saw two dark doves.
One was the Sun,
the other the Moon.
“Little neighbors,” I said,
“Where is my grave?”
“In my tail,” said the Sun.
“In my throat,” said the Moon.
And I, who was walking
with the earth round my waist,
saw two snow-white eagles
and a naked girl.
One was the other
and the girl was neither.
“Little eagles,” I said:
“Where is my grave?”
“In my tail,” said the Sun.
“In my throat,” said the Moon.
In the laurel tree branches
I saw two naked doves.
One was the other
and both were neither.

amor oscuro

15 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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amor oscuro, dark love, Federico Garcia Lorca, Hart Crane, homoerotica, I love the drowned

[for Hart Crane]

I’ve had more than just ink in my mouth. Grail
tasting like brine when you let go — you freed

your hand then leaped over the tramp ship’s rail
to drown. You could’ve called me rent boy, greed,

nephew, hint of hope. I’d have given you
my youth and made a life out of rapture

and bare-backing. You didn’t want rescue,
though. You didn’t want to wait. I’ve never

loved the despair of urban sprawl enough
to call it epic — but you did, I’m told.

You saw, “amor oscuro,” as dead weight,
a curse. The void called. No amount of rough

sex would hold you back. I tried to hold
you — but no, you let go, you wouldn’t wait.

][][

NOTE:
Hart Crane (1899-1932) was a Modernist poet who wrote an epic-length ode to America called, The Bridge. He was also a chronic alcoholic, filled with homophobic self-hatred. While returning from Mexico, on the steamship Orizaba, he committed suicide by leaping off the deck. Dark love, or amor oscuro, is the term that the Spanish poet, Federico Garcia Lorca (1898–1936), called his homoerotic desires.

translating lorca

14 Sunday Apr 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Potawatomi, Spanish, Translation

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difficult translating, eshkebok, Federico Garcia Lorca, original spanish, poem, Poetry, Potawatomi, Romance Sonambulo

“VERDE, QUE TE QUIERO, VERDE.”
“Skebgezo, gmenwénmen, skebgezo.”
“Green, I want you, green.”

Potawatomi is an oral language meaning that it has only been until (relatively) recently that a dictionary using English has been made available to people like me who just want to learn the language because it sounds beautiful. To complicate things there are both Southern and Northern dialects that have their own vocabulary. I live in the north but my on-line language classes are from a southern band (Citizen Nation) who, logically, use southern terms. Today I am struggling over how to say green in Potawatomi in the context of the first line of Federico Garcia Lorca’s poem, Romance Sonambulo. “Verde, que te quiero, verde.” In Potawatomi the world is broken up into things that are animate (all that which is living, all which is spiritual, etc.) and inanimate (man-made things, etc.) The green that Lorca addresses (verde) embodies both hopeful and thwarted desire. I’ve always seen it as something otherworldly and alive. Animate green. One Potawatomi word-list I found on-line from Wisconsin says that green is, “eshkebok.” I liked that, since I could rhyme it with sleepwalk which plays nicely with the title of Lorca’s poem (Ballad of the Sleepwalker). However a different word list (this one from Oklahoma) says that green is, “skebgezo.” Perhaps it’s that regional difference I don’t really understand yet? Perhaps one is animate and the other not? I don’t know. The frustration of learning by oneself is that there is no one to correct my errors as I go along. Que te quiero (how I want you) is easier since I could find the actual phrase in Potawatomi in several sources. It is: “gmenwénmen.” I’m not at a place in my studies where I can keep translating the poem but one day I will. One day I will translate all of Lorca’s work and a brand new world will open up, just like that. I am endlessly excited to see a new world.

britches

09 Monday Jul 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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britches, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Federico Garcia Lorca, fuck-marry-kill, i love the butch in you, i love the femme in you, Poetry, sonnet

“Millay-Lorca-Kerouac,” I announce.

Driving to Flint we play Fuck-Marry-Kill.

 

“Edna?” you doubt. “Look at this ass. I bounce

when I strut” — I show off my tight Goodwill

 

britches, crotch frayed — “and when I’m on all fours.”

I love your truck with its [Off-road Princess]

 

[NDN Grrlz, please] and [My Pussy Roars]

decals. “Edna loved queer boys. She’d hit this.”

 

“Federico?” “Love my bambino.” “Jack?” “Hate

Jack; the white crayon of art.” “A huge sack

 

of limp cocks?” “Yes, literature’s eight dollar

haircut.” You laughed. I like your laugh. Irate

 

raving aside, you’re a blessing: laid-back,

hep, steps beyond she and he, his and her.

Quote

quote unquote

18 Wednesday Apr 2018

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Federico Garcia Lorca, los muertos, quote unquote, the dead

In Spain the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world. (Los muertos están más vivos que en cualquier otro país del mundo.)

Federico Garcia Lorca

Quote

quote unquote

04 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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Federico Garcia Lorca, Poetry, quote unquote, reblog

I denounce everyone
who ignores the other half,
the half that can’t be redeemed,
who lift their mountains of cement
where the hearts beat
inside forgotten little animals

Frederico Garcia Lorca (via smakka–bagms)

Quote

quote unquote

16 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by babylon crashing in quote unquote

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burn with desire, dark love, Federico Garcia Lorca, quote unquote, that which I cannot tell you

To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.

Federico Garcia Lorca
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