wuli物理居然没有挂?

⬆️整个HP最喜欢的两个人~

全心全意萌老伏。
被美色(和丑色)所迷。

我就是个颜狗。
拉叔的颜狗。
TR的颜狗。
老伏的……咳……
没错!我也是老伏的颜狗!

《大海与吹拂着的风》

一直喜欢的一篇文章,第一遍读是在语文读本里。后来每年都翻出来看一看,一开始看翻译,后来看原文。
我一年一年长大,对这篇文章的观感也越来越不同。


最后三段。

The Sea and the Wind that Blows

Of late years, I have noticed that my sailing has increasingly become a compulsive activity rather than a source of pleasure. There lies the boat, there blows the morning breeze-it is a point of honor, now, to go. I am like an alcoholic who cannot put his bottle out of his life. With me, I cannot not sail. Yet I know well enough that I have lost touch with the wind and, in fact, do not like the wind any more. It jiggles me up, the wind does, and what I really love are windless days, when all is peace. There is a great question in my mind whether a man who is against wind should longer try to sail a boat. But this is an intellectual response-the old yearning is still in me, belonging to the past, to youth, and so I am torn between past and present, a common disease of later life.

When does a man quit the sea? How dizzy, how bumbling must he be? Does he quit while he's ahead, or wait till he makes some major mistake, like falling overboard or being flattened by an accidental jibe? This past winter I spent hours arguing the question with myself. Finally, deciding that I had come to the end of the road, I wrote a note to the boatyard, putting my boat up for sale. I said I was "coming off the water." But as I typed the sentence, I doubted that I meant a word of it.

If no buyer turns up, I know what will happen: I will instruct the yard to put her in again-"just till somebody comes along." And then there will be the old uneasiness, the old uncertainty, as the mild southeast breeze ruffles the cove, a gentle, steady, morning breeze, bringing the taint of the distant wet world, the smell that takes a man back to the very beginning of time, linking him to all that has gone before. There will lie the sloop, there will blow the wind, once more I will get under way. And as I reach across to the black can off the Point, dodging the trap buoys and toggles, the shags gathered on the ledge will note my passage. "There goes the old boy again," they will say. "One more rounding of his little Horn, one more conquest of his Roaring Forties." And with the tiller in my hand, I'll feel again the wind imparting life to a boat, will smell again the old menace, the one that imparts life to me: the cruel beauty of the salt world, the barnacle's tiny knives, the sharp spine of the urchin, the stinger of the sun jelly, the claw of the crab.


往后的几年中,我意识到了我的航行已不仅是一种简单的觅取欢愉的源泉,因而航行渐渐地成了一种不可短缺的活动。瞧,船就在那边泊着,晨风在微微地吹拂着——如今航海纯粹是为了维护面子。我正如一个醉鬼,一生中离不开酒瓶。对我来说,不去航行则不成。诚然,我很明白我与风已失去了联系,而且事实上已不再喜欢风了。风将我吹得晃荡不已,风仅如此而已。我真正喜欢的倒是风平浪静的日子,周围的一切都是那么宁静。我的脑际产生了这样一个大疑问,即一个讨厌风的人是否还该继续设法扬帆行驶。但这只是一个心智的反应——先前的渴望在我的身上始终不泯,那是属于过去、属于青年的渴望,所以我在过去和现在之间痛苦地徘徊,这是人到晚年的一种通病。

一个人该在何时告辞大海?他一定是非常眩晕、非常踉跄了吧?他要在奋发向前时离别或是等到他铸成诸如掉人大海或因风帆的偶尔改向而被摔倒这样的大错之后才告罢手?去年秋天,我花了不少时间对这一问题反复琢磨权衡。终于,当我得出我已到了路的尽头这一结论时,我给船坞写了一张便笺,要求将我的船只搁置起来拍卖。我说我要“与水解缘”了。但当我把这句话打下字来时,我怀疑我是否吐过一丝真言。

如果无人前来认购,我知道会出现何种情况:我去要求船坞将船置入港内——“直至买主光临”。然而,当温和的东南风在港湾窸窣作响时——那是轻柔、稳定的清晨的凉风,捎来了远方湿漉漉的世界的色泽,也带来了使人返回起点的气息,将他与既往的一切联系起来——我又会像过去那样跃跃欲试,又会茫然不知所措。单帆小船又将出现在我的眼前,又有风在微微地吹拂。我又将起锚出航。当我驶过托利群岛附近的纺锤形航标、闪避阀式浮标和系索粧时,麇集在暗礁上的藓草将会记下我的航线。“那个老伙计又出航了,”人们会这么说,“再次驶过他那小小的好望角,再次征服他那波涛汹涌的西风带。”我将握紧舵柄,再次感受到风赋予小船的生命,我又会嗅到先前那种险峻的气息,这是一种在我的身上注满活力的险象:咸涩世界的残忍美,船底甲壳动物的无数利刃,海胆的尖刺,水母的螯针,蟹的钳。


译者 王志章


评论(6)
热度(10)