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“I’m a human being, nothing human can be alien to me”
作者:wh
发表时间:2014-05-28
更新时间:2014-05-30
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美国黑人女诗人、作家Maya Angelou今早在北卡Winston-Salem市的家中去世,享年86
岁。BBC新闻称她为“one of America's leading literary voices of the last
50 years”。她的成名作是1969年的自传小说《我知道笼中鸟为何歌唱》 (I Know Why
the Caged Bird Sings),这是她的七卷自传小说之首,回忆她在30年代美国南部度过的
充满种族主义、不安全感、性骚扰、强奸与复仇的童年。此书在美国畅销书榜单上待了足足两
年。
http://news.bbcimg.co.uk/media/images/75155000/jpg/_75155929_angelou_b
ook_ap.jpg
上海三联去年出了中译本:
http://book.douban.com/subject/22196844/

Harry Potter的作者JK Rowling在tweeter上引用并致敬Angelou:"'If you are
always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can
be.' Maya Angelou - who was utterly amazing."(同致我的amazing的孩子……)

Angelou在Stamps, Arkansas长大,七岁时被母亲的男友强奸。她告诉了家人,随后男人被
杀。"I thought my voice had killed him, so it was better not to speak
- so I simply stopped speaking." 她沉默了五年,拼命地读书。

成年后的Angelou做过歌手、舞蹈演员、酒吧女招待、妓女、演员,直到《笼中鸟》一书使她
成为作家、人权主义者、社会活动家。她与Martin Luther King及 Malcolm X互加好友;
在克林顿的就职典礼上赋诗《On the Pulse of the Morning》,获得格莱美“Best
Spoken Word”奖,销售过百万;她的诗集有《Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water
'fore I Diiie》 (1971,提名普利策奖)、《And Still I Rise》 (1978)、《Now
Sheba Sings the Song》(1987) 与《I Shall Not Be Moved》(1990)等;克林顿送
给她National Medal of Arts,奥巴马送给她Presidential Medal of Freedom;她
在《根》等电视剧里跑过龙套,得过Tony奖提名,编过剧,导演过电影,在大学里教
American Studies,作曲,写儿童书……一生多姿多彩。

Youtube上有很多Angelou的讲演和朗诵。我最先听的是I am Human,谁能帮我听一听开头
有一句是“I am the chant(?) of God”吗?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePodNjrVSsk
vhttp://www.youtube.com/v/ePodNjrVSsk
她引用北非血统的古罗马剧作家Terence的名句:“I am a human being, nothing
human
can be alien to me”。善与恶根植在每个人的心中,每个人都有brute, bigot,
batterer的破坏性力量,也都可以转为建设性力量,只要你敢于去爱。

她爱得不软弱,会把语言轻侮讥损的客人请出门外,认为words are things,它们会爬到你
的墙上、家具上、衣服里,最终钻进你的身体里,因此要慎用语言:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PXdacSqvcA
vhttp://www.youtube.com/v/8PXdacSqvcA

她生性光明,虽然天空乌云重重,但每块乌云上都现出彩虹。她自己就是一道彩虹,与人为善,
魅力吸人:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtdffxj7pNE
vhttp://www.youtube.com/v/wtdffxj7pNE

下一楼贴几首她的诗。


Poem Hunter网站选了她的28首诗:
http://www.poemhunter.com/maya-angelou/poems/
有配音朗诵,不过读得不咋样,还夹带广告。她的诗很有战斗风格:《Still I Rise》
是打不垮的韧劲,“dance like I've got diamonds /At the meeting of my
thighs
”厉害。《The Detached》说人与人的隔离;不过T.S. Eliot是肯定the sense of
detachment的,认为对人对事对文字要拉开一定的距离,才能不执迷。《The Lesson》
是生与死的概念互换。我没全看,你们要是看到好的也来说说,谢谢。

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.


The Detached

We die,
Welcoming Bluebeards to our darkening closets,
Stranglers to our outstretched necks,
Stranglers, who neither care nor
care to know that
DEATH IS INTERNAL.

We pray,
Savoring sweet the teethed lies,
Bellying the grounds before alien gods,
Gods, who neither know nor
wish to know that
HELL IS INTERNAL.

We love,
Rubbing the nakednesses with gloved hands,
Inverting our mouths in tongued kisses,
Kisses that neither touch nor
care to touch if
LOVE IS INTERNAL.


The Lesson

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.


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