《代号星期四》02一个噩梦（在线收听）

THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY A NIGHTMARE

 To Edmund Clerihew Bentley

  A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather,

  Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together.

  Science announced nonentity and art admired decay;

  The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay;

  Round us in antic order their crippled vices came—

  Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame.

  Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom,

  Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume.

  Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung;

  The world was very old indeed when you and I were young.

  They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named:

  Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed.

  Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus;

  When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us

  Children we were—our forts of sand were even as weak as we,

  High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea.

  Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd,

  When all church bells were silent our cap and bells were heard.

  Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled;

  Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world.

  I find again the book we found, I feel the hour that flings

  Far out of fish-shaped Paumanok some cry of cleaner things;

  And the Green Carnation withered, as in forest fires that pass,

  Roared in the wind of all the world ten million leaves of grass;

  Or sane and sweet and sudden as a bird sings in the rain—

  Truth out of Tusitala spoke and pleasure out of pain.

  Yea, cool and clear and sudden as a bird sings in the grey,

  Dunedin to Samoa spoke, and darkness unto day.

  But we were young; we lived to see God break their bitter charms.

  God and the good Republic come riding back in arms:

  We have seen the City of Mansoul, even as it rocked, relieved—

  Blessed are they who did not see, but being blind, believed.

  This is a tale of those old fears, even of those emptied hells,

  And none but you shall understand the true thing that it tells—

  Of what colossal gods of shame could cow men and yet crash,

  Of what huge devils hid the stars, yet fell at a pistol flash.

  The doubts that were so plain to chase, so dreadful to withstand—

  Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand?

  The doubts that drove us through the night as we two talked amain,

  And day had broken on the streets e’er it broke upon the brain.

  Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told;

  Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old.

  We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed,

  And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read.

  G. K. C.

    致爱德蒙德·克莱利休·本特利

    一朵乌云停伫于人们的心灵之上，狂风呼啸而过，

    是的，当我们还是男孩共聚一起，一朵病态的乌云停伫于灵魂之上。

    科学宣讲虚无而艺术赞美腐朽；

    世界古老已然终结：但你我是快乐的；

    他们破绽百出的恶行滑稽地包围了我们——

    淫欲丧失了它的欢笑，恐惧丧失了它的羞耻。

    就像照亮我们无处发泄的忧郁心情的惠斯勒的白头发。

    人们展示他们自己的白色羽毛，却骄傲如同展示一根漂亮的翎子。

    生活是一只逐渐褪色的苍蝇，而死亡是一只会蜇人的雄蜂；

    当你我年轻时世界其实已经非常古老。

    他们甚至把体面的罪恶编织成无名的形状：

    人们以荣耀为耻，但我们并不惭愧。

    即使我们脆弱而愚蠢，但我们并不因此而失败，并不；

    当黑色的太阳神阻隔了天堂我们不会为他唱赞美诗

    我们是孩子——我们沙子做的城堡甚至像我们一样脆弱，

    它们高高耸立我们堆积它们来冲破苦涩的大海。

    我们是形形色色的傻瓜，恼人而荒唐，

    当所有教堂的钟保持沉默我们的系铃帽被人听到。

    并非全然无助的我们守住了城堡，展开了我们的小旗帜；

    一些巨人在云中苦干，要把它从世界移走。

    我又找到那本我们曾找到的书，我体会到这一时刻

    把洁净之物的呼喊远远地抛出了鱼形的帕玛诺克

    而绿色的康乃馨凋谢了，犹如在穿行而过的森林之火中，

    在全世界一千万片草叶的大风中咆哮；

    或者像雨中鸣唱的鸟儿一样清醒、甜蜜而突然——

    真相从图西塔拉说出，快乐从痛苦说出。

    是的，像无聊时鸣唱的鸟儿一样冷静、明朗而突然，

    顿意丁对萨摩亚说，黑暗对白天说。

    但我们还年轻；我们活着看到上帝打破他们痛苦的魔咒。

    上帝和高尚的共和国带上武器乘车回来：

    我们看见了曼苏尔城，尽管它有些摇晃，放心了——

    那些没看见的人有福了，尽管他们目盲，却也相信了。

    这是一则关于那些古老的恐惧，甚至关于那些清空的地狱的故事，

    只有你们才能理解它述说的真相——

    关于巨大的耻辱之神如何恐吓和摧毁人。

    关于巨大的恶魔如何遮挡星星，却因为手枪的击发而倾覆。

    疑虑清清楚楚容易赶走，却又令人恐惧难以抵挡——

    哦，除了你们谁还能理解；是的，谁能够理解？

    当我俩激烈地交谈疑虑驱使我们穿过黑夜，

    白天在大街上豁然到来犹如使我们的头脑豁然开朗。

    以上帝的和平之力，此种真相现在可以在我们之间讲述；

    是的，扎根要有实力，变老意在为善。

    最后我们找到了平凡的事物以及婚姻和一个信条，

    现在我可以安然地写，而你们可以安然地读。