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2011年1月16日 星期日

Xu Zhimo's "Autumn Bugs" ( 除志摩的『秋蟲』)

Read another one of Xu Zhimo's poems last night and did its translation this morning. In this poem, the poet made use of the image of the autumn bug to signal the demise of love in the modern world. We all know that before their death, before the night closes in the bugs of autumn will make a desperate attempt to shout their messages across the autumn breeze in the hope that after having gorged themselves during the day, they have sufficient energy then to find their own kind to copulate for the continuation of next generation before they are forever silenced by the onslaught of winter blizzards.


Money has corrupted the human soul. As he says, it has taken possession not only of all of the modern man's working hours. It has invaded and taken over even that most secret sanctuary of his soul: his dreams. The modern man no longer has time for love. He has no more time to look at the green grass and the morning dew. His eyes are dazzled only by the gleam of gold. As the poet says, love has become stars during the day, its light completely overshadowed by the blinding rays of the new monetary sun.


There seems little hope. Shame has taken a long vacation, cultivating its tiny plot in front of its desert home, without hope of ever fructifying. But the days of boredom without any consolation from the shower of love are notyet the worst, which is still to come. There is no more hope until the day when the longed for revolution comes.


The revolution that Xu has in mind is not political at all. Perhaps he is thinking of a revolution in the values of the modern world, when humanity finds it no longer tolerable to continue to live in conditions of oppression by the capitalist system. They shall then rise again to assert their rights to freedom from the enslavement by money. He is perhaps thinking of a time in the distant future when man will again have time to go back to an environment which their ancestors have found more congenial and conducive to the cultivation of love: to Nature. He is thinking of the day when they will again find time to appreciate, in the company of their lovers, Nature's beauty in all its abundance and radiance, a resplendent beauty all but obliterated and obscured by man's self-imposed blinkers of desire for money . Despite almost a century, its seems that that day is still no where in sight! It seems that everyday, modern society is still broadcasting over all its PA systems in the emotionless tone of a robot:"We regret to inform you that due to mechanical failure, there will be a slight delay in the train of revolution. Service will be resumed as soon as we are able to."  We may be permitted to think that the message will sound a trifle empty after almost a century. Who knows, perhaps our ears have been so accustomed to the announcement that they may have ceased to hear it at all. 


秋蟲


秋蟲,你為什麽來?人間


早不是舊時候的清閒;


這青草,這白露,也是獃;


再也沒有用,這些詩材!


黄金才是人們的新寵,


他佔了白天,又霸住夢!


愛情,像白天裏的星星,


她早就迴避,早沒了影。


天黑它們也不得回來,


半空裏永遠有烏雲蓋。


還有廉恥也告了長假,


他躲在沙漠地裏住家;


花儘着開可結不成果,


思想被主義姦污得苦!


你別說這日子過得悶,


晦氣臉的還在後面跟!


這一半也是靈魂的懶,


他愛在園子裏種菜;


「不管,」他說:「聽他往下醜!


變豬, 變蛆,變蛤蟆,變狗.......


過天太陽羞得遞了臉,


月亮殘闕了再不肯圓,


到那天人道真滅了種,


我再來打---打革命的鐘!」


 


Autumn Bugs 


Bugs of Autumn, why have you come? The world of man


is no longer as leisurely as it was;


This grass of green, this dew in white, are wasting their time too;


No further use, such materials for poetry!


Gold alone is man's latest love,


taking over his day, taking charge of his dreams!


Love, like stars in daylight,


has run away long ago, without any trace long ago.


They can't return even at night,


the mid-sky always overcast with dark clouds.


Shame too has taken a long vacation,


hiding at his desert home;


flowers may bloom at will but will never bear fruit.


how hard has thought been violated by doctrine!


Don't say boring are the days,


more grumpy faces are on the way !


It's half sloth of the soul,


he loves to hide in the garden tending greens


"Why bother," he says, "let him sink further in shame!


Turning into a pig, turning into a maggot, turning into a toad, turning into a dog......


There'd be a day when the sun will be so ashamed that it'll turn its face away,


when the moon will wane and won't wax again,


when humanity really becomes extinct,


I'll strike again--striking the bell of revolution!"


4 則留言:

  1. 今晚都仲係凍自己留意啦
    [版主回覆01/16/2011 22:47:00]You too.
    Wish you luck in firing your devilish "boss"!

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  2. Good evening, my dear old friend !  After reading "Autumn Bugs", I feel sorry for the bugs... Give them shelter, give them love, please?  It's a life-time irony as long as money exists in this world... ...Like the conventional statement: " Money corrupts, but  we can't live  without money...and so, let's make some money and spend it in our life ..."  "Money, money , money talks...    Money monitors our every day life,     Money exhausts , and we're still breathing, the smell of the dollar bill...     Talks , never sleeps or falls into a dream... it yearns for a soul..." 










    [版主回覆01/17/2011 07:41:00]The merchants certainly know how to draw cash, and more and more cash from our pockets. There is nothing they won't do. Valentine's Day, Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, New Year, Halloween have all been turned into more sources of profit to be laid at the altar of Moloch! We have been brainwashed day in day out that Money, not Love, makes the world go round.

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  3. 徐志摩這詩與其他浪漫作品相當不同啊
     
    [版主回覆01/17/2011 07:34:00]In this poem he is not talking about the pains and joys of love but a possible cause for its frustration:  the rising trend in Chinese society towards the mercenary adoration of Moloch. The delicate joys of love is suffocated by a new desire for money.

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  4. Anything in excess numbs the sensation. A mind that is busy making and hoarding money has no room for love, but a mind that is inundated with love without caring for the practical side of life gets “drowned” by the emotional deluge. Money is not evil in itself, excess is.
    [版主回覆01/17/2011 10:19:00]Everything in moderation: the Golden Mean of the Greeks and of Confucius!

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