圣-瓊·佩斯作品

◎董繼平 譯

鳥

大海上的人， 在空氣中感覺到正午， 對著這樣的奇觀抬頭：一只在天上展開的白色鷗鳥， 猶如燈火前女人的手， 在日光中提升一個圣體粉紅色的半透明度， 一塊圣餅的潔白……

從默默駛?cè)脒@個和平與統(tǒng)一之地的真實事物的悲劇的海岸，就像駛?cè)胍粋€中點或“核心”， 盡管如此， 那只從其第三維被減去的鳥， 一點也沒忘記它曾經(jīng)在它的強奪者手里的體積。 穿越畫家的內(nèi)心距離， 它跟隨他走向一個新世界， 絲毫未曾中斷與它的起源之地、 它更早的環(huán)境和它更深的親緣的聯(lián)系。 一個非常相同的詩意空間確保這種連續(xù)性。 因為布拉克①畫的這只鳥， 這就成了他的“生態(tài)學(xué)” 秘密的力量。

人重新匯入了野獸的天真， 畫在獵人眼里的那只鳥變成野獸眼里的獵人本身， 就像在愛斯基摩人的藝術(shù)中一樣。 野物和人一起越過第四維的津渡。 從存在的困難到熱愛的輕松， 他們最終同步移動， 兩個成雙成對的真正的生物。

既然解放的時辰已經(jīng)來臨， 這里就有不止一隊飛起的鳥： 這是畫出的偉大形象沉默地起飛， 就像下水船道上的船只……更確切地說， 在一陣陣風(fēng)的玫瑰的三十二個點中間， 在水手的羅盤那不朽的眼睛上， 把它們看作是類似于在它那藍鋼色的樞軸上恍惚的磁針。

布拉克那只簡潔的鳥根本不是簡單的主題。 它不是日子的這一頁上面的水印， 甚至也不是留在墻壁黏泥上新鮮的手印……它活著， 它傳播， 它燃燒——完全集中于存在和持久存在上面。 它像植物暢飲光芒的活力， 它如此熱切， 因此在太陽光譜中， 既看不見藍紫色也看不見藍色……它完全憑借靈魂的力量， 掙脫它的引力之線。 它的影子在地面上解散……這是一種行動的詩， 在這里被帶著激情而進入。

啊， 幸福的鳥兒， 但愿它們朝著我們延伸， 從一片海岸延伸到天空海洋的另一片海岸， 那將幫助并圍繞我們畫下的翅膀的巨大弧線！ 但愿它們在我們中間， 用靈魂的力量承載它十足的榮譽！

在天與海的半空中， 在永恒的上下水域之間， 清理永恒之路，對于我們， 它們是斡旋者， 用它們所有的存在努力地追求最大限度的存在……

這就是喬治·布拉克的鳥， 不管是海鳥還是干草原上的鳥、 沿海的鳥， 抑或是海洋中央的鳥……布拉克， 你把神圣的物種播撒在西方的空間。

忽視那見過我們大家誕生的最偉大之夢的球體， 它們把我們留給我們城市的傳說……它們的飛翔是知識， 空間是它們的異化。

它們在人類偉大的夜晚緘默， 高飛。 然而它們在黎明時朝我們降臨下來， 降臨的陌生者： 身披黎明的那些顏色——在瀝青和白霜之間——那正是人類深處的顏色……從那個清新的黎明， 就像從一場很純潔的圣水禮中， 它們?yōu)槲覀儽４媪藙?chuàng)造之夢的某種東西。

注： ①即喬治·布拉克（1882-1963）， 法國現(xiàn)代派畫家。

BIRDS

A man at sea， feeling noon in the air， lifts his head at this wonder: a white gull opened on the sky， like a woman's hand before the flame of a lamp， elevating in daylight the pink translucence of a host， a wafer's whiteness....

俞敏杰是顧曉琳在學(xué)習(xí)上的競爭對手。兩個人學(xué)習(xí)上誰也不服誰，第一名的成績輪流坐莊。不過，顧曉琳現(xiàn)在糟糕的家庭狀況讓俞敏杰為她擔(dān)心起來，如果這種狀況持續(xù)下去，她的成績肯定要下降，可是如果因為這個原因成全自己在班里第一名的地位，自己好像有點兒勝之不武。

From the tragic shores of the real drawn silently to this place of peace and unity， as into a median point or “l(fā)ocus，” the bird subtracted from his third dimension is nevertheless far from forgetting the volume he once had in the hand of his ravisher.Crossing into the interior distance of the painter， he follows him towards a new world without breaking any ties with the land of his origin， his earlier surroundings， and his deeper affinities.One very same poetic space assures this continuity.Such， for the bird painted by Braque， is the secret strength of his “ecology.”

Man has rejoined the innocence of the wild creature， and the bird painted in the hunter's eye becomes the hunter himself in the eye of the creature， as it does in Eskimo art.Wild thing and hunter together cross the ford of a fourth dimension.From the difficulty of being to the ease of loving they move in step at last， two real beings who form a pair.

We are a long way now from decoration.Here is knowledge pursued as a research of the soul， and nature finally joined by spirit after surrendering all to spirit.A moving and long meditation has rediscovered here the immensity of space and time where the naked bird displays his length， elliptically shaped like the red cells of his blood.

Now that the hour of liberation has come， here is more than a rising flight of birds: it is a silent launching of great painted images，like ships on their launching ways...Consider them rather， amid the thirty-two points of the rose of the winds， on the incorruptible eye of the mariner's compass， as resembling the magnetic needle in trance on its pivot of blue steel.

Braque's succinct bird is not at all a simple motif.He is not a watermark on the page of day， nor even the fresh imprint of a hand on the clay of a wall...He lives， he takes wind， he burns—all concentration on being and constancy in being.He drinks like a plant the energy of light， and so avid is he that in the solar spectrum he sees neither violet nor blue...By sheer force of soul he breaks his thread of gravitation.His shadow on the ground is dismissed...It is a poetry of action that is entered with passion here.

Happy birds， ah， may they extend towards us， from one shore to the other of heaven's ocean， that huge arc of painted wings that will assist and encircle us! May they bear the full honour of it among us by strength of soul!

At mid-height between sky and sea， between the upper and lower waters of eternity， clearing the way of eternity， they are mediators for us and strive with all their being to the utmost of being...

Such are the birds of Georges Braque， whether sea birds or birds of the steppe， coastal birds， or birds of mid-ocean...Braque，you are sowing the space of the West with holy species.

Passing over the globe of the greatest Dream， which has seen the birth of us all， they leave us to our tales of cities...Their flight is knowledge， space is their alienation.

Mute they are， and high in flight， in the great night of man.

But at dawn they come down to us， strangers descending:

Robed in those colours of dawn—between bitumen and hoarfrost—that are the very colours of the depths of man...

And from that dawn of freshness， as from a very pure aspersion， they have preserved for us something of the dream of creation.