Posts Tagged ‘生活不是条件反射’

2014年元旦诗乐会

Wednesday, January 1st, 2014

Benno的朗诵

不知不觉,元旦诗会已经举办了三年。第一次是2010年12月31日在花园西村西咖啡馆举办的跨年朗诵会,我当时写过一篇博客《横跨两年的朗诵》,2012年元旦是在滨江的蜜桃咖啡,从2013年开始,我和冯一刀都有家有口,跨年是跨不动了,就改在下午举行。当时在灵隐寺附近的樵食的帐篷里,大家围炉诵诗,也好不热闹。

2014年,叶子的Downtown网咖乐意承办这次诵诗会。叶子和冯一刀作了大量前期准备工作,包括:设计海报、打印诗歌、精选音乐、确认名单、布置场地、邀请歌手等等。没有他们两个,这次诗会铁定搞不成。

按照约定,诗会在下午2点举行,我12:30就从家开车出发,心想,一个半小时的时间,路上再怎么磨叽,也不可能迟到吧。然而,人算不如天算,我去城西接本次活动的另一位主持人流川枫老师的时候,她告诉我,刚刚起床,正在洗漱。我把车停到她的小区,进了路边一家玩具店,给儿子买了一把打肥皂泡的水枪。想不到,流川枫因为最近不再状态,磨蹭了半个多小时才出现。等我们开到西城广场的时候,已经1点55分了。

想不到城西富人区,停车是个大麻烦,地下车库全满,路边也停满,唯一一条通向地面停车场的小路上汽车犬牙交错。如果是我一个人来,估计转半个小时也不可能找到车位,但是上苍派来了伟大的流川枫。我把车丢给她,自己上楼去了。就在我等电梯的当儿,她打电话来说,车已停妥。原来有位奔驰司机看到她是美女的面子上,把路旁唯一一个车位让给了她!

活动基本按时举行。到场的诗歌爱好者有20多人,大家丢下庶务,围坐在一起,把接下来的两个小时留给诗歌。

主持人

诗会的节目流程如下:

2014元旦诗乐会节目单

策划:冯一刀
主持人:流川枫、王佩

1、王多莉:《树的念想》(原创)
2、Benno: 一首英文诗,一首荷兰诗
3、Jessy: In Me, Past, Present, Future Meet, 《你若懂我,该是多好》(by 莫言)
4、流川枫:《回忆》(by 里尔克)
5、刘桂兰:《碎片思绪之一》(原创)
6、冯一刀:《12月12日》、《孩子的世界》(原创)–因主持人疏忽,忘了这个节目,没念,遗憾。
7、施可:《晚安宝贝》–因暂时不在座位上,没念,遗憾。
8、戴维:原创诗三首。
9、Richard:背诵英文长诗A Cup of Christmas Tea (by Tom Hegg)
10、Sarah:Psalm 144
11、Rebecca:《传道书》第3章
12、江丰:弹唱《风筝》、《送别》
13、Gemsie三人组:Forever My Sister and My Friend
14、诸佳、叶子:《你是人间的四月天》
15、鲁洁:《车过枋寮》(by 余光中) 背景音乐伴奏 by 江丰
16、Edward:原创短诗
17、西瓜、豆豆、南瓜等儿童大联唱
18、陈静:《神是我们的保护者》
19、集体朗诵:《二十首情诗和一首绝望的歌》之10《我们甚至失去了》(by 聂鲁达 翻译:陈黎)

令人惊叹的是,来自美国明尼苏达州的Richard用充满韵律感的语调,背诵了一首900个英文单词的长诗《一杯圣诞茶》。Tom Hegg的这首叙事诗,写给自己的姑姑,深沉质朴、温婉动人,凛凛有古风。姑姑因中风半身行动不便,但依然像往年那样邀请诗人去喝圣诞茶,诗人出于对病患的顾忌,起初不想去,但最后还是登门了。他发现姑姑虽然健康受损,但生命力依旧旺盛,她跛着腿给侄子烤的甜点,依然那么好吃。

现把这首美丽的诗篇原文照登如下,如果你懂英文的话,一定要读一读。如果你忙得连这么一首诗都不去读,那您可……真是个大忙人啊!

A Cup of Christmas Tea

~ By Tom Hegg ~

The log was in the fireplace, all spiced and set to burn.
At last the yearly Christmas race was in the clubhouse turn.
The cards were in the mail, all the gifts beneath the tree
And 30 days reprieve till Visa could catch up with me.

Though smug satisfaction seemed the order of the day,
Something still was nagging me and would not go away.
A week before, I got a letter from my old great Aunt.
It read: “Of course I’ll understand completely if you can’t,
But if you find you have some time how wonderful if we
Could have a little chat and share a cup of Christmas tea.”

She’d had a mild stroke that year which crippled her left side.
Though house bound now my folks had said it hadn’t hurt her pride.
They said: “She’d love to see you. What a nice thing it would be
For you to go and maybe have a cup of Christmas tea.”

But boy! I didn’t want to go. Oh, what a bitter pill
To see an old relation and how far she’d gone downhill.
I remembered her as vigorous, as funny and as bright.
I remembered Christmas Eves when she regaled us half the night.

I didn’t want to risk all that. I didn’t want the pain.
I didn’t need to be depressed. I didn’t need the strain.
And what about my brother? Why not him? She’s his aunt, too!
I thought I had it justified, but then before I knew
The reasons not to go I so painstakingly had built
Were cracking wide and crumbling in an acid rain of guilt.

I put on boots and gloves and cap, shame stinging every pore
And armed with squeegee, sand and map, I went out my front door.
I drove in from the suburbs to the older part of town
The pastels of the newer homes gave way to gray and brown.

I had that disembodied feeling as the car pulled up
And stopped beside the wooden house
That held the Christmas cup.
How I got up to her door I really couldn’t tell . . .
I watched my hand rise up and press the button of the bell.

I waited, aided by my nervous rocking to and fro
And just as I was thinking I should turn around and go
I heard the rattle of the china in the hutch against the wall.
The triple beat of two feet and a crutch came down the hall.
The clicking of the door latch and the sliding of the bolt
And a little swollen struggle popped it open with a jolt.

She stood there pale and tiny, looking fragile as an egg.
I forced myself from staring at the brace that held her leg.
And though her thick bifocals
Seemed to crack and spread her eyes,
Their milky and refracted depths lit up with young surprise.
“Come in!” “Come in!” She laughed the words.
She took me by the hand
And all my fears dissolved away as if by her command.
We went inside and then before I knew how to react
Before my eyes and ears and nose
Was Christmas past . . . alive . . . intact!

The scent of candied oranges, of cinnamon and pine,
The antique wooden soldiers in their military line,
The porcelain Nativity I’d always loved so much,
The Dresden and the crystal I’d been told I mustn’t touch.
My spirit fairly bolted like a child out of class
And danced among the ornaments of calico and glass.

Like magic I was six again, deep in a Christmas spell
Steeped in the million memories the boy inside knew well.
And here among old Christmas cards so lovingly displayed
A special place of honor for the ones we kids had made.
And there, beside her rocking chair, the center of it all
My great Aunt stood and said
How nice it was that I had come to call.

I sat and rattled on about the weather and the flu
She listened very patiently then smiled and said, “What’s new?”
Thoughts and words began to flow. I started making sense.
I lost the phony breeziness I use when I get tense.
She was still passionately interested in everything I did.
She was positive. Encouraging. Like when I was a kid.
Simple generalities still sent her into fits
She demanded the specifics . . . the particulars . . . the bits.

We talked about the limitations that she’d had to face.
She spoke with utter candor and with humor and good grace.
Then defying the reality of crutch and straightened knee
On wings of hospitality she flew to brew the tea.
I sat alone with feelings that I hadn’t felt in years.
I looked around at Christmas through a thick hot blur of tears.

And the candles and the holly she’d arranged on every shelf,
The impossibly good cookies she still somehow baked herself.
But these rich and tactile memories Became quite pale and thin
When measured by the Christmas
My great Aunt kept deep within.
Her body halved and nearly spent, But my great Aunt was whole.
I saw a Christmas miracle, the triumph of a soul.

The triple beat of two feet and a crutch came down the hall.
The rattle of the china in the hutch against the wall.
She poured two cups, she smiled, And then she handed one to me.
And then we settled back and had a cup of Christmas tea.

另外,附上冯一刀没有朗诵的一首原创诗

《12月12日》

写于2010年12月12日
by 冯一刀

没有女人
床是空的,也心是空的
这是多么令人沮丧的发现
曾经设想清灯孤寂的生活
隐居山林,甚至以此终老
这雨夜却教我格外想念女人
心里只有格外的惆怅

“当时明月在,曾照彩云归”
错过了离开了的女人
所有的一切,证明了男人离不开女人
人生啊,是一条怎样的河流
让我们无法回到过去,也无法确定未来
谁是那个在有一天早晨——
她的鼻息轻轻冲到你的脸上
而你会像婴儿般享受她的注视

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2013,一份不满意的答卷

Tuesday, December 31st, 2013

2013,马上就要过去了。回首一年,碌碌无为,时光蹉跎,惟留羞愧。看看白板报发表的博客数量就知道了,全年发文30篇(其中5月、8月各只有1篇),这只相当于2010年一个月的文章量。

究竟是什么原因让我变得这样惫懒?当奶爸?这个借口太无耻了,因为都是我媳妇在全年无休地带娃。身体欠佳?有一点,但没到不能写字的地步。工作太忙?也是胡扯,这一年只出了12期杂志,写了一个剧本而已。

我想一个原因是这一年深刻体会到表达的无力感。满腔怒火之花,无法形成语句,只能填塞胸间,偶尔憋不住发一两声,也不过詈词粗口,或只是喧哗骚动,没任何意义。

偶尔买到一本翻译得稀巴烂的书(例如:李伟红翻译的《宽银幕》)让我愤怒;去服务质量很差的餐馆排队(例如:定安路灶丰年间)会让我愤怒;漫天雾霾、自来水异味、投标被黑,都让我怒从心起,甚至看《国土安全》第三季看到美国人到伊朗领土上横行霸道,也会让我气不打一处来。年轻时有了气,会当场发泄出来,至少会写下来,而中年之后,却更多地选择沉默。

这一年我开通了微信公众帐号,看上去与时俱进,其实更像是小区里老不正经的老汉跟着年轻人赶时髦。就凭我现在的写作状态根本无力维护一个微信公众号,何况两个。与其发一些旧文滥竽充数,还不如早点停掉。

乏善可陈的2013,也有几件有意义的事。首先是,开始补电影课。这一年看了约翰·福特、大卫·里恩所有的代表作,并开始看希区柯克、黑泽明、怀尔斯等人的电影。养成了看完电影就读剧本的好习惯。但是,这一年没能写出电影剧本,失约失人,愧哉愧哉。

读书方面,今年重读了一遍《新约全书》。发现了一本好书:桥本忍写的《复眼的影像–我与黑泽明》,仔细通读了《编剧的艺术》,正在读舟桥和郎写的《电视剧脚本作法48讲》,越发觉得日本人写的书最靠谱。

这一年最大的收获还是识人吧。在牟森的介绍下,认识了艺术思想家高士明、戏剧构作满宇轩、画家王公懿、左翼思想家陆兴华等人,获益匪浅。还有通过刘淼,认识了简书的朋友、诗人乌青、摄影师拉黑等人。今年还见了鹿童、小燕、大学梁同学等新朋老友,一并感恩。

来年,许个愿,博客文章量增加到至少100篇。只要有条件,每两天看一部电影,读一个剧本,写一篇学习笔记。

希望明年此时的总结,不再满是羞惭与懊悔。

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