这个悲惨的故事以各种艺术形式为历代人所传诵，故事都从奥菲欧的视角出发来演绎。此诗为波西米亚及奥地利诗人里尔克（Rainer Maria Rilke）所作，与众多艺术表现形式不同的是，里尔克用尤丽迪淇的视角来讲故事，于是悲情的气氛更浓，因为死亡已经彻底消蚀了尤丽迪淇，她已经不知道悲伤，已经将往事遗忘，包括她曾经如此爱过的奥菲欧。人人皆知奥菲欧的深情和悲哀，又有谁能体会尤丽迪淇那种蚀骨消髓的悲情，那眼泪无法净化洗涤的哀婉，那更富有感染力－－那种痛彻心肺的永别。当尤丽迪淇柔柔地回道：“他是谁？”时，禁不住令我泪水涟涟，还有什么比记不得亲人更悲惨的事？
我是从美国剧作家玛丽。奇莫曼（Mary Zimmerman）的剧目《蜕变》 （Metamorphosis）中发现里尔克这首诗的。奇莫曼的《蜕变》以奥维德（Ovid）的《蜕变》为基础，中间穿插了其他灵感。奥菲欧与尤丽迪淇是剧中的第四个故事，奇莫曼以两个不同人的视角来讲这故事，奥菲欧的视角来自奥维德的原著，尤丽迪淇的视角来自里尔克这首诗。
里尔克的长诗中共有四个角色，说话最多的是讲述者，其余三位尤丽迪淇、奥菲欧和赫尔墨斯各只有一句话，讲述者是从尤丽迪淇的视角讲故事，说出她的形神和感情，她必须是沉寂的，因为她没有生命。奥菲欧心急火燎，是欠考虑的，内心充满怀疑，说到底他不信任哈达斯对他的承诺（谁能相信冥王？），也不真正相信自己音乐的魅力（要是他自信他的音乐能感动冥王，他就不会回头）。赫尔墨斯作为神倒是有点人情味，他是希望尤丽迪淇重生的，当他知道尤丽迪淇必须重死时，他的嗓音充满了悲哀。赫尔墨斯是个很调皮捣蛋的神，能如此悲哀，也说明尤丽迪淇有多悲惨。
《奥菲欧、尤丽迪淇、赫尔墨斯》
里尔克作
Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes
by Rainer Maria Rilke
英语译文来自Stephen Mitchell
牛娃娃试译
诚谢所有网图作者！
里尔克作
Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes
by Rainer Maria Rilke
英语译文来自Stephen Mitchell
牛娃娃试译
诚谢所有网图作者！
那是个幽深可怕的灵魂矿场。
宛如银矿石的血脉，
沉静地流经浩瀚的黑暗。
鲜血涌淌浇灌根茎，
朝著人间启航，
黑暗中看那血流如顽石般坚硬。
除此，没有一丝半点红色迹印。
处处是悬崕峭壁，
雾织的森林。桥梁林立
跨连虚无，灰盲的巨大湖泊
深不可测，似高高吊起
如风景画上的雨天之空。
在轻柔随和的芳草地
一条苍白小径展伸如棉带。
That was the deep uncanny mine of souls.
Like veins of silver ore, they silently
moved through its massive darkness. Blood welled up
among the roots, on its way to the world of men,
and in the dark it looked as hard as stone.
Nothing else was red.
There were cliffs there,
and forests made of mist. There were bridges
spanning the void, and that great gray blind lake
which hung above its distant bottom
like the sky on a rainy day above a landscape.
And through the gentle, unresisting meadows
one pale path unrolled like a strip of cotton.
他们就是沿著这条小径走来。
Down this path they were coming.
那是信使之神，
旅行者头巾下一付明亮眼睛，
轻盈权杖举立面前。
脚踝旁小小翅膀在扑闪；
左臂上挂著，几乎没碰到似的：她。
In front, the slender man in the blue cloak —
mute, impatient, looking straight ahead.
In large, greedy, unchewed bites his walk
devoured the path; his hands hung at his sides,
tight and heavy, out of the failing folds,
no longer conscious of the delicate lyre
which had grown into his left arm, like a slip
of roses grafted onto an olive tree.His senses felt as though they were split in two:
his sight would race ahead of him like a dog,
stop, come back, then rushing off again
would stand, impatient, at the path’s next turn, —
but his hearing, like an odor, stayed behind.Sometimes it seemed to him as though it reached
back to the footsteps of those other two
who were to follow him, up the long path home.
But then, once more, it was just his own steps’ echo,
or the wind inside his cloak, that made the sound.He said.to himself, they had to be behind him;
said it aloud and heard it fade away.
They had to be behind him, but their steps
were ominously soft. If only he could
turn around, just once (but looking back
would ruin this entire work, so near
completion), then he could not fail to see them,
those other two, who followed him so softly:
The god of speed and distant messages,
a traveler’s hood above his shining eyes,
his slender staff held out in front of him,
and little wings fluttering at his ankles;
and on his left arm, barely touching it: she.
A woman so loved that from one lyre there came
more lament than from all lamenting women;
that a whole world of lament arose, in which
all nature reappeared: forest and valley,
road and village, field and stream and animal;
and that around this lament-world, even as
around the other earth, a sun revolved
and a silent star-filled heaven, a lament-
heaven, with its own, disfigured stars —:
So greatly was she loved.
But now she walked beside the graceful god,
her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,
uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.
She was deep within herself, like a woman heavy
with child, and did not see the man in front
or the path ascending steeply into life.
Deep within herself. Being dead
filled her beyond fulfillment. Like a fruit
suffused with its own mystery and sweetness,
she was filled with her vast death, which was so new,
she could not understand that it had happened.
她已重新回到童贞
不可触摸；失去了性别
如含苞欲放的花蕊夜间遭到摧残，
执子之手的姻缘她已无力承担
就连神指引方向的无比轻柔的触抚
都会伤到她，如同那令人厌恶的吻。
She had come into a new virginity
and was untouchable; her sex had closed
like a young flower at nightfall, and her hands
had grown so unused to marriage that the god’s
infinitely gentle touch of guidance
hurt her, like an undesired kiss.
She was no longer that woman with blue eyes
who once had echoed through the poet’s songs,
no longer the wide couch’s scent and island,
and that man’s property no longer.
She was already loosened like long hair,
poured out like fallen rain,
shared like a limitless supply.
She was already root.
And when, abruptly,
the god put out his hand to stop her, saying,
with sorrow in his voice: He has turned around —,
she could not understand, and softly answered
Who?
远处，
黑暗里，前方是闪亮的地狱界门，
有个什么人站著，形象面容
无法辨认。他站著，看见
路边的草地间，
信使神赫尔墨斯神情哀怜，
默默地转身紧随那娇柔之躯
已经一路沿著地狱之路回返，
墓衣拖拖拉拉令她步履蹒跚。
不知方向、温顺、毫无紧迫感。
©H.L.Glennie
Far away,
dark before the shining exit-gates,
someone or other stood, whose features were
unrecognizable. He stood and saw
how, on the strip of road among the meadows,
with a mournful look, the god of messages
silently turned to follow the small figure
already walking back along the path,
her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,
uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.
宛如银矿石的血脉，
沉静地流经浩瀚的黑暗。
鲜血涌淌浇灌根茎，
朝著人间启航，
黑暗中看那血流如顽石般坚硬。
除此，没有一丝半点红色迹印。
处处是悬崕峭壁，
雾织的森林。桥梁林立
跨连虚无，灰盲的巨大湖泊
深不可测，似高高吊起
如风景画上的雨天之空。
在轻柔随和的芳草地
一条苍白小径展伸如棉带。
That was the deep uncanny mine of souls.
Like veins of silver ore, they silently
moved through its massive darkness. Blood welled up
among the roots, on its way to the world of men,
and in the dark it looked as hard as stone.
Nothing else was red.
There were cliffs there,
and forests made of mist. There were bridges
spanning the void, and that great gray blind lake
which hung above its distant bottom
like the sky on a rainy day above a landscape.
And through the gentle, unresisting meadows
one pale path unrolled like a strip of cotton.
他们就是沿著这条小径走来。
Down this path they were coming.
那是信使之神，
旅行者头巾下一付明亮眼睛，
轻盈权杖举立面前。
脚踝旁小小翅膀在扑闪；
左臂上挂著，几乎没碰到似的：她。
In front, the slender man in the blue cloak —
mute, impatient, looking straight ahead.
In large, greedy, unchewed bites his walk
devoured the path; his hands hung at his sides,
tight and heavy, out of the failing folds,
no longer conscious of the delicate lyre
which had grown into his left arm, like a slip
of roses grafted onto an olive tree.His senses felt as though they were split in two:
his sight would race ahead of him like a dog,
stop, come back, then rushing off again
would stand, impatient, at the path’s next turn, —
but his hearing, like an odor, stayed behind.Sometimes it seemed to him as though it reached
back to the footsteps of those other two
who were to follow him, up the long path home.
But then, once more, it was just his own steps’ echo,
or the wind inside his cloak, that made the sound.He said.to himself, they had to be behind him;
said it aloud and heard it fade away.
They had to be behind him, but their steps
were ominously soft. If only he could
turn around, just once (but looking back
would ruin this entire work, so near
completion), then he could not fail to see them,
those other two, who followed him so softly:
The god of speed and distant messages,
a traveler’s hood above his shining eyes,
his slender staff held out in front of him,
and little wings fluttering at his ankles;
and on his left arm, barely touching it: she.
A woman so loved that from one lyre there came
more lament than from all lamenting women;
that a whole world of lament arose, in which
all nature reappeared: forest and valley,
road and village, field and stream and animal;
and that around this lament-world, even as
around the other earth, a sun revolved
and a silent star-filled heaven, a lament-
heaven, with its own, disfigured stars —:
So greatly was she loved.
But now she walked beside the graceful god,
her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,
uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.
She was deep within herself, like a woman heavy
with child, and did not see the man in front
or the path ascending steeply into life.
Deep within herself. Being dead
filled her beyond fulfillment. Like a fruit
suffused with its own mystery and sweetness,
she was filled with her vast death, which was so new,
she could not understand that it had happened.
她已重新回到童贞
不可触摸；失去了性别
如含苞欲放的花蕊夜间遭到摧残，
执子之手的姻缘她已无力承担
就连神指引方向的无比轻柔的触抚
都会伤到她，如同那令人厌恶的吻。
She had come into a new virginity
and was untouchable; her sex had closed
like a young flower at nightfall, and her hands
had grown so unused to marriage that the god’s
infinitely gentle touch of guidance
hurt her, like an undesired kiss.
She was no longer that woman with blue eyes
who once had echoed through the poet’s songs,
no longer the wide couch’s scent and island,
and that man’s property no longer.
She was already loosened like long hair,
poured out like fallen rain,
shared like a limitless supply.
She was already root.
And when, abruptly,
the god put out his hand to stop her, saying,
with sorrow in his voice: He has turned around —,
she could not understand, and softly answered
Who?
远处，
黑暗里，前方是闪亮的地狱界门，
有个什么人站著，形象面容
无法辨认。他站著，看见
路边的草地间，
信使神赫尔墨斯神情哀怜，
默默地转身紧随那娇柔之躯
已经一路沿著地狱之路回返，
墓衣拖拖拉拉令她步履蹒跚。
不知方向、温顺、毫无紧迫感。
©H.L.Glennie
Far away,
dark before the shining exit-gates,
someone or other stood, whose features were
unrecognizable. He stood and saw
how, on the strip of road among the meadows,
with a mournful look, the god of messages
silently turned to follow the small figure
already walking back along the path,
her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,
uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.
当我第一次读到这诗时，立刻被其中的悲情震摄，情感上生出深深的感动，于是匆匆译就此诗，作为我的剧评《蜕变》的一个独立组成部份。对玛丽。奇莫曼的剧目《蜕变》的剧评博文将在以后发布。附上我的朗诵视频。©H.L.Glennie
牛娃娃要出门放牛一阵，期间上网时间会比往常减少，来不及回复的评论和回访容后进行。感谢大家的关注和互动。祝各位春天快乐！
牛娃娃要出门放牛一阵，期间上网时间会比往常减少，来不及回复的评论和回访容后进行。感谢大家的关注和互动。祝各位春天快乐！
| 谢谢大家来访。对我允许转载的博文，欢迎转载；若想转载我不允许转载的博文，请事先与我联络，我的email在公告栏里；若贵博想引用我博文的一部分，请勿抄录我放进图片中的文字，但图中的文字可以连图一起引用（启用“复制”和“黏贴”功能即可），若不知如何截图，可与我联系，会提供帮助。谢谢合作！ |
素月君雅评：
一声“他是谁？”令人无限凄楚、怅然！
最近萦绕一个难题：如果再有来生前世的所有缘渊冥冥之中还能再续么？如果正如剧中所说，或者说一生的相聚注定了分离，那么所有的这一切还有意义么？......
好多年前我看过一本《红楼续梦》（似乎是这个名字）里面的林黛玉和贾宝玉就好象前台的演员卸了装在后台，他们之间已经有一丝一屡的情牵了。当时读了也和今天一样，凄楚、怅然......
一声“他是谁？”令人无限凄楚、怅然！
最近萦绕一个难题：如果再有来生前世的所有缘渊冥冥之中还能再续么？如果正如剧中所说，或者说一生的相聚注定了分离，那么所有的这一切还有意义么？......
好多年前我看过一本《红楼续梦》（似乎是这个名字）里面的林黛玉和贾宝玉就好象前台的演员卸了装在后台，他们之间已经有一丝一屡的情牵了。当时读了也和今天一样，凄楚、怅然......
牛娃娃回评：
谢谢姐姐这份情怀！不好意思，让姐姐读得难受，不该找这么悲伤的东西，只是一时惊艳，不能自己，叹服里尔克震魂摄魄的悲情。对现代的林妹妹们来说，古希腊悲剧似乎是个不错的藏身之地，奥菲欧与尤丽迪淇、回音、阿特兰塔等都是千古不朽的穿心莲，有空我想写阿特兰塔的故事，美不胜收！回音已经发布了。
关于今生前世，很难印证，属于神灵控制的不可知领域，凡人无法为之操心，只是抱著不贪不拒的态度：该是我的一定会归我；不该是我的，不带走一片云彩。至于相聚与分离，是生命的一部分，好像共搭一辆车旅行一程，有的人提前下车，有的人相伴到终点。意义还是有的，每次聚散离合都构成自己生命的一部分，因为自此以后我们已经不再是以前的那个人，变化后的那个人中都包含著所有共旅途中的缘渊。与不完美共存是生命的本质，生命是最不完美的完美！问好姐姐！春天快乐！
关于今生前世，很难印证，属于神灵控制的不可知领域，凡人无法为之操心，只是抱著不贪不拒的态度：该是我的一定会归我；不该是我的，不带走一片云彩。至于相聚与分离，是生命的一部分，好像共搭一辆车旅行一程，有的人提前下车，有的人相伴到终点。意义还是有的，每次聚散离合都构成自己生命的一部分，因为自此以后我们已经不再是以前的那个人，变化后的那个人中都包含著所有共旅途中的缘渊。与不完美共存是生命的本质，生命是最不完美的完美！问好姐姐！春天快乐！
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