終於上完星期二的課......(六堂課! 從易卜生的《玩偶家庭》跳到克雷恩的
”Open Boat” 在跳到坡的〈黑貓〉。耗竭！ )
http://www.geocities.com/short_stories_page/craneopenboat.html忘了我們有沒有上過 Crane 的作品。他是詩人也是小說家，本業是戰地記者，所以用字非常具體。這篇小說描述大船擱淺後跳船逃生的四個人同舟共濟的過程，使用了極精細的圖景式描寫，令人屏息。這其實是親身經歷。
NONE of them knew the color of the sky. Their eyes glanced level,
and were fastened upon the waves that swept toward them. These waves
were of the hue of slate, save for the tops, which were of foaming
white, and all of the men knew the colors of the sea. The horizon
narrowed and widened, and dipped and rose, and at all times its edge
was jagged with waves that seemed thrust up in points like rocks.
小小逃生船上乘風破浪的描寫也是一絕：凝練！想像我也彷彿在馬背上忍受拋擲的驚慌。
A seat in this boat was not unlike a seat upon a bucking broncho,
and, by the same token, a broncho is not much smaller. The craft
pranced and reared, and plunged like an animal. As each wave came,
and she rose for it, she seemed like a horse making at a fence
outrageously high. The manner of her scramble over these walls of
water is a mystic thing, and, moreover, at the top of them were
ordinarily these problems in white water, the foam racing down from
the summit of each wave, requiring a new leap, and a leap from the
air. Then, after scornfully bumping a crest, she would slide, and
race, and splash down a long incline and arrive bobbing and nodding
in front of the next menace.
他避免用同一個字形容海浪，等我看到 menace 出來，也只能撫掌了！
因為其中一人泅泳喪生，最弱的三人反而得救，Stephen Crane 引用了一首維多利亞時期的詩。挺貼切的！講的是一個勇敢的軍人沙場捐軀，充滿情義委託同袍的遺言。最後難忘的是家鄉那位女孩。這首詩在《清秀佳人》裡頭是一首朗誦比賽的詩，獲得滿堂彩的詩，有一點兒濫情，不過真的很好聽。
BINGEN ON THE RHINE
By
Caroline E. Norton
1808 - 1877
( Note: Caroline was the granddaughter of well-know playwright, Richard Brinsley Sheridan. )
A soldier of the legion lay dying in Algiers,
There was lack of woman’s nursing, there was dearth of woman’s tears;
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away,
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade’s hand,
And he said, ”I never more shall see my own, my native land:
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine;
For I was born at Bingen, --- at Bingen on the Rhine.
”Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around,
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun:
And ’mid the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, ---
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars;
And some were young, and suddenly beheld life’s morn decline, ---
And one had come from Bingen, --- fair Bingen on the Rhine.
”Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age;
For I was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage.
For my father was a soldier, and even as a child
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;
And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,
I let them take whate’er they would, --- but kept my father’s sword;
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine,
On the cottage wall at Bingen, --- calm Bingen on the Rhine.
”Tel my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head,
When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread,
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye,
For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die;
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name,
To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame,
And to hang the old sword in its place ( my father’s sword and mine ),
For the honor of old Bingen, --- dear Bingen on the Rhine.
”There’s another -- not a sister; in the happy days gone by,
You’d have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye;
Too innocent for coquetry, --- too fond for idle scorning, ---
O, friend ! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning !
Tell her the last night of my life ( for ere the moon be risen,
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison ), ---
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, --- sweet Bingen on the Rhine.
”I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, --- I heard, or seemed to hear,
The German songs we used to sing in chorus sweet and clear;
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,
The echoing chorus sounded through the evening calm and still;
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly talk,
Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk !
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine, ---
But we meet no more at Bingen, --- loved Bingen on the Rhine.”
His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, --- his grasp was childish weak, ---
His eyes put on a dying look, --- and he sighed and ceased to speak;
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, --
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land is dead !
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn;
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,
As it shown on distant Bingen, --- fair Bingen on the Rhine.
