2017年6月9日 星期五

. 'Not translation — but transcreation,' Mr Waley said. A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY CHINESE POEMS 1962年新版 Introduction. The Explorer Who Never Left Home —Arthur Waley By Jonathan Spence

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Mulk Raj Anand, ‎Saros Cowasjee - 2011 - ‎Literary Collections
'When is your translation of Lady Murasaki's Tale of Genji coming out? ... 'Not translation — but transcreation,' Mr Waley said, brushing the mop of tousled hair ...

But Waley's efforts were not uniformly well received at first. William Bateson, F.R.S. (the biologist, later a Trustee of the British Museum), was unimpressed and Dora Carrington mischievously ensured that Waley saw Lytton Strachey's parodies of Ghinese Poems, which incidentally await unearthing, •^

Arthur Waley 自己寫過一篇趣聞:1962年新版 Introduction 有此趣聞
Professor Bateson 給他信



1962年新版 Introduction 有趣聞



No. 5 (Autumn 1975)
The Explorer Who Never Left Home
—Arthur Waley

By Jonathan Spence

ARTHUR WALEY selected the jewels of Chinese and Japanese literature and pinned them quietly to his chest. No one has ever done anything like it before, and no one will ever do so again.

There are now many Westerners whose knowledge of Chinese or Japanese is greater than his, and there are perhaps a few who can handle both languages as well. But they are not poets, and those who are better poets than Waley do not know Chinese or Japanese. Also the shock will never be repeated, for most of the works that Waley chose to translate were largely unknown in the West, and their impact was thus all the more extraordinary.

WALEY SAT on a quiet edge of "Bloomsbury." Because he lived to a fine age—from 1889 to 1966 ק have always associated him in some corner of my mind with E. M. Forster and Leonard Woolf, for they were all educated in the same special area of pre-World War I Cambridge, and all lived well into the 1960's, shrewd observers of a cataclysmically changing scene. All three were very talented, and none of them was gregarious. They might meet occasionally for tea at Lytton Strachey's house Ham Spray, or run into each other in Gordon Square, but they all defended their right to run their own lives. And all three, rather oddly one might have thought, had an interest in Asia. For Forster there was India; for Woolf, Ceylon; and for Waley, China and Japan. But though Forster worked in India, and Woolf worked in Ceylon, Waley never even visited either of the two countries that gave him such extraordinary inspiration.

One can make all kinds of guesses concerning Waley's reasons for not going to Asia: that he didn't want to confuse the ideal with the real, or that he was interested in the ancient written languages and not the modern spoken ones, or that he simply could not afford the journey. Certainly we are safe in assuming that the trip would have been disconcerting, and it is worth reflecting on why this might have been so.

Waley was a Classicist; and he was also in King's College at the time when Goldsworthy Lowes Oickinson-known as Goldie to generations of students-still presided over young minds, inculcating the virtues of an esthetic humanism which are the heart of what people came to know as "Bloomsbury," virtues that were permanently captured in the essays and novels of E.M. Forster.

Dickinson was dejected by the ugliness and cruelty and insensitivity of the world that lurked just outside Cambridge; how could the Athenian ideals be preserved in such an appalling environment? Those men who valued decency, honesty and compassion must state their values clearly lest the new Englishman—"Oivorced from Nature but unreclaimed by Art; instructed, but not educated; assimilative, but incapable of thought"—inherit the earth.

This particular characterization of the Englishman was written by Oickinson in 1901, just after the Boxer Rising in China, and appeared in a little book of anonymous essays called Letters from John Chinaman.

As Dickinson warmed to the theme the inspirations came thicker, until his critique of his own society, his affection for his young friends, and shreds from the Chinese poets he had read in translation, all merged into a remarkable hymn to Chinese humanism, written in the first person by "John Chinaman" himself:

In China. … To feel, and in order to feel to express, or at least to understand the expression of all that is lovely in Nature, of all that is poignant and sensitive in man, is to us in itself a sufficient end. A rose in a moonlit garden, the shadow of trees on the turf, almond bloom, scent of pine, the winecup and the guitar; these and the pathos of life and death, the long embrace, the hand stretched out in vain, the moment that glides for ever away, with its freight of music and light, into the shadow and hush of the haunted past, all that we have, all that eludes us, a bird on the wing, a perfume escape on the gale-to all these things we are trained to respond, and the response is what we call literature. This we have; this you cannot give us; but this you may so easily take away.

It is remarkable enough that William Jennings Bryan should have taken these letters literally, and written a stirring rebuttal (published in 1906), in which he defended Labor-saving Machinery, The Home and Christianity. But what is perhaps even more remarkable is that Dickinson—the political scientist and expert in comparative governments—could visit Peking in 1913 and come away with his fantasy confirmed as reality! As he wrote to E. M. Forster: "China! So gay, friendly, beautiful, sane, hellenic, choice, human … Yes, China is much as I imagined it. I thought I was idealizing, but now I doubt it."

THAT CHINA should be Hellenic comes hard on a modern graduate school product. But when Arthur Waley took his job in the Oriental Subdepartment of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum in 1913 such an esthetic approach was very much in the air, and he breathed in a good deal of it. His first book, A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems, appeared in 1917, and in the introduction Waley wrote of the rationality and tolerance of the Chinese, of their powers of self-analysis, and of their friendship, in a way that could satisfy both Athens and Bloomsbury: "To the European poet the relation between man and woman is a thing of supreme importance and mystery .To the Chinese, it is something commonplace, obvious—a need of the body, not a satisfaction of the emotions. These he reserves entirely for friendship." And again, "For sympathy and intellectual companionship they looked only to their friends."

Furthermore, in the person of Po Chii-i, the great T'ang poet who lived from 772-846, Waley found someone who was immensely compatible, who spoke directly to the worries of Waley's time with a wise voice 1100 years old. It was a witty, warm, sjightly melancholy voice, one that abhorred pretension, one that could both sympathize with the poor and excoriate the vulgar. On the death of his little daughter Po Chii-i said: "At last, by thinking of the time before she was born,/By thought and reason I drove the pain away. "When traveling through the dangerous Yangtze gorges the poet wrote: "How can I believe that since the world began/In every shipwreck none have drowned but rogues?" And, with startling force:

Sent as a present from Annam—
A red cockatoo.
Coloured like the peachtree blossom,
Speaking with the speech of men.
And they did to it what is always done
To the learned and eloquent.
They took a cage with stout bars
And shut it up inside.

A second volume, More Translations from the Chinese, appeared in 1919. In a brief introduction, Waley noted that no reviewers had treated the first book of poems ''as an experiment in English unrhymed verse, though this was the aspect of it which most interested the writer." I am not sure about that "most interested," but certainly Waley's touch was growing more sure, and he was writing his trans- lations with total simplicity, and total command of stress, as in these lines by Po Chii-i's contemporary Wang Chien:

Poisonous mists rise from the damp sands,
Strange fires gleam through the nigh t-rain.
And none passes but the lonely fisher of pearls
Year by year on his way to the South Sea.

In another passage of the same introduction, Waley shows his mastery of combining paraphrase, translation and analysis, when he writes of the No dramatist Seami's usage of the Zen word yugen: 幽玄

It means 'what lies beneath the surface': the subtle, as opposed to the obvious; the hint, as opposed to the statement. It is applied to the natural grace of a boy's movements, to the gentle restraint of a noble man's speech and bearing. 'When notes fall sweetlyand flutter delicately to the ear" that is the yugen of music. The symbol of yugen is 'a white bird with a flower in its beak.' 'To watch the sun sink behind a flower-clad hill, to wander on and on in a huge forest with no thought of return, to stand upon the shore and gaze after a boat that goes hid by far-off islands, to ponder on the journey of wild geese seen and lost among the clouds'—such are the gates of yugen.

Such a passage is art, as surely as the poetic translations themselves, or the originals from which the translations were taken. If one has a feeling that Waley found what he needed to find—a wryness, a delicacy, a languor, that seems to imbue Genji and Yuan Mei, Sei Shonagon and Monkey, even the Imperial commissioner Lin Tse-hsu—one cannot cavil, and can immediately find other works that negate any simple generalization. He also translated the Book of Songs and Confucius's Analects, for example, and the Ainu poems.

THE FORCE OF the impact that Waley had, over the 50 years of his creative life, upon a wide circle of artists, intellectuals, teachers and students is. … abundantly recorded in a risky but beautifully executed book that Ivan Morris has compiled: Madly Singing in the Mountains: An Appreciation and Anthology of Arthur Waley. I say risky, because one may collect reminiscences, accolades and passages of a person's works, without having any kind of a readable book. But this beautifully executed anthology is an exception.

Ivan Morris, himself an outstandingly good translator of Japanese literature, has somehow composed a book that is both intimate and distant, that manages to respect Waley's privacy and to be forthright. Much of the credit for the book's effect must go to the essay with which the book opens, "Intent of Courtesy" by Carmen Blacker, a wild, gentle and beautiful example of the genus "Eulogy," building up to a savagely romantic ending, that puts most other such pieces to shame.

As the book progresses, the range of Waley's talents becomes increasingly apparent. The more each modern specialist says how good Waley was in his particular field, the more one is conscious of Waley's independence; his remark that he "would rather be dead" than a professor at Cambridge dances in the air above those pages that sometimes grow a little solemn.

WALEY'S REPUTATION grew steadily. In 1929 he was able to retire from the British Museum and devote himself full time to writing—though how he could possibly have written more in the time past than he already had defies imagining. Fame brought its rewards, some conventional and some surprising. How very nice it must have been, when everybody who was anybody in England thought that Edith Sitwell was brilliant and rather dotty, to have Edith Sitwell think that you were the one who was brilliant and dotty. Having found a book written in some exotic language lying around her brother Sacheverell's library, she placed it next to Waley's bed {he was an overnight house guest) in the hopes that he might prove unable to translate it. As she recorded the sequel:

Next morning, Mr. Waley looked a little pale; his manner was languid, but as he placed the book on the breakfast table he announced in a faint voice: 'Turkish. l8th century.' The pages were few; and after an interval of respect we enquired: 'What is it about?' Mr. Waley, with sudden animation: 'The Cat and the Bat. The Cat sat on the Mat. The Cat ate the Rat.' 'Oh, it is a child's book.' 'One would imagine so. One would hope so!"

It is an affectionate anecdote; all the Sitwells, indeed, seem to have been captivated by Arthur Waley. His ability to translate from the Chinese and Japanese languages so dazzled them that they spoke of all the works he translated as being his own work. Thus Edith Sitwell wrote in a letter about his translation of the 15th-century Chinese novel Monkey: "I don't really know Monkey yet, of course. But it has given me that sense of inevitability, of excitement with peace, that your work always does give me." "Your work"—whether it was Chinese poetry, The Tale of GenjiThe No Plays of Japan, an Introduction of Chinese Paintingor The Analects of Confucius. There is a kind of negative side to this: If the work was Waley's, then no attempt had to be made to comprehend the cultures that gave him his raw material.

As Sir Osbert Sitwell (circa 1950) could write in a passage extolling Waley: "It is precisely in individuality that Western Europe has excelled. Not for us of the Occident the schools of poets and painters, almost indistinguishable one from another in style, and continuing for millenniums: our works of art are sharply differentiated and defined." Yet if Waley felt patronized he didn't show it. He dedicated his marvelous book on the 18th-century Chinese poet Yuan Mei to Sir Osbert.

THE CHINA AND JAPAN that Waley gave to his readers were humane and balanced. From perusing their newspapers Westerners knew from 1895 onward that China was a torn and wretched country, with its people in misery from famine and civil war, and that Japan was entering a strident and dangerous phase following her startlingly rapid and successful industrialization on the Western model. Later they could read of the 1911 Revolution and the Manchurian crisis, of Tojo, Mao Tse-tung and Hiroshima. But with Sei Shonagon and Po Chii-i they were back in a world where courtesy mattered, and good taste was not simply something connected with food.

Waley's translations enraptured readers—whether they were of the Sitwells' social class, or of the comfortable upper middle—who felt that the forces of darkness and unreason were taking over. His Oriental benedictions to a way of life so seriously threatened were in no way banal. They were, rather, the products of a prodigious energy and erudition, and of a belief that there are certain values that are not transitory, certain attitudes that can never be anachronistic because they have always been (and always will be) true.

I find it very hard to take leave of Arthur Waley. This is, at least partly, because by reading Madly Singing in the Mountains I have learned that at the time I spent a long happy afternoon with Waley when I was a graduate student just embarking on the study of Chinese history and literature, his lifetime companion Beryl de Zoete was dying painfully upstairs. It is clearly fitting that the last words should be his, not mine. So here are some lines from his translation of "The Bones of Chuang Tzu" by Chang Heng. This, he once told Carmen Blacker, was his favorite Chinese poem.

Suddenly I looked and by the roadside
I saw a man's bones lying in the squelchy earth,
Black rime-frost over him; and I in sorrow spoke
And asked him saying, 'Dead man, how was it?
Fled you with your friend from famine and for the last grains
Gambled and lost? Was this earth your tomb,
Or did floods carry you from afar? Were you mighty,
                  were you wise,
Were you foolish and poor? A warrior, or a girl?'
Then a wonder came; for out of the silence a voice—
Thin echo only, in no substance was the Spirit seen—
Mysteriously answered saying, 'I was a man of Sung,
Of the clan of Chuang; Chou was my name.
Beyond the climes of common thought
My reason soared, yet could I not save myself!
For at the last, when the long charter of my years was told,
I too, for all my magic, by Age was brought
To the Black Hill of Death.'



阿瑟·韋利選擇中國和日本文學的珠寶和寄託他們悄悄到胸前。之前沒有人做過這樣的事情,所以再沒有人會做的。 現在有很多西方人的中國人還是日本人的認識比他大,而且有可能是誰可以處理兩種語言以及一些。但他們不是詩人,和那些誰是比韋利更好的詩人不知道中國人還是日本人。此外震盪將永遠不會被重複,對於大多數韋利選擇翻譯的作品都在西方鮮為人知,他們的影響是因此更加不凡。 韋利SAT在一個安靜的邊緣“布魯姆斯伯裡”。因為他住的罰款年齡1889年至1966年ק一直聯繫他在福斯特和倫納德·伍爾夫我心中的某個角落,因為他們都在預第一次世界大戰劍橋相同的特殊區域教育,所有生活早已進入一個大災變改變場景的1960年,精明的觀察員。這三個人都是非常有才華,沒有人是群居。他們可能在利頓斯特雷奇的房子火腿噴霧偶爾見面喝茶,或者碰上戈登廣場對方,但他們都捍衛他們來運行他們自己的生活的權利。而所有這三個,而奇怪的是人們可能會想到,曾在亞洲的利益。對於福斯特有印度; 對於伍爾夫,錫蘭; 和韋利,中國和日本。但是,儘管福斯特在印度工作過,伍爾夫在錫蘭工作,韋利甚至從來沒有訪問過,要么給了他這樣的非凡靈感兩國, 人們可以作出有關不打算亞洲韋利的原因,各種猜測:他沒有想與真正的混淆理想,或者說,他有興趣在古語言文字,而不是說現代的人,或者說他根本負擔不起的旅程。。當然,我們在假設的行程將是令人不安的安全,這是值得反思為什麼會一直這麼 韋利是一個古典主義; 他也是在國王學院的時候戈茲沃西洛斯Oickinson-稱為戈爾迪學生,還主持了幼小的心靈一代,灌輸這是什麼人來知道作為“布盧姆斯伯裡的心臟的審美人文精神的美德的時候, “這是永久的散文和EM福斯特的小說拍攝的美德 迪金森是由醜惡和殘酷和世界的不敏感,只是潛伏的劍橋市外垂頭喪氣;怎麼可能在雅典的理想在這樣的環境令人震驚的保存?那些男人誰重視禮儀,誠實和同情必須明確自己的價值觀,以免新Englishman-“從自然Oivorced而是通過藝術未回收;指示,但沒有受過教育,同化,但不能想到的。”-inherit地球 的這種特殊性質英國人在1901年寫的Oickinson,只是義和團在中國崛起之後,並出現在所謂的匿名文章的一本小書,從約翰支那人快報。 至於狄金森加熱到主題的靈感來了較厚,直到他自己的社會批判,他對青年朋友的感情,並從中國詩人碎片,他在翻譯讀過,全部合併成一個了不起的讚歌中國人文精神,以“支那人約翰”他自己寫的第一人:

在中國。...去感受,而為了感受去表達,或者至少要了解所有的表達,這是可愛的自然,一切就是淒美的人敏感,對我們本身就是一個足夠的結束。玫瑰在月光花園,樹木在草皮上的陰影,綻放杏仁,松子,該盞和吉他的香味; 這些生死,長擁抱的淒美,手白白伸了出來,對於下滑永遠遠,其音樂和燈光的貨運的那一刻,到影子噓鬧鬼的過去,所有我們有,所有的逃避我們對翅膀的小鳥,在香水逃生大風,所有這些事情,我們被訓練來回應,回應就是我們所說的文學作品。這個我們有; 這個你可以不給我們; 但你可能會這麼輕易拿走。

值得注意的是足夠的威廉·詹寧斯·布賴恩應該從字面上看這些信件,並寫入攪拌反駁(發表於1906年),其中他辯護省力機械,家和基督教。但或許更引人注目的是,迪金森,政治學家和專家在比較政府,可以參觀北京大學於1913年,來搶走他的幻想確認為現實!當他寫信給EM福斯特:“。中國所以同性戀,友善,美麗,理智,希臘,選擇,人的......是的,中國是很多像我想像的那樣,我想我是理想化的,但現在我很懷疑” ,中國應希臘自帶硬盤上的現代化研究生院的產品。但是,當阿瑟·韋利了他的工作在大英博物館素描的東方SUBDEPARTMENT在1913年這樣的審美方式在空中非常多,並且他在一個很好的協議呢呼吸。他的第一本書,一百七十中國詩歌,出現在1917年,並在引進韋利寫下了中國人的理性和寬容的,他們的自我分析的權力,他們的友誼,因為能同時滿足的一種方式雅典和布盧姆斯伯裡:“歐洲詩人男人和女人之間的關係的極端重要性和神秘。到中國的事情,這是司空見慣的事情,很明顯,需要身體,而不是情感的滿足這些他。保留完全是為了友誼。“ 再次,“同情和智力陪伴他們只能看著他們的朋友。” 此外,在寶人CHII-I,偉大的詩人唐朝從誰住772-846,韋利發現有人誰是非常兼容,誰直接與睿智的聲音1100年老人說話的韋利時代的後顧之憂。這是一個機智,熱情,sjightly憂鬱的嗓音,一個憎惡預緊,一個可以既同情窮人和苛責的庸俗。在他的小女兒寶的死亡CHII,我說:“最後,由她出生之前的時間去思考,/用思想和原因,我開車的痛苦了。”當通過危險三峽詩人寫道行駛: “我怎麼能相信,既然世界開始/在每個海難沒有被淹死,但流氓?” 而且,以驚人的力量:


第二卷,更多來自中國的翻譯,於1919年出現在簡短的介紹,韋利指出,沒有任何審稿曾治療過的詩''在英文詩無韻實驗的第一本書,雖然這是它的哪個方面最有興趣的作家。“我不知道這一點”最感興趣,“但肯定韋利的觸摸的成長更加確定,而且他在這些線路由寶CHII寫他的總簡單平轉換和壓力的總命令, -i當代王建:



這意味著“是什麼樣的表面之下”:微妙的,而不是明顯的; 提示,而不是語句。它適用於一個男孩的動作自然優雅,以高尚的人的言論和軸承的溫和克制。“當音符微妙下跌sweetlyand撲耳”,也就是音樂的幽玄,幽玄的標誌是“一個白色的鳥在其嘴一朵花。” “要觀看花包山的背後有陽光下沉,漫步並在一個巨大的森林,沒有回報的思想,站在岸上和推移遙遠的島嶼躲在船後凝視,沉思的看到和clouds' -例如中失去了大雁的旅程是門玉根

這樣的通道是藝術,而且我是絕對詩意的翻譯本身,或從中取出翻譯原稿。如果一個人有一個感覺,韋利發現他需要找到-A wryness什麼,一道美味佳餚,一個疲倦,似乎灌輸源氏與袁 ​​枚,清少納言和猴子,即使是欽差大臣林則徐-One無法挑剔,可以立即發現任何否定簡單的歸納等作品。他還翻譯了詩經和孔子的論語,例如,和阿伊努詩歌。 造成的影響韋利有效力,在50年的創作生涯中,在藝術家,知識分子,教師和學生是一大圈。......大量記錄在冒險,但精美的執行書,伊万莫里斯編譯:在瘋狂地山歌唱:賞析阿瑟·韋利的文集和。我說有風險的,因為一個可以收集回憶,榮譽和一個人的作品的段落,而無需任何一種可讀的書。但這個美麗的執行文集是一個例外。 伊万·莫里斯,本人日本文學的一個突出好的翻譯,莫名其妙地組成了一本書,是既親切又遙遠,它成功地尊重韋利的隱私,並要豪爽。大部分功勞簿的效果一定要去與該書由卡門布萊克,屬野生,溫柔美麗的例子打開,“禮貌的意圖”散文“頌”,建立一個野蠻浪漫的結局,這使其他大多數這樣的作品相形見絀。 正如本書的進展,中韋利的人才的範圍變得越來越明顯。更現代的每一個專家說韋利有多好,在他的特定領域,更多的一個是有意識的韋利的獨立性; 他的話,他“寧可死”比在劍橋大學的舞蹈中,有時長大一點莊嚴這些頁面上方的空氣教授。 韋利的聲譽穩步增長。1929年,他能夠從大英博物館退休,全心投入全職寫作,但他怎麼可能可能已經寫在過去的時間超過他已經有了想像難量。名氣帶來的回報,一些常規和一些令人驚訝的。如何很不錯,一定是,當大家誰是任何人在英國認為伊迪絲·西特韋爾曾經的輝煌和相當多點的,有伊迪絲希特維爾認為你是一個誰的輝煌和瘋瘋癲癲的。已經找到一本書,寫的一些外來語躺在身邊哥哥Sacheverell的圖書館,她把它放在旁邊,韋利的床上{他過夜的旅館),因為他可能證明無法翻譯它的希望。當她錄製的續集:

第二天早上,韋利先生顯得蒼白無力; 他的態度是懶洋洋的,但因為他放在早餐桌上的書,他用微弱的聲音宣布:“土耳其。l8th世紀。該頁面寥寥無幾; 和尊重的時間間隔後,我們問:“這是什麼呢?” 韋利先生突然動畫:“貓和蝙蝠。貓坐在墊子上。貓吃了老鼠“。“哦,這是一個孩子的書。” “人們會想像中那麼。人們會希望如此!“

這是一個深情的故事; 所有Sitwells,的確,似乎已經由阿瑟·韋利著迷。他從中國和日本的語言翻譯能力,使他們眼花繚亂,他們說話都是他翻譯成是他自己的工作的作品。因此,伊迪絲·西特韋爾在了他對15世紀中國小說的翻譯信中寫道猴子:“我真的不知道還猴子,當然但它給了我必然性這個意義上說,和平與興奮,你的工作總是這樣給我。“ “你的工作” -無論它是中國詩歌,源氏物語日本無戲,是中國畫的介紹論語。有一種消極的一面來:如果這項工作是韋利的,則沒有嘗試不得不提出,要理解這給了他原料的文化。 作為Osbert西特韋爾爵士(大約 1950年),可以在一個通道歌頌韋利寫: “正 ​​是在個性西歐已不擅長為我們歐美的詩人和畫家,從另一個幾乎沒有區別之一,風格,持續了千年的學校:我們的藝術作品都明顯地發現和界定。” 然而,如果韋利覺得光顧,他並沒有表現出來。他對18世紀的中國詩人袁枚到Osbert先生。獻給奇妙的書 的中國和日本的韋利給他的讀者是人性化的,平衡的。從細讀他們的報紙西方人從1895年就知道以後,中國是一個撕裂和猥瑣的國家,它的人民從飢荒和內戰的苦難,並表示日本正在進入一個刺耳的和危險的階段跟隨她對西方模式令人吃驚的快速工業化成功。後來他們能讀辛亥革命與滿洲危機,東條英機的,毛澤東和廣島。但隨著清少納言與寶CHII-I他們回來的世界裡,禮貌要緊,有品位不只是什麼同食。連接 韋利的翻譯眉飛色舞的讀者,無論他們是Sitwells的社會階層或者,舒適的上中間誰覺得黑暗和非理性的力量被接管。他的東方祝福生活的一種方式,以便受到嚴重威脅是絕不平庸。他們,而是一個巨大的能源和博學的產品,以及一個信念,但是也有一些並非暫時性的,某些態度是永遠不會過時的,因為他們一直(而且將永遠是)真正的某些值。 我發現它很難採取阿瑟·韋利的假期。這是,至少部分是因為通過閱讀瘋狂地唱歌的山我已經學會了,當時我花了很愉快的下午與韋利當我還是個研究生剛踏上中國歷史和文學的研究,他的一生的伴侶綠柱石德佐特病危痛苦上樓。這顯然是恰當的最後一句話應該是他,不是我的。因此,這裡有從他由張衡的“莊子的骨頭”翻譯一些行。這一點,他曾經告訴卡門更黑,是他最喜歡的中國詩。

黑色霧凇,霜在他身上; 我在悲傷說話
然後一個奇蹟來了; 為走出沉寂的支持語音
莊氏族中; 周杰倫是我的名字。