九乡新闻网龙门铣床图片:贾平凹·《我读何海霞》英译
来源：百度文库 编辑：九乡新闻网 时间：2024/04/28 13:48:34
摘要: 刘士聪、赵立柱 译
那一年，当我从乡下搬居来西安，正是何海霞从西安迁居于北京；京城里有了一位大师，秦都乃为之空旷。我们同存于一个时代，却在一个完整的城墙圈里失之交臂而过，这是我活人的幸运和遗憾。登临华山，立于下棋亭上，喝干了那一壶“西风”，听谁个粗野的汉子狼一般的吼着秦腔，我就觉得棋亭还坐着赵匡胤和那个陈抟，我不知道了赵匡胤是不是何海霞，还是何海霞就是陈抟，我仰天浩叹：他为什么要离开西安呢？
哪里黄土不埋人，长安自古难留客，何海霞走了，古城里却长长久久的留传着他诸多的神话。
已经是很不短的世间了，热闹的艺坛上，天才与小丑无法分清。不知浪潮翻过了多少回合，惊涛裂岸，沙石混沌，我们并未太多的在电视上报刊上见过何海霞；但京城消息传来，他还在活着，他还在作画。好了，活着画着，谁也不多提他；提他谁也心悸。百鬼多狰狞，上帝总无言。他的艺术是征服的艺术，他的存在是一种震慑。
面对着他的作品，我无法谈论某一方面的见解，谈出都失水准，行话全沦为小技，露出我一副村相了。我只想到项羽，力举千鼎，气盖山河。它使我从病痛中振作，怯弱生勇，改造我的性格。这个时代有太多的萎琐，也有太多的浮躁，如此大的气势和境界，实在少之甚少，是一个奇迹。打开他的画册。我曾经独坐一个晌午又一个晌午，任在那创造的大自然里静定神游，作一回庄子，化一回蝴蝶。但是，当我第一次看到他的近照，枯老赢瘦，垂垂暮年，我感到了一个寂寞的灵魂。啊，正是精神寂寞，他才有大的艺术。
知非诗诗，未为奇奇，海是大的，大到几乎一片空白，那灿烂的霞光却铺在天边，这就是何海霞。
真正的中国山水画，何海霞可能是最后的一个大画家。
He Haixia, As I Read Him
Jia Pingwa
The year I moved to Xi’an from the country, He Haixia1 moved from Xi’an to Beijing. While Beijing boasts a great artist, the capital city of the ancient Qin dynasty finds itself deserted. Though I had the good fortune to be contemporaries with him, I had regretfully missed making his acquaintance within the city walls of Xi’an.
I went up to Mt. Huashan and, drinking up a bottle of Xifeng to the howling of Qin opera by some uncouth fellow by the Chess Pavilion, I had the feeling that Zhao Kuangyin, the Founding Emperor of the ancient Song dynasty, was sitting in the pavilion, playing chess with Chen Tuan, a Taoist hermit. I was wondering whether Zhao Kuangyin was He Haixia, or He Haixia, by simple transposition, was Chen Tuan. I turned up to the sky with a deep sigh: Why on earth did he have to leave Xi’an?
As the saying goes, you are prepared to end up anywhere in the land but, since ancient times, Xi’an has not been able to keep people from leaving. He Haixia, too, had left, but since then there have been hosts of legendary stories told about him.
Over a long period of time, geniuses and “clowns” have been mixed up on the bustling (or hectic) arena of the art, like rocks and sand mixed and driven by stormy waves along the shore. We have not seen much of He Haixia on the TV or in the newspapers, but as rumor from Beijing has it, he is still around. Around as he is, there has not been much mention of him, because the mere mention of his name makes one feel sad. Ghosts are hideously clamorous while God is silent. He Haixia’s art is the art of conquest; the fact that he is still around is awe-inspiring.
I am qualified to comment on any particular aspect of his works, for whatever I say would be short of its professionalism, turning technical terms into frivolities, thus laying bare a layman’s follies. At this point I think of Xiang Yu, the ancient heroic general, who had unusual physical strength and overwhelming will power. It has braced me up from the suffering of ailments, turning what is cowardly in me into courage. In this era characterized by too much pettiness and flightiness, it is really a miracle that we should find such imposing forcefulness and artistic excellence as shown in his works. I remember once sitting at home alone, with his album open in front of me, my mind wandering about in the artistic nature created by the artist, feeling as if I were Zhuangzi transformed into a butterfly fluttering around. But the first time I saw a recent photo of his, emaciated and aged, I sensed a lonely soul in him. Ah, but it is the loneliness of his soul that makes his art great.
Without the Tao, never is there wonder in poetry. The sea is big, its wide expanses spread out to the horizon where the sun casts its glorious rays. And that, is He Haixia.
Of the Chinese landscape painting in its genuine sense, He Haixia is probably the only master that has survived.
1. Haixia in Chinese means glorious sun rays on the horizon of the sea.
那一年，当我从乡下搬居来西安，正是何海霞从西安迁居于北京；京城里有了一位大师，秦都乃为之空旷。我们同存于一个时代，却在一个完整的城墙圈里失之交臂而过，这是我活人的幸运和遗憾。登临华山，立于下棋亭上，喝干了那一壶“西风”，听谁个粗野的汉子狼一般的吼着秦腔，我就觉得棋亭还坐着赵匡胤和那个陈抟，我不知道了赵匡胤是不是何海霞，还是何海霞就是陈抟，我仰天浩叹：他为什么要离开西安呢？
哪里黄土不埋人，长安自古难留客，何海霞走了，古城里却长长久久的留传着他诸多的神话。
已经是很不短的世间了，热闹的艺坛上，天才与小丑无法分清。不知浪潮翻过了多少回合，惊涛裂岸，沙石混沌，我们并未太多的在电视上报刊上见过何海霞；但京城消息传来，他还在活着，他还在作画。好了，活着画着，谁也不多提他；提他谁也心悸。百鬼多狰狞，上帝总无言。他的艺术是征服的艺术，他的存在是一种震慑。
面对着他的作品，我无法谈论某一方面的见解，谈出都失水准，行话全沦为小技，露出我一副村相了。我只想到项羽，力举千鼎，气盖山河。它使我从病痛中振作，怯弱生勇，改造我的性格。这个时代有太多的萎琐，也有太多的浮躁，如此大的气势和境界，实在少之甚少，是一个奇迹。打开他的画册。我曾经独坐一个晌午又一个晌午，任在那创造的大自然里静定神游，作一回庄子，化一回蝴蝶。但是，当我第一次看到他的近照，枯老赢瘦，垂垂暮年，我感到了一个寂寞的灵魂。啊，正是精神寂寞，他才有大的艺术。
知非诗诗，未为奇奇，海是大的，大到几乎一片空白，那灿烂的霞光却铺在天边，这就是何海霞。
真正的中国山水画，何海霞可能是最后的一个大画家。
He Haixia, As I Read Him
Jia Pingwa
The year I moved to Xi’an from the country, He Haixia1 moved from Xi’an to Beijing. While Beijing boasts a great artist, the capital city of the ancient Qin dynasty finds itself deserted. Though I had the good fortune to be contemporaries with him, I had regretfully missed making his acquaintance within the city walls of Xi’an.
I went up to Mt. Huashan and, drinking up a bottle of Xifeng to the howling of Qin opera by some uncouth fellow by the Chess Pavilion, I had the feeling that Zhao Kuangyin, the Founding Emperor of the ancient Song dynasty, was sitting in the pavilion, playing chess with Chen Tuan, a Taoist hermit. I was wondering whether Zhao Kuangyin was He Haixia, or He Haixia, by simple transposition, was Chen Tuan. I turned up to the sky with a deep sigh: Why on earth did he have to leave Xi’an?
As the saying goes, you are prepared to end up anywhere in the land but, since ancient times, Xi’an has not been able to keep people from leaving. He Haixia, too, had left, but since then there have been hosts of legendary stories told about him.
Over a long period of time, geniuses and “clowns” have been mixed up on the bustling (or hectic) arena of the art, like rocks and sand mixed and driven by stormy waves along the shore. We have not seen much of He Haixia on the TV or in the newspapers, but as rumor from Beijing has it, he is still around. Around as he is, there has not been much mention of him, because the mere mention of his name makes one feel sad. Ghosts are hideously clamorous while God is silent. He Haixia’s art is the art of conquest; the fact that he is still around is awe-inspiring.
I am qualified to comment on any particular aspect of his works, for whatever I say would be short of its professionalism, turning technical terms into frivolities, thus laying bare a layman’s follies. At this point I think of Xiang Yu, the ancient heroic general, who had unusual physical strength and overwhelming will power. It has braced me up from the suffering of ailments, turning what is cowardly in me into courage. In this era characterized by too much pettiness and flightiness, it is really a miracle that we should find such imposing forcefulness and artistic excellence as shown in his works. I remember once sitting at home alone, with his album open in front of me, my mind wandering about in the artistic nature created by the artist, feeling as if I were Zhuangzi transformed into a butterfly fluttering around. But the first time I saw a recent photo of his, emaciated and aged, I sensed a lonely soul in him. Ah, but it is the loneliness of his soul that makes his art great.
Without the Tao, never is there wonder in poetry. The sea is big, its wide expanses spread out to the horizon where the sun casts its glorious rays. And that, is He Haixia.
Of the Chinese landscape painting in its genuine sense, He Haixia is probably the only master that has survived.
1. Haixia in Chinese means glorious sun rays on the horizon of the sea.