《人和回声》(The Man And the Echo)是叶芝写于晚年的一首诗,在叶芝无数的抒情名诗中或许算不上知名,但这首诗继承了叶芝浓郁的抒情风格,同时又融入了诗人深沉的生命感悟。全诗共五大节,人的声音和回声交替出现,这种安排明显地是根据希腊神话中埃可女神(Echo)的传说而来。第一节,诗人首先将自己置身于一个黑暗而散乱的环境中,然后紧接着点出自己“已经是又老又病”,即诗人将自己晚年的处境比作地底深处的无限黑暗。但是,诗人并没有停止思索,他在不断反思自己的人生,试图得到一个圆满的答案,可结局是“从未找到正确的答案”。诗人随后思考了自己曾对他人造成的不良影响,担心“从此就要倒下,一命归阴。”然后,“回音”像埃可女神一样,重复“人”最后说的几个字词,即“倒下,一命归阴。”接下来,“人”继续言说,但诗人笔锋一转,写到死亡的无意义,在死亡中不可能写出“伟大的作品”,叶芝在这里突出了今生远胜来世的观点。但是,诗人清楚地意识到人最终无法逃脱被死亡所捕获的命运,灵魂也将面临“审判”。“回声”再度出现——“沉入黑夜之中。”最后一段“人”的声音以两个问句开始。但在这里,诗人似乎悄悄地向“黑夜”的意象中注入了“死亡”之外的另一重寓意——人类的未来。诗人先是质疑死亡后(人类未来)欢欣的存在,然后进一步质疑人类的认识极限——“我们又知道什么,除了我们/在这个地方面对着面?”从死亡的寓意来说,这很像孔子“未知生,焉知死?”的驳问。诗人继而使用了另一个隐喻——被袭击的兔子正在尖叫。西默斯•希尼(Seamus Heaney)认为诗最后两行的韵脚并不完美,而且也不应该完美(It is not a perfect rhyme, nor should it be),因为在代表文明的“想法”(thought)和代表暴力与死亡的兔子的“尖叫”(crying out)之间,并不存在完美的和谐。 希尼认为,在这首诗中,回声传递的是“人”自己最为极端和枯竭的标识(And what the echo communicates is the man’s own most extreme and exhausted recognitions)。《人和回声》试图在一个血迹斑斑的自然与冷漠的世界中把握历史性的存在。回声标记出思维活动的极限,正像它召唤思想向前至最大极限(The echo marks the limits of the mind’s operations even as it calls the mind forth to its utmost exertions)。 我的观点是:叶芝在诗中(尤其第一节)向自己的过去发问,反省曾经的所作所为,这实际上体现了涉及回忆的诗歌的一个共同特点,即诗人向过往岁月发出声音,这个声音触到过去的回忆,再返回诗人的耳中,但这个回声已不再尽然是原本的声音,而是加入了回忆中的一些东西,这些东西可能是曾被诗人遗忘的经历,也可能是诗人过去不曾意识到的体验。所以,回声能够使人重新认识自己。发出声音并等待回声是诗人存在的最基本方式之一。从这个意义上说,文学写作就是一种诗人与回声的互动关系。回声,或者说回忆的本质就在于不断地试图界定自我,在动态中努力寻找自我。其实不独是诗歌,凡是涉及回忆的文学作品中似乎都隐藏着一个活跃的埃可女神。普鲁斯特向回忆中索取一切,回忆成为了生命存在的根本方式,有无数的回声飘荡在书页间;萧红的《呼兰河传》中的小女孩和承受悲痛的萧红之间有数不尽的潜对话,过去的萧红匡定了现在的萧红;叶芝站在山谷中央,一遍遍向往事的群山发出呐喊,群山应之,于是叶芝听到来自过去的丰富的声音,这声音又丰富了叶芝自己。其实,关于这一点,表达得最好的还是希尼,他在《自我的赫利孔山》(Personal Helicon: For Michael Longley)一诗的末尾说到,“所以我写诗/是为了凝视自己,为了让黑暗发出回声。” (I rhyme/To see myself,to set the darkness echoing. )这应该是希尼对叶芝《人和回声》的一个精彩呼应吧。附:The Man And the EchoManIn a cleft that's christened AltUnder broken stone I haltAt the bottom of a pitThat broad noon has never lit,And shout a secret to the stone.All that I have said and done,Now that I am old and ill,Turns into a question tillI lie awake night after nightAnd never get the answers right.Did that play of mine send outCertain men the English shot?Did words of mine put too great strainOn that woman's reeling brain?Could my spoken words have checkedThat whereby a house lay wrecked?And all seems evil until ISleepless would lie down and die.EchoLie down and die.ManThat were to shirkThe spiritual intellect's great work,And shirk it in vain. There is no releaseIn a bodkin or disease,Nor can there be work so greatAs that which cleans man's dirty slate.While man can still his body keepWine or love drug him to sleep,Waking he thanks the Lord that heHas body and its stupidity,But body gone he sleeps no more,And till his intellect grows sureThat all's arranged in one clear view,pursues the thoughts that I pursue,Then stands in judgment on his soul,And, all work done, dismisses allOut of intellect and sightAnd sinks at last into the night.EchoInto the night.ManO Rocky Voice,Shall we in that great night rejoice?What do we know but that we faceOne another in this place?But hush, for I have lost the theme,Its joy or night-seem but a dream;Up there some hawk or owl has struck,Dropping out of sky or rock,A stricken rabbit is crying out,And its cry distracts my thought.