西苏论画 205

西苏论画 205

To come back to what escapes: we want to draw the instant. That instant which strikes
between two instants, that instant which flies into bits under its own blow, which has
neither length, nor duration, only its own shattering brilliance, the shock of the passage
from night to light. Here, the instant is the height which this executioner’s arm takes (a
single double arm), grand high gesture, extremely fine and rapid line of extreme actuality.
The instant is a drama without a stage.

回到所逃避的东西:我们想要绘画这个瞬间。打击在两个瞬间的瞬间,飞逃进入它自己打击之下的碎片的瞬间,既没有长度,也没有期间的瞬间,仅有它自己震撼的灿烂,从夜晚到光明的过程的震撼。这个瞬间是这位侩子手的手臂伸出的高度(单一的双重手臂),辉煌的崇高姿态,极端现实性的极端精致而快速的线条。瞬间是没有舞台的戏剧。

I wanted to call this text: ‘For the Instant,’ or ‘At the Instant,’ but I changed my mind.
The instant, see how it’s just fallen, between St John: the body is still living, but
already the head is dead. It’s this instant: the cut-off between life and death.
This is what we draw, tripping, because, instead of throbbing, we trace. We want to
throw ourselves ahead and we go backwards. Do you see these footprints? We are
advancing backwards.

我想要称这个文本为:「为了瞬间」或「在瞬间」。但是我改变我的心意。请你们瞧一下它刚刚如何坠落。在圣约翰的瞬间:身体依据还活着,但是头已经死掉。就是这个瞬间:生命与死亡之间的切割。这就是我们所绘画的东西,绊倒,因为我们追踪痕迹,而不是悸动。我们想要将自己抛向前,然后我们后退。你们看见这些足印吗?我们向后前进。

How to draw speed?

如何绘画速度?

Thinking about ‘repentance’ is extremely tiring. It’s as though I were trying to think
about the skin of thought with the skin of thought. One must think faster than oneself.
Observing it from very very close up very very fast, thought doesn’t go straight ahead,
as we think, but in a frenetic movement, invisible to the naked-eye-of-thought, it goes
straight ahead of itself like lightning and almost simultaneously returns backwards on its
own streak to step on it and erase it and almost simultaneously shoots forward like a
rocket—if only I could draw one thought!—if I could photograph it—then we would see
that thought is not a sentence at all, but, after several explosions, a fallout in words,
or else take the photograph of a dream!

思维关于「悔恨」是极端令人疲惫。好像我正在尝试用思想的皮肤,来思维思想的皮肤。我们比起自己思维得更快。从非常非常靠近,非常非常快速来观察它,思想并没有直接向前行,如同我们以为的,而是以狂乱的运动,思想到裸眼看不见,思想直接前行到它自己前面,就像光。几乎同时地,它凭借自己的闪光,倒退回了,践踏在它上面,抹除它,几乎同时地,它像火箭一般,向前喷射—但愿我能够绘画出一道思想!–但愿我能够摄影它—然后我们将会看见,思想根本就不是一个句子,而是,经过好几次爆炸之后,文字的塵爆。要不然,你们将梦摄影下来看看!

I want to draw the present, say da Vinci? Picasso, Rembrandt, the fools for truth. How
to make the portrait of lightning? At what speed draw speed? We have all cried out stop!
to the instant. We who are the immoderate, through our slowness rapidity passes, through
our narrow head the lightning of a thought passes.

The truth is approaching.

我想要绘画目前,达文西说。毕卡索,林布兰,追求真理的这些傻瓜。如何让光成为肖像?以怎样的速度来绘画?我们都大声对瞬间喊出:停!我们我们不採中庸之道,通过缓慢,迅速通过,通过我们窄小的头脑,一道思想的光通过。

真理正在靠近。

Arrives the Vision that neither we, nor even the saint, can predict. Be careful! It’s
coming…! Salvation! What agony! We fall like a dead body.

奇迹景象来临,那是我们无法预测,即使圣者也无法预测。请小心!奇迹景象来临、、、!救赎!何得的痛苦!我们像死亡的身体般掉落。

We don’t have salvation: it is dealt us like a blow, we faint. We awake with a start,
quick a pencil, and take down the ultimate glimmer of illumination, however much we
say: ‘what’s the difference, we’ve seen our vision already,’ we never resign ourselves.
At a gallop, the snail! We scribble while crawling in the wake of God.

我们没有救赎:救赎给予我们,像是打击,我们晕倒。我们惊吓地清醒,削尖铅笔,记下最后的启蒙之。无论我们怎么说:

We live more quickly than ourselves, the pen doesn’t follow. To paint the present
which is passing us by, we stop the present.

我们的生命比我们自己更快,铅笔跟不上。为了绘画正在经过我们的目前,我们将目前停顿。

One cannot after all write a book with only one stroke, of only one page, and yet we
should.
But we are born for lateness.
Time, the body, are our slow vehicles, our chariots without wheels.

毕竟我们无法用一个笔画就写完仅有一页的一本书。可是,我们应该。
但是我们的诞生就是延迟。
时间,身体,都是我们缓缓地交通工具,我们没有轮子的战车。

Stigmata 26

Look, I’ve just this instant ‘seen’ a book—now I’m going to need two years and two
hundred pages in order to recount it with my hands, with my staggering feet, and my
breath harnessed to my chest, and from forward to backward and inversely.

This is why we desire so often to die, when we write, in order to see everything in a
flash, and at least once shatter the spine of time with only one pencil stroke. And with
only one word draw God…

圣痕 26

请你们瞧!我刚刚拥有这个瞬间,刚刚看见一本书—现在,我将需要两年,两百页,为了用我们的双手描述它,用我踉跄的脚,我的呼吸跟我的胸膛连挂一块。向前再向后,向后再向前。

这就是为什么我们如此渴望死亡,当我们书写,为了要在闪光当中看见一切。至少有一次,仅用铅笔的一次笔划,粉碎时间的脊椎。仅用一个字绘画上帝、、、

N.B. There is not one single sentence in this text which I didn’t write twenty times—
As soon as I said the word ‘Repentance,’ it jumped on to my page, it spread everywhere,
however much I denied it. One says this word and that’s it.

注释:在这个文本里,没有一个句子,我没有书写二十遍—当我一说出「悔恨」这个字,它就跳跃到我的页面,它扩散到每个地方,无论我多么否认它。我们说出这个字,那就是它。

N.B. N.B. Because after all that which they call Repentance is no one other than the
demon of writing.

注释:因为毕竟人们所谓的「悔恨」,实实在在就是书写的恶魔。

N.B.
And now, what to call this essay?
– ‘Without End’—No.—‘The Executioner’s Taking Off’—No. Rather:
Oh no, enough already, it’s time! No more repenting! Not another word!

注释:
现在,这篇散文的标题是什么?
–「没有止境」—不—「侩子手段起飞」–不。相反地:哦,不,已经足够,那是时间!不再悔恨!不再有另外一个字!

雄伯译
32hsiung@pchome.com.tw
https://springhero.wordpress.com

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