我抓到条大鱼，然后我把他放走了
我想我迟早会认识毕晓普。不在蔡天新的游记里，也会在你给我的书信里。我这两天读到了她的《鱼》，奇怪的诗。于是就稍微将“目光在她身上多停留了几秒”。
1939年1月14日，毕晓普给玛丽安（Marianne Moore）的信件里，她说她前天抓到一条鹦嘴鱼了，几乎就是个巧合。真是漂亮的鱼，大而野性的眼睛，绿松石色的。这鱼应该就是后来出现在毕晓普《鱼》里那位历经磨难的五星上将鱼先生的原型。
毕晓普老给玛丽安写信，事无巨细地写最近干了些什么，比如那天她要把新摘的花放起来，找到个瓶子，惊奇地发现上面有黑斑点。告诉玛丽安说她想看玛丽安的新诗，而她自己的诗，就是这首《鱼》，她担心不够好，寄给玛丽安看看，顺便自己调侃了自己一下，“如果不像Robert Frost，也许就要像海明威了！”她加了个感叹号在这句话的最后，接着又告诉玛丽安，“我把最后一行留成那样了，但是我也不知道…”言语里有着那么多的不确定。玛丽安也给路易丝（Louise Crane）写信，那会儿路易丝应该正和毕晓普保持着暧昧关系。路易丝对毕晓普很有信心，“伊丽莎白在写着些诗：她很努力，她可以写出更多的。”毕晓普一遍遍地读玛丽安给她的回信，关于《鱼》玛丽安读得细致，毕晓普也改得认真，一来一回。
《鱼》最后刊登于Partisan Review。诗的一开头，毕晓普在那说：我抓到了一条大鱼，（I caught a tremendous fish）真简单，我如同小时候等待童话故事的结局那般，开始等待这会是怎样的一个关于一条大鱼的美丽故事。或许会给“我”三个愿望去实现，也或许会告诉“我”关于深海底的钩心斗角，兴许这条鱼是深海巫婆变得哩。可在这诗的故事里，“我”就那样抓到那条鱼，把它放在船边上，用钩子固定住他的嘴，“我”用 “他”（he）来指代这条鱼，他是条大鱼，至少很重（grunting weight），但却不对“我”做出任何抵抗，似乎是顺从地就呆在那了，“我”得以有机会细细端详这位鱼先生的相貌，褐色皮肤上的皱纹就像是古老的墙纸，如同盛开的玫瑰花，却因为年月侵蚀失去了光辉（line10-15）。身上的圈圈点点（barnacles）让“我"想起菩提花饰，可那却也因为海虱的骚扰枯朽了(line16-19)。在陆地上，他竭力呼吸取得氧气，露出了吓人的腮，此刻他才被捕捉上岸，腮依旧是血液般鲜红新鲜，挂着两三叶海草（line20-24）。“我”的视线投注到他的眼睛里，他的眼睛比“我”大得多，浅而带着黄色，可是两眼布满了划痕，“我”想到那些用旧了的锡纸。透过那双混浊的双眼，鱼先生看到的世界和我应该是不一样的。“我”盯着他瞧，他眼珠微微动了下，不回应“我”对他的注视。（line35-43）可是“我”佩服他，在他的下唇上挂着五根旧鱼线，或者说是四根旧鱼线，再加上一个依旧带着线轴的杆子。“我”可以想见他过往的人生，呃，其实应该说是鱼生。我的视线从鱼先生身上移转开，到船沿上，到水面上，直到“我”看到水面上因为汽油散射阳光形成的彩虹色，彩虹，彩虹，诺亚方舟上曾见到的彩虹。然后“我”就大鱼放走了。到这，让我来哎哟一下，这首诗未免也太华滋华斯了。
女诗人的生活多是诡秘神奇的，想起艾美丽迪金森，阴冷屋子里，日光灯的嗡嗡声，还有苍蝇，在光芒和平躺着的我之间不停地吧吱，我无法不面对死亡，因为他可亲地来到我身边了，带着我在骏马上飞驰，仿佛我就是美丽的少女，而死神是位无比英俊的大叔。田野在两边流过，我把金色屋顶留在身后了。毕晓普没有迪金森写得多（能比么能比么能比么一 一''）关于毕晓普的生平，一开口遍会提及她在襁褓中父亲就过世，母亲因为受打击太大，精神突然失常，住进疗养院，毕晓普就只能在爷爷奶奶叔叔阿姨家颠沛流离。可是其它的我知道的真的不多，谁有http://www.douban.com/subject/2121500/，借来给我读读？谢谢。
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of its mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
— the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly —
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
— It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
— if you could call it a lip —
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels — until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
1939年1月14日，毕晓普给玛丽安（Marianne Moore）的信件里，她说她前天抓到一条鹦嘴鱼了，几乎就是个巧合。真是漂亮的鱼，大而野性的眼睛，绿松石色的。这鱼应该就是后来出现在毕晓普《鱼》里那位历经磨难的五星上将鱼先生的原型。
毕晓普老给玛丽安写信，事无巨细地写最近干了些什么，比如那天她要把新摘的花放起来，找到个瓶子，惊奇地发现上面有黑斑点。告诉玛丽安说她想看玛丽安的新诗，而她自己的诗，就是这首《鱼》，她担心不够好，寄给玛丽安看看，顺便自己调侃了自己一下，“如果不像Robert Frost，也许就要像海明威了！”她加了个感叹号在这句话的最后，接着又告诉玛丽安，“我把最后一行留成那样了，但是我也不知道…”言语里有着那么多的不确定。玛丽安也给路易丝（Louise Crane）写信，那会儿路易丝应该正和毕晓普保持着暧昧关系。路易丝对毕晓普很有信心，“伊丽莎白在写着些诗：她很努力，她可以写出更多的。”毕晓普一遍遍地读玛丽安给她的回信，关于《鱼》玛丽安读得细致，毕晓普也改得认真，一来一回。
《鱼》最后刊登于Partisan Review。诗的一开头，毕晓普在那说：我抓到了一条大鱼，（I caught a tremendous fish）真简单，我如同小时候等待童话故事的结局那般，开始等待这会是怎样的一个关于一条大鱼的美丽故事。或许会给“我”三个愿望去实现，也或许会告诉“我”关于深海底的钩心斗角，兴许这条鱼是深海巫婆变得哩。可在这诗的故事里，“我”就那样抓到那条鱼，把它放在船边上，用钩子固定住他的嘴，“我”用 “他”（he）来指代这条鱼，他是条大鱼，至少很重（grunting weight），但却不对“我”做出任何抵抗，似乎是顺从地就呆在那了，“我”得以有机会细细端详这位鱼先生的相貌，褐色皮肤上的皱纹就像是古老的墙纸，如同盛开的玫瑰花，却因为年月侵蚀失去了光辉（line10-15）。身上的圈圈点点（barnacles）让“我"想起菩提花饰，可那却也因为海虱的骚扰枯朽了(line16-19)。在陆地上，他竭力呼吸取得氧气，露出了吓人的腮，此刻他才被捕捉上岸，腮依旧是血液般鲜红新鲜，挂着两三叶海草（line20-24）。“我”的视线投注到他的眼睛里，他的眼睛比“我”大得多，浅而带着黄色，可是两眼布满了划痕，“我”想到那些用旧了的锡纸。透过那双混浊的双眼，鱼先生看到的世界和我应该是不一样的。“我”盯着他瞧，他眼珠微微动了下，不回应“我”对他的注视。（line35-43）可是“我”佩服他，在他的下唇上挂着五根旧鱼线，或者说是四根旧鱼线，再加上一个依旧带着线轴的杆子。“我”可以想见他过往的人生，呃，其实应该说是鱼生。我的视线从鱼先生身上移转开，到船沿上，到水面上，直到“我”看到水面上因为汽油散射阳光形成的彩虹色，彩虹，彩虹，诺亚方舟上曾见到的彩虹。然后“我”就大鱼放走了。到这，让我来哎哟一下，这首诗未免也太华滋华斯了。
女诗人的生活多是诡秘神奇的，想起艾美丽迪金森，阴冷屋子里，日光灯的嗡嗡声，还有苍蝇，在光芒和平躺着的我之间不停地吧吱，我无法不面对死亡，因为他可亲地来到我身边了，带着我在骏马上飞驰，仿佛我就是美丽的少女，而死神是位无比英俊的大叔。田野在两边流过，我把金色屋顶留在身后了。毕晓普没有迪金森写得多（能比么能比么能比么一 一''）关于毕晓普的生平，一开口遍会提及她在襁褓中父亲就过世，母亲因为受打击太大，精神突然失常，住进疗养院，毕晓普就只能在爷爷奶奶叔叔阿姨家颠沛流离。可是其它的我知道的真的不多，谁有http://www.douban.com/subject/2121500/，借来给我读读？谢谢。
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of its mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
— the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly —
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
— It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
— if you could call it a lip —
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels — until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
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