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Excerpt：Letters on Cezanne By Rilke
2021/07/07 05:44
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Excerpt：Letters on Cezanne By Rilke
蠻喜歡里爾克在1907年6月到11月這段期間寫給妻子克拉拉的書信，似乎每一封信都有值得往下探索之處，這次購入英譯版本，也就再挑出我個人比較喜歡的其中一封信，摘要片段內容分享。
https://www.bookdepository.com/Letters-on-Cezanne-Rainer-Rilke/9780865476394
Letters on Cezanne
By (author) Rainer Rilke , Translated by Joel Agee
Rilkes prayerful responses to the french masters beseeching art For a long time nothing, and then suddenly one has the right eyes. Virtually every day in the fall of 1907, Rainer Maria Rilke returned to a Paris gallery to view a Cezanne exhibition. Nearly as frequently, he wrote dense and joyful letters to his wife, Clara Westhoff, expressing his dismay before the paintings and his ensuing revelations about art and life. Rilke was knowledgeable about art and had even published monographs, including a famous study of Rodin that inspired his New Poems. But Cezannes impact on him could not be conveyed in a traditional essay. Rilkes sense of kinship with Cezanne provides a powerful and prescient undercurrent in these letters -- passages from them appear verbatim in Rilkes great modernist novel, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge. Letters on Cezanne is a collection of meaningfully private responses to a radically new art.
【Excerpt】
PARIS VI, 29, RUE CASSETTE
OCTOBER 10, 1907
Im sure you remember…in The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, the place that deals with Baudelaire and his poem: “Carrion.” I couldn‘t help thinking that without this poem, the whole trend toward plainspoken truth which we now seem to recognize in Cézanne could not have started; first it had to be there in all its inexorability. First, artistic perception had to surpass itself to the point of realizing that even something horrible, something that seems no more than disgusting, is, and is valid, along with everything else that is. Just as the creative artist is not allowed to choose, neither is he permitted to turn his back on anything that exists: a single refusal at any time, and he is cast out of the state of grace and becomes sinful all the way through. Flaubert, in retelling the legend of Saint-Julien-lhospitalier with so much discretion and care, showed me this simple believability in the midst of the miraculous, because the artist in him participated in the saints decisions, and gave them his happy consent and clause. This lying-down-with-the-leper and sharing all one’s own warmth with him, including the heart-warmth of nights of love: this must at some time have been part of an artists existence, as a self-overcoming on the way to his new bliss. You can imagine how it moves me to read that even in his last years, Cézanne had memorized this very poem—Baudelaires Charogne—and recited it word for word. Surely one could find examples among his earlier works where he mightily surpassed himself to achieve the utmost capacity for love. After this devotion, in small ways at first, lies the beginning of sainthood: the simple life of a love that endured; that, without ever boasting of it, approaches everything, unaccompanied, inconspicuous, wordless. The real work, the abundance of tasks, begins, all of it, after this enduring, and whoever has not been able to come this far may well get to see the Virgin Mary in Heaven, and certain saints and minor prophets as well, and King Saul and Charles le Téméraire—: but as for Hokusai and Lionardo, Li Tai Pe and Villon, Verhaeren, Rodin, Cézanne—of these, not to mention the good Lord, all he will ever learn, even there, is hearsay.
…
Ah, we compute the years and divide them here and there and stop and begin and hesitate between the two. But how very much of one piece is everything we encounter, how related one thing is to the next, how it gave birth to itself and grows up and is educated in its own nature, and all we basically have to do is to be there, but simply, ardently, the way the earth simply is, consenting to the seasons, light and dark and altogether in space, not asking to rest upon anything other than the net of influences and forces in which the stars feel secure.
Some day the time and composure and patience must also be there to let me continue writing the Notebooks of Malte Laurids; I now know much more about him, or rather: the knowledge will be there when it is needed…
1907.10.109 週六
……我肯定你還記得……《馬爾特手記》中，處理波徳萊爾與他的《腐屍》那首詩的地方。我忍不住想，如果沒有這首詩，我們如今在塞尚作品中看到的這種整體偏向於客觀表現的手法可能就不會出現；它首先必須以其無情而得以展現。藝術知覺首先須得超越自身，乃至一切之中，哪怕是可怖、可憎的，均可以見得。正如大創作者是不可以有揀擇的。存在的萬物，他皆不可背對，無論何時，一次也不可。他被放逐於恩典之外；他是有罪的，自始至終。福樓拜，在他對“聖—一于連”傳奇如此審慎的重述中，向我展示了神跡中單純的可信度。因為藝術家自身參與了聖徒的決定，且賦予了他們他自己歡喜的應可及嘉許。與麻風病人共躺，分享自己肉身的溫暖，包括夜晚裡愛的心暖：某些時候這定然已是一個藝術家存在的一部分，是通往自己新的狂喜之路的自我降服。你可以想像我是怎樣地感動——在最後幾年，塞尚他能背誦波德萊爾這首《腐屍》，逐字逐句地背誦。的確，我們可以在他早期的作品裡看到這個例子，在那裡，他激烈地越過自身，以期實現一種最飽滿的愛。在這奉獻之後，便有神聖油然而生，開始是那些微物：這簡單之物的一種愛，這愛它忍耐，不誇耀，它臨於萬物，不依傍，不彰顯，默默無語。真正的勞作，無數的委派，所有一切，皆唯有在這忍耐之後開啟。凡尚不能至此境地的，在天堂裡也許能得見聖母瑪利亞，得見那些聖徒，小先知，掃羅王，勇士査理，但對於葛飾北齋與列奧納多，李太白與維庸，凡爾哈倫，羅丹，塞尚一流 (更別提上帝)，他是不得見的，哪怕已是身在此間，在天堂裡，他於這些所知曉的也不過是道聼塗説。
……
哦，我們數著歲月，一段一段切分，這裡，那裡，起，止，起止間ㄔ亍。但我們遇到的都是怎樣的一事一物，一物與另一物是怎樣地相聯著，它是怎樣地自我生發，怎樣地依自我本性而受教，而基本上，我們全部要做的就是在著，但要熱忱，要簡單，像大地那樣，順從於季節、光、黑暗、宇宙的一切，不求任何依傍，除了連星星於其中也安然的勢流與強力場中。
終有一日，時間、沉著、耐性定會都集齊了，好讓我繼續書寫《馬爾特手記》；現在我知道他知道的更多了，或至少可以說：“該知道的，我都知道了……”
【參考資料】
Une Charogne / Charles Baudelaire
Rappelez-vous lobjet que nous vîmes, mon âme,
Ce beau matin dété si doux:
Au détour dun sentier une charogne infâme
Sur un lit semé de cailloux,
…
Oui! telle vous serez, ô la reine des grâces,
Apres les derniers sacrements,
Quand vous irez, sous lherbe et les floraisons grasses,
Moisir parmi les ossements.
Alors, ô ma beauté! dites à la vermine
Qui vous mangera de baisers,
Que jai gardé la forme et lessence divine
De mes amours décomposés!
A Carrion / Charles Baudelaire
Do you remember the thing we saw, my soul,
That summer morning, so beautiful, so soft:
At a turning in the path, a filthy carrion,
On a bed sown with stones,
…
Yes, such you will be, queen of gracefulness,
After the last sacraments,
When you go beneath the grasses and fat flowers,
Moldering amongst the bones.
Then, my beauty, say to the vermin
Which will eat you with kisses,
That I have kept the shape and the divine substance
Of my decomposed loves!
(Translated by Geoffrey Wagner)
https://fleursdumal.org/poem/126
〈腐屍〉/ 波特萊爾
吾愛，妳記否那個美好的夏日清晨
我倆看到的東西
在小徑拐彎處，一具潰爛屍體
横臥碎石滿佈的路上，
……
是的，妳準會如此，嬌美王后，
最末的聖禮後，
妳就在盛開的花卉下，
骸骨之間霉化。
那時，美人兒！請告訴
吻噬妳的蛆蟲，
說我保住了已朽愛情的
外貌和神聖本質！
(莫渝 譯)
蠻喜歡里爾克在1907年6月到11月這段期間寫給妻子克拉拉的書信，似乎每一封信都有值得往下探索之處，這次購入英譯版本，也就再挑出我個人比較喜歡的其中一封信，摘要片段內容分享。
https://www.bookdepository.com/Letters-on-Cezanne-Rainer-Rilke/9780865476394
Letters on Cezanne
By (author) Rainer Rilke , Translated by Joel Agee
Rilkes prayerful responses to the french masters beseeching art For a long time nothing, and then suddenly one has the right eyes. Virtually every day in the fall of 1907, Rainer Maria Rilke returned to a Paris gallery to view a Cezanne exhibition. Nearly as frequently, he wrote dense and joyful letters to his wife, Clara Westhoff, expressing his dismay before the paintings and his ensuing revelations about art and life. Rilke was knowledgeable about art and had even published monographs, including a famous study of Rodin that inspired his New Poems. But Cezannes impact on him could not be conveyed in a traditional essay. Rilkes sense of kinship with Cezanne provides a powerful and prescient undercurrent in these letters -- passages from them appear verbatim in Rilkes great modernist novel, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge. Letters on Cezanne is a collection of meaningfully private responses to a radically new art.
【Excerpt】
PARIS VI, 29, RUE CASSETTE
OCTOBER 10, 1907
Im sure you remember…in The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, the place that deals with Baudelaire and his poem: “Carrion.” I couldn‘t help thinking that without this poem, the whole trend toward plainspoken truth which we now seem to recognize in Cézanne could not have started; first it had to be there in all its inexorability. First, artistic perception had to surpass itself to the point of realizing that even something horrible, something that seems no more than disgusting, is, and is valid, along with everything else that is. Just as the creative artist is not allowed to choose, neither is he permitted to turn his back on anything that exists: a single refusal at any time, and he is cast out of the state of grace and becomes sinful all the way through. Flaubert, in retelling the legend of Saint-Julien-lhospitalier with so much discretion and care, showed me this simple believability in the midst of the miraculous, because the artist in him participated in the saints decisions, and gave them his happy consent and clause. This lying-down-with-the-leper and sharing all one’s own warmth with him, including the heart-warmth of nights of love: this must at some time have been part of an artists existence, as a self-overcoming on the way to his new bliss. You can imagine how it moves me to read that even in his last years, Cézanne had memorized this very poem—Baudelaires Charogne—and recited it word for word. Surely one could find examples among his earlier works where he mightily surpassed himself to achieve the utmost capacity for love. After this devotion, in small ways at first, lies the beginning of sainthood: the simple life of a love that endured; that, without ever boasting of it, approaches everything, unaccompanied, inconspicuous, wordless. The real work, the abundance of tasks, begins, all of it, after this enduring, and whoever has not been able to come this far may well get to see the Virgin Mary in Heaven, and certain saints and minor prophets as well, and King Saul and Charles le Téméraire—: but as for Hokusai and Lionardo, Li Tai Pe and Villon, Verhaeren, Rodin, Cézanne—of these, not to mention the good Lord, all he will ever learn, even there, is hearsay.
…
Ah, we compute the years and divide them here and there and stop and begin and hesitate between the two. But how very much of one piece is everything we encounter, how related one thing is to the next, how it gave birth to itself and grows up and is educated in its own nature, and all we basically have to do is to be there, but simply, ardently, the way the earth simply is, consenting to the seasons, light and dark and altogether in space, not asking to rest upon anything other than the net of influences and forces in which the stars feel secure.
Some day the time and composure and patience must also be there to let me continue writing the Notebooks of Malte Laurids; I now know much more about him, or rather: the knowledge will be there when it is needed…
1907.10.109 週六
……我肯定你還記得……《馬爾特手記》中，處理波徳萊爾與他的《腐屍》那首詩的地方。我忍不住想，如果沒有這首詩，我們如今在塞尚作品中看到的這種整體偏向於客觀表現的手法可能就不會出現；它首先必須以其無情而得以展現。藝術知覺首先須得超越自身，乃至一切之中，哪怕是可怖、可憎的，均可以見得。正如大創作者是不可以有揀擇的。存在的萬物，他皆不可背對，無論何時，一次也不可。他被放逐於恩典之外；他是有罪的，自始至終。福樓拜，在他對“聖—一于連”傳奇如此審慎的重述中，向我展示了神跡中單純的可信度。因為藝術家自身參與了聖徒的決定，且賦予了他們他自己歡喜的應可及嘉許。與麻風病人共躺，分享自己肉身的溫暖，包括夜晚裡愛的心暖：某些時候這定然已是一個藝術家存在的一部分，是通往自己新的狂喜之路的自我降服。你可以想像我是怎樣地感動——在最後幾年，塞尚他能背誦波德萊爾這首《腐屍》，逐字逐句地背誦。的確，我們可以在他早期的作品裡看到這個例子，在那裡，他激烈地越過自身，以期實現一種最飽滿的愛。在這奉獻之後，便有神聖油然而生，開始是那些微物：這簡單之物的一種愛，這愛它忍耐，不誇耀，它臨於萬物，不依傍，不彰顯，默默無語。真正的勞作，無數的委派，所有一切，皆唯有在這忍耐之後開啟。凡尚不能至此境地的，在天堂裡也許能得見聖母瑪利亞，得見那些聖徒，小先知，掃羅王，勇士査理，但對於葛飾北齋與列奧納多，李太白與維庸，凡爾哈倫，羅丹，塞尚一流 (更別提上帝)，他是不得見的，哪怕已是身在此間，在天堂裡，他於這些所知曉的也不過是道聼塗説。
……
哦，我們數著歲月，一段一段切分，這裡，那裡，起，止，起止間ㄔ亍。但我們遇到的都是怎樣的一事一物，一物與另一物是怎樣地相聯著，它是怎樣地自我生發，怎樣地依自我本性而受教，而基本上，我們全部要做的就是在著，但要熱忱，要簡單，像大地那樣，順從於季節、光、黑暗、宇宙的一切，不求任何依傍，除了連星星於其中也安然的勢流與強力場中。
終有一日，時間、沉著、耐性定會都集齊了，好讓我繼續書寫《馬爾特手記》；現在我知道他知道的更多了，或至少可以說：“該知道的，我都知道了……”
【參考資料】
Une Charogne / Charles Baudelaire
Rappelez-vous lobjet que nous vîmes, mon âme,
Ce beau matin dété si doux:
Au détour dun sentier une charogne infâme
Sur un lit semé de cailloux,
…
Oui! telle vous serez, ô la reine des grâces,
Apres les derniers sacrements,
Quand vous irez, sous lherbe et les floraisons grasses,
Moisir parmi les ossements.
Alors, ô ma beauté! dites à la vermine
Qui vous mangera de baisers,
Que jai gardé la forme et lessence divine
De mes amours décomposés!
A Carrion / Charles Baudelaire
Do you remember the thing we saw, my soul,
That summer morning, so beautiful, so soft:
At a turning in the path, a filthy carrion,
On a bed sown with stones,
…
Yes, such you will be, queen of gracefulness,
After the last sacraments,
When you go beneath the grasses and fat flowers,
Moldering amongst the bones.
Then, my beauty, say to the vermin
Which will eat you with kisses,
That I have kept the shape and the divine substance
Of my decomposed loves!
(Translated by Geoffrey Wagner)
https://fleursdumal.org/poem/126
〈腐屍〉/ 波特萊爾
吾愛，妳記否那個美好的夏日清晨
我倆看到的東西
在小徑拐彎處，一具潰爛屍體
横臥碎石滿佈的路上，
……
是的，妳準會如此，嬌美王后，
最末的聖禮後，
妳就在盛開的花卉下，
骸骨之間霉化。
那時，美人兒！請告訴
吻噬妳的蛆蟲，
說我保住了已朽愛情的
外貌和神聖本質！
(莫渝 譯)
自訂分類：Selected & Extracts
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