le frisson

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Ф°îµÄÈÕ×Ó¡£×òÌìÊǰͺյÄÈÕ×Ó£¬ÒòΪûÓгöÌ«Ñô£¬ÎÒÒªÈÃÅÁ¶ûÂüºÍ×æ¿ËÂüµÄÇÙÉùÔÚÎÒµÄÊÀ½çÀï²¼ÂúÑô¹â¡£ ¶ÁÄá²É¡¶ÉÆÓë¶ñµÄ±Ë°¶¡·,»¹Óе¹úÀËÂşÖ÷ÒåÕşÖÎÎÄÑ¡£¬ÈÈ°®·ÑÏ£ÌصÄÀíÏëÖ÷Òå¡£µ±È»£¬ĞÄÒǵĻ¹ÊÇÄá²ÉµÄͨ͸¡£ÎÒÃÇʱ´úȱ·¦Ò»ÖÖ³¹µ×ĞÔ£¬Ò»Çж¼±»ºÍÊÂÀÏÃǵÄÎûÎû¹ş¹ş¸øÕڸǹıÈ¥ÁË£¬°ïÏеÄʱ´ú¡£ ³ÕÃÔJohn AshberyµÄÊ«¡£µÚÒ»´Î±»Ò»¸öÃÀ¹úÈË´ò¶¯£¬ºÇºÇ¡£ frisson ·¢±íÓÚ 21:55 | ÔĶÁÈ«ÎÄ | ÆÀÂÛ(1) | ÒıÓÃTrackback(0) | ±à¼­ requiem aeternem -[ÎÄ×Ö] ʱ¼ä£º2004-05-17 09:19 Open the foxy eyes of yours, and drop the cunning¡­ Your hands will trace the memories of the railings Of my dust-covered balcony. A swirl of sultry wind breaking the waves, The dead seaweeds murmured in February air, ¡®Who granted me eternal peace?¡¯ ¡®Cause you dare not travel to those places, Where your dreams involve theirs, And your dreams on the trams are tucked into pellets, Exquisitely spurned beside the soiled bins.¡¯ I know you won't drop a dime for the beggars. While you cup the sky, feed the pigeons, tread on snail trails, You exude an ordinariness I despair of. I have to search for the assurance, promised, unreckoned, Aye I do. Wake up, you, to the toll of the clanking bells. I have made my body into a sanctuary of good will. You must not lift up your head, with your golden locks Spread out on the surface of my quietist nape. Look down, look down. I have seen it. Now your turn! Dart your eyes towards the colossal moment, And sing, quietly, of the glory of the abyss. Tap your feet, to the tune of my sniffing, And tell me, do tell me, The ecstasy in your downcast eyes, The dreary tunes that wake you up to a desolate Night: ¡®Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky.¡¯ Didn¡¯t I tell you I work by Sirius? Never renege on a night like that. In such moonlight, one wonders why Hounds lost their fox in Lipton Sticks. For the gentleman didn't know That she came from Springfield . I saw her and her cubs cry, And I felt for the quietude of the dream further afield. Yes I work by Sirius. I pine away for my tasteless spuds. Pick out a volume of culinary art, Bothered by the occasional buzzes On my door¡­ But I find you standing there, cocksure, but dead. Asking me to let you in. My bleary eyes are open now To sensations the soles of my feet Used to relish. Will I relent? I smell the dampness in your breath, Tinged with a stellar loftiness. The urgency in the dribbling water from your sideburns, But it is not raining¡­ Can you ferret out A roaring, tumbling sadness That divides the universe into three? One for me, dejected yet cheery. One for the white soutanes of our fathers, Yet another one for you. Jeune homme, I demand your full attention, Despite the cellos that start to mellow, And the strings that have stood up to your defence. I will tear down the firmament After turning off the boiler. You are a lost soul, I know. So is the drifting theme of death, Both fragile, solemn yet male. But the coldest moment is not midnight , If you know not that a morning glory, Only blossoms in raw, pre-dawn willingness. Right then I hear the noise again. I'll wake you up, I will. I will whisper the words that you can¡¯t hear. I utter none, but will myself to chant, The deadest strain, To keep you awake by the time of the eclipse. I want you to see you and your lot In that mirror of apotheosis. But you see me instead. Your downcast eyes meet mine, In a deafening flash. ¡®Have I not warned you Against the dangerous embrace?¡¯ The moment I siphon self-pity Out of my love, I hear the noise again. How many times do I have to revoke the music, And hold you with my crossed hands? My drooping eyelids have registered Your every stir. Then I sing, quietly, to the glory of the abyss. Luxuriating in the sweetness Of ascending cheerlessness. ¡®Let the perpetual light shine upon you.¡¯ frisson ·¢±íÓÚ 09:19 | ÔĶÁÈ«ÎÄ | ÆÀÂÛ(0) | ÒıÓÃTrackback(0) | ±à¼­ ÌıÕßÎŞĞÄ -[°®ÀÖ] ʱ¼ä£º2004-05-17 09:12 ÒÔÈüÑÇ•°ØÁÖÔÚÅ£½ò¶ÁÊéµÄʱºòĞ´ÁËĞí¶à¹ÅµäÀÖÆÀ£¬µ«ÆäʵËû¸ù±¾²»Ê¶ÎåÏßÆס£¿ÉÎÒÏàĞÅ°ØÁÖ¾ôÊ¿Ò²²»ÊÇĞÅ¿Ú¿ªºÓµÄÈË£¬ÒòΪÒôÀÖ±¾ÖÊÉÏÊÇÒ»ÖÖÕÜѧ£¬ÎÒ×ÜÊÇĪÃûµØ°ÑËüºÍºÚ¸ñ¶ûËù˵µÄ¡°´¿´â¾«ÉñµÄÏÖÏóѧ¡±¹éÔÚÒ»Æğ¡£Èç¹û×÷Ϊ˼ÏëÊ·¼Ò¡¢ÕÜѧ¼ÒµÄ°ØÁÖ¶¼Ã»ÓĞȨÀû·¢±íÒôÀÖ¸ĞÎòµÄ»°£¬¹ÅµäÒôÀÖËƺõ¾ÍÒªÂÙΪɳÁú×åµÄ¾øÏìÁË¡£ °ØÁÖÔø˵£¬ÒôÀÖ²»ÊÇ¡°¹ØÓÚ¡±Ê²Ã´µÄ£¬ÒòΪÒôÀÖ²»Ö±½ÓÃèĞ´Èκζ«Î÷¡£±È·½Ë¹Ã·ËşÄɵĽ»ÏìÊ«¡¶ÎÒµÄ×æ¹ú¡·£¬ÈκÎÈ˶¼¿ÉÒÔÇáËɵذѡ°·ü¶ûËşÍߺӡ±ÄÇÒ»Õ·ֽâ³ÉÉ­ÁÖ¡¢¼±Á÷¡¢³Ç±¤ºÍ»¶ÇìµÈµÈ¾ßÌåµÄÒâÏó¡£ÔÚÄãÏëÏó×ű¼Ó¿µÄË®Á÷µÄͬʱ£¬Äã¿ÉÄÜÒ²ÍüÈ´ÁËÓÃÀ´¡°±íÏÖ¡±Ë®Á÷µÄÏÒÀÖ²¿·ÖÆäʵҲ³ĞÔØ×ÅÒ»¸öÒôÀÖµÄÃÎÏ룬һ¸ö²»ĞèÒª½èÖúÈκÎÍâÔÚµÄÍдǾͿÉÒÔ¼¤¶¯ÈËĞĵĽṹ¡£ÏëÏóһϲñ¿Æ·ò˹»ùµÄ¸ÖÇÙĞ­×àÇú£¬¸ÖÇٱŷ¢³öµÄĞÛĞÔÒô·û·ÖÃ÷ÔÚ´«µİ×ÅÒ»¸öѶϢ£ºË®Á÷Íļ±£¬°µÌÎĞÚÓ¿¡£Ãŵ¶ûËɵĵÚÈı½»ÏìÇú¡¶ËÕ¸ñÀ¼¡·ÊÇÎ÷±±Å·µÄº£Ë®£¬¼ä»ò¿´µÃµ½ºÚ·¢À¶Ñ۵Ŀ­¶ûÌØÈËÔÚÂÔ´øÎíÆøµÄº£°¶ÉÏÓÎ×ß¡£Èç¹ûÒª¿´º£Ë®ÅÄ´ò½¸Ê¯£¬Í¬ÑùÊÇÃŵ¶ûËɵġ¶ºÕ²¼Àïµ×ĞòÇú¡·ÈÃÄãÌåÑéË®ÌìÒ»Ïߵı¯Á¹¡£¿ÉÄã¾ø¶Ô²»ÄÜ°ÑÕâĞ©Òô·û´øµ½±±Å·¡£ÎÒÃÇÓĞÎ÷±´Áø˹ºÍÄá¶ûÉ­µÄÍêÃÀÚ¹ÊÍ¡£Î÷±´Áø˹µÄ·ÒÀ¼²¼ÂúÁË´ó´óĞ¡Ğ¡µÄºş²´£¬ËûµÄÄÇÖÖÀËÂşÖ÷ÒåÊÇ¡°±±¼«ĞܵIJ¨ÂŞÄË×È¡±£¬ÊÇÔÚ±ùÌìÑ©µØµÄ¶ñÁÓ×ÔÈ»Ìõ¼şÏÂÅàÓı³öµÄ»ğÑù¼¤Çé¡£Ëû»¹ÏàĞÅË®ÓĞÒ»ÖÖħÁ¦¡£µÚÁù½»ÏìÇúµÄË®¿ÉÒÔ»¯×÷¾«Áé´Óɽ¼äСϪÀïÃæÌøÔ¾³öÀ´£¬¡¶±©·çÓê¡·Ì×ÇúÀïÃæµÄ°®Àö¶ù¸üÊÇ°ÑË®µÄÁ鶯·¢»Óµ½Á˼«Ö¡£ÎÒ²»ÊǼòµ¥µØÓ¦ºÍ¡°ÈçË®µÄĞıÂÉ¡±ÕâÑùºÁÎŞÉúȤµÄÆÀÂÛ£¬ÒòΪûÓĞÊܹıѵÁ·µÄ¶ú¶ä¾õµÃÈÎÒâÁ½¸öÒô·ûµÄÁ¬½Ó¶¼ÊÇ¡°ÈçË®µÄ¡±¡£ÆäʵÔÚË®µÄ±³ºó£¬ÓĞÒ»ÖÖ¸ü¼ÓÉîåäµÄÒôÀÖ˼Ï룬Ҫ°Ñ½á¹¹ºÍÒâÏó°şÀ룬ҪÓô¿´âµÄ½á¹¹À´ÌåÏֱȾßÌåµÄÒâÏó¸ü¼Ó±¾ÖʵĸĞĞÔÖ±¾õ¡£ ²©À­Ä·Ë¹µÄÒôÀÖ×î´óµÄÌصãÊÇÑÏÃܵÄ×éÖ¯ĞԺͼÍÂÉĞÔ¡£¡¶µÚ¶ş½»ÏìÇú¡·ÎªÀı£¬Ò»¸öÏĞËéµÄÒô·û¶¼ÕÒ²»³öÀ´£¬½ô´ÕµÄÒôÍø±àÖ¯³öÒ»¸öÍêÃÀµÃÓеã͸²»¹ıÆøµÄ½á¹¹¡£Ôø¾­ÒÔΪËûÌ«ÀíĞÔҲ̫ѹÒÖÁË£¬Ïñ¸öÕÜÈËÒ»°ãµØѵ½ë×ÅÎÒÃÇÕâĞ©ÒâÖ¾±¡ÈõµÄÌıÖÚ¡£»¹ÎªËûÄǹı¶ÈÕÅÑïµÄĞÛĞÔÆøÖʸе½·ßºŞ£ºÃ÷Ã÷ÊÇÒ»¸öĞ¡ÌáÇÙĞ­×àÇú£¬ºÎ±ØŪµÃÏñÖĞÄêÄĞÈ˵ÄÄÚÊ¡£¬¼´±ã¸ÕÒãÈç±´¶à·Ò£¬Ğ¡ÌáÇÙ×÷Æ·ÀïÃæҲżȻ»áÁ÷¶³öÉÙÄêµÄÇé㺡£¿ÉÊÇÌı¹ıËûµÄ¡¶ĞÙÑÀÀûÎèÇú¡·ºÍ¡¶µÚÈı½»ÏìÇú¡·ÎÒÖÕÓÚ´ÓĞıÂɵÄÃÔÃÎÖĞá¦È»ĞÑÎò£º²»ÊÇËû²»ÄÜÉ¿Ç飬һµ©Ëû¿ªÊ¼ÈÎÓÉÇáÁéµÄ¸Ğ¾õ·Å×İ£¬Ëû¾Í¶ªµôÁ˳¤ºú×ÓºÍÖåÎÆ£¬ÍğÈôÊ©ÍĞĪµÄ¡¶ÒğÃκş¡·ÀïÃæµÄÄÁͯ·ÅÉù¸è³ª£º¡°ÎÒ×ßÔڸ߸ߵÄɽ¼¹£¬¸©ÊÓ×ÅÏÂÃæµÄÉî¹È¡£¡±ÔÚÌïÔ°°ãµÄ¡¶µÚÈı½»ÏìÇú¡·ÀÎÒºÃÏñÌı¼ûÊ©ÍĞĪ±ÊϵÄÀµÒò¹şÌضÔÒÁÀöɯ°×ÓÄÓĵØ˵ÁËÒ»¾ä£º¡°ÄDZߵÄÇàɽºóÃæÂñû×ÅÎÒÃǵÄÇà´º£¬ÏÖÔÚËüµ½ÄÄÀïÈ¥ÁË£¿¡±ºÜÏë͵͵µØ¸æËßÀµÒò¹şÌØ£¬ÄÇÇà´ºÔÚ¡¶µÂÎÄ°²»êÃÖÈö¡·ÀïÃæÕҵõ½¡£²©À­Ä·Ë¹ÇáÇáµØ°ÑÊìϤµÄĞıÂÉÉÔ×÷¸Ä¶¯£¬±àÅųöÁËÒ»¸öÕûâÁµÄÖ÷Ì⣬ȻºóÖ÷Ìâ±»ÇáÇáµØ´òÉ¢£¬ÒÔ¸÷ÖÖ±äÌå·´¸´³öÏÖ£¬ÔÚÅ®ÉùÒı×ÅÌıÕß×ß½øÈø¿ËÉ­µÄºÚÉ­ÁÖʱ£¬²©À­Ä·Ë¹²»ÍüÈôóÌáÇÙ°²ÏêµØ´ÓÌìÉÏÈ÷ÏÂÒ»µãÑ©»¨£¬ºÍÇÇÒÁ˹ÔÚ¡¶¶¼°ØÁÖÈË¡·×îºóһƪС˵¡¶ËÀÕß¡·µÄ½áβÒìÇúͬ¹¤£º¡°Ñ©»¨Î¢Î¢µØ´©¹ıÓîÖæÔÚÆ®Â䣬΢΢µØ£¬ÈçͬËûÃÇ×îÖյĽá¾ÖÄÇÑù£¬Æ®Âäµ½ËùÓĞÉúÕߺÍËÀÕßµÄÉíÉÏ¡£¡±Õû²¿°²»êÃÖÈö´Ó¹Åµäʱ´úºÍ°ÍÂå¿Ëʱ´úµÄÀä¾şÖĞ×ß³öÀ´£¬ÓÃÈËĞԵĹâ»ÔÎÂůÌıÕßµÄÿһ¸ùÉñ¾­¡£¼´±ã×î¸ß¿ºµÄÖÊÎÊ¡°wo ist dein Sieg?¡±Ò²±¥º¬×ÅÒ»ÖÖÌğÃÀµÄÉ˸У¬»¬ÂäµÄÒô·û×ÜÊÇÖ¸ÏòÎ÷±´Áø˹µÄĞ¡ÌáÇÙĞ­×àÇúµÚÒ»ÀÖÕ£ºÔÚÁ²¾ÛÁËÉî³ÁµÄ¿àÍ´Ö®ºó£¬ÇÙ¹­À­³öÒ»¸öÓÅÑŵĻ¡Ïߣ¬¾ÍÏñ½¾°ÁµÄŬÀïÒ®·òÔÚÎę̀ÉÏÂõ³öÒ»´ó²½£¬È´ÇÄÎŞÉùÏ¢£¬ËüËß˵×ÅÒ»ÖÖ¶Ô°²È«¸ĞµÄ¿ÊÍû£¬·Â·ğÎÂÈȵÄÇûÌåÔ糿À뿪±»µ¥µÄÄÇÒ»¿ÌÓÌÔ¥¡£²©À­Ä·Ë¹ÑµÁ·ÓĞËصĸĞĞÔ£¬ÖÕÓÚÔÚµ¶êªÉ­É­µÄ½á¹¹ÖĞÕÒµ½ÁË×ÔÎÒÀíÓÉ¡£ frisson ·¢±íÓÚ 09:12 | ÔĶÁÈ«ÎÄ | ÆÀÂÛ(1) | ÒıÓÃTrackback(0) | ±à¼­ ·ÖÒ³: [1] [2] [3] ·ÖÀà Ê×Ò³ Ã×ÈüÀÕÄá °®ÀÖ ÎÄ×Ö ÈÕÀú 2004 Äê 11 Ô Sun Mon Tue Wen Thu Fri Sat 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 ×îºó¸üĞ ƮѩµÄºÓ Frank Kermode ÓÀºãµÄ¹â Georg Lukacs ¾ÙÆğÊÖ£¬ÎÒÎÊ¡­¡­ ÄáµÂÀ¼ ÊÅÕß Â³ÆÃÌØ¡¤²¼Â³¿Ë the line of beauty The Folding Star µÂÀï´ïéâ ×îĞÂÆÀÂÛ ²»Ë¼Á¿ : ĞĞÕߟo½®¡£±£ÖØ¡£. le frisson : ½ñÌìeva˵°ØÁÖÒ²Ï. maybemars : ±¾µØµÄ¸]¶ğÖ»ÅÂÊÇ. fz : ±¾µØ¶àÄêÎŞÑ©£¬ñ¼. tiantian : ÄÇÈÕ£¬ÔÚsumerset. fz : ¼¯Ë¼¹ãÒ棬´ó»ïµÄ. johnathan : ¿ÉÒÔÊÇ¡¶Ìâ䶨¡·. maybemars : ÔÚÌìÑÄ̤ѩ¡£¡£¡£. maybemars : ͬÒâ¡°Ÿoî}¡±£¬µ«. maybemars : ÄÇÊÇÒ»·NˆÔ¶¨µÄœØ. ´æµµ ÎÒµÄÁ´½Ó ËÕ¸ñÀ¼Ö®Ã×ÀÕ˹´óÔº ³öÉñµÄÂ×¶Ø vanvan ĞíÊÇ»ğĞÇ Michael the Idol Asiapan ²»¶Ô³Æ Ììʹ°¬Ã×Àò ÓûÍûÂúÔ°