Sopor Aeternus – The Sleeper

Sopor Aeternus – The Sleeper

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这首《沉睡者》,是十九世纪病态诗人与二十世纪亡灵歌者在坟墓丛中的一次魂交魄合。早已在坟墓中化为腐朽的爱伦坡可能万万没有想到,他22岁时写下的幽暗迷离诗篇,竟会在一位德国隐匿的阴影演出者苍白的双手下幻成一曲美丽的哀歌。Anna-Varney,这位神秘的、如鬼魅般行走在鲜花与腐尸之间的哥特音乐天才,用他(她?)标志性的日耳曼哭腔,将这件洒满月光、鬼火磷磷的艺术品,献给了自杀身亡的好友——伟大的哥特乐队Christian Death主唱Rozz Williams。正因如此,在Anna颤抖的吟唱中,这首经典的诗作更蒙上了一层暧昧、邪恶的黑纱(原诗中的lady成了lover,she成了he,而伟大的lord摇身一变成为了Satan!)。

音乐响起,冷冽的月光如水银泄地,在潮湿的墓地上蒸腾、弥漫为惨淡的雾气。阴郁的歌者从雾中现身,与阴影中的女声一唱一和,开始歌唱着月色、花香、废墟以及静谧的湖水。弦乐丝丝,像枯树的枝桠在微微的风中,掀起灵床上的帷幔,沉睡者双手抚胸,溘然闭目。

一阵阵管弦乐合奏之后,出现了短暂的空白。歌者再次浮现在床边,像个幽灵般逡巡游移,无比眷恋地端详着沉睡者。幽闭的墓床让他想到了海洋、花园和那些带着惊讶表情的树木。我像撒旦祈祷,让你安睡吧,带着你奇怪的衣饰,披着你肃穆的长发。

骤然的安静意味着什么?歌曲的主旋律再次奏响,悲伤让我不知道要说什么,只能喃喃自语:我的爱,安睡吧!哦,我愿他的安睡永远像这般酣甜!而这个告别者,真的要离开了。回望这个巨大的墓穴,曾经还是孩子的你满含着恐惧,而如今你自己躺在其中,倾听着和你一样可以发出低低呻吟的灵魂之音!

关于Sopor Aeternus的情况,茫茫互联网中总有浮光掠影的说法,我在这里不想多说什么。让他的音乐俘虏你的肉身和灵魂,一起在这个圣洁而有罪恶滔天的轮回里扭曲地跳舞吧!

附:中文版《the sleeper》(曹明伦 译)
在融融六月,夜半之时,
我在神秘的月下伫立。
一股催眠的迷朦雾霭
从她的金轮漫溢出来,
一滴一滴,轻轻地滴淌,
滴淌在静谧的高山之上,
优雅和谐,蹑手蹑足
偷偷溜进旷荡的深谷。
迷迭香在坟头昏昏欲睡;
百合花慵懒地倚波靠水;
将浓云密雾搂在怀中
废墟也坠入沉沉幽梦;
看哟!那湖就像是忘川,
仿佛沉浸在清醒的安眠,
怎样看也不会睁开睡眼。
美都在沉睡!——瞧!那边
躺着伊蕾娜,伴着她的命运!

哦,美丽的姑娘!这是否妥当——
朝夜晚敞开你那扇小窗?
让飘忽不定的微风从树桠
笑盈盈地穿过那道垂棂——
那无形的风,像一个男巫
从你的卧室飞进飞出,
轻轻掀起你床头的帷幔,
一阵一阵——令人毛骨悚然——
窜上那封闭而镶边的穹顶,
穹顶下安睡着你的灵魂,
忽儿掠过地板,滑过墙壁,
升升降降就像幽灵的影子!
哦,姑娘,你难道不惊恐?
你为何睡在这儿,做什么梦?
你肯定来自远方的大海,
园中树木定为此感到奇怪!
奇怪你的苍白!奇怪你的衣饰!
尤其惊异于你那长长的发丝,
而这一切都那么肃穆沉寂!

姑娘在安睡!哦,我惟愿,
愿她的安睡永远这么酣甜!
愿上帝接纳她,把她照看!
把这间卧室变得更加神圣,
把这卧榻变得更使人伤心,
我祈求上帝就让她这样沉睡,
永远不再展露那两汪秋水,
只要她床头还游荡那些魑魅!
我的爱,她在安睡!哦,我惟愿,
愿她的安睡永远像这般酣甜!
愿虫豸只能轻轻地爬过她身边!
愿在远方森林,迷朦而悠久,
一座高高的墓穴为她开口——
那墓穴很久以来已经多次
把它黝黑而带翅的方石
成功地抛回有顶饰的棺衣,
由于她大家族的一次次葬礼——
那一座石墓,孤单而悠久,
她曾经朝它投过许多石头,
向它的墓门,在她童年时候——
在那墓门有回声的坟茔,
她再不会牵强地解释那回声,
惊恐地认为,有罪的可怜孩子!
那是死者在墓中发出的呻吟。

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
O, lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
‘Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

以泪洗面
2011.02.22.

本篇文字为“暖房”作者原创,转载或使用整体或任何部分内容,请标明出处。

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