我在《穿越》杂志上写了一篇关于纽约的东西,题目叫“大苹果,剥洋葱”。里面说了一些纽约的坏话,希望不至于得罪那些喜欢纽约的人。

  文中提到一首诗,是“垮掉的一代”诗人Gregory Corso的作品。

  ……纽约的高度文明是一种高度紧张的文明,我不知道纽约人是怎样纾解这种高压的。在纽约,我经常想到迈克尔·坎宁安的小说《时时刻刻》里那两个挣扎在存在主义困境中的纽约人克拉丽萨和理查德。理查德的最终选择是从自家窗子飞身坠楼,克拉丽萨则活了下去。有的时候,比如在下东城或者东村或者字母城的街上走着,我会突然想到,像理查德那样的人可能就住在转角的哪一幢破楼里。

  理查德是诗人。很奇怪,纽约特别能出诗人,大把大把的,纽约也很适合写进诗里(顺便说一下,纽约是个很上相的城市,拍电影棒极了,但是纽约不适合绘画,除开奥基弗和霍珀不多的几幅作品,纽约一直没被好好画过),纽约的诗意是工业的、抽象的、数字的(比如第二大道、96街之类),迄今为止我最喜欢的一首纽约的诗是格利高里·科尔索写的《一团糟……简直》,可以当作童话故事来读。大意是:爬上六层楼回到家中,打开窗子把我生活中最重要的东西统统扔掉。首先被我抛下去的是“真理”,他尖声啼哭着威胁说:“别!我会说出你那些丑事!”“哦?我没什么要遮掩的,滚!”接下来轮到“上帝”,瞪着眼带着哭腔申诉:“不是我的错!不是我引起的!”“去死吧!”接着是“爱情”,先要挟后贿赂:“你不知道阳痿是怎么回事吧!好吧,Vogue杂志里的美女全归你了!”我使劲把她肥胖的身躯推出去:“反正每次恋爱到最后都变成无聊!”扔掉“爱情”,我抓起“信念”、“希望”和“善意”,她们三个抱作一团:“没了我们你会死的!”“有了你们我才蠢得要死呢!拜拜!”下一个是“美”,我把她拖到窗边,对她说:“你是我这辈子的最爱,可你要了我的命!”但其实我并不忍心抛弃她,于是快速冲下楼去,接住正在坠落的“美”。她哭了:“你救了我!”我一狠心,放下她说:“你走吧。”

  尽管理查德是虚构人物,我真希望他能读到这首诗,或者,他能像诗里的“我”那样懂得幽默,把真理、上帝、爱情等等等等都扔下窗子,而不是把自己扔下去。

  在这里我想抄一下这首诗,或许有人感兴趣。不知道别人读了觉得怎样,我当初读到这首很冷很直白的诗,感动得不行,几乎老泪纵横。

The Whole Mess ... Almost
By Gregory Corso (1930–2001)

I ran up six flights of stairs

to my small furnished room

opened the window

and began throwing out

those things most important in life


First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:

"Don’t! I’ll tell awful things about you!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I’ve nothing to hide ... OUT!"

Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:

"It’s not my fault! I’m not the cause of it all!” “OUT!"

Then Love, cooing bribes: “You’ll never know impotency!   

All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!'"

I pushed her fat ass out and screamed:

"You always end up a bummer!"

I picked up Faith Hope Charity

all three clinging together:

"Without us you’ll surely die!"

"With you I’m going nuts! Goodbye!"


Then Beauty ... ah, Beauty—

As I led her to the window

I told her: “You I loved best in life

... but you’re a killer; Beauty kills!"

Not really meaning to drop her

I immediately ran downstairs

getting there just in time to catch her

"You saved me!” she cried

I put her down and told her: “Move on.”


Went back up those six flights

went to the money

there was no money to throw out.

The only thing left in the room was Death

hiding beneath the kitchen sink:

"I’m not real!” It cried

"I’m just a rumor spread by life ... ”

Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all

and suddenly realized Humor

was all that was left—

All I could do with Humor was to say:

"Out the window with the window!”