扫帚把上的沉思.doc

扫帚把上的沉思 诸君所看到的这根木棒， 曾经在森林之中也走过一段风华并茂的 诸君所看到的这根木棒， 岁月，只是如今却孤零零、灰溜溜、 岁月，只是如今却孤零零、灰溜溜、羞怯怯地躺在那被人遗忘的 拐角里。那时，它枝繁叶茂、汁液饱满；可现在， 拐角里。那时，它枝繁叶茂、汁液饱满；可现在，钟爱于玩弄艺 术的人类却假惺惺地要把那一簇簇枯萎凋零的枝蔓捆缚在那干 瘪硬直的木棒身上，忙忙碌碌，不亦乐乎， 瘪硬直的木棒身上，忙忙碌碌，不亦乐乎，欲颠覆自然恒远之法 则；而结局亦属徒劳枉然。迎风招展固然是福；可相反的结局却 而结局亦属徒劳枉然。迎风招展固然是福； 是被人翻了个底朝上-枝桠着地，树根指天。 是被人翻了个底朝上-枝桠着地，树根指天。现在的它就被掌 -枝桠着地 控在每一位蓬头垢面、 家务锁身的少妇手中， 干起了 净了别人， “净了别人， 控在每一位蓬头垢面、 家务锁身的少妇手中， 脏了自己 的活计；真可谓世事难料、人生无常啊。 脏了自己”的活计；真可谓世事难料、人生无常啊。直到最后在 少妇的手中磨损为一根根光秃秃的木棒， 那个时候要么被人弃之 少妇的手中磨损为一根根光秃秃的木棒， 户外，要么被用作引火柴。眼观及此，我不禁一阵嗟叹， 户外，要么被用作引火柴。眼观及此，我不禁一阵嗟叹，心中豁 这芸芸众生不外乎一扫帚把矣。 初入人世之时， 他体格健壮、 然： 这芸芸众生不外乎一扫帚把矣。 初入人世之时， 他体格健壮、 生机勃勃、充满活力，还戴着一头属于自己的秀发， 生机勃勃、充满活力，还戴着一头属于自己的秀发，宛若一棵懂 得思维的植物的枝枝蔓蔓； 直到那挥霍放荡的刀斧斩断了那绿意 得思维的植物的枝枝蔓蔓； 盎然的枝叶，只留下一副萎缩干瘪的躯体。之后， 盎然的枝叶，只留下一副萎缩干瘪的躯体。之后，他便要火速向 艺术求救声援， 艺术求救声援，配了一头冠冕堂皇的假发， 配了一头冠冕堂皇的假发，从此为那一头不自然 从此为 的头发而自我感觉良好；那一头毛发香粉扑鼻， 的头发而自我感觉良好； 而自我感觉良好 那一头毛发香粉扑鼻，却又显得那么矫 揉造作。可是啊 我们这柄扫帚把还要自欺欺人地粉墨登场， 揉造作。可是啊，我们这柄扫帚把还要自欺欺人地粉墨登场，为 那非自身所长的桦树枝条而沾沾自喜；还为打扫淑女的闺房时， 那非自身所长的桦树枝条而沾沾自喜；还为打扫淑女的闺房时， 惹得满身尘埃而乐不可支。 天下之大，独我至上” “ 惹得满身尘埃而乐不可支。 天下之大，独我至上”确是浮夸虚 荣和有失偏颇的评断臆测，我们定要耻笑之、嘲讽之。 荣和有失偏颇的评断臆测，我们定要耻笑之、嘲讽之。 也许你会说扫帚把就像是一棵头朝下、根朝上的树木。 但是凝思 也许你会说扫帚把就像是一棵头朝下、 朝上的树木。 一想， 便觉人类不就是一群颓废不堪的生物吗？动物的机能永久 一想， 便觉人类不就是一群颓废不堪的生物吗？ 统立于理性之上，脑袋偏偏贴在地面上，匍匐前行。 统立于理性之上，脑袋偏偏贴在地面上，匍匐前行。尽管自身瑕 疵万千，他却能改造大千世界、纠正污言秽语、抚慰悲痛哀怨； 疵万千，他却能改造大千世界、纠正污言秽语、抚慰悲痛哀怨； 能够检索每一处肮脏可耻的恶行， 将那些隐匿深藏的腐败堕落昭 能够检索每一处肮脏可耻的恶行， 之天下； 还能在一尘不染的地方凭空地挥烟扬土， 之天下； 还能在一尘不染的地方凭空地挥烟扬土， 地方凭空地挥烟扬土 而自己就深受 着这他们试图清除的污染的毒害。 他人生的最后的时光都在女人 着这他们试图清除的污染的毒害。 们的奴役中度过， 而事实上却得不偿失， 们的奴役中度过， 而事实上却得不偿失， 却得不偿失 直到被磨损为一副干瘪 的躯壳，就像它的大哥-“长扫帚”一样，要么被踢出门外， 的躯壳，就像它的大哥-“长扫帚”一样，要么被踢出门外， 大哥-要么就被女人为取暖之需而用作点火柴。 安妮试译） 要么就被女人为取暖之需而用作点火柴。 安妮试译） （ 附原文： 附原文： A Meditation upon a Broomstick This single stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected corner, I once knew in a flourishing state in a forest. It was full of sap, full of leaves, and full of boughs, but now in vain does the busy art of man pretend to vie with nature by tying that withered bundle of twigs to its sapless trunk. It is now at best but the reverse of what it was: a tree turned upside down, the branches on the earth, and the root in the air. It is now handled by every dirty wench, condemned to do her drudgery, and by a capricious kind of fate destined to make other things clean and be nasty itself. At length, worn to the stumps in the service of the maids, it is either thrown out of doors or condemned to its last use of kindling a fire. When I beheld this, I sighed and said within myself, surely mortal man is a broomstick: nature sent him into the world strong and lusty, in a thriving condition, wearing his own hair on his head, the proper branches of this reasoning vegetable, until the axe of intemperance has lopped off his green boughs and left him a withered trunk; he then flies to art, and puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural bundle of hairs, all covered with powder, that never grew on his head. But now should this our broomstick pretend to enter the scene, proud of those birchen spoils it never bore, and all covered with dust, through the sweepings of the finest ladys chamber, we should be apt to ridicule and despise its vanity, partial judges that we are of our own Excellencies and other mens defaults. But a broomstick, perhaps, you will say, is an emblem of a tree standing on its head. And pray, what is man, but a topsy-turvy creature, his animal faculties perpetually mounted on his rational, his head where his heels should be, groveling on the earth? And yet with all his faults, he sets up to be a universal reformer and corrector of abuses, a remover of grievances; rakes into every sluts corner of nature, bringing hidden corruption to the light; and raises a mighty dust where there was none before, sharing deeply all the while in the very same pollutions he pretends to sweep away. His last days are spent in slavery to women, and generally the least deserving, till, worn out to the stumps, like his brother besom, he is either kicked out of doors, or made use of to kindle flames for others to warm thems