讀點(diǎn)好英文:Spell of the Rising Moon 月亮升起來

Spell of the Rising Moon 月亮升起來

Peter Steinhart

There is a hill near my home that I often climb at night. The noise of the city is a far-off murmur. In the hush of dark I share the cheerfulness of crickets and the confidence of owls. But it is the drama of the moonrise that I come to see. For that restores in me a quiet and clarity that the city spends too freely.

From this hill I have watched many moonsrises. Each one had its own mood. There have been broad, confident harvest moons in autumn; shy, misty moons in spring; lonely, winter moons rising into the utter silence of an ink-black sky and smoke-smudged orange moons over the dry fields of summer. Each, like fine music, excited my heart and then calmed my soul.

Moon gazing is an ancient art. To prehistoric hunters the moon overhead was as unerring as heartbeat. They knew that every 29 days it becomes full-bellied and brilliant, then sickened and died, and then was reborn. They knew the waxing moon appeared larger and higher overhead after each succeeding sunset. They knew the waning moon rose later each night until it vanished in the sunrise. To have understood the moon's patterns from experience must have been a profound thing.

?But we, who live indoors, have lost contact with the moon. The glare of street lights and the dust of pollution veil the night sky. Though men have walked on the moon, it grows less familiar. Few of us can say when the moon will rise tonight.

Still, it tugs at our minds. If we unexpectedly encounter the full moon, huge and yellow over the horizon, we are helpless but to stare back at its commanding presence. And the moon has gifts to bestow upon those who watch.

I learned about its gifts one July evening in the mountains. My car had mysteriously stalled, and I was stranded and alone. The sun had set, and I was watching what seemed to be the bright-orange glow of a forest fire beyond a ridge to the east. Suddenly, the ridge itself seemed to burst into flame. Then, the rising moon, huge and red and grotesquely mishappen by the dust and sweat of the summer atmosphere, loomed up out of the woods.

Distorted thus by the hot breath of earth, the moon seemed ill-tempered and imperfect. Dogs at nearby farmhouses barked nervously, as if this strange light had wakened evil spirits in the weeds.

But as the moon lifted off the ridge it gathered firmness and authority. It's complexion changed from red, to orange, to gold, to impassive yellow. It seemed to draw light out of the darkening earth, for as it rose, the hills and valleys below grew dimmer. By the time the moon stood clear of the horizon, full chested and round and the color of ivory, the valleys were deep shadows in the landscape. The dogs, reassured that this was the familiar moon, stopped barking. And all at once I felt a confidence and joy close to laughter.

?The drama took an hour. A Moonrise is slow and serried with subtleties. To watch it, we must slip into an older, more patient sense of time. To watch the moon move inexorably higher is to find an unusual stillness within ourselves. Our imaginations become aware of the vast distances of space, the immensity of the earth and huge improbability of our own existence. We feel small but privileged.

Moonlight shows us none of life's harder edges. Hillsides seem silken and silvery, the oceans still and blue in its light. In moonlight we become less calculating, more drawn to our feelings.

And odd things happen in such moments. On that July night, I watched the moon for an hour or two, and then got back into the car, turned the key in the ignition and heard the engine start, just as mysteriously as it had stalled a few hours earlier. I drove down from the mountains with the moon on my shoulder and peace in my heart.

I return often to the rising moon. I am drawn especially when events crowd ease and clarity of vision into a small corner of my life. This happens often in the fall. Then I go to my hill and await the hunter's moon, enormous and gold over the horizon, filling, the night with vision.

An owl swoops from the ridge top, noiseless but bright as flame. A cricket shrills in the grass. I think of poets and musicians. Of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" and of Shakespeare, whose Lorenzo declaims in The Merchant of Venice," How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! /Here will we sit and let the sounds of music/Creep in our ears." I wonder if their verse and music, like the music of crickets, are in some way voices of the moon. With such thoughts, my citified confusions melt into the quiet of the night.

Lovers and poets find deeper meaning at night. We are all apt to pose deeper questions — about our origins and destinies. We indulge in riddles, rather than in the impersonal geometries that govern the daylight world. We become philosophers and mystics.

At moonrise, as we slow our minds to the pace of the heavens, enchantment steals over us. We open the vents of feeling and exercise parts of our minds that reason locks away by day. We hear, across the distances, murmurs of ancient hunters and see a new the visions of poets and lovers of long ago.

月亮升起來

［美］皮特·斯坦哈特

有一座小山就座落在家的附近，我常常會(huì)在夜間去爬山。到了山上，城市里的嘈雜就會(huì)變成遠(yuǎn)方的低語。在安靜的黑夜里，我能夠感覺到蟋蟀的歡樂和貓頭鷹的自信。不過看月出才是我爬山的目的，重新找回在城市中輕易就迷失的那份寧靜與純真。

在小山上，我看過很多次月出。每次月出都是風(fēng)情萬種，不盡相同。秋日里，圓圓的月亮袒露出豐收的自信；春風(fēng)中，月亮灰蒙蒙地表達(dá)著羞澀；冬日里，冰輪般的月亮孤獨(dú)地懸在漆黑的空中；夏日中，橘黃色的月亮朦朦朧朧地俯瞰著干燥的田野。每一種月亮都似精美的音樂，感動(dòng)我的心靈，撫慰我的靈魂。

很久以前，人們就喜歡賞月。遠(yuǎn)古時(shí)代的獵人，對(duì)空中月亮的了解如同知曉自己心跳一樣，絲毫不差。他們熟悉29天中的每個(gè)月亮，月亮?xí)擅髁溜枬M變得萎縮，直至消失，然后再次復(fù)活；他們知道，月盈期間，每經(jīng)日落，頭頂?shù)脑铝辆蜁?huì)顯得更高更大；他們還知道，月虧期間，月出一日更比一日遲，直到有一天太陽升起時(shí)仍不見月亮的蹤跡。古人能根據(jù)經(jīng)驗(yàn)知道月亮的行蹤變化，真是造詣?lì)H深的事情。

但生活在室內(nèi)的我們，已經(jīng)失去了和月亮的聯(lián)系。城市耀眼的街燈、污染的煙塵遮蔽了原本晴朗的夜空。人類雖已在月亮上邁出了第一步，反而對(duì)月亮變得更加陌生。沒有幾人能說得出今晚月亮何時(shí)升起。

但無論如何，月亮仍然牽掛著我們的心。如果不經(jīng)意間看到剛剛升起的、大大的、黃澄澄的滿月，誰都會(huì)情不自禁地停下來，一睹她高貴的姿容。而月亮也會(huì)賜予觀看她的人禮物。

在山間七月的一個(gè)夜晚，我得到她的禮物。車子莫名其妙地熄了火，我束手無策一個(gè)人困在山中。太陽已經(jīng)落山了，我看到東邊山頭閃出一團(tuán)橘紅色的光線，好像森林著火一樣。剎那間，山頭也被火焰吞噬。過了一會(huì)兒，月亮突然從密林中探出大大的漲紅的臉，夏日空氣中彌漫的塵霧與汗氣，使月亮顯得有些荒謬的變形。

大地灼熱的呼吸曲解了它，月亮變得格外暴躁，不再完美。不遠(yuǎn)處農(nóng)舍里的狗緊張地亂叫起來，好像這奇怪的光亮喚醒了野草中的魔鬼。

?然而，隨著月亮慢慢爬上山頭，它聚合了全身的堅(jiān)定與威嚴(yán)；它的面孔也從紅變成了橘黃，又變成金色，最后成為淡淡的黃。月亮不斷地上升，下面的丘陵山谷逐漸暗淡朦朧，好像大地的光亮讓月亮漸漸吸走了似的。待到皓月當(dāng)空，圓圓的月亮灑下象牙般乳白的清輝，下面的山谷在這樣的風(fēng)景里，形成了一片片幽深的陰影。這時(shí)，那些亂叫的狗才打消了疑慮——原來那團(tuán)光是它們熟悉的月亮——停止了吠叫。在那一刻，我忽然也覺得信心十足，心情歡暢，禁不住笑了起來。

整整一個(gè)小時(shí)，我都沉浸在這奇美的景觀里。月出是緩緩的，而又充滿驚喜的。想要欣賞月出，我們得退回到過去的時(shí)代，帶著一種對(duì)時(shí)間有耐心的心態(tài)去欣賞?？粗铝梁翢o顧忌地不斷攀升能使我們找到內(nèi)心少有的寧靜。我們的想象力能讓我們感到宇宙的廣闊和大地的無限，忘卻自己的存在，感覺自我的渺小，卻又深感自己的獨(dú)特。

月光從不向我們展示生活的艱辛。山坡好像讓銀色月光披上了柔和的輕紗。在月光的照耀下，海水顯得碧藍(lán)而靜謐。沉浸在月光中，我們不再像白天那般精于算計(jì)，而是交融在自然的情感之中。

正當(dāng)我陶醉于月色之美時(shí)，奇妙的事情發(fā)生了。就是在七月的那個(gè)夜晚，我看了一兩個(gè)小時(shí)的月景后，當(dāng)我回到車?yán)?，再次轉(zhuǎn)動(dòng)鑰匙發(fā)動(dòng)汽車時(shí)，發(fā)動(dòng)機(jī)出人意料地響了起來，和幾個(gè)小時(shí)前熄火時(shí)一樣蹊蹺而神秘。我開著車沿著山路回家，月光灑在肩上，心中滿是平靜。

從那以后，我常常會(huì)到山上看月出。當(dāng)麻煩不斷，尤其是在秋季感到身心疲憊、頭暈眼花時(shí)，我就會(huì)爬上那座小山。我等著獵人之月的出現(xiàn)，等著金色豐盈的月亮俯照大地，給黑夜帶來光明。

一只貓頭鷹靜悄悄從山頭俯沖而下，卻在月色下如火光閃過。一只蟋蟀在草叢中尖聲歌唱。我不由想起了詩人和音樂家，想起了貝多芬的《月光奏鳴曲》和莎士比亞筆下的《威尼斯商人》。如同《威尼斯商人》中洛倫左的話：“月光沉睡在這岸邊多么迷人?。覀円谶@里讓音樂之聲／潛入我們的耳內(nèi)?！蔽也磺宄麄兊脑娖c音樂是否與蟋蟀的歌聲相似，是否可以在某種程度上算作是月的聲音。想到這些，城市生活帶給我的混亂心緒，便在夜的寧靜中消失了。

戀人和詩人在夜里能尋找到更深?yuàn)W的生活意義。其實(shí)我們都愛問一些深?yuàn)W的問題——關(guān)于我們的祖先，我們的命運(yùn)。我們只想縱容這些永遠(yuǎn)找不到答案的謎團(tuán)，而不喜歡那些主導(dǎo)著白天世界的沒有情感的幾何教科書。在夜里，我們都懂得了哲理和神秘。

當(dāng)月亮升起之時(shí)，我們放緩思想，讓它追隨天堂的腳步。不經(jīng)意間，一種魔力就會(huì)遍布全身。我們會(huì)敞開情感之門，讓白天被理智束縛的那部分思緒自由奔涌。我們能跨越遙遠(yuǎn)的時(shí)空，聽見遠(yuǎn)古獵人的細(xì)語，看到久遠(yuǎn)時(shí)代戀人與詩人眼中的世界。

實(shí)戰(zhàn)提升

Practising & Exercise

導(dǎo)讀

皮特·斯坦哈特（Peter Steinhart），美國博物學(xué)家、作家。他曾是雜志《奧特朋》的專欄作家，且一干就是20年。他的作品曾被多家報(bào)刊采用，如《紐約時(shí)報(bào)》、《洛杉磯時(shí)報(bào)》等。

該文以優(yōu)美的筆調(diào)，描繪了詩情畫意般的月出景色。作者遠(yuǎn)離城市的喧囂，癡迷于月亮升起的美妙景色。在曼妙的月色中，尋覓了一份悠然自得的心境。文章的開篇并沒有直接描述月色，而是敘述看月的地點(diǎn)、古代人與月亮的歷史，給人真實(shí)質(zhì)樸的感覺，流露出了自然而真摯的思想情感。

核心單詞

restore [ris?t??] v. 恢復(fù)

misty [?misti] adj. 霧的；有霧的；

ridge [ri?] n. 屋脊，山脊，山脈

grotesquely [ɡr?u?teskli] adv. 古怪地，怪異地

inexorably [in?eks?r?bli] adv. 無情地；冷酷地

shrill [?ril] adj. 尖聲的，刺耳的

enchantment [in?t?ɑ?ntm?nt] n. 魅力，迷人之處

翻譯

To prehistoric hunters the moon overhead was as unerring as heartbeat.

It seemed to draw light out of the darkening earth, for as it rose, the hills and valleys below grew dimmer.

At moonrise, as we slow our minds to the pace of the heavens, enchantment steals over us.