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马斯河在流,旧时代的流速,前方是大海,船上坐着各国的四代诗人,年龄最大的是墨西哥的Sabines,生于1926。相貌威严的老人。最小的是新西兰的Ranger,13岁的美丽女孩。法国的大诗人Robaud坐在我后面,眺望河岸上的欧洲塔,就是他为我们念了印第安人的《云》,一首这次诗歌节每个人都记住了的诗。原籍南斯拉夫移居美国的诗人Simic,高贵而亲切,充满智慧而谦和,他处于船桅的阴影中,他的诗歌已经穿越两个大陆的语言。诗歌之船。没有斗争,没有先锋派和保守派,没有过招式的强词夺理的饶舌。这条船满载的是各种美丽生动的富于神韵的语言,它们是河流,滔滔不绝。世界小了,最后的辽阔在各种母语和它的诗人中间,在诗人们的舌头后面。
Maas river in the flow, the flow of the old times, in front of the sea, the ship sat four generations of poets in various countries, the oldest is Sabines Mexico, was born in 1926. Looks dignified elderly. The youngest is New Zealand’s Ranger, a beautiful 13-year-old girl. The great French poet Robaud sits behind me and looks over the European tower on the bank of the river, where he reads the Indians’ Cloud for us, a poem everyone remembered this verse. Simic, a native of Yugoslavia who immigrated to the United States, is noble and cordial, full of wisdom and humility. He is in the shadow of the mast. His poetry has crossed the two continents’ languages. Poetry boat. No struggle, no avant-garde and conservatives, no overtly aggressive rhetoric. The boat is loaded with a variety of beautiful and vivid charm of the language, they are rivers, endless. The world is small, with the last vast expanse of native tongues and its poets behind the poet’s tongue.