更新时间:2017-12-17
重命名第?天 • 柏林苍穹下:Dedicated to all the former angels
柏林的苍穹下，
睿智没有摩擦力地在城市游荡，
阅读人类，孤独和平凡，
阅读街道，流动的生命和死亡，
阅读记忆，出没于摄影棚，银幕和车窗。
然后旁观在墙边死去，
欲望第一次在沙上踏出脚印，尝到血，咖啡和烟草。
精通所有语言的人第一次理解语言的色彩。
一双手终于抓住了悬系生命的，令人紧张的绳索。
一具身体和另一具身体一起旋转，
如同孩子在陌生的睡榻上醒来，
再次期待今天，故事未完。
总有一些影像，是让人愿意用直觉而非逻辑去看的。《柏林苍穹下》大概就属于这类电影。也因为如此，即使看过数次，重看时仍能感受到新的美，但同时也很难将感受诉诸文字—— 它们弥散太广，又消失太快。所以这里写下的什么，并不能称为影评。
值得玩味的是，在《柏林苍穹下》的片尾，导演维姆·文德斯特别放上了三行文字：
Dedicated to all the former angels,
but especially to
Yasujiro, François and Andrej.（小津安二郎，弗朗索瓦·特吕弗，安德烈·塔可夫斯基）
而片中出现的那位“former angel”，在人间的角色恰好是一位电影演员。从这个角度来说，《柏林苍穹下》本身也像是一篇对前人作品的影评了：它感谢了那些用镜头写诗的电影人，让影像在抽离于日常太久之后终于可以再度进入世界和历史，并且从中找到一种诗意，让我们能够如人类初生时那样来看这个世界。
片中的诗：
Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke
When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.
When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.
睿智没有摩擦力地在城市游荡，
阅读人类，孤独和平凡，
阅读街道，流动的生命和死亡，
阅读记忆，出没于摄影棚，银幕和车窗。
然后旁观在墙边死去，
欲望第一次在沙上踏出脚印，尝到血，咖啡和烟草。
精通所有语言的人第一次理解语言的色彩。
一双手终于抓住了悬系生命的，令人紧张的绳索。
一具身体和另一具身体一起旋转，
如同孩子在陌生的睡榻上醒来，
再次期待今天，故事未完。
总有一些影像，是让人愿意用直觉而非逻辑去看的。《柏林苍穹下》大概就属于这类电影。也因为如此，即使看过数次，重看时仍能感受到新的美，但同时也很难将感受诉诸文字—— 它们弥散太广，又消失太快。所以这里写下的什么，并不能称为影评。
值得玩味的是，在《柏林苍穹下》的片尾，导演维姆·文德斯特别放上了三行文字：
Dedicated to all the former angels,
but especially to
Yasujiro, François and Andrej.（小津安二郎，弗朗索瓦·特吕弗，安德烈·塔可夫斯基）
而片中出现的那位“former angel”，在人间的角色恰好是一位电影演员。从这个角度来说，《柏林苍穹下》本身也像是一篇对前人作品的影评了：它感谢了那些用镜头写诗的电影人，让影像在抽离于日常太久之后终于可以再度进入世界和历史，并且从中找到一种诗意，让我们能够如人类初生时那样来看这个世界。
片中的诗：
Song of Childhood
By Peter Handke
When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.
When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.
