杜菲曾因“同性恋”身份与“桂冠诗人”擦肩而过
自从1668年约翰·德莱顿被冠以英国首位“桂冠诗人”以来,这项英伦诗坛最有名望的头衔,曾先后被戴在22位伟大诗人头上,但这份名单上从没一位女性。不过“皇家桂冠诗人”全男班局面终于被打破,53岁的英国女诗人卡洛尔·安·杜菲(Carol Ann Duffy)接任安德鲁·莫申,成为341年英国“桂冠诗人”史上首位桂冠女诗人。
英国文化大臣安迪·伯纳姆称赞卡洛尔·安·杜菲是“英国当代文坛一位伟大人物,也是第一流诗人”。英国首相戈登·布朗说:“她是一位真正杰出的现代诗人,她在人类的经验中捕捉伟大的感情,并丰富我们的想像力。” 其实早在1999年,卡洛尔·安·杜菲就有机会接替去世的特德·休斯,但当时有关方面对女诗人的“拉拉”身份标识担忧,最后杜菲拒绝了政府的任命。
杜菲日前在一次女性广播节目中表示,“做出这一决定纯粹是因为‘桂冠诗人’还没有女性。我想以此让大家知道,许多伟大的女诗人还在写作中,比如爱丽丝·奥斯瓦尔德。”作为一名备受关注的女诗人,杜菲的私生活常被人指指点点。杜菲坦言会竭力保护自己的私生活,“我是一个特别注重隐私的人,我会继续竭力保护我和女儿的个人隐私。”担任桂冠诗人的年薪是5750英镑,杜菲已经打算将这份薪水捐赠出来成立一个新的诗歌奖,以奖励每年出版的优秀诗集,“我认为最好还是把钱回馈给诗歌。”
英国的“桂冠诗人”一向由政府委任并颁发荣誉,至于筛选的过程,向来就不断有批评家称之为“恣意、专制”。 从托尼·布莱尔任首相的时代开始,“桂冠诗人”称号不再是终身名誉,每位桂冠诗人任期10年。
- posted on 05/08/2009
Mrs Lazarus
I had grieved. I had wept for a night and a day
over my loss, ripped the cloth I was married in
from my breasts, howled, shrieked, clawed
at the burial stones until my hands bled, retched
his name over and over again, dead, dead.
Gone home. Gutted the place. Slept in a single cot,
widow, one empty glove, white femur
in the dust, half. Stuffed dark suits
into black bags, shuffled in a dead man's shoes,
noosed the double knot of a tie around my bare neck,
gaunt nun in the mirror, touching herself. I learnt
the Stations of Bereavement, the icon of my face
in each bleak frame; but all those months
he was going away from me, dwindling
to the shrunk size of a snapshot, going,
going. Till his name was no longer a certain spell
for his face. The last hair on his head
floated out from a book. His scent went from the house.
The will was read. See, he was vanishing
to the small zero held by the gold of my ring.
Then he was gone. Then he was legend, language;
my arm on the arm of the schoolteacher-the shock
of a man's strength under the sleeve of his coat-
along the hedgerows. But I was faithful
for as long as it took. Until he was memory.
So I could stand that evening in the field
in a shawl of fine air, healed, able
to watch the edge of the moon occur to the sky
and a hare thump from a hedge; then notice
the village men running towards me, shouting,
behind them the women and children, barking dogs,
and I knew. I knew by the sly light
on the blacksmith's face, the shrill eyes
of the barmaid, the sudden hands bearing me
into the hot tang of the crowd parting before me.
He lived. I saw the horror on his face.
I heard his mother's crazy song. I breathed
his stench; my bridegroom in his rotting shroud,
moist and dishevelled from the grave's slack chew,
croaking his cuckold name, disinherited, out of his time.
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