冬天来了听《鸟啼》带来春天与希望｜「朗读温州肯恩广播室」第八期

2019-01-15 | 温肯朗读者 | Chenyan Zhou

点击收听音频朗读：

本期朗读文本赏析：《鸟啼》

Wenzhou: A Tale of Two Languages. Hello everyone, this is Appreciate Wenzhou, Voice of Kean. Welcome to our program.

双语赏读品味温州。听众朋友们大家好，这里是“朗读温州肯恩广播室”,欢迎收听我们今天的节目。

I’m Violet from Wenzhou-Kean University.

我是来自温州肯恩大学的王卓。

Let me tell you a bit about my school. Wenzhou-Kean University is Chinese-American university. It offers students different ways to develop their minds by melding the best of Chinese American education.

温州肯恩大学是一所中美合办大学。温州肯恩大学融合中美两国优质的教育，为学生提供不同发展方向。

In today’s program, we will share a piece of prose, Whistling of Birds, written by David Herbert Lawrence. This is about the warble which is a symbol that winter is coming to an end. If winter comes, spring and hope will not be far away.

在今天的节目中，我们将与你分享一篇英文散文——大卫·劳伦斯的《鸟啼》。鸟鸣是冬天快要结束的象征。冬天来了，春天与希望自然就不远了。

图片来自视觉中国

David Herbert Lawrence was an English writer and poet. His collected works represent, among other things, an extended reflection upon the dehumanising effects of modernity and industrialisation. Some of the issues Lawrence explores are sexuality, emotional health, vitality, spontaneity, and instinct.

大卫·赫伯特·劳伦斯是一位英国作家和诗人。他收集的作品代表了对现代性和工业化的非人性化影响的深入反思。劳伦斯探讨的问题非常广泛，有关于情绪健康，活力，自发性和本能等等话题，都十分深刻，发人深省。

Now, let’s enjoy part of the prose, Whistling of Birds.

让我们一起来聆听《鸟啼》的节选片段。

图片来自视觉中国

Then, quite suddenly, one morning, the change came. The wind went to the south, came off the sea warm and soothing. In the afternoon there were little gleams of sunshine, and the doves began, without interval, slowly and awkwardly to coo. The doves were cooing, though with a laboured sound, as if they were still winter-stunned. Nevertheless, all the afternoon they continued their noise, in the mild air, before the frost had thawed off the road. At evening the wind blew gently, still gathering a bruising quality of frost from the hard earth. Then, in the yellow-gleamy sunset, wild birds began to whistle faintly in the blackthorn thickets of the stream-bottom.

It was startling and almost frightening, after the heavy silence of frost. How could they sing at once, when the ground was thickly strewn with the torn carcasses of birds? Yet out of the evening came the uncertain, silvery sounds that made one’s soul start alert, almost with fear. How could the little silver bugles sound the rally so swiftly, in the soft air, when the earth was yet bound? Yet the birds continued their whistling, rather dimly and brokenly, but throwing the threads of silver, germinating noise into the air.

Where does it come from, the song? After so long a cruelty, how can they make it up so quickly? But it bubbles through them, they are like little well-heads, little fountain-heads whence the spring trickles and bubble forth. It is not of their own doing. In their throats the new life distils itself into sound. It is the rising of the silvery sap of a new spring, gurgling itself forth.

图片来自视觉中国