翻译英语散文（帮忙翻译成中文）I've opened the curtain of my east window here above the computer, and I sit now in a holy theater before a sky-blue stage. A little cloud above the neighbor's trees resembles Jimmy Durante's nose for a wh

翻译英语散文（帮忙翻译成中文）I've opened the curtain of my east window here above the computer, and I sit now in a holy theater before a sky-blue stage. A little cloud above the neighbor's trees resembles Jimmy Durante's nose for a wh
翻译英语散文（帮忙翻译成中文）
I've opened the curtain of my east window here above the computer, and I sit now in a holy theater before a sky-blue stage. A little cloud above the neighbor's trees resembles Jimmy Durante's nose for a while, then becomes amorphous as it slips on north. Other clouds follow, big and little and tiny on their march toward whereness. Wisps of them lead or droop because there must always be leading and drooping.
The trees seem to laugh at the clouds while yet reaching for them with swaying branches. Trees must think that they are real, rooted, somebody, and that perhaps the clouds are only tickled water which sometimes blocks their sun. But trees are clouds, too, of green leaves—clouds that only move a little. Trees grow and change and dissipate like their airborne cousins.
And what am I but a cloud of thoughts and feelings and aspirations? Don't I put out tentative mists here and there? Don't I occasionally appear to other people as a ridiculous shape of thoughts without my intending to? Don't I drift toward the north when I feel the breezes of love and the warmth of compassion?
If clouds are beings, and beings are clouds, are we not all well advised to drift, to feel the wind tucking us in here and plucking us out there? Are we such rock-hard bodily lumps as we imagine?
Drift, let me. Sing to the sky, will I. One in many, are we. Let us breathe the breeze and find therein our roots in the spirit.

翻译英语散文（帮忙翻译成中文）I've opened the curtain of my east window here above the computer, and I sit now in a holy theater before a sky-blue stage. A little cloud above the neighbor's trees resembles Jimmy Durante's nose for a wh
我打开我的窗帘东边电脑上方,我坐在现在身处一个神圣的剧场舞台前一个天蓝色.一个小云彩在其上,邻居家树丛上飘着一朵像杰米·杜兰特那大鼻子形状一会儿,然后就往北飘移.周围的云,大的、小的、细小的在迈向whereness.小精灵,或散去,这最自然不过了.
树木似乎嘲笑云朵,摇曳的树枝.树肯定认为他们是真实的、稳稳扎根的重量级人物,而云朵只不过是积聚的水珠,只会偶尔挡住太阳的光辉.但是树木是云,是绿叶做的云,是不怎么动的一点.树会成长、变化、老喜欢他们的空中消散.
但是,我的思想和感情和愿望吗?别把我从这里和那里迷雾设想吗?不,我偶尔出现别人为我的打算吗?不,我向北漂移时,我感到爱的微风和温暖的同情心.
若浮云如人,人类是云,我们是否都应该飘,感受风的力量,将我们在这里,我们在那里?采摘难道我们真的就如自己想像中的那样稳如磐石吗?
让我飘吧.我要向天高歌,我要.人海里的过客,我们是.就让我们一起呼吸微风的气息,在其中寻找我们精神的根.

电脑上方便是东侧的窗户，我把窗帘拉开。现在我坐在天与地构成的这个神圣的剧场里，正对着远方天蓝色的舞台。邻居家树上栖息着一小片云朵，一开始像极了吉米 杜朗特（注：美国喜剧演员、歌手、电影明星，以沙哑而优美的歌喉和大鼻子著称，故下文如此形容）的大鼻子，后来又慢慢散开，向北悄悄荡去。其它的云彩——有大有小，洁白如雪——都跟随着它，不知要往哪儿走。这个美丽的阵列看上去正上下起伏，因为总有那么一两片云朵，要...

全部展开

电脑上方便是东侧的窗户，我把窗帘拉开。现在我坐在天与地构成的这个神圣的剧场里，正对着远方天蓝色的舞台。邻居家树上栖息着一小片云朵，一开始像极了吉米 杜朗特（注：美国喜剧演员、歌手、电影明星，以沙哑而优美的歌喉和大鼻子著称，故下文如此形容）的大鼻子，后来又慢慢散开，向北悄悄荡去。其它的云彩——有大有小，洁白如雪——都跟随着它，不知要往哪儿走。这个美丽的阵列看上去正上下起伏，因为总有那么一两片云朵，要么抬起头来，要么故意沉下去。
树在大笑，嘲讽飘过头顶的这些云彩，用树枝一次次地逗弄它们。树们一定想，自己深深地扎根于地面，生命是那么真实，可那些云朵却只像是一捧捧水雾，有时还会遮住阳光布下影子。但在我看来，树也像是云，它们的枝叶就像绿色的云朵，虽然很少移动。和天上飘动的云彩一样，树也会成长，会变化，甚至有朝一日，消失不见。
而我自己，不也是一片由各种思想、情感还有欲望组成的云朵吗？难道我表达情感的时候不像云彩洒落雨滴——充满周围的空间？有时候我自己不知道，但我表现在外的样子，在别人看来不也是滑稽可笑的？而当我感受到爱情的到来和他人的安慰，难道不会朝快乐的方向伸开双臂？
倘若云即是万物，万物如云，那感受变迁的风向，随着感情的指示游走，难道不是我们的天性？我们果真像我们自认为的那样内心冰冷？
来吧，让我自在地游逛，让我对着天空歌唱。归根结底，我们都是一样。让我们迎接扑面而来的微风，又能找到我们精神扎根的地方。
现在我重新把窗帘拉上，感觉平静而清新。大幕已落——表演结束了，从树们站立的位置传来轻轻的掌声。

收起