「Dostoevsky」讀后感

Parched with the spirit’s thirst, I crossed

An endless desert sunk in gloom,

And a six-winged seraph came

Where the tracks met and I stood lost.

Fingers light as dream he laid

Upon my lids; I opened wide

My eagle eyes, and gazed around.

He laid his fingers on my ears

And they were filled with roaring sound:

I heard the music of the spheres,

The flight of angels through the skies,

The beasts that crept beneath the sea,

The heady uprush of the vine;

And, like a lover kissing me,

He rooted out this tongue of mine

Fluent in lies and vanity;

He tore my fainting lips apart

And, with his right hand steeped in blood,

He armed me with a serpent’s dart;

With his bright sword he split my breast;

My heart leapt to him with a bound;

A glowing livid coal he pressed

Into the hollow of the wound.

There in the desert I lay dead.

And God called out to me and said:

“Rise, prophet, rise, and hear, and see,

And let my words be seen and heard

By all who turn aside from me.

And burn them with my fiery word.”

—A. S. Pushkin, “The Prophet”

trans. D. M. Thomas