翻译《热血造物杰克史密斯》：《杰克史密斯，文明的终结者》

《热血造物杰克史密斯——他的惊奇人生与时代》 第三章

《杰克史密斯，文明的终结者》

-Jonas Mekas

翻译：邓莹

现在是凌晨两点，我正看着，当我们正看着这场精彩绝伦的表演时，我突然有种感觉，意识到这是纽约的凌晨两点，已经非常晚了，城市的大部分人已经熟睡，即便是周六的夜晚，这个点所有的剧院也早就打烊了，我指的是所有叫做“剧院”的地方，世界上所有丑陋，平庸，愚蠢的剧院，除了这里，在这个闹市的阁楼里，在所有空荡，沉寂，阴暗的闹市街区的尽头，就是这个巨大的垃圾场，以及文明废墟上的行为艺术，即兴表演，和这个剧院。我开始感觉到，越来越多的葬礼正在举行，给资本主义文明的举行葬礼，给竞争主义文明举行的葬礼，这魔法般的坟场，给所有腐败，拜金主义以及舒适生活举行的葬礼，给这个熟睡的世界派发免费的礼品，凌晨两点，只有杰克史密斯还活着，一个疯子，讽刺坟场的大主教，独自一人执行着最后的仪式，因为真的还有七八个人在那儿看（另外三个在台上），相当于根本没有观众，杰克不需要观众，有没有观众他都会这么做，我觉得他很多个夜晚都在坚持这样做，很多个周五，他一个人，有没有观众无所谓，有没有演员无所谓，他一再地表演着这个仪式，最后一人审读着超越着这个仪式，但却意识清醒并没有走火入魔，他痛苦的意识，独自的悲伤，悲伤的本质。。。。

但无论他们做什么，有没有剧本，私人的抑或公开的，都进入了舞台，进入了戏剧，违背着他们自己的意愿，滑稽一刻全都化成了坟场巨大的悲哀。文明尽头的悲哀，计划的一部分，人类残骸的一部分，都被杰克重新做了安排，“格兰街上的疯人”全都知晓，知晓人类的脆弱与腐朽，和他的艺术将要面对的麻烦，所以他提前做了安排，现在任何想要毁灭它的人变成了它，无论他们做什么，都变成了巨大拼贴画的一部分。他预先制作了音乐以及布置了舞台，它吸收着一切——确实就像文明废墟本身所描绘的一样——是的，舞台如同文化，吸收着一切人和一切事——一个巨大的垃圾场，一个张着血盆大口的坟墓。。。

杰克假装难为情的说，好像是说“那就这样吧”，然后他穿过舞台，走到楼梯旁，非常慢的爬上梯子，也许是要去关掉聚光灯吧，我们一伙五六个人，在那愣了一会儿，有点踟蹰，到底要不要等杰克呢，但最后还是决定离开，已经快凌晨三点了。大伙儿都走到街上时，我又转了回去。看到杰克还在楼梯上。那个场所，那个舞台，此刻正独自展现着它自己，空荡荡孤零零，整个地方都空了。我觉得应该向他喊声“晚安，杰克！”但却没有说出口，我想可能不太合适，所以我们还是走了——

我们一行五人，沿着幽深的格兰街走着，没有说一句话，已经穿过了几个街口，我们还是默默的走着没有说话，我们很明白，刚刚经历的是这辈子见过的最伟大最纯粹的戏剧之夜，杰克此刻正独自在他的阁楼里，守着那文明的废墟，我们这个时代最后一个永不妥协的艺术家，不知怎的，给我们认识的每件事物发明了一个新的形式，一个生命的标准，我们的艺术被重建了，就在顷刻之间，就在这个夜晚，在杰克的阁楼里，在这闹市里，在凌晨时分，在整个城市都睡着了的时候。不知怎的，当我们静静的走过，有一种新的希望和生命在这漆黑的街道上被点燃。

原载于《村之声》，1970年7月23日

译者注：

这篇文章描述的是杰克史密斯一贯的表演状态“杰克不需要观众，有没有观众他都会这么做”，这个事实在很多文章和采访中都被描述过，这也是杰克史密斯被誉为“地下国王”的主要原因。因为他就是这样一个“不疯魔，不成活”的艺术家。

这篇文章的作者Jonas Mekas，是“美国新电影团体”的推动者，以及“电影制作人合作社”的创办者，并且创办了《Film Culture》杂志。1961年肯.雅各布斯的电影在查尔斯剧场放映时遇到了Jonas Mekas，从而将杰克斯密斯介绍给他认识。1963年杰克史密斯的《热血造物》拍摄完成，被Jonas Mekas作为“明星产品”推出，除了在《Film Culture》杂志大力推广以外，还在公开放映前朗读“政治宣言”，从而招致警察将影片查封。而Jonas Mekas在法国放映《热血造物》时，也用类似的手段吸引了警察。此前在1950年，Jonas Mekas与法国作家让.热内合作电影，也招来了警察，并被告上法庭。

安迪沃霍评价Jonas Mekas：“他非常聪明，特别是在提升自己的名气和地位这件事上。”“对他而言，电影就好比是政治艺术。我甚至怀疑他是否把电影当成娱乐。”

客观的说，Jonas Mekas确实对美国的地下电影作出过贡献，但是他并不理解杰克史密斯，并且按照自己的理解来“曲解”，导致杰克史密斯对他非常不满，后者经常在公开场合把他比喻为“电影商人”。而翻看杰克史密斯自己的日记，在拍摄《正常的爱》之前，也就是1963年《热血造物》还没有被查封时，杰克史密斯就将他比喻为已经了“撒旦”，个人觉得他们之间的分歧可能在于对“地下电影”的理解上：杰克史密斯认为电影要表达自我，而Jonas Mekas认为电影要表达政治。

这篇文章是Jonas Mekas在1970年观看杰克史密斯表演时的一个描述，当然非常“主观”，因为按照杰克史密斯自己的文章，以及他参与的滑稽剧团来说，他并不喜欢“悲伤与沉重”，以及当一个文明的终结者，我们可以从另一个角度，看到Jonas Mekas在“宣传”杰克史密斯时，是如何“曲解”他的。

Jack Smith, The End of Civilization

-Jonas Mekas

Now it was past 2 a.m., and as I watched, as we watched this fantastic show, I had a feeling, I suddenly was very conscious that it was 2 a.m. in New York and very late, and most of the city was sleeping, even on Saturday night, and that all the theatres had been closed and over,long ago,all that's called theatre, all the ugly, banal, stupid theatres of the world, and that only here, in this downtown loft, somewhere at the very end of all the empty and dead and gray downtown streets, was this huge junk set and these end-of-civilization activities,these happenings, this theatre. I began getting a feeling, it resembled more and more the final burial ceremonies, the final burial rites of the capitalist civilization, competitive civilization, these were the magic burial grounds and the burial rites of all the corruption, comfort and money and good living, and free gifts of the world that was now asleep, at 2 a. m, only Jack Smith was still alive, a madman, the high priest of the ironical burial grounds, administering last services here alone and by himself, because really the seven or eight people who were now his audience (the other three were on the set)were really no audience at all, Jack didn't need any audience, he would do it anyway, and I had a feeling that he did it anyway, many nights like this, many Saturdays, by himself, audience or no audience, actors or no actors, he reenacted this ceremony, the last man who was still around and above it all and not part of it but at the same time conscious of it all, very painfully conscious of it all, the sadness himself, the essence of sadness itself ....

But whatever they did, script or no script, private or instructed, it all fell into the set, into the play, against their won will, hilarious at the moment it all became part of the huge sadness of the burial grounds. the end of civilization sad- ness, part of the plan, part of the human wreckage, all rearranged by Jack, the Madman of Grand Street, who seemed to know it all, to know the corruption and weaknesses of men, and the problems he'll face with his art, so he prepro grammed it all, so that now whatever anybody does to destroy his art falls into his art, becomes part of the huge collage, no matter what they do. He prearranged the music and the whole set so that it absorbs everything--exactly like the end of the civilization itself which it seemed to portray--yes, this set became like this culture that seems to absorb everything and everybody-a huge dumping grounds, an open mou th of graveyards-...

And then Jack said, feigning slight embarrassment, something like that's it, " and he walked across the set, and to the ladder, and he slowly climbed up the ladder, probably to cut out the spotlights, and we stood there and for a moment, five or six of us, and hesitated, to wait for Jack or not, but we decided to go, it was close to three o'clock. and we all went down to the street I turned around as we left. Jack was still upstairs. The place, the set now, was there by itself, completely empty and alone, the whole place was empty,and I thought for a moment I should shout to Jack GOOD NIGHT. JACK, but I didn't,I thought it wouldn't fit in all somehow, and we left-

We walked, five of us, down the long dark Grand Street, without any words several blocks, we walked silently and without words, and we knew, we knew that we had seen one of the greatest and purest theatre evenings of our lives,and we knew Jack was there alone and by himself in his loft, the keeper of the graveyard of the end of civilization, and one of the last and uncompromising great artists our generation had produced, and somehow everything stood at form clear inside us, a standard for our lives, and our art was reestablished, for a moment, this night, in Jack's loft, here, downtown, this late hour, as the city slept. Somehow there was a new hope and life in the black street again, as we walked, silently.

Originally published in The Village Voice, July 23,1970