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[转帖]不可能翻译之翻译

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发表于 2007-8-7 13:56:40 |只看该作者 |倒序浏览

<table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="10" width="560" border="0"><tbody><tr><td>作者：施鹏飞</td></tr><tr><td class="t2">早在五年之前读萧乾和文洁若翻译的《尤里西斯》，就面对了第十八章的阅读，后来也在网络上找到了那个几乎没有标点的章节（一共八句话），脑子里一片空白。读中文版的时候也没觉得英文在表达长句子的时候的优势，以及中文翻译的不可能性。但是那样的句子，在很多人看来有变态之嫌，也有玩弄技巧的现代主义-后现代主义的特征。后来的作家也在不断地重复这样的句子，这种句子手法是“意识流”小说典型的特征，同时也开启了后现代小说在句子结构上的一个特征趋向。《喧哗与骚动》之译者李文俊可谓是福克纳专家。他翻译了一系列福克纳的作品，包括那本中文版本都令人望而生畏的《押沙龙！押沙龙！》。在《喧哗与骚动》中时常出现昆丁脑子中的语句，跳跃、断续、连绵，《喧哗与骚动》在有的章节中也出现《尤里西斯》那头疼的只有句号没有逗号，长达几页的句子。和萧乾和文洁若一样，李文俊选择了不可能翻译之翻译，将句子变成了中文，同时也丢失去了句子的完整性，使得翻译过来的中文的每一个字都认识，但是不知所云。而今，我手中有了巴塞尔姆的小说（？）《句子》，我在读英文的时候知道了它是一个不完整的句子，确切地来说是半个选择句，其中都字段之间都用逗号隔开，在四页之后的最后字段加了句号表示句子的结束。我也选择了翻译，并且在翻译的过程中看着自己把那些不完整的句子变成了完整的意思，乍一看我添加了好多意思在这个文本中，而实质上，我觉得在我的中文的版本中限制了好多可能性。这个小说难读，但是部分地存在着可译性。在《句子》的句子结构表达的时候，中文的版本无论如何也要破坏其英文版的逻辑性，以达到可以理解的目的。如果翻译是不可以理解的——即使这样的理解只是理解了原文的部分意思，同时丢失了其他的意思，那么翻译是失败的。如果从完整性表达的角度来说，那么翻译本身就是失败的。像这样一个文本的翻译，总是囿于不同目标语言的表达限制，出现各个版本的“误译”（——不可翻译性这样表示的话）。而且对原文，不同的人的阅读本身也取决于个人的知识结构，语言深度理解水平，翻译带来的公差为不可译性提供了有力的左证。开放性也是后现代文本主要特征之一，开放性就意味着阅读结果存在着不同层次的明显差异——而不是“误读”，这样的文本的理解对于不同的读者也应该是多方位的，因此就不应该来翻译，虽然这在一个目标语言版本中显得有些不伦不类，但是总比不可能翻译之翻译要让治学严紧的人更能接受。或者译者应该附上原文，加上说明。这样对原文的理解就不存在故意的偏差。这样的一个文本不是要求每个人都去读的，其读者群体是有选择或者独占性的。对于不可能翻译之翻译，我们承认其翻译中的勇气可嘉，同时也打击地说一句，这样的文本研究者不想看——因为觉得不严谨；非行业人士不想看——因为觉得没有必要。这可能就是翻译本身的境地。我翻译这样一个小说的时候有这样的感言，写了这么一些观点，同时也自相矛盾地将《句子》翻译出来，用我的误读引导误解。 句子也许，一个长句子从就要到底部的页面下面以一定的步调移动下来，如果在这个页面的底部和其他页面它可以休息的话，或者停一下来考虑一下其自己（暂时）的存在提出的问题，当页面翻过来时，这将结束，或者脑袋中滑出来的句子，用一种拥抱（暂时）将其抱住，不一定上热切的那种，但是或许更大程度上要让早上一个刚刚醒来的妻子，在其去浴室洗头发的路上享受（忍受），并且跳在懒洋洋地在餐桌旁躺着看报纸的丈夫身上，并且不要被他看见她从卧室中走出来，但是当他突然被她碰着或者碰着她时，要突然伸起胳膊紧紧拥抱她，因为他知道如果他早上这么早给她一个认真的拥抱，并且在她可能挣扎着从梦中醒来之前，还穿着睡衣的话他不会有什么反应，而且可能会变得有些嗔怒，说一些骂人的话，所以丈夫想并且并没有按照他生理的情绪来使用他的拥抱，因为他不想浪费任何感觉上的东西，然后，这个句子多少在脑子中留下印象，同时这也是另一个描述这情况的方法，也就是说句子爬过脑海就像大约某人在你仔细听调频的时候和你说话，一些摇摆组合在那里，发出毛骨悚然的音乐，所以，有了你的注意或者大部分的注意，至少也是有了回报了，没有很多空间来做标记，尤其考虑到你有可能已经和那个人发生了争吵，做标记的人，把收音机调地很大，或者做类似的事情来查看你对评论的读取，你恨不得没有听到，但是如果你必须听的话，你想长时间听是几乎不可能的，在商业期间，因为在商业期间一结束，你最喜爱的乐队他们将演奏新的摇滚乐，一种前所未有的打断，你想听到并对它作出新方式的反应，一种根据你此时无论感受到的什么东西的方式，或者可能感受到的，如果新经历的恐惧可以（暂时性地）被可能的积极利益的允诺打破，或者大脑将分析诸如此类的东西，记得这些经常、真实地、伪装的挫折（那些挫折不能一概而论，有时候，对你的性格有好处，告诉你不是单独的战胜生活的成功、而是挫折，同时也受恩于人格的粗糙化，提供了相对于生活的粗糙表面，使得你摆脱在人类历史表面上的你做的痕迹或者污迹）终究，利益的寻找总是有一些关于其的隐隐作痛的空虚，就像你希望用桂冠来装点你的额头，或者戴着你的奖章野炊烧饭，当款待说明不了他们的问题，尽管自我总是饥饿的（我们被告发了），记住正在靠近的成功离我们不远了正如无意义缺乏成功的靠近是美好的，那会使你恶心，留一些碎片在桌上给你的兄弟们还不错，不要将所有的碎片都掸进你灵魂的小珍珠装饰的钱包中，而允许你的朋友这么做，同样，部分满意，如果你用这种方式共享，你将发现乌云笼罩着你，邮差捎给你信，自行车在你想借用的时候可以用，还有其他一些符号，然而被你的团体（临时）的许可保护和限制，或者当预先让你想一想时，从对你美德的嘲笑中，至少自发让你相信（暂时）你并不缺少美德，好像其可能被放进去，或者无论如何其一致拒绝辨认你基本的人性，你遗体项目神秘的反对票活着，通过支配的身体开行政会议，这，当众所周知执行隐蔽的奖惩程序，在玫瑰下，引起身份变化，你背后，沿着生活社区的外围的很多点，还有其他不同性质的企业，就像制造特殊品质或者特征的胶卷，就像电影的后一部分是一个神圣的神秘事物，女生和妇人不允许看，或者写小说在其中的最后章节的塑料包中灌满了水，你可以触摸但是不能饮用：通过这个或这些方法，集体地下的精神生活将被重现、否认、转变为其他设计着从来没有想象过的东西，他从最近的关于危机管理的学术研讨会回来并且被问到他学到了什么，说他们学到了怎么甩他们的胳膊，这个句子也就是意味着，尽管这些考虑不麻木，他具有一个腐化的良心，来教唆他跟着他的星座走，从一个地方以有准备的速度移动到另一个地方，没有丢失任何“骑手”的颜面，也许它将就地搭车，在这页面上，从这条路改变到那条，以看看那里有什么，在那形状古怪的树下，或者那边的，在脑子里装满着想象，甚至在我们成年的时候我们真的是这样被告知的，晕眩的句子是最好的（他的意思是什么？“晕眩”是不是酩酊大醉？我想他也许要说“断而另人晕眩的句子”，就是句子抽打着你，如果可能的话打得你脑袋开花，抬头看我穿过“蒲葵扇”旁边的单词，是一个来自印度的挂在天花板上的巨大的风扇，通过服务员拉绳子来操作——也就是我想从我句子中得到的，来使它冷下来！），现在我们已经足够成熟来承受学习的震撼，以此我们来嘲笑我们年轻时候的错误，或者错误地理解教我们的人，或者也许掩饰掉它，掩饰将使得我们更需要老师，他们就像人类的趋向来将他们的一些心血用在工作上，有些时候这些已经不是第一点水了，这是心血，甚至他们是在想他们把“知识”搬了出去，广泛教育形成，他们也许已经认识到他们的句子已经没有新武器的那样的震撼力了，新武器的子弹击倒了一个又一个（但是的确哪个时候我们没有那样的武器），他们也许会被考虑进基础性不确定的留给我们的项目（但是所有构思高明的项目早就被吃光了，就像星星之于月亮），在我们最好的衣服中，只有一件事情可以做，就像操纵有力的战争摩擦来反对我们的妻子一样，她正在完全醒来，滑进有斑纹的闹钟中，扯下羊毛衫，放在为完成的作品上，坚决拒绝在羊毛衫里穿任何凶罩，小心翼翼地想任何听众解释这个拒绝政治上的重大意义，或者观众，但不包括触抹者，因为这没有任何意义，所以他们说，不要管我，只有一件事情要做，就像雷诺茨?沃蒲的薄片包裹着房子，尝试着我们看看能够同时在空中豢养多少东西，这至少可以给我们一种参与意识，好像我们就是佛，俯视着你微笑的神秘，这需要研究，我马上就做，趁着还有足够的光线，如果你坐在那里，最好的椅子上，请脱下衣服放在你的脚的电趾罐上（防止肺炎），防止滑进永久性压迫的病号服中，遮盖住你裸露的部分——因为如果你做好了的话，我们就开始！（在中文中这个“！”表示句子的结束，但是本文并不——译注）在我洗完手之后，因为通过在户外走动，和熟人打招呼，和朋友说话，和情人做爱，你拣起了这个城市太多的空壳，以普通的路线（我们的敌人一个又一个倒下去）——但是在洗手的时候我有些恼火，因为我不能找到肥皂，有人用了但是没有放回肥皂盒，所有这些都很让人气愤，如果你有漂亮的病人在检查室等待检查，只穿了长袍，看着镜子中自己的胎块，用她大大的眼睛注视着你的每个动作（当他们不看胎块的时候，期望他们像迪斯尼自然胶卷那样剥落）她的大脑袋想知道你想对她做什么，当临床医生决定用清水洗手的时候，头顶穿通的部分泄露了这个问题，把肥皂拿过来！肥皂被拿过来了，然后他翻来覆去看毛巾，但是所有毛巾都被毛巾服务员收走了，不在那里，他把手在裤子上擦擦，后面的（以免在前面形成可疑的污点）想着她肯定想起我了？并且所有这些都是非常不专业而且不入眼的！尝试着形象化她眼中的意外事故，如果她有（但是她是怎么看见的呢？她不在盥洗室）然后阻止，因为到最后那是他自己的关心的观点而不是她的，在他的脑子里根深蒂固，他自信地走了一步，这就像你也许会在布尔沃?里顿的作品中看到的一样，他进入兴高采烈地进入她占有的空间，抓住她的手，开始撕开他白色僵直的病号衣（但是我们没有在他冠冕堂皇的充满智慧的语句中发现那种带有色情的废话，那也许会在国会图书馆中绝迹）（在他的意识中有一些东西正在被替代，当他看她的时候，就如我们知道的意识始终是意识，她在这个事情中不是完全没有责任的），所以，然后抓起她的手，他掉进了她深渊的巨大白色水中，不，我想他问她自从她上回来已经多久了，她说有两个星期了，他战栗着告诉她她现在的情况（她是一个非常受欢迎的女兵，她的部队通过埋伏在森林里赢得了所有的战斗，在最后的时刻敌人发现了，那些他们吃掉他们午餐的树有了眼睛和剑）（这使我想起了一八四五年罗伯特?乌丹的演出，叫做《奇幻橘子树》，在其中罗伯特?乌丹借了一个女人的手帕，在手中摩擦，从中间出来了一只鸡蛋，然后他把鸡蛋放进了柠檬中间，然后他把柠檬放在了橘子中间，然后用两只手压橘子，压得越来越小直到变成粉末，于是他要了一棵小的盆栽橘子树，然后把粉末洒上去，树突然之间开花，花逐渐变成橘子，橘子变成蝴蝶，蝴蝶变成美丽的小姐，小姐然后和一位观众结了婚），情况对任何实时社会交流都有着很大的破坏性，他能做的最好的事情就是放弃，他放下了她的手笔，然后他将躺在她们中间，他们将一起允许他们自己做一些老掉牙的游戏，她把她仅有的克里斯朵弗先生奖章戴在银项链上，他（被授权过这个地区专业等级）担心着这个句子，担心着强大张力下的已经被忽略的细线，关于我们是否应该记下一些天空中的自然的东西（鸟、闪电柱），关于可能的行动没有被记在这个句子中，为什么其主动词在这个句子，将在这个时候是消息碎片，从他戴的荆棘中流出血，大声叫喊：“你不知道你在做什么！停止造句，去调Moholy-Nagy鸡尾酒吧，我们要的是那个，在边境上不雅的行为！”然后他掉在了地板上，陷阱的门在他身下打开，他掉了下去，掉进一个潮湿的深渊，那里可怕的独角鲸等待着他，它的角是平衡的（但也许消息因为重量再加上这么高的高度，落在角上碎了）——因此，必须将每个事情都考虑到位，在正式轴线的柔和光线上，在疯狂跑动的信息疾病毫无意义，我们必须决定我们是否应该进行，或者回去，在后面的情况中享受连根拔除的痛苦，在前一个情况中阅读已经开始的色情广告，怎么才能把你的嘴变成兴奋的吹管（但是不过分增加我们的口水？），在间歇中尝试，当我们的嘴烧觉时，涂上一些脂肪，来想象一个更好的句子，有杰出任务，更有意义的，就像那些独立宣言，或银行声明显示你有七千克郎，超过你认为你拥有的——一个声明回击生活中你提出的不合理要求，一个也提出了问题莫如国你可以想象这些要求的话，为什么他们不正常地解决，高个字傻瓜？但是当然也不排除他想回答的这个被感染的句子本身有问题（你好！我们的女朋友罗丝塔?斯通这个用病和瘦粘住我们的人）但是另一个质疑就是我们应该有一天发现自然吗，路德维格来了，我们从包豪斯建筑学派请来的句子结构专家，他将——“早上好，路德维格！”——也许能够通过改进后的魏码过的思维来发现一条路来治愈句子的蔓生——“我抱歉地告诉你包豪斯建筑学派已经不复存在了，所有以前被认为的大师不是去世就是退休了，我自己也屈就与写怎么通过警官考试方面的书”——路德维格从图根哈特别墅中掉入了人为历史的客体，失望是再所难免的，但是这提醒了我们句子本身就是人为的客体，不是在这个过程中我们需要的，但是仍然是人类的建筑，结构因为其脆弱变成了财富，就像石头的对立面。（施鹏飞学者苏州） 原文： The Sentence by Donald BarthelmeOr a long sentence moving at a certain pace down the page aiming for the bottom-if not the bottom of this page then some other page-where it can rest, or stop for a moment to think out the questions raised by its own (temporary) existence, which ends when the page is turned, or the sentence falls out of the mind that holds it (temporarily) in some kind of embrace, not necessarily an ardent one, but more perhaps the kind of embrace enjoyed (or endured), by a wife who has just waked up and is on her way to the bathroom in the morning to wash her hair, and is bumped into by her husband, who has been lounging at the breakfast table reading the newspaper, and doesn't see her coming out of the bedroom, but, when he bumps into her, or is bumped into by her, raises his hands to embrace her lightly, transiently, because he knows that if he gives her a real embrace so early in the morning, before she has properly shaken the dreams out of her head, and got her duds on, she won't respond, and may even become slightly angry, and say something wounding, and so the husband invests in this embrace not so much physical or emotional pressure as he might, because he doesn't want to waste anything-with this sort of feeling, then, the sentence passes through the mind more or less, and there is another way of describing the situation too, which is to say that the sentence crawls through the mind like something someone says to you while you are listening very hard to the FM radio, some rock group there, with its thrilling sound, and so, with your attention or the major part of it at least already rewarded, there is not much mind room you can give to the remark, especially considering that you have probably just quarreled with that person, the maker of the remark, over the radio being too loud, or something like that, and the view you take, of the remark, is that you'd really rather not hear it, but if you have to hear it, you want to listen to it for the smallest possible length of time, and during a commercial, because immediately after the commercial they're going to play a new rock song by your favorite group, a cut that has never been aired before, and you want to hear it and respond to it in a new way, a way that accords with whatever you're feeling at the moment, or might feel, if the threat of new experience could be (temporarily) overbalanced by the promise of possible positive benefits, or what the mind construes as such, remembering that these are often, really, disguised defeats (not that such defeats are not, at times, good for your character, teaching you that it is not by success alone that one surmounts life, but that setbacks, too, contribute to that roughening of the personality that, by providing a textured surface to place against that of life, enables you to leave slight traces, or smudges, on the face of human history-your mark) and after all, benefit-seeking always has something of the smell of raw vanity about it, as if you wished to decorate your own brow with laurel, or wear your medals to a cookout, when the invitation had said nothing about them, and although the ego is always hungry (we are told) it is well to remember that ongoing success is nearly as meaningless as ongoing lack of success, which can make you sick, and that it is good to leave a few crumbs on the table for the rest of your brethren, not to sweep it all into the little beaded purse of your soul but to allow others, too, part of the gratification, and if you share in this way you will find the clouds smiling on you, and the postman bringing you letters, and bicycles available when you want to rent them, and many other signs, however guarded and limited, of the community's (temporary) approval of you, or at least of it's willingness to let you believe (temporarily) that it finds you not so lacking in commendable virtues as it had previously allowed you to think, from its scorn of your merits, as it might be put, or anyway its consistent refusal to recognize your basic humanness and its secret blackball of the project of your remaining alive, made in executive session by its ruling bodies, which, as everyone knows, carry out concealed programs of reward and punishment, under the rose, causing faint alterations of the status quo, behind your back, at various points along the periphery of community life, together with other enterprises not dissimilar in tone, such as producing films that have special qualities, or attributes, such as a film where the second half of it is a holy mystery, and girls and women are not permitted to see it, or writing novels in which the final chapter is a plastic bag filled with water, which you can touch, but not drink: in this way, or ways, the underground mental life of the collectivity is botched, or denied, or turned into something else never imagined by the planners, who, returning from the latest seminar in crisis management and being asked what they have learned, say they have learned how to throw up their hands; the sentence meanwhile, although not insensible of these considerations, has a festering conscience of its own, which persuades it to follow its star, and to move with all deliberate speed from one place to another, without losing any of the "riders" it may have picked up just being there, on the page, and turning this way and that, to see what is over there, under that oddly-shaped tree, or over there, reflected in the rain barrel of the imagination, even though it is true that in our young manhood we were taught that short, punchy sentences were best (but what did he mean? doesn't "punchy" mean punch-drunk? I think he probably intended to say "short, punching sentences," meaning sentences that lashed out at you, bloodying your brain if possible, and looking up the word just now I came across the nearby "punkah," which is a large fan suspended from the ceiling in India, operated by an attendant pulling a rope-that is what I want for my sentence, to keep it cool!) we are mature enough now to stand the shock of learning that much of what we were taught in our youth was wrong, or improperly understood by those who were teaching it, or perhaps shaded a bit, the shading resulting from the personal needs of the teachers, who as human beings had a tendency to introduce some of their heart's blood into their work, and sometimes this may not have been of the first water, this heart's blood, and even if they thought they were moving the "knowledge" out, as the Board of Education had mandated, they could have noticed that their sentences weren't having the knockdown power of the new weapons whose bullets tumble end-over-end (but it is true that we didn't have these weapons at that time) and they might have taken into account the fundamental dubiousness of their project (but all the intelligently conceived projects have been eaten up already, like the moon and the stars) leaving us, in our best clothes, with only things to do like conducting vigorous wars of attrition against our wives, who have now thoroughly come awake, and slipped into their striped bells, and pulled sweaters over their torsi, and adamantly refused to wear any bras under the sweaters, carefully explaining the political significance of this refusal to anyone who will listen, or look, but not touch, because that has nothing to do with it, so they say; leaving us, as it were, with only things to do like floating sheets of Reynolds Wrap around the room, trying to find out how many we can keep in the air at the same time, which at least gives us a sense of participation, as though we were Buddha, looking down at the mystery of your smile, which needs to be investigated, and I think I'll do that right now, while there's still enough light, if you'll sit down over there, in the best chair, and take off all your clothes, and put your feet in that electric toe caddy (which prevents pneumonia) and slip into this permanent press hospital gown, to cover your nakedness-why, if you do all that, we'll be ready to begin! after I wash my hands, because you pick up an amazing amount of exuviae in this city, just by walking around in the open air, and nodding to acquaintances, and speaking to friends, and copulating with lovers, in the ordinary course (and death to our enemies! by and by)-but I'm getting a little uptight, just about washing my hands, because I can't find the soap, which somebody has used and not put back in the soap dish, all of which is extremely irritating, if you have a beautiful patient sitting in the examining room, naked inside her gown, and peering at her moles in the mirror, with her immense brown eyes following your every movement (when they are not watching the moles, expecting them, as in a Disney nature film, to exfoliate) and her immense brown head wondering what you're going to do to her, the pierced places in the head letting that question leak out, while the therapist decides just to wash his hands in plain water, and hang the soap! and does so, and then looks around for a towel, but all the towels have been collected by the towel service, and are not there, so he wipes his hands on his pants, in the back (so as to avoid suspicious stains on the front) thinking: what must she think of me? and, all this is very unprofessional and at-sea looking! trying to visualize the contretemps from her point of view, if she has one (but how can she? she is not in the washroom) and then stopping, because it is finally his own point of view that he cares about and not hers, and with this firmly in mind, and a light, confident step, such as you might find in the works of Bulwer-Lytton, he enters the space she occupies so prettily and, taking her by the hand, proceeds to tear off the stiff white hospital gown (but no, we cannot have that kind of pornographic merde in this majestic and high-minded sentence, which will probably end up in the Library of Congress) (that was just something that took place inside his consciousness, as he looked at her, and since we know that consciousness is always consciousness of something, she is not entirely without responsibility in the matter) so, then, taking her by the hand, he falls into the stupendous white puree of her abyss, no, I mean rather that he asks her how long it has been since her last visit, and she says a fortnight, and he shudders, and tells her that with a condition like hers (she is an immensely popular soldier, and her troops win all their battles by pretending to be forests, the enemy discovering, at the last moment, that those trees they have eaten their lunch under have eyes and swords) (which reminds me of the performance, in 1845, of Robert-Houdin, called The Fantastic Orange Tree, wherein Robert-Houdin borrowed a lady's handkerchief, rubbed it between his hands and passed it into the center of an egg, after which he passed the egg into the center of a lemon, after which he passed the lemon into the center of an orange, then pressed the orange between his hands, making it smaller and smaller, until only a powder remained, whereupon he asked for a small potted orange tree and sprinkled the powder thereupon, upon which the tree burst into blossom, the blossoms turning into oranges, the oranges turning into butterflies, and the butterflies turning into beautiful young ladies, who then married members of the audience), a condition so damaging to real-time social intercourse of any kind, the best thing she can do is give up, and lay down her arms, and he will lie down in them, and together they will permit themselves a bit of the old slap and tickle, she wearing only her Mr. Christopher medal, on its silver chain, and he (for such is the latitude granted the professional classes) worrying about the sentence, about its thin wires of dramatic tension, which have been omitted, about whether we should write down some natural events occurring in the sky (birds, lightning bolts), and about a possible coup d'etat within the sentence, whereby its chief verb would be-but at this moment a messenger rushes into the sentence, bleeding from a hat of thorns he's wearing, and cries out: "You don't know what you're doing! Stop making this sentence, and begin instead to make Moholy-Nagy cocktails, for those are what we really need, on the frontiers of bad behavior!" and then he falls to the floor, and a trap door opens under him, and he falls through that, into a damp pit where a blue narwhal waits, its horn poised (but maybe the weight of the messenger, falling from such a height, will break off the horn)-thus, considering everything very carefully, in the sweet light of the ceremonial axes, in the run-mad skimble-skamble of information sickness, we must make a decision as to whether we should proceed, or go back, in the latter case enjoying the pathos of eradication, in which the former case reading an erotic advertisement which begins, How to Make Your Mouth a Blowtorch of Excitement (but wouldn't that overtax our mouthwashes?) attempting, during the pause, while our burned mouths are being smeared with fat, to imagine a better sentence, worthier, more meaningful, like those in the Declaration of Independence, or a bank statement showing that you have seven thousand kroner more than you thought you had-a statement summing up the unreasonable demands that you make on life, and one that also asks the question, if you can imagine these demands, why are they not routinely met, tall fool? but of course it is not that query that this infected sentence has set out to answer (and hello! to our girl friend, Rosetta Stone, who has stuck by us through thick and thin) but some other query that we shall some day discover the nature of, and here comes Ludwig, the expert on sentence construction we have borrowed from the Bauhaus, who will-"Guten Tag, Ludwig!"-probably find a way to cure the sentence's sprawl, by using the improved way of thinking developed in Weimer-"I am sorry to inform you that the Bauhaus no longer exists, that all of the great masters who formerly thought there are either dead or retired, and that I myself have been reduced to constructing books on how to pass the examination for police sergeant"-and Ludwig falls through the Tugendhat House into the history of man-made objects; a disappointment, to be sure, but it reminds us that the sentence itself is a man-made object, not the one we wanted of course, but still a construction of man, a structure to be treasured for its weakness, as opposed to the strength of stones. </td></tr></tbody></table>成言艺术