The Listener

The Listener
by John Berry
Once there was a puny little concert violinist named Rudolf, who lived in Sweden. Some of his friends thought he was not the best of musicians because he was restless; others thought he was restless because he was not the best of musicians. At any rate, he hit upon a way of making a living, with no competitors. Whether by choice or necessity, he used to sail about Scandinavia in his small boat, all alone, giving concerts in little seaport towns. If he found accompanists, well and good; if not, he played works for unaccompanied violin; and it happened once or twice that he wanted a piano so badly that he imagined one, and then he played whole sonatas for violin and piano, with no piano in sight.
One year Rudolf sailed all the way out to Iceland and began working his way around that rocky coast from one town to another. It was a hard, stubborn land; but people in those difficult places do not forget the law of hospitality to the stranger ---- for their God may decree that they too shall become strangers on the face of earth. The audiences were small, and even if Rudolf had been really first-rate, they would not have been very demonstrative. From ancient times their energy had gone, first of all, into earnest toil. Sometimes they were collected by the local schoolteacher, who reminded them of their duty to the names of Beethoven and Bach and Mozart and one or two others whose music perhaps was not much heard in those parts. Too often people sat stolidly watching the noisy little fiddler, and went home feeling gravely edified. But they paid.
As Rudolf was sailing from one town to the next along a sparsely settled shore, the northeast turned black and menacing. A storm was bearing down upon Iceland. Rudolf was rounding a bleak, dangerous cape, and his map told him that the nearest harbor was half a day's journey away. He was starting to worry when he saw, less than a mile off shore, a lighthouse on a tiny rock island. At the base of the lighthouse was a deep, narrow cove, protected by cliffs. With some difficulty, in the rising seas, he put in there and moored to an iron ring that hung from the cliff. A flight of steps, hewn out of the rock, led up to the lighthouse. On top of the cliff, outlined against the scudding clouds, stood a man.
"Yo u are welcome!” the voice boomed over the sound of the waves that were already beginning to break over the island.
Darkness fell quickly. The lighthouse keeper led his guest up the spiral stairs to the living room on the third floor, then busied himself in preparation for the storm. Above all, he had to attend to the great lamp in the tower, that dominated the whole region. It was a continuous light, intensified by reflectors, and eclipsed by shutters at regular intervals. The duration of light was equal to that of darkness.
The lighthouse keeper was a huge old man with a grizzled beard that came down over his chest. Slow, deliberate, bearlike, he moved. without wasted motion about the limited world of which he was the master. He spoke little, as if words had not much importance compared to the other forces that comprised his life. Yet he was equable, as those elements were not.
After the supper of black bread and boiled potatoes, herring, cheese and hot tea,
which they took in the kitchen above the living room, the two men sat and contemplated each other's presence. Above them was the maintenance room, and above that the great lamp spoke majestic, silent messages of light to the ships at sea. The storm hammered like a battering ram on the walls of the lighthouse. Rudolf offered tobacco, feeling suddenly immature as he did so. The old man smiled a little as he declined it by a slight movement of the head; it was as if he knew well the uses of tobacco and the need for offering it, and affirmed it all, yet - here he, too, was halfway apologetic - was self-contained and without need of anything that was not already within his power or to which he did not relinquish his power. And he sat there, gentle and reflective, his great workman's hands resting on outspread thighs.
It seemed to Rudolf that the lighthouse keeper was entirely aware of all the sounds of the storm and of its violent impact upon the lighthouse, but he knew them so well that he did not have to think about them: they were like the involuntary movements of his own heart and blood. In the same way, beneath the simple courtesy that made him speak and listen to his guest in specific ways, he was already calmly and rnysteriously a part of him, as surely as the mainland was connected with the little island, and all the islands with one another, so commodiously, under the ocean.
Gradually Rudolf drew forth the sparse data of the old man's life: He had been born in this very lighthouse eighty-three years before, when his father was the lighthouse keeper. His mother -- the only woman he had ever known had taught him to read the Bible, and he read it daily. He had no other books.
As a musician, Rudolf had not had time to read much either - but then, he had lived in cities. He reached down and took his beloved violin out of its case.
“What do you make with that,
Sir?" the old man asked.
For a second Rudolf thought his host might be joking; but the serenity of the other's expression reassured him. There was not even curiosity about the instrument, but rather a whole interest in him, the person, that included his “work.”" In most circumstances Rudolf would have found it hard to believe that there could exist someone who did not know what a violin was; yet now he had no inclination to laugh. He felt small and inadequate.
“I make ----- music with it," he stammered in a low voice. “Music”, the old man said ponderously. I have heard of it. But I have never seen music.”
“One does not see music. One
hears it.”
“Ah, yes," the lighthouse -keeper consented, as it were, with humility. This too was in the Nature of Things wherein all works were wonders, and all things were known eternally and were poignant in their transiency. His wide gray eyes rested upon the little fiddler and conferred upon him all the importance of which any individual is capable:
Then something in the storm and the lighthouse and the old man exalted Rudolf, filled him with compassion and love and spaciousness infinitely beyond himself. He wanted to strike a work of fire and stars into being for the old man. And, with the storm as his accompanist, he stood and began to play the Kreutzer Sonata of Beethoven.
The moments passed, moments that were days in the creation of that world of fire and stars: abysses and heights of passionate struggle, the Idea of Order, and the resolution of these in the greatness of the human spirit. Never before had Rudolf
played with such mastery ---- or with such an accompanist. Waves and wind beat the tower with giant hands steadily above them the beacon blazed in its sure cycles of darkness and light. The last note ceased and Rudolf dropped his head on his chest, breathing hard. The ocean seethed over the island with a roar as of many voices.
The old man had sat unmoving through the work, his broad, gnarled hands resting on his thighs; his head bowed listening massively. For some time he continued to sit in silence. Then he looked up, lifted those hands calmly, judiciously, and nodded his head.
“Yes " he said. “That is true.”
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1. Notes
1) John Berry: Little is known about this author.
2) Beethoven (1770-1827), world- renowned German composer. Bach, (1685-1750) world-famous German composer. Mozart, (1756-1791) world - famous Austrian composer.
3) the Kreutzer Sonata of Beethoven
Rudolph Kreutzer (1766-1831) was a French composer and violinist. He was professor of violin at the Paris Conservatory from its founding in 1795 until 1826 and was one of the authors of the violin method taught there. Although he composed some 40 operas and numerous concertos and sonatas, he is remembered for his 40 etudes for the violin, which remain unsurpassed. Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata is dedicated to him.
2. Questions on content
1)Where did the story take place?
2)Who was Rudolf? Was he any good as a musician? How did he make a living?
Why did he choose this kind of life style? m
3)How was his music received by the people in the seaport towns? How so? Were
the people hospitable to him? How do you account for their hospitality to
strangers.
4)Where was Rudolf in his boat one day when he was caught in a big storm? Why
didn’t he just go ashore anywhere? Could he get to a harbor? Why did he
decide to seek help at the lighthouse?
5)How would you describe the situation and the whole process of Rudolf's
landing?
6)Could you describe the lighthouse?
7)What was Rudolf's impression of the lighthouse keeper? What did he find out
later about the old man?
8)How would you describe the lighthouse keeper? Did he fit into his
environment?
9)How would you compare the old man with Rudolf? In what way were they the
same or different?
10)How did the storm, the sea, the lighthouse, the dark world outside and the
gentle bearlike old lighthouse keeper affect Rudolf? What did they make him want to do?
11)Had the old man ever heard a violin played? Did he listen to the music? How
did he listen? Did he listen merely with his ears?
12)Was Rudolf satisfied with his own performance? How about the old man?
What are some possible interpretations of the old man’s comment after
Rudolf played the sonata?
13)Who is the author referring to in the title?
14)Underlying this simple story are symbols and deeper meanings that may be
interpreted in different and fascinating ways, Can you point them out? POEM OF THE WEEK
Upon Westminster Bridge
by William Wordsworth
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight SQ touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare.
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour galley, rock, or, hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still
About the Poet
William Wordsworth (1770-1850) was an English poet. Owing mainly to his father's influence, Wordsworth early became acquainted with the works of the best English poets, learning to repeat long passages by heart. Wordsworth lived a clam, quiet life; He was in comfortable circumstances, and lived to his eightieth year.
In 1798, Wordsworth and his friend Coleridge (1772 - 1843) published a slim volume of Lyrical Ballads. This volume gave a new direction to English poetry, turning away from the artificial and formal verse of the eighteenth century and moving into a new romantic field, described either as “The Return to Nature" or “The Romantic Revival.”
Wordsworth aimed at simplicity in his subjects and in his manner or presenting them, choosing commonplace incidents and trying to express the poetry of them in the language of ordinary people. He composed a large part of his poetry out of doors.
立西敏寺桥上观伦敦晨景
尘世间有什么能比得上，
眼前的这景色壮丽辉煌；
有谁能见此景无动于衷，
看伦敦这古城披裹晨装。

清晨啊多美丽宁静清朗!
看船塔与宫顶剧院教堂，
铺展于原野上直至天际、
闪耀着明丽的清澈晨光。

从未见晨曦以如此光华，
沐浴过这深谷山林丘岗；
也未曾见如此恬静安详!
泰晤士潺潺地尽情流淌，
上帝啊！屋宇也似沉梦乡
多巨大这心脏安卧静躺！
(朱次榴译)
POEM OF THE WEEK
Sonnet XVIII
by William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed. But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st.
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. hath: has;
thy: your;
thou: you;
thee: you (as object).
ow'st: owns'
wand'rest.: wanders
grow'st: grows
1. About the poet:
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) is generally acknowledged to be the greatest literary genius writing in the English language. Born in Stratford-on-Avon, he was the son of a prosperous businessman, and probably attended grammar schools in his native town. In 1582, Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children. His works include thirty-six plays, one hundred and fifty-four sonnets, and five long poems.
2. sonnet: A fourteen -line lyric poem. Although there are many variations in sonnet form, a sonnet usually has three quatrains of four lines each and a concluding couplet of two, rhyming abab cdcd efef gg. Each line usually has five beats.
The three quatrains may represent three different images or three questions from which a conclusion is drawn in the final couplet. As a result. the sonnet is one of the most tightly organized of poetic forms.
十四行诗(第十八首)
我怎么能够把你来比作夏天?
你不独比它可爱也比它温婉：
狂风把五月宠爱的嫩蕊作践，
夏天出赁的期限又未免太短：
天上的眼睛有时照得太酷烈，
它那炳耀的金额又常遭掩蔽：
被机缘或无常的天道所摧折，
没有芳艳不终于雕残或销毁。

但是你的长夏永远不会雕落，
也不会损失你这皎洁的红芳，
或死神夸口你在他影里漂泊，
当你在不朽的诗里与时同长‘
只要一天有人类，或人有眼睛，
这诗将长存，并且赐给你生命‘
(梁宗岱译)。