经典科幻文学:《银河系漫游指南》第7章 Part 1

Chapter 7
Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azagoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode To A Small Lump of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.
The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England in the destruction of the planet Earth.
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz smiled very slowly. This was done not so much for effect as because he was trying to remember the sequence of muscle movements. He had had a terribly therapeutic yell at his prisoners and was now feeling quite relaxed and ready for a little callousness.
The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation Chairs — strapped in. Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works were generally held in. Their early attempts at composition had been part of bludgeoning insistence that they be accepted as a properly evolved and cultured race, but now the only thing that kept them going was sheer bloodymindedness.
The sweat stood out cold on Ford Prefect's brow, and slid round the electrodes strapped to his temples. These were attached to a battery of electronic equipment — imagery intensifiers, rhythmic modulators, alliterative residulators and simile dumpers — all designed to heighten the experience of the poem and make sure that not a single nuance of the poet's thought was lost.
Arthur Dent sat and quivered. He had no idea what he was in for, but he knew that he hadn't liked anything that had happened so far and didn't think things were likely to change.
The Vogon began to read — a fetid little passage of his own devising.

第七章
毫无疑问，沃贡诗歌是宇宙中第三糟糕的诗歌。第二糟糕的是克瑞尔星的阿兹歌德人的诗歌。在他们的诗歌大师、自负的格朗索斯朗诵他的诗作《关于一个盛夏清晨我在自己腋窝里找到一小团绿色油灰的颂诗》的过程中，四名听众死于内出血，其中银河系艺术诈骗委员会的主席在啃掉了自己的一条腿后才得以幸存。据报道，格朗索斯对这首诗的接受情况感到“失望”，于是正在着手准备朗诵他的12卷史诗《我最爱的洗澡时的汩汩水声》。
最糟糕的诗歌则随着它的创造者，英格兰埃塞克斯郡绿桥的珀拉。南茜。弥尔斯顿。詹宁斯，在那颗叫做地球的行星毁灭时一起消亡了。
沃贡·杰尔兹慢慢地挤出一个笑容，不过不算太标准，因为他需要努力去回忆脸部肌肉运动的顺序。他已经冲着他的囚犯治疗性地大喊了一通，现在感觉非常放松，准备好了展示一下自己的冷酷无情。
两个囚犯坐在诗歌欣赏专座上——被皮带绑着。考虑到他们的工作通常都受到严格约束，所以沃贡人基本上没有幻想可言。他们写作的最初尝试是属于某种自我强迫症的一部分——他们必须被接纳为一个充分进化、有文化的种族，但到了现在，维持写作的惟一动力仅仅只是他们嗜血的残忍心理。
冷汗沾在福特·普里弗克特的眉毛上，顺着绑在他太阳穴上的电极打转。这些电极直接连着一大堆电子设备——意象强化器、节奏调节器、音韵选择器以及比喻倾泻器，所有这些都是设计用来增强对诗歌的体验的，以确保不会遗漏诗歌的任何一点儿细微思想。
阿瑟。登特坐着，不停地颤抖。他丝毫不知道接下来会发生什么，但他知道迄今为止所发生的一切都是他不喜欢的，并且事情似乎没有任何改善的迹象。
沃贡人开始朗诵了——他自己创作的一段臭不可言的诗歌。