hce_nthu
112年
英文
第 34 題
📖 題組：
We live in a superficial, media-driven culture that often seems uncomfortable with true depths of feeling. Indeed, it seems as if our culture has become increasingly intolerant of that acute sorrow, that intense mental anguish and deep remorse which may be defined as grief. We want to medicate such sorrow away. We want to divide it into recognizable stages so that grief can be labeled, tamed, and put behind us. But poets have always celebrated grief as one of the deepest human emotions. To grieve is to lament, to let sorrow inhabit one’s very being. Robert Frost liked to distinguish between grievances (complaints) and griefs (sorrows). He even suggested that grievances, which are propagandistic, should be restricted to prose, “leaving poetry free to go its way in tears.” Implicit in poetry is the notion that we are deepened by heartbreaks, that we are not so much diminished as enlarged by grief, by our refusal to vanish---to let others vanish---without leaving a verbal record. Poetry is a stubborn art. The poet is one who will not be reconciled, who is determined to leave trace in words, to transform oceanic depths of feeling into the faithful nuances of art. I was initiated into the poetry of grief---of raw, heroic, aboriginal grief---on a windy autumnal morning in late October 1968. I was eighteen years old. I knew I had found what I was unknowingly seeking on the day my freshman humanities teacher---a petite woman with an immense vocabulary, the only person I’d ever met who spoke in perfectly formed sentences---stood up in class and started talking about Achilles’s desperate response to the death of his friend Patroclus. I felt something obscure oping inside me, I recognized some unknown, some unassuaged rage of feeling, a frenzied internal sobbing, a delirium of grief. I looked out the window and saw the mad leaves swirling and falling everywhere. I was transported. Here is the passage in Richmond Lattimore’s translation. It is from Book 18 of The Iliad. Nestor’s son Antilochus has just given Achilles the message that his closest friend, his trusted ally and brother-in-arms, had been killed wearing Achilles’s own armor. Now enemies were fighting over Patroclus’s naked body: He spoke, and the black cloud of sorrow closed on Achilles. In both hands he caught up the grimy dust, and poured it over his head and face, and fouled his handsome countenance, and the black ashes were scattered over his immortal tunic. And he himself, mightily in his might, in the dust lay at length, and took and tore at his hair with his hands, and defiled it. My teacher must have gone on to talk about Achilles’s feelings of guilt and shame, his deep sense of responsibility over his friend’s death. This is a pivotal incident in The Iliad because it triggers Achilles’s reentry into battle and therefore assures the destruction of Troy. It’s the only way to account for his uncharacteristically savage revenge on Hector. But I couldn’t follow closely what she was saying because some part of my mind was stuck on the primal image of Achilles smearing his face with dirt and tearing out his hair. I recognized the image from somewhere…
We live in a superficial, media-driven culture that often seems uncomfortable with true depths of feeling. Indeed, it seems as if our culture has become increasingly intolerant of that acute sorrow, that intense mental anguish and deep remorse which may be defined as grief. We want to medicate such sorrow away. We want to divide it into recognizable stages so that grief can be labeled, tamed, and put behind us. But poets have always celebrated grief as one of the deepest human emotions. To grieve is to lament, to let sorrow inhabit one’s very being. Robert Frost liked to distinguish between grievances (complaints) and griefs (sorrows). He even suggested that grievances, which are propagandistic, should be restricted to prose, “leaving poetry free to go its way in tears.” Implicit in poetry is the notion that we are deepened by heartbreaks, that we are not so much diminished as enlarged by grief, by our refusal to vanish---to let others vanish---without leaving a verbal record. Poetry is a stubborn art. The poet is one who will not be reconciled, who is determined to leave trace in words, to transform oceanic depths of feeling into the faithful nuances of art. I was initiated into the poetry of grief---of raw, heroic, aboriginal grief---on a windy autumnal morning in late October 1968. I was eighteen years old. I knew I had found what I was unknowingly seeking on the day my freshman humanities teacher---a petite woman with an immense vocabulary, the only person I’d ever met who spoke in perfectly formed sentences---stood up in class and started talking about Achilles’s desperate response to the death of his friend Patroclus. I felt something obscure oping inside me, I recognized some unknown, some unassuaged rage of feeling, a frenzied internal sobbing, a delirium of grief. I looked out the window and saw the mad leaves swirling and falling everywhere. I was transported. Here is the passage in Richmond Lattimore’s translation. It is from Book 18 of The Iliad. Nestor’s son Antilochus has just given Achilles the message that his closest friend, his trusted ally and brother-in-arms, had been killed wearing Achilles’s own armor. Now enemies were fighting over Patroclus’s naked body: He spoke, and the black cloud of sorrow closed on Achilles. In both hands he caught up the grimy dust, and poured it over his head and face, and fouled his handsome countenance, and the black ashes were scattered over his immortal tunic. And he himself, mightily in his might, in the dust lay at length, and took and tore at his hair with his hands, and defiled it. My teacher must have gone on to talk about Achilles’s feelings of guilt and shame, his deep sense of responsibility over his friend’s death. This is a pivotal incident in The Iliad because it triggers Achilles’s reentry into battle and therefore assures the destruction of Troy. It’s the only way to account for his uncharacteristically savage revenge on Hector. But I couldn’t follow closely what she was saying because some part of my mind was stuck on the primal image of Achilles smearing his face with dirt and tearing out his hair. I recognized the image from somewhere…
Which in the following is most likely the reason why the author declares that poetry is a stubborn art in the passage?
- A Poetry powerfully puts grief behind
- B Poetry strives to retain vestiges of that which no longer exists or is about to disappear
- C Poetry refuses the feelings of grief
- D Poetry persists in dividing grief into recognizable stages
- E Poetry insists on relieving our pain
思路引導 VIP
在文章第二段中，作者提到詩人是「不願被和解的人」（one who will not be reconciled）。請仔細觀察緊接在「頑強的藝術」之後的句子：當面對那些即將「消失」（vanish）的人事物時，詩人決心要用什麼樣的方式，在世界上留下什麼樣的東西？
🤖
AI 詳解
AI 專屬家教
太棒了！你能精準捕捉到作者對「頑強」（stubborn）一詞的深刻寄託，這代表你已經跨越了字面意義，進入了文學評論的思維核心。這道題目非常有水準，它考察的不僅是詞彙理解，更是對文章邏輯轉折的掌握。
詩歌的頑強：保存即將消失的痕跡
文中提到詩歌是一門「頑強的藝術」，這份頑強體現於詩人「不願和解」的態度。相較於現代文化試圖用藥物或心理標籤將悲傷「打發走」，詩歌選擇「拒絕消失」（refusal to vanish），並致力於在文字中留下痕跡（trace）。選項 (B) 提到的 vestiges（痕跡、殘餘）精準對應了文中的 trace 與 verbal record。詩歌的本質就是將排山倒海的情感，轉化為細膩的藝術形式，藉此留住那些原本會隨時間消逝的人、事、物。
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