有谁看过John Updike的The Disposable Rocket
能告诉一下它的大意吗
找到了全文，如下The Disposable RocketJohn UpdikeInhabiting a male body is like having a bank account; as long as it’s healthy, you don’t think much about it. Compared to the female body, it is a low-maintenance proposition: a shower now and then, trim the fingernails every ten days, a haircut once a month. Oh yes, shaving—scraping or buzzing away at your face every morning. Byron, in Don Juan, thought the repeated nuisance of shaving balanced out the periodic agony, for females, of childbirth. Women are, his lines tell us, Condemn’d to child-bed, as men for their sins Have shaving too entail’d upon their chins,— A daily plague, which the aggregate May average on the whole with parturition.From the standpoint of reproduction, the male body is a delivery system, as the female is a mazy device for retention. Once the delivery is made, men feel a faith but distinct falling-off of interest. Yet against the enduring realm heroics of birth and nurture should be set the male’s superhuman frenzy to deliver his goods: he vaults walls, skips sleep, risks wallet, health, and his political future all to ram home his seed into the gut of the chosen woman. The sense of the chase lives in him as the key to life. His body is, like a delivery rocket that falls away in space, a disposable means. Men put their bodies at risk to experience the release from gravity.When my tenancy of a male body was fairly new—of six or so years’ duration—I used to jump and fall just for the joy of it. Falling—backwards, or downstairs—became a specialty of mine, an attention-getting stunt I was still practicing into my thirties, at suburban parties. Falling is, after all, a kind of flying, though of briefer duration than would be ideal. My impulse to hurl myself from high windows and the edges of cliffs belongs to my body, not my mind, which resists the siren call of the chasm with all its might; the interior struggle knocks the wind from my lungs and tightens my scrotum and gives any trip to Europe, with its Alps, castle parapets, and gargoyled cathedral lookouts, a flavor of night[page 279]mare. Falling, strangely, no longer figures in my dreams, as it often did when I was a boy and my subconscious was more honest with me. An airplane, that necessary evil, turns the earth into a map so quickly the brain turns aloof and calm; still, I marvel that there is no end of young men willing to become jet pilots. Any accounting of male-female differences must include the male’s superior recklessness, a drive not, I think, toward death, as the darkest feminist cosmogonies would have it, but to test the limits, to see what the traffic will bear—a kind of mechanic’s curiosity. The number of men who do lasting damage to their young bodies is striking; war and car accidents aside, secondary-school sports, with the approval of parents and the encouragement of brutish coaches, take a fearful toll of skulls and knees. We were made for combat, back in the postsimian, East-African days, and the bumping, the whacking, the breathlessness, the painsmothering adrenaline rush form a cumbersome and unfashionable bliss, but bliss nevertheless.Take your body to the edge, and see if it flies. The male sense of space must differ from that of the female, who has such interesting, active, and significant inner space. The space that interests men is outer. The fly ball high against the sky, the long pass spiraling overhead, the jet fighter like a scarcely visible pinpoint nozzle laying down its vapor trail at forty thousand feet, the gazelle haunch flickering just beyond arrow-reach, the uncountable stars sprinkled on their great black wheel, the horizon, the mountaintop, the quasar—these bring portents with them and awaken a sense of relation with the invisible, with the empty. The ideal male body is taut with lines of potential force, a diagram extending outward; the ideal female body curves around centers of repose. Of course, no one is ideal, and the sexes are somewhat androgynous subdivisions of a species: Diana the huntress is a more trendy body time nowadays than languid, overweight Venus, and polymorphous Dionysus poses for more underwear ads than Mars. Relatively, though, men’s bodies, however elegant, are designed for covering territory, for moving on.An erection, too, defies gravity, flirts with it precariously. It extends the diagram of outward direction into downright detachability—objective in the case of the sperm, subjective in the case of the testicles and penis. Men’s bodies, at this junction, feel only partly theirs; a demon of sorts has been attached to their lower torsos, whose performance is erratic and whose errands seem, at times, ridiculous. It is like having a (much) smaller brother toward whom you feel both fond and impatient; if he is you, it is you in curiously simplified and ignoble form. This sense, of the male body being two of them, is acknowledged in verbal love play and erotic writing, where the penis is playfully given a pet name, and individuation not even the rarest rapture grants a vagina. Here, where maleness gathers to a quintessence of itself, there can be no insincerity, there can be no hiding; for sheer nakedness, there is nothing like a hopeful phallus; its aggressive shape, is indivisible from its tender-skinned vulnerability. The act of intercourse, from the point of view of a consenting female, has an element of mothering, of enwrap[280]ment, of merciful concealment, even. The male body, for this interval, is tucked out of harm’s way.To inhabit a male body, then is to feel somewhat detached from it. It is not an enemy, but not entirely a friend. Our being seems to lie not in cells and muscles but in the traces that our thoughts and actions inscribe on the air. The male body skims the surface of nature’s deeps wherein the blood and pain and mysterious cravings of women perpetuate the species. Participating less in nature’s processes than the female body, the male body gives the impression—false—of being exempt from time. Its power of strength and reach descend in early adolescence, along with acne and sweaty feet, and depart, in imperceptible increments, after thirty or so. It surprises me to discover, when I remove my shoes and socks, the same paperwhite, hairless angles that struck me as pathetic when I observed them on my father. I felt betrayed when, in some tumble of touch football twenty years ago, I heard my tibia snap; and when, between two reading engagements in Cleveland, my appendix tried to burse; and when, the other day, not for the first time, there arose to my nostrils out my [sic] own body the musty attic smell my grandfather’s body had.A man’s body does not betray its tenant as rapidly as a woman’s. Never as fine and lovely, it has less distance to fall; what rugged beauty it has is wrinkleproof. It keeps its capability of procreation indecently long. Unless intense athletic demands are made upon it, the thing serves well enough to sixty, which is my age now. From here on, it’s chancy. There are no breasts or ovaries to admit cancer to the male body, but the prostate, that awkwardly located little source of seminal fluid, shows the strain of sexual function with fits of hysterical cell replication, and all that male-bonding beer and potato chips add up on the coronary arteries. A writer whose physical equipment can be minimal as long as it gets him to the desk, the lectern, and New York City once in a while, cannot but be grateful to his body, especially to his eyes, those tender and intricate sites where the brain extrudes from the skill, and to his hands, which hold the pen or tap the keyboard. His body has been, not himself exactly, but a close pal, potbellied and balding like most of his other pals now. A man and his body are like a boy and the buddy who has a driver’s license and the use of his father’s car for the evening; once goes along, gratefully, for the ride.
急求John Updike A&P译文
（John Updike，1932年3月18日－2009年1月27日），美国长篇小说、短篇小说作家、诗人。
一生发表了大量体裁多样的作品，包括系列小说“”“贝克三部曲”以及一些短篇小说集、诗集和评论集等。
其中，和使他分别于1982年和1991年两度获得。
厄普代克被公认为美国最优秀的小说家之一，他的文风对许多作家产生了巨大影响。
2009年1月27日，因肺癌在去世，终年77岁。
求 JOHN UPDIKE 的短故事 “A&P” 中文翻译
参见。
有的译本和最新出版的世界图书出版公司的译本。
约翰·厄普代克（John Updike）的Superman的主题
以“兔子四部曲”饮誉文坛的美国现实主义文学大师约翰·厄普代克是美国当代一位最多产的文学作家，他的作品影响了相当多的美国人。
今天我要分析的《superman》发表于1953年，当时厄普代克刚刚22岁，这离他步入文坛刚有一年。
厄普代克的主要文学成就主要集中在小说方面，传世的诗作并不多，但是透过这首诗歌我们能很清楚得看到这位作家的与众不同之处。
这首诗歌最引人注目的便是super的频繁使用，这与作者的切身经历是分不开的。
厄普代克在六岁得过一次麻疹并留下了后遗症-----牛皮癣，从一定程度说，作者的各种人生选择，包括写作与婚姻都与这场儿时的疾病密切相关。
他之所以选择写作，是因为当作家只需要作品和外界接触，从而避免了身患皮肤病要和公众见面可能产生的不安和难堪（见1989年出版的自传《自我意识》）。
1953年，一位哈佛女学友爱才心切，根本就无视他的皮肤病，毅然嫁给了他。
想必厄普代克是又惊又喜，好事成双，第二年，厄普代克又幸运地拿到了丰厚的富布莱特奖金到伦敦去学习去了。
也就是这一年作者发表了这篇诗作。
厄普代克因为自身的生理缺陷，在早期一直是比较悲观自卑的，现实中怯懦的他必定要通过手中的笔来表达内心的压抑，诗歌中出现的supermarket、superlot Super Suds、Supersalesmen、Super-Tone-Osupersonic等等有关super的义项应该都与这一点有关。
他在接受《时代周刊》记者专访时曾说“艺术的真谛存在于隐含的痛，是的，这不是假的，没有痛过是没有发言权的”他需要找到属于他自己的精神空间，这座精神花园便是他自己的文学世界，正是通过这些超级现象的塑造来表达深藏于内心的痛。
诗歌中写道Supersalesmen sell me tonic -，tonic一词更能证明这一点。
时年22岁的他刚刚找到自己的红颜知己，内心的喜悦与激动肯定要通过文字描述来表达出来，一系列super形象的塑造也可以理解为他在向世人表达自己对生活的信心与愿望。
John Updike写的A&P有什么寓意
但没有确实相当必要的土方工作霍桑，谁在阴影住“ ，其中实际和虚可能会遇到， ”指定的时候，他称赞安东尼·特罗洛普的小说为“真实的，因为如果一些巨头已经挖出一个作家巨大的肿块冲出地球，并把它放在一个玻璃盒子。
A&P by John Updike 和The Furnished Room by O.Henry的中文翻译。
最好是中英文对照版的。
A&P In walks three girls in nothing but bathing suits.I'm in the third check-out slot ,with my back to the door,so I don't see them until they're over by the bread.The one that caubght my eye first was the one in the plaid green two-piece. She was a chunky kid,with a good tan and a sweet broad soft-looking can with those two crescents of withe just under it,where the sun never seems to hit ,at the top of the backs of her legs.I stood there with my hand on a box of HiHo crackers trying to remember if I rang it up or not.I ring it up again and customer strarts giving me hell.She's one of these cash-register-watchers, a witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows, and I know it made her day to trip me up.She'd been watching cash registers for fifty years and probably never seen a mistake before. 在大街上，我看到三个只穿游泳衣（bathing suits）的姑娘。
我站在第三个收银台（check-out slot）,背对着门，所以直到她们拿着面包回头时我才看见她们。
其中一个穿着一件绿色花格子的女孩立刻吸引住了我。
她是一个矮矮胖胖的小孩，拿着一个看上去松软好吃的带有白色半月牙形状的罐头站在一个太阳光只能找到她腿的地方。
我站在那里，手上拿着一包HiHo的薄脆饼干，正在犹豫是否应该在摁下铃.最终我按下了铃顾客们对我投来了厌恶的目光。
这时，现金登记看守人的其中一个50多岁的寡妇看过来，高高的颧骨没有眉毛，我知道总有一天她是不会叫我好好过的，给我难堪。
她做现金登记看守人有50年了，几乎没有犯过错。
翻译几句简单名言
约翰・厄普代克《A&P》,你具体应该是问约翰・厄普代克短篇小说《A&P》的中文版吧
在新版《小说鉴赏》， 世界图书出版公司出版的。
