书名：Just Kids 只是孩子
作者：Patti Smith帕蒂·史密斯
出版社名称：Bloomsbury Publishing PLC
出版时间：2011
语种：英文 
ISBN：9780747568766
商品尺寸：12.9 x 2 x 19.8 cm
包装：平装
页数：320

帕蒂·史密斯是美国传奇艺术家，摇滚桂冠诗人，有“朋克教母”之称。作为鲍勃·迪伦的挚友，她出席2016年诺贝尔文学奖颁奖典礼，并献唱迪伦名曲《暴雨将至》，被媒体誉为“一位摇滚传奇向另一位传奇的致敬。”正如鲍勃·迪伦以摇滚歌手的身份获得诺贝尔文学奖，帕蒂·史密斯凭借历经二十年精心写作的Just Kids《只是孩子》，斩获了当年美国书业奖项——国家图书奖。她游走于文学、诗歌、音乐、摄影、绘画等多种艺术形式之间，是当代美国艺术家中独特与非凡的一位。

推荐理由：
1.传奇艺术家帕蒂·史密斯回忆录代表作;
2.美国国家图书奖获奖作品;
3.《人物》杂志、《纽约时报》、《出版人周报》、《村声》杂志年度好书。

媒体评论：
“在首部随笔著作《只是孩子》中，帕蒂·史密斯这位传奇性的美国艺术家吐露她与摄影师罗伯特•梅普尔索普那前所未有的关系，以及六十年代末至七十年代时的纽约城和切尔西旅馆，那无与伦比的时代。一个关于友谊和青春的诚实而感人的故事，就像帕蒂·史密斯其他令人惊叹的作品一样——从她1975年影响力巨大的专辑《马群》到她的视觉艺术和诗歌，她将同样的独特、奔放的品质带入了《只是孩子》。——2011年美国国家图书奖颁奖词

“六十四岁的帕蒂·史密斯以《只是孩子》一书提醒我们，纯真、乌托邦理想、美和反叛才是指引人类旅程的启明星。她的书毫无躲闪与犹豫，召回一种集体记忆——这种记忆引领着我们从现在到未来。——迈克尔·斯蒂佩（Michael Stipe，REM主唱）,《时代》周刊2011封面人物致辞

“一本关于成为一名艺术家的很好的书。耶稣或许是为一些人的罪而死的，但帕蒂·史密斯是为我们所有人生活、写作和歌唱的。”——《华盛顿邮报》

“经历过60年代末到70年代初时髦而别致的纽约的人所写出的，令人着迷的回忆录。它提示我们，年轻时的自负有时正是对于日后辉煌的准备。”——《纽约时报》年度十大图书

“帕蒂·史密斯的书中闪耀着光芒四射的句子，比她的诗作和歌曲更具启示性，这本浪漫主义的回忆录令人发现，之前那些关于她和摄影师罗伯特·梅普尔索普的传记是用多么生硬的叙事手法写就的。”——《村声》杂志，年度之书

“读过摇滚歌手帕蒂·史密斯讲述的她和摄影师罗伯特的故事之后，很难不去相信命运。除此之外还怎样解释这个将他们撞到一起、让两人共同变得灿烂的偶然际遇呢？离奇而又迷人。”——《人物》，年度十大图书

“一本经历过1960年代末到1970年代初的纽约那段时髦而别致的日子的人，所能写出的迷人的回忆录。”——詹尼特·马斯林（Janet Maslin），《纽约时报》年度十大图书

“帕蒂·史密斯为朋友罗伯特·梅普尔索普精心写作的一封情书，这是他们为艺术而燃烧的情谊的死后纪念。她优雅的挽歌揭示了那深植于早年时光以及梅尔索普的生活与工作中的混乱与创造性。”——《出版社人周刊》，年度十大图书

“一幅1960年代末和1970年代的波西米亚纽约的迷人的肖像。”——《纽约时报书评》

Winner of the 2010 Non-Fiction National Book Award Patti Smith’s evocative, honest and moving coming-of-age story of her extraordinary relationship with the artist Robert Mapplethorpe
A prelude to fame,Just Kids recounts the friendship of two young artists—Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe—whose passion fueled their lifelong pursuit of art.
In 1967, a chance meeting between two young people led to a romance and a lifelong friendship that would carry each to international success never dreamed of. The backdrop is Brooklyn, Chelsea Hotel, Max’s Kansas City, Scribner’s Bookstore, Coney Island, Warhol’s Factory and the whole city resplendent. Among their friends, literary lights, musicians and artists such as Harry Smith, Bobby Neuwirth, Allen Ginsberg, Sandy Daley, Sam Shepherd, William Burroughs, etc. It was a heightened time politically and culturally; the art and music worlds exploding and colliding. In the midst of all this two kids made a pact to always care for one another. Scrappy, romantic, committed to making art, they prodded and provided each other with faith and confidence during the hungry years—the days of cous-cous and lettuce soup.
Just Kids begins as a love story and ends as an elegy. Beautifully written, this is a profound portrait of two young artists, often hungry, sated only by art and experience. And an unforgettable portrait of New York, her rich and poor, hustlers and hellions, those who made it and those whose memory lingers near.

这是爱的夏天，也是躁动的夏天，一次在布鲁克林的偶遇，将两个年轻人引向了艺术、奉献和启蒙的道路。
日后，帕蒂·史密斯会成为一名诗人和表演者，罗伯特·梅普尔索普则将自己极具挑衅的风格对准摄影。而此时，他们只是两个饥肠辘辘的年轻人，在城市中穿行，被纯真和热情所裹挟。从科尼岛到第四十二街，他们感受着城市的脉搏，并来到“马克斯的堪萨斯城”。——在那著名的圆桌旁，“波普教皇”安迪·沃霍尔已身影不再，但他的王室成员们仍在此接受朝拜。
1969年，人类登月之年，他们驻扎进了切尔西旅馆，并很快融入这个由声名狼藉者和名声显赫者所组成的社群，结识了当时很富影响力的艺术家和各式各样的边缘异客。
这是一个各种意识都分外高涨的时代，诗歌、摇滚、艺术和性别政治的不同世界，在彼此碰撞、炸裂。在这样的氛围之下，两个孩子约定，要看顾彼此。他们是斗志昂扬的浪漫主义者，将自己完全献身于创作，并被对方的梦想和渴望所点燃。在饥饿的年月里，他们轮流为对方提供着激励和养料。
《只是孩子》以爱情故事开始，以挽歌结尾。它是对于上世纪六七十年代的纽约的一次礼赞，那时，这座城市正在逐渐发展为西方世界的文化之都。这本书记述了它的富庶和贫穷，也描摹了它的混混和恶棍。它讲述了一个真实的神话，勾勒出一幅正在向上攀登的年轻艺术家的画像，而预示着名望降临的序曲也随之奏响。
It was the summer Coltrane died, the summer of love and riots, and the summer when a chance encounter in Brooklyn led two young people on a path of art, devotion, and initiation.
Patti Smith would evolve as a poet and performer, and Robert Mapplethorpe would direct his highly provocative style toward photography. Bound in innocence and enthusiasm, they traversed the city from Coney Island to Forty-second Street, and eventually to the celebrated round table of Max’s Kansas City, where the Andy Warhol contingent held court. In 1969, the pair set up camp at the Hotel Chelsea and soon entered a community of the famous and infamous—the influential artists of the day and the colorful fringe. It was a time of heightened awareness, when the worlds of poetry, rock and roll, art, and sexual politics were colliding and exploding. In this milieu, two kids made a pact to take care of each other. Scrappy, romantic, committed to create, and fueled by their mutual dreams and drives, they would prod and provide for one another during the hungry years.

帕蒂•史密斯（Patti Smith），美国作家、表演家、视觉艺术家。她的创作天分首次展露于1970年代时，将诗作与摇滚乐所做的革命性结合。她录制了十二张专辑，其中《马群》被《滚石》杂志尊为伟大的百张专辑之一。
史密斯1973年在纽约高谭书店举办了自己的第1个画展。她的著作包括，获得了2010年美国国家图书奖的《只是孩子》，以及《维特》（Witt）、《空想》（Babel）、《白日梦》（Woolgathering）、《珊瑚海》（The Coral Sea）、《纯真预言》（Auguries of Innocence）和《时光列车》（MTrain）。
2005年，法国文化部颁发给史密斯艺术与文学司令勋位（Commandeur des Arts et des Lettres），这是法国政府颁发给艺术家的高荣誉。2007年，她被列入摇滚名人堂。
史密斯与弗雷德•索尼克•史密斯于1980年在底特律结婚。育有一子杰克逊，一女杰西。史密斯目前生活在纽约市。
Patti Smithis a writer, artist and performer. She has recorded ten albums and written five books, and her artwork has been exhibited worldwide. In 2005 she received the Commandeur de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, the highest grade awarded by the French Republic to eminent artists and writers who have contributed significantly to furthering the arts throughout the world. She lives in New York City.

Foreword前言
Monday’s Children星期一的孩子
Just Kids只是孩子
Hotel Chelsea切尔西酒店
Separate Ways Together神合形离
Holding Hands with God牵着上帝的手
A Note to the Reader致读者

Monday’s Children
WHEN I WAS VERY YOUNG, MY MOTHER TOOK ME FOR walks in Humboldt Park, along the edge of the Prairie River. I have vague memories, like impressions on glass plates, of an old boathouse, a circular band shell, an arched stone bridge. The narrows of the river emptied into a wide lagoon and I saw upon its surface a singular miracle. A long curving neck rose from a
dress of white plumage.
Swan, my mother said, sensing my excitement. It pattered the bright water, flapping its great wings, and lifted into the sky.
The word alone hardly attested to its magnificence nor conveyed the emotion it produced. The sight of it generated an urge I had no words for, a desire to speak of the swan, to say something of its whiteness, the explosive nature of its movement, and the slow beating of its wings.
The swan became one with the sky. I struggled to find words to describe my own sense of it. Swan, I repeated, not entirely satisfied, and I felt a twinge, a curious yearning, imperceptible to passersby, my mother, the trees, or the clouds.
I was born on a Monday, in the North Side of Chicago during the Great Blizzard of 1946. I came along a day too soon, as babies born on New Year’s Eve left the hospital with a new refrigerator. Despite my mother’s effort to hold me in, she went into heavy labor as the taxi crawled along Lake Michigan through a vortex of snow and wind. By my father’s account, I arrived a long
skinny thing with bronchial pneumonia, and he kept me alive by holding me over a steaming washtub.
My sister Linda followed during yet another blizzard in 1948. By necessity I was obliged to measure up quickly. My mother took in ironing as I sat on thestoop of our rooming house waiting for the iceman and the last of the horsedrawn wagons. He gave me slivers of ice wrapped in brown paper. I would slip one in my pocket for my baby sister, but when I later reached for it, I
discovered it was gone.
When my mother became pregnant with my brother, Todd, we left our cramped quarters in Logan Square and migrated to Germantown, Pennsylvania. For the next few years we lived in temporary housing set up for servicemen and their children—whitewashed barracks overlooking an abandoned field alive with wildflowers. We called the field The Patch, and in summertime the grown-ups would sit and talk, smoke cigarettes, and pass around jars of dandelion wine while we children played. My mother taught us the games of her childhood: Statues, Red Rover, and Simon Says. We made daisy chains to adorn our necks and crown our heads. In the evenings we collected fireflies in mason jars, extracting their lights and making rings for our fingers.