书名：The Dharma Bums 达摩流浪者
作者：Jack Kerouac
出版社名称：Penguin Classics
出版时间：2000
语种：英文 
ISBN：9780141184883
商品尺寸：12.9 x 1.3 x 19.8 cm
包装：平装
页数：224 （以实物为准）

The Dharma Bums《达摩流浪者》是一本关于背包革命、自然精神、生命思索以及禅之道的小说，讲述的是1955年两个热情洋溢的青年贾菲与雷蒙追求真理以及禅理的故事。他们以其特殊的世界观追寻着生命的直觉、纯净与唯美，马拉松式的狂欢与旧金山的纵情“雅雍”无疑是自由的注解，而诗人的情怀与托钵僧的苦旅，历经马特峰与孤凉峰的超拔洗涤，让尘世显得如此澄透。

《在路上》出版之后的一年，凯鲁亚克将《达摩流浪者》献给了寒山子，并于美国西海岸勾勒出禅疯子与登山背包行者的朝圣路线，也为“垮掉的一代”确立了的文学版图，平添些许东方色彩。

《达摩流浪者》是凯鲁亚克精彩的自传体小说。书中宣扬的自由上路、追求理想与爱的理念影响了六十年代整整一代的西方青年，并为六十年代追求独立、反叛和自由的思想打下了深厚的基础。

A witty, moving philosophical novel, Jack Kerouac's The Dharma Bums is a journey of self-discovery through the lens of Zen Buddhist thought. This Penguin Modern Classics edition includes an introduction by Ann Douglas.
Following the explosive energy of On the Road, the book that put the Beat Genration on the literary map - and Jack Kerouac on the bestseller list - comes The Dharma Bums, in which Kerouac charts the spiritual quest of a group of friends in search of Dharma, or Truth. Ray Smith and his friend Japhy, along with Morley the yodeller, head off into the high Sierras to seek the lesson of solitude and experience the Zen way of life. But in wildly Bohemian San Francisco, with its poetry jam sessions, marathon drinking bouts and experiments in 'yabyum', they find the ascetic route distinctly hard to follow.

Review
'A vivid evocation of part of our time'--New York Post

'A descriptive excitement unmatched since the days of Thomas Wolfe'
--The New York Times Book Review

The Dharma Bums《达摩流浪者》系美国二十世纪知名作家杰克·凯鲁亚克于1958年创作出版的一部重要作品。小说描写一个没有“悟性”的佛教追随者、主人公雷蒙进行着近乎禅僧修业式的全国各地漫游，途中他遇到先行者贾菲，便跟随他漫游险峻的山川。在此过程中他逐渐认识自我和世界，回到家乡后他自愿担当一名孤独的夏季火山观望员。小说着力突出如何把理想主义的“空”落实到真正需要承担的当下生活中来这一主题。

杰克·凯鲁亚克（Jack Kerouac，1922-1969），1922年3月12日，凯鲁亚克出生于马萨诸塞州洛厄尔，父母为法裔美国人，他是家中幼子。他曾在当地天主教和公立学校就读，以橄榄球奖学金入纽约哥伦比亚大学，结识爱伦·金斯堡、威廉·巴勒斯和尼尔·卡萨迪等“垮掉的一代”。凯鲁亚克在大学二年级退学从事文学创作，并辗转于美国海军和商用航运公司等处。1950年，第1部小说《乡镇和城市》出版。《在路上》问世后，他成为“垮掉的一代”的代言人，跻身二十世纪有争议的著名作家行列。他著有《达摩流浪者》、《地下人》、《孤独的旅人》和《孤独天使》等作品。1969年10月21日，凯鲁亚克在佛罗里达圣彼得堡去世，享年四十七岁。

Jack Kerouac (1922-1969), the central figure of the Beat Generation, was born in Lowell, Massachusetts, in 1922 and died in St. Petersburg, Florida, in 1969. Among his many novels are On the Road, The Dharma Bums, Big Sur, and Visions of Cody.

Hopping a freight out of Los Angeles at high noon one day in late September 1955 I got on a gondola and lay down with my duffel bag under my head and my knees crossed and contemplated theclouds as we rolled north to Santa Barbara. It was a local and I intended to sleep on the beach at Santa Barbara that night and catch either another local to San Luis Obispo the next morning or the firstclass freight all the way to San Francisco at seven p.m. Somewhere near Camarillo where Charlie Parker’d been mad and relaxed back to normal health, a thin old little bum climbed into my gondola as we headed into a siding to give a train right of way and looked surprised to see me there. He established himself at the other end of the gondola and lay down, facing me, with his head on his own miserably small pack and said nothing. By and by they blew the highball whistle after the eastbound freight had smashed through on the main line and we pulled out as the air got colder and fog began to blow from the sea over the warm valleys of the coan. Both the little bum and I, after unsuccessful attempts to huddle on the cold steel in wrap-arounds, got up and paced back and forth and jumped and flapped arms at each our end of the gon. Pretty soon we headed into another siding at a small railroad town and I figured I needed a poor-boy of Tokay wine to complete the cold dusk run to Santa Barbara. ‘Will you watch my pack while I run over and get a bottle of wine?’
‘Sure thing.’
I jumped over the side and ran across Highway 101 to the store, and bought, besides wine, a little bread and candy. I ran back to my freight train which had anotherfifteen minutes to wait in the now warm sunny scene. But it was late afternoon and bound to get cold soon. The little bum was sitting cross-legged at his end before a pitiful repast of one can of sardines. I took pity on him and went over and said, ‘How about a little wine to warm you up? Maybe you’d like some bread and cheese with yoursardines.’
‘Sure thing.’ He spoke from far away inside a little meek voice-box afraid or unwilling to assert himself.