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| 2019/11/07 05:42:56瀏覽439｜回應0｜推薦13 | |
| Selected poems：The Book of Things https://www.amazon.com/Book-Things-Lannan-Translations-Selection/dp/1934414417 The Book of Things (Lannan Translations Selection Series) Paperback – October 19, 2010 by Ales Steger (Author), Brian Henry (Translator) Winner of The 2011 Best Translated Book of the Year Award Winner of The 2011 Award for Best Literary Translation into English from the AATSEL From his first book of poems, Chessboards of Hours (1995), Aleš Šteger has been one of Slovenias most promising poets. The philosophical and lyrical sophistication of his poems, along with his work as a leading book editor and festival organizer, quickly spread Štegers reputation beyond the borders of Slovenia. The Book of Things is Štegers most widely praised book of poetry and his first American collection. The book consists of fifty poems that look at "things" (i.e. aspirin, chair, cork) which are transformed by Štegers unique poetic alchemy. Translator Brian Henry is a distinguished poet, translator, editor, and critic. 〈螞蟻〉 它頑強地緊貼物體不放。 物體不斷緩慢變位，它隨它們一起移動， 像無形在有形的世界穿行。 一枚葉片上的茸毛。麥粒上的甲蟲肢體。蹤跡留下的蹤跡。 就這樣浮現，你稱為家的所在。 隧洞的安全和不堪忍受的巨大之間的邊界。 它從遠處返回，通常沿同一條路線。 它不攜帶任何訊息。沒有預言。 一個不斷變得複雜的從句結尾的句號。 它之所是，並沒有名字。 當它消失進它的迷宮，只剩餘希望， 希望至少會有幾個名字，稱呼它所不是。 ANT It clings to objects tenaciously. They shift about slowly, it moves with them, Like the invisible moving through the visible world. Hair for a blade. A beetles body for wheat grain. Trace for trace So it rises, what you call home. The border between the safety of tunnels and the unbearable expanse. It returns from far away, always by the same way. And it brings no messages. And no prophecies. A period at the end of an increasingly intricate clause. And there arent names for what it is. When it disappears into its maze, only hope remains That at least there are names for what it isn’t. 〈回形針〉 你放下手中的紙覺得困惑。 你這時才注意到一枚回形針鐵銹色的壓痕。 一條向內的道路盤旋著的路牌。 如同一根看不見的線她將世界的殘屑聚攏。 她溫暖過你，用她卷裹自己的方式。像一個胎兒。 像一隻蝸牛。像集體墓穴裡的一具軀體。 她的本意不是要為這世界增添或從中取走什麼。 不是個創造者，這小小的回形針。她只是接觸發生的一個理由。 有人取走她。誰，為什麼——你不知道。 也不知有多少張紙片丟失了。 用一根手指重溫那個印痕你繼續開始閱讀。 在你打開一個空間中的一個空間中的空間之前。 這首詩沒有完結。 PAPER CLIP You put down the paper confused. You only now notice the rusty imprint of a paper clip. A spiral sign for the way inward. She held together scraps of the world like an invisible thread. She warmed you, so enveloped in herself Like a fetus. Like a snail. Like a body in a mass grave. Her intention is not to add or take away from the world. Not a creator, the little paper clip. She only causes contact. Someone removed her. Who, why—you dont know. Nor how many sheets were lost. With a finger you go over the trace and start to read again. Before you opens a space within a space within a space. This poem has no end. |
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| ( 知識學習｜隨堂筆記 ) |
