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Selected poems:Collected Later Poems of Alvaro De Campos
2021/10/06 05:24:31瀏覽267|回應0|推薦3
Selected poemsCollected Later Poems of Alvaro De Campos

https://www.bookdepository.com/Collected-Later-Poems-Alvaro-De-Campos-Fernando-Pessoa/9781905700257
Collected Later Poems of Alvaro De Campos : 1928-1935
By (author)  Fernando Pessoa , Translated by  Chris Daniels

Alvaro de Campos, along with Ricardo Reis and Alberto Caeiro is one of Pessoas most important poetic heteronyms and, like these fellow fictitious poets, made his first appearance in 1914. He was also something of a public figure, his essays and reviews frequently appearing in Portuguese periodicals. According to Pessoa, Campos was born in the Algarve in 1890, studied naval engineering in Glasgow, was widely travelled, and lived for a number of years in England, working as an engineer. In later life he returned to live in Lisbon. His poetry, especially the earlier work, celebrates the modern world and the machine age, and marks the eruption of futurism into Portuguese poetry. This volume offers the latter part of Campos output. A volume of Campos earlier work will appear in due course.


https://www.books.com.tw/products/CN11013755
我的心略大於整個宇宙
作者:佩索阿
出版社:上海人民出版社
出版日期:2013/06/01
語言:簡體中文


I wake up at night, very much at night, in all silence.
The day—visible tick-tock—four hours late.
I open the window directly, in insomnia’s despair.
And, suddenly, human,
The crossed square of a lit window!
Brotherhood by night!

Involuntary incognito brotherhood by night!
We’re both awake and humanity is another.
It sleeps. We have light.

Who can you be? Are you sick, a counterfeiter, simply unsleeping, like me?
It doesn’t matter. Eternal, unformed, infinite night
Only has, in this place, the humanity of our two windows,
The latent heart of our two lights,
In this moment and place, not knowing one another, we’re all of life.
Over the windowsill on the back of the house,
Feeling the night-wet wood I clutch,
I lean out to the infinite and, a little, to me.

Not even roosters crowing yet in the definitive silence!
What are you doing, comrade of the lit window?
Dream, lack of sleep, life?
Full yellow tone of your unknown window…
It’s funny: you don’t have electric light.
Oh oil lamps of my lost childhood!

(25/xi/1931, a.m.)

〈我在夜晚和寂靜的中間醒來〉

我在夜晚和寂靜的中間醒來。
我看見——滴答——時間是凌晨四點。
在我失眠的絕望中,我推開窗子。
街對面,我看見了人,
另一個交叉的長方形點亮了窗子!
夜晚兄弟般的情誼啊!

夜晚不知不覺的、隱秘的情誼!
我們兩個醒來,而人類不知道。
它在睡覺。我們有光。

你是誰?一個病人,一個偽造者,或者僅僅是
一個像我一樣失眠的人?
沒關係。那永遠的、無形的、無窮的夜晚

在此地,只有我們兩扇窗子的人類,
只有我們兩盞燈光的安靜的心。
在此時此地,我們彼此陌生,我們是生活的全部。
在我寓所裡屋的窗口上,
感覺到夜晚的濕氣縈繞在木頭門檻上,
我向無窮探出身子,並向我自己探出一點點。

甚至沒有一隻公雞來打擾這靜謐的最後的寂靜!
你正在做什麼,那點亮窗子的朋友?
在我的失眠裡,我正在夢見生活嗎?
環繞著你隱秘窗子的黃色的光亮……
真有趣:你沒有電燈。
哦我流逝的童年的煤油燈!


No, it’s not weariness…
It’s a mass of disillusion
Stabbing me in some kind of thinking,
An inside-out Sunday
Of sentiment,
A weekend in the abyss...

No, it’s not weariness…
It’s me being existing,
And the world, too,
With everything both contain,
Everything folded up in there,
And, finally, it’s the same variegated thing in duplicate.

No: weariness for what?
It’s an abstract sensation
Of concrete life—
something like a cry
For crying,
Something like an anguish
For anguishing,
Or for total suffering,
Or for suffering like…
Yes, for suffering like…
That’s it, like...

Like what?
If I knew there wouldn’t be this fake weariness in me.

(Ah, blind street-singers,
What a formidable hurdy-gurdy!
A man’s gitarra, another’s guitar, a woman’s voice!)

Because I hear, I see.
I confess: it’s weariness!...

〈不,它不是厭煩〉

不,它不是厭煩……
它是許多的
污染我思考的幻滅,
它是情感的、亂七八糟的
星期天,
一個假日在深淵中度過……

不,它不是厭煩……
它是我存在的事實,
而世界也存在,
一切的事物都在它的裡面,
一切的事物都在它的裡面不停地伸展,
並且僅僅是同樣的事物各式各樣的相同的拷貝。

不,為什麼稱它為厭煩呢?
它是具體生活的
抽象的感覺——
有幾分像一聲沒有脫口的
喊叫,
有幾分像一種沒有遭受的
焦慮,
或者沒有完全遭受的,
或者沒有遭受像……
是的,或者沒有遭受像……
就這些吧:像……

像什麼?
如果我知道,我就不會有這種虛假的厭煩。
(
哎,盲人在街頭歌唱……
一個男人彈著吉他,另一個拉著小提琴,女人的聲音
合成滿滿的一把手風琴!)

因為我聽見,我看見,
好吧,我承認:它是厭煩!

I got off the train,
Said goodbye to my traveling companion,
We’d been together for eighteen hours.
The agreeable conversation,
The brotherhood of travel,
I felt sorry to get off the train, to leave him.
Casual friend whose name I never knew.
My eyes, I felt them billow a tide of tears…
Every leave-taking is a death…
Yes, every leave-taking is a death.
When we’re on the train called life,
Were all casual with one another,
And we all feel sorry when we finally get off.

Everything human moves me, because I’m human.
Everything moves me because I have
Not some semblance of ideas or doctrines,
But vast brotherhood with true humanity.

The maid who left feeling sorry,
Crying because she misses
The house where they didn’t treat her so well…

In my heart, it’s all death and the sadness of the world.
All of it lives—because it dies—in my heart.

My heart’s a little bigger than the whole universe.

(4/vii/1934)

〈我從火車上下來〉

我從火車上下來
對那個遇到的男人說再見。
我們在一起度過了十八個小時
並有過一次愉快的交談,
旅途上的交情,
而我抱歉地下了車,抱歉地離開
這偶然的、我永遠也不會知曉其姓名的朋友。
我感到我眼裡盈滿了淚水……
每一次的告別是一次死亡。
是的,每一次的告別是一次死亡。
在我們稱之為生活的火車上
我們全都是別人生活裡的偶然事件,
當離別的時候到來時我們全都感到抱歉。

人類的一切都令我感動,因為我是一個男人。
人類的一切都令我感動,不是因為我對人類的思想
或人類的學說有一種親和力
而是因為我對人類本身有著無限的親情。

那個恨恨地離去的少女,
對著那所
她一直被虐待的房子,滿含鄉愁地痛哭……

這一切,在我心裡,是死亡和這世界的悲哀。
這一切活著,因為它死了,在我心裡。

而我的心,略微大於整個宇宙。


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