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Selected poems:亞當‧札加耶夫斯基的《無形之手》
2021/10/08 05:05:10瀏覽339|回應0|推薦7
Selected poems:亞當‧札加耶夫斯基的《無形之手》

https://www.sanmin.com.tw/Product/index/007725906
書名:無形之手
作者:亞當‧札加耶夫斯基
譯者:李以亮
出版社:北京聯合出版公司
出版日期:2020/07/01

保衛詩歌,並試著讚美這遭損毀的世界

《無形之手》是札加耶夫斯基出版於2011年的詩集。全書分三個部分,根據所涉主題精心安排。跟以前的作品集相比,本部詩集中明顯多了一些回憶與往事的成分,因而更顯個人化,更顯深度。在這本集子裡,札加耶夫斯基的聲音仍然是那麼平靜、溫和,卻多了一些傷感、疲倦的基調,特別是他多次寫到了死亡,詩篇的終結處,常常呈現出一種巨大的沉默。特別是有幾首詩,是詩人對他的童年、家庭、早年生活的回憶,樸素的文字裡飽含了深情與敬意,令人動容。

作者簡介
亞當‧札加耶夫斯基(Adam Zagajewski1945—

波蘭著名詩人、散文家,波蘭新浪潮詩歌的代表詩人和主要理論闡述者。主要著作有詩集《無止境》、隨筆集《另一種美》《捍衛熱情》等。曾獲特朗斯特羅姆獎、紐斯塔特國際文學獎、格裏芬詩歌獎終身成就獎、阿斯圖裏亞斯公主文學獎等多項權威大獎。


〈咖啡館〉

在一個陌生的城市這家咖啡館有著一個法國作家的
名字。我坐下閱讀《在火山下》
熱情已不似當初。有待治癒的時間,
我想。或許我只是一個庸人。
墨西哥是遙遠的,它的星辰
並不為我照耀。逝者的白日緩緩而進。
充滿隱喻和光的假日。死亡扮演了主角。
鄰桌的幾個人,各自不同的命運。
謹慎,悲傷,常識。領事,伊馮娜。
天在下雨。我感到一絲快樂。有人進來,
有人離去,有人終於發現了永動機。
我是在一個自由的國家。一個孤獨的國家。
沒有什麼發生,大炮在睡覺。
音樂不偏向任何人,揚聲器舒緩
播放流行曲,慵懶地重複著:許多大事將要來臨。
無人知道該做什麼,去哪裡,為什麼。
我想著你,我們的親密,秋天
來臨時你頭髮的香味。
一架飛機從機場起飛
彷彿熱情的小學生聽到了
老校長的吩咐。
蘇聯宇航員宣稱他們沒有發現
外太空的神,但他們真的尋找過嗎?

CAFÉ

In that café in a foreign town bearing a French writer’s
name I read Under the Volcano
but with diminishing interest.
You should heal yourself,
I thought. I’d become a philistine.
Mexico was distant, and its vast stars
no longer shone for me. The day of the dead continued.
A feast of metaphors and light. Death played the lead.
Alongside a few patrons at the tables, assorted fates:
Prudence, Sorrow, Common Sense. The Consul, Yvonne.
Rain fell. I felt a little happiness. Someone entered,
someone left, someone finally discovered the perpetuum mobile.
I was in a free country. A lonely country.
Nothing happened, the heavy artillery lay still.
The music was indiscriminate: pop seeped
from the speakers, lazily repeating: many things will happen.
No one knew what to do, where to go, why.
I thought of you, our closeness, the scent
of your hair in early autumn.
A plane ascended from the runway
like an earnest student who believes
the ancient masters’ sayings.
Soviet cosmonauts insisted that they didn’t find
God in space, but did they look?

© Translation: 2008, Clare Cavanagh
https://www.poetryinternational.org/pi/poem/11974/auto/0/0/Adam-Zagajewski/Cafe/en/tile


〈因你已失去記憶〉
——給我的父親

因你已失去記憶
只會無戒備地微笑,
我想幫你——畢竟,
是你,如造物主,打開了我的想像。
記得我們有過一次次短途旅行,
絮狀雲漫遊在潮濕的山區樹林上
(
你熟悉這林子的每一條小路)
在夏天,我們估摸過
波羅的海上的燈塔的高度,
我們望著大海無邊的波浪,
白浪重疊,像縫合的粗線,
我不會忘記那一刻,我想
你也被打動了——彷彿看到了整個世界,
無邊無際,平靜地呼吸,蔚藍而完美,
在那一瞬間,清晰又朦朧,接近又遙遠;
我們感到了大地的渾圓,聽著海鷗
漫無目的地嬉戲
穿過溫暖與寒冷的氣流。
我幫不了你,我只有這記憶。

NOW THAT YOU’VE LOST YOUR MEMORY

Now that you’ve lost your memory
and can only smile, defenseless,
I want to help—it was you,
after all, who opened my imagination like a demiurge.
I remember our excursions, woolly clouds
swimming low over a damp mountain forest
(you knew every path in those woods), and
the summer day when we scaled the heights
of a lighthouse above the Baltic
and we watched the endless rippling of the sea,
its white stitches frayed like basted seams.
I won’t forget that moment, I think you were
moved too—we seemed to see the whole world,
boundless, calmly breathing, blue and perfect,
at once distinct and hazy, near and distant;
we felt the planet’s roundness, we heard the gulls,
who played at aimless gliding
through warm and chilly currents of the air.
I can’t help you, I have only one memory.

Translated by Clare Cavanagh
https://1.svp.org.mk/poems/sega-koga-go-izgubi-pomnenjeto/?lang=en


〈即興〉

起初你獨自承擔世界全部的重量
並使之變輕,能夠忍受。
將它放到肩上
彷彿一隻背包,上路。
最好是傍晚,在春天,當
樹木平靜地呼吸,夜晚預示著
更好的未來,在花園裡榆樹枝劈啪作響。
全部重量?血和醜陋的一切?不可能。
一絲苦澀一直留在嘴裡,
還有昨天你在電車裡
看見的那個老婦人
傳染性的絕望。
為何說謊?畢竟,狂喜
只存在於想像並迅速消失。
即興——總不過是即興,
我們不知道別的,無論大小——
在音樂裡,當爵士樂手的小號華麗地哭泣,
當你面對一張白紙
或當你獨自逃離
悲傷並打開一冊喜愛的詩集,
電話總在那時響起,
有人在問,先生或太太,您願不願
看看我們的最新產品?不,謝謝。
灰暗和乏味的感覺留下來;最好的
哀歌也不能緩解。
也許,在我們面前有些隱藏的事物,
其中,悲傷總是與熱情
混合,彷彿海岸上
黎明的誕生,不,讓我再想想,
就像身穿白色法衣,站在角落的
兩個祭台侍者,揚和馬克,快樂的笑聲,
還記得嗎?

IMPROVISATION

You must take up the world’s whole weight
and make it easier to bear.
Toss it like a knapsack
on your shoulders and set out.
The best time is evening, in spring, when
trees breathe calmly and the night promises
to be fine, elm twigs crackle in the garden.
The whole weight? Blood and ugliness? Can’t be done.
A trace of bitterness will linger on your lips,
and the contagious despair of the old woman
you spotted in the tram.
Why lie? After all rapture
exists only in imagination and leaves quickly.
Improvisation – always just improvisation,
great or small, that’s all we know,
in music, as a jazz trumpet weeps happily
or when you stare at the blank page
or try to outwit
sorrow by opening a favorite book of poems;
just then the phone usually rings,
someone asking, would you like to try
the latest model? No thank you.
I prefer the proven brands.
Grayness and monotony remain; grief
the finest elegy can’t heal.
But perhaps there are things hidden from us,
in which sorrow and enthusiasm mix
non-stop, on a daily basis, like the dawn’s birth
above the seashore, no, wait,
like the laughter of those little altar boys
in white vestments, on the corner of St. John and Mark,
remember?

© Translation: 2008, Clare Cavanagh
https://www.poetryinternational.org/pi/poem/19216/auto/0/0/Adam-Zagajewski/IMPROVISATION/en/tile


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