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| Selected poems：《扎嘎耶夫斯基詩選》 書名：扎嘎耶夫斯基詩選 Wiersze wybrane 作者：亞當．扎嘎耶夫斯基 原文作者：Adam Zagajewski 譯者：烏蘭 出版社：傾向出版社 出版日期：2023/02/17 內容簡介 本詩選譯自Ａ５出版社出版的《扎嘎耶夫斯基詩選》（Adam Zagajewski Wiersze wybrane，詩歌圖書館第67卷，2010）。該詩選由波蘭詩人、翻譯家雷沙德．克雷尼茨基（Ryszard Krynicki）編輯，收入扎嘎耶夫斯基從《公報》（Komunikat, 1972）到《無形之手》（Niewidzialna ręka, 2009）共十一部詩選內的近二百首詩，創作時間橫跨三十七年；之後，扎嘎耶夫斯基又增入〈關於我的母親〉、〈漢奈斯表哥〉和〈1995年夏天〉三首新作；最後，又收入扎嘎耶夫斯基過世前住院時寫下的二首詩作〈詩人晚會〉和〈四分之三〉，均由波蘭文學翻譯家烏蘭翻譯。 作者簡介 亞當．扎嘎耶夫斯基（Adam Zagajewski, 1945－2021） 極具國際影響力的波蘭詩人，也是散文家、小說家和翻譯家。作品已被翻譯成英、法、德、俄等多種文字出版，生前獲多項國際文學獎，譯屢獲諾貝爾文學獎提名。 〈另一種美〉 只有另一種美能撫慰 另一種樂曲以及他人的詩 只有在另一種美才能獲得解脫， 儘管孤獨能領略鴉片的 美味，但另一種與地理無關 如果你在清晨前去探看，那時 夢已洗淨他們的額頭。 為此我思索甚久，該用 哪一個詞，是他還是你。然而 在他人的詩裡，那冷酷的話語 背叛了你同時又忠誠地等待著你 https://masterbias.wordpress.com/2010/10/07/in-the-beauty-created-by-others-by-adam-zagajewski/ “In The Beauty Created By Others” by Adam Zagajewski OCTOBER 7, 2010 / CLIFF Only in the beauty created by others is there consolation, in the music of others and in others’ poems. Only others save us, even though solitude tastes like opium. The others are not hell, if you see them early, with their foreheads pure, cleansed by dreams. That is why I wonder what word should be used, “he” or “you.” Every “he” is a betrayal of a certain “you” but in return someone else’s poem offers the fidelity of a sober dialogue. (by Adam Zagajewski) (Translated) From “Without End” (New and Selected Poems) by Adam Zagajewski 〈貝殼〉 夜裡，修士們輕聲歌唱 風，宛如翅膀 捲起雲杉和樹枝。我不認識這座古老的城市， 從來沒有去過底比斯也未去過 德爾斐，更不知道， 賽畢爾對旅人們 說了什麼。大雪覆蓋了街道和溝壑 一身黑袍的烏鴉，不聲不響 尾隨著狐狸的蹤跡。 我相信無常的信號 廢墟的陰影、水蛇 山泉和鳥的預言。 椴樹如新娘般開花 而它們的果實卻又小又酸。 智慧既不在音樂，也不在唯美的畫中， 不在偉大的行動和勇敢裡 甚至不在愛情， 只在事物裡， 在大地和空氣，在痛苦和沉默裡。 詩歌，就像逃亡中的奥菲斯 撞擊過的貝殼，風暴的回聲 戛然而止。時間將生命帶走 記憶歸來，往事，如火焰般金黃 亦如焦炭般闐黑。 https://wordsfortheyear.com/2019/05/05/shell-by-adam-zagajewski/ “Shell” by Adam Zagajewski (and an ocean question for readers) ON MAY 5, 2019 BY CHRISTINAS WORDS At night the monks sang softly and a gusting wind lifted spruce branches like wings. I’ve never visited the ancient cities, I’ve never been to Thebes or Delphi, and I don’t know what the oracles once told travellers. Snow filled the streets and canyons, and crows in dark robes silently trailed the fox’s footprints. I believed in elusive signs, in shadowed ruins, water snakes, mountain springs, prophetic birds. Linden trees bloomed like brides but their fruit was small and bitter. Wisdom can’t be found in music or fine paintings, in great deeds, courage, even love, but only in all these things, in earth and air, in pain and silence. A poem may hold the thunder’s echo, like a shell touched by Orpheus as he fled. Time takes life away and gives us memory, gold with flame, black with embers. “Shell” by Adam Zagajewski from Mysticism for Beginners: Poems, translated by Clare Cavanagh (Farrar, Straus and Giroux). 〈咖啡館〉 ——在柏林 在座陌生的城市，有一間咖啡館以法國作家名字命名， 我讀了他寫的《火山下》， 沒有激情。這樣不好， 我想。也許我已變得庸俗。 墨西哥如此遙遠，而它的滿天繁星 並沒有為我閃耀。亡靈節仍然繼續。 隱喻和光的節日。死亡扮演著主角。 鄰桌幾個人，各自有著不同的命運： 保守、悲痛和健康的理智。領事，伊沃尼。 天空，在下雨。我有點竊喜。有人進來， 有人出去，終於有人發明了永動機。 我曾在自由的國度。一個孤獨的國家。 沒有任何事發生，大炮沈默。 人們喜好同一種音樂；揚聲器舒緩地 播送著流行歌曲，慵懶地重複著：仍會發生許多事情。 沒人知道，該做什麼，該去哪裡，為什麼。 我想起了你，想起我們的親密，想起 初秋時你頭髮的香味。 飛機從跑道飛向天空， 彷彿勤奮的學生 相信大師們的話語。 蘇聯的領航員宣稱，他們沒有在外太空找到上帝， 但，他們尋找過嗎？ 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 |
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