波斯維亞托夫斯卡作品

董繼平 譯

哈麗娜·波斯維亞托夫斯卡（Halina Poswiatowska，1935-1967），波蘭女詩(shī)人，生于波蘭南方小鎮(zhèn)琴斯托霍瓦，早年即顯示出詩(shī)歌天賦，但她從10歲起就不幸患上心臟病，長(zhǎng)期臥床或待在療養(yǎng)院里，23歲去美國(guó)動(dòng)手術(shù)之后，病情有所好轉(zhuǎn)。二戰(zhàn)后，她進(jìn)入克拉科夫的雅蓋隆大學(xué)攻讀哲學(xué)史，畢業(yè)后留在該大學(xué)講授哲學(xué)。她的詩(shī)集有《偶像崇拜》（1956）、《現(xiàn)在的日子》（1963）、《給手的頌歌》（1966）、《又一次回憶》（1967）等。她去世后被追加授予數(shù)種詩(shī)歌獎(jiǎng)。1997年克拉科夫出版了她的四卷本作品集。她的抒情詩(shī)在波蘭家喻戶曉，她因此成為最為大眾所廣泛閱讀的波蘭詩(shī)人之一。

你 說(shuō)

你說(shuō)：“夜里我要走向你，那時(shí)你如同打著呼嚕聲的溫暖的貓，蜷成一團(tuán)，在熟睡。”現(xiàn)在穿過(guò)所有的黃昏等你。我讓我的嘴唇誘惑枕頭的絨毛，在光滑、涼爽的床單上，我搓捻我那枯葉色的頭發(fā)。

我把手陷入黑暗，我把沉默的樹枝纏繞在指頭上。鳥兒在熟睡。沉重的云層上，群星無(wú)法展開翅膀。一分鐘又一分鐘，夜晚在我體內(nèi)成長(zhǎng)，一滴滴鮮紅的血脈動(dòng)，小心翼翼地掠過(guò)水面。

關(guān)閉的窗口踮起腳尖，慢慢進(jìn)入輪廓分明的冷月。

YOU SAID

You said： "I will come to you at night when you are asleep wound in a ball like a warm purring cat."

And now I await you through all the evenings.

I mash my mouth against the down of pillows I strand my hair the color of dried leaves over the smooth cool bed-sheet.

I sink my hands into darkness and I wind around my fingers the silent branches of trees. The birds are asleep. The stars are unable to put wings on the heavy clouds.The night is growing within me-by minutes-the red drops of pulsating blood skitter by cautiously.

Slowly on tiptoe through the shut window enters the sharp cold moon.

寫給手的頌歌

向你們致意，我的手掌，我那抓攫的手指，我那被車門壓碎的手指。我那在X光透視下的手掌，看起來(lái)猶如一只扭傷的翅膀，猶如一塊被它自己的輪廓線描繪的小骨頭。如今，我左手曾經(jīng)裝飾著一枚戒指的無(wú)名指變成了寡婦，被剝奪了飾物。那很久以前把戒指送給我的人沒有手指。他的手臂用樹根編織了一枚戒指。

我的手多么頻繁地觸摸到死者僵硬、凍結(jié)的手掌，生者強(qiáng)有力的手掌。它們知道怎樣通過(guò)觸摸來(lái)予以不同尋常地愛撫，愛撫那把存在從存在、天空從大地分離出來(lái)的喪失的空間。我那了解無(wú)助的痛苦的手相互依戀，猶如兩只受驚的鳥，無(wú)家可歸，到處盲目地尋找你的手的蹤跡。

ODE TO HANDS

Greetings to you my palms， my grasping fingers， and my finger smashed by the car door. My X-rayed palm looks like a sprained wing， like a tiny piece of bone drawn by its own contour. My left hand's ring finger once decorated by a band is widowed now， deprived of its adornment. The one who gave me the ring long since has no fingers. His arms are woven with the tree's roots into one.

My hands have so often touched the frozen palms of the dead， and the warm， strong palms of the living. They know how to caress unusually by touch losing the space that separates existence from existence， and heaven from earth. My hands knowing the pain of helplessness cling to each other like two frightened birds， homeless， blindly seeking everywhere the trace of your hands.

是 的

是的，心靈無(wú)疑是一種發(fā)明創(chuàng)造，否則根本就不存在。心靈是那熱愛事物之物，那熱愛的事物瞬息短暫，無(wú)處不在。因此它只可能是一個(gè)念頭，指尖上的一絲溫暖，一縷呼出的空氣，一種被打濕的嗓音顏色，只不過(guò)是一聲低語(yǔ)。所有以“很久很久以前，有一天，有一個(gè)男子或者女子”開始的童話故事——所有的童話，都會(huì)談到心靈。童話故事中，心靈凌駕于每個(gè)人之上，它到處橫沖直撞，心靈就像屠殺九頭蛇的騎士充滿男子氣概，又像九頭蛇永恒不死，只要被割掉一個(gè)腦袋，隨即會(huì)長(zhǎng)出十個(gè)腦袋取而代之，而且就像一座由滑溜的玻璃構(gòu)成的山那樣不可征服，就像戀愛著的女人的眼睛那樣柔順。最終，心靈真的就像那個(gè)詞語(yǔ)——那個(gè)把它鎖在其中的詞語(yǔ)：被終身判處孤獨(dú)和無(wú)足輕重之死的囚徒。

YES

Yes， the heart for sure is an invention， and otherwise does not exist at all. The heart is that which loves， and that which loves is ephemeral and is everywhere. Ergo， it may only be a thought， a warmth in the fingertips， a streak of exhaled air， a dampened color of voice， merely a whisper. And all the fairy tales， which begin with “a long， long time ago， one day， there was a he or a she”-all of them-talk of the heart. And the heart lords it over everyone in the fairy tales， it elbows its way everywhere， and the heart is manly like the knight who slays the hydra， and is immortal like the hydra， which in place of every cut-off head sprouts ten live ones， and is unconquered like a mountain made of slippery glass， and as submissive as the eyes of a loving woman. And finally the heart is true like the word in which it was locked-a lifetime prisoner sentenced to solitude and an unimportant death.

鏡 子

我窒息于我的軀體之美。今天我用你的眼睛來(lái)觀察自己。我發(fā)現(xiàn)手臂柔軟的彎曲處，疲倦的乳房的渾圓——乳房希望睡覺，不顧自己而慢慢滾下來(lái)。我無(wú)限分開的雙腿退讓，屈服于那不存在的界限，那個(gè)界限在我的內(nèi)心悸動(dòng)，在我的遠(yuǎn)處悸動(dòng)，在每一顆雨滴中的每一片葉子里悸動(dòng)。我在你的眼里看見自己，仿佛是透過(guò)玻璃看著我，我在我大腿繃緊的溫暖的皮膚上感覺到你的手，順從于你的命令，我赤裸地佇立在巨大的鏡子前。然后，為了不去看見、不去感受我跟你一起盛開的軀體的孤獨(dú)，我蒙住你的雙眼。

THE MIRROT

I am suffocated by the beauty of my body.Today I watched myself with your eyes. I discovered the soft bend of arms the weary roundness of breasts which wish to sleep and slowly in spite of themselves roll down.My legs parting immesurably giving away to the limit which does not exist that which is me and that which is beyond me throbs in every leaf in every raindrop.I saw myself in your eyes as if through glass looking at me I felt your hands on the warm taut skin of my thighs and obedient to your order I stood naked at front of a great mirror. and then I covered your eyes so as not to see and not to feel the solitude of my body blossoming with you.