埃·德·安德拉德作品

董繼平譯

埃烏熱尼奧·德·安德拉德（Eugenio de Andrade，1923-2005），20世紀葡萄牙最著名的詩人之一，生于靠近西班牙邊界的小村波沃亞達阿塔萊亞，后來隨母親移居首都里斯本。19歲時出版第一部詩集《青春》，此后又出版了近30部詩集，他獲得過葡萄牙幾乎所有的文學獎和一些重要的國際文學獎，其中包括葡萄牙的卡蒙斯獎、法國的讓·馬爾里歐獎（1989）、歐洲詩歌獎（1996），并多次被提名為諾貝爾文學獎候選人。作品被翻譯成了多種語言，產生了廣泛的國際影響。

從軀體深處

他不會睡覺，他會花上很多很多個時辰來聆聽，最終在紛亂的聲音中辨別出最細微的喃喃聲，蜘蛛織網的聲音，乃至光芒穿過帷幔厚厚的褶皺強行推進的更小的聲音。沉寂很晚才會到來，最后的腳步的回音沿著街道消失。只有在那時，來自他的軀體深處的劇烈心跳才會如釋重負地顯現出來。它始終在那里，但只有在這樣的時刻才會從其他聲音中脫穎而出，每次心跳都具有利劍的輪廓。它要持續到何時？因為有一個時刻會來臨，他對此毫不懷疑，那時，夜晚的沙漠和軀體的沉寂會形成唯一的實質，跟露水的熱情永遠密不可分，在早晨攀登最后的臺階。

FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE BODY

He wouldn’t sleep， he would spend hours and hours listening， finally making out in the tangle of sounds the minutest murmurs， the spider spinning his web or， even less audible， the light forcing its way through the thick folds of the drapes. Silence would arrive late， the echo of the last steps lost down the street. Only then would that pounding coming from the depths of his body show in relief. It had always been there， but only at such moments would it arise clean of other sounds， each beat with the profile of a sword. Till when would it last？ For there would come a time， of this he hadn't the slightest doubt， when the desert of the night and the silence of the body would form a single substance， forever inseparable from the ardor of the dew， climbing in the morning the final steps.

在最初和最后的微光之間

我曾經只有兩三歲，如今已年滿六旬，光芒一如既往地呼喚，仿佛我誕生于光芒，不能不回去。在最初和最后的微光之間，全身總讓自己滲透了熱量，而那種熱量變成一種愛撫，存在于我們本質中最精致透明、最不可估量的部分之中，對于那個部分，我們也未能稱之為光，我們永不會知道賦予它什么名字。

BETWEEN THE FIRST AND LAST TWILICHT

I was two or three years old， now I am sixty， and the call of the light is the same， as if I had been born from it and could not fail to return. Between the first twilight and the last， the entire body has always let itself be penetrated by that heat that turns to a caress in the most diaphanous and imponderable part of our being， a part to which， were we to fail to call it light as well， we would never r know what name to give.

那張紙

那里的那張紙。即使是如此潔白的雪也不會很冷。手指以一種愛撫的方式臨近，試圖軟化、稀釋那么多敵意，但它們卻受到恐懼的影響而迅速撤離。因為這種潔白在燃燒，在沒人看見的一團火焰中默默地發光發熱。很長時間，唯有眼睛將它找出來，凝視它。一動不動，沒有松懈其烈度。你幾乎聽得見你的脈搏在悸動。突然，手指伸出來，跳躍，猶如鷹隼移動，它們不再愛撫，相反，在一場毫不留情的斗爭中撕扯、割裂、追逐獵物，在積雪中留下它們存在的痕跡，時而得意洋洋，時而煩惱憂傷，時而奄奄一息。

THAT SHEET

That sheet of paper there. So white not even snow is quite as cold. Fingers approach in a kind of caress， trying to soften， to dilute， so much hostility， but quickly they withdraw， touched by fear. It is so difficult For this whiteness burns， glowing silently in a fire that no one sees. For a long time， only the eyes seek it out， gaze at it. Motionless， without relaxing their intensity. One can almost hear the throbbing of one’s pulse. Suddenly，the fingers reach out， leap; moving like a falcon， they no longer caress， rather tear， lacerate， pursue their prey in a struggle with no quarter given， leaving behind in the snow traces of their presence， at times triumphant， at times distressed， at times nearly dead.

詩歌就像這樣

我不知我在哪里醒來，光芒迷失在那很長很長的走廊盡頭，走廊兩邊排列著房間，其中一間是你的，要到達那里需要很長很長時間，我的腳步是男孩的腳步，但你的目光帶著那么多愛，那么多愛等待著，因此你跑上前來迎接我，害怕空氣會絆倒我——哦，甚于任何音樂。

THAT’S WHAT POETRY IS LIKE

I don’t know where I awoke， the light losing itself at the end of the long， long hallway， rooms on both sides， one of them is yours， it takes a long， long time to get there， my steps are those of boy， but your eyes are waiting， with so much love， so much， that you run to meet me， afraid that I will stumble on the air—oh more than any music.

用目光

也許有一天。也許有一天，我們將觸及那個嗓音，那個在那時擺脫了我們肩頭上光芒的重量的嗓音。然后，目光將結束自己的職責;目光，最真實的現實的快樂的器具。因為看見始終就是觸摸。在手要采集九月最后閃爍的微光之前，就用目光去一一觸摸每件東西吧。看看它們怎樣帶著老虎的那種黃褐色怠惰而逝去。

WITH THE EYES

Perhaps one day，Perhaps one day we will reach that voice， free by then of the weight of light upon our shoulders. The eyes will come then to the end of their task; the eyes， happy instruments of the most real reality. For to see was always to touch. To touch， one by one， each thing with the eyes， before the hand would approach to gather the last shimmering of September. Look how it moves away with the tawny indolence of a tiger.

童 年

我出去觀看歐椋鳥，在傍晚的這個時辰，那些鳥兒密密麻麻，在樹木上空不斷盤旋。當夜幕降臨時，我已回到屋里，我的凝視帶著燃燒的火花將其射穿。光芒就是那我帶回來的一切，因為我也害怕黑暗。

CHILDHOOD

I go out to watch the starlings; they are countless at this hour of the evening， circling repeatedly over the trees. When nightfall， I’m already back inside， my gaze shot through with flaming scintillations. The light is all that I bring back with me， for I， too， fear the dark.