Selected poems：《希克梅特詩選》

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N%C3%A2z%C4%B1m_Hikmet
Nâzım Hikmet Ran (15 January 1902 – 3 June 1963), commonly known as Nâzım Hikmet, was a Turkish poet, playwright, novelist, screenwriter, director and memoirist. He was acclaimed for the "lyrical flow of his statements". Described as a "romantic communist" and "romantic revolutionary", he was repeatedly arrested for his political beliefs and spent much of his adult life in prison or in exile. His poetry has been translated into more than fifty languages.

https://www.sanmin.com.tw/Product/index/007652441
希克梅特詩選
作者：納齊姆‧希克梅特
譯者：李以亮
出版社：人民文藝出版社
出版日期：2018/01/01

〈關於我們〉

關於我們，我寫下的一切都是謊言
並非發生過的，是我希望發生的
它們是搖晃在遙不可及的你的樹枝上的我的饑渴
是從我的夢想之井裡升起的我的渴望
是描繪在光上的圖畫

關於我們，我寫下的一切都是真實的
你的美
一隻果籃或草地上的野餐
我思念的你
最後的街區最後的一盞街燈
我的嫉妒
蒙著眼奔跑在夜行列車中間
我的快樂
一條被陽光照射的水壩截斷的河流

關於我們，我寫下的一切都是謊言
關於我們，我寫下的一切都是真實

(李以亮 譯)

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/581508122
About Us

All i wrote about us is lies
Not what happened but what I wished would happen
They were my hungers dangling from your out-of-reach branches
My thirsts rising from the well of my dreams
They were pictures I drew on light

All I wrote about us is the truth
Your beauty
I mean a fruit basket or a picnic in a meadow
My missing you
I mean being the last streetlamp on the last city block
My jaleousy
I mean running blindfolded among night trains
My happiness
I mean a sun-struck dam-busting river
All I wrote about us is lies
All I wrote about us is the truth. 


〈我不知道我愛過的事物〉

這是一九六二年三月二十八日
我坐在從布拉格開往柏林的火車的窗口邊
夜色正在降臨
我從不知道我喜歡過
夜晚如倦鳥在煙霧彌漫的潮濕平原降臨
我不喜歡
將黃昏比做倦鳥

我不知道我愛地球
有誰在大地上耕耘卻不愛地球麼？
我從未耕耘過地球
這肯定是我唯一的柏拉圖式愛情

在這裡我一直愛著河流
無論它們像這樣一動不動，還是繞著群山
城堡加冕的歐洲的群山
無論它們是否延伸至視線所及的地方
我知道你不能在同一條河流濯足
我知道河流將帶來你從未見過的光
我知道我們活得僅比一匹馬長久但幾乎長不過一隻烏鴉
我知道這的確困擾過從前的人們
並將困擾在我之後的人們
我知道在我之前這一切已被說過一千遍
並將在我之後被重複地說

我不知道我愛天空
多雲或晴朗的天空
安德列在波羅金諾躺著研究過的藍色天空
在監獄裡我用土耳其語翻譯了兩卷《戰爭與和平》
我聽到的聲音
不是來自藍色天空，而是來自院子裡
衛兵在又一次打人

我不知道我愛那些樹
在莫斯科附近的佩列傑利諾光禿禿的山毛櫸樹林
我在冬天看見它們，高貴而節制
山毛櫸就像俄羅斯人楊樹就像土耳其人
“白楊伊茲密爾
開始掉葉子……
他們稱我為刀子……
情人就像一棵年輕的樹……”
一九二零年我在厄爾加茲森林將一隻繡花的亞麻手帕
纏在松樹條上祈求好運

我從不知道我愛道路
包括瀝青路
維拉駕車我們從莫斯科到克里米亞的科克特貝勒
以前它在土耳其語裡叫“戈克特佩利”
我們兩個在一個封閉的盒子裡
世界從兩側流過，遙遠而無聲
一生中我從未離誰如此之近
土匪們在博盧和蓋雷代之間的紅土路上攔住我
當時我十八歲
除了一條命車上沒有帶任何他們可以拿走的東西
而在十八歲生命是我們最輕視的東西
這一點此前我在別處寫過
趟過一條黑暗而泥濘的街道我去看齋月夜晚的
皮影戲
一盞紙燈籠引路
也許這樣的事從未發生過
也許在某個地方我讀到過它一個八歲的男孩去看
皮影戲
齋月的夜晚在伊斯坦布爾牽著祖父的手
祖父戴一頂平頂氊帽穿著裘皮大衣
黑貂領搭上他的長袍
僕人手提一隻燈籠
我抑制不住內心的喜悅
由於某種原因鮮花浮現在腦海
罌粟花，仙人掌水仙花
在伊斯坦布爾的水仙花花園我吻了瑪麗卡
她的氣息裡有新鮮的杏仁味
那一年我是十七歲
我的心在秋千上蕩上了天空
我不知道我愛鮮花
朋友們到監獄送過我三枝紅色的康乃馨

我記得星星
我也愛它們
無論從地面往上看
還是從它們一側飛過時

我問過宇航員一些問題
星星是不是大得多
看起來就像黑天鵝絨上一顆顆巨大的寶石
或橙色背景上一粒粒杏子
靠近星星你是否感覺自豪
我在《追蹤》雜誌上見過宇宙的彩色照片現在我沒有不安
同志們不過應該說
有點抽象或者說相當抽象其中一些照片看起來好像
這樣一些畫
可怕地豐富和具體
我看著它們心跳到了嗓子眼
它們是我們想要抓取的無窮欲望
我看著它們甚至想到死卻絲毫沒有悲傷的感覺
我從不知道我愛宇宙

雪花在我眼前閃爍
沉的濕的穩定的雪和枯燥的旋轉的雪
我不知道我喜歡雪

我從不知道我愛太陽
即使它在下沉時櫻桃一般鮮紅猶如此刻
在伊斯坦布爾這顏色有時也套印在明信片上
但你不會把它畫成那樣

我從不知道我愛大海
除了亞速海
我從不知道我那麼愛大海 

我不知道我愛雲
無論在雲的下面還是在雲的上面
無論它們看起來像巨人還是像毛茸茸的白色野獸
 
月光這最虛假最慵懶最小布爾喬亞的東西
照著我
我喜歡它

我不知道我喜歡雨
無論它似一張細網落下還是飛濺在玻璃上我的心糾結在
一張網裡或是困在一滴雨裡並飛向一個未知的國家
我不知道我愛雨
可是為什麼我會突然發現這些激情當我坐在布拉格
開往柏林的火車窗口邊
是否因為我點燃了第六支香煙
僅僅這一支就能殺死我
是否因為我思念著遠在莫斯科的她我想得要死
她金黃如稻草的頭髮她藍色的眼睫毛 

列車一頭紮進漆黑的夜
我從不知道我喜歡漆黑的夜
火花自引擎飛舞
我從不知道我愛火花
我從不知道我愛這麼多東西而我從前不得不等待直到
六十歲才發現當我坐在
布拉格開往柏林的火車的窗口邊看著世界的消失
仿佛走在一個沒有回程的旅途

1962年4月19日，莫斯科


https://poets.org/poem/things-i-didnt-know-i-loved
Things I Didnt Know I Loved
Nazim Hikmet - 1902-1963

its 1962 March 28th
Im sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
night is falling
I never knew I liked
night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
I dont like
comparing nightfall to a tired bird
I didnt know I loved the earth
can someone who hasnt worked the earth love it
Ive never worked the earth
it must be my only Platonic love

and here Ive loved rivers all this time
whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
European hills crowned with chateaus
or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
I know you cant wash in the same river even once
I know the river will bring new lights youll never see
I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow
I know this has troubled people before
                         and will trouble those after me
I know all this has been said a thousand times before
                         and will be said after me

I didnt know I loved the sky
cloudy or clear
the blue vault Andrei studied on his back at Borodino
in prison I translated both volumes of War and Peace into Turkish
I hear voices
not from the blue vault but from the yard
the guards are beating someone again
I didnt know I loved trees
bare beeches near Moscow in Peredelkino
they come upon me in winter noble and modest
beeches are Russian the way poplars are Turkish
"the poplars of Izmir
losing their leaves. . .
they call me The Knife. . .
                         lover like a young tree. . .
I blow stately mansions sky-high"
in the Ilgaz woods in 1920 I tied an embroidered linen handkerchief
                                        to a pine bough for luck
I never knew I loved roads
even the asphalt kind
Veras behind the wheel were driving from Moscow to the Crimea
                                                          Koktebele
                               formerly "Goktepé ili" in Turkish
the two of us inside a closed box
the world flows past on both sides distant and mute
I was never so close to anyone in my life
bandits stopped me on the red road between Bolu and Geredé
                                        when I was eighteen
apart from my life I didnt have anything in the wagon they could take
and at eighteen our lives are what we value least
Ive written this somewhere before
wading through a dark muddy street Im going to the shadow play
Ramazan night
a paper lantern leading the way
maybe nothing like this ever happened
maybe I read it somewhere an eight-year-old boy
                                       going to the shadow play
Ramazan night in Istanbul holding his grandfathers hand
   his grandfather has on a fez and is wearing the fur coat
      with a sable collar over his robe
   and theres a lantern in the servants hand
   and I cant contain myself for joy
flowers come to mind for some reason
poppies cactuses jonquils
in the jonquil garden in Kadikoy Istanbul I kissed Marika
fresh almonds on her breath
I was seventeen
my heart on a swing touched the sky
I didnt know I loved flowers
friends sent me three red carnations in prison
I just remembered the stars
I love them too
whether Im floored watching them from below
or whether Im flying at their side

I have some questions for the cosmonauts
were the stars much bigger
did they look like huge jewels on black velvet
                             or apricots on orange
did you feel proud to get closer to the stars
I saw color photos of the cosmos in Ogonek magazine now dont
   be upset comrades but nonfigurative shall we say or abstract
   well some of them looked just like such paintings which is to
   say they were terribly figurative and concrete
my heart was in my mouth looking at them
they are our endless desire to grasp things
seeing them I could even think of death and not feel at all sad
I never knew I loved the cosmos

snow flashes in front of my eyes
both heavy wet steady snow and the dry whirling kind
I didnt know I liked snow

I never knew I loved the sun
even when setting cherry-red as now
in Istanbul too it sometimes sets in postcard colors
but you arent about to paint it that way
I didnt know I loved the sea
                             except the Sea of Azov
or how much

I didnt know I loved clouds
whether Im under or up above them
whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts

moonlight the falsest the most languid the most petit-bourgeois
strikes me
I like it

I didnt know I liked rain
whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass my
   heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped inside a drop
   and takes off for uncharted countries I didnt know I loved
   rain but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
   by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
one alone could kill me
is it because Im half dead from thinking about someone back in Moscow
her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
sparks fly from the engine
I didnt know I loved sparks
I didnt know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty
   to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
   watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return

                                                     19 April 1962
                                                     Moscow