Selected poems：《辛波絲卡——詩、有紀念性的破銅爛鐵，以及好友和夢》
2025/05/25 04:57:28
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Selected poems：《辛波絲卡——詩、有紀念性的破銅爛鐵，以及好友和夢》
書名：辛波絲卡——詩、有紀念性的破銅爛鐵，以及好友和夢
作者：安娜．碧孔特（Anna Bikont）、尤安娜．什切斯納（Joanna Szczęsna）
譯者：林蔚昀
出版社：臉譜
出版日期：2023/02
〈寫履歷表〉
得寫份申請書，
而申請書要附履歷表。
無論人生多長，
履歷表應該簡短。
必須長話短說，遴選事實。
把風景換成地址，
用固定的日期取代搖擺的回億。
所有的愛情只寫婚姻就夠。
孩子只寫出生的。
誰認識你比你認識誰重要。
旅行只寫出國。
寫你屬於什麼組織，不寫入會動機。
寫你得了什麼奬，略過原因。
用彷彿從未和自己交談的方式寫。
和自己保持距離。
沉默地跳過狗、貓和鳥，
有紀念性的破銅爛鐵，好友和夢。
（《橋上的人們》，一九八六）
Writing A Résumé
What needs to be done?
Fill out the application
and enclose the résumé.
Regardless of the length of life,
a résumé is best kept short.
Concise, well-chosen facts are de rigueur.
Landscapes are replaced by addresses,
shaky memories give way to unshakeable dates.
Of all your loves, mention only the marriage;
of all you children, only those who were born.
Who knows you matters more than whom you know.
Trips only if taken abroad.
Memberships in what but without why.
Honors, but not how they were earned.
Write as if youd never talked to yourself
and always kept yourself at arms length.
Pass over in silence, your dogs, cats, birds,
dusty keepsakes, friends, and dreams.
Price, not worth,
and title, not whats inside.
His shoe size, not where hes off to,
that one you pass off as yourself.
In addition, a photograph with one ear showing.
What matters is its shape, not what it hears.
What is there to hear, anyway?
The clatter of paper shredders.
Translated by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh
〈在等候室的人生〉
我不知道我扮演的是什麼角色。
我只知道，無可替換，它是我的。
這齣戲是關於什麼，
我必須在舞台上猜測。
我沒有準備好面對生命的尊榮，
我吃力跟上劇情的節奏。
我即興演出，雖然我討厭即興。
（……）
我被一團裝飾包圍，發現它們栩栩如生。
所有道具的真實性令我驚訝。
舞台轉盤已經開了好長一段時間。
甚至最遠的星雲都被點亮了。
喔，我毫不懷疑，這是一場首演。
不管我將做什麼，
它都會永恆變成，我已經做過的。
（《巨大的數目》，一九七六）
Life While-You-Wait.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it’s mine. I can’t exchange it.
I have to guess on the spot
just what this play’s all about.
Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can’t conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can’t take back,
stars you’ll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run —
the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.
If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven’t seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn’t even clear my throat offstage).
You’d be wrong to think that it’s just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I’m standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there’s no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I’ve done.
〈在一顆小星星底下〉
我向意外致歉，因我稱它為必然。
我向必然致歉，如果我弄錯了。
就讓幸運不要生我的氣，如果我把它當成是我的。
讓死者寬容我吧，他們在我記憶中消逝。
我向時間致歉，原諒我在分秒中忽略廣大的世界。
我向舊愛致歉，因為我把新的愛情當作初戀。
遠方的戰爭，原諒我帶花回家。
敞開的傷口，原諒我扎傷了手指。
從深淵裡哀嚎的人們，原諒我聽小步舞曲。
在車站的人們，原諒我在清晨五點時仍在睡夢中。
放過我吧，被圍獵的希望，因為我有時會大笑。
（《萬一》，一九七二）
Under One Small Star
My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if Im mistaken, after all.
Please, dont be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I dont rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the tables four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please dont pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, dont take offense that Ive only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I cant be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I cant be each woman and each man.
I know I wont be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Dont bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.
〈無題〉
虛無也為了我改變。
它真的翻了個面。
我身在何處——
從頭到腳都被星辰包圍，
我真的不記得，之前我不存在時是什麼樣。
我在這裡遇見了你，我親愛的，
手放在你肩上，我只能如此猜測，
那個世界還有多少虛空會降落在我們身上，
多少寂靜可以換來在這世界的一隻蟋蟀，
多少荒原可以換來在這世界的一片酸模葉子，
在黑暗過後，我們得到陽光的補償，
為了那裡嚴重的乾旱，現在我們得到露水！
（……）
而我，我呢，則在你身邊。
我真的看不出
這有任何平凡之處。
（《萬一》，一九七二）
Nothingness unseamed itself for me too.
It turned itself wrong side out.
How on earth did I end up here—
head to toe among the planets,
without a clue how I used not to be.
O you, encountered here and loved here,
I can only guess, my arm on yours,
how much vacancy on that side went to make us,
how much silence there for one lone cricket here,
how much nonmeadow for a single sprig of sorrel,
and sun after darknesses in a drop of dew
as repayment—for what boundless droughts?
Starry willy-nilly! Local in reverse!
Stretched out in curvatures, weights, roughnesses, and motions!
Time out from infinity for endless sky!
Relief from nonspace in a shivering birch tree’s shape!
Now or never wind will stir a cloud,
since wind is exactly what won’t blow there.
And a beetle hits the trail in a witness’s dark suit,
testifying to the long wait for a short life.
And it so happened that I’m here with you.
And I really see nothing
usual in that.
〈有氣球的靜物畫〉
與其在臨死前
讓回憶折返，
我寧願
讓所有的失物歸來。
穿過窗戶和門，
雨傘，皮箱，手套，大衣
紛紛到來，
這樣我就可以說：
我為什麼需要這些東西。
（……）
被風吹走的氣球，
這時也被找到了，
這樣我就可以說：
這裡沒有小孩。
（《呼喚雪人》，一九五七）
STILL LIFE WITH A BALLOON
Returning memories?
No, at the time of death
I’d like to see lost objects
return instead
Avalanches of gloves,
coats, suitcases, umbrellas -
come, and I’ll say at last:
What good’s all this?
Safety pins, two odd combs,
a paper rose, a knife,
some string-come, and I’ll say
at last: I haven’t missed you.
Please turn up, key, come out,
wherever you’ve been hiding,
in time for me to say:
You’ve gotten rusty, my friend!
Downpours of affidavits,
permits and questionnaires,
rain down and I will say:
I see the sun behind you.
My watch, dropped in a river,
bob up and let me seize you-
then, face to face, I’ll say:
Your so-called time is up.
And lastly, toy balloon
once kidnapped by the wind-
come home, and I will say:
There are no children here.
Fly out the open window
and into the wide world;
let someone else shout “Look!”
and I will cry.
