亚当·扎加耶夫斯基短诗四首 得一忘二 译

轮回的马

《终生徒刑》

那些罪受完了。
不再有哭叫。一本旧相册里，
你盯着一个犹太小孩，
看他死前十五分钟的脸。
你眼睛干涩。你把壶放上去烧水，
喝茶，吃一只苹果。
你会活下去。

Life Sentence

Those sufferings are over.
No crying anymore. In an old album
you look at the face of a Jewish child
fifteen minutes before it dies.
Your eyes are dry. You put the kettle on,
drink tea, eat an apple.
You’ll live.

《致——》

死神女士，我写这封信是请求您
带着善意考虑宽延我
在您的机构中应尽的义务，
这许多世纪都是由您领导。女士，
您是大师，是暴力运动，精致的斧头，
说一不二的人，天鹅绒的嘴唇，
剪刀。我不是奉承您。我是在恳求。
我不是强求。我的这条抗辩，
只有沉默，草头的露珠，
树枝间的夜莺。您宽恕它，
它冗长的聘期辗转于一片又一片
山杨叶之间，零星点滴的永恒，几克
惊喜，还有穷困诗人总是惺忪的抱怨，
他们的护照你没有更新。

To…

Madam Death, I am writing to request
that you kindly take into consideration
an extension of my liability to
the institution headed by you
for so many centuries. You, Madam,
are a master, a violent sport,
a delicate ax, the pope, velvet lips,
scissors. I don’t flatter you. I beg.
I don’t demand. In my defense I have
only silence, dew on the grass, a nightingale
among the branches. You forgive it,
its long tenure in the leaves of one aspen
after another, drops of eternity, grams
of amazement, and the sleepy complaints of the poor poets
whose passports you didn’t renew.

《柔软颂》

早晨都很盲目，像初生的小猫。
手指甲那么坚信不疑地生长，有那么一会儿
它们不知道它们会碰到什么。梦
柔软，温情漫来，像雾笼盖
我们，又像克拉科夫的教堂
还没冷却的钟声。

Ode to Softness

Mornings are blind as newborn cats.
Fingernails grow so trustfully, for a while
they don’t know what they’re going to touch. Dreams
are soft, and tenderness looms over us
like fog, like the cathedral bell of Krakow
before it cooled.

《献给生者的挽歌》

此刻之乐突然化为一只
黑色套头帽，只开了口子
留给眼睛、嘴、舌头、悲愁。更多的悲愁。
生者送走他们的日子，
眼看他们飞逝
犹如底片，爆了光，
却从未洗印。

生者生存，那么漫不经心，那么淡漠，
连死者都感到羞愧。
他们苦笑道：孩子啊，
我们也曾像你们，完全一样。
头顶上方，刺槐花开满树，
刺槐树里，夜莺也曾歌唱。

Elegy for the Living

The joy of the moment turns suddenly
into a black hood with openings
only for eyes, mouth, tongue, grief. More grief.
The living see off their days
that flee
like negatives, exposed once
but never developed.

The living exist, so light-mindedly, so nonchalantly,
that the dead are abashed.
They smile sadly: Children,
we were like you, just the same.
Above us, robinias blossomed,
and in the robinias, nightingale sang.