巴勒斯坦詩人達維什（Mahmoud Darwish）詩選 葉輝譯

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巴勒斯坦詩人達維什（Mahmoud Darwish）詩選

A Cloud from Sodom

After your night, night of the last winter,
the sea road was empty of its night guards,
no shadow follows me after your night dried up
in my song’s sun. Who will say to me
now: Let go of yesterday and dream with all
of your subconscious?
My freedom sits beside me, with me, and on
my knees like a house cat. It stares at me and at
what you might have left of yesterday for me: your lilac
shawl, videotapes of dancing among wolves, and a jasmine
necklace around the algae of the heart …
What will my freedom do, after your night,
night of the last winter?
“A cloud went from Sodom to Babylon,”
hundreds of years ago, but its poet Paul
Celan committed suicide, today, in Paris’s river.
You won’t take me to the river again. No guard
will ask me: What’s your name today? We won’t curse
war. We won’t curse peace. We won’t climb
the garden fence searching the night for two willows
and two windows, and you won’t ask me: When
will peace open our citadel doors to the doves?
After your night, night of the last winter,
the soldiers pitched their camp in a faraway place
and a white moon alighted on my balcony
and I sat with my freedom silently staring into our night:
Who am I? Who am I after your night
night of the last winter?

來自所多瑪的一朵雲

過了你的夜，去年冬天的夜，
海的路再沒有夜的守衛了，
你的夜被我歌中的太陽曬乾了之後，
再沒有影子跟隨我了。此刻誰會跟我說：
一起走回昨日吧，然後做夢
竭盡你的潛意識？
我的自由坐在我身旁，陪伴著我，像家貓
伏在我的膝上。牠凝視著我，凝視著
也許是你留給我的昨日：你丁香的
披肩，狼群中起舞的錄像，以及纏在
你的心藻的茉莉的項鍊……
我的自由能做什麼？過了你的夜
去年冬天之夜？
「一朵雲從所多瑪飄到巴比倫」
數百年前，可它的詩人保羅
策蘭自殺了，今天，在巴黎的河
你也不會再帶我到那條河了。沒有守衛
會問我：你今天叫什麼名字？我們不會詛咒
戰爭。我們不會詛咒和平。我們不會攀爬
花園的籬笆，尋索兩棵柳樹與兩扇窗子
的那一夜，而你不會問我：何時
和平會為鴿子打開我們的城堡之門？
過了你的夜，去年冬天的夜，
那些士兵在遙遠的地方紥營
而一枚白月照亮我的陽台
而我跟我的自由靜默地凝視我們的夜：
我是誰？我是誰呢過了你的夜
去年冬天的夜？















Inanna’s Milk

For you the twins: for you poetry and prose unite, as you
fly from one epoch to another, safe and sound
on a howdah made of your murdered victims’ planets — your kind guards
who carry your seven heavens one caravan at a time.
And between the palm trees and your hands’ two rivers, your
horse-keepers approach the water: The first goddess is the one most filled
with us. And an infatuated creator contemplates his work, becomes mad
with her and longs for her: Shall I make again what I did before?
And the scribes of your lightning burn in the sky’s ink, and their offspring
strew the swallows over the Sumerian woman’s parade …
be she ascending, or descending
For you, the one stretched out in the hall
in the forest shirt, and the ashen
pants, not for your metaphor, I awaken
my wilderness, and I say to myself: A moon
will rise from my darkness …
Let the water flow down from the Sumerian horizon
upon us, as in the myths. If my heart
is as straight as this glass surrounding us
then fill it up with your clouds until it returns to its folk
overcast and dreamy like a poor man’s prayer. And if my heart
is wounded, don’t stab it with a gazelle’s horn,
there are no natural flowers left around the Euphrates
for my blood to incarnate in the anemones after the wars.
And there isn’t a jar left in my temple for the wine of the goddesses,
in Sumer the eternal, in Sumer the ephemeral
For you, the slender one in the hall
with the silken hands
and the frolicking waist,
not for your symbols,
I awaken my wilderness and say:
I will draw this gazelle out of her flock
and stab myself … with it!
I don’t want a song to be your bed,
so let the Bull, Iraq’s winged Bull, burnish
his horns with the ages on the fissured altar
in the silver of dawn. And let death carry its metal
instrument amid the ancient choir
of Nebuchadnezzar’s sun. As for me, the descendant
from without this time, I must have
a suitable horse for this procession. And if
there must be a moon let it be high … high
and made in Baghdad, not Arabic or Persian
and not claimed by any of the gods around us. And let it be empty
of memories and of ancient kings’ wine,
for us to complete this holy procession, together, you daughter
of the eternal moon, in this place that your hands brought down
to the edge of the earth from the balcony of the fading paradise! …
For you, the one reading
the newspaper in the hall,
the one sick with influenza
I say: Take one cup of hot chamomile
and two aspirins
for Inanna’s milk to quiet in you,
and for us to know what time it is now
at the confluence of the two rivers!

伊南娜之乳

因你這雙生兒：詩與散文因你而統一，當你
從一世飛行到另一世，安穩無事
在一輛以你無辜被殺的星球所製造的象轎——你仁慈的守護神
一次便接載了你整隊商旅的七重天。
而在棕櫚樹與你雙掌的兩條河之間，你的育馬人走到水之湄：最初的女神最能讓我們充盈起來。而被狂戀的創造者默想他的勞作，因愛慕她而瘋了：我將會重新打造我從前的所作所為嗎？
而你閃電的紀事在天空的墨水裡燃燒，而他們的後裔在蘇美爾女子的閱兵場上撒滿了燕子……
是她的上升，或下降
因你，從會堂伸展到樹林的裙，和白楊樹的
短褲的那人，不是為了你的隱喻，我喚醒了
我的曠野，我對自己說：一枚月亮
將從我的黑暗裡升起……
讓水從蘇美爾的地平線流下來
淹沒我們，一如神話所說。如果我的心
像包圍著我們的草那麼直
那就用你的雲將它填滿，直到它回歸族人
烏雲遮天，如夢如幻，一如窮人的禱告。如果我的心
受了傷，不要用瞪羚的角刺它了，
幼發拉底河畔再沒有土生土長的花
因戰爭之後我的血幻化成秋牡丹。
而我的司酒女神殿遺留了一個甕
在蘇美爾的不朽，在蘇美爾的朝生暮死
因你，殿堂裡最纖巧的
有著柔軟如絲的手掌
和恣意扭擺的腰
不是因你的象徵，
我喚醒了我的曠野，然後說：
我將從她的牧隊裡挑選這瞪羚
用它，刺向我自己
我不需要一首歌來做你的床，
那就讓公牛，伊拉克有翼的公牛，擦亮
他的角，以裂變的祭壇的歲月
在破曉的銀白裡。讓死亡運載古巴比倫王的太陽
的唱詩班的金屬樂器。至於我，來自
非此時的族人，我必須擁有
因這擁有而精選的馬。如果必須
一枚月亮，就讓它騰飛吧……騰飛
以及巴格達製造的，不是阿拉伯或波斯的
並且不以包圍我們的神的名義。然後讓它空空如也
再沒有記憶和古代帝王的酒，
好讓我們完成這神聖的摧有，一起，你永恆的
月之女，在你親手從消失的天堂的陽台帶到地球邊沿的此地……
因你，在會堂
看報紙的那人，
患上流感的那人
我說：飲一杯熱的春黃菊
和兩兩片阿斯匹靈吧
讓伊南娜之乳教你安靜下來
也讓我們知道此刻是何時

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