細微的生動:阿萊西·希德戈(Aleš Šteger)的《事物之書》

斯洛維尼亞詩人阿萊西·希德戈(Aleš Šteger,1973-)的詩集《事物之書》(The Book of Things)出了英文版。這位被稱為當代最負盛名、最具活力的斯洛維尼亞青年詩人,主修比較文學後擔任文學編輯,他寫生活裡各種細微的事物:蛋、帽子、石頭、鏟子、雨傘,鞋子、耳環、阿斯匹靈…….,獨特的角度與趣味,極簡主義(minimalism)生動嘲諷,不難看出詩人聰慧的哲思,無怪乎被稱為目前作品讀起來最讓人稱心的歐洲詩人。

《事物之書》由美國詩人Brian Henry譯成英文,獲得今年2011BTBA(Best Translated Book Awards)最佳詩歌類翻譯獎,傳神到位應該是無所懷疑的。翻譯過哈金英文作品的中國詩人明迪,中譯了其中多首,非常貼切。讀著這些詩,讓人對嘴裡吃的,手裡用的,日常周遭的許多小物品,都有了更深刻的情感。我們多麼容易輕忽周遭細微的小東西,Take it for granted視之為理所當然; 或是,沉溺於抽象的形而上探索,反而錯乎最簡單的真實,直到讀像阿萊西·希德戈這樣的詩,它們給人的撼動,與許多繁複文學相較,有過之無不及。這些微小無奇的事物,卻是維持我們存活的必需,所謂平凡與不平凡,深刻與淺浮,端視我們用什麼樣的眼光看世界罷了。

詩集裡有許多讀來讓人會心的詩作,列舉兩首我很喜愛、Brian Henry的英譯,明迪的中譯(尚未出版,載於簡體《詩建設》),一窺詩人的風格。

《葡萄乾》

誰的靜脈,誰的愛,誰的紋路,
誰的時間蒸發在葡萄乾的皺褶裡。

往日夏天涼爽的穀物。你吃,你吃。
如同吃下握著萬物的神的指尖。

縮小到年邁的徹底謙卑。
就像朝聖旅途上一小撮養老金領取者。

他們從桌子旁上升,升至你的屋檐。
一大串上升。真正的上升。

誰的動脈,誰的恐懼,誰的蹤跡,
誰的漱口水你吞下去連同葡萄乾的皺紋。

年邁的手指從內部抓住你,
窒息你,直到你吐出他們的名字。

Raisins

Whose veins, whose loves, whose traces,
Whose time evaporated into the wrinkles of raisins.

The cool grains of past summers. You eat them and you eat.
As you would eat the fingertips of god, which hold all.

Reduced to the utter humility of the aged.
Like handfuls of pensioners on a pilgrimage.

They rise from the table and plunge into your roof.
The whole bunch rises. Truly rises.

Whose arteries, whose fears, whose traces,
Whose gargling gulps down the wrinkles of raisins.

The ancient fingers grab your from within,
Choking you until you spit our their name.

《門墊》

你是誰,從哪裡來,與誰同行去看誰?
在她眼裡你的時間是原地踏步。

這就是為什麼她能原諒誤入歧途的腳步。
原諒瘸子,皮疹,醉鬼。

從她臉頰上走過去的不是擅自闖入者。
她用頭髮擦你的腳。

用她的名字擦你的名字。直到它不可譯。
她在這裡不是為了透露風向。她在那裡不是為了揭露道路。

她接受你作為你來源之處的一部分風景。
也作為你消失之處的一部分風景。

她的頭髮有時候瘙癢把你弄醒。
然後純粹的灰塵從詞語里雪片一樣飛起。

一個聲音在旅行中默默地清嗓子。
但她蓋過他的聲音:安心進來。安心進來。

她喜歡問題之間的無形通道。
哪裡疼痛,就跌倒在她身上。答案永遠是愛。

Doormat

Who are you, where do you come from, with whom do you walk to visit?
In her eyes your time is running in place.

That is why she forgives footsteps gone astray.
Forgives the lame, the rash, the drunk.

He who crosses over her cheek is not a trespasser.
She wipes your feet in her hair.

Wipes your name in hers. Until it is untranslatable.
She is not here to disclose directions. She is not there to reveal the way.

She accepts you as part of the scenery from which you come.
As part of the scenery into which you disappear.

Her hair sometimes wakes you with a tickle.
Then pure dirt flakes from words.

A voice clears its throat from traveling silently.
But she overtakes him: Enter in peace. Enter in peace.

She loves the invisible passages between questions.
What hurts, falls through her. The answer is always love.

 

 

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