Note: Mừng SN/GCC

Note: Mừng SN/GCC

by July 21, 2017 0 comments

Note: Mừng SN/GCC, 16.8, Robert Hass viết bài này.
Zbigniew Herbert
AUGUST 16 [1998]
In Memoriam: Zbigniew Herbert
Zbigniew Herbert died a few weeks ago in Warsaw at the age of seventy-three. He is one of the most influential European poets of the last half century, and perhaps-even more than his great contemporaries Czeslaw Milosz and Wladislawa Szymborska-the defining Polish poet of the post-war years.
It’s hard to know how to talk about him, because he requires superlatives and he despised superlatives. He was born in Lvov in 1924. At fifteen, after the German invasion of Poland, he joined an underground military unit. For the ten years after the war when control of literature in the Polish Stalinist regime was most intense, he wrote his poems, as he said, “for the drawer.” His first book appeared in 1956. His tactic, as Joseph Brodsky has said, was to turn down the temperature of language until it burned like an iron fence in winter. His verse is spare, supple, clear, ironic. At a time when the imagination was, as he wrote, “like stretcher bearers lost in the fog,” this voice seemed especially sane, skeptical, and adamant. He was also a master of the prose poem.
Robert Hass: Now & Then. The Poet’s Choice Columns 1997-2000
A TALE
The poet imitates the voices of birds
he cranes his long neck
his protruding Adam’s apple
is like a clumsy finger on a wing of melody
when singing he deeply believes
that he advances the sunrise
the warmth of his song depends on this
as does the purity of his high notes
the poet imitates the sleep of stones
his head withdrawn into his shoulders
he is like a piece of sculpture
breathing rarely and painfully
when asleep he believes that he alone
will penetrate the mystery of existence
and take without the help of theologians
eternity into his avid mouth
what would the world be
were it not filled with
the incessant bustling of the poet
among the birds and stones
Zbigniew Herbert
Một câu chuyện
Thi sĩ bắt chước tiếng chim
anh ta dướn cái cổ dài
trái táo Adam lồi hẳn lên
như 1 ngón tay vụng về trên cánh giai điệu
khi hát, anh thực tin
anh đi trước mặt trời mọc
bài ca ấm áp là nhờ vậy
cũng nhờ vậy, sự tinh khiết của những nốt nhạc cao
thi sĩ bắt chước giấc ngủ của những hòn đá
cái đầu của anh ta tụt vô vai
trông anh chẳng khác chi một mẩu điêu khắc
thở, hiếm hoi và đau đớn làm sao
khi ngủ, anh ta nghĩ chỉ mình anh ta
nhập vô được sự bí mật của hiện hữu
và đợp được vĩnh cửu vào trong
cái miệng thèm thuồng của mình
đếch cần sự trợ giúp của mấy đấng thần học
thế giới sẽ ra làm sao
nếu không được làm đầy bằng những tiếng lèm bèm
không ngừng của thi sĩ Gấu Cà Chớn

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