哈维尔•贝略:厄运能做些甚么，当它遇上厄运之母？

哈維爾·貝略

Javier BELLO

哈維爾・貝略（智利）從馬德里孔普魯騰塞大學獲西語文學博士學位，現任智利大學拉丁美洲及智利文學助理教授。第一本詩集La noche venenosa 出版於1987年，此後詩作得到廣泛的發表、收錄及翻譯。1992年獲任Pablo Neruda基金會成員。曾獲獎項包括Gabriela Mistral市政文學獎（1994）、Jaime Gil de Biedma國際詩歌獎（1998）、Juan Ramón Jiménez西語美洲詩歌獎（2006）、Pablo Neruda詩歌獎（2007）等。

假鍵盤

我已經聽到凄然著地的枯枝

簌簌地落在院中的石子路上。

——波德萊爾

把這件樂器完全熔化，以使得化石能夠從困境中返回

並開始在門上尖叫。厄運能做些甚麼

當它遇上厄運之母？五線譜的黑色念頭

像腿張開之後的昆蟲一樣嗡嗡作響。

查爾斯隱約看見轟響的無限。轟響。

他的饋贈轟響，他的顫音，他的磨難。

沒有希望，那裏沒有人回眼看你。

音樂攫住身體，就像思想把饑餓綁進它的牢籠。

鍵盤不應該佔據整個舞台。

字母的無望的軌道，金絲銀線預示著創口，

瞳孔盯著燈塔直到雙腿交叉，它們

互相滲透，永遠而無畏地相互親吻，

幸運的雙胞胎在死亡的天空中閃耀，

遮擋住腐爛的眼睛。

演繹者點燃船隻，黎明做了個鬼臉，

照片裏虛假的微笑引人注目，沒人拿出他的相機

悲傷的下午，中毒的時刻，每一個春天

親戚們向同一座墳塋撒謊，祈求上帝，

從小孔中看飽經磨難的肚子，

他們回家時依然在談論他

土堆磊起之後手指疼痛，

斧下的木頭在皮膚上跳動就像水中的鱒魚，

眼睛認真地查看一條石子路，

薄紗窗簾後面的火山口，森林裏的一座茅屋，一小堆木柴。

牆後有某物在膨脹，即使不想聽，它也在發出口哨聲，

蘆葦間有某物認不出我並轉過臉去。

那張泥臉在水藻中扭曲，

在壓榨機下和葡萄酒的薄皮一起咯吱作響，

這是同一張舔舐自殺者太陽穴的臉，

也是這張臉，它在分界線後召喚自由的圖片裏嚎叫。

無限已來令房屋入睡，它已叩響房門，

隱形之物的醫院裏空無一人。

這裏吹的不是風，而是它的樂譜，

野生的音樂，小舌的天鵝，

紙張在庭院裏皺縮，火堆在我胸中，

浪濤把鍵盤卷至碼頭，

大地唇間的一個吻。

淋巴結和鼾聲，我已決定溶解自己。

（胡續冬、袁婧譯）

The Fake Keyboard

Already I can hear afunereal thump,

of the logs on thecourtyard paving stones.

——Baudelaire

To dissolve the instrument completely for the fossil to reenter the trance

and start shouting at the door. What can chance do, when it finds

its own mother? The black idea of the pentagrams

buzzes as an insect behind the opening legs.

Charles guessed this echoing infinity. It echoes.

It echoes its gift, its birdsong, its torment.

Hopeless, there’s no one who looks at you from behind the eyes.

Music clings to the body like a thought ties hunger to its cage.

The keyboard must not take up the whole scene.

Evicted orbit of the letter, the filigree foretells the orifice,

it sustains the pupil in the lighthouse, until the legs are crossed,

self-infiltrated they kiss forever, fearlessly,

venturing twins that shine in death’s sky

hide the eye of putrefaction.

The performer burns the ships, dawn grimaces,

fake smiles are evident in the photos, nobody pulls out their camera

on sad afternoons,on poisoned hours, each spring

the mourners lie to the same sepulcher, pray to God,

look at the tormented belly through the eyelet,

and still speak of it when it comes back home.

The fingers hurt after building an awning,

the wood of the axe beats on the skin, as a trout in water,

the eye crumbles up a gravely path,

beyond the blindsa crater, a cabin in the forest, a pile of wood.

There’s something behind the wall that swells and whistles though I don’t want to hear it,

something amongthe reeds does not recognize me and

turns its face.

That face of clay twists among seaweed,

creaks on the winepress with the pomace,

the same face that licks the suicide’s temples,

the same face that howls in the prints that recall freedom after the borders.

Infinity has come to spend the night home, has knocked on the door,

no one in the hospital of the invisible.

The wind does not blow here, only its score,

wild music, swan of the uvula,

the papers crumble on the patio. my heart on the stake,

the tide drags the keyboard to the habor,

a kiss between earth’s lips.

I’ve decided to dissolve, lymph-note and death-note.

（English translation by Valentino Giannuzi）

*

馬克斯·雅各布^①，1944

眼睛在他的一摞紙中被清洗

神聖的圖像最後一次被封緘

從指甲開始，早起的人手指動了起來

上帝精細的頭腦中被捆縛的十字

因為你，狗群在積雪上便溺

地圖質詢著沒有腳的村落

從新塔上脫墜下大蠟燭

風笛和衰老的胸膛

說阿爾哈米亞語②的人即將網羅同黨

花環、鏡子、身披尖刺的魚

守護著戰後等待的母親

她們在戰爭的腳下流著淚相互親吻

她們來帶走了無比堅定的孩子們

他們見到你固定在錯誤的光中

這光引導著回家路上的羔羊

並永遠為抹大拉的瑪利亞的女兒們梳頭

① 譯註：馬克斯·雅各布（1876–1944），20世紀法國猶太裔詩人、畫家、作家和藝術評論家，畢加索的摯友，1944年死於達朗西集中營。

② 譯註：阿爾哈米亞語是生活在伊比利亞半島的摩爾人之間一度流行的一種混雜了西班牙語與阿拉伯語的語言。

（胡續冬、袁婧譯）

Max Jacob 1944

The eyes were washed in their satchels

The images sealed,for the one last time sacred

They tore with their fingernails the fingers of the awakened

hand tied crosses in God’s clean brain

It is for you that the dogs piss on the snow

the map questions the footless town

the New Tower from which candles drop

gagpipes and grey-haired chest

the scripted about to interlace brotherhoods

garlands, mirrors,spear-shaped fish

take care of mothers awaiting in the war

that tearfully kiss at the foot of the war

They came to take the fervent children

they found you fixed in the wrong light

the one which guides the Lamb back home

and forever brushes the daughters of Mary Magdalene.

（English translation by Valentino Giannuzi）