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Winter 2016-117 | Issue 12

Anastassis Vistonitis was born in Komotini, Northern Greece, in 1952. He studied Political Science and Economics in Athens, and Philosophy in Thessaloniki. From 1983 to 1988 he lived in the US and traveled extensively across Europe, North and South America, Africa, Australia, and Asia. From 1996 to 2001 he served on the board of The Federation of European Writers, and from 2003 to 2008 as its vice-president. He was the General Editor of Athens’ candidature file for the 2004 Olympic Games, and is the founder and former vice-president of Poets’ Circle.

Author of eleven books of poetry, four essay collections, five travelogues, and a volume of short stories, he has also edited and translated The Daemon in the Mirror, fifty poems by the Chinese classical poet Li He (Li Ho). His many book reviews, cultural essays, individual travelogues, and myriad articles have appeared in leading quarterlies and newspapers in Greece and abroad. His work has been rendered into more than twenty languages, and included in numerous anthologies. Notable among English translations of his poetry is the volume Mara’s Shade, Selected Poems, Tebot Bach 2011. A German collection of his Selected Poems, Wellen des Schwarzen Meeres, (Waves of the Black Sea) appeared in 2001.

He writes for the leading Greek newspaper To Vima and lives in Athens and Ljubljana.

Anastassis Vistonitis’ poetry is rooted in profound familiarity with current and classical literature, Greek and Mediterranean myth, political and philosophical thought and history, as well as the particular agonies of modern Europe and Greece. Though his imagery achieves moments of splendid and joyous transcendence, these are sometimes set against ruined and desolate landscapes no less common to our own era than to those which precede it. Unique among contemporary poets, his voice weaves gorgeous metaphor with chill prophecy and dark remembrance.

希臘詩人安納斯塔西斯·維斯托尼提斯1952年出生於希臘北部的科莫蒂尼,曾在雅典修讀政治經濟學,在塞薩洛尼基修習哲學。1983至1988年旅居美國,並廣泛遊歷歐洲、北美、南美、非洲、澳洲和亞洲。1996至2001年為歐洲作家聯盟的理事,2003至2008年任聯盟副主席。他曾擔任2004年雅典奧林匹克運動會申辦文件的總編輯,也是希臘國際性詩人組織「詩人圈」的創辦人和前副主席。

維斯托尼提斯出版過詩集11種、散文集4種、遊記5部和短篇小說一卷。他還翻譯過50首唐代詩人李賀的詩,以《鏡中之魔》為名結集。他執筆的書評、文化小品、個人遊記等大量文章見諸希臘及國外多種期刊、報章。他的詩被翻譯成20多種語言,收錄在眾多詩歌選本。2001年他的詩歌德語譯本《Wellen des Schwarzen Meeres》(《黑海之浪》)出版;2011年英語譯本《Mara’s Shade》由美國Tebot Bach出版社出版。

他目前居住在雅典和盧布爾雅那,為希臘重要報紙《To Vima》撰稿。

維氏的詩植根於他對古典和當代文學以及希臘、地中海神話的熟稔,充滿了對政治、哲學、歷史的思考,也揭示出歐洲和希臘當前正在經受的疼痛。儘管他詩中的意象會傳達出美妙而愉快的超脫的瞬間,但有時卻襯以我們這個時代並不陌生的荒涼和凋零的圖景,這些景象早已為我們此前的世代熟諳。他是當代詩人中獨特的一個,他眩目的隱喻中盤錯著令人戰慄的預言和黑暗的記憶。

AFTER THE BATTLE

The battle raged till sunset.
In darkness they lay themselves down
to sleep, the living and the dead.
Searchlights swept.

Dark tatters
flapped in dusty wind.

From a high casement,
notes of a nuptial waltz.

From ditches, pale
corpse sheen.

A steel firefly settled on the square.
Pylades emerged, Clytemnestra,
Aegisthus. In the gaze of the pilot
I glimpsed Orestes staring skyward.
Then the searchlights’ lethal glare
swallowed all.

Beneath the star of death
we went on living, gnawing bitter bread.
Our dreams sprang up
a sea of leaden groves.

Foul, thick light.
Days of mire and insects.

Insects entered our houses,
took over our beds.
They claimed our graveyards,
our ancestors.
In the bowels of earth,
in the cities of Hell,
they built mausoleums.

The iris of water
gives birth to the sun.
I offer my voice,
my eyes, my flesh.
In the language of the hawk
I speak to you.
In the rattle of the woodpecker,
the sparrow’s flight.

Their troops marched in
through the north gate. Then
the rituals of surrender:
flags, keys, women.

The enemy were great in number.
We called them thieves of an epoch.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

戰役之後

戰役持續到日落之後。
在黑暗的降臨中生者和死者
躺在一起睡下,
他們打開搜索燈的強光。

黑暗的破布擺動
在風揚起的塵灰中。

從最高的窗戶中
飄來婚禮的華爾茲舞曲。

死者在壕溝裏
燃起了夜。

在主廣場
一個鋼鐵的螢火蟲降落。
皮拉得斯、克呂泰涅斯特拉
埃癸斯托斯爬出來
在領航員的眼中我看見俄瑞斯忒斯
凝視著天空。
然後他們一起消失,
在搜索燈致命的見證中。

我們生活在死亡之星下。
我們啃著苦澀的面包。
在我們入睡的鉛的叢林裏,
傳來密集的發芽聲。

稠密的肮髒的光。
泥濘和蟲子的日子。

蟲子占據了我們的家,
把我們的臥室變成它們的王國。
它們進入墓園,
成為死者的哨兵。
它們在大地的內腹建起陵墓,
在那地獄之城。

從海水的眼中
太陽誕生了。
我給你我的聲音,
我給你我的眼睛和皮膚,
我以鷹的聲音對你講話,
以麻雀的飛行,
和樹神的拍打聲。

敵人從北邊的城門進入。
投降的儀式舉行,
旗幟、鑰匙和女人被帶走。

他們有很多。
他們如人所知:時間的篡奪者。

翻譯 © 王家新

譯注:皮拉得斯、克呂泰涅斯特拉、埃癸斯托斯、俄瑞斯忒斯,均為古希臘悲劇之父埃斯庫羅斯《奧瑞斯提亞》三部曲中的人物。該三部曲圍繞阿爾戈斯國王阿伽門農之死展開,講述了一個以血還血的復仇故事。

ARS POETICA

Not like the leaves
windswept through the streets.
Nor still in the sea,
a tethered boat.
A poem is not the sky’s azure,
its lucid air.

A poem is a stake
through the world’s heart,
a glinting blade
driven through the towns.
A poem is pain,
a bright splinter of steel,
ice, a blackened wound.
A poem is obdurate,
its facets diamond.
Graved stone.
A surging Asian river.

A poem is neither voice
nor winged passage.
It’s a rifleshot
at history, the skyline.
A poem is no withering bloom.
It is anguish, embalmed.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

詩藝

不是街頭風中
打旋的樹葉。
不是死寂的海,
系泊的船。
一首詩不是天空之藍,
不是清爽的空氣。

它是一根長釘
刺穿世界的心臟。
一把森冷的刀
楔入每一座城鎮。
一首詩是痛苦,
一塊耀眼的鐵,
冰,一個瘀黑的傷口。
它堅固
如鑽石的刻面。
肅穆的石頭。
奔流的亞洲之河。

一首詩不是輕聲細語
不是翅膀掠過的痕跡。
它是一聲槍響
瞄准歷史,射向地平線。
一首詩是一朵不謝的花。
用香料保存的疼。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE MOON IN THE GLASS

I

This
wobbly table
sets wildness at odds with itself,
summons friends from the dead.
Its lamp gels the dark.

So unlike light.

As a boy I saw how it rose
from the plains of color,
full moon over wheatfield, cornstalks,
a map of wellsprings.

II

Tonight
midnight’s chill,
a stone scribed over rooftops,
the sea breathing unseen.
Dilemmas, the agonies of choice,
the lost hemorrhaging of those one loves,
this table strewn with wooden teeth,
scorched masks, shadows aflame
surrounding a water glass,
at its bottom
a drowning moon.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

杯中的月亮

1

這張
不穩定的桌子
讓荒野偏向一極,朝向死去的朋友。
以一盞燈,凝固黑暗。

但是光不是那樣的。

我看見它像個孩子一樣
在平原的色彩中出現,
一輪滿月,泉水的地圖,
升起在玉米和麥地之上。

2

現在
午夜的涼意
是房屋上的冰冷石刻,
而海在看不見的地方呼吸。
絕路,痛苦的抉擇,
所愛的人的血白白流去,
桌子上佈滿木頭牙印,
燃燒的面具,陰影的火焰
而在這只水杯中
月亮沉入杯底。

翻譯 © 王家新

CURTAIN

Beneath the bridge
a blind man in the water,
one star above the water lily,
pale death in the grass
and the fish of midnight
eating up the sky.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

橋下
盲人在水中
星在睡蓮上
水草擁抱死亡之白
夜魚
啃噬著蒼穹

翻譯 © 史春波

DARK SUMMER

At the borders of the west we threw up towns,
sightless windows, black terraria.

From whence this wind
pummeling roof and belltower,
walls, windowpanes,
fetid, soft with death-rot?

Light sinks,
its crimson tatters
flaring between shades,
the sky’s arena plunging toward the dark.

North sails the victor.
South the ships
drawn by centaurs of the sun.
Eastward
the deep’s agate eyes,
star-specked springs, blazing winds.

Garden of the riverbank,
sea sprouting trees.
Silken ebonies of night, the roses,
this well a black lotus,
shadowed throat, its stones oracular
that night the nightingales performed
for us the stars’ oratorio.

Beneath Berenice’s hair,
your own grew longer,
your mouth a tidal sea.

Your mouth,
throneroom of the wind.

From thready breeze
you loomed your tunic
with which I cleanse
this ash, this muck
of dust and hubris.

At the borders of the west we threw up towns,
sightless windows, black terraria.

If wind strokes your face,
the frost of morning
will erase your tears.
Beyond these abandoned graves,
beyond this sky,
a great nova opens
the heart of the cosmos.

With a shout and a vision we’ll flee,
tumbling like an emerald
through dark eons,
see once more in your fabled gaze
the ocean slice the horizon,
your breath
unfurl a dark leaf
turning toward the light
as the bee steers
by spring’s compass.

The world is smaller than the dream,
tyrannical language.
You whisper when you speak
of beauty, grief, love, tears,
rare ores
uncorroded by the glare of Hell.

Moon-eyed the viper
coiled in childhood’s house.
Its skin bore the stamp
of ancient tribes,
the herald’s silver staff,
the disc of beauty,
eclipses of the Moon.

Its eyes refracted life eternal
over the black grave.

If voice recedes, the garden stays.
Your lead peplum skims the floor tiles,
your shimmering flesh
untouchable as the Pleiades.
Things sift to dust,
faces melt, colors drift
through depths of the inexpressible,
the hazy, gilded mist
that is Elysium.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

黑暗的夏天

在向西的門檻我們建造了城鎮——
盲目的窗戶,黑暗的魚池。

從那裏,風吹拂而來
拍打著屋頂和鐘塔,
牆面和窗戶
沮喪而衰老,如同死亡?

光落下
在陰影中間
拖動著桔紅的抹布
天空是黑暗的競技場。

向北將走著勝利者。
向南,船隻被
太陽神之馬牽引。
而向東,
水的瑪瑙眼
閃動著春之繁星和風的火焰。

花園偎依在河邊
海播種著樹木。
夜的絲綢和烏木曾是玫瑰
而井口綻放著黑暗蓮花
從那樣一種湧現中
陰影,聖殿和岩石,
以夜鶯愉悅著我們的夜
眾星的清唱劇。

你的頭髮生長
像后髮星座那樣。
海從你的嘴中流過。

你的嘴是
一座風的宮殿。

以風的彎曲
你舞動著你的寬松外衣
現在我可以用它
來擦拭灰燼
泥濘
塵土
和自大。

在向西的門檻我們建造了城鎮——
盲目的窗戶,黑暗的魚池。

讓風愛撫你的臉。
在早晨你的眼淚霜凍
會一瞬間消失。
越過遺棄的墓園,
在天空之上
一顆大星綻開
宇宙的心髒。

我們將帶著呼喊和夢逃離
像綠寶石一樣墜入
時代的黑暗。
在你神話般的眼中我將再次看到
大海劃出的地平線。
而你的呼吸
會使烏木的葉子增長
它將轉向光
像蜜蜂被春天的羅盤
吸引。

夢比世界、比言說的暴政
更偉大遼闊。
你的名字之美只在低語中,
而悲哀、愛和眼淚
是珍貴的金屬
不會被冥王之光磨滅。

月亮曾是巨蟒的眼睛,
生活在我們童年的屋子裏。
它的皮膚有著老文明的封印,
它曾是使者的銀杖,
美的戒指
月亮的蝕暈。

它的眼,永恒生命的鏡子
高懸在墳墓黑暗的上空。

如果聲音隱去,花園將留存。
你的長裙將滑過地板,
你皮膚的光澤閃閃發亮
像那未被觸摸的昴星。
這樣的形體將在塵土中消隱,
臉孔和容顏融化
並再次取得它們的形狀
在那不可言說的深處
金色的薄霧來自天國的田野。

翻譯 © 王家新

DREAM

My whole life I had nothing.
Now they’ve taken everything.

Among thousands, I’ve become another
seeking another, whatever I was
mere scattered fragments.

My face a vague tracery,
its lines indistinct, indiscriminate.

Such spoilage flees his gaze,
his recognition. The faintest frown
could smash the planet. I woke
last night to singing dark,
a spring beyond all measure,
huge blossoms devouring walls.
Bright wind swept me skyward.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

我的一生從不擁有什麼。
但是現在他們從我這裏拿走一切。

這裏——千百的他者。我也成為另一個
尋找另一個。
那曾構成我的一堆被拆開。

我的臉不確定,生命
一種模糊的系列。

他不曾注意這損壞。
他不知道。甚至一次單獨的鬼臉
就可以毀掉世界。因為昨夜
我醒來,而在黑暗中圍繞我的
是那詩的風景,一個盛怒的春天,
我看見大團的花在咬著牆。
白色的風把我帶向它的天空。

翻譯 © 王家新

STONE

Deep in the black gunpowder
called memory, below the massive stone,
blind fable, I’m still here
with a red barometer,
my father’s shadow,
last of a plundered kingdom.
Amid these ruins,
strewn peacock plumes.
Snow stops the cavemouth,
fissure in the grammar of basalt,
blinkered heart, dark freedom.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

石頭

在被稱為記憶的
黑火藥的內部,
一個紅氣壓計。
往巨石的縱深處,
失明的寓言,
父親的影子。
而我猶在此,
居身這垂死的王國,
孔雀翎羽的廢墟。
大雪封住了洞口,
玄武岩的語法裂出縫隙,
被蒙蔽的心,
黑色自由。

翻譯 © 史春波

WAITING

In a room, space shrinks.
Decadent dreams, shipwrecks.

Some ascend ladders.
Smiling predators.

Outside, flattening rain.

A room’s a thin garment,
the heart old newsprint on the floor.

That woman on the wall, threadbare,
her gaze on you decaying.

The horizon, like the town,
withdraws.

No signs, no portents.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

等待

空間在一間屋子裏縮小。
船骸——退化的夢。

有人將爬上梯子,
帶著食肉者的笑容。

外面將下雨——一陣細雨。

而房間將成為一件窄外套,
心如報紙一樣扔在地板上。

牆上的女人肖像也將破損。
她腐爛的眼注視你。

而在地平線上
城鎮將拉開距離。

無需預兆,無需標誌。

翻譯 © 王家新

TARGET RANGE

Shattered noon.
Dead light unburied.
The sea rings its horizon.

Shadows pace the sun,
each day a carnivorous river.

Mutterings. Elsewhere
crowds assemble, girded
for the unbound streets,
the sun fixed and yellow,
its seat gleaming
at the center of the sky.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

射程

正午被粉碎。
未埋葬的死光。
海環繞著地平線。

陰影面對著太陽
而日子——一條掠奪的河。

你聽到談話聲。在另外的地方
人群密集,鋼鐵般
就在敞開的城裏。
而太陽靜止,發黃——
一個閃光的寶座
在天空中央。

翻譯 © 王家新

METAPHOR

Years, then once more I see the stars.
Moonless, monster-spawning night,
eddying sky,
valleys of electric rivers,
fever’s shadows, behind the skull
entrenchments.
Blanched forms materialize,
the pale shades of illusion.

Summers of mold, dead cigarettes,
the trash of fifty years.

Your voice, your breath a silken
strand of spiderweb, your soul
an insect snared over the abyss.

Inside me, an old dream
trembling.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

隱喻

多年之後我又看到了星辰。
無月的夜,巨獸之母,
充滿旋渦的天空,
電的河流和山谷,
發燒的陰影,腦勺後面的
壕溝。
白色的影像來臨——
幻覺的蒼白色。

這充滿黴菌和煙頭的夏日,
五十個年頭留下的垃圾。

你的聲音,你的呼吸,蜘蛛的
優美織線與你的靈魂
一隻懸空的昆蟲。

一支老歌,就在我之內顫抖。

翻譯 © 王家新

THE END OF TIME

A billion tons of coal
burned for books, statistics,
and for Clio, unsmiling queen of papyrus.

In a century or two
we’ll cram the galaxy
with blind idols, invisible drumbeats.

Someday time may be more
than hypotheses, its sense recast,
the dust of lost theorems
brushed off, consigning half of history
to the prehistoric. Someone
will refashion nature as strange fauna
of magnetic beasts, phosphoric livestock;
a new Zodiac
with antennas, huge bells, winged starships
predicting the end of the end; or simply
contrive a formula to remember
and forget, freezing any drift,
the fourth dimension now in sight.

For me this shoreline is enough,
how that cloud bisects the moon,
its skirt trailing through waves.
Tonight the sky’s a cupola
strewn with figured silver,
the far-flung catapult of stars.

trans. © Anastassis Vistonitis & George O’Connell

 

時間的盡頭

億萬噸煤燃燒
製成書籍,數據,
為了克利俄,那面無微笑的紙莎草女王。

再過兩個世紀,
銀河系將塞滿
盲崇的偶像和隱匿的鼓點。

也許有一天,時間不再是
假設,它的定義將重新書寫,
遺失的定理抖掉灰塵,
把半部人類史交予史前。
自然重新創造
一本奇異的動物志:
帶磁力的野獸,發磷光的家畜;
全新的黃道帶
長著觸須,系上大鈴鐺,星際飛船扇動翅膀,
預言著盡頭的盡頭;或發明一個
記憶和遺忘的公式,使流動之物凍結,
四維空間在即。

對我來說海岸線已足夠,
雲遮住半邊月,
它的裙擺拖曳在水波之上。
今夜,天穹綴滿
銀子般的字符,
石弩把星光射向天際。

翻譯 © 史春波