米罗斯拉夫 柯林, 克罗地亚诗人。生于1965年。
1989年获得30岁以下青年诗人Goran诗集奖。
著有六部诗集、一部小说。小说2001年获克罗地亚Jutarnji最佳小说奖。
作品被译介六种语言。
01 沃尔特 本杰明位于巴塞罗那的花园
两个流浪汉躺倒在黄杨木
树篱下的长椅上——好极了！
藏在垃圾箱后面的黑暗生物们
只不过是群孩子——好极了！
有人从瘟疫中喷洒出
沃尔特 本杰明的名字——好极了！
沃尔特 本杰明的花园里
长椅上动来动去的黑脑壳终究
不是沃尔特 本杰明——好极了！
01 Walter Benjamin’s Gardens In Barcelona
Two homeless men lay down on the bench
beneath the boxwood hedge - excellent!
The dark creatures hiding behind the garbage container
are after all children - excellent!
Somebody sprayed out Walter Benjamin's name
from the plaque - excellent!
The black head that moved on the bench
in Walter Benjamin's gardens is not
after all Walter Benjamin - excellent!
（Translated into English by Damir Šodan）
02 你，秀发左右摆动的你
他们不让我在有轨电车上阅读，尤其是你，秀发摆动
忽左忽右
你正把它甩到我的书页上，啪啦啦啦，所有的词语溅开消失
而我只能拾头看着你。
简 赫什菲尔德会说什么——她的诗《致审判：一次鉴定》
为什么我读到一半不再继续？
你的秀发改变了我的生活
＂如同吃一次朝鲜蓟引发味觉的改变／影响之后你吃的一切＂，简这么说。
头发带有奇特的品质，看似一堆死物：你可以剪断它，可以把它焚烧。
然而，它仍在生长。
而当我用活泼的手指梳理它，它们缠绕其中，仿佛纠结的生活，
别人的生活改变了，始于他们的味觉。
当你摆动你的头发假设我突然想看清你的脸。
最好的设想不过是
我盼望看见你的双手，在那蓝色中闪现
抬起那秀发，用手指梳理，
然后放任它毫不留情地泼溅
窜入我的书页，
犹如在理发店，
一天的忙碌结束时，
桶里的泡沫水被泼洒到大街上。
02 You, With Your Hair Swinging Left-right
They don't allow me to read on the tram, especially you, with your hair swinging
left-right.
You’re tossing it onto the page I am reading, splaaash, all the words vanish
and I have to look up at you.
What would Jane Hirshfield say – why did I stop reading
in the middle of her poem To Judgment: An Assay?
You change my life with your hair
“as eating an artichoke changes the taste/ of whatever is eaten after”, says Jane.
Hair is of a rather odd nature, seemingly dead: you can cut it, you can burn it.
Yet, still grows.
And then my lively fingers comb it, get entangled in it, their life gets entangled,
someone else’s life does, they change their taste.
Suppose I suddenly wish to see your face as you’re tossing your hair.
At its best I can only hope to see
the flash of your hands, that will come out of the blue
to raise your hair, comb it with the fingers,
and then let it mercilessly splash
across the pages of my book,
like foamy water from the bucket thrown out into the street at the end of the shift
at the barber’s.
（Translated into English by Miroslav Kirin）
03 关于鸟
我知道，我永远无法接近鸟，甚至没想过
和它们说话。鸟的存在是立方体向金字塔形
的过渡。立方体包含打开甜蜜的口令，金字塔是
永恒青春的能量场。鸟的骨头是空的；飞行时
空气栖息在体内。里面有我的梦，我愿意
相信它是真的——从小山尖到堆满干草的马车，
留下我短暂的飞行轨迹。七月的下午，数以千计
细小的飞行物呈现在空中。唯有鸟诞生鸟，那是
一切欢爱的真䯝。蟋蟀的善妒使自己烦恼，但
它们忍受。而沉默的鱼类过得自在；它们活得
和鸟类一模一样，只是在倒置的水的世界。所以
鸟类代替它们欢唱，那歌声恰似信徒在布道。有些人
懂得如何与它们交谈，譬如圣弗朗西斯——鸟儿
过去常常从他嘴里叼走词句，他也从鸟嘴里
叼走它们的鸣声。梅西安就是他的好学生，他近乎精确地
记录了老师和鸟类的对话。告诉我什么是幸福，
他提问，它们回答。用什么电缆可以
把幸福传播得更远更广？无线连接可以吗？谁的手里有答案？
这得花费多少钱？但你不能和鸟谈论更多。
更不喜欢中国艺术家张洹的做法——他把蜂蜜
涂遍赤裸的身体，沾上鸟食，坐进一只
大鸟笼里，他让鸽子从他身上啄食。我们
真有必要这样来对话？什么？就在那里，在那
窗户下，啄食的一群。一天到晚。它们偶尔
飞离树枝，然后落到地面。再次啄食。它们
不会长大，不会变胖，不论有没有吃饱，鸣声
一如既往。它们在啄食，但无食可吃。
在冬天，黑鸟试图确认土壤仍然肥沃，
没有随着草的枯萎，土地变得寒冷僵硬
而贫瘠。你真迷人，鸟儿冲着她叫喊又继续啄食，
啄出些小孔让温暖释放。我们可不可以相信
这些穿着黑衣的生命？他们的饥饿是真理的誓言。不过
我庆幸鸟儿和我永远无法交谈。我说着话，但我
又无话可说，无人可诉。因此
没有任何夜晚的交谈能替代我们之间的引力。
03 On Birds
I know, I will never be able to approach the birds, not even think of
talking with them. Birds are transitive beings between a cube and a
pyramid. The cube contains the password for sweetness, the pyramid an
energy field of everlasting youth. Birds have hollow bones; the air
relaxes inside them as they fly. Inside them is my dream, which I like to
believe is true – it’s my short flight from the top of the hill into the
wagon full of hay. It was the afternoon in July, thousands of small flies
were in the air. Only birds can have birdies, which is the essence of all
forms of endearment. The envy of crickets is a burden to them, but
they endure. It goes easily with the silent fish; they are exactly the same
what birds are, but in the inverted world of water. That’s why they help
them sing rapturously, which is almost a Christian mission. Some people
did know how to talk with them, take St. Francis – the birds used to
peck words from his mouth, and he their warbling, respectively.
Messiaen was just a good student of him who recorded his teacher’s
conversations with approximate exactness. Tell me what happiness is, he
asked and they answered him. What are the cables it uses to travel far
and wide? Does it use wireless connection? Who should I ask about it?
And how much does it cost? But you cannot talk with the birds any
more. Not even like Chinese artist Zhang Huan did – he spread honey
all over his naked body, bathed it in birdseed, sat in the large birdcage
and let the doves peck the seeds on his body. Do we really have to
make them talk with us that way? What? There they are, beneath the
window, pecking. All day long. Once in a while they fly off on some
branch, and then land on the ground again. And peck again. They don’t
grow bigger, don’t get fat, their voices do not change, whether they were
full or starving. They are pecking, but there is nothing to peck. In
winter, blackbirds try to assure the soil that it is still rich, that it has not
gone poor as its grass has withered and it turned cold and seems to be
dying. You are attractive, the birds shout to her and resume pecking,
making little holes to let the warmth come out. Can we trust these
creatures in black? Their hunger is a pledge of truth. Nevertheless, I am
glad that birds and I will never be able to converse. I am talking, but I
haven’t got anything to say, haven’t got anyone to talk to. Hence the
attraction between us that no nocturnal conversation can replace.
（Translated into English by Miroslav Kirin）
04 关于噪音
据说，每个新生儿在上帝耳边低声讲述各种故事，可以让上帝屈服到尖叫起来。孩子的沉默昭示上帝的失败。然而，一切终将毁灭于沉默。约翰 凯奇把极限设为4分33秒；他清楚地知道，如果我们坚持无休无止的沉默，
我们的世界会崩溃。噪音能被测量吗？也许，有些测量仪是可靠的。或者至少人们是这么说的。譬如女演员安德林妮·雪莉的尸体。在葬礼那天，让我们毫无羞耻地测量它，在敞开的棺椁里展示它。从她纽约的一间办公室来到楼下的公寓，因为噪音，她和一个19岁的移民建筑工争吵。他毫不犹豫地掐死了她。上帝怂恿他十九年了，终于做到了。这是一次转为失败的胜利。爱的缺失或上帝缺席就是沉默。什么是沉默的缺席？上帝总可以提出无法回答的问题。没有任何一个时刻听不见血液奔流穿过我的血管，微小的毛发在我的鼻孔里颤动。有时我无法入睡，因为我听到身体的器官在幕后安静地工作——老实说，还有什么比经常意识到自己身体的存在更可怕吗？身体在床上兴奋地一遍遍翻转，呼出苦涩的气息，撞在枕头上，弹回，钻进耳朵里。我的耳朵是一个仓库，储存着女人做爱时的呻吟：它一次次地回荡在我耳中，在声音消失很久以后。这是一个仓库，存在于谁的黑暗的角落，一个小女孩越哭越大声。在那个仓库，不时会用一台电钻修理现在这个完全错乱的世界。不久，一个哀嚎般的汽车报警器无休止地加入进来。它也来执行同一个修理世界的使命？是不是说如果你的身体不会共振，你就根本不存在？在我听觉的库房里，一个远远的角落里，一只小鸟在鸣啭，总是同一只，又总在同样的时间。他那晶莹孤寂的鸣啭质询着水晶之夜的意义。在夜里我无法辨识的鸟儿在白天飞回来。如果我从口袋里找不到一只鸟，另一只鸟就会在我的门口蹦蹦跳跳，抖擞羽毛，感到欣慰地从大雨中找到了庇护。你不认得我啦，他对我说，开始啄我的手掌，不再多说一句，而下一刻他又成了个要饭的，递给我一张皱巴巴的黄纸，他的眼睛疲惫无神，甚至流露出一些不治之症。他说，至少拿去读一读，当我关上门的时候，纸掉到地上，灯熄灭了。凌晨4点48分，我坐着电梯从我的公寓慢慢下来，抵制大楼前那些懒散的青少年们，他们在无休无止地吵闹。到现在他们已经被怂恿了十九年。我当然知道接下来会发生什么。几秒钟后我躺在地上，被打得青一块紫一块，四肢不能动弹。为什么我要感到羞耻——我要展示我的伤疤，他们的吵闹并不只针对我。让他们像压力锅一样嚎叫，像早已被遗忘的那种火车的鸣声一样尖叫。我的身体又体验了一次语言失败带来的屈辱。然而，我还没有对语言失去信心。
04 On Noise
Allegedly, God crouches by each newborn child whispering all sorts of tales into his ear, inducing him to scream. The child’s silence stands for the defeat of God. However, all is bound to end up in the denial of silence. John Cage set a limit to 4’ 33’’; he knew well enough that if we insisted on the silence without limited duration, the boundaries of our world would collapse. Can noise be measured? Probably, some measuring instruments are reliable. Or at least people say so. Take the dead body of the actress Adrienne Shelly. Let’s measure it without any shame and show it in the open casket on the day of the funeral. From her New York office she descended to the apartment below to argue about building noise made by a 19-year-old immigrant construction worker. He does not hesitate a second to strangle her. God had tempted him for nineteen years and won. It was a victory that turned out to be a defeat. The absence of love or God is silence. What is the absence of silence? God can always pose a question that cannot be answered. There is not a single moment without the sound of blood pumping through my veins, without the sound of tiny hairs quivering in my nostrils. Sometimes I cannot get to sleep because I hear my body organs quietly working in the background – honestly, is there anything more dreadful than being constantly aware of the presence of your own body? The body feverishly turning over and over in bed, the body exhaling bitter breath which then hits the pillow, rebounds and finds its way into the ear. My ear is a storehouse that stocks the moaning of a woman making love: it keeps returning to me long after it has vanished. It is a storehouse in whose dark corner the crying of a little girl soars up. In that storehouse a power drill is turned on once in a while to mend the world now completely deranged. Soon a car alarm joins, wailing endlessly. Is it also on the same mission of mending the world? Is it to say that if you do not have a resonant body, you actually do not exist? In the far corner of my aural storehouse a tiny bird warbles, always the same one, always at the same time. His crystal solitary warbling questions the meaning of the crystal night. The bird that I cannot recognize by night comes back by day. If I do not find one in my pocket, some other bird will be hopping before my front-door; shivering, happy for finding a refuge from the heavy rain. Don’t you recognize me, he tells me and starts pecking my palm, refuses to say more, and the next moment he is only a beggar handing me a creased yellowed paper, his eyes betray fatigue and blindness, even some terminal disease. At least take it and read it, he says and as I close the door the paper falls down on the floor, the light goes out. At 4.48 a.m. I slowly descend from my flat to object to the noise made by idle teenagers engaged in endless verbal ramifications in front of my building. They have been tempted for nineteen years now. Of course I know what comes next. It takes a few seconds before I lie there on the ground, beaten black and blue, hardly moving my limbs. Why should I be ashamed of it – I will show my scars, they will not hum only because of me. Let them wail as pressure-cooker, as a long forsaken train whistle. My body has experienced yet another humiliating defeat of words. Yet, I have not lost my faith in them.
（Translated into English by Miroslav Kirin）
05 去往贝斯克瑞克的路
2016年在斯普利特和安德拉斯 盖赖维奇谈论后，虽然太廉价，太透明，贝克雷克仍想成为一个隐喻，在隐喻已被遗弃的年代，在开启一段故事或旅程之前就结束。没有抗争就没有人能活下来，如果你不去战斗，如果你没有像一只受伤的野猪般口吐白沫，茫然地望一头雄鹿迈着胜利的步伐消失在丛林深处，你不可能幸存。没有比喻就没有贝斯克瑞克。那为什么我们还在争论这没有主人的财产？嗳，安德拉斯，去往贝斯克瑞克的旅程，你可还记得？告诉我。你用匈牙利语回答，我就用克罗地亚语提问。你投来克罗地亚式微笑，我就还以匈牙利式微笑。贝斯克瑞克是一座新的巴塞罗那，我们用它骗来了可怜的加泰罗尼亚人。那些永恒地生活在贫瘠土地上的人们。在贝克雷克，布法罗比尔不停剥削衣衫褴褛的印第安人。他们白森森的牙齿让当地人发狂。关于中欧的模糊印象，或许仅存在天气预报的地图上，在那些矗立着却不再冒烟的烟囱上，也在那些停播的黑白故事短片里，在能源可以从平原上自由开采的年代，在松开的鞋带被认为是对人类自由产生贡献的时代，在汉德克和昆德拉只有玉米粥作早餐，糖果代替《共产党宣言》，藏在板栗巷里的音乐学校取代犹太教堂，灰尘变成上等哲学，而温柏树慢慢融入温顺孩子的历史的岁月中，在贝克雷克，我们与这一切最接近...... 贝斯克瑞克不是斯普利特，安德拉斯，它的石头化为瓦砾，沉入泥土。如果我不求捷径，真正地关心最近的地方，不需要棒棒糖来欺骗味觉，那么 我就出发，去往贝斯克瑞克。
05 The Road To Becskerek
after a conversation with András Gerevich in Split 2016 Bečkerek would like to be a metaphor, in an age that has abandoned metaphor, but it's too cheap, and transparent, to be a metaphor, to finish a story or a journey before it even started, without fight no one lives, there is no survival if you do not fight, if you do not foam at the mouth like a wounded boar blankly watching a buck triumphantly disappearing in the deep forest , and when there is no metaphor there is no Becskerek, why are we arguing about the property without its owner? That journey to Becskerek, do you remember it, András, huh? Tell me. You respond in Hungarian, I will ask you in Croatian. You smile in Croatian, I will smile in Hungarian. Becskerek is a new Barcelona in which we had fraudulently dragged poor Catalans. Those eternally land-deprived people. In Becskerek Buffalo Bill exploits shabby Indians. Indigenos. Their white teeth drive locals crazy. In Becskerek we are closest to the obscure idea of Central Europe, in the very place where it disappeared, perhaps on a weather map, perhaps where dead chimneys rise, as well as where the reels with black and white movies with some thin story stop rolling, where energy is free to roam the plains, and where untied shoelaces are considered as a contribution to human freedom, where Handke and Kundera have polenta for breakfast, where candies replace the communist manifesto, and the music school hidden in the alley of chestnuts replaces a synagogue, where dust turns into a fine philosophy, and quinces roll into the meek child's history ... Becskerek is not Split, András, its stones crumble, sinking into the mud. If I really care about the nearest place, which calls for no shortcut, no lollipop to deceive the sense of taste, then I go,I go to Becskerek.
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发表于 2018-8-14 11:09
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