扎加耶夫斯基“我看着一张照片”
我看着一张照片
我看着一张我出生的城市的照片，
看着它那葱茏的花园和蜿蜒的街巷，看着山峰、
天主教屋顶、东正教堂圆顶，
礼拜日男低音们在其中歌唱得如此有力，
周遭的树木仿佛都摇摆在飓风中；
我注视这张照片，无法把眼睛强移开，
突然间我想象他们都还活着，
仿佛什么都没发生过，他们依旧赶去听演讲，
等火车，搭天蓝色电车，
慌张地查日历，在磅上称体重，
听威尔第的咏叹调和最喜欢的轻歌剧，
读仍然纯白的报纸，
在匆忙和畏惧中活着，并且总是迟到，
有些不朽，可他们并不知，
这个拖延欠款，那个害怕花钱，
还有个完成不了关于康德的论文，
不明白他们里面有什么东西，
我的祖母依旧在去往 Brzuchowice① 的路上，
怀抱着一个蛋糕，双臂没有耷拉下来，
药房里一个男孩请求治好他的害羞病，
一个女孩对镜检查她小小的胸部，
我的堂兄洗完澡后径直走向公园，
他想不到不久后自己将染上肺炎，
热情偶有迸发，冬天昏黄的灯盏
发出温馨的光环，七月里苍蝇大声欢呼
夏日之光，嗡出薄暮的赞美诗，
屠杀发生了，起义，驱逐，
残忍的纳粹军队穿着合身的制服，
邪恶的苏联内卫军入侵，红军
承诺友谊却原来是背叛，
可他们看不见这些，他们几乎看不见，
他们有太多事要做，他们需要
储煤过冬、找个好医生，
未回复的信件兀自生长，黑墨水褪色，
他们新买的一台收音机在房里播放着，可他们
仍疲于普通的生与死，
他们没有时间，他们道歉，
他们写长长的信和简短的明信片，
他们总是迟到，无望地迟到，
和我们一样，真真地像我们，像我。
注： ①地名，属乌克兰。
I Look at a Photograph
I look at a photograph of the city where I was born,
at its lush gardens and winding streets, at the hills,
the Catholic roofs, the domes of Orthodox churches,
where on Sunday the basses sing so mightily
that neighboring trees sway as in a hurricane;
I gaze at the photograph, I can’t tear my eyes away,
and suddenly I imagine that they’re all still alive
As if nothing had happened, they still scurry to lectures,
wait for trains, take sky-blue trams,
check calendars with alarm, step on scales,
listen to Verdi’s arias and their favourite operetta,
read newspapers that are still white,
live in haste, in fear, and always late,
are a bit immortal, but don’t know it,
one’s behind with the rent, another fears consumption,
a third can’t finish his thesis on Kant,
doesn’t understand what things are in themselves,
my grandmother still goes to Brzuchowice carrying
a cake on her outstretched arms and they don’t droop,
in the pharmacy a shy boy requests a cure for shyness,
a girl examines her small breast in a mirror,
my cousin goes to the park straight from his bath
and doesn’t guess that soon he’ll catch pneumonia,
enthusiasm erupts at times, in winter yellow lamps,
create cozy circles, in July flies loudly celebrate
the summer’s great light and hum twilit hymns,
Pogroms occur, uprisings, deportations,
the cruel Wehrmacht in becoming uniforms,纳粹国防军
the foul NKVD invades, red stars
promise friendship but signify betrayal,
but they don’t see it, they almost don’t see it,
they have so much to do, they need
to lay up coal for winter, find a good doctor,
the unanswered letters grow, the brown ink fades,
a radio plays in the room, their latest buy, but they are
still wearied by ordinary life and death,
they don’t have time,they apologize,
they write long letters and laconic postcards,简洁
they’re always late, hopelessly late,
the same as us, exactly like us, like me.我看着一张照片
我看着一张我出生的城市的照片，
看着它那葱茏的花园和蜿蜒的街巷，看着山峰、
天主教屋顶、东正教堂圆顶，
礼拜日男低音们在其中歌唱得如此有力，
周遭的树木仿佛都摇摆在飓风中；
我注视这张照片，无法把眼睛强移开，
突然间我想象他们都还活着，
仿佛什么都没发生过，他们依旧赶去听演讲，
等火车，搭天蓝色电车，
慌张地查日历，在磅上称体重，
听威尔第的咏叹调和最喜欢的轻歌剧，
读仍然纯白的报纸，
在匆忙和畏惧中活着，并且总是迟到，
有些不朽，可他们并不知，
这个拖延欠款，那个害怕花钱，
还有个完成不了关于康德的论文，
不明白他们里面有什么东西，
我的祖母依旧在去往 Brzuchowice① 的路上，
怀抱着一个蛋糕，双臂没有耷拉下来，
药房里一个男孩请求治好他的害羞病，
一个女孩对镜检查她小小的胸部，
我的堂兄洗完澡后径直走向公园，
他想不到不久后自己将染上肺炎，
热情偶有迸发，冬天昏黄的灯盏
发出温馨的光环，七月里苍蝇大声欢呼
夏日之光，嗡出薄暮的赞美诗，
屠杀发生了，起义，驱逐，
残忍的纳粹军队穿着合身的制服，
邪恶的苏联内卫军入侵，红军
承诺友谊却原来是背叛，
可他们看不见这些，他们几乎看不见，
他们有太多事要做，他们需要
储煤过冬、找个好医生，
未回复的信件兀自生长，黑墨水褪色，
他们新买的一台收音机在房里播放着，可他们
仍疲于普通的生与死，
他们没有时间，他们道歉，
他们写长长的信和简短的明信片，
他们总是迟到，无望地迟到，
和我们一样，真真地像我们，像我。
注： ①地名，属乌克兰。
I Look at a Photograph
I look at a photograph of the city where I was born,
at its lush gardens and winding streets, at the hills,
the Catholic roofs, the domes of Orthodox churches,
where on Sunday the basses sing so mightily
that neighboring trees sway as in a hurricane;
I gaze at the photograph, I can’t tear my eyes away,
and suddenly I imagine that they’re all still alive
As if nothing had happened, they still scurry to lectures,
wait for trains, take sky-blue trams,
check calendars with alarm, step on scales,
listen to Verdi’s arias and their favourite operetta,
read newspapers that are still white,
live in haste, in fear, and always late,
are a bit immortal, but don’t know it,
one’s behind with the rent, another fears consumption,
a third can’t finish his thesis on Kant,
doesn’t understand what things are in themselves,
my grandmother still goes to Brzuchowice carrying
a cake on her outstretched arms and they don’t droop,
in the pharmacy a shy boy requests a cure for shyness,
a girl examines her small breast in a mirror,
my cousin goes to the park straight from his bath
and doesn’t guess that soon he’ll catch pneumonia,
enthusiasm erupts at times, in winter yellow lamps,
create cozy circles, in July flies loudly celebrate
the summer’s great light and hum twilit hymns,
Pogroms occur, uprisings, deportations,
the cruel Wehrmacht in becoming uniforms,纳粹国防军
the foul NKVD invades, red stars
promise friendship but signify betrayal,
but they don’t see it, they almost don’t see it,
they have so much to do, they need
to lay up coal for winter, find a good doctor,
the unanswered letters grow, the brown ink fades,
a radio plays in the room, their latest buy, but they are
still wearied by ordinary life and death,
they don’t have time,they apologize,
they write long letters and laconic postcards,简洁
they’re always late, hopelessly late,
the same as us, exactly like us, like me.