推 isaki1987:Push 09/18 02:42
※ 編輯: kamadevas 來自: 99.42.20.232 (09/18 09:33)
塔什干的盛宴
--Sitor Situmorang (1924- )
忽必烈汗的時代數百年後的
某一天
我出席一場聯誼餐會
與塔什干的詩人們
同飲美酒、共嚐鮮果
都是烏茲別克農人的產品
他們繼承的是天際線
一望無際的草原
本地大學的一位俄國姑娘娜塔莎
問了個出人意表的問題：
請問您是否認為
詩人具有童心？
真想將她的臉蛋擁入懷中，可我只能回答：
我的好娜塔莎，妳的臉龐確實如
孩子一般純潔。是呀
詩人們就像孩子
希望他們的詩句令人一見難忘
恰似妳的容顏！
這時同仁們紛紛舉起酒杯說：祝您健康！
向普希金與巴斯特納克致敬！
娜塔莎怯怯地舉起玻璃杯，紅著臉
好像要說什麼似的
怔怔地隔著桌子
望著我的臉
好像一下子心領神會：
詩人原來會在
寫下第一首詩後
瞬間老成這樣
更多的伏特加與水果上桌
堆得滿盤滿缽
杯中也注滿美酒
我們亦高歌如吼
好似忽必烈汗留下的老兵
猝然被「時間」圍攻
打散在烏茲別克的草原上
只記得夜晚的營帳
與騎兵
很久以前，曾在伏爾加河的兩岸
Jamuan Di Tashkent
--Sitor Situmorang (1924- )
Suatu ketika
lama sesudah zamannya Kublai Khan
aku duduk di jamuan persahabatan
dengan penyair-penyair Tashkent,
minum anggur, menyantap buah-buahan
hasil petani-petani Uzbekistan
pewaris tepi langit
padang-padang luasnya
Natasya, gadis Rusia dari universitas setempat
memajukan pertanyaan tak diduga:
Apakah tuan setuju pendapat yang berkata
bahwa penyair itu bersemangat anak-anak?
Ingin memeluk wajahnya, aku hanya menjawab:
Natasya yang baik, sungguh wajahmu
sejernih wajah anak-anak. Memanglah
penyair seperti anak-anak.
Semoga sajak mereka kekal seperti
Wajahmu!
Rekan-rekan angkat gelas: untuk kesehatan Anda!
Untuk Pusykin dan Pasternak!
Natasya ragu angkat gelasnya, tersipu
hendak berkata sesuatu, lalu
tertegun di seberang meja
menatap wajahku,
seolah-olah kini merasa mengerti:
Penyair mendadak tua bangka
sedari detik menuliskan
sajaknya yang pertama.
Wodka, buah-buahan, ditambah
Ditumpuk dalam bejana-bejana.
Anggur dituang dalam gelas-gelas.
Kami pun menyanyi dengan suara gemuruh
Seperti sisa pasukan Kublai Khan
dikepung dadakan Waktu,
tercecer di padang-padang Uzbekistan
mengenang malam-malam kemah
pasukan berkuda
dulu, di pinggir-pinggir Sungai Wolga.
Sitor Situmorang, Sitor Situmorang: Kumpulan sajak, 1980-2005, Jakarta:
Komuitas Bambu, 2006, pp. 146-147.
A Meal in Tashkent
--Sitor Situmorang (1924- )
One day
long after the time of Kublai Khan
I joined a communal meal
for poets from Tshkent,
drinking wine and tasting fruit
the produce of Uzbekistani farmers,
inheritor’s of the world’s horizon,
the vast steppes
Natasya, a young Russian woman from the local university
proffered an unexpected question:
Do you agree
that poets have the spirit of children?
I wanted to kiss her face, but could only answer:
Dear Natasya, your own face is truly as bright
as that of a child. Indeed,
poets are like children.
One hopes their poems will be as memorable
as your face!
My companions raised their glasses: To your health!
To Pushkin and Pasternak!
Natasya timidly raised her glass, bashful
but wanting to speak,
dumbstruck across the table
staring at my face
and instantly understanding:
the poet becomes ancient
the very moment he writes
his very first poem.
More vodka and fruit appeared
heaped in containers
Wine flowed into glasses
and we sang in a thunderous voice
like stragglers of Kublai Khan’s troops
unwittingly overtaken by Time,
and scattered on the Uzbekistani plains
recalling nights in tents
and armed horsemen
long ago
on the baks of the Volga.
Sitor Situmorang, John H. McGlynn, trans., To Love, To Wander: The Poetry of
Sitor Situmorang, Jakarta: The Lontar Foundation, 1996, p.132-133.
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