Zbigniew Herbert
兹比格涅夫-赫伯特
 Zbigniew Herbert （1924-1998） was a Polish poet, essayist, drama writer and moralist. He is one of the best known and the most translated post-war Polish writers. Since the 1960s, he was nominated several times for the Nobel Prize in literature. His books have been translated into 38 languages.
波兰诗人、散文家、剧作家和伦理学家。他是战后最著名、被翻译最多的波兰作家之一。自20世纪60年代以来，他多次被提名诺贝尔文学奖，他的书已被翻译成38种语言。
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译者
Translator
王一笑
Ayin Wang
 诗人、译者。著有诗集《异岸之火》《是时间在唱歌》，译有科尔扎诺夫斯基小说《骷髅自传》，法国作家马塞尔-施沃布小说《离经叛道集》。
Ayin Wang is a poet and translator, the author of two poetry collections Fire From Another Shore and Time Sings. She has translated Autobiography Of A Corpse by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky and Imaginary Lives by Marcel Schwob.
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The double truth of all the senses—
a convoy of images passes the eye
they are like a vision under water
and between the black and white
filters the uncertainty of colors
it wavers slightly in the pure air
our seeing is a mirror or a sieve—
a wavering wisdom of moist eyes
seeps through it drop by drop
under sweetness bitterness dozes
so the deranged tongue cries out
in hearing's shell where an ocean
is like a ball of yarn where a white
shadow's silence attracts a stone
just a muddle of stars and leaves
from earth's center a tangled smell
a world between smell and surprise
and touch in its certainty comes
to return to things their stillness
over the ear's lie the eye's chaos
there grows a dam of ten fingers
a hard and faithless mistrust lays
its fingers in the world's wound
to divide thing from appearance
O you most true you alone
can give utterance to love
you alone offer consolation
we are both blind and deaf
—touch grows on the edge of truth
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一切感官具有双重真实——
一队影像如水下的幻象
经过那只眼睛
它在纯净的空气里波荡
在黑白之间
滤出变化莫测的色彩
我们的观看，如镜如筛——
湿润的眼中智慧摇荡
一滴一滴渗透
甜美之下，苦味潜伏
错乱的舌头在哭叫
在听觉的海螺里
海洋像个纱线团，一个影子的
白色寂静吸引一块石头
从地心喷出
一堆星星，落叶，五味杂陈
嗅觉与惊奇之间的世界，
触觉在自身的确定性中
把宁静归还给事物
在眼睛的混乱、耳朵的谎言上方
一个十根手指的大坝，
它带着根深蒂固的不信、疑虑
把指头探入世界的伤口
将事物与外观分开
噢，最真实的你，只有你
才能说出爱意
只有你，才能给人慰藉
我们不但聋，而且盲
——而触摸，在真实的边缘生长
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When my older brother
came back from war
he had on his forehead a little silver star
and under the star
an abyss
a splinter of shrapnel
hit him at Verdun
or perhaps at Grünwald
(he'd forgotten the details)
he used to talk much
in many languages
but he liked most of all
the language of history
until losing breath
he commanded his dead pals to run
Roland Kowalski Hannibal
he shouted
that this was the last crusade
that Carthage soon would fall
and then sobbing confessed
that Napoleon did not like him
we looked at him
getting paler and paler
abandoned by his senses
he turned slowly into a monument
into musical shells of ears
entered a stone forest
and the skin of his face
was secured
with the blind dry
buttons of eyes
nothing was left him
but touch
what stories
he told with his hands
in the right he had romances
in the left soldier's memories
they took my brother
and carried him out of town
he returns every fall
slim and very quiet
he does not want to come in
he knocks at the window for me
we walk together in the streets
and he recites to me
improbable tales
touching my face
with blind fingers of rain
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我的兄弟
从战场上归来时
额前烙着一颗小小的银星
那颗星下面
是个深渊
一块碎弹片击中了他
那是在凡尔登
或是在格伦瓦尔德
（他已忘记）
过去，他会用多种语言
讲话，但是他最喜欢的还是
历史的语言
他能滔滔不绝，直到上气不接下气
他命令那些死去的家伙快跑
罗兰、科瓦尔斯基、汉尼拔
他大喊：
这是最后一场圣战
迦太基很快就会沦陷
随后哭着承认
拿破仑并不喜欢他
我们看着他
面色越来越灰白
心智感官都丧失
他慢慢地变成了一座纪念碑
变成乐声环绕的海螺
他进入一座石头森林
而他脸上的皮肤
被干枯如纽扣的
眼睛
扣紧
他被剥夺了一切
除了触觉
他用双手讲述的
是怎样的故事啊
他的右手倾诉浪漫传奇
左手诉说战士的记忆
他们抓走了我的兄弟
将他运出城外
每个秋天他都会回来
消瘦而沉默
他并不想进屋
他敲窗唤我
我们一起走入街巷
他对我详述
不可思议的故事
用雨水那盲人般的手指
抚摸我的脸庞
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