英格丽琼蔻(Ingrid Jonker)

看电影《黑蝶漫舞 Black Butterflies (2011)》,读诗。

英格丽琼蔻(Ingrid Jonker)

南非女诗人英格丽琼蔻(Ingrid Jonker)著有诗集《黑蝶漫舞》。

她的诗歌在中文圈很难找到,翻译就更加少了。

先收录,慢慢看。

英格丽琼蔻(Ingrid Jonker)

About Ingrid Jonker

Read best Ingrid Jonker poems. She was a South African poet. Although she wrote in Afrikaans, her poems have been widely translated into other languages. Jonker has reached iconic status in South Africa and is often called the South African Sylvia Plath, owing to the intensity of her work and the tragic course of her turbulent life. Here are below some of her most famous poems.

《尼杨加死去的孩子》

那孩子没死…
他对着呐喊非洲的母亲挥拳相向…
那孩子没死…
没死在兰加,也没死在尼杨加…
没死在奥兰多,也没死在夏普威尔…
更没死在腓力比的警察局…
即使他头中枪、躺在地上…
那孩子只想在尼杨加艳阳下玩耍…
那孩子本该茁壮成人、踏遍全非洲…
那孩子可以长大、旅程环游全天下…
毋须任何通行证…

THE CHILD WHO WAS SHOT DEAD BY SOLDIERS IN NYANGA

The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Afrika ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Afrika ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride
The child is not dead not at Langa nor at Nyanga
not at Orlando nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain
The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a pass

BITTERBESSIE DAGBREEK

Bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
ʼn spieël het gebreek
tussen my en hom

Soek ek na die grootpad
om daarlangs te draf
oral draai die paadjies
van sy woorde af

Dennebos herinnering
dennebos vergeet
het ek ook verdwaal
trap ek in my leed

Papegaai-bont eggo
kierang kierang my
totdat ek bedroë
weer die koggel kry

Eggo is geen antwoord
antwoord hy alom
bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son 

BITTER-BERRY DAYBREAK

Bitter-berry daybreak
bitter-berry sun
a mirror has broken
between me and him

I try to find the highway
perhaps to run away
but everywhere the footpaths
of his words lead me astray

Pinewood remember
pinewood forget
however much I lose my way
I step on my regret

Parrot-coloured echo
tricks me tricks me on
until I turn beguiled
to retrieve the mocking song

Echo gives no answer
he answers everyone
bitter-berry daybreak
bitter-berry sun 

JY’T MY GEKIERANG

Jy't my gekierang Dolie
jy't my gefop
my hart o appelliefie
verdroë in sy dop

Die predikant sê agge nee
my ma sê agga gwaan
my ouma dink weg wêreld
waar kom ons ook vandaan

Maar Dolie bokkie baby
jy't my verstoot
al maak ek ook my daggies
nes kuikens vir jou groot

Al gee ek jou die dagbreek
se rooywang-vy
jy't laasnag - o my attatjie!
met ‘n ander man gevry

My brakhond en my mak uil
tjank groot en wyd
maar Dolie bokkie baby
ons tjank een woord altyd

YOU HAVE TRICKED ME

You've tricked me Dolie
you've cheated me like hell
my heart o little gooseberry
has shrivelled in its shell

The pastors say oh surely no
my mum says go away
my granny thinks oh heavens
our help has gone astray

But Dolie bokkie baby
you turned me down it's true
in vain I grow my little days
like chickens all for you

No matter that I offer you
a fig with day-break's tan
last night o my attatjie
you had another man

My tame owl and my mongrel
they howl through nights and days
but Dolie bokkie baby
we howl one word always 

TOEMAAR DIE DONKER MAN

vir Simone
Op die groen voetpad
van die horison ver
om die aarde skat,
stap 'n ou man wat
'n oop maan dra in sy hare
Nagtegaal in sy hart
jasmyn gepluk vir sy oop knoopsgat
en 'n rug gebuk aan sy jare.

Wat maak hy, mammie?

Hy roep die kriekies
Hy roep die swart
stilte wat sing
soos die biesies, my hart
en die sterre wat klop
tok-tok liefling,
soos die klein toktokkies
in hul fyn-ver kring.

Wat is sy naam, mammie?

Sy naam is Sjuut
Sy naam is Slaap
Meneer Vergeet
uit die land van Vaak
Sy naam is toe maar
hy heet, my lam
Toe maar, die donker man

Mammie . . .

Toe maar, die donker man

HUSH NOW, THE DARKLING MAN

for Simone
On the green footpath
of the horizon far
around the earth little one,
an old man trudges who wears
an open moon in his hair
Nightingale in his heart
jasmin plucked for his buttonhole
and a back bowed down by his years.

What's he doing, mummy?

He calls the crickets
He calls the black
silence that sings
like the rushes, my sweet
and the stars which throb
knock-knock my love,
like the tiny little beetles
in their thin far ring.

What's his name, mummy?

His name is Hush
His name is Sleep
Mister Forget
from the Land of Dream
His name is hush
he's called, my sweet
Hush now, the darkling man

Mummy…

Hush now, the darkling man 

DIE KIND WAT DOOD GESKIET IS DEUR SOLDATE BY NYANGA

Die kind is nie dood nie
die kind lig sy vuiste teen sy moeder
wat Afrika skreeu skreeu die geur
van vryheid en heide
in die lokasies van die omsingelde hart

Die kind lig sy vuiste teen sy vader
in die optog van die generasies
wat Afrika skreeu skreeu die geur
van geregtigheid en bloed
in die strate van sy gewapende trots

Die kind is nie dood nie
nòg by Langa nòg by Nyanga
nòg by Orlando nòg by Sharpeville
nòg by die polisiestasie in Philippi
waar hy lê met 'n koeël deur sy kop

Die kind is die skaduwee van die soldate
op wag met gewere sarasene en knuppels
die kind is teenwoordig by alle vergaderings en wetgewings
die kind loer deur die vensters van huise en in die harte van moeders
die kind wat net wou speel in die son by Nyanga is orals
die kind wat 'n man geword het trek deur die ganse Afrika
die kind wat 'n reus geword het reis deur die hele wêreld

Sonder 'n pas

MADELIEFIES IN NAMAKWALAND

Waarom luister ons nog
na de antwoorde van die madeliefies
op die wind op die son
wat het geword van die kokkewietjies

Agter die geslote voorkop
waar miskien nog 'n takkie tuimel
van 'n verdrinkte lente
Agter my gesneuwelde woord
Agter ons verdeelde huis
Agter die hart gesluit teen homself
Agter draadheinings, kampe, lokasies
Agter die stilte waar onbekende tale
val soos klokke by 'n begrafenis
Agter ons verskeurde land

sit die groen hotnotsgot van die veld
en ons hoor nog verdwaasd
klein blou Namakwaland-madeliefie
iets antwoord, iets glo, iets weet.

DAISIES IN NAMAQUALAND

Why do we still listen
to the answers given by the daisies
to the wind to the sun
what has become of the little kokkewiets

Behind the closed forehead
where perhaps a twig still tumbles
from a drowned springtime
Behind my word killed in action
Behind our divided home
Behind the heart locked against itself
Behind wire fences, camps, locations
Behind the silence where foreign languages
fall like bells at a funeral
Behind our land torn apart

sits the green mantis of the veld
and dazed we still hear
small blue Namaqualand daisy
answering something, believing something, knowing something. 

ONTVLUGTING

Uit hierdie Valkenburg het ek ontvlug
en dink my nou in Gordonsbaai terug:

Ek speel met paddavisse in 'n stroom
en kerf swastikas in 'n rooikransboom

Ek is die hond wat op die strande draf
en dom-allenig teen die aandwind blaf

Ek is die seevoël wat verhongerd daal
en dooie nagte opdis as 'n maal

Die god wat jou geskep het uit die wind
sodat my smart in jou volmaaktheid vind:

My lyk lê uitgespoel in wier en gras
op al die plekke waar ons eenmaal was.

ESCAPE

From this Valkenburg have I run away
and in my thoughts return to Gordon's Bay:

I play with tadpoles swimming free
carve swastikas in a red-krantz tree

I am the dog that slinks from beach to beach
barks dumb-alone against the evening breeze

I am the gull that swoops in famished flights
to serve up meals of long-dead nights

The god who shaped you from the wind and dew
to find fulfilment of my pain in you:

Washed out my body lies in weed and grass
in all the places where we once did pass. 

KORRELTJIE SAND

Korreltjie korreltjie sand
klippie gerol in my hand
klippie gesteek in my sak
word korreltjie klein en plat

Sonnetjie groot in die blou
ek maak net ‘n ogie van jou
blink in my korreltjie klippie
dit is genoeg vir die rukkie

Kindjie wat skreeu uit die skoot
niks in die wêreld is groot
stilletjies lag nou en praat
stilte in Doodloopstraat

Wêreldjie rond en aardblou
korreltjie maak ek van jou
huisie met deur en twee skrefies
tuintjie met blou madeliefies

Pyltjie geveer in verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
Timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
Ek maak my gereed vir die Niks

Korreltjie klein is my woord
korreltjie niks is my dood

LITTLE GRAIN OF SAND

Grain little grain of sand
pebble rolled in my hand
pebble thrust in my pocket
a keepsake for a locket

Little sun big in the blue
a granule I make out of you
shine in my pebble little grain
for the moment that's all I can gain

Baby that screams from the womb
nothing is big in this tomb
quietly laugh now and speak
silence in dead-end street

Little world round and earth-blue
make a mere eye out of you
house with a door and two slits
a garden where everything fits

Small arrow feathered into space
love fades away from its place
Carpenter seals a coffin that's bought
I ready myself for the nought

Small grain of sand is my word, my breath
small grain of nought is my death 

以下来自(Ingrid Jonker

25 December 1960

Ward one-hundred-and-thirty in the passage on the right.
It’s five in the morning for the milk-cart
has gone with its horses, eyes gleaming
in the bayonets of the street lights.
The twenty-fifth of December nineteen-sixty.
The children sleep
in Christmas stockings between satellites
hobby-horses, revolvers and toffees
Sleep, before the sirens of the sun
before the bombers which are butterflies
sleep in your Christmas stockings and candles.
On Hospital Hill stands a blazing tree.
Ward one-hundred-and-thirty in the passage on the right.
“Sure he drank a bottle of brandy
and lay hours in an oxygen tent.
You know he was an alcoholic from
his first glass.” (Look, the gleam
of day’s bright gun-barrel aims over the city!)
“A yes but, he once said himself
he had a harking after his dead God.
His final words? No
he just lay quiet, and with eyes wide.”
Ward one-hundred-and-thirty. He has been
attended to, eyes closed, hands already folded,
the whole of the room like an upraised shield.
And on the window-sill and against the light
the mantis in unending prayer.

Begin Summer

Ingrid Jonker
Begin summer and the sea
a cracked-open quince
the sky like a child’s
balloon
far above the water
Under the umbrellas
like stripy sugarsticks
ants of people
and the gay laugh of the bay
has teeth of gold
Child with the yellow bucket
and the forgotten pigtail
your mouth surely is a little bell
tiny tongue for a clapper
You play in the sun all day
like a ukulele

Ek herhaal jou (I repeat you)

I repeat you
Without beginning or end,
I repeat your body.
The day has a thin shadow
and the night yellow crosses
the landscape without regard
and the people a row candles
while I repeat you
with my breasts
that reforms the hollows of your hands

L’Art poetique

Om myself weg te bêre soos ‘n geheim
in ‘n slaap van lammers en van steggies
Om myself te bêre
in die saluut van ‘n groot skip
Weg te bêre
in die geweld van ‘n eenvoudige herinnering
in jou verdrinkte hande
om myself weg te bêre in my woord

My omhelsing het my verdubbel

My omhelsing het my verdubbel
my borste roep na mekaar
die twee kopspelende maats
en my hande omsluit my geheime
in ‘n kamer ver weg
agter die gestorte herfs
kyk jou oë verbaad
na die spieël van jou lyf

Ontvlugting

Uit hierdie Valkenburg het ek ontvlug
en dink my nou in Gordonsbaai terug:
Ek speel met paddavisse in ‘n stroom
en kerf swastikas in ‘n rookransboom
Ek is die hond wat op die strande draf
en dom-allenig teen die aandwind blaf
Ek is die seevoël wat verhongerd dwaal
en dooie nagte opdig as ‘n maal
Die god wat jou geskep het uit die wind
sodat my smart in jou volmaaktheid vind:
My lyk lê uitgespoel in wier en gras
op al die plekke waar ons eenmaal was.

The child is not dead

Ingrid Jonker
The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Afrika ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Afrika ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride
The child is not dead not at Langa nor at Nyanga
not at Orlando nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain
The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a pass

The Face of Love

Your face is the face of all the others
before you and after you and
your eyes calm as a blue
dawn breaking time on time
herdsman of the clouds
sentinel of white iridescent beauty
the landscape of your contesses mouth
that I have explored
keeps the secret of a smile
like small white villages beyond the
mountains
and your heartbeats the measure of
their ecstasy
There is no question of beginning
there is no question of possession
there is no question of death
face of my beloved
the face of love.

This journey

This journey which obliterates your image
torn blood-angel thrown to the dogs
this landscape is deserted as my forehead
wound of the roses
I have wanted to see you walk without chains
I longed to see your face open and free
your broken face and dry as the mud
wound of the earth
in the nights of absence without eyes
I have cried to see you carry a real star
I have cried to see the blue sky and to hear
one word from life
bitter angel untrue with a flame in your mouth
I have placed two swallows under your armpits
and drawn a secret cross on your face
for the man
of whom you had reminded me once.

如是我闻

不是死,是爱!|作者/勃朗宁夫人

2023-12-5 15:31:40

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2020-8-11 19:55:00

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