ياروسلاف سيفرت

 

 

تقرير عن هدم بيت

لوهلة بدا البيت كأنه يرغب في الركوع
ليطلب الرحمة،
لكن الأدراج البيضاء المؤدية الى السقيفة
التي قادتني، في ما مضى، بدرابزينها
الى الباب المحبوب
انهارت لتوها
.كلوح الوصايا المهشم
اعترت رجفة خفيفة
بئر طفولتي
المهملة في زاوية
التي تشبه قيثارة منخورة بلا أوتار
قبل ان تختفي خلف غمامة سوداء
بسرعة أضرم انفجار الذكريات
السريعة الاشتعال
كأنها مخصبة بالوقود، اشتعلت كمصباح
وركضت معي
لترافق هروبي.
على بعد خطوات من هنا، كان، في الماضي،
نزل بيزوفكا حيث نذهب للرقص
فوق باب المدخل، كانت هناك ستارة قرمزية
ذات تخاريم مذهبة
وحول الأعمدة، زهور من ورق
احيانا، تعزف الفرقة الموسيقية، ألحانا في الحديقة
إذ ذاك، نسمع، احيانا، النغم من بعيد
حتى وإن كانت النوافذ مغلقة
كل ذلك انتهى من زمن طويل
حمله الشيطان
لكن، ولسعادتنا، لم يتوقف زمن الرقص
إذ لا تزال تصدح الأغنية
أنتِ أيضا، يا حبي، ابقي معي
وابتسمي
ابتسمي لي دائما
.حتى أموت

 حين يتكلم الرعد  تفهم الغابةقصائد من العالم- السفير الثقافي - 16/03/2001

Jaroslav Seifert

LOST PARADISE

The Old Jewish Cemetery
is one great bouquet of grey stone
on which time has trodden.
I was drifting among the graves,
thinking of my mother.
She used to read the Bible.

The letters in two columns
welled up before her eyes
like blood from a wound.
The lamp guttered and smoked
and Mother put on her glasses.
At times she had to blow it out
and with her hairpin straighten
the glowing wick.

But when she closed her tired eyes
she dreamed of Paradise
before God had garrisoned it
with armed cherubim.
Often she fell asleep and the Book
slipped from her lap.

I was still young
when I discovered in the Old Testament
those fascinating verses about love
and eagerly searched for
the passages on incest.
Then I did not yet suspect
how much tenderness is hidden in the names
of Old Testament women.

Adah is Ornament and Orpah
is a Hind,
Naamah is the Sweetness
and Nikol is the Little Brook.

Abigail is the Fount of Delight.
But if I recall how helplessly I watched
as they dragged off the Jews,
even the crying children,
I still shudder with horror
and a chill runs down my spine.

Jemima is the Dove and Tamar
the Palm Tree.
Tirzah is Grace
and Zilpah a Dewdrop.
My God, how beautiful this is.

We were living in hell
yet no one dared to strike a weapon
from the murderers’ hands.
As if within our hearts we did not have
a spark of humanity!

The name Jecholiah means
The Lord is Mighty.
And yet their frowning God
gazed over the barbed wire
and did not move a finger --

Delilah is the Delicate, Rachel
the Ewe Lamb,
Deborah the Bee
and Esther the Bright Star.

I’d just returned from the cemetery
when the June evening, with its scents,
rested on the windows.
But from the silent distance now and then
came thunder of a future war.
There is no time without murder.

I almost forgot:
Rhoda is the Rose.
And this flower perhaps is the only thing
that’s left us on earth
from the Paradise that was.

 

* * *

 

SOMETIMES WE ARE TIED DOWN. . .

Sometimes we are tied down by memories
and there are no scissors that could cut
through those tough threads.
        Or ropes!

You see the bridge there by the House of Artists?
                   A few steps before that bridge
gendarmes shot a worker dead
who was walking in front of me.

I was only twenty at the time,
                  but whenever I pass the spot
the memory comes back to me.
It takes me by the hand and together we walk
to the little gate of the Jewish cemetery,
through which I had been running
from their rifles.

The years moved with unsure, tottering step
and I with them.
                 Years flying
till time stood still.

 

THE POETRY OF JAROSLAV SIEFERT translated by Ewald Osers, edited by George Gibian - Catbird Press - 1998 .

 

* * *

 

To Prague

 

So much I loved you, though with words alone,
my fairest city, when your cloak was thrown
wide open to reveal your lilac charms;
much more was said by those who carried arms.

Yes, they were plentiful, our daily tears
and, streaming down, they salted our bread.
The voices of our dead rang in our ears,
the just, reproachful voices of our dead.

Upon the pavement of our streets they lay,
and I shall always, even unto my grave,
feel shame I was not with them on that day.
You gallant city, bravest of the brave,
eternally enshrined in mankind's story:

That day enhanced your beauty and your glory.

A Helmetful of Earth - 1945