For the sake of a single verse

ベン・シャーンという画家を知ったついでに、水戸まで展覧会を見に行きました。

丸沼芸術の森所蔵　ベン・シャーン展　
平成27年4月25日（土）～ 7月5日（日）
20世紀アメリカを代表する画家ベン・シャーン（1898-1969）は、一貫して人種差別や迫害、貧困などのテーマに取り組み、震える線と力強い構成力による絵画やグラフィックデザインを数多く残した。第五福竜丸事件に取材した「ラッキードラゴン」シリーズや、ドイツの詩人リルケの『マルテの手記』に基づく版画集などの代表作などを含む、初期から晩年までを網羅した丸沼芸術の森の珠玉のコレクションを一堂に展観。

まずはリルケの『マルテの手記』から。今更、自意識過剰な雰囲気満載のこの本を読み通すのは辛いですが、この部分はかっこいいです。

For the sake of a single verse, one must see many cities, men, and things.
一行の詩のためには、あまたの都市、あまたの人々、あまたの書物を見なければならぬ。

この版画についてはこちらのサイト日本語が参考になります。

For the sake of a single verse

For the sake of a single verse, one must see many cities, men, and things. One must know the animals, one must feel how the birds fly and know the gesture with which the little flowers open in the morning. One must be able to think back to roads in unknown regions, to unexpected meetings and to partings one had long seen coming; to days of childhood that are still unexplained, to parents whom one had to hurt when they brought one some joy and did not grasp it (it was a joy for someone else); to childhood illnesses that so strangely begin with such a number of profound and grave transformations, to days in rooms withdrawn and quiet and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along on high and flew with all the stars— and it is not yet enough if one may think of all this. One must have memories of many nights of love, none of which was like the others, of the screams of women in labor, and of light, white, sleeping women in childbed, closing again. But one must also have been beside the dying, must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and the fitful noises. And still it is not enough to have memories. One must be able to forget them when they are many, and one must have the great patience to wait until they come again. For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not till they have turned to blood within us, to glance, and gesture, nameless, and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves— not till then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them.

ドイツ語から訳したため、英語はいつくかのバリエーションがあるようです。朗読しているものがありました。３分３０秒あたりからです。日本語は新潮文庫の大山定一さんです。



For the Sake of a Single Poem

…Ah, poems amount to so little when you write them too early in your life. You ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness for a whole lifetime, and a long one if possible, and then, at the very end, you might perhaps be able to write ten good lines.
しかし年少にして詩を書くほど、およそ無意味なことはない。詩はいつまでも根気よく待たねばならぬのだ。人は一生かかって、しかもできれば七十年あるいは八十年かかって、まず蜂のように蜜と意味をあつめねばならぬ。そうしてやっと最後に、おそらくわずか十行の立派な詩が書けるだろう。詩は人の考えるような感情ではない。詩がもし感情だっら、年少にしてすでにあり余るほど持っていなければならぬ。詩は本当は経験なのだ。

For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough) – they are experiences. For the sake of a single poem, you must see many cities, many people and Things, you must understand animals, must feel how birds fly, and knows the gesture which small flowers make when they open in the morning. You must be able to think back to streets in unknown neighborhoods, to unexpected encounters, and to partings you had long seen coming; to days of childhood whose mystery is still unexplained, to parents whom you had to hurt when they brought in a joy and you didn’t pick it up (it was a joy meant for somebody else-); to childhood illnesses that began so strangely with so many profound and difficult transformations, to days in quiet, restrained rooms and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along high overhead and went flying with all the star’s, – and it is still not enough to be able to think of all that. You must have memories of many nights of love, each one different from all the others, memories of women screaming in labor, and of light, pale, sleeping girls who have just given birth and are closing again. But you must also have been beside the dying, must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and scattered noises. And it is not yet enough to have memories. You must be able to forget them when they are many, and you must have the immense patience to wait until they return. For the memories themselves are not important. Only when they have changed into our very blood, into glance and gesture, and are nameless, no longer to be distinguished from ourselves – only then can it happen that in some very rare hour the first word of a poem arises in their midst and goes forth from them.”
一行の詩のためには、あまたの都市、あまたの人々、あまたの書物を見なければならぬ。あまたの禽獣を知らねばならぬ。空飛ぶ鳥の翼を感じなければならぬし、朝開く小さな草花のうなだれた羞らい（はじらい）を究めねばならぬ。まだ知らぬ国々の道、思いがけぬ邂逅。遠くから近づいて来るのが見える別離。──まだその意味がつかめずに残されている少年の日の思い出。喜びをわざわざもたらしてくれたのに、それがよくわからぬため、むごく心を悲しませてしまった両親のこと（ほかの子供だったら、きっと夢中にそれを喜んだに違いないのだ）。さまざまの深い重大な変化をもって不思議な発作を見せる少年時代の病気。静かなしんとした部屋で過した一日。 海べりの朝。海そのものの姿。あすこの海、ここの海。空にきらめく星くずとともにはかなく消え去った旅寝の夜々。それらに詩人は思いめぐらすことができなければならぬ。 いや、ただすべてを思い出すだけなら、実はまだなんでもないのだ。一夜一夜が、少しも前の夜に似ぬ夜ごとの閨の営み。産婦の叫び。白衣の中にぐったりと眠りに落ちて、ひたすら肉体の回復を待つ産後の女。詩人はそれを思い出に持たねばならぬ。死んでいく人々の枕もとに付いていなければならぬし、明け放した窓が風にかたことと鳴る部屋で死人のお通夜もしなければならぬ。しかも、こうした追憶を持つだけなら。一向なんの足しにもならぬのだ。追憶が多くなれば、次にはそれを忘却することができねばならぬだろう。そして、再び思い出が帰るのを待つ大きな忍耐がいるのだ。思い出だけならなんの足しにもなりはせぬ。追憶が僕らの血となり、目となり、表情となり、名まえのわからぬものとなり、もはや僕ら自身と区別することができなくなって、初めてふとした偶然に、一編の詩の最初の言葉は、それら思い出の真ん中に思い出の陰からぽっかり生れてくるのだ