اAfter every war
اورا موزارت شعر نام داده اند ...... دیروز با او همره شدم در سکوت و بخار قهوه ..
تورج پارسی
آدینه یازدهم سپتامبر دوهزار پانزده
هوای امروز اپسالا شش درجه بالا صفرست ، پاییز دارد جا باز می کند و......
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برخی هنگام شعری یا مقاله ای یا داستانی را می خوانم آن هم برای نخستین بار ، اما آنچنان با واژه ها و اندیشه ی پشت آن آشنا هستم که شگفت زده می شوم . ویسسلووا هم از همین جمله بود ، نگاه ویژه ای دارد ، شعرش نیازمند به گزارش و تفسیر نیست یک جور قد می کشد جلو دیدگانت . لهستانی است زخم جنگ دوم و نازی ها بر تن و روان دارد . برنده نوبل در ادبیات است است به سال ۱۹۹۵ . اورا موزارت شعر نام داده اند ......دیروز با او همره شدم در سکوت و بخار قهوه .... با مهر همیشگی
Wisława Szymborska
She is described as a "Mozart of Poetry
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wis%C5%82awa_Szymborska
The End and the Beginning
BY WISŁAWA SZYMBORSKA
TRANSLATED BY JOANNA TRZECIAK
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it’s not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We’ll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.