Right now, that poem is undoubtedly Adam Zagajewski's classic, “To Go to Lvov.” It is a fervent elegy for the city the poet was born in 1945, ...
It is “To Go to Lvov”—the great poem from his next collection of the same name, first published in Polish in 1985—that towers at the center of ...
To Go to Lvov
To go to Lvov. Which station
for Lvov, if not in a dream, at dawn, when dew
gleams on a suitcase, when express
trains and bullet trains are being born. To leave
in haste for Lvov, night or day, in September
or in March. But only if Lvov exists,
if it is to be found within the frontiers and not just
in my new passport, if lances of trees
—of poplar and ash—still breathe aloud
like Indians, and if streams mumble
their dark Esperanto, and grass snakes like soft signs
in the Russian language disappear
into thickets. To pack and set off, to leave
without a trace, at noon, to vanish
like fainting maidens. And burdocks, green
armies of burdocks, and below, under the canvas
of a Venetian café, the snails converse
about eternity. But the cathedral rises,
you remember, so straight, as straight
as Sunday and white napkins and a bucket
full of raspberries standing on the floor, and
my desire which wasn’t born yet,
only gardens and weeds and the amber
of Queen Anne cherries, and indecent Fredro.
There was always too much of Lvov, no one could
comprehend its boroughs, hear
the murmur of each stone scorched
by the sun, at night the Orthodox church’s silence was unlike
that of the cathedral, the Jesuits
baptized plants, leaf by leaf, but they grew,
grew so mindlessly, and joy hovered
everywhere, in hallways and in coffee mills
revolving by themselves, in blue
teapots, in starch, which was the first
formalist, in drops of rain and in the thorns
of roses. Frozen forsythia yellowed by the window.
The bells pealed and the air vibrated, the cornets
of nuns sailed like schooners near
the theater, there was so much of the world that
it had to do encores over and over,
the audience was in frenzy and didn’t want
to leave the house. My aunts couldn’t have known
yet that I’d resurrect them,
and lived so trustfully; so singly;
servants, clean and ironed, ran for
fresh cream, inside the houses
a bit of anger and great expectation, Brzozowski
came as a visiting lecturer, one of my
uncles kept writing a poem entitled Why,
dedicated to the Almighty, and there was too much
of Lvov, it brimmed the container,
it burst glasses, overflowed
each pond, lake, smoked through every
chimney, turned into fire, storm,
laughed with lightning, grew meek,
returned home, read the New Testament,
slept on a sofa beside the Carpathian rug,
there was too much of Lvov, and now
there isn’t any, it grew relentlessly
and the scissors cut it, chilly gardeners
as always in May, without mercy,
without love, ah, wait till warm June
comes with soft ferns, boundless
fields of summer, i.e., the reality.
But scissors cut it, along the line and through
the fiber, tailors, gardeners, censors
cut the body and the wreaths, pruning shears worked
diligently, as in a child’s cutout
along the dotted line of a roe deer or a swan.
Scissors, penknives, and razor blades scratched,
cut, and shortened the voluptuous dresses
of prelates, of squares and houses, and trees
fell soundlessly, as in a jungle,
and the cathedral trembled, people bade goodbye
without handkerchiefs, no tears, such a dry
mouth, I won’t see you anymore, so much death
awaits you, why must every city
become Jerusalem and every man a Jew,
and now in a hurry just
pack, always, each day,
and go breathless, go to Lvov, after all
it exists, quiet and pure as
a peach. It is everywhere.
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利沃夫是烏克蘭西部的城市，距離波蘭邊境約70公里。其建築風格融合了中歐、東歐以及義大利和德國的風格，波蘭和奧匈帝國的文化遺產清晰可見。在高堡公園，山頂上一座14世紀城堡的遺址，可以俯瞰城市綠色圓頂教堂和周圍山脈的全景。 --Google
人口：710,606（2022年）聯合國
年齡：約769歲
面積：149平方公里
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GOOGLE
前往利沃夫
亞當·扎加耶夫斯基
前往利沃夫。利沃夫的哪個車站？
如果不是在夢中，在黎明，當露珠
在行李箱上閃爍，當特快列車
和子彈列車
正在誕生。
匆匆離開，前往利沃夫，無論白天或黑夜，在九月
或三月。但前提是利沃夫存在，
如果它在我境內，而不只是
在我的新護照上，
如果那片白楊樹和梣樹
依然像印第安人一樣呼吸，
如果溪流潺潺地流淌著
它們深沉的世界語，
如果草蛇像輕柔的符號
用俄語
消失在灌木叢中。收拾行裝，出發，
在正午離開，
不留痕跡，
像昏厥的少女一樣消失。還有牛蒡，綠色的
牛蒡大軍，在下面，在威尼斯咖啡館的帆布下，蝸牛們
談論著永恆。但你記得，大教堂矗立著，
如此筆直，
如同星期天，潔白的餐巾，
一桶
裝滿覆盆子的桶，
放在地板上，
還有我尚未誕生的願望，
只有花園、野草、琥珀色的
安妮女王櫻桃，以及猥褻的弗雷德羅。
利沃夫總是讓人覺得太多，沒人能
理解它的城區，聽不見
每一塊石頭在
陽光下灼燒的低語。夜晚，東正教會的寂靜與
大教堂的寂靜截然不同。耶穌會士們
為植物施洗，一片一片，但它們卻在生長，
如此漫無目的地生長，喜悅瀰漫在
各處，在走廊裡，在自行旋轉的咖啡研磨機裡，在藍色的
茶壺裡，在最初的
形式主義的澱粉裡，在雨滴裡，在玫瑰的刺裡。窗邊，凍僵的連翹泛黃了。
鐘聲隆隆，空氣震動，修女們的短號
像帆船一樣在劇院附近航行，
世界如此廣闊，
以至於它不得不一遍又一遍地返場，
觀眾們瘋狂地狂歡，不願
離開房間。我的姑姑們可能還不知道
我會讓她們復活，
並且如此信任地生活；如此孤獨地生活；
僕人們乾淨淨，熨燙整齊，跑去取
新鮮的奶油，屋子裡
有點憤怒，也滿懷期待，布佐佐夫斯基
來做客座講師，我的一位
叔叔一直在寫一首名為《為什麼》的詩，
獻給全能的上帝，利沃夫的
滋味太濃了，它溢出了容器，
它震碎了玻璃杯，溢出了
每個池塘、湖泊，從每個煙囪冒出煙霧，
化作火焰，風暴，
與閃電一起歡笑，變得溫順，
回到家，讀著《新約》，
睡在喀爾巴阡地毯旁的沙發上，
利沃夫的滋味太濃了，而現在
沒有了，它無情地生長，
剪刀剪斷了它，寒冷的園丁
像往常一樣在五月，毫無憐憫，
沒有愛，啊，等到溫暖的六月，
伴隨著柔軟的蕨類植物，無邊無際的
夏日田野，也就是現實。
但剪刀剪開了它，沿著線條，穿過了
纖維，裁縫、園丁、審查員
剪開了軀體和花環，修枝剪
勤奮地工作著，就像孩子沿著狍子或天鵝的虛線剪下來的一樣。
剪刀、小刀和剃刀片刮擦、剪斷、縮短了
主教們、廣場、房子和樹木的華麗衣裙，
它們無聲地倒下，如同叢林中的一隅，
大教堂顫抖著，人們告別，
沒有手帕，沒有眼淚，
口乾舌燥，
我再也見不到你了，那麼多的死亡在等著你，
為什麼每座城市都要變成耶路撒冷，每個人都要變成猶太人，
現在，匆匆忙忙地
收拾行裝，每天，
氣喘吁籲地出發，去利沃夫，畢竟，
它存在，像桃子一樣寧靜純淨。
它無所不在。
Poetry Foundation
https://www.poetryfoundation.org › Poems
To go to Lvov. Which station for Lvov, if not in a dream, at dawn, when dew gleams on a suitcase, when express trains and bullet trains are being born.
Adam Zagajewski 札加耶夫斯基1945~2021 Lviv,
札加耶夫斯基
Born: June 21, 1945, Lviv, Ukraine
Died: March 21, 2021 (age 75 years), Kraków, Poland
Spouse: Maja Wodecka
Place of burial: Panteon Narodowy w Krakowie, Kraków, Poland
Parents: Tadeusz Zagajewski, Ludwika Zagajewska
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