巴勒斯坦啊,我怎能忘記你
--Taufiq Ismail (1935- ), 羅浩原 譯

當隆隆巨響的推土機將你們的家園拆毀,感覺就像我臥室牆壁的水泥與磚塊崩落到了庭院,紅色的血汗四濺、血色的塵煙飛揚

當你的柑橘樹與蘋果園被摺疊成手帕大小,放進了特拉維夫農業局的檔案櫃,感覺就像我在熱帶地區的椰子樹與芒果園也被人霸佔了

當他們在「第一朝拜方向」(譯註1)下又鑽又挖(譯註2),活像地底的爬蟲類,士兵的軍靴踐踏了我們全體禮拜叩頭的基點,感覺就像兒時教我可蘭經、迄今四十多年的禮拜堂樓板,一朝塌落到底下的魚池,那四濺的清澄山泉盡是

我的


巴勒斯坦啊,我怎能忘記你

當加薩的少年們只能丟石頭回應鋼鐵的槍管,隨後卻被折斷了胳臂,任誰都會為之驚呼,彷彿我們印尼的孩子被同樣地迫害——但看著吧,他們年輕的骨頭裂了會癒合,而長長的鎖鏈,遲早會纏上他們對手的頸子,把迫害者的軀體拖進地獄

當我傾聽Fadwa Tuqan、Samir Al-Qassem、Harun Hashim Rashid、Jabra Ibrahim Jabra、Nizar Qabbani等詩人的作品在雅加達藝術中心被朗誦,我們的心跳全都快了兩倍,然後彷彿被竹刀割了,我們的鮮血湧了上來,一筆一劃揮灑成書法:

「安拉至大!」

「巴勒斯坦解放!」

當不具名的工廠每週生產上千噸的謊言,散播到印刷與電子媒體,扯碎了荒漠中難民的帳棚,違抗舉世尊崇的高峰會的解決方案,在薩布拉與沙提拉展開大屠殺(譯註3),監視葉瑟.阿拉法特以及貴國所有的自由鬥士;在遍行於世界的主麻禮拜中,我也對著講經者與阿訇教長呼籲:讓我們一同為團結堅定而祈禱,為每位履行真主的道路、被槍擊被囚禁的自由鬥士祈禱,讓我們堅定地朗誦:

「除安拉之外,沒有別的權柄!」

巴勒斯坦啊,我怎能忘記你
雖然我的土地遠在數千公里之外
但阿克薩清真寺動聽的禮唱
感覺就像在我耳邊響起

1989


譯註1:Qibla(或kibla)的阿拉伯文原意是「方向」,在此指伊斯蘭教信徒朝拜的方向。穆斯林曾一度朝向耶路撒冷的聖殿禮拜,即今日的阿克薩清真寺(Al-Aqsa,又稱「遠寺」),公元624年才改朝麥加大清真寺(Al-Masjid Al-Haram,又稱「禁寺」)的克爾白天房(Kaaba)禮拜。故稱耶路撒冷阿克薩清真寺的方向為「第一朝拜方向」。

譯註2:以色列政府遭指控,在阿克薩清真寺下方以考古發掘等名義開挖地道,陰謀破壞地質結構,若遇強烈地震則清真寺將會坍塌毀壞。

譯註3:此指1982年以色列入侵黎巴嫩,縱容基督教民兵「長槍黨」在薩布拉(Sabra)和沙提拉(Shatila)這兩個難民營大肆殺害巴基斯坦人。



Palestina, Bagaimana Bisa Aku Melupakanmu
--Taufiq Ismail (1935- )

Ketika rumah-rumahmu diruntuhkan bulldozer dengan suara gemuruh menderu, serasa pasir dan batu bata dinding kamar-tidurku bertebaran di pekaranganku, meneteskan peluh merah dan mengepulkan debu yang berdarah.

Ketika luasan perkebunan jerukmu dan pepohonan apelmu dilipat-lipat sebesar saputangan lalu di Tel Aviv dimasukkan dalam fail lemari kantor agraria, serasa kebun kelapa dan pohon manggaku di kawasan khatulistiwa, yang dirampas mereka.

Ketika kiblat pertama mereka gerek dan keroaki bagai kelakuan reptilia bawah tanah dan sepatu-sepatu serdadu menginjaki tumpuan kening kita semua, serasa runtuh lantai papan surau tempat aku waktu kecil belajar tajwid Al-Qur’an 40 tahun silam, di bawahnya ada kolam ikan yang air gunungnya bening kebiru-biruan kini ditetesi

air
mataku.

Palestina, bagaimana bisa aku melupakanmu

Ketika anak-anak kecil di Gaza belasan tahun bilangan umur mereka, menjawab laras baja dengan timpukan batu cuma, lalu dipatahi pergelangan tangan dan lengannya, siapakah yang tak menjerit serasa anak-anak kami Indonesia jua yang dizalimi mereka – tapi saksikan tulang muda mereka yang patah akan bertaut dan mengulurkan rantai amat panjangnya, pembelit leher lawan mereka, penyeret tubuh si zalim ke neraka.

Ketika kusimak puisi-puisi Fadwa Tuqan, Samir Al-Qassem, Harun Hashim Rashid, Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, Nizar Qabbani dan seterusnya yang dibacakan di Pusat Kesenian Jakarta, jantung kami semua berdegup dua kali lebih gencar lalu tersayat oleh sembilu bambu deritamu, darah kami pun memancar ke atas lalu meneteskan guratan kaligrafi

“Allahu Akbar!”
dan
“Bebaskan Palestina!”

Ketika pabrik tak bernama 1000 ton sepekan memproduksi dusta, menebarkannya ke media cetak dan elektronika, mengoyaki tenda-tenda pengungsi di padang pasir belantara, membangkangit resolusi-resolusi majelis terhormat di dunia, membantai di Shabra dan Shatila, mengintai Yasser Arafat dan semua pejuang negeri anda, aku pun berseru pada khatib dan imam shalat Jum’at sedunia: doakan kolektif dengan kuat seluruh dan setiap pejuang yang menapak jalanNya, yang ditembaki dan kini dalam penjara, lalu dengan kukuh kita bacalah

“laquwwatta illa bi-Llah!”

Palestina, bagaimana bisa aku melupakanmu
Tanahku jauh, bila diukur kilometer, beribu-ribu
Tapi azan Masjidil Aqsha yang merdu
Serasa terdengar di telingaku.

1989



Palestine, How Can I Forget You
--Taufiq Ismail (1935- ), translated by John H. McGlynn

When your homes were felled with the thunderous roar of bulldozers, it felt as if the mortar and bricks in my bedroom walls had been scattered in my garden, to shed drops of red and to raise clouds of bloodied dust.

When your citrus groves and apple trees were turned and folded into something the size of a handkerchief and in Tel Aviv were placed in a file cabinet at the Office of agrarian affairs, it felt as if they had wrested from me here in this equatorial home my own coconut grove and mango trees.

When at the first turn towards Mecca they tunnelled and drilled like subterranean reptiles and soldiers boots were planted on the spot we rest our foreheads in prayer, it felt as if the wooden floor of the prayer-house where I had learned to recite the Quran 40 years ago had collapsed into the fish pond beneath it, whose clear and bluish mountain waters were now spattered with

my
tears

Palestine, how can I forget you

When the youth of Gaza, the adolescents, answer steel barrels with nothing more than a volley of pebbles but whose wrists and arms are then broken, who would not scream feeling that our children in Indonesia, too, were being tortured so senselessly—but see how their broken young bones will mend and witness the unrolling of a chain so very long to wind around thee necks of their foes and to drag the bodies of their torturers to hell.

When I listened to the poems of Fadwa Tuqan, Samir Al-Qassem, Harun Hashim Rashid, Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, Nizar Qabbani and others being read at the Jakarta Arts Center, all our hearts, now beating twice as hard, were scored by the sharpened bamboo dagger of your suffering, spurted forth blood that dripped into calligraphic lines

“God is Great!”
And
“Free Palestine!”

When a nameless factory produces 1000 tons of lies each month and distributes them to the printed and electronic media, tears down the tents of refugees on the untamed desert, protests the resolutions of the world’s most honoured forum, engages in butchery in Shabra and Shatila, spies on Yasser Arafat and all the freedom fighters of your country, I too cry out to the preachers and prayer leaders at Friday prayers throughout the world: pray a collective prayer for each and every freedom fighter that follows His path, who is shot and who is in jail and then read firmly together

“There is no power other than Allah!”

Palestine, how can I forget you
My land is distant if measured in kilometers, many thousands
But in my ear I can hear
The mellifluous call to prayer from the Aqsha Mosque.



John H. McGlynn & E.U. Kratz, ed., Walking Westward in the Morning: Seven Contemporary Indonesian Poets, Jakarta: The Lontar Foundation, 1990, pp. 186-189.
 

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