蔗尾蜂房

舊日本銀行廣島支店：廣島核爆後少數殘存的建築物之一 廣島吾愛 --Goenawan Mohamad (1941- )，羅浩原 譯 妳彷彿在洗滌我 在嗖嗖冒出的煙霧中 對我行蒸汽浴 「啊 這樣做 彎下去 快點」 妳是否意識到 我越陷越深 迷戀渴望 對妳的身體是又惱又疼？ 想必沒有 但那雄鹿的麝香 痲瘋般腥紅的夜晚 呻吟滴汗 蔓延著黑暗 然後風息了 接著我們訴說彼此的故事 我不知為何妳說起了廣島 「你聽我說——我生於1965年12月26日 承襲了 那痛苦的陰影 那烙印在、殘留在 一片碎石殘礫間的銀行 那炸彈在空中爆炸後的陰影」 妳來自天堂？ 「我來自北方」 我這才感到我們很幸福 妳覺得那是週五 我想我記得那已是週六 總之分秒停止不前 時鐘不再滴答作響 只聽得 衣衫墜落 扣子崩開 和那敞開的鏡像，哎！ 這空氣 這感覺 至大至巨 妳的微笑已知道 誰將會進入妳的熾熱中 我將舌頭抽離了 妳的上顎 「你知道我祖父是誰嗎？」 我當然不知道。他是誰？ 「他以前是憲兵隊的長官 派駐在南方的國度 他曾強姦過一名少年 當晚就把他絞死了」 啊，剛剛我才說過 我們很幸福 「對，但夜晚還剩一半 月亮如此緩慢 像個能劇演員」 現在 妳垂下了長髮 黑得與夜來香的枕頭如此相稱 我們不是在很早就認為 頂上並沒有天堂 而妳、我、與他們，也沒人在追尋 Hiroshima, Cintaku --Goenawan Mohamad (1941- ) Seperti kau basuh aku dalam desah asap saunamu. “Ah, lakukan, lekukkan, lekaskan.” Sadarkah kau kian kubenamkan kangen ke gemas tubuhmu? Mungkin tidak. Tapi harum kelenjar rusa jantan merah mengusta malam lenguh dan peluh merambat gelap Dan angin jadi lambat. Setelah itu kita saling bercerita Dan aku tak tahu kenapa kau bercerita tentang Hiroshima “Dengarlah. Aku lahir 26 Desember 1965- Titisan dari bayang-bayang kesakitan yang membekas, tersisa di puing lantai bank ketika bom itu pecah ke cuaca” Kau datang dari surga? “Aku datang dari utara” Aku baru tahu bahwa kita berbahagia. Kaurasa hari itu Jumat Kurasa kuingat Sabtu Apapun detik tak bersaat Jam tak mengadu Yang telah kudengar adalah kain yang jatuh kancing yang runtuh dan cermin yang membuka, aduh Hawa,. rasa, magma, senyummu yang tahu siapa yang akan datang ke panas suhumu Lalu kulepaskan lidahku Dari langit-langitmu. “Tahukah kau siapa kakekku?” Tentu saja aku tak tahu. Siapa dia? “Ia seorang komandan Kenpetei di sebuah negeri Selatan yang memperkosa seorang pemuda dan menggantungnya di sore hari” Ah, tapi tadi aku telah berkata bahwa kita berbahagia “Ya. Tapi malam tinggal separoh dan bulan pelan seperti pemain Noh” Kini kau gelarkan rambutmu, hitam, hitam seragam pada bantal sedapmalam Bukankah sudah lama kita duga di loteng ini tak ada surga dan kau, aku, mereka, tak mencarinya. 1989-1990 Goenawan Mohamad, Asmaradana: Pilihan Sajak, 1961-1991, Jakarta: Gramedia Widiasarana Indonesia, 1992, pp. 96-98. Hiroshima, mon Amour --Goenawan Mohamad, translated by John H. McGlynn It was as if you cleansed me in the susurrant cloud of your sauna “Yes now do it, now kneel, now, now…” And are you aware I planted my longing in the pining of your flesh? Probably not. But a musky fragrance and the night, a leprous red spread stealthily through gasps and drops of sweat And the wind died. After which we traded tales And I don't know why, but you talked of Hiroshima "Listen to me — I was born December 26, 1965. Offspring of the remnants of power what remained in the rubble of a bank floor after the bomb exploded midair." Are you from heaven? “I am from the north.” Only now I know that we were happy. You thought it was Friday I seemed to remember Saturday. Regardless, the seconds didn't tick The clock did not complain. What I heard was the sound of falling clothes popping buttons and a mirror as it was opened, my God. The air, the feeling, the magma, and your smile revealing who was to enter the heat of you Then I released my tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Do you know who my grandfather was?” Of course I don’t. Who was he? “A commander of the Japanese Military Police in one of those countries to the south who raped a young man one day and hanged him that same evening.” But earlier I said we were happy “Yes, but only a half night remains and the moon is as slow as a Noh actor.” And now you let down your hair, so black, so evenly black on a pillow of tuberoses Don’t we so long suspect there is no heaven above and you, and I, and they, are not looking for it. John H. McGlynn & Leila S. Chudori, ed., Menagerie 2: Indonesian Fiction, Poetry, Photographs, Essays, Jakarta: The Lontar Foundation, 1993, p.143-145.