Conversation With A Stone

/Wislawa Szymborska




I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I want to enter your insides,
have a look round,
breathe my fill of you."

"Go away," says the stone.
"I'm shut tight.
Even if you break me to pieces,
we'll all still be closed.
You can grind us to sand,
we still won't let you in."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I've come out of pure curiosity.
Only life can quench it.
I mean to stroll through your palace,
then go calling on a leaf, a drop of water.
I don't have much time.
My mortality should touch you."

"I'm made of stone," says the stone,
"and must therefore keep a straight face.
Go away.
I don't have the muscles to laugh."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I hear you have great empty halls inside you,
unseen, their beauty in vain,
soundless, not echoing anyone's steps.
Admit you don't know them well yourself."

"Great and empty, true enough," says the stone,
"but there isn't any room.
Beautiful, perhaps, but not to the taste
of your poor senses.
You may get to know me, but you'll never know me through.
My whole surface is turned toward you,
all my insides turned away."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I don't seek refuge for eternity.
I'm not unhappy.
I'm not homeless.
My world is worth returning to.
I'll enter and exit empty-handed.
And my proof I was there
will be only words,
which no one will believe."

"You shall not enter," says the stone.
"You lack the sense of taking part.
No other sense can make up for your missing sense of taking part.
Even sight heightened to become all-seeing
will do you no good without a sense of taking part.
You shall not enter, you have only a sense of what that sense should be,
only its seed, imagination."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in.
I haven't got two thousand centuries,
so let me come under your roof."

"If you don't believe me," says the stone,
"just ask the leaf, it will tell you the same.
Ask a drop of water, it will say what the leaf has said.
And, finally, ask a hair from your own head.
I am bursting with laughter, yes, laughter, vast laughter,
although I don't know how to laugh."

I knock at the stone's front door.
"It's only me, let me come in."

"I don't have a door," says the stone.






我敲了敲石頭的前門，
「是我，讓我進去。
　我想進到你裏面去，
　四處瞧瞧，飽吸你的氣息。」

「走開。」石頭說。
「我緊閉著。
　即使你將我打成碎片，
　我們仍是緊閉的。
　你可以將我們磨成沙礫，
　我們依舊不會讓你進來。」

我敲了敲石頭的前門，
「是我，讓我進去。
　我來是出於真誠的好奇。
　唯有生命才能將它澆息。
　我打算先逛遍你的宮殿，
　再走訪葉子，水滴。
　我的時間不多。
　我終必一死的命運該可感動你。」

「我是石頭做的，」石頭說，
「因此必須扳起面孔。
　走開。
　我沒有肌肉可以大笑。」

我敲了敲石頭的前門。
「是我，讓我進去。
　聽說你的體內有許多空敞的大廳，
　無人得見，徒具華美，
　無聲無息，沒有任何腳步的回聲，
　招認吧，你自己也不甚清楚。」

「的確，又大又空，」石頭說，
「但沒有任何房間。
　華美，但不合你那差勁的胃口。
　你或有機會結識我，但你永遠無法徹底了解我。
　你面對的是我的外表，
　我的內在背離你。」

我敲了敲石頭的前門，
「是我，讓我進去。
　我並非要尋求永恆的庇護。
　我並非不快樂。
　我並非無家可歸。
　我的世界值得我回去。
　我將空手而入，空手而出。

　我將只用言語
　證明我曾到訪。
　沒人會相信此事。」

「我不會讓你進入，」石頭說，
「你缺乏參與感。
　其它的感官都無法彌補你失去的參與感。
　即使視力提升到無所不能見的地步，
　對你並無用處，如果少了參與感。
　我不會讓你進入，你只略知此感為何物，
　只得其種籽，想像。」

我敲了敲石頭的前門。
「是我，讓我進去。
　我沒有二十萬年的壽命，
　所以請讓我到你的屋簷底下。」

「如果你不相信我，」石頭說，
「去問問葉子，它會告訴你同樣的話。
　去問水滴，它會說出葉子說過的話。
　最後再問問你頭上的毛髮。
　我真想大笑，是的，大笑，狂笑，
　雖然我不知道如何大笑。」

我敲了敲石頭的前門。
「是我，讓我進去。」

「我沒有門，」石頭說。