童年之歌 The Song of Childhood
"When the child was a child
It walked with its arms dangling,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Is there truly evil,
and people who are evil?
How can it be that the I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, the I who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
It had clearly imagined Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.
When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today."
It walked with its arms dangling,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Is there truly evil,
and people who are evil?
How can it be that the I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, the I who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
It had clearly imagined Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.
When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today."
The Song of Childhood / Lied Vom Kindsein
from the Wim Wenders film "Wings of Desire"
彼得．漢德克 的詩 (2) 《童年之歌》
當孩子還是個孩子，
愛在走路時擺動雙臂，
幻想著小溪就是河流，
河流就是大川，
而水坑就是大海。
當孩子還是個孩子，
不知自己還只是孩子。
以為萬物皆有靈魂，
所有靈魂都是同一的，沒有高低上下之分的。
當孩子還是個孩子，
尚未有成見，
沒有養成習慣；
愛在座椅上交叉雙腿，
想到什麼就突然跑出去，
頭髮打著卷兒，
照相時從不特意擺表情。
當孩子還是個孩子，
愛提這些問題：
為什麼我是我，不是你？
為什麼我在這兒，不在那兒？
時間從何時開始？空間在何處終結？
陽光下的生命，不是一場幻夢嗎？
我所看到的、聽到的、聞到的，
不是面前這個世界的幻象嗎？
鑒於惡與人的事實，
真有惡這回事嗎？
為什麼，我這個人，
在來到人世前並不存在？
為什麼，我這個人，
總有一天不再是我？
當孩子還是個孩子，
嘴裡塞滿菠菜、青豆、米餅，
還有蒸菜花，難以下嚥。
現在，也吃這些，卻不再是因為被迫所以去吃。
當孩子還是個孩子，
睡在陌生的床上，也許偶爾會醒來一次；
現在，只會徹夜難眠。
那時，許多人看上去都很美；
現在，美麗的只是少數，全憑運氣。
曾經能清晰地看見天堂的樣子；
現在，至多只能猜測。
曾經無法想像虛無為何物；
現在，空虛讓他害怕。
當孩子還是個孩子，
在玩耍時積極熱情。
現在，仍然積極熱情，
卻是在攸關飯碗時才如此。
當孩子還是個孩子，
對他來說，蘋果、麵包，就能吃飽。
甚至現在，也是這樣。
當孩子還是個孩子，
手裡抓滿了漿果，並且滿足於滿手的漿果，
現在，依然如故。
生核桃會把舌頭澀痛，
現在，澀痛如故。
站在每一座峰頂，
嚮往更高的山峰；
置身每一個城市，
嚮往更大的城市；
現在，嚮往如故。
夠到最高枝條上的樹果，興奮異常；
現在，興奮如故。
面對生人，羞赧怯懦；
現在，羞怯如故。
一直期待第一場雪，
現在，期待如故。
當孩子還是個孩子，
把大樹當作敵人，拿木棍當標槍，投向大樹。
現在，它還插在那裏，振顫不已。
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