“Never a bedtime in their house, no rules, no supervision,
nothing. That’s why he’s such a well-behaved boy. Don’t you
see? Nothing to rebel against.”
“Is that true?”
“I suppose,” I answered, trying to make light of it before
they went any further. “We all have our ways of rebelling.”
“We do?” he asked.
“Name one,” chimed in Chiara.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“He reads Paul Celan.”—— André Aciman, Call Me By Your Name
Psalm
Niemand knetet uns wieder aus Erde und Lehm,
niemand bespricht unseren Staub.
Niemand.
Gelobt seist du, Niemand.
Dir zulieb wollen
wir blühn.
Dir
entgegen.
Ein Nichts
waren wir, sind wir, werden
wir bleiben, blühend:
die Nichts-, die
Niemandsrose.
Mit
dem Griffel seelenhell,
dem Staubfaden himmelswüst,
der Krone rot
vom Purpurwort, das wir sangen
über, o über
dem Dorn.
(German original, source: https://www.lyrikline.org/de/gedichte/psalm-161)
No one kneads us again out of earth and clay,
no one incants our dust.
No one.
Blessèd art thou, No One.
In thy sight would
we bloom.
In thy
spite.
A Nothing
we were, are now, and ever
shall be, blooming:
the Nothing-, the
No-One’s-Rose.
With
our pistil soul-bright,
our stamen heaven-waste,
our corona red
from the purpleword we sang
over, O over
the thorn.
(English translation by John Felstiner, source: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57173/psalm-56d23a67be159)
无人再用泥土将我们捏造，
无人对我们的尘埃祷告。
无人。
愿祢受赞颂，
无人。
为了你，我们愿意
开花。
面朝你。
我们曾是虚无，是，仍是，
将永远是，盛开着的，
虚无——
无人的玫瑰。
花柱魂明，
花丝空芜，
花冠沁红
以帝紫的词语，我们吟唱，
凌覆，凌覆于
荆棘之上。
（呃，我的中文翻译）