[北马其顿]博尔斯·帕诺夫《论不确定性》殷晓媛 诵读

博尔斯·帕诺夫（BORCE PANOV）：

1961年9月27日生于北马其顿共和国拉多维什。毕业于位于北马其顿斯科普里的圣西里尔和迪乌斯大学，取得马其顿语及南斯拉夫语学位 (1986)。1998年加入马其顿作家协会。出版诗集《查理阐在屏幕背面发现了什么》(1991)、《暴风眼》 (1995)、《查理住手》(2002)、《手腕》(2006)、《玻璃之谜》(2008)、《写作圣殿》(2010)、 《神秘晚餐》(2012)、《维达(生命呼吸)》 (2014)、《人类的寂静》(2016)、《乌哈尼亚》(2017)、《壳》(2018)；多种随笔集及戏剧作品：《这一年的第五季》(2000)、《分身小镇》(2011)、《从中堵塞的死胡同》(2002)、《智人》(2004)、《捉祝梦游者》(2005)、《鼻部向下》(2006)以及《夏日影院》 (2007)。出版外语诗集《赤铁矿颗粒》(2016，马其顿语&保加利亚语)、《维达》(2017，斯洛文尼亚语)、《削气球》(2018，塞尔维亚语)及《Fotostiheza》 (摄影理论，2019，保加利亚语)。

作品被收录入多种国际国内选本，被译为 英语、乌克兰语、斯洛文尼亚语、塞尔维亚语、克罗地亚语、保加利亚语、法语、加泰罗尼亚语、蒙古语、阿尔巴尼亚语、 罗马尼亚语、波兰语、汉语和丹麦语。

目前担任拉多维什市政局文化教育顾问。同时任一年一度“卡拉曼诺夫国际诗歌节”艺术主管。

以下诗歌由丹妮拉·安多诺夫斯卡-特拉伊科夫斯卡(Daniela Andonovska-Trajkovska)译为英文。

ESSAY OF UNCERTAINITY
 
my friend once told me that his wife is like
a giant sleepy cat
that purrs in the bed in the middle of the jungle in which
she rules
- fed up with his impatience to finish
the books around him
in the moments in which he couldn’t resist fantasizing in the middle of the sentences
my wife suddenly told me that she has always known about my madness 
and that she could kill me on the fine line with the genius
while I was telling her about how Ionesco had perceived the world
in both: the fascism and Marxism but that the time today is like а fridge 
and then I gulped back my bite from the lunch abruptly
having a thought about the woman
that had butchered her own husband and kept him in the fridge for a long time
and also about her friend that had confessed her
that she had no longer feelings for her husband and that all of that is like the habit
the habit that is smelly monster according to Block, as I said to her,
and the love is just a hell of a centre of all heart bumps
-          unexpected surrendering to the opposite wind against the destiny
when Daniil Kharmes, as well, painfully near to his final destination
and with his last breath fed up with soil, asked God 
not to deprive him from the heavens’ letters that are being inhaled instead of air in the Promised Land
and what would I tell her now with the mouth of Kis
about the writing down here
from the edge of the despair where a town falls down pushed by the sigh 
and stretches on the nerves with which, like a marionette, I write down on the snow 
a dream that types automatically on the keyboard 
because the true experience of the truth is the personal experience itself
but the harsh Sylvia Platt is pressing my pupil’s loop
and tells me that I am me, too, but it is not enough oh
not enough
to finish fantasizing the end of the sentence as a way of surviving 
therefore I ask her how to be wise with the uncertainty 
in this two-faced world while the God is continuously
writing the dark book that I will never be able to read 
and I constantly pray and ask him to write something nice, as well, 
for which I could fantasize without knowing it
without knowing it
while I am reading the whole time that has been written since the day
that touches me blindly to recognize my madness
just like Borges that penetrates the labyrinth of the word  with his fingers
is stretching the nerves of the whole time so he could see what could never be seen
when I am getting blind by the burst of the fraud on the edge of my eye nerve 
Oh, dear God, let me finish my fantasy about unknown in what has not been read yet
and help me not to judge before I understand 
that the bone of the bad is after the bone of the good
by getting undressed
and I’m - still uncertain in front of the two-facet world of Tarkovsky 
and protected by the incompleteness of the knowledge,
naively fantasizing that I could be killed by my wife’s jokes one day,
because it is really hard to live in a world with strict boundaries
between the good and the evil in which Kundera, too,
suffered in silence