¹ø¿ª½Ã¸¦ ÀÐ°í °¼¿ì¶×°Å¸®°Ô µÉ ¶§, ¼·Î ´Ù¸¥ ¾ð¾î »çÀÌÀÇ ÇÑ°è¿¡ Àý¸ÁÇÏ°Ô µÉ ¶§ ¸»À̾ß... ±×·±µ¥ Æĺí·Î ³×·ç´ÙÀÇ ½Ã´Â ¹ø¿ª½Ã¶ó°í ´À²¸ÁöÁö ¾ÊÀ» ¸¸Å, Á¦´ë·Î ã¾Æ¿ÀÁö ¾Ê³ª? Àß ¿Å°Ü¼ÀÎÁö, ¿ø·¡ ±× ½Ã°¡ ±×·± °ÍÀÎÁö ¸ð¸£°Ú¾î, ÇÏ¿©°£ ³ª¸¦ ºÎ¸£´õ±º, ±×°Ç ³ª¸¦ °Çµå¸®´õ±º.
½Ã
Æĺí·Î ³×·ç´Ù/Á¤ÇöÁ¾ ¿Å±è
±×·¯´Ï±î ±× ³ªÀÌ¿´¾î...... ½Ã°¡ ³ª¸¦ ã¾Æ¿Ô¾î. ¸ô¶ó, ±×°Ô ¾îµð¼ ¿Ô´ÂÁö, ¸ð¸£°Ú¾î, °Ü¿ï¿¡¼ÀÎÁö °¿¡¼ÀÎÁö. ¾ðÁ¦ ¾î¶»°Ô ¿Ô´ÂÁö ¸ð¸£°Ú¾î, ¾Æ³Ä, ±×°Ç ¸ñ¼Ò¸®°¡ ¾Æ´Ï¾ú°í, ¸»µµ ¾Æ´Ï¾úÀ¸¸ç, ħ¹¬µµ ¾Æ´Ï¾ú¾î, ÇÏ¿©°£ ¾î¶² ±æ°Å¸®¿¡¼ ³ª¸¦ ºÎ¸£´õ±º, ¹ãÀÇ °¡Áö¿¡¼, °©Àڱ⠴ٸ¥ °Íµé·ÎºÎÅÍ, °Ý·ÄÇÑ ºÒ ¼Ó¿¡¼ ºÒ·¶¾î, ¶Ç´Â È¥ÀÚ µ¹¾Æ¿À´Âµ¥, ±×·¸°Ô, ¾ó±¼ ¾øÀÌ ±×°Ç ³ª¸¦ °Çµå¸®´õ±º.
³ª´Â ¹¹¶ó°í ÇØ¾ß ÇÒÁö ¸ô¶ú¾î, ³» ÀÔÀº À̸§µéÀ» µµ¹«Áö ´ëÁö ¸øÇß°í, ´«Àº ¸Ö¾ú¾î. ³» ¿µÈ¥ ¼Ó¿¡¼ ¹º°¡ µÎµå·È¾î, ¿(æð)À̳ª ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸° ³¯°³, ±×¸®°í ³» ³ª¸§´ë·Î Çغ¸¾Ò¾î, ±× ºÒÀ» Çص¶Çϸç, ³ª´Â ¾î·ÅDzÇÑ Ã¹ ÁÙÀ» ½è¾î ¾î·ÅDzÇÑ, ¹ºÁö ¸ð¸¦, ¼øÀüÇÑ ³¼¾½º, ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¸ð¸£´Â ¾î¶² »ç¶÷ÀÇ ¼ø¼öÇÑ ÁöÇý; ±×¸®°í ¹®µæ ³ª´Â º¸¾Ò¾î Ç®¸®°í ¿¸° ÇÏ´ÃÀ», À¯¼º(ë´àø)µéÀ», °íµ¿Ä¡´Â ³í¹ç ±¸¸Û ¶Õ¸° ¾îµÒ, È»ì°ú ºÒ°ú ²Éµé·Î µé¾¥¼ÅÁø ¾îµÒ, ¼Ò¿ëµ¹ÀÌÄ¡´Â ¹ã, ¿ìÁÖ¸¦.
±×¸®°í ³ª, ÀÌ ¹Ì¼Ò(Ú°á³)ÇÑ Á¸Àç´Â ±× Å« º°µé ÃÑÃÑÇÑ Çã°ø¿¡ ÃëÇØ, ½ÅºñÀÇ ¸ð½À¿¡ ÃëÇØ, ³ª ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ±× ½É¿¬ÀÇ ÀϺÎÀÓÀ» ´À²¼°í, º°µé°ú ´õºÒ¾î ±¼·¶À¸¸ç, ³» ½ÉÀåÀº ¹Ù¶÷¿¡ Ç®·È¾î.
POETRY
Pablo Neruda
And
it was at that age ... poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street it called me,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from others,
among raging fires
or returning alone,
there it was, without a face,
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind. Something knocked in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing;
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations, the darkness perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.
And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
for myself a pure part of the abyss. I wheeled with the stars. My heart broke loose with the wind.
(Translated from the Spanish by Alastair
Reid) -¡ºThe
Poetry of Pablo Neruda¡»(edited by Ilan Stavans), 659ÂÊ.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Æĺí·Î ³×·ç´ÙÀÇ ½Ã¸¦ Çѱ¹¿¡ °¡Àå ¸¹ÀÌ, ¿½ÉÈ÷ ¼Ò°³ÇÏ´Â »ç¶÷Àº Á¤ÇöÁ¾
½ÃÀÎÀε¥, ¿µ¾î¿¡¼ Áß¿ªÀ» Çß´Ù°í ÇÑ´Ù. ±è³²ÁÖ ½ÃÀεµ ¡º¾Æħ Àú³áÀ¸·Î Àбâ À§ÇÏ¿©¡»¶ó´Â ½ÃÁý¿¡¼ ³×·ç´ÙÀÇ ½Ã¸¦ ¹ø¿ª ¼Ò°³Çß¾ú´Ù. ±× Àü¿¡´Â ±è¼ö¿µ ½ÃÀÎÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù. 1969³â¿¡ âÀÛ°ú ºñÆò¿¡ ¹ø¿ª½Ã¸¦ ½Ç¾ú´Ù°í. Á¤ÇöÁ¾, ±è³²ÁÖ, ±è¼ö¿µ ½ÃÀÎ.
»ç¶û½Ã¿Í Çõ¸í½Ã¸¦ ½è´ø ³×·ç´Ù¿Í Âü ¾î¿ï¸®Áö ¾Ê³ª?
À§ ½Ã´Â ³×·ç´ÙÀÇ ½ÃÁý ¡ºÀ̽½¶ó ³×±×¶ó ºñ¸Á·Ï¡»(Memorial
de Isla Negra, 1964)¿¡ ½Ç·È´Âµ¥, ¼Ò¼³ ¡º³×·ç´ÙÀÇ ¿ìÆí¹è´ÞºÎ¡»ÀÇ ¹è°æÀÌ ¹Ù·Î ¡®À̽½¶ó ³×±×¶ó¡¯¶ó´Â ¸¶À»ÀÌ´Ù. ¿µÈ ¡ºÀÏ Æ÷½ºÆ¼³ë¡»¿¡¼´Â ÀÌÅ»¸®¾Æ·Î ³ª¿ÀÁö¸¸, ¼Ò¼³Àº Ä¥·¹ÀÇ ¹Ù´å°¡ ¸¶À». ³×·ç´Ù°¡ 1939³âºÎÅÍ 1973³â
»îÀÇ ¸¶Áö¸·±îÁö »ì¾Ò´ø °÷ÀÌ´Ù. ¡®À̽½¶ó ³×±×¶ó¡¯´Â ¡°°ËÀº ¼¶¡±À̶ó´Â ¶æÀε¥, ¹Ù´å°¡¿¡ °ËÀº ºûÀÇ µ¹¼¶ÀÌ ÀÖ³ª
º¸´õ¶ó.
±¹¿Ü ¿©±âÀú±â ´Ù´Ï°í, ¸Á¸í»ýÈ°µµ ÇÏ°í ±×·¨À¸´Ï±î Âß »ì¾Ò´ø °Ç ¾Æ´Ï°í,
¸»³âÀÌ µÇ¾î¼¾ß ¿©±â¼ °íÁî³ËÇÏ°Ô »ì¾Ò´Ù. ¹Ù´Ù±¤À̾ú´ø ³×·ç´Ù´Â Áý¾Èµµ ¸¶Ä¡ ¹è
¾Èó·³ Áö¾î³õ°í »ì¾Ò´Âµ¥, Æĵµ¿¡ ¹Ð·Á¿À´Â ³ª¹«¸¦ º¸¸é¼, Àú±â ³»
Ã¥»óÀÌ ¿À³×, ±×·¯°í ±× ³ª¹«·Î Ã¥»óÀ» ¸¸µé¾î¼ °Å±â ¾É¾Æ¼ ½Ã¸¦ ½è´Ù´Â À̾߱Ⱑ À¯¸íÇÏÁö.
´ÙÀ½Àº ³×·ç´Ù°¡ ½º¹«»ì ¹«·Æ¿¡ ¾´ »ç¶û ³ë·¡.
³×·ç´Ù´Â ¿ ´Ù¼¸»ì¿¡ ù ½ÃÁýÀ» ³Â°í ½ÃÀÎÀ¸·Î À̸§µµ
³µ´Âµ¥, ½ÃÀÎÀÌ µÇ·Á´Â ¾ÆµéÀ» ¹Ý´ëÇÏ´ø ¾Æ¹öÁöÀÇ ´«Ãʸ®¸¦ ÇÇÇØ, üÄÚ ½ÃÀÎ ¾á ³×·ç´ÙÀÇ À̸§À» °¡Á®¿Í ÇʸíÀ¸·Î
»ï¾Ò´Ù. ÀÌ ½Ã°¡ ½Ç¸° ½ÃÁý¡º »ç¶ûÀÇ ½Ã¿Í ÇϳªÀÇ Àý¸ÁÀÇ ³ë·¡¡»´Â »êƼ¾Æ°í¿¡ Àִ ĥ·¹ ´ëÇп¡¼ ºÒ¾î¸¦ °øºÎÇÏ´ø Çлý ½ÃÀý¿¡ ³ª¿Ô´Ù. Æĺí·Î´Â, Æú º£¸¦·»ÀÇ ½Ã¸¦ ÁÁ¾ÆÇß´ø ³×·ç´Ù°¡ ¡®Æú¡¯À» ½ºÆäÀξî·Î °¡Á®¿Â °ÍÀ̶ó´Â ÀÇ°ßÀÌ ±×·² µíÇÏ°Ô µé¸°´Ù. Pablo, Paul ¸ðµÎ °°Àº ¸»ÀÌ´Ù. Æú º£¸¦·»ÀÌ Ã³À½À¸·Î ½Ã¸¦ ÃâÆÇÇÒ ¶§, ¼¸íÀÌ Pablo Verlaine¿´´Ù°í.
¿µ¾î·Î ¿Å±ä ³×·ç´ÙÀÇ ½Ãµµ, ¹ø¿ªÀÚ¿¡ µû¶ó ¹Ì¹¦ÇÑ Â÷ÀÌ°¡ ÀÖ´õ¶ó. ±× ½Ã¸¦ ´Ù½Ã Çѱ¹¸»·Î ¿Å°åÀ¸´Ï, ¶Ç ´Ù¸£´Ù. ±è³²ÁÖ
½ÃÀÎÀÇ ¹ø¿ª°ú Á¤ÇöÁ¾ ½ÃÀÎÀÇ ¹ø¿ªÀ» ³ª¶õÈ÷ °¡Á®¿Ô´Ù.
½º¹«ÆíÀÇ »ç¶ûÀÇ ½Ã
Æĺí·Î ³×·ç´Ù/±è³²ÁÖ ¿Å±è
20.
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À̸¦Å׸é ÀÌ·¸°Ô ½á¾ßÁö '¹ãÀº ºÎ¼Áö°í
Àú ¸Ö¸®¼ º°µéÀº ÆĶþ°Ô ¶³°í ÀÖ´Ù'°í
¹ã¹Ù¶÷Àº °øÁß¿¡¼ ¿øÀ» ±×¸®¸ç ³ë·¡ÇÏ°í
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°¡¾ø´Â ÇÏ´Ã ¾Æ·¡¼ ¼ö¾øÀÌ ±×³à¿Í ÀÔÀ» ¸ÂÃß°ï ÇßÁö
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±×³à¿¡°Ô ¾²°í ÀÖ´Â ÀÌ ½Ã°¡ ºÎµð ÃÖÈÄÀÇ ½Ã°¡ µÇ±â¸¦
- ±è³²ÁÖ ¹ø¿ª½ÃÁý ¡ºÀº¹ÚÁö¿¡ »õ±ä »ç¶û¡»(Ǫ¸¥½£).
½º¹«ÆíÀÇ »ç¶ûÀÇ ½Ã Æĺí·Î ³×·ç´Ù/Á¤ÇöÁ¾ ¿Å±è
20.
¿À´Ã¹ã ³ª´Â ¾µ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù Á¦ÀÏ ½½Ç ±¸ÀýÀ».
¿¹ÄÁ´ë ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¾´´Ù. "¹ãÀº »ê»êÀÌ
ºÎ¼Áö°í
Ǫ¸¥ º°µéÀº ¸Ö¸®¼ ¶³°í ÀÖ´Ù."
¹ã¹Ù¶÷Àº °øÁß¿¡¼ ¼±È¸ÇÏ¸ç ³ë·¡ÇÑ´Ù.
¿À´Ã¹ã ³ª´Â Á¦ÀÏ ½½Ç ±¸ÀýÀ» ¾µ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù
³ª´Â ±×³à¸¦ »ç¶ûÇß°í, ¶§¶§·Î ±×³àµµ ³ª¸¦
»ç¶ûÇß´Ù.
ÀÌ·± ¹ãÀÌ¸é ³ª´Â ±×³à¸¦ Ç°¿¡ ¾È°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.
³¡¾ø´Â ÇÏ´Ã ¾Æ·¡¼ ³ª´Â ¿¬°ÅǪ ±×³à¿Í Å°½ºÇß´Ù.
±×³à´Â ³ª¸¦ »ç¶ûÇß°í, ¶§¶§·Î ³ªµµ ±×³à¸¦
»ç¶ûÇß´Ù.
´©°¡ ±×³àÀÇ ±× Å©°í Á¶¿ëÇÑ ´«À» »ç¶ûÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ» ¼ö Àְڴ°¡.
¿À´Ã¹ã ³ª´Â Á¦ÀÏ ½½Ç ±¸ÀýÀ» ¾µ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù.
³ªÇѵ¥ ÀÎÁ¦ ±×³à°¡ ¾ø´Ù´Â »ý°¢À» Çϸç. ±×³à¸¦ ÀÒ¾î ¹ö·È´Ù´Â
´À³¦¿¡ Àá°Ü.
±¤´ëÇÑ ¹ãÀ» µè°Å´Ï, ±×³à ¾øÀÌ ´õ¿í ±¤¸·Çϱ¸³ª.
±×¸®°í ãÌ°¡ ¿µÈ¥¿¡ ¶³¾îÁø´Ù ¸ñÀå¿¡ ³»¸®´Â À̽½Ã³·³.
³» »ç¶ûÀÌ ±×³à¸¦ ºÙµé¾î ³õÁö ¸øÇÑ °Ô ¹¹ ¾î¶°·ª.
¹ãÀº »ê»êÀÌ ºÎ¼Áö°í ±×³à´Â ³» ¿·¿¡ ¾ø´Ù.
±×°Ô ÀüºÎ´Ù. ¸Ö¸®¼ ´©°¡ ³ë·¡ÇÏ°í ÀÖ´Ù ¸Ö¸®¼.
³» ¿µÈ¥Àº ±×³à¸¦ ÀÒÀº °Ô ¸ø¸¶¶¥ÇÏ´Ù.
³× ´«±æÀº ¸¶Ä¡ ±×³àÇÑÅ× °¡·Á´Â µíÀÌ ±×³à¸¦ ã´Â´Ù.
³» °¡½¿Àº ±×³à¸¦ ã°í, ±×³à´Â ³» °ç¿¡ ¾ø´Ù.
°°Àº ¹ãÀÌ °°Àº ³ª¹«¸¦ Èñ°Ô ¹°µéÀδÙ.
±×¶§¸¦ Áö³ª¿Â ¿ì¸®´Â ÀÎÁ¦ ¶È°°Áö°¡ ¾Ê´Ù.
³ª´Â ÀÎÁ¦ ±×³à¸¦ »ç¶ûÇÏÁö ¾Ê°í, ±×°Ç ±×·¸Áö¸¸,
Ç㳪 ³ª´Â ¾ó¸¶³ª ±×³à¸¦ »ç¶ûÇß´ø°¡.
³» ¸ñ¼Ò¸®´Â ±×³àÀÇ ±Í¿¡ °¡¼ ´êÀ» ¹Ù¶÷À» ã±âµµ Çß´Ù.
´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷ °Å. ±×³à´Â ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷ °Ô µÇ°ÚÁö.
Áö³ ³¯ÀÇ Å°½ºÃ³·³.
±× ¸ñ¼Ò¸®. ±× ºû³ª´Â ¸ö. ±× ¹«ÇÑÇÑ µÎ ´«.
³ª´Â ÀÎÁ¦ ±×³à¸¦ »ç¶ûÇÏÁö ¾Ê°í, ±×°Ç ±×·¸Áö¸¸,
Ç㳪 ³ª´Â ±×³à¸¦ »ç¶ûÇÏ´ÂÁöµµ ¸ô¶ó.
»ç¶ûÀº ±×´ÙÁöµµ ª°í, ÀØÀ½Àº ±×·¸°Ôµµ ±æ´Ù.
ÀÌ·± ¹ãÀÌ¸é ³ª´Â ±×³à¸¦ Ç°¿¡ ¾È¾ÒÀ¸¹Ç·Î
³» ¿µÈ¥Àº ±×³à¸¦ ÀÒ¾î ¹ö¸° °Ô ¸ø¸¶¶¥ÇÏ´Ù.
ºñ·Ï ÀÌ°Ô ±×³à°¡ ³ªÇÑÅ× ÁÖ´Â ¸¶Áö¸· °íÅëÀÏÁö¶óµµ
±×¸®°í ±×°Ô ±×³à¸¦ À§ÇØ ¾²´Â ³» ¸¶Áö¸· ½ÃÀÏÁö¶óµµ.
-¡º½º¹« ÆíÀÇ »ç¶ûÀÇ ½Ã¿Í ÇÑ ÆíÀÇ Àý¸ÁÀÇ
³ë·¡¡»(¹ÎÀ½»ç). Á¤ÇöÁ¾ ¿Å±è.
20. Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, 'The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the
distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my
arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless
sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still
eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that
I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense
without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the
pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not
keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is
singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring
her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with
me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how
I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her
hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. As she was
before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but
maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held
her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me
suffer
and these the last verses that I write for
her.
(translated by W.S. Merwin) - Twenty Love Poems and a Song of
Despair(1923-1924) -¡ºThe
Poetry of Pablo Neruda¡»(edited by Ilan Stavans) 19ÂÊ.
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