Nguyễn Hoàng Bảo Việt : Những Đêm Tháng Mười
Người sẽ chết
Tới tấp những bàn tay sắt Staline.
Chúng tôi đau từng gốc răng chân tóc
Chúng nó tra tấn điên cuồng suốt đêm
Móc mắt tưởng Người không còn nhìn thấy
Mùa Xuân Tự do nhân loại nô nức trở về
Chúng tôi đau trên mười ngón tay dập nát
Từng mảnh xương vỡ vụn từ đầu đến chân
Đâm vào lưỡi tưởng Người không còn tiếng nói
Không được gọi chúng tôi là anh em.
Ôi Popieluszko nhân ái và bất khuất
Chúng tôi đau từng tia máu trên môi Người
Bao đá ghì xuống sợi dây thừng siết cổ
Chúng tôi đau từng đợt sóng vỗ Vistule
Nghe xót xa hồi chuông Thánh đường Stanislas
Chúng tôi đau trong ngực mỗi người bạn Ba Lan
Từ Nowa Huta đến Katyn,
Chúng tôi đau trên trán Cha Mẹ Anh Chị em
Khóe mắt trẻ thơ ngủ bên cánh hoa ngọn nến
Từ Wroclaw đến Ursus, Silésie đến Poznan
Chúng tôi đau trái tim vùi trong giàn lửa
Karol Wojtyla, Adam Michnik, Jacek Kuron
Danuta Lech Walesa, Anna Walentynowitcz…
Chung một vết thương dẫu chưa gặp nhau
Giữa tâm hồn chúng ta ôm sâu kín
Máu Jerzy đọng theo đường chỉ mũi kim
Thêu lên nền trời những chữ ‘SOLIDARNOŚĆ’
Ôi đất nước lầm than thiếu vắng nụ cười
Đôi vai trần một mình Người gánh vác
Những đòn roi không đem trả địch thù
Làm củi sưởi mùa đông chúng ta đi tới
Đốt cháy ngục tù tuyệt vọng nín câm.
Như đêm vượt biển lòng Tin sao vằng vặc
Không la bàn thuyền nhân vẫn thấy hải đăng
Popieluszko thủy chung khi ngã xuống
Gởi lại chúng ta những hạt mầm xuân.
Bạn Văn xuất bản Paris 2008
t Tháng Tư Đen Việt Nam 1975.
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Noce Października Zabili Człowieka Wierząc że Człowiek umarł na zawsze Popiełuszko pozostał żywy * Wieczny w duchu kraju Nieśmiertelny w naszej pamięci. Po czarnym Kwietniu przyszły noce Października * Droga Krzyżowa Partia wybucha Nienawiść się mści Żelazne pociski stalinowskie ją przygniatają Szpecąc skamieniałe oblicze. Boli nas każdy wyrwany ząb Każda kępka wydartych włosów. W gniewie torturowali Człowieka przez całą noc Przebili mu oczy Wierząc, że zniszczą jego wyobrażenie Wiosny Wolności Gdzie ludzkość, w zapale, śpieszy się do powrotu. Boli nas dziesięć zmiażdżonych palców Boli nas każde złamanie, od głowy do stóp, Gdy ucinali mu język Zdawało się im, że pojmali Słowo Zabronili nam nazywać się braćmi. O Popiełuszko, ludzki ale niepoddany Cierpimy każdą kroplą krwi z twoich opuchniętych warg Balast się zanurza Lina cię dusi Cierpimy każdą rozbijającą się falą niepewnej Wisły Za Świętym Stanisławem rozbrzmiewa żałobny dzwon. Cierpimy uciśniętą piersią każdego z naszych przyjaciół Od Nowej Huty do Katynia Od Gdańska do Katowic Cierpimy niespokojnymi czołami ojców i matek Braci i sióstr Oczyma dzieci uśpionych wśród kwiatów W świetle świec Od Wrocławia po Ursus Od Śląska po Poznań. Boli nas cierpienie serca Skryci w płonącym stosie Karol Wojtyła, Adam Michnik, Jacek Kuroń, Danuta i Lech Wałęsa, Anna Walentynowicz… Moi bracia i siostry Nasza wspólna rana Opatrujemy ją, każdy z nas, z największej głębi duszy, Nawet jeśli nigdy się nie spotkaliśmy. Krew Jerzego lśni się od nitki po kłębek Upiększa w tle lazur liter SOLIDARNOŚĆ! Biedny kraj pełen nędzy, pozbawiony śmiechów! Na jego nagich ramionach, sam jeden, Człowiek doznaje Deszczu uderzeń Pałek zemsty Nie oddajemy ich naszym wrogom Robimy z nich stosy by ogrzać się zimą Idziemy naprzód Dodajemy ognia więzieniu ciszy i beznadziei. Jak gdyby w nocy przejścia Dzięki oświeconej wierze gwiazd My, lud łodzi, pozbawieni busoli, Mogliśmy skierować się ku latarni Popiełuszko, wierny, upadając Powierza nam nasienie odnowienia. (10.1984) Nguyên Hoàng Bảo Việt Tłumaczenie: Małgorzata Bąbelek Fragment ze zbioru wierszy «Piętno Feniksa», Wydawnictwo Bạn Văn 2008, Paryż. * Młody duszpasterz robotników huty w Warszawie, ksiądz Popiełuszko głosił odwagę, uczciwość i umiłowanie Wolności. Bestialsko torturowany i zamordowany w październiku 1984 przez milicję w służbie komunistycznej dyktatury w Polsce. * Wietnam, kwiecień 1975 . Les Nuits d’Octobre IlPopieluszko reste vivant* Chemin du calvaire Le Parti explose La haine se venge. te aux pieds Le lest plonge De Saint-Stanislas le glas mordant retentit. Aux yeux des enfants assoupis entre les fleurs Karol Wojtyla, Adam Michnik,Jacek Kuron Danuta, Lech Walesa, Anna Walentynowicz… Notre plaie commune Une pluie de matraques Ces gourdins de vengeance CNous confie la semence du renouveau. (10.1984) Nguyên Hoàng Bảo Việt * Việt Nam Avril 1975. The Nights of October They murdered the Man, Believing the Man to be dead forever, Popieluszko lives on eternally* In the country’s soul, Immortal in our memory. After Black April came the Nights of October* The road to The Party exploded, And hate took its revenge. The Stalinist iron clasps overcame him, And disfigured the face which had first been stoned; We suffer for every tooth torn out, For every handful of hair pulled out. In fury, they tortured the Man all night, Blinded him, Thinking they could destroy his vision, From the Springtime of When an enthusiastic people fought its way back. We suffer for the ten crushed fingers, We suffer for each fracture, from the head to the feet, Cutting out his tongue, They thought they had stopped free speech Forbidden him from calling us brothers. O, Popieluszko, human but a rebel, We suffer at each spurt of blood from your swollen lips, The weight falls, The rope strangles you, We suffer for every wave which breaks on the storm-tossed From Saint Stanislas the bitter death knell tolls We suffer every time one of our friends is crushed down, From Nowa Huta to Katyn, From We suffer at the sight of the wrinkled brows of our fathers and mothers, Of brothers and sisters, Of children who slumber among the flowers, In the candlelight, From From We suffer at the aching heart Buried in a flaming pyre, Karol Wojtyla, Adam Michnik, Jacek Kuron Danuta, Our brothers and sisters, We share this common wound, And nurse it within each of us, deep in our souls, Even though we have not yet met. Jerzy’s blood drops on the needle and thread, And on the azure background embroiders the letters SOLIDARNOŠC Poor miserable country deprived of any laughter ! On his bare shoulders, he alone Is subjected to an avalanche of truncheons, Those pitiless cudgels, We will not use them against our enemies, We will make them into logs to heat our homes in winter, We will advance As if it were the night we crossed When, thanks to our faith, with the stars shining the way, We, the boat people, having any compass, Caught sight of the beacon, Popieluszko, ever faithful, fell, But gave us the seeds of renewal. (10.1984) Nguyên Hoàng Bảo Việt n Văn Paris 2008. * Father Popieluszko was a young priest for the workers at the who preached courage, honesty and love for liberty. He was brutally tortured and murdered in October, 1984, by the Polish regime’s political police. * ******************************************************