The Lament of a Warrior’s Waiting Wife

I Ödeläggelse (en bok med vidhängande dvd eller tvärtom) av Marie Silkeberg och Fredrik Arsæus Nauckhoff (och en rad andra författare, bildkonstnärer och musiker) har jag hittat en dikt som fångar mig, en dikt som jag tycker mig känna igen från någon annanstans och ändå inte helt. Det rör sig om utdrag ur en längre dikt med titeln Lament of a Warrior’s Waiting Wife. Jag läser att författaren är vietnamesiskan Doan Thi Diem och att den engelska översättningen är gjord av Huu Ngoc, Châu Diên och Lady Burton.

På ett annat ställe har jag funnit att den ursprungliga texten ska vara skriven på kinesiska av Dang Tran Con (1710-1745). Samma text hävdar emellertid att Doan Thi Diems (1705-1748) vietnamesiska tolkning överträffar originalet.

Men nu vill jag visa er dikten:

The brook rippling beneath the bridge is pure,
The roadside grass is still a tender green.
The battle calls him away, leaving her in anguish,
No longer his mate, once he leaps astride his horse or steps into his boat.
The rushing water cannot cleanse her grief,
The fragrant grass cannot erase her memories.
They hold hands, sharing gentle counsel, tender words,
He takes a step away and, preoccupied, another step, then pauses.
Her heart, like the moon’s shadow, follows him;
His heart, far away, seeks glory in the Heavenly Mountains.
He practiced with his sword even as they drained their parting cup,
Feinting, aiming, thrusting his spear into the panthers’ den.
He will hunt the enemy as Giới Từ conquered Lâu Lan,
Storm in like Phuc Ba smashing the Man Khê rebellion,
With his mantle spread crimson like a resplendent sunset,
His horse dazzling white, as if imprinted with newly fallen snow.
The harness bells jingle, tiny timpani to the thrum of drums,
They stand face to face, then a minute later their lives divide.
At the bridge, their life paths part with a final farewell.
By the roadside, she watches the silhouettes of the flags recede.
The advance troops are already approaching Liểu Camp.
While the cavalry remains sheltered in distant Tràng Dương.
The army takes him away at full gallop down its path,
Can the weeping willow ever know the agony ripping her heart?

The muted trill of flutes echoes from far, far away,
The rows of pennants float off in a fading mirage.
Layers of clouds hide his ultimate trace,
She stares at the bleak mountain, longing for his love.
As for him, he has entered the season and region of hardships,
While she returns to their old room with its mat und comforter.
Yearning, she stares at the place of painful parting,
Sees clouds spreading over the mountains’ blue haze.
Reaching Hàm Capital, he turns, glancing back once more,
While she watches from the warf at Tiêu and Tương Rivers.
The smoke of Tiêu-Tương never drifts to Hàm Dương;
The trees in Hàm Dương are a species apart from Tiêu-Tương.
They both stare once again yet see nothing at all
But the green, green thousands, thousands of mulberry trees,
Thousands of mulberries so intensely green but all of one color.
His heart or hers: Who endures the greater anguish?

Bilden, som är tecknad av Birger Lundquist, har jag tagit ur boken Kineser av Hwang Tsu-Yü och Alf Henrikson. Teckningen finns under dikten Avsked av Wang Wei (673-740).

..

PS I Salongen finns sedan igår en text om Bernhard Schlinks Högläsaren.