주말에 마시는 한 잔의 시~~ A Dog Has Died / 파블로 네루다

파블로 네루다를 읽으며 지난 시절 나의 가장 가까운 벗이 생각이 났다.

바로 어린 시절 아버지께서 나의 벗으로 베티를 데리고 오셨다. 그 후, 베티는 나의 가장 친한 벗이었다. 내가 고등학교 2학년때 베티를 마당의 감나무 아래에 묻었다. 베티가 죽은 후로 난 다시는 어느 개에게도 사랑을 주지 못했다. 어느 날 떠나버리면 가슴속에 영원히 남을 것 같은 생각에서였다. 파블로도 자신의 개를 생각하면서 이 시를 썼다. 이 시를 쓸 때의 심정이 어떠했을까 감히 짐작하고도 남음이 있다.

My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I’ll join him right there,
but now he’s gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I’ll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I’ll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he’d keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea’s movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean’s spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don’t now and never did lie to each other.

So now he’s gone and I buried him,
and that’s all there is to it.

Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer

From Poem Hunter,

코리 일보

All rights reserved(c) 2013-2015

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Confirm that you are not a bot - select a man with raised hand: