It's said that to be a poet

有人說 要成為一個詩人

you have to go to hell and back.

你必須去過地獄後回來。

The first time I visited the prison,

我第一次去拜訪監獄時，

I was not surprised by the noise of the padlocks,

關鎖，關門，

or the closing doors, or the cell bars,

柵欄，或其他我早已想到的聲音，

or by any of the things I had imagined.

都沒嚇到我。

Maybe because the prison is in a quite open space.

可能是因為監獄是一個 相當大的開放空間。

You can see the sky.

你可以看到天空。

Seagulls fly overhead, and you feel like you're next to the sea,

海鷗從頭上飛過， 你覺得好像在海邊，

that you're really close to the beach.

非常靠近沙灘。

But in fact, the gulls are looking for food in the dump near the prison.

但實際上，海鷗是在 監獄附近的垃圾堆找食物。

I went farther inside and I suddenly saw inmates moving across the corridors.

我走進去 突然看到囚犯在穿過走廊。

Then it was as if I stepped back and thought

然後我好像停下來 在想我也有可能

that I could have very well been one of them.

是他們中間的一份子。

If I had another story, another context, different luck.

如果我有另一個人生故事， 在另一個時空，不同的運氣。

Because nobody - nobody - can choose where they're born.

因為沒有人－ 沒有人 － 可以選擇他們的出生地。

In 2009, I was invited to join a project

在2009年，我應邀參與

that San Martín National University conducted at the Unit 48 penitentiary,

聖‧馬丁國立大學 在48號感化院所舉辦的

to coordinate a writing workshop.

一個協調寫作班的專案。

The prison service ceded some land at the end of the prison,

獄方在監牢盡頭的一塊地上

which is where they constructed the University Center building.

蓋了一個大學中心的建築物。

The first time I met with the prisoners,

我第一次見與囚犯見面時，

I asked them why they were asking for a writing workshop

我問他們為什麼他們要求上寫作課

and they told me they wanted to put on paper

他們告訴我他們要 將他們無法說和做的事情

all that they couldn't say and do.

寫在紙上。

Right then I decided that I wanted poetry to enter the prison.

那時我就決定我要將詩引進監獄。

So I said to them why don't we work with poetry,

我就告訴他們 如果你們知道詩是什麼

if they knew what poetry was.

我們何不寫詩。

But nobody had a clue what poetry really was.

但沒有人真正知道詩是什麼。

They also suggested to me

他們也向我建議

that the workshop should be not just for the inmates

這個班應該不應只是讓想要上

taking university classes, but for all the inmates.

大學課程的囚犯參加， 所有囚犯應該都可參加。

And so I said that to start this workshop,

我同意後就開始了這個寫作課。

I needed to find a tool that we all had in common.

我必須先找一個我們都知道的工具。

That tool was language.

那個工具就是語言。

We had language, we had the workshop. We could have poetry.

我們有語言，我們有這個課。 我們就可以有詩。

But what I hadn't considered was that inequality exists in prison, too.

但我沒考慮到的是 監獄也有不平等。

Many of the prisoners hadn't even completed grammar school.

許多囚犯甚至沒有讀完小學。

Many couldn't use cursive, could barely print.

許多不會寫草書，只會一點正楷。

They didn't write fluently, either.

他們無法流暢的寫。

So we started looking for short poems.

所以我們開始找短詩。

Very short, but very powerful.

很短有很有力的短詩。

And we started to read, and we'd read one author, then another author,

然後我們開始讀詩， 我們讀過一個詩人的詩 再讀另一個的，

and by reading such short poems, they all began to realize

在讀這些短詩，他們都開始理解

that what the poetic language did was to break a certain logic,

詩的語言可以破壞某些邏輯，

and create another system.

然後創造另一個系統。

Breaking the logic of language also breaks the logic of the system

破壞語言的邏輯 同時也破壞了系統的邏輯

under which they've learned to respond.

在那系統下他們已習慣去反應。

So a new system appeared,

因此一個新的系統出現了，

new rules that made them understand very quickly,

讓他們很快能了解的新的規則，

- very quickly -

－ 很快的 －

that with poetic language

藉新規則和詩的語言

they would be able to say absolutely whatever they wanted.

他們可以完全表達他們想要的。

It's said that to be a poet you have to go to hell and back.

有人說要成為詩人 你必須去過地獄後再回來。

And they have plenty of hell. Plenty of hell.

他們已歷經夠多的地獄。 夠多的地獄。

One of them once said: "In prison you never sleep.

他們中的一個曾說： 「在監獄裏你無法睡

You can never sleep in jail. You can never close your eyelids."

你從來無法在監獄裏睡。 你無法闔眼。」

And so, like I'm doing now, I gave them a moment of silence,

然後，就像我現在要做的， 我請他們靜默一下，

then said, “That's what poetry is, you guys.

然後我說， 「大夥們，那就是詩。

It's in this prison universe that you have all around you.

它在這個監獄範圍內，在你的四周。

Everything you say about how you never sleep,

你們所說的你不能睡覺，

it exudes fear.

它滲出恐懼。

All the things that go unwritten -- all of that is poetry."

所有這些你沒有寫出來的 － 所有這些就是詩。」

So we started appropriating that hell;

我們開始掌握這個地獄；

we plunged ourselves, headfirst, into the seventh circle.

我們將自己，頭向下， 投入第七圈地獄。

And in that seventh circle of hell, our very own, beloved circle,

在第七圈地獄， 我們自己的，最鍾愛的一圈，

they learned that they could make the walls invisible,

他們學到他們可以讓牆壁消失，

that they could make the windows yell,

他們可以讓窗戶咆哮，

and that we could hide inside the shadows.

我們可以躲在影子下。

When the first year of the workshop had ended,

當第一年的寫作課結束時，

we organized a little closing party,

我們籌組了一個結業派對，

like you do when a job is done with so much love,

就像你們用許多的愛做完一件工作後，

and you want to celebrate with a party.

你想要用一個派對來慶祝。

We called family, friends, the university authorities.

我們邀請家人，朋友， 大學的長官們。

The only thing the inmates had to do was read a poem,

這些囚犯學生唯一要做的就是 朗讀一首詩，

and receive their diplomas and applause.

然後接受他們的文憑和掌聲。

That was our simple party.

那就是我們簡單的派對。

The only thing I want to leave you with

我唯一要留下來的

is the moment in which those men,

就是這些人的一些瞬間，

some of them just huge when standing next to me,

他們有些站在我旁邊時顯得非常巨大，

or the young boys - so young, but with an enormous pride,

或著是年輕的男孩 － 非常年輕， 但是很有榮譽的，

held their papers and trembled like little kids and sweated,

拿著紙張，他們像小孩子一樣顫抖著， 滿身大汗，

and read their poems with their voices completely broken.

在朗讀他們的詩時，聲音斷斷續續。

That moment made me think a lot

這些瞬間讓我想了許多

that for most of them, it was surely the very first time

對他們許多人來說， 這是他們的第一次

that someone applauded them for something they had done.

第一次有人因為他們所做的向他們鼓掌。

In prison there are things that can't be done.

在監獄裏有許多不能做的事。

In prison, you can't dream. In prison, you can't cry.

在監獄，你不能夢想。 在監獄，你不能哭。

There are words that are virtually forbidden, like the word "time,"

有許多字眼實質上是絕對禁止的， 如「時間」，

the word "future," the word "wish".

「將來」，「希望」。

But we dared to dream, and to dream a lot.

但是我們敢夢，要做許多夢。

We decided that they were going to write a book.

我們決定我們要寫一本書。

Not only did they write a book, but they also bound it themselves.

他們不只寫了一本書， 他們還自己裝訂。

That was at the end of 2010.

那是2010年底。

Then, we doubled the bet and wrote another book.

然後，我們加碼再寫了另一本書。

And we bound that one, too.

我們也裝訂了那一本。

That was a short time ago, at the end of last year.

那是不久以前，去年底。

What I see week after week,

我在一週又一週所看到的，

is how they're turning into different people;

是他們如何轉變成不同的人；

how they're being transformed.

他們如何被轉化。

How words are empowering them with a dignity they had never known,

言語如何使他們得到他們從未有的尊嚴，

that they couldn't even imagine.

那是他們從來甚至沒有想像的。

They had no idea such dignity could come from them.

他們從不知道他們可以有這樣的尊嚴。

At the workshop, in that beloved hell we share, we all give something.

在上課時，在那個大家所愛的地獄裏

We open our hands and hearts and give what we have, what we can.

我們分享，我們給予。

All of us; all of us equally.

我們敞開我們的雙手和心扉 給予我們有的，能給的。

And so you feel that at least in a small way

我們所有人， 平等地。

you're repairing that huge social fracture

然後你感覺到至少， 少許的

which makes it so that for many of them,

你在修補那個巨大的社會裂痕

prison is their only destination.

那些使的他們多數

I remember a verse by a tremendous poet, a great poet,

只有監獄這條歸路。

from our Unit 48 workshop, Nicolás Dorado:

我記得一個詩句 一個非常好的，偉大的詩人寫的，

"I will need an infinite thread to sew up this huge wound."

來自我們第48號感化院， 尼可拉斯‧竇拉竇：

Poetry does that; it sews up the wounds of exclusion.

「 我會需要一條無限長的線 來縫補這個巨大的傷口。」

It opens doors. Poetry works as a mirror.

詩可以，它可以縫補「排斥」的傷口。

It creates a mirror, which is the poem.

它開啟門。 詩可成為一面鏡子。

They recognize themselves, they look at themselves in the poem

它創造一個鏡子，那就是詩。

and write from who they are, and are from what they write.

他們認識他們是誰， 他們在詩裏看著自己

In order to write,

從他們是誰寫詩， 詩裏寫的就是他們是誰

they need to appropriate the moment of writing

為了寫詩，

which is a moment of extraordinary freedom.

他們需要擁有寫作的瞬間

They have to get into their heads, search for that bit of freedom

那是一個不尋常的自由的瞬間。

that can never be taken away when they write

他們必須在自己的頭腦裏， 找尋那一點的自由

and that is also useful to realize that freedom is possible

那個自由在他們寫的時候， 是無人可以拿走的

even inside a prison,

了解自由的可能也是很有用的

and that the only bars we have in our wonderful space

甚至在監獄裏，

is the word "bars,"

我們在這個美好的空間裏唯有的欄杆

and that all of us in our hell burn with happiness

就是「欄杆」這個字眼，

when we light the wick of the word.

當我們點著字詞的蕊心。

(Applause)

我們全體在我們的地獄裏被快樂所燃燒

I told you a lot about the prison, a lot about what I experience

（鼓掌）

every week, and how I enjoy it and transform myself with the inmates.

（掌聲停止）

But you don't know how much I'd like it

我已告訴你們許多 我在監獄的經歷

if you could feel, live, experience, even for a few seconds,

每一週，我如何享受這個經歷， 如何與囚犯一起轉化自我。

what I enjoy every week and what makes me who I am.

但是你們無法知道我喜愛的程度

(Applause)

如果你可以感覺到，如我過著，經驗著 即使是幾秒，

Martín Bustamante: The heart chews tears of time;

我每週所享受的 和什麼造就了現在的我。

blinded by that light,

（掌聲）

it hides the speed of existence

馬丁‧佈斯塔曼特： 這個心咀嚼時間的眼淚；

where the images go rowing by.

被亮光蒙蔽，

It fights; it hangs on.

它隱藏存在的速度

The heart cracks under sad gazes,

那裏影像划著過去。

rides on storms that spread fire,

它搏鬥；它抓著不放。

lifts chests lowered by shame,

心在憂傷的凝視下破碎，

knows that it's not just reading and going on,

乘坐著散發火焰的風暴。

it also wishes to see the infinite blue.

挺起因羞愧而彎下的胸膛。

The heart sits down to think about things,

知道不只是讀著而繼續，

fights to avoid being ordinary,

它也期望見到無限的藍。

tries to love without hurting,

心坐下來想事，

breathes the sun, giving courage to itself,

奮鬥以避免平凡，

surrenders, travels toward reason.

嘗試不傷害的去愛，

The heart fights among the swamps,

吸入太陽， 給自己勇氣，

skirts the edge of the underworld,

投降，朝向理性。

falls exhausted, but won't give in to what's easy,

心在沼澤中奮鬥，

while irregular steps of intoxication

位於地獄的邊緣，

wake up,

耗盡而倒，但絕不向容易低頭。

wake the stillness.

從沈醉的不穩的腳步

I'm Martín Bustamante,

醒來，

I'm a prisoner in Unit 48 of San Martín,

喚醒寂靜。

today is my day of temporary release.

我是馬丁‧佈斯塔曼特，

And for me, poetry and literature have changed my life.

我是聖‧馬丁第48號感化院的囚犯，

Thank you very much!

今天是我暫時釋放的日子。

Cristina Domenech: Thank you!

對我而言，詩和文學改變了我的生命。

(Applause)

非常感謝你們！