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哈丽娜·波斯维亚托夫斯卡（Halina Poswiatowska，1935-1967），波兰女诗人，生于波兰南方小镇琴斯托霍瓦，早年即显示出诗歌天赋，但她从10岁起就不幸患上心脏病，长期卧床或待在疗养院里，23岁去美国动手术之后，病情有所好转。二战后，她进入克拉科夫的雅盖隆大学攻读哲学史，毕业后留在该大学讲授哲学。她的诗集有《偶像崇拜》（1956）、《现在的日子》（1963）、《给手的颂歌》（1966）、《又一次回忆》（1967）等。她去世后被追加授予数种诗歌奖。1997年克拉科夫出版了她的四卷本作品集。她的抒情诗在波兰家喻户晓，她因此成为最为大众所广泛阅读的波兰诗人之一。
你 说
你说：“夜里我要走向你，那时你如同打着呼噜声的温暖的猫，蜷成一团，在熟睡。”现在穿过所有的黄昏等你。我让我的嘴唇诱惑枕头的绒毛，在光滑、凉爽的床单上，我搓捻我那枯叶色的头发。
我把手陷入黑暗，我把沉默的树枝缠绕在指头上。鸟儿在熟睡。沉重的云层上，群星无法展开翅膀。一分钟又一分钟，夜晚在我体内成长，一滴滴鲜红的血脉动，小心翼翼地掠过水面。
关闭的窗口踮起脚尖，慢慢进入轮廓分明的冷月。
YOU SAID
You said： "I will come to you at night when you are asleep wound in a ball like a warm purring cat."
And now I await you through all the evenings.
I mash my mouth against the down of pillows I strand my hair the color of dried leaves over the smooth cool bed-sheet.
I sink my hands into darkness and I wind around my fingers the silent branches of trees. The birds are asleep. The stars are unable to put wings on the heavy clouds. The night is growing within me-by minutes-the red drops of pulsating blood skitter by cautiously.
Slowly on tiptoe through the shut window enters the sharp cold moon.
写给手的颂歌
向你们致意，我的手掌，我那抓攫的手指，我那被车门压碎的手指。我那在X光透视下的手掌，看起来犹如一只扭伤的翅膀，犹如一块被它自己的轮廓线描绘的小骨头。如今，我左手曾经装饰着一枚戒指的无名指变成了寡妇，被剥夺了饰物。那很久以前把戒指送给我的人没有手指。他的手臂用树根编织了一枚戒指。
我的手多么频繁地触摸到死者僵硬、冻结的手掌，生者强有力的手掌。它们知道怎样通过触摸来予以不同寻常地爱抚，爱抚那把存在从存在、天空从大地分离出来的丧失的空间。我那了解无助的痛苦的手相互依恋，犹如两只受惊的鸟，无家可归，到处盲目地寻找你的手的踪迹。
ODE TO HANDS
Greetings to you my palms， my grasping fingers， and my finger smashed by the car door. My X-rayed palm looks like a sprained wing， like a tiny piece of bone drawn by its own contour. My left hand's ring finger once decorated by a band is widowed now， deprived of its adornment. The one who gave me the ring long since has no fingers. His arms are woven with the tree's roots into one.
My hands have so often touched the frozen palms of the dead， and the warm， strong palms of the living. They know how to caress unusually by touch losing the space that separates existence from existence， and heaven from earth. My hands knowing the pain of helplessness cling to each other like two frightened birds， homeless， blindly seeking everywhere the trace of your hands.
是 的
是的，心靈无疑是一种发明创造，否则根本就不存在。心灵是那热爱事物之物，那热爱的事物瞬息短暂，无处不在。因此它只可能是一个念头，指尖上的一丝温暖，一缕呼出的空气，一种被打湿的嗓音颜色，只不过是一声低语。所有以“很久很久以前，有一天，有一个男子或者女子”开始的童话故事——所有的童话，都会谈到心灵。童话故事中，心灵凌驾于每个人之上，它到处横冲直撞，心灵就像屠杀九头蛇的骑士充满男子气概，又像九头蛇永恒不死，只要被割掉一个脑袋，随即会长出十个脑袋取而代之，而且就像一座由滑溜的玻璃构成的山那样不可征服，就像恋爱着的女人的眼睛那样柔顺。最终，心灵真的就像那个词语——那个把它锁在其中的词语：被终身判处孤独和无足轻重之死的囚徒。 YES
Yes， the heart for sure is an invention， and otherwise does not exist at all. The heart is that which loves， and that which loves is ephemeral and is everywhere. Ergo， it may only be a thought， a warmth in the fingertips， a streak of exhaled air， a dampened color of voice， merely a whisper. And all the fairy tales， which begin with “a long， long time ago， one day， there was a he or a she”-all of them-talk of the heart. And the heart lords it over everyone in the fairy tales， it elbows its way everywhere， and the heart is manly like the knight who slays the hydra， and is immortal like the hydra， which in place of every cut-off head sprouts ten live ones， and is unconquered like a mountain made of slippery glass， and as submissive as the eyes of a loving woman. And finally the heart is true like the word in which it was locked-a lifetime prisoner sentenced to solitude and an unimportant death.
鏡 子
我窒息于我的躯体之美。今天我用你的眼睛来观察自己。我发现手臂柔软的弯曲处，疲倦的乳房的浑圆——乳房希望睡觉，不顾自己而慢慢滚下来。我无限分开的双腿退让，屈服于那不存在的界限，那个界限在我的内心悸动，在我的远处悸动，在每一颗雨滴中的每一片叶子里悸动。我在你的眼里看见自己，仿佛是透过玻璃看着我，我在我大腿绷紧的温暖的皮肤上感觉到你的手，顺从于你的命令，我赤裸地伫立在巨大的镜子前。然后，为了不去看见、不去感受我跟你一起盛开的躯体的孤独，我蒙住你的双眼。
THE MIRROT
I am suffocated by the beauty of my body.Today I watched myself with your eyes. I discovered the soft bend of arms the weary roundness of breasts which wish to sleep and slowly in spite of themselves roll down.My legs parting immesurably giving away to the limit which does not exist that which is me and that which is beyond me throbs in every leaf in every raindrop.I saw myself in your eyes as if through glass looking at me I felt your hands on the warm taut skin of my thighs and obedient to your order I stood naked at front of a great mirror. and then I covered your eyes so as not to see and not to feel the solitude of my body blossoming with you.
你 说
你说：“夜里我要走向你，那时你如同打着呼噜声的温暖的猫，蜷成一团，在熟睡。”现在穿过所有的黄昏等你。我让我的嘴唇诱惑枕头的绒毛，在光滑、凉爽的床单上，我搓捻我那枯叶色的头发。
我把手陷入黑暗，我把沉默的树枝缠绕在指头上。鸟儿在熟睡。沉重的云层上，群星无法展开翅膀。一分钟又一分钟，夜晚在我体内成长，一滴滴鲜红的血脉动，小心翼翼地掠过水面。
关闭的窗口踮起脚尖，慢慢进入轮廓分明的冷月。
YOU SAID
You said： "I will come to you at night when you are asleep wound in a ball like a warm purring cat."
And now I await you through all the evenings.
I mash my mouth against the down of pillows I strand my hair the color of dried leaves over the smooth cool bed-sheet.
I sink my hands into darkness and I wind around my fingers the silent branches of trees. The birds are asleep. The stars are unable to put wings on the heavy clouds. The night is growing within me-by minutes-the red drops of pulsating blood skitter by cautiously.
Slowly on tiptoe through the shut window enters the sharp cold moon.
写给手的颂歌
向你们致意，我的手掌，我那抓攫的手指，我那被车门压碎的手指。我那在X光透视下的手掌，看起来犹如一只扭伤的翅膀，犹如一块被它自己的轮廓线描绘的小骨头。如今，我左手曾经装饰着一枚戒指的无名指变成了寡妇，被剥夺了饰物。那很久以前把戒指送给我的人没有手指。他的手臂用树根编织了一枚戒指。
我的手多么频繁地触摸到死者僵硬、冻结的手掌，生者强有力的手掌。它们知道怎样通过触摸来予以不同寻常地爱抚，爱抚那把存在从存在、天空从大地分离出来的丧失的空间。我那了解无助的痛苦的手相互依恋，犹如两只受惊的鸟，无家可归，到处盲目地寻找你的手的踪迹。
ODE TO HANDS
Greetings to you my palms， my grasping fingers， and my finger smashed by the car door. My X-rayed palm looks like a sprained wing， like a tiny piece of bone drawn by its own contour. My left hand's ring finger once decorated by a band is widowed now， deprived of its adornment. The one who gave me the ring long since has no fingers. His arms are woven with the tree's roots into one.
My hands have so often touched the frozen palms of the dead， and the warm， strong palms of the living. They know how to caress unusually by touch losing the space that separates existence from existence， and heaven from earth. My hands knowing the pain of helplessness cling to each other like two frightened birds， homeless， blindly seeking everywhere the trace of your hands.
是 的
是的，心靈无疑是一种发明创造，否则根本就不存在。心灵是那热爱事物之物，那热爱的事物瞬息短暂，无处不在。因此它只可能是一个念头，指尖上的一丝温暖，一缕呼出的空气，一种被打湿的嗓音颜色，只不过是一声低语。所有以“很久很久以前，有一天，有一个男子或者女子”开始的童话故事——所有的童话，都会谈到心灵。童话故事中，心灵凌驾于每个人之上，它到处横冲直撞，心灵就像屠杀九头蛇的骑士充满男子气概，又像九头蛇永恒不死，只要被割掉一个脑袋，随即会长出十个脑袋取而代之，而且就像一座由滑溜的玻璃构成的山那样不可征服，就像恋爱着的女人的眼睛那样柔顺。最终，心灵真的就像那个词语——那个把它锁在其中的词语：被终身判处孤独和无足轻重之死的囚徒。 YES
Yes， the heart for sure is an invention， and otherwise does not exist at all. The heart is that which loves， and that which loves is ephemeral and is everywhere. Ergo， it may only be a thought， a warmth in the fingertips， a streak of exhaled air， a dampened color of voice， merely a whisper. And all the fairy tales， which begin with “a long， long time ago， one day， there was a he or a she”-all of them-talk of the heart. And the heart lords it over everyone in the fairy tales， it elbows its way everywhere， and the heart is manly like the knight who slays the hydra， and is immortal like the hydra， which in place of every cut-off head sprouts ten live ones， and is unconquered like a mountain made of slippery glass， and as submissive as the eyes of a loving woman. And finally the heart is true like the word in which it was locked-a lifetime prisoner sentenced to solitude and an unimportant death.
鏡 子
我窒息于我的躯体之美。今天我用你的眼睛来观察自己。我发现手臂柔软的弯曲处，疲倦的乳房的浑圆——乳房希望睡觉，不顾自己而慢慢滚下来。我无限分开的双腿退让，屈服于那不存在的界限，那个界限在我的内心悸动，在我的远处悸动，在每一颗雨滴中的每一片叶子里悸动。我在你的眼里看见自己，仿佛是透过玻璃看着我，我在我大腿绷紧的温暖的皮肤上感觉到你的手，顺从于你的命令，我赤裸地伫立在巨大的镜子前。然后，为了不去看见、不去感受我跟你一起盛开的躯体的孤独，我蒙住你的双眼。
THE MIRROT
I am suffocated by the beauty of my body.Today I watched myself with your eyes. I discovered the soft bend of arms the weary roundness of breasts which wish to sleep and slowly in spite of themselves roll down.My legs parting immesurably giving away to the limit which does not exist that which is me and that which is beyond me throbs in every leaf in every raindrop.I saw myself in your eyes as if through glass looking at me I felt your hands on the warm taut skin of my thighs and obedient to your order I stood naked at front of a great mirror. and then I covered your eyes so as not to see and not to feel the solitude of my body blossoming with you.