책을 읽으며 (1)

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나는 책을 읽으며 노트하는 법이 없다. 구절에 옆줄을 치는 게 다인데 언제부터 버릇인지 모르겠다. (대학 시절이던 60년대 중, 후반에 읽었을, 비소설 인문 서적으로는 아마 처음으로 원서로 읽은, 그래서 그 재미를 알게 해 준, Will Durant의 "The Story of Philosophy"를 지금 책장에서 꺼내보니 밑줄이 쳐 있다.) 구절 자체보다도 그와 관련해서 내게 떠오르는, 때로는 반대가 되는, 생각이나 할 말이 있어서 옆줄을 치는 적도 많은데, 그 경우는, 그러니까, 그랬다는 표시를 하는 셈이다.

 

그런데 블로그를 하면서는, 한 권의 책을 읽고 나서, 일종의 메모로, 책 이름에 더해 한두 구절이나 때로는 더 많이 인용하는 식으로 포스팅을 하고 있다. 문득, 지나가듯 이 책 저 책의 한 부분만 읽고서도 그러는 게 좋겠다는 생각이 들었다.

 

Joseph Brodsky, "The Conditon We Call Exile," in Marc Robinson, ed., "Altogether Elsewhere: Writers on Exile."

 

   We must talk because we must insist that literature is the greatest -- surely greater than any creed -- teacher of human subtlety, and that by interfering with literature's natural existence and with people's ability to learn literature's lessons, a society reduces its own potential, slow down the pace of evolution, ultimately, perhaps, puts its own fabric in peril. (p. 4)

 

Edward Said, "Reflections on Exile," in Marc Robinson, ed., "Altogether Elsewhere: Writers on Exil."

 

Several years ago I spent some time with Faiz Ahmad Faiz, the greatest of contemporary Urdu poets. He was exiled from his native Pakistan by Zia's military regime, and found a welcome of sorts in strife-torn Beirut. Naturally his closest friends were Palestinian, but I sensed that, although there was an affinity of spirit between them, nothing quite matched -- language, poetic convention, or life-history. Only once, when Eqbal Ahmad, a Pakistnai friend and a fellow-exile came to Beirut, did Faiz seem to overcome his sense of constant estrangement. The three of us sat in a dingy Beirut restaurant  late one night, while Faiz recited poems. After a time, he and Eqbal stopped translating his verses for my benefit, but as the night wore on it did not matter. (p. 138)

 

Faiz Amad Faiz의 시를 All Poetry: Faiz-Ahmed-Faiz에서 두세 편 읽어본다.

그중 하나:

 

Last night, your lost memories crept into my heart
as spring arrives secretly into a barren garden
as a cool morning breeze blows slowly in a desert
as a sick person feels well, for no reason.

 

 

 

 

Marc Robinson, ed., "Altogether Elsewhere: Writers on Exile." (1994)