Chapter 16 16
Ah, poetry, sing an overture first
O poetry, sing a prelude first,
Thumbling the pride and joy of my city on tense eardrums,
How she led others to battle, how she gave hints,
How without hesitation she sprang up with outstretched soft arms,
(How magnificent, Manhattan! My own city, you have no equal!
You are the strongest in the critical moment, in the moment of life and death, more solid and reliable than steel! )
how you sprang to your feet, - how you took off your peaceful garb,
How at once your soft opera music changes, let us hear drums and fifes instead,
How did you go first to the field
And how the rattling drums of Manhattan are in the lead.
For forty years I have seen soldiers parade in this city,
Forty years are like a magnificent procession, until inadvertently the owner of this rich and tumultuous city
woman,
Between her ships, her houses, her countless riches, watch,
with millions of sons and daughters around her,
Suddenly, in the dead of night, exasperated by news from the south,
He clenched his fists and beat the street hard.
Like an electric shock, the night bears it,
Until dawn our swarms burst forth with a startled hum.
So from the house, from the workshop, from all the gates,
They jumped out excitedly, and lo and behold!Manhattan is preparing for battle.
Respond quickly to the clatter of drums,
The youth assembled at once and began to arm,
The Mechanic Armed (The trowel, planer, blacksmith's hammer hastily thrown aside,)
Lawyers leave their offices armed, judges leave courtrooms,
The driver left the carriage in the middle of the street, jumped out, threw the reins on the horse's back hastily,
The salesman leaves the shop, the boss, the accountant, the porter, everyone rushes
leave;
Squads organized everywhere, fighting against each other, wearing military uniforms,
For those new recruits, even teenagers, veterans demonstrate that they buckle their belts carefully,
Armed outdoors, armed indoors, with shiny Mauser barrels,
The camp was densely covered with white tents, surrounded by armed sentries,
Sound the alarm at sunrise and sunset,
Armed companies come every day, passing through the city, and boarding boats on the quays, (they are sweating,
With a gun on his shoulders, stepping onto the deck, he looks so majestic!
How I love them, how I want to hug them, these dark faces, clothes and backpacks full of
Son of dust! )
The blood of the city is boiling, - armed!Armed!so shouted everywhere,
The banner flutters wildly, over church steeples and all public buildings and shops,
A tearful parting, the mother kisses the son, the son kisses the mother,
(Mother was afraid of separation, but she didn't say a word to persuade her to stay.)
The tumultuous escorts, led by a troop of police,
The crowd cheered wildly and enthusiastically for their darling,
Artillery, silent golden cannons being drawn all the way, rumbling briskly on the paved avenue
move forward,
(Silent cannon, soon to break the silence,
Soon to unload the cannon carriage and start the fiery schedule ;)
All the grunting in preparation, all the determination to take up arms,
Medical facilities, linoleum, bandages, medicines,
The women who volunteered to be caregivers began their preparations seriously, and now they are not only for inspection,
war!A nation in arms marches, welcomes the fight, never flees:
war!Let it be weeks, months, or years, an armed
The nation is going to welcome.
Mannahatta is on the move—that's something to sing about!
That is for a valiant barracks life!
And the strong artillery,
Those shiny cannons, the giants' job is to fuck
make them,
Get them off the tractor! (no longer only the
To salute only for ceremonies,
Now, besides gunpowder and wadding, something else must be loaded
what. )
And you, mistress of the ship, you Mannahata,
The old housewife of this proud, friendly, tumultuous city,
In peace and prosperity you meditate always to all your sons and daughters
Or frown silently,
But now you smile, dear Mannahata, you are so happy
Rejoice.
The age of arms,—the age of struggle,
For your dreadful age, I cannot compose delicate rhymes or sentimental love poems,
You are not a pale poet sitting at a desk humming a faint croon,
But it was a strong man with a straight waist, dressed in blue clothes, with a gun on his shoulder, and was advancing.
You have a well-trained body and a sun-beaten face and hands, with a knife in your belt
son,
I heard your roar, your high voice resounded across the land,
Your masculine voice, ah, yo, seems to come from the city,
Rising from the Manhattanites, I see you too, like a resident of Manhattan, a worker,
Or stride across the prairies of Illinois and Indiana,
Across the west with quick brisk strides, descending from the Alleghenes,
Or along the Great Lakes, or in Pennsylvania, or on board the Ohio,
Or down the rivers of Tennessee or Cumberland, or on the summits of Catanuga,
I see your gait, and see your muscular limbs, blue-clothed, armed on your back,
O strong age,
I hear your resolute voice again and again,
The age when the muzzle of your rounded lips suddenly sang for you,
I think of you again, your busy, destructive, sad, troubled age.
Knock it!Knock it!Drum! - Blow it!number ah!Blow it!
Through the window, - through the portal, - like fierce violence,
stormed the solemn churches, scattered the crowd,
rushing into schools where scholars are doing research work,
Let not the bridegroom be quiet either,--he cannot now share happiness with his bride,
Let the peaceful farmer no longer be quiet to plow the acre or harvest the grain,
Drum!That's how you should ring ferociously,—you howl, shrieking sharply.
Knock it!Knock it!Drum!Blow it!number ah!Blow it!
Over the roads of the city, over the sound of wheels on the streets,
Has the bed been made ready to sleep in the house for the night?don't let sleepers sleep there
some beds,
Let no business be dealt by day, nor let brokers or speculators carry on their business,—
Are they going to continue?
Will the speaker continue the conversation?Will the singer still sing?
Does the lawyer have to stand up in court and present his case before the judge?
Beat faster and stronger then, drum,—thur trumpet, blow harder!
Knock it!Knock it!Drum!Blow it!number ah!Blow it!
Don't negotiate - don't be persuaded to terminate,
Pay no attention to the cowardly, to the weeping or supplicating,
Ignoring the entreaties of the old to the young,
Let people not hear the cry of the child, the cry of the mother,
Even the stretcher shakes the dead who lie waiting to be loaded,
O dreadful drum, so blow thou so violently,--thus so loudly thy bugle.
I fly like a bird from Pamenoc,
Whirling into the sky, singing to all ideas,
I took myself to the North and sang the Arctic song there,
To Canada, until I suck Canada into me, then to Michigan,
To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (that cannot be imitated,)
Then to Ohio and Indiana, to Missouri and Kansas, and Arkansas, to sing them
s song,
To Tennessee, Kentucky, to Carolina and Georgia, to sing their songs,
To Texas, and fly all the way to California, wandering to all places that receive me;
To sing (with the clatter of the drum if necessary,)
First is the idea of the whole, the idea of the indivisible whole of Westworld,
Then sing each member of the ensemble.
A new song, yo, a song of freedom,
Fluttering, fluttering, fluttering, with sound, with clearer sound,
With the sound of the wind and the sound of drums.
With the sound of the flag, the voice of the child, the voice of the sea, the voice of the father,
Low to the ground, high to the sky,
On the ground where father and child stand,
In the high sky they look up,
There the banner of the Dawn is waving.
Words, words of books, what are you?
No more words, but listen, watch,
In the wide air there is my song,
I want to sing, in harmony with the fluttering flag, the flag.
I will weave the strings, weave in,
Adult wishes and baby wishes, I'll weave them in, breathe life into them,
I'll mount a sharp bayonet, I'll let bullets and iron filings roar
(like a man carrying symbols and warnings into the future,
Cry the bugle, wake up beware!Be careful, wake up! )
I want to pour poetry and blood together, full of joy and pride,
Then relax, move, go forward,
Compete with fluttering flags and slamming flags.
Come here, poet, poet,
Come here, soul, soul,
Come here, sweet child,
Fly with me into the wind and cloud, and play with the boundless brilliance.
Father, what is it that greets me with long fingers in the air?
What does it keep saying to me?
Baby, look there's nothing in the sky,
① The flag is a slender flag hung on the main mast of a warship, which symbolizes just war; the flag refers to the national flag.
It said nothing to you--but you see, my chamber treasure,
Look at the blinding things in the house, look at the exchanges with their doors open,
Look at the loaded vehicles ready to hit the streets,
These, this is these, so valued and pursued so hard,
How envious the whole world is!
Fresh and magnificent the sun is rising,
In the distant blue sky, the sea waves pass through the strait, rolling and galloping,
The wind blows over the breast of the sea, rushing to the land,
O strong wind blowing from the west or southwest,
Flying happily on the sea surface with milky white foam.
But I am neither the sea nor the red sun,
I am not Kazekage who laughs like a girl,
Not a hurricane that blows tighter, not a whirlwind that whips everything,
Not the genie that forever lashes his body to death in terror,
But I am the one who came running invisibly, singing, singing, singing,
I murmur in land-streams and run like showers,
The birds of the forest in the morning and evening know me well,
The sand and the sizzling waves are familiar to me,
And the flags and flags fluttering high are also familiar with my singing.
O Father, it is alive—it is full of people, and children,
Ah, I seem to see it speaking to its children,
I hear it—it speaks to me—how good it is!
Ah, it's stretching - it's stretching, it's running fast
Come,--father,
How wide it is, it covers the whole sky.
Shut up, shut up, my silly boy,
These words of yours make me sad and make me very unhappy,
I say be like the others, don't look at the high flags and banners,
Just look at the well-paved sidewalks and the solidly built houses.
Poet from Manhattan, say to the children,
Say it to all our kids, kids up north or south of Manhattan,
Don't care about anything else, just pay attention to us today - but we don't understand why,
For what are we but useless strips of cloth,
Just blowing in the wind.
I hear and see more than strips,
I hear the troop of the army, I hear the questioning post,
I hear millions cheering, I hear "Freedom!"
I hear drums beating and bugles blowing,
I myself go out, and immediately soar high,
I flapped the wings of mountain birds and seabirds, as if looking down on the human realm from space,
I do not deny the precious fruits of peace, and I see densely populated cities of infinite wealth
city,
I saw countless farms, I saw farmers laboring in their fields or in their cottages,
I see craftsmen at work, I see buildings everywhere, some just laying their foundations, others rising,
some have been completed,
I saw rows of carriages being drawn by locomotives speeding along the railroad tracks,
I see Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans stores, stacks,
I saw the vast grain-growing region far to the west, and I circled and lingered briefly over it,
I fly on to the logging forests in the north, then to the plantations in the south, and then to California;
I glanced over it all, and saw countless profits, busy gatherings, and wages earned,
Behold the unity of the thirty-eight broad and heroic states (with many more to join)
body,
Saw the fort on the shore of the harbor, saw the ships going in and out;
And then, above all, (of course, of course,) is my little sword-like
the flag of
It rises swiftly, symbol of war and provocation—now hoisted by the rigging,
By my broad blue banner, by my starry banner,
Abandon the peace of the whole sea and land.
Sing louder, higher, stronger, O poet, farther and farther, O poet,
Stop letting our children think we're just wealth and peace,
We too can be terror and slaughter, as we are now,
We are not any one of these vast and heroic states today, (nor any five or
ten,)
Nor are we a market or a warehouse, nor a bank in the city,
But all this is ours, including the brown expanses and mines beneath,
The shores of the sea are ours, the rivers great and small are ours,
The fields and crops and fruits they irrigate are ours,
The bays and straits and ships going in and out are ours - and we are above all,
Looking down on the three or four million square miles stretching below, those state cities,
Those forty millions of people, O poet, are supreme both in life and in death,
We, even we, have since unfurled, flying in the air,
Singing through you not only now, but for thousands of years to come,
Sing this song aloud to the soul of a poor child.
Father, I don't like these properties,
They will never mean anything to me, and I don't like money,
But I like the one that stands there, I love the flag, dear father,
I want to become that flag, I must change.
My child, you bore me to death,
It's too scary to be that flag,
It is difficult for you to understand what it means, today and in the future, and forever,
That wins nothing, but risks losing and breaking everything,
If you stand up and stand on the front line of the war-and such a war! - you with them
What's the matter?
What have you to do with demonic desires, with slaughter and premature death?
Then I will sing of demons and death,
Throw it all in, flag of war, yes, I'll throw it all in,
With a new mad joy and childish longing,
Mixed with the sound of the peaceful land, and the rush of the sea,
And the black ships fighting on the smoky sea,
And far north, where cedars and firs rustle,
And the rumble of drums and the marching footsteps of soldiers, and the high southern sun,
And those waves that wash the beach alike on my eastern and western coasts,
And all between these shores, and the meandering flow of my Mississippi,
And my Illinois field, Kansas field and Missouri field,
The whole continent, giving itself whole and unreserved,
Pour it in!Swallow those who ask, those who sing, with all and all products,
Merging and containing, claiming and engulfing the whole,
No more soft lips, no sweet whispers, but me who rises forever from the night
They are no longer persuasive voices, croaking like the crows here in the wind.
My limbs, my veins swell, my subject is at last clear
O banner so broad that dawns from the night, I sing of you boldly and resolutely,
From the place where I have waited so long and so long, deaf and blind, I rush out,
I got hearing and speech again, (a child taught me,)
I hear from above, flags of war, your mocking demands and appeals,
Ruthless!Ruthless! (But I will sing of you anyway,) Banner!
You are certainly not the dwellings of peace, nor the manifestation of some or all of their prosperity, (if necessary
Yes, you would destroy each of these houses to regain them,
If you don't want to destroy these precious things that stand firmly there and are comfortably built with money
house,
So can they stand there firmly?Not for a moment, unless you are with them
fluttering firmly above the cut;)
Yo flag you are not so precious money you are not produce nor nutrient rich
food,
Nor good cargo, nor what the ships unload on the docks,
Not a classy cargo-carrying ship powered by sail or steam,
Nor machines, vehicles, trade, or taxes—it's you.what i will see from now on
you,
You who burst out of the night with clusters of stars (increasing stars),
You who proclaim the dawn, you who split the air, soak the sun, and invite you to swim in space,
(Looked and yearned eagerly by a poor child,
While the rest are still busy and chattering, preaching endlessly about frugality, frugality,
occasion;)
Ah, you are on high!O flag, there you unfurled, hissing so strangely
the snake,
Nothing more than an unattainable concept, but I fought bravely and loved at all costs
you,
I love you so much!You banner that brings forth the day with stars plucked from the night sky!
Things that are worthless in the eyes of the people, that override everything and demand everything (absolutely everything
You who have) flags and flags!
I put aside all the rest--they are nothing, however great--houses, machines
What—I don't care at all,
I only look at you, belligerent flag!So wide striped banner, I only sing
you,
There you are waving in the wind.
1
Age, rise from your unfathomable sea, so that you may gallop higher and harder,
For my hungry and strong soul, I long devoured what the earth gave,
Long have I roamed the boreal woods, long have I seen Niagara Falls,
I've walked the prairie, slept on its breast, I've crossed the Nevada, I've crossed the highlands,
I climbed those towering rocks on the Pacific coast, I sailed into the sea,
I walk through the storm, let the storm clear my spirit,
I have watched with pleasure Haitao's ferocious appetite,
I notice the whitecaps emptying in leaps and bounds,
I hear the wind howling, I see the sky full of clouds,
See from below what rises and rises, (magnificent! as bold as my heart
And strong! )
Hear the succession of thunder roaring after the lightning,
Noticed the slender, zigzagging lightning bolts that, amidst the turmoil, were suddenly and furiously chasing the horizontal
across the sky,
These, and the like, I watched with excitement--meditated, pompous and shocked,
All the menacing power of the earth surges around me,
But there I am with my soul, and I enjoy it to my heart's content, with arrogance.
2
Well then, soul - what you have given me is a good preparation,
Now we proceed to satisfy our latent and greater longing,
Now we go to receive what land and sea never gave us,
We go not through great woodlands, but through still greater cities,
Something more abundant than Niagara falls for us,
The rapids of the people, (are ye really inexhaustible, the waters and mountain streams of the Southwest?)
What are those mountain and sea storms compared to the sidewalks and houses here
Woolen cloth?
What is that rising tide compared to the enthusiasm that surrounds me today?
What is the wind that sings the song of death under the clouds?
look!From the more unfathomable sea, something more sinister and wilder,
Manhattan is rising, advancing with a menacing visage—Cincinnati, Chicago, and
untethered,
What's the kind of orgasm I've seen on the ocean?Behold the scene here,
See how it climbs with fearless feet and hands--how it dashes!
How the real thunder roared after the lightning--how bright was that lightning!
How democracy, illuminated by these flashes of lightning, marches forward with desperate vengeance
ah!
(However, I also seem to hear a mournful wail and a low sob in the dark,
In deafening, chaotic brief intervals. )
3
Forward, Thunder!Step forward, Democracy, and strike vengeance hard!
And you, ye ages, ye cities, rise higher than ever!
Hit harder and harder, O storm!you've done a good job for me,
My soul, prepared in the mountains, absorbs your immortal high nourishment,
I have walked long in my city, on my country roads through farms, but only partially
fully satisfied,
A nasty question crawls like a serpent on the ground before me,
It keeps passing my steps, looks back at me from time to time, and hisses mockingly at me,
I forsake and leave the city I love so much, to the unquestionable things that suit me
things run away,
Longing, longing, longing for primordial vigor and prowess of nature,
I can only cheer myself up with it, I can only taste it,
I waited for the earth's fire to break out, - I waited long in sea and air,
But I don't wait now, I'm full, I'm tired of eating,
I've seen real lightning with my own eyes, I've seen my electrified town,
I finally saw human beings suddenly jump out, warlike America stood up, and I no longer look for the north
Bread in the wilderness, no more to roam the high mountains, or sail on stormy seas.
The noble father fell in the day of sin,
I saw the hand upraised, menacing, waving,
Crazy knives point to the mother of all,
(The past and old love are ignored, love and loyalty are ignored.)
The noble son marches forward with mighty steps,
I see, from the prairies, Ohio waters, and Indiana land,
The steadfast giant hastened his many sons and daughters to the rescue,
They wear blue costumes and carry their trusty guns over their shoulders.
Then the mother of all spoke in a calm tone,
As for you rebel, (I seem to hear her say), why do you fight so hard against me, why should
my life?
When you yourself prepare to protect me forever?
Because you provided me with Washington ①—and these people now.
① Washington, the first president of the United States, was born in Virginia. This poem satirizes Virginia, which demanded secession from the Union—it was the first thirteenth American
One of the states, so the first line of the poem calls it "Father".
City of ships! (Ah. Black ship! O brave ship!
O beautiful pointed steamers and sailing ships! )
O city of the world! (For all nations are here,
All nations on earth contribute here ;)
City of the sea!The city that shines brightly when the tide rises!
Its joyous tide ever ebbs and flows, turning in and out with eddies and foam,
It's full of wharves and warehouses—marble and steel facades everywhere!
Proud and passionate city - bloody, crazy, extravagant city!
Rise up, city--not only for peace, but you yourself should really be willing to fight,
Fear not, city--succumb not to models, but to your own,
Behold me - embody my spirit, as I embody you!
I have never rejected all that you have to offer - I have chosen what you have chosen,
For better or for worse, I never doubted you - I loved everything, I condemned no one,
I sing and praise what you have, - but cry no more for peace,
In times of peace I sing of peace - but now I have drums of war.
War, flaming war, city, this is my song, everywhere in your streets
Spin!
(A volunteer in 1861-62 (in Washington Park, Brooklyn, who supported the
Centenarians. )]
Give me your hand, old revolutionary, the top of the mountain is approaching, only a few steps away, (Gentlemen, please step aside,)
You followed me up this path, though you
You can still walk, old man, although your eyesight is almost gone, your function is still good,
And I'm going to use them.
Take a break and let me tell you what the people around you are doing,
Below in the wilderness the recruits are being drilled and trained,
There's a barracks there, and a regiment is leaving tomorrow, do you hear the officers shouting orders?
Did you hear the clang of guns?
Oh, what's the matter with you, old man?
Why do you hold my hand so convulsively and tremblingly?
Those armies were just drilling, and the people around them were still laughing,
Around me are well-dressed friends and women,
With the afternoon sun shining bright and warm,
The midsummer greenery is washed, the playful fresh breeze,
Over the proud and peaceful cities and the bays between them.
But the drill and review are over, and they're walking back to the barracks,
And listen to those applause!What a warm applause!
Now the crowds are beginning to disperse - but we, others,
I didn't bring you here for nothing - we
must stay
Now it's your turn to speak, and I want to listen carefully to what you have to say.
When I take your hand, it's not from fear,
But because, all around me, suddenly surged,
Where the lads drill and run below,
In the tented area, and to the south, southeast, and southwest
everywhere you look,
Over the hills, beyond those lowlands, beyond the woodlands,
Along the coast, in the mire (now filled), suddenly
Erupted,
Like eighty-five years ago, but not just by friends drinking
A glorious parade, but a battle,
I personally participated in--well, although it was a long time ago, but
I took part in that battle,
And then it was going on on this hilltop, in this same spot.
Hey, this is the place,
Even now my blind eyes can see those graves gathered together again,
The years recede, the sidewalks and tall houses disappear,
The heavy forts reappeared, the old-fashioned guns with hoops erected,
I saw the line of defense stretching from the river to the bay,
I watch for vistas on the sea, I watch for slopes and heights;
We have camped in these places, also in the season of summer.
As I spoke I remembered everything, I remembered the Manifesto,
That was read here, the whole army lined up, read to us here,
Standing in the midst of the General's staff, surrounded by his staff, he raises his drawn sword,
The sword was visible to the whole army, shining silver in the sun.
It was a marvelous operation then—the British warship had just arrived,
We can overlook the bay where they anchor,
And those transport ships full of soldiers.
They landed a few days later, and the battle began.
As many as 20,000 men were then brought to fight us,
It was an elite army equipped with excellent cannon.
I don't want to talk about the whole campaign right now,
Only one brigade was ordered to advance in the morning to deal with the enemy troops in red shirts,
I'll tell of that brigade, how bravely they marched,
How long they managed to hold out in the face of death.
Who do you think that team is marching on to face death?
It was a brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong men,
They were recruited from Virginia and Maryland, most of whom knew the general personally.
They marched briskly to the waters of Govalus with light steps,
Until suddenly, unexpectedly, near the defile through the woodlands reached that night,
The advancing Britons rounded from the east and shot hard,
The youngest brigade was cut off and fell into the hands of the enemy.
The general watched them from this hill,
They fought desperately again and again, trying to break out of the encirclement,
Then they shrunk, concentrated, and came close together, and the ensigns were
floating among
But ah, the artillery fire on the surrounding hills has killed them batch after batch!
That massacre still haunts my heart,
I saw the general sweating,
I saw him wringing his hands in pain.
Meanwhile the British are trying to lure us into a positional war,
But we don't want to risk such a fight.
We take the tactic of spreading out the movement,
We struck at several points, but suffered losses each time,
Our enemy is advancing, gaining advantage step by step, driving us back to the fortifications on this hill
inside,
They didn't abandon me until we turned and fought here.
This is the result of the youngest brigade, two thousand strong men,
Almost all stayed in Brooklyn, and few came back.
That was my general's first battle here,
No women to watch, no sun to bathe in, no applause at the end,
There was no applause here then.
We can only be in the dark, in the fog, on the cold rainy ground,
Crouched here weary and despondent that night,
And the many haughty lords stationed not far from us mocked contemptuously,
They can also be heard feasting and clinking glasses to celebrate their victories.
The next day was still dull and damp,
But that night the fog lifted and the rain stopped,
My general, when the enemy thought he could catch him, quietly withdrew like a ghost.
I saw him by the river,
He lowered his head at the torched ford, and was urging the ships that carried troops;
My general waited until all the soldiers and wounded were across the river.
It was then (just before sunrise) that my eyes were fixed upon him for the last time.
Everyone around is full of sorrow,
Many are no doubt considering surrender.
But when my general passed by me,
As he stood in his boat, looking at the rising sun,
I see a disposition to surrender.
Enough is enough, the story of the centenarian is over,
Past and present, the two have exchanged,
Myself as a liaison, as a great future singer, speaks now.
So, is this where Washington has been active?
These waters that I cross at will every day, is he in failure,
As resolute as other generals in glorious victories,
The waters that have been crossed?
I must copy this story and spread it east and west,
I must preserve the splendor that shined on your Brooklyn river back then.
See - when every anniversary comes back, so do the ghosts,
It was the twenty-sixth of August, and the English landed on land,
The war is on, but it's not good for us, look at Washington's face through the smoke,
The Virginia and Maryland brigades have gone to block the enemy,
They were cut off, and man-eating cannons blasted at them from the hills,
Column after column of warriors fell, while the banners hung silently above their heads,
It was in the bloody wounds of many young men that day,
Baptized in death, defeat, and tears of sisters and mothers.
O hills and slopes of Brooklyn!I find that you are more
valuable;
Among you stands a barracks so old,
Forever stands the camp of the fallen army.
A long procession winds its way among the green islands.
They take a devious course, their weapons shine in the sun, - hear the clang
the sound of,
Look at the shining river, the wading horses are hesitating, drinking the river water,
Look at those dark-faced cavalry, each group and each person is a picture, resting on the saddle
stop at will,
Some have already appeared on the opposite bank, and some are walking down the river beach,
And the scarlet and sky blue and white—
The cavalry standard fluttered merrily in the wind.
Now I see a marching army camping ahead,
Below is a fertile valley pasture, with stables and summer fruit trees,
Behind is a terraced mountainside, so steep, some places are towering,
Interspersed with jagged rocks, dense cedars, and some looming tall figures,
Countless campfires are scattered far and near, some are high on the hillside,
The shadows of people and horses are huge and vague, swaying there,
And the whole sky—oh the sky!Deep and unreachable, scattered with eternal flashes from time to time
stars.
Ahead is a large group of scouts,
Sometimes I heard a gunshot whistling like a whip, and sometimes it was the sound of uneven bursts of shooting,
The swarming team rushed forward, and the dense brigade moved forward at a high speed.
Glimmering dimly, plodding under the sun--those grimy men,
Line up and move in waves with the undulations of the terrain,
Cannon mingled with the ranks—the cannon carts rumbled, the mules and horses sweated,
And so the legion marched.
在宿营地忽明忽暗的火焰旁边，一支游行队在我周围回转，严肃、可爱
而迂缓，——但是我首先看见，那露宿部队的帐篷，原野和树林的模糊
阴影，那被星星点点的篝火所照亮的黑暗，那寂静，像是幽灵，一个乍
见的形影在时远时近地移动，还有那些灌木和大树（我举目看时它们仿
佛也在偷偷地望我，）这时思维在列队索绕，啊！那么奇妙而轻柔的思
绪，关于生与死，关于家庭、往事和亲人，以及远离
的伴侣；一个严肃而缓慢的队列在行进，在我席地面坐
的地方，在宿营地忽明忽暗的火焰旁。
父亲，赶快从田地里上来，这是我们的彼得寄来的一封信，
母亲，赶快到前门来，这是你的亲爱的儿子寄来的一封信。
看哪，季节正当秋天，
看哪，那里的树变得更绿，更黄，更红了，
它在和风中摇荡着的树叶，使俄亥俄的村落更显得清凉、美妙，
那里果树园中挂着成熟的苹果，藤蔓上葡萄累累，
（你嗅到藤蔓上的葡萄的香味了么？
你嗅到近来有蜜蜂在那里嗡鸣着的养麦了么？ )
在一切上面，看哪，而后的天空是这样地宁静、明澈，点缀着奇妙的云
彩，
在下面也一样，一切都很宁静，一切都生气勃勃，美丽无比，农庄也很
兴旺。
田地里的一切也长得很茂盛。
现在父亲从田地里来了，因女儿的叫唤回来了，
母亲也来到了大门口，马上来到了前门。
她以最大的速度赶来，某种不祥的预感已使她步履歪斜，
她来不及梳掠她的乱发，整理她的帽子，
赶快撕开信封，
啊，这不是我们的儿子的笔迹，但却又有着他的署名，
啊，是一只陌生的手替我们的亲爱的儿子写的，
啊，被震击的母亲的灵魂！
眼睛发黑，一切在她的眼前浮动，她只看到重要的字，
零碎的语句，“胸前受枪弹，”“骑兵散兵战，”“运到医院，”
“眼下人很虚弱，”“但不久就会好转。”
啊，虽然俄亥俄人口众多而富庶，有着很多城市和乡村，
但现在我只看见这一个人，
面色惨白、头脑迟钝、四肢无力，
斜倚着门柱。
“别这样伤心，亲爱的母亲，”（刚刚长成的女儿哽咽地说，
小妹妹们默不作声地带着惊愕的神色拥挤在周围，）
“看吧.亲爱的母亲，信上说着彼得不久就会好转”
啊，可怜的孩子，他永不会好转了，（也许用不着好转了，那个勇敢而
单纯的灵魂！ )
当他们站立在家门口的时候，他已经死了，
这唯一的儿子已经死了。
但母亲却需要能好转，
她瘦弱的身体很快穿上了黑衣，
白天不吃饭，晚上睡不安宁，常常惊醒，
夜半醒着，低泣着，她只有一个渴切的愿望——
啊，她愿能静悄悄地从人世引退，静静地跳开生命自行引退，
去追随，去寻觅亲爱的已死的儿子，去和他在一起。
一天夜里我奇怪地守卫在战场上，
由于你，我的孩子和同志，那天倒下在我的身旁，
我只看了你一眼，你那深情的眼睛回报的一瞥却叫我永远难忘，
你从地上举起手来，孩子，只轻轻地一握啊，
我立即又投入战斗，那不分胜负的战斗，
直到深夜撤回，我才终于找到原来的地方，
发现你死了，僵冷地，亲爱的同志，你那亲儿般的驱体曾任人亲吻啊，
（如今已再也不能那样！）
你的脸暴露在星光下，情景古怪，凉凉的夜风和
缓地吹着，战场在周围朦胧地扩展，我长久地站在那里守卫，
在芬芳静穆的夜里，这守卫显得多么奇妙而甜美，
可是没有掉一滴眼泪，甚至也没有叹息，我只长久地凝视着你，
然后我坐在地上，在你身旁，双手捧着下巴，
度过这宝贵的时刻，不朽而神秘的时刻，和亲爱的同志在一起——可是
默无一言，也没有眼泪，
静静的、爱与死的守卫，为了你——我的同志和战士而守卫啊，
当高空的星辰默默前航，向东的新星又偷偷地升起，
我替你这勇敢的小伙子当最后一次警卫，（你死得那样仓卒，我没法救
You! )
你活着时我忠诚地疼爱你和照顾你，我想我们一定还会重逢的，
直到深夜还恋恋不舍，黎明真的刚刚出现在天际，
我将我的同志裹在他的毯子中，严实地包起他的躯体，
将毯子合拢，从头到脚小心地扎紧，
当时当地，在初升的太阳下，我的小伙子躺进了坟墓，我把他安排在草
草掘好的墓穴里，
就这样，我结束了这次奇怪的守卫，在黑夜朦胧的战场上的守卫，
守卫那个曾经报人以亲吻的孩子（今后再也不会那样了，）
守卫一个被突然杀死的同志——这永远难忘的守卫呀，直到天亮时，
我才从凄冷的地上站起，将我的士兵裹好在他的毯子里，
把他埋葬在他倒下的那片土地。
一次强行军，队伍被敌人紧紧追赶，道路又陌生，
黑暗中脚步轻轻地穿过密密的丛林行进，
我们受挫的部队损失惨重，沮丧的残部向后撤退，
直到午夜过后才看到灯光隐约的建筑物在前面相迎，
我们来到一块林中空地上休息，在那灯光朦胧的建筑物旁边，
那是十字路口一座高大古老的教堂，如今给用作临时医院，
我只进去片刻，就看到一个超乎所有画家和诗人想象的情景，
邓是些黑黝黝的影子，在摇曳的灯烛照耀下忽闪，
还有一支巨大的沥青火炬静静地举着红红的火焰和一团团青烟，
就凭这些，我模糊地看见一簇簇、一群群的形体，有的倒在地板上，有
的躺在教堂座席里，
在我脚边看得比较清楚的是一个士兵，简直是个小孩，快要流血致死，
（他的腹部中了子弹，）
我给他暂时止了血，（这少年的脸像朵百合花一样惨白，）
然后我环顾这一场景，想把它全部记住，在我离开之前，
那些脸，那各式各样无法描写的姿势，大都模糊不清，有的已经死了，
作手术的医生，掌灯的护士，麻醉药的气息，血的腥膻，
那些人群，那成群的血污形体哟，连外面院子也早已挤满，
有的在光裸的地面，有的在木板或担架上，有的在死亡痉挛中流汗，
不时的尖叫或哭喊，大夫的厉声命令或呼唤，
那些小小的手术器械在火炬照耀下的闪光，
我重温这些，当我吟唱时，那些形体和气味又在我眼前出现，
那时听到外面高喊的命令，集合呀，伙计们，集合呀；
但是我首先俯身看那濒死的少年，他张着眼睛给我一丝儿笑容，
随即眼睛闭上了、安静地闭上了，而我快步奔入了黑暗，
归队，行进，永远在黑夜中行进，在队伍中前进，
陌生的道路继续向前。
在灰暗的黎明中瞥见军营里这一小景，那时我因失眠清早走出了帐篷，
我在清冽的晨风中缓缓地漫步，沿着医院营帐
附近的小径。我看见三个形体僵直地躺着，抬出之后无人照应，
每一个都盖着毯子，宽大褐色的羊毛毯子，
灰色沉重的毯子，合拢着，笼罩着全身。
我好奇地停下来，静静地站在那里，
然后以轻轻的手指，从最近那一个的脸上把毯子揭起；
你是谁呀，这上了年纪的人，那么干瘦而阴冷，头发灰白，眼睛周围全
枯陷了？
你是谁呀，我的亲爱的同志？
然后我走向第二个——你又是谁呀，我的孩子，亲爱的？
这个双颊犹红的可爱的小伙子，你是谁？
然后到第三个——一张既不幼小也不衰老的脸，非常镇静，像嫩黄的牙
雕那么美丽，
年青人，我想我认识你，——我想这张脸就是基督自己的，
死了的、神圣的、全人类的兄弟哟，他又躺在这里。
当我辛劳地漫步在弗吉尼亚林地，
踏着被我踢起的树叶那沙沙作响的节奏，（因为正是深秋，）
我注意到一株大树脚下有个士兵的坟墓；
他是因重伤致命，撤退时给埋在这里，（我懂得此中缘由，）
部队午休一小时，忽然一声起立！来不及了——但还是留下了这个标
志，
在坟边大树上钉了块木牌，上面草率地写着：
勇敢的，谨慎的，真诚的，我的亲爱的战友。
我沉恩了很久很久，然后继续向前漫游，
经历一个个多变的季节和许多的生活场所，
不过有时在变化的季节和环境里，突然，孤单单地，或者在拥挤的街头。
我眼前会出现那个无名士兵的坟墓，出现弗吉尼亚林地中那个粗陋的墓
志铭：
勇敢的，谨慎的，真诚的，我的亲爱的战友。
比起那领航员承担引船入港的任务，尽管他屡次挫折并受到打击；
比起那长期深入内地而疲惫的探路者，
尽管被沙漠烘烤，被霜雪冻僵，被河流打湿，仍然坚忍着到达他的目的
地，
比起他们，我还承担着更大的责任，不管别人留不留意，要给这合众国
谱一支进行曲，
为了召唤战斗，必要时拿起武器，在今后多年，甚至许多个世纪。
在我下面战栗而摇动着的年代哟！
你的夏天的风是十分温暖的，但我呼吸的空气却使我寒栗，
一层浓厚的阴云从阳光下降，黑暗包围了我，
我必须改换我的胜利的歌唱么？我对我自己说，
我真必须去学习歌唱那些失意者的凄枪的哀歌么？
歌唱那些失败者的阴沉的圣歌么？
1
我这个曲背的老人，走进陌生的人群里，
在回顾中重温那些岁月来回答孩子们的问题：
老人家，请告诉我们，那些爱我的年青小伙子和姑娘们这样发问，
（我曾经被唤醒和激怒了，想敲起警报，号召无情的战争，
但随即我的手指不听使唤，我的脑袋低垂，
我顺从地坐在伤员身旁，抚慰他们，或者静静地守着死人；）
多年以后，对于那些情景，对于那些强烈的激情，那些偶然的事件，
对于卓绝的英雄们，（只有一方英勇吗？另一方也同样英勇；）
如今请再次出来作证，来描绘地球上最强大的军队，
关于那些如此迅猛、如此惊人的军队，你看到了些什么可以告诉我问？
哪些事情对你影响得最久最深？关于那些罕见的恐慌，
那些打得最狠的战役或可怕的围困，有哪些还深深地留在你心中？
2
啊，我所爱的和爱我的姑娘们和小伙子们，
你们的谈话使我回想起你们所问到的我那些最奇怪而突如其来的日
son,
我经过一段铺满着汗水和尘土的远征，终于成为一个机警的军人，
我在紧要关头出来，投身战斗，在那胜利进攻的洪流中高声呼喝，
进入那些夺过来的工事——可是你瞧，它们像急湍一般消失了，
它们匆匆地过去，消失，——我不多谈士兵们的危险或士兵们的欢乐，
（两者我都记得很清楚——困难那么多，欢乐那么少，不过我还是满足
of. )
但是在夜深入静，在梦思索回中，
当这个营利的、体面的、欢笑的世界在照样进行，
那些过去了的东西早已忘却，波涛把沙滩上的印迹洗掉了，
我却拐着双膝回来，走进屋里，（同时为了那里的你们，
不管你们是谁，请悄悄地、勇敢地跟着我进行。 )
拿着绷带、水和海绵，
我迅速地径直走向我的伤员，
他们在战役结束后被运到这里，躺在地上，
他们的宝贵的鲜血染红了草地，
我或者走进那一排排的医疗帐篷，或者是有屋顶的医院，
到那一列列左右两旁的病床边，我回来了，
一张又一张地，我走近所有的病床，无一遗漏，
一个卫生员端着托盘、提着脏桶跟在我后头，
那只脏桶很快装满了凝结的碎布和血污，倒掉又装满了。
我时而向前，时而站住，
扭拐着双膝，以坚定的双手敷裹伤口，
我对每个人都不马虎，因为剧痛虽厉害，可是免不了，
有个伤员以祈求的眼光看着我，——可怜的孩子哟，我从不认识你，
可是我想我不会拒绝此时此地即为你牺牲，如果那样就能把你挽救。
3
我往前走，往前走，（打开时间的门！打开医院的门！）
我裹好那个破裂的头颅，（但愿那只可怜的疯狂的手不要把绷带撕开，）
我检查那个骑兵被子弹对直穿过的头颈，
艰难的呼吸咯咯地响着，眼神已经呆滞，可是生命仍在苦苦地支撑，
（来啊，甜蜜的死亡！答应我吧，美丽的死亡！
请大发慈悲，快快地降临！ )
从那截切掉了手的残留的胳臂，
我揭去凝结的棉绒，除掉腐肉，洗净血迹，
那士兵躬着身子，背靠在枕头上，颈项屈扭着，脑袋耷拉在一旁，
他闭着眼睛，脸色苍白，不敢看那截带血的残肢，
他还从不曾看过它一次。
我包扎一个很深很深的肋部伤口，
但是再过一两天，那个身架就会完全消瘦，迅速崩溃，
黄黄的脸色也会变得青灰。
我包扎穿孔的肩头，中弹的脚，
给一个伤口已腐烂成坏疽的人洗涤，那样可厌，那样恶心，
而卫生员站在我后面一旁，拿着托盘和脏桶。
我忠于职守，我毫不倦怠，
那骨折的大腿，那膝头，那腹部的伤痛，
这些等等，我都以镇静的双手敷裹着，（不过我胸窝的深处有一把火正
烧得炽红。 )
4
就这样，在寂静中，在梦思索回时，
我回过头来重操旧业，在那些医院里到处穿行，
我以抚慰的双手使那些伤痛的人们平静，
我通宵黑坐在那些不眠者的身旁，他们有的还那样年青，
有的受尽了折磨，我回想着那段可贵而悲惨的经验，
（许多个士兵的爱抚的手臂曾经抱过和勾过我这头颈，
许多个士兵的吻曾久久地贴着这长满胡须的嘴
唇。 )
久了，太久了，美国，
你沿着完全平坦而和平的大路行走，只从繁华与欢乐中学到了些什么，
可是现在，现在啊，要从苦难的危机中学习，前进，与最悲惨的命运搏
斗，不能退缩，
现在要设想并且向世界显示你的儿女们这个集体究竟怎么样，
（因为除了我自己还有准对你的全体儿女们作过这样的设想？）
给我辉煌宁静的太阳吧，连同它的全部炫耀的光束，
给我秋天多汁的果实，那刚从果园摘来的熟透了的水果，
给我一片野草丛生而没有割过的田畴，
给我一个藤架，给我上了架的葡萄藤，
给我新鲜的谷物和麦子，给我安详地走动着教人以满足的动物，
给我完全寂静的像密西西比西边高原上那样的夜，让我仰观星辰，
给我一座早晨芳香扑鼻、鲜花盛开的花园，让我安静地散步，
给我一个我永远不会厌倦的美人，让她嫁给我，
给我一个完美的儿童，给我一种远离尘嚣的田园式的家庭生活，
给我以机会来吟诵即兴的隐逸诗歌，专门吟给自己听，
给我以孤独，给我大自然，还有大自然啊你那原始的理智清明！
我要求享有这些，（因倦于不断的骚扰，苦于战争的动乱，）
我连续地请求得到这些，从内心发出呼喊，
不过在不停地请求时我仍依附于我的城市，
城市哟，我日复一日、年复一年地在你的大街上行走，
你在一个时期抓着我、锁住我，拒不放手，
可是你同意让我吃饱，灵魂得到充实，永远给我看种种的面目；
（啊，我看见我所设法逃避的东西，我面对着，发出相反的喊叫，
我看见我自己的灵魂在把它所要求的一切通通踏倒。 )
2
保留你的辉煌宁静的太阳，
保留你的树林啊，大自然，还有树林周围那些安静的地方，
保留你的长着首猎和梯牧草的田野，以及你的玉米地和果园，
保留你那九月间蜜蜂在嗡嗡叫闹的开花的养麦田；
给我这些面目和大街——给我人行道上这些络绎不绝的幻影！
给我无穷无尽的眼色——给我妇女——给我成千上万的同志和情人！
让我每天都看到新人——让我每天都同新来者握手吧！
给我以这样的陈列——给我以曼哈顿的街衢吧！
给我百老汇，连同那些行进的军人——给我喇叭和军鼓的声音！
（那些整连整团的士兵——有的在开走，那么兴奋和毫不在乎，
有些已服役期满，队伍稀疏地回来，年青而显得衰老，心不在焉地行
进；）
给我海岸和密布着黑色船只的码头，
我要的就是这些啊！是一种紧张的生活，丰富而多样的人生！
剧院、酒吧间、大旅馆的生活哟，给我！
轮船上的沙龙！拥挤的游览！高举火炬的游行！
奉命开赴前线的密集的旅队，后面跟着堆载得高高的军车；
无穷无尽的、高声喧嚷的、热情的人流，壮丽的场景，
像现在这样敲着军鼓而强烈地颤动着的曼哈顿大街，
那漫无休止的嘈杂的合唱，枪枝瑟瑟和铿锵的声响，（甚至那些眼前的伤兵，）
曼哈顿的人群，连同他们的骚动而有节奏的合唱！
永远属于我吧，曼哈顿所有的面貌和眼睛。
最后一线太阳光
从结束了的安息日轻轻下落，
落在这里铺过的道路上，并在路那边瞧着，
俯视着一座新垒的双人坟墓。
瞧，月亮正在上升，
那从东方升起的银盘般的月亮，
美妙地照在屋顶上的鬼怪般的月亮，
巨大而静悄悄的月亮啊！
我看到一支悲伤的队列，
我还听到那走过来的高音军号的声响，
它们在所有的大街小巷里泛滥奔流，
像声声呜咽，眼泪汪汪。
我听到大鼓隆隆地轰鸣，
小鼓坚定地发出霍霍的叫喊，
而那些痉挛的大鼓每一下重捶，
都使我浑身上下为之震颤。
因为儿子是和父亲一起抬来的，（他们倒下在一次迅猛袭击的最前列，）
儿子和父亲两个老兵双双地仆倒啊！
如今要一起进入那双人墓穴。
军号声来得更近了，
大鼓小鼓也震响得更加起劲，
但白昼已在石板道上完全消失，
感人的送葬曲在萦绕我的心魂。
而那悲枪的巨大幽灵，
在东