惠特曼 我如此高贵。。。是那首诗?
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发布时间：2022-04-23 11:13
共2个回答
热心网友
时间：2023-06-26 16:45
我自己的歌（节选）
一
我赞美我自己，歌唱我自己，
我承担的你也将承担，
因为属于我的每一个原子也同样属于你。
我闲步，还邀请了我的灵魂，
我俯身悠然观察着一片夏日的草叶。
我的舌，我血液的每个原子，是在这片土壤、这个空气里形成的，
是这里的父母生下的，父母的父母也是在这里生下的，他们的父母也一样，
我，现在三十七岁，一生下身体就十分健康，
希望永远如此，直到死去。
信条和学派暂时不论，
且后退一步，明了它们当前的情况已足，但也决不是忘记，
不论我从善从恶，我允许随意发表意见，
顺乎自然，保持原始的活力。
二
屋里、室内充满了芳香，书架上也挤满了芳香，
我自己呼吸了香味，认识了它也喜欢它，
其精华也会使我陶醉，但我不容许这样。
大气层不是一种芳香，没有香料的味道，它是无气味的，
它永远供我口用，我热爱它，
我要去林畔的河岸那里，脱去伪装，赤条条地，
我狂热地要它和我接触。
我自己呼吸的云雾，
回声，细浪，窃窃私语，爱根，丝线，枝橙和藤蔓，
我的呼和吸，我心脏的跳动，通过我肺部畅流的血液和空气，
嗅到绿叶和枯叶、海岸和黑色的海边岩石和谷仓里的干草，
我喉咙里迸出辞句的声音飘散在风的旋涡里，
几次轻吻，几次拥抱，伸出两臂想搂住什么，
树枝的柔条摆动时光和影在树上的游戏，
独居，在闹市或沿着田地和山坡一带的乐趣，
健康之感，正午时的颤音，我从床上起来迎接太阳时唱的歌。
你认为一千亩就很多了吗？你认为地球就很大了吗？
为了学会读书你练习了很久吗？
因为你想努力懂得诗歌的含意就感到十分自豪吗？
今天和今晚请和我在一起，你将明了所有诗歌的来源，
你将占有大地和太阳的好处（另外还有千百万个太阳），
你将不会再第二手、第三手起接受事物，也不会借死人的
眼睛观察，或从书本中的幽灵那里汲取营养，
你也不会借我的眼睛观察，不会通过我而接受事物，
你将听取各个方面，由你自己过滤一切。
三
我曾听见过健谈者在谈话，谈论着始与终，
但是我并不谈论始与终。
过去从来未曾有过什么开始，是现在所没有的，
也无所谓青年或老年，是现在所没有的，
也决不会有十全十美，不同于现在，
也不会有天堂或地狱，不同干现在。
努力推动、推动又推动，
永远顺着世界的繁殖力而向前推动。
从昏暗中出现的对立的对等物在前进，永远是物质与增殖，
永远是性的活动，
永远是同一性的牢结，永远有区别，永远是生命的繁殖。
多说是无益的，有学问无学问的人都这样感觉。
肯定就十分肯定，垂直就绝对笔直，扣得紧，梁木之间要对携，
像骏马一样健壮，多情、傲慢，带有电力，
我与这一神秘事实就在此地站立。
我的灵魂是清澈而香甜的，不属于我灵魂的一切也是清澈而香甜的。
缺一即缺二，看不见的由看得见的证实，
看得见成为看不见时，也会照样得到证实。
指出最好的并和最坏的分开，是这一代给下一代带来的烦恼，
认识到事物的完全吻合和平衡，他们在谈论时我却保持沉
默，我走去洗个澡并欣赏我自己。
我欢迎我的每个器官和特性，也欢迎任何热情而洁净的人
——他的器官和特性，
没有一寸或一寸中的一分一厘是*的，也不应该有什么
东西不及其余的那样熟悉。
我很满足——我能看见，跳舞，笑，歌唱；
彻夜在我身旁睡着的，拥抱我、热爱我的同床者，天微明
就悄悄地走了，
给我留下了几个盖着白毛巾的篮子，以它们的丰盛使屋子
也显得宽敞了，
难道我应该迟迟不接受、不觉悟而是冲着我的眼睛发火，
要它们回过头来不许它们在大路上东张西望，
并立即要求为我计算，一分钱不差地指出，
一件东西的确切价值和两件东西的确切价值，哪个处于前列？
四
过路的和问话的人们包围了我，
我遇见些什么人，我早年生活对我的影响，我住在什么地
区，什么城市或国家，
最近的几个重要日期，发现，发明，会社，新老作家，
我的伙食，服装，交流，容貌，向谁表示敬意，义务，
我所爱的某一男子或女子是否确实对我冷淡或只是我的想象，
家人或我自己患病，助长了歪风，失去或缺少银钱，灰心
丧志或得意忘形，
交锋，弟兄之间进行战争的恐怖，消息可疑而引起的不安，
时或发生而又无规律可循的事件，
这些都不分昼夜地临到我头上，又离我而去，
但这些都并非那个"我"自己。
虽然受到拉扯，我仍作为我而站立，
感到有趣，自满，怜悯，无所事事，单一，
俯视．直立，或屈臂搭在一无形而可靠的臂托上，
头转向一旁望着，好奇，不知下一桩事会是什么，
同时置身于局内与局外，观望着，猜测着。
回首当年我和语言学家和雄辩家是如何流着汗在浓雾里度
过时光的，
我既不嘲笑也不争辩，我在一旁观看而等候着。
五
我相信你，我的灵魂，那另一个我决不可向你低头，
你也决不可向他低头。
请随我在草上悠闲地漫步，拔松你喉头的堵塞吧，
我要的不是词句、音乐或韵脚，不是惯例或演讲，甚至连
最好的也不要，
我喜欢的只是暂时的安静，你那有节制的声音的低吟。
我记得我们是如何一度在这样一个明亮的夏天的早晨睡在
一起的，
你是怎样把头横在我臀部，轻柔地翻转在我身上的，
又从我胸口解开衬衣，用你的舌头直探我赤裸的心脏，
直到你摸到我的胡须，直到你抱住了我的双脚。
超越人间一切雄辩的安宁和认识立即在我四周升起并扩散，
我知道上帝的手就是我自己的许诺，
我知道上帝的精神就是我自己的兄弟，
所有世间的男子也都是我的兄弟，所有的女子都是我的姊妹和情侣，
造化用来加固龙骨的木料就是爱，
田野里直立或低头的叶子是无穷无尽的，
叶下的洞孔里是褐色的蚂蚁，
还有曲栏上苦踪的斑痕，乱石堆，接骨木，毛蕊花和商陆。
六
这些其实是各个时代、各个地区、所有人们的思想，并非我的独创，
若只是我的思想而并非又是你的，那就毫无意义，或等于毫无意义，
若既不是谜语又不是谜底，它们也将毫无意义，
若它们不是既近且远，也就毫无意义。
这就是在有土地有水的地方生长出来的青草，
这是沐浴着全球的共同空气。
七
我是肉体的诗人也是灵魂的诗人，
我占有天堂的愉快也占有地狱的苦痛，
前者我把它嫁接在自己身上使它增殖，后者我把它翻译成
一种新的语言。
我既是男子的诗人也是妇女的诗人，
我是说作为妇女和作为男子同样伟大，
我是说再没有比人们的母亲更加伟大的。
我歌颂“扩张”或“骄傲”，
我们已经低头求免得够了，
我是在说明体积只不过是发展的结果。
你已经远远超越了其余的人吗？你是总统吗？
这是微不足道的，人人会越过此点而继续前进。
我是那和温柔而渐渐昏暗的黑夜一同行走的人，
我向着那被黑夜掌握了一半的大地和海洋呼唤。
请紧紧靠拢，袒露着胸脯的夜啊——紧紧靠拢吧，富于想
力和营养的黑夜！
南风的夜——有着巨大疏星的夜！
寂静而打着瞌睡的夜———疯狂而赤身*的夏夜啊。
微笑吧！啊，妖娆的、气息清凉的大地！
生长着沉睡而饱含液汁的树木的大地！
夕阳已西落的大地——山巅被雾气覆盖着的大地！
满月的晶体微带蓝色的大地！
河里的潮水掩映着光照和黑暗的大地！
为了我而更加明澈的灰色云彩笼罩着的大地！
远远的高山连着平原的大地——长满苹果花的大地！
微笑吧，你的情人来了。
浪子，你给了我爱情——因此我也给你爱情！
啊，难以言传的、炽热的爱情。
你这大海啊！我也把自己交托给了你——我猜透了你的心意，
我在海滩边看到了你那曲着的、发出着邀请的手指，
我相信你没有*到我是不肯回去的，
我们必须在一起周旋一回，我脱下衣服，急急远离陆地，
请用软垫托着我，请在昏昏欲睡的波浪里摇撼我，
用多情的海水泼在我身上吧，我能报答你，
有着漫无边际的巨浪的大海，
呼吸宽广而紧张吐纳的大海，
大海是生命的盐水，又是不待挖掘就随时可用的坟墓，
风暴的吹鼓手和舀取着，任性而又轻盈的大海，
我是你的组成部分，我也一样，既是一个方面又是所有方面。
我分享你潮汐的诱落，赞扬仇恨与和解，
赞扬情谊和那些睡在彼此怀抱里的人们。
我是那个同情心的见证人，
（我应否把房屋内的东西列一清单却偏去了维持这一切的房屋呢？）
我不仅是“善”的诗人，也不拒绝作“恶”的诗人。
关于美德与罪恶的这种脱口而出的空谈是怎么回事呢？
*推动着我，改正*也推动着我，我是不偏不倚的，
我的步法表明我既不挑剔也不否定什么，
我湿润着所有已经成长起来的根芽。
你是怕长期怀孕时得了淋巴结核症吗？
你是否在猜测神圣的法则还需要重新研究而修订？
我发现一边是某种平衡，和它对立的一边也是某种平衡，
软性的教义和稳定的教义都必然有益，
当前的思想和行动能够使我们奋起并及早起步。
经过了过去的亿万时刻而来到我跟前的此时此刻，
没有比它、比当前更完美的了。
过去行得正或今天行得正并不是什么奇迹，
永远永远使人惊奇的是天下竟会有小人或不信仰宗教者。
热心网友
时间：2023-06-26 16:46
Song of Myself
1
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
2
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
3
I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.
Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.
Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.
Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.
Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.
Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.
I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;
As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread,
Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes,
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?
4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, es,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.
Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
5
I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you,
And you must not be abased to the other.
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,
Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best,
Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,
How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me,
And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,
And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth,
And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,
And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love,
And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields,
And brown ants in the little wells beneath them,
And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.
6
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the proced babe of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.
All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.
7
Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and
am not contain'd between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.
I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)
Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female,
For me those that have been boys and that love women,
For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted,
For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers,
For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,
For me children and the begetters of children.
Undrape! you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
8
The little one sleeps in its cradle,
I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand.
The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,
I peeringly view them from the top.
The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom,
I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.
The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk of the promenaders,
The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the
clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs,
The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the hospital,
The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd,
The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck or in fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home and give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what howls restrain'd by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, alterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips,
I mind them or the show or resonance of them-I come and I depart.
9
The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,
The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon,
The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,
The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow.
I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load,
I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other,
I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy,
And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.
10
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game,
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my side.
The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud,
My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck.
The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me,
I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time;
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.
I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl,
Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and mbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets
hanging from their shoulders,
On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand,
She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile,
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him,
And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet,
And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north,
I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.
11
Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,
Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;
Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.
She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,
She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.
Which of the young men does she like the best?
Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.
Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,
You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.
Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather,
The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.
The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair,
Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.
An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies,
It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.
The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the
sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them,
They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch,
They do not think whom they souse with spray.
12
The butcher-boy puts off his killing-clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market,
I loiter enjoying his repartee and his shuffle and break-down.
Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil,
Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire.
From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements,
The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms,
Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure,
They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.
