自我之歌-6
6
一个孩童说这个草是什么？双手把它捧到我的面前。
我能怎么回答这个孩子？草是什么我不比他知道的更多。
我猜想它一定是我的气质的旗帜，由满怀希望的绿色材料织成。
或者我猜它是造物主的手帕，
一件散发着香味的礼品或纪念物，设计用来被遗失，
在手帕的边角上印着或绣着主人的名字，这样当我们看到时便会评说，而且问“谁的？”
或者我猜想草自己就是一个孩童，由植物生产的婴儿。
或者我猜它是成套的象形文字，
并且它意味着，无论是宽边还是窄边都可以发芽，
在黑人中间或者白人中间都可以长大，
管他们是加拿大兄弟，弗吉尼亚兄弟，华盛顿兄弟，还是黑人兄弟，我给予他们的一样，我接受他们的也一样。
现在它看上去像是坟墓的那些美丽的未经修剪的头发。
我将温柔地使用你，弯曲的草叶，
有可能你是从年轻男人胸前散发出来
有可能如果我认识他们我会爱上他们
有可能你来自老人，或者来自马上就要离开母亲怀抱的那些晚辈，
并且在这里你便是母亲的怀抱。
这草颜色太黑了，不可能来自年迈母亲的白头，
它比老大爷们那些没有颜色的胡子要黑，
也不可能来自暗红色嘴唇的顶上。
哦，见识了这么多喋喋不休的口舌，
不可能来自嘴唇上边，对这一点我感觉很有道理。
关于死去的年轻男人和女人的那些暗示，我希望我能翻译，
还有关于老人和母亲的那些暗示，关于马上就要离开母亲怀抱的晚辈的那些暗示。
你以为那些年轻人和老人他们变成了什么？
你以为那些女人和孩子他们变成了什么？
它们全都活着，在某个地方很好地活着，
那些最小的萌芽告诉我们说其实没有死亡，
并且就算有也会马上去到来世，不在现世流连片刻，
上一个结束下一个立刻开始。
万物流转并且流传，没有任何物质垮塌，
并且死去和任何人想象的都不一样，而且更加幸运。
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 produced 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 colourless 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.
一个孩童说这个草是什么？双手把它捧到我的面前。
我能怎么回答这个孩子？草是什么我不比他知道的更多。
我猜想它一定是我的气质的旗帜，由满怀希望的绿色材料织成。
或者我猜它是造物主的手帕，
一件散发着香味的礼品或纪念物，设计用来被遗失，
在手帕的边角上印着或绣着主人的名字，这样当我们看到时便会评说，而且问“谁的？”
或者我猜想草自己就是一个孩童，由植物生产的婴儿。
或者我猜它是成套的象形文字，
并且它意味着，无论是宽边还是窄边都可以发芽，
在黑人中间或者白人中间都可以长大，
管他们是加拿大兄弟，弗吉尼亚兄弟，华盛顿兄弟，还是黑人兄弟，我给予他们的一样，我接受他们的也一样。
现在它看上去像是坟墓的那些美丽的未经修剪的头发。
我将温柔地使用你，弯曲的草叶，
有可能你是从年轻男人胸前散发出来
有可能如果我认识他们我会爱上他们
有可能你来自老人，或者来自马上就要离开母亲怀抱的那些晚辈，
并且在这里你便是母亲的怀抱。
这草颜色太黑了，不可能来自年迈母亲的白头，
它比老大爷们那些没有颜色的胡子要黑，
也不可能来自暗红色嘴唇的顶上。
哦，见识了这么多喋喋不休的口舌，
不可能来自嘴唇上边，对这一点我感觉很有道理。
关于死去的年轻男人和女人的那些暗示，我希望我能翻译，
还有关于老人和母亲的那些暗示，关于马上就要离开母亲怀抱的晚辈的那些暗示。
你以为那些年轻人和老人他们变成了什么？
你以为那些女人和孩子他们变成了什么？
它们全都活着，在某个地方很好地活着，
那些最小的萌芽告诉我们说其实没有死亡，
并且就算有也会马上去到来世，不在现世流连片刻，
上一个结束下一个立刻开始。
万物流转并且流传，没有任何物质垮塌，
并且死去和任何人想象的都不一样，而且更加幸运。
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 produced 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 colourless 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.
