The Freedom of the Many Is Paid for by the Few(詩歌)

印邑塵心與黔東辭賦

序:予本黔東小學教師，好久未用英文寫詩，今天因無聊乃以abab尾韻試作一首《The Freedom of the Many Is Paid for by the Few》，作完后自讀三遍，并與中文詩對比，覺英文漢文詩各俱其妙，乃發(fā)于網(wǎng)絡！予縣寫自由詩者若干，能將英文詩、漢語古詩、漢語現(xiàn)代詩融為一爐者，唯予一人，所謂學而不厭、恒不自是之修養(yǎng)，我必抵之，是為序。 The Freedom of the Many Is Paid for by the Few By Unworldliness?I hear America singing, its varied carols I hear,But there is another music, a strain that is somber and deep.Not the hum of the joyous mill, nor the boatman's song so clear,But the echo of chains, where a silent vigil they keep. Who builds the State? The shouting crowd in the square?Or the lone sentinel who freezes upon the plain?The tongue that boasts of rights, filling the haughty air,Or the sealed lip that utters no refrain? You, loafing with your ease, your liberty so vast,Do you not feel a phantom tugging at your sleeve?The shade of one who paid, who gave his all and passed,So you, in careless comfort, might believe. The bridge you cross tonight, a pillar in the stream,Was laid by sweating brows who never saw it stand.They toiled to build a nation, a superstructure of a dream,Their names unlettered, buried in the sand. A poet sings of freedom, of a bright and boundless day,His voice is carried softly on the public wind.But the pledge that fuels his vision, the price he does not pay,Was signed in blood by those he leaves behind. I see the battlefield, a vision grim and red,Where a boy from Ohio falls, clutching at his chest.He gives his last full measure of devotion, and is dead,So a dissident in his study can put his words to test. The farmer in his furrow, the merchant at his gate,The mother with her infant, the scholar with his pen,They breathe an air of peace, they think it is their fate,Unmindful of the sacrifice of sacrificial men. O America! Your tapestry is woven, bright and vast,With threads of gold and silver, a spectacle to see.But look upon the underside, where the pattern has been cast,And see the tangled, darkened threads—the ones that hold it free. For every right you cherish, every truth you hold to be self-evident,A soul has stood in silence, a body has borne the rod.The liberty you revel in, so sweet and so permanent,Is anchored in the promise of their silence, and their God. I give you this, my people, not to make you mourn,But to see with clearer eyes the glory and the cost.To know that for the many, a freedom can be born,Only because the few, in darkness, have been lost. So when you sing your song of triumph, let your voices all be one,But underneath the chorus, let a deeper note be known.A hymn for the forgotten, for the work that they have done,Whose spirit is the cornerstone that props the highest throne. 大部分人的自由需要少數(shù)高尚者的犧牲為代價 文/超凡脫俗我聽見美利堅在歌唱，我聽見它各種的歌謠，但還有另一種旋律，一曲陰沉而深沉的音調。不是歡樂磨坊的嗡嗡聲，也不是船夫清晰的歌唱，而是鎖鏈的回響，那里他們靜默守望。 誰建造了國家？是廣場上呼喊的人群？還是孤寂的哨兵，在荒原上凍僵？是夸耀權利的舌頭，填滿了傲慢的空氣，還是那緊閉的雙唇，不發(fā)出一句聲張？ 你，悠閑自在地游蕩，擁有如此廣闊的自主，難道沒感到一個幻影在拉扯你的衣袖？那是付出了一切的逝者的身影，他獻出了所有，只為讓你，在無憂的安逸里，能夠相信自由。 你今夜穿過的橋梁，是溪流中的一根支柱，是由流汗的眉頭鋪就，他們卻未見它矗立。他們辛勞，建造了一個國家，一個夢想的超大建筑，他們的名字沒有字母刻印，被埋葬在沙地。 一位詩人歌頌自由，歌頌一個明亮無垠的白晝，他的聲音被公眾的風輕柔地吹送。但點燃他遠見的誓言，他未曾付出的價格，是由被他拋在身后的人，以血簽封。 我看見戰(zhàn)場，一個嚴酷而赤紅的異象，一個俄亥俄州的男孩倒下，緊捂著胸膛。他獻出了他最后的全部心力，然后死亡，于是，一個異議者才可在書房里，檢驗他的詞章。 田里的農夫，門前的商賈，抱著嬰孩的母親，握著筆桿的學者，他們呼吸著和平的空氣，以為是他們的定數(shù)，不曾留意到犧牲者們，所作的犧牲的抉擇。 啊，美利堅！你的織錦，編織得明亮而寬廣，用金線銀線織就，是一派可見的奇觀。但請看看它的背面，看看那圖案是如何交織，看看那些糾結、暗淡的線——正是它們，讓你的自由得以保全。 為了你珍視的每一項權利，為了你視作不證自明的每一個真理，都有一個靈魂曾靜默站立，一個身軀曾承受棍棒的擊打。你所沉湎的自由，如此甜美，仿佛永恒不變，卻錨定在他們的靜默里，錨定在他們所信的上帝之下。 我把這個獻給你們，我的人民，并非要你們哀悼，而是要你們用更清澈的眼睛，看見榮耀與代價。要知道，那屬于多數(shù)的自由能夠誕生，僅僅因為那少數(shù)的、在黑暗中迷失的人啊。 所以，當你們高唱凱歌時，讓你們所有的聲音合而為一，但在那合唱之下，讓一個更深沉的音符被銘記。一首獻給被遺忘者的贊美詩，獻給他們已完成的功績，他們的精神，是支撐那至高王座的基石。