詩(shī)歌精選：Calamus
詩(shī)歌欣賞：Calamus
IN PATHS UNTRODDEN
IN paths untrodden，
In the growths by margins of pond－waters，
Escaped from the life that exhibits itself，
From all the standards hitherto publish'd， from the pleasures，
profits， conformities，
Which too long I was offering to feed my soul，
Clear to me now standards not yet publish'd， clear to me that my soul，
That the soul of the man I speak for rejoices in comrades，
Here by myself away from the clank of the world，
Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic，
No longer abash'd， （for in this secluded spot I can respond as I would not dare elsewhere，）
Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself， yet contains all the rest，
Resolv'd to sing no songs to－day but those of manly attachment，
Projecting them along that substantial life，
Bequeathing hence types of athletic love，
Afternoon this delicious Ninth－month in my forty－first year，
I proceed for all who are or have been young men，
To tell the secret of my nights and days，
To celebrate the need of comrades．v請(qǐng)分開(kāi)v
SCENTED HERBAGE OF MY BREAST
SCENTED herbage of my breast，
Leaves from you I glean， I write， to be perused best afterwards，
Tomb－ leaves， body－leaves growing up above me above death．
Perennial roots， tall leaves， O the winter shall not freeze you delicate leaves，
Every year shall you bloom again， out from where you retired
you shall emerge again；
O I do not know whether many passing by will discover you
or inhale your faint odor， but I believe a few will；
O slender leaves！ O blossoms of my blood！ I permit you to
tell in your own way of the heart that is under you，
O I do not know what you mean there underneath yourselves，
you are not happiness，
You are often more bitter than I can bear， you burn and sting me，
Yet you are beautiful to me you faint－tinged roots， you make me think of death，
Death is beautiful from you， （what indeed is finally beautiful except death and love?）
O I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers， I think it must be for death，
For how calm， how solemn it grows to ascend to the atmosphere of lovers，
Death or life I am then indifferent， my soul declines to prefer，
（I am not sure but the high soul of lovers welcomes death most，）
Indeed O death， I think now these leaves mean precisely the same as you mean，
Grow up taller sweet leaves that I may see！ grow up out of my breast！
Spring away from the conceal'd heart there！
Do not fold yourself so in your pink－tinged roots timid leaves！
Do not remain down there so ashamed， herbage of my breast！
Come I am determin'd to unbare this broad breast of mine， I
have long enough stifled and choked；
Emblematic and capricious blades I leave you， now you serve me not，
I will say what I have to say by itself，
I will sound myself and comrades only， I will never again
utter a call only their call，
I will raise with it immortal reverberations through the States，
I will give an example to lovers to take permanent shape and will through the States，
Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating．
Give me your tone therefore O death， that I may accord with it，
Give me yourself， for I see that you belong to me now above all， and are folded inseparably together， you love and death are，
Nor will I allow you to balk me any more with what I was calling life，
For now it is convey'd to me that you are the purports essential，
That you hide in these shifting forms of life， for reasons， and that they are mainly for you，
That you beyond them come forth to remain， the real reality，
That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait， no matter how long，
That you will one day perhaps take control of all，
That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance，
That may－be you are what it is all for， but it does not last so very long，
But you will last very long．v請(qǐng)分開(kāi)v
WHOEVER YOU ARE HOLDING ME NOW IN HAND
WHOEVER you are holding me now in hand，
Without one thing all will be useless，
I give you fair warning before you attempt me further，
I am not what you supposed， but far different．
Who is he that would become my follower?
Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections
詩(shī)歌欣賞：By The Arno
The oleander on the wall
Grows crimson in the dawning light，
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall．
The dew is bright upon the hill，
And bright the blossoms overhead，
But ah！ the grasshoppers have fled，
The little Attic song is still．
Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale，
And in the almond－scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard．
The day will make thee silent soon，
O nightingale sing on for love！
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon．
Before across the silent lawn
In sea－green vest the morning steals，
And to love's frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawn
Fast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night，
All careless of my heart's delight，
Or if the nightingale should die．
詩(shī)歌欣賞：Call Me Ishmael
by Jackson Mac Low
Circulation． And long long
Mind every
Interest Some how mind and every long
Coffin about little little
Money especially
I shore， having money about especially little
Cato a little little
Me extreme
I sail have me an extreme little
Cherish and left， left，
Myself extremest
It see hypos myself and extremest left，
City a land． Land．
Mouth； east，
Is spleen， hand mouth； an east， land．
詩(shī)歌欣賞：A Poet to His Beloved
I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams，
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove－grey sands，
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time：
White woman with numberless dreams，
I bring you my passionate rhyme．
詩(shī)歌欣賞A Purchase of Porcelain
Because the king
decrees that every Jew
must buy his wedding－right
in unsold porcelain
from the royal chinaworks，
here he stands， an amorous Jew，
gazing at luminous
suns and moons arrayed
on doths of velvet－blue，
earth that has married fire twice，
that has been shaped and named
for what it comprehends： sherbets， salads，
gravies， desserts． He lifts a platter fine
as alabaster in cathedral windows：
salvation， the passage of light
through bone． Ah， but
not for you， the store－man says．
Closeted， in shipping crates
are pieces no one else will buy
baboon fops in feathered caps，
chimpanzees in petticoats．
Visitors will later testify，
his home was comfortable，
despite the china apes
peering from every corner．
詩(shī)歌欣賞：Batuschka
From yonder gilded minaret
Beside the steel－blue Neva set，
I faintly catch， from time to time，
The sweet， aerial midnight chime——"God save the Tsar！"
Above the ravelins and the moats
Of the white citadel it floats；
And men in dungeons far beneath
Listen， and pray， and gnash their teeth——"God save the Tsar！"
The soft reiterations sweep
Across the horror of their sleep，
a term of endearment applied
to the Tsar in Russian folk－song．
As if some daemon in his glee
Were mocking at their misery——"God save the Tsar！"
In his Red Palace over there，
Wakeful， he needs must hear the prayer．
How can it drown the broken cries
Wrung from his children's agonies?——"God save the Tsar！"
Father they called him from of old——Batuschka！ How his heart is cold！
Wait till a million scourged men
Rise in their awful might， and then——God save the Tsar！
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