清晨的脈搏（覃學嵐 譯）

瑪婭· 安杰洛

巖石、河流、樹木
早已匿跡的物種的寄主，
有過乳齒象、恐龍的記錄，
它們留下的印跡
歷歷在目，表明它們
曾在我們星球上面逗留，
它們加速滅絕的警鐘
已為陰暗的塵埃和歲月湮滅。

可今天，巖石向我們發(fā)出了呼喊，清晰而有力，
來吧，你們可以站在我的
背上去正視你們遙遠的命運，
但別在我的陰影下尋求庇護，
我不會為你們提供藏身之所。

你們呀，造物主只讓你們
比天使矮了一點點，而你們卻在
慘烈的黑暗中龜縮了太久
渾渾噩噩沉溺于
愚昧之中太久，
你們開口閉口
都忘不了殺戮。

巖石今天向我們發(fā)出了呼喊，
你可以站在我上面；
但不許把臉藏起來。
從世界之墻的那一邊，
河流送來一首美妙的歌。歌中唱道，
來吧，到我身邊來歇息。

你們每個人，都是一個有邊界的國家，
天生脆弱而又莫名其妙地自豪，
還不停地在重圍中掙扎。
為了利益，你們大動干戈
在我的岸邊留下了一圈一圈的廢物，
在我胸膛上留下了一浪一浪的垃圾。
不過今天，我呼喚你來到我的岸邊，
如果你不再琢磨戰(zhàn)爭。

來吧，穿上和平裝，
我會放開歌喉
把造物主在我與樹和巖石
還渾然一體時贈我的歌兒唱。
在玩世不恭尚未在你眉宇間凝為血痕前
在你還知道自己依然一無所知的時候。
河流一曲方罷一曲又起。

有一種發(fā)自內(nèi)心的渴望
回應(yīng)歌唱的河流和睿智的巖石。
說這話的有亞洲人、西班牙人、猶太人
非洲人、印第安人、達科他人
天主教徒、穆斯林教徒、法國人、希臘人
愛爾蘭人、拉比、牧師、酋長
同性戀、正派人、傳教士
特權(quán)階層、無家可歸的人和教師。
他們聽見，他們?nèi)悸犚?br/>樹在娓娓道來。

他們聽見每棵樹渾身上下
今天都在跟人類說話。
到我這兒來吧，
在這河流的旁邊。
將你自己植根在河邊。

你們每一個人，無非是某個
匆匆過客的子孫，都是用代價換來的。
你，告訴了我你的名字，你，
波尼人、阿帕切人、塞納卡人，你們
徹羅基人，曾跟我一起休息，然后
被迫拖著血淋淋的腳上路
撇下我，淪為另外一些
要錢不要命的人
謀取利潤的工具。

你們土耳其人、阿拉伯人、瑞典人、
德國人、愛斯基摩人、蘇格蘭人、
意大利人、匈牙利人、波蘭人，
你們阿散蒂人、約魯巴人、克魯人
倒買倒賣、偷盜之后，做著噩夢
祈禱著好夢。

來吧，在我身邊扎下根來。
我是植在河邊
移不走的那棵樹。
我是巖石，我是河流，我是樹木
我是你的——已有人買下的行程。

抬起你的臉來，你迫切需要
這樣一個光輝燦爛的黎明。
歷史，縱然令人刻骨銘心，
豈能回避，不過
倘若勇敢正視，也無須重復(fù)。

抬起你的眼睛
看看為你而來的拂曉。
讓好夢
再次降臨。

女人們、孩子們、大老爺兒們，
把夢捧在你們的手心里，
將它塑成你們內(nèi)心
最需要的樣子，雕成
你們最好的公眾形象。

打起你的精神來
每一個新的小時都為一個新的開始
孕育著新的機遇。
不要永遠與恐懼
為伍，終生為殘忍
所縛。

地平線向前延伸，
為你提供空間
邁開變化的新步伐。
踏著這美好時光的脈搏
你可以勇氣十足
昂首挺胸地看著我、
巖石、河流、樹木和你的國家。
邁達斯與乞丐一視同仁。
當今的你與昔日的乳齒象伯仲不分。

踏著這新的一天的脈搏
你可以氣宇軒昂
昂首挺胸地打量
你姐妹的目光，
你兄弟的臉龐，
還有你的國家，
滿懷希望地
送上一句簡單的
非常簡單的
早上好。

The Pulse of the Morning

by Maya Angelou

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.

Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.

Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers — desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.

Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space
To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day

You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.