好多年前偶然讀到惠特曼一首詩，很喜歡。那天和老友們聚會，又想起來。
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass.
There was a Child went Forth
有個孩子往前行，
日復一日往前行，
他一見到什麼事物，就變成那樣事物，
那事物成為他的一部份，
在當天，或當天某些的時刻裡，
甚或好幾年，或沿續循環許多許多年。
早開的紫丁香成為小孩的一部份，
青草、紅白相間的牽牛花，
緋紅嫩白的苜蓿芽，
燕鵲的啁啾，三個月大的綿羊，
和母豬那窩淡粉紅的小豬，
雌馬的幼馬和母牛的小牛，穀場或池邊泥地上嘈雜的雛雞，
以奇異姿態靜懸水底的魚，
美麗奇異的河水，
水生植物優雅平展的頂稍，
一切的一切
都變成他的一部份。
四五月間田野裡的新芽，變成他的一部份，
多穀的胚牙和淺黃穀粒的胚牙，
園圃裡疏菜的根，
繽紛盛開的蘋果樹和日後櫐櫐的果實，
樹莓和路旁最不起眼的野草，
剛從酒館起身，蹣跚跺步回家的
酒醉老漢，
趕赴學校途中的女教師，
擦肩而過的友善男孩、和爭論不休的男孩，
雙頰紅嫩的清爽女孩、赤腳的黑人男孩和女孩，
以及所有他路經城市和鄉村時的任何變化。
他自己的雙親，
曾撫育過他的父親，
曾在子宮裡孕育過他和生他的母親，
他們給予這個小孩的不只這些，
往後每天他們給予他的一切，
都成為他的一部份。
母親在家靜靜地把晚餐端上桌面，
她說著溫柔的話語，打理著她的衣帽，
當她走過，一股健康的清香從她的身上、衣裙飄落。
父親健壯、自負、陽剛、卑微、易怒、不平，
好勇、急促響亮的話語、節儉地討價還價、滑巧地招徠，
家庭習俗、語言、同伴、家俱、熱切澎派的心，
無可否認的熱情、何物為真的感覺，
以及到頭來若被判定為不真的念頭，
白天的疑惑和夜晚的疑惑、
對「是否」和「如何」的好奇，
是否顯現的即是真實，或者
一切只不過是浮光掠影和斑點?
源源湧上街頭的男男女女，
倘若他們不是浮光掠影和斑點，又是什麼?
街道和房屋、櫥窗裡的商品，
車輛、拉車馬、粗木搭建的碼頭，
在渡船口來來往往的大批人馬，
日幕時分從遠處即可望見的高地村落，
以及橫越其間的溪流，
陰影、光暈和薄霧，
兩里外灑落在灰白屋頂
和山形牆上的陽光，
不遠處悄然在潮汐上載浮載沉的帆船，
拖著緩慢無力的小舟。
急速翻滾的波浪、倏地碎散的浪花，啪啪作響，
層層疊疊的彩雲、孤伶伶遺落遠方的褐紅色沙洲，
寂靜地橫臥在一片純淨中，
地平線的盡頭、飛翔的海鷗、鹽水沼澤和岸邊泥濘散發的芳香；
這一切的一切都變成小孩的一部份，
他日復一日往前行，
現在也依然往前行，
將來也永遠往前行，
日復一日往前行。 (邱玉玲譯)
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass.
There was a Child went Forth
THERE was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the mare’s foal, and the cow’s calf,
And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there—and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all became part of him.
The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him;
Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden,
And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;
And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,
And the school-mistress that pass’d on her way to the school,
And the friendly boys that pass’d—and the quarrelsome boys,
And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls—and the barefoot negro boy and girl,
And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.
His own parents,
He that had father’d him, and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb, and birth’d him,
They gave this child more of themselves than that;
They gave him afterward every day—they became part of him.
The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;
The mother with mild words—clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;
The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;
The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,
The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture—the yearning and swelling heart,
Affection that will not be gainsay’d—the sense of what is real—the thought if, after all, it should prove unreal,
The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time—the curious whether and how,
Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?
Men and women crowding fast in the streets—if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?
The streets themselves, and the facades of houses, and goods in the windows,
Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves—the huge crossing at the ferries,
The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset—the river between,
Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,
The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide—the little boat slack-tow’d astern,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
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