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2009年6月 UlyssesNow i am back at the yellow place by the sand reach.
A hand reached up out of the grounds before me and lifted the lips of my eyes.
I have become an old man with small brittle bones.
The chill of many dawns is in the hair of my head.
The sandy place where i have taken a fancy to write words with a dull stick is cut and crossed with yellow streaks.
There has been a flood.
The waters have been my friend--they have run over the sand, wiping my words away.
The words have escaped into the grass.
I shall never find the lost words.
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
ST. FRANCIS EINSTEIN OF THE DAFFODILS.
In March's black boat
Einstein and April
have come at the time in fashion
up out of the sea
through the rippling daffodils
in the foreyard of the dead Statue of Liberty
whose stonearms
are powerless against them
the Venusremembering wavelets
breaking onto laughter--
Sweet Land of Libery,
at last, in the end of time,
Einstein has come by force of complicated mathematics
among the tormented fruit trees
to buy freedom for the daffodlis
till the unchained orchards shake their tufted flowers--
Yiddishe springtime!
At the time in fashion
Einstein has come bring April i n his head
up from the sea
in Tomas March Jefferson's
black boat bringing freedom under the dead
Statue of Liberty to free the daffodils in the water which sing:
Einstein has remembered us
Savior of the daffodils!
A twig for all the dead!
shout the dark maples
in the tearing wind, shaking pom-poms of green flowers--
April Einstein has come to liberate us here among the Venusremembering daffodils
Yiddishe springtime of the mind
and a great pool of rainwater under the blossomy peachtrees
April Einstein
through the blossomy waters rebellious,laughing
under liberty's dead arm has come among the daffodils
shouting
that flowers and men were created relatively equal.
Old fashioned knowledge is dead under the blossoming peachtrees
Einstein, tall as violet in the latticearbor corner
is tall as a blossomy peartree!
The shell of the world is split and from under the sea
Einstein has emerged triumphant, St. Francis of the daffodils!
O Samos, Samos
dead and buried.Lesbia is a black cat in the freshturned garden.All dead.
All flesh that they have sung is long since rotten.
Sing of it no longer
Sing of Einstein's Yiddishe peachtrees
Sing of sleep among the cherry blossoms
Sing of wise newspapers
that quote the great mathematician:
A little touch of
Einstein in the night--
Side by sides the young and old
trees take the sun togehter,the maples,green and red according to their kind
yellowbells and the vermillion quinceflower together--
The tall peartree with foetid blossoms
sways its high topbrances with contrary motions and green
has come out of the wood
upon them also---
The mathematics grow complex:
there are both pinkflowered and coralfowered peachtrees
in the bare chickenyard of the old negro with white hair who hides
poinsoned fish-heads here and there
where stray cats find them--
find them--find them
O spring days,swift and mutable, wind blowing four ways,
hot and cold
Now the northeast wind,moving in fogs,leaves the grass cold and dripping
The night is darkbut in the night the southeast wind approaches
It is April and Einstein!
The owner of the orchard lies in his bed
with the windows wide
and throws off his covers
one by one
It is Einstein
out of complicated mathematics
among the daffodils--
spring winds blowing
four ways,hot and cold,
shaking the flowers!
The love that dares not speak its name
Futurist Speech to the English(1910) ...we love the indomitable and bellicose patriotism that sets you apart;we love the national pride that prompts your great muscularly courageous race;we love the generous and intelligent individualism that enables you to open your arms to individualists of every land, whether libertarian or anarchist. But your board of libery is not all we admire. What most sets you apart is that, amid so much pacifist nonsense and evangelical cowardice, you cherish an unbridled passion for struggle in all its forms, from boxing-simple, brutal, and rapid- to the monstrous roaring necks of the cannon on the decks of your dreadnoughts, crouched intheir swivelling caves of steel, turning to scent the appetizing enemy suadrons in the distance... To a degree you are the victims of your traditionalism and its medieval trappings, in which there persists a whiff of archives and rattling of chains that hinder your precise and carefree forward march. You will admit the oddness of this in a people of explorers and colonizer whose enormous ocean liner have obviously shrunk the world. |
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