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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 façades 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.
Volt egy gyerek, aki elindult
Volt egy gyerek, aki elindult naponta
S amit először meglátott azzá lett ő maga is,
S az a valami a gyermek része lett azon a napon át vagy a nap egy részén át
Vagy sok éven át vagy évek elnyúló láncolatán át.
És a korai orgona része lett ennek a gyereknek,
És a fű meg a fehér és piros délignyitó meg a fehér és piros lóhere meg a bibic-sírás
És a harmadik hónapi bárány és a koca halványrózsaszín malaca és a kanca csikaja meg a tehén borja
És a baromfilárma a szérűn vagy a pocsolyánál a halastó mellett
És a mélyben a furcsán függve maradt hal meg a furcsán szép vízitükör
És a vízinövények kecses, lapos szirma — minden a része lett.
A negyedik hónapi meg az ötödik hónapi mezei zsengék a részei lettek,
A sarjadó téligabona meg az aranysárga búza meg a kerti gumók, gyökerek
És a virágzó almafák, s a gyümölcs azután és az erdei bogyók meg a legsilányabb útszéliu gaz
És a részeg öreg, aki a kocsma fészere alól tápászkodik fel és tántorog hazafelé,
És a tanítónő iskolábamenet
És a fiúk, a jóbarátok, meg a fiúk, a verekedők,
És a pirospozsgás, takaros lányok és mezítláb a négerfiú, a négerlány
És a város meg a vidék változásai mindenütt, ahova elment.
És a sajár szülei, az, aki nemzette, s az, aki foganta s megszülte őt,
De nem csupán ezt adták megukból ennek a gyereknek,
Minden napot aztán neki adtak, és ők is a részei lettek.
Az anya, ki otthon nyugodtan megterít vacsorára,
Az anya szelíd szava, tiszta kalapja, ruhája, a jóleső illat, mely személyéből s öltözetéből árad elmenőben.
Az apa, az erős, az öntelt, a férfias, fösvény, dühös és igaztalan,
Az ütés, a hirtelen, hangos szó, fukar alkudozás, a csábítás fortélyai,
A családi szokások, a nyelv, a társaság, bútor, a sóvárgó, áradó szív,
Az ellentmondást nem tűrő szeretet, a valóság érzéke s a gondolat, hogy mi lesz, ha végülis kiderül, hogy nem ez a valóság,
A nappal kételye s az éjszaka kételye s a különös hogyan és miképpen,
Hogy az, ami látszik, olyan-e, vagy minden csak folt és villanás.
Utcákon nyüzsgő férfiak, asszonyok — ha nem csupán folt és villanás, mi egyéb?
Maguk az utcák, a házak homlokzata, áruk a kirakatokban,
Kocsik, fogatok, a kikötők súlyos deszkái, az átkelés kompon,
Naplementekor a távoli hegyi falu, közben a folyóval,
Két mérföldnyire az árnyak, a sugár, a pára, a házormokra, tetőkre hulló fény,
Közel a hajó, mely álmosan úszik az árral s dereglyét vontat hosszú kötélen,
A torlódó hullámok gyorsan megtörő, tajtékzó taréja,
Égen a színes felhők rétege, mint hosszan elnyúló tisztaság, melyben mozdulatlan lebeg,
A láthatár széle, a fregatamadár röpte, s illata a sós mocsárnak, a parti iszapnak,
Minden része lett a gyereknek, aki elindult naponta és most és mindvégig naponta elindul.
1855
Vas István fordítása
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[Walt Whitman, Ének magamról, Kriterion Könyvkiadó, 1989]
*****
In May of 1889, author Mark Twain wrote the following beautiful letter of congratulations to Walt Whitman:
Transcript:
Hartford, May 24/89
To Walt Whitman:
You have lived just the seventy years which are greatest in the world's history & richest in benefit & advancement to its peoples. These seventy years have done much more to widen the interval between man & the other animals than was accomplished by any five centuries which preceded them.
What great births you have witnessed! The steam press, the steamship, the steel ship, the railroad, the perfected cotton-gin, the telegraph, the phonograph, the photograph, photo-gravure, the electrotype, the gaslight, the electric light, the sewing machine, & the amazing, infinitely varied & innumerable products of coal tar, those latest & strangest marvels of a marvelous age. And you have seen even greater births than these; for you have seen the application of anesthesia to surgery-practice, whereby the ancient dominion of pain, which began with the first created life, came to an end in this earth forever; you have seen the slave set free, you have seen the monarchy banished from France, & reduced in England to a machine which makes an imposing show of diligence & attention to business, but isn't connected with the works. Yes, you have indeed seen much — but tarry yet a while, for the greatest is yet to come. Wait thirty years, & then look out over the earth! You shall see marvels upon marvels added to these whose nativity you have witnessed; & conspicuous above them you shall see their formidable Result — Man at almost his full stature at last! — & still growing, visibly growing while you look. In that day, who that hath a throne, or a gilded privilege not attainable by his neighbor, let him procure his slippers & get ready to dance, for there is going to be music. Abide, & see these things! Thirty of us who honor & love you, offer the opportunity. We have among us 600 years, good & sound, left in the bank of life. Take 30 of them — the richest birth-day gift ever offered to poet in this world — & sit down & wait. Wait till you see that great figure appear, & catch the far glint of the sun upon his banner; then you may depart satisfied, as knowing you have seen him for whom the earth was made, & that he will proclaim that human wheat is worth more than human tares, & proceed to reorganize human values on that basis.
What great births you have witnessed! The steam press, the steamship, the steel ship, the railroad, the perfected cotton-gin, the telegraph, the phonograph, the photograph, photo-gravure, the electrotype, the gaslight, the electric light, the sewing machine, & the amazing, infinitely varied & innumerable products of coal tar, those latest & strangest marvels of a marvelous age. And you have seen even greater births than these; for you have seen the application of anesthesia to surgery-practice, whereby the ancient dominion of pain, which began with the first created life, came to an end in this earth forever; you have seen the slave set free, you have seen the monarchy banished from France, & reduced in England to a machine which makes an imposing show of diligence & attention to business, but isn't connected with the works. Yes, you have indeed seen much — but tarry yet a while, for the greatest is yet to come. Wait thirty years, & then look out over the earth! You shall see marvels upon marvels added to these whose nativity you have witnessed; & conspicuous above them you shall see their formidable Result — Man at almost his full stature at last! — & still growing, visibly growing while you look. In that day, who that hath a throne, or a gilded privilege not attainable by his neighbor, let him procure his slippers & get ready to dance, for there is going to be music. Abide, & see these things! Thirty of us who honor & love you, offer the opportunity. We have among us 600 years, good & sound, left in the bank of life. Take 30 of them — the richest birth-day gift ever offered to poet in this world — & sit down & wait. Wait till you see that great figure appear, & catch the far glint of the sun upon his banner; then you may depart satisfied, as knowing you have seen him for whom the earth was made, & that he will proclaim that human wheat is worth more than human tares, & proceed to reorganize human values on that basis.Mark Twain
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Source: Beinecke Rare Books & Manuscript Library
via Letters of Note
Thank You!
