Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you.
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Langston Hughes, "Theme for English B" from The Collected Works of Langston Hughes. Copyright © 2002 by Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates, Inc.
わたしを束ねないで
新川和江 (1929- )
わたしを束ねないで
あらせいとうの花のように
白い葱のように
束ねないでください わたしは稲穂
秋 大地が胸を焦がす
見渡すかぎりの金色の稲穂
わたしを止めないで
標本箱の昆虫のように
高原からきた絵葉書のように
止めないでください わたしは羽ばたき
こやみなく空のひろさをかいさぐっている
目には見えないつばさの音
わたしを注がないで
日常性に薄められた牛乳のように
ぬるい酒のように
注がないでください わたしは海
夜 とほうもなく満ちてくる
苦い潮ふちのない水
わたしを名付けないで
娘という名 妻という名
重々しい母という名でしつらえた座に
坐りきりにさせないでください わたしは風
りんごの木と
泉のありかを知っている風
わたしを区切らないで
,(コンマ)や .(ピリオド)いくつかの段落
そしておしまいに 「さようなら」 があったりする手紙のようには
こまめにけりをつけないでください わたしは終りのない文章
川と同じに
はてしなく流れていく 広がっていく 一行の詩
<秋江曉望>qiūjiāngxiǎowàng
皮日休 Pí Rìxiū
萬頃湖天碧
wànqǐng hú tiān bì
一星飛鷺白
yīxīng fēi lù bái
此時放懷望
cǐshí fàng huái wàng
不厭爲浮客
bùyàn wèifú kè
프랙탈
지구 반대편에도 사람이 산다
그들의 숨소리가 들리지 않는다
목소리를 녹음해 들으면 낯설다
그런 뜻이 아니었는데
뒷모습을 볼 때는 그런 뜻이 된다
살을 베이면 피가 나온다
핏줄이 잘린 게 아닌데도
하루가 끝난다 언젠가 죽는다
아주 먼 곳에서
아주 멀리 돌아온 것 같은데
높은 곳에서는 줄지어 선 가로등이 하나의 불빛으로 보인다
하늘에는 보이지 않는 별이 많다
어둠 속에서는 괜히 내 몸을 더듬게 된다
숨소리를 들을 수 있다
이종민(2015년 문학사상 등단)
*위 시는 시전문지 계간 예술가 2020봄호에 실린 시입니다.
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