Song | Poems of Shape and Motion |
Artist | Linton Kwesi Johnson |
Album | More Time |
作词 : Carter, Johnson | |
I was wondering if I could shape this passion | |
Just as I wanted in solid fire. | |
I was wondering if the strange combustion of my days | |
The tension of the world inside of me | |
And the strength of my heart were enough. | |
I was wondering if I could stand as tall, | |
While the tide of the sea rose and fell. | |
If the sky would recede as I went, | |
Or the earth would emerge as I came | |
To the door of the morning, locked against the sun. | |
I was wondering if I could make myself | |
Nothing but fire, pure and incorruptible. | |
The wound of the wind on my face | |
Would be healed by the work of my life | |
Or the growth of the pain in my sleep | |
Would be stopped in the strife of my days. | |
I am wondering if the agony of years | |
Could be traced to the seed of an hour. | |
If the roots that spread out in the swamp | |
Ran too deep for the issuing flower. | |
I was wondering if I could find myself | |
All that I am in all that I could be. | |
If all the population of stars | |
Would be less than the things I could utter | |
And the challenge of space in my soul | |
Be filled by the shape I become. | |
I walk slowly in the wind, | |
Watching myself in things I did not make; | |
In jumping shadows and in limping cripples | |
Dust on earth and houses tight with sickness | |
Deep constant pain, the dream without sleep. | |
I walk slowly in the wind, | |
Hearing myself in the loneliness of a child | |
In woman's grief, which is not understood | |
In coughing dogs when midnight lingers long | |
On stones, on streets and then on echoing stars, | |
That burn all night and suddenly go out. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
Knowing myself in every moving thing | |
In years and days and words that mean so much | |
Strong hands that shake, long roads that walk | |
And deeds that do themselves. | |
And all this world and all these lives to live. | |
I walk slowly in the wind, | |
Remembering scorn and naked men in darkness | |
And huts of iron rivetted to earth. | |
Cold huts of iron stand upon this earth | |
Like rusting prisons | |
Each is well marked and each wide roof is spread | |
Like some dark wing | |
Casting a shadow or living a curse. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
To lifted sunset red and gold and dim | |
A long brown river slanting to an ocean | |
A fishing boat, a man who cannot drown. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
And birds are swift, the sky is blue like silk. | |
From the big sweeping ocean of water | |
An iron ship rusted and brown achors itself. | |
And the long river runs like a snake | |
Silent and smooth. | |
I walk slowly in the wind. | |
I hear my footsteps echoing down the tide | |
Echoing like a wave on the sand or a wing on the wind | |
Echoing echoing | |
A voice in the soul, a laugh in the funny silence. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
I walk because I cannot crawl or fly. |
zuò cí : Carter, Johnson | |
I was wondering if I could shape this passion | |
Just as I wanted in solid fire. | |
I was wondering if the strange combustion of my days | |
The tension of the world inside of me | |
And the strength of my heart were enough. | |
I was wondering if I could stand as tall, | |
While the tide of the sea rose and fell. | |
If the sky would recede as I went, | |
Or the earth would emerge as I came | |
To the door of the morning, locked against the sun. | |
I was wondering if I could make myself | |
Nothing but fire, pure and incorruptible. | |
The wound of the wind on my face | |
Would be healed by the work of my life | |
Or the growth of the pain in my sleep | |
Would be stopped in the strife of my days. | |
I am wondering if the agony of years | |
Could be traced to the seed of an hour. | |
If the roots that spread out in the swamp | |
Ran too deep for the issuing flower. | |
I was wondering if I could find myself | |
All that I am in all that I could be. | |
If all the population of stars | |
Would be less than the things I could utter | |
And the challenge of space in my soul | |
Be filled by the shape I become. | |
I walk slowly in the wind, | |
Watching myself in things I did not make | |
In jumping shadows and in limping cripples | |
Dust on earth and houses tight with sickness | |
Deep constant pain, the dream without sleep. | |
I walk slowly in the wind, | |
Hearing myself in the loneliness of a child | |
In woman' s grief, which is not understood | |
In coughing dogs when midnight lingers long | |
On stones, on streets and then on echoing stars, | |
That burn all night and suddenly go out. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
Knowing myself in every moving thing | |
In years and days and words that mean so much | |
Strong hands that shake, long roads that walk | |
And deeds that do themselves. | |
And all this world and all these lives to live. | |
I walk slowly in the wind, | |
Remembering scorn and naked men in darkness | |
And huts of iron rivetted to earth. | |
Cold huts of iron stand upon this earth | |
Like rusting prisons | |
Each is well marked and each wide roof is spread | |
Like some dark wing | |
Casting a shadow or living a curse. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
To lifted sunset red and gold and dim | |
A long brown river slanting to an ocean | |
A fishing boat, a man who cannot drown. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
And birds are swift, the sky is blue like silk. | |
From the big sweeping ocean of water | |
An iron ship rusted and brown achors itself. | |
And the long river runs like a snake | |
Silent and smooth. | |
I walk slowly in the wind. | |
I hear my footsteps echoing down the tide | |
Echoing like a wave on the sand or a wing on the wind | |
Echoing echoing | |
A voice in the soul, a laugh in the funny silence. | |
I walk slowly in the wind | |
I walk because I cannot crawl or fly. |