men, women and ghosts(男人、女人和鬼魂)-第23节
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scorch。 Boom！ The bohemian glass on the ‘etagere' is no longer there。
Boom！ A stalk of flame sways against the red damask curtains。 The old
lady cannot walk。 She watches the creeping stalk and counts。 Boom！
Boom！ Boom！
The poet rushes into the street； and the rain wraps him in a sheet of
silver。 But it is threaded with gold and powdered with scarlet beads。 The
city burns。 Quivering； spearing； thrusting； lapping； streaming； run the
flames。 Over roofs； and walls； and shops； and stalls。 Smearing its gold
on the sky； the fire dances； lances itself through the doors； and lisps and
chuckles along the floors。
The child wakes again and screams at the yellow petalled flower
flickering at the window。 The little red lips of flame creep along the
ceiling beams。
The old man sits among his broken experiments and looks at the
burning Cathedral。 Now the streets are swarming with people。 They seek
shelter and crowd into the cellars。 They shout and call； and over all；
slowly and without force； the rain drops into the city。 Boom！ And the
steeple crashes down among the people。 Boom！ Boom； again！ The
water rushes along the gutters。 The fire roars and mutters。 Boom！
Lead Soldiers
The nursery fire burns brightly； crackling in cheerful little explosions
and trails of sparks up the back of the chimney。 Miniature rockets
peppering the black bricks with golden stars； as though a gala flamed a
night of victorious wars。
The nodding mandarin on the bookcase moves his head forward and
back； slowly； and looks into the air with his blue…green eyes。 He stares
into the air and nods forward and back。 The red rose in his hand is a
crimson splash on his yellow coat。 Forward and back； and his blue…green
eyes stare into the air； and he nods nods。
Tommy's soldiers march to battle； Trumpets flare and snare…
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drums rattle。 Bayonets flash； and sabres glance How the
horses snort and prance！ Cannon drawn up in a line Glitter in
the dizzy shine Of the morning sunlight。 Flags Ripple colours
in great jags。 Red blows out； then blue； then green； Then all
three a weaving sheen Of prismed patriotism。 March
Tommy's soldiers； stiff and starch； Boldly stepping to the rattle
Of the drums； they go to battle。
Tommy lies on his stomach on the floor and directs his columns。 He
puts his infantry in front； and before them ambles a mounted band。 Their
instruments make a strand of gold before the scarlet…tunicked soldiers； and
they take very long steps on their little green platforms； and from the ranks
bursts the song of Tommy's soldiers marching to battle。 The song jolts a
little as the green platforms stick on the thick carpet。 Tommy wheels his
guns round the edge of a box of blocks； and places a squad of cavalry on
the commanding eminence of a footstool。
The fire snaps pleasantly； and the old Chinaman nods nods。 The
fire makes the red rose in his hand glow and twist。 Hist！ That is a bold
song Tommy's soldiers sing as they march along to battle。
Crack！ Rattle！ The sparks fly up the chimney。
Tommy's army's off to war Not a soldier knows what for。
But he knows about his rifle； How to shoot it； and a trifle Of
the proper thing to do When it's he who is shot through。 Like a
cleverly trained flea； He can follow instantly Orders； and some
quick commands Really make severe demands On a mind that's
none too rapid； Leaden brains tend to the vapid。 But how
beautifully dressed Is this army！ How impressed Tommy is
when at his heel All his baggage wagons wheel About the
patterned carpet； and Moving up his heavy guns He sees them
glow with diamond suns Flashing all along each barrel。 And
the gold and blue apparel Of his gunners is a joy。 Tommy is a
lucky boy。 Boom！ Boom！ Ta…ra！
The old mandarin nods under his purple umbrella。 The rose in his
hand shoots its petals up in thin quills of crimson。 Then they collapse
and shrivel like red embers。 The fire sizzles。
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Men； Women and Ghosts
Tommy is galloping his cavalry； two by two； over the floor。 They
must pass the open terror of the door and gain the enemy encamped under
the wash…stand。 The mounted band is very grand； playing allegro and
leading the infantry on at the double quick。 The tassel of the hearth…rug
has flung down the bass…drum； and he and his dapple…grey horse lie
overtripped； slipped out of line； with the little lead drumsticks glistening to
the fire's shine。
The fire burns and crackles； and tickles the tripped bass…drum with its
sparkles。
The marching army hitches its little green platforms valiantly； and
steadily approaches the door。 The overturned bass…drummer； lying on the
hearth…rug； melting in the heat； softens and sheds tears。 The song jeers at
his impotence； and flaunts the glory of the martial and still upstanding；
vaunting the deeds it will do。 For are not Tommy's soldiers all bright and
new？
Tommy's leaden soldiers we； Glittering with efficiency。 Not
a button's out of place； Tons and tons of golden lace Wind
about our officers。 Every manly bosom stirs At the thought of
killing killing！ Tommy's dearest wish fulfilling。 We are
gaudy； savage； strong； And our loins so ripe we long First to
kill； then procreate； Doubling so the laws of Fate。 On their
women we have sworn To graft our sons。 And overborne
They'll rear us younger soldiers； so Shall our race endure and grow；
Waxing greater in the wombs Borrowed of them； while damp tombs
Rot their men。 O Glorious War！ Goad us with your points； Great
Star！
The china mandarin on the bookcase nods slowly； forward and back …
… forward and back and the red rose writhes and wriggles； thrusting its
flaming petals under and over one another like tortured snakes。
The fire strokes them with its dartles； and purrs at them； and the old
man nods。
Tommy does not hear the song。 He only sees the beautiful； new；
gaily…coloured lead soldiers。 They belong to him； and he is very proud
and happy。 He shouts his orders aloud； and gallops his cavalry past the
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door to the wash…stand。 He creeps over the floor on his hands and knees
to one battalion and another； but he sees only the bright colours of his
soldiers and the beautiful precision of their gestures。 He is a lucky boy to
have such fine lead soldiers to enjoy。
Tommy catches his toe in the leg of the wash…stand； and jars the
pitcher。 He snatches at it with his hands； but it is too late。 The pitcher
falls； and as it goes； he sees the white water flow over its lip。 It slips
between his fingers and crashes to the floor。 But it is not water which
oozes to the door。 The stain is glutinous and dark； a spark from the
firelight heads it to red。 In and out； between the fine； new soldiers；
licking over the carpet； squirms the stream of blood； lapping at the little
green platforms； and flapping itself against the painted uniforms。
