“让美国再度成为美国”这首诗表达了兰斯顿•休斯对美国的强烈的期待。休斯认为，无论种族、宗教与信仰，美国应该是人们实现梦想、人人平等与机会均等的国家。而事实上这一切不再存在。不仅没有机遇与博爱，而且充斥了种族主义、贪婪、物质为上，以及歧视条款。他写这首诗，出于自己黑人的境地，更出于对本国受压迫受凌辱者的同情，印第安人、移民，农夫、工人、赤贫者，这些人的梦想与权益被交易、被逼迫、被挤压了。他在诗中说这些人做着最基本的梦“美国可能也应该能做到的”。作为早期美国“拓疆者”，他乐观地预测，并号召大家行动起来，“让美国再度成为美国！” 这正是兰斯顿•休斯受到美国民众所钟爱的原因之一吧。

    作为一名英语教师，闲暇之余动动笔，有力不从心之感，我还是坚持贴出来，抛一块砖砸砸自己吧。译诗毕竟受制于时代、语言、地域、以及本人的文化素养等诸多因素的影响，捉襟见肘之处多矣，欢迎诸位读者、博友、熟悉的或是陌生的，多多批评指正。

让美国再度成为美国   兰斯顿•休斯诗   浓浓的绿意 译

让美国重新成为美国，

让它成为它过去追寻的梦想。

让它成为荒原上早先的拓荒者

寻找一个家园——人民自己感到自由的家园。

(对我来说美国却从未有那个感觉。)

让美国成为梦想者的梦想

让它成为爱的土地，伟大而浓烈

在此，君王图谋不得暴君阴谋难逞

由不得他们专横而个体罹难。

(当然我从未有过美国的那个感觉。)

哦, 让我的土地成为自由的土地

没有顶着虚伪的爱国主义花环

但愿机遇真实存在，生活自由自在,

平等洋溢在我们呼吸的空气之中。

(在这块自由的国土上，

我从未有过平等, 从未有过自由。)

说, 你是谁呀在黑暗中嘟囔?

你是究竟是谁在面对州星拉下面纱?

我是穷苦的白人, 被唬弄被推搡,

我是黑人，带着奴隶制的伤疤。

我是红种人，从自家的土地上被驱赶,

我是移民，寻找着生存的希望

却竟然发现同样混帐的现实

狗咬狗, 以强凌弱。

我是年轻人, 充满精力与希望,

被缠结在古老而永无止境的锚链上,

利润，强暴, 即得利益，和劫掠土地!

疯狂地淘金! 争夺一切可能的途径去满足需求!

占有他人的工作! 获取他人的薪金!

拥有能占有的一切，为了自己贪欲!

我是农夫, 典当了自己的土地。

我是工人，售出了拥有的机器。

我是黑人, 是所有人的仆人。

我是人民, 粗陋, 饥饿, 卑下——

今天怀着梦想依旧挨饿。

今天依旧挨揍——哦, 我的祖先!

我的生活从未有所改观,

一个最低层的劳动者，经年一直被交易的人。

而我仅仅怀着现实的梦

在旧大陆诸王名下的一个农奴,

这个梦的确如此强烈, 如此勇敢, 如此真切,

感人的冒险精神唱响歌谣

从一砖一石，从翻起的每条犁沟

那就是它只所以成为美国的土地。

哦, 我是那些早期开辟航路的人

寻找我梦想的家园。

我是远道来的人，离开黑暗的爱尔兰海岸,

离开波兰的平原, 离开英格兰草地,

在黑非洲的一处被掠，我来了

来建造一个“向往自由的家园”。

自由者吗?

谁说自由者? 不会是我说的?

肯定不是我? 是当今数百万受救济的人?

数百万在罢工时被击毙的人?

数百万双手空空挣不到工资的人?

为了我们作过所有的梦想

我们唱出的所有歌

我们怀有的所有的希望

我们悬挂的所有旗帜

数百万双手空空挣不到工资的人

如今只剩下几乎消亡的梦想。

哦,让美国再度成为美国——

这块从来未曾实现过的土地——

然而必须成为每个人享受自由的土地。

这才是穷苦人的, 印地安人的, 黑人的, 我的土地——

是我们造就了美国,

我们的血汗, 我们信念和艰辛,

我们的手在铸锻, 我们的犁在雨中耕作,

我们必须再次带回我们宏大的梦想。

当然, 你们爱怎么咒骂我——

自由是不受玷污的钢材。

从那些靠吮吸人民的血汗为生的人,

我们必须收回我们的土地,

美国!

哦, 是的,

我再说得明白点,

美国从未是我想象中的美国,

然而我庄严发誓——

美国将一定会是的!

从毁灭的废墟上，从我们的敌手死亡，

被强暴和贪腐，还有偷盗, 还有谎言中，

我们, 人民, 必须救赎

土地, 矿藏, 植被, 河流。

山脉和无际的原野——

辽阔而充满生机的,诸州所有的土地所到之处——

再造真正的美国!

Let America Be America Again by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

 

(America never was America to me.)

 

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above.

 

(It never was America to me.)

 

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe.

 

(There's never been equality for me,

Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

 

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

 

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

 

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!

Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay!

Of owning everything for one's own greed!

 

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.

I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all.

I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--

Hungry yet today despite the dream.

Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,

The poorest worker bartered through the years.

 

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That's made America the land it has become.

O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home--

For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,

And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa's strand I came

To build a "homeland of the free."

 

The free?

 

Who said the free? Not me?

Surely not me? The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we've dreamed

And all the songs we've sung

And all the hopes we've held

And all the flags we've hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay--

Except the dream that's almost dead today.

 

O, let America be America again--

The land that never has been yet--

And yet must be--the land where every man is free.

The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again.

 

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,

We must take back our land again,

America!

 

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath--

America will be!

 

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain--

All, all the stretch of these great green states--

And make America again!

 

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    James Mercer Langston Hughes, (February 1, 1902 – May 22, 1967) was an American poet, novelist, playwright, short story writer, and columnist. He was one of the earliest innovators of the new literary art form jazz poetry. Hughes is best-known for his work during the Harlem Renaissance. He famously wrote about the Harlem Renaissance saying that "Harlem was in vogue."