Le 4 juillet est une journée riche en histoire et en célébrations vibrantes, marquant l’adoption de la Déclaration d’indépendance et la naissance des États-Unis. C’est un temps pour les feux d’artifice, les défilés et les rassemblements, mais aussi un moment de réflexion sur le parcours complexe de la liberté et de la construction nationale. La poésie, avec son pouvoir de saisir les émotions profondes, les moments historiques et les identités en évolution, offre une perspective unique pour aborder cette date significative. Des vers fondateurs qui font écho à l’esprit révolutionnaire aux poèmes plus tardifs qui questionnent, critiquent et célèbrent l’expérience américaine multiforme, explorer les poèmes du 4 juillet nous permet de nous connecter aux voix diverses qui ont façonné le récit national. Cette collection rassemble une sélection de ces poèmes, offrant un contexte pour leur création et des éclaircissements sur la manière dont les poètes ont interprété le sens de la liberté et de l’Amérique à travers l’histoire.
L’un des poèmes les plus anciens et les plus emblématiques associés à la Révolution américaine, bien qu’écrit bien plus tard, est « Concord Hymn » de Ralph Waldo Emerson. Lu lors de l’achèvement du monument commémoratif de la bataille de Concord en 1837, il commémore la bataille de Concord où le « coup de feu entendu dans le monde entier » a été tiré, signalant le début de la Guerre d’Indépendance. Le poème n’immortalise pas seulement les soldats, mais évoque également l’esprit durable de liberté qu’ils incarnaient. poèmes sur le baseball
Concord HymnBy Ralph Waldo Emerson
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.
The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.
On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.
Un autre texte fondamental, à l’origine un poème qui est devenu l’hymne national, est « The Star-Spangled Banner » de Francis Scott Key. Écrit en 1814 pendant la Guerre de 1812 après que Key a été témoin du bombardement de Fort McHenry, le poème capture l’anxiété et le soulagement éventuel en voyant le drapeau américain flotter toujours à l’aube. Il incarne un patriotisme défiant et la résilience d’une jeune nation.
The Star-Spangled BannerBy Francis Scott Key
O say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming; And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; ‘Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave, From the terror of flight and the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation! Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n-rescued land, Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just. And this be our motto— “In God is our trust; ” And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
Le thème de l’Amérique comme havre de paix pour les immigrants est puissamment capturé dans le sonnet d’Emma Lazarus, « The New Colossus », inscrit sur une plaque à l’intérieur du piédestal de la Statue de la Liberté. Écrit en 1883 pour une vente aux enchères visant à collecter des fonds pour la construction du piédestal, il réimagine le « Colosse de Rhodes » classique comme une figure accueillante contrastant avec la puissance militaire de l’ancien monde, symbolisant l’espoir et le refuge pour ceux qui fuient l’oppression.
The New ColossusBy Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Collage d'images patriotiques célébrant le Jour de l'Indépendance, le 4 juillet.
Au XXe siècle, les poètes ont commencé à explorer les complexités et les contradictions de l’identité américaine, soulignant souvent l’écart entre les idéaux de la nation et ses réalités. Claude McKay, figure clé de la Renaissance de Harlem, a offert une perspective cinglante mais complexe dans son sonnet de 1921 « America ». Le poème reconnaît l’amertume et les défis rencontrés dans le pays (« feeds me bread of bitterness ») mais exprime également une étrange admiration pour sa force et son énergie, se terminant par une image poignante de son pouvoir transitoire.
AmericaBy Claude McKay
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I will confess I love this cultured hell that tests my youth. Her vigor flows like tides into my blood, Giving me strength erect against her hate, Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood. Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state, I stand within her walls with not a shred Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer. Darkly I gaze into the days ahead, And see her might and granite wonders there, Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand, Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.
Langston Hughes, une autre voix essentielle de la Renaissance de Harlem, a directement confronté le rêve américain différé dans son puissant poème « Let America Be America Again », publié pour la première fois en 1936. À travers des voix alternées, il contraste la vision aspirationnelle de l’Amérique comme une terre de liberté et d’opportunités avec les dures réalités affrontées par les groupes marginalisés – les Blancs pauvres, les Noirs, les Amérindiens, les immigrants, les travailleurs. C’est un plaidoyer pour que l’Amérique soit à la hauteur de ses promesses fondatrices pour tous ses habitants.
Let America Be America Again – an excerptBy 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.
Collage de visages divers et symboles patriotiques pour les célébrations du Jour de l'Indépendance.
Les poètes ont également capturé la tapisserie diversifiée de la vie américaine, y compris les voix et les expériences des immigrants. « Learning to love America » de Shirley Geok-Lin Lim explore le processus complexe d’appartenance et d’identification pour une mère immigrante et son fils né en Amérique. Le poème énumère des raisons, à la fois personnelles et sensorielles, de cet amour appris, reconnaissant la lutte du fils avec son identité et le lien profond, presque génétique, avec un nouveau pays.
Learning to love AmericaBy Shirley Geok-Lin Lim
because it has no pure products
because the Pacific Ocean sweeps along the coastline because the water of the ocean is cold and because land is better than ocean
because I say we rather than they
because I live in California I have eaten fresh artichokes and jacaranda bloom in April and May
because my senses have caught up with my body my breath with the air it swallows my hunger with my mouth
because I walk barefoot in my house
because I have nursed my son at my breast because he is a strong American boy because I have seen his eyes redden when he is asked who he is because he answers I don’t know
because to have a son is to have a country because my son will bury me here because countries are in our blood and we bleed them
because it is late and too late to change my mind because it is time.
« Liberty Bell » de J. P. Dunn fait directement référence à un autre symbole puissant de l’indépendance américaine. Le poème relie le son historique de la Cloche de la Liberté, qui aurait sonné lors de l’adoption de la Déclaration d’indépendance, à un appel continu à la paix et à la bonne volonté qui résonne à travers l’histoire américaine et le monde entier où la liberté est chérie. Il relie des événements historiques comme Bunker Hill et Argonne au message durable de la liberté.
Liberty BellBy J. P. Dunn
Ring on, ring on sweet Liberty Bell For peace on earth, good will to men. A story true, ye kindly tell, From Bunker Hill down to Argonne.
Ring on, ring on sweet Liberty Bell In every clime where freedom dwells Your sweetest strains and imparting knells On New Year’s eve was heard again.
Ring on, ring on sweet Liberty Bell Peal after peal, your music swell Beneath the blue the white and red That waves so proudly today o’er the living And so sacredly o’er the dead. The Plains Poems in Kansas
Le spectacle visuel des feux d’artifice fait partie intégrante des poèmes du 4 juillet et des célébrations. « July 4th » de May Swenson capture la beauté éphémère et explosive des feux d’artifice, utilisant des images vives et des détails sensoriels pour décrire leur ascension, leur éclatement et leur descente. Le poème relie ces manifestations transitoires à des processus naturels et même à des événements cosmiques, soulignant l’émerveillement et la nature éphémère de la célébration.
July 4thBy May Swenson
Gradual bud and bloom and seedfall speeded up are these mute explosions in slow motion. From vertical shoots above the sea, the fire flowers open, shedding their petals. Black waves, turned more than moonwhite, pink ice, lightning blue, echo our gasps of admiration as they crash and hush. Another bush ablaze snicks straight up. A gap like heartstop between the last vanished particle and the thuggish boom. And the thuggish boom repeats in stutters from sandhill hollows in the shore. We want more. A twirling sun, or dismembered chrysanthemum bulleted up, leisurely bursts, in an instant timestreak is suckswooped back to its core. And we want more: red giant, white dwarf, black hole dense, invisible, all in one.
« Fourth of July » de John Brehm offre une perspective beaucoup plus sombre et critique sur le symbolisme de cette journée. Le poème utilise l’imagerie des feux d’artifice et de la célébration (« bursting orgasmically ») pour explorer la violence inhérente au récit américain et son histoire de conflits. Il établit un lien frappant entre les fusées festives et la puissance militaire, identifiant finalement l’Amérique à la réalité crue et douloureuse de la guerre et à son coût humain. Ce poème remet en question les notions simplistes du patriotisme souvent associées à cette fête.
Fourth of JulyBy John Brehm
Freedom is a rocket, isn’t it, bursting orgasmically over parkloads of hot dog devouring human beings or into the cities of our enemies without whom we would surely kill ourselves though they are ourselves and America I see now is the soldier who said I saw something burning on my chest and tried to brush it off with my right hand but my arm wasn’t there— America is no other than this moment, the burning ribcage, the hand gone that might have put it out, the skies afire with our history.
Collage d'Abraham Lincoln et symboles du 4 juillet, reflétant les thèmes historiques.
L’expérience de ceux qui se trouvent dans le système carcéral américain est explorée dans « Immigrants in Our Own Land » de Jimmy Santiago Baca. Bien qu’il ne s’agisse pas exclusivement d’un poème pour le 4 juillet, il aborde le thème de la liberté et de son absence pour beaucoup. Le titre lui-même est une déclaration puissante, comparant les détenus à des immigrants dans leur propre pays, arrivant avec des rêves pour ne rencontrer que de dures réalités et des opportunités perdues. Le poème détaille le processus déshumanisant, les espoirs de réhabilitation brisés, et la lutte durable pour la dignité et la liberté derrière les murs de la prison, offrant un contrepoint sombre au récit plus large de la liberté américaine.
Immigrants in Our Own LandBy Jimmy Santiago Baca
We are born with dreams in our hearts, looking for better days ahead. At the gates we are given new papers, our old clothes are taken and we are given overalls like mechanics wear. We are given shots and doctors ask questions. Then we gather in another room where counselors orient us to the new land we will now live in. We take tests. Some of us were craftsmen in the old world, good with our hands and proud of our work. Others were good with their heads. They used common sense like scholars use glasses and books to reach the world. But most of us didn’t finish high school.
The old men who have lived here stare at us, from deep disturbed eyes, sulking, retreated. We pass them as they stand around idle, leaning on shovels and rakes or against walls. Our expectations are high: in the old world, they talked about rehabilitation, about being able to finish school, and learning an extra good trade. But right away we are sent to work as dishwashers, to work in fields for three cents an hour. The administration says this is temporary So we go about our business, blacks with blacks, poor whites with poor whites, chicanos and indians by themselves. The administration says this is right, no mixing of cultures, let them stay apart, like in the old neighborhoods we came from.
We came here to get away from false promises, from dictators in our neighborhoods, who wore blue suits and broke our doors down when they wanted, arrested us when they felt like, swinging clubs and shooting guns as they pleased. But it’s no different here. It’s all concentrated. The doctors don’t care, our bodies decay, our minds deteriorate, we learn nothing of value. Our lives don’t get better, we go down quick.
My cell is crisscrossed with laundry lines, my T-shirts, boxer shorts, socks and pants are drying. Just like it used to be in my neighborhood: from all the tenements laundry hung window to window. Across the way Joey is sticking his hands through the bars to hand Felipé a cigarette, men are hollering back and forth cell to cell, saying their sinks don’t work, or somebody downstairs hollers angrily about a toilet overflowing, or that the heaters don’t work.
I ask Coyote next door to shoot me over a little more soap to finish my laundry. I look down and see new immigrants coming in, mattresses rolled up and on their shoulders, new haircuts and brogan boots, looking around, each with a dream in their heart, thinking they’ll get a chance to change their lives.
But in the end, some will just sit around talking about how good the old world was. Some of the younger ones will become gangsters. Some will die and others will go on living without a soul, a future, or a reason to live. Some will make it out of here with hate in their eyes, but so very few make it out of here as human as they came in, they leave wondering what good they are now as they look at their hands so long away from their tools, as they look at themselves, so long gone from their families, so long gone from life itself, so many things have changed.
qu’est-ce qu’un mètre en poésie
« I Hear America Singing » de Walt Whitman présente une vision plus optimiste et expansive de l’identité américaine, se concentrant sur l’esprit collectif trouvé dans le travail et les chants des gens ordinaires. Écrit en vers libres, caractéristique du style de Whitman, le poème énumère divers travailleurs – mécaniciens, charpentiers, maçons, bateliers, cordonniers, mères, filles – chacun apportant son chant unique au grand chœur de l’Amérique. C’est une célébration de l’individualisme démocratique et de la dignité du travail, un tableau vibrant de la populace énergique de la nation.
I Hear America SingingBy Walt Whitman
I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam, The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work, The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck, The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands, The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown, The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing, Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly, Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.
« America The Beautiful » de Katharine Lee Bates, à l’origine un poème écrit en 1895, est devenu un hymne patriotique largement chéri. Inspirée par ses voyages à travers le paysage américain diversifié, les vers de Bates célèbrent la beauté naturelle de la nation, des « spacious skies » aux « amber waves of grain » et « purple mountain majesties ». Le poème réfléchit également sur l’histoire du pays, ses héros et les idéaux de liberté et de fraternité, offrant une vision de l’Amérique bénie par la grâce divine et s’efforçant d’atteindre la bonté morale.
America The Beautiful – A Poem for July 4.By Katharine Lee Bates
O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet, Whose stern, impassioned stress A thoroughfare for freedom beat Across the wilderness! America! America! God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law!
O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife, Who more than self their country loved And mercy more than life! America! America! May God thy gold refine, Till all success be nobleness, And every gain divine!
O beautiful for patriot dream That sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam Undimmed by human tears! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea!
Parfois, les poèmes du 4 juillet capturent l’expérience plus simple et immédiate de la fête elle-même. « The Fourth of July Parade » de Fran Haraway fait exactement cela, utilisant une structure concise, presque comme une liste, pour évoquer les vues, les sons et les sensations d’un défilé typique. C’est un poème de détails sensoriels, capturant les éléments familiers allant des fanfares et des chars au chaleur et à la « Célébration! » collective.
The Fourth of July ParadeBy Fran Haraway
Stripes and stars, Antique cars, Pretty girls, Baton twirls, Spangled gowns, Friendly clowns, Smiling folks, Papered spokes, Marching feet, Endless heat, Clapping hands, High school bands, Town traditions, Politicians, Perspiration, Celebration!
Collage de citations liées au Jour de l'Indépendance et aux rêves, avec des images patriotiques.
Swami Vivekananda, le célèbre philosophe et leader spirituel indien, a écrit un poème unique intitulé « To The Fourth of July ». Écrit en 1898, il réfléchit sur le sens de la liberté et le cheminement vers celle-ci, utilisant le Jour de l’Indépendance américain comme symbole de libération. Il personnifie la journée comme un « Seigneur de la Lumière », célébrant la lutte et le sacrifice qui ont conduit à la diffusion de la « Liberté » sur l’humanité, et envisage cette lumière se propageant mondialement, brisant les chaînes partout. Ce poème offre une perspective extérieure célébrant les aspirations universelles incarnées par cette date.
To The Fourth of JulyBy Swami Vivekananda
Behold, the dark clouds melt away, That gathered thick at night, and hung So like a gloomy pall above the earth! Before thy magic touch, the world Awakes. The birds in chorus sing.
The flowers raise their star-like crowns— Dew-set, and wave thee welcome fair. The lakes are opening wide in love Their hundred thousand lotus-eyes To welcome thee, with all their depth.
All hail to thee, thou Lord of Light! A welcome new to thee, today, O Sun! Today thou sheddest Liberty! Bethink thee how the world did wait, And search for thee, through time and clime.
Some gave up home and love of friends, And went in quest of thee, self-banished, Through dreary oceans, through primeval forests, Each step a struggle for their life or death; Then came the day when work bore fruit, And worship, love, and sacrifice, Fulfilled, accepted, and complete.
Then thou, propitious, rose to shed The light of Freedom on mankind. Move on, O Lord, in thy resistless path! Till thy high noon o’erspreads the world. Till every land reflects thy light, Till men and women, with uplifted head, Behold their shackles broken, and Know, in springing joy, their life renewed!
« America » d’Allen Ginsberg, publié pour la première fois dans son recueil séminal Howl and Other Poems (1956), est un flux de conscience tentaculaire et libre qui s’adresse directement à la nation elle-même. C’est un poème de protestation, plein de questions, de frustration et de critique contre-culturelle, utilisant souvent un ton conversationnel et confessionnel. Bien qu’il aborde des questions politiques et sociales, il contient également des moments de réflexion personnelle et d’absurdité, incluant la célèbre phrase « It occurs to me that I am America. I am talking to myself again. » Cet extrait capture l’esprit interrogateur et rebelle dirigé contre l’identité nationale.
America – an ExcerptBy Allen Ginsberg
America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing. America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956. I can’t stand my own mind. America when will we end the human war? Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb. I don’t feel good don’t bother me. I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind. America when will you be angelic? When will you take off your clothes? When will you look at yourself through the grave? When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites? America why are your libraries full of tears? America when will you send your eggs to India? I’m sick of your insane demands. When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks? America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world. Your machinery is too much for me. You made me want to be a saint. There must be some other way to settle this argument. Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister. Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke? I’m trying to come to the point. I refuse to give up my obsession. America stop pushing I know what I’m doing. America the plum blossoms are falling. I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder. America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies. America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I’m not sorry. I smoke marijuana every chance I get. I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet. When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid. My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble. You should have seen me reading Marx. My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right. I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer. I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations. America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia. I’m addressing you. Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine? I’m obsessed by Time Magazine. I read it every week. Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore. I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library. It’s always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody’s serious but me. It occurs to me that I am America. I am talking to myself again.
Le poème narratif de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, « Paul Revere’s Ride », raconte la célèbre chevauchée de minuit du 18 avril 1775, précédant les batailles de Lexington et Concord. Bien qu’il ne traite pas strictement du 4 juillet, c’est une histoire fondamentale de la résistance et du patriotisme américains, décrivant les actions qui ont averti les milices coloniales de l’approche des forces britanniques, une étape cruciale vers l’indépendance. Le poème de Longfellow, publié en 1861 au début de la Guerre de Sécession, a servi de rappel de l’esprit révolutionnaire et du besoin d’unité.
Paul Revere’s Ride – an excerptBy Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, “If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,— One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”
Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war: A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon, like a prison-bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry-chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,— By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing overall.
Collage de personnes diverses et drapeaux américains, symbolisant les idéaux inclusifs du Jour de l'Indépendance.
Des poètes comme Carl Sandburg ont tissé des éléments du 4 juillet dans des réflexions plus larges sur la vie américaine et ses expériences sensorielles. Dans son « Good Night Poem », Sandburg utilise diverses images pour exprimer le simple fait de dire bonne nuit, y compris les « Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July ». Cette image offre un bref instantané vif de la fête, ancrant le concept abstrait de dire bonne nuit dans une scène américaine spécifique et mémorable.
Good Night PoemBy Carl Sandburg
Many ways to say good night.
Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes. They fizz in the air, touch the water, and quit. Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue and then go out.
Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack mushrooming a white pillar.
Steamboats turn a curve in the Mississippi crying a baritone that crosses lowland cottonfields to razorback hill.
It is easy to spell good night. Many ways to spell good night.
La liste des poèmes du 4 juillet pourrait se poursuivre, explorant des voix et des perspectives diverses sur la liberté, la nation et l’identité. Des récits historiques et hymnes patriotiques aux réflexions critiques et expériences personnelles, ces poèmes nous rappellent que le sens du 4 juillet n’est pas statique. C’est un concept qui a été continuellement débattu, remis en question et redéfini à travers le prisme de l’art.
Explorer ces vers offre plus qu’un simple exercice historique ou littéraire ; c’est une invitation à se connecter émotionnellement à l’esprit de cette journée et à considérer le travail continu de construction d’une union plus parfaite. Alors que nous célébrons le Jour de l’Indépendance, prendre le temps de lire et de méditer sur ces voix poétiques peut approfondir notre compréhension des libertés que nous chérissons et des responsabilités qu’elles impliquent.