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黑人女诗人伊丽莎白·亚历山大在奥巴马就职典礼上献诗：《赞歌献给这一天》

 Praise song for the day

Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”

We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp — praise song for walking forward in that light.

 翻译：

每天我们忙自己的事，走过彼此身边，让对方看见或无视自己，想说或正在说话。我们的一切只是噪音。我们的一切只是噪音和钩刺，荆棘和喧嚣，我们谈论每一位祖先。有人在缝褶边，有人在补制服上的洞，有人在补轮胎，修补需要修补的东西。

有人试着用一双木匙打击油鼓，伴着大提琴、轰鸣的音箱、口琴和人声，在某处演奏音乐。

一个女人和儿子在等公汽。

一个农夫思忖着变幻的天空；一个教师说：“拿出铅笔。开始。”

我们彼此在词语中相遇，多刺或光滑的词语，喃喃低语或慷慨陈词；推敲、再推敲的词语。

我们穿过尘土的路和高速公路，它们是某人意志的记号，而别的人说：“我要看看另一边有什么，我知道路的前面有更好的。”
我们需要找一个安全的地方，我们走进未能看见的地方。

明白说吧，许多人为了这一天死去。歌唱死者的名字吧，他们把我们带到此地，他们铺设铁轨，架起桥梁，摘棉花和莴苣，一砖一瓦地建造闪耀的大厦，他们希望保持干净，在里面工作。 

赞美斗争，赞美这一天。赞美每一块手写的牌子，在厨房餐桌上想出来的。

有人活着，“爱人如己”。

有人相信首先不要损人，或仅取所需。

如果最崇高的词是爱，那么爱超越了婚姻、亲子、民族。爱投射出扩大的光圈。爱无怨尤。

在今天的耀眼闪光中，在这个冬天的空气中，一切皆可造就，一切从此开始。

在悬崖的边缘，在酒杯的边缘，在极点——赞美那光明中的前行。