Saturday, January 14, 2006

busy

I've been busy these days - don't have much time to post here!
Next poem coming end of this month.

Friday, December 30, 2005

Next update

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY! All the best in 2006! :D

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Pick a Poem

Which of these poems would you like me to translate next?
這些詩裡, 你想我下次翻譯哪一首?

To contact me, click here.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Jet - Tony Hoagland


Sometimes I wish I were still out
on the back porch, drinking jet fuel
with the boys, getting louder and louder
as the empty cans drop out of our paws
like booster rockets falling back to Earth

and we soar up into the summer stars.
Summer. The big sky river rushes overhead,
bearing asteroids and mist, blind fish
and old space suits with skeletons inside.
On Earth, men celebrate their hairiness,

and it is good, a way of letting life
out of the box, uncapping the bottle
to let the effervescence gush
through the narrow, usually constricted neck.

And now the crickets plug in their appliances
in unison, and then the fireflies flash
dots and dashes in the grass, like punctuation
for the labyrinthine, untrue tales of sex
someone is telling in the dark, though

no one really hears. We gaze into the night
as if remembering the bright unbroken planet
we once came from,
to which we will never
be permitted to return.
We are amazed how hurt we are.
We would give anything for what we have.

宇宙飛船 - 托尼•侯格兰

有時我希望我還坐在涼臺上,
和哥兒們一起喝飛船燃料
我們的聲音越來越大。
手裏的空罐子掉到地下,
向飛船助推火箭落向地球。


我們飛向夏天的星星
夏天。天上的銀河洶湧澎湃
帶着小行星和薄霧,瞎眼的魚
和帶着火骨骼的宇航員服裝。
在地球上,男人慶祝他們的hairiness,

。。。。。
把瓶蓋打開,讓泡沫
從狹窄壓細密的瓶口湧出來。

現在蟋蟀都同時把他們的家電
插進電源,螢火蟲在草叢裏
閃爍着信號,好像一個人在黑暗裏
講述曲折故事的符號。

沒有人真的在聽。
我們眺望凝視黑暗,
好像在回憶那我們曾經擁有的燦爛完美的星球,
那個我們永遠不能回去的地方。
我們覺得不可思議我們多麽心痛。
爲了我們擁有的,我們願意付出一切。

Monday, November 07, 2005

In the Beginning - David Whyte


Sometimes simplicity rises
like a blossom of fire
from
the white silk of your own skin.
You were there in the beginning
you heard
the story, you heard the merciless
and tender words telling you where you had
to go.
Exile is never easy and the journey
itself leaves a bitter taste.
But then,
when you heard that voice, you had to go.
You couldn't sit by
the fire, you couldn't live
so close to the live flame of that
compassion
you had to go out in the world and make it your own
so you
could come back with
that flame in your voice, saying listen...
this
warmth, this unbearable light, this fearful love...
It is all here, it is all
here.

從一開始 - 白大威

有的時候
極爲簡單
像一朵火焰
從你的白絲皮膚升起

從一開始你就聽見了那個故事
你就聽到那些語言,殘冷又溫柔,
告訴你必去的地方

過流放的生活是不容易的
路途留下的味道是苦澀的
但你聽見那些話語
你依然得走了

你沒幫法坐在火爐邊
你沒辦法離跳躍慈善的火焰
靠的那麽近活著

你必須走遍五湖四海
擁有整個世界
這樣你才可以回來
火焰融入你的聲音

說聼。。。
這個溫暖
這個受不了的光輝
這個可怕的愛
一切都在這裡
一切都在這裡

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

And if I Awaken in Los Angeles - Joy Harjo

I will find a crazy boy teetering there
on the sidewalk against morning traffic,
too far gone to even ask for a quarter.
I will hear his mother call for him,
her spirit confused by the taste
of sadness,
and though she searches for him
everywhere,
she will never find him here.

And if I awaken in Los Angeles
I will hear the lost beloved one
sing Billie Holiday in my ear--
she lives in a parallel universe,
is kind to rats and does
no harm to anyone.

And if I awaken in Los Angeles I will know
that I am not the only dreamer.
I will appear in the vision of a dove
who perches on the balcony
of the apartment.
In his translation I am the human with a store
of birdseed. He is the sun.
I am a fruitful planet.

And if I awaken in Los Angeles
I will not have to get up and say my prayers
to the east, and look out over the city of millions,
past the heads of palm trees, through foggy breezes--
because I will be a prayer as I perform the rituals
of being a human.
There will
be no difference
between
near and far.

This morning I have too much to do to awaken.
I say my prayers, feed the birds,
then head to the refrigerator and forget.

如果我在洛杉磯醒來 - 析哈喬

如果我在洛杉磯醒來
我會看見一個瘋狂的男孩兒
站在人行道邊搖晃,面對早上的車輛
太high,連乞討一毛錢都沒辦法
我會聽見他的媽媽叫他
她的靈魂被憂傷的味道昏迷了
雖然她到處找他
她在這兒是永遠不會找到的

如果我在洛杉磯醒來
我會聽見我的失蹤的親愛的那個
在我耳裏唱比莉好乐黛(的歌) –
她住在鏡像的宇宙裏
對老鼠很慈善
誰也不傷害

如果我在洛杉磯醒來,我會知道
我不是唯一的尋夢者
我會在一隻
站在我公寓陽臺上
的鴿子遐想裏出現
在它的翻譯裏我是一個有滿倉鳥食的
人。它是太陽。
我是個碩果累累的行星

如果我在洛杉磯醒來
我不會要起床後往東方祈禱*
望著一個混濁
幾千萬人口的城市
****
因為我做一個人的日常****
就是在祈禱

和近
不會有分別

今天早上我有太多的事要做
不能醒來。
我祈禱,胃鳥,
往冰箱走。
忘記了。



*這是北美的印第安人的一個傳統

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Love After Love - Derek Walcott


The day will come
when with elation you will greet yourself
arriving at your own door
in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
saying, 'Sit here. Eat. You will love again
the stranger who was yourself.'

Give wine, give bread
give back your heart to itself
to the stranger who has loved you
all your life
whom you ignored for another
who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf
the photographs
the desperate notes
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life

愛之後的愛 - 德里克-沃爾科特

會有一天
你會歡天喜地歡迎你自己
來到你的門前
出現在你自己的鏡子裏
你們會爲了彼此的歡迎,微笑
說,“坐下。請吃。你還會愛
那個是你自己的陌生人”

紅酒,麵包
心都捧給自己
給那個一生愛你的
陌生人
那个你为了另一个人而忽略的
那個深深地理解你的人。

把情書
把照片
把絕望的信從書架拿下
把自己的影子從鏡子取下
坐下。品嘗你的人生。

Monday, October 10, 2005

untitled - liquified visions ~2005


summer
clouds melt
away with dew
running from the
rising sun. fear

not
for you
and i will
make it through.
take hold and promise

to
never
let go.
in the end
it is just you and
I that will walk
from this side to

the
next.
just take
my hand and
I will guide you
all the way home

無題

露水從升起
的太陽
流下,把夏天的
雲朵融化
別怕

因爲你和我
將會一起
度過。
握住

我的手,
答應我
你永不會
放掉。最後

只有你
和我一起會
走到另一邊。
握住

我的手。我會
指引

回家

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Fields of Soria - Antonio Machado


Hills of silver plate,
grey heights, dark red rocks
through which the Duero bends
its crossbow arc
round Soria, shadowed oaks,
stone dry-lands, naked mountains,
white roads and river poplars,
twilights of Soria, warlike and mystical,
today I feel, for you,
in my hearts depths, sadness,
sadness of love! Fields of Soria,
where it seems the stones have dreams,
you go with me! Hills of silver plate,
grey heights, dark red rocks.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

My Indigo - Li-Young Lee



It's late. I've come
to find the flower which blossoms
like a saint dying upside down.
The rose won't do, nor the iris.
I've come to find the moody one, the shy one,
downcast, grave, and isolated.
Now, blackness gathers in the grass,
and I am on my hands and knees.
What is its name?

Little sister, my indigo,
my secret, vaginal and sweet,
you unfurl yourself shamelessly
toward the ground. You burn. You live
a while in two worlds
at once.

wild indigo bush

我的青黛 - 李立楊

太遲了。我來
找那朵開的花
向顛倒著死的聖人
玫瑰不行,鳶尾花也不行
我想找(那朵)感性的,怕羞的,
憔悴,嚴肅,孤清的
現在,草叢內只剩下黑色一片
我跪下了
它的名字叫什麽呢?

小妹,我的青黛
我的秘密,陰沉而甜蜜,
你不怕羞的
向地展開。你燃燒。你同時在
兩個世界
活了一會兒。

Young in New Orleans - Charles Bukowski



starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, mabye it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the
world.
New Orleans was a place to
hide.
I could piss away my life,
unmolested.
except for the rats.
the rats in my small dark room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking
death.
women were beyond me.
they saw something
depraved.
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my
coffee.
that was plenty for
me, that was
enough.
there was something about
that city, though:
it didn't let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed.
it let me alone.
sitting up in my bed
the lights out,
hearing the outside
sounds,
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
enter
]me
as I heard the rats
moving about the
room,
I preferred them
to
humans.
being lost,
being crazy mabye
is not so bad
if you can be
that way:
undisturbed.
New Orleans gave me
that.
nobody ever called
my name.
no telephone,
no car,
no job,
no anything.
me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
know.

年輕人在紐奧蘭 - 布考斯基

快餓死了,又整天坐在酒吧裏
晚上一個連一個小時在街上走
月光在我的眼裏
好似假的, 可能真的是,
在(法國區)我看
馬和車廂經過,
所有人坐在高高的open carriages,
黑人司機,
坐在後面是一對男女,
大部分是年輕,
總是白人。
我也總是白的。
對我來説世界沒有魅力了
紐奧蘭是一個用來躲藏得地方
我可以讓我的生活(漸漸消失),
沒人管/理我
除了老鼠
老鼠在我細小黑暗房間裏
很討厭和我
分享。
他們很大個,什麽都不怕
用眼睛不眨地看著我
(不能逃避的死亡。)
女人是我
women were beyond me.
they saw something depraved
有一個侍者,
比我大一點,
她端咖啡給我的時候
逗留一下子,
微笑了。(cafe)
那已經足夠了。
這個城市有些
特別之処(?)
他沒有使我感到罪疚
我對別人需要的東西
都沒有感覺
他讓我自由自在
坐在床上
燈滅了
聼著外面的聲音,
擡起我便宜的
一瓶紅酒,
讓葡萄的
溫暖
滲透
我的全身
我聼到老鼠
在房間裏
動靜,
比起人類我更
喜歡他們。
迷失了,
瘋狂了可能
不是那麽大的問題
如果你可以
這樣子:
沒人打擾。
紐奧蘭給我了
這些
沒有人叫
我的名字。
沒有電話,
沒有汽車,
沒有工作,
一切都沒有。
我和那些
老鼠
和我的青春,
一次,
那時
我知道
even through the
nothingness,
是慶祝
有些只需要知道的
不需要做
的事情

Love Rain (Mos Def Remix) - Mos Def ~2002


And then she arrived
Like day break inside a railway tunnel
Like the new moon, like a diamond in the mines
Like high noon to a drunkard, sudden
She made my heart beat in a now-now time signature
Her skin a canvas for ultraviolet brushstrokes
She was the sun's painting
She was a deep cognac color
Her eyes sparkled like lights along the new city
Her lips pursed as if her breath was too sweet
And full for her mouth to hold
I said, "You are beautiful, distress of mathematics."
I said, "For you, I would peel open the clouds like new fruit
And give you lightning and thunder as dowry
I would make the sky shed all of its stars like rain
I would clasp the constellations around your waist
And I would make the heavens your cape
And they would be pleased to cover you
They would be pleased to cover you
May I please, cover you, please."

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

poets i will be translating

Goethe

Carl Sandburg

Ursula Rucker

Neruda

Bukowski

Mos Def

Ursula Rucker

Ntozake Shange

Nikki Giovanni

Langston Hughes

Black Ice

Sunday, October 02, 2005

GREEN #4 - Sky Gilbert ~1998

Green, Verdi, vermilion, vert. Grass leaves weeds eyes, a great composer
dies, Il Travatore, a whore, she talks dirty, she loves a young guy, she
dies, she dies too soon, she dies before, before she should, we pity her,
she coughs, she calls him to, to her bed, her dirty bed, her infected bed,
she says I love, I still love, cough, I'm glad I loved, it's okay I loved,
he says I, I do too, this part is ugly, it's not pretty, the music is
pretty, the blood is red, she kissed his foot, the dirty whore, the whore is
bleeding, the music is red, the boy is green, she kissed him then, she
kissed him when, you can dress up a whore, and paint her eyes, she's still a
whore, someone pissed on the whore, she's bleeding now, now she loves, loves
the boy, boy is green, can't go back, whore is now, bleeding red, red is
green, green knows not, red knows all, curtain is torn, earring is found,
all that's left, leave the whore, she loves you still, for you're green, and
green is good, and red is bad, except to green, oh for god's, sake you
found, found god
in, green that's okay, better to love, the green and die, there's always
blood, just don't look, know it's there, look in his eyes, green and die.

whore love green red die god.
god green love red whore die.
die red whore love green god.
red whore love green god die.
God die! Green love red whore.

Green.


From: Digressions of a Naked party Girl, ECW Press, 1998

Saturday, October 01, 2005

A Story - Li-Young Lee

Sad is the man who is asked for a story
and can't come up with one.

His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.

In a room full of books in a world
of stories, he can recall
not one, and soon, he thinks, the boy
will give up on his father.

Already the man lives far ahead, he sees
the day this boy will go. Don't go!
Hear the alligator story! The angel story once more!
You love the spider story. You laugh at the spider.
Let me tell it!


But the boy is packing his shirts,
he is looking for his keys. Are you a god,
the man screams, that I sit mute before you?
Am I a god that I should never disappoint?


But the boy is here. Please, Baba, a story?
It is an emotional rather than logical equation,
an earthly rather than heavenly one,
which posits that a boy's supplications
and a father's love add up to silence.

Friday, October 22, 2004

Let it Enfold You - Charles Bukowski

either peace or happiness,
let it enfold you

when i was a young man
I felt these things were
dumb,unsophisticated.
I had bad blood,a twisted
mind, a pecarious
upbringing.

I was hard as granite,I
leered at the
sun.
I trusted no man and
especially no
woman.

I was living a hell in
small rooms, I broke
things, smashed things,
walked through glass,
cursed.
I challenged everything,
was continually being
evicted,jailed,in and
out of fights,in and aout
of my mind.
women were something
to screw and rail
at,i had no male
freinds,

I changed jobs and
cities,I hated holidays,
babies,history,
newspapers, museums,
grandmothers,
marriage, movies,
spiders, garbagemen,
english accents,spain,
france,italy,walnuts and
the color
orange.
algebra angred me,
opera sickened me,
charlie chaplin was a
fake
and flowers were for
pansies.

peace an happiness to me
were signs of
inferiority,
tenants of the weak
an
addled
mind.

but as I went on with
my alley fights,
my suicidal years,
my passage through
any number of
women-it gradually
began to occur to
me
that I wasn't diffrent

from the
others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome
with hatred,
glossed over with petty
greivances,
the men I fought in
alleys had hearts of stone.
everybody was nudging,
inching, cheating for
some insignificant
advantage,
the lie was the
weapon and the
plot was
emptey,
darkness was the
dictator.

cautiously, I allowed
myself to feel good
at times.
I found moments of
peace in cheap
rooms
just staring at the
knobs of some
dresser
or listening to the
rain in the
dark.
the less i needed
the better i
felt.

maybe the other life had worn me
down.
I no longer found
glamour
in topping somebody
in conversation.
or in mounting the
body of some poor
drunken female
whose life had
slipped away into
sorrow.

I could never accept
life as it was,
i could never gobble
down all its
poisons
but there were parts,
tenous magic parts
open for the
asking.

I re formulated
I don't know when,
date,time,all
that
but the change
occured.
something in me
relaxed, smoothed
out.
i no longer had to
prove that i was a
man,

I didn't have to prove
anything.

...

Thursday, October 07, 2004

She Had Some Horses - Joy Harjo ~1983


She had some horses.

She had horses who were bodies of sand.
She had horses who were maps drawn of blood.
She had horses who were skins of ocean water.
She had horses who were the blue air of sky.
She had horses who were fur and teeth.
She had horses who were clay and would break.
She had horses who were splintered red cliff.

She had some horses.

She had horses with long, pointed breasts.
She had horses with full, brown thighs.
She had horses who laughed too much.
She had horses who threw rocks at glass houses.
She had horses who licked razor blades.

She had some horses.

She had horses who danced in their mothers' arms.
She had horses who thought they were the sun and their bodies shone and burned like stars.
She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.
She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet in stalls of their own making.

She had some horses.

She had horses who liked Creek Stomp Dance songs.
She had horses who cried in their beer.
She had horses who spit at male queens who made them afraid of themselves.
She had horses who said they weren't afraid.
She had horses who lied.
She had horses who told the truth, who were stripped bare of their tongues.

She had some horses.

She had horses who called themselves, "horse."
She had horses who called themselves, "spirit." and kept their voices secret and to themselves.
She had horses who had no names.
She had horses who had books of names.

She had some horses.

She had horses who whispered in the dark, who were afraid to speak.
She had horses who screamed out of fear of the silence, who carried knives to protect themselves from ghosts.
She had horses who waited for destruction.
She had horses who waited for resurrection.

She had some horses.

She had horses who got down on their knees for any savior.
She had horses who thought their high price had saved them.
She had horses who tried to save her, who climbed in her bed at night and prayed as they raped her.

She had some horses.

She had some horses she loved.
She had some horses she hated.

These were the same horses.

她有幾匹馬

她有幾匹馬


她有幾匹馬是浩瀚的沙漠
她有幾匹馬是用血畫的地圖
她有幾匹馬是裝滿海水的?
她有幾匹馬是藍天的空氣
她有幾匹馬是皮和牙齒
她有幾匹馬是陶瓷作的,易脆

她有幾匹馬

-----

她有幾只馬在他們母親的懷抱裏中跳舞
她有幾只馬是,以爲自己是太陽,身體像天上的星星發亮,燃燒
她有幾只馬是,每晚在月亮上waltz

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Touch - Nikki Giovanni ~1972

and if ever I touched a life I hope
that life knows that I know that touching was and still is and will always
be the true
revolution

I Ask My Mother To Sing - Li-Young Lee

She begins, and my grandmother joins her.
Mother and daughter sing like young girls.
If my father were alive, he would play
his accordion and sway like a boat.

I've never been in Peking, or the Summer Palace,
nor stood on the great Stone Boat to watch
the rain begin on Kuen Ming Lake, the picnickers
running away in the grass.

But I love to hear it sung;
how the waterlilies fill with rain until
they overturn, spilling water into water,
then rock back, and fill with more,

Both women have begun to cry.
But neither stops her song.

From On Being Fired Again - Erin Belieu ~2001

I've known the pleasures of being

fired at least eleven times-

most notably by Larry who found my snood
unsuitable, another time by Jack,
whom I was sleeping with. Poor attitude,
tardiness, a contagious lack
of team spirit; I have been unmotivated

squirting perfume onto little cards,
while stocking salad bars, when stripping
covers from romance novels, their heroines
slaving on the chain gang of obsessive love-

and always the same hard candy
of shame dissolving in my throat;

handing in my apron, returning the cash-
register key. And yet, how fine it feels,
the perversity of freedom which never signs
a rent check or explains anything to one's family...

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

Philadelphia Child - Ursula Rucker ~2001

Philadelphia Child

Philadelphia Child
wild, mild
mind all filled with city
fresh city, foul city
fiery city, frigid city

Philadelphia child
mild, wild
wildflower
watered with child power
growing from cracks... in cement sidewalks
and school yards...
and playgrounds
singular and lovely
common and ugly

Philadelphia child
piled high... with visions of his-story
rhythms of ghetto's glory
Richard Allen, 52 story buildings
Elfreths Alley, liberty-bell rings,
sewer smells and belly swells

class trips to Independance Hall
evoke questions like...
"Where do I fit in all -- of this?"
four ghetto girls and barrio boys
taught lessons in the voice
of the founding forefathers
but those same four
sill ain't found their fathers

Philadelphia child
at the mercy of the public school system
at the mercy of existence
of human allegiance and government finance
dance with the element of chance
the chance to grow
the chance to fly
the chance to know
the chance to die
In body
In spirit, mind or soul
the chance to be gold... or fool
the chance to be gold... or fool

Philadelphia child
olympic hopeful
won gold medals in mattress flipping and subway sprinting
well versed in the Yo! lingo
pretzel and cheesesteak fed
Philly born and bred
Tastykake sweet or hard of head
tread and trampled on
same ground Ben Franklin and the boyz walked upon

Drill teams have replaced the
not-ready-for-integration-Declaration of Interdependence players
White-booted
Philly attituded
zooted... up... on Schuykill Punch
They shout above drum and street-stomp
saying

We are here
We are here
We are here
We are here
We are, we live, we matter
We are, we live, we matter

The Winter of Listening - David Whyte

No one but me by the fire,
my hands burning
red in the palms while
the night wind carries
everything away outside.

All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.

What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.

What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire,

what disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything
we need.

What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves but

what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.

Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born.

Even with the summer
so far off
I feel it grown in me
now and ready
to arrive in the world.

All those years
listening to those
who had
nothing to say.

All those years
forgetting
how everything
has its own voice
to make
itself heard.

All those years
forgetting
how easily
you can belong
to everything
simply by listening.

And the slow
difficulty
of remembering
how everything
is born from
an opposite
and miraculous
otherness.

Silence and winter
has led me to that
otherness.

So let this winter
of listening
be enough
for the new life
I must call my own.

Friday, October 01, 2004

Chicago - Carl Sandburg

HOG Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.