Writers International Edition

O Captain! my Captain! Poem by Walt Whitman

O Captain! my Captain!
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O capitano! Mio capitano!
O Capitano! Mio Capitano! Il nostro viaggio spaventoso è finito,
La nave ha superato ogni ostacolo, il premio che cercavamo è conquistato,
Il porto è vicino, odo le campane, il popolo tutto è esultante,
Mentre gli seguono la ciglia solida, la nave severa e ardita;
Ma o cuore! Cuore! Cuore!
O le gocce sanguinanti di rosso,
Dove giace il mio Capitano sul ponte,
Caduto gelido e morto.
O Capitano! Mio Capitano! Alzati e ascolta le campane;
Alzati – per te è issata la bandiera – per te suona la tromba,
Per te fiori e ghirlande ornate di nastri – per te le rive affollate,
Per te invoca, la massa ondeggiante, a te volgono loro volti ansiosi;
Ecco Capitano! Amato padre!
Questo braccio sotto la tua testa!
È solo un sogno che sul ponte,
Sei caduto gelido e morto.
Non risponde il mio Capitano, le sue labbra sono pallide e immobili
Mio padre non sente il mio braccio, non ha polso né volontà,
La nave è ancorata sana e salva, il suo viaggio concluso e finito,
Dal viaggio spaventoso, la nave vittoriosa, torna con la meta raggiunta;
Esultatevi, o rive, e suonate, o campane!
Mentre io, con funebre passo,
Percorro il ponte dove giace il mio Capitano,
Caduto gelido e morto.
Oh Capità! El meu Capità!
Oh Capità! El meu Capità! S’ha acabat l’espantós viatge,
La nau ha superat tots els esculls, hem guanyat el premi que anhelàvem,
El port és ben a prop, sento les campanes, la gent està exultant,
Els ulls segueixen la ferma quilla, la nau severa i audaç,
Però oh cor! Cor! Cor!
Oh sagnants gotes vermelles!
Allà, a la coberta, el meu Capità
Jeu fred i mort.
Oh Capità! El meu Capità! Aixeca’t i escolta les campanes;
Aixeca’t -per a tu s’alça l’estendard -per tu sona la trompeta,
Per tu rams i corones florents -per tu les platges atapeïdes de gent.
Per tu crida la massa oscil•lant, per tu les seves cares es giren anhelants;
Aquí, Capità! Pare estimat!
Que el teu cap descansi sota el meu braç!
Això ha de ser algun somni, a la coberta
Jeus fred i mort.
El meu Capità no contesta, els seus llavis tan pàl•lids i quiets,
El meu pare no nota el meu braç, no té pols, ni voluntat,
La nau ha ancorat sana i estàlvia, s’ha acabat el seu viatge,
De l’espantosa travessia, la nau arriba victoriosa amb un trofeu;
Exulteu-vos, oh platges, i soneu, oh campanes!
Però jo, amb una fúnebre càrrega,
Camino per la coberta on el meu Capità
Jeu fred i mort.
Ω Καπετάνιε! Καπετάνιε μου!
Ω Καπετάνιε! Καπετάνιε μου! Το τρομερό ταξίδι μας τελείωσε.
Το σκαρί άντεξε στον καιρό, αποκτήσαμε το ζητούμενο έπαθλο.
Το λιμάνι είναι κοντά, ακούω τις καμπάνες, ο κόσμος όλος αγαλλιά,
Καθώς ακολουθούν τα μάτια τους τη σταθερή καρίνα,
το σκάφος πλέει βλοσυρό και με τόλμη.
Μα, ω, καρδιά! Καρδιά! Καρδιά!
Ω, οι άλικες στάλες που αιμορραγούν,
Εκεί που στο κατάστρωμα κείται ο καπετάνιος μου,
Πεσμένος παγωμένος και νεκρός.
Ω Καπετάνιε! Καπετάνιε μου! Εγέρθητι κι άκου τις καμπάνες.
Εγέρθητι—για σένα κυματίζει η σημαία—για εσένα η σάλπιξ ηχεί.
Για σένα οι ανθοδέσμες και τα στεφάνια με κορδέλα — για σένα συνωστίζονται οι ακτές.
Εσένα καλούν, οι παλλόμενες μάζες, στρέφοντας ανυπόμονα τα πρόσωπά τους.
Ορίστε, Καπετάνιε! Αγαπητέ Πατέρα!
Αυτό το χέρι κάτω από το κεφάλι σου.
Είναι όνειρο πως στο κατάστρωμα,
κείτεσαι κρύος και νεκρός.
Ο Καπετάνιος μου δεν απαντά, τα χείλη του είν’ ωχρά κι ασάλευτα.
Ο πατέρας μου δε νιώθει το χέρι μου, δεν έχει σφυγμό μήτε θέληση.
Το πλοίο έριξε έγκυρα, είναι σώο και αβλαβές, το ταξίδι του ολοκληρώθηκε.
Από τρομερό ταξίδι, εισπλέει το πλοίο της νίκης, ο στόχος επετεύχθη.
Αγαλλιάστε, ακτές, και χτυπήστε, καμπάνες!
Μα εγώ, με πένθιμο βήμα,
περπατώ στο κατάστρωμα, όπου ο Καπετάνιος μου
κείται παγωμένος κι άψυχος.

Poem by
Walt Whitman
traduzione in italiano Joan Josep Barcelo
traduzione in catalano: Jaume C. Pons Alorda
traduzione in greco: Irene Doura-Kavadia

Walt Whitman was an American poet born on May 31, 1819, in West Hills, Long Island, New York. He grew up in a large family and attended Brooklyn public schools. At the age of twelve, he began to learn the printer’s trade, which fueled his love for the written word. He read extensively and became acquainted with the works of Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, and the Bible. After working as a teacher for several years, Whitman turned to journalism as a full-time career, and he founded or edited various newspapers. In 1855, he self-published his first edition of “Leaves of Grass,” which he continued to refine and republish throughout his life. During the Civil War, Whitman worked in hospitals, tending to the wounded, and in 1873, he suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed. He spent his final years living in Camden, New Jersey, where he continued to work on additions and revisions to “Leaves of Grass” and his final volume of poems and prose, “Good-Bye My Fancy.” Whitman died on March 26, 1892, and is considered one of America’s most important poets, along with Emily Dickinson.

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