I am looking down on Central Park and recall from half-a-century ago in a small town in Northern Romania a tall, white-haired man proclaiming his poem, “The Colors Red and Black.” Gazing over the park, I remember those Stalinist era verses:
我俯瞰着中央公园，想象着半个世纪前在罗马尼亚北部的一个小镇，一位个子很高，头发灰白的人吟诵着自己的诗作，“红与黑”。凝视着脚下的公园，那些斯大林主义时代的诗篇从我脑海中闪过：