And yet the books will be there on the shelves, separate beings,

但是书籍将会站在书架上，此乃真正的存在，

That appeared once, still wet

书籍一下子出现，崭新，还有些湿润，

As shining chestnuts under a tree in autumn,

像秋天栗子树下闪闪发亮的落果，

And, touched, coddled, began to live

受到触摸、爱抚，开始长时生存，

In spite of fires on the horizon, castles blown up,

尽管地平线上有大火，城堡在空中爆破，

Tribes on the march, planets in motion.

部落在远征途中，行星在运行。

“We are,”they said, even as their pages

“我们永存，”书籍说，即使书页被撕扯，

Were being torn out, or a buzzing flame

或者文字被呼啸的火焰舔光。

Licked away their letters.So much more durable

书籍比我们持久，我们纤弱的体温

Than we are, whose frail warmth

会和记忆一起冷却、消散、寂灭。

Cools down with memory, disperses, perishes.

我常想象已经没有我的大地，

I imagine the earth when I am no more:

一如既往，没有损失，依然是大戏台，

Nothing happens, no loss, it's still a strange pageant,

女人的时装，挂露珠的丁香花，山谷的歌声。

Women's dresses, dewy lilacs, a song in the valley.

但是书籍将会竖立在书架，有幸诞生，

Yet the books will be there on the shelves, well born,

来源于人，也源于崇高与光明。

Derived from people, but also from radiance, heights.

by Czeslaw Milosz

trans. by Robert Hass