The night attendant, a B.U. sophomore,
夜间看护，一个波大二年级学生，
rouses from the mare's-nest of his drowsy head
架在「意义的意义」书上昏沉的头
propped on The Meaning of Meaning.
从虚幻中抬起，
He catwalks down our corridor.
迈着猫步走过走廊。
Azure day
湛蓝的天
makes my agonized blue window bleaker.
让我苦闷的蓝色窗户更显惨淡。
Crows maunder on the petrified fairway.
石化了的草坪上聚集着嘈杂的乌鸦。
Absence! My hearts grows tense
冷清！我的心开始发紧，
as though a harpoon were sparring for the kill.
如一把鱼矛对着目标射出。
(This is the house for the "mentally ill.")
（这里是一个“精神病”之家。）
What use is my sense of humour?
我的幽默有何用处？
I grin at Stanley, now sunk in his sixties,
我对斯坦利一笑，他年坠六十，
once a Harvard all-American fullback,
曾经哈佛全美后卫，
(if such were possible!)
（如果真有这回事！）
still hoarding the build of a boy in his twenties,
依旧撑着二十来岁的身材，
as he soaks, a ramrod
此时在泡澡，一根捅火棍，
with a muscle of a seal
如海豹的肌肉
in his long tub,
在长长的浴池里，
vaguely urinous from the Victorian plumbing.
轻微的尿味从维多利亚下水道浸出。
A kingly granite profile in a crimson gold-cap,
worn all day, all night,
国王般花岗岩的侧影带着一顶殷红的金帽，
he thinks only of his figure,
整天，整夜的戴着，
of slimming on sherbert and ginger ale--
他只关注他的外形，
more cut off from words than a seal.
只顾着靠果汁冰激凌和姜汁汽水减肥——
This is the way day breaks in Bowditch Hall at McLean's;
话比海豹还少。
the hooded night lights bring out "Bobbie,"
Porcellian '29,
这就是麦克莲医院伯奇厅里一天的结尾；
a replica of Louis XVI
带罩的夜灯带出“鲍比”，
without the wig--
29届波斯莲哈佛俱乐部，
redolent and roly-poly as a sperm whale,
路易十四的化身，
as he swashbuckles about in his birthday suit
只差一头假发——
and horses at chairs.
香喷喷，圆滚滚像一头公鲸，
穿着他生日的服饰，倜傥骄纵，
These victorious figures of bravado ossified young.
胡闹耍猴。
（这是个“精神病“之家。）
In between the limits of day,
hours and hours go by under the crew haircuts
这些胜利者的狂妄将他们僵滞于青年。
and slightly too little nonsensical bachelor twinkle
of the Roman Catholic attendants.
在白天黑夜的限制之间，
(There are no Mayflower
一个又一个时辰在削短的头发下，
screwballs in the Catholic Church.)
在那些略欠荒诞的单身罗马天主教
看护们的眼神下度过。
After a hearty New England breakfast,
（天主教堂没有五月花号那些调皮鬼。）
I weigh two hundred pounds
this morning. Cock of the walk,
吃过新英格兰式丰实的早餐，
I strut in my turtle-necked French sailor's jersey
足够两百磅的我
before the metal shaving mirrors,
迈着公鸡步，穿着水手的高领
and see the shaky future grow familiar
海魂衫大摇大摆走到
in the pinched, indigenous faces
金属制刮胡子的镜子前，
of these thoroughbred mental cases,
看见颤动的未来越来越跟那些
twice my age and half my weight.
堆紧的正宗纯种神经病例的脸庞相似。
We are all old-timers,
比我年龄大两倍，身轻一半。
each of us holds a locked razor.
我们都是过来人，
每人手里拿着一把上锁的刮胡刀。