一个儿子就是许多个儿子

One son is many sons.

一个包袱，一个贝嘟嘟，一个坟墓

A bundle, a putto, a grave

孩子眼中满是友善。只一下

Boy with kind eyes. One blow

骨头全都破碎

Cracks all their bones at once.

金发染成鲜红

Pastes all the gold hair red.

柔软的唇和失去牙齿的嘴

Soft lip and toothless mouth

鲜血滴淌在胸前

Drop blood on the breast.

爬行在草里的白发人

A white-haired crawler on grass

脑袋像一朵蒲公英时钟

Head like a dandelion-clock

垂在一片小雏菊的脸上

Above daisy-faces that come,

黄的、白的、绿的

Yellow and white and green

年复一年，年复一年

Year after year after year

像发条玩具一样停下

Stops like a toy wound down.

一个掉在水里的布玩偶

Like a doll dropped in the wet.

我是一座又冷又暗的房子

I am a cold grey house.

每个房间里都有一个男孩

In every room a boy

摆着各种姿势，定住，然后跌倒

Gestures and halts and falls

一次又一次，一次又一次

Again and again and again,

一个男孩把蜷缩的仓鼠

A boy with his hamster curled

放在他颤抖的掌心

On his trembling extended palm,

仓鼠僵硬如菊石

Like a rigid ammonite,

"他死了吗？还是睡着了？"

“Is he dead, is he asleep?”

还有一个男孩，脑袋

And the boy who leaned his head

靠着我肩膀，在巴士上

On my shoulder in a bus.

睡得太深，猛不丁会抽搐一下

He slept so deep, he jerked

当巴士停下，身体随之下坠

And lolled as the bus ground on

像个木偶，或布袋

Like a puppet, like a sack,

但那一周他都很温暖——

But he was warm that week –

我的脸颊被他的温暖浸润着——

My cheek was damp with his warmth –

五天后才变得冰冷

And five days later cold.

就像灌木丛中那些小精灵

Like a thicket of garden gnomes,

纪念花园里到处都是

A memorial garden full

小天使和熟睡的婴儿

Of cherubs and sleeping babes,

用厚厚的水泥浇筑而成

Moulded in thick cement,

穿着翠绿的外衣

Angels in bright green coats

被青苔侵蚀，霉菌覆盖

Moss-eaten, furred by mould,

我的儿子们和我一起站着

My sons come with me and stand

庄重而宁静

Ceremonious and still

围着我的桌子、书桌和床。

Round my table, my desk, my bed.

他们不说话，他们的舌头

They do not speak, their tongues

僵住了。他们也不能触摸

Are stopped. They cannot touch

因为他们数百根手指

For their hundreds of fingers were burned

几年前被喷射的瓦斯

Years ago in the jets

烧毁。他们的手指是烟

Of gas. Their fingers are smoke.

他们比我更有活力

They are more alive than I.

我很难知道

It is hard for me to know

我到底最爱还是最怕他们

If I love or fear them most.

我终将加入他们的行列

I shall join them in the end.