It is September, and a cool breeze

九月了，一股凉爽的微风

from somewhere ahead is turning the blades;

从前方某处吹来正在转动那些叶片；

night, and the slow flash of the fan

夜晚，这台风扇的微弱的闪光

the last light between us and the darkness.

那最后的光在我们与黑暗之间。

Dust has begun to collect on the blades,

灰尘开始聚积在叶片上，

haymaker’s dust from distant fields,

干草机的灰尘来自远方的田野，

dust riding to town on the night-black wings

灰尘飘向城区乘着乌鸦们漆黑的

of the crows, a thin frost of dust

翅膀，一层灰尘的薄霜

which clings to the earth as it spins.

当地球旋转时粘住它的。

The fan has brought us through,

这台风扇已带我们穿过，

its shiny blades like the screw of a ship

它闪亮的叶片仿佛轮船的螺旋桨

that has pushed its way through summer—

推进它的航道穿过夏天——

cut flowers awash in its wake,

切花在它的尾波中翻腾，

the stagnant Sargasso Sea of July

七月死寂的马尾藻海

far behind us. For the moment, we rest,

远远落在我们身后。此刻，我们歇息，

we lie in the dark hull of the house,

我们躺在房屋黑暗的船壳里，

we rock in the troughs off the shore

我们摇晃在海槽里靠近

of October, the engine cooling,

十月的岸边，发动机在冷却，

the fan blades so lazily turning, but burning.

风扇叶片懒洋洋地转动着，但发着光。