九月，一陣涼風

It is September, and a cool breeze

從前方吹來，撥動了扇葉；

from somewhere ahead is turning the blades;

夜晚，風扇在我們與黑暗之間

night, and the slow flash of the fan

慢慢旋動出最後的光。

the last light between us and the darkness.

早有灰塵蓄積在葉片上，

Dust has begun to collect on the blades,

灰塵，來自遠方田間的乾草垛，

haymaker’s dust from distant fields,

騎乘烏鴉的翅膀進城，那翅膀

dust riding to town on the night-black wings

黑如暗夜，灰塵在扇葉上

of the crows, a thin frost of dust

結一層薄霜，恰如我們攀援在

which clings to the earth as it spins.

旋轉的地球上。

The fan has brought us through,

風扇讓我們熬過來，

its shiny blades like the screw of a ship

它發亮的葉片彷彿船尾螺旋槳

that has pushed its way through summer—

吃力地推過夏日——

cut flowers awash in its wake,

碎花瓣於尾浪中翻飛，

the stagnant Sargasso Sea of July

七月死寂的馬尾藻海

far behind us. For the moment, we rest,

遠在我們身後。現在，我們休息，

we lie in the dark hull of the house,

躺在這漆黑房子的船體中，

we rock in the troughs off the shore

隨波谷輕晃，十月的海岸

of October, the engine cooling,

在目，引擎在降溫，

the fan blades so lazily turning, but burning.

扇葉懶洋洋地轉著，但轉著。