It’s a December night, the century’s end, dark and calm,

那是一個十二月的夜晚，世紀那黑暗而平靜的盡頭

     draws near.

    已臨近。

I slowly read friends’ poems, look at photographs,

我慢慢閱讀朋友們的詩，看照片，

     the spines of books.

    書脊。

Where has C. gone? What’s become of bumptious K. and smiling T.?

C哪裏去了？狂妄的K怎樣了，還有微笑的T？

     What ever happened to B. and N.?

    B和N近況如何？

Some have been dead a millenium, while others, debutants, died

有些已死了一千年，另一些，首次登臺者，剛於

     just the other month.

    前幾個月去世。

Are they together? In a desert with a crimson dawn?

他們在一起嗎？在有緋紅色黎明的沙漠裏？

     We don’t know where they live.

    我們不知道他們住在哪裏。

By a mountain stream where butterflies play?

在有蝴蝶嬉戲的山溪邊？

     In a town scented with mignonette?

    在散发木犀草味的小鎮？

Die Toten reiten schnell, S. repeated eagerly (he too

死人騎得快，S曾熱切地重複（他也已經

     is gone).

    走了）。

They ride little horses in the steppe’s quiet, beneath a round yellow

他們在草原的安靜中，在一團黃色圓雲下騎著

     cloud.

    小馬。

Maybe they steal coal at a little railroad stop in Asia and melt

也許他們在亞洲一個火車小站偷煤，在滿是煤煙的罐子裏

     snow in sooty pots

    融雪

like those transported in freight cars.

如同那些被用車皮運送的人。

     (Do they have camps and barbed wire?)

    （他們有集中營和鐵絲網嗎？）

Do they play checkers? Listen to music? Do they see Christ?

他們下棋嗎？聽音樂嗎？他們看到基督嗎？

     They dictate poems to the living.

    他們向生者口授詩歌。

They paint bison on cave walls, begin building

他們在洞穴墻上畫野牛，開始在博韋

     the cathedral in Beauvais.

    建造大教堂。

Have they grasped the sense of evil, which eludes us,

他們抓住那回避我們的罪惡感，

     and forgiven those who persecuted them?

    並原諒那些迫害他們的人嗎？

They wade through an arctic glacier, soft from the August heat.

他們涉過一條在八月酷烈下回軟的北極冰河。

     Do they weep? Regret?

    他們流淚嗎？後悔嗎？

Talk on telephones for hours? Hold their tongues? Are they here among us?

講幾個小時電話？一言不发？他們在這兒，在我們中間嗎？

     Nowhere?

    不在任何地方？

I read poems, listen to the mighty whisper

我讀詩，傾聽夜與血的

     of night and blood.

    強大低語。