一隻黑鳥棲息在電視天線上，

A blackbird sat on the TV antenna

唱著溫柔、爵士樂般的曲子。

and sang a gentle, jazzy tune.

你失去誰，我問，你哀悼什麽？

Whom have you lost, I asked, what do you mourn?

我在告別那些去世的人，黑鳥說，

I’m taking leave of those who’ve gone, the blackbird said,

我在告別這一天（它的眼和睫），

I’m parting with the day (its eyes and lashes),

我哀悼一個住在色雷斯的女孩，

I mourn a girl who lived in Thrace,

你不會認識她。

you wouldn’t know her.

我為那株凍死的柳樹感到難過。

I’m sorry for the willow, killed by frost.

我流淚，因為一切事物消逝、改變

I weep, since all things pass and alter

又重返，但永遠以另一種方式。

and return, but always in a different form.

我狹窄的喉嚨幾乎承受不了

My narrow throat can barely hold

這些急速轉變所帶來的

the grief, despair, delight, and pride

悲傷、絕望、愉悅和驕傲。

occasioned by such sweeping transformations.

一個送葬行列從前面經過，

A funeral cortege passes up ahead,

每個黃昏都是如此，在那兒，在地平線上。

the same each evening, there, on the horizon’s thread.

每個人都在那兒，我看見他們並說再見。

Everyone’s there, I see them all and bid farewell.

我看見劍、帽、頭巾和赤腳，

I see the swords, hats, kerchiefs, and bare feet,

槍、血和墨水。他們慢慢地走，

guns, blood, and ink. They walk slowly

消失在河流的霧靄裏，在右岸上。

and vanish in the river mist, on the right bank.

我告別他們和你和光，

I say goodbye to them and you and the light,

然後迎接黑夜，因為我服侍她——

and then I greet the night, since I serve her—

還有黑絲綢、黑力量。

and black silks, black powers.