黄昏，大海变得黑沉沉，
At nightfall, as the sea darkens,
一种深层的黑暗变浓，从海湾和海底的不毛之地聚集
A depth darkness thickens, mustering from the gulfs and the submarine badlands,
到海的边缘。开始时
To the sea s edge. To begin with
好像礁石展开并碾碎它们的苍白。
It looks like rocks uncovering, mangling their pallor.
渐渐潮水的努力
Gradually the laboring of the tide
弃下它的产物退却，
Falls back from its productions,
它的力量从一个个闪光的气球吊篮消逝，这些就是螃蟹。
Its power slips back from glistening nacelles, and they are crabs.
巨蟹，在扁平的头盖骨下，凝视着内陆，
Giant crabs, under flat skulls, staring inland
像排满一壕堑的钢盔。
Like a packed trench of helmets.
鬼怪，它们是鬼怪螃蟹。
Ghosts, they are ghost-crabs.
它们浮现，
They emerge
一种不可见的大海寒冷的涌吐
An invisible disgorging of the sea s cold
笼罩海滩上漫步的人。
Over the man who strolls along the sands.
它们涌入内陆，涌入我们树林和城镇的
They spill inland, into the smoking purple
烟气腾腾的红紫——一个个高大蹒跚的鬼怪
Of our woods and towns--a bristling surge
如直立的巨浪汹涌，
Of tall and staggering specters
如闪电在水中掠过。
Gliding like shocks through water.
我们的墙壁和躯体不在它们话下，
Our walls, our bodies, are no problem to them.
我们看不见它们，
Their hungers are homing elsewhere.
不能把它们驱离心头。
We cannot see them or turn our minds from them.
它们冒气泡的嘴和眼睛
Their bubbling mouths, their eyes
在缓慢的矿物的愤怒中
In a slow mineral fury
逼向我们的虚空，在这其中我们伸展四肢卧身榻上，
Press through our nothingness where we sprawl on beds,
或安坐室中。也许我们的梦会被搅扰。
Or sit in rooms. Our dreams are ruffled maybe.
也许我们在这财产的世界突然醒来，
Or we jerk awake to the world of possessions
喘着粗气，大汗淋漓，大脑把盲目挤进
With a gasp, in sweat burst, brains jamming blind
电灯的光线。有时许多分钟，一种偷情的
Into the bulb-light. Sometimes, for minutes, a sliding
凝视的
Staring
沉默的厚重
Thickness of silence
压在我们之间。这些螃蟹拥有这世界。
Presses between us. These crabs own this world.
整夜，在我们周围或穿我们而过，
All night, around us or through us,
它们互相追逐，互相纠缠，……互相骑压，要把对方撕成碎片，
They stalk each other, they fasten onto each other,
它们是这个世界的强权。
They mount each other, they tear each other to pieces,
我们是它们的细菌，
They utterly exhaust each other.
死于它们的生命，活于它们的死亡。
They are the powers of this world.
黎明，它们侧身退回海边。
We are their bacteria,
它们是历史的混沌，血液块根和合力
Dying their lives and living their deaths.
周期中的骚动。
At dawn, they sidle back under the sea s edge.
对它们，我们这些乱糟糟的国家是空荡的战场。
They are the moil of history, the convulsion
整天它们憩息在海底。
In the roots of blood, in the cycles of concurrence.
它们的歌如同屈曲在海岬礁石里的微弱海风，
To them, our cluttered countries are empty battleground.
这里只有蟹在倾听。
All day they recuperate under the sea.
Their singing is like a thin seawind flexing in the rocks of a headland,
它们是上帝唯一的玩物。
Where only crabs listen.
They are God's only toys.