没有船舶的夜晚。雾笛向积云鸣响，你

A night without ships. Foghorns called into walled cloud, and you

仍然活着，被光吸引，仿佛僧侣守护的一团火。

still alive, drawn to the light as if it were a fire kept by monks,

黑夜曾经与群星纠结，现在同死亡一般暗淡，你向内部驶去。

darkness once crusted with stars, but now death-dark as you sail inward.

穿过野金雀花和海藻，穿过石楠和撕碎的羊毛，

Through wild gorse and sea wrack, through heather and torn wool

你跑，拉着我的手，让我有生之年目睹一次：

you ran, pulling me by the hand, so I might see this for once in my life:

光的旋转，旋转，呼啸，光在寻找失踪者。

the spin and spin of light, the whirring of it, light in search of the lost,

在那里，自从有火的年岁以来，烛光与空旷的灯盏，

there since the era of fire, era of candles and hollow-wick lamps,

鲸鱼油与灯芯，油菜花与炼油，煤油与电石，

whale oil and solid wick, colza and lard, kerosene and carbide,

信号灯火，照亮了胡克塔边危险的海岸。

the signal fires lighted on this perilous coast in the Tower of Hook.

你对我说，醒着，像镜片制造者，死的时候

You say to me stay awake, be like the lensmaker who died with his

肺部全是玻璃，像红豆杉花，蜜蜂成群飞去时仍然盛开，

lungs full of glass, be the yew in blossom when bees swarm, be

像琥珀色的大教堂，甚至连西多教的鬼也会善待你。

their amber cathedral and even the ghosts of Cistercians will be kind to you.

如同在雨后的珠光碧云里，或更远的水中，

In a certain light as after rain, in pearled clouds or the water beyond,

水，看到或感觉到的，海水或湖水，你静止下来，长时间

seen or sensed water, sea or lake, you would stop still and gaze out

向外凝视。当萤火虫睁眼，闭合，在松树间发光，

for a long time. Also when fireflies opened and closed in the pines,

一颗星辰升起，我们唯一的天堂。你教我这样活着。

and a star appeared, our only heaven. You taught me to live like this.

死后如同初生之前。没有什么

That after death it would be as it was before we were born. Nothing

可畏惧。只有幸福难以承受，如同它的源泉

to be afraid. Nothing but happiness as unbearable as the dread

一样可怕。向着光，永远向着光，无需船舶。

from which it comes. Go toward the light always, be without ships.