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