他们身后满是工作,孩子,才华,美食以及爱

他们身后满是工作,孩子,才华,美食以及爱

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

曾几梦回,在我迷惘的眼前

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

他投入我怀中,淌泪,哽咽,窒息

If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin

倘若诗可逆时光之流道来,那就

that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud ...
从弹片割你血肉、你跌入泥泞中的那刻开始吧
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
但你站了起来,吃惊地看着鲜血流淌
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
淌过烂泥,又侵入伤口
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
你看着一排排的英国弟兄
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home
撤回阵地,亲吻家中寄来的相片
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
多少母亲,爱人,姐妹,兄弟
not entering the story now
故事的画面里没有他们
to die and die and die.
只有死亡,死亡,死亡...
Dulce - No - Decorum - No - Pro patria mori.
为国牺牲,荣耀?--不;体面?--不
You walk away.
你离开了
You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)
你离开了,放下了手中的枪(和那刺刀)
like all your mates do too -
就像你的那些兄弟们一样 --
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert -
哈利,汤姆,威尔弗雷德,爱德华,伯特 --
and light a cigarette.
你点了一根烟
There's coffee in the square,
街区里有咖啡
warm French bread
温热的法式面包
and all those thousands dead
还有那成千上万的死者
are shaking dried mud from their hair
甩掉头发上早已干了的泥土
and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,
排着队等待回乡。多么鲜活啊
a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released
一位小伙在人群中演奏蒂珀雷里歌谣,他解放了
from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.

从历史脱身;健硕的马匹配上英雄们,国王们

You lean against a wall,
你靠着墙
your several million lives still possible
你那百万条生命还仍存希望
and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
他们身后满是爱,工作,孩子,才华,英式啤酒,美食
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
你看着诗人藏起了他的袖珍书,微微一笑
If poetry could truly tell it backwards,
倘若诗真能逆时光之流道来
then it would.
那它一定会的
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