余光中·《狗尾草》英译

Green Bristlegrass<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Yu Guangzhong

Who, after all, can argue with the grave

When death is the only permanent address?

When all the condolers have left,

What if the undertaker’s back door

Faces the south or the north?

The coach looks always ready for exile,

And nonce can dissuade it from the trip.

So-called immortality

May prove nothing but an empty password

For whoever must travel at night,

Even if it works and convinces.

None ends up taller than the bristlgrass

Unless his name soars to the stars

To join Li Bai or Rilke

       while the rest

Is left behind beneath the grass.

Keep names to names, dust to dust,

Stars to stars, earthworms to earthworms.

If a voice calls under the night sky,

Who, indeed, is going to answer

Except a glimmer from above

Or a cricket from below?