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Last Post - Carol Ann Duffy
《最后一首》卡羅爾·安·達菲
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, he plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
曾幾夢回，在我迷惘的眼前，他投入我懷中，淌淚，哽咽，窒息。
If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud.
倘若詩可逆時光之流道來，那就從彈片割你血肉、你跌入泥濘中的那刻開始吧。
But you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood run upwards from the slime into its wounds; see lines and lines of British boys rewind back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home.
但你站了起來，吃驚地看著鮮血流淌淌過爛泥，又侵入傷口；你看著一排排的英國弟兄撤回陣地，親吻家中寄來的相片。
Mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers not entering the story now, to die and die and die.
多少母親，愛人，姐妹，兄弟故事的畫面里沒有他們，只有死亡，死亡，死亡。
You walk away.
你離開了。
You walk away; drop your gun, like all your mates do too.
你離開了，放下了手中的槍，就像你的那些兄弟們一樣。
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert - and light a cigarette.
哈利，湯姆，威爾弗雷德，愛德華，伯特 — 你點了一根煙。
There's coffee in the square, warm French bread and all those thousands dead are shaking dried mud from their hair and queuing up for home.
街區里有咖啡，溫熱的法式面包，還有那成千上萬的死者甩掉頭發上早已干了的泥土排著隊等待回鄉。
Freshly alive, a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.
多么鮮活啊，一位小伙在人群中演奏蒂珀雷里歌謠，他解放了從歷史脫身；健碩的馬匹配上英雄們，國王們。
You lean against a wall, your several million lives still possible and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
你靠著墻，你那百萬條生命還仍存希望，他們身后滿是愛，工作，孩子，才華，英式啤酒，美食。
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
你看著詩人藏起了他的袖珍書，微微一笑。
If poetry could truly tell it backwards, then it would.
倘若詩真能逆時光之流道來，那它一定會的。
