November
By Simon Armitage
We walk to the ward from the badly parked car
with your grandma taking four short steps to our two.
We have brought her here to die and we know it.
You check her towel, soap and family trinkets,
pare her nails, parcel her in the rough blankets
and she sinks down into her incontinence.
It is time John. In their pasty bloodless smiles,
in their slack breasts, their stunned brains and their baldness
and in us John: we are almost these monsters.
You're shattered. You give me the keys and I drive
through the twilight zone, past the famous station
to your house, to numb ourselves with alcohol.
Inside, we feel the terror of the dusk begin.
Outside we watch the evening, failing again,
and we let it happen. We can say nothing.
Sometimes the sun spangles and we feel alive.
One thing we have to get, John, out of this life.
十一月
【英】西蒙·阿米蒂奇
我们把车随意停到一边就走向病房
你的祖母步子小，我们迈两步，她要四步。
我们带她到这里，而她会在这里去世，这点我们都知道。
你检查了她的毛巾，香皂和祖传的不值钱的珠宝，
给她修剪了指甲，裹好粗毛毯
她两次小便失禁。
是时候了，约翰。在她们苍白的笑容里，
松垮的乳房里，昏聩的大脑和光秃的头顶
还有，在我们身上，约翰：我们几乎也是这些怪物。
你心烦意乱。你把车钥匙给我，我来开车
穿过黄昏的街区，经过著名的车站
到达你家，然后我们把自己灌醉。
在屋内，我们感到暮色的恐慌来临。
看着屋外的黄昏，我们再次觉得无能为力，
只能任由它发生。我们无言以对。
有时候太阳的照耀让我们感觉还活着。
有一件东西，约翰，我们必须要从生活中获得。
（卞兆康译）
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