3.
Perhaps the great error is believing we’re alone,
That the others have come and gone—a momentary blip—
When all along, space might be choc-full of traffic,
Bursting at the seams with energy we neither feel
Nor see, flush against us, living, dying, deciding,
Setting solid feet down on planets everywhere,
Bowing to the great stars that command, pitching stones
At whatever are their moons. They live wondering
If they are the only ones, knowing only the wish to know,
And the great black distance they—we—flicker in.
也许最大的错误就是相信我们是孤单的，
其他人来了又走——昙花一现——
也可能从来太空就交通拥挤，
以我们并未察觉和见到的能量爆射
冲向我们，活着，死去，决定，
在行星上四处脚踏实地，
向操纵一切的伟大星球鞠躬，
朝它们的月亮投石。他们活在好奇里
是否只有他们，想知而不可知，
在广漠夜空中，他们——我们——闪烁其间
Maybe the dead know, their eyes widening at last,
Seeing the high beams of a million galaxies flick on
At twilight. Hearing the engines flare, the horns
Not letting up, the frenzy of being. I want to be
One notch below bedlam, like a radio without a dial.
Wide open, so everything floods in at once.
And sealed tight, so nothing escapes. Not even time,
Which should curl in on itself and loop around like smoke.
So that I might be sitting now beside my father
As he raises a lit match to the bowl of his pipe
For the first time in the winter of 1959.
也许死者知道，他们终于睁大了眼睛，
看到百万个星系的高光在黄昏
闪耀。听着引擎轰响，喇叭
长鸣，处在狂热之中。我想成为
喧闹下的一个缺口，就像一个拿掉旋钮的收音机。
敞开，所有一切一起涌来。
再紧紧密封，因此无法逃脱。甚至时间也不行，
它本该卷曲在自身里，像烟雾环绕。
以便我现在可以坐在我父亲身边
当他拿起火柴点燃烟斗
那是第一次，于1959年的冬天。