古老的南波士顿水族馆如今站在
The old South Boston Aquarium stands
一片白雪的沙漠中，他的破窗户钉上了木板。
in a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded.
那青铜制的鳕鱼形的风信标一半的鳞片剥落了。
The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales.
贮水池干了。
The airy tanks are dry.
我的鼻子曾经象蜗牛般在玻璃上爬行：
Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass;
我的手曾经痒痒地
my hand tingled
想捅破那些驯服、顺从的鱼鼻孔
to burst the bubbles,
冒出来的小气泡。
drifting from the noses of the cowed, compliant fish.
我的手缩了回来。我还是常为
My hand draws back. I often sigh still
下边黑糊糊地繁殖着的鱼和爬虫的王国叹息。
for the dark downward and vegetating kingdom
三月里一个早晨
of the fish and reptile. One morning last March,
我紧捱在波士顿广场上
I pressed against the new barbed and galvanized
一个新修的、有尖刺、镀锌的围栏。
fence on the Boston Common. Behind their cage,
在囚笼后面，巨龙似的黄色挖土机吼叫着
yellow dinosaur steam shovels were grunting
把成吨的雪泥和草掘起，
as they cropped up tons of mush and grass
挖一个地下车库。
to gouge their underworld garage.
存车场闪闪发光，就象
Parking lots luxuriate like civic
波士顿中心的一堆堆沙子。
sand piles in the heart of Boston.
橘色的、洁净的南瓜色的梁架象一根腰带
A girdle of orange, Puritan-pumpkin-colored girders
紧紧围住那咯咯作响的州政府大厦，
braces the tingling Statehouse,
它因掘土而摇晃，
shaking the excavations, as it faces Colonel Shaw
对面是圣·桑登斯的惊人之作内战浮雕上的
and his bell-cheeked Negro infantry
肖上校和双颊鼓鼓的黑人步兵团
on St. Gaudens' shaking Civil War relief,
靠一根木头支撑着抵挡车库的震动。
propped by a plank splint against the garage's earthquake.
进军波士顿后两个半月，
Two months after marching through Boston,
团队一半人已经阵亡，
half the regiment was dead;
在竖纪念碑的时候，
at the dedication,
威廉·詹姆士几乎可以听见黑人铜像呼吸。
William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.
他们的纪念碑象一根鱼刺
The monument sticks like a fishbone
卡在这个城市的咽喉中。
in the city's throat.
它的上校象罗盘上的
Its colonel is as lean
针一般清瘦。
as a compass needle.
他有一种愤怒的鹪鹩的警惕，
He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,
一只猎犬的温和的紧张；
a greyhound's gentle tautness;
他似乎害怕寻欢作乐，
he seems to wince at pleasure
却又被孤独所窒息。
and suffocate for privacy.
他如今不受束缚了。他为人们所可爱的、
He is out of bounds. He rejoices in man's lovely,
在生死之间做出抉择的特殊力量而欢呼——
peculiar power to choose life and die—
当他率领黑人士兵奔向死亡。
when he leads his black soldiers to death,
他的腰杆是不能弯的。
he cannot bend his back.
新英格兰绿原上成千个小镇里
On a thousand small-town New England greens,
古老的白色教堂保持着精干而诚挚的
the old white churches hold their air
叛逆神气，磨损的旗帜
of sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flags
覆盖着共和国大军的坟地。
quilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic.
抽象出来的联邦战士的雕像
The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier
一年比一年消瘦和年轻——
grow slimmer and younger each year—
腰杆束得细细的，他们靠着毛瑟枪假寐，
wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets,
在他们的络腮胡子中沉思。
and muse through their sideburns.
肖的父亲不要纪念碑，
Shaw's father wanted no monument
除了一个小壕沟，
except the ditch,
他儿子的躯体扔在那里
where his son's body was thrown
同他的“黑奴们”一起丢失了。
and lost with his "niggers."
那壕沟靠近了。
The ditch is nearer.
这儿上次战争可没留下什么雕像：
There are no statues for the last war here;
在波亥尔斯顿大街上，一张广告照片
on Boylston Street, a commercial photograph
显出了广岛沸腾
showed Hiroshima boiling
在一个摩勒斯牌保险箱上，那“永恒的巨石”
over a Mosler Safe, "the Rock of Ages,"
在爆炸中保存了下来。空间是更近了。
that survived the blast. Space is nearer.
当我弯下腰去看电视
When I crouch to my television set,
黑人小学生枯槁的脸象气球般升了上来。
the drained faces of Negro school children rise like balloons.
肖上校
Colonel Shaw
如今骑在气泡上了。
is riding on his bubble,
他等待着
he waits
那幸福的崩裂。
for the blessed break.
水族馆不见了。到处有
The Aquarium is gone. Everywhere,
长着大腮的汽车鱼一般游过去；
giant finned cars nose forward like fish;
一种野蛮的屈服
a savage servility
涂满滑润油溜了过去。
slides by on grease.