死者
我在你生命里扮的角色多不顶用，几乎好像我不是你丈夫，好像我们从未作为夫和妻一块生活过。那时，你什么样？
对我，你的脸还是美，但不再是迈克尔·弗瑞为之冒死的那张脸了。为什么我感到情绪翻滚？什么引发了它？那趟马车？在我吻她手时她没反应时？我姑妈的聚会？我自己愚蠢的演说？酒，跳舞，音乐？可怜的朱莉娅姑妈……她唱《盛装待嫁》时她脸上那憔悴样。很快，她也会成个幽魂，跟帕特里克·莫肯和他的马的幽魂为伴。
很快，可能，我会坐在那同样客厅里，一身黑，窗帘放下来，绞尽脑汁找些安慰话。只会找到苍白无用的字句。是的，是的。那很快就会发生。
是的，报纸没说错：雪覆盖了整个爱尔兰。落在晦暗的中央平原的每一部分，落在秃山上，轻洒艾伦沼泽，接着，更往西，轻落入香永河黑暗不驯的波浪中。一个接一个我们都在变成幽魂。最好在某种激情全盛时，大胆进入另一世界，好过随年龄沉闷褪色干枯。在你心里你把你情人眼睛的模样锁起来多久了，当他告诉你他确实不想活下去时？我自己对任何女人从没那样感受过，但我知道那样一种感受一定是爱。想想所有那些存活过的人，回到时间开端。而我，片刻如他们，也正闪灭进入他们的灰色世界。像绕着我的一切，这个他们树立过生活过的坚实世界，正消退并消融。雪在下。落在那埋葬迈克尔·弗瑞的孤零零墓地里。隐隐落在宇宙间，隐隐落下，一如其终结之降临，落到所有生者和死者身上。
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How poor a part I’ve played in your life, it’s almost as though I’m not your husband, and we’ve never lived together as man and wife. What were you like, then?
我在你生命里扮的角色多不顶用，几乎好像我不是你丈夫，好像我们从未作为夫和妻一块生活过。那时，你什么样？
To me, your face is still beautiful, but it’s no longer the one for which Michael Furey braved death. Why am I feeling this riot of emotion? What started it up? A ride in the cab? When not responding when I kissed her hand? My aunt’s party? My own foolish speech? Wine, dancing, music? Poor Aunt Julia … That haggard look on her face when she was singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, she’ll be a shade too, with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse.
对我，你的脸还是美，但不再是迈克尔·弗瑞为之冒死的那张脸了。为什么我感到情绪翻滚？什么引发了它？那趟马车？在我吻她手时她没反应时？我姑妈的聚会？我自己愚蠢的演说？酒，跳舞，音乐？可怜的朱莉娅姑妈……她唱《盛装待嫁》时她脸上那憔悴样。很快，她也会成个幽魂，跟帕特里克·莫肯和他的马的幽魂为伴。
Soon, perhaps, I’ll be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, the blinds would be drawn down, and I’d be casting about in my mind for words of consolation. And would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes. That will happen very soon.
很快，可能，我会坐在那同样客厅里，一身黑，窗帘放下来，绞尽脑汁找些安慰话。只会找到苍白无用的字句。是的，是的。那很快就会发生。
Yes, the newspapers are right: Snow is general all over Ireland. Falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, softly upon the Bog of Allen, and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. One by one we are all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. How long you locked away in your heart, the image of your lover’s eyes when he told you that he did not wish to live? I’ve never felt like that myself towards any woman, but I know that such a feeling must be love. Think of all those who ever were, back to the start of time. And me, transient as they, flickering out as well into their grey world. Like everything around me, this solid world itself, which they reared and lived in, is dwindling and dissolving. Snow is falling. Falling in that lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lays buried. Falling faintly through the universe, and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
是的，报纸没说错：雪覆盖了整个爱尔兰。落在晦暗的中央平原的每一部分，落在秃山上，轻洒艾伦沼泽，接着，更往西，轻落入香永河黑暗不驯的波浪中。一个接一个我们都在变成幽魂。最好在某种激情全盛时，大胆进入另一世界，好过随年龄沉闷褪色干枯。在你心里你把你情人眼睛的模样锁起来多久了，当他告诉你他确实不想活下去时？我自己对任何女人从没那样感受过，但我知道那样一种感受一定是爱。想想所有那些存活过的人，回到时间开端。而我，片刻如他们，也正闪灭进入他们的灰色世界。像绕着我的一切，这个他们树立过生活过的坚实世界，正消退并消融。雪在下。落在那埋葬迈克尔·弗瑞的孤零零墓地里。隐隐落在宇宙间，隐隐落下，一如其终结之降临，落到所有生者和死者身上。
/
How poor a part I’ve played in your life, it’s almost as though I’m not your husband, and we’ve never lived together as man and wife. What were you like, then?
To me, your face is still beautiful, but it’s no longer the one for which Michael Furey braved death. Why am I feeling this riot of emotion? What started it up? A ride in the cab? When not responding when I kissed her hand? My aunt’s party? My own foolish speech? Wine, dancing, music? Poor Aunt Julia … That haggard look on her face when she was singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, she’ll be a shade too, with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse.
Soon, perhaps, I’ll be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, the blinds would be drawn down, and I’d be casting about in my mind for words of consolation. And would find only lame and useless ones. Yes, yes. That will happen very soon.
Yes, the newspapers are right: Snow is general all over Ireland. Falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, softly upon the Bog of Allen, and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. One by one we are all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. How long you locked away in your heart, the image of your lover’s eyes when he told you that he did not wish to live? I’ve never felt like that myself towards any woman, but I know that such a feeling must be love. Think of all those who ever were, back to the start of time. And me, transient as they, flickering out as well into their grey world. Like everything around me, this solid world itself, which they reared and lived in, is dwindling and dissolving. Snow is falling. Falling in that lonely churchyard where Michael Furey lays buried. Falling faintly through the universe, and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
/
中字（红雨字幕组）：
我在你生活里扮演了多么可怜的角色，仿佛我不是你的丈夫，仿佛我们从未像夫妻一样在一起生活过。那么，我们是什么？
对我，你的脸庞仍然美丽，但那不再是迈克尔·福瑞为之慨然殉情的脸庞。为什么我感到情绪激动？是什么引起的呢？在马车上吗？当我吻她的手没有反应的时候？是姨妈的晚宴，还是我自己愚蠢的演讲，是因为饮酒，跳舞，音乐吗？可怜的朱莉娅姨妈……她唱《盛装待嫁》时，我曾在瞬间看见过她脸上憔悴的面容。不久她也会成为一个幽灵，和帕特里克·莫肯以及他的马的幽灵在一起的幽灵。
或许，不久，我就会坐在那同一个客厅里，穿着黑色的衣服，窗帘被放下来，而我会搜肠刮肚地寻找一些可以安慰她的话。结果却只是找出了一些不着边际的无用字句。是，是的，那种情况很快就会发生。
是的，报纸是对的：整个爱尔兰都在下雪。雪落在阴晦的中部平原的每一片土地上，落在没有树木的山丘上，轻轻地落在艾伦沼地上，往西，轻轻地落进山农河面汹涌澎湃的黑浪之中。一个接一个，我们全都要变成幽灵。最好在某种激情全盛时期，勇敢地进入那另一个世界，切莫随着年龄增长而凄凉地衰败枯萎。你多年来如何在心里深锁着，当你的情人告诉你他不想活下去时的眼神。我觉得自己从未对任何女人有那样的感情，但我知道这样一种感情一定是爱。想想所有这曾经的一切，重返时间的起源。连我自己本身，也在逐渐消失到一个灰色的无形世界。这个实在的世界本身，这些死者曾一度在这里养育生息的世界，正在渐渐消解和缩小。雪在下。雪花落在埋葬迈克尔·福瑞的孤零零的教堂墓地。雪花轻轻地穿过宇宙，轻轻地，就像他们的结局似的，落到所有生者和死者身上。
——约翰·休斯顿《死者》