The Dead Woods in the Marshland
There was one of the dark corners in the world and as one of the marshlands. Its frightening depth was beyond measuring and not knowing how long those woods had chosen this evil place as their favored yard. Only saw the dirty mycosis crawling upon those scattered bare branches of every trunk ponderously, ominously as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months and the months into years. Winter was past. And spring took hold. The scent of the wind changed. Even the darkness of night was different. Those ill branches, black and sinister shapes, shattered the spring bounty of any shoots of new branches as like the dirty fingers pointing to the sky to claim a victory of a limpid spring was perfectly insignificant and this place would not give any chance for the induction of green spring，there would be no new dawn and no new life. Through muddy, crocodile-infested swamps, there were games for bloody hunting, and the boiling bubbles here and there with stink would be as their breathing. No birds perching upon those branches, only a crow as winged creatures and singing birds passed on overhead; leaving a silence spent with its cries over the cruel wasteland. The sense was much worse than decrepit and worse than death.
People who always live in the flower-fresh, solid land happened to glance at, stay away as far as they could, taking a disgust at last glance at the chilling realization of those utter hopelessness, not bothered with what kind of glory the marshland had had in the past.
But the moment finally came. On a black wet night in early spring, literally, without a single pinprick of light, suddenly, without a warning, the trunks could not stand on end, they started leaning and leaning more and more over, and at the last instant falling down like a black flash into the night mud; and the swamp acted just like those frightened crocodiles each lifting its head into the air and swallowed the dirty splashes and hurried for hunting more...Than nothing left without any trace even the numerous stains disappeared in the spring darkness.
Next morning, when the morning sun rises and casts newly greenness over the world, people could see the horizon without any interrupted by those scattered black sinister branches of dead woods. People let out a great sigh and passed a hand over their forehead. The field of vision should never been darken from that day forward.
In a corner of the world, yet there is one of the marshlands. Nobody knows how deep of the swamp and how long the dead woods had stood on end over there before; but everyone knows as logical progression there were lot stubs buried in the muddy, crocodile-infested swamp. Nothing more. Maybe that's the best thing about death.
<译自：《沼泽地里的死树林》（域外的歌）>
译者:明哲书屋
<译文>
这是世界上最黑暗的角落之一。難測深淺的一塊沼澤。一片殘樁老杆﹐卻選擇了這邪惡的地方聚集。但见骯髒的黴菌黑斑爬滿它們散亂光禿的枝椏， 沉重而不祥地经年累月。冬天过去了，春天来了；风中的气息变了，连夜晚的黑暗也有所不同。可这些病态阴暗漆黑的光禿枝椏﹐象用焦黑污穢的手指散亂地宣稱﹐早已不再感應生命之綠，它們拒绝春天的恩惠，已經不要一點新枝也唾棄任何嫩芽；明朗的春天已经完全没有意义;那里没有新的黎明，没有新的生命。鱷魚﹐在它們之間蛇行出沒﹐鑽動嬉戲﹐犁動着冒泡的渾濁泥漿﹑尋找着血腥。這裡飛鳥不再棲﹐鴉噪兩三聲。那沉寂的景象﹐令人毛骨悚然，比衰老更使人心驚﹐死亡也比它純潔。
习惯了花儿鲜艳土地踏实的人們畏懼厭惡地遠遠一瞥就離去﹐也不願勞心回想它們來此之前有過的往昔。
終於到來了那一刻,春天的第一个夜晚﹐污臭的稀泥聽任一杆杆沉重的殘樁倒下﹐用一道道宛若濃瘡的迸裂歡迎﹑吞食了它们最後黑色的一閃。倒下時的擊打聲驚動了潛伏的鱷魚﹐它們三三倆倆爬過沼澤已經合攏的裂口﹐又抬頭尋覓。除了眾多污點的回落﹐週圍再沒有什麼能被擊倒了...
于是那个清晨﹐当早晨的太阳升起，将新绿铺展时，人人遠遠望去﹐發現視野已經不再受任何黑色的殘樁斷杆的分割。人们如释重负，长叹一声，可以不受干擾地遠眺了,人們看到天邊。
今天在世界的一角， 依然有一片深淺莫測的沼澤。但是每个人都知道， 那里曾经有过一片断桩残杆埋葬在鱷魚蛇行出沒犁動着的渾濁泥漿里。如今,那一片断桩残杆已经不见了，或许这是对死亡最好的解说。
<译者：jinsheng >
