老人在他最后的日子里
完成了他爱了许多年的工作。
他和他的老队友，白马和黑马
一起在割草，在旷野的山坡上，
在辽阔的天空下，树林环绕。
这项工作曾经被许多他的同类人
熟知，他是最后一个了解的人。
但是现在他的时光变得越来越少，
他的工作也日渐稀少，那情景和动作
都被拍成胶片，录下声响，
或许借助现代技术的奇迹
永远保存下来。
他说不必了。他认为不必。
他一心拒绝许一个已经徒劳的愿望
让一个过去的现在转移到未来。
这样被一直保存，他的日子也失去了，
甚至都不再会有回忆。
他需要这些最后的劳动日。
他需要他们成为他的最后，他自己的
这样的日子不会再临到不愿意
让它们走的人身上。如果他不愿意
让它们走，他们也不会再来了
如果他不乐意做那个
唯一了解它们的人，
他将永远不会了解它们。
如果他到最后都记得他们，表示感谢，
他的奖赏将会多么大啊！
The old man is in the last days
of work he has done and loved
for many years. He is mowing
with his old team, the white horse
and the black, on the open hillside
under the open sky, within
the surrounding woods. This work
once was known by many
of his kind, and he is one
of the last to know it. But now
as his time grows scarce, his work
rarer by the day, its sights and motions
could be filmed, its sounds recorded,
it could be preserved perhaps forever
by wonders of modern technology.
He says no. He thinks no.
He refuses with his whole heart
the already futile wish to make
of a past present a future past.
Being so saved, his days
would be lost, would be no longer
even a memory. He needs these last
of his workdays. He needs them to be
his last, his own, such days
as do not come to one unwilling
to let them go. Had he been unwilling
for them to go, they would not yet
have come. Had he not been glad
to be the only one to know them,
he would never have known them.
If he remembers them to the last, giving
his thanks, how great will be his reward!
“XII.” by Wendell Berry from A Small Porch. © Counterpoint, 2016. Reprinted with permission
