我给你贫穷的街道、绝望的日落、破败郊区的月亮。我给你一个久久地望着孤月的人的悲哀。我给你我已死去的先辈,人们用青铜纪念他们的亡魂:在布宜诺斯艾利斯边境阵亡的我的祖父,两颗子弹射穿了他的胸膛,蓄着胡子的他死去了,士兵们用牛皮裹起他的尸体;我母亲的祖父——时年二十四岁——在秘鲁率领三百名士兵冲锋,如今都成了消失的马背上的幽灵。 I give you poor streets, desperate sunsets, ruining the suburbs of the moon. I give you a long time to look at the sadness of the lonely person. I give you my ancestors who have died, people use bronze to commemorate their souls: my grandfather who died on the border of Buenos Aires, two bullets that pierced his chest, a bearded man who died, The soldiers wrapped their bodies in cowhide; my mother’s grandfather, who was 24 years old, led 300 warriors in Peru and now all become ghosts on horseback disappearing.