也译下那首诗，献丑了

用什么可以留住你
我可以给你
  都市里的弃街
      绝望中的残阳
           郊野上的孤月
  或那孤月下久久的惆怅 
  我那被人做成铜雕敬仰的先辈
    不管是我自己年迈的祖父
       他在布宜诺斯艾利斯前线上被两弹穿肺而亡
              胡须邋遢的他就那样被士兵们用牛皮仓仓包埋 
    还是我妈妈那仍年轻的祖父  
       年方二十四的他在秘鲁一战带领三百人冲锋时
              成了随奔马而去的英灵  
  我书本中所有的智慧
  我生活中所有的刚毅或幽默
  我从未给予任何人的忠诚
  我一直珍藏的内在
       这颗从未为任何语言，梦想，时间，欢乐或逆境所动的心
  记忆深处那夕阳下比你还年久的黄玫瑰
  对你的一切猜测，琢磨和幻想
还可以给你
  我内心的孤独，阴暗和渴望
我要用折腾，危险甚至失败来博取你的芳心

  II
   
   What can I hold you with?
   I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the
      moon of the jagged suburbs.
   I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked
      long and long at the lonely moon.
   I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts
      that living men have honoured in bronze:
      my father's father killed in the frontier of
      Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs,
      bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in
      the hide of a cow; my mother's grandfather
      --just twentyfour-- heading a charge of
      three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on
      vanished horses.
   I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, 
      whatever manliness or humour my life.
   I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never
      been loyal.
   I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved,
      somehow --the central heart that deals not
      in words, traffics not with dreams, and is
      untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
   I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at
      sunset, years before you were born.
   I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about
      yourself, authentic and surprising news of 
      yourself.
   I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the
      hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you 
      with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.
   
   
                     - Jorge Luis Borges (1934)