来自《耶鲁大学开放课程：1945年后的美国小说 第6集 第6集》

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  so that you have the flavor of the thing that Nabokov is burlesquing:
  你们可以在这里感受下纳博科夫的嘲仿的趣味
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  Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
  这就是我 干旱的月份里 一个老头子
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  Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
  听着一个孩子为我读书 等待着雨
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  I was neither at the hot gates
  我未曾到过火热的城门
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  Nor fought in the warm rain
  也未曾在暖雨中做战
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  Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
  更未曾在没膝的盐沼里挥舞弯刀
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  Bitten by flies, fought.
  飞蝇叮咬 格斗
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  My house is a decayed house.
  我的房子是一幢倾颓的房子
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  And the poem goes on, and this is the tone of a poem.
  诗这样娓娓道来 这就是这首诗的色调
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  It's a poem of crisis,
  这是首描写危机的诗
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  a poem of a kind of hollow speaker,
  一首言谈空虚无误者的诗
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  someone who emerges as, more or less, buried alive.
  一个几乎如同活死人一样的存在