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i offer you the bitterness of a an who has looked long and long at the lonely oon

i offer you y ancestors, y dead n, the ghosts that livg n have honoured arble:

y father’s father killed the frontier ofbuenos aires, o bullets through his ngs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his ldiers the he of a w;

y other’s grandfather -jt entyfour- headg a 插r of three hundred n peru, now ghosts on vani射d horses

i offer you whatever sight y books ay hold,whatever anless or huour y life

i offer you the loyalty of a an who has never been loyal

i offer you that kernel of yself that i have saved how -the central heart that deals not words, traffics not with dreas and is untouched by ti, by joy, by adversities

i offer you the ory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born

i offer you explanationf yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprisg news of yourself

ican give you y loneless, y darkness, the hunr of y heart;

i a tryg to bribe you with uncertaty, with danr, with defeat

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(我用什麼才能留住你？

我給你貧窮的街道、絕望的日落、破敗郊區的月亮。

我給你一個久久地望著孤月的人的悲哀。

我給你我已死去的先輩，人們用大理石紀念他們的幽靈：

在布宜偌斯艾利斯邊境陣亡的我父親的父親，兩顆子彈穿了他的胸膛。蓄著鬍子的他死去了，士兵們用牛皮裹起他的屍體；

我母親的祖父——時年二十四歲——在秘魯率領三百名士兵衝鋒，如今都成了消失的馬背上的幽靈。

我給你我寫的書中所能包含的一切悟力、我生活中所能有的男子氣概或幽默。

我給你一個從未有過信仰人的忠誠。

我給你我設法保全的我自己的核心——不營字造句，不和夢想交易，不被時間、歡樂和逆境觸動的核心。

我給你，早在你出生前多年的一個傍晚看到的一朵黃玫瑰的記憶。

我給你對自己的解釋，關於你自己的理論，你自己的真實而驚人