萊斯波思島
--Sylvia Plath, 羅浩原 譯
廚房藏著兇機！
馬鈴薯堆嘶嘶作響。
一整個好萊塢場景，密閉無窗，
日光燈忽明忽滅地抽搐像患了劇烈的偏頭痛，
門上一條條遮遮掩掩的紙葉
如舞臺簾幕，如寡婦的蓬頭散髮。
我是愛，是個病態的騙子，
而我的孩子，瞧瞧她，趴倒在地板上，
像個斷線的小木偶，扎掙著腳想退場
她什麼不搞搞精神分裂，
她的臉一陣紅一陣白，悽悽惶惶，
妳不是把她那些貓崽子困在妳窗外的
某種水泥井內
牠們屎尿直流、又吐又叫，可她聽不到。
妳說妳受不了她了，
這小雜種是個女娃。
妳像一架弄爆了真空管的破收音機
消除了人聲與歷史，那靜電干擾產生的
生生不息的雜音。
妳說我早該溺死那些貓仔子。牠們臭得很！
妳說我早該溺死我那女娃。
敢說她十歲就會抹脖子倘若她兩歲就瘋了的話。
那嬰孩微笑著，像球肥蝸牛，
在橘色合成地板亮晶晶的菱形紋案上。
妳可以餐了他。他是個男娃。
妳說妳丈夫對妳半點用處都沒有。
他那猶太娘護著珍珠似地護著他的風流絕暢。
妳有一個娃子，我有一雙。
我真該坐在康沃爾半島海岩上梳攏我的長髮。
我真該穿上虎紋熱褲，該搞一場外遇。
我倆真該在另一生相遇，該相逢於天上，
只有妳與我。
此時，傳來一陣油脂與嬰兒大便的臭味。
上次吃的安眠藥令我麻木而沉重。
炒菜的油煙、地獄的油煙
浮起了我倆的頭顱，兩個口吐毒液的死對頭，
浮起了我倆的骨頭、我倆的頭髮。
我叫妳孤兒、孤兒。妳有病。
妳曬了太陽會潰瘍，吹了風會肺癆，
曾經，妳很美麗。
在紐約，在好萊塢，男人們說「演完了？
哇，寶貝，妳是稀世之寶」。
妳裝啊，裝出銷魂顫抖。
陽痿的丈夫垂頭竄出去找咖啡喝。
我試著留他在裡面，
那根老舊的吸雷針、
強酸槽中的電解棒，滿天閃電從妳裡面抽離。
順著塑膠卵石坡道他顢頇而行，
一鞭一步的電車。電光火花是藍色的。
藍色的火花迸發出來，
如石英般爆裂成百萬碎片。
哦，珠寶！哦，多麼貴重！
那一夜的月亮
拖著牠的血袋，生病的
野獸
拽向了港灣的點點燈火。
然後恢復正常，
冷硬、疏離、蒼白。
沙灘上蛇鱗鱗的光澤快沒把我嚇死。
我倆不停地撿了一把又一把，愛不釋手，
揉麵似地揉著，那黑白混血的身體，
絲滑的玉米粥。
一條狗拐走了妳的狗崽老公。他繼續我行我素。
如今我沈默，恨
湧上脖子，
又濃又稠。
我不發一語。
將冷硬的馬鈴薯如高檔衣服般都打包好，
將孩子們都打包好，
將病貓崽子也打包好。
哦，醋瓶，
妳渾身裝滿的是愛。妳知道妳恨誰。
他撲抱著他的球和鏈條，就在大門邊
那向大海敞著的門邊
海驅馳而入，白濤黑水，
然後又反吐出去。
每天妳都用 將他灌飽，像一隻水罐。
妳精疲力竭。
妳的聲音成了我的珥璫，
撲翅、吮吸，嗜血的蝙蝠。
就是這樣，就是這樣。
妳從門後偷窺，
可悲的婆娘。「女人各各都是婊子。
我同她們沒法說通」。
妳的可愛裝飾被我看見了
緊貼著妳像個嬰兒的小拳頭
或像一隻海葵，而大海
親愛的，大海有偷竊狂。
我還是生的。
我說我或許會回來。
妳知道謊言是幹什麼的。
就算在妳的禪宗天堂我倆也不該相見。
Lesbos
--Sylvia Plath
Viciousness in the kitchen!
The potatoes hiss.
It is all Hollywood, windowless,
The fluorescent light wincing on and off like a terrible migraine,
Coy paper strips for doors
Stage curtains, a widow’s frizz.
And I, love, am a pathological liar,
And my child look at her, face down on the floor,
Little unstrung puppet, kicking to disappear
Why she is schizophrenic,
Her face is red and white, a panic,
You have stuck her kittens outside your window
In a sort of cement well
Where they crap and puke and cry and she can’t hear.
You say you can’t stand her,
The bastard’s a girl.
You who have blown your tubes like a bad radio
Clear of voices and history, the staticky
Noise of the new.
You say I should drown the kittens. Their smell!
You say I should drown my girl.
She’ll cut her throat at ten if she’s mad at two.
The baby smiles, fat snail,
From the polished lozenges of orange linoleum.
You could eat him. He’s a boy.
You say your husband is just no good to you.
His Jew-Mama guards his sweet sex like a pearl.
You have one baby, I have two.
I should sit on a rock off Cornwall and comb my hair.
I should wear tiger pants, I should have an affair.
We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,
Me and you.
Meanwhile there a stink of fat and baby crap.
I doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.
The smog of cooking, the smog of hell
Floats our heads, two venomous opposites,
Our bones, our hair.
I call you Orphan, orphan. You are ill.
The sun gives you ulcers, the wind gives you T.B.
Once you were beautiful.
In New York, in Hollywood, the men said: "Through?
Gee baby, you are rare."
You acted, acted for the thrill.
The impotent husband slumps out for a coffee.
I try to keep him in,
An old pole for the lightning,
The acid baths, the skyfuls off of you.
He lumps it down the plastic cobbled hill,
Flogged trolley. The sparks are blue.
The blue sparks spill,
Splitting like quartz into a million bits.
O jewel! O valuable!
That night the moon
Dragged its blood bag, sick
Animal
Up over the harbor lights.
And then grew normal,
Hard and apart and white.
The scale-sheen on the sand scared me to death.
We kept picking up handfuls, loving it,
Working it like dough, a mulatto body,
The silk grits.
A dog picked up your doggy husband. He went on.
Now I am silent, hate
Up to my neck,
Thick, thick.
I do not speak.
I am packing the hard potatoes like good clothes,
I am packing the babies,
I am packing the sick cats.
O vase of acid,
It is love you are full of. You know who you hate.
He is hugging his ball and chain down by the gate
That opens to the sea
Where it drives in, white and black,
Then spews it back.
Every day you fill him with soul-stuff, like a pitcher.
You are so exhausted.
Your voice my ear-ring,
Flapping and sucking, blood-loving bat.
That is that. That is that.
You peer from the door,
Sad hag. "Every woman’s a whore.
I can’t communicate."
I see your cute decor
Close on you like the fist of a baby
Or an anemone, that sea
Sweetheart, that kleptomaniac.
I am still raw.
I say I may be back.
You know what lies are for.
Even in your Zen heaven we shan’t meet.
--
※ 發信站: 批踢踢實業坊(ptt.cc)
◆ From: 98.206.162.66
※ 編輯: kamadevas 來自: 98.206.162.66 (05/20 13:14)
※ 編輯: kamadevas 來自: 98.206.162.66 (08/24 11:15)
※ 編輯: kamadevas 來自: 98.206.162.66 (08/24 11:59)