推 Rootless: 08/23 13:16
養蜂集會
--Sylvia Plath
橋頭迎接我的都是些什麼人？全是些鄉親——
教區牧師、產婆、教堂執事、蜜蜂代理商。
身穿無袖連身裙的我毫無遮擋，
而他們卻手套、護具俱全，為何沒人跟我講？
他們微笑著取下扣在舊帽子上的面罩。
我則赤裸得像雞脖子似的，難道大家都討厭我？
幸好，養蜂會秘書拿著白色連身工作服走過來，
還替我扣緊袖口與從頸到膝的開襟。
現在，我像團乳草白穗鬚，不會被蜂群注意。
它們將聞不到我的恐懼、我的恐懼、我的恐懼。
我現在分不出哪位是教區牧師，是那黑衣人嗎？
哪位是產婆？那是她的藍外套嗎？
大家都在點著黑色方形的頭，都是戴著面甲的騎士，
乳酪濾布縫成的胸甲繫牢在腋窩下。
他們微笑著，聲音變了個人。我被領著穿過一片豆圃。
豆圃上繫著串串錫箔像人似的眨著眼，
豎在豆苗花海上的羽毛撢子如搧動的手掌，
乳白的豆苗花長著黑眼珠，豆葉皆懨懨如心。
被鬚莖捲上來的可是一串凝血？
不，不，那些是終有一天可以食用的猩紅花朵。
現在他們給我一頂時髦的白色義大利草帽，
和一塊黑紗配我的臉，把我弄成他們的一員。
引我去那修剪整齊的樹叢間排成一圈的蜂箱。
是山楂樹發出這難聞的氣味嗎？
山楂樹枯瘠的軀幹，醚醉著它自己的籽仔。
是不是有項手術正在進行？
而我的鄰居們正在等的那位手術師，
戴著綠色防護帽忽而顯靈，
配上光潔的手套與一身白衣袍。
這人是屠夫？雜貨商？郵差？我認識的某人嗎？
我跑不掉了，腿像生了根，荊豆刺傷了我
黃色的豆莢就是其帶刺的盔甲。
我不能逃，因為一旦逃跑就得永遠逃跑。
白色的蜂杯令處女蜂十分愜意
隔絕了她與孵巢、蜂蜜，和低聲哼吟。
樹叢間煙霧翻滾、繚繞，。
令蜂巢的首腦認為這是一切的終結。
來了，先頭部隊衝了出了，歇斯底里似的靈動。
如果我紋風不動，蜂群會以為我只是株茴芹，
它們易騙的腦筋就算仇恨也扭不過來，
對樹籬間這麼個大人物，甚至沒有點頭招呼。
村民們打開層層蜂箱，搜捕蜂后。
她在躲藏？正在吃蜜？她很聰明。
她老了，老了，老了，可她得再活一年，對此她很清楚。
而在指節似的蜂巢格中，新一代的處女蜂們
正夢想著一場註定獲勝的決鬥。
一道蠟簾攔住了她們的求偶飛行，
那將是女殺手進入愛她的天堂的一趟飛昇。
村民們挪開處女蜂，不會殺她們。
老蜂后拒不現身，她竟如此不知感恩？
我已筋疲力盡，筋疲力盡——
像根白柱子在飛刀紛至時兩眼一黑。
我是魔術師毫不閃躲的女助手。
村民們正在卸下偽裝，互相握手。
樹叢中白色長箱為誰而設，村民幹了什麼好事，為何我一身寒。
The Bee Meeting
--Sylvia Plath
Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the villagers--
The rector, the midwife, the sexton, the agent for bees.
In my sleeveless summery dress I have no protection,
And they are all gloved and covered, why did nobody tell me?
They are smiling and taking out veils tacked to ancient hats.
I am nude as a chicken neck, does nobody love me?
Yes, here is the secretary of bees with her white shop smock,
Buttoning the cuffs at my wrists and the slit from my neck to my knees.
Now I am milkweed silk, the bees will not notice.
They will not smell my fear, my fear, my fear.
Which is the rector now, is it that man in black?
Which is the midwife, is that her blue coat?
Everybody is nodding a square black head, they are knights in visors,
Breastplates of cheesecloth knotted under the armpits.
Their smiles and their voices are changing. I am led through a beanfield.
Strips of tinfoil winking like people,
Feather dusters fanning their hands in a sea of bean flowers,
Creamy bean flowers with black eyes and leaves like bored hearts.
Is it blood clots the tendrils are dragging up that string?
No, no, it is scarlet flowers that will one day be edible.
Now they are giving me a fashionable white straw Italian hat
And a black veil that molds to my face, they are making me one of them.
They are leading me to the shorn grove, the circle of hives.
Is it the hawthorn that smells so sick?
The barren body of hawthorn, etherizing its children.
Is it some operation that is taking place?
It is the surgeon my neighbors are waiting for,
This apparition in a green helmet,
Shining gloves and white suit.
Is it the butcher, the grocer, the postman, someone I know?
I cannot run, I am rooted, and the gorse hurts me
With its yellow purses, its spiky armory.
I could not run without having to run forever.
The white hive is snug as a virgin,
Sealing off her brood cells, her honey, and quietly humming.
Smoke rolls and scarves in the grove.
The mind of the hive thinks this is the end of everything.
Here they come, the outriders, on their hysterical elastics.
If I stand very still, they will think I am cow-parsley,
A gullible head untouched by their animosity,
Not even nodding, a personage in a hedgerow.
The villagers open the chambers, they are hunting the queen.
Is she hiding, is she eating honey? She is very clever.
She is old, old, old, she must live another year, and she knows it.
While in their fingerjoint cells the new virgins
Dream of a duel they will win inevitably,
A curtain of wax dividing them from the bride flight,
The upflight of the murderess into a heaven that loves her.
The villagers are moving the virgins, there will be no killing.
The old queen does not show herself, is she so ungrateful?
I am exhausted, I am exhausted--
Pillar of white in a blackout of knives.
I am the magician's girl who does not flinch.
The villagers are untying their disguises, they are shaking hands.
Whose is that long white box in the grove, what have they accomplished, why
am I cold.
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