推 ababmiou: 08/27 17:36
月亮與紫杉
--Sylvia Plath, 羅浩原 譯
這心靈之光，是寒冷的光、惑星的光。
心靈之樹全是黑的。光是藍的。
青草奉我為神明似地將哀傷往我腳上傾洩
扎痛了我的腳踝，低訴著它們多麼卑微
空靈的裊裊霧靄終年盤桓於此。
距我的房舍僅一排墓石之隔。
實難看出除了我這兒霧靄還有何處可去。
月亮並非通往什麼的門。它自有一副知名的臉孔，
蒼白得像指骨節，且惶惶不安至極。
它拖著大海如陰沉的罪犯拖著屍體；它結舌
張口陷入了徹底絕望。我就住在這麼個地方。
每個禮拜天，天空都要被齊鳴的鐘聲震驚兩次——
八隻巨大鐘舌信誓旦旦著耶穌曾復活
最後還總要肅穆洪亮地鳴放出自己的大名。
紫杉枝幹直指夜空，呈哥德式教堂狀。
眼睛順著樹向上就會看到那輪明月。
月亮是我的母親。她不像聖母瑪麗亞那樣甜美。
她的藍衣袍抖出許多小蝙蝠和夜梟。
我多麼願意相信有溫情——
那張芻像般的臉，因燭光而顯得柔和，
溫柔的眼睛垂顧眾生，特別是我。
我已墮落得很深。雲正在綻放
神秘的藍色花朵，擋住了星星的臉。
教堂內，聖徒們將全身發藍，
他們敏感的雙腳會懸浮在冷冷長椅之上，
神聖感令他們手勢僵硬、臉孔木訥。
月亮沒把這一切放在眼裡。她既魯莽又狂野。
而紫杉傳達的信息是黑暗——黑暗與沈默。
The Moon and the Yew Tree
--Sylvia Plath
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky--
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.
The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness--
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.
I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness--blackness and silence.
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