《月亮和紫杉樹》 by 普拉斯

月亮和紫杉樹   普拉斯   林木譯

 

這是心智之光，冷的和行星的。

心靈的樹是黑的。光是藍的。

草在我腳下卸掉它們的悲傷，仿佛我是上帝，

刺痛我的腳踝並低語它們的卑微。

朦朧酒香的霧氣棲居此處

與我的房子隔著一排墓碑。

我根本看不出該往哪裏去。

 

月亮不是門。它本身就是一張臉，

白如指節且極其不安。

它身後拖拽著海，宛如一樁黑暗罪行；它是安靜的

張著“Ｏ”形的口，完全絕望。我住在這裏。

周日兩次，鍾聲驚動天空——

八大舌頭確認複活。

最後，它們莊嚴地回蕩著自己的名字。

 

紫杉樹指向蒼穹。呈現哥特式形狀。

目光隨它上揚且找到月亮。

月亮是我母親。她不像聖母那般可愛。

她的藍袍鬆開，飛出小蝙蝠與貓頭鷹。

我多願意相信溫柔——

雕像的臉在燭光中柔和，

特地傾向我，眼神溫潤。

 

我已墜得很遠。雲朵在星辰表麵開花

湛藍而神秘。

教堂內，聖徒們將全是藍色的，

在踩著冰冷長椅的精美足尖上漂浮，

他們的雙手與麵容凝固著聖潔。

月亮對此渾然不覺。她光禿而狂野。

而紫杉樹的訊息是黑暗——黑暗與寂靜。

 

《The Moon and the Yew Tree》 

by 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 at 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 be all blue,

Floating on their delicate feet over 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.