普拉斯(Sylvia Plath)诗选5首(中译) (图)

普拉斯（1932-1963），出版的诗集有《冬天的船》（1960）、《巨人的石像及其他》
（1960）和《爱丽尔》（1965）。

There is a film "Sylvia" about her.



Born to middle class parents in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, Sylvia Plath published her first poem when she was eight. Sensitive, intelligent, compelled toward perfection in everything she attempted, she was, on the surface, a model daughter, popular in school, earning straight A's, winning the best prizes. By the time she entered Smith College on a scholarship in 1950 she already had an impressive list of publications, and while at Smith she wrote over four hundred poems.
Sylvia's surface perfection was however underlain by grave personal discontinuities, some of which doubtless had their origin in the death of her father (he was a college professor and an expert on bees) when she was eight. During the summer following her junior year at Smith, having returned from a stay in New York City where she had been a student ``guest editor'' at Mademoiselle Magazine, Sylvia nearly succeeded in killing herself by swallowing sleeping pills. She later described this experience in an autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar, published in 1963. After a period of recovery involving electroshock and psychotherapy Sylvia resumed her pursuit of academic and literary success, graduating from Smith summa cum laude in 1955 and winning a Fulbright scholarship to study at Cambridge, England.

In 1956 she married the English poet Ted Hughes , and in 1960, when she was 28, her first book, The Colossus, was published in England. The poems in this book---formally precise, well wrought---show clearly the dedication with which Sylvia had served her apprenticeship; yet they give only glimpses of what was to come in the poems she would begin writing early in 1961. She and Ted Hughes settled for a while in an English country village in Devon, but less than two years after the birth of their first child the marriage broke apart.

The winter of 1962-63, one of the coldest in centuries, found Sylvia living in a small London flat, now with two children, ill with flu and low on money. The hardness of her life seemed to increase her need to write, and she often worked between four and eight in the morning, before the children woke, sometimes finishing a poem a day. In these last poems it is as if some deeper, powerful self has grabbed control; death is given a cruel physical allure and psychic pain becomes almost tactile.

On February 11, 1963, Sylvia Plath killed herself with cooking gas at the age of 30. Two years later Ariel, a collection of some of her last poems, was published; this was followed by Crossing the Water and Winter Trees in 1971, and, in 1981, The Collected Poems appeared, edited by Ted Hughes.
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边缘

这个女人尽善尽美了，
她的死

尸体带著圆满的微笑，
一种希□式的悲剧结局

在她长裙的褶缝上幻现
她赤裸的

双脚像是在诉说
我们来自远方，现在到站了，

每一个死去的孩子都蜷缩著，像一窝白蛇
各自有一个小小的

早已空荡荡的牛奶罐
它把他们

搂进怀抱，就像玫瑰花
合上花瓣，在花园里

僵冷，死之光
从甜美、纵深的喉管里溢出芬芳。

月亮已无哀可悲，
从她的骨缝射出凝睇。

它已习惯于这种事情。
黑色长裙缓缓拖拽，悉悉作响。

赵琼、岛子 译

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榆树

我知道底部，她说。我用巨大的主根探知：
这正是你所畏惧的。
但我并不怕：我曾到过那里。

你从我身上听到的可是海声，
它的不满？
或者是空无的声音，那是你的疯狂？

爱是一抹阴影。
你在它的背后躺卧呼喊。
听：这是蹄音：它远离了，像一匹马。

整个晚上我将如是奔驰，狂烈地，
直把你的头跑成石块，你的枕成一方小小的赛马场，
回响，回响。

或者要我带给你毒药的响声？
下雨了，这硕大的寂静。
而这是它的果实：锡白，如砷。

我饱尝落日的暴行。
焦灼直达根部
我红色的灯丝烧断而仍坚持著，一团铁丝。

现在我分解成碎片，棍棒般四处飞散。
如此猛烈的狂风
绝不能忍受他人的旁观；我得嘶喊。

月亮也同样的无情：总是残酷地
拖曳著我，我已不能生育。
她的强光刺伤了我。或许是我绊住了她。

我放她走。我放她走。
萎缩而扁平，像经历了剧烈的手术。
你的恶梦如是地攫取占有我。

哭喊在我身上定居。
每晚鼓翼而出
用它的钓钩，去寻找值得爱的事物。

我被这黑暗的东西吓坏了
它就躺在我的体内。
我整天都能感觉到它轻柔如羽的翻动，它的憎恶。

云朵飘散而过。
那些是爱的面庞吗，那些苍白、不可复得的？
我就是因为这些而乱了心绪吗？

我无法进一步知晓。
这是什么，这张脸
如是凶残地扼杀枝干？--

它蛇阴的酸液嘶嘶作响。
麻木了意志。这些是隔离，徐缓的过失
足可置人于死，死，死。

张芬龄 译
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对手

如果月亮笑了，她会象你。
你同样留下美好事物的
记忆，但是已渐渐淹灭。
你俩都是光的伟大借用者。
她圆润的嘴哀悼著世界；你却无动于衷

你旷世的天资是用石块创造万物。

我苏醒于一所陵墓；你在这里，
石桌上的手指咯咯作响，寻找著烟卷，
象居心叵测的女人，但没有那种神经质，
你临终时说出一些不可思议之词。

月亮也在屈辱著她的臣民

白昼里它则荒诞不经
而你的不满，在另一层次
穿越邮件的缝隙和如期的爱一起抵达
白的和黑的，如一氧化碳般珍贵。
来自你的音讯，无一日平安无事
也许漫步于非洲，然而却惦念著我。
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雾中羊

山岭迈入白色之中，
人和星辰
伤心地望著我，我令他们失望。

火车留下一趟呼出的气，
哦，慢腾腾的
马，锈色，

马蹄，悲哀的铃声────
早晨越来越暗，
整整一早晨，

一朵花已经离去，
我的骨头抓住一片儿寂静，远处的
田野溶化了我的心，

他们威胁我，
要我穿过，去一片没有
星辰，没有父亲的天空，一泓黑水，

彭予 译

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七月里的罂粟花
　
小小的罂粟花，小小的地狱之火，
你不伤人？

你闪烁不定，我不能碰你，
我把双手伸进火中，什么也没燃烧，

瞧著你那样闪烁我感到
绵绵无力，多皱，鲜红，就像人的嘴唇，

刚刚流过血的嘴唇。
血淋淋的小裙子！

有些烟味我不能闻，
你的鸦片和你令人作呕的容器在何处？

但愿我能流血，或者入睡！────
但愿我的嘴唇能嫁给那样的创伤！
或者你的汁液渗向我，在这玻璃容器里，
使人迟钝，平静，

可它是无色的，无色的，

彭予译