Love Letter
Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just tow me an inch, no-
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.
讲讲你做的改变谈何容易。
如果我还活着，那么因为我曾经死去，
虽然，一如顽石，与此毫不相关，
仍旧持此态度积习成性
你不能把我拽出一寸，
也不能抛弃我，让我睁着呆傻的小眼睛
无望地再一次重望天廷，当然，
包括理解蓝天，或星星
That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter -
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly- chiseled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
不是那样。我睡着，说道：一条蛇
在黑礁中装扮成了黑礁
在白色之冬的缝隙里
___像我的邻居，面无笑容
无数漂亮的线条分明的脸
时时刻刻都会和我的黑陶色的
脸化为一体。他们轮着落泪，
像天使在阴天阴地哭泣，
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.
And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mice - scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
而这不能让我相信。他们的泪水冻成了冰。
每一个死者的头上都戴着雪帽子一顶。
我一度睡着像个弯曲的姆指。
先要做的就是我风云飘散
在升起的露水上把自己锁定
幽灵般的晶莹。石石相伴
犬牙交错，毫无表情。
我不知其中何事发生。
我一度闪光，鼠斑磷磷，展开
自己如泉水一倾如注
于鸟足于植物的茎干之上。
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.
Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul- shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
我还聪明。我很快就懂得你。
树，石闪光，没有阴影。
我纤纤十指细长就像晶品。
像三月的蓓蕾我已萌芽：
一条臂膀，一条大腿，臂膀，大腿。
从石头到云彩，我如是攀爬。
我现在多少像个神
在我灵魂的转换中破云穿行
一如雪窗一样纯粹。这是一件礼品。
-- Sylvia Plath（S.普拉斯）
A very different sort of love poem, but great reading nevertheless. I like
the beautiful matter-of-fact way in which Plath attempts to describe the
tumultuous love of her life - as though she were a dispassionate observer
looking at the wondrous changes in herself from the outside. It is as though
her love is so intense that it would sweep away all her reason (and rhyme)
if she gave way to it. Hence the documentary style carefully repressing
emotion, which shines through doubly reinforced because of this very
restraint. The last sentence is magical:
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.
Anustup.
- Re: -- Sylvia Plath : Love Letterposted on 11/17/2003
自立，上周六我把“morning sun”录像寄给你了。最后20来分钟我睡着了，匆忙寄去，也没检查录的是否完整。前半分钟给掐掉了。海关单上写是中英文学习资料，不知道多久可以到达。如果有问题，我下次一定给你再录一盘，托人带回去。
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