雙語·《西爾維婭·普拉斯詩集》 蜂蜇

Stings
蜂蜇

Bare-handed, I hand the combs.
雙手赤裸，我掌管蜂窩。

The man in white smiles, bare-handed,
白衣男子微笑著，雙手赤裸，

Our cheesecloth gauntlets neat and sweet,
我們的粗棉布手套干凈香甜，

The throats of our wrists brave lilies.
我們手腕袖口是漂亮的百合花

He and I
我與他

Have a thousand clean cells between us,
我們之間有一千只干凈的蜂房，

Eight combs of yellow cups,
八個(gè)黃色杯狀蜂窩，

And the hive itself a teacup,
蜂巢本身像白色茶杯，

White with pink flowers on it,
上面有粉色花兒朵朵，

With excessive love I enameled it
我曾經(jīng)給它涂磁漆，太多的愛

Thinking ‘sweetness, sweetness’.
心想著“甜蜜，甜蜜”。

Brood cells gray as the fossils of shells
孵房灰白如貝殼的化石

Terrify me, they seem so old.
讓我感到害怕，它們太老了。

What am I buying, wormy mahogany?
我在買什么，蟲蛀的桃花心木？

Is there any queen at all in it?
那里面果真有蜂后嗎？

If there is, she is old,
若有的話，她老了，

Her wings torn shawls, her long body
翅膀像破舊的披肩，修長的身軀

Rubbed of its plush——
磨掉了絨毛——

Poor and bare and unqueenly and even shameful.
可憐、赤裸、不體面的被廢蜂后。

I stand in a column
我站在一隊(duì)

Of winged, unmiraculous women,
極普通的女子中，仿佛長翅的蜜蜂，

Honey-drudgers.
采蜜苦工。

I am no drudge
我并非苦工

Though for years I have eaten dust
雖說我吞食灰塵已經(jīng)多年

And dried plates with my dense hair.
用我濃密的頭發(fā)擦干盤子。

And seen my strangeness evaporate,
而我的怪異蒸發(fā)，

Blue dew from dangerous skin.
危險(xiǎn)皮膚中滲出藍(lán)色露水。

Will they hate me,
她們會恨我嗎？

These women who only scurry,
這些婦女只是奔忙，

Whose news is the open cherry, the open clover?
只關(guān)心櫻桃開花，苜蓿開花的消息？

It is almost over.
幾乎結(jié)束了。

I am in control.
我在掌控中。

Here is my honey-machine,
這是我的采蜜器，

It will work without thinking,
無須思考便可工作，

Opening, in spring, like an industrious virgin
在春天里，打開，像勤勞的處女蜂

To scour the creaming crests
沖刷乳色羽冠

As the moon, for its ivory powders, scours the sea.
正如月亮，為象牙色的粉末，沖刷海洋。

A third person is watching.
第三個(gè)人在注視。

He has nothing to do with the bee-seller or with me.
他與賣蜂人或我都無關(guān)。

Now he is gone
現(xiàn)在他走了

In eight great bounds, a great scapegoat.
邁了八大步，了不起的替罪羊。

Here is his slipper, here is another,
這是他的一只拖鞋，那是另一只，

And here the square of white linen
還有白色亞麻方巾，

He wore instead of a hat.
他用方巾代替帽子。

He was sweet,
他是溫柔的，

The sweat of his efforts a rain
他揮汗如雨地勞動

Tugging the world to fruit.
想讓大地結(jié)出果實(shí)。

The bees found him out,
蜜蜂找到了他

Molding onto his lips like lies,
像謊言蜇了他的雙唇，

Complicating his features.
毀壞了他的容貌。

They thought death was worth it, but I
他們認(rèn)為死是值得的，但我

Have a self to recover, a queen.
要恢復(fù)自我，一只蜂后。

Is she dead, is she sleeping?
她死了，還是在沉睡？

Where has she been,
她在哪里，

With her lion-red body, her wings of glass?
獅子般紅色的身軀，透明的翅膀？

Now she is flying
現(xiàn)在，她在飛

More terrible than she ever was, red
比過去的她更可怕，天空中

Scar in the sky, red comet
紅色的疤痕，紅色的彗星

Over the engine that killed her——
在曾經(jīng)殺死她的機(jī)器上空——

The mausoleum, the wax house.
大陵墓，蠟制的房子。

(1962/10/06. pp.214—215. No. 178)
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