Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)
西尔维亚-普拉斯

Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) is the most important American poetess after Emily Dickinson and Elizabeth Bishop. In 1963, when she finally committed suicide, she was only 31 years old and was known as a gifted poetess.

西尔维娅·普拉斯(Sylvia Plath,1932—1963)是继艾米莉·狄金森和伊丽莎白·毕肖普之后最重要的美国女诗人。1963年她最后一次自杀成功时,年仅31岁,被称为天才女诗人。



译者
Translator


梵君
Fan Jun

诗人、译者。从事诗歌写作、文学翻译和研究。译作有《尼采随笔》、《一个崭新的女性诗歌流派,或者诞生》。

Poet and translator. Engaged in poetry writing, literary translation and research. Translations include Nietzsche's Essays and A New School of Women's Poetry, Or Birth.

Poppies in October

十月的罂粟花

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly---- A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers. O my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in dawn of cornflowers.

 

清晨的朝霞也做不出这样的裙子。 救护车上的女人也做不出 她红色的心穿过大褂,如此惊人的绽放—— 一份礼物,爱情的礼物 完全是不请自来 来自 苍白的,火焰点燃了 一氧化碳的天空 礼帽下一双近乎呆滞的眼睛。 哦上帝,我凭借什么 使这些迟来的嘴放声疾呼 在凝霜的森林,在矢车菊的清晨。

Barren Woman

不孕的女人

Empty, I echo to the least footfall, Museum without statues, grand with pillars, porticoes, rotundas. In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself, Nun-hearted and blind to the world. Marble lilies Exhale their pallor like scent. I imagine myself with a great public, Mother of a white Nike and several bald-eyed Apollos. Instead, the dead injure me with attentions, and nothing can happen. The moon lays a hand on my forehead, Blank-faced and mum as a nurse.

 

空荡荡的,我最轻微的脚步声也会发出回响。 无雕像的博物馆,因圆柱、门廊和圆形的大厅气而雄伟。 在我的庭院,一柱喷泉跃起又泻下, 有修女之心,不闻世事。大理石百合, 散发出香气般的苍白。 我想象身处伟大的公众之中 一尊白色胜利女神和几尊秃眼的阿波罗之母。 然而,什么也没发生。死者的注目反而伤害到了我 月亮把手放到我额上 面无表情,一如沉默不语的护士。

The Couriers

信使

The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf? It is not mine. Do not accept it. Acetic acid in a sealed tin? Do not accept it. It is not genuine. A ring of gold with the sun in it? Lies. Lies and a grief. Frost on a leaf, the immaculate Cauldron, talking and crackling All to itself on the top of each Of nine black Alps. A disturbance in mirrors, The sea shattering its grey one—— Love, love, my season.

 

蜗牛滞留在树叶托盘中的话语? 那不是我的。别理睬它。 醋酸被困在一个密封的锡罐? 这不是真的。别理睬它。 一枚嵌有太阳的金戒指? 谎言。谎言叠加的悲伤。 有如叶子上结霜,一尘不染的大锅, 滔滔不绝,噼里啪啦作响 在阿尔卑斯山九座黑色峰顶 群镜里一阵骚动, 大海砸碎了它的灰色幻象—— 爱情、爱情,我的季节。

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