爱将你送来像胖乎乎的金表。
助产士拍拍你的脚心,
你毫不掩饰的哭喊
在大自然中占定一席之地。
我们的声音回响,赞美着你的到来。
新的雕像。
在通风的博物馆,你的赤裸
使我们的安全蒙上阴影。
我们围站着茫然似墙。
我不比云更像你的母亲
云朵凝成一面镜子映出它自己
缓慢地消失在风之手。
整个晚上你小蛾虫的呼吸
在扁平的粉色玫瑰中颤动。
我醒来倾听:
远方的海涌进我的耳边。
一声哭喊,我从床上爬出,重如奶牛,
穿着饰花的维多利亚睡衣。
你的嘴开启猫似的洁净。
那窗户的方形,变白并吞没暗淡的星星。
现在你尝试,一连串的音符;
清晰的元音像气球般升起。
《气球》
圣诞以来它们与我们在一起,
诚实,清爽,
椭圆的灵性动物,
占据了一半空间,
随着丝滑、无形的空气流
挪动着、磨蹭着,
受到攻击,啪的
一声尖叫,溜走歇息去了,很少颤动。
黄色的猫头,蓝色的鱼儿――
我们与如此古怪的月儿同住
而不是呆板的家具!
草垫子,白色墙
而那些游动着的
红绿气球,装着薄薄的空气,
快乐的
心仿佛充满希冀,自由的
孔雀,用羽毛
给古老的大地祈福
在星状金属中跳动。
你的小弟弟
在捏他的气球
猫似的吱吱叫。
好像看到
好玩的粉色世界,他兴许会咬一口
他咬了
然后往后
坐着,胖乎乎的罐
注视着清澈如水的世界。
他的小拳
捏住了一片红色的碎皮。 Morning song
By Sylvia Plath
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.
All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.
One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square
Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.
《 Balloons》
Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk
Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
Yellow cathead, blue fish―
Such queer moons we live with
Instead of dead furfures!
Straw mats, white walls
And these travelling
Globes of thin air, red, green,
Delighting
The heart like wishes or free
Peacocks blessing
Old ground with a feather
Beaten in starry metals.
Your small
Brother is making
His balloon squeak like a cat.
Seeming to see
A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it,
He bites,
Then sits
Back, fat jug
Contemplating a world clear as water.
A red
Shred in his little fist.