Plath: Stopped Dead

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 187

　　Stopped Dead

A squeal of brakes.
Or is it a birth cry?
And here we are, hung out over the dead drop
Uncle, pants factory Fatso, millionaire.
And you out cold beside me in your chair.

The wheels, two rubber grubs, bite their sweet tails.
Is that Spain down there?
Red and yellow, two passionate hot metals
Writhing and sighing, what sort of a scenery is it?
It isn't England, it isn't France, it isn't Ireland.

It's violent. We're here on a visit,
With a goddam baby screaming off somewhere.
There's always a bloody baby in the air.
I'd call it a sunset, but
Whoever heard a sunset yowl like that?

You are sunk in your seven chins, still as a ham.
Who do you think I am,
Uncle, uncle?
Sad Hamlet, with a knife?
Where do you stash your life?

Is it a penny, a pearl---
Your soul, your soul?
I'll carry it off like a rich pretty girl,
Simply open the door and step out of the car
And live in Gibraltar on air, on air.
　　　　　　　　　　　　19 October 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第187首

　　未遂之死

刹车的尖啸。
或是初生的啼哭？
我们已至此，悬吊在外，下面是那跌落到死的
叔叔，裤子工厂的胖子，百万富翁。
而你在我身边的椅子上，比冷还要冷。

车轮，两只橡胶苦工，咬自己的甜尾巴。
那边下去，就是西班牙？
红、黄，两块激情的热金属
扭动、叹息，这算是怎样的风景？
不是英格兰，不是法兰西，不是爱尔兰。

这是暴力。我们来这儿，游客而已，
而一个讨厌的婴孩在某处干嚎。
我该称之为落日，可是
有谁听到落日像那样尖叫？

你陷进你的七个下巴，安静如火腿。
叔叔，你以为我
是谁，叔叔？
悲伤的带刀子的哈姆雷特？
你将你的人生藏在哪儿？

那是一个便士，一颗珍珠——
你的灵、你的魂？
我要灭了它，像灭掉一个漂亮的富家女，
打开门，下车，简简单单，
然后活在直布罗陀，吸食空气，空气。
　　　　　　　1962年10月19日