Plath: The Bee Meeting

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 176

　　　The Bee Meeting

Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the villagers--
The rector, the midwife, the sexton, the agent for bees.
In my sleeveless summery dress I have no protection,
And they are all gloved and covered, why did nobody tell me?
They are smiling and taking out veils tacked to ancient hats.

I am nude as a chicken neck, does nobody love me?
Yes, here is the secretary of bees with her white shop smock,
Buttoning the cuffs at my wrists and the slit from my neck to my knees.
Now I am milkweed silk, the bees will not notice.
They will not smell my fear, my fear, my fear.

Which is the rector now, is it that man in black?
Which is the midwife, is that her blue coat?
Everybody is nodding a square black head, they are knights in visors,
Breastplates of cheesecloth knotted under the armpits.
Their smiles and their voices are changing. I am led through a beanfield.

Strips of tinfoil winking like people,
Feather dusters fanning their hands in a sea of bean flowers,
Creamy bean flowers with black eyes and leaves like bored hearts.
Is it blood clots the tendrils are dragging up that string?
No, no, it is scarlet flowers that will one day be edible.

Now they are giving me a fashionable white straw Italian hat
And a black veil that molds to my face, they are making me one of them.
They are leading me to the shorn grove, the circle of hives.
Is it the hawthorn that smells so sick?
The barren body of hawthorn, etherizing its children.

Is it some operation that is taking place?
It is the surgeon my neighbors are waiting for,
This apparition in a green helmet,
Shining gloves and white suit.
Is it the butcher, the grocer, the postman, someone I know?

I cannot run, I am rooted, and the gorse hurts me
With its yellow purses, its spiky armory.
I could not run without having to run forever.
The white hive is snug as a virgin,
Sealing off her brood cells, her honey, and quietly humming.

Smoke rolls and scarves in the grove.
The mind of the hive thinks this is the end of everything.
Here they come, the outriders, on their hysterical elastics.
If I stand very still, they will think I am cow-parsley,
A gullible head untouched by their animosity,

Not even nodding, a personage in a hedgerow.
The villagers open the chambers, they are hunting the queen.
Is she hiding, is she eating honey? She is very clever.
She is old, old, old, she must live another year, and she knows it.
While in their fingerjoint cells the new virgins

Dream of a duel they will win inevitably,
A curtain of wax dividing them from the bride flight,
The upflight of the murderess into a heaven that loves her.
The villagers are moving the virgins, there will be no killing.
The old queen does not show herself, is she so ungrateful?

I am exhausted, I am exhausted--
Pillar of white in a blackout of knives.
I am the magician's girl who does not flinch.
The villagers are untying their disguises, they are shaking hands.
Whose is that long white box in the grove, what have they accomplished, why am I cold.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　3 October 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第176 首

　　　养蜂集会

在桥头迎接我的这些人，是谁？是同村居民——
教区长、产婆、教堂司事、蜜蜂代理商。
身穿无袖连衣裙，我无遮无挡，
而他们都戴手套、穿防护服，为何没人告诉我？
他们微笑，取下别在古老的帽子上的面纱。

我像鸡脖子一样赤裸，难道没人爱我？
还好，蜜蜂会秘书走来，穿着店员的白外套，
扣紧我手腕上的滚边袖和从脖子到膝盖的缝隙。
现在，我是马利筋的穗须，蜜蜂注意不到了。
它们嗅不到我的恐惧、我的恐惧、我的恐惧。

现在，哪个是教区长？那个黑衣人？
哪个是产婆？那是她的蓝外套？
每个人都在点头，一只黑色方框，都是披甲挂胄的骑士，
粗棉布的胸甲，结，系在腋窝下。
他们的微笑与嗓音一直在变。我被领着穿过一片豆田。

一条条锡箔像人一样眨眼，
羽毛刷在豆花的海洋中左右挥闪着手掌，
乳脂似的豆花长着黑眼睛，豆叶如烦厌的心。
卷须拽起的那一串，是鲜血的凝块？
不，不，那是猩红的花，终有一天可以食用。

现在他们给我戴一顶时髦的白色意大利草帽，
一块黑面纱配我的脸，把我造就成他们的一员。
领我走向修剪整齐的树林，排成一圈的蜂箱。
是不是山楂树散发出如此难闻的味道？
山楂树不育的身躯，麻醉着它的孩子。

是否正在进行一项手术？
我的邻居们正是在等待手术师，
这幽灵，戴着绿色防护帽、
光洁的手套、一身白套服。
这是屠户、杂货商、邮差？我认识的某人？

我跑不了了，我已生根，荆豆
以它黄色的豆荚和尖长的硬壳刺痛我。
我无法逃跑，一旦逃跑，就得永远逃跑。
白色蜂房温婉，如处女蜂，
封住她的孵巢、她的蜂蜜，柔声嗡鸣。

烟雾缭绕，若丝巾飘曳于树林。
蜂群的头脑认为这是一切的终结。
先遣队冲来了，带着歇斯底里的机动性。
如果我纹丝不动，它们会以为我是欧芹，
轻信的脑袋，免于它们的敌意，

我甚至没有点头，灌木丛中的要人。
村民们打开蜂室，搜捕蜂后。
她在躲藏？在吃蜜？她很聪明。
她老了，老了，老了，她必须再活一年，对此她很清楚。
而在指节似的蜂巢中，新一代处女蜂

梦想着她们注定获胜的决斗。
一道蜡帘隔开她们，无法婚飞，
那女凶手腾飞，驶入钟爱她的天堂。
村民们移动着处女蜂，不会有杀戮。
老蜂后拒不现身，竟如此毫不领情？

我已筋疲力尽，筋疲力尽——
白柱子站在飞刀闪过时的眩晕中。
我是魔术师的女助手，不畏缩。
村民正卸下伪装，互相握手。
树丛中那只白色长箱子是谁的，他们完成了什么，我为何这么冷。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　1962年10月3日

译按：
　　有这首诗开始的五首诗具有内在的联系，组成一个小系列，被认为是Plath最重要的成熟诗作，尤其第一、三首更是受到所有的评家关注。撇开纯私人生活事件外，这第一首诗中显然让人读到作家霍桑（Hawthorne）的短篇小说The Minister’s Black Veil和Young Goodman Brown（译为《教长的黑面纱》《年轻的古德曼• 布朗》或《年轻的好人布朗》）的黑面纱和神秘的入教仪式。而第5节中的“山楂“的英文原文是hawthorn，很可能是暗示霍桑。
　　罗德之妻悲戚地回首Sodom 时In the Old Testament, Abraham's nephew, whose wife was turned into a pillar of salt when she looked back as they fled Sodom.又见Gomorrah哥摩拉An ancient city of Palestine near Sodom, possibly covered by the waters of the Dead Sea. According to the Old Testament, the city was destroyed by fire because of its wickedness.