Plath: The Moon and the Yew Tree

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 153

　　　The Moon and the Yew Tree

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky—
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness—
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness—blackness and silence.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　22 October 1961



普拉斯《诗全编》
第153首

　　　月亮与紫杉

这是心智的光，冷，飘忽。
心智的树都是黑的。光，是蓝的。
青草将哀伤卸在我脚下，似乎我就是上帝，
刺扎着我的足踝，低诉它们的谦卑。
灵性的袅袅的雾霭居住在这个地方，
与我的屋子仅有一排墓石相隔。
我实在看不出还有什么地方可去。

月亮绝非一扇门。它自身便是一张脸，
像指关节一样白，而且不安到了极点。
它拖着大海，像拖着一宗黑暗的罪行；它很安静，
有着彻底绝望的圆型哈欠。我住在这儿。
每个礼拜天，钟声两次震惊天空——
八只巨大的舌头确认着耶稣复活。
到最后，它们肃穆洪亮地念出自己的名字。

那株紫杉直指夜空，呈现哥特式形状。
眼睛沿树向上，便会发现那轮月亮。
月亮是我母亲。她不像玛丽亚那样甜美。
她的蓝罩衣释放出小蝙蝠和猫头鹰。
我多么愿意相信温情——
那张模拟像的脸，因为烛光竟也和蔼，
还特别对我垂下它温柔的眼睛。

我已在堕落之途走得很远。云正在绽放
蓝色与神秘的花朵，挡住了星星的脸。
教堂内，圣人们将会全身蓝色，
借助脆弱的双脚，漂浮于冷冷的长椅之上，
他们的手与脸，因神圣而僵硬。
这一切，月亮什么都没看见。她是光秃的，野生的。
而紫杉的信息是一片玄黑——玄黑和沉默。
　　　　　　　　　　　1961年10月22日