Love Letter - Sylvia Plath

Not easy to state the change you made.

If I'm alive now, then I was dead,

Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,

Staying put according to habit.

You didn't just tow me an inch, no-

Nor leave me to set my small bald eye

Skyward again, without hope, of course,

Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake

Masked among black rocks as a black rock

In the white hiatus of winter-

Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure

In the million perfectly-chiseled

Cheeks alighting each moment to melt

My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears,

Angels weeping over dull natures,

But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.

Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.

The first thing I was was sheer air

And the locked drops rising in dew

Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay

Dense and expressionless round about.

I didn't know what to make of it.

I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded

To pour myself out like a fluid

Among bird feet and the stems of plants.

I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.

My finger-length grew lucent as glass.

I started to bud like a March twig:

An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.

From stone to cloud, so I ascended.

Now I resemble a sort of god

Floating through the air in my soul-shift

Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.

我對Sylvia Plath 的認知有：她患有抑鬱症，她把自己的頭放入微波爐來自殺，她「曾是」詩人Ted Hughes的太太，說曾是是因爲後者為了Assia Wevill離開她，據説 Sylvia Plath自殺身亡六年以後，Assia Wevill也不得好死。

我有Ted Hughes 1998年出版的最後的詩集Birthday Letters，寫他和Sylvia Plath的複雜關係，滿紙低吟，實在不適合我這個悲觀的人閲讀，所以一直沒有讀完。

吊詭異的是，這詩使我想起盧巧音的「垃圾」。

如果我是半張廢紙　讓我　化蝶
如果我是個空罐子　為你　鐵了心

被你浪費　被你活埋
讓你愉快　讓我瓦解
為你盛放　頹廢中　那媚態

＊留我做個垃圾　長留戀於你家
從沉溺中結疤　再發芽
情愛就似垃圾　殘骸雖會腐化
庭園中最後也　開滿花

＃被世界遺棄　不可怕
喜歡你　有時還可怕
沒法再做那些牽掛
比不上　在你手中火化
不需要　完美得可怕
太快樂　如何招架　殘忍不好嗎

重唱　＊,＃,＃

灰燼裡　被徹底消化
我以後　全無牽掛　什麼都不怕