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148 关于雏妓的一次报道 雏妓又被称作漂亮宝贝 她穿着花边蕾丝小衣 大腿已是撩人 她的妈妈比她更美丽 她们像姐妹 “其中一个像羚羊”…… 男人都喜欢这样的宝贝 宝贝也喜欢对着镜头的感觉 我看见的雏妓却不是这样 她12岁 瘦小而且穿着肮脏 眼睛能装下一个世界 或者 根本已装不下哪怕一滴眼泪 她的爸爸是农民 年轻 但头发已花白 她的爸爸花了三个月 一步一步地去寻找他 失踪了的宝贝 雏妓的三个月 算起来快100多天 300多个男人 这可不是简单数 她一直不明白为什么 那么多老的,丑的,脏的男人 要趴在她的肚子上 她也不明白这类事情本来的模样 只知道她的身体 Changing Room(fintxt).indd 148 9/21/11 12:22 PM 149 Report on a Child Prostitute Some people call a child prostitute pretty baby She wears lacy embroidered lingerie Her thighs already inviting Her mother is even prettier They look like sisters “But she is the gazelle . . .” Men love a pretty baby And she loves gazing at herself in the mirror But the child I saw wasn’t like that She’s twelve years old thin and dressed in rags Her eyes take in the entire world And perhaps there’s not room for even a single tear Her father is a peasant he’s young But his hair is already gray He’s spent three months already Searching everywhere for his Lost baby Three months for a child prostitute That’s nearly 100 days Over 300 men Not an easy number for a child She’s never understood why So many old, ugly, filthy men Want to press themselves to her belly She doesn’t understand what it’s all about She only knows her body Changing Room(fintxt).indd 149 9/21/11 12:22 PM 150 变轻变空 被取走某些东西 雏妓又被认为美丽无脑 关于这些她一概不知 她只在夜里计算 她的算术本上有 300多个 无名无姓 无地无址的形体 他们合起来称作消费者 那些数字像墓地里的古老符号 太阳出来以前 消失了 看报纸时我一直在想: 不能为这个写诗 不能把诗变成这样 不能把诗嚼得嘎蹦直响 不能把词敲成牙齿 去反复啃咬 那些病 那些手术 那些与12岁加在一起的统计数字 诗、绷带、照片、回忆 刮伤我的眼球 (这是视网膜的明暗交接地带) 一切全表明:都是无用的 都是无人关心的伤害 都是每一天的数据 它们 正在创造出某些人一生的悲哀 部分地她只是一张新闻照片 12岁 与别的女孩站在一起 你看不出 她少一个卵巢 一般来说 那只是报道 每天 我们的眼睛收集成千上万的资讯 它们控制着消费者的欢愉 它们一掠而过 “它”也如此 Changing Room(fintxt).indd 150 9/21/11 12:22 PM 151 Is becoming light and empty that something’s been taken from it Some people think child prostitutes are pretty but dumb But she wouldn’t know about that She spends her nights counting She counts over 300 Nameless figures residence unknown Collectively they’re consumers Their numbers like ancient symbols in a graveyard Vanishing before dawn Reading the paper I keep thinking: You can’t write a poem about this You can’t turn poetry into something like this You can’t chew up a poem Or hammer words into teeth to eat away These diseases these incisions These large sums added to her twelve years Poem, bandage, photo, memory They scratch at my eyes (Here in the retinal zone where dark and light meet) Everything becomes clear: it’s useless No one cares about this damage It’s just a daily quotient of data Creating a life of misery for someone else In part she’s just a picture in the paper 12 years old standing in a group of girls You can’t see she’s missing an ovary You could say it’s just a story in the news Every day our eyes take in thousands of pieces of information That control our pleasure as consumers That stream past us just like this item Changing Room(fintxt).indd 151 9/21/11 12:22 PM 152 信息量 热线 和国际视点 像巨大的麻布 抹去了一个人卑微的伤痛 我们这些人 看了也就看了 它被揉皱 塞进黑铁桶里 Changing Room(fintxt).indd 152 9/21/11 12:22 PM 153 Masses of information hotlines global perspectives Like a huge rough rag wiping away one person’s feeble suffering People like us take a glance and that’s all Crumple up the paper stuff it in a metal bin Changing Room(fintxt).indd 153 9/21/11 12:22 PM ...


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