Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zheng Xiaoqiong

A child migrant worker from Cold Mountain

Life is baffling     our epoch is becoming
Blind     A fourteen-year-old girl has to work with us
On the assembly line that carries the fatigue of our era
Sometimes     she wishes she had returned to the countryside in Sichuan
To cut firewood    and grass    to gather wild berries and flowers
Her young delicate gaze reveals desolation     I don’t know
What words can describe her      except
Child laborer     or sighs as thin as paper
Her gaze can always crush a soft heart
Why do machines shatter any compassion on the production line
Her lagging behind half a beat often makes
The group leader curse     Her tears do not fall
They brim her eyes     “I’m a grown-up
I won’t cry”    she solemnly declares
How bewildering      her childhood home has become 
Reminiscence     She speaks of the mountains, their slopes
The blue lake     the snakes     and oxen
Perhaps life means finding a path out of confusion
Back to life itself     Sometimes her dark face
Shows contempt for a fellow worker
As she points at another girl thinner and more delicate than herself, saying
“She may be younger than I     but she has to sleep with men at night.”

Kindarbeider uit Liangshan

het leven is verbijsterend     het tijdperk wordt langzaam
blind     een veertienjarig meisje staat met ons
aan de lopende band met daarop de vermoeidheid van deze tijd
soms     wil ze niets liever dan terugkeren naar haar geboortestreek in Sichuan
hout hakken     gras snijden     wild fruit en wilde bloemen plukken
uit haar magere blik spreekt verlorenheid     ik weet niet
hoe ik dat zou kunnen uitdrukken     behalve:
kinderarbeid     of zuchten zo dun als papier
haar blik kan elke lieve ziel breken
waarom wordt het weinige beetje medelijden
door de machines van de lopende band kapot gewalst?
haar net iets tragere bewegingstempo wekt vaak
het gevloek van de voorman     haar tranen vallen niet
ze vullen haar ogen     “ik ben groot
mag niet huilen”     zegt ze bloedserieus
zo verbijsterend     van haar kindertijd resteren alleen nog
herinneringen     ze heeft het over dingen uit de bergen, zoals hellingen
blauwe meren     slangen     koeien
misschien is het leven het vinden van een weg te midden van verbijstering
om terug te keren naar het leven zelf     soms toont haar donkere gezicht
een blik van minachting voor een ploegmaatje
dan wijst ze naar een ander meisje, zwakker dan zijzelf, en zegt:
“zij is jonger dan ik     maar zij moet ’s nachts met mannen slapen”

凉山童工

生活只会茫然  时代逐渐成为
盲人 十四岁小女孩要跟我们
在流水线上领引时代带来的疲惫
有时 她更想让自己返回四川乡下
砍柴 割草 摘野果子与野花
她瘦小的眼神浮出荒凉 我不知道
该用怎样的句子来表达 只知道
童工 或者像薄纸样的叹息
她的眼神总能将柔软的心击碎
为什么仅有的点点同情
也被流水线的机器辗碎
她慢半拍的动作常常换来
组长的咒骂 她的泪没有流下
在眼眶里转动 “我是大人了
不能流泪” 她一本正经地说
多么茫然啊 童年只剩下
追忆 她说起山中事物比如山坡
比如蔚蓝的海子 比如蛇 牛
也许生活就是要从茫然间找出一条路
返回到它的本身 有时她黝黑的脸
会对她的同伴露出鄙视的神色
她指着另一个比她更瘦弱的女孩说
“她比我还小 夜里要陪男人睡觉”
Close

A child migrant worker from Cold Mountain

Life is baffling     our epoch is becoming
Blind     A fourteen-year-old girl has to work with us
On the assembly line that carries the fatigue of our era
Sometimes     she wishes she had returned to the countryside in Sichuan
To cut firewood    and grass    to gather wild berries and flowers
Her young delicate gaze reveals desolation     I don’t know
What words can describe her      except
Child laborer     or sighs as thin as paper
Her gaze can always crush a soft heart
Why do machines shatter any compassion on the production line
Her lagging behind half a beat often makes
The group leader curse     Her tears do not fall
They brim her eyes     “I’m a grown-up
I won’t cry”    she solemnly declares
How bewildering      her childhood home has become 
Reminiscence     She speaks of the mountains, their slopes
The blue lake     the snakes     and oxen
Perhaps life means finding a path out of confusion
Back to life itself     Sometimes her dark face
Shows contempt for a fellow worker
As she points at another girl thinner and more delicate than herself, saying
“She may be younger than I     but she has to sleep with men at night.”

A child migrant worker from Cold Mountain

Life is baffling     our epoch is becoming
Blind     A fourteen-year-old girl has to work with us
On the assembly line that carries the fatigue of our era
Sometimes     she wishes she had returned to the countryside in Sichuan
To cut firewood    and grass    to gather wild berries and flowers
Her young delicate gaze reveals desolation     I don’t know
What words can describe her      except
Child laborer     or sighs as thin as paper
Her gaze can always crush a soft heart
Why do machines shatter any compassion on the production line
Her lagging behind half a beat often makes
The group leader curse     Her tears do not fall
They brim her eyes     “I’m a grown-up
I won’t cry”    she solemnly declares
How bewildering      her childhood home has become 
Reminiscence     She speaks of the mountains, their slopes
The blue lake     the snakes     and oxen
Perhaps life means finding a path out of confusion
Back to life itself     Sometimes her dark face
Shows contempt for a fellow worker
As she points at another girl thinner and more delicate than herself, saying
“She may be younger than I     but she has to sleep with men at night.”
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère