Fan Jinghua: My Voodoo Baby

　　　　My Voodoo Baby

I lost my voodoo baby
When jostling through the parade of banners and war cries;
I lost her and she was abandoned for the tracks of human tanks.
The cotton filled baby, full and round to every limb,
Light, warm and sexy;
And oh explosive when a warp of the fabric skin is pulled out.
So delicate that she could not even sink as a reef but was only
A faint ache sobbing on the narrow web between my thumb and forefinger,
And lapping dry the moisture;
Her head craning out as if she could levitate in my hold.

I could always see her pouncing plaits, her rabbit ears, and the big curious eyes
That took in whatever reflected light,
And in a blink
She had eaten up and digested all the shapes.
But she never shut her mouth, always ready
To muster a stomach of grievances to accuse my possible negligence,
So that guilt would propel me around in the sea of people.
There is a negativity going on that even sunshine could not analyze
The “I” and “thou” between us.

I had never put her in my pocket, side or rear;
When my hands were busy with my lover, I’d hang her onto my backpack
And made sure she had views and fresh air.
Whenever my mind’s eye touches her like acupuncture,
Her voodoo force steamed like marijuana
Which was passed from mouth to mouth in the dimly lit bedroom.
I hid her blaze with the forepart of my sportcoat, but it was
Her grace of a self-indulgent aesthete that could not be shut in.
I’d fondle her shoulder blades from which wings should have grown,
With five fingers, one by one,
And then my palm would plaster and pause as if to warm and heal the scars,
In a carriage or a lift, or even in a half-covered zigzagging corridor or a promenade,
She would burst into giggles, not giving a damn about our manners.

Oh, my voodoo baby, my voodoo baby,
What have become of you?
I imagine you found a dry gutter to shelter yourself
From the litter of plastic bags and newspapers and used greaseproof paper flags,
Waiting sulkily, and eventually you were picked up and taken home,
His face tense with a suppressed excitement, while your memory was refreshed.
Was the warmth of another warmer than mine or was the difference just incomparable?
I say, every blot on your body is a dark spot on my lungs,
But I’ll muffle my cough;
I say, every wrinkle on your face is a crack on my heart,
But I won’t let it show on the forehead;
I say, we should not expect a wholesale harmony from this world,
As the pitch of laughter is not a good graduation of happiness,
As the erected ruler is not valid for love and endearment;
We know that sometimes an open palm may bear more weight than a quicksand beach.
I am saying this, perhaps because I have already lost you;

And losing your touch means that you might have turned dirty and mean;
Your mood ferments in moonlight into soap fantasy,
Like wild fantasies, popped in and out,
Leaving only several cold stars that nail the sky fast against a vast sheet of emptiness,
And your only way to feel your own weight---
To snake into my dreams like a wronged ghost,
Stone-faced, blood-eyed and tongued hanging long toward your breasts,
While I, trying to stay awake,
Except for listening to the monotonous cries from the rally,
Can do nothing.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　July 4, 2008

　　　我的巫毒宝贝

怪只怪我逆着人流，挤过那些标语和口号
我丢了我的巫毒宝贝
她被离弃在肉体坦克的履带前
又轻又暖的宝贝，四肢棉柔
饱满，性感
如果她针织的皮肤被抽掉两根经线，就会爆炸
那么纤弱，怎么经得起呢
她甚至不会成为暗礁，双肘轻轻地支撑着我的虎口
舔干我手心渗上来的热气，留下一丝麻麻的疼

她的头伸出来，似乎在我的掌握中仍能悬浮而自由
跳跃的辫子、竖起的耳朵，那双充满好奇的大眼睛
将能反光的都收了进去，一眨之间就吞掉了
那些形状，转换成自己的能量
她从不闭起嘴巴，随时都备好一肚子的怨气
打算用来指责我可能的冷落
于是我一直被未来的愧疚撑满，航行于人海
这就有了一种气在我们之间运行，甚至阳光也无法分解出彼此

我从不将她放进衣袋，无论是腰侧的插兜还是屁股后面
当我拥着情人，腾不出手，我便将她挂在我的背包上，确保
她视野开阔而且呼吸顺畅
我只要用我的心灵之眼刺扎她的身体，她就会冒出生命的巫毒
那味道好像大麻，我们躲在卧室幽暗的笑声中传递，而我
用休闲西装的前片当作她的屏风
可难掩你那唯美主义者惊鸿一瞥的颓废
当我一有机会，在车厢或者电梯、甚至在半封闭的游廊或林荫道
便会抚弄她的肩胛骨，那儿本是翅膀生发的地方
我以五指抹过，再用手掌捂着，停顿，似乎为了抚消那块伤疤
而她咯咯地笑，丝毫没想到举止是否端庄

我的巫毒宝贝，我的巫毒宝贝
你现在怎样
我想象你找到了一段干爽的路肩，躲开了塑料袋、腊纸彩旗与报纸的垃圾
在那里闷气地等，终于有一个人，捡起你，回家，他的神色紧绷
抑制着急不可耐，而你的记忆正被刷新
那个人的温度是否令你想起曾有的暖意，或者两种温暖不可并提
我说，你身上的每一块污渍，都是我肺叶上的阴影，但我会咳嗽得毫不失礼
我说，你脸上的每一道皱褶，都是我心肝上的裂纹，但我不会让它们转到眉头
我说，我们不该希求这世界有一荣俱荣的和谐，笑声的分贝并非开怀的指标
正如勃起的探尺无法衡量爱与思念的柔韧，而手心向上
敞开，或许比流动的沙滩更能承接分量
我这样说，也许正因为我已失去了你

而失去，没有接触，或许意味着，你已变得又脏又坏，月光下的心情
像性幻想的气泡一样
一个接着一个破灭，剩下一望无际的空被几颗冷星钉在空中
还有或许能感到自身重量的惟一途径——
吐着信子钻进我的梦，像一个吊死鬼的冤魂
脸如死灰，眼睛流血，舌头拖在嘴外
而我，为了醒着，除了听满街高昂得单调的口号声之外
一无所能
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年7月5-6日