英語視頻暢談歐美人文風情22：美國女詩人Katie Makkai 漂亮

　　When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, "What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?" What comes next? Oh right, "Will I be rich?" Which is almost pretty depending on where you shop. And the pretty question infects from conception, passing blood and breath into cells.

　　當我還只是個小女孩，我問過我母親：“我會變得怎樣?我會變漂亮嗎?我會變美嗎?我會變漂亮嗎?”下一句是什么?喔對了：“我會變富有嗎?”那也幾乎是漂亮的問題，取決于你在哪里購物的。那個漂亮的問題從觀念開始感染，傳遍血液和呼吸并帶進細胞里。

　　The word hangs from our mothers' hearts in a shrill fluorescent floodlight of worry. "Will I be wanted? Worthy? Pretty?"

　　在憂心忡忡的刺眼熒光燈下，那個字掛在我們母親的內心。“我會被渴望嗎?會有價值嗎?會漂亮嗎?”

　　But puberty left me this funhouse mirror dryad: teeth set at science fiction angles, crooked nose, face donkey-long and pox-marked where the hormones went finger-painting.

　　但青春期留給我這個哈哈鏡精靈：依照科幻小說角度排列的牙齒、歪鼻子、臉有如驢子般長、還布滿荷爾蒙大玩指印畫時留下的濃皰疤痕。

　　My poor mother. How could this happen? "You'll have porcelain skin as soon as we can see a dermatologist. You sucked your thumb. That's why your teeth look like that! You were hit in the face with a Frisbee when you were six. Otherwise your nose would have been just fine! Don't worry. We'll get it all fixed!" She would say, grasping my face, twisting it this way then that, as though it were a cabbage she might buy.

　　我可憐的母親。這怎么會發(fā)生呢?“當我們可以去看皮膚科醫(yī)生時，你就會有陶瓷般的肌膚。你吸吮大拇指。那就是為什么你的牙齒看起來像那副德性!你在六歲時被飛盤打中臉。不然你的鼻子會就好好的!別擔心。我們會讓它全部修整好。”她會這么說，抓著我的臉，扭向這邊然后那邊，好似那是一顆她會購買的高麗菜。

　　But this is not about her. Not her fault. She, too, was raised to believe the greatest asset she could bestow upon her awkward little girl was a marketable facade.

　　但這不關她的事。不是她的錯。她同樣也是被養(yǎng)大去相信她可以送給她笨拙小女兒的最大資產(chǎn)是一面可以販售的表象。

　　By 16, I was pickled with ointments, medications, peroxides. Teeth corralled into steel prongs. Laying in a hospital bed, face packed with gauze, cushioning the brand new nose the surgeon had carved. Belly gorged on two pints of my own blood I had swallowed under anesthesia, and every convulsive twist of my gut like my body screaming at me from the inside out, "What did you let them do to you?"

　　在十六歲時，我被軟膏、藥物、過氧化氫所醃漬。牙齒被鋼刺圍起。躺在病床上，臉上包滿紗布，蓋住那外科醫(yī)生雕刻出來的全新鼻子。肚子塞滿兩品脫我在麻醉時吞下的自己的血，還有我內臟每次的抽筋扭痛都像我的身體從里頭向外對我大叫：“你讓他們對你做了什么事?”

　　All the while this never-ending chorus droning on and on, like the IV needle dripping liquid beauty into my blood. "Will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?" Like my mother, unwinding the gift wrap to reveal the bouquet of daughter her 10,000 dollars bought her. Pretty? Pretty.

　　這段永遠不會結束的合唱曲一直不斷地嗡嗡響起，就像靜脈點滴將美麗之液滴進我的血。“我會美麗嗎?我會美麗嗎?”就像我的母親，拆開禮物包裝，露出她一萬美金買來的女兒花束。美麗嗎?美麗。

　　And now, I have not seen my own face in 10 years. I have not seen my own face in 10 years, but this is not about me. This is about the self-mutilating circus we have painted ourselves clowns in. About women who will prowl 30 stores in 6 malls to find the right cocktail dress, but who haven't a clue where to find fulfillment or how to wear joy, wandering through life shackled to a shopping bag, beneath the tyranny of those two pretty syllables. About men wallowing on bar stools, drearily practicing attraction and everyone who will drift home tonight, crestfallen because not enough strangers found you suitably fuckable.

　　現(xiàn)在，我已經(jīng)十年沒看過我自己的臉了。我已經(jīng)十年沒看過我自己的臉了，但這不關我的事。這是關于我們將自己繪上小丑妝去參加的這個自殘馬戲團。關于會在六間商場中的三十家商店里四處找尋合適小禮服的女人，但不曉得要去哪兒找到成就感、或如何帶著歡樂，漫步于遭購物袋束縛的人生中的女人，就在那兩個美麗音節(jié)的暴政之下。關于打滾在酒吧高腳椅間，沉悶地練習勾引他人，而所有今晚會游蕩回家的人，都意志消沉，因為沒有足夠的陌生人覺得你適合帶去開房間。

　　This, this is about my own someday daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, "Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?" I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, "No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters. You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely 'pretty.' "

　　這個，這是關于我自己未來有朝一日的女兒。當你走近我，已經(jīng)讓不安全感扎滿全身，乞求著：“媽，我會漂亮嗎?我會漂亮嗎?”我會將那問題如廉價口紅般從你嘴上抹去，并回答：“不!漂亮這個字不值得形容你將會成為的一切，我的孩子不會被限制在五個字里。你會變得很聰明、很有創(chuàng)意、很迷人。但你，絕不會只是單單的‘漂亮’。”