These are unusual times. These poets are tale-tellers of their world. Their poems are for real people.

POEM FOR THE DAY 每日一首

The following poems first appeared in Poetry Journal (Beijing, China) in 2019 and 2020.


TABLE OF CONTENTS



POEMS

BOILING POINT AT DAWN

  • by Mang Yuan

  • In fact, water boils every morning,
  • but its sound has become more pronounced these years,
  • caused by, first, the lighter sleep, then the flip alarm,
  • which fitfully pries the mind away from dreams,
  • a process that reclaims the body
  • little by little, like removing light from shadow,
  • separating virtuality from reality,
  • like a boat sailing back from the ocean of time.
  • Every dawn is sizzling, and a little hostile.
  • Every dawn requires repair and self-discipline.
  • Hurry up, it's time for work —
  • after reviewing multiple self-images in the bathroom mirror.
  • On a freezing winter day, we also wake up like an imperfect kettle,
  • comical but tough, cold and helpless,
  • but will eventually begin to puff steam,
  • to join the revolution started by James Watt,
  • to trigger the heart of dawn,
  • to quiver and roar.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/p3z9ZUGQAZKp44LbA6kwww


沸腾的黎明

  • 芒原

  • 其实,沸腾一直存在
  • 只是这些年,它变得越来越突出
  • 首先,从减少的睡眠与反转的闹钟开始
  • 响声恰如其分地把人和梦分开了
  • 这一过程,将会在身体上
  • 不断延续。像光与影,虚与实
  • 像从时间的汪洋里上了岸
  • 每个黎明都那么得热气腾腾,又带着敌意
  • 每个黎明都在修补,又自己告诫自己
  • 快点,该上班了——
  • 这时,在洗漱间的镜子里看到无数个自己
  • 在这严寒的冬日里,我们像一只装反的烧水壶
  • 滑稽又隐忍,冷峻又无奈
  • 但最终,都沿着噗噗的水汽,一瞬间
  • 滑入瓦特的蒸汽时代
  • 让每一天刚刚开始的黎明
  • 颤动与轰鸣

ON TOP OF EASTERN MOUNTAIN

  • by Bai Ma

  • At forty, I thought I knew what was what, and moved to the mountains,
  • picked up prime farmland short of a hectare riddled with clouds.
  • Spring is the time to sow, the soil bustling, with people plotting life and death —
  • the fate of a fennel seed is in a flick of my hand.
  • The baby chestnut tree was brought home from the market,
  • then the soft rain, beseeched by me, came like a sigh at night.
  • Hundreds of flowers teeming, leaving me behind, useless even if putting on rouge.
  • The mountain felt like a middle-aged woman blessed with child.
  • Nature went about its business day and night: the ways of the birds and the bees
  • all enter the beekeeper’s account, like frost on the roof.
  • My romantic ambitions faded by the end of summer,
  • some irrational and uncalled-for schemes.
  • The mountain accomodates every one under the gaze of the stars,
  • even a small snake, whom I stumbled across in the ravine,
  • and a myriad of plants and trees named by men, regardless.
  • Time flows by in the mountains, absent of memories, undisturbed by the past.
  • Besides those resting in graves, myself wandering about,
  • those recessing at the potato patch, and the secretive behind the bamboo groves,
  • there was hardly a soul around. I began to get used to how trees think
  • and how wild grasses grow, and tread lightly lest to startle the turtledoves.
  • As to the land, apart from praise, any other words is cheap talk.
  • Winter is for chopping wood and lighting fires, but to act like a thinker
  • is absurd. Compared to trees, mountains, and rocks,
  • my composition is overly complicated: family name, age, acquired skills,
  • origin unknown, and whereto is anyone’s guess.
  • The full moon only shines on top of our Eastern Mountain.
  • The full moon only rests on the trees on Eastern Mountain,
  • brightening the graves, and brightening up the ashen eaves of a few houses,
  • a weary scene from the never-ending years, a wordless lament.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/O5ByV19JI5_M_FvP20x7lA


东山顶上

  • 白玛

  • 四十岁,妄以为不惑,搬进山里
  • 获良田七分,头顶浮云好几片
  • 春日忙播种,地里都是铺排生死的人
  • 一把茴香种子的命运贸然由我决定
  • 小栗子树是从集市上带回的
  • 一夜细雨如叹息,是我求来的
  • 百花开疯了,把我晾在一边,抹胭脂无用
  • 整座山如同一个怀孕的中年母亲
  • 土地日夜酝酿大事:关于蓝尾雀的和野刺玫
  • 捎带养蜂人的盘算,瓦砾上单薄的反光
  • 我试图吟唱的野心消褪于夏季
  • 我的主意古怪又多余
  • 一座山安顿所有。在群星注视下
  • 包括一条小蛇,我在涧沟那里遇见它
  • 包括被人类以名词裹挟的草木种种
  • 山里有光阴,却没有回忆。不被过去打扰
  • 除了长眠墓地的人,除了四下游荡的我
  • 算上竹林里以手掩面的和土豆地里歇息的几个
  • 山中人烟向来稀疏。我得适应树木的想法
  • 和野草的习性。还要令斑鸠不因我的脚步受惊
  • 对土地而言,赞美之外的任何言语都是多嘴
  • 冬季允许劈柴、生火,但模仿一个托腮的
  • 思想者就难免可笑。和树木山石相比
  • 我的构成过于繁复:姓氏、年龄、后天的本事
  • 来历不明,去向亦成谜
  • 圆月亮只光顾我们东山顶上
  • 圆月亮只安放于东山顶的树梢上
  • 照耀墓地也照耀清冷的几户灰屋檐
  • 这也是不败岁月里黯然一景,是首无言啜泣之诗

WHEN THE LAMP IS BURNING

  • by Bai Qingguo

  • After the shadow moved,
  • the oil lamp on the wall brightens up;
  • so small a lamp,
  • it has blackened half of the wall with its smoke.
  • While the two rugged head-shadows conversed,
  • the lamp projected them on the wall into giants, so tall.
  • During the day, they never look so grand.
  • The things they talked about, I must have heard them a hundred times,
  • the same things over and over again,
  • almost like the way of spring, each year it returns
  • with only small differences, with a missing blade or an extra blade.
  • Oftentimes I feel spent in the adjacent room,
  • no light needed in this familiar space.
  • It has been like this for thirty-odd springs and autumns.
  • My parents' conversations still continue
  • as if I did not exist,
  • but when a serious matter comes up,
  • they would sit like two statues,
  • not a word is said,
  • facing the darker corner unlit by the lamp
  • in a daze.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/R2J2LCq4LT_firT9sIS2bA


灯燃亮以后

  • 白庆国

  • 那个影子在我眼前消失以后
  • 墙壁上的一盏油灯就亮了
  • 那么小的灯头
  • 不知何时把半个墙壁熏得黢黑
  • 灯影里两个崎岖的头颅交谈了一会
  • 小灯光把他们的影子印在对面的墙壁上很大,很高
  • 但在白天,我从来没有见过他们如此高大
  • 他们谈论的事情,我已经听了上百遍了
  • 总是重复
  • 就像每一个到来的春天
  • 多一棵草叶或少一棵草叶
  • 我在隔壁充满黑色的房间发呆
  • 对于极度熟识的房间不需要灯光
  • 我这样已经度过了三十个春秋
  • 父母的交谈还在继续
  • 他们无视我的存在
  • 如果遇到重要事情
  • 他们像两尊雕塑一样
  • 不说一句话
  • 面对灯光下的一个暗处
  • 发呆

HIGH-SPEED RAIL

  • by Ban Ruo

  • I am not sure, but the village on this alien place
  • is not my village. The sky is a mirror, lighting up
  • a wintry world. By the water, an old man flashes by,
  • keeping watch of his flock, of the weather, of the wheat field,
  • and the watery rice paddies.
  • An ox is drinking. I don't have names
  • for all of these creatures, just like I don't know
  • the names of all of the people here on the train.
  • A glamorous woman is crying, jabbering,
  • recounting her failed marriage. I don’t know her name,
  • but how similar she is to me, to my hometown, to my folks,
  • in a foreign place like this, where we meet and quickly part. Look,
  • the graves in the wheat field, the new tombs, the old tombs, how similar they look.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/9o05oMqGGj29MQvo2j0Z6A


高铁上

  • 班 若

  • 我不能确定,这异乡土地上的村庄
  • 不是我的村庄。天光如一面镜子,照亮了
  • 入冬的尘世。水边,一晃而过的
  • 老人放养着冬天与羊群,放养着麦地,
  • 和水汪汪的稻茬田。
  • 黄牛在低头饮水。这一切
  • 我叫不出它们的名字。就像此刻
  • 与我同车的人,我叫不出。
  • 一个光鲜的女人哭着。高速叙述着
  • 她失败的婚姻。我叫不出。
  • 多么相似。像我与我的故乡和亲人,
  • 在异地巧遇,又即刻分别。你看
  • 那麦地里的坟头,新坟挨着旧坟,也多么相似。

PRINCE

  • by Bei Ye

  • In the afternoon, Prince appeared from below the hill.
  • From a distance, he beckoned to me,
  • walked towards me, then shook my hand.
  • He had just released a kept dove,
  • so his hand was even softer,
  • and his face was like the autumn sky.
  • Many people don’t know Prince.
  • His lady friends gave him this nickname.
  • One time they called me, saying "Bei Ye, come quick, Prince is already here!"
  • Sure enough, Prince was sitting on a little wooden stool.
  • He beamed at me from a distance.
  • A few cats lounged next to him.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/UgKNPLSVfUvTdtDjWFcTgw


常公子

  • 北 野

  • 午后在山下遇见常公子
  • 他远远向我招手
  • 走过来,和我握手

  • 他的手因为刚刚放生了一只鸽子
  • 而更加绵软
  • 他的表情像秋天

  • 许多人不认识常公子
  • 他的女友们给他取了这个绰号
  • 她们说,北野你快来,公子早到了!

  • 果然,常公子坐在小板凳上
  • 远远地冲我笑
  • 身边卧着几只猫。




OCEAN'S NEIGHBOR

  • by Bei Ye

  • I have never measured the distance between
  • the sea and my roost,
  • either with a rope, wooden yardstick, leather tape or steel ruler.
  • I estimate it with my spirit: the building I call home
  • is three hundred meters from the sea, the sound of seagulls
  • often wakes me up at night.
  • Sometimes I go to the ocean’s shore to watch
  • the waves waving their arms at me from afar,
  • but my heart is not stirred.
  • Ah, the sea, an aqueous desert, man-eating water.
  • Those died at the sea from thirst
  • never received an apology from it.
  • Oh, the sea, revered drunken god,
  • crouching under the black reef behind my house,
  • expiring a dizzying spell.
  • I do not live off the sea,
  • therefore our association is not complicated.
  • Whoever feels like flattering it or cursing it, go ahead.
  • I’ve heard from local fishermen that
  • the sea seldom surges over the cliff to repay a visit,
  • but oftentimes sends out piratical winds to give women headaches.
  • I wish it would rush up once, with lashes
  • of thunder and lightning, howling and hurling omens of destruction,
  • like those sandstorms I saw in the desert.
  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


大海的邻居

  • 北 野

  • 我从未丈量过大海与我的住所
  • 之间的距离
  • 用草绳、木棍、皮尺或钢尺
  • 我只是用心灵估算,我栖身的那栋楼
  • 离海三百米,海鸥的叫声
  • 时常在夜间将我惊醒
  • 有时我去海边看看
  • 白浪的手臂远远地起伏着向我召唤
  • 但我并不激动
  • 海嘛,液体的沙漠,吃人的水
  • 谁要是渴死在海水里
  • 海不会感到抱歉
  • 大海就像一尊供人参拜的喝得烂醉的神
  • 盘踞在我家背后黑色的礁石下
  • 它呼出的气息令人头晕
  • 我不靠大海为生
  • 因此大海和我的关系一点也不复杂
  • 假如有人愿意歌唱它或诅咒它,悉听尊便吧
  • 我听当地渔民说
  • 海很少爬上悬崖回访看它的人
  • 它经常放出海盗一样的大风,刮得妇女头疼
  • 我倒是希望它来上一次
  • 带上雷电的鞭子、愤怒的咆哮和毁灭的警告
  • 就像我在沙漠里看到的沙尘暴

PAINTED FACE

  • by Bo Xiaoliang

  • Too lush, too brash,
  • a maverick fighting for survival, but in quieter moments,
  • she looks as innocent as a maiden from the west end of the town.
  • At the bawdy street corners, people call her Snow White,
  • the tofu merchant's eyes linger on her,
  • but when she raises her chin, all else pales.
  • Still, society sneers at her as hellbound, as a temptress, although
  • drifters, poor scholars, gangsters, local officials, and other visitors
  • to her gaudy boudoir, play her like a diva, or more like prey.
  • She has weathered more than the world itself, lonely,
  • wild, and savage at times.
  • What can be more tormenting than being played repeatedly?
  • Yet she loves,
  • desperately loves.
  • Knowing everything amounts to dust, she still loves
  • despite it all.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cBVaJZZ89mDoNgIjnTDfig


画 妖

  • 薄小凉

  • 绿,太动荡
  • 狷狂如挣扎的命,娴静时
  • 又如西街处子
  • 花枝青门,人唤她袖儿
  • 拐豆腐的多看她两眼,尖下巴昂起
  • 明亮的事物都暗淡下来
  • 仍是不容于世的孽障,野色
  • 破庙潦草,赶考的、为寇的、做官的
  • 供她于画堂,扇面,抓紧又松开
  • 她比这尘世老,孤独
  • 暴虐时存毁灭之心
  • 有什么比把经历过的痛苦再经历更痛苦
  • 可她爱
  • 拼了命地爱
  • 明知道什么都是灰尘还是爱
  • 不顾一切

CITY of YANTAI*

  • by Chen Dongdong

  • Ono no Imoko** probably delivered the message
  • from courtier Xu Fu, but some 800 years late.
  • Landing on the island of Zhifu, he hurried to Luoyang,
  • but invoked Emperor Molten Gold’s^ wrath.
  • At sunset, which was even more sumptuous in those days,
  • he didn’t believe what was once believed
  • that there were magic mountains in the sea.
  • During the next 800 years,
  • smoking watchtower was used to name this place:
  • but like the bamboo weapon with a hawkish name, it’s glorious only in name.
  • A ship with eight pennants appeared in the telescope,
  • refocusing, a smaller and different horizon appeared.
  • We created the myth of Eight Drunken Immortals,
  • so Penglai Pavilion, home to elixir of life, lived another day.
  • Whether or not
  • the sea dragon conjured up a floating island,
  • strong minds and poets have different beliefs.
  • Fiction or facts, most likely fiction after all, sorcerers come and go,
  • did you really peer into the Pearl Palace under the sea?
  • Walking on water or not, only the walker knows, as believable
  • as any mirage or phantom.
  • Still they must climb the overlook
  • for a view, from the disused radar station,
  • they will point out this and that from the cliff.
  • A lighthouse has replaced the smoking watchtower
  • to illuminate the waves of no return for the boys and girls,
  • reappearing in a 800-year dense fog.
  • For sure they are ready for the next mirage.

  • Notes:
  • * Yantai (lit: “Smoking Watchtower”) is a headland city in Shandong Peninsula, eastern China.
  • ** Ono no Imoko: a Japanese politician and diplomat in the late 6th and early 7th century.
  • ^ Emperor Yang of the Sui Dynasty (569 – 618 CE)

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/WmcpqHWF2NnsjIjNPYPCeg


烟 台

  • 陈东东

  • 小野臣因高也许捎回了
  • 八百年前徐福的口信
  • 登岸芝罘,他往洛阳赶
  • 领教熔金皇帝的不高兴
  • 当落日西沉,更豪华的
  • 不相信,曾经相信过
  • 海上有神山
  • 再历八百年
  • 狼烟被用来命名此地
  • 狼筅枝头,难免挂羊头
  • 单筒望远镜遥测八幡船
  • 却又调焦,缩转眼界
  • 重新去发明酩酊的八仙
  • 蓬莱阁上一天世界
  • 是否
  • 方术士真会起蜇鞭鱼龙
  • 强人的疑惑不同于诗人
  • 空明空复空,道法出没
  • 是否探得贝阙藏珠宫
  • 是否蹈浪者心知,所见
  • 皆幻影
  • 但他们仍要登临
  • 观景,从弃用的雷达站
  • 到悬崖边上辨认和指点
  • 一座灯塔已替换烽火台
  • 照耀童男童女的不归路
  • 穿透新一轮八百年迷雾
  • 他们迎向,新的蜃气楼

MY MOON, MY KINGDOM

  • by Chen Gong

  • One lone horseman,
  • on the meadow of an imaginary world,
  • let the horse feed all it wants on this great nothingness,
  • but hide its legs and all other traces
  • of reality, this domain is too small
  • for anyone to intrude.
  • A good horse does not rely on its reins,
  • and no lamppost can tie down
  • its flying hooves.
  • The survival of the kingdom
  • should not concern the terracotta warriors.
  • This is my kingdom, and all that matters
  • is keeping my torch bright
  • to shine on the open roads at night.
  • This is my moon, and my kingdom.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VzCmt0wBbk5tJAxxq_N6aQ


我的秦时明月

  • 陈功

  • 一人一骑
  • 草场只在想像中
  • 那就喂它眼前的苍茫吧
  • 请把露出来的马脚
  • 收回,眼前版图太小
  • 小到容不得别人插足
  • 信不信马,缰绳说的不算
  • 没有哪一盏灯能够拴住
  • 四处飞溅的马蹄声
  • 一城一池得失
  • 不应该是陶俑考虑的事
  • 我的秦朝,只在乎
  • 深夜驰道
  • 一个人的烽火
  • 我的秦时明月

LOGS

  • by Chen Liang

  • Every time Father cut down a tree,
  • he would carefully shave the limbs off with an axe
  • and leave it standing to dry in the corner.
  • The green wood,
  • smelling of strong balsamic scent,
  • would squeak
  • in the middle of the night
  • as if wanting to break free, methought.
  • Slowly the creaks dwindled
  • until it turned wooden and silent.
  • —-The next winter after Father passed,
  • I started to warm myself with the wood
  • to rid of the emptiness and chill.
  • When I split the stumps open
  • and tossed them in the hearth,
  • these woods began to shriek
  • and spilled out tears, releasing
  • a strong aroma that quickly filled the house,
  • as if to tell me
  • they had not died all those years.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/kiig-nvJ6WJMD5-Rvnu-4w

木 头

  • 陈亮

  • 父亲每每伐掉一棵树
  • 都会用斧头仔细削去枝杈
  • 然后竖立在墙角阴干
  • 新鲜的木头
  • 会散出极浓烈的香味
  • 甚至在深夜里
  • 还发出咯咯地响动
  • 让我以为它们会逃跑
  • 慢慢的,它们消停下来
  • 直至变成一根彻底沉默的愚木
  • ——父亲走后的一个冬天
  • 因为空落和寒冷
  • 我开始用这些木头取暖
  • 当我把它们劈开
  • 扔进炉膛
  • 这些木头竟吱吱喊叫着
  • 涌出热泪,并把它们
  • 浓烈的香味迅速充满屋子
  • 仿佛在告诉我
  • 这么多年,它们并没有死去

A MOMENT OF QUIETNESS

  • by Chen Liang

  • I live in an attic — of pinewood ceiling,
  • wallpaper with curious Persian motif,
  • a bedside table embossed with ancient figures,
  • a Simmons mattress, and a huge ceiling fan,
  • spinning and spinning to give you an out-of-body feel.
  • The closet has a large crack,
  • at times causing me to be suspicious that it hides a fugitive.
  • Nextdoor neighbors are interns in a wine bar,
  • each speaking a patois, all with overly prudent manners for their age.
  • The side window opens to the neighbor's wall, but during the day
  • intense sunlight pours in through the skylight.
  • No deep sleep for the second half of the night, I always
  • want to look through the skylight, in search of
  • blurry lights in the sky.
  • It's as if suddenly I return to the wild country in Shandong.
  • A teenager sneaking up the roof,
  • holding a cicadas-catching pole with a sticky end,
  • but trying to reach the stars in the lower sky, for a moment
  • he thought he was the earthling nearest to heaven.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/p6Po6NfMo6Duh-pLqYczcQ


且停记

  • 陈 亮

  • 我的住处是间阁楼,顶子是松木的
  • 壁纸的花纹波斯般诡异
  • 床头柜浮雕着古代的人物
  • 床是席梦思,吊扇硕大
  • 它的旋转会让灵魂渐渐出窍
  • 衣柜裂了很大的缝
  • 让我经常怀疑有人在此藏匿
  • 隔壁住着酒号的学徒
  • 有多种口音,一律少年老成的面孔
  • 边窗外是遮蔽的,白天会有光
  • 从天窗强烈地投下来
  • 后半夜睡不沉,依稀中
  • 我会透过天窗,努力去寻找
  • 天上那些模糊的亮点
  • 这时候,我似乎又回到了山东乡间
  • 一个少年偷偷爬上屋顶
  • 用一根粘知了的杆子
  • 去粘那些矮的星星,那一刻
  • 他感觉自己是离星星最近的人

THE STUDY OF FACE MASKS

  • by Xixi Lala (Chen Liming)

  • We must talk about masks today
  • even if from a cruise ship quarantined on the Pacific.
  • The sea looks calm, the noonday sun attracts no attention.
  • A mask is minuscule on a cruise ship;
  • a cruise ship is minuscule in the Pacific;
  • the sea is minuscule compared to the sky.
  • That is one way to look at it. The logic is simple.
  • The sky doesn't need to wear a mask, nor the Pacific,
  • nor the cruise ship anchored on the Pacific Ocean.
  • But right now we need them, not to protect us entirely from all evils,
  • but our respiratory system only. You hear a cough from me,
  • and I hear the same sound from somewhere not too far away.
  • The seagulls overhead make no sounds.
  • Look, the seagulls are flying
  • like seagulls always do, they look nothing like face masks.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-04-09/13174106.shtml


口罩学

  • 希希拉拉 (陈礼明)

  • 今天,我们有必要说一说口罩
  • 哪怕是坐在太平洋一艘被隔离的邮轮上
  • 大海看起来平静,正午的阳光被忽略
  • 一只口罩与一艘邮轮相比不算什么
  • 一艘邮轮与太平洋相比
  • 不算什么,大海与天空相比也不算什么
  • 这是研究的一个向度。道理终究是浅显的
  • 天空不需要口罩,太平洋
  • 及太平洋上停泊的那艘邮轮也不需要口罩
  • 但此刻我们却需要,不是全部的我们
  • 只是呼吸系统。你听见我在咳嗽
  • 我也听见不远的地方有同样的声响
  • 这声响,不会来自头顶盘旋的海鸥
  • 你看,那一只只海鸥飞着
  • 像一只只海鸥,绝不像一只只口罩

GRAIN-DRYING COURT

  • By Chen Renjie

  • A rectangular lot, that is to say
  • a rectangular area to welcome autumn,
  • for all its grain and cotton that need drying
  • while summer flowers under the hedge refuse to wither.
  • Why is it rectangular but not
  • another shape? But then my joy is the same shape:
  • a little longer than wanting, a little shorter than longing.
  • But when the evening arrives,
  • it will be bent out of shape by some noises——
  • a struggle continues
  • between a pack of small wolves and a flock of lambs.
  • The ghosts of those eaten will also quietly rise up.
  • The shadows of the clouds stand so still,
  • a blue mat of spruce reaches to infinity.
  • The rectangular lot is still a perfectly rectangle,
  • none of it is chewed up by the irregular village life.
  • In the courtyard, at times I notice
  • an invisible line trailing from the sky, tethering
  • a young man, akin to a grain, and his unbridled dream
  • under the wings of a kite larger than a hometown.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/n_0oauyt_nR7LAR2JQhhFg


晒谷场

  • 陈人杰

  • 长方形的空地,或者
  • 以长方形来接纳
  • 秋天,晒不完的谷子、棉花
  • 夏天,四周篱笆下开不败的花
  • 为什么是长方形而不是
  • 别的形状?而我的欢乐
  • 总是比短边长,比长边短些
  • 只有晚间的喧嚣会撑得这一切
  • 略略变形。那是战斗:
  • 一群小狼,一群小羊
  • 被吃掉者,会趁着夜色悄悄活转
  • 静静站着的云影
  • 铺向远方的无边的蓝色针叶地毯
  • 一个整齐的长方形
  • 一直没被村庄不规则的生活消化掉
  • 站在它上边,我有时会看见
  • 一根斜向天空的隐形的线,牵着
  • 谷粒一样的少年,和他狂野的未来之梦
  • 像一只比故乡更大的风筝在飞

TWO THIRDS OF THE TWINE

  • by Chen Shui

  • The unused twine looks to be two thirds of the original roll.
  • Across the field, someone is unlashing a bundle of hay;
  • he looks like my father,
  • but doesn’t have my face
  • or my big eyes.
  • The left-over twine looks like a bread loaf,
  • but can do nothing to relieve hunger.
  • The tiny grains that scatter across the field
  • will become seedlings soon,
  • but sprouting untimely
  • means they will be pulled out and left to dry.
  • The twine gives the divided land a profile.
  • The leftover twine rests in my hands,
  • I repeatedly loosen, tighten, and pocket it.
  • Now, one side looks like the Chu River,
  • and my side is the rivaling Han Territory.
  • Where is it now, the used-up portion of the twine?
  • The twine that Father passed on to me
  • also has only a limited length.
  • Time--where does it come from and where does it go-- once again
  • glances at the portray of my late father before gliding away.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7JFQjUDiqkEh9WWF-rd8MA


三分之二的线团

  • 辰水

  • 剩下的线团,大约有三分之二的样子。
  • 在田畴的一边,一个晃动秸秆的人
  • 他像我的父亲。
  • 但他却没有与我一样的面孔,
  • 一样的大眼睛。
  • 没有用完的线团,变得松散,像面包
  • 却无法充饥。
  • 田野里到处都是遗落的粮食,
  • 不用多久,
  • 会重新长出不合时宜的幼苗
  • 它们会被拔掉,晒成枯草。
  • 一股线,就是地界的另一个侧面。
  • 我手持剩余的线团,
  • 放绳——蹬紧——埋土……
  • 于是,一边成了楚河
  • 而另一边恍若汉界。
  • 那三分之一的线团,去了哪里?
  • 父亲传递到我手中的部分,
  • 是有限的线。
  • 下落不明的光阴,再一次从父亲的遗像前
  • 匆忙滑过。

WHEN DESIRE IS USED UP

  • by Chen Xianfa

  • I don't know what a phantom is.
  • Never witnessed
  • anything questionable like a phantom.
  • In front of me, this bowl
  • of millet gruel
  • has a swarm of destitute floating sampans.
  • And I, I live to receive the gaze
  • of everyone from the generations past.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/z6TQ7P6kfIEkA3wawbrWCQ

欲望销尽之时

  • 陈先发

  • 我不知什么是幻象
  • 也从未目睹过
  • 任何可疑的幻象
  • 我面前这碗
  • 小米粥上
  • 飘荡着密集的、困苦的小舟
  • 我就活在这
  • 历代的凝视中

DEEP LONGINGS

  • by Chen Xianfa

  • My deep longings, unassuming like dust.
  • The evening lake, ink-blue in the twilight.
  • Birds fly low, no riotous thoughts.
  • Wilted leaning grass, untouched by sorrows.
  • Soon, the elm trees will become solid silhouettes.
  • An old man walks pointing my way,
  • wearing a cold, stony face.
  • None of these is worth recording.
  • The slimy mud, soft and black,
  • brings to my mind the image of placenta.
  • I souped up bleakness, hand-fed by Nature,
  • spoonful at a time,
  • and grew to adulthood. The skyline
  • looks even bleaker now with high-rises and neon lights.
  • They are almost perfect, like thin frost.
  • They are only ephemeral, like thin frost.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/P6XLuTOJR2HjkL4ZB4THmQ


良 愿

  • 陈先发

  • 不动声色的良愿像尘埃
  • 傍晚的湖泊呈现靛青色
  • 鸟在低空,不生变
  • 枯草伏岸,不生疑
  • 只一会儿,榆树浓得只剩下轮廓
  • 迎面而来的老者
  • 脸上有石质的清冷
  • 这一切其实并不值得写下
  • 淤泥乌黑柔软
  • 让我想起胎盘
  • 我是被自然界的荒凉一口
  • 一口
  • 喂大的。远处
  • 夸张的楼群和霓虹灯加深着它
  • 轻霜般完美
  • 轻霜般不能永续

DARK SKY AFTER SUNSET

  • by Chen Xiaosan

  • Today’s sunset tells me Earth is turning,
  • same as the autumn wind on my back
  • affirming Earth is on the move.
  • The wind blows in the direction of the golden pomelo sun,
  • also the work of the tilting Earth, for sure.
  • The sun sets the bushes ablaze,
  • sending the last glimmer of light back to the sky
  • to guide the sailors at sea. In the highlands,
  • both the Southern Mountain and the Northern Mountain look serene,
  • then why am I panicking?
  • This immense earth moves unnoticeably, as slowly as an elephant.
  • by now my hometown Xiedi must be in the dark.
  • Father must have had dinner,
  • the two of us have not shared a meal for the longest time.
  • I keep walking, still there's no sight of land’s end.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cwYxuWHWDUeGPmgJfha61w


落日与天黑

  • 陈小三

  • 今天落日,我知道是大地在转身
  • 秋风从背后吹来
  • 我知道是地球步履不停
  • 秋风吹向落日金黄如柚
  • 我知道是因为地球的倾角
  • 落日在灌木丛中燃起篝火
  • 把最后的光送上天空
  • 那是航海的光,高原上
  • 南山冷静北山沉着
  • 我为何感到惊慌
  • 大地辽阔,它的转身缓慢如象
  • 谢地早已天黑
  • 父亲应该吃过晚饭了吧
  • 父亲,我们很久不在一起吃晚饭了
  • 我步履不停,而大地辽阔

THE FISHING VILLAGE

  • by Chen Xiaoxia

  • After the typhoon,
  • candlelight flickers on the altar, in every home.
  • Waves lace the twilight shoreline,
  • outlined by red lanterns, stone alleys, and burning incense.
  • The grannie who lost her son to the sea leans on the door to sleep at night.
  • The village opens its eyes in the arms of the cove,
  • much like mother and child ...
  • Lost souls in the storm
  • become tiny crabs,
  • following old tracks to crawl out from the caves.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mfRZXCZg2IxEggtzQh8E5w

渔 村

  • 陈小虾

  • 台风走后
  • 家家户户,供桌上,烛光摇曳
  • 海浪拍打着黎明的岸
  • 红灯笼,石巷子,香火袅袅
  • 丧子的老母亲倚着家门睡了一夜
  • 海湾的臂膀里小村庄睁开眼
  • 多像母和子呀……
  • 狂风巨浪中死去的灵魂
  • 变作小螃蟹
  • 在洞穴里遇见了生前的足迹

I CARVING FOR MYSELF A SEAL

  • by Chen Yuguan

  • This stone has only old knife marks on its face,
  • the rest is intelligible as so much time has passed.
  • First I lay the stone on a sheet of coarse grit,
  • and sand it away, to remove the unknown person's imprint;
  • grinding it into powder, so even someone with a golden stubbornness cannot resurrect.
  • Keep at it until all etching is completely gone,
  • then put the stone on a sheet of fine grit,
  • to smooth and coax it, not to startle it with any uneven breathing,
  • only then can I take out the knife, to carve my long-premeditated obsession
  • —— a name for myself.
  • The knife move to create Small Seal Script.
  • Chisel it, file it, to engrave a name in the heart of the stone.
  • Blow on it, and the name is relieved from the blade,
  • debris falling to earth, not that I believe in fate,
  • but seeing the depth of the inscription on the rock — what a heart-piercing thrill.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


自刻章

  • 陈鱼观

  • 石头属于过去,上面所刻除了刀痕
  • 因为年头已远认不出所以
  • 先是将石头放在一张粗砂上
  • 打磨,迫使陌生人从身体搬离
  • 然后化为粉末,没有人能还原金石般的固执
  • 直到一个截面的沟壑被彻底消除
  • 就将石头放到一张细砂上
  • 用心安抚,不敢惊动一丝呼吸
  • 现在始能拿出刻刀,刻我蓄谋已久的狂狷
  • ——为自己立传
  • 行刀时,选择以阴文小篆推进
  • 一刀一锉,将名字从石心中剜出
  • 吹一口气,名字在刀口散开
  • 纷纷跌落在地,命运与我无关
  • 只是石头刻度——有了锥心后的快感。

A MYRIAD OF COLORS, PRIZE FROM AFAR

  • by Chen Yundong

  • The night is calm when we arrived at Delingha,
  • with nothing but darkness between the Gobi Desert and the distant mountains.
  • We recite poetry aloud in a halal noodle shop.
  • The drivers drink quietly, gulping down wine with travel fatigue,
  • their faces weather-worn.
  • Snow has concealed all animal tracks in the forest.
  • White mist continues to fall from the edge of the roof,
  • with a hint of red, from the lanterns on the wooden beam.
  • I travel a long way to this snowy country, a desolate place
  • that seems to illuminate the rivers in me.
  • Here in Mulan grassland, lakes descend from the sky--
  • a vast sky, a towering sky, an abandoned blue sky
  • that watches over the flowers, the wine, and the rolling greens.
  • I pass by this land of lakes, each named after the sun, the moon, and the stars
  • in their transit.
  • On the way to Mogao Caves, one must meet the desert.
  • The timeless yellow color stretches out
  • and dismisses all worldly fears.
  • Let us distill a strong spirit from our blood
  • to salute the bright moon that presides over heaven and earth.
  • I roam this place that's larger than me, and will always return to it,
  • to take home a myriad of colors. These massive colors
  • will stay with me till the days my hair turns white,
  • to remind me of the secret of life
  • when I feel caged, like an embattled animal.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/s6rBKrKUhq9KmfdvgDWhcA


我从远方带回众多颜色

  • 陈允东

  • 赶到德令哈,夜已无声
  • 黑暗笼罩远处的山脉和戈壁
  • 我们在一家清真面馆大声朗诵诗歌
  • 司机默默饮酒,饮下一天的行程
  • 他们的面庞风霜凝结
  • 大片的雪和森林覆盖鸟兽的足迹
  • 白色的呼吸从屋檐落下
  • 灯笼挂在木梁上,是仅有的红
  • 这里是雪乡,我不远千里来此
  • 遁一片茫茫,照亮身体里沉默的河
  • 在木栏围场,一群湖泊从天空降临
  • 这天空庞大,高高的蓝,孤单的蓝
  • 俯视人间的花、酒、连绵的草木
  • 我经过这里,太阳、月亮、星星
  • 经过这里,人们以此为众多湖泊命名
  • 去敦煌的路上,要与沙漠相遇
  • 那年老月深的黄铺在眼前
  • 让尘世的恐惧不值一提
  • 必须要从人类的血管里抽出一瓶烈酒
  • 敬那一轮盛大的月,它清澈,看天圆地阔
  • 走过的地方大于我,我总要适时归来
  • 带回众多颜色,这颜色巨大
  • 会在我的一生中停留,看我长出白发
  • 也会在我成为困兽之时
  • 说出活下去的秘密

A BRIEF LETTER TO MOTHER

  • by Chen Yupeng

  • I seldom write to you for fear
  • my scribblings will bring you
  • sorrows, that you may detect my scraggly living
  • through my scraggly handwriting. It’s now winter, no snow
  • in Beijing yet, but there are occasional
  • sandstorms, even more plentiful are people
  • in face masks walking through smog. And I belong to
  • the stay-in tribe, in the fortressof
  • books and music. It’s not a big space here,
  • but enough to live, to facilitate
  • eating, toiletry, daydreaming, and sleep.
  • After living here a long period of time, it’s inevitable
  • that I get tired of the northern cuisine, and begin to miss
  • the fish, shrimp, vegetables, mollusk, and rice
  • that you cooked with your callused hands.
  • But, rest assured, Mom, like before, I am not a finicky eater,
  • and often with a good appetite. What’s less reliable
  • is a good night’s sleep, because too often I dream out
  • my thoughts of the day. My dreams are
  • always a little sadder than those of others, and occasionally
  • I would wake up sobbing, then walk to the window
  • to watch the moon with my arms down, until the moon climbs
  • higher and notices me, by the window
  • with leaden arms. This is the quietest moment
  • of my day, and it reminds me of
  • the years when you and I relied on each other,
  • when at the end of the day's work, you led me
  • through the city at night. I was little then, and curious
  • about the moon, but you would say "the moon will
  • lead us home " in your tired and croaky voice.
  • After leaving home, Mom, I haved loved quite a few
  • strangers, but no one spoke to me
  • with words like yours. Mom, my messy life
  • is getting muddier and muddier, and only now do I realize
  • the brightest and clearest part of my memories
  • has always been with you.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/fYeVS3Lhduw1qR5b-hUPWA


给母亲的简短家书

  • 陈钰鹏

  • 很少给你写信,仅仅是怕
  • 你看到我歪斜潦草的字迹
  • 会伤心,怕你会由潦草
  • 想到潦倒。冬天了,北京却
  • 不下雪,偶尔也有
  • 沙尘暴,更常见是一些人戴着口罩
  • 穿过雾霾。而我是
  • 另一些人,足不出户,用书和琴谱
  • 把自己围起来。这里不大,
  • 却已足够生活,足够容纳我
  • 吃饭、排泄、虚构
  • 和睡眠。住得久了,难免不对北国之食
  • 有些厌倦,难免不怀念你曾用粗手
  • 烹调的鱼虾、蔬菜、贝类
  • 和米饭。不过请放心,妈,我依然不挑食
  • 也很能吃。忽好忽坏的
  • 只有睡眠,凡我所虚构的
  • 皆会梦见。我的梦,比别人的
  • 要悲伤一些,偶尔也哭着
  • 醒过来,走到半夜窗前
  • 垂手看月亮,月亮升起,看到窗前
  • 我垂手。这便是我一天中
  • 最安静的时刻,它总让我想起
  • 过去我们相依为命的
  • 那些年,结束一天的工作,你带我在夜里
  • 穿过整座城市。而我年幼,对月亮
  • 充满好奇,你就用疲惫、沙哑的声音
  • 回答我:“月亮会
  • 带我们回家。”
  • 离开你之后,妈,我爱过许多
  • 陌生人,可再也没有人,对我说过
  • 类似的话。妈,我糊涂的生活
  • 越来越模糊了,至今才懂:
  • 原来记忆中最明亮、清晰的那部分,
  • 一直由你来标记。

PLAYING CHESS

  • by Chi Lingyun

  • It will be years before the victor becomes apparent,
  • but the result may not be clear
  • as one may leave midway without warning. In the beginning
  • there was no sadness because no one was left behind.
  • They were preoccupied in building walls, barehanded,
  • taking deep breaths, or muttering only a word or two
  • as if commanding an army, men and horses,
  • imagining the game would last forever.
  • But people who left early didn’t care.
  • Sometimes the best strategist didn’t get to play the winning hand.
  • They all cried. They buryied their swords and spears.
  • Painful dreams recur.
  • The dangerous old field turns lush again
  • every spring. They light candles, pining for what’s lost,
  • recording the names of the opponents who left,
  • hoping the battlefield will quickly calm down.
  • They would set off from their own homes
  • after a glass of strong wine, and meet up on horseback
  • to fight the colossal War of the Four Kingdoms;
  • when one's whip is raised, you sees
  • horsehair flying all over the chessboard.
  • They argue loudly and fight with words and hands
  • for affairs in a farfetched place.
  • They fight through the night until
  • one of them lays down a chip. How can anyone predict
  • someone will be so easily defeated and never to return.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eajiz_1ALkulXZatRoVEHA


他们在下棋

  • 池凌云

  • 还要再过些年头,才分出胜负。
  • 也许不会有结果,因为有人在中途
  • 毫无征兆地离开。一开始
  • 他们并不难过,谁也没把谁孤零零留下。
  • 他们只是筑城墙,手无寸铁
  • 却屏住呼吸或喃喃自语,
  • 像真的掌控着千军万马,
  • 他们以为这游戏会持续几十年,
  • 然而提前离开的人不管这些。
  • 即使棋高一着,最终还是无从下手。
  • 他们都哭了。折戟沉沙
  • 疼痛,出现在睡梦中。
  • 那曾经危险的陆地,在每年春天
  • 茂盛起来。他们为失去的
  • 点燃蜡烛,写下离去的对手的名字
  • 静待一个个战事平息。
  • 那时,他们从各自的居所出发,
  • 喝一杯烈酒,策马而来
  • 开始四国大战,有人扬鞭
  • 马鬃就在棋盘上空飘荡。
  • 他们高声争执,用嘴、用手争夺,
  • 在一个不属于他们的世界里
  • 彻夜征战,直到其中的一个
  • 放下棋子。他们不知道
  • 这么快,有人出局,并且永远离开。

NINE TURNS*

  • by Deng Deng

  • Changing course doesn't mean
  • changing heart.
  • Everywhere I go, I have seen
  • similar tiny roads, winding
  • backward and forward,
  • getting thinner and thinner, quieter and quieter,
  • until there's no clue where it is going.
  • It happens in Inner Mongolia this time, at Nine Turns.
  • Seen from the airplane,
  • you see a brave heart in every twist and turn,
  • but as if useless,
  • as if unappreciated and getting mad.
  • And every one has the same look,
  • blushing red under the setting sun,
  • as if driven by the same river,
  • running out of words to say:
  • maybe he is running away from himself,
  • keeps checking with his heart and pulling himself back.
  • Translator's Note:
  • Nine Turns: Nine turns of Wulagai River, the largest river in Wulagai Grassland, Inner Mongolia.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


九 曲

  • 灯 灯

  • 一条路改变主意,并不表示说
  • 它回心转意
  • 我在任何地方都能看见
  • 这样的小路,弯路
  • 一路往回走
  • 越走越瘦小,越走越没有话说,越走
  • 越不知道走向哪
  • 这一次是在内蒙,在九曲
  • 我从飞机往下看
  • 每一个弯道,都深藏着一把刀
  • 都无用武之地
  • 都委屈,愤怒
  • 落日下涨红了脸
  • 都像同一个人,被同一条
  • 河流追赶
  • 同样说不出话:
  • 仿佛,一个被自己追问的人
  • 一边走,一边捂着自己的心肠。

SELF MANAGEMENT

  • by Ding Bai

  • After twenty odd years in management,
  • I still haven't got the knack of
  • managing myself.
  • I am good at dividing a task into two or three parts,
  • equally good at setting priorities,
  • and scouting and recruiting talents.
  • To manage people is to manage affairs,
  • but if the target is turned to myself,
  • things are awash in a sea of indecisions.
  • Often the little things
  • lead to a quick reversal of fortune.
  • What is of great value can turn
  • into dust in a second.
  • Managing oneself
  • and managing others
  • are two separate matters.
  • Perhaps, there is a manager somewhere for me,
  • I begin to think.
  • Perhaps, being managed by others
  • will unfold our true selves.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/_RWE4J1EFN9xIMFpXzvMOQ

管理自己

  • 丁白

  • 做了二十多年管理
  • 我还是没有学会
  • 管理自己
  • 我擅长把事情分成两段或者三段
  • 擅长把主要和次要分开
  • 擅长找人,招人
  • 通过管人达到理事的目的
  • 一旦,我将眼睛对准自己
  • 事情就变得无所适从
  • 往往次要的小事
  • 导致重要的事情瞬间反转
  • 价值连城瞬间变得
  • 一文不值
  • 管理自己
  • 与管理别人
  • 始终是不一样的话题
  • 也许,我是别人的管理对象
  • 我这样想着
  • 也许。被别人管理着
  • 才是真的自己

GOOD NIGHT, YOUNG MAN

  • by Ding Peng

  • The ritzy glitzy city whispers to you over the cell phone.
  • You can't sleep, being an electric conductor.
  • Your fingertips swipe across the screen, causing a current
  • of tiny waves to unveil some second-hand truths.
  • Your eyelashes blink like the bristles on a grass in the spring;
  • no fears, if you die in a game, you will surely be resurrected, too.
  • Good night, young man. Tonight's voltage is stable.
  • Go back to bed, but be sure to recharge your phone.
  • The camera fixes its gaze on you as your eyelids close.
  • Your heartbeats will reach the earth, and you’ll fly
  • through a nebula to the edge of the universe.
  • You will come to stand in front of her like before,
  • and kiss her, and tell her your sorrows.
  • Good night, young man, see you online tomorrow, when
  • Truman Burbank will flee his beloved hometown,
  • and breaking free is the most difficult thing.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/nFkuptl8XO2hxBSzvtM1iA


晚安,少年

  • 丁鹏

  • 城市之光,透过手机向你低语
  • 你失眠,因为你是一截导体
  • 电流伴随你的指尖溅起细浪
  • 指尖滑动,刷屏的二手真相
  • 眨动睫毛,像一棵春天的稗草
  • 像你在游戏中死去,又复活
  • 晚安,少年。夜的电压平稳
  • 躺回床上,手机放到座充上
  • 摄像头在凝视你,你阖上眼睑
  • 当心跳撞击地球,你飞起来
  • 穿过星云,抵达宇宙的边缘
  • 站到她的面前,像过去一样
  • 你亲吻她,和她分享你的悲伤
  • 晚安,少年。明天的屏幕里
  • 楚门会逃出他所热爱的城市
  • 你也会打通最难的一道关卡




AFTER MID-AUTUMN, SITTING ALONE ON A BARREN HILL

  • by Dong Li

  • Old Heaven has a long, drawn-out face,
  • someone must owe him 800,000 in cash plus interest.
  • The hills are overflowing with little wild daisies,
  • but not a single one of them knows
  • why the sunflowers were all executed in autumn.
  • Midway in the sky, sparrow hawks screech.
  • Are they looking for mates to raise a family
  • or hunting for food?
  • I sit on the hilltop, alone,
  • not thinking about my tumbledown village.
  • The farmers are harvesting at foothill,
  • looking neither happy nor sad.
  • Singing comes from a distance, the sound of a marriage,
  • but the same music as a funeral,
  • as if alluding to the adage:
  • there's nothing new under the sun.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/n_J_HE-LJiPoX19PWA0zLQ


中秋后,荒山独坐

  • 东篱

  • 老天把脸拉拉到
  • 谁欠他八百吊的长度
  • 漫山的小野菊不明白
  • 为什么向日葵
  • 会被秋决
  • 半空中的鹞子鸣叫着
  • 是找寻配偶
  • 还是觅猎食物?
  • 我独坐山顶
  • 不是思忖破败的乡村
  • 山脚下的农民在收获
  • 不喜也不悲
  • 远处婚庆的歌声
  • 与白事并无二致
  • 仿佛一句箴言
  • 亘古如斯



SPRING SEASON PUBLIC WORK AWARDS

  • by Haiwai Dongjing

  • Gulls and herons to glide the rivers and riverbanks.
  • River clams to strain sand for pearl and jade production.
  • Schools of fish to perform a translucent shadow dance.
  • Wetlands to set up a reception for migratory birds.
  • Flowers to unlatch the doors for Spring.
  • Honey bees to set up rendezvous with beauty.
  • Waterfalls, precipices, and jagged rocks to wake us from dreamland.
  • Secluded winding paths to help us explore mountains and rivers.
  • The street peddlers to broadcast folk songs.
  • The embroidery shoe shops to revive colorful good old days.
  • The dye shops to boost the supply of indigenous blue.
  • Barking dogs and crowing cocks to showcase pastoral life.
  • Fireflies to take charge of midnight lighting.
  • Whooping cranes for celestial noise control.
  • Nightingales to stage forest concerts.
  • Hilltop inns to livestream sunrise for millions to see.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


春天的竞岗公示

  • 海外东经

  • 鸥鹭承包河流及其两岸的轻度滑翔
  • 河蚌承包河砂的喷珠溅玉
  • 鱼群承包透明的影子舞蹈
  • 湿地承包候鸟归来的接待方案
  • 花朵承包开启春天的摁键
  • 蜜蜂承包美的邂逅
  • 瀑布、绝壁和怪石承包梦境醒来
  • 曲径通幽承包山河游踪
  • 货郎担子承包民谣播报
  • 绣鞋坊承包五颜六色的如烟往事
  • 染坊承包海量的生态蓝
  • 鸡鸣犬吠承包田园风情
  • 萤火虫承包夤夜访问的灯火
  • 鹤鸣承包云端噪音治理
  • 夜莺承包森林的音乐会
  • 山巅客栈承包等待直播的网红日出

MOURNING

  • by Du Hua

  • Wheat has nearly turned golden, apricots are about ripe.
  • My aunt, who lived in Qingyang for fifty years, has passed.
  • A simple hearse, a white horse, horns playing, mourning and crying.
  • My sorrows heave with the swaying wheat outside our courtyard.
  • A stroll around the fence, I see fruits on tresses planted by Aunt:
  • walnut, apple, apricot, plum, peach . . .
  • Their foliage are still lush, fruits abound, but my aunt has let go.
  • Even the pigpens and sheepfolds are crowded with animals,
  • and purple medick and yellow lilies bloom on the edge of footpaths,
  • but my good, lovely aunt has forgone the world,
  • passing the waist-deep wheat field at dusk,
  • leaving the serene Dongzhiyuan Plateau*.
  • Deep at night, watching the big, solemn moon,
  • my sorrow overflows, like the cold wind over the plateau,
  • going under every blade of grass,
  • and reaching higher than the tallest tree.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

  • 独化

  • 麦子将黄未黄,杏子将熟未熟
  • 在庆阳生活五十年的姑母去了
  • 素车白马,唢呐声声,哭声哀哀
  • 我之哀伤犹如场院外此起彼伏的麦浪
  • 信步所至,墙里墙外,几全部为姑母手植之
  • 核桃树、苹果树、杏树、李树、桃树……
  • 枝繁叶茂,果实累累,而姑母却撒手人寰
  • 甚至,猪圈里,羊圈里,猪羊满圈
  • 而且,田埂上紫花苜蓿金针黄花触目皆是
  • 而我可亲可敬的姑母大人却撒手人寰
  • 从齐腰身的麦子地边走过
  • 黄昏,漫步安静、美丽的董志塬
  • 下半夜,一弯月亮正大、庄严
  • 我的哀伤犹如塬上冷冷的风
  • 不起于草尖,也并不止于林梢

I ESPECIALLY LOVE THE PLANTS THAT DON’T BLOOM

  • by Fang Bin

  • On the shoulder of the mountain, when people loudly admire a gorgeous tree,
  • I cast my eyes lower, fix upon
  • a patch of shadowy liverworts.
  • Sometimes clustering among rocks, wrapping around them like a nightgown;
  • sometimes resembling a deep brown scab, stitching up the earth's wound;
  • sometimes like a proverb, covered up by dust, away from light.
  • Yes, I especially cherish these plants that do not bloom,
  • like my love for a peaceful mountain chain, for its hidden minerals and thrusts,
  • like my love for a river's headwater, collecting water alone and unseen.
  • The lowly creatures are usually nocturnal, found in icy blind spots,
  • like the airflow under the wings, like a clock's second hand, chasing delicately.
  • It is a remote pond housing the moon, a mute admiring the moon.
  • — they resemble my aunt who hasn't said a word in her life.
  • — I now have an epitaph for her:
  • Song Yue'er, female, born in hardship, died in difficulties.
  • Using no words, she was the third leg for her husband.
  • Using no words, she painted a future for her son and daughter.
  • Please, kind-hearted passersby, the things she did not say,
  • you may say for her...

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Q36WmzSIBz1e5uh7sFjFpg


我尤怜爱那些不开花的植物

  • 方 斌

  • 在山肩。当他们惊呼于那一树的妖艳
  • 我的目光却投向低处,黏住了
  • 影子一样幽暗的一地苔藓
  • 它们簇拥着石头,给它裹上一件时光的睡袍
  • 像深褐色的血痂,缝合了大地的伤口
  • 像一句蒙尘的箴言,微光难觅
  • 是的,我尤怜爱那些不开花的植物
  • 像怜爱沉寂的群山,爱隐忍的矿与托举
  • 像怜爱河的源头,爱被遗忘的汇聚与孤独
  • 匍匐者的释放从来就在黑夜,在冰冷的盲区
  • 它们是羽翼下的气流,是秒针追赶的微乎其微
  • 是荒野端着月亮的小塘,是对月的小哑巴
  • 一一这像极了我一生未吐一字的二婶
  • 一一此刻,我想好了为她写的墓志铭:
  • 宋月娥,女。生于苦,卒于难
  • 她用无语,为丈夫打造了另一条腿
  • 她用无语,为一对儿女勾画出远方
  • 拜托每一位善良的路人,她没有说的
  • 请你替她说出来一一

SOME PLACE

  • by Fang Qihua

  • After work, I passed an island.
  • The reason I call it an island is because
  • its existence seems incompatible with the busy stream of traffic
  • on the North Ring Rd, like a miniature park
  • next to a congested highway.
  • Behind it is an old neighborhood
  • that must have sneered at this "park",
  • which is not even one percent of what it should be,
  • never a real flock of birds is seen except
  • two wooden phoenixes standing face to face,
  • no living creatures but for two rattan-woven
  • deer, one whinnying with a raised head,
  • the other grazing timidly.
  • As to the grass, I must admit it's real,
  • laid down by some worker, and one can postulate
  • about the exotica of the flowers here.
  • So, about this island, we can draw our conclusions
  • safely: it is isolated, pieced together, given
  • a half-real and half-dreamt-up existence. I feel
  • an affinity with it as our fates seem to coincide.
  • And it's a good subject for poetry, each time
  • I pass by, I imagine myself
  • a great poet -- eyes,
  • nose, subconsciousness hoping to capture
  • something with a touch of poetry, doing it with eyes open
  • or closed, or listening with eyes closed
  • for something larger than the endless honking and the dust,
  • something resembling the so-called
  • "traditional bird songs and modernist flowers."
  • I try to prove my point, simply by going
  • down this road, separating myself from the city,
  • voicing a peculiar opinion in a lively poetry group,
  • constantly weighing pros and cons, hoping for a change of order
  • with reversed cause and effect, trying to pry open darkness
  • for a quick peek to the light within, even though
  • it might well reveal an even darker view. I try to quiet myself,
  • try not to miss the sound of a blooming flower,
  • not to miss any faint cheer in case it is there.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6HM3JZXIakZ60W3qC_3m8w


一 处

  • 方启华

  • 下班的路上,我经过一处孤岛
  • 之所以说它孤岛,是因为
  • 它的存在与川流不息的北一环
  • 格格不入,它像一个迷你公园
  • 被设置在一条拥挤的道路边
  • 它的身后是一处老旧小区
  • 小区的人一定看不上这
  • 至少被缩小了100倍的某处公园
  • 所以没有现实的鸟群,只有
  • 两只木制的仙鹤对眼相望
  • 没有鲜活的物种,只有两只藤编的
  • 小鹿,它们其中一只仰天长啸
  • 另外一只小鹿羞涩地低头吃草
  • 关于这草,我不得不承认
  • 它是真实的,它是某个工人
  • 从某处移植过来,同理可以推测
  • 这里的花,也是来自某处
  • 所以关于这座孤岛,我们可以
  • 得出一个结论:首先它是孤立的
  • 它是被拼接而成的,它是存在
  • 于现实和虚拟之间的,它与我
  • 有着一种仿佛命中注定的缘分
  • 且它是可以写入诗中的,每次
  • 路过,我都会想象自己是一个
  • 伟大的诗人,我的眼睛,我的
  • 鼻子和我的潜意识开始捕捉任何
  • 带有诗歌的气息,比如睁眼或者
  • 闭眼,亦或者是闭着眼睛倾听
  • 除了连绵不绝的汽车鸣笛声和灰尘
  • 我在努力寻找一种所谓
  • “传统的鸟叫声和现代主义的花朵”
  • 我努力证明自己是正确的,就好比
  • 我经过了这条马路,我孤立在这座城市
  • 我在热闹的诗群说了我的某个观点
  • 我开始反省和斗争,我望一切因果
  • 可以扭转次序,我试着把黑暗剖开
  • 去看看究竟里面是一点点光亮,还是
  • 更加黑暗。我努力让自己静下来
  • 认认真真的听听一朵花在开放的过程中
  • 是否会发出微弱的喝彩声

WALLED IN

  • by Fei Bai

  • The entire summer I holed up at home
  • and tried to stave off the chill that lay beneath the unbearable heat.
  • I also tried to write about the erratic couple in the dark apartment across,
  • and brewed a pot of herbal medicine with a pinch of poetry,
  • using slow fire to prevent a boil.
  • After middle-age,
  • even a ringing arrow folds its wings.
  • My visions, although not trapped in the backwoods,
  • can still have occasional outage and get stuck in the dark,
  • or become listless like a school of drifting anchovy.
  • I labored to build the lines of defense, one by one,
  • to keep the decaying miserable world at bay.
  • My windows felt weary and tired
  • but knew better to endure. Not once did they complain
  • about the build-up of ugly walls and fortresses.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


围 城

  • 飞 白

  • 整个夏日我都空居一室
  • 都在试图对抗酷暑难耐裹挟的寒意
  • 我还试图描述对楼昏暗无常的夫妻
  • 用文火和诗意慢炖十五味中药
  • 让水波更趋平缓
  • 即便中年以后
  • 那枚响箭终究折翼
  • 眼底,再无山丘僻林
  • 也会偶尔停电,被挤进暗角地带
  • 或刀鱼一样流离失所
  • 我还是在不停为这世间所有衰败苦苦
  • 筑牢防线,一道接着一道
  • 窗子有些倦意
  • 它竟也会委屈自己。绝口不提
  • ——那些满眼遍布的城池

THE OLD CARPENTER

  • by An Qiaozi

  • Timber neatly stacked in the house,
  • waiting for the diktats of the carpenter,
  • who has a vision for each piece.
  • When drilling, a shrill seems to come
  • from him as if he’s the one been drilled,
  • as if the fear of old age has intensified.
  • He is seldom sloppy, almost always precise in every step,
  • his timeworn hands can still chisel out the prettiest waves.
  • The unused scrapes have a residual life,
  • the rest were sent to the crematoriums.
  • Some wood shavings floated up and down,
  • smelling of decay already;
  • some saw dust stays on his head like snow
  • that refuses to be shaken off.
  • He traces back and cross-examines every piece of wood;
  • each piece is a unique piece,
  • nicely textured, elegant and sleek.
  • The finished pieces sit on another side, waiting for their final
  • adornment, their bridal gowns.
  • Now, a few things are coming to a conclusion.
  • This time when the door opened,
  • someone absent for thirty years appeared.
  • His adversary finally came after thirty years.
  • Already old, he handed him a cigarette
  • and lit it for him:
  • “Ah, it's time to have my coffin made.”
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


老木匠

  • 安乔子

  • 木材整齐地叠放在屋里
  • 听候一个木匠发出的指令
  • 该是什么他心里有数
  • 给一块木材钻孔,发出的是他的尖叫
  • 恍惚被洞穿的是他自己
  • 这加深了人到老年的恐惧
  • 难得糊涂,但每一道工序都要清楚
  • 用旧的手还能刨出朵朵浪花
  • 留下来的部分是它们的余生
  • 另一些是送到火葬场
  • 一些木屑从他身上飘下来
  • 但味道已经开始腐烂
  • 一些木屑像停在头上的白雪
  • 但他抖落不了
  • 对一根木材进行质问、追溯
  • 每一根都有它的模样
  • 质地光滑、细腻和精准
  • 做好的木材在另一边,等他为它们披上
  • 一件最后的嫁衣
  • 现在,一些事情有了定局
  • 推开门那瞬间,等了三十年的人来了
  • 和他较劲了三十年的人来了
  • 他已经老了,双手递上一根烟
  • 并替他点燃了
  • “为我做一口棺材吧”

A FEW WORDS ABOUT SNOW

  • by Fu Guangtang

  • Poets who write about spring
  • will preserve snow.
  • Snow is snow, how different can it be?
  • Southern snow, northern snow,
  • physical snow, metaphysical snow.
  • Pure or tainted; serene or agitated,
  • dead or reviving...all kinds of snow.
  • It is also tied to one’s destiny,
  • for example, in a snow-in hometown,
  • everything looks unreal, then
  • a few sparrows got away, took to the air,
  • but returned to the snowy ground after all.
  • And, the man who walks in the snow
  • may not have snow in his heart.
  • A heart without snow can invent a snowfall
  • to please himself, to make others love it to bits.
  • Snow is a root word in etymology, an epistemology.
  • It exists in western pantheons, in oriental monasteries.
  • A peaceful snow gathers people around a round table,
  • so much to talk about, with the new-found soulmate.
  • It can also be the base of a dictionary,
  • with infinite entries, but even the fanciest definition
  • must pass the simple test: Is it related to snow? Yes or No?
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


也写一场雪

  • 傅光堂

  • 写过春天的诗人
  • 会让雪存在

  • 一场雪,有什么不同?
  • 南方的雪,北方的雪
  • 自然的雪,心里的雪

  • 纯洁的、肮脏的;宁静的、喧嚷的
  • 死亡的、复活的……雪

  • 在一个人的宿命里
  • 比如,深陷雪中的故乡
  • 真相虚幻,但
  • 挣脱出来的麻雀、飞着飞着
  • 又飞落在雪面上

  • 比如,行走雪原的人
  • 心里不一定有雪
  • 心里无雪的人,会虚构一场雪
  • 让自己喜欢,让别人爱的要死

  • 雪是词根,是一部认知史
  • 西方的神殿,东方的寺院
  • 交谈甚欢,相见恨晚

  • 也是一个人的辞典
  • 浩瀚的词条,再复繁的义项
  • 绕不过无雪或有雪的简单

THE GLASS BRIDGE

  • by Fu Tianlin

  • The cliff faces, knife-sharp, I stand midair
  • in the chasm between them.
  • Knees shaking, fear of heights, my rabbit heart
  • leaped out more than once and got pushed back.
  • Eyes dare only look straight, sideways, or far out,
  • undoubtedly the precipices are glazed,
  • but the bright sun continues to paint over it,
  • giving it a blue sheen, and a green sheen.
  • Birds fly by. One already has some gray at the temples,
  • and is in awe just like I am.
  • Their cries bounce off the cliffs,
  • as if the rocks are calling, the sky is calling.
  • Afloat are white clouds, soft like cotton tufts
  • as if freshly born out of the precipices.
  • Leafy florets grow on the tips of trees:
  • round and fluffy like haughty aspirations.
  • The green mountains expand into an ocean!
  • My spirit is sky high, as high as this eternal morning.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


玻璃桥

  • 傅天琳

  • 峭壁如削!现在我就站在
  • 峭壁之上的虚空里
  • 腿软,恐高,小心脏几次跳出来
  • 又几次被摁回去
  • 只敢平视、斜视、远望
  • 望对面悬崖,几疑上过琉璃釉
  • 白太阳还在一遍一遍反复涂抹
  • 微微发蓝、发青
  • 有鸟飞过。其中一只已经两鬓斑白
  • 脸上挂着与我相似的表情
  • 它用叫声撞响石壁
  • 就觉得是岩石在叫,一座天空在叫
  • 白云轻盈如絮,一挂一挂
  • 就觉得是从地里刚刚长出来的
  • 树尖新叶如花,一团绒毛球球
  • 就觉得聚集了一股蓬勃向上的气息
  • 苍山如海!这个上午有多宽
  • 我的心情就有多宽。

A NAME FOR A LAKE

  • by Gan Haibing

  • Away from the smog, twenty kilometers out
  • is a lake — a teardrop of a peach blossom, let me call it Peach Blossom Pond,
  • three feet deep, and farmer Wang Loon* lives nearby.
  • I love the fish in the water, who pick the best bits to eat,
  • and flap away the carefree days. I love that peasant woman with a hoe on her shoulder,
  • raking and weeding, and feeding all the city folks and a hectare of radishes.
  • But clearly this luminous lake is the moon that Wang Loon
  • secretly handed to me, which shines like a mirror
  • and plays the music of heaven and earth.
  • Translator’s note: Wang Loon was a friend of the famous poet Li Bai in Tang Dynasty. Wang Loon was a city magistrate. After leaving office, he moved his family to a country house by Peach Blossom Pond, where Li Bai visited him several times, and wrote a poem titled Gift to Wang Loon : "The Peach Blossom Pond, a thousand feet deep, is not as deep as Wang Loon's friendship."
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/E2qxRSv5R9kXkOBgn3_Pvw


为一片湖水命名

  • 干海兵

  • 在离雾霾20公里远的地方
  • 有一滴桃花的泪水,我想叫它桃花潭
  • 水深三尺,旁边住着种庄稼的汪伦
  • 我爱那水中居住的游鱼,食英撷玉
  • 小日子荡漾。我爱那湖边荷锄而立的农妇
  • 她指着桑骂着槐,是所有城里人和一亩萝卜的母亲
  • 但这一汪湖水又分明是汪伦
  • 偷偷塞在我手上的月亮,月光如镜
  • 吹奏着天空和大地的声音

ME AND MYSELF

  • By Gan Sha

  • Sometimes I feel like telling myself the home truths,
  • and suddenly feel touched
  • as if having met an almsgiver.
  • Sometimes I feel like running away from the city,
  • to be alone to contemplate.
  • Sometimes I feel like voicing my heart,
  • to hear it for myself.
  • Sometimes I am caught in the clouds of nostalgia,
  • causing me to cease to exist,
  • only by shouting out and waking myself
  • can I be sure I am still here.
  • Sometimes I feel like buddy-punching myself
  • like running into a long-absent friend.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/c03Y04-v_zvL7jcmiPB7cQ


我和我自己

  • 干沙

  • 有时我想跟我自己说句真心话
  • 我会突然间感动起来
  • 像遇到了恩人
  • 有时我想逃离这座城市
  • 独自一人想想心事
  • 我想把心里的话大声地说出来
  • 让我亲耳听见
  • 有时我被一种莫名的怀念抓住
  • 脱不了身,感觉不到我的存在
  • 只有大喊一声,把我惊醒
  • 才知道我还在我的身上
  • 有时我想狠狠给我一拳
  • 像久别的朋友突然见面时那样




SPARROWS

  • by Gao Feng

  • Inside the tiny sparrow, there is a temple for mother earth,
  • and a care home for the elderly.
  • The heavy snow last year
  • caused starvation throughout the land, but no fatality.
  • All the sparrows survived.
  • They went from the Zhang’s to the Li’s,
  • having a look at the pigsty, the kitchen, and the windowsill.
  • A few puffed or cooked rice fell from
  • a child’s hands or the elderly’s lips,
  • where did they go in the snow?
  • All the rice stump were gone with the burning ban.
  • There’re puzzle nuts everywhere, but too hard to swallow.
  • The birds perched on the telephone cable,
  • a running current passing heartwarming blessings.
  • They finally prevailed over the winter,
  • flying down from way high.
  • To conserve strength,
  • they start by falling, but at an inch from the ground,
  • their wings open up.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


麻 雀

  • 高 峰

  • 麻雀的小肚肠有一座土地庙
  • 也有一座敬老院
  • 去年那场大雪
  • 天地为之绝食,但不绝命
  • 麻雀们都活过来了
  • 从张家串门儿到李家
  • 猪圈瞧瞧,厨房瞧瞧,窗台瞧瞧
  • 雪地里从小孩手里掉下的几粒爆米花
  • 老人饭后抹去粘在嘴角的饭粒
  • 稻草禁烧,不知所踪
  • 楝果累累,难以下咽
  • 它们蹲的电话线里
  • 此刻正传递着温暖的祝福
  • 冬天终于挺过去了
  • 它们从高处往下飞
  • 为了节省一点点体力
  • 开始是垂落,快要接近地面的时候
  • 才打开翅膀

TIME'S SCREW

  • by Gao Jiangang

  • From a stopped wrist watch, I took out a tiny
  • gold-plated screw, so tiny that I dare not risk dropping it.
  • But when inserting a bead of battery into the watch's belly,
  • the screw suddenly was gone,
  • no longer on the paper where it rested.
  • The sofa, carpet, tea table . . .every seam and crack,
  • is now a world subjected to the looking glass, to the magnet,
  • made chaotic by a roaring vacuum cleaner.
  • Amidst a hundred million dust-particles,
  • I found my love’s emerald gem, lost for years,
  • the lost needle that Mother worried might pierce,
  • my late father's salary seal from long ago,
  • a colored marble from when the children were small,
  • men’s hair, women’s hair,
  • a sunflower seed, a red bean, crickets . . .
  • I held on to this paused interval,
  • gazing out at the boundless sea through the window.
  • A tiny shiny screw is rising with the moon
  • over the sea.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KisprleFyj21Gb2wea9Etw


时间上的螺丝

  • 高建刚

  • 从停止的手表上,取下一颗微小的
  • 镀金螺丝,微小到不能失手
  • 在其腹部嵌入鹤眼似的动力时
  • 螺丝突然从存放它的白纸上消失
  • 沙发、地毯、茶几……所有的缝隙
  • 放大镜的世界
  • 磁铁的世界
  • 轰鸣的吸尘器打乱世界
  • 在亿万的灰尘中
  • 发现了爱人失踪多年的一颗绿宝石
  • 曾让母亲担心伤人的缝衣针
  • 去世已久的父亲领工资的刻印
  • 孩子儿时的彩色玻璃球
  • 男人女人的毛发
  • 葵花籽、红豆、蟋蟀……
  • 我握住停止的时间
  • 望着窗外广袤的大海
  • 一颗微小的镀金螺丝伴着明月
  • 从海平线上升起

THOSE DAYS

  • by Gao Liang

  • Those days, a long cord was tied to the switch,
  • you could sit in bed and turn on a light.
  • Those days the lights were as plain as the country folks.
  • not judged by the material of the cord.
  • You pulled it and the it lit up, pulled again and it turned off.
  • If a light went out in a winter night,
  • it often brought a deeper awakening,
  • sometimes even a sharper vision.
  • Those days I liked to get up in the dark,
  • and looked through fence gaps or door cracks
  • at what’s there beyond the dark world —
  • Moonlight, stars, white frost on the roof,
  • a small gray cat with bright eyes,
  • all were extremely fascinating,
  • and when a lamp was broke, in those days,
  • the stars continued to shine and seemed to compete to stand out.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dhPxdXrtjym-JxX6fdP9IQ


那 时

  • 高 亮

  • 那时用一根长线和开关相连
  • 坐在床上,也可以拧亮一盏灯
  • 那时的灯和乡下人一样朴素
  • 从不计较挂上去的线是何材质
  • 拉一下就亮,再拉一下就关
  • 冬日的夜晚,一盏灯熄灭后
  • 常常会带给人更深刻的清醒
  • 甚至更明亮的视力
  • 那时的我总喜欢摸黑起床
  • 透过篱笆墙上的孔洞或门缝儿
  • 看一看黑暗之外的世界——
  • 月光,繁星,屋顶上的白头霜
  • 一只小灰猫发亮的眼睛
  • 都如此令人着迷
  • 那时一盏灯坏了
  • 它们会争相站出来继续朗照人间

LIFE IN A FISHING VILLAGE

  • by Gao Pengcheng

  • If you live by the sea long enough,
  • you will see some trees bend like hooks.
  • You will know from typhoon days
  • how they arch against the wind.
  • If you are patient enough, you will see on the piers
  • how a grain of salt gnaws the thick iron chains
  • and turns them into bits of rust.
  • If you look even more carefully, you will realize
  • what secures a boat isn’t the iron cleats nailed to the concrete,
  • but the gazes of the fishermen’s wives into the sea.
  • It’s not the catch in the hold that stabilizes our lives,
  • nor the ballast stone in the empty boat,
  • but the rusty anchor
  • buried deep in the mud.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Lv89sjCOXomiVmmSmjrG-Q


渔区生活

  • 高鹏程

  • 如果你在海边住得足够长久,你会知道那些树
  • 为什么会有奇怪的弯曲。
  • 你会知道,台风天
  • 它们怎样把自己绷成一张逆风之弓。
  • 如果你有足够的耐心,你会看到码头边
  • 一粒盐,怎样把一根碗口粗的铁链
  • 咬成一截一截的铁锈。
  • 如果你有兴趣仔细观察,你会发现
  • 把一艘船牢牢拴住的,不是钉在水泥里的丁字钢柱
  • 而是朝向海面的那些渔嫂的眼神。
  • 稳住我们的生活的,也不是船舱里满仓的渔获,
  • 不是空舱时的压舱石,
  • 而是一只深埋在淤泥里的
  • 锈迹斑斑的锚。

MELANCHOLY

  • by Gao Xingtao

  • Two birds
  • perch on the electricity wire
  • over the village.
  • For too many years,
  • I came home only rarely.
  • Those olden sod houses were rebuilt taller and sounder.
  • The tree by the front door was cut down, but its wretched wood
  • was not even good for a casket. Lives departed accordingly
  • without swearing against time.
  • There is still that farmer here, whom I call Father.
  • There is still this village here, that I call home.
  • You said: indeed
  • these dormant things
  • give shape to the melancholy in our heart.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ryfTTWzWWINdMmOJfOdJVA


伤 怀

  • 高兴涛

  • 两只鸟
  • 站在电线上
  • 下面是我的村庄
  • 很多年了
  • 回去的太少
  • 土坯房都翻新成了楼房
  • 门前的树也砍了,但木料不好
  • 做不成棺材。该走的都走了
  • 谁也没有为难岁月
  • 只有那个农民,我还叫他父亲
  • 只有那个村庄,我仍称为故乡
  • 你说是啊
  • 只有这些缓慢的事物
  • 说出了我们的悲

GINKGO TREES ON BEIJING ROAD

  • by Ge Feng

  • Places around West Beijing Road
  • are shedding again.
  • The ginkgo trees,
  • the courtyards, the streetscape, the crowds,
  • and November's sunshine,
  • all are in line with my ex-girlfriend’s
  • emotional swings while she sips coffee:
  • "The shimmering gold in the sky
  • urges me to sing.”
  • The long-haired older poets
  • sit on rock-hard surface.
  • West Beijing Road has prepared for them
  • sumptuous dinners and good ideas for couplets.
  • An autumn wind by itself is enough
  • for a howl,
  • almost tuneful.
  • Ginkgo trees litter the streets.
  • The endless summery love
  • has now pave the boulevard with gold,
  • lighting up every passerby coming
  • and going,
  • those walking past, or those turning their heads back,
  • parading their faces in parallel rows
  • as if in couplets.
  • Autumn howls continuously,
  • like our poets,
  • slowly shedding
  • all of its hair.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/9LTrWVJK97WVV98-LFDZkg

北京西路的银杏树

  • 格 风

  • 北京西路一带
  • 又开始掉头发了
  • 那里的银杏树
  • 庭院,风景和人群
  • 十一月的阳光
  • 匹配于前女友
  • 一杯咖啡的内心戏
  • “黄金在天空舞蹈
  • 命令我歌唱”
  • 长头发的前辈诗人
  • 坐在石头上
  • 北京西路
  • 为他们准备了
  • 丰盛的晚餐和排比句
  • 足够他们
  • 大哭一场的秋风
  • 秋风中的乐器
  • 银杏树卸下整整一条街
  • 整整一个夏天的爱情
  • 遍地金黄
  • 照亮走过来的人
  • 走过去的人
  • 擦肩而过和突然转身的
  • 分行排列的脸
  • 停在他们的句子中
  • 整个秋天
  • 也像他们的苦吟
  • 一点点掉光
  • 所有的头发

LANLAN

  • by Ge Qingyun

  • Roasted yams, old newspaper, homemade noodle,
  • and many other little things around our blossoming love.
  • You are always the first to wake,
  • and the first to go back to bed.
  • The sun shines on your handmade jacket,
  • you look pretty in whichever hair pin you wear.
  • Winter is for you to live large, love is for you to indulge.
  • The sky is high, the clouds are in no hurry to go.
  • Let us eat all there is in the barn, drink all there is in the cellar,
  • let us talk under the blanket until daybreak.
  • Lanlan, here in the mountains,
  • sundown is a great reason for me to hang out with you.
  • Nice to stay warm in the house, let the snow fall on the roof.
  • Best to ignore the others, let them say whatever they want.
  • We shall have a child first, then learn to be prudent,
  • sell the cattle and sheep, and set out for the journey.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/tO9-7TD5HD8y-CjQjIYAkQ


兰兰

  • 歌青云

  • 烤红薯、旧报纸、手擀面,
  • 以及所有刚恋爱的细节。
  • 你总是第一个睡醒,
  • 总是第一个不肯动。
  • 阳光来往于夹袄的针脚,
  • 什么样子的发夹都好看。
  • 冬天被你消耗,爱情被你消耗,
  • 高高的天空惯着懒懒的云。
  • 把谷仓掏空,把地窖掏空,
  • 把被子蒙起来说话。
  • 兰兰,我在山里的时候,
  • 早黑的天就是陪你的理由。
  • 暖在屋子里,雪在屋檐上,
  • 他们说的我们都不听,都不听。
  • 等生完孩子,我们再冷静,
  • 等卖完牛羊,我们再上路。

RUSTED LOVE

  • By Gu Baokai

  • An endless drizzle falls on winter's wharf,
  • and falls on life's journeys.
  • I try to call your name, but swallow it down instead.
  • I dare not touch those things that taper to a pointed end,
  • the tips of grass, the bristles of barley, a flickering light.
  • I see a tree that summons a lifetime of strength just to
  • heal its wounds.
  • That day, the earth was split asunder by a thunderstorm,
  • and things hidden in the dark suddenly became clear.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/5wneVY40LDVfMnxHJqUDOg


爱情是一件生锈的铁器

  • 顾宝凯

  • 一场绵密的细雨下在冬天的码头
  • 也下在一生的旅途中
  • 我尝试叫出你的名字又咽了回去
  • 我不敢去触碰过于尖锐的事物
  • 草尖,麦芒,微弱的光
  • 我看见一棵树用尽一生的力气
  • 修复自己的伤口
  • 那天的雷雨,劈开了大地
  • 隐藏在黑暗中的事物那么清晰

A BUTTERFLY SPECIMEN

  • by Gu Chunfang

  • A butterfly, pinned on the clock,
  • the hour hand have just passed twelve.
  • It jabbed at my memory of watching a specimen made.
  • Surrounded by water in the Amazon, midday
  • in the jungle, time was reveling.
  • The children hustled for the entire summer,
  • all within the distance between the table and the chair.
  • They bent over the desk, over wooden frames.
  • It reminded me of the secluded confessional
  • down the aisle at the end of the church.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2019-09-23/10745391.shtml


蝴蝶标本

  • 顾春芳

  • 蝴蝶,被钉在时钟之下,
  • 指针刚刚经过十二点。
  • 它触动了一架标本的记忆,
  • 在亚马逊水域的正午,
  • 时间正在丛林里热烈地狂欢。
  • 孩子,在整个夏天奔波于
  • 从桌子到椅子的距离。
  • 他们垂手伏案在木格子里,
  • 这情形让我想起幽闭的忏悔室,
  • 在一所教堂尽头的过道里。

MOSQUITO

  • by Gu Gang

  • Ailing in a corner, the sunset flits by
  • like a mosquito.
  • Slender long feet, a slap,
  • limbs stuck to the grid,
  • sketches of tiny cracks
  • on a white tile.
  • Palm size, heat on the ice.
  • Rectangular window, an air vent,
  • a suck, the mosquito does what it does best:
  • blood transfusions.
  • Drilling a well on the skin, it carries
  • different blood types,
  • flaunting the world with its fishy smell.
  • Swinging a bamboo fan, a draft from left to right.
  • Plain shirt, sleeves rolled up in summer heat,
  • bare elbows,
  • dry and cracked in old age.
  • Unable to ever swing again,
  • flying flies are stuck to our glassy eyes,
  • as if awaiting salvation.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/YsWUyclhd_t-eQLpmHO8Vw


飞 蚊

  • 古 冈

  • 病怏怏一角,夕照如蚊子
  • 轻微地掠过。
  • 纤细长脚,“啪”的一声
  • 四肢粘到电网,
  • 错觉为白瓷砖
  • 震碎的裂纹。
  • 手掌尺寸,热量的冰上。
  • 长方形窗洞,进出气流
  • 不吱一声,蚊虫却施展
  • 血的流变。
  • 如在肌肤上打井,运着他人
  • 不同血型,
  • 腥味招摇着市井。
  • 挥洒竹扇子,左右起风。
  • 平民的长衫身子,夏热里卷起
  • 裸露的臂弯,
  • 干燥、龟裂的老年。
  • 甚至无力再挥打
  • 眼眶飞蚊,它附在玻璃体
  • 救赎般地等着。

AT LIANGHONG WETLAND

  • by Gu He

  • Early spring, the sun imparts a touch of cold,
  • callery pears are sprouting white buds,
  • wild reeds sway.
  • All you can see is gray, as if the world is doomed to be stifled.
  • The sound of broken bones, it is
  • river ice cracking, but the rapeseeds are golden on shore.
  • The rippling water mirrors
  • a new season that is foundering to take off.
  • Love is not enough by itself, one needs to take a leap,
  • and with blind trust, not to envy the harmony between the clouds and the flowers.
  • In this wilderness, so vast and under a low sky, you ask
  • if it's earth holding water together,
  • or water holding earth together? I like
  • this scraggly, lazy early spring; as the boat paddles out,
  • dandelion puffs and egrets take off,
  • recollecting their old feathers and the art to regroup.
  • The artery of the river reaches far and wide,
  • trickling through the spring
  • to keep the bees, butterflies, and other flower thieves at home.
  • I shall also hold on to my artistry
  • on how to keep a poem unique and self-contained.
  • I know, Time does not feel melancholic
  • about the change of seasons.
  • The earth dreams of fire and new bamboo shoots, it also helps the wetland
  • to migrate to where the river rests.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/L74dJEZ2WhduNvIbTEbfCQ


在梁鸿湿地

  • 谷禾

  • 早春的阳光带着微薄寒凉,
  • 豆梨才露出白牙,
  • 风中俯仰的野芦苇
  • 灰茫茫一片,仿佛被命运扼紧了脖子。
  • 骨头的断折之声传来,
  • 如冰茬碎裂,而水边油菜花金黄。
  • 在细浪的镜子里,
  • 季节刚迈开趔趄的脚步。
  • 所以仅有爱还不够,还要跑起来,
  • 还要一叶障目,无视白云与黄花举案齐眉。
  • 野旷天低,你说是泥土涵养了水分,
  • 还是相反?我喜欢
  • 这散漫凌乱的早春,从浆声的裂隙里,
  • 蒲公英和白鹭飞起,
  • 从残雪下取回了羽毛和翔集的钥匙。
  • 河水如脉络,遍布大地全身,
  • 要蹀躞流过春天,
  • 才能挽留蜜蜂、蝴蝶、更多的采花盗。
  • 我还有秘密的手艺,
  • 以保持一首诗的完整性与不可模仿。
  • 我知道的,时间不会怅惘失神,
  • 在季节的轮回里,
  • 泥土梦见火焰和新生的青竹,也把这湿地
  • 带向江水停歇之处。

MOURNFUL SOUNDS

  • by Gu Ma

  • In the temple courtyard, under a silver berry tree,
  • a tethered ox
  • lolls his tongue and
  • licks his lips.
  • The fragrance of the desert blossoms
  • drifts next door to
  • the residence hall of a folk opera troupe.
  • It's dark,
  • shadowy figures move around on the lit balcony.
  • High-rises crop up in the Northwest,
  • but the old ox-horn still holds the ink line.
  • The world looks blurry
  • through the ox’s tears;
  • stars hide away, higher than
  • the sickle moon atop the temple roof,
  • far behind the city towers and the floating clouds.
  • His tail sweeps constantly
  • to disperse
  • the floating dust.
  • Daybreak is a field of darts and daggers
  • that no one can skirt around to avoid.
  • The ox begins a soulful howl
  • with all his might, all night long,
  • hoping to eject
  • the weighty stone on his chest.
  • Its mournful sounds
  • wake up a famous opera singer,
  • causing him to toss and turn, worrying:
  • though I know how to move air through my belly,
  • I still have not mastered the tune.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/9698lnOs601ffRfaCSuhUQ


苦 音

  • 古 马

  • 寺院沙枣树下
  • 一头被拴着公牛
  • 舌头不停翻卷
  • 舔着嘴唇
  • 沙枣花的香气
  • 蹿到隔壁
  • 秦剧团的家属院里
  • 天已黑了
  • 灯火的阳台上人影闪动
  • 西北有高楼
  • 牛角废墨斗
  • 牛会流泪
  • 混浊的泪光中
  • 星星躲得很远
  • 远在寺院金属的月牙儿之上
  • 远在高楼与浮云后面
  • 尾巴不时摇动
  • 想要驱散
  • 空气里不安的尘埃
  • 黎明
  • 是一架绕不过去的刀锋
  • 它开始悲吼
  • 整夜向着虚空
  • 用力抛掷
  • 胸腔里粗粝而沉重的石头
  • 它的苦音
  • 让一个秦腔名角半夜醒来
  • 辗转反侧:我虽善于运气,但仍不会行腔。

MOVING CAMP

  • by Gu Ma

  • We must go where
  • the white-lipped deer kisses the sunlit moss
  • and the hidden water shines like her returning glances at us.
  • Where we are going,
  • a few trees stand with uneven shadows,
  • and clouds roll, and fish morphs into grass, into a tiger, into a leopard,
  • no one knows which is which.
  • Where we are going,
  • desert shallots glisten in the rain,
  • Lord Genghis Khan watches over us,
  • so we'll find the mother of all springs, north of the North Star.
  • The place we are going, it is nine days and nine nights away.
  • Pack the tents and tea pots and cookware, catch up with the sheep.
  • There are still work to do before moving camp:
  • the fiddle's strings are broken and its box needs mending;
  • the good old boots have lost their soles;
  • last night's fire after making milk tea and lamb stew
  • can be revived from the cold ashes;
  • all our misfortune and adversities will be buried away,
  • one by one, under the golden sand.
  • Let spring breeze return to refresh this beloved place.
  • All right.
  • We have a long way to go,
  • a horse to ride and a camel to lead.
  • Let the fast slim dog run ahead.
  • Just don't forget
  • the early-morning whistles.
  • Just don't forget
  • the whistles for the night.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-01-13/11820877.shtml


转 场

  • 古 马

  • 我们要去的地方
  • 白唇鹿的嘴唇碰到阳光的苔草
  • 石缝里的清水就像它回头张望的眼睛
  • 四周围或有树影一短一长
  • 北山云 鱼化草 草化虎豹 变幻莫测
  • 我们要去的地方
  • 雨水嫩绿沙葱长势正好
  • 圣主成吉思汗的眼睛
  • 泉眼之眼 北斗以北
  • 我们要去的地方要走上九天九夜
  • 驮上帐房茶炊赶上羊群
  • 转场前还有些事必须办完
  • 马头琴琴柱断了琴箱破了
  • 那双穿过很久的靴子底儿掉了
  • 昨夜煮滚奶茶煮罢羊肉的火
  • 已经灭了 灰已经冷了
  • 还有我们的不如意和难堪
  • 要一一埋藏,干净的沙土埋藏深些
  • 让来年春风吹绿这挂念的地方
  • 好了
  • 我们要去的地方还有很远的路程
  • 要骑上马,牵上骆驼
  • 让一只欢实的细犬窜到前面
  • 只是你别忘了
  • 带着清晨的口哨
  • 只是你别忘了
  • 吹起夜里的口哨

SUMMER STORY

  • by Gu Shanyun

  • My original plan was to go fishing with Gu,
  • and have prepared the tackle box and fishing gear,
  • but Sally asked us to go over to eat her salad.
  • She said she had just learned to make it.
  • While Sally was busy in the kitchen,
  • Gu and I continued talking about fishing.
  • That was one sultry afternoon.
  • Gu and I were both sweating,
  • but dared not take off our shirts.
  • Sally was wearing a suspender dress,
  • looking very cool.
  • She asked both of us our opinion of her salad.
  • Gu was never a fan of westernized Chinese cuisine.
  • I said, very nice, but I meant her dress.
  • Later, Sally became my wife.
  • That was a long time ago.
  • Now I am sitting alone in my yard, packing up fishing tackle.
  • Sally left for a coastal city,
  • by a bigger water body than ours here.
  • Gu became food for the fish in the river,
  • that was the end of his poetry.
  • I confess, when they were away,
  • I didn’t send letters to either of them.
  • Now right here I have lettuce, coriander, and cucumber.
  • I am not going to turn them into salad,
  • but will dip and pickle them in soy paste;
  • Sally will never understand why I do it this way.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Qao6usXmSxBzPEXxpR4pkg


夏天的故事

  • 孤山云

  • 本打算和顾丁杨去钓鱼
  • 我们已经准备好了渔具和鱼饵
  • 但沙丽请我们去她家吃她做的沙拉
  • 她说,她刚刚学会
  • 沙丽在厨房忙的时候
  • 我和顾丁杨继续说着钓鱼的事情
  • 那是一个闷热的午后
  • 我和顾丁杨热得冒汗
  • 但谁也没敢把上衣脱掉
  • 沙丽穿着一个吊带裙
  • 看起来很凉快
  • 她征求我俩关于她做的沙拉的意见
  • 顾丁杨一直反对将中国菜西方化
  • 我说很好,但我指的是她的裙子
  • 后来沙丽成为我的妻子
  • 这已经是很久远的事情了
  • 现在我一个人坐在院子里收拾渔具
  • 沙丽去了沿海的一个城市
  • 那里的水域比这里的要更加宽广
  • 顾丁杨到河里给鱼做了饲料
  • 成为他诗歌中最后一个句子
  • 我承认,他们走了之后
  • 我没有给他们任何一个写过信
  • 现在我身边放着生菜、香菜,和黄瓜
  • 我没有将它们做成沙拉
  • 而是把它们包裹起来,蘸黄豆酱
  • 这就是沙丽一直不能理解我的地方

WIND FARM

  • By Guang Zi

  • A whirling evening.
  • What dizzies the pasture is not the wind,
  • but the wind turbines, which
  • have an extra horn than a bull, and as they turn gently,
  • they shuffle the sun behind the hills.
  • Some say these bewildering monsters
  • don’t just chop the sheep's heads off
  • but also strangle great swaths of clouds.
  • Hungry hawks have avoided their swirling blades,
  • but can’t dodge the backwash.
  • For this reason those docile sheep
  • move themselves to a newer pasture,
  • bowing their heads to chew grass
  • as if doing it for us
  • until our hunched backs
  • also become at least as graceful and meek as theirs,
  • numb to these spikes that unnerve the great earth,
  • numb to other brutal forces.
  • The most we do is wave our arms and shout.
  • More and more we turn ourselves into human-powered generators.
  • Even when there is no wind and the wind turbines are still,
  • the grasslands continue to stupefy us.
  • The pasture is a giant spinning wheel itself,
  • unstoppable even as twilight approaches.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-pFdJWWa3yWP3yeo_OQjmA

让牧场晕眩的不是风,是风力发电机

  • 广子

  • 傍晚在旋转
  • 让牧场感到晕眩的不是风
  • 而是风力发电机。比公牛多一只犄角
  • 只要轻轻转动,就可以
  • 把落日挑下山冈。据说这些怪物
  • 不仅折断过盘羊的头,还曾绞死大片乌云
  • 挨饿的鹰躲开了它的风轮
  • 但没躲开它的旋转
  • 为此,一向温顺的羊群
  • 开辟出新的地盘
  • 好像是为了我们低头吃草
  • 直到我们弯腰的姿势
  • 练得比羊更优美和谦逊
  • 对穿透大地神经的刺
  • 失去知觉,对野蛮习以为常
  • 只会挥舞双臂,大呼小叫
  • 越来越像一排排肉体的风力发电机
  • 而风轮静止,草地仍充满晕眩感
  • 整个牧场仍是一只巨大的风轮
  • 傍晚仍在不停地旋转。

SHANGHAI VIGNETTE

  • by Guo Congyu

  • On the dated narrow alley, at a breakfast shop,
  • I ordered a bowl of sweetened soy milk and a poached egg,
  • the very best kind, with a soft yolk. Everything came steaming
  • hot. Wet March, the last of the lingering
  • cold. The breakfast shop owner spoke very little even though she looked to be
  • at the “chatterbox” age. She held a large stainless ladle, leaning
  • on the kitchen counter. I tried not to notice the rubber peeling off the electric wire
  • or the mold stains at the corner. From inside, one could see through the door frame
  • a sprawling shopping center. All the luxury goods I knew
  • could be found here, and those unknown to me were usually even more luxurious.
  • The flowing sound of Huangpu River was near,
  • and Lujiazui was at a remarkable spot.
  • The city impressed me differently depending on whom I brushed shoulders with
  • on Nanjing Rd. Very early in the morning, but I already received
  • the mobile phone ordered the day before. My typing speed
  • still lagged behind. Even the keyboard had an generation gap with me,
  • didn't quite understand me, and Shanghai was moving a step closer to
  • delirium. All other customers had left the breakfast shop. As the owner looked at
  • my empty bowl, I realized it's time to pay my bill. Being proactive and showing initiative
  • might earn me the privilege to hang out here a little longer.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0nLckjywjd1DaXbMCRh8KQ


上海琐记

  • 郭丛与

  • 弄堂狭窄而古旧,一间早点铺
  • 点一碗甜豆浆,荷包蛋
  • 最好是溏心的。热气
  • 蒸腾。三月的潮湿,一息尚存的
  • 阴冷。老板娘在最唠叨的年龄里
  • 沉默,拿着不锈钢大勺,斜倚
  • 餐台。电线胶皮的剥落与墙角的
  • 霉迹视而不见,门框外是一家
  • 望不到边的购物中心。我认识的
  • 所有奢侈品都在这里,不认识的
  • 往往更加奢侈。黄浦江的水声
  • 不远,陆家嘴是一个突出的循环。
  • 城市的印象交织于,南京路上的
  • 擦肩而过。我一早便收到前一天
  • 下单的手机,打字的速度
  • 还没有恢复。原来,在时间之前
  • 连键盘都无法了解我,上海
  • 也更接近于某种谵妄。店里
  • 没有其他客人,老板娘注视着我
  • 面前空空的碗,我发现自己
  • 早应结账。积极与主动也许可以
  • 换来继续坐一会的权利

TEETH

  • by Guo Hui

  • Autumn colors are now in quick
  • retreat, the thorny bush along the Algonquian trail
  • is still boisterous,
  • blooming with tiny purple bells.
  • I reach out
  • to pick a flower, for its fragrance and color,
  • but am caught by a sprig,
  • whose thorns viciously grab my sleeve.
  • Those crimson black thorns, a rather dull black,
  • are seventy percent blood sport and thirty percent repose.
  • All spines and nothing else, it obviously
  • has invested all its bloodline
  • to develop these small sacrificial teeth,
  • so delicate in appearance,
  • but come with the most aggressive tactic
  • —resist, rebel, persist—
  • to fiercely clench onto
  • my temperamental moves, my frivolous likes and dislikes.
  • Oh, they are—
  • as if anticipating this moment, fully ready
  • to engage in the fight of a lifetime.
  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricist, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/1GxHZ-uNy707nW8bdx5HzQ


牙 齿

  • 郭 辉

  • 秋色已开始全面
  • 退却了,阿冈昆山径边的棘丛里
  • 犹还热热闹闹
  • 开满了紫铜铃般的小野花
  • 我伸过手去
  • 欲摘取一朵,闻香识色
  • 却被枝条上的
  • 一根根刺,恶狠狠地扯住了袖口
  • 它们黑里透红,偏暗
  • 三分静气里埋伏着七分杀气
  • 一身硬,分明
  • 是把自己的身家性命
  • 长成了一粒粒不惜命的牙齿
  • 它们看上去多么细小
  • 却动用了,最大的心机与心力
  • 固执,偏激,不依不饶
  • 决绝地咬住了
  • 我的轻举妄动和尘世间的爱恨交加
  • 它们呀——
  • 仿佛为这一刻,已经足足
  • 准备了一生!

SOMETHING IS CALLING YOU

  • By Guo Jianqiang

  • Something is calling you, calling you,
  • calling you to go down Prosperity Place, Courthouse Street, Mojia Street Market, down towards the office blocks, the Arts Museum,
  • down the various metaphorical windows on memory lane.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to go to a different city,
  • to mingle with a different crowd, whose airs and graces remind you of those in your dreams.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to go to even more different cities,
  • to wine and dine and sing or keep mum with even more people,
  • and to exit into the wilderness afterwards, farther and farther away,
  • into the grasslands, into the adjacent Gobi Desert,
  • into a different desert, and the snowy mountains and the glaciers by that desert,
  • into the forests farther and farther away.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to sleep on a flowerhead, on a rising bird song,
  • on a cloud, and on the sky above the clouds, on even higher skies.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to come down from the sky, to wake up on the sea,
  • to wake up on the back of a fish in the Pacific.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to walk into the great west coast,
  • and then farther and farther away,
  • into the wilderness, into the grasslands, into the adjacent Gobi Desert,
  • into a different desert, and the snowy mountains and the glaciers by that desert,
  • into the forests farther and farther away,
  • into the shadow in front of your footsteps, into the sleepless, blood-red sunset,
  • into morning dew as light as a sigh.
  • Something is calling you, calling you
  • to walk into different layers of the silky winds, into rough bags of winds, into fencing winds,
  • into fox and rabbit tracks, into the arcs drawn by migratory birds,
  • into the minute details of pictographs and the labyrinth of letters,
  • into your own lifetime, stacked and stacked with memories,
  • being revived and poured into the chalice and gradually looking amber.
  • Something is calling you, calling you.
  • Mists everywhere and flowers in every corner,
  • you are a long-distance traveler in this world and a communicator with the ghosts.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/E6tUGeYM7vD2Mb6piMC2Yw


在叫你

  • 郭建强

  • 在叫你在叫你
  • 在叫你穿过兴隆巷法院街莫家街市场和行政楼和艺术馆
  • 和一个在记忆里开合着不同隐喻的窗口
  • 在叫你在叫你进入另外一座城市
  • 和另外一些人擦肩而过 那些神态和眼神仿佛一些似曾相识的梦
  • 在叫你在叫你进入更多的城市
  • 和另外更多的一些人唱歌喝酒沉默
  • 然后走得更远走在郊野
  • 走在草原走在毗邻的戈壁
  • 和沙漠和沙漠之侧的雪峰冰川和远处的森林
  • 在叫你在叫你睡在一朵花里和一声越来越高的鸟鸣中
  • 和白云之上和白云之上的天空 和更高远的天空
  • 在叫你在叫你从天空下降之后的大海上醒来
  • 在太平洋上的鱼鳞里醒来
  • 在叫你在叫你踏上西海岸无垠的土地然后走得更远
  • 走在郊野走在草原走在毗邻的戈壁沙漠
  • 和沙漠之侧的雪峰冰川和远处的森林
  • 和鞋尖前的影子和失眠的泼血的晚霞
  • 和叹息一样的晨露
  • 在叫你在叫你
  • 走在一层一层丝绸般的风里麻袋般的风里钢铁般的风里
  • 和狐兔的脚迹和候鸟的翅翼划出的圆弧里
  • 和方块字的峻切里和字母的迷宫里
  • 和你的此世和重重叠叠的记忆里
  • 将醒未醒即将倾入杯中的醇酒正在成为琥珀
  • 在叫你在叫你
  • 水气缭绕万物花开
  • 人生天地间你是远行客也是招魂人

BORROWING THE HEART OF THE GRASS

  • by Guo Xiaoqi

  • That day, we were in Guan'egou.
  • On that day, the sky was gray, the air was wet and sweet,
  • and the water flowed melodiously.
  • We were trapped,
  • mired in a saga of love and hate, unable to break free.
  • Now, I am far away,
  • and you have become the faraway place of my life.
  • I can only confess to you, by the heart of the grass around you.
  • I can only borrow the heart of the dewdrops rolling down the grass
  • to confess to you. Let me also borrow
  • the heart of the humming insects in the thicket, allow me to explain.
  • With the simplicity of the grass,
  • with the luminance of a dewdrop,
  • with the humility of the insects,
  • with these three hearts closest to the earth, I will love you for a lifetime.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gIshlF3B_Uu_FntCcRMczA


借草木之心表白

  • 郭晓琦

  • 那一天,我们在官鹅沟
  • 那一天,天空阴忧,空气湿甜、流水婉转
  • 我们都卡在
  • 一个爱恨情仇的传说中不能抽身
  • 现在,我在远方
  • 现在,你成为我今生的远方
  • 只好借你身边的草木之心向你表白
  • 借草木上滑落的露珠之心
  • 向你表白。借
  • 草丛中低吟的虫豸之心向你表白
  • 草木之心质朴
  • 露珠之心晶莹
  • 虫豸之心卑微
  • 今生,我要用贴近泥土的三颗心去爱你

ONE OF A THOUSAND

  • by He Xinle

  • (Hermann Hesse said each person has a thousand
  • souls, this poem is dedicated to one of them.)
  • You didn’t retrace your dreams from last night,
  • but casually mentioned the languor.
  • The birds are already chirping in the morning light.
  • They simply ride out their journeys
  • without a cringe about the chasm below their wings.
  • But you are mired in the doubts about life,
  • trapped within the eddies of loneliness, amnesia,
  • despair, and stuck in a web
  • where the spider has been waiting
  • and starts to approach you with an amazing appetite.
  • More often you realize
  • you have nowhere to escape,
  • locked in the one thousandth cell in my body.
  • You are the quietest soul of mine.
  • Because of you
  • I am lured closer to the dark night,
  • but I need you so, and will not let you go.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/kPJz1EKn-qgPZ6506ocwig


千分之一

  • 何新乐

  • (黑塞说人体内有千百个
  • 不同的灵魂,此诗写给其中一个)
  • 你不曾向我提及昨夜的梦
  • 只淡淡地说,你很疲惫
  • 窗外的飞鸟已在晨光中鸣叫
  • 它们就如此活着
  • 翅膀之下未曾有深渊
  • 可你却陷于对生活的怀疑
  • 陷于孤独、失眠、无意义的
  • 漩涡。陷于蜘蛛网
  • 你说饥饿的蜘蛛已等你多时
  • 正拨动渴望的琴弦,向你走来
  • 更多时候你察觉到自己
  • 是无处可逃
  • 陷于我体内牢笼的千分之一
  • 你是所有我中最沉默的一个
  • 我因你的存在
  • 更多被拉向黑夜的一侧
  • 但我需要你,我不会释放你。

THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

  • by Black Tooth

  • The interior of a mountain is
  • partially empty. Some are very empty,
  • with more space than mass.
  • Some are hardly empty,
  • with no room for another dust.
  • There is a mountain in my hometown
  • with an incredible open interior
  • that also comes with a magic:
  • people who enter it would re-emerge
  • as a sparrow, a squirrel,
  • a red-eyed rabbit,
  • a flying insect with musical wings,
  • or some kind of flower or tree.
  • One year, late autumn, I went up to the mountain,
  • and saw Little Buffalo, a shepherd since childhood.
  • He appeared before me
  • in the shape of a jujube tree.
  • It was getting cold then, grass yellowing.
  • He stood halfway on the mountain,
  • watching the village below.
  • Several jujubes hung on his forehead,
  • translucent, like agate gemstones.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VlPAj9nKvBpuHatmGRMljg

神山记

  • 黑 牙

  • 一座山的内部,通常
  • 是空的,有的空很大
  • 大过山本身,有的空很小
  • 难以容纳一粒灰尘
  • 我家乡的一座山
  • 内部空间大得惊人,并且
  • 还有一种神奇的功能
  • 进入里面的人,过段时间出来
  • 就会变成灰雀、松鼠
  • 变成红眼睛兔子
  • 变成振翅如琴音的飞虫
  • 变成各种花草树木
  • 秋末,我爬山时
  • 见到了放了一辈子羊的牛二
  • 他以一棵酸枣树的形象
  • 出现在我面前,那时
  • 天已转凉,草渐枯黄
  • 他默默站在斜坡一角
  • 望着山下的村庄
  • 几枚小枣挂在额头
  • 晶莹剔透,宛若玛瑙

THE NORTHERN SAILOR

  • by Hengxing Yanzhi

  • Well away from the sea and all rivers,
  • an old man opened a shipyard in the boreal wilderness.
  • Three sheetrock buildings were the site of the factory.
  • He charged ahead with his workers—
  • polished the wood, reinforced the joints, varnished the boats,
  • every step meticulous— and produced a boat every year.
  • None of the boats was ever sold,
  • nor did any reach a lake or touch the sea.
  • This fleet of lonely boats
  • never called on any harbor with dark hanging clouds,
  • nor docked alongside a school of dories and sloops.
  • These backcountry boats
  • never heeled up any fishermen or fishnets
  • or transported love birds or solo travelers.
  • Over the years, the boats swelled with sand and dust,
  • but the locals respected the old man,
  • calling him the master voyager.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊) : https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6otWvhbsYzYnXDIh8uiOPA


北方的航海者

  • 横行胭脂

  • 不靠近海,甚至不靠近一条河流
  • 有个老人在北方的荒野开了一家造船厂
  • 三间石棉瓦屋,就是厂址
  • 他带领工人们起劲地干活
  • 抛光木头,加固卯榫,给船上清漆
  • 一板一眼,每年造一艘船
  • 他造的船没有出售过
  • 也没有下过湖泊和大海
  • 他造的船是一群孤独之船
  • 没有去过乌云垂落的海港
  • 没有和蚁族般的船只并身停泊在港湾
  • 这些没有见过世面的船
  • 没有装载过渔网和打鱼的人
  • 也没有运送过眷侣与孤客
  • 经年累月,船里装满了沙尘
  • 可这一带的人都很敬重这位老人
  • 说他是一位成功的航海者

SUOYANG aka. C SONGARICUM

  • by Hong Li

  • We drove into Alxa,
  • all eyes burning for Suoyang,
  • like late autumn's red flames on the dunes,
  • rustling in the wind.
  • We shouted stop, a few of us went picking for them,
  • against the sun.
  • Two among us never stopped.
  • Their shadows got smaller and smaller,
  • our eyes squinted narrower and narrower.
  • When the sunrays blended with the sand dunes,
  • all was quiet, radiating red.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/w9qa_zupxwkR5DJWBCn8Yw


锁 阳

  • 洪 立

  • 车子驶进阿拉善
  • 被目光一直眷顾的锁阳
  • 如秋后的火焰与沙丘摩擦
  • 发出沙沙响声
  • 我们叫停,几个人去捡
  • 一直向太阳滚过的地方
  • 其中两位一直未停
  • 目光越来越细
  • 影子越来越小
  • 在太阳和沙丘融为一体时
  • 四周散发着静悄悄的红光

CASUAL BEAUTY

  • by Hou Ma

  • Over the city of Horqin,
  • The Goddess of Clouds saw a chaotic sky,
  • and decided to sort it out.
  • unrolling a band of golden clouds, from here to eternity,
  • over it, a band of red clouds, from here to eternity,
  • aver it, a band of blue clouds over it, from here to eternity,
  • aver it, a band of black clouds over it, from here to eternity,
  • finally, a band of gray clouds, from here to eternity.
  • As to the rest,
  • she left it to the infinite sky.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/O5ByV19JI5_M_FvP20x7lA


随意美

  • 侯马

  • 在科尔沁城市的上空
  • 云神感觉天空有点凌乱
  • 她整理了一下
  • 一道远出目力的金色的云之上
  • 是一道远出目力的红色的云之上
  • 是一道远出目力的青色的云之上
  • 是一道远出目力的黑色的云之上
  • 是一道远出目力的灰色的云
  • 其他的
  • 就交给这远出目力的天空

GENGHIS KHAN'S SWALLOWS

  • by Hou Ma

  • On the girder above the gate of Temple of Genghis Khan,
  • there are many swallow nests, made of mud and straw.
  • I was there once, and went to visit Inner Mongolia Hotel afterwards
  • because the wooden plaque in its lobby
  • explained the origin of Genghis Khan's name:
  • it traced back to a colorful bird that
  • came from the sky and sang the word
  • Genghis, Genghis.
  • I saw swallows enter and exit these nests,
  • but most of the nests were occupied by sparrows.
  • I liked birds that fraternized their poor relatives,
  • and wondered if that's the meaning of Genghis.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


成吉思汗的燕子

  • 侯 马

  • 在成吉思汗庙的大门横梁上
  • 有许多燕子的泥巢
  • 为此我特意去了内蒙古宾馆
  • 因为它的大堂里有一块木牌
  • 上面介绍了成吉思汗的来源
  • 是因为天上飞来一只彩鸟
  • 它的鸣叫声就是成吉思
  • 成吉思
  • 我看到泥巢有燕子进出
  • 但更多的泥巢住了麻雀
  • 我喜欢与穷亲戚来往的鸟儿
  • 说不定这就是成吉思的含义。

THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY

  • by Hu Cha

  • Seeds planted last year have not sprouted yet.
  • Others' gardens are blooming, their coffins made.
  • It's dark everywhere, but it makes no difference
  • as we are blind people on blind horses and know the cliff.
  • At the arch of the bridge, the boat will naturally align.
  • None of the above has happened.
  • The seeds are still in the fruit, the coffin still a tree.
  • All things differ in name only.
  • We don't need to panic about where life is going.
  • Snow falls on the mountains, frost settles on the plains.
  • What can the ocean do? The great Nature will find a way.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-1Hloch7g9VxLpRnoRfABA


自然会有办法的

  • 胡 查

  • 去年埋下的种子
  • 现在还没有发芽。
  • 别人家的花在开,别人家的棺材。
  • 周围那么黑,看不见也无妨。
  • 不用担心盲人、瞎马、悬崖,
  • 船到桥头,自然会有办法。
  • 我说的那些事并没有发生。
  • 种子还在果实里,棺木还是一棵树。
  • 一切形同虚设。
  • 不必猜测生命去往何处。
  • 雪落高山,霜降平原。
  • 大海怎么办?伟大的自然会有办法的。

AFTER THE RAIN, IT BEGINS TO CLEAR UP

  • by Hu Cuinan

  • After the flood, the rain also stopped.
  • The grass will grow back after the first Spring thunder.
  • The fledglings are eager to grow, a little faster, a little faster.
  • “His feathers are full, along with the courage to fly.”
  • Oh, the dandelions,
  • blown everywhere, these vagrants.
  • By my window, I enjoy watching the downpour!
  • In the field, a young man knocks at a door,
  • an old man hides behind the curtains, not sure what to do.
  • Horses gallop, sending grass and flowers to fly.
  • All is as expected.
  • A new needlegrass crops up in the mud.
  • All that I have experenced
  • is also given a new cloak of forgiveness.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/O-jnGKLyJeayp0M9FwYLtg


雨后初晴

  • 胡翠南

  • 大雨在洪水之后停止
  • 死过的草会在春雷后再次苏醒

  • 小人儿总是盼望长大,快一点,再快一点
  • “他的羽毛渐丰,刚好有飞的勇气”
  • 蒲公英啊
  • 风一吹就四处流浪
  • 我喜欢在窗前听大雨弹奏
  • 旷野中少年在敲门
  • 老人躲在窗帘后举棋不定

  • 腾空的马蹄溅起草茎花叶
  • 时光理当如此
  • 一株年轻的芨芨草在泥泞中再次起立
  • 我历经过的事物
  • 披上宽恕的新衣




DIGGING SWEET POTATOES

  • by Hu Hairong

  • “I believe in the land, and shall bow deeply to
  • every fruitful day."
  • ... sweet potatoes, freshly dug from the soil,
  • show up in a group hug. Perhaps
  • each is a little terrified if separated,
  • therefore shyly bunching together.
  • The stern autumn wind blows on —-
  • tenderly I call to greet the potatoes.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VlPAj9nKvBpuHatmGRMljg

挖红薯记

  • 胡海荣

  • “我一直信奉着土地,我必须对每一个向上的日子深深鞠躬。”
  • ……那些刚从泥土里挖出的红薯
  • 团抱着。也许
  • 是胆子过于小的缘故
  • 怯生生地挤在一起
  • 秋风沉甸甸地吹着——
  • 我极其小心地喊着它们

LOOKING FOR LOST FAMILY

  • by Hu Mingming

  • Waking past midnight, my hands search for a soft warm body habitually;
  • years ago it was my daughter, now it is a cat.
  • My big palm rests on it, our body heat commingle.
  • Often I feel sad that the cat is aging seven times faster. Just last night
  • she stared at the ceiling for a long time, growling and yowling;
  • her feminine feline eyes must have seen something in the air.
  • I tried meditation, tried chanting Om, but still felt restless.
  • I begged the good soul to leave us
  • even if it was my late elderly father who came to find his family.
  • Father, my hands are becoming more and more like yours.
  • Tonight I sleep soundly, the chalice of life is in good hands.
  • Rustling in the wind are pear blossoms, plum blossoms, cherry blossoms, birds of paradise…
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/m9b-721XvVzV_Za3CH5BfQ


寻亲记

  • 胡茗茗

  • 夜半醒来,习惯性寻摸肉乎乎的小身体
  • 若干年前是摸女儿,现在是猫咪
  • 大手掌盖上去,我们的体温有太多的融合
  • 时常忧伤它七倍的老去,就在昨晚
  • 它久久盯着天花板不停嘶叫
  • 阴性的猫眼里一定有什么在上下飞翔
  • 心念起,诵经,依然不安
  • 我央求善意的魂灵尽快离去
  • 哪怕是来寻亲的老父亲
  • 父亲,我的手越来越像你
  • 这一夜我睡得深沉,生死的酒杯已然端稳
  • 那簌簌而下的梨花、杏花、樱花、天堂鸟……

FISH

  • by Huang Fan

  • Eyes like light bulbs, why don't they light up?
  • Eyes like flower buds, why don't they bloom?
  • Unless, unless you take after humans, wearing a permanent mask?
  • Then, why should you, with so many bones, wait
  • until after death to pierce a man’s throat.
  • I guard the plate on which you are served,
  • holding on to the false mercy for you.
  • You smell so good, even if it’s after a bloodbath.
  • The story of your life, can any of it be saved in my mouth?
  • Your lifelong vision, can I extract it with my tongue?
  • Consider this: you, once alive, might even be a prophet in the fish world,
  • I can no longer fake blind or deaf,
  • suddenly I, a sinner, hear and understand your last wish.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


  • 黄梵

  • 像灯一样的眼,为什么没有照亮?
  • 像花蕾一样的眼,为什么没有盛开?
  • 莫非你也像人一样,一直戴着面具?
  • 为什么你有足够多的骨头
  • 偏到死后才试图卡住人的喉咙?
  • 我守着装你的盘子
  • 守着怜你的假慈悲
  • 你散发的浓香,来自你血腥的死亡
  • 你一生的故事,我吃进嘴里还有用么?
  • 你一生的视野,我用舌头也能继承么?
  • 想到你是一个生命,甚至鱼里的先知
  • 我不再是瞎子和聋子
  • 一刹那,我成了能听懂你遗言的罪人

ON THE HILL FAR, FAR AWAY

  • by Huang Haixing

  • The afternoon wind blows, through the endless sugarcane field.
  • I only need to open the window to see their familiar shape,
  • swooshing and roistering under the July sky.
  • Time and time again, a flock of crows or sparrows
  • dash into the sky, awakening those green
  • dreamers. I think of a sugarcane field even farther away, lolling
  • on a hillside. Some good-natured lads,
  • in a place unknown to the world, stake out with perpetual patience
  • and savor all the bittersweetness and melancholy unknown to others.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pWDFkrqvBC8HzocJDaP7aQ


在更远的山坡上

  • 黄海星

  • 午后的风,吹过无边的蔗林
  • 我打开窗户,就能看见那些熟悉的身影
  • 在七月的天空下哗啦啦地摇晃
  • 一群乌鸦或者麻雀
  • 一次次,一飞冲天,把那些绿色的
  • 梦寐惊醒。我想起更远的甘蔗林,在更远的山坡上
  • 徘徊。这些善良的少年
  • 在不为人所知的地方,以巨大的耐心,固守
  • 并独享苦涩的甜蜜和忧伤

SONG FOR SWALLOWS

  • by Huang Lihai

  • The swallows swoop, trajectories indeterminate,
  • and capture insects high and low,
  • exact and fast.
  • On the electricity wire, they sit so still,
  • like dabs of new ink on a rice paper.
  • A gust comes and perturbs the wire, rebounding the light,
  • their wavering figures widen my field of view.
  • Scissor-tailed swallows, tailoring a new season,
  • leaving no mark in the high clouds.
  • They are spring’s entourage to this great land,
  • bolts of lightning dressed in black.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/YA3Wxn00DcWkvEF-flVIZg


燕子之歌

  • 黄礼孩

  • 燕子忽上忽下,飞翔不定
  • 它急速又准确无误地捕捉到
  • 高处或者低处的小昆虫
  • 停在电线上的燕子,寂静
  • 像白色宣纸上初来的新墨
  • 风迷惑线条,吹动光的附和
  • 微微晃动的身影推开了视野
  • 燕子带着刀刃,裁剪新的岁月
  • 云天之上,它的签名无迹可寻
  • 如黑色的闪电拜访了春天的大地

FATHER’S FLOCK OF BIRDS

  • by Jia Xiang

  • Father came to take me home, light rain on the way.
  • Our motorcycle stalled. Fields left and right
  • jested at us as the hills in the distance
  • vanished in the mist.
  • All we could do was walk. Rain, timorous rain,
  • you looked at her with squinted eyes, but she said: I am not here.
  • Father’s pink ears stood out from his white T-shirt,
  • listening.
  • Knowing it's safe, the rain summoned all her companions
  • from behind the clouds. A flash mob
  • struck on Father: the pouring rain. A small task to hide in the wild,
  • I immediately opened the umbrella and said:
  • I am not here.
  • Only Father and the temperate flora were left,
  • exposed to the raindrops, landing on his shoulders like a translucent flock of birds.
  • What marvelous rain. But the seasoned farmer whispered:
  • I fear it may scare off Autumn that has just turned up.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/lOCXk2vmtVWcKx-egIk32w


父亲的鸟群

  • 贾 想

  • 父亲载我回家,途中微雨
  • 摩托也突然熄火。左右田野
  • 一阵哂笑,而远山消失于空蒙
  • 只好推车漫步。雨异常胆小
  • 你眯上眼睛望向她,她却说:我不在。
  • 绯色的耳廓,从父亲的白T恤上
  • 探出来,听着声响
  • 确认安全后,雨唤下云中
  • 躲藏已久的同伴。一个集合名词
  • 砸中父亲:瓢泼大雨。小隐隐于野
  • 我立即撑伞说:我不在
  • 只有父亲和北温带的植物
  • 裸在雨中,任肩头落满透明的鸟群
  • 好雨一场。这个老练的农夫轻声说
  • 生怕将初来乍到的秋天惊散

THE EAGLE, A LOW FLYER MOST OF THE TIME

  • by Jia Yuhong

  • When an eagle flies high, it evokes great wonderment.
  • A great mountain climber does not fixate on the summits,
  • but aims for the clouds to etch the imperium of mountaineering,
  • and looks fondly on every blade of grass at the foothill.
  • The climber also knows a gale can send the sands flying and rocks rolling.
  • I have never climbed Mount Everest,
  • I have never seen an eagle, but I know
  • it flies high only occasionally, and hovers at a lower altitude most of the time,
  • aiming at prey. The eagle thinks the so-called summit
  • is but a yardstick to measure its spirit.
  • A summit remains a summit when it is unsurmountable,
  • but the bird is the ultimate summit when peregrinating over it.
  • The eagle, it clasps to its bosom
  • all the summits in the world.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VlPAj9nKvBpuHatmGRMljg

鹰,大部分时间都在低空盘旋

  • 贾玉红

  • 鹰飞翔的高度适宜想象。越是伟大的登山者
  • 越不留恋峰巅
  • 他把登山的秘籍,刻在云端
  • 山麓的一草一木是他兄弟
  • 他知道风若足够狂暴,可令沙飞石走
  • 我没登过珠穆朗玛峰
  • 也没见过鹰,却知道鹰
  • 偶尔高飞,大部分时间都在低空盘旋
  • 瞄准猎物,鹰在想:所谓高峰
  • 只是一把丈量人心的尺子而已
  • 你飞不过,它叫高峰;你飞得过,你就是高峰
  • 鹰,把世上所有的高峰
  • 都装在心里

ON OLD SLATE MOUNTAIN, I SAW TURTLEDOVES

  • by Jian Nan

  • At dawn's first light, I saw turtledoves,
  • waking up in their warm nest.
  • These plump birds, whom the classics like to mock
  • and even Zhuangzi judged them to be short-sighted,
  • are perching and cooing on an oak-tree's branch.
  • It has been a long time since I saw
  • turtledoves looking so grand,
  • apparantly not needing to dodge bullets nor arrows;
  • life has become posh.
  • Watching these birds taking short flight and wobbling
  • between shrubs, oak trees, and cinnamon trees,
  • untroubled by the the confine of their world,
  • it triggers in me -- middle-aged, dispirited,
  • a rambler in the shadowy woods -- a renewed lightness in my steps.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2019-06-03/9854200.shtml


在老瓦山看见斑鸠

  • 剑 男

  • 在早晨第一缕阳光中,我看见斑鸠
  • 这些从暖巢中醒过来
  • 被一句成语所构陷
  • 并被庄子认为目光短浅的家伙们
  • 正肥而不腻地坐在橡树的枝上咕咕叫
  • 很长时间,我都没有
  • 见到过体态如此可观的斑鸠
  • 看来不用像从前躲着猎枪和弹弓后
  • 斑鸠们的生活变得滋润了
  • 你看它们肥硕而笨拙的飞行
  • 尽在矮灌和橡樟之间跳上跳下
  • 似乎世界的高度就是它们腾跃的高度
  • 让我这样一个颓唐的中年人
  • 在幽暗的林中也有了欢快的脚步

THE MIRACLE

  • by Jian Nan

  • On the base of a collapsed old house,
  • new grass grows in the cracks of broken bricks,
  • and a sapling has taken roots on a piece of rotten wood.
  • This isn't a miracle,
  • but what's amazing is their growth rate.
  • The spring rain was remarkable,
  • but before we could clean up the old bricks, the beams, the tiles,
  • the nails and other things,
  • life has taken hold across the ruin.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-04-09/13174106.shtml


奇 迹

  • 剑 男

  • 在倒塌的旧屋地基上
  • 废旧的砖瓦缝隙中又长出了草
  • 一截腐朽的木头上也长出一棵小树苗
  • 这并不是奇迹
  • 奇迹是它生长的速度
  • 仅仅隔着一场并不大的春雨
  • 我们还来不及清理残砖、椽木、瓦片
  • 以及各种器皿和钉子
  • 它们就齐刷刷地占领了整个废墟

IN YANJIAO

  • by Jiang Bohan

  • Yanjiao residents go to Beijing to work;
  • those who don't have office jobs sell houses.
  • New college graduates say they haven’t made a sale in three months,
  • hit by new policies that block property speculation.
  • I live in Yanjiao on a tree-lined boulevard,
  • own a house, don't go to work, no children to watch.
  • Here I read and write and cultivate a small plot of land
  • for Yanjiao's present and future —
  • pondering about life in Beijing.
  • For now, everyone drives a Mercedes or a BMW,
  • hoping to pick up commuters rushing to work.
  • Ten yuan will take you to Grass Hut or the International Trade Center.
  • Once the car crosses Sanyuan Bridge and enter Zhongguancun,
  • inside the Fourth Ring Road, the fare increases to fifteen yuan.
  • This is by far the fastest and cheapest way to get to Beijing.
  • The new-comers at Yanjiao work from dawn till dusk,
  • mapping out a bright future for their family.
  • Once Beijing incorporates the three northern counties,
  • their children will be registered as Beijingers,
  • that will be a dream come true, therefore for now
  • the road from Yanjiao to Beijing does not seem that tedious.
  • — Yanjiao is its suburb after all.
  • The loud, gurgling Chaobai River flows by.
  • Xuyin-Road Bridge connects Yanjiao and Songzhuang art colony.
  • Left Bank Road and Right Bank Road stretch out,
  • looking like Beijing’s left and right arm.
  • I often cross the river to Songzhuang to browse arts.
  • There are so many painters there, all men, and naturally
  • some poetesses moved in later.
  • A good variety of arts migrate here from all over the country.
  • The landlady can't cope with them except raising rent.
  • I look on, don't know what to say, nor can I
  • stand the scene. Unable to get a bargain,
  • like with all those expensive paintings,
  • I say “Come to Yanjiao soon,”
  • “it is the last fertile ground.”

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/nMAEOjiHFFlIAPZ38oEOLg


在燕郊

  • 姜博瀚

  • 燕郊人都要去北京上班
  • 不上班的燕郊人都在燕郊卖房子
  • 刚毕业的大学生说,三个月没挣到一分钱
  • 源于刚刚出台限购的新政策
  • 我住在燕郊的林荫大道
  • 我有房子,我不上班也不看孩子
  • ——在燕郊读书、写作,耕耘三分田
  • 燕郊的现在和未来——
  • 想想生活在北京的我
  • 现在。他们开着奔驰或者宝马
  • 在路边捎着赶时间的乘客
  • 十块钱到草房或者国贸
  • 一过了三元桥到四环中关村就十五
  • 这是速度最快也是最便宜的北京顺风车
  • 在燕郊生活的外省人披星戴月
  • 他们有着美好的规划将来
  • 到时候。一旦北京吞并了北三县
  • 孩子的户口将要变成北京人
  • 他们都在这么想,所以不觉得路途茫茫
  • ——燕郊就是燕郊
  • 一条潮白河哗啦啦地流淌
  • 徐尹路大桥相连燕郊和通州宋庄
  • 左堤路,右堤路伸开胳膊
  • 就像北京的左膀右臂
  • 我经常穿越河水去宋庄看画
  • 那里的男画家实在是太多,当然
  • 后来又来了不少女诗人
  • 天南海北,各种各样的派
  • 把房东大姐气得只好加价,
  • 我站在一边,哭笑不得
  • 看不下去。无力讨价还价
  • 就像那些昂贵的画
  • 我说,你们快来燕郊
  • 这是最后的沃土。

THE CREAKING DOOR

  • by Jiang Fei

  • You heard the door creak.
  • It's a hedgehog,
  • at night in the autumn,
  • loitering by your door.
  • The road twists and turns.
  • The hedgehog rolls its eyes,
  • and goes around obstacles
  • to come to push on your door.
  • It is there all night,
  • knocking at your door,
  • curious about what’s behind.
  • It makes a creaking sound.
  • It has no companion.
  • It comes here for food.
  • It wakes you up,
  • and you feel you must open the door.
  • As if it is coming home,
  • as if it belongs to a dream,
  • and curious if sleeper is real or not.
  • Outside of your door,
  • a hedgehog is knocking at the door,
  • making a creaking sound.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/PvhBTuM-YxMaXKamLj01YA


门扇作响

  • 江非

  • 你曾听见你的门扇咯吱作响
  • 那是一只刺猬
  • 在秋天的夜里
  • 在你的门外徘徊
  • 道路弯弯曲曲
  • 它转动着它的眼睛
  • 绕过无数的物体
  • 仿佛要把门推开
  • 整夜,它在那里
  • 在你的门外
  • 叩问着门后的事物
  • 它让你听到你的门扇咯吱作响
  • 它没有同伴
  • 它只是为觅食而来
  • 它让你醒来
  • 让你忍不住要去开门
  • 仿佛是要回到它自己的家中
  • 仿佛是一位梦中人
  • 在问一个沉睡者到底是存在还是虚无
  • 它在你门外
  • 一只刺猬,把你的家门弄得咯吱作响

LONESOMENESS

  • by Jiang Sanli

  • On my own, the lonesomeness is dwarfed
  • compared to the lonesomeness with another.
  • On a warm winter day, a flock of birds hop and chirp,
  • and never fail to send me on a forsaken rollercoaster ride.
  • Falling leaves brings lonesomeness with their passing;
  • nippy days bring lonesomeness because of the longing for summer;
  • even the sky looks lonely with clouds being blown away.
  • Were it spring now, would some of my lonesomeness melt away?
  • Were I still adolescent, with melancholy sprinkled over lonesomeness,
  • would the lonesomeness be less lethal?
  • But, right now, lonesomeness creeps in when I am free,
  • and the worst part of it is that I have become used to it.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/THGvR1hCTGgMF6yjs4cQug


孤 独

  • 蒋三立

  • 一个人的孤独有时会少一些
  • 两个人带来的孤独会更多
  • 在晴朗的暖冬,群鸟飞来跳去的鸣叫
  • 就会唤起我从低处到高处周而复始的孤独
  • 落叶会带来离去的孤独
  • 寒冷会带来渴望温暖的孤独
  • 天空,在眼里也会有风吹走云朵的孤独
  • 如果我在春天,不知道孤独会不会少些
  • 如果我在少年,不知道孤独里会不会多些惆怅
  • 我知道我的孤独肯定要少些
  • 而现在,我有空的时候就孤独
  • 最糟糕的,是我已习惯了这样的孤独

SENSE OF PLACE

  • by Jiang Ting

  • How do you know you are at the right place
  • and what does that mean?
  • Whoever complains about the modern times,
  • well then, that's a telling sign that he has been
  • at the park entrance and saw those old people
  • on the park square dipping a pen in the ink to write,
  • those calligraphy enthusiasts.
  • “Hazy blue mountains and faraway waters,”
  • are you saying this Chinese poem is detached from time?
  • Quick! Take a look then, look at the
  • things that are fading right before your eyes.
  • You suddenly catch a trembling ray of light.
  • How amazing that these amiable elders
  • are tearing down the face of the earth.
  • Try to stand firm where you are,
  • as if not knowing your feet are hovering in midair.
  • A herd of dainty elephants walk across the water’s surface
  • as if they have faith in everything
  • as they look into a clear mirror.
  • But since we don’t live in portraits,
  • these are only relics of the past,
  • like the pile of faded Chinese characters.
  • They are the body, we are the soul.
  • We can only know ourselves through introspection.
  • I walk through the square, trying to identify
  • the essence if brush calligraphy before it disappears.
  • Reciting poems, the last gasp of time,
  • I must try to understand their context.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/XLBZVi-osn2ZYskdDW7Gag


位置感

  • 江 汀

  • 谁能知道,一种正确的位置
  • 究竟意味着什么?
  • 如果谁对这个时代有所抱怨,
  • 那么,这意味着他已经
  • 来到公园门口,在广场上
  • 遇见那些蘸水写字的老人,
  • 那些书法爱好者。
  • “青山隐隐水迢迢”,
  • 难道这些汉字与时间无关?
  • 赶快凝视它们,那些
  • 正在消逝的事物,
  • 你猝然察觉光线的抖动。
  • 多么奇异,谦和的老人们
  • 正在拆卸地面。
  • 努力站稳自己的位置,
  • 仿佛不知道脚下的悬空。
  • 一群轻盈的大象踏过水面,
  • 仿佛它们已经信任一切,
  • 正在揽起一扇光洁的镜子。
  • 而我们,既然没有生活在画像中,
  • 也许可能只是古代的残余物,
  • 就像那一摊已经模糊的汉字。
  • 它们是躯体,我们是灵魂,
  • 我们只能用推测来自省。
  • 我走遍广场,辨认一切
  • 尚未消失的书法痕迹。
  • 诵读,是时代在抽搐。
  • 我得试着去理解它们的语境。

A PRAYER

  • by Jiang Xuefeng

  • Ah, snowy mountains,
  • don't let all those people
  • come up.
  • Leave a peak for the gods,
  • a rounded cushioned seat!
  • Poets,
  • learn how trees secrete tree sap,
  • and write poetry in the same way.
  • Ah, long nights,
  • please lessen our burdens,
  • let the rickshaw pullers sleep.
  • Ah, folks,
  • your endless blessings,
  • your endless hardships,
  • leave them all
  • to our children as sustenance!
  • Ah, Futian Flat,
  • bring me back
  • to the hard times
  • around cooking fire, grandma, and the sugarcane field!
  • The fellow who planted oats
  • until his last breath
  • has left with a white cloud,
  • but his colt, now a full-grown horse, still waits for him.
  • Ah, lover, Ah, enemy,
  • are you the same person?
  • Excuse me,
  • please do not block
  • my sunlight from the sky.
  • Oh God, please help me,
  • let me give myself to the day,
  • but also regain myself.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/zSIgqAspwKy0eflZRAL_OA


祈 祷

  • 蒋雪峰

  • 雪山啊
  • 别让他们
  • 都上来了
  • 给神留一座
  • 做蒲团吧
  • 诗人啊
  • 像树分泌出树脂
  • 那样写诗吧
  • 长夜啊
  • 卸下重负
  • 让拉车的人睡一会儿吧
  • 人们啊
  • 享不完的福
  • 吃不完的苦
  • 都留下来
  • 做继往者的口粮吧
  • 福田坝啊
  • 让我回到
  • 有炊烟有外婆有甘蔗林的
  • 穷日子吧!
  • 就是死 也要种下燕麦的人
  • 骑着一朵白云走了
  • 他养大的马 还在等他
  • 爱人啊 仇人啊
  • 是一个人吗?
  • 请让一让
  • 你们挡住了
  • 从天而降的阳光
  • 神啊 请您帮助我
  • 让我把自己交给日子
  • 同时也能领回自己

FOUR PEACH BLOSSOMS

  • by Jiang Zhiwu

  • Four peach blossoms get together, all on one bough,
  • crimson color, very delicate and tender.
  • A bee rolls on the pistils, pressing on
  • every bristle. Under the peach tree, my passion
  • is also red, and my body slowly hold tight.
  • Red is the color of my soul.
  • New buds are for spring, and very soon red flames will erupt
  • across the green wall of ivy.
  • A true poet does what the flowers do —
  • dreamy in the spring, and pours all energy to produce burgeoning fruit afterwards.
  • I love depth and darkness, but also a beautiful exterior.
  • When four peach flowers bloom together,
  • they are four dreams leading the copper-color earth
  • to play a symphony, trasmitting music through our elastic mantle
  • to the palisade underneath.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/XTtQc5bkzAxcW_19hUHhEw


四朵桃花

  • 蒋志武

  • 四朵桃花在一个枝头上,紧挨着
  • 褐红色,看上去十分轻柔
  • 蜜蜂在花蕊中滚动,它将全身的针
  • 扎在了这里,在桃树下,我有红色的欲望
  • 并将身体慢慢缩紧
  • 红色,就是我灵魂的色彩
  • 在春天的新生事物中,时间喷发出来的火焰
  • 正撞击着蔓藤爬升的围墙
  • 而真正的诗人都是一朵桃花
  • 在春天造梦,日夜兼程赶往果实的肉身
  • 我爱一切幽暗,也爱绚丽的外表
  • 当四朵桃花同时开放
  • 就会有四个梦带着土地的青铜
  • 演奏,并穿过富有弹性的地面找到它们
  • 深埋于地下的栅栏

LEAVING THE STATION LATE AT NIGHT

  • by Jin Wenyu

  • Leaving the station late at night
  • and chased off by a stray dog woofing loudly,
  • but there's something homely in its folksy yaps
  • that warmed the heart.
  • Away all these years, you are now
  • an out-of-towner to the dog.
  • Under a wary smile, you feel fortunate
  • to have chosen this hour to arrive.
  • Right now, kinsfolk you usually dream of
  • are asleep in their own dreams,
  • except this grimy scruffy dog
  • who actually sniffed out your sheepish contrition.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang(Reviewed by Michael Soper and Guy Hibbert)
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/T2fN3t4ZOT0yoe6Ea6GHEw


深夜走出车站

  • 金问渔

  • 深夜走出车站
  • 被一只流浪狗撵着吼
  • 你心头一热
  • 吠声竟是浓浓的乡音
  • 离开多年后,变成了
  • 狗眼里的外乡人
  • 你暗自苦笑,又庆幸
  • 故意选择的抵达时间
  • 此刻,那些睡梦中出现的亲人
  • 一定还在睡梦中
  • 只有这只脏兮兮的狗
  • 嗅出了你的卑微与不安

THE SNAKE

  • By Kang Wei

  • I was barely six when I saw the snake,
  • probably younger than the snake.
  • It was startled when I trimmed the grass,
  • and moved in a flash
  • to the middle of the road.
  • To this day I remember how it panicked,
  • and for the first time I understood the meaning of fate:
  • Life began, life frightened me.
  • As my sickle slowly rusted,
  • the snake shed its skin, a dry out shell with the old markings on,
  • which scared me and I fled, temporarily losing my dignity.
  • By then, I already amassed enough venom
  • but was still afraid. If it were the snake itself,
  • hissing at me with its long, forked tongue,
  • I wouldn’t have known what to do.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/8AY_kVS_zwb19_VgwX1b_g


  • 康伟

  • 看到那条蛇时我刚刚六岁
  • 或者比它还要年幼
  • 它从我正在割的青草中惊醒
  • 并且以很难觉察的速度来到路中央
  • 至今我都记得它的慌张
  • 记得通过它的慌张我目睹了命运:
  • 生活开始了,生活惊动了我
  • 当那割草的镰刀开始生锈
  • 蛇蜕下干枯但有着神秘纹路的皮
  • 我夺路而逃,顷刻间丧失了尊严
  • 此刻,我已经储存了足够的毒液
  • 但却害怕它重新出现在面前
  • 朝我吐出长长的信子
  • 让我不知所措





ONE AMONG US

  • by Kang Yuchen

  • I would love to have a drink with you in a diner,
  • to brag about my new poems with a heroic slap on my leg.
  • The earth spun only twelve hours overnight, no chance
  • that our melodramatic world has rid of its ills during that time.
  • Instead I sat in a fancy auditorium on a student ticket,
  • listening to a group of cantabile singers, in purple or pink,
  • going round and round feigning and glamorizing
  • love and infatuations, for sure an outdated Italian transplant.
  • Suddenly I recalled The Unexpected Tales from the Ming Dynasty,
  • an archaic literature, always with a moral, such as the story of
  • The Regain of the Pearl Gown. Do you or don’t you care for it?
  • It is full of life’s banal details, so banal that it is sublime.
  • Ten hours of studying, four thousand words to write every day,
  • the small coding machine in me yearns for a bloody real life.
  • Staring at the pin-up vintage posters jazzes me up,
  • feeling the tenderness in them, like the sweet aftertaste of Hatamen cigarettes.
  • Higher-education means legitimacy, this is not elitism,
  • a learned fool will always be loved, the rest is
  • a little more complicated, and mindful of the cruel realities of
  • our society, and the need to understand the calculus of marriage and love.
  • I fall in the middle range, not too stupid nor venomous, never did all-night chat
  • more than twice asemester, and cherish genuine friendship
  • more than class thesis. All I want is someone to share
  • some feminine thoughts, to rejoice and grieve the small things in life.
  • All the artsy lads and lasses think Camus is goddamn handsome;
  • go find out how many among your online or real-life young friends
  • use his headshot as his profile photo, Camus, Oh, Camus,
  • the important thing is that you take part in other people's lives.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


局内人

  • 康宇辰

  • 多想在小饭馆和你就着酒神聊,
  • 一拍大腿讲我又写了多少得意诗篇,
  • 地球自转十二小时,这庸人舞台
  • 怎么能把坏的一夜之间都拿走。
  • 但我是坐在高贵的百讲,买学生票
  • 看一队美声歌唱家轮番倾吐衷肠。
  • 他们姹紫又嫣红,扮情种争风吃醋时
  • 有官家移栽自意大利的风情万种。
  • 我突然就想起了那些明代拍案惊奇,
  • 古代文学教养一声叮铃,蒋兴哥
  • 重会珍珠衫的故事你还听不听?
  • 那些世俗生活俗到高处成为神奇。
  • 一天十小时学问,一天四千字成品,
  • 小霸王码字机渴望血淋淋的生活。
  • 我看着那些美女月份牌感到活着,
  • 温柔恰似哈德门香烟的回甜生津。
  • 但学问即正义,这不是一句高调,
  • 有学问的傻瓜有人爱,那其余的
  • 思想略为复杂,预感到残羹冷炙
  • 的社会相,还有婚恋微积分要解。
  • 我是不傻不坏的大多数,彻夜聊天
  • 一学期也就一两次,所以真金友谊
  • 看得比论文贵重。那女生隐私话题
  • 能有人讲,生活的旮旯我悲欣交集。
  • 文艺青年男女,都觉加缪帅得正义,
  • 你数数你的豆瓣或朋友圈,有多少
  • 大好青年顶着这张头像,加缪啊加缪,
  • 对他人的生活,你多么重在参与。

SPRINGTIME

  • by Ke Xiuxian

  • If a bird song lands here
  • just as the sun slowly sets
  • and I happen to push the door open,
  • — the host may be in, maybe not —
  • an ink-wash painting is all it takes to feel the wind, to hear the cicadas.
  • This earthen wall is obviously unique,
  • but something is being chipped away, by time.
  • Look, the mountains meander through a serene landscape,
  • let me not question the shadows on the move
  • or where the water is flowing to.
  • At this moment, the grass is green, banana leaves swaying,
  • the dewdrops and the raindrops are
  • time’s artful strokes,
  • I cannot bear to call it a weathered world, but scribble:
  • Looking in or looking out, springtime is everywhere.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

春 天

  • 柯秀贤

  • 如果鸟鸣正落在上头
  • 夕阳一步步偏西
  • 而我刚好推门而入
  • 主人在,与不在
  • 一幅水墨画便可临风听蝉了
  • 显然这黄土坷夯成的墙别有用意
  • 时间一定从中掰走了什么
  • 但见群山绵延,四野寂静
  • 不敢想象那些来来去去的影子
  • 那些水,都流向了哪里
  • 此时,青草茵茵芭蕉摇曳
  • 露珠和雨声
  • 都成了光阴的皴笔
  • 我不好说沧桑,只能忍着写下
  • 门里门外,都是春天

AFTER THE RAIN

  • by Kong Gejian

  • The muddy puddle mirrors a luminous sky.
  • Seven birds are singing;
  • two of them seem to sing for each other.
  • If there were unfinished business before the rain,
  • no one remember them anymore.
  • I am looking at this bush rose;
  • of the original five petals, only three are left.
  • Did it get anything from the world by giving away two fifths of itself?
  • The stream’s gurgling sound has quieted down,
  • the ants nearby look blistering black.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dHPQ1Q2Ql-wn8qwM9QAwFA


雨 后

  • 空格键

  • 浑浊的积水倒映着光亮的天空。
  • 七只鸟在鸣叫。
  • 其中两只,似在对唱。
  • 如果在雨前有什么事情没做完,
  • 现在,你一定忘了。
  • 现在我望着这朵野蔷薇,
  • 它有五瓣,还剩三瓣,
  • 它用自己的五分之二与世界交换了什么?
  • 流水声难以察觉地变小。
  • 蚂蚁黑得发烫。

MAIJI MOUNTAIN

  • by Lei Pingyang

  • A Buddhist statue acquired its shape
  • because a Bodhisattva wanted a copy of himself
  • on the mountain face to look out at the world from a comfortable height.
  • People come and talk about the devotion and endurance
  • of the ancient sculptors, and the Bodhisattvas can hear them;
  • some smile,
  • some glare,
  • some remain silent,
  • some fall apart, and turn to nothingness.
  • A Bodhisattva enlightens through compassion,
  • but very few understand, even though many come to worship,
  • prostrating under the statues with bleeding heads.
  • I am one of those dull minds in this senseless world,
  • attempting to reach Maiji Mountain
  • through a spiral iron ladder
  • to be with Buddha,
  • to stand next to him for a little while.
  • But putting myself in a cold place like this is also
  • to get a glimpse of Qinling Mountain in the early winter, and
  • to get a glimpse of the stupendous illusory fog.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ESGog6EgVczuKx5NoR-ddg

麦积山

  • 雷平阳

  • 菩萨的塑像
  • 是菩萨有意将自己的体貌
  • 凿在石壁上,留在可以远眺人世的高度
  • 人们谈论着古人造像时的
  • 虔诚与艰辛,菩萨静静地听着
  • 有的微笑
  • 有的怒目
  • 有的静默
  • 有的碎裂了,消失了,无形了
  • 菩萨在用人的表情和命数启醒人们
  • 却鲜有领悟者,尽管人们在礼拜的时候,
  • 用带血的头颅频频敲击着塑像下坚硬的泥土
  • 我也是茫茫人世间的愚钝者之一
  • 沿着麦积山的铁梯子
  • 螺旋式地向上攀登
  • 站到了菩萨的身边
  • 只是为了在菩萨身边站一会儿
  • 置身如此清凉的地方,也只是为了
  • 顺便看一眼秦岭初冬
  • 幻变无常的大雾。

THE HOSTILITY IN THE SNOW

  • by Lei Xiaoyu

  • Snowy night, Father and I walk home side by side.
  • I am secretly glad that we don't need an umbrella for the snow,
  • so that our generational hostility can flow freely,
  • although it has softened since birth.
  • In the reflection of the field, I saw
  • fresh snow falling, and wind gusts from the north.
  • The imposing mountain looks like a stern portrait.
  • Suddenly I feel sad.
  • At the end of the road, Mother has prepared
  • a simple meal for us. We both look forward to
  • being cheered up, with an unspoken understanding between us.
  • Even the physical space mimics our silence. Father and I
  • walk in the snow, each snowflake weighs a day, a year,
  • even a lifetime. Snow falls on the road, where Father and I have opposite outlooks.
  • Years have gone by, and Father is now
  • old and horribly gray, sick
  • and temperamental, all but lost his bearing.
  • I am in my 30s, but already learned
  • from life’s numerous lessons. The frost and snow befalling Father
  • now come down on me. His demeanor
  • mirrors the image of a child thirty-some years ago:
  • mocked, humiliated, beaten up, and self-pity.
  • The north wind blows and blows. Winter is over,
  • I know, but there is frost between Father and me
  • that won’t ever dissipate. Maybe it will eventually disintegrate
  • on the other side of a blizzard.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


雪中的敌意

  • 雷晓宇

  • 雪夜。我和父亲并肩走在回家的路上
  • 雪不大,我暗自庆幸没有雨伞从中作梗
  • 让一脉相传的对峙得以保存
  • 但与生俱来的敌意,略有消融
  • 从积雪的反光里,我看到
  • 白雪垂直落下,北风忽左忽右。
  • 群山像墙上正襟危坐的画像一样陷入孤立
  • 忽然为此感到悲伤
  • 在路的尽头,母亲为我们准备了
  • 一份清贫的晚餐。我们都在
  • 奔赴那欢愉的时刻,我们都在会心沉默
  • 那时,四野的寂静如有默契。我和父亲
  • 走在雪中,每一片雪花都是一天、一年
  • 甚至一生。落在我和父亲南辕北辙的路上
  • 一晃很多年过去了,父亲已经
  • 苍老得不像样子,他仍然多病
  • 容易暴怒,完全没有老成持重的样子。
  • 我也过了而立之年。早就在生活的调教之下
  • 变得俯首帖耳。落在他身上的霜雪
  • 正在一点点强加到我的头上。有时看到他
  • 就像站在三十年后的镜子前
  • 一种被嘲弄的羞辱和被痛殴的自怜
  • 在心中交织,窗外北风四起。冬天过去了
  • 我知道,我和父亲之间隔着一场薄雪
  • 但它永不降临。也许还隔着一场白茫茫的大雪
  • 它终将落下

FORGIVENESS

  • by Li Hen

  • Forgive my ragged clothes,
  • forgive my muddy shoes,
  • forgive my callused hands,
  • forgive my dirty hair, my ashen face.
  • Forgive my coldness and fear of you,
  • my love.
  • Forgive me for exposing your debaseness,
  • my friend.
  • Buddha, please also forgive me
  • because I kill, I lust, I drink too much.
  • Forgive me for going astray
  • and wash my face with tears too often.
  • Father, Mother, my children, grandchildren,
  • forgive me for being frail like a straw,
  • and ending like a grain of sand.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Arw9XhoDX5uRuOsC_BML6g


原 谅

  • 犁 痕

  • 原谅我衣身上的草屑
  • 原谅我鞋子上的泥浆
  • 原谅我手掌上不肯脱落的老茧
  • 原谅我发间土,脸上灰
  • 原谅我对你的冷漠和畏惧
  • 我的爱人
  • 原谅我揭示了你人性的肮脏我的朋友
  • 佛祖也原谅我吧我杀生,我近色,我贪酒
  • 原谅我迷途不返
  • 却经常泪流满面
  • 我父,我母,我子,我孙原谅我生如一株枯草
  • 死如一粒黄沙

THE MONARCH BUTTERFLY

  • by Li Manqiang

  • In my younger days,
  • I raised a tiger, a feral wolf and a lion.
  • I thought they were a bolt of lightning, a knife, and a path forward.
  • As I grow older and become less excitable, I prefer
  • a butterfly. It has a frail torso,
  • yet can traverse more than 3,000 kilometers of sky, even through storms.
  • On every migration, their
  • fine antennae guide them through the journey,
  • in touch with the sun.
  • Whenever weighed down by despair, I know:
  • the monarch butterflies are crossing the Americas
  • like a messenger from God.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/UengBVUMH7XgU--QSMZMqA


金脉黑斑蝶

  • 李满强

  • 我曾豢养过老虎
  • 野狼和狮子,在我年轻的时候
  • 我以为那就是闪电、刀子和道路
  • 不惑之年,我更愿意豢养
  • 一只蝴蝶。它有着弱不禁风的身躯
  • 但能穿过三千多公里的天空和风暴
  • 漫长的迁徙路上,它们
  • 瘦小的触须,每时每刻
  • 都在接受太阳的指引
  • 在我因为无助而仰望的时刻
  • 金脉黑斑蝶正在横穿美洲大陆
  • 仿佛上帝派出的信使

MIDLIFE

  • by Li Shangyu

  • The clock is a star, constantly overhead...
  • Time is a planet, orbiting...
  • Ah well, what can we do, the wind is blowing.
  • In the afternoon, we drink a bowl of borscht.
  • Cold spring days, they always give the alley a romantic look.
  • Cold spring days, they always deaden the camphor trees.
  • That year you bought The Three Musketeers,
  • the other year your father saw a ghost in the alley.
  • These days when we talk about memories, we are in fact
  • professing midlife. Ah well, in middle school
  • a raindrop spattered on the desk, it was wiped off.
  • In middle school, a raindrop splashed on the textbook,
  • it was wiped off, and a girl fell for the geography teacher;
  • what could we do?
  • Ah well, years later, you fell in love with the pine trees.
  • Nothing in the world compares to this
  • view, this serenity, this intimacy, and liberty;
  • only the pine trees are worthy of this airy golden age.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


人到中年

  • 李商雨

  • 年岁如恒星,悬挂在头顶……
  • 时光如行星,在轨道运行……
  • 哎,有什么办法,风在吹
  • 在午后,我们喝了一碗罗宋汤
  • 春阴,总会把弄堂变得更写实
  • 春阴,总会让香樟树更安静
  • 那年你买了一本《三个火枪手》
  • 那年你爸爸在巷里见到一个鬼
  • 当我们讲起往事,其实在
  • 讲起人到中年,哎,中学里的
  • 一滴雨水溅到了桌子上,擦掉
  • 中学里的一滴雨水溅到了课本上
  • 擦掉,那个女生爱上了地理老师
  • 该怎么办?
  • 哎,多年后,你爱上了松树
  • 人世间再没有什么比得上这样的
  • 风景,寂静、依恋、无碍
  • 只有它配得上这卿云烂的年纪

WEST HILL, THERE AND NOT THERE*

  • by Li Shaojun

  • Winter always comes on time, frosting our clothes.
  • Skeletal trees depict the mountain's stately profile.
  • All is indolent, no one and nothing expects anything.
  • So am I, staying in every day,
  • sipping tea reading poetry, no other diversions.
  • A few sparrows hop on the barren twigs outside,
  • as for me, I am ever content with the way things are;
  • not jittered at all if forgotten by the world.
  • Once in a while, I do keep a little secret,
  • for example, my choice existence is to be the West Hill,
  • that serene, zen-like hermit in Beijing’s Winter,
  • patiently awaiting in one corner for every friend to visit
  • and leave with the satisfaction of having braved the elements to come.
  • Translator’s note: West Hill or Xishan (西山) is a mountain range to the west of Beijing.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

西山如隐

  • 李少君

  • 寒冬如期而至,风霜沾染衣裳
  • 清冷的疏影勾勒山之肃静轮廓
  • 万物无所事事,也无所期盼
  • 我亦如此,每日里宅在家中
  • 饮茶读诗,也没别的消遣
  • 看三两小雀在窗外枯枝上跳跃
  • 但我啊,从来就安于现状
  • 也从不担心被世间忽略存在感
  • 偶尔,我也暗藏一丁点小秘密
  • 比如,若可选择,我愿意成为西山
  • 这个北京冬天里最清静无为的隐修士
  • 端坐一方,静候每一位前来探访的友人
  • 让他们感到冒着风寒专程赶来是值得的

OAK

  • by Li Shuxia

  • The most alluring thing about oak trees
  • is when they bloom in spring.
  • No one pays attention to their leaves then,
  • green, thick, oily, even causing a few butterflies to slip,
  • but not all that remarkable.
  • But in the autumn, with peace returns to the world,
  • its richness scuds into a secret place,
  • shaped like a bullet.
  • So quiet is this bullet
  • that it doesn’t startle a single rabbit in the woods.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JUvWH8uIY4siC9BXWXAcUw


橡 树

  • 李树侠

  • 橡树最好看的样子
  • 是在春天开花
  • 其实没有人注意叶子
  • 油绿而厚实 滑倒好几只蝴蝶
  • 然而这并不值得赞美
  • 只是在秋天 万物安宁
  • 它以一发子弹的形式
  • 把自己射进更隐秘的地方
  • 动静那么小
  • 没有惊动林子里任何一只野兔

TWO SHEEP

  • by Li Songshan

  • He doesn't know her name,
  • doesn't even know her age.
  • Two flocks of sheep converge on the riverbank in the afternoon,
  • head-butting to assuage the strangeness of each other.
  • She doesn't look at him. She lowers her head while flipping through a book,
  • like a sheep browsing for sweet grass
  • He doesn't speak, rapping the rocks with a willow whip.
  • When the sun is about to set, she closes her book.
  • A trill rings across the silent meadow calling for the sheep to return.
  • He madly beats his own shadow on the grass,
  • like beating a sheepish billy goat.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3ZJZUN8fgGHu5jNSZT8LCA


两只羊

  • 李松山

  • 他不知道她名字,
  • 甚至不知道她的年龄。
  • 两群羊在午后的河滩合为一处,
  • 它们犄角相抵,以消除彼此的陌生感。
  • 她不看他。她低着头翻书,
  • 像只羊寻找可口的草。
  • 他不说话,他用藤条敲打着石块。
  • 夕阳快落山的时候,她合上书。
  • 寂静的河滩响起一串银铃般的唤羊声。
  • 他拼命抽打草地上他自己的影子,
  • 像抽打一只不够勇敢的羊。

FORMER RESIDENCE

  • by Li Tianjing

  • The doors are light on the passage of time —
  • just lift a foot, and you easily stagger in.
  • Let a boy’s little hand
  • push open every hidden door along the passage.
  • A wooden horse comes to life!
  • As if the old garden has flash back
  • in time, the reflection on the water
  • is as crisp as today’s flowers.
  • But images are mirages,
  • like a new place where no one
  • seem to hear me knocking at the door.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7TyDh9UdQGQbW3zH2cOxNQ


故 居

  • 李天靖

  • 时光很薄
  • 一抬脚 就能踉跄步入

  • 任童年的小手
  • 推开楼道所有的暗门
  • 木马复活———

  • 如电光燧石穿过
  • 儿时的庭院 镜面的倒影
  • 鲜花如斯

  • 映像如此脆弱
  • 像异乡客 终不能举起
  • 叩响门环的手




TALKING LOUDLY TO MY MOTHER

  • by Li Wenming

  • My 73-year-old mother
  • told me on the phone
  • to make sure the burial shroud, incense, and funeral suits are in place.
  • She repeated the location for these items.
  • I mentioned something about myself.
  • Mother said she didn’t hear it clearly.
  • I raised my voice by an octave,
  • Mother still didn’t hear it well.
  • so I raised my voice a few decibels.
  • My voice kept getting louder
  • when talking to Mother,
  • and each time I raised my voice,
  • I felt a deeper void in my heart.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/sqww7cxymhE7aHqI2glBDA


和母亲大声说话

  • 李文明

  • 七十三岁老母亲
  • 电话里告知
  • 寿衣、香烛、孝服都备好了
  • 重复细说存放的地点

  • 接话说了我自己的事
  • 母亲说没有听清
  • 我把嗓门调高八度
  • 母亲说还是没有听清
  • 只好把嗓门又调高八度

  • 与母亲说话
  • 嗓门越来越大
  • 每说一次
  • 我的心就虚一次

WEISHAN HILL

  • by Li Xing

  • The minute variations of life in a small town
  • is how it’s supposed to be.
  • Gentle waves ripple from a clear stream since time immemorial
  • to reach the deep ponds of our eyes.
  • Look beyond what eyes can see, listen past
  • the train whistles and clickety-clacks.
  • The expiration of a falling leaf
  • eclipses all other sounds.
  • A small town on a flatland, the only hills
  • are the grave mounds on the islet.
  • Old soul Weizi lies by General Zhang Liang,
  • the same way silence parallels the flow of time.
  • Weishan Hill: a haven in the lake,
  • movements of atomic scale occur below the clouds,
  • untouched by solar flares or blustery winds,
  • standing a notch above the shopworn world.
  • Translator’s note:
  • Weishan Hill is an island in Nansi Lake, or Weishan Lake, in Shandong Province, the largest freshwater lake in northern China.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VQpjoB3rTqbrZvxiIRhIrg


微 山

  • 李 星

  • 缓慢的缓,是一座小城
  • 该有的秉性
  • 小清河的微波,从记忆出发
  • 最后流到眼睛里的湖泊
  • 到目光的对面去,不需要聆听
  • 缓缓而过的汽笛和心跳
  • 一片落叶的呼吸
  • 盖得过世上所有的声音
  • 没有山的小城,或许
  • 湖心岛的坟墓就是一座座山
  • 微子和张良为邻
  • 时间与寂静为邻
  • 微山:毗湖而居
  • 微微抬高的平静,比白云低
  • 比阳光和风声低
  • 但喜欢超越世俗半头

NORTHERN NARRATIVES

  • by Li Yongcai

  • In deep autumn, up north,
  • wherever you go, to be alone,
  • there is a sense of returning home.
  • No matter which way the wind blows,
  • the water does not glitter as much as before.
  • Then the wind stops howling, and the fallen leaves fall silent,
  • piles of them, held in autumn's embrace.
  • They look like discarded banknotes
  • to witness the innocence of our world.
  • Hiding is one way to go.
  • But, if you hang out with those people on the road,
  • be ready to live by your wits and the biting cold.
  • In desolation, you will be the only one
  • to know it takes creativity
  • to return to simplicity and monotony.
  • Like a Phoenix hiding in the sky,
  • despite the alluring calls of the world,
  • there is no trace of it on Phoenix Mountain.
  • Mountains and rivers, the setting sun
  • over the persimmon trees, and persimmons
  • weave a traditional narrative.
  • The fine afternoon is receding, replaced by an empty
  • silent space. What draws me closer to it,
  • to merge with the fade-away ambiance,
  • is not the soft sadness of a persimmon,
  • but the bass guitar on the wall, leaning back.
  • Its posture resembles a pear almost,
  • strumming autumn.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6xdJCeV9vArVNSCeEVHWyw


北方叙事

  • 李永才

  • 在深秋的北方,你躲进哪里
  • 都有一种故园的感觉
  • 无论风怎样吹
  • 流水都没有从前那样的亮色
  • 风声过后,落叶沉默
  • 一堆又一堆,被秋天抱在怀里
  • 这些人间丢弃的纸币
  • 足以见证,万物的清白

  • 躲是一种姿态。混迹于江湖
  • 总会邂逅一些炎凉的事物
  • 而躲进荒芜
  • 谁也不知道,单调和乏味
  • 是你的一种创造
  • 就像一只凤凰,躲进了天空
  • 无论怎么引诱
  • 在凤凰岭,都寻不见它的踪影

  • 山河,柿子和柿子树上
  • 一枚没落的太阳
  • 构成了一种传统的叙事
  • 天朗风清的下午消逝。空荡的
  • 寂静中,陷入情景交融的
  • 不是一枚柿子美好的忧伤
  • 而是墙上的贝司,以斜躺的
  • 姿势,近乎一个梨儿,
  • 弹奏的这个秋天。




OVER THE NORTHERN REEF OF PARACEL ISLANDS

  • by Li Yuansheng

  • The airplane slows down, and I see an emerald island,
  • a half-translucent island.
  • I see the darkened sea.
  • It reminds me of
  • the color of ink, my lifeline for decades,
  • but gone in the years of air travel.
  • The deep color that traced our thoughts
  • looked the same as
  • the sea trenches that run between the coral reefs.
  • These days I click on a keyboard at night,
  • no longer immerse in the sea.
  • A big dream stays imprisoned
  • in the forgotten ink bottle,
  • and I retain an itsybitsy of
  • what has spilled out from it.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists

  • Notes:
  • *Yantai (lit: “Smoking Watchtower”) is a headland city in Shandong Peninsula, eastern China.
  • ** Emperor Yang of the Sui Dynasty (569 – 618 CE)

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/oZ0-h9rNQgrqm9F0CE1jlw


过三沙北礁

  • 李元胜

  • 飞机在减速,我看见翡翠的岛
  • 看见了它的半透明
  • 我看见了颜色很深的海水
  • 我想起
  • 依赖了几十年的墨水
  • 在我们的飞行中,早已不知所终
  • 那颜色很深的,带着我们思想纹路
  • 以及
  • 下面的珊瑚礁和海沟的
  • 在深夜敲打着键盘的我
  • 只不过是一个丢失了大海的人
  • 一场大梦仍旧囚禁于
  • 我们遗忘的墨水瓶中
  • 我不过是一点点
  • 它溢出的部分

THE NECTAR

  • by Li Yun

  • The heart of a flower only accepts the probe
  • of a needle. A top secret hidden in a thick riverbed,
  • similar to the formation of amber.
  • Flower fairies dance in thousands,
  • fanning honey, giving it the clarity of a child’s eyes.
  • How their golden wings arouse feverish dreams —
  • a golden atrium, bathing in silky golden rays.
  • Watch that golden swarm from flowers to flowers,
  • count the teary eyes of flower romancers.
  • A beekeeper is hooked on the venom of flowers.
  • I guard my spoonful of gold,
  • No word, except to listen to the buzz on the windowpane,
  • once, twice, thrice...
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


蜜 汁

  • 李 云

  • 花蕊的心思只有一根针才能
  • 戳破 惊天秘密在黏稠的河床流动
  • 琥珀生成的模样
  • 千万只花魂飞舞的心跳
  • 最后沉淀为童年眸子里天真无邪之色
  • 多少次金翅振响催萌了季节的艳梦
  • 金子打造的殿堂和金丝纺就的光线
  • 从一朵花到另一朵花谁驭动一座金山在飞
  • 花季里的花事过敏了多少人的目光
  • 养蜂人是被花下了蛊的人
  • 我只守着一勺黄金
  • 不语 听窗玻璃被谁嗡嗡嗡地撞响
  • 一次二次三次……

THE LAMP

  • By Li Zhiyong

  • The flame is similar to the mountain with a blue peak.
  • Perhaps snow and boulders lie on the ridge, reflecting light.
  • Someone may even stand on it, looking at the end of the sky.
  • The sun continues to rise and fall, falling and rising.
  • The lamp seems to be there to forge something.
  • A stove, in the middle of the night, a shadow busy around it.
  • An excavator, a fugitive, a writer, each huddles by the lamp.
  • It burns for their dreams until the break of dawn.
  • The lamp carries the weight of light, standing quietly on the table.
  • Every drop of oil goes into fueling the flame.
  • When all is spent, things will take on a different shape,
  • which need the help of the lamp to detect.
  • Because of the lamp, things leave shadows on the wall, even the lamp itself
  • casts a shadow. Because it shines,
  • lamps leave the room, finding its way to the mountaintop.
  • It also finds its way to the sea.
  • There it glows, hoping the sea will dry up,
  • hoping water will stay cold and calm.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2018-11-30/7828308.shtml


  • 李志勇

  • 灯焰就像山峦,顶峰处也是蓝色的。在那山脊上
  • 也许也有积雪,有一些岩石,散发着光芒
  • 在那山脊上可能也有人站着,远眺着天空的边际
  • 太阳还在很远的地方升起落下,落下升起
  • 灯更像是专门为了锻造什么而生起的
  • 炉火,深夜中,一个身影一直在它旁边忙碌着
  • 挖掘的人、逃生的人、写作的人,都在灯边
  • 灯能为所有幻想燃烧到天亮
  • 灯担负着自己光的重量,静立在桌上
  • 在灯焰中,几乎所有的油都燃烧着
  • 当它耗尽,一切也许就会呈现另外一种面目
  • 但那,仍然还得通过灯来辨认
  • 通过灯,事物把影子留在墙上,甚至灯自身
  • 都会有一道影子,因为光的存在
  • 灯走出屋子。灯上到高山之巅。灯来到了海上
  • 闪耀着,也渴望大海枯去,渴望着水的宁静和冰凉

AN ISLAND ALONE

  • by Li Zirui

  • A big fire once broke out on this island
  • that burned down everything, and
  • with its rolling flares
  • licked the waves blood-red.
  • The stele in the middle of the island has weathered,
  • the text that bore witness to time no longer recognizable.
  • The winds blows ceaselessly from the sea, the coconuts
  • on the tallest tree clunk together like dumb bells.
  • Lynxes often appear and gaze into the distance
  • over the surging waves of the deep blue sea.
  • I stand on the shoulders of the wind, looking towards another island,
  • — in your direction, I look, and look...
  • Maybe tomorrow morning,
  • a mast will leave, pointing at the sun,
  • letting the wind open her white sail.
  • I will wade the water alone
  • even if only for you.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/UCQ3HyH-ioQUnXwPMJ0TPw


孤 岛

  • 李子锐

  • 这座岛上,曾有过一场
  • 能够焚毁一切的大火,那时
  • 在滚滚翻腾的火舌中,
  • 连海浪也被染成血色
  • 如今,岛中央的石碑业已磨损
  • 见证时间的文字变得无法辨认
  • 海风阵阵,最高的那棵椰子树上
  • 喑哑的铃铛凭空相撞
  • 山猫们常朝着奔涌的海平面
  • 凝视湛蓝的远方
  • 我站上风的肩膀,向另一座孤岛——
  • 你的方向,眺望,眺望……
  • 也许明日清晨
  • 一根桅杆射向太阳
  • 风张开她洁白的屏障
  • 我会独自涉水前往
  • 哪怕只为你一人也好

AN INVENTD MOMENT


  • by Lian Shu
  • 1
  • I see things at rest,
  • a sparrow in the net, water locked in ice.
  • I get on the train, now pulling out from Binxinan Station.
  • 2
  • This morning is a lonely morning,
  • smell of asphalt and coal.
  • I should bury myself in infinite prayers.
  • 3
  • Almost yearend, I still cannot grasp
  • the obscure inner work
  • of recurring events, head to toe, dawn to dusk,
  • to the loess reappearing in my mind, to trees,
  • to Hajin Terrace, each is made brand new time and time again.
  • 4
  • The simplest manifestation of God is fire,
  • the one thing that can be witnessed
  • but not reached,
  • white-hot
  • like a disease.
  • 5
  • This space is intentionally left blank,
  • to be continued next time —
  • a much-needed blank.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

虚拟时刻

  • 连 殳

  • 1
  • 我看到了所有事物的静止状态
  • 麻雀挂在捕网上,水在冰里
  • 我上了火车,刚刚驶出滨西南站
  • 2
  • 这是个孤独的清晨
  • 沥青,煤
  • 我该陷入无限的祈祷中
  • 3
  • 临近年关,我无法捕捉到
  • 一种无影的内在循环
  • 重复的事物,从头到脚,从早上到夜晚
  • 再到被记起的黄土,树木
  • 哈金坝,每一次都是崭新的
  • 4
  • 神的化身最直白的就是一团火
  • 这是唯一能被我们目击到的
  • 无法抵达的
  • 炽热的
  • 像人的一种疾病
  • 5
  • 此处空白
  • 应该留给下次续写
  • 一个应该的空白

The Eagle

  • by Liang Jilin

  • Over Alxa League on the Mongolian Plateau, an eagle flies,
  • carrying on its wings a massive silence.
  • It circles, dives, tilts,
  • and suddenly lets out a screech,
  • as focused as our longings when missing someone,
  • as penetrating as our sorrows,
  • as willful as our rejection of the world.
  • A double-humped camel shows up on the desert,
  • head high, proud, sharing my aloofness,
  • looking at the eagle,
  • looking at the sun, a relic of the old universe.
  • Remind me, Baghatur, or herder Buren Menghe,
  • what is it that I like —
  • From the Left Banner to the Right Banner,
  • with five hundred kilometers of vastness in between,
  • there's someone as fiery as a high-proof spirits —
  • named after a flower, a red one,
  • a red flower.
  • The eagle takes after the sun, the sun
  • is an eagle.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Ln73gMKyUey07y828pSi6g


  • 梁积林

  • 阿拉善盟,蒙古高原的上空
  • 一只鹰的翅膀上究竟能驮动多大的寂静
  • 它盘旋,它俯冲,它踅乎
  • 突然就唳了一声
  • 一个人的思念也不过如此
  • 一个人的伤心也不过如此
  • 一个人的遁世也不过如此
  • 一匹走出沙漠的双峰驼
  • 昂首,孤傲,挟带着我身体里的冷峻
  • 看鹰
  • 看一粒太阳的舍利
  • 巴特尔,或者就是那个叫布仁孟和的牧人
  • 我喜欢什么来着——
  • 从左旗到右旗
  • 五百多公里的距离
  • 就是那个有六十八度酒一样烈的人名字
  • 琪琪格,红
  • 红琪琪格
  • 鹰像太阳,太阳
  • 像鹰。

TIME DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CHENGDU AND PARIS

  • by Liang Ping

  • Seven hours of confusing night and day.
  • Night at Paris, I count stars on the balcony,
  • losing count after 100.
  • They're stars or maybe only lookalikes,
  • in shifting positions, the Big Dipper is not the Big Dipper,
  • and Sirius is not Sirius.
  • The only graceful one is Vega, the Weaver Maiden,
  • leaving the subway tunnel with Altair, her cowboy sweetheart.
  • They ascend quickly, and I can't help
  • but follow them, as if possessed.
  • Then I nodded with the Weaver Maiden,
  • such elegance and manner,
  • I can’t tell which gate of the Milky Way that was.
  • Turning around and looking down, behold: Sunshine Chengdu,
  • so bright and totally open.
  • Funan River* and the Milky Way are one and the same.
  • The glittering waves are also the shimmering stars.
  • I see another me, toasting with the elderly poet Du Fu
  • by the river, having a rose-tinted view of
  • the glitzy and wet Mandarin Brocade Town.**
  • Notes:
  • *Funan River is Jinjiang River (lit: "Brocade River”), which flows through Chengdu.
  • **Mandarin Brocade Town, or Jinguancheng (lit: “City of Brocade Mandarins”), was once the residence of the officials in charge of brocade production in imperial China. The name became synonymous with the city of Chengdu.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/a6JdcU80kpfNt40hSF1T3Q


成都与巴黎的时差

  • 梁 平

  • 七个小时颠倒黑白,
  • 巴黎的夜,我站在阳台数星星,
  • 数满了三位数就开始错乱。
  • 那些似是而非的星星,
  • 形迹可疑,北斗不是北斗,
  • 天狼不是天狼。
  • 只有织女素颜姣好,
  • 与牛郎一起从地铁口出来,
  • 扶摇直上。我鬼使神差,
  • 一直尾随其后,行为有些诡异。
  • 也不知是银河的哪一个入口,
  • 我与织女打了照面,
  • 优雅,彬彬有礼。
  • 转身往下一看,艳阳成都,
  • 灿烂得坦坦荡荡。
  • 府南河与银河一个身段,
  • 波光粼粼,也是繁星闪烁。
  • 我看见另一个我,在河边,
  • 与杜甫老先生把盏,醉眼迷离,
  • 红,湿了锦官城。

WEISHAN VISTA*

  • by Liao Zhili

  • Hollow bamboo sways, emitting an air of nothingness.
  • Persimmon makes lanterns, to decorate a festive world.

  • The rain tarries,
  • but a cool breeze has arrived.

  • My hands are empty,
  • my eyebrows lowered, my fists inward.

  • The theory of a mulberry leaf:
  • life will wither, life will fade. . .
  • Translator's note:
  • * Weishan, place name in Hunan Province
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-04-09/13174106.shtml


见维山

  • 廖志理

  • 竹子以空心摇出虚无
  • 柿子以灯笼摆作喜宴
  • 雨水未来
  • 清风已至
  • 我二手空空
  • 低眉 敛手
  • 只以一片构树的叶子
  • 论一论此世的 枯与黄……

THE PARDONED SHEEP

  • by Li Zhuang

  • Its thick wool almost reaches the ground;
  • two horns twirl back
  • with a ribbon fluttering in-between;
  • this is a pardoned sheep.
  • Of all people, it chooses to
  • warm up to me and rub my legs,
  • first with its face, then forehead, then the shining horns.
  • As if to convey its light-heartedness,
  • it waggles its tail
  • to tell me that it trusts me to be good.
  • I also reckon its sweet nature.
  • My guess is: it detects
  • some concurrences between us:
  • I drank sweet tea in a village earlier,
  • and probably soaked up the Tibetan scent.
  • Perhaps it’s because of our similar outfits:
  • my oatmeal coat and tan trousers.
  • We almost look like twins.
  • Other commonalities may be even more profound:
  • both the sheep and I are granted amnesty on earth
  • for some unpronounced purposes.
  • Both of us are given sustenance on earth,
  • both of us hold on to beautiful dreams.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ZMmlbRCtPeo9Ep0hbBEp1A


放生羊

  • 李 壮

  • 羊毛茂密垂地,羊角因成熟而后卷
  • 还有丝带在两角间飘动
  • 这是一只放生羊
  • 从人群中,放生羊选中了我
  • 在我的大腿上亲昵地蹭着
  • ——从脸颊,到额头,再到光滑的羊角
  • 仿佛在表达惬意
  • 它的小尾巴急促地甩动
  • 以这种方式,它承认我是一个好人
  • 而我承认它是一头好羊
  • 我猜,它一定发现了我俩之间
  • 某些重合的部分
  • 方才在村落里喝甜茶时
  • 藏地的气息已浸透了我
  • 装扮又恰好酷似同类
  • 我的米色外衣与褐色长裤
  • 与它完全撞衫
  • 而另外一些重合,或许更加深刻:
  • 它和我都被放生在这世界上
  • 带着未昭示的理由
  • 它和我都被养育在这世界上
  • 带着美好的愿望

A HEAVY STONE HANGING OVER MIDLIFE

  • by Li Hao (of Jiangxi Province)

  • Must leave the dark clouds behind to outrun the rain.
  • The bird darting through the rain
  • must be carrying a bug back to its nest far away,
  • where baby chicks stretch their necks to feed.
  • The big umbrella by the roadside BBQ stand
  • sways side to side in the wind;
  • the rain drenched the charcoal fire on the left corner,
  • but the vendor fans it alive again on the other corner.
  • A bro, forty something,
  • stuffed a few crackers in his mouth, then washed them down
  • with a gulp of water without chewing.
  • He presses down the gas pedal, heading out
  • towards someone else’s destination.
  • The windshield wipers
  • sweep away water mixed with tears.
  • The rain continues to fall.
  • Those birds and those people,
  • they must run past midlife to outrun the rain.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pWDFkrqvBC8HzocJDaP7aQ


巨石压顶的中年人

  • 江西李皓

  • 必须跑过乌云才能跑过雨
  • 冒雨疾飞的鸟
  • 嘴里一定衔着一只小虫儿
  • 远处的鸟巢里,一只只嗷嗷待哺的鸟
  • 伸长了嘴巴
  • 街边烧烤炉外的一把大伞被风吹得
  • 左摇右摆
  • 炉里的炭火,左边被雨浇湿
  • 右边又被摊主烧旺
  • 一位四十开外的的哥
  • 连塞几片饼干在嘴里,还没完全嚼碎
  • 便猛喝一口水
  • 然后踩下油门,奔往别人的目的地
  • 雨刮器替他
  • 抹着泪
  • 雨,还在下
  • 那些鸟、那些人
  • 得跑过中年,才能跑过雨

ORDER

  • by Lin Donglin

  • All afternoon, I’ve been rearranging the living room,
  • moving the abandoned table to the balcony,
  • pushing two wooden sofas against the wall,
  • tucking the little tea table between them,
  • placing the fabric sofa opposite them,
  • laying a rug between the wood and the fabric sofas.
  • In the remaining open space,
  • I got potted plants for the corner and the tea table,
  • then walked around the living room
  • fine-tuning the gaps between them.
  • Twilight spilled in through the window,
  • giving every object its best original look.
  • I look at what’s in front of me with satisfaction.
  • They resonate with a certain order in the depth of my heart.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


秩 序

  • 林东林

  • 一整个下午我都在归置客厅
  • 我把那张废弃的桌子移到阳台上
  • 把两只木头沙发靠墙摆着
  • 把小茶几摆在它们中间
  • 把布艺沙发摆在它们对面
  • 把地毯铺在木头沙发和布艺沙发
  • 之间的一小块空地中央
  • 把几盆绿植摆在墙角和茶几上
  • 我在客厅里走过来走过去
  • 微调着它们之间的间距和空隙
  • 傍晚的光线从窗外洒进来
  • 让它们呈现出了它们该有的样子
  • 我满意地看着眼前的一切
  • 它们对应着我内心深处的某种秩序

RIVER BAHE

  • by Lin Li

  • River Bahe, I have seen it, one November,
  • in heavy rain. Ashen blue raindrops joined the flow,
  • first skirting around the bushes, then, voila, rolling out from the wilderness.
  • I used to dream of walking along River Bahe, alone without a word,
  • only to follow the free-spirited gliding egrets;
  • or, sitting on the riverbank
  • to write a letter to a long-parted friend,
  • and, going with the flow of the river,
  • in the tapping of cold rain,
  • to reach the already-withered lives.
  • I also imagine coming across the lad
  • by the mulberry tree, his cheeks burning
  • in feverish pursuit of chivalry and high ideals.
  • What marvelous times they were!
  • The egrets glided over the water in a V-formation.
  • Mulberry’s golden leaves set the dead winter on fire.
  • River Bahe took over River Bahe,
  • “churning up cold ripples still trembling ..."
  • In fact, it was only after a very long time
  • that I finally found words for Bahe
  • when lost in memories,
  • and cocooned in exhilarating loneliness
  • and griefs.
  • Time and time again, the new rain joined the old river
  • to pour through every pore and every crevice of me
  • for a run to the deep.
  • As I sit alone, in silence, the memories of
  • that November return again, in heavy rain,
  • and River Bahe, destined from eternity to eternity,
  • shows up outside my car window
  • in a flash.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Hfp2VZDs0UzSgd1y9MfgFQ

巴河

  • 林莉 (笔名:小熊)

  • 我曾见过巴河,在十一月
  • 大雨中。那些青灰的雨点和流水
  • 从旷野里,构树丛旁急急滚动
  • 我曾想沿着巴河静静走一走
  • 跟随一群白鹭,在水面自由自在飞
  • 或者,在岸边坐下来
  • 给久违的人们写一封信
  • 感受到那些奔流不息的河水
  • 和着清冷的雨,已经
  • 滴落到枯萎的生命中
  • 我还假设,我和那个勇敢的少年
  • 在构树下擦肩而过
  • 面颊温暖,空有一身侠骨和抱负
  • 那是一个多么伟大的时代
  • 白鹭贴着水面飞出了人字形的队列
  • 构树金黄的叶片点燃肃穆的冬天
  • 巴河流过了巴河
  • “翻卷着颤栗般的波纹和冷……”
  • 事实上,只有
  • 事隔多时,我才能描述出巴河
  • 才能在回忆中再一次
  • 陷入一种充满兴奋感的孤独
  • 和遗憾中
  • 很久很久了
  • 雨以及河水从各个毛孔、缝隙
  • 深入到这里面来
  • 当我一个人沉默着回想
  • 那时,十一月,大雨里
  • 我见过巴河,在古老的时间和流逝中
  • 从车窗外一闪

AWE

  • by Lin Mang

  • With a gunshot,
  • a puff of dusty smoke appeared on the hillside.
  • Sideways hopped a few steps,
  • a small ochre-colored fox, unharmed, turned his head to look back at us.
  • The old bronze-faced driver shouted a few words in Tibetan.
  • The passenger put away his gun.
  • On that day, we were fortunate to visit the sky-burial platform with a skull-wall
  • on the upper reach of the Nu River.
  • We hurried through the muddy, steep and treacherous canyon road
  • ahead of a sudden heavy rainstorm.
  • Ah, let us be grateful to heavens and gods, who have been looking down
  • and guiding us.
  • After many years, I reflected upon the way we were, still youthful then,
  • driving a thousand miles across a summery plateau,
  • like those who risk death to climb a sacred mountain,
  • we were rash, so ignorant, and rude to those lonely pious souls.
  • See those snowy mountains under the clear sky,
  • towering, forbidding, evoking a feeling of awe.
  • Oh, looking ahead, I can’t count the things I am still in the dark,
  • the things I need to be ready for enlightenment, to repent.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/TQujBwNXTcp49E3KqAwoJA


敬 畏

  • 林 莽

  • 随着枪声 山坡上冒出一小缕尘烟
  • 它轻轻跳开了几步
  • 一只土色的小狐狸依旧回过头来向我们张望
  • 面如古铜的老司机用藏语低吼了几句
  • 那个搭车人收起了他的枪
  • 那天我们幸运地拜谒了怒江上游有骷髅墙的天葬台
  • 在暴雨到来之前赶过了那段泥泞而陡峭的峡谷险路
  • 啊 感恩一直俯视和指引我们的苍天与众神
  • 时隔多年 想起当时还算年轻的我们
  • 在夏日的高原上驱车千里
  • 像那些冒死攀登神山的人们一样
  • 用一种近乎无知的鲁莽
  • 兴致盎然地冒犯了那些寂寞中苦修的亡灵
  • 看晴空下的雪山凛然屹立令人心生敬畏
  • 嗷 但至今我依然不知这一生中
  • 到底还有多少事应该幡然领悟 虔心忏悔

OUR SUMMER

  • by Lin Shan

  • Early morning, I sat inert by the river for a long time.
  • The ardent chirps of the cicadas surge around me.
  • It all feels like a big nothingness, but I shall endure.
  • I don’t knowwhy the falling leaves of the Sophora trees should look so beautiful,
  • but where will the river take them?
  • The rain is running deep in the river now.
  • I dream of our summer,
  • bright hibiscus and tiny purple roses in bloom.
  • In the far sky cumulus clouds wait for the last thunderclap.
  • Sheep from asparse flock vanish in the shadow of the grass.
  • I don’t know why you should show up, standing there,
  • wearing a cloud-white shirt
  • with a dusty face and clear eyes.
  • I don’t knowwhy your arms that embraced me
  • would suddenly let go.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


我们的夏天

  • 林 珊

  • 我在清晨的河边,枯坐很久
  • 热烈的蝉声向我涌来
  • 我在巨大的空茫中,保持一种忍耐
  • 我不知道,黄花槐凋落的叶子竟是那么美
  • 而河水又将把它们带往何处
  • 雨已经深陷其中。我梦见
  • 我们的夏天
  • 开满灼灼的木槿和紫薇
  • 积雨云在天边等待最后一声惊雷
  • 稀疏的羊群陷入青草的暗影
  • 我不知道你为什么会站在那里
  • 穿着云朵般的白衬衣
  • 尘土满面,眼神清澈
  • 我不知道你拥抱我的双手
  • 为什么突然松开

MATTERS OF REGRET

  • by Ling Lan

  • Too bad, Ah, Sei Shōnagon
  • wrote about four seasons’ delights1,
  • but she certainly didn't see
  • the midnight summer rain, or the twilight
  • that raises the face of every tear-filled rose;
  • on a low wall, the cuckoos’ impatient calling.
  • She also didn't see that person, in dim light,
  • wrote out a name repeatedly on a notepaper,
  • like a moth drawn to a flame.
  • When I hear the cuckoos call
  • and know the barn is empty,
  • only a few pellets of popped wheat left in my hand.
  • This season burns like fire.
  • An even-tempered bookish man engrossed a dictionary.
  • In the open field musk thistle and red thatch grass are blooming,
  • seed staking shape.
  • Note:
  • 1. The Pillow Book2 gave examples of season's delight: Spring daybreaks; Moonlit summer nights, or dark nights with dancing fireflies; Fall, sunset clouds towards the evening and red maples; Winter days, early dusk.
  • 2. An essay collection written and completed in 1002 CE by Japanese poet and essayist Sei Shōnagon.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/n3SNCmrQ47J7qYojhV5xaQ


憾 事

  • 铃兰

  • 多遗憾呀,写下四时之趣①的
  • 清少纳言肯定没见过
  • 夏日夜半落雨,清晨旭日升,那光芒
  • 恰恰好托起一朵朵含泪的蔷薇
  • 矮墙上布谷鸟叫声急促

  • 你也没见过灰暗的灯光里,便笺上
  • 重复了无数遍的名字
  • 像飞蛾扑向灯火

  • 当我听到布谷鸟叫时
  • 粮仓空空
  • 手心里只有几粒炒熟的麦子
  • 时令如火烧。
  • 好脾气的书生在读词典
  • 田野里飞廉和红茅草开花,正在结籽

  • 注①:《枕草子》写四时之趣,是指春天破
  • 晓,夏日月夜或暗夜流萤飞舞,秋天傍晚晚霞
  • 红枫,冬日早晨。



RUMINATIVE TWELVE LINES

  • by Ling Lan

  • If a bird calls now,
  • it would outdo the buzzing air conditioner.
  • Waking way too early. No traces of dreams, or
  • I didn't dream.
  • The tea stains inside the walls of the cups
  • prove that friends were here
  • and there were actions last night.
  • The bedtime poem I wrote is being deleted line by line.
  • In half an hour, I’ll go to a restaurant,
  • choose a well-lit table, and some strangers will come.
  • We will be sweet with one another, and leave
  • anonymous kisses on the milk cups.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


抒情十二行

  • 阿蘅 (铃兰)

  • 假如有一只鸟在叫
  • 那我将听不见冷气机的蜂鸣
  • 这么早醒来。梦荡然无存,或者
  • 我就没有梦到什么
  • 杯子内壁留下深浅不一的茶渍
  • 昨天晚上确实有朋友来过
  • 确实有什么事情发生。
  • 临睡前写的几行,我在逐一删除。
  • 半个小时后,我将去往餐厅。
  • 找一个光线好的餐桌,将有陌生者坐过来
  • 我们互为亲爱的,并在牛奶杯上,留下
  • 陌生的唇吻

CATTAIL SHALLOW

  • by Ling Xie

  • Let us go down the gentle slope.
  • In a cattail shallow, a flock of diving ducks
  • overlaps the lake. The air slightly intoxicates.
  • The sky drapes down, almost touching your bright orange skirt.
  • At the tip of a twig, two mulberries flush
  • like a pair of delicate lips. The wind is pushing into the mountain.
  • A crooked-neck tree bends over to kiss the lake’s reflection.
  • I try to do the same to you.
  • Soon, a kite tugs our gaze high
  • into the sky until sunset graces the mountain brow
  • with a touch of blackish brown, then all becomes quiet.
  • At dusk, two worn silhouettes accompany each other.
  • The rail tracks, going who-knows-where, have a metallic pulse
  • with a kind of murmur, always keep to themselves.
  • After a light rain, the electrified atmosphere warms up.
  • You puff out a breath into the cold air, mist turns to dew.
  • This bestirring season opens the old wounds
  • wider and wider, and injects a new vitality to the interlaced world.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/AZv0i-Hkp_BHPzvfcS7ldA


芦花荡

  • 陵 邪

  • 走下徐缓的斜坡。
  • 芦花荡,一群泅水的野鸭
  • 折叠在湖面。空气微醺,
  • 天色已贴近你新鲜的橘色裙摆。
  • 在枝头,两枚桑葚如微薄的唇瓣
  • 泛着低烧。山风越走越近,
  • 一棵歪脖树垂下身姿,倚吻湖光。
  • 我也试图用这样的方式接近你。
  • 须臾间,我们的目光被高空的纸鸢
  • 牵扯,直至落霞在远山的眉黛
  • 轻描淡写地纹上一笔,四野阒然。
  • 两个疲惫的侧影,在傍晚彼此相对。
  • 一直无从得知车轨的去向,铁质
  • 的音律似乎潜藏某种情绪,拒人千里。
  • 小雨过后,空气带着电流的回温。
  • 你哈出一口冷气,薄雾晾成露水。
  • 这纷扰纠缠的时令,将旧伤口
  • 不断豁开,注入人间的新生。

THE CAMEL PULLER

  • by Liu Dawei

  • To counter hallucination, you trek this alien country,
  • welcoming the howling sand as good news
  • — the great beauty and terror of this desolate place
  • are greeted by one person alone.
  • Then the sun funnels in through the camel’s twin peaks,
  • an animal lead on the reins as if by a nymph.
  • You raise a huntsman’s flag
  • after emptying out every worldly impurity.
  • Obstinate, frail, and thirsty,
  • you have falled in deep for it.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gIshlF3B_Uu_FntCcRMczA


牵骆驼的人

  • 刘大伟

  • 既然艰难跋涉是为了抗拒幻觉
  • 索性将沙粒的歌唱当作福音
  • ——这盛大而荒凉的美与恐惧
  • 皆由一个人来迎接
  • 而骆驼的双峰藏不住落日
  • 仙子窈窕,牵引缰绳
  • 你腾空浊世之躯,在不断被虚构的荒原
  • 树起一名猎手骄傲的旗杆
  • 执拗,虚弱,干涸
  • 为之深深沦陷

SNIPPETS FROM THE FACTORY FLOOR

  • by Liu Jian

  • Those drab, dull dummies of metal hide their sheen on the factory platform.
  • Layer upon layer, what comes to light is not their hardness,
  • but, in fact, inner weakness and softness.
  • Cast. Cut. File. Grind. There will be an end to all the work somewhere.
  • A well-calibrated blueprint does not indulge,
  • expressionless and raising no voices,
  • more like god’s hand of restraint and sobriety.
  • The hustle and bustle of rush orders. Inspections meticulous.
  • Invoices neatly stacked in order.
  • I don’t know where these products are going,
  • like myself, my destiny is unclear. I can see:
  • us and them, both are gleaming with beads of sweat,
  • the same kind of shine.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Axiw4gftnfYAB6Xsi5zDwQ


工厂片段

  • 刘 建

  • 那些愚钝、木讷的金属,在加工台前
  • 敛起它的锋芒。渐次呈现的不是生硬
  • 而是内心的懦弱和柔软
  • 铣。削。锉。磨。一定有个结局等待在某个地方
  • 胸有成竹的图纸置身事外,不动声色
  • 有着上帝的矜持和冷静
  • 计划单手忙脚乱。检验单一丝不苟。发货单按部就班
  • 我不知道那些打包发出的成品工件的去向
  • 就像我不清楚自己的命运。我看见:
  • 我们和它们都闪耀着汗珠一样的光泽




BEDTIME READING

  • by Liu Liyun

  • "The car came to a stop as the great sleepwalker spoke her last words.
  • The trees along the Hindenburg Alley stood at regular intervals, green and Prussian.
  • We climbed out of the car, Bebra told the driver to wait;
  • I didn't want to go to Café Four Seasons, my foggy brain
  • needed fresh air. So we strolled to Steffen Park:
  • Bebra on my right, Roswitha on my left...."
  • Flipping open "Tin Drum", a war novel by Günther Grass,
  • by the page number at the lower right corner,
  • I know it's the second paragraph of page 351
  • of the translation by Mr. Hu Qiding, published by Lijiang Books.
  • Who is the "I" here? Where is Hindenburg Alley?
  • In what German city? The sleepwalker, who speaks like a prophet,
  • Is she Bebra, or Roswitha?
  • Then, who is "I" to Bebra and to Roswitha? Are they siblings
  • or lovers? Or one a sibling, and the other one a lover?
  • But why should I know about all these? What have they
  • got to do with me? Does it affect my sleep tonight?
  • You see, I am an illogical reader.
  • The way I read before bed is a miss-match,
  • I flip and read. In fact, I need to be hypnotized by books, not questioning the to-and-from
  • of the personae in the book. Therefore, I like Günther Grass.
  • I like his chatter, the monologues
  • steeped in modern philosophy, which are
  • lethal poison; as you read, your head drops to the other side.
  • As I was reading “…A little pompous, as a captain
  • and the director of the Theater of the Front,
  • Bebra said to me what sounded like a proposal: "Join us,
  • young man, drum, sing-shatter beer glasses and light bulbs!",
  • my head tilted to the side and I fell asleep
  • in the middle of a grunt: how can it be,
  • how do you sing-shatter beer glasses and light bulbs?
  • Suddenly the void opened up below me, and I fell
  • ten thousand miles into the abyss.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信)
  • by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/IJskEMA3SaQsu17xwe_eOA


睡眠前的阅读

  • 刘立云

  • “这位伟大的梦游女话音刚落,汽车就
  • 停了下来。兴登堡林阴大道的树
  • 绿色,普鲁士风,间距一律。我们下车,
  • 贝布拉让司机等着
  • 我不想进四季咖啡馆,我的脑子有点乱,需要
  • 新鲜空气。于是我们就到斯特芬公园去散步
  • 贝布拉在我右边,罗丝维塔在我左边……”
  • 打开君特·格拉斯的战争小说《铁皮鼓》
  • 右下角随意翻到的页码告诉我
  • 此处位于胡其鼎先生翻译,由漓江出版社出版的
  • 这本书的第351页的,第二自然段
  • 而“我”是谁?兴登堡林阴大道在德国的
  • 哪座城市?那位仿佛先知先觉的梦游女
  • 是书里提到的贝布拉,还是罗丝维塔?
  • 再就是,“我”与贝布拉和罗丝维塔,是亲人
  • 还是情人?抑或一个亲人、一个情人?
  • 但我为什么要知道这些?它们
  • 与我有关吗?与我今天晚上的睡眠有关吗?
  • 你看出来了,我是一个不讲道理的读者
  • 我睡前读书的方式属于乱点鸳鸯谱
  • 翻到哪读哪。其实我是在用书催眠,不问书里的人从哪里来
  • 要到哪里去。为此,我喜欢上了君特·格拉斯
  • 喜欢上了他的絮絮叨叨,他那些浸泡
  • 现代哲学语境的自言自语
  • 像一剂毒药,读着读着,头便歪向一边
  • 我是在读到:“贝布拉打着官腔,摆出前线剧团团长
  • 和上尉的架势,向我提议说:‘请您加入到
  • 我们中间来吧,年轻人,擂鼓
  • 唱碎啤酒杯和电灯泡!’”时,歪头睡过去的
  • 当时我还在嘀咕:啤酒杯和电灯泡
  • 怎么可能唱碎呢?忽然一脚踏空,坠入万丈深渊

ALL LOVELY THINGS HAVE AN INNER GLOW

  • by Liu Nian

  • Whenever we go up the mountain,
  • our shoulder baskets never return empty.
  • She says the milk-cap mushrooms have a dim glow.
  • Only after the cell phone died did you notice
  • the country footpaths gleaming with soft moonlight.
  • In the swarming station, just one look and you spotted her.
  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricist, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/l44PRq8zDd8THoTW2bWuVg


喜爱的事物都自带光芒

  • 刘 年

  • 每次上山,背笼都不会落空
  • 她说,枞菌会发一种暗哑的光
  • 手机没有电了,你才发现
  • 田埂,散发着淡淡的月光
  • 人山人海的火车站,你一眼就看到了她

AT THE SILVERSMITH'S

  • by Liu Nian

  • The tiled roof, with moonlight on it, looks like freshly polished silver.
  • I think of Huaxi, flowers and brooks in her name,
  • her skin glistening in the water,
  • as if women’s bones were made of silver.
  • On the anvil, silver is womanly soft,
  • easily bent into a moon shape.
  • They say silver bracelets work magic, better than titanium shackles
  • for keeping a woman.
  • All of a sudden, a sterling band dropped on the floor, rolling
  • clinking across the marble to some twenty feet away,
  • reminding me of Huaxi again.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ZMmlbRCtPeo9Ep0hbBEp1A


王村镇的银匠

  • 刘 年

  • 瓦背上,月亮,像刚刚抛光的银
  • 想起了花溪
  • 肌肤在水里,透着光泽
  • 仿佛,女人是纯银的骨
  • 铁砧上,银,女人一样软
  • 很容易就弯成满月的形状
  • 他们说,纯银的手镯,比精钢的手铐
  • 更能锁住一个女人
  • 银圈不小心跌落,顺着青石板
  • 叮叮当当,滚出两丈多远
  • 这让我再次想到了花溪

TO CHONGQING

  • by Liu Ting

  • The river swells like a man’s belly at midlife,
  • but its roaring waves cannot suppress the urban rumpus,
  • first a short cry, then a long howl, followed by a hoot
  • that comes with a wanderer with a head of ruffled hair.
  • A teensy-weensy bit out of a lifetime
  • to pass on to the tobacco-puffing riverfront drudge,
  • carrying two basketful of duckweed on a shoulder pole,
  • while the only weight on us is the ferry ticket in hand.
  • In the human world, some sentiments live through time
  • while the other dissolved in the evening rain.
  • It is said, go to Chongqing if you feel sad,
  • the hot pot there is the last romance for us mortals.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f

  • ....................................................................


去重庆

  • 刘汀

  • 江水起伏,如中年人的肚腩
  • 涛声也不过是城市的呼噜
  • 一声短,一声长,第三声
  • 流浪者露出了蓬乱之首
  • 从一生里拿出三天两夜
  • 付给蹲坐江边吸旱烟的棒棒
  • 他们肩膀上两筐浮萍
  • 我们手心里一张船票
  • 在人间,有些情绪万年不散
  • 但另一些,已消失在夜雨中
  • 人们说,悲伤时便去重庆吧
  • 火锅才是凡人最后的抒情

ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE

  • by Liu Weixiong

  • Even though the light has fallen asleep,
  • the way the sheep move on the green hill
  • still lends us a window into its lively past.
  • Living memories like them are a miracle
  • same as daffodils lasting for a hundred years.
  • Perhaps nostalgia spawns mottled rust,
  • but the sea churns beneath the clouds of memories.
  • The lighthouse with its painful past,
  • still sits in the sun, still battered by winds and waves.
  • See the sky and earth become one. The wind is blowing
  • into the strait, to where the sea meets the sky.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eajiz_1ALkulXZatRoVEHA


洋屿灯塔

  • 刘伟雄

  • 尽管灯火已随历史沉睡
  • 那些羊在草坡上的动作
  • 还是让我们看到了生动的景致
  • 这些活着的记忆 就像
  • 满坡的水仙花 从百年前
  • 一直开放到今天的奇迹
  • 也许怀古会让锈迹斑驳
  • 海浪却蒙着记忆的云翳
  • 在今天 阳光照耀下的灯塔
  • 痛苦的往事正被风吹浪打
  • 望茫茫的海天 海峡风
  • 吹在浩荡的天际

GROWING INSPIRATIONS

  • by Liu Yanghe

  • After dinner, I go out for ice latte
  • with friends. We drink while planting
  • cigarette butts in a mini-pot filled with
  • coffee grounds, one section after another—
  • We plant our contemporaries into the history of literature,
  • between puffs, we recount the air crashes
  • when modern poetry took off. Every time we swallow a piece of
  • cheese or salad, we grumble about
  • an unsavory or a sweet event. Eventually we got
  • tired of the sad stories, too many tribal
  • feelings and feuds, and internal conflicts.
  • In-between, there are inevitable
  • pauses and silence while the cheery laughter
  • from our next table spills over, sort of melodramatic,
  • touching on the absurdity of everyday life:
  • We will continue to plant, to cultivate
  • our spent curiosity about history; we have no reason not to
  • plant Li Jinfa’s Light Rain* into the Drum Tower,
  • to mix with the bell chime; the calamitous years need to be there, too.
  • We plant and plant, until all spaces are occupied.
  • Fortunately, I planted these
  • somewhat interesting words, or perhaps they are only bland…

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/PIPO3D8PszIJxvVsimntEg


种烟士批里纯*

  • 刘阳鹤

  • 饭后,与友人来喝
  • 加冰的拿铁。我们一边喝,一边
  • 在装有咖啡渣的微型花盆里
  • 种烟蒂,一节接着一节——
  • 我们把同代人种进文学史,
  • 把新诗史的空难种进
  • 我们的吞吐。我们每吞一块
  • 芝士或沙拉,必吐诉一段
  • 或涩或甜的往事。我们终究谈了
  • 太多的涩,事关家族的
  • 种种恩怨,抑或内在史的困顿。
  • 在节间,我们少不了
  • 短暂的沉默,而邻桌不时
  • 旁逸的欢笑,更像是一部轻喜剧,
  • 大多与荒诞的日常有关:
  • 我们接着种,种即将耗尽的
  • 历史想象力;我们没有理由不把
  • 李金发的微雨,种进鼓楼
  • 传来的钟声,凶年也理应种进去。
  • 我们种啊种,种到无处可种。
  • 所幸,我种下了这些
  • 或有兴味的词,或也无味……
  • 注释:* Inspiration音译

STONE DRUM'S REPLY TO A LETTER

  • by Lonely Changsha

  • Dear Bro Qianzhi, it’s the season of falling flowers, a deeply grievous season.
  • After my trip to Lushan, besides knowing how to chop wood and water the farm,
  • I did not actually learn the art of walking through walls
  • or even breaking up big rocks with my chest.
  • The continuous drizzle in recent months was wasted, running off like a river.
  • Those aura-detecting people, cloud-catchers, fishermen,
  • and those wishing to drown themselves all gravitate here.
  • The entire afternoon, they practice being desperate, and look like deep in thought.
  • The vegetation is lush by the river as mid-summer approaches quietly.
  • But, my brother, please do not ask me about my future plans.
  • Since I failed the scholar’s exam, I do not study any more.
  • I spend my days planting onions and garlic in the yard,
  • painting chrysanthemums, and making fish stew.
  • If I had sufficient travel money, I would go to the provincial capital
  • to study traditional medicine,
  • but forget it, Sun Yat-sen and Lu Xun both tried doing that, too.
  • Recently, I floated down the Three Gorges, and fell for a woman,
  • but her father resented me as vulgar, and, like a tiger or eagle,
  • keeps me away from her, alas, what can I do?
  • More and more days painfully fly by, and the future does not look promising.
  • After Wang Baogai left for the Yangze River Delta, Yancheng, our town, feels like an empty nest.
  • Summer solstice is near, now that Grain-in-Ear has past.
  • How are things with you up in the mountains?
  • Looking forward to your return. Please hand
  • my best to Bro Zhiqiu.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/LE8bWbWo0wx--mcJI7bgqg


石鼓回信

  • 独孤长沙

  • 潜之兄,落花时节,又是一番肝肠寸断
  • 崂山归来,除了砍柴浇地
  • 我并未练就真正的穿墙之术
  • 甚至胸口碎大石,也不会了
  • 接连三个月的细雨,被浪费成一条河流
  • 望气者,拿云者,垂钓者,投江者在此云集
  • 整个下午,他们都在练习忧愁,表演深沉
  • 临江草木葳蕤,不觉已是盛夏
  • 但潜之兄,千万莫要问起前程
  • 自早年乡试落第,我便不再读书
  • 终日在庭院种葱蒜,写菊花,炖杂鱼
  • 如若盘缠充足,我想去趟省城,研习岐黄
  • 罢了!逸仙,树人或早有此想
  • 近来泛舟于三峡,得见一女子
  • 其父嫌我粗鄙,常做虎豹状,鹰隼状
  • 终不得近身,为之奈何?
  • 去日苦多,来日更是不甚唏嘘
  • 王宝盖远走江浙后,雁城已如空巢
  • 芒种过后是夏至,不知山中岁月几何
  • 盼归。向知秋兄带好

DROMEDARY

  • by Long Lingqiong

  • After careful consideration, I concluded that when my world
  • turns into a wasteland, I would like to be a dromedary.
  • Only sand and water will be kept as ideals.
  • Without the need to ponder or worry,
  • the head can shrink,
  • but walking is a must, so the feet had better be large.
  • Since sighing won’t do any good any more, it’s best the neck grows thick for
  • breathing—
  • I know a veiled animal tamer, let her be my mother, but without the expectation to share
  • tears or laughter, all that I need to understand are three words:
  • Kneel! Kneel! Giddy up!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/8AY_kVS_zwb19_VgwX1b_g


单峰驼

  • 隆玲琼

  • 我仔细想了,等到我的世界
  • 荒芜,就变一只单峰驼
  • 理想只留沙子和水

  • 已再没有什么需要思考和忧虑,头可以变小
  • 行走是逃不了的,脚掌一定要变大
  • 叹气也没必要了,就长一个粗长的颈
  • 喘息——

  • 认一个戴面纱的驯兽师作母亲吧,不用交换
  • 哭和笑,只需要听懂她的三个字:
  • 跪,跪,起——





GOODBYE, CHIMNEY

  • by Long Xiaolong

  • Father once said
  • where there were tall chimneys,
  • where there were smoke from chimneys,
  • there was superior industry.
  • Nowadays, many plants changed the ways they produce steam;
  • some use natural gas, some use electric boiler;
  • exhaust from natural gas is fully recycled as renewable resources,
  • and the electric boiler does not even put out exhaust.
  • The chimney has quit smoking. I hope no one rush to dismantle it.
  • Let it stand tall, be a marker, be a memory,
  • but the high officials are determined to tear it down.
  • One day, we used directional implosion;
  • I heard a thunder, and the chimney instantly fell.
  • I felt terrible about it for a long time
  • as I suddenly remembered my late father who loved to smoke a tobacco pipe.
  • I held back tears and quietly said in my heart:
  • Goodbye, chimney
  • Goodbye, my old father.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jgzwXnPhcXxTRhLnHFEzkw


再见了,烟囱

  • 龙小龙

  • 父亲曾经说
  • 哪里的高烟囱多,哪里的烟囱在冒烟
  • 就说明哪里的工业最发达
  • 如今,许多工厂生产蒸汽的方式彻底改变了
  • 有的用天然气,有的用电锅炉
  • 天然气的尾气全部回收成为资源再利用
  • 而电锅炉干脆就不产生尾气了
  • 烟囱戒烟了。我希望不要急于拆除
  • 就让它高高地挺立,成为一种标记、一种记忆
  • 而领导坚决要拆掉
  • 那天,我们实施的是定向爆破
  • 只听见一道闷雷,烟囱便应声倒下
  • 那种感觉让我难受了好久
  • 因为我突然想起了平素叼着烟袋、溘然长逝的父亲
  • 我含着泪在心里默默地念叨
  • 再见了,烟囱
  • 再见了,我的老父亲

IN THE FLOATING WORLD

  • by Lu Shan

  • It's great to be in the sun again, basking on the balcony in winter.
  • I'm drying my wife's sweater. The night's wind sways her shadow,
  • I feel like I have tasted the sweet life once again.
  • I just graduated from a sanatorium
  • with a PhD on the ways of the floating world.
  • First winter tidings, the snow is not far away. Maladies led
  • to a traffic accident with sleet everywhere.
  • The breeze kicks up dust at day’s end,
  • the evening trees close in on themselves.
  • A pot of baby daisies sit next to my medical chart,
  • like an alluring traditional doctor in her prime.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KHE1s3ROzuvmFi9D2L1p4A


在尘世

  • 卢 山

  • 再次沐浴到阳光真好,冬日的阳台上
  • 晾晒着妻子的毛衣。晚风摇曳着她的影子
  • 我仿佛重新品尝了活着的味道。
  • 我刚刚从疾病的修道院里毕业,
  • 拿到了一张关于人情世故的哲学学位证。

  • 大雪不远,立冬为证。疾病制造了
  • 一场泥泞的交通事故。
  • 晚风扬起一日的浮尘,树木从黄昏里折回藤蔓。
  • 我的病历本旁边端坐着一盆雏菊,
  • 俨然一位风华正茂的年轻中医。




THE END OF THE ROAD

  • by Lu Ye

  • No one waits for me in this little town,
  • no shadow of that person in that stone alley.
  • Stone walls on both sides stand tall.
  • Looking up, you see a drizzling narrow sky,
  • the same sky that allocates time to every earthling.
  • Every cloud is predestined to be there.
  • Ferns hang on the edge of the wall,
  • lush, lavishing, their best quality.
  • Slates upon slates, filled with age-old murmurs,
  • going through this long and curved alley, you will hear a sigh.
  • When a road ends, the world also stops, isn’t that so?
  • The old courtyard dare to let go and crumble,
  • like a great beauty carrying an unbearable load,
  • still holding on to a reality that cannot be,
  • as if having something to say, but in the end did not say it.
  • This spirit of this town is tired of its flesh.
  • The past is always where we are not.
  • Rivers surround this little town,
  • they have ten thousand reasons to keep flowing.
  • No one can say when the last ferry will come.
  • The distant traveler doesn’t know his final destination.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4MUIe9H04qodsEBiMehZdQ


尽 头

  • 路也

  • 无人在这个小镇上等我
  • 那条石巷中也没有那人的影子
  • 两旁石墙,高高竖立
  • 抬头可望见落着小雨的长条状的天空
  • 天空为大地上每个人分配着光阴
  • 每一朵云都属于命中注定
  • 墙头的蕨类
  • 总是有葱茏的品德
  • 岩片层叠,塞满久远的絮语
  • 巷子长而弯,一直穿过去,就是一声感慨
  • 哪条道路的尽头,不是世界尽头?
  • 旧时门庭有朽坏下去的勇气
  • 有不堪重负的美
  • 守候并不存在的现实
  • 总感有话要说,终于什么也没说
  • 小镇的灵魂已然厌倦了它自己的肉体
  • 往昔总在我们不在的地方
  • 江水环绕小镇
  • 江水有一万个理由不停地流淌
  • 没有人说得出末班船何时抵达
  • 远行的人不知道哪里才是最后一站

ALL THE GRAINS GATHER

  • by Lu You

  • —Written on the Eve of The "Laba" Festival*

  • On this day all the grains gather
  • in a pot. Mother lines them up together
  • like us seven little siblings in your younger days
  • on a little heated brick bed, seven china dolls from one kiln,
  • faces chapped, mama bathed us one by one until clean,
  • just like she washes the grains. This is the day
  • they reunite across four cold and warm seasons,
  • in one boiling pot minus the black beans.
  • No black beans this harvest, we planted other crops for younger brother;
  • he can’t come home, like last year.
  • Notes
  • *The Laba Festival is celebrated on the 8th day of the 12th lunar month, when rice gruel or congee is eaten. The Festival is also called The End of the Year Offering of Meat Festival, a name which has its origins in hunting game that was cooked as sacrificial meat and then served at a family or communal gathering.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/xZLXxCSHkGqwmiXxLprX0g


所有的五谷都在这一天集合

  • 吕 游

  • ——写在腊八节前夜

  • 所有的五谷都在这一天集合
  • 在锅里,母亲把它们放在一起
  • 像小时候,把我们姐弟七个
  • 放在小小的炕上,七个出窑的瓷器
  • 脸皴着,妈妈一个个洗干净
  • 像洗这些五谷杂粮,只有这一天
  • 四季是团聚的,冷和暖
  • 在一个锅里沸腾,只是少了黑豆

  • 弟弟代替黑豆种在地里
  • 今年,还是不能回家




A LETTER FROM TANG DYNASTY

  • by Luo Guoxiong

  • Tonight, a gravel-mine river rumbles a distance away,
  • splashing and giving the shore a touch of frost.
  • A whale-rider soars in and out of the stratosphere
  • to deliver a letter to me—from a swordsman, who
  • wouldn’t have cared if a bandit ran off with his homesickness.
  • A drunk genius, on a unceasing journey,
  • writes by a boat lantern about the frontier. Poet Li Bai is
  • far away from home, his countenance unearthly and passion untamed.
  • Awakened by an unexpected long sigh, I rise up to see
  • who’s knocking on the door, ah, only the moonlight. Looking out,
  • I see cool Mount Emei and sparkling Minjiang River.
  • A slim horse, tottering on the ancient road, the wind from the west,
  • rhymes or no rhymes, let us go home—
  • Millennial snow goes back to be only water drops.
  • The moon over Mount Emei, me in the mirror, thoughts of my forebearer,
  • a gray-haired poet, childlike,
  • drunk with snow, reaching for the moon to calm the soul——
  • A teardrop hangs on the electric wire, or is it dew?
  • I am drunk. But as long as hopes are not all shattered,
  • there will be dreams, serene mountains and rivers, starry sky,
  • roaring waves, on the brink of drowning. The night is deep,
  • the dreams on paper bring out a new dream: moon in the sky,
  • let the night be forever young,
  • so that both the letter sender and the recipient
  • can safe keep their hopes in the deep of the heart.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


唐朝来信

  • 罗国雄

  • 今夜,远方采石江翻涌的声音,
  • 溢出来的一点点,都化成了地上霜。
  • 骑鲸的飞仙,变身邮差,
  • 扶摇直上三千里。剑客,
  • 不怕匪患打劫乡愁。
  • 酒鬼天生有材,披星戴月。
  • 蘸着渔火写巴和蜀。李白辞亲远游,
  • 天容道貌,心仍滚烫如初

  • 突然一声长叹,惊醒了我,
  • 月光敲门。窗外峨眉清冷,
  • 岷江,像泼出去的水,
  • 虚构的西风瘦马,古道上踉跄,
  • 押韵或不押韵地再走归途——
  • 下了一千多年的雪回到源头。
  • 峨眉山月,高堂明镜,
  • 望一眼,悲白发的诗人竟像个孩子,
  • 以雪为酒,捉月安魂——

  • 挂在电线上的一滴,是露是泪?
  • 也已经醉了。只要还没碎,
  • 就会有梦,枕岷峨,看满天繁星,
  • 在一江波澜里碰瓷。夜深了,纸上的梦
  • 生成一个新梦:月光下,
  • 如果夜还没有熄灭,
  • 写信和收信的人,就还能,
  • 都拥有一颗等待深埋的心。

HOMETOWN BEARER

  • by Luo Zhenya

  • Under the city’s autumn sun, I stand empty-handed,
  • but the idea of hometown feels weighty.
  • My scrawny shoulders simply can’t carry it.
  • I can only be a bearer,
  • delivering it bit by bit from far away.
  • In January, firecrackers sound out New Year wishes,
  • as the red banners do on the doorways,
  • followed by February, when families go around to greet relatives.
  • Then comes March, and old ox cart is busy hauling manure.
  • In April, cuckoos urge people to sow.
  • Folks tilling or watering shout May into green.
  • In general, the wheat field makes waves in June.
  • In full-blooming July, Father inspects all with hands on his back.
  • August is heading time for rice crop regardless.
  • The heap of new-harvested corn glistens in the September courtyard.
  • We squint at the blue October sky.
  • In November, young and old learn to winter like cats.
  • In December, the village yearns for a good blanket of snow.
  • The idea of hometown can be light, too,
  • so light your whole body feel crisp,
  • so light you don’t dare speak aloud its name.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CXK2Y-eBQtQYfggIDeb3lw


故乡的搬运工

  • 罗振亚

  • 站在城市的秋阳下两手空空
  • 可是故乡这个词根实在太重
  • 瘦弱的肩膀根本扛不起来
  • 我只能做它的搬运工人
  • 从远方将零散物件一样样递出
  • 一月里爆竹读着门上的春联
  • 牵动二月手拎肩背走亲戚
  • 老牛车在三月忙于送粪
  • 布谷声声催人四月快下种
  • 锄头和浇水乡亲把五月吵绿
  • 一般说来大片麦浪起伏在六月
  • 万物生长时父亲背手巡视七月
  • 稻谷抽穗不问黑白八月
  • 场院的玉米垛九月瞧新生
  • 天空蓝得十月害怕睁眼
  • 进十一月男女老少学猫冬
  • 十二月村庄渴望被大雪覆盖
  • 故乡这个词根有时又很轻
  • 轻得你浑身上下清爽
  • 轻得你不敢大声念出它的名字

I KNOW HE WILL EVENTUALLY FORGIVE ME

  • by Lv Da

  • An endless afternoon.
  • No more shadows at last, let me pray
  • in the dark for the irretrievable days.
  • A nibbler snake frolics under the clouds,
  • taking us, a submissive herd, into its iron belly.
  • After the strong wind earlier, the sky looks so blue
  • that it almost tempts me to make a sacrifice for it,
  • but it won’t cut its mirth short because of my euphoria.
  • Life is the annals of sufferings with happy intermissions,
  • no exceptions. I know
  • the Almighty has laid out a course for every one,
  • and even if we stray,
  • the sun still hangs high in the sky,
  • and there will be millions of adorable people out there,
  • too many for me to love them all.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


我知道他终将原谅我

  • 吕达

  • 漫长的下午
  • 阴影退去,我躲在暗中
  • 祈祷无可追忆的日子

  • 贪吃蛇在云层下欢快地奔跑
  • 我们温顺地被吃进它的铁肚子
  • 今天刮过风了,天蓝得让人想要
  • 为它牺牲点什么,但它不会
  • 因为我的狂喜而放弃自己的欢娱

  • 人生是由快乐连结起来的苦难史
  • 没有例外,我知道
  • 上帝为我们每个人安排了一种生活
  • 就算它被我们过成了别的样子
  • 太阳仍挂在天空
  • 迷人的人会有千万个
  • 让我爱也爱不过来。

CONFESSION

  • by Ma Huicong

  • I am staying here in my world,
  • under a vaulted sky, above the horizon.
  • Every day I worry about many things,
  • such as nuclear warheads, water,
  • black holes, stars in the infinite sky.
  • What worries me basically
  • has nothing to do with my life.
  • I am not a good drunk,
  • and once in a while, total blackout occurs,
  • another me is let out,
  • to give myself a lecture.
  • I fear heights, I am gluttonous, timid.
  • I use stuttering as an antidote
  • to a hundred poisons.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://zgshige.cn/c/2019-10-10/10893192.shtml


坦白书

  • 马慧聪

  • 我守着我的世界
  • 天圆地方
  • 我每天都在操心很多事情
  • 比如核弹头、水、黑洞、满天星斗
  • 我所操心的事情
  • 基本与我的生活无关
  • 我酒风也不好。每隔一段时间
  • 我都会断片一次
  • 把另一个自己放出来
  • 教训一下自己
  • 我恐高,我贪吃,我胆小
  • 我用结结巴巴
  • 来代替百毒不侵

VIRGIN IVY

  • by Ma Huicong

  • The virgin ivy around Jianguo Road
  • is the best ivy in the walled city of Xi'an.
  • When I saw her,
  • she was on the climb, like a growing mountain,
  • stretching out free and easy,
  • palling the high-rises,
  • threatening them with a sense of peril.
  • I like how she is unstoppable,
  • cold-resistant, drought-resistant, thriving in barren places.
  • Her wisdom to unite toughness with softness
  • is not the easiest thing to learn.
  • Ivy, the tiger of the plant kingdom,
  • she demonstrates how the plant kingdom
  • can overcome the kingdom of reinforced concrete.
  • Let me sing her praises.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ryfTTWzWWINdMmOJfOdJVA


爬山虎

  • 马慧聪

  • 建国路这边的爬山虎
  • 是西安城里最好的爬山虎
  • 我遇到它时
  • 它正像一座大山,往上爬
  • 那种慢悠悠的姿势
  • 让包裹起来的高楼大厦
  • 岌岌可危
  • 我最喜欢它的无孔不入
  • 又耐寒,又抗旱,又爱贫瘠
  • 这种刚柔并济的智慧
  • 我是学不来的
  • 爬山虎是植物界的老虎
  • 爬山虎代表植物界
  • 打倒了钢筋混凝土。我要赞美它

I AM

  • by Ma Si

  • A deciduous woods in the fir forest, a withdrawn
  • hedgehog, alone, a weightless nocturnal being,
  • fighting relentlessly against time. But I let tenderness grow,
  • and detach from the world,
  • to prepare myself for an autumn day
  • with Father, in the clear without even a hint of fog between us.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang(Reviewed by Michael Soper and Guy Hibbert)
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/T2fN3t4ZOT0yoe6Ea6GHEw


我 是

  • 马 嘶

  • 冷杉林里的无边落木,蜷缩如猬的
  • 个体户,通宵未眠的悬浮者
  • 一直克服时间。以恻隐
  • 以浅辙
  • 为了某个秋日
  • 与父空坐,之间不再隔着薄雾茫茫

IF

  • by Ma Zeping

  • People move firewood, grain, and tombstones out of the mountains.
  • People keep the graveness of the earlier days,
  • so I start to worry about your current situations,
  • and poverty is part of it.
  • I asked someone to bring you a parka and send my greetings,
  • also to return all the grievances to you, not one missing,
  • and tell you: the river will be churning, and I will be forgetting you.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信)
  • by our partner — China's Poetry Journal
  • (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eBxfjiaLtfYVDi3KecGBGA


假 如

  • 马泽平

  • 人们从山里运出干柴、粮食和墓碑
  • 人们保留住前些时候的肃穆
  • 于是我开始担忧你的近况,贫寒是其中一种
  • 我托人们给你棉衣,向你问好
  • 我叮嘱人们把缺憾还给你,一样也不能少
  • 并告诉你:河水就要卷起浪花,我就要忘掉你

A MONOLOGUE OR ASIDE

  • by Ma Zeping

  • After you are gone, I don’t want to see anyone any more;
  • It won’t do me any good anyway.
  • All I wish is to recount the touching stories one more time
  • just for you.
  • The gardenias have past bloom, snow falls on the white birch, and the train is about to leave for Nanjing.
  • Perhaps this is love at its best:
  • two people who endure it all and have next to nothing,
  • wake up in the morning, and
  • find no hatred in our hearts.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


独白或者其他

  • 无字碑 (马泽平)

  • 你之后我不想再遇见什么人了
  • 遇见谁也没有用
  • 我只愿意把感动过的故事再讲一遍
  • 给你听。
  • 栀子花落了,白桦林下雪了,火车就要开往南京了
  • 可能这就是最美好的爱情
  • 两个受够清苦的人
  • 早晨醒来,发现再也没有什么,值得我们去恨。

FATHER

  • by Maling Gudao (Horse Mountain Ancient Road)

  • Roaming around, north from northern Heilongjiang
  • to the southernmost island of Hainan,
  • from Shanghai the metropolis to the tiniest villages,
  • he came to settle in a little town by the Fuchun River
  • for more than forty years.
  • All those years he didn’t know there was also someone else
  • from another place who came to live by the same river.
  • He didn’t know this man was a celebrity in history,
  • who often fished in this river. He didn’t know that,
  • nor was he aware that many famous people came to visit his neighbor.
  • He only knew there were mountains, rivers, and factories,
  • and a steady wage to raise a family.
  • He couldn’t do as his neighbor did, devoting his life
  • to this renown mountain and river.
  • When he could no longer wander around,
  • old, frail, he returned
  • to a little river in his native home,
  • to a small hill,
  • and found a graveyard
  • on an old tea mountain, and said,
  • this would be my soul’s resting place.
  • There is an unknown river,
  • some hills without names,
  • and an unknown county road and many unknown travelers,
  • who, like my father,
  • run around with souls that have found no peace.
  • Among them, some will return to their hometown villages,
  • others continue to roam distant lands.
  • But my father is happy, he has,
  • at the last moment, placed his restless soul
  • on a quiet hill.
  • Here, surrounded by nameless tea plants,
  • I hear many tea leaves saying:
  • this is my father.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/x3iPYBDX8SgyRU3-Yt3kEg


父 亲

  • 马岭古道

  • 到处漂泊,从最北的黑龙江
  • 到最南的海南岛
  • 从最大城市上海到最小的乡村
  • 因为生活,在富春江边的小镇
  • 居住了四十多年
  • 他当时并不知道边上有一个人
  • 也从其它地方来到富春江边居住
  • 他不知道此人历史上顶顶有名
  • 常在富春江边钓鱼,他不知道
  • 许多名人常来看他的邻居
  • 他只知道,这里有山有水有工厂
  • 有养家糊口的固定工资
  • 他不能和这位邻居一样,把一生
  • 交给这座名山,这条名江
  • 他不能到处流浪
  • 老了,老了,他回到了
  • 家乡的小河,家乡的小山
  • 在曾是茶山的山上
  • 找了一个墓地,说道
  • 这才是我安放灵魂的地方
  • 它的对面,有一条无名的小河
  • 一些无名的小山
  • 还有一条无名的县道走着许多无名的人
  • 他们都和我父亲一样
  • 怀揣着不安的灵魂东奔西跑
  • 只是,有的回到了故乡
  • 有的一生都在外地流浪
  • 而我的父亲是幸福的,他在
  • 最后时刻,把不安的灵魂
  • 放在了寂静的山上
  • 这里,开满了无名的茶花
  • 我听到许多茶叶在说
  • 这是我的父亲

EACH HAS HIS OWN MUSEUM

  • by Ah Mao

  • Dark hair on the left, white head on the right,
  • stones in the middle.
  • In your room, there’re King Goujian, musical bells,
  • swords, needles, a woeful face and honey,
  • an hourglass, bamboo and sheepskin scrolls,
  • a compass, gunpowder,
  • a wine jug on your chest, horses,
  • grievance, xsun and moon, mountain gullies and dust,
  • a heart, and a white skull,
  • butterflie sin frames, a sunless room,
  • a searchlight in the name of peace,
  • the dentures
  • that have chewed away territories and landmarks.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WWeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/i_zYrGies_I-Cfi5RfPijQ


每个人都有一座博物馆

  • 阿 毛

  • 左边的青丝,右边的白发
  • 和中间的石子

  • 你的室内有勾践、编钟
  • 刀剑、针具、苦脸和蜜

  • 有沙漏、竹简、羊皮卷
  • 指南针和火药

  • 你的胸中有酒樽、马匹
  • 块垒、日月、山川和灰

  • 有心脏和白色骷髅
  • 有蝴蝶标本和黑暗居室

  • 伪和平的射灯照着
  • 啃过疆域、咬过界石的

  • 牙齿

BODU CANAL IN THE SPRING

  • by Ah Mao

  • A rally of canola flowers, cherry and pear blossoms, sea bream
  • march up the banks of the Bodu Canal.
  • Around Lake of Three-Sobs, double-flowered cherry,
  • marigold bush, and scarlet firethorn spread out.
  • But some flowers do not flow,
  • for example, this cousin of golden canola,
  • called purple February or violet cress,
  • covers the hill with purple or violet, a muted shade.
  • It quietly watches the river flow,
  • same as the poets in robes and scarves.
  • The ripples from stone skimming when they leave
  • harmonize with The Song of Five Laments and Three Sighs.
  • For fear of meeting the gaze of spring’s innocent soul,
  • I quickly put on my dark shades.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Arw9XhoDX5uRuOsC_BML6g


春天的伯渎河岸

  • 阿毛

  • 油菜花拥着樱花、梨花、海棠
  • 站在伯渎河的两岸
  • 三叹荡的重瓣郁李、棣棠、火棘
  • 蔓延而来
  • 也有花朵不会顺流而下
  • 比如这金黄油菜花的表亲
  • 这满坡的二月蓝,或曰诸葛菜
  • 开着低调的蓝紫
  • 安静地看着流水
  • 恰如河畔诗人的长袍和围巾
  • 他们离开时打起的水漂
  • 是五噫歌或三叹的复调
  • 为了避免眼神碰撞春天的真性情
  • 我迅速戴上了墨镜

DESOLATION

  • by Maolin Qingcha

  • Walking alone in the Gobi Desert,
  • rays climbing higher nudge me from behind,
  • and double their brilliance in front of my eyes.
  • The wind blows, and blows…
  • but I hardly know it’s there
  • until it resonates through my body.
  • But I am just another in the desert,
  • inhaling the empty,
  • carrying the silence,
  • trudging on ever so slow.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/y34stmT4B7eNwprn1_V7ng


荒 凉

  • 茅林清茶

  • 我一个人走在戈壁
  • 越来越多的光芒在我身后推着我
  • 越来越多的光芒在眼前复制
  • 风,吹拂,吹拂……
  • 如果不是吹响了我身体的乐器
  • 我几乎不知道这就是,风
  • 只不过我和戈壁上的任何事物一样
  • 都呼吸着这空
  • 都搬运着这静
  • 我们是如此的缓慢

IN REVERSE

  • by Meng Xingshi

  • The beauty of a utensil lies in the craft —
  • sifting, wheeling and pulling, painting, engraving, sintering.
  • The beauty of black pottery lies in the art of hollowing out
  • so as to light up the inside of the secluded heart.
  • At half-life, the best quality is transparency,
  • welcoming all kinds of weather, welcoming nesting swallows.
  • For my remaining days, I would reverse the course—
  • extinguish the fire, smooth out the nicks, wipe off the traces,
  • stop casting, no more panning or sifting,
  • step by step, returning the black pottery to clay,
  • burying it with white bones in the old Yellow-River bed.
  • There is you in me, and me in you.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cA3Fnzb1O0gu9qLRvptjpw


逆 行

  • 孟醒石

  • 器物之美,在于手工
  • 淘洗、拉坯、绘画、雕刻、烧结
  • 黑陶之美,在于镂空
  • 让光线照进幽邃的内心
  • 人到中年,在于通透
  • 接纳风雨,也接纳筑巢的燕子

  • 我的余生,偏要逆行——
  • 熄灭炉火,抚平刻痕,擦掉画迹
  • 停止拉坯,不再淘洗
  • 一步步,从黑陶返回胶泥
  • 在黄河故道,和那些白骨埋在一起
  • 你中有我,我中有你

FULFILLMENT

  • by Meng Xingshi

  • After the rain, I walk around Shangzhuang Township.
  • The evening breeze blows on, and I feel
  • like a porcelain, soothingly cold before being unearthed.
  • In my earlier years, when seeing a slender wine jug, if empty,
  • I would have the urge to fill it with a strong spirit.
  • Now, I am able to leave it untouched.
  • Time is short, but I would still wait
  • to see plum blossoms, to walk in heavy snow
  • and see that it doesn't break a twig.
  • In love, the lovers — two empty jugs —
  • try their best not to break each other as they come together.
  • Later on, the earth will pour in and fill the vessels.
  • You are apart from me, but we can still fulfill each other.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


充 盈

  • 孟醒石

  • 雨后,走在上庄镇的夜色中
  • 风吹过我,身体感受到
  • 瓷器出土之前的沁凉
  • 年少时,见到空空的梅瓶
  • 总有一种往里面灌入烈酒的冲动
  • 而今,见到空,就空着吧
  • 时间已经不多了,可我还是愿意等
  • 等梅花盛开,等大雪压下来
  • 我们在雪中散步,不折一枝
  • 两个相爱的人,两种空,碰到一起
  • 都会全力避免对方破碎
  • 等黄土压下来,灌入心腹中
  • 我们毫不相干,又彼此充盈

ABOUT AUGUST

  • by Black Camel

  • Further south is endless lands, enveloped by a blanket of impenetrable
  • mist. Now we are in August,
  • my curiosity has overcome fears, greater than the loftiness and bleakness
  • of the wild west.
  • Let’s go further north…
  • Oh, please, stop soaring, fold in your wings.
  • Don’t be resentful, don’t exasperate, don’t blind yourself,
  • take a closer look, there is a good story before us, too.
  • Someone on the first floor is rinsing vegetables.
  • Someone on the second floor is washing dishes.
  • Someone on the third floor is doing laundry.
  • Someone on the fourth floor is taking a shower.
  • Someone on the fifth floor is drying her hair.
  • Now let us go further up, you’ll see people on the open roof;
  • they are lying there, watching clouds
  • or listening to the wind,
  • free of possessions, free of
  • thoughts.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/14WSs9I1fnMvaNSSE1QxFQ


八月史

  • 黑骆驼

  • 再往南的大片疆域,任何人撕不破的一片烟雨之网
  • 还在继续把它笼罩。进入八月以后
  • 好奇之心逐渐高于畏惧,甚至高于西部无尽的浑厚与苍凉
  • 再往北……

  • 哎哎,我们还是把翅膀收回吧
  • 不要愤恨,不要沸腾,也不要自闭
  • 你仔细看,摆在我们眼前的,是一个好故事
  • 一楼在洗菜。
  • 二楼洗碗碟。
  • 三楼洗衣服。
  • 四楼洗身体。
  • 五楼的人,在吹湿头发。
  • 再往上看,就看到楼顶的人。
  • 他们默默地躺在那里,或者看云
  • 或者听风
  • 他们身无一物。体内
  • 空空



DAISY IN THE SPRING

  • by Mowo Er

  • Who knows if the Milky Way has seasons
  • and their stars tend to stray off in the spring
  • to cascade on Earth.
  • Is that why she encounters a small cosmic force
  • when catching Line 10
  • at Chastity Gate Tube Station^?
  • Holding a bunch of daisies she just bought,
  • next to a friend who has the flashier peonies,
  • side by side they stand on the escalator.
  • Side by side too when they were school girls
  • some twenty years ago.
  • Their bicycles gently glided over the horizon
  • as wildflowers spread around their wide skirts.
  • Nothing captured their heart like Italy then,
  • a web radiating out from the Mediterranean Sea,
  • but now, Lancôme is on the billboard,
  • a pair of red lips—oh, what curvature, how irresistible—
  • as if urging her to break away from old bondages.
  • Of course, the names Daisy, Aster, or Marguerite de Valois
  • evoke more than the names of the seasons.
  • At the tube station,
  • their newly awakened bodies
  • wait for the carriages to come to a stop.
  • Maybe this time the right door will open,
  • and unlock a secret world for them.

  • Note: ^Anzhenmen Tube Station

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/bC5fyrddjNlrgGHweKcBeA


雏 菊

  • 莫卧儿

  • 银河里的星星在春天
  • 时常因为决堤改道
  • 奔流到地球上来
  • 地铁十号线安贞门站口
  • 她遭遇了一场小规模瀑布
  • 怀抱刚买的雏菊
  • 和怀抱洋牡丹的女友
  • 肩并肩站在电梯上
  • 轻松倒带回二十年前
  • 高中生的单车
  • 摩擦着地平线的睫毛
  • 小野花雾气一般弥漫在大裙摆间
  • 再没有比意大利做经线
  • 地中海做纬线更诱惑的网了
  • 面前Lancome广告牌红唇的弧度微妙
  • 泄露是否需要挣脱网绳
  • 成为这个时代的悬念
  • 而春菊、延命菊、玛格丽特之花
  • 这些孪生名片听起来
  • 比季节更有说服力
  • 地铁站里的她们
  • 有着刚刚觉醒的胴体
  • 只等一节呼啸而来的车厢
  • 插入锁孔,咔哒一声
  • 秘密机关洞开



THE RUMBLE OF THUNDER, OR A METAPHOR

  • by Nan Qiu

  • No sign of heavy rain despite the incessant rumble of thunder.
  • A premonition that I better heed.
  • At least I should be fully attentive
  • to analyzing the source.
  • A lot like someone crying a long cry without tears.
  • A lot like a long rehearsal without saying a line on stage.
  • A lot like a mansion with open doors but no one comes and goes.
  • A lot like a Taoist monk reciting incantations
  • but no relatives are present.
  • A lot like a protagonist in an epic novel who has yet to appear.
  • Perhaps this world is an illusion,
  • only the rumble of thunder is real.
  • It strikes a contrary note
  • that thunder rumbles high and far but is incapable of human pathos.
  • Perhaps thunder struggles to communicate,
  • and we are far too preoccupied with other things.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊) : https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0LqSaStMngwlZDtuFpg35Q


雷声,或者语意

  • 南秋

  • 这么长久的雷声却不见大雨落下
  • 我必须引以为戒了
  • 至少,我必须认真地倾听
  • 剖析它们的来路

  • 这多么像长嚎之人却不见眼泪落下
  • 这多么像蓄势已久的朗诵却不见一句台词
  • 这多么像一座大房子敞开着却不见一人出入
  • 这多么像道士忘我地念念有词地做法事
  • 却不见一名至亲在场
  • 这多么像长篇巨著中未有一个主角现身

  • 或许,这世界只是个虚拟
  • 只有雷声是真实的
  • 或许,恰恰相反
  • 雷声虽然通天,却未必通晓人间
  • 或许,雷声言不达意
  • 我们已经入木三分



MY LOVE-AND-HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH MT. QINLING

  • by Nan Shutang

  • The reason why I hate this mountain
  • is because it blocks my view, presumptuous
  • to be the edge of the world. Still, it serves
  • as a jail door to keep away people and things
  • I love to hate but dare not hate.
  • I take it all out on Mt.Qinling,
  • so when I hate you, and you, and you, once, twice, and thrice,
  • I pile my hatred mountain high;
  • surely one of Qinling’s peaks is the result of my work.
  • Hear the rainless thunder from the mountain,
  • hear its echoes spreading hatred.
  • But I love it, too, for mysterious reasons,
  • the way birds sing their praises
  • or peach blossoms speak of ardent love.
  • The craggy headstone and hardy grass
  • around my father’s grave also speak for my constant love,
  • which I simply write down as a list of words
  • and arrange them with a secret formula
  • (just like a pharmacist's prescription),
  • and feed them to the spring breeze and autumn wind.
  • The mountain is said to be growing at two millimeters each year.
  • Does that growth partly come from the power of my love?
  • Nowadays I am more nonchalant,
  • very little love or hatred in heart,
  • and the mountain seems to treat me about the same way,
  • listening to me calmly
  • without revealing a trace of joy or sadness.
  • Now I can sit down snugly with it
  • and strike up a conversation.
  • If I could recover my past love and hatred,
  • I would use that love to backfill the cavities
  • at one time undermined by hatred, so that we will see,
  • between the steep cliff-faces and the deep trenches,
  • some gentler landforms worthy of our trust.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/xX1G805GeHDPAR8mpFHyUg


爱恨秦岭

  • 南书堂

  • 恨它的理由,是它一直
  • 阻挡我的视野,充当着
  • 世界的尽头。可它又像为我的恨
  • 专设了一个衙门,让我把
  • 想恨不敢恨的人和事
  • 冲着它,恨上一回,再恨上一回
  • 这样一推算,它的某个山峰
  • 肯定由我的恨堆积而成
  • 从山顶偶尔传来的闷雷
  • 仿佛这些恨的回声

  • 爱它,却无言表达
  • 因而鸟鸣和桃花
  • 抢先说出了鲜丽的部分
  • 长着白牙的巨石和父亲坟头的小草
  • 代言了执著的部分
  • 我只需药师一样,把一些词语
  • 按秘密的剂量,写在
  • 春风或者秋风的处方笺上
  • 据说,它的主峰,还在以每年
  • 两厘米的速度往高里长
  • 是不是其中也包含了我爱的力量

  • 现在,我对它更多的是
  • 不爱不恨,就像它
  • 始终都在平静地倾听
  • 而不显露悲喜
  • 现在,我已是可以与它坐下来
  • 促膝相谈的人,如果它能
  • 把我曾经的爱恨还给我
  • 我就会用那些爱去填补恨
  • 砸出的深谷,使人生看起来
  • 像这崇山峻岭间,确有
  • 一个个值得信任的平缓地带




ALONE AT LUZHOU, WATCHING THE YANGTZE RIVER

  • by Nian Weiyang

  • The cool and magnificent river raps the embankment.
  • Outside the East Gate, the hour returns
  • as it has done every day for eons. Sunset becomes twilight,
  • twilight fades. Here a few families are survived by their names only;
  • the memory of a poet has also stayed, in vying for a Mandarin's post,
  • he traded his native home for the emperor's court. Boats return to moor,
  • but slow to light up, at this late hour, the old ferry landing
  • butts up against a new expansive harbor, a foreboding
  • sight. If you happen to be here, at the Yangtze River,
  • try not to look too far: wars frequented the upstream areas,
  • and old dynasties' ruins lie downstream, only this section
  • has surrendered its ambitions and now looks like a despondent youth.
  • Here, by the Yangtze River, men share the fate with the water of no return,
  • but find solace among kinsmen—-the river
  • has traveled far and traveled long, gouging and smoothing
  • the mountains, making for us a picturesque world.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-01-13/11820877.shtml


一个人在泸州望长江

  • 年微漾

  • 江水浩荡、清冷,在堤岸上发出响声
  • 东门外此刻的时辰,正是千年间
  • 用旧的时辰。云霞朝傍晚飞去
  • 天色渐暗,一些家族覆灭但姓氏仍在
  • 一个诗人以诗歌窥探仕途,终究又沦为
  • 仕途中的不归人。船只安稳停泊
  • 并不急于亮灯,在这入夜时分
  • 脚下的渡口拓宽成码头,看起来
  • 形同某种训诫。一个人站在长江边
  • 不可极目远眺:上游布满战事
  • 下游埋葬着旧朝,唯此身前的一段
  • 收起野心与绝望如少年。一个人
  • 站在长江边,就像回不去的水
  • 接受同类的安慰——江水流了
  • 那么久,也那么远,没有未被皴法
  • 所驯服的山峰,在尘世的画图中

OH, WIND

  • by Pan Miaobin

  • A river flows out from antiquity,
  • flanked by bamboo, for dozens of winding miles.
  • Abruptly the road goes uphill, winding more, getting windy.
  • Where the bamboo sways and bends low,
  • a bridge appears on the hillside, how terribly charming.
  • Across the bridge, it is another county.
  • The river is now flanked by houses, up on the hillside, down by the water.
  • The downhill road curves, with sinuous bamboo in the wind.
  • I recall a young man's fierce dash, his slender waist like a jackal's,
  • a flash,
  • gone forever.
  • Oh, how the river twists and turns, how the wind brushes the bamboo,
  • what beautiful farm fields, cottages, ponds, and orange groves,
  • what distant blue mountains leaping in the white light.
  • Suddenly, beauty has grown tall,
  • with delightful curves, curvy hillside, curvy river, curvy bamboo, curvy wind.
  • We asked a middle-school girl for directions:
  • how bright her 15-year-old eyes are, how innocent.
  • Then she left, with the elegance of bamboo, the air of bamboo.
  • The beauty here is not for bragging, but one doesn't leave without a sense of longing.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-04-09/13174106.shtml


几多风

  • 盘妙彬

  • 河流从古代出来
  • 两岸竹子一路相随,蜿蜒数十里
  • 突然公路上坡,坡上又有弯,有风
  • 摇曳的竹林低头之时
  • 山腰间露出一座桥梁,甚是妩媚
  • 桥上过去,是另一个县
  • 沿桥头两侧向下,房屋顺山而筑,临水而建
  • 倾斜的街道又有弯,又有竹子的腰,又有风
  • 我忆起一个少年俯冲奔跑的力量,一只小豺的腰
  • 一闪
  • 一去不复还
  • 这里的河水几多弯,竹林的梢头几多风
  • 其间几多田亩,几多村舍,几多池塘,几多橘子的果园
  • 雪白的阳光下淡蓝的远山在跑马
  • 倏地,美有了高度
  • 美有了一个好看的腰,山之腰,水之腰,竹之腰,风之腰
  • 问路一个初中女生
  • 她十五岁的眼里几多秋水,几多未知
  • 她走开时留下竹子的婀娜,竹子的风
  • 这里几多美不足为外人道,过路人几多惆怅

IS THERE A SPRING NOT BORN OUT OF A DESPERATE FIGHT?

  • by Pan Xichen

  • After trying to coalesce spell after spell,
  • the snow finally fell,
  • covering up my mother
  • and the entire
  • magnificent north.
  • Now, even in a separate
  • kingdom, sunny and bright
  • with a temperature climb of 50 degrees,
  • I can still feel
  • the fierce, piercing,
  • unforgiving cold.
  • Only the dopy lazybones
  • would say: Winter is here,
  • spring can't be that far away.
  • Can anyone imagine that winter would voluntarily leave?
  • Can anyone tell me
  • there was ever a spring
  • that didn't go through a survival fight,
  • or there was ever a spring
  • that wasn't a rebirth from near-death!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/OFVk4tpM1G_tLiKynhHjYA


有哪一个春天不是绝处逢生

  • 潘洗尘

  • 酝酿了几个季节的雪
  • 终于下了
  • 雪 覆盖了我的母亲
  • 以及整个
  • 广大的北方
  • 此刻 即便是置身另一个
  • 看似阳光明媚的国度
  • 远隔50度的温差
  • 我也能感受到
  • 来势汹汹的
  • 彻骨寒意
  • 只有懒惰的人
  • 这时才会说
  • 冬天已经到了
  • 春天还会远吗
  • 但寒冬是自己离开的吗?
  • 谁能告诉我
  • 有哪一个春天
  • 没经历过生与死的搏斗
  • 有哪一个春天
  • 不是绝处逢生!

SPRING NIGHT

  • by Pang Pei

  • A worker from the nearby factory,
  • with all the giveaways of an out-of-towner
  • — a little untidy, but strong complexion,
  • hair soaking wet (probably just after a shower),
  • she came out from the afternoon market
  • holding a plastic bag stuffed with vegetables.
  • I walk a few feet behind her
  • on a crowded street ―
  • The weather has recently warmed up, making the wind
  • feel balmy, I suddenly realize it's March ―
  • People are catching up from behind,
  • causing me to almost stumble.
  • With passersby between us,
  • I can still feel her strong and steamy body.
  • I also feel the night sky, so deep and so blue, under it
  • are factory chimneys, a murky river,
  • a bustling city block with untidy vendor stalls,
  • and debris left from the used-up daylight hours.
  • In the twilight, in the wafting scent of the waterway,
  • she slowly walks away from me, and her silhouette
  • evokes, on this great earth,
  • a seductive spring night full of mysterious wonders.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mfRZXCZg2IxEggtzQh8E5w


春 夜

  • 庞 培

  • 一名附近厂里的女工,经过落市的
  • 菜场,手里提着塞满菜的塑料袋,身上
  • 明显的外地人特征:
  • 有点脏,但气色很好;
  • 头发湿漉漉(大概,刚洗过澡)。
  • 我隔她三四步路,在她身后
  • 从烦乱的马路上经过——
  • 天突然热了,刹那间,我想起这是在
  • 三月份,吹过来的风仿佛一股暖流——
  • 行人拥上前,我的脚步变得
  • 有些踉跄——
  • 隔开人群
  • 我能感到她健壮湿润。
  • 我感到夜空深远而湛蓝。在那底下
  • 是工厂的烟囱,米黄色河流、街区、零乱的摊位。
  • 遍地狼藉的白昼的剩余物。
  • 从船闸的气味缓缓升降的暮色中,
  • 从她的背影,
  • 大地弥漫出
  • 一个叫人暗暗吃惊的春夜。

EVENING STROLL

  • by Peng Jie

  • Winter. We swept the fallen leaves into the hearth,
  • carried the threshed grain into the cellar,
  • and hung big red lanterns on the pergola.
  • That was three years ago, around the time
  • Ma Deming’s mother passed away, and
  • I was in the middle of writing a novel.
  • Past dinnertime, if no one came around to visit
  • and Ma Deming was not called back to the iron mill
  • for overtime, we would take a walk
  • outside the village. Down a narrow road,
  • past a black gleaming lake, we would arrive
  • where there were trees. Nary a lantern nor a soul,
  • only the moonlight shone us the way
  • to the higher ground, where we
  • tooted our flutes, sending melodies
  • to leap between bare branches
  • from twilight until daybreak.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/luvzV2uQ37XzimMWNyyNmg


夜晚的散步

  • 彭杰

  • 冬天到了。我们把落叶扫进炉膛
  • 粮食打好后运进地窖,把大红的灯笼
  • 挂在高高的木架上。那是在三年前
  • 马德明的母亲刚去世不久
  • 我正在写一部长篇小说。
  • 吃过晚饭后,如果没有人串门
  • 马德明没有去镇上的铁厂加班
  • 我们就去村外散步。沿着小路走下去
  • 经过水光晦暗的湖泊,
  • 一直到有树的地方。那里没有什么人
  • 也没有什么灯,我们沿着月光
  • 顺势攀往高处,成为那些
  • 呜呜作响的手风琴,
  • 在光秃秃的树枝上常常响到天亮。

THE WISH MUSEUM

  • by Pu Er

  • Leaving Natural History Museum,
  • lurking in my heart is the wish to become
  • a plate of green algae
  • to survive the Cambrian Period,
  • or a lion
  • to prowl through the grassland,
  • or a horse
  • to collect inspirations from a thousand mile radius,
  • or a bat
  • to start an undercover mob,
  • or a leaping reindeer
  • to recapture poetic beauty,
  • or a cheetah
  • to peer with lightning,
  • or I should choose to be a tiger
  • and pick my darkest adversary,
  • or to be a dolphin
  • with a virtue to correct for wandering,
  • to help a wounded owl heal
  • and to receive its blessings in return.
  • I also fancy to be a mole
  • for its ability to hide at will.
  • Or, give me an African elephant,
  • a preferred tyrant to coexist,
  • or an eagle to be tamed,
  • and it will tether my freedom,
  • or let me be a flounder
  • to learn to tolerate stubborn prejudices,
  • or a monkey
  • to play a one-man comedy show,
  • or a dancing bee
  • to get infinitely close to divinity,
  • or just turn me into an ant
  • to do only one thing in a lifetime.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/m9b-721XvVzV_Za3CH5BfQ


愿望博物馆

  • 朴 耳

  • 从自然博物馆出来,我开始许愿:
  • 给我一盆绿藻
  • 就有了通行证穿越寒武纪
  • 我要一头狮子以及覆盖草原的权力
  • 养一匹马
  • 灵感来自方圆千里
  • 捕获一只蝙蝠
  • 就拥有一支黑帮
  • 我喜欢驯鹿
  • 它们跳跃时能还原诗意
  • 还是豢养猎豹吧
  • 我要控制闪电
  • 我选择老虎
  • 同时选择心腹之患
  • 我的愿望是得到一只海豚
  • 美德令迷航无力反驳
  • 为猫头鹰疗伤
  • 然后接受它的祝福
  • 我看中了鼹鼠
  • 我想要随意躲藏的能力
  • 不如给我一头非洲象
  • 我宁愿与暴君共处
  • 让我驯服一只鹰
  • 之后驯服自由
  • 养一只比目鱼
  • 容忍矫正不了的偏见
  • 我想要一只猴子
  • 请它演出孤独的喜剧
  • 是不是学会了蜜蜂的舞蹈
  • 就等于无限接近神旨
  • 把我变成蚂蚁好了
  • 一生只做一件事

THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE

  • by Qi Yuqin

  • When the fire returns to a kitchen, there's no doubt about it.
  • Every plant has a lineage that can be traced
  • to some mountain or field,
  • but the return of a native is sometimes met with suspicious eyes.
  • An ID card lists one place as origin, another place as hometown,
  • another place as ancestral home, yet another place as birthplace,
  • but former residences were condemned and demolished,
  • therefore house number, street and village names were altered
  • beyond recognition.
  • Those wanting to return to their roots,
  • those hoping to lift their footprints from other places,
  • those thinking they've come home
  • are labeled “no such person, package undeliverable, return to the sender”:
  • new address still not updated, old address outdated, neither is verifiable ...
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-01-13/11820877.shtml


还 乡

  • 漆宇勤

  • 烟火若还乡,才是真还乡
  • 所有草木都来自山野
  • 有着固定的族谱
  • 而人的还乡形迹可疑
  • 纸上的籍贯与故乡,祖籍,生养之所
  • 一次次拆迁后,某街某号,某村某组
  • 全部细节已面目全非
  • 归根的人,收拾脚印的人,还乡的人
  • 都被邮差打包退回:
  • 搬迁新址不明、原写地址不详,查无此地址……

TUMBLEWEED

  • by Qi Zi

  • Tumbleweeds, adrift in the valley and the mountain, in the fields, by the water,
  • let me try to borrow from the classics
  • to say something poetic about them,
  • such as, “wild, humble brambles, waiting to be harvested…”.
  • But I have, truth be told, chopped the dead tuffs of grass,
  • bundled them and took back to the village for firewood.
  • I also once pried open a thicket to look for a lovely little bird
  • — some kind of thrush, nesting deep in wild grass.
  • Out in the plains, you can hear it calling,
  • indeed a happy encounter.
  • Dried and disheveled, lashed by autumn winds,
  • tumbleweeds look dismal, much like many of life’s true stories,
  • little can be embellished about them.
  • Adrift in the valley and the mountain, in the fields, by the waterr,
  • trembling, forlorn, the embodiment of loneliness.
  • Here comes the tumbleweeds rolling tumbling
  • from the ancient mountains and rivers.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VApmFFsj6g2Xi_YbG_0xAQ


枯蓬记

  • 圻 子

  • 枯蓬落于山间、水间、田野间
  • 我想加入一些流传下来的诗句
  • 让它看起来像我们的诉说
  • 比如“翘翘错薪,言刈其蒌”
  • 事实上我曾刈下那些枯死的草
  • 将它们捆扎在一起,背回村庄,用作灶膛之火
  • 我也曾拨开草丛,探寻一种体态娇小的鸟
  • ——那是一种鸫鸟,建巢于芒草深处
  • 在荒僻旷野听到它的鸣叫简直是意外的惊喜
  • 秋风里的枯蓬,凌乱
  • 失意,恰似众多生命写实,寥寥的数笔
  • 落于山间、水间、田野间
  • 抖抖索索,所谓的孤寂正跋涉故旧山川而来

NIGHT OF THE BIG RIG

  • by Qi Zi

  • A big rig can carry twenty tons of coal,
  • that’s how tonight feels, pitch black, a full load
  • of dark matter on the move, only the ears can hear it roaring,
  • and the feet feel the vibration.
  • It’s as if everything will end tonight
  • once the big mountain is excavated.
  • How many times have I envisioned this:
  • with ideas, civilization will take shape, and people will queue up for it
  • to light up the dawn sky, driving a heavy truck
  • through my village to honor the philosophers.
  • But I am wrong, folks prefer jest and jeer,
  • are forever ravenous for salacious gossips...
  • All those weighty soot-covered books,
  • that’s how tonight feels. The earth is shaking,
  • nothing exquisite is being transported on the road any more.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VApmFFsj6g2Xi_YbG_0xAQ


重卡车之夜

  • 圻 子

  • 重卡一次可以装载二十吨的煤
  • 正如此夜,漆黑,仿佛装载
  • 数十吨不透光材料,只闻其声
  • 只感受到马路在脚下颤抖
  • 仿佛这是剩下的最后一夜
  • 一座山即可搬运完毕
  • 我多次设想过这样的场景:
  • 一旦思想成形,人类必须排队
  • 借文明点亮曙光,开上重卡车
  • 经过我的村庄,向思想者致敬
  • 然而我想错了,人们偏爱夸夸其谈
  • 继续追捧花边消息……
  • 他们的书本落满灰暗的颗粒
  • 正如此夜,我感到大地颤抖
  • 马路上,再没有人运送轻盈的东西

THE MAST VILLAGE

  • by Qiang Renliu

  • Each one has his own village.
  • As a son of Mast Village, sometimes
  • I feel I exist outside of myself,
  • as if there is a magical force
  • anchoring at every corner of my village,
  • and I am a crop in the field,
  • the stream by a house, or a tree.
  • When I raise my arms, I may find
  • glittering feathers.
  • Sometimes I am a peeping nesting chick,
  • a patch of moonlight, a grain,
  • Grandma’s aching tailbone, a saw,
  • or a thud when something suddenly breaks.
  • — I watch my village quietly, synpathizing with
  • its mind and ethos, and eagerly anticipate
  • another transformation, as futile as it may be.
  • Sooner or later I will age, grow wrinkles and scales,
  • molt of the human shape, and embrace other forms of life:
  • under the soil of Mast Village.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊, Beijing, China): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/m9b-721XvVzV_Za3CH5BfQ


桅杆村

  • 羌人六

  • 一个人有一个人的村庄
  • 作为桅杆村的子民,偶尔
  • 我会变得跟自己毫无瓜葛
  • 似乎拥有幻形的魔力
  • 蛰伏在桅杆村的角角落落
  • 有时,我是地里的一茬庄稼,
  • 家门前那条河,或者一棵树
  • 有时我张开双臂,看见
  • 一副亮闪闪的翅膀
  • 有时,我嘴里含着一窝鸟叫,
  • 一块月光,一粒麦子,
  • 外婆腰椎上的疼,一把锯子
  • 忽然断裂的空响
  • ——我秘密观察着村庄
  • 全部的感情和思想,也热衷
  • 这徒劳无功的替换,早晚
  • 我会衰老,长出皱纹和鳞
  • 脱掉人形,与它们抱作一团:
  • 在桅杆村的土里面。

NOTES FROM A HOSPITAL WARD

  • by Qiu Shui

  • One keeps watch, and is watched.
  • Between Mother and me, a fog is getting thicker.
  • We can no longer look and recognize each other.
  • The fog keeps a distance between us,
  • hiding us from each other,
  • but also bringing us closer more than ever.
  • In fact we need it,
  • even appreciate it
  • because it preserves our alliance
  • like two sides of a coin --
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


病房记事

  • 秋水

  • 守着,与被守着。
  • 母亲和我之间,弥漫的雾气越来越重。
  • 我们无法再用眼睛确认彼此了。
  • 雾阻隔着我们,
  • 藏起我们,
  • 但也没有什么能比它更好地拉近我们。
  • 我们其实需要它,
  • 甚至感谢它,
  • 它保持了我们的关系,
  • 像守住了一枚硬币的两面——

SPUTTERS OF FIRES

  • by Qu Rui

  • It always seems to have something to say, and I only answer
  • with silence; for instance, one winter we were away from home
  • close to New Year, so we lit up fireworks; another time
  • we burned paper money at the graveyard.
  • Something compels us to sit by a fire,
  • watching it as it bursts out futile shouts,
  • meanwhile we listen to them, like listening to ghosts
  • who return to our world in the shape of a fire.
  • One Saturday, I paid a visit to Mother, and told her
  • about the dead looking sad in my dreams.
  • Dreams will dissapear, you must write them down.
  • She thought long before telling me.
  • We can't make a long-legged dream stay,
  • nor can we ask a fire to burn steadily for us all night.
  • The fire morphs as if to mock us, as if to demonstrate
  • that we are deemed to miss out —
  • Every flame gives out a last gasp.
  • It grows into a wild horse before snuffing out,
  • leaving a wasteland behind, only the sputtering sound
  • remains: accompanying lives that are already in decline.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WWeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ko8shyVZBCgs1xhmRGwC2g


火的呓语

  • 瞿 瑞

  • 它总是有话要讲,像我面对它
  • 总是沉默。比如在外省我们
  • 放烟火的那个小年夜,或
  • 烧纸钱的那些坟墓旁。

  • 坐对火焰是必要的对质,
  • 它的爆裂是一种徒劳的呼喊,
  • 而我们聆听每一个幽灵
  • 回到人间,栖于火的形态。

  • 一个礼拜六,我去拜访母亲
  • 说起梦中面目悲伤的死者。
  • “梦会丢的,你要写下来。”
  • 她沉思良久,最后忠告我。

  • 我们无法挽住一个长脚的梦,
  • 如同无法向火借宿。
  • 火的变形仿佛试探,仿佛确信
  • 人注定会错过——

  • 每一束火焰的临危一挽。
  • 火灼烧如野马奔突,熄灭
  • 如荒原,唯火的呓语
  • 不息:送往人的每一种余生。

WHEN THE WIND BLOWS AND BLOWS

  • By Ren Huaiqiang

  • I don’t plan to settle here.
  • When the north window opens, my dreams will take off
  • across the garden, to the ocean of clouds.
  • The bookish me will play music again,
  • sounding off emptiness and vastness,
  • and trigger the water to flow and the clouds to dance.
  • How would you imagine: deep in the nebulas,
  • out in the galaxy — a book of knowledge without pagination,
  • surrounded by pearl suns —
  • there would be a hermit under the tree
  • waiting for someone to come back with wine.
  • But before showing his smile,
  • he carelessly trips over a parcel of white cloud,
  • and immediately falls off, into the oblivion.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


一阵阵风吹过了

  • 任怀强

  • 我不会停留于此
  • 面向花园的北窗一开
  • 我的心愿便向云海茫茫中
  • 逃禅的人又重新操琴
  • 到处触碰到空寂、辽阔
  • 手势流水声声,白云苍狗
  • 你在深处,谁会想到
  • 星空――一部没有页码的字典
  • 一粒粒明珠般的太阳
  • 仍旧一个人在树下隐逸
  • 等候另一个人沽酒归来
  • 没等露出笑容
  • 却在一块白云上失足
  • 瞬间没于苍茫之中

RELIVING

  • by Rong Rong

  • Now old and deranged, my reminiscences
  • consist of too many myths and embellishments.
  • People and things I commingle or only leafed through,
  • the monotonic or flamboyant friendships,
  • the melancholy or quandary I alone know,
  • how reliving them is useless but indispensable.
  • To someone like me, a bad case of delusion and nostalgia,
  • the frail inner castle is held up only by memories.
  • For example, right now, I am missing an old friend,
  • seeing him as the earthwork of my ailing kingdom
  • that's eroding fast but having no way of stopping the runoff.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


怀 念

  • 荣 荣

  • 我年老虚妄里的怀念
  • 有太多的虚拟和拼凑
  • 那些交集 过眼的人或事物
  • 那些情谊 单色或斑斓的
  • 那些孤独时分里的苍凉或纠结
  • 我太明白怀念的无力却如此依赖
  • 一个怀念的虚症患者
  • 怀念构成我内心虚弱的国度
  • 如同此刻 我怀念一位朋友
  • 感觉他就是我虚弱国度里的水土
  • 无法阻止他快速的实质性的流失

THE BIRD AND THE PISTIL

  • by San Pi

  • North of the Bird Mountain, there isn't any other mountain. Almost a badge of honor:
  • from here on, it‘s the Northern Plain for as far as the eye can see.
  • An ancient medicine man lived here, known as Doctor Bird;
  • whether he liked it or not, his fame was linked to the Bird Mountain.
  • South of the Bird Mountain, the Pistil Mountain rises from the flatlands,
  • dueling the onliest Bird Mountain, across the Yellow River.
  • Its jagged vertical rocks resemble a powerful athlete on a climb;
  • an angular figure, ready for a leap.
  • Once upon a time, a lotus pond kept the moon and the twin mountains to itself.
  • The Pistil Mountain swayed with the ripples;
  • feathery reeds embellished the Yellow River along with other autumn colors;
  • the misty air gave an accent of nostalgia
  • to the landscape, as illustrated in the historic painting of The Bird and The Pistil Mountains.
  • Alone, atop the Pistil Mountain,
  • out of the vast nothingness, I notice a flash —-
  • the discursive Yellow River, like a bolt of lightning,
  • divides the Bird Mountain from the Pistil Mountain.
  • Their dual configuration, a summit on each side,
  • presides over the vicissitudes of life, there but not there.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/d8KyOPiB2zw3PnBM2K3ibA


鹊华之诗

  • 散皮

  • 鹊山之北再无山。好像一个骄傲的宣言:
  • 极目望去,华北平原沃野千里
  • 不管扁鹊是否同意
  • 山的名字是跟他分不开了
  • 鹊山之南,华不注山拔地而起
  • 隔着黄河眺望鹊山的孤寂
  • 嶙峋的石头如同向上攀登的肌肉
  • 陡削的身形,即将一跃而起
  • 曾经,荷塘把月色与山形藏于水中
  • 华不注山随波摇摆
  • 荻花与秋色分列黄河岸边
  • 斯其时也,齐烟韵远
  • 把一拢乡愁皴染《鹊华秋色图》
  • 一个人站在华不注山顶
  • 陡然从苍茫中,走出一幅景象
  • 黄河如同一条闪电
  • 把鹊山与华不注山
  • 分置在大河两岸,这巨大的太极图
  • 让遥远的沧桑,时隐时现。

MOON SONG

  • by Shao Bing

  • Last night I went to the lake to fetch water,
  • then walked with Mother, moon in the bucket,
  • to water her vegetable patch. From under the luffa trellis
  • I got up, and felt a jab twice,
  • one by a bamboo spike,
  • the other by Mother’s sobs, as she hunched up
  • by the bucket. She cried not because the moon wasn’t
  • full or beautiful, but because she recalled the summer
  • when her only daughter died. I emptied the bucket,
  • walked back to the lake, and released the moon.
  • Oh, the moon was only a moon,
  • no one’s daughter, no one’s sister.
  • Ah, the moon knew no sorrows,
  • dreaded no partings. How beautiful she was, how perfect she was!
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

月亮诗

  • 哨 兵

  • 昨夜我下湖汲水
  • 捧着一桶月亮陪母亲
  • 浇菜地。从丝瓜架底下直起腰
  • 有什么东西扎了我两次
  • 一次是这根尖锐的荆竹
  • 一次是母亲蹲在桶边
  • 啜泣。她没哭月亮
  • 在水里圆缺。她又想起那个夏天
  • 过世的独女。我倒空这只桶
  • 朝湖泊走去。我放跑月亮
  • 哎哟,月亮只是月亮
  • 月亮没有母亲,月亮没有妹妹
  • 哎哟,月亮从不悲欢
  • 月亮也无离合。多么美,多么好

STRONG TEA OR FATHER

  • by Shao Qian

  • I am homebound with hunger,
  • unsure which came first — hunger or homesickness.
  • Soon I will have tea with Father,
  • a strong tea as usual,
  • but the eddies in the tea cup will confound my sense of time:
  • am I still five years old or twenty and five?
  • Has Father ever grown old? Have I ever grown up?
  • Father is not a talker, keeping to himself most of the time.
  • In the old days, cigarettes spoke for his mood.
  • I may try to be jovial at dinner time,
  • joking about how he has not improved his cooking skill,
  • just like my unchanging resistance to strong tea.
  • The bitter taste of tea has been magnified
  • by my childhood palate, like many other life’s intrigues.
  • I have kept to myself these years, and still can't figure out
  • how to forgive myself like a father would, or
  • how to understand my father by looking into myself.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang (Reviewed by Michael Soper and Guy Hibbert)

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/oXLwa7_ntS2xZy2E3J2GPA

浓茶或父亲

  • 邵骞

  • 我怀着饥饿感寻找家,
  • 不清楚家和饥饿感两者
  • 究竟谁是谁的代名词。
  • 我想我即将和父亲对饮
  • 杯中的浓茶,一如往常,
  • 茶水浓腻的涡旋让我
  • 分不清所处的时光,五岁
  • 或者二十五岁,父亲或许
  • 尚未苍老,我并未长大。
  • 父亲不善言辞,惯于沉默,
  • 戒烟前香烟代表他的情愫。
  • 餐桌上我会揶揄他的厨艺,
  • 他始终笨拙地学不会翻炒,
  • 而我也尝不惯杯中的浓茶。
  • 茶水的苦味在我年轻的时岁
  • 被舌尖放大,仿佛生活的网。
  • 而我已沉默多年,并未想清楚
  • 如何在父亲身上原谅我,或者
  • 如何从我身上理解我的父亲。

SOMETHING HAPPENS IN THE DARK OF THE SOUL

  • by Shen Haobo

  • Some feelings aren’t obvious during the day,
  • but in her deep sleep at night,
  • with her eyes closed tight,
  • she looks sad.
  • Sadness in sleep,
  • alas, is probably true sorrow.
  • I take part in her life during the day,
  • but cannot enter her doleful sleep.
  • Wakefully I witness her sadness,
  • but cannot understand the reasons.
  • Something happens in the dark of the soul,
  • but I am kept out in the light.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/z6TQ7P6kfIEkA3wawbrWCQ

有些东西在灵魂的黑暗处发生

  • 沈浩波

  • 有些感觉白天还不明显
  • 但当她在深夜熟睡
  • 紧闭着眼睛时
  • 看起来竟是悲伤的
  • 熟睡时的悲伤
  • 恐怕就是真正的悲伤了
  • 我能够进入她在白天的生活
  • 却进入不了她悲伤的睡眠
  • 我眼睁睁地目睹着她的悲伤
  • 但我不知道她为什么悲伤
  • 有些东西在灵魂的黑暗处发生
  • 而我被阻挡在光亮里

Baby Ivy

  • by Shi Bin

  • The ivy puts its new foot on the fence.
  • Before that, it only sent gentle probes up the soil.
  • Pestered by insects, but it tirelessly
  • grew tiny leaves to build a ladder.
  • I’ve got to live where the sun shines.
  • It never hides its intention,
  • and won’t allow any hesitation because it knows
  • the laws in the plant kingdom do not include mercy.
  • Guided by its free will, the ivy climbs ever higher.
  • Its supple tentacles understand the
  • arrogant crushing power of the barriers.
  • A new home for the young ivy, over the fence
  • its hidden claws
  • cast a green net,
  • and soon will reach every corner of the world.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/OeyYnMSHeZQNXFi5UGa4pQ


小青藤

  • 世 宾

  • 到了篱笆上,小青藤有了根据地
  • 之前它小心翼翼,从泥土里探头
  • 忍受昆虫的噬咬,艰难地
  • 用几片嫩芽搭起了梯子
  • “只有阳光照耀的地方才值得活”
  • 它从不掩饰自己的想法,它
  • 甚至不能有丝毫的犹豫
  • 因为怜悯从未在丛林的法则中产生
  • 它被自由的意志带向了高处
  • 柔软的触须最清楚四周的障碍,因为
  • 它周围的否定力量具有高高在上的傲慢
  • 小青藤攀上了篱笆,就拥有一片新天地
  • 它看不见的脚爪,很快
  • 就把那张绿色的大网
  • 铺向所有的角落

OFTENTIMES WHEN I FIND MYSELF SPELLBOUND

  • by Shi Maosheng

  • Oftentimes when I find myself spellbound, as if coming to life’s end,
  • as if seeing a path to an unknown world,
  • how I fear that life has been received in vain,
  • fear that precious time was wasted
  • and my candle is burned up at both ends.
  • But here, every twig is enjoying the sun as all twigs should,
  • and the leaves have reached the expected deeper color.
  • The lake fluctuates within its rim,
  • and seems to be calmed by last night’s sparkles.
  • Maybe the lesson here is heightened emotion, which one must experience
  • to see the value of things. At this place,
  • deity is given a stellar personality,
  • the grass at the foothill has a primeval darker shade,
  • the air over the lake dances in whirlwinds.
  • I have seen people taking strolls in this park at sunset,
  • comforted by old memories, soothed by spring wind.
  • Each one is like me, blessed with many good years,
  • and the so-called time is just about done with its lessons for us.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0p5yR-qAVu4Ctof4puvFNA


常常在出神的一刻……

  • 施茂盛

  • 常常在出神的一刻我意识到一种大限
  • 像要从现实的版图获得通幽的曲径
  • 我怕生命被无辜接受,辜负了每一寸春光
  • 又怕这春光终将暗淡下来,如入尘埃
  • 现在,每根枝条如有所需般饱蘸阳光
  • 宽阔的叶子带着思虑的色泽如期抵达
  • 湖面自我律动,受节制而露出边界
  • 似乎昨日一夜烟花已然令它有所慰藉
  • 或许一切都要经受一种伟大的情感教育
  • 才会在它那里得以重现。在它那里
  • 神的结构被赋予更多值得称颂的人格
  • 下降的坪坡因它而加深蒙昧的草色
  • 上方那根气柱也在它加持下螺旋状自转着
  • 在这座公园,我见过散步者跨进晚霞
  • 用回忆缓解自己,留待那时的春风眷顾
  • 他几乎与我如出一辙,受岁月恩惠
  • 而所谓的时光也正刚刚完成它的功课

A PERFECT AUTUMN DAY

  • by Shiwu Lan

  • A perfect autumn day
  • is when I see persimmon trees on the hillside
  • with creamy fruit dangling, orange like lamplights.
  • A perfect autumn day is to bump into an old friend
  • and feels like looking in the mirror:
  • with the same markings from our century, talk the same talk,
  • all those years gone by without us knowing.
  • A perfect autumn day is to go up the mountain in the morning
  • and stroll along the water in the afternoon.
  • Autumn’s tincture masks the hills.
  • A mother have many children,
  • and named each after a baby animal;
  • they have returned as constellations.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6v-uaeuWJqKgPgwvy5JLsg

理想的秋天

  • 十五岚

  • 是看见柿子树,站在山坡
  • 为我们点灯,那些橘黄色,带有一点点奶油味
  • 理想的秋天,是在路上遇见故人
  • 看见他等于看见一面镜子
  • 我们是时光的斑点
  • 彼此呼应,怎么一下子度过了这些年
  • 理想的秋天,是上午看山
  • 下午看水
  • 秋天的轮廓低垂于山冈
  • 一个母亲诞生的孩子
  • 是群星,背负着幼兽之名
  • 又回归这里

MARRIAGE

  • by Song Qiyuan

  • Precipices everywhere, as if in a dream.
  • You hop between crags (or something like crags), then into the light.
  • In the light, you see the cliff’s silhouette, but not its depth.
  • With each jump, you rise from the valley,
  • and continue to jump, changing angles, and footings.
  • Although it can be very frightening, just like the night
  • when you lost your virginity, but no one dies from it.
  • However, in the real world, it doesn’t work that way —
  • you would be trembling with fear to jump down a floor.
  • Vertigo is very real for us small creatures. Some didn’t believe it and jumped off the bridge,
  • off a tree, or off a roof and died, I feel sorry for these deaths. So sad.
  • It is pointless to compare dreams to reality. In dream things do not have dimensions,
  • still it may be necessary to discuss how high a foot is, or three feet, or six feet.
  • Relatively speaking, I prefer unattached objects. You have sorrows, so do I.
  • Sadness can suddenly appear, just like happiness
  • can suddenly enter an innocent, waking world. Early morning in November,
  • the most significant precipices are those in my inner world;
  • they rise straight up, beautifully scents. Now, we sit together,
  • but don’t talk much. We are crag hoppers in the eyes of wild beasts.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/p5_9dTR96iNGFCZJL72isA


婚 姻

  • 宋憩园

  • 像梦里,悬崖到处都是。
  • 你不断跳悬崖(或类似悬崖),跳入光亮。
  • 它有轮廓,因为亮着,不能确定其深度。
  • 每次跳完,你又从里面升上来
  • 继续跳,变换姿势跳。跳过来跳过去,
  • 死不了,跳崖的恐惧明显如初夜。
  • 现实中,你不该这样操作,即便二楼,你都颤抖
  • 如某种临危的小动物。有人不信,在桥上,在楼顶
  • 在树上,跳下去,死了,我为这些死难过。那么难过。
  • 比较梦境和现实是没意义的。它们没尺寸,可是
  • 谈论一尺、三尺、六尺却是有必要的。
  • 相较而言,我喜欢游离之物。你有忧伤,我也有。
  • 忧伤突然显现,像感到幸福那样
  • 进入醒着的洁白。在十一月初的清晨,我感受最多的
  • 是内心的悬崖。陡峭而且芬芳。现在,我们坐在这里。
  • 并不多话。在野兽的眼里跳过来跳过去。



A POET'S ENTREAT

  • by Su Qifei

  • Subject your pride to spinal injury,
  • like a twig of winter plum breaks in a loving hand.
  • A metaphor’s beauty is subtle,
  • its nobility kept under the cover of humility.
  • Although the fat cats are staging a farce today,
  • their props will be stripped off tomorrow,
  • gone with the toxic dust behind their fat horses.
  • A fervent heart poises itself before an icy glance,
  • and wags its tongue to sway a heart;
  • a poet is masterful in both.
  • As if running with a tight rein on,
  • the body arches up, bending
  • to the point of breaking: partly to satirize,
  • partly to praise.
  • To offer a poem is to skip a stone, you wait and wait and wait
  • for a "plop" to come from the middle of the mirror lake.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


干谒之诗

  • 苏奇飞

  • 傲骨摔断了,
  • 像一枝雪梅折断于一只爱花的手。
  • 暗喻的幽香含而不露,
  • 狂狷乞怜于谦卑之美。
  • 富儿门是滑稽剧舞台上
  • 即将撤下的道具,
  • 肥马尘被证明是肺结核的元凶。
  • 用热心肠炒冷炙是一种技艺,
  • 把握语言的分寸是另一种技艺,
  • 你都精湛于此。
  • 一根缰绳蓄满援引的张力,
  • 把自我拉得变了形,
  • 就要掰成两半:一半惯于嘲讽,
  • 另一半刚学会赞美。
  • 投诗如石,你久久等待
  • 寂静湖面传来咚的一声。

LET IT BE

  • by Su Ruoxi

  • No need to see to tell that
  • the sweet Osmanthus have blossomed
  • with their muted sorrows.
  • When you are not there,
  • larks hop from flowers and leaves.
  • When they fly away, you remember your lost love.
  • Music can grow body and wings,
  • still I can't insert myself between
  • a timid piece of paper
  • and a dried-up pen.
  • Nothing ever happens, not even an embrace.
  • On the map, there is an unattainable place,
  • where I have been trying to go all my life.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/tsG45Z7a9661eg9PCS7LEg

无 为

  • 苏若兮

  • 不用看见,就知道桂花开了
  • 那么幽怨
  • 在没有你的地方
  • 百灵在花枝间跳跃
  • 一旦飞走,就扯到了爱情

  • 虽然,曲谱也能生出肉身和翅膀
  • 但我不能介入
  • 那些受惊的纸张
  • 和一支无墨之笔
  • 连拥抱,都不曾有

  • 就装着远远不能到达的地理
  • 试着走上一辈子

AUTUMN RECLUSE

  • by Su Xiaoqing

  • It certainly is autumn, but there is no sign of you.
  • The geese are gone, southward with my longings.
  • I am slowly wilting in the plain, without water,
  • in hardened soil; you are not here, gone with the rain perhaps.
  • I detected your scent, and the scent
  • of pen and ink in the study, of tea table soused in meditation,
  • of shadowy window sills — until all smells slowly fade.
  • It is mid-autumn, judging by the absence of shrimps and crabs.
  • The one-and-only orange harvest moon,
  • prestine and bright, answers to no one.
  • I have stopped counting years,
  • something in the air compels me to age.
  • My curtain gives me away: a hermitess in a chic neighborhood——
  • weeding, growing flowers, picking fruits, feeding cats.
  • It's nightfall again, I take a low flight
  • without fears of crashing. The depths of autumn is your hand.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang (Reviewed by Michael Soper and Guy Hibbert)

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/z9KsBRsPXe97EhABXUhsMw


秋 隐

  • 苏小青

  • 说是秋天了,却未见你归
  • 雁子南去,捎走一声问
  • 我在平原逐渐干枯,失去水分后
  • 泥土开始板结;你消失,许是被雨滴带走
  • 我嗅闻你的味道
  • 书房笔墨的味道,茶案凝思的味道
  • 窗台疏影的味道——直到没有任何味道
  • 中秋,被偃旗息鼓的虾蟹预告
  • 橙黄色的圆月无可替代
  • 这明喻穿越千载,别无它用
  • 我已不再计算年龄
  • 这魔咒令我逐渐苍老
  • 窗帘公开我最新的身份:一个高尚社区的女隐士——
  • 锄草,种花,摘果,喂猫
  • 说是夜晚又深了,我低低地飞
  • 总也落不到底。秋的底部是你手心

TREETOP LODGE

  • by Sun Songming

  • Like a sweet autumn fruit, like a lost
  • kite, but not quite the same as a bird nest, or the moon.
  • At that height, it will need a forked branch to hold it,
  • and that branch also upholds my heart.
  • A treetop lodge is prettier than a claypot.
  • At that height, it can only be touched by
  • soft gazes, caressed from below, tapped by
  • a tender thought, in awe of the precipitous danger it's in.
  • The stars send down their rescuing ropes; the moon
  • pressingly sails by. In the moonlight,
  • those black tittles of bees still buzz,
  • inside, outside and around, to keep their house in order,
  • unfazed by heavy frost. The wind picks up.
  • Instinctively I tiptoe forward, as if my action
  • could save it from being blown away.
  • The sky sits higher than the treetop,
  • but not higher than the wish of a family to stay together.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


结在树顶的房子

  • 孙松铭

  • 似秋天结的香果,像迷路的
  • 风筝,却不同于鸟巢,更不是月亮
  • 建筑之高,需要一根枝丫提住
  • 而枝丫,一下子把我的心也提了去
  • 结在树上的房子,比陶罐美
  • 美,总是在高处,我只能用柔软的
  • 目光,从低处抚摸,并用担心
  • 轻敲,以提醒它的高危
  • 星星们系下了待援的绳索,月亮船
  • 也紧急划过去了。月光下
  • 那些黑点点的蜂,仍在里里外外
  • 飞快地移动,居家劳作
  • 却不问霜重。起风了
  • 我不自觉向前又挪了挪,似乎这样
  • 就能替它抵挡住可能飞来的横祸
  • 天空高过树顶
  • 却高不过一家人偏身于安居的心

SPEAKING OF COCONUT TREES

  • by Sun Wenbo

  • ... Coconut, it doesn’t fall and smash our skulls,
  • but with the wind blowing, it will roll like a football.
  • The sea is its home.
  • Floating at sea, it still behaves like a football;
  • the waves kick it, as if to pass
  • some ghost that's defending his goal.
  • — One may ask, isn’t this just a fantasy?
  • Of course it is — but not without facts.
  • It originates from a folk tale.
  • My reliable source says that no one has ever been hit by a coconut.
  • I am not the least worried when walking under coconut trees,
  • watching coconuts hanging on the treetops.
  • On the contrary, the way they bunch together fascinates me:
  • each bunch has a unique shape — truly unique — even more unique
  • is the tree's shape; a ring above a ring on the tree trunk that shows its age.
  • Generally they are perfectly straight like flag poles. I like to
  • watch them sway left and right in a typhoon — like ballerinas — and call them Pink Girly Trees.
  • Poet Yang Xiaobin has a knack for giving these kinds of names. Contrast to the giant tree called Fir,
  • which we consider a masculine name — it’s settled then — don’t you agree
  • that it tickles your heart with tenderness —
  • though the sentiment is possibly an indulgence.
  • So be it, let us indulge. It is like after drinking coconut juice,
  • we still want to eat its thick sweet meat. That’s one way to put it, how endearing this is,
  • especially at sunset.
  • As I sit in a reclining chair, under the coconut trees,
  • looking out to the ocean — no flowers around,
  • but my heart's courtyard is filled with the sweetest scent.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/50CH7k8yow8QeQ-NdtPwkA


椰树叙

  • 孙文波

  • ……椰子,不会落下砸中人的头颅。
  • 它只在风中滚动,迅疾像一只足球。
  • 归宿是大海。在大海中它仍然像一只足球,
  • 由波涛踢着,仿佛大海中有一扇不知
  • 什么鬼守护的大门——请问,这是不是虚构。
  • 当然是——并非没有事实基础。
  • 它来自民间传说。我的确没有听说过有人
  • 被椰子砸中。它使我无论什么时候
  • 走在椰林中看到悬挂树梢的椰子,一点不担心。
  • 反而好奇,它们纠结一起
  • 形状的独特——的确太独特了——独特的还有作为
  • 树的形状;一圈一圈树干说明年轮。
  • 主要是它笔直,犹如自然的旗帜。我喜欢
  • 看到它在飓风中左右摇晃柔韧如芭蕾——女粉子树。
  • 杨小滨会这样命名。对应被命名为男树的巨杉
  • ——就这样定了——难道,
  • 还不让人内心生出柔情——虽然可能是柔情滥用。
  • 滥用就滥用。这一点,就像我们喝了椰子水,
  • 还要吃椰子肉。甜密,可以这样形容——
  • 尤其是在夕阳西下时分,椰树下放一张躺椅,
  • 面朝大海——花不开,我的内心仍满庭芳。




JOURNEY THROUGH THE NIGHT

  • by Tan Xiao

  • Father makes a spruce-bark bundle,
  • the best kind of torch. He walks in the dark
  • with it, and occasionally squeezes the barks
  • to slow down the burn when the fire flares up;
  • the long road doesn’t really need a blazing light.
  • Along the way, he continues to control the flame
  • and leads us through the night.
  • We talk to each other on the way,
  • two shadows with blurry faces,
  • in low voices, and our footsteps are also light.
  • The torch can reignite itself
  • when it grows dim as there are still sparkles in the ash.
  • Finally it burns steadily, and we’re almost home.
  • Father shakes his wrist, sending the ash to fly in the wind
  • — no need to save the barks anymore, no longer dreading
  • the journey as if in dire straits. The flame is roaring,
  • shining beautifully on the last stretch of our road.
  • We look radiant ourselves as if walking out from a giant halo.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊, Beijing, China): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/m9b-721XvVzV_Za3CH5BfQ


夜路

  • 谈 骁

  • 父亲把杉树皮归成一束,
  • 那是最好的火把。他举着点燃的树皮
  • 走在黑暗中,每当火焰旺盛,
  • 他就捏紧树皮,让火光暗下来,
  • 似乎漆黑的长路不需要过于明亮的照耀。
  • 一路上,父亲都在控制燃烧的幅度,
  • 他要用手中的树皮领我们走完夜路。
  • 一路上,我们说了不少话,
  • 声音很轻,脚步声也很轻,
  • 像几团面目模糊的影子。
  • 而火把始终可以自明,
  • 当它暗淡,火星仍在死灰中闪烁;
  • 当它持久地明亮,那是快到家了。
  • 父亲抖动手腕,夜风吹走死灰,
  • 再也不用俭省,再也不用把夜路
  • 当末路一样走,火光蓬勃,
  • 把最后的路照得明亮无比,
  • 我们也通体亮堂,像从巨大的光明中走出。

THE REBUILT HANDS AND FEET

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • It has been forty years, see, the world must cope with it again.
  • The eagle returns to nest on the cliff, taking a houdrend and fifty days
  • to remodel a body, first by hacking on the rock
  • and chipping off the useless, curl old beak,
  • then pecking off the stony toenails with its new beak.
  • With brand-new claws, it pulls out the rows of shaggy feathers on the wings.
  • “Unthinkable that one should manhandle oneself this way.”
  • The cliff hangs upside down, its interior rearranged...
  • Well, everything is brand new, so new
  • that the same neck that once discovered the world is now shorter.
  • Nothing is that new or remarkable, but a reminder
  • that this once ancient body is now a paradise regained.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pzhyv-St9z0q5w--nVIVbw


再造的手脚

  • 汤养宗

  • 活过四十年后,看啊,世界又要配合它
  • 鹰再次筑巢于绝壁,用一百五十天
  • 重新打造一副身体,先是叩击坚石
  • 废掉已弯的不能用的尖喙
  • 再用新长的,啄出老化的趾甲
  • 有了新爪,又一根根拔去翅膀上那排旧羽片
  • “竟可以对自己这般做手脚”
  • 说这话的危崖倒立着,并真正被内心整理过
  • 好了,一切又是全新的,新到
  • 发现世界的脖子比原来的短了很多
  • 什么是新叙述,只记得
  • 那么老的身体,又是一座失而复得的花园

HAT OFF TO AGING

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • Not unlike a mountain path hollowing into a gully,
  • not unlike a hard heart softening, a stubborn tantrum pacifying,
  • not unlike a ghost returning and telling us about the All Knowing,
  • not unlike loved ones parting, belongings divided or discarded,
  • that’s how the spring breeze trims my years and betrays my thin bones.

  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricist, a group of poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dzL2HQ3Y4p-_NlfCxusl0Q


渐老颂

  • 汤养宗

  • 无非是山道变成水道
  • 无非是,顽石点头,坏脾气改换心有不甘
  • 无非有人从天而降,说没有天不明白的事
  • 无非,我去你留,寄或不寄
  • 春风太磨人,让我渐老如匕

THE MOON HESITATES

  • by Tian Xiang

  • A sickle moon. So deep is the night,
  • I linger in front of your house, unsure ——
  • should I push open your door, or tap on your window?
  • Wavering and dithering, the moon grows thinner,
  • and slowly loses its luster in the autumn wind
  • over a courtyard of fallen leaves.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/E2qxRSv5R9kXkOBgn3_Pvw


推 敲

  • 田 湘

  • 月如钩。这么深的夜晚
  • 我在你屋前彷徨、迟疑——
  • 究竟是推你的门,还是敲你的窗
  • 犹豫再犹豫,月亮变得更瘦
  • 秋风一吹,就吹凉了热血
  • 叶亦落满了庭院

AN HOUR AT THE REC ROOM

  • by Wang Feng

  • Yawning, I sat by the orchids for about an hour.
  • Their stalks, a leaf or an array of leaves, do nothing but look green and daydream.
  • Who knows, but the small hoe by the wall may curiously grow into an orchid.
  • Of course I can do the same — sit here for an hour or longer. Eyes closed,
  • let the sun diffuse the knolls in me, wholeheartedly.
  • The music is beating faster than tears can fall: there’s an urgency in it, more than the seeds feel in the soil
  • to outgrow the rotting roots and stalks, and do what orchids do,
  • poised and comfortable with themselves.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


在生活区休息的一个小时

  • 汪峰

  • 打着呵欠,在兰花的根部坐了一个多小时
  • 身体是一片叶也好,一丛叶也好,反正可以自由地绿或者自由地想些事
  • 像一柄小花锄靠在墙上可以毫无来由地长成兰花。
  • 当然,我也可以毫无来由地挨着坐一个多小时。闭上眼晴
  • 听阳光在身体里洗掉多余的山坡,一心一意地
  • 比眼泪还要密集地落在弹奏里:音乐比种子还要急迫地在泥土中
  • 胀破衰朽了的根和茎,反正要像兰花一样
  • 有自己舒爽和旷逸的身体

EDUCATION BY SNOW

  • by Wang Fugang

  • At dusk, lonely snowflakes fall on the north country.
  • A passionate young poet, a little melancholic,
  • comes to a small, stingy inn that sells homebrew,
  • looking to buy the best imported liquor.
  • He chats up the innkeeper to talk about poet Li Shangyin.
  • but the innkeeper knows only poet Li Po.
  • He presumes to call the barmaid My Little Sister,
  • but this little sister must sweep and wash.
  • Using a public phone, he calls up a girl
  • whom he once spent time with counting the stars. He tells her:
  • There are more snowflakes here than the stars we saw that night.
  • But he is a failed mathematician, an academian,
  • a millionaire, but this little inn
  • offers no silky wine other than local moonshine.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/hIvRwSxFJIvQk97rIJRGaw


雪的教育

  • 王夫刚

  • 傍晚时分,孤独的雪做客北方
  • 写诗的年轻人激荡,忧郁
  • 他来到出售景芝白干的
  • 小酒馆里,购买最好的风花雪月

  • 他拉着酒馆主人谈论李商隐
  • 但酒馆主人只知道李白
  • 他把酒馆里的女服务员叫做妹妹
  • 但妹妹们需要扫地,洗碗

  • 他用公用电话寻找曾经一起
  • 数星星的女孩——他说
  • 现在的雪花比那一夜的星星还多

  • 但他是一个失败的数学家
  • 有百万英镑,而小酒馆
  • 只能出售无关风花雪月的景芝白干



BIG BENDS

  • by Wang Fugang

  • The Yellow River decided to loop around
  • without giving a reason; the county chief at Zoige Grasslands
  • decided to build an escalator
  • to take us to a tourist platform —
  • to scream and applaud for the river,
  • to shout and cheer in front of it
  • for a complete experience. The Yellow River decided to loop around
  • without giving a reason, but it is relaxed as we stand on the viewing platform
  • and comment on the landscape: look at those temples,
  • look at the grassland, look at the snowy mountains far away,
  • and so on, ans so forth...The Yellow River decided to loop around
  • without giving a reason, but we give up all our bad behaviors
  • on the escalator built for the Yellow River —
  • such a far-fetched idea, such a useless game
  • that serves no purpose for the river —
  • all we feel is a sense of total frustration.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-w_mSHNeI2mQh2AVSydM9A


大河拐大弯

  • 王夫刚

  • 黄河决定拐一个大弯而不告诉我们
  • 拐弯的理由;若尔盖
  • 决定修一部手扶电梯
  • 把我们送到高处替旅游站台——
  • 献给河流的尖叫和掌声
  • 当着河流的面说出来
  • 才算完整。黄河决定拐一个大弯
  • 而不告诉我们拐弯的
  • 理由,但同意我们在观景台上
  • 指点江山:寺庙这样
  • 草地那样,远处雪山
  • 这样或者那样。黄河
  • 决定拐一个大弯而不告诉我们
  • 拐弯的理由,我们决定
  • 收回我们的坏脾气
  • 让抽刀断水的游戏
  • 在一部跟黄河有关但它从未使用过的
  • 手扶电梯上,充满受挫的感觉

LETTER TO MYSELF

  • by Wang Huailing

  • Allow daydreaming, dream of the one I miss, let the dreams come true.
  • Allow the sky to be gray, or even grayer, but let my spirit match its height.
  • Allow the night a retrospect of the day, like reading an autobiography
  • with sorrows and self-reproach written on every page,
  • yesterday’s storyline meanders to join today's.
  • Allow rain to wake up as dew, dew to turn frost,
  • frost to whiten my head.
  • Let the homegrown potion be potent, for me alone.
  • Let people stay quiet, let the birds sing.
  • Let tea be perfume-free, let flowers be sweet.
  • Let the midnight owl be blind, be deaf,
  • but keep his mind clear
  • — not to be terrorized by the raging waves.
  • It’s late autumn, the affairs of the world look bleak.
  • "The lights have gone out, but where are you?"
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


与己书

  • 王怀凌

  • 允许白日做梦,梦见所思之人,成全所想之事
  • 允许天空一灰再灰,我的脸色和它保持高度一致
  • 允许黑夜把白昼翻过,像翻一册个人自传
  • 每一页都是悲情,每一页都在打脸
  • 日子与日子之间无缝连接
  • 允许雨滴成露,露珠成霜
  • 霜染双鬓
  • 允许亲手种下的蛊,结出毒,独自吞咽
  • 人不语,鸟语
  • 茶不香,花香
  • 允许熬油点灯的人,双目失明,双耳失聪,
  • 却心如明镜
  • ——大海波澜不惊
  • 秋天已深,世事微凉
  • “灯光转暗,你在何方?”
  • ——我已在黄昏走出家门好远,好远!

CRYSTALLIZATION

  • by Wang Jiaming

  • I will call you Blue Jay, even though
  • you have only a little blue on your tail; you appear out of the blue
  • on my path to Xicun Garden. Some may say
  • two mysterious hands shaped you by design, but I would say
  • “by a happy chance”. The school bus makes a hard turn at the curve,
  • but you continue to peck and flick, until the setting sun blinds
  • the millets with sparkles. You flap your feathers, heading for the river
  • by the swaying cattail, fed by a warm underflow in the marshland,
  • a world that takes my breath away, that affirms its “innocence”.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/49lvZZFlyq0nM7CChIsKEg


结 晶

  • 王家铭

  • 我将你称之为“蓝鹊”,尽管只有
  • 尾部的一点颜料,晴天般出现在
  • 去往熙春园的路上。像是浮絮中
  • 伸出一双手把你捏塑,我称之为
  • “偶然”。校车使劲地拐过弯道,
  • 你仍啄食,直到夕光把最后的
  • 小米照得璀璨。你振翎飞向河岸,
  • 那里蒲草微荡,湿土里埋着暖流,
  • 而我的心跳抑止,确信了“诚恳”。

POST OFFICE

  • by Wang Jian

  • I walked across half of the city
  • before seeing a post office
  • in a dim alleyway.
  • I would like to have my address back,
  • the address that was left behind
  • in a post office
  • — that outdated dwarfish green building.
  • I wrote a very long letter
  • to send to an old-fogeyish old friend.
  • I still try to be eloquent with words and elaborate with thoughts,
  • and know you will be delighted by the hieroglyphs
  • that evoke images of things
  • that flow with the ink.
  • This letter will fly across the sea
  • to deliver news of the modern times. For example,
  • mankind has battled with canine robots three times.
  • (Ultimately, mankind lost.) For example,
  • some people have fallen in love with AI dolls.
  • (Surprisingly, many bystanders rooted for them.) For example,
  • some people have discovered a way
  • not to die. . .
  • The human race has grown up and begun to multiply its desires exponentially.
  • But we know we are going to die,
  • just like we know the seasons will cycle on
  • and the sun and the moon will rise in sequence.
  • A finale can be a great restart.
  • But I am convinced that this post office
  • will eventually lose its address and forever wiped out under the sun.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0zsXjI0abovvwMpwfXzHgw

邮 局

  • 王 键

  • 我穿越大半个城市
  • 才在一个不起眼的陋巷
  • 找到一个邮局

  • 我要重新找回我的地址
  • 我将我的地址
  • 丢在了邮局
  • ——那个过时的穿着绿色衣服的小楼

  • 我写了一封长长的信
  • 要寄给一个过时的老朋友

  • 我仍习惯于在纸上铺展修辞和思想
  • 我知道,你也喜欢在象形文字中想象
  • 一些事物的形象
  • 在墨水的呼吸之中搜寻一些痕迹

  • 这封信将穿洋过海旅行
  • 它会带去一些新时代的信息
  • 比如,人类同机器狗有过三次战争
  • (最终人类在战争中落败)
  • 比如,有人同机器人谈上了恋爱
  • (这场恋爱竟然被很多人看好)
  • 还有,有人找到了可以让人不死的
  • 方法……

  • 长大了的人类开始成倍地增长它的渴望

  • 但我们都知道,我们终将死去
  • 就像四季的轮换,又如
  • 太阳和月亮的两次升起
  • 一次终结意味着另一次的伟大开始

  • 我还确信:这个邮局也
  • 终将永久失去它的地址

FAREWELL

  • by Wang Jiaxin

  • Last night, for the last time I went to
  • my parents' graves in the mountain.
  • (They are together again finally.)
  • This morning, before leaving, I visited my mother’s second sister.
  • Now, the plane roars and lifts off from a mothership-sized airport
  • in the mountainous northwestern part of Hubei Province,
  • heading to Shanghai.
  • It seems like a relief,
  • really, it seems a load is lifted suddenly.
  • Under the airplane’s wings is hometown's barren mountain range
  • with remnants of snow still on the shady sides.
  • (The sunny sides are all clear.)
  • Then I see a bare spot, a quarry (like a gouging wound),
  • then a blue reservoir, glistening like a tear drop...
  • These are the mountainous terrain and cooking fires I am familiar with —
  • including Father's white forehead, Mother's wrinkles...
  • including an uphill winding road to my childhood school.
  • This land has absorbed my youth and my folks…
  • But right now, for the first time, I see it from the air.
  • The airplane is still climbing, and I am still trying
  • to identify the things below, to recognize...
  • I wish I were the fairytale boy on a flying goose,
  • so I could wipe off my tears one last time
  • and start a new life.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/SqoTbWfty26UPQsRp0rI2w


告 别

  • 王家新

  • 昨晚,给在山上合葬的父母
  • 最后一次上了坟
  • (他们最终又在一起了)
  • 今晨走之前,又去看望了二姨
  • 现在,飞机轰鸣着起飞,从鄂西北山区
  • 一个新建的航母般大小的机场
  • 飞向上海

  • 好像是如释重负
  • 好像真的一下子卸下了很多
  • 机翼下,是故乡贫寒的重重山岭
  • 是沟壑里、背阴处残留的点点积雪
  • (向阳的一面雪都化了)
  • 是山体上裸露的采石场(犹如剜出的伤口)
  • 是青色的水库,好像还带着泪光……

  • 是我熟悉的山川和炊烟——
  • 父亲披雪的额头,母亲密密的皱纹……
  • 是一个少年上学时的盘山路,
  • 是埋葬了我的童年和一个个亲人的土地……
  • 但此刻,我是第一次从空中看到它
  • 我的飞机在升高,而我还在
  • 向下辨认,辨认……
  • 但愿我像那个骑鹅旅行记中的少年
  • 最后一次揉揉带泪的眼睛
  • 并开始他新的生命




A TRIP THROUGH SNOWSTORM

  • by Wang Jiaxin

  • Driving sixty kilometers —
  • first through snow-dusted city streets,
  • then on Beijing-Chengde Freeway — but we had to turn back
  • at a roadblock because of black ice,
  • so we took a dirt road halfway up the mountain,
  • only to have a look at you: the snow-draped northern mountains!
  • That was the first blizzard in who-knows how many years,
  • we ought to be thrilled, but everyone stayed silent.
  • Enclosed in sweeping snow and sniping cold,
  • we saw ashen boulders, darkened hills,
  • and the demon-like snow-covered mountains
  • presiding over an array of smaller hills and beacon towers
  • as they slowly faded into an even-bleaker atmosphere...
  • At that very moment, I saw our companion DuoDuo — a poet
  • approaching his 70s — face covered with snowflakes,
  • in tears, the way of a child...

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/M9n7csEmBYhiUhES4dFzhg


记一次风雪行

  • 王家新

  • 驱车六十公里——
  • 穿过飘着稀疏雪花的城区,
  • 上京承高速,在因结冰而封路的路障前调头,
  • 拐进乡村土路,再攀上半山腰,
  • 就为了看你一眼,北方披雪的山岭!
  • 多少年未见这纷纷扬扬的大雪了,
  • 我们本应欢呼,却一个个
  • 静默下来,在急速的飞雪
  • 和逼人的寒气中,但见岩石惨白、山色变暗,
  • 一座座雪岭像变容的巨灵,带着
  • 满山昏溟和山头隐约的烽火台,
  • 隐入更苍茫的大气中……
  • 在那一瞬,我看见同行的多多——
  • 一位年近七旬、满脸雪片的诗人,
  • 竟像一个孩子流出泪来……

MY INEPT LOVE FOR THIS WORLD

  • by Wang Jibing

  • The old sofa given by our neighbor
  • made my wife very happy.
  • She talked excitedly about the plan
  • to find a proper coffee table to match it,
  • all the while trying to add a book, and another book,
  • to prop up the corner of the sofa that lost a leg.
  • I went to the bathroom, and washed my face with cold water
  • to come out with a fresh new smile.
  • All these years
  • I have been sweating in the sun,
  • laboring to squeeze out the juice of life,
  • but still cannot turn it into a gem.
  • In my own clumsy way, I have loved this world,
  • and loved the one who loves me
  • for almost thirty years now, but how unprepared I am
  • to let tears flow in front of her.
  • All I can do is be the pendulum of a clock
  • — love and love back, a tick to a tock —
  • a harmonic oscillator, ticktock, ticktock.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang (Reviewed by Michael Soper and Guy Hibbert)
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/d8KyOPiB2zw3PnBM2K3ibA


我笨拙地爱着这个世界

  • 王计兵

  • 邻居送来的旧沙发
  • 让妻子兴高采烈
  • 她一面手舞足蹈地计划着
  • 给沙发搭配一个恰当的茶几
  • 一面用一本一本的书垫住
  • 一条断掉的沙发腿
  • 我在卫生间,用清水洗了脸
  • 换成一张崭新的笑容走出来
  • 一直以来
  • 我不停地流汗
  • 不停地用体力榨出生命的水分
  • 仍不能让生活变得更纯粹
  • 我笨拙地爱着这个世界
  • 爱着爱我的人
  • 快三十年了,我还没有做好准备
  • 如何在爱人面前热泪盈眶
  • 只能像钟摆一样
  • 让爱在爱里就像时间在时间里
  • 自然而然,滴滴答答。

SUNSET ON YABULAI ROAD

  • by Wang Qi

  • Red clouds in the sunset sky,
  • red shimmers on Yabulai Road in Alxa League.
  • It seems to take something round and enormous
  • to unveil the light of divinity.
  • In this great land, where grass, mountain range and free spirits perch untouched over the years,
  • the afterglow of the setting sun will give rest
  • to my portly body.
  • One direction leads to the Silk Road west,
  • the other end points to the old capital Chang'an.
  • It seems only the sunset on Yabulai Road
  • can seduce me to spill out words about
  • the joyful encounters and the parting sorrows on my overlong journey.
  • It seems forever that the wind and the rolling sand
  • combine to make the car rumbles louder.
  • Those in decay continue to decay, and the reborn look forward to reliving.
  • On Yabulai Road, under the golden rays,
  • someone is going to fall into a deep dream tonight,
  • but who can predict it?

  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


雅不赖路上的落日

  • 王琪

  • 晚霞映红天边
  • 映红阿拉善右旗的雅不赖路
  • 似乎只有浑圆、硕大
  • 才能揭秘神性之光
  • 阔远之地,搁置了经年的荒草、群山和魂魄
  • 还将在落日余晖中,搁置
  • 我这满身赘肉
  • 一头通往西域
  • 一头连接长安
  • 恐怕唯有雅不赖路的落日
  • 能替我道出
  • 漫漫长途上,数不清的相见欢,与离别情
  • 很久了,风沙滚动
  • 与汽车混杂的声音响个不停
  • 消亡的继续消亡,重生的期待重生
  • 落满金辉的雅不赖路
  • 谁今夜就要陷入一场深深的梦境
  • 而不可预测?

YARDSTICK MOUNTAIN

  • by Ah Long

  • A mountain of staggering height, measure it
  • with your eyes’ yardstick, but don’t let it weaken your knees.
  • Every mountain pass and every tight curve
  • throws you to the precipice of falling, and leaves you in pieces.
  • Luckily a swaying roadhouse awaits on the hillside.
  • Luckily a strong tea slakes your thirst before the mountaintop.
  • The higher up, the closer you are to an irenic world,
  • under a lighter weight of time…
  • Translator’s note:
  • Yardstick Mountain is a peak in Mingshan Mountain Range in southwest China. It is famous for its upright profile, like a vertical yardstick, hence the Chinese name Tiechi Liang (Yardstick Mountain) and the Tibetan name Tiejie Ri (Shining Forehead).
  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricist, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/XTVl3JPbeNqw8yBD_F4Qng


铁尺梁

  • 阿垅

  • 到底有多高,不要让眼里的
  • 那把尺子丈量到两腿发软。
  • 必须要翻越的一道山梁,每一弯的大回转
  • 都险象环生、牵肠挂肚。
  • 好在半路,还有一座摇晃不定的客栈。
  • 好在途中,还有一碗浓酽的茶水解渴。
  • 越往上,尘世越平淡
  • 光阴越稀薄……

SEWEED IN A HOUSE CORNER

  • by Wang Xiaoji

  • These wrinkled fabric looks derelict,
  • even more so after being wind dried.
  • The grains of salt on it, the relics despoiled from the sun,
  • are dainty about whom they bond with.
  • I hold a bunch in my hand,
  • and feel the salt as it falls to the ground.
  • There is more salt here than all that in a churning river.
  • Bundled up, stashed in a corner of the house,
  • its soul is swiftly retained, dormant through daily humdrum
  • until one day, shaken loose
  • over its native water, it fiercely multiplies and expands.
  • Taking cues from the fishermen, I no longer scoff at
  • the knotted seaweed scraggly with frosted spots.
  • Is it too salty or not enough? To each his own.
  • This glittering sea, roaring with iodized salt sprays,
  • is driving into the Aojiang River*…
  • Translator’s note:
  • Aojiang River enters the Eastern Sea in Fujian Province.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


屋角海带

  • 王孝稽

  • 褶皱的布,风干之后
  • 隐藏了更多的寂寥
  • 盐粒,从日光中盗来的遗物
  • 不是所有的躯体都可以依附的
  • 我抓在手里
  • 摸到了许多,撒了一地
  • 远远超出一江浑水的含量
  • 捆起来,放于屋角
  • 迅速收回它的命,眠于庸常的时间
  • 稍微一抖动
  • 孢子在熟悉的水域,又齐刷刷地扩展它的疆域
  • 跟着渔民,我不再迟疑于
  • 打结的、无序的、满是白霜的海带
  • 对咸淡适宜说,各有所需
  • 海涂上闪闪发光的、含着碘的颗粒
  • 摇撼着驶过鳌江流域…。

A TOAST TO THE BARLEY WINE FROM DELINGHA

  • by Wang Xiaoni

  • Everyone is waiting for the wine.
  • Other than being gladly drunk,
  • everything is as we like it.
  • The wine courier scuttles past the skeletal cypress
  • ahead of a tempest lit with lightning.
  • The arid wilderness quickly darkens,
  • but in their beer-goggled stare,
  • they see only a high-neck bottle flickering in someone’s bosom.
  • Frankly, wine is not what they are waiting for;
  • tonight, they feel the urge to talk,
  • but need courage to wag their tongues
  • under a sky raging with cracking whips.
  • Rushing through the door is the courier holding the bottle.
  • Dear me, the door slams shut,
  • at last they can open up,
  • but before raising hell, let’s raise the glasses.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0B3MPfT4ddpypHwiGsH1nw


致德令哈的青稞酒

  • 王小妮

  • 身边人都在等酒
  • 除了还没醉
  • 就什么都不缺了。
  • 看那送酒人歪斜着穿过柏树的骷髅
  • 风暴举着闪电追他。
  • 光秃的荒野飞一样暗下去
  • 恍惚里只看见
  • 抱在怀里的高颈瓶一亮又一暗。
  • 有时候真不是在等酒
  • 这一夜,他们就想说话
  • 张嘴前他们真要向酒借个胆
  • 天上全是抽人的鞭子
  • 搂着酒瓶的正撞门进来。
  • 哎呀,门正合上
  • 终于可以说话了
  • 在那一切一切之前,先让我们碰杯。

ANTIC NIGHT MARKET

  • by Wang Yiping

  • If this is your first time here, you have no way
  • of getting into the heart of it.
  • Going alone won’t let you see what’s what.
  • Two people are ideal.
  • A group of three looks inauthentic.
  • One place is happy to peddle to women and children.
  • The other place, if one doesn’t stay calm,
  • those iron and copper and utensils, recently unearthed or cast out,
  • may be reburied or return to the dark.
  • Red lipsticks, long hair of the deceased,
  • weapons and wine cups, every item kneeling on the ground.
  • A private collection is being touched on the face by everyone,
  • on one of the journeys her beauty began to fade,
  • quite like the one coming, busy losing his helmet and armor.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://zgshige.cn/c/2019-10-10/10893192.shtml


古玩夜市

  • 王一萍

  • 没有去过的人深入不了内核
  • 一个人是不被识货的物什
  • 两个人甚好
  • 三个人像是赝品

  • 那边喜欢叫卖于妇孺
  • 这边若不沉静
  • 被挖出或被抛弃的铁、铜、器物……
  • 会不会重新隐身于黑暗或地下

  • 过世的红唇、长发;兵器、酒樽俯首贴地面
  • 那个私人珍藏被众人触碰眉须
  • 她的容颜衰败于哪条走过的道
  • 像一个人,在来时一路的丢盔弃甲

The Scarecrow

  • by Wang Zhanbin

  • The anticipated lightning didn’t come, for now I am whole,
  • head to toe, inside and out.
  • I hear the wind rolling-howling across the wild north,
  • wham, wham, throwing its weight.
  • Sooner than later the nervy dusky sky will disrobe and turn in,
  • while the ants, glummer than me, hustle on en mass,
  • even attempting to flit their oversized fate.
  • Slowly withering over the years — the rain couldn’t help —
  • I now look more and more like a bum,
  • swamped by the old straw hat,
  • but never contemplated doing without it.
  • The unchanging sunshine on the highland comes and goes.
  • The anticipated lightning flashed just once,
  • but punctured the silence, and emptied the age-old ashes.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang (Reviewed by Michael Soper and Guy Hibbert)

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/IdJHYyLq5HtgWSTSCTfXLw


稻草人

  • 王占斌

  • 我期待的闪电没有来,暂时我是完整的
  • 从上到下,从里到外
  • 我听到风在北方的旷野滚着铁环
  • 哗啦、哗啦,像在丢弃什么
  • 暮色慌张,丢下外套躲进了山坳
  • 还有比我更沉闷的蚂蚁,它们成群结队地
  • 忙于搬运,也搬运高过头顶的命运
  • 这些年我一直枯黄,雨水也无能为力
  • 我看上去更像一个落魄的人
  • 被一顶旧草帽压得喘不过气来
  • 却从未想过要丢弃
  • 高原上的阳光,昨天和今天一个样
  • 我期待的闪电只晃动了一下
  • 寂静就撕开了口子,倒出陈年的灰烬

THE MEMORY OF A SNOWMAN IN WHITE HORSE FOREST

  • by Wang Zijun

  • In a huge timberland, all was still, except
  • the moderate snow that came around every five years.
  • Someone said we might be lucky enough to see
  • last year's wild jujube berries.
  • ... to make a snowman, moderate snow
  • was the best. Randomly slapped together, unclothed,
  • his heart had already gone cold,
  • a body without a soul, he must have died from despair.
  • We found some pine twigs and berries to prop up
  • his saggy frame.
  • He opened his eyes and exhaled.
  • Suddenly he had a soul, like the tiny grove nearby with a partridge chirping in it.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/d8KyOPiB2zw3PnBM2K3ibA


忆白马林场的堆雪人

  • 王子俊

  • 林场很大,但没有声音。除了这场
  • 五年一遇的中雪。
  • 有人说,若运气好,我们会遇到野枣树上
  • 去年的浆果。
  • ……堆雪人,中雪
  • 刚适合。胡乱垒出时,它光着身子。
  • 它的心早寒了,
  • 这个没魂的人,它一定是伤心死的。
  • 我们用上了新鲜松树枝,或浆果,填进它
  • 松软的骨架。
  • 它睁眼,呼出了气,
  • 它突然有了魂,像附近的小树林有只鹧鸪叫着。

SPRING ON THE ROAD

  • by Wei Bo

  • 1
  • As I wrote the word “spring”,
  • day turned to dusk.
  • I wrote on another piece of paper “day”,
  • spring emerged as a beauty.
  • This is spring, from head to toe,
  • disappearing into the misty vastness.
  • 2
  • It is that time again: the Waking of Insects*.
  • Snakes must have left their caves.
  • Spider webs dip skew from a skeletal house,
  • its broken roof tears us from our nostalgia.
  • A family shrine, latched up on the side door,
  • safeguards our ancestors’ living days and beyond.
  • *An annual climate interval, when hibernating insects
  • are awakened by thunders, followed by warmer weather.
  • 3
  • There are cold winds that churn up gustier winds.
  • I am the one standing in the wind.
  • There is rain that erupts into stormier rain,
  • I am the one waging on in the rain.
  • There are butterflies that convene more butterflies.
  • I am the admirer, sighing for the butterflies.
  • 4
  • Setting out in March, when rapeseeds are in bloom,
  • once again I trek deep in the gilded quagmire.
  • In a perfect dream, new leaves cover the scars of dry wood,
  • wild grass raises the far corners of the world.
  • On the road in spring,
  • my awaken heart wades through the changing climate.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/otILhabMF3Bb-ds_lp9FVg

路上的春天

  • 渭 波

  • 1
  • 我在一张纸上写下:春
  • 天就黑了

  • 我在另一张纸上写下:天
  • 春就媚了

  • 这从上到下的春天
  • 就隐入辽阔的墨影了

  • 2
  • 又是惊蛰
  • 蛇已出洞

  • 老屋的骨架斜挂蛛网
  • 残存的瓦片割裂了乡愁

  • 宗祠的侧门
  • 闩住几代人的生死

  • 3
  • 总有一些风寒撕扯更多的风寒
  • 我只是临风而寒的那个人

  • 总有一些雨引爆更多的雨
  • 我只是掮雨上路的那个人

  • 总有一些蝶舞动更多的蝶
  • 我只是望蝶长叹的那个人

  • 4
  • 从三月出发,油菜动了芳心
  • 我又一次深陷镀金的泥泞

  • 为圆一场梦,叶子包装了枯枝的伤口
  • 野草抬高了土地的边角

  • 在春天的路上
  • 我一次次用心穿越多变的气候

ELEGANT PINES

  • by Wei Tianwu

  • Hidden pines, all hidden in the fog.
  • Mystifing fog, adrift in the mountains.
  • It's easy to imagine pine trees with elegance,
  • their shushing sounds, even see a boy
  • walking under the pines, with an imagined basket on his back;
  • the golden needles under his feet has the traditional medicine’s
  • psychedelic taste, like the fog in front of you.
  • How do you imagine things unseen: pines, all elegant?
  • A tunnel without an apparent end. Easy to imagine it
  • as a labyrinth of words. And to see a bridge
  • spanning midair with car wheels slowly rolling,
  • and a monotone old cat striding gracefully
  • on top of the mountains, staring at
  • things it cannot see.
  • Note: Driving down China’s Highway G60, from Shanghai to Kunming, one will pass by Elegant Pines Tunnels No. 1 and Elegant Pines Tunnel No. 2, with a bridge spanning midair connecting the two tunnels.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/z6TQ7P6kfIEkA3wawbrWCQ

松皆雅

  • 魏天无

  • 松皆隐,隐于大雾之中
  • 雾皆迷,迷于群山之间
  • 你可以想象松和雅,想象松涛阵阵
  • 甚至想象那松下的童子,背着莫须有的小竹篓
  • 他脚下金黄的松针有着中药
  • 迷幻的味道,如同你眼前的大雾飘过
  • 你如何想象没有见过的事物:松皆雅?
  • 隧道不见尽头。可以想象那是
  • 语言的迷宫。想象那座凭空升起的桥
  • 就在车轮缓慢地碾压下
  • 想象那只无杂色的老猫,在群山之巅
  • 正迈着优雅从容的步幅,逼视着
  • 它看不见的一切
  • ——————
  • 注1 :G60沪昆高速玉凯段有松皆雅1号、2号隧道,中有松皆雅桥连接。

REFINING CLOUDS IN THE SKY

  • by Wei Yanxin

  • He smelted all the steel and refined all the oil he could,
  • and began to walk up the mountain.
  • On top of the mountain, he entered Ascension Pavilion
  • and sat there quietly,
  • allowing clouds to move in and out of his body.
  • He redeemed the ferocious lion and tiger in himself,
  • purifying everything, from
  • the tough bones, the rigid carcass, to
  • the blood and tears in the spinal cord.
  • Finally every old blob shaped up, and he could
  • discern different antagonisms from the world.
  • Seasons later, after many summer rains and winter storms,
  • in one of those pristine mornings and evenings,
  • he began to release nebulous creatures
  • to look for his family and friends who had become strangers.
  • For every person he loved,
  • a nebulous creature was sent down the mountain.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊, Beijing, China): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/m9b-721XvVzV_Za3CH5BfQ

炼化天上的云朵

  • 韦廷信

  • 在炼化完手上的钢铁和石油后
  • 他开始往山顶走
  • 山顶有一亭子曰修仙亭
  • 他静坐亭中
  • 任凭云朵进出身体
  • 他把身体里的雄狮,猛虎
  • 难啃的骨头,坚硬的兽壳
  • 把那脊梁之上的血与泪
  • 统统炼化。让身体对外部的敌意有更清晰的警觉
  • 让难以言状的状变得掷地有声
  • 冬雷夏雨后,在那些美好的清晨与夜晚
  • 他掏出一只只云兽
  • 去找那些已是陌路的人
  • 曾有多少挚爱
  • 此刻就有多少只云兽下山

THE MAN WHO CHASES THE GREEN TRAIN

  • by Jiji Qiucao (Lonesome Autumn Grass)

  • I
  • What did the green train take with it? In Kashgar,
  • desert poplars still grow,
  • Stone City still stands,
  • and Kashgar River flows amidst wind and sand.
  • Tianshan Mountain sits in Buddha's Gatha,
  • an elderly monk steps out from the monastery;
  • the hands that leafed through the Buddhist sutras
  • now plant wheat seedlings on the salty earth.
  • II
  • Sunshine paints the Pamir Plateau with a rusty silence,
  • coloring the rocks breaking away from the mountain,
  • coloring a monk's brown robe.
  • The unseen purity of Buddha
  • flows with the river. Far and near, there’s only the wind;
  • only the wind can convey the echoes of youth.
  • III
  • By Kashgar River, immersed in the clouds, an ewe
  • kneels before Tianshan Mountain, before Kunlun Mountains,
  • before Taklamakan Desert.
  • Done with the day's lessons, the old monk sits in the dusk,
  • his robe melds with the earth behind him.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/giTR_FrqM8iWZyf4Xk9z-A


一个追绿皮火车的人

  • 寂寂秋草

  • (一)

  • 一辆绿皮火车带走了什么,在喀什噶尔
  • 胡杨还在那里
  • 石头城还在那里
  • 喀什噶尔河立在风沙中

  • 天山在佛偈中
  • 一个年老的僧侣走岀庙门

  • 用翻阅经卷的双手在盐渍的土地上栽种麦苗

  • (二)

  • 阳光带着锈蚀的沉默涂在帕米尔
  • 涂在逃岀山体的岩石
  • 涂在褐色的僧袍

  • 暗含的佛性的光洁
  • 在一条河上。由远而近的只有风
  • 也只有风,能带来年轻的回音

  • (三)

  • 云端上的母羊,在喀什噶尔河
  • 向天山下跪,向昆仑山下跪,向塔克拉玛干沙漠
  • 下跪
  • 做完一天功课的老人,坐在暮色中
  • 僧袍与身后的土地融为了一体




MEETING A FLUTE PLAYER AT DUSK IN THE CYPRESS FOREST

  • by Wu Shaodong

  • A field of clovers in patches are blooming,
  • it is here that I was reminded of the futility of life.
  • A flock of birds sings and flies from one branch to another.
  • The same song echoes on every tree.
  • I hastened through this forest uncountable times,
  • never bothered to name plants or paused for the colorful spring.
  • Getting older, I have no desire to know new people,
  • am gradually avoiding some of my better-dressed friends.
  • Walking alone in the woods, I ignore those walking their dog
  • or those exercising their back against trees or those shouting out
  • over the river. Oftentimes I twist to give way, letting those
  • with a solemn face or smug look to fleet by with their shadows,
  • giving way to those rushing towards or chasing behind me.
  • I've also allowed myself to let things pass.
  • Then yesterday in a Cypress forest,
  • I met a bamboo flute* player sitting straight as a pole.
  • I stopped to talk with him, I mentioned
  • springs, mountain streams, and misty lakes.
  • He laughed, and barely moved an inch,
  • like a tree stump with branches removed. Sorrows
  • are sprouting new leaves tall and long.
  • Walking away, I thought of these years,
  • the verses that have accompanied me, and the incisions—
  • like the six or eight holes on a bamboo flute.
  • I hope I have retained the quality of bamboo.
  • Notes:
  • *The flute in the poem is called a xiao (箫), an end-blown bamboo flute heldvertically and blown across a v-shaped notch mouthpiece.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/De-O47hlQBG9bxn8KNnXyQ


向晚过杉林遇吹箫人

  • 吴少东

  • 酢浆草的花,连片开了
  • 我才发现中年的徒劳。
  • 众鸟飞鸣,从一个枝头
  • 到另一个枝头。每棵树
  • 都停落过相同的鸟声

  • 曾无数次快步穿过这片丛林
  • 回避草木的命名与春天的艳俗。
  • 老去的时光里,我不愿结识更多人
  • 也渐渐疏离一些外表光鲜的故人。
  • 独自在林中走,不理遛狗的人
  • 也不理以背撞树的人和对着河流
  • 大喊的人。常侧身让道,让过
  • 表情端肃,或志得意满的短暂影子
  • 让过迎面或背后走来的赶路者。
  • 我让过我自己

  • 直到昨天,在一片杉林中
  • 我遇见枯坐如桩的吹箫人。
  • 驻足与他攀谈,我说
  • 流泉,山涧,空濛的湖面。
  • 他笑,又笑,他一动不动,
  • 像伐去枝干的树桩。忧伤
  • 生出高高的新叶
  • 转身后,想了想,这些年
  • 我背负的诗句与切口——
  • 六孔的、八孔的,像一管箫
  • 竹的习性还在




NIGHT OUT TO SEA RIVER——dedicated to my travel companions

  • by Wu Yan

  • It’s something extra to fill in the day: a night out,
  • being pulled into the center of towering lights.
  • Don’t be distracted, a shoal of fish was heard
  • swimming against the current, like us, into a net,
  • and inside the new barrier, swishing their tails, bobbing.
  • Going forward is not necessarily a fall into the abyss.
  • That night when Hai River suddenly rippled,
  • the lonely shore resounded with a high tide,
  • together they made a new symphony.
  • With a conversation, the moment turned golden.
  • Amid all blemishes, opportunities abound,
  • don’t be afraid —of the rumors with innuendo:
  • Let us not take our meeting for granted,
  • see, how often do Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn appear in the same sky?
  • But three make a tiger, our six legs march on
  • until the night surrenders to us; parting
  • leads us to believe there is a mysterious hand at work,
  • we are destined to swim to the same place.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/FuvWjvw1J_DGC_LHNdRd3w


海河夜游--兼赠同行小友

  • 午言

  • 本是一天的余兴:夜游,
  • 被推向光阵的核心。
  • 别分神,水声中逆行的鱼群
  • 就像我们,涌进了网,
  • 又在新的容器里摆尾、浮沉。
  • 走下去未必是深渊,
  • 当海河的水面顿起波纹,
  • 孤岸就势返潮,澎湃出新的和鸣。
  • 交谈,让此刻镀金。
  • 斑点外生机密布,
  • 别惧怕——那指涉隔断的谣言:
  • 人生不相见,动如参与商?
  • 但我们三人成虎,
  • 六脚就将夜色踏平;分别
  • 让人相信冥冥的助推,我们
  • 注定要游到同一个地方去。

ELEGY FOR THE MELTING SNOW

  • by Wu Yiyi

  • When you sent over the mound of snow, I was dusting windows
  • and had black hands. Outside, the wintersweet plum looked ready to bloom.

  • Twilight fell. The snow had the look of a gorgeous grave,
  • someone must be buried in it, someone pure.
  • After the construction noise died down, the sky turned pitch-dark,
  • it’s time to light a lamp, to boil water and make tea. Just then, the snow suddenly began to melt.
  • It must have loved a mountain.
  • It must have loved someone deeply;
  • if not for that, why did it go back to be rain? Why did it
  • let go of its former existence before our eyes.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Hfp2VZDs0UzSgd1y9MfgFQ

融化帖

  • 吴乙一

  • 你送来一堆雪时,我正清扫窗户上的灰尘
  • 双手沾着污垢。窗外,蜡梅将开未开

  • 天色将暗未暗。你带来的雪像一座蓬勃的坟
  • 里面埋着的,一定也是洁白的人

  • 建筑工地停止喧嚣后,天就黑透了
  • 点灯,煮水,泡茶。雪突然开始融化

  • 它一定爱过一座山峰
  • 一定深深迷恋过一个人

  • 要不,它为什么重新变回雨水?为什么
  • 要让我和你,同时看见它正在崩塌的前半生

WHITE FAIRY FOX

  • by Lao Si

  • I am late autumn, amid its crimson-red,
  • I am the somber atmosphere draping over the willows.
  • I am at the lake, that has no doors,
  • where a destitute girl is about to jump in.
  • I am the head peeping out from an office window,
  • I am in the elevator with the oily smell.
  • I am the kite's thread sinking into the sea.
  • I am the boiling point of a hot pot.
  • I am among the ashen faces of people,
  • I am with the migrant beggar by the stairway.
  • I am the porcelain bowl that holds money and fortune.
  • I am the night in your proximity.
  • I am a fox trotting by the lake,
  • then entering a building, entering a cooking pot,
  • slipping into the flowing time, into the worldly care
  • that puts a knife in the heart.
  • I watch myself in silence, in a field of white fluffiness.
  • As the most beautiful white fox in the world.
  • Metamorphosis is my fate.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4LDEvxPi_i9SKyp1XQdt1w

白 狐

  • 老 四

  • 我是暗红的深秋,是阴天挂在柳树上
  • 我是湖水敞开大门,是风尘女小何正在投湖
  • 我是写字楼窗户探出一颗脑袋,是电梯间机油味
  • 我是海底捞风筝线,是火锅沸腾刹那
  • 我是一群人木然的表情,是蹲在楼梯口乞讨的江西人
  • 我是一口瓷碗,是碗里的钱或命运
  • 我是此时方圆一公里内的夜
  • 我是一只小狐狸,平坦穿过湖边
  • 窜进一座楼里,窜进一口锅里,窜进时间里
  • 那些流动的事物,牵挂心如刀割
  • 我静静看着自己,这一平方公里的绒毛和雪白
  • 作为最美的白狐,不断穿梭的姿势是我的命

THE NAKED FIELD

  • by Ah Xin

  • A brutal wind blows across the naked field.
  • Loaded with heavy floating ice, the big river slows down.
  • On horseback,
  • Kampot and Tenzin, two brothers, and I trek the riverbank,
  • ice crystals grow on our mustaches and eyelashes.
  • Who is ahead of us? Is there anyone waiting for us, making tea for us?
  • Who has dragged us into this thangka landscape?
  • One charcoal-black horse, one sunset-red horse, and the other is maroon with snowflakes.
  • The wind fills our parkas, we tighten our belts.
  • Men and horses move quietly upwind, over the frozen naked earth.
  • Who is waiting for us ahead, making a pot of black tea?
  • Who has the message from the dead, throwing us into this destiny,
  • fording upstream of a stupendous river?

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-01-13/11820877.shtml


裸 原

  • 阿 信

  • 一股强大的风刮过裸原。
  • 大河驮载浮冰,滞缓流动。
  • 骑着马,
  • 和贡布、丹增兄弟,沿高高的河岸行进,
  • 我们的睫毛和髭须上结着冰花。
  • 谁在前途?谁在等我们,熬好了黑茶?
  • 谁把我们拖进一张画布?
  • 黑马涂炭,红马披霞,栗色夹杂着雪花。
  • 我们的皮袍兜满风,腰带束紧。
  • 人和马不出声,顶着风,在僵硬的裸原行进。
  • 谁在前途等我们,熬好了黑茶?
  • 谁带来亡者口信,把我们拖入命运,
  • 与大河逆行?

CONFUCIUS HALL OF KNOWLEDGE

  • by Ah Ya

  • Dreamy white horses and birds
  • come in search of food,
  • either browsing, or lost, or just living.
  • A lawn touched by thoughts,
  • unadorned, in the company of blue stones.
  • Remember the words of wisdom, a way out of the maze.
  • Learn the words about the wind, to dispel the fog.
  • Take a stroll in the Hall, and explore the world of books.
  • The knocks on the doors in search of truth
  • softens the sounds of rain and solitude.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4DkR6QJMwaYj0C0z1GQtew


问津书院

  • 阿 雅

  • 有沉思的白马或鸟类
  • 来这里寻找粮食
  • 翻阅时光、迷途和人生
  • 思绪散落在青草上
  • 朴素,日夜为青石所旁观
  • 记下答案,隐秘的出口
  • 记下风,与雾抗衡
  • 在书里旅行,在书院里环顾
  • 唯有不断地叩问
  • 安抚着雨声和沉寂

WUGONG IN THE WINTER

  • by Aming Dongbai

  • Wugong* in the winter,
  • no need for flashy fineries,
  • yellow suffices to show her golden virtue.
  • When the north wind howls
  • louder than 10,000 army horses could neigh:
  • snow turns to ice, but underneath it
  • Wei River, Qu River, and Qi River flow continuously.
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • children of Master Agriculture continue to have big dreams:
  • to revive their forebearers' high minds
  • inscribed on Maoling the Han tombs.
  • An exile's devotion as lofty as the clouds,
  • Tang Dynasty's romantic charm,
  • the immortal love sacrificed,
  • all have nurtured the land and sweetened it.
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • she doesn't fall for sweet bewitching talk.
  • Birches go up, paths criss-cross the fields,
  • similar to her noble heart and refreshing look.
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • as plants race to grow, we sleep soundly,
  • cozy and warm on heated beds, lovely dreams
  • wait to soar into Spring.
  • Winter's Wugong
  • is a beautiful woman ready for a bath,
  • removing her clothes,
  • ravishing, exquisite.
  • Be gone are the great Northwest's
  • dust and storm and scorn!
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • in brilliant blue, the color of Lantian Jade,
  • sun-carved, moon-polished, forever new.
  • The people are the unparalleled true genius.
  • Ah,
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • I won't lament for your seven thousand years of troubles,
  • but will be with you in your new quest:
  • I shan't seek a dream-like fairyland;
  • but will pour every breath and effort in bringing forth a new era.
  • Translator's note: Wugong, place name in Shaanxi Province.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rGGblMxvHa23Bhu_uTb1vQ


冬日的武功

  • 阿明东白

  • 冬日的武功,
  • 不需要五彩缤纷的装饰,
  • 黄色就足以展示其纯金的价值。
  • 北风呼号,
  • 胜似千军万马在鸣嘶:
  • 冰冻雪封,
  • 看渭、沮、漆水在潜流不息。
  • 冬日的武功,
  • 神农的后裔依然稼穑梦想:
  • 炎黄的子孙更把茂陵的大风高唱。
  • 而云中的汉节,
  • 大唐的神韵,
  • 马嵬的遗爱,
  • 早已化作原上泥土的芳香。
  • 冬日的武功,
  • 不喜欢花言巧语的迷惑,
  • 挻挺的白杨、交错的阡陌,
  • 就尽显她的高洁与鲜活。
  • 冬日的武功,
  • 在拔节中安睡,
  • 暖暖坑头、离离梦想,
  • 希望于立春前放飞。
  • 冬日的武功,
  • 是正入浴的美女,
  • 脱去旧装、飘洒精美,
  • 一洗大西北的尘垢与耻辱!
  • 冬日的武功,
  • 焕发蓝田玉的华彩,
  • 日雕月琢、历久弥新,
  • 人民是绝代的天才。
  • 啊,
  • 冬日的武功,
  • 我不凭吊你七千年的苦难,
  • 只为你今天全新的追求:
  • 我也不寻觅那虚幻的仙山琼阁,
  • 只来灌注创造新时代的神力。

THE OLD CARPENTER

  • by An Qiaozi

  • Timber neatly stacked in the house,
  • waiting for the touch of the carpenter,
  • who has an eye for each piece.
  • When drilling, a shrill seems to come
  • from him, as if he’s the one been drilled,
  • as if the terror of old age has heightened.
  • Seldom sloppy, precise in every step,
  • his overused hands can still chisel out the prettiest waves.
  • The scrapes are given a second life,
  • the others will be delivered to the crematoriums.
  • Some shavings slowly float down,
  • already smelling decay;
  • some saw dust rests on his head like snow
  • that won't be shaken off.
  • He studies and cross-examines every piece of wood;
  • every piece is unique,
  • nice grain, elegant and sleek.
  • The finished pieces sit aside, waiting for the final
  • dressing up, like a bride waiting for a bridal gown.
  • Now, a few other things also have their finales.
  • This time, when the door opens,
  • someone long missing from his life appears.
  • An archenemy finally shows up after thirty years.
  • Already old, he hands him a cigarette
  • and light it for him:
  • “Ah, time to have my coffin made.”
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

老木匠

  • 安乔子

  • 木材整齐地叠放在屋里
  • 听候一个木匠发出的指令
  • 该是什么他心里有数
  • 给一块木材钻孔,发出的是他的尖叫
  • 恍惚被洞穿的是他自己
  • 这加深了人到老年的恐惧
  • 难得糊涂,但每一道工序都要清楚
  • 用旧的手还能刨出朵朵浪花
  • 留下来的部分是它们的余生
  • 另一些是送到火葬场
  • 一些木屑从他身上飘下来
  • 但味道已经开始腐烂
  • 一些木屑像停在头上的白雪
  • 但他抖落不了
  • 对一根木材进行质问、追溯
  • 每一根都有它的模样
  • 质地光滑、细腻和精准
  • 做好的木材在另一边,等他为它们披上
  • 一件最后的嫁衣
  • 现在,一些事情有了定局
  • 推开门那瞬间,等了三十年的人来了
  • 和他较劲了三十年的人来了
  • 他已经老了,双手递上一根烟
  • 并替他点燃了
  • “为我做一口棺材吧”

I HAVE BEEN PRACTICING MY HOMETOWN DIALECT

  • by Bai Gongzhi

  • The tree I brought here from the countryside has only bare ribs left,
  • its leafy twigs clipped away. New shoots grow
  • on old wounds, but they swish and rustle with a Beijing twang.
  • I have been practicing my hometown dialect,
  • mostly in the deep woods or on a cropland.
  • I hope to regain my mother's lilt and flow
  • that echoed through the mountains,
  • especially when she called us for dinner. I am an absent son,
  • missing home-cooking, dreaming of
  • returning to my elderly father, to the sounds of Nature,
  • to be graceful like the handsome cornstalks; the wind
  • has carried my longings to somewhere far, far away.
  • I have been practicing my hometown dialect,
  • for fear folks would treat me like an out-of-towner
  • if I err in speech when I indeed go home again.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


我一再练习方言

  • 白公智

  • 一棵树进城,被截去了枝叶
  • 只剩下肋骨。从伤疤里萌发的新芽
  • 开枝散叶的声音,都是普通话
  • 我一再练习方言。面对
  • 一片树林,一畦庄稼
  • 重新找回方言的抑扬,和顿挫
  • 让回音,再次从山谷荡出
  • 母亲喊归的黄昏。让炊烟
  • 再次牵回游子回家的脚步
  • 父亲拄锄而立,聆听大地物语
  • 如玉米长舞水袖,一阵风
  • 就把乡情,送向远方以远
  • 我一再练习方言。因为我怕
  • 真的回到故乡,因为说错了一句话
  • 乡亲们就把我当成了外乡人

THE DEFINITION

  • by Xi Chuan

  • The definition of letdown —
  • as an example, the ballroom door opens and a glamorous woman falls.
  • The meaning of setback—
  • for example, close to orgasm, an earthquake or fire breaks out.
  • The definition of unfairness—
  • imagine every sunlight pouring on the person right next to you.
  • What is gloom —
  • when two women quarrel under the scorching sun and both suffer a heat stroke.
  • What is impossibility—
  • for example, the executioner sneezes with his axe in the air and the convict sneezes, too.
  • What is luck—
  • for example, a drunk lying on the road, but not a car comes.
  • The definition of jest—
  • think of a donkey growing wings, not for flying, but for showing off.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


何 谓

  • 西 川

  • 何谓扫兴——
  • 好比舞会的大门打开,盛装的女子摔倒。
  • 何谓挫败——
  • 好比就要高潮,忽然地震了或者着火了。
  • 何谓不平——
  • 好比阳光统统卸在了我身旁人的身上。
  • 何谓悲催——
  • 好比毒太阳下两个女人吵架却同时中暑。
  • 何谓不可能——
  • 好比刽子手举刀打喷嚏,受刑者也打喷嚏。
  • 何谓运气——
  • 好比醉汉躺倒在马路上,没有车子开来。
  • 何谓不严肃——
  • 好比驴长出翅膀,不为飞翔只为炫耀。

POET XIE LING’YUN

  • by Xi Du

  • I crossed the river alone;
  • my shadow did not follow.
  • My shadow is gone, only myself
  • to face the wind coming up the river and the sea.
  • My shadow stays in the mountains,
  • my longings for the past remain in town.
  • I open the windows on all sides
  • to let gusty winds blow my heart wild.
  • In the middle of this big river, emptiness abounds,
  • my heart, too, is vast and free.
  • Vast is the vista of tender grass in the pond.
  • Free are the songbirds roosting on weeping willows.
  • I no longer have use for a shadow,
  • this body, too, has no purpose in the least.
  • I offer my dying words: love scenery,
  • expand your spirit, let it be free.
  • Facing death is but this useless shell,
  • what will carry on are a few lines of poetry bestowed by fate.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WWeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/2NTEk3ZHYO03P_ylzQgo-g

谢灵运

  • 西渡

  • 我独自渡过了江水
  • 我的影子没有过江

  • 我成为一个没有影子的人
  • 独自面对江上的风和海上的风

  • 我把影子留在山里
  • 我把怀念留给斗城

  • 我把四面的窗全部打开
  • 我让八面的风把我的心吹乱

  • 这是在江心,四面空阔
  • 我的心也空阔

  • 空,我就看见池塘生春草
  • 阔,我就听见园柳变鸣禽

  • 影子已经毫无用处了
  • 身体也毫无用处了

  • 我立下遗嘱,要热爱山水
  • 造就辽阔的心灵

  • 将要赴死的是一具毫无用处的皮囊
  • 将要不朽的是命运赐予的两三诗行

WHITE DEW*

  • by Xi She

  • The next climate phase is pushing hard——
  • warmth is gone as we speak.
  • To work up a sweat,
  • we must now ride a good many miles,
  • choose a hilly route with bridges,
  • and welcome the headwinds,
  • and even walk a stretch on the way back.
  • Earlier, you could not buy coolness for a fortune;
  • comes White Dew, and cool becomes too much——
  • the setting sun drops like a horse shoe;
  • once it dips into the cold water of Xiao Mao Harbor,
  • it will be tempered and become thin and sharp.
  • In the distance, the high-speed train seems sharper even,
  • shearing the veil of twilight like a slitter.
  • Its whistles impatiently,
  • penetrating, brittle, unlike in summer——
  • the summer that was once so long and drawn out.
  • Crossing the river is a flock of birds,
  • looking like confetti cast in the wind ——
  • The chill is no longer purely in a touch.
  • Along a stretch of the breakwater,
  • an empty fishnet, left standing, is sifting time
  • into diamond shapes of sapphire blue.
  • Note:
  • *White Dew is an interval of the Chinese solar cycle which begins around early September.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/aLvkgVLwaomiigXAi2HwwA


白 露

  • 西 厍

  • 节气的催逼是明摆着的——
  • 天,说凉就凉了。
  • 想出大汗得多骑好几里地,
  • 得挑桥多的路段,得拼命上坡,得不惜逆风
  • 走上一段回头路。
  • 凉意曾千金难买。
  • 一到白露,突然变得过剩——
  • 落日的马蹄铁,
  • 一经小泖港的凉水淬火,
  • 很快变得又薄又锋利。
  • 远处高铁像一把更加锋利的裁纸刀
  • 裁开薄暮的生宣。
  • 尖锐、发脆,
  • 不容迟疑的声音迥异于夏日——
  • 夏日曾经那么悠长。
  • 此时过江的鸟群
  • 看上去像一把随风而起的纸屑——
  • 凉意已经不局限于触觉。
  • 一张支棱在防波堤上的空洞罾网所筛过的
  • 时间,
  • 统一呈菱形,而且幽蓝。

PERSIMMON

  • by Xi She

  • The decorum for the tongue to take an autumn fruit
  • is sucking, not biting and chewing,
  • such as a persimmon, a great honey drop on a bare branch,
  • swelling with the best autumn can offer--
  • pure sweetness and an overt temptation.
  • It accepts your sucking, but refuses indignity
  • ——no wanton pinching or squeezing or lewd puns,
  • which, to the one in the autumn wind,
  • the persimmon that has nothing but purest sweetness,
  • is considered an almost unforgivable malice;
  • the leering eyes of flattering glances
  • are not what a persimmon wants.
  • Almost bursting with sweetness, you adore
  • its voluptuousness with a heartfelt sip.
  • Even a sparrow's pecking
  • will help it realize itself, reciprocating
  • the goodness of the sun, the moon, heaven and earth.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gIshlF3B_Uu_FntCcRMczA

  • Any questions or comments about the poem, please feel free to write to
  • editor@modernchinesepoetry.com

柿子

  • 西厍

  • 秋实之于口舌的的极致方式
  • 是啜吸而非咬啮
  • 比如柿子,秃枝上的一滴巨大蜂蜜
  • 膨胀着秋天所能供给的
  • 高纯度的甜与光明正大的诱惑
  • 它接受你的啜吸,但拒绝羞辱
  • ——由轻佻的拿捏所催生的鄙俗俚语
  • 对一只在秋风中
  • 盈满诚实甜汁的柿子而言
  • 几乎是不可原宥的恶意
  • 那些假审美之义肆意挑剔的目光
  • 也非一只柿子所需
  • 它无限膨胀几近爆破的甜
  • 只需要你的倾心一啜——
  • 即便是一只鸟雀的啄食
  • 也将帮助它完成自己
  • 完成对日月天地的以德报德

THE NIGHT HAS LOST A WHEEL

  • by Xi Yakou

  • Sometimes, we drive a car between Qinghai
  • and Gansu, crossing Qilian Mountains, a peak after a peak,
  • arriving home with what are the remaining tires.
  • “Sparks come from the imperfection in a diamond.”
  • No one pays any attention to
  • the lost lakes in the mountains.
  • “The one that quietly rolls past the Big Dipper
  • is Qinghai’s tall-wheel.”
  • The snowy mountain range is but a highway of frost heaves.
  • I can't tell where the cracks come from, but know Qinghai Lake
  • is the axis because it does not move.
  • In truth the yak’s horn has a curve that guides the arc in the sky.
  • High-rises, high-speed rail, the electricity pylons,
  • nothing can detach desolation from the northern land.
  • The long-secluded humanity
  • has acquired a rare nobility here, like liquid diamond.
  • Our car broke down at a mountain pass, like a bar-headed goose with useless wings
  • but has learned to ask for bread crumbs.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VApmFFsj6g2Xi_YbG_0xAQ


夜丢失一只轮胎

  • 西衙口

  • 有时,我们开一辆车,在青海
  • 和甘肃之间,连续翻越祁连山
  • 驾驶着仅剩的轮胎回到家里。
  • “火花依靠钻石中的瑕疵”。
  • 没谁去注意峰峦之间
  • 那些遗落的湖泊。
  • “从北斗星宫之侧悄然轧过者
  • 是青海的高车”
  • 雪山仅仅是一段翻浆的道路。
  • 我不知道断裂来自哪里
  • 我知道青海湖因为不动而构成了它的轴心。
  • 实际上牦牛的角已经为天空的弯曲给予了角度。
  • 高楼,高铁,供电塔
  • 也不能让北方远离它的荒凉。
  • 被长久抛掷的人性
  • 像液态钻石,已经有了另一种高贵
  • 汽车抛锚在垭口,像一只放弃了翅膀的斑头雁
  • 但已经懂得索要面包屑。

TOMORROW

  • by Xi Yi

  • Tomorrow I am coming to see you, bringing a star.
  • Stars are forsaken metal scraps,
  • same as me, an unwanted blacksmith in this world.
  • I will give myself away
  • for you to smelt, together with other iron scraps,
  • to make a wieldy plow,
  • for brother Ashan, who's lost his land,
  • so he may remember me now and then,
  • and remember the land,
  • and his father, buried in the land.
  • Then, I’ll set out in the moonlight
  • to return to my blacksmith shop,
  • and feed whatever bits and pieces to the furnace,
  • and watch sparks splatter
  • like undying eyes.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


明日

  • 希亿

  • 明日,我会捧着一颗星星见你
  • 星星是被人家丢弃的铁皮
  • 我是被人间放弃的铁匠
  • 见你
  • 请你把我一并铁皮熔化
  • 并打造成一把好使的犁耙
  • 送给失去土地的阿三兄弟
  • 让他时时想起我
  • 时时想起土地
  • 以及被埋在土地里的他的父亲
  • 然后,我会扛着夜色
  • 重新回到铁匠铺
  • 我会把一些不起眼的东西丢进火炉
  • 让它们溅出火星来
  • 当作一些人不死的眼睛

MOUNTAIN SONGS

  • by Xi Zuo

  • Mountain songs flow,
  • flowing from the mouths that eat corn, potato, and buckwheat, crops of the barren land,
  • never posh or flowery;
  • flowing from folks who drink from mountain springs, taking in the earthy taste of rugged land.
  • Mountain songs enrich the valleys, and light up the birds’ eyes.
  • Mountain songs bridge the mountains.
  • Mountain songs sprinkle on the grass and make it tender and soft,
  • velvety like an emerald river, where the sheep
  • skim by like sailboats, a thousand new and old sails on the horizon.
  • Mountain songs ride on the clouds, bringing them lower,
  • and give us rain, or even an awesome snow.
  • When mountain songs stop flowing, the valleys and the birds’ eyes feel empty,
  • and mountains retreat to the opposite sides of the chasm,
  • every inch of them shrouded in isolation,
  • although the grass is still there, and the sheep are still there...
  • When folk songs die, our hearts are eaten out.
  • When folk songs die, a big horse slowly drinks up our river of life.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/W2Kgpu_-W4Z23i4ILcwTvQ


山 歌

  • 西 左

  • 山歌从嘴里出来
  • 吃玉米、土豆、荞麦的嘴,有土地的贫瘠
  • 没有肥沃的言语
  • 喝山泉水的嘴,把山的陡峭留在自己的体内
  • 山歌填满空空的山谷,鸟的眼睛
  • 山歌把两座山峰紧紧拴在一起
  • 山歌落在草地上,草变得柔软起来了
  • 像一条碧绿的江水。啃食青草的羊群
  • 像帆船,千帆过境,一帆一个轮回
  • 山歌落在云上,白云低垂
  • 欲成雨滴,一场罕见的大雪
  • 山歌停止,山谷和鸟的眼睛比之前更空
  • 被拴在一起的山峰又退回到自己的位置
  • 各自举着自上而下的无边苍茫
  • 草还是草,羊还是羊……
  • 停止的山歌,剜人心肠
  • 停止的山歌,像匹大马正在饮胸口的江河

Springtime, the Window May Not Make a Sound

  • by Xian Ren

  • I left the harmonica on the window sill,
  • below, some spring snow has faded,
  • I feel I haven't done a thing, but perhaps have done everything.
  • This is a chromatic harmonica, its reed plate
  • I checked and found nothing wrong, but one hole tends to trap moisture.
  • I play and revive the harmonica, just like spring breeze
  • blows life into me. Every time a tune calls for the sticky key,
  • I simply skip it, giving it a silent beat,
  • but this adjustment comes back to hound me,
  • about things I tried to rescue but haven't rescued.
  • Playing the harmonica gives me the feeling of falling in love,
  • soon there is a sea opening up in my mind.
  • Once I got used to it, the adjustment becomes natural till the end.
  • Spring comes ashore, as I fall deeply in love.
  • I fall in love with the phrase Spring comes ashore, as I fall deeply in love.
  • The world is sending out new shoots, new flower buds ...
  • And once in a while, the wind blows on the window,
  • the window may not make a sound, perhaps me either, grounded indoors,
  • am almost silent, the original state of a basic unit of something larger.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-04-09/13174106.shtml

春天,如果窗子是哑的

  • 闲 芢

  • 那把琴搁在窗子下有些春雪淡去了,
  • 我什么都没做又好像什么都已做过。
  • 这是一把半音阶口琴我检查过
  • 簧片没有错误,其中的一个孔爱黏膜。
  • 我吹奏,像春日的风吹奏我
  • 一样吹绿这把琴。每每遇到黏膜的孔
  • 就逃避过去就哑了一个节奏
  • 就感到莫名的矫正针对着我
  • 做拯救但不曾拯救过的事情。
  • 吹奏它仿佛我爱上了一个人,
  • 脑海里发生了一片海,
  • 一旦习惯,矫正就伴随着结束。
  • 上岸的是春天,我爱上了一个人。
  • 我爱上了“上岸的是春天,我爱上了一个人。”
  • 外面的世界都开始抽芽,蓄花……
  • 唯独有的时候,风吹着窗子,
  • 要么窗子是哑的,要么我搁浅在屋内
  • 趋近一个哑的原本的零部件。

CRYING

  • by Xiang Wuhua

  • By the river, a woman cries, her hollow voice
  • makes one wonder if she cries for any reason.
  • A man cries on the mountain, standing tall,
  • but suddenly kneels down, obviously feeling awkward.
  • He raises a china bowl and pours the wine on the ground.
  • If someone rushes down the street and cries, it must be some crisis.
  • Another one bursts into tears in the theater,
  • and looks embarrassed when the light turns on after the show.
  • The most moving thing is the fat butcher
  • crying while holding to the edge of the coffin for his skinny mother.
  • His sounds like a squealing pig.
  • Not everyone is able to cry.
  • The words “cry if you feel sad” can cause people to tear up,
  • but at fifty or older, when our faces become as hard as iron,
  • crying out loud gets harder and harder.
  • Sometimes, you feel like crying (I feel particularly embarrassed when I write this),
  • but end up going for a drink with someone at most,
  • and it can be difficult to find this someone.
  • You still want to cry. By the river, even if you cry out loud,
  • it sounds hollow, you don’t know why you cry.
  • Every passing ship has a motor that roars,
  • too intimidating for us to cry.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cRO7OGg55OcVn4sHz7kqkw


哭 泣

  • 向武华

  • 在河边哭泣的女人,有点空洞
  • 也许她的哭泣毫无理由。在山上哭泣的人
  • 站得那么高,他明显感觉不妥
  • 即时跪下来啦,并高举瓷碗,洒下烈酒
  • 在街上边急走边哭泣,一定事发突然
  • 有人在剧院里,泪流满面
  • 散场灯打开,他是多么难堪
  • 最让人动容的,是一脸横肉的屠夫
  • 扶着棺材在哭,他瘦小的母亲在内面
  • 他的哭像在杀一头猪
  • 不是所有的人都哭得出来
  • 最让人想哭的话是,心里难过就哭出来吧
  • 过了五十岁后,没有人好意思哭
  • 一张脸都成铁块啦
  • 有时,你想哭(写这话时,我就觉得特别难为情)
  • 你顶多去找一个人喝酒
  • 这样的人也不是那么好找
  • 你还是想哭。来到河边,你即使哭出来了
  • 也是那么空洞,你不知道为什么要哭
  • 每一条过往的船,它的马达声都像怒吼
  • 你更加不好意思哭

INTERNAL CANDLELIGHT

  • by Xiao Fan

  • Tight shoulders, a creaky neck, the body dissolves
  • in the long night while a snake
  • and other frosty things run amuck, trying to suffocate
  • the tiny little bird.
  • Then spring shows up, breathing new life into things,
  • there will be children, music, and books again
  • as if happiness sprints back from the soil rich with memories.
  • But “each body is a universe”,
  • only after she realized the meaning of it
  • did she begin to learn about herself.
  • After half a lifetime’s practice,
  • she finally has faith in the trees, a different life in every season.
  • She tiptoes around lest she topples the candle inside of her
  • that flickers, sways, points up,
  • and gives a downy warmth.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/tS8-UUJMjjDL2iwDcCohrg


体内宿有灯火

  • 筱凡

  • 肩颈发出咯咯之响,在黑夜
  • 身体不被看见,长出蛇
  • 长出冰冷的事物,惶恐不安地
  • 缠绕着一只鸟
  • 在春天,趁万物醒来
  • 给孩子以琴声,以经书
  • 仿佛记忆的土壤储存肥沃的幸福
  • 而身体是一座宇宙
  • 当她这样认识时,才真正开始
  • 认识自己
  • 她用了半生的努力
  • 渐渐对一棵四季分明的树有了信仰
  • 她踮起脚尖仿佛体内宿有灯火
  • 它微弱、摇摆、向上
  • 有轻拢的暖

YANGSHAN MOUNTAIN PASS

  • by Xiao Shui

  • When my grandmother was gravely ill, I returned from a long way away.
  • Supported, she leaned up against the bed, blue jacket, red trousers,
  • not one gray hair out of place. But her hands were limp, bearing many
  • needle marks. She secretly told me that I must find
  • a shaman to help her escort her spirit. That very evening, it was unusually cold

    ,

  • from our isolated village I watched the myriad of stars in the sky,
  • and the torches’ sparks following the wind around the mountain peak, rushing
  • into the canyon as if coming for my grandmother.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rZBeTuUuL-XniyZ_w-j3FQ


阳山关

  • 肖水

  • 那次祖母病重,我千里迢迢赶回去。她被扶起靠在床头,青衣红裤,
  • 白发一丝不苟。但手是软绵绵的,留下不少针孔。她偷偷嘱咐我千万要去
  • 找巫师帮她喊魂。当晚寒冷异常,我在瑶人的寨子里,看见繁星满天,
  • 火把上的火星随着山巅的风,滚落到峡谷里,似乎很快就要到我祖母的面前。



PERSIAN SILK FLOWERS

  • by Xiao Xi

  • Opening the windows, vistas of silk trees abound.
  • Mostly pink flowers, only one tree yields yellow blossoms.
  • Under the tree a girl stands in her white skirt,
  • looking all the more striking.
  • Each breath a sweetness,
  • bestowed with a greater gift of imagination,
  • I walk up and embrace its waist. Its hand points into the distance—
  • Floating on the surface of the ocean a tiny hill,
  • with a daub of blue-green,
  • It commands a large sweep of the ocean's depths.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rH4hfAVJx6Hoioq2MrU8aA


合 欢

  • 小 西

  • 打开窗,都是合欢。
  • 粉色的花居多,米黄色的只有一树
  • 穿白裙子的女孩站在树下格外醒目。

  • 每个人的呼吸,都被甜美
  • 赋予更多的想象。
  • 我走过去抱住它的腰,它的手正指向远处——
  • 浮在海面上的是座极小的山
  • 但一抹青翠
  • 仍压住了大片不安的深蓝

I. EMPTY

  • by Xiao Xi

  • “Emptiness” is an unsteady thing,
  • sometimes we catch it for the purpose of
  • engraving on it, baking it in the kiln
  • and exhibiting it like a good-looking object.
  • This is hard.
  • We have no patience for such a difficult thing.
  • The moon is slender,
  • and our love can become slender, too.
  • A child sits on the stone steps
  • with a deflated balloon.
  • "Emptiness” all around her.
  • II. STILL EMPTY
  • The temple sits by a boundless water,
  • mosses on the walls.
  • Many have renounced life
  • behind the temple’s door of empty desires,
  • and no one knows how many leapt into the water.
  • All is null. All is void.—
  • the boatsman shouts out whenever he passes here.
  • Void. Void.—
  • the valley echoes with all its heart.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/TZRKLSgdmO0GZS64E0YCOw


  • 小 西

  • “空”忽隐忽现
  • 有时我们捉住它,想将其
  • 刻上花纹,放在炉内烧制
  • 做成好看的器物供奉起来
  • 这很难。
  • 我们没有耐心做这么难的事
  • 月牙瘦小
  • 爱也变得稀薄
  • 一个孩子黯然坐在石阶上
  • 拿着瘪掉的气球
  • “空”就站在她周围
  • ***************
  • 依然是空
  • 寺庙紧邻着茫茫江水
  • 墙壁生了青苔
  • 数不清多少人遁入空门
  • 又有多少人跃入水中
  • 万事皆空啊——
  • 船夫经过此地必喊。
  • 空啊,空啊——
  • 山谷认真地回答

THE ART OF BALANCE

  • by Xie Jianjian

  • After a long period of down time, I nudge myself to move.
  • Action versus stillness, I hop around the uneven
  • landscape of Zhejiang and practice the art of balance,
  • similar to twirling down after a discus throw, or
  • the heart quieting to a snare drum after intense love.
  • I come across Celan at Liangzhu, the Neolithic burial site, rarely do we
  • run into each other: with art I balance the classics and the modern.
  • I then share my unvarnished poetry with a friend,
  • and listen to him weighing and shifting words.
  • I revisit Celan, but evenings are saved for Li Shangyin,
  • a gulf between the two,
  • therefore I pile up pedantic diction on one side,
  • and re-rendered classical poetry into free verse on the other side.
  • In order to perfect the art of balance, one must
  • force one end of the seesaw to the ground, and wait for a rebound.
  • I choose the dangerous way of Descartes;
  • in the company of the moon, I feel almost like a star.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


平衡术

  • 谢健健

  • 长久的沉寂后,我把身体进行挪移
  • 对应着静而动,在浙江高矮不一的
  • 山水间,我练习跳跃后的平衡术
  • 像掷铁饼后的旋转渐息,像热烈地
  • 爱过之后,心脏慢慢地恢复成小鼓
  • 在良渚遇见策兰,两个较少联系的我们
  • 碰撞到一起:我借助绘画平衡古典现代
  • 我将草创的诗献给友人
  • 听他往天平,哪一侧加重分量
  • 我重读策兰,夜读李商隐
  • 两者之间沟壑分明
  • 我跳入其中,以文言堆起大厦
  • 又以白话长句写古典汉诗
  • 为了掌握好平衡术,必须
  • 把翘板压到底部,等候反弹
  • 我走在笛卡尔危险的路上
  • 我因伴随月光,觉得自己也是星辰。

A FROG IN THE WELL

  • by Xie Jiong

  • Sometimes
  • I would like to be a frog in a well,
  • a lifetime spent on a square of blue-green mossy
  • earth, a lifetime spent staring at the tiny world above,
  • yearning for a white cloud
  • to shelter me from the piercing sunlight.
  • When you tell me that you have traveled the seven seas,
  • seen the highest mountains, the deepest canyons, and the farthest shorelines,
  • your face appears
  • in my ever-changing sky.
  • But all I want is to be a frog in a well,
  • in the deepest pool, head raised, taking
  • all of you in.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ejXZKe41q6JxqXh2j_M4xA


井底之蛙

  • 谢 炯

  • 有时候
  • 我想做一只井底之蛙
  • 一辈子住在青苔覆盖的
  • 寸尺之地,一辈子只见一方世界
  • 渴望一朵白云
  • 为我遮挡刺目的阳光

  • 当你说,你走过五湖四海
  • 最高的山峰,最深的峡谷,最远的海岸线
  • 当你的脸,出现在我
  • 变幻莫测的天空

  • 我想做的不过是一只井底之蛙
  • 在深渊,抬头摄入
  • 你的全部



Sensō-ji Temple

  • by Xie Yuxin

  • In a holy place,
  • sunrise and sunset
  • are all the same to the spectator:
  • a time when time is given a rest,
  • when everyone welcomes everyone.
  • God willing, at a chosen moment,
  • the hallway wind
  • that awakens the copper bells
  • will also lift up the believers’ hair.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/LC2JbSUt3gYFyDqBuhhUdw


浅草寺

  • 谢雨新

  • 在神圣的地方
  • 无论看朝阳或晚霞
  • 都是一样的事
  • 时间允许时间静止
  • 万物允许万物停留
  • 在神明允许的某一个刹那
  • 那穿越廊间
  • 让铜铃齐响的风
  • 也会吹起信仰者的头发

READING POETRY ON LANTERN FESTIVAL, 2019

  • by Xin Boping

  • A night of light reading, I wonder who else might be reading Xin Qiji’s classical poetry, too.
  • A festival noted by a poem,
  • a sorrow inherent in a rhyme,
  • lampions suddenly appear on the page, lighting up an obscure world,
  • the ancient crowd now has real faces.
  • I am used to finding the meaning of this life in words,
  • using one word to thwart another,
  • using one expression to right another.
  • The syntax comes from the temple, the dictionary is in the hands of children.
  • Leaving the restaurant, the children loudly chant “Green Jade Tune”
  • “Lone lights looming,” I can no longer catch up with the ancients,
  • but the all-devouring Time is stalking me
  • like a snake, like a shadow.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/r-KQRgLMSqXnyOpPxAqkPA


己亥元夕读辛稼轩

  • 辛泊平

  • 闲散的功课,这一夜不知有多少人在读辛弃疾
  • 从一首诗里确认节日,在一个韵脚中感受忧伤
  • 纸上的灯火,在瞬间照亮暗淡的人生
  • 让古老的人群有了现实的眉眼
  • 我已经习惯在词语中寻找此生的意义
  • 用一个词语抵挡另一个词语
  • 用一种修辞修正另一种修辞
  • 语法出自庙堂,词典在孩子手中
  • 从饭店出来,孩子们大声背《青玉案》
  • “灯火阑珊”,我已无力追赶古人的脚步
  • 而那个粉碎肉体的时间,蛇一般
  • 紧贴着我,与影随行

MY RIVER

  • by Xiong Linqing

  • Before becoming the Yangtze River,
  • I would like to be the Black Creek, a fork
  • from a circuitous but clear source,
  • with an awesome yet gracious depth.
  • Before becoming Black Creek,
  • let me be its tributary stream,
  • call me the Nine-Twist Creek, or Blackboard Brook,
  • whatever, even Nameless Trickle will do.
  • Oozing from a clump of cattails under the boulder, or
  • from the roots of a chestnut tree deep in the mountain,
  • saving childhood and youthful joy in its heart,
  • how much silt can a creek take from its homeland?
  • Every statuesque boulder sends me a ripple,
  • every headland makes me linger,
  • under the cliff I decided to journey away from home,
  • but there is disconsolation in the elders’ eyes
  • when they look into the distance that I cannot carry with me.
  • Trickling down the mountain gullies, like tears flowing down
  • a wrinkled face, that’s the reason of my murky color.
  • I stain the Black Creek with my turbid flow,
  • I must also beg the Yangtze River for forgiveness, for
  • carving away its ancient crust.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


我的河流

  • 熊林清

  • 在成为长江之前
  • 我想先成为它旁边的黛溪
  • 有曲折但清晰的来源
  • 让人敬畏又不失亲切的深度
  • 在成为黛溪之前
  • 还是让我先成为它的一条支流
  • 随便叫九盘河,或者公板溪
  • 都行,甚至没有名字也行
  • 从巨石下的一丛蒲草边,或者
  • 深山里的一株栗树下出发
  • 内心藏着童年和少年的欢笑
  • 一段流水能带走故土多少泥沙
  • 每一尊礁石都送我一道皱纹
  • 每一处臂湾都让我徘徊留连
  • 悬崖边我也有游子离乡的决绝
  • 但每一座村庄,我都载不动那些老人
  • 望向远方眼神的空茫
  • 那些从沟壑般纵横的皱纹里
  • 流下来的泪,汇成了我今天的浑浊
  • 我以我的浑浊为黛溪染上斑驳
  • 我还得请求长江,原谅我带它的沧桑

A FLASHY FOUNTAIN PEN

  • by Xiong Yan

  • Afterwards, I walked through the woods to go home,
  • with moonlight trailing me like my remaining boyhood.
  • Earlier that day, Father and I quarreled on the hill.
  • He scolded me, then angrily hoed the soil.
  • I confronted him, and whacked a bush with a sickle.
  • My mother couldn’t help us make peace, anxiously
  • dug out each potato and put it in the grain basket.
  • It’s already turning dark, the insects had started a symphony.
  • Our family bull broke free from its rein, and disappeared into the woods,
  • so I rushed off to chase it, and couldn't hold back the sorrows in my chest.
  • I was thirteen then, just finished the first year at the hometown middle school.
  • I wanted my father to buy me a shiny fountain pen.
  • He refused, and scolded me for being vain.
  • When I returned to school in September, it surprised me to find
  • a brand-new, burnished fountain pen in my travel bag.
  • My father and I, we never talked about it,
  • treating it as a silent oath between us.
  • Those days, away from home, I used that pen
  • to write many a homebound letter to Father,
  • meaning to share with him the moonlight and snow of a foreign land.
  • Later, the pen was gone,
  • like a dream that slowly diminished.
  • Now I am nearly forty, and my father in his seventieth,
  • we are in two worlds, but no longer write letters.
  • But the sky is high, the land is wide, and the taintless moon
  • always shine high between Father and me.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


一支金光闪闪的钢笔

  • 熊 焱

  • 后来,我穿过树林回到家里
  • 月光跟在我的后面,就像一截少年的尾音
  • 在之前,我和父亲在坡地上争吵
  • 他训斥我,用锄头愤怒地刨土
  • 我顶撞他,用镰刀挥砍着一丛树叶
  • 我的母亲无法劝解我们,只能焦急地
  • 把挖出来的土豆一个个地装进簸箕
  • 天已傍晚,夜虫们陆陆续续地拉响琴弦
  • 我家的牯牛挣脱了缰绳,隐入树林
  • 我冲上去追赶它,再也压不住胸口起伏的悲啼
  • 那一年我十三岁,刚在镇上的中学念完初一
  • 我想要父亲给我买一支金光闪闪的钢笔
  • 他拒绝了我,还怒斥我在攀比

  • 九月开学的时候,我意外地发现
  • 行囊里有一支崭新的、金光闪闪的钢笔
  • 我和父亲,都对此绝口不提
  • 那是一种无声的誓言
  • 在那些离乡的日子,我用那支笔
  • 给父亲写下一封封家书
  • 仿佛是在给他,遥寄异乡的月光和雪
  • 再后来,那支笔不见了
  • 就像一个梦境,已缓缓走远
  • 如今我年近不惑,父亲则年过古稀
  • 我们分隔两地,却不再写信
  • 而天高地阔,一轮明月如洗
  • 始终悬在我和父亲之间

BLACKSMITH

  • by Xiongguan Mandao

  • Mr. Wang, the Blacksmith, forged iron all his life,
  • capable of turning the most impure block into useful tools.
  • Mr. Wang, the Blacksmith, believed that people could be forged like iron,
  • to this end, he produced a rod of discipline,
  • and began to use it on his son as early as three years old.
  • The initial ambitions were to make him an emperor, a prime minister, a marshal or general.
  • Later, the aim was lowered to county magistrate, constable or administrative officer.
  • Later, he only wished to hammer his son
  • into a blacksmith.
  • The son is now twenty-two and knows only how to blow the bellows.
  • On the day that Mr. Wang passed, he found no peace.
  • He couldn’t see why there were blocks impossible to be shaped.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jdsAMP9tK5Xb9W_kWsAVXA


打 铁

  • 雄关漫道

  • 王铁匠一生打铁
  • 再浑沌的铸块,经他锤打,都能成器
  • 王铁匠相信,人,也是打出来的
  • 为此,专门制了一把戒尺
  • 从儿子三岁时,开始敲打
  • 起初的目标是皇帝,丞相,元帅和将军
  • 后来是县衙,捕快和师爷
  • 再后来,他只想把儿子
  • 锤成一名铁匠
  • 儿子二十二岁,只会烧火拉风箱
  • 王铁匠走的那天,没有瞑目
  • 他不明白,一生中,也有他锤不成器的铁

REEDS IN THE WILD

  • by Hua Yu

  • Thoughts turn to you again, my white-fleeced sisters;
  • unwelcomed by the metropolis with your raggedness;
  • the wilderness is where you call home.
  • Seasons revolve, in jade green or feathery white,
  • ah, reeds, a moiety of my mood sways with you.
  • Taking a fork off Water Garden Street,
  • a field of reeds shores up the nebulous autumn sky,
  • rustling, breezy,
  • but also composed, high-born, almost otherworldly.
  • I stopped the car, wanting to cross the fosse to embrace you.
  • My valorous sisters, my halcyon sisters,
  • each time we meet, my heart winces a bit,
  • once, and twice, facing the bitter cold wind,
  • staring down a foreboding slope ending at a black pool.
  • In this glitzy world,
  • swamped by neon lights, silky wines, and insatiable appetites,
  • my heart quails, with an audible groan.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/PteQsUYkh4TsTX34CRV_yg


旷野的芦苇

  • 花 语

  • 再次写到你,我素衣的姐妹
  • 永远转不了城镇户口的穷亲戚
  • 旷野是你永远的家园
  • 不论青葱,白头
  • 芦苇啊,我飘摇心绪的一截
  • 从潞苑北大街一个叉路慢驶
  • 成片的芦苇高擎秋天的灰霾
  • 飘缈,拂动
  • 却自在,高洁,悠然
  • 我停车看你,我想跃过沟壑去抱你
  • 我一无所畏又一无所求的姊妹
  • 每次见你,我的心都止不住一紧
  • 再紧,在酷漠的寒风中
  • 在宿命的陡坡,黑潭
  • 在俗世
  • 灯红酒绿,物欲横流的七彩灯箱之外
  • 瑟缩着,说疼

FIRST SNOW: FOR LOVE'S OBSESSION WITH PURITY

  • by Xu Junguo

  • No living thing is not a recipient of woes.
  • Impeccably clean is the season’s first snow.
  • The first encounter with something marvelous,
  • it's euphoria, like walking on clouds.
  • To love is to offer velvety blues
  • for the cold days, like a scarf to wrap around the neck.
  • All things are alone, deafening alone,
  • let me talk to the snowflakes.
  • Love me, but allow me to be obsessed with purity.
  • In this dismal world, please —-
  • let us wipe clean our minds’ space,
  • let us white out the world with a big fluffy snow.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/AZv0i-Hkp_BHPzvfcS7ldA


初雪:致爱的洁癖

  • 徐俊国

  • 众生,皆苦。
  • 第一场雪,如此干净。
  • 初次发生好事那样。
  • 喜悦过度,险些丧失觉悟。
  • 爱我,就发明一种天鹅绒般的忧伤,
  • 天冷,给我围在脖子上。
  • 万物孤寂到聋哑,
  • 我要对着雪花说话。
  • 爱我,就忍受我的洁癖。
  • 世界灰蒙蒙,请你——
  • 心无杂念,
  • 陪我下一场鹅毛大雪。

LIMU MOUNTAINn*

  • by Xu Yanying

  • Love grass is always there, a wind vane,
  • while other foliages seize the day to flaunt their brilliance.
  • The fog can no longer keep the green jebel a secret from the world.
  • If you want to rant, simply charge spring’s first rumble
  • for waking up the trees and sending the streams to run around the mountain.
  • There are also waterfalls,
  • quern stones everywhere in the riverbed,
  • and the heirloom purple rice, in love with the wind.
  • I also hear green barbets gabfest in the mountain,
  • bright and cheerful. Whose secret garden is this?
  • It must have heard the footsteps of immortals.
  • True, it took only one look
  • for the gods to make it a home in this world.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CMC75o12JWk1odb4JhKyiA


黎母山

  • 许燕影

  • 总有知风草不经意泄漏风向
  • 而绿,趁势扑面而来
  • 雾是锁不住青山了
  • 要怨,就怨第一声春雷
  • 草木醒后,水流开始绕着山转
  • 也有飞流直下
  • 河床布满大小石臼
  • 应是故土,山兰稻随风安居
  • 我听见五色雀满山嘈囋
  • 玉佩叮当。谁悄悄藏起这座后花园
  • 必有仙人的足迹踏过
  • 是的,动情只在一念
  • 人间因此多了一朵桃花

BETWEEN THE MOUNTAIN RANGES

  • By Xue Di

  • A mountain deer is in the meadow.
  • Lavender antlers lure visitors
  • with vague hopes to rise.
  • April is full of people with restless hearts.
  • In the distance, the rivers flow through the city
  • alone simultaneously—
  • The crowd follows the crowd, disappearing
  • into the rusty rainstorm.
  • The traveler has returned, bringing ironware and salt
  • gifted by the locals.
  • He tells stories as if they were trees, growing and growing.
  • A flock of birds take wing, fashioning a vast umbrella, over a distant beach.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KSRktsd-VsBWKm2cDGkYlA


群山之间

  • 雪 迪

  • 山鹿在低地的绿草里。
  • 鹿角的兰色请求客居人
  • 带着模糊的心愿起身。
  • 四月充满了想入非非的人。
  • 远方,那些切开城市的河流
  • 孤独地一起流动——
  • 人群跟随人群,消失
  • 在生锈的暴雨中。
  • 旅行者返回。带着当地人
  • 赠送的铁器和盐。
  • 他叙述着像一棵树正在生长。
  • 群鸟飞翔。像遥远的海滩上,一片伞。

GIFTS

  • by Xue Hudie

  • White cups have been received.
  • I am glad both are beautiful and in perfect condition.
  • The tea that came with them
  • steeps and expands, as if in an imaginary lake.
  • At night, the lake ripples on the ceiling.
  • I seem to be with a school of fish,
  • blowing out a small army of bubbles.
  • There are a few who willfully, carelessly,
  • love to go against the traffic.
  • But the cup is even smoother than described.
  • The moon fell in.
  • It became anxious, for
  • all night, it didn’t know how to climb out.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/C5bAsKokY3vnxoU2MD5YrQ


礼 物

  • 雪蝴蝶

  • 白色杯子已经收到
  • 很庆幸两只都漂亮完整
  • 随着一起来的茶
  • 泡开,如我想象的湖水一般
  • 晚上,湖水在天花板上绽放波纹
  • 我仿佛置身在一群鱼中
  • 吐出的泡泡是小军队
  • 有几粒,偏偏毛手毛脚地爱上逆行
  • 而杯子比描述的还要光滑
  • 月亮掉进去
  • 它愁坏了
  • 整个晚上,不知道怎么爬出来

COLD DRIZZLE: GODDESS' DAZZLING HAIR

  • by Ya Shi

  • This season, call it white solitude, is the perfect time
  • to impersonate dark eyes to see the world.
  • The southern slope, still chilly, a film of ice remains
  • on the pond. The ice, so thin that it will break at touch.
  • From my home on the fourth floor, I easily bend over
  • and see the Magnolia below: still ashen gray, still wilted.
  • My wife’s boss, who just held a gleeful New Year celebration,
  • has a cunning design to cancel employee compensation.
  • A few days ago, I swept my parents’ tombs. Clouds are low,
  • and magnolia along the road spewed out white, neighing flowers.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


萧萧发彩凉

  • 哑 石

  • 这季节,白色的孤独,特别
  • 适宜伪装成黑眼珠去观察别的事物。
  • 南方山坡寒冷,水凼上,残留
  • 一层修薄的冰。它们,似可一触即破。
  • 居住在四楼,我非常适合俯身
  • 观察小区玉兰:此刻,还铁灰似的枯。
  • 老婆公司老板,春节过得火红,
  • 竟狡黠,不打算兑现员工报酬的承诺。
  • 几天前,为双亲扫墓。云低垂,
  • 道旁玉兰,喷涌出白色、嘶鸣的花朵。

PRAYERS

  • by Yan Han

  • On the ridge overlooking the valley,
  • the boulders of the Big Shade Mountain,
  • frozen dead through the winter,
  • woke up one balmy afternoon.
  • They loosened themselves with a boom,
  • and rolled down the hill,
  • unnerving two magpies to take off in a panic.
  • My uncle and I walked along the road fronting our old house.
  • Trees retreated like shadows of men.
  • We walked without hurrying, but we did not
  • walk the same road
  • as one road preceded the other by decades.
  • The wooden door was pushed open.
  • Grandma stepped out whilst dusting off her vest.
  • She looked up at the sky with a hand on her forehead
  • as if she had not left this world.
  • The wind ruffled the sun’s rays.
  • A whole hill of trees turned into children on the run.
  • Leaves fell off like sudden raindrops,
  • like words of prayers hastily strung together
  • in times of meteoric catastrophe.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists
  • Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3ZJZUN8fgGHu5jNSZT8LCA


祈 祷

  • 严 寒

  • 山谷的最高处
  • 大阴山顶的岩石
  • 经过整个冬季的冰冻之后
  • 在这个温暖的下午
  • “嘭”地一声碎裂
  • 向山凹滚去
  • 两只灰喜鹊惊慌地飞向天空
  • 我和叔叔走在老屋前的路上
  • 大树影子一样退去
  • 我们慢慢走着,但我们走的
  • 不是同一条路
  • 它们隔着几十年的时光
  • 木板门推开
  • 奶奶拍着衣服上的灰尘走了出来
  • 她手搭在额头,看了看天空
  • 仿佛从来没有死去
  • 风把日光吹乱
  • 满冈的树像奔跑的孩子
  • 树叶骤雨般落下来
  • 像灾难突然来临时
  • 一阵慌乱的祈祷

OVER THE MOON

  • by Yan Hen

  • The clear-pasta-sheet makers are the most incredible.
  • Around First Frost**, they appear for a few days, only at night.
  • Perhaps the wind blew them here,
  • or they came up with a whirlpool in the well.
  • One time, through a door crack, I saw them
  • sitting on a pile of sweet potatoes. The moon shone on their dark faces.
  • The moon roused the plains and hoarfrost.
  • At the first light of dawn. They hopped up the ridge,
  • and the sweet potatoes turned into fish scales.
  • Soon afterwards, the children were sent back to their villages one by one.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


月亮之上

  • 胭 痕

  • 最神奇的是制作粉皮工人
  • 就在霜降那几天。他们只在夜间出现
  • 或许被风吹来
  • 又或许。循着井水旋涡而来。
  • 有一次,我趴着门缝看见他们
  • 坐在红薯堆上。月亮照着他们黑黝黝的脸
  • 月亮惊动了平原和白霜
  • 天一亮。他们就跳上山脊,红薯变成一地鱼鳞。
  • 小孩,陆续被送回村庄

THE LAST FAREWELL

  • by Yan Huaqing

  • That year when you saw me off, at the door
  • you thought I would break the silence,
  • but I didn’t.
  • That year when you saw me off, inside
  • the door were soup mists and soft warm lights.
  • A step out, it was astonishingly cold.
  • Late at night, the hallway windows
  • open to a city of lights under a starry sky.
  • I rest head on the door,
  • and stand there for a long time.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eajiz_1ALkulXZatRoVEHA


终 别

  • 闫画晴

  • 那年你把我送到门口,彼此无言
  • 你以为我要开口说些什么
  • 但我没有
  • 那年你把我送到门口,身后有氤氲的汤
  • 和暖黄色的烛火
  • 出了门,骤然寒彻
  • 入夜,走廊开着窗
  • 顶楼望去,满城繁星与灯火
  • 我把头靠在门上
  • 立了许久

THE YANGTZE RIVER AT POINT ZERO: A DROP OF WATER

  • by Yang Jiao

  • Where will tomorrow flow, no way to tell,
  • but I won’t mention anything about yesterday.
  • Reborn as water, it runs downhill from here on,
  • it's about quieting your mind and getting closer and closer to the sea.
  • Dusk is too quiet, I try
  • to carve out a canyon in my heart, so the walkers
  • can hear the crashing sound of water.
  • A poem that keeps being written is the same as a man living the years in his life.
  • Looking forward, the young river will no longer have a dashing physique.
  • Looking back, the rock cliffs will have lost their set of gleaming teeth.
  • A drop of water, after traveling so far,
  • will return to zero.
  • A river has been there for a thousand years, each new day, a rebirth.
  • A poem that has reached this juncture,
  • pray that it restarts each day, like the sun
  • rising from the river.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/OIdrEQ3HxVsjUgZK00aYaw


长江零公里:一滴水

  • 杨 角

  • 明天会流向哪里,无法预知
  • 但对昨天,我绝口不提
  • 投胎为水,一生就是一条下坡路
  • 就是把心气放下来,一点点接近大海
  • 黄昏太安静了,我试着
  • 从心中取出一片峡谷,让所有散步的人
  • 都能听到轰鸣的水声
  • 一首诗写到这里就是一个人活到了这里
  • 往前,一条年轻的江失去了好身板
  • 往后,礁石林立的峡谷不再有一口好牙齿
  • 作为一滴水,走过万里路
  • 到这里都将归零
  • 流水上千年,因早晨而获得重生
  • 一首诗写到这个势头上
  • 只求每天都有一次出发,都有一轮太阳
  • 从江水中升起

EARLY-MORNING THOUGHTS

  • by Yang Jiao

  • Time to give Morning a new name,
  • how about Light Wind Wafts, we can
  • also rename the Sun: the Untouched Gong.
  • Earth wakes up in the mist again,
  • same way a village wakes up in the immense Southwest,
  • where early risers meet the sound of other footsteps.
  • This is my favorite village,
  • freshly renovated overnight with a golden sheen.
  • Some people call it The World,
  • but you can continue to call it a Village.
  • Being frugal all my life, after Mother left,
  • I treat every new day as a windfall.
  • As thrifty as one can, it’s time to offer Morning a new name,
  • along the line of Bird Song, Rising Sun,
  • or something related to the ancient concept of Thanksgiving.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/YJeCV6rhCTfYF8XABd40NQ

早醒记

  • 杨 角

  • 应该给早晨换个名字了
  • 微风轻送,也可以
  • 把太阳叫做无人敲响的铜钟
  • 地球又一次在薄雾中醒来
  • 像大西南的某个寨子
  • 几个早行人出门遇见了脚步声
  • 这是我喜欢的寨子
  • 刚被金黄的颜色连夜装修过
  • 有人叫它人间
  • 也可以继续叫它乡村
  • 一生节俭,自从母亲走后
  • 我把每次醒来都视作赚来的
  • 再节俭也该给早晨换个名字了
  • 参照鸟鸣、旭日
  • 参照人类古老的感恩

THE MIGHTY RIVER FLOWS EAST

  • By Yang Kang

  • The sun sinks in the west, the mighty river flows to the east. Yesteryears' boats
  • occasionally blow their ancient horn across the river.
  • The towering buildings and speeding cars
  • have decorated the present age. Neon lights leap and jump.
  • I lean on the balustrade, looking out into the distance, seeing the bougainvillea dazzling bright and red,
  • the fast-flowing river does not give me a moment to reminisce.
  • “Not a day passes by that I don’t miss you, though we share the water from the same river every day.”*
  • All I can do is wave off the river to a faraway place.
  • Forgive me if I don’t care about what’s washed away. Whatever the river wants to take,
  • let her take it without return. On my spot of the river, I live love and loneliness,
  • tinged with occasional loss and bursts of anger.
  • Watching my spot of the river, I will host all travelers who come to stay.
  • And ask them to take along a letter to my folks and not await a reply,
  • ofttimes I find myself alone by the river, watching waters churn around a boulder on the riverbed
  • before calmly surging off into the distance. Living is like flowing water.
  • The mighty river flows to the east, the river flows to the east.
  • Like the waters we endure the flow of our destiny.
  • Notes
  • *This line is taken from a poem titled Song of Divination (卜算子) by the Northern Song Dynasty poet Li Zhiyi (1035-1117CE).
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊):https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/due6lmA8zlMNGUvyv9K_qA


大江东去

  • 杨 康

  • 落日西沉,大江东去。斑驳的船
  • 偶尔发出古老的汽笛声在江面悠扬起伏
  • 沿江而立的高楼,和飞驰的汽车
  • 已经把这个时代装点一新。霓虹跳跃
  • 凭栏远眺,三角梅开得那么鲜艳那么红
  • 湍急的江水容不得我有片刻的怀旧
  • “日日思君不见君,共饮长江水”
  • 只能送流水远去。这一生,我都不敢
  • 坐船顺流而下。原谅我是一个没有远方
  • 的人,流水带走的那就让它永远带走吧
  • 守住一方水域,我经历着爱与孤独
  • 经历着偶尔的失落和忽然的愤怒
  • 守着我的这条江,一旦有来客落脚
  • 我必定好生招待。并请他带一封
  • 不需要给我回复的家书,经常一个人
  • 在江边,看滔滔江水是如何与河床上
  • 的一块顽石相互咬牙切齿,然后
  • 又平静地奔赴远方。活着亦如同流水
  • 大江东去啊,大江东去,我们必须
  • 在此生的命运里学会隐忍

MY CHINA

  • by Yang Ke

  • Some like it sweet and sour, others hot and spicy, or the natural flavors.
  • Eight major cuisines conquer the hearts of China, each boasts the best of the land.
  • During a grand tour overseas, from Paris to New York,
  • the stomachs suffered under the reign of knives and forks,
  • but all taste buds are instantly reawakened
  • where foods are stir-fried, simmered, steamed, or glazed
  • into marvelous dishes. This is my motherland.
  • Some speak Cantonese or Peking Mandarin, others talk the southwestern parlance,
  • or with a Yangtze soft lilt, or the Manchurian full lungs
  • Ethnic tongues are even more varied,
  • and local dialects can be wildly different and mutually unintelligible.
  • Where pinyin phonetics are used, accompanied by written characters
  • with strokes going up and down, it is my motherland.
  • Where the deep blue sky is divided by airplanes
  • but patched up by goddess Nuwa, it is my motherland.
  • Where ships cut open the billowing waves,
  • and an angelic red-footed bird hovered to mend it, it is my motherland.
  • From where the sun rises to where Kuafu chases it all the way to
  • the western Yu Valley, that brilliant horizon is my motherland.
  • The moon rises over the westside window, where goddess Chang’er and her pet rabbit
  • visit with the familiar osmanthus scent, it is my motherland.
  • Rice dumplings in bamboo husks, tossed into the churning Miluo River,
  • where Parting Sorrows the heart-breaking political lament is celebrated, it is my motherland.
  • Where people offer moon cakes to heaven
  • when homesickness pervades in mid-autumn, it is my motherland.
  • Where every home and household exhibit their wits
  • with seven-word couplets, all one of its kind, it is my motherland.
  • Where people are jubilant and thankful for peaceful times, it is my motherland.
  • Where red lanterns are raised, firecrackers are lit,
  • and the new-year couplets are fiery red, it is my motherland..n
  • There’ll be running years of surpluses: fish, nuts, dates, pomegranates . . .
  • even the bat has become an auspicious totem.
  • Dragon, phoenix, turtle, unicorn bring in spectacular rain clouds.
  • Bamboo, orchid, chrysanthemum, and the four essentials for calligraphy are food for the soul in good times.
  • Even Pixiu, the one-horned winged lion, can ward off evil spirits.
  • Where magpies, cranes, deer, and the zodiac animals thrive, it is my motherland.
  • In the month of Insect Awakening: peach and Callery pear will bloom, followed by roses.
  • Around spring equinox, we admire crabapple flowers, then pear blossoms, then magnolias.
  • When cuckoos croon, it’s time to plant rice and reap winter wheat.
  • Around summer solstice, rice stalks turn emerald, wearing white flowers.
  • Where farmers go by twenty-four solar terms, it is my motherland.
  • Where stars belong to four groups: Green Dragon on the left, White Tiger on the right,
  • Red Finch in the front, and Sacred Tortoise towards the back,
  • where the philosophy of five elements, yin-yang, and twenty-eight constellation mansions endures, it is my motherland.
  • Climbing a mountain, I think of river god Gonggong’s furor when he crashed into giant massifs.
  • Taking the high-speed rail, I think of Lotus Prince Nezha’s fire wheels.
  • When Gods are revered in the churches and temples on this planet,
  • there is a land of many legendary heroes
  • who refused to yield to fate, this land is my motherland.
  • Other nations have sea eagle, golden lion, and double-headed eagle as their emblems,
  • the golden heads of grains and iron gears symbolize my motherland.
  • Though I admire Venus's disarmed statue and Mona Lisa’s smile,
  • I’m even more fascinated by the apsaras pipa player, and the flying white fox.
  • Listening to a symphony or the coloratura soprano in the concert hall,
  • I cannot dispel the Chinese aria Jasmine and the violin concerto Butterfly Lovers.
  • When admiring the polar bear and kangaroo at the zoo,
  • my heart is warmed by the childlike gentle panda from the country of silk, my motherland.
  • There are epic poems on the stones of European architecture,
  • in comparison, the courtyards of Yangtse River Delta house tall grass, birds, craggy stones, and fossil wood.
  • Then, there are General Guangong’s chivalry, Daiyu’s dreams in the Red Chamber,
  • the bitter happiness at Peony Pavilion, the romance in the Westside Chamber,
  • Li Bai’s moonlit Chang’an, Du Fu’s autumn melancholy,
  • calligraphy on the fans, freehand paintings on scrolls.
  • No matter how graceful the Blue Danube Waltz is,
  • what’s roaring in my heart is The Yellow River by Xian Xinghai.
  • The place that embraces the return of its prodigal sons is my motherland.
  • The pig-dragon jade artifacts from Hongshan and the writings on turtle shells
  • are the foundation of the modern high-rises in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou.
  • Having seen the cutting-edge sciences in space and undersea,
  • I still carry in my bosom a tiny decaying village.
  • Ginkgo trees take time to grow, people watch them with heartaches and angst.
  • Both my temples have greyed, but my young heart still resonates with the May-Fourth movement.
  • The dream of a youthful China is always in my mind.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eajiz_1ALkulXZatRoVEHA


我的中国

  • 杨 克

  • 有人酸甜,有人麻辣,有人喜原汁原味
  • 八大菜系风靡神州,各不遑让
  • 当周游列国,从巴黎到纽约
  • 在刀叉下受虐一周的胃
  • 所有人的味觉,瞬间全被唤醒
  • 炒煮蒸烹的中餐佳肴就是我的祖国
  • 有人粤语京腔,有人西南官话
  • 吴侬软语与东北大嗓门
  • 少数民族语音更是五花八门
  • 各地方言千差万别,互相不一定能听懂
  • 踏上拼音的国度,横竖撇捺方块字就是我的祖国
  • 机翼划过蔚蓝的天空
  • 补天的女娲是我的祖国
  • 船舷剪开波涛的雪浪
  • 填海的精卫是我的祖国
  • 日升东方,见追日的夸父
  • 禺谷在望,那一片辉煌是我的祖国
  • 月落西窗,有玉兔嫦娥
  • 记忆中那一阵桂花飘香是我的祖国
  • 一颗竹叶裹的粽子
  • 抛下去汨罗的万里惊涛
  • 满腹柔肠翻滚的《离骚》是我的祖国
  • 一枚枚月饼向天而拜
  • 岁岁年年的怀乡与思归是我的祖国
  • 万户千家俪采七字之偶,斗艳一句之奇
  • 四海庆安澜万民怀大泽是我的祖国
  • 张灯结彩、点响爆竹、对联红红火火是我的祖国
  • 连年有鱼,花生、枣子、石榴……
  • 连蝙蝠也成了吉祥的图腾
  • 龙、凤、龟、麒麟,兴云致雨
  • 太平盛世,竹、兰、菊和文房四宝福泽心灵
  • 就是独角兽貔貅也能辟邪
  • 喜鹊、鹤、鹿、十二生肖都是我的祖国
  • 惊蛰,候桃花而棠梨而蔷薇
  • 春分,望海棠而梨花而木兰
  • 布谷布谷,种禾割麦
  • 玉秧玉秧,稻花白练
  • 有序多变的二十四节气是我的祖国
  • 苍龙连蜷于左,白虎猛踞于右
  • 朱雀奋翼于前,灵龟圈首于后
  • 五行、八卦、二十八星宿还是我的祖国
  • 攀崇山峻岭,想起头触巨峰的共工
  • 乘飞驰高铁,踩风火轮的哪吒
  • 在最高的神主宰教堂和寺庙的这颗星球
  • 愚公、大禹和张弓搭箭的后羿
  • 不屈服命运的神话就是我的祖国
  • 看见海雕金狮双头鹰的国徽
  • 金黄的谷穗和黑铁的齿轮是我的祖国
  • 我倾倒维纳斯的断臂蒙娜丽莎的微笑
  • 更迷恋反弹琵琶的飞天聊斋的白狐
  • 在音乐厅听交响乐和花腔女高音
  • 耳边盈绕《茉莉花》和小提琴《梁祝》
  • 在动物园遇见北极熊和袋鼠
  • 憨态和平的熊猫就是我丝绸柔软的祖国
  • 欧洲建筑那石头上的史诗
  • 江南庭院草长莺飞瘦石枯木
  • 关公的忠义黛玉的痴恋
  • 牡丹亭的悲欢西厢记的情色
  • 李白长安一片月杜甫落木萧萧的秋兴
  • 扇面上的书法,宣纸上的写意
  • 哪怕随蓝色多瑙河圆舞曲轻盈曼舞
  • 胸腔里轰鸣的是冼星海的黄河
  • 浪子回头金不换是我的祖国
  • 红山玉猪龙和殷墟的甲骨上
  • 矗立北上广深簇新的高楼大厦
  • 航天潜海,我依旧怀抱颓败的小小村落
  • 银杏树缓慢生长,让人痛苦揪心
  • 两鬓染霜,身体里流动青春五四的热血
  • 念兹在兹我永远梦想的少年中国

RECALLING JIANGNAN, SOUTH OF YANGTZE

  • by Yang Qingci

  • Often reminiscing, the bright bamboos outside the window, and a drizzle,
  • a farmer playing a flute as he herded his ducks home,
  • a boat moored overnight on the riverbank,
  • sparse stars, and a new sickle moon.
  • Returning home
  • in a dream, lingering by a ragged cliff,
  • where father looked smaller and smaller
  • as he raised a silk lamp with painted orchids
  • to light the way for his daughter married off to another world.
  • But her longings are locked in,
  • how she envies the swallows, returning to home eves every spring,
  • making nests, singing, singing.
  • Spring’s clear water, breeze in the willows,
  • young women by the painted boats,
  • dainty-looking like wisps of clouds
  • and as refined as the crescent moon.
  • From the sky the raindrops fall, and take with them
  • the white sallow flowers to the ground, a pity to see.
  • Translator’s note:
  • This poem is a play on words of a poem titled Remembering Parting Words By the Window 临江仙 长记碧纱窗外语 by a Manchurian poet Nara Singde (纳兰性德)in Qing Dynasty.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gIshlF3B_Uu_FntCcRMczA


江南忆

  • 杨清茨

  • 常忆起,碧竹窗外细雨
  • 有农人吹送归鸭
  • 孤帆寄泊江岸
  • 星儿疏疏,月儿初斜
  • 归故乡
  • 而梦却常挂在瘦骨嶙峋的悬崖
  • 远去的父亲
  • 用一只手绘的兰花绢灯
  • 照亮了远嫁的女儿
  • 相思被锁
  • 常羡燕子,知春还家
  • 可筑巢,可呢喃
  • 春水,杨柳风
  • 而轻霞般的少女
  • 俏立画船
  • 如淡淡的眉月
  • 雨落下的时候
  • 不小心打碎了一地忧伤的杨花

I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE MY LIFE

  • by Yang Qingxiang

  • I used to walk after rain,
  • and on the trodden path.
  • Twin shells rest in the sand,
  • kissed by rolling waves.
  • I was going to build a home on it, to listen to
  • the wind in different seasons by the window.
  • To read books written afar at night, and wake
  • in the bell chime from across the water.
  • I cry and dry my tears.
  • I love, from the deepest of my tender heart.
  • I was going to write you a letter in the moonlight,
  • burying my thoughts in the ten thousand things at dusk.
  • Have children, and tell stories under a tree,
  • tend to the rice paddies, and keep the mountains green after I die.
  • I was prepared to do that, I thought:
  • —This would be my life.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/j28X4smk-nQ4HfPNmtPY1w


我本来以为这就是我的一生

  • 杨庆祥

  • 我曾经踩过雨后的土地
  • 以及土地上的脚印
  • 双生贝躺在细沙里
  • 浪花将它亲吻
  • 我本来准备在上面盖一座房子
  • 隔窗就能听到四季的风
  • 在夜里读读远方的书
  • 又有对岸的钟声把我叫醒
  • 我哭过又擦干泪水
  • 我爱过,在湖水的波心
  • 我本来准备在月光下给你写一封长信
  • 把心思,藏进傍晚的万物黄昏
  • 我本来准备生儿育女,在树下讲故事
  • 生前伺候稻田,死后湖山青青
  • 我本来准备如此,本来以为
  • ——这就是我的一生

TUYA'S STONES

  • by Yang Senjun

  • The amazing thing about stone enthusiasts is
  • they began by professing their love for stones,
  • in favor of this or that, then one day they became connoisseurs,
  • in favor of this or that, then they became true aficionados without knowing it.
  • Among the stone collectors was a middle-school teacher,
  • now retired, but when still a missy,
  • this Mongolian teacher, by the name of Tuya,
  • traveled places all over Yingen Sumu, Uliji, Chagan Zadege
  • to pick stones like men did.
  • She had a soft spot for yellow jasper,
  • loved an agate only if it’s spotless,
  • pure red or pure white.
  • She didn’t believe all jade needed polishing:
  • a true lover of stones
  • do no harm to stones.
  • She made her son
  • bring out a case and another case of stones
  • for us to choose,
  • not because she had outgrown them,
  • but because of money worries,
  • she must endure the parting pain.
  • I could sympathize with her.
  • Before we agreed to a deal,
  • she pondered our intention
  • as we pondered her agony of mind.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


图雅的石头

  • 杨森君

  • 选石头的魅力在于
  • 一个假装爱石头的人
  • 挑着挑着,就有了眼光
  • 挑着挑着,就真的爱上了石头
  • 石头的持有者,是一位中学女教师
  • 她已退休,还是在当姑娘的时候
  • 这个叫图雅的蒙古族女教师
  • 就开始在银根苏木、乌力吉、查干扎德盖
  • 跟着男人捡石头
  • 她对黄碧玉情有独钟
  • 玛瑙也只喜欢干净的
  • 要么纯红,要么纯白
  • 她不认可玉不琢不成器之说
  • 不伤石
  • 才是爱石
  • 她让自己的儿子
  • 把整箱整箱的石头搬出来
  • 让我们挑选
  • 不能说她已经不爱这些石头了
  • 她有变现之需
  • 不得不忍痛割爱
  • 我能体谅她
  • 在石头成交之前
  • 她揣摩着我们的心思
  • 我们也揣摩着她的心思

THE THINGS I PRAISE ARE GENERALLY LIGHT

  • by Yang Xuelong

  • The things I praise are generally light.
  • I praise them because I feel laden.
  • I praised rain, wanting it to wash away
  • the murkiness in me; I praised snow
  • for I saw my own wasteland, hoping it would be dressed in white.
  • I was even tempted to praise you,
  • carrying your home in a briefcase
  • under the ominous moonlight in others’ hometown,
  • but, to praise exile
  • takes more bravado than to praise solitude.
  • Time backs away from us, awash with vague faces,
  • becoming lighter because of their lessening pull.
  • I often search at night for something light,
  • visiting breezes, going to lakes. Every time I look up,
  • I hope to see, there, because of years gone by,
  • the patina’d memories, shielding my sufferings,
  • will become sublime.
  • But oftentimes I only find yesteryears’ fallen leaves,
  • covered by a faded gilded sheen.
  • I am afraid to touch them
  • for fear that they may splinter,
  • unable to be picked up,
  • unable to be admired.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/M6uOuM600JZrHxnxaSESKg


我想赞美的事物一般都很轻

  • 杨薛龙

  • 我想赞美的事物一般都很轻
  • 因为沉重,我赞美它们
  • 我赞美过雨水,是想卸下我身体里
  • 含铅的云块,赞美过雪花
  • 因为荒芜,等着一片白的覆盖
  • 我甚至,险些就要去赞美你
  • 拎着一整只皮箱的家
  • 还有他乡闪着刀光的月色
  • 但是,赞美一次无根的流浪
  • 比赞美孤独,需要更大的勇气
  • 流逝的光阴里,挤满了虚无的面孔
  • 它们因为卸下重力而轻盈
  • 我时常趁着夜色去那里寻找
  • 打听轻的下落,我拜访过清风
  • 拜访过湖水一般地仰望
  • 在那里,包浆的记忆,隔着岁月
  • 将苦难裹上一层淡泊的云彩
  • 让它们获得上升的浮力
  • 可我往往只是找到一些积攒多年的落叶
  • 它们蒙着枯竭的金黄
  • 我不敢用轻易的手指去触碰它们
  • 我怕它们碎成一地,想赞美
  • 都捧不起来




HEADWATER OF WHITE DRAGON RIVER

  • by Yang Yang

  • The headwater of White Dragon River
  • flows like slender pigtails.
  • This image comes to me after seeing the girls at the Tibetan school near the River.
  • Handsome girls, pretty braids,
  • in a twinkle, their lovely locks make the White Dragon River seem shy and delicate.
  • A black cloud floats by, followed by a shower.
  • Someone immediately sees a wizard sitting on the black cloud
  • within distinguishable facial features.
  • I think of the tractor driver I met yesterday and his two gold teeth.
  • He is not at all related to the wizard,
  • but I recall his smile, which gives the cloud a nice golden edge.
  • Crossing a stream, Gansu is to the left, and Sichuan to the right.
  • The little inn’s old mistress lets us pick vegetables in her fenced back yard,
  • gathering Gansu’s radishes and Sichuan’s cabbage all on one plate.
  • She also puts a fresh pot of chicken stew with wild mushrooms on the table.
  • Tomorrow at dawn, when her rooster doesn’t crow,
  • I may feel a bit of remorse.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊):https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eajiz_1ALkulXZatRoVEHA


白龙江源头

  • 阳飏

  • 白龙江源头水流细若发辫——
  • 这个形象来自源头近处那所藏族学校的女孩子
  • 好看的女孩子好看的发辫
  • 一大群女孩子的发辫让白龙江瞬间变得妩媚娇羞
  • 飘过一朵黑云洒下一阵骤雨
  • 有人看见黑云上坐着五官模糊的巫师
  • 我想起昨天遇见的那个露出两颗金牙的拖拉机手
  • 他和巫师没有丝毫关系
  • 只是莫名其妙想起他的笑,像是给黑云镶了一道金边
  • 过一条小溪,左一脚甘肃右一脚四川
  • 后院栅栏地里,小饭馆老板娘让我们自己去摘蔬菜
  • 甘肃的萝卜四川的白菜,盛在一个盘子端上了桌
  • 还有一大盆新鲜野蘑炖公鸡
  • 明天早晨听不见这只鸡叫了,有点愧疚

COURTYARD IN THE WIND

  • by Yang Yong

  • This courtyard cannot take another tree.
  • New things seem unnecessary.
  • It’s complete.
  • The wind reaches every corner of the courtyard
  • with bird songs, dust, fallen leaves,
  • a house drenched in dew and fragrances.
  • The fenced-in garden feels like a prison,
  • days forgotten page after page
  • — your heart was once an ancient well.
  • A courtyard littered by fallen flowers,
  • treetops unreachable, streams distant
  • ——a pond once graced the path.
  • Now another scene,
  • Now another crowd.
  • — grass proliferates, some climbs over the wall.
  • The moss on the edge calls out for friends, and the ants do, too.
  • The roaming wind eludes, but it is there.
  • The courtyard that sways in the wind looks unreal.
  • The wind blows, the garden is now empty.
  • Yesterday's stones are scattered in the wind today.
  • Green bamboo looks deliberately demure
  • — the past has yet to go up in smoke.
  • Gazebo peeks out through lush foliage.
  • Pomegranates roll down the pointed roof
  • — old friends never meet again.
  • The courtyard at night is dark,
  • with only an axe flashing cold sparks.
  • The axe bears the brunt,
  • it has to test the depths of the courtyard.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/r3iiUj4SI8574iJfEd-ihA


风中的庭院

  • 杨 勇

  • 这庭院再容不下一棵树
  • 新的东西显得多余
  • 它是满的
  • 吹遍庭院的风
  • 带着鸟鸣,尘土,落叶
  • 露水的居所和香气
  • 围墙仿如监禁
  • 忘记了时日被一页页翻过
  • ——你的心曾是一口古井
  • 落英缤纷的庭院
  • 忘记了树梢和远方的溪流
  • ——小径下曾深埋着明亮的池塘
  • 如今这里是另一番景象
  • 另一拨人来到世上
  • ——青草蔓延,有些爬上墙头
  • 墙角的苔藓喜欢呼朋唤友,蚂蚁也是
  • 漫游的风是虚幻的,但又真实存在
  • 风中摇摆的庭院,仿如虚构
  • 风吹过,庭院空了
  • 昨日的石头散落在今天的风中
  • 青竹有一种刻意的谦卑
  • ——往事未能如烟
  • 凉亭在绿叶中张望
  • 石榴果从尖头檐角滚下
  • ——故人再未曾谋面
  • 夜晚的庭院漆黑
  • 只有一把斧子闪着寒光
  • 它首当其冲
  • 要去试一试庭院的深浅

LESSER HEAT*

  • By Yang Zi

  • Under northern trees, there is still the trace of a cool breeze.
  • An eagle spreads its wings and circles.
  • The haystacks are all gone, leaving a few sparrows behind.
  • The garlic patch is brimming with little white flowers.
  • In the straw cage, crickets are chirping loud and bright.
  • A yellow dog lies at the doorway, tongue flexed, panting
  • The ox chews its cud, sparrows occasionally heard chirping in the fruit trees.
  • Magpies fly over the courtyard wall. The clouds seem to stir without moving.
  • Sitting on a step under the eaves in my small family courtyard,
  • I feel, at last, level like a vat of water, an indescribable feeling—
  • a cup of Pu'er tea, a bowl of noodles, a savory dish,
  • the scorching midday sun, a few simple words exchanged.
  • Translator's note:
  • The lunar calendar divides a year into 24 climatological intervals; each interval is 15 days—-from new moon to full moon or full moon to new moon. The interval of Lesser Heat starts on the first new moon after Summer Solstice.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊):https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0Ekbf9oGd9_Kud8oUhpedg


小 暑

  • 杨 梓

  • 北方的树下还有一丝丝凉风
  • 老鹰平展双翼,盘旋高空
  • 地里已无麦垛,几只鸟雀飞来飞去
  • 一畦韭菜开满白色的小花
  • 麦秆笼里的蝈蝈,鸣叫更加响亮
  • 一只黄狗趴在门口,伸出全部的舌头
  • 牛在反刍,果树上的麻雀偶尔叽喳几声
  • 喜鹊飞过院墙,云朵似动非动
  • 在老家小院,坐在房檐下的台阶上
  • 我第一次感到一缸水的平静,却难以言说
  • 一杯砖茶,一碗长面,一碟小菜
  • 一个炎热的正午,几句简单的对话

A WINTER TRIP TO WUDAHAI FOR A VIEW OF CHAOHU LAKE

  • by Ye Dan

  • In the fishing village Wudahai, that one time, I learned
  • two arts: listening and pining.
  • The winding mountain road seemed to remind me
  • that I had reached the end of my words.
  • A cove of the lake was a bow, filled with the fervors
  • of the earliest fishermen. Far away,
  • the roaring waves filled my ears,
  • throwing waves of white blades.
  • Looking south, through crisscrossing branches
  • over the lake, I saw trees swaying; were they
  • trembling in the cold wind
  • or because they feared the stars on patrol close by
  • had taken over the birds' nests?
  • So, dead branches littered the path to the lake,
  • crackling like firewood in the hearth when trod on,
  • “Dead branches, the price of reincarnation.”
  • Echoes linger, as ancient as a prayer
  • “No matter how you misread the beach,
  • it won’t dent the innocence of the waves. ”
  • At the bottom of the lake, there seemed to be a grindstone
  • churning out endless bubbles, like a giant
  • opening her scroll and spelling out matching moments,
  • one after another. "The diamond-specked waves
  • are the only words for saying goodbye,
  • as if they exist only to bid farewell. ”
  • In the end, twilight mingled for a pleasant conversation.
  • When we got up, we noticed the stars,
  • our ghostly host, and the scruffy scarecrows.
  • He commanded the stars to rise
  • as I returned alone to the stone cottage, before
  • chugging down memories.
  • He did not intend to teach me the magic words
  • until I proved that my devotion to nature was equal
  • to the lake that didn’t play for an audience.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/u6aidl9vugJLlzPLQ4LYvg


冬日吴大海观巢湖

  • 叶 丹

  • 那次在渔村吴大海,我学会了
  • 两样本领:倾听和惋惜。
  • 山路的曲折仿佛在提醒我们
  • 可能来到了语言的边陲,
  • 湖湾像一张弓,蓄满了拓荒者
  • 投身渔业的激情。远远地,
  • 耳道之中就被倾注了波浪
  • 投掷过来的数不清的白刃。
  • 向南望去,视线穿过树枝之网
  • 落入湖面,树条摇曳,不知
  • 是因寒风而生的颤栗还是
  • 因为夜巡的矮星霸占了鸟窝。
  • 所以通往湖边的小径满是枯枝,
  • 踩得作响,像壁炉里柴火的
  • 爆裂声。“枯枝,轮回的抵押物。”
  • 响声持久,和祈祷一般古旧。
  • “无论你对沙滩的误解有多深,
  • 都不会削减波浪的天真。”
  • 湖底仿佛有个磨坊,浪托举着
  • 不竭的泡沫,像个女巨人
  • 翻开她的经卷,续写每个
  • 何其相似的瞬间。“镶钻的浪花,
  • 是一种离别时专用的语言,
  • 仿佛告别是它唯一的使命。”
  • 最后,暮色混入了愉快的交谈,
  • 我们起身时,注意到了星辰
  • 隐秘的主人,发髻散乱的稻草人
  • 独自回到石砌小屋,饮下
  • 一次追忆之前,他指挥群星升起,
  • 他并不打算将口诀教授予我,
  • 直到我寄身山水的执着赛过湖水
  • 亿万次没有观众的表演。

TRAIN STATION WAITING ROOM

  • by Ye Hui

  • Early morning, the waiting room
  • of this deep terminal seems hypnotized.
  • Around me, many people
  • abruptly rose and left,
  • like saints summoned by an epistle.
  • Someone calls on the phone, another laces his shoes,
  • another says See you again (but maybe not).
  • Those items not allowed onboard—
  • certain objects, and dogs—
  • are quietly wheeled away in a cart.
  • Life is an illusion,
  • an older poet said,
  • (he just woke up from a doze.)
  • Right, on this cold rainy platform, you stand
  • holding a package that feels heavier and heavier
  • and as if it belongs to someone else.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


候车室

  • 叶 辉

  • 凌晨时分,候车室
  • 深邃的大厅像一种睡意
  • 在我身边,很多人
  • 突然起身离开,仿佛一群隐匿的
  • 听到密令的圣徒
  • 有人打电话,有人系鞋带
  • 有人说再见(也许不再)
  • 那些不允许带走的
  • 物件和狗
  • 被小四轮车无声推走
  • 生活就是一个幻觉
  • 一位年长的诗人告诉我
  • (他刚刚在瞌睡中醒来)
  • 就如同你在雨水冰冷的站台上
  • 手里拎着越来越重的
  • 总感觉是别人的一个包裹

Three Questions by the Lake

  • by Ye Juru

  • Asparagus spears break through the soil; reeds
  • refuse to fall, standing alongside asparagus,
  • are they shy and sad with existential gloom?
  • Fish and shrimp in the tidal flat are left for the birds.
  • When the fishermen fish, are they foreseeing
  • wing-weary birds after reaching the lake?
  • The birds have flown north, the lake seems forlorn.
  • Does the bird-watchers’ hide know
  • its loneliness today was my loneliness yesterday?
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ffqOZdPSGCm8AG7FX0-vMA


湖畔三问

  • 叶菊如

  • 芦笋破土而出,芦苇
  • 不肯倒伏——和芦笋站在一起
  • 它惭愧过自己的多余吗
  • 滩涂的鱼虾留给鸟吃
  • 渔民捕捞时,知道
  • 飞到湖边的翅膀已精疲力尽吗
  • 候鸟北去,大湖惆怅
  • 那座观鸟台,会相信
  • 它的孤单曾经是我的孤单吗

GIRLS

  • by Ye Xiaoqing

  • They go together to Sacred Ox Ridge to collect forked fern.
  • These girls are all called Jiaopolei;
  • in my hometown, you say the word with an upswing lilt.
  • When girls are young, all parents call them by this name—
  • Jiao-po-lei, no big difference from the boys being called tumbling puppies.
  • In the old days, all the girls of my age,
  • five or six of us, were all called Jiaopolei.
  • The most interesting thing was, when dinner's ready,
  • folks would come to the grain-drying pad to call us home to eat:
  • someone from one family was calling “Jiaopolei”,
  • another one from another family was calling “Jiaopolei” ,
  • the whole village was calling “Jiaopolei” !
  • But the children’s ears were keen, they knew which calls were for whom,
  • after a while, even bystanders could tell.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6TwpUItRLb1n3PZ3yYUXkw


叫婆嘞

  • 叶小青

  • 她们结伴在牛神岗上割芦萁
  • 她们都叫叫婆嘞,在故乡
  • 叫读第二声,婆读第一声
  • 小时候,她们都会被父母喊——
  • 叫婆嘞。与喊男孩子“狗蛋”差不多
  • 在村子里,与我差不多大的女孩子
  • 五六个都叫叫婆嘞
  • 最有趣的是饭熟后
  • 家人站在晒坪上喊吃饭
  • 东家喊叫婆嘞,西家也是喊叫婆嘞
  • 一村子都在喊叫婆嘞
  • 但孩子们分得清楚
  • 久了,旁人也分得清楚

THE AURA OF GREEN MOUNTAINS

  • by Ye Yanbin

  • Clouds easily floated by from somewhere faraway,
  • a dream-like, incredible faraway place,
  • but in an instant the coy tenderness changed
  • to a fierce army crushing on the city.
  • The wind blows them here; the wind
  • also blows them away.
  • Gone are the clouds, and the
  • 10,000 fine threads of raindrops.
  • Roaring, squalling, and blasting thunderbolts,
  • in the end only one dewdrop left
  • hanging on a blade of grass.
  • The rain sent it here; the rain
  • also sent it away.
  • What will not go are the moon and the countless stars.
  • The full moon, as with wings, is adored from a world apart.
  • We gaze at its halo
  • until it dissolves in the twilight.
  • The night sent it here, the night
  • also sent it away.
  • What will stay is the emerald-green of the mountains.
  • The wind comes; the green mountains embless the wind.
  • The rains come; the green mountains embless the rain,
  • and embless moonlight,
  • embless starlight —
  • Mountains are simply there, the gracious mountains,
  • with infinite exuberant green.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/5oWlskzwJ5gEvYLrIBiioA


青山风度

  • 叶延滨

  • 白云就那么从远方飘过来了
  • 那个如梦如幻的远方
  • 柔情逶迤霎时变成
  • 压城的厉兵
  • 是风吹来,风
  • 也吹走
  • 吹走云也吹走了雨丝万缕
  • 哭过骂过雷霆般吼过
  • 最后剩一滴露水
  • 挂在草尖上
  • 是雨送来,雨
  • 也送走
  • 送不走的是满天的星斗月圆
  • 月光如翼天涯共此时
  • 只望得那轮月光
  • 溶进了曙色
  • 是夜送来,夜
  • 也送走
  • 不走的是这满目的青山翠岭
  • 风来,青山度风
  • 雨来,青山度雨
  • 也度明月,度星光——
  • 山闲在,闲在的青山
  • 有万载千秋的青翠风度……

SNOWED IN

  • by Ye Yu

  • It's hard to fathom, one can't dream it,
  • when Anna Akhmatova lined up to visit the prison camp, how bitter cold it was,
  • or the biting chill that finally knocked down Osip Mandelstam.
  • Russian snow, to be sure like all snow, is
  • hexagonal crystals.
  • Text is also snow, sheets and sheets of it
  • bundled over hundreds of years and finding me on a dreary winter day.
  • I open them, breathe out icicles on the page,
  • read about a blizzard that has blocked out the daylight,
  • blocked out doors, blocking out the dawn of the human civilization.
  • "It is easier for a century to topple than a squirrel to fall.”
  • Occasionally, in a den smaller than a squirrel’s,
  • I search for the piercing rhetoric that was once in my mother tongue,
  • but all has faded, too little fresh air for ice crystals to form,
  • not even “a frost in our souls.”

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/qL-suJig5fbXtD_iSG7ang


大雪封门

  • 夜 鱼

  • 难以想象,也无法想象
  • 阿赫马托娃排在探监队列里的冷
  • 还有曼德尔斯塔姆倒下去的那种冷
  • 俄罗斯的雪,明明也是
  • 轻盈的六角形
  • 文字也是雪,纷纷累积
  • 积经年积百年,积到我在某个无聊的冬日
  • 翻开他们,我在呵气成冰的纸页上
  • 读到了漫天大雪,那么厚那么沉
  • 大雪封门,封家门封人类之所以为人类之门
  • “世纪落下来比松鼠还容易”
  • 我在比松鼠还小的蜗居里,偶尔探寻
  • 我的母语里曾经有过的凛冽
  • 都泛黄了,已找不到可供结晶的新鲜寒气
  • 和来自“我们心灵的薄冰”

EARLY AUTUMN

  • by Ye Yu

  • The cement worker is encased in dust,
  • man and machine have become one.
  • The ashes erupt and cling to water vapor. This city
  • is oftentimes made of dust parcels.
  • After the impurities are burned out, the blue sky
  • lures us with the dream of eternity,
  • but work won’t stop, there will be
  • sweaty backs for another ten thousand years.
  • The clamor, the scorching sun,
  • the unending barrier fence shields and delays
  • the view of an end.
  • But all is not hopeless, if you miss
  • the smell of golden rice tassels in the windy field,
  • don’t wait for the sky to get dark,
  • or for the gale to churn up the lake,
  • all you need to do is close your eyes.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-1Hloch7g9VxLpRnoRfABA


初 秋

  • 夜 鱼

  • 切割水泥的人被关在灰尘里
  • 和机器混为一体
  • 灰尘喷发膨散,混合水汽。江城
  • 经常由一坨坨灰雾组成
  • 烧掉了杂质的天空,蓝得让人觉得
  • 还可以活一万年
  • 但工程永在,仍要有一万年的
  • 汗流浃背
  • 轰鸣配合阳光的热辣
  • 无穷无尽的工地隔板,障碍着延缓着
  • 终点的到来
  • 也不是全无希望,更非全部的湖
  • 要等到天黑,要等
  • 一阵突起的大风
  • 你闭上眼,就能嗅到田野上
  • 涌动的稻穗

CONFRONTATION

  • by Yi Du

  • My entire life is tainted
  • with a bad habit of confrontation.
  • And today, all those I confronted
  • are ganging up on me.
  • See, this tombstone abhors silence,
  • no less than a lush pathway loathes sunset.
  • Between wonderfully lean and languishingly gaunt,
  • I weigh and measure words, dallying away time.
  • How can we tell what is ailing the svelte horse?
  • Though withering, should I turn like the grass to the seasons?

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/1vlf5EC6J9UDrCKUvX1FjA


对 抗

  • 一 度


  • 我的一生,都在积郁中
  • 沾染对抗的坏习惯
  • 如今,这些对抗过的事物
  • 一起来反对我
  • 就像墓碑反抗无言
  • 没膝的小径反抗落日
  • 瘦骨和枯死之间
  • 选择合适的词,用于虚度
  • 如何在瘦骨里找到病马?
  • 在枯死中反对草木轮回?

THE RED-BRICK BUILDING

  • by Yi Hang

  • All day I kept looking back
  • on the color of the red brick building — rust,
  • cold, dark, the tone of my childhood.
  • Under the building’s shell,
  • we were malnourished, like shriveled nuts
  • growing in the shade.
  • The corridor was always damp, the stairs
  • smelled of bitter vinegar
  • as if some peanuts had caught mould,
  • Though unnoticeable from outside.
  • The mouse fled the fourth floor,
  • running to ground floor, being chased by children--
  • slapping, squealing, blood splashing
  • on the interior bricks, exposed after the lime peeled off.
  • Two shades of red overlapped
  • the exterior wall, too: cold evening,
  • the sunset veiled the red brick building.
  • At night, the searchlight on top of a sand mine
  • shone on the building, sometimes sweeping back and forth
  • as if to pinpoint something.
  • At that time, I would run up to the terrace,
  • trying to see the light source across the river.
  • After the sinking of the ship with more than
  • twenty people onboard, the entire mine
  • was shrouded in perpetual gloom.
  • At dawn, the sun slowly rose,
  • lighting up every brick
  • but didn’t impart any warmth.
  • Until the day I left, the brick building impressed me
  • with the color of congealed blood, too frigid to flow.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WWeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/j9B1V0Vls8P3fFoqVp_y1A

红砖楼

  • 一 行

  • 今天我只想念
  • 红砖楼的颜色。——铁锈一样的颜色,
  • 寒凉、深暗,构成了
  • 我童年生活的主色调。
  • 在它花生皮般的包裹中,
  • 我们营养不良,像蔫掉的仁儿
  • 往阴影里成长。
  • 楼道永远是潮湿的,台阶
  • 散发着苦醋似的气味,
  • 像是花生内部的黄曲霉变,
  • 从外面是嗅不到的。
  • 老鼠从四楼逃到一楼,被孩子们
  • 追打,尖叫着跳起,血溅到
  • 剥落了白石灰的内墙砖头上——
  • 而在外部,同样发生着
  • 两种红色的重叠:这幢楼
  • 变冷于幽深的暮光。
  • 每个夜晚,矿上的探照灯
  • 都要照向这里,有时会来回
  • 扫射,像在辨认着什么。
  • 那时我会从屋里跑到阳台上,
  • 向远处江边的光源眺望。
  • 自从那艘装载了二十余人的
  • 运砂船沉没之后,整座砂矿
  • 都被一层无法驱除的黑暗笼罩。
  • 清晨,阳光一点点
  • 将整幢楼的红砖铺满,
  • 却没有带来些微的暖意。
  • 直到我离开那里,那红砖楼的红
  • 仍像凝固的血一样,不肯流动。

PERFECTLY ROUNDED SETTING SUN

  • by Yin Ma

  • Thirty years ago, deep in the mountains, the setting sun looked perfectly round.
  • I shouted out my own name
  • to reassure myself. The beasts in the woods knew my father only,
  • as for me, they sneered as if I were but a leaf.
  • They came out in the moonlight, but I thought they came after me.
  • The setting sun was smashingly round, setting off my migraine.
  • Thirty years later, in the name of fatherhood,
  • in an urban jungle, I carefully play the role of
  • a father. I feel all alone,
  • not a city leaf has the edge of
  • the mountain leaves. The setting sun, still a perfect circle, and the secluded moonlight
  • feels like a penniless woman
  • who dares not say a word about being loved by me.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/02E1pGoLDz2W43iHe_e1Vw


落日浑圆

  • 尹马

  • 三十年前在深山,落日浑圆
  • 我喊自己的名字
  • 为自己壮胆。林间的兽,只认识我的父亲
  • 它们,借一片树叶取笑我
  • 借一捧月光追赶我
  • 落日浑圆,落成我的偏头痛
  • 三十年后我打着父亲的旗号
  • 在城市的丛林里,小心翼翼地做一个
  • 父亲。我那么孤独
  • 没有一片树叶,像深山里的树叶
  • 那么锋利。落日浑圆,一爿月光
  • 像一个贫穷的女人
  • 不敢提及被我爱过

THE FISH HERDERS

  • by Yu Bang

  • Through childhood memories darkly,
  • through a graveyard teeming with flowers,
  • into a moles’ hole we whisper low,
  • for fear the bones of the dead will be roused.
  • The oil has burned out, Haitong goes home
  • to receive the glory now inconsequential.
  • We, the fish herders, who can no longer
  • tell cattle from horses, launch out to the sea.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


牧鱼者

  • 育 邦

  • 从童年的幽影中走来
  • 我们穿过花朵飞舞的墓地

  • 鼹鼠的洞穴里,我们窃窃私语
  • 生怕惊醒那些死人的骸骨

  • 灯枯时,海桐回到故乡
  • 领取属于他自己的陌生荣耀

  • 秋水时至,我们这些牧鱼者
  • 不再辨别牛马,径直奔向大海

WHITE DEER MOUNTAIN—Stopping by Hongqing Temple Grotto, Yima

  • by Yu Bang

  • At the foothill of White Deer Mountain, every day
  • feels like perpetual dusk.
  • Some fools from ancient times
  • still meditate in the grottos.
  • Heads gone, but their stumps roam
  • this impoverished part of human world.
  • Crowds of onlookers are gone,
  • not a soul can be seen in the village.
  • Only a grey dog naps in the sun,
  • savoring a feast in the dream.
  • People left town, but later returned,
  • in tempestuous times,
  • they disfigured the presumptuous false gods,
  • and left afterwards… with contempt.
  • These old stones, dreaming of deer abound,
  • listening to human’s hollow cries,
  • slowly turn to dust. Still, every generation returns
  • in the candlelight of May, to the perpetual dusk.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


白鹿山 ——过义马鸿庆寺

  • 育邦

  • 白鹿山下,每一天
  • 都如同黄昏
  • 时间里的傻瓜
  • 端坐到洞穴中修行
  • 他们拖着没有头颅的身躯
  • 在清贫的人间走来走去
  • 围观的人群散去
  • 村子,一个人也没有
  • 灰狗在阳光下睡着了
  • 正在品尝梦中的珍馐
  • 人们出去,又回来
  • 在暴风雨的驱使下,他们
  • 摧毁自以为是的偶像
  • 然后……嫌弃地走开
  • 过去的石头,麋集的美梦
  • 在一片虚无的呐喊声中
  • 走向尘土,一代又一代人
  • 在五月的烛光中,重回黄昏

ENCOUNTER WITH A BEEKEEPER, 2017

  • by Yu Changxiong

  • Bees have minds of their own,
  • they fly low, so low that the light that bounced off
  • their wings stays with the breathing grasses,
  • unllike the high waterfalls
  • or the silver pheasants that enter our lenses.
  • The beekeeper is quiet, quieter than
  • the trees in the mountain. What frightens me is that
  • when the bees leave their hives,
  • he becomes weightless, too,
  • with only his bright outline left.
  • But this floating light and shadow
  • is the epitome of nature’s stillness
  • and the clouds’ origin.
  • The beekeeper stops and goes, near and far.
  • He is always there, in a hidden valley
  • from the sweltering afternoon to the tipping dusk
  • under the silhouettes of birds.
  • He is larger than the well of a spring,
  • but smaller than the gentle breeze in the woods.
  • The bees rush home at nightfall, one by one,
  • their finely-weaved wings carry the big buzz.
  • On the mottled and heavy mountain,
  • the beekeeper is a lone light
  • while all around him the eternal darkness moves.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7BN6FWJ6Sw7HRzA-EV6msA


丁酉年登山偶遇放蜂人

  • 俞昌雄

  • 蜜蜂有自己的道路,不同于崖壁上的
  • 瀑布,也不像瞄准器里的白鹇
  • 它们飞得很低,低到翅膀的反光
  • 几乎陷入草木的呼吸
  • 放蜂人比山里任何一棵植物都要来得
  • 安静。这让我感到害怕
  • 每当成百上千的蜜蜂飞离蜂箱
  • 他也随即变轻,轻到不需要肉身
  • 只留下明亮的轮廓
  • 可是,正是那样一片漂移的光影
  • 让我觉察到了什么才是山水的静穆
  • 什么才是浮云的根
  • 放蜂人走走停停,忽远忽近
  • 从微微发烫的晌午到倾斜的黄昏
  • 他一直都在那里,在山涧迂回的地方
  • 在飞鸟的侧影里
  • 他比泉眼空阔,又小于林间的风
  • 蜜蜂逐一飞回,赶在天黑之际
  • 密密麻麻的翅膀携着那巨大的嗡嗡声
  • 整块山地如此沉重而斑驳
  • 放蜂人把自己浓缩为一盏孤灯
  • 牢牢地,安插在那颤栗而不朽的黑暗里

THROWAWAYS

  • by Yu Jian

  • I rarely come here, as infrequent as trying to grasp the drooping hands of a corpse.
  • Here lies a pile of throwaways: an old box, outdated magazines, a twenty-year-old rag doll,
  • Grandma's black case. Some things we dare not throw out,
  • unsure of their insignificance, or being indecisive,
  • leaving them to a careless offspring to discard.
  • But they hang on to them too, stashing them away out-of-bounds under the staircase,
  • or in some former person’s tiny room. Behind the house, in a perpetual shady spot,
  • I discovered a tiny sapling at dusk, now up to my knees. Where did the seed come from?
  • The fading image on the old photo album, the pregnant woman, what was her name?
  • Is there anything that hasn't been planted?
  • Mossy green matted curls, covered with tiny sprouting leaves,
  • boast of youth, the spirited and gloomy youth—
  • I rarely come here. The piano has been silent for years,
  • the last player has forgotten to close the lid.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CkZSYRs8qwC94UWXRtFbvQ


弃 物

  • 于 坚

  • 我不常到此 仿佛死者垂下的手 你不能再握
  • 堆着弃物 旧盒子 过期杂志 二十年前的布娃娃
  • 外祖母的黑箱子 有些东西我们永远不敢遗弃
  • 含义不明 下不定决心 留给下一代的冒失鬼去扔
  • 他们也不敢 于是留下来 成为一个禁区在楼梯下面
  • 在从前某人的小房间 屋后 阳光不管的一角
  • 发现了一棵小树 在黄昏 已经长到膝盖高 哪儿来的种子
  • 从旧像册里 那位怀孕的褪色妇女? 叫不出名字
  • 还有什么没有种下? 绿茸茸的卷发上满是小耳朵
  • 在向我炫耀着年轻 生机勃勃和幽暗的青春——
  • 我不常来此 那台旧钢琴暗哑多年 会弹的人走开时
  • 忘记了合上盖子

HIBISCUS

  • by Yu Xiaozhong

  • Now I believe all that appear in dreams
  • have taken a long, arduous journey,
  • and by chance come to our dreams to rest with us.
  • Much like those who left their old homes,
  • now antediluvian,
  • get acquainted with new neighbors.
  • Much like the pigeons in the glow of sunset,
  • circling near one another,
  • nudge even closer to whisper.
  • Much like hibiscus that blooms after autumn frost,
  • its name tells its borrowed status, predestined
  • to take an ambiguous role,
  • will do almost any task.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Im3YWnZMxnfLBlzu5kO9Og


木芙蓉

  • 余笑忠

  • 如今我相信,来到梦里的一切
  • 都历经长途跋涉
  • 偶尔,借我们的梦得以停歇

  • 像那些离开老房子的人
  • 以耄耋之年,以老病之躯
  • 结识新邻居

  • 像夕光中旋飞的鸽子
  • 一只紧随着另一只
  • 仿佛,就要凑上去耳语

  • 像寒露后盛开的木芙蓉
  • 它的名字是借来的,因而注定
  • 要在意义不明的角色中
  • 投入全副身心



SMALL-TOWN SPIRIT

  • by Yuan Lun

  • A dainty clay jug, good for only a jot of wine,
  • leans on the red coal with a rounded belly,
  • corn whisky warming up inside.
  • It’s getting hotter, and steamy,
  • but the boil inside, with alcohol mixed with water,
  • is gentler and more deliberate. My laconic grandpa
  • cannot hear the babbling inside,
  • but lifts the jug close to his goatee.
  • The distilled mist gets on his mustache,
  • like rime ice on pine needles.
  • Townsmen know him for making whisky from mountain spring,
  • leading a life as pure as his spirits but not without hangovers.
  • Years later, it is I who is cooking up words with wine,
  • slowly absorbing the town’s atmosphere.
  • A hidden joy like this is worthy of any mortal risk.
  • He who gives up all ploys to drink from a dainty earless jug
  • brings the world to the lips, ah, it happens to be me.
  • The way it is done, one would say, is close to blasphemous.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


在小镇煮酒

  • 远 伦

  • 一个小巧的陶罐,盛得下二两酒的陶罐
  • 腆着小肚腹躺在火炭旁边
  • 玉米酿造的烈酒在陶罐里发热
  • 升温,冒出热气
  • 而那内部小小的沸腾,酒精和水的沸腾
  • 温和而又内敛。沉默的祖父
  • 也听不见丁点酒水的喧哗
  • 他举起陶罐,山羊胡须上
  • 慢慢积聚起蒸馏水的微粒
  • 像是松针上,轻微悬垂的雾凇
  • 他是镇子上用山泉水煮酒的饮者
  • 一生清澈而又常常宿醉
  • 多年后,我也在这里,用词语煮酒
  • 慢慢地呼吸小镇的醇香
  • 此中妙意,须得生死一品
  • 那个放弃把柄,手执罐嘴
  • 把全世界拉近的人,正是我啊
  • 那样子,多像是对命运的冒犯

CATCHING LIGHTNING

  • by Yuan Wei

  • A drunken madman at the town’s end died in the rain.
  • Apart from the powerful train in his mouth,
  • nothing accompanied him to the afterlife.
  • He took shelter from the rain under an old locust tree, where calamity struck.
  • This story has been passed down by our grandparents,
  • and I dare not lie about it, not even a word. I totally respect
  • lightnings. During peak seasons of thunder and lightning,
  • I am especially careful not to utter a word of blasphemy
  • or make ridiculous remarks. When one is too bold,
  • words can create precarious situations,
  • instead I chose the shutter to capture the lightning. A giant blue dragon
  • was imprisoned on film, kept motionless.
  • Even so, at the moment of pressing the button,
  • I admit my guilt and beg for forgiveness.
  • I’m still afraid of lightnings, nerves of steel for me
  • is itself a lie.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/60ayq0Lb6R-bIlFCqNhe_A

捉闪电

  • 袁伟

  • 村头的酒疯子死于雨天
  • 除了嘴里时常马力十足的小火车
  • 他再也没能带走其它的殉葬品
  • 临时收留他避雨的老槐树,惨遭不幸
  • 这个被祖辈反复讲起的故事
  • 让我不敢说半句谎话,我对闪电
  • 心怀敬畏。在雷电缠绵的季节
  • 我尤为谨慎,生怕嘴巴不听使唤
  • 说一些荒诞不经之词。胆子足够大了
  • 遑论的地位就岌岌可危
  • 我选择用快门来捕捉闪电。蓝色的巨龙
  • 被囚禁于底片之上,动弹不得
  • 即便如此,我还是在按键的刹那
  • 承认自己的罪过并请求宽恕
  • 我依然惧怕闪电,胆量对我来说
  • 本身就是一句谎言

  • 将要赴死的是一具毫无用处的皮囊
  • 将要不朽的是命运赐予的两三诗行

RETURNING FROM TEMPLE OF GREAT AWAKENING

  • by Zang Di

  • Dusk, an unassuming ruin of the day,
  • an unprecedented break of
  • silence and presence in life’s routine;
  • halfway up the mountain, with the loveliest angle to look out and far,
  • it affords the view of every ridge and every trough,
  • but the softer transitions are well hidden, in space and in time;
  • there will be time when a human heart feels ethereal
  • and goes for the profound; then life flows instead of following impulses.
  • Still it will take a little extra something for the soul to transcend.
  • There, perhaps the horizonis more than just a portal;
  • Lend us the mountain's breeze, which brings with it relics of a distant past,
  • and bales out sorrows through a sieve, floating, far away.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/IppJeoRnLOIsZWVkbwzCAA


大觉寺归来

  • 臧 棣

  • 黄昏时分,一个废墟谦卑如
  • 人生的空白还从来没有
  • 在你面前如此安静过;

  • 半山腰多娇一个自然的角度,
  • 俯瞰交替远眺,乾坤的极限逃不过
  • 有时,缓冲带在历史中藏得太深;

  • 而人心一旦缥缈,自我难免会
  • 投靠深奥;看上去,生动多于冲动,
  • 但总差那么一点,才是灵魂出窍。

  • 或者,地平线也不过是一道门槛;
  • 借着山风,古老的遗风吹进来,
  • 将巨人的悲伤过滤成沉浮太偏僻。



LEIJIA VILLAGE CHRONICLES

  • by Zeng Jihu

  • Now I see how it happened, in 1994,
  • I lugged a ragged wooden suitcase up the hill;
  • at that time, Li Fuming was, and still is, a legend there with a master’s degree;
  • but he is old now (he keeps saying that himself), gaining some weight;
  • a group of villagers strolled down from Leijia Village, the Eucalyptus next to the well (was it?)
  • shielded a large swath of the sky.
  • God tells the village’s future based on its wisdom and goodwill in the broken wing of a gray hen, but soon after,
  • a colleague, while we walked, tattled to me of an office romance with a married woman,
  • accompanied by the barking of dogs and the snorting of beasts.
  • I remember that night, the moonlight, sharp and futuristic,
  • which I turned into verse with a Latin American flair.
  • I needed to return to our village, grotesque under the sun.
  • More than once I revisited one of those dead restaurants, rows and rows of them,
  • and recalled a bizarre death at Fortune Hotel,
  • the death of one among us,
  • who drank cheap liquor in a shoddy place
  • to appease a certain group of people;
  • one of those nights, we pushed ourselves to flatter a ruthless group of people;
  • he was one among us.
  • The grass had only one more day to live before the arrival of the railroad tracks;
  • in the alleyways farmers stumbling home came across people taking a walk at night;
  • we walked all night, almost every day, how we felt exalted from those walks that cause brain hypoxia,
  • that heightened the sense of what set apart the south and the north;
  • a gloomy sky poured into the basin
  • but on top of the mountain, by the open-air ball room,
  • the moon overhead was a treasure compared to other crystalline gems.
  • It was winter 1994, I was 22 and weighed 51.5 kg.
  • I want to forget what has happened, can I not?
  • I want to trust sound reasoning, can I not?
  • I want to forget that I was trapped, stuck in a woeful web, can I not?
  • I want to intervene with my beloved intellect; and since I can, why don’t I?
  • Therefore, I can envision, on the edge of Leijia Village,
  • there is a floating fish bone,
  • a petty affair that will puff into smoke,
  • a white dog with black spots with a blue stripe,
  • an inadequate lover, husband, father; a teacher,
  • an inadequate son, soon a quinquagenarian, of a deceased couple.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/umCU1lgLKU6n26e7uW0s5Q


雷家村纪事

  • 曾纪虎

  • 我从现在看到以前,1994年的时候
  • 我拖着一个翻盖的破樟木箱爬到山上
  • 那时硕士李伏明是这里的一个传奇人物,现在还是
  • 不过他老了(他自己就是这么声称的),体重增加
  • 一群人从雷家村穿梭下来,井口边上的(是吗?)樟树
  • 占据了村子的一大半天色

  • 老天从雷家村一只灰母鸡残缺的翅膀上
  • 察看知识与善意的未来,但是不久,我与另一同事
  • 在夜色中穿过,在一阵犬吠外加兽类零星的鼻息中
  • 他谈到他与一个有夫之妇的办公室恋情
  • 我记住了当夜的、尖锐感的、属于未来的,月光
  • 我用一种拉美诗歌的夸张将它写入诗句
  • 我还是要回到这个在白天无比丑陋的村落
  • 回到一排排死去的各类小餐馆
  • 回到财源大酒店某人的离奇死亡
  • 我们就是某一个在小排档喝低端白酒讨好某一批人的酒客
  • 就着这夜色,让我们再一次讨好这些无所畏惧的人,他就是
  • 你身边的某一人
  • 那些第二天将死去的草丛,看到了两条铁轨的到来
  • 农夫们趔趄步履,在雷家村的巷道上,碰到了散步晚归的人
  • 我们几乎彻夜散步,几乎,每天,让大脑缺氧的散步何其珍贵
  • 加深了南方与北方的概念,还有
  • 椭圆形的铁盘里倾倒了阴沉的天空
  • 但是,在山顶上,露天舞场的旁边,头顶上的圆月如群冰中的瑰宝
  • 那是1994年的冬天,我年满22岁,体重51.5公斤
  • 我要忘记已发生的事,为什么不呢?
  • 我要相信可靠的知识,为什么不呢?
  • 我要忘记我被围住了,我陷在绝望的排列中,为什么不呢?
  • 我要让深爱的精神活动汇聚为可以打量的潜流,既然我可以
  • ——为什么不呢?

  • 所以,我能想到,雷家村边上有某根浮起的鱼骨
  • 有某一桩将变成气体的苟且恋情
  • 有某条白底黑斑的土狗,它边上一道蓝色
  • 有某个不够好的恋人、丈夫、父亲;某个教书的人
  • 某对死去夫妇的不够好的年近五十的儿子

OLD TIMES

  • by Zhai Wenjie

  • A village lay low in the plain,
  • dotted with small humble old houses.
  • A stool in front of the old house,
  • my small mother sat on a short stool.
  • She stood next to the dwarf wheat,
  • the wind blew across the field, hugging the ground.
  • The wind brushed on the golden wheat,
  • Mother’s bean field, ripe in the wind.
  • Dwarfish wind climbed no mountains;
  • it slowly walked over the shallows.
  • Water in the shallows flowed beautifully in the wind,
  • the low-lying village swayed beautifully in the wind.
  • Mother sat in times past,
  • the lowly old times, a beautiful thing it is.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rAaX8MjFfwHPyKINssXrFg


旧时光

  • 翟文杰

  • 平原上的村庄矮矮的
  • 村庄里的旧房子矮矮的
  • 旧房子门前的櫈子,矮矮的
  • 母亲坐在矮櫈子上
  • 母亲与矮矮的麦子在一起
  • 平原上的风也矮
  • 平原上的风吹黄麦子
  • 母亲的豆子地,被风吹熟
  • 矮矮的风不用翻山
  • 只行走在浅浅的水上
  • 浅浅的水,风中流动很美
  • 矮矮的村庄,风中摇曳着很美
  • 母亲坐在旧时光中
  • 矮矮的旧时光,很美

THE SAME FATHER UNDER EVERY STRAW HAT

  • by Ah Cheng

  • After two thirds of May, the weather is getting hotter —
  • The work on the mountains, on the farm, in the fields
  • is piling up. In the countryside, the straw hats are put to
  • their proper use— those straw-woven hats, yellow or gray,
  • smelling of sun and human sweat, in the granary or
  • long-untouched on the wall, are now grabbed
  • by men and solidly tied down
  • on their heads…
  • In these straw hats, they hoe, fertilize, reap, or
  • hatchet off the weedy brush or grass, sometimes
  • plough and till and plant and harvest
  • in the mud-strewing fields,
  • sun-tanned, clothes-rustling, as if all one;
  • —Toiling hard, silent for a long time, seen
  • from afar, it’s hard to tell who’s who—whose husband
  • or father. Anyone hurrying home and passing the field
  • wishes to greet their kin, yet is unsure of which one to call,
  • hesitates and hesitates and eventually remains quiet—
  • In fact, it makes no difference to shout or not— in summertime
  • in the countryside, the same father
  • under every straw hat.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3XJgQJYjoWO_7SD9NJyJRg


每一顶草帽下都有一个相同的父亲

  • 阿 成

  • 小满之后,天气渐热——
  • 山上的、田中的、地里的活儿
  • 多起来,在乡村,草帽派上了应有的
  • 用场——那种草编的,或黄或灰的
  • 带着太阳的香味和人体汗味的,在粮仓或
  • 墙壁之上歇息多时的帽子,被男人们
  • 一把抓起,扎扎实实地扣在了
  • 脑门上……
  • 他们戴着草帽锄地、施肥、割草,抑戓
  • 用柴刀砍去田边的杂灌和芭茅,有时在
  • 泥水飞溅的田畴中犁田打耙、栽秧割禾
  • 肤色黝黑,衣袂飘飘,仿佛是同一个人;
  • ——埋头劳作,半天不说一句话,远远
  • 看去,不知是哪一家的男人哪一个人的
  • 父亲,当归乡的人匆匆穿过田畈,要喊
  • 一声,却不知要喊哪一个,于是不得不
  • 三缄其口——
  • 其实你喊或不喊都一样——乡村夏日
  • 每一顶草帽下,都有一个
  • 相同的父亲。

THE ROMANCE OF A PAINTER BAR TENDER

  • by Zhang Baimei

  • Hanging out on the river bank
  • one summer night along Songhua River*,
  • people watched the moon with their loved ones, eating assorted kebabs he made.
  • The discussion turned to soccer, growing vegetables, fine-brush painting,
  • and nine ways to slow-cook cutlassfish.
  • Love affairs are basically a matter of the mind.
  • On the other end of the phone, rain was pouring down.
  • The discussion turned lively:
  • which shop was cleaner;
  • what flowers to put in the room so it would feel romantic;
  • for the first rendez-vous, should it be in the boudoir or a cafe?
  • As they chatted, there stood Shanhai Mountain Pass**,
  • the rebel king had broken the defenses,
  • smoke signals were seen burning around Coal Hill
  • outside Beijing’s Xizhimen Gate****.
  • What do you say, shall we talk on the phone tonight?
  • You texted back, in-between selling beers: Sweetie, I won’t be home
  • before the soccer match ends at midnight.
  • On the banks of Songhua River, you and your friends got bored;
  • one of them, who’d die within two months,
  • said to everyone playfully:
  • after I leave tonight,
  • I won't be returning tomorrow nor the day after.
  • Never to return would be that moonlight tonight,
  • the dinner picture you painted for your girlfriend,
  • and the lovely smell of Dalie sourdough bread and Borscht soup in the kitchen.
  • In the moonlight of another city, your girlfriend read a story to her child.
  • A cozy, home-like scene?
  • Not everybody thought so.
  • The phone made a clanking sound,
  • hanging up on all love.
  • No reason, no warning sign,
  • the man who sold beer by the banks of Songhua River
  • fell into deep sleep; it's said he didn't have 100 yuan on him.
  • Notes:
  • *The Songhua River is over 1,400 kilometers long and flows from the Changbai Mountains on the China-North Korea border through Jilin and Heilongjiang provinces in China's northeast.
  • **Shanhai Pass is one of the major strategic passes along sections of the Great Wall of China, located in the northern province of Hebei.
  • ***King Chuang is the exalted nickname for Li Zicheng (1605-1645), a rebel leader who dethroned Chongzhen, the last emperor of the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644).
  • ****The Emperor Chongzhen (r. 1628-1644) hanged himself from a tree on Coal Hill in Jingshan Park, a park located behind the northern gate of the Forbidden City. It was from the Gate of Military Prowess that the Emperor exited the northern gate and made his way to Coal Hill.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/OmDz9uVH6xjMBkRtGgXVhQ


一个卖啤酒的画家的罗曼司

  • 张白煤

  • 在松花江畔游荡
  • 在松花江畔看夏夜的月亮
  • 在松花江畔和爱你的人
  • 一起,吃他亲手烤的各种串儿

  • 谈论着足球、蔬菜种植、工笔画和炖带鱼的九种方法
  • 爱情都是形而上的
  • 在电话的另一端大雨滂沱

  • 兴致勃勃,讨论
  • 应该去哪一家店比较干净
  • 应该摆放什么样的花朵比较有情调
  • 应该在床上,还是咖啡馆见第一面

  • 在语言的中间,是山海关
  • 闯王已经破城
  • 西直门外的烽烟绕着煤山

  • 请问你,今晚要不要打电话
  • 你在卖啤酒的空档里回复:亲爱的,我要看完12点的足球才回家
  • 在松花江畔,你和你的兄弟们闲的无聊
  • 其中一个,会在两个月后死亡
  • 并且顽皮地对大家说:
  • 我走以后,
  • 明天不会回来,后天也不会
  • 再也不会回来的
  • 是今夜的月光
  • 是你为女朋友画的晚餐
  • 厨房里,飘着大列巴和罗宋汤的浓香

  • 在另一座城市的月光里,女朋友为她的小孩读一册儿童故事
  • 那场景是温馨的么?
  • 并不是人人都这么看
  • 电话扑通一声
  • 将所有的爱情挂断
  • 没有理由,也没有征兆
  • 一个卖啤酒的男人,在松花江畔
  • 沉睡,据说他身上没有一百块钱




SMALL TOWN

  • by Zhang Ergun

  • Every small town has an old crank in faded army fatigues
  • with a tarnished medal. His haggard face shows up on the street,
  • no one knows if he’s waiting to take a bullet, or looking for a comrade.
  • Every small town has a lonely little noodle shop.
  • The mistress in cheap rouge sits by a greasy window,
  • knitting and unraveling and knitting a sweater.
  • No one knows the reasons why she smiles or frowns.
  • Every small town was a stopover for some mysterious circus.
  • They hollered up and down the muddy street for their stunts:
  • spitting fire, swallowing swords, and balancing plates.
  • No one knows what they buried under the arched bridge,
  • where they stayed the night and cried.
  • In every little town, there are women who weep,
  • thieves who cry for pain, and lunatics who mumble-jumble.
  • In every little town, there are knees on the floor,
  • shoulder strembling, and shadows staggering on the street.
  • Every small town has a deity quietly keeping watch,
  • guarding certain mysteries from being revealed
  • and making sure they repeat again and again.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


小 城

  • 张二棍

  • 每个小城,都有过一个穿着旧军装的糟老头
  • 他佩戴着褪色的勋章,面容枯槁
  • 在街头,一遍遍走动着
  • 没有人知道,他在等一枚子弹,还是寻找一个战友
  • 每个小城,都有一家门可罗雀的小面馆
  • 老板娘涂着廉价的脂粉,坐在油腻的窗前
  • 她手中的毛衣,织了拆,织了又拆
  • 没有人知道,她为什么笑了,又为什么皱眉
  • 每个小城,都停留过一个神秘的马戏团
  • 他们在泥泞的街头,一次次吆喝着
  • 有人吐火焰,有人吞刀子,有人顶着一摞碗
  • 没有人知道,在他们宿过的桥洞下,埋了什么,哭着
  • 每个小城,都有女人啜泣、小偷喊疼、疯子胡言
  • 每个小城,都有下跪的膝盖,颤抖的肩膀,摇晃的背影
  • 每个小城,都有一个默默盯着这一切的城隍
  • 让这些秘不发丧的故事,再一幕幕重演。

PUSH AND SQUEEZE

  • by Zhang Fanxiu

  • Look up. See that bird nest, lovely size, on a high branch,
  • snug and safe, and will get even safer.
  • Thanks to the tree limbs, the nest is being squeezed and taking shape.
  • Above the nest
  • is the symmetrical sky,
  • unaffected by the work of pushing and squeezing,
  • still viewable from under our black roof and white wall.
  • We almost forgot these black roof and the white wall
  • of our house,
  • but recently construction workers squeezed the day-laborers’ market,
  • then came a wave of departure, yet another wave.
  • The making of a nest relies on the just-do-it spirit and superb craftsmanship.
  • The clouds drift east, the sun treks west. The mud and the grass strive
  • to maintain a balancing act. In the end, the outcome of the push and squeeze
  • may not depend only on the actual push and squeeze.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


挤 压

  • 张凡修

  • 仰视。看那鸟窝,大大的,挤得树梢
  • 越来越安全
  • 因为多了支撑,挤压就有了形状
  • 鸟窝之上
  • 天空是对称的
  • 天空不因鸟窝的挤压而
  • 阻止我们在白墙黑瓦的地方
  • 仰视。白墙黑瓦
  • 被忽略
  • 近前,一群群泥瓦匠,挤压着短工市场
  • 一拨离开,又一拨离开
  • 鸟窝相信积极的锻造术
  • 云朵往东,日头偏西。泥与草的衔连
  • 紧密保持着
  • 两个身体的均衡。所以,挤压的痕迹有可能
  • 不取决于挤压

OUR BOAT——to Julie

  • by Zhang Hezhi

  • Your amorous body walked into November,
  • and paused.
  • There is always a day when life will stumble.
  • You said, there were many boats moored on your hand.
  • You faded in and out in the midst of great pain.
  • It’s autumn, and our room had been dusty for no reason,
  • as if taking part in a patiently-planned death.
  • You didn't believe we could survive
  • the bloody battle against codes.
  • You trusted only words, and the touch of skin.
  • By touching and writing, writing and touching,
  • you were convinced the ancient night would come,
  • you said our boat
  • remained loyal to the twilight.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


船 ——给Julie

  • 张何之

  • 你多情的身体走进十一月
  • 就顿住了
  • 总有生命在日子上绊倒
  • 你说,你的手掌中停满船只。
  • 在难言的痛苦中你时隐时现
  • 这是秋天,房间里总是无端布满尘埃
  • 像一桩耐心计划的死事
  • 你不相信,我们终于能从
  • 信号的血海中杀出一条生路
  • 你只信字,信皮肤
  • 在反复地触摸与书写中
  • 你说古老的夜会来,
  • 你说,我们的船
  • 依旧忠诚于微光

ON A HOLIDAY, LISTENING TO FATHER AND COUSIN CHATTING ABOUT FAMILY GRAVEYARD

  • by Zhang Hongbing

  • I can finally embrace such a topic,
  • no longer treating it as a festival taboo.
  • As to its location, they showed great enthusiasm,
  • rejoicing in the fengshui of the burial ground,
  • but worried about the traffic around the plots,
  • as if the difference between life and death is simply relocation:
  • the deceased still need to breathe, eat and drink,
  • still need to come and go, or, shall we say,
  • still need someone to breathe on their behalf, to eat
  • and drink for them, to go home for them after they left.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


节日里听父亲和堂哥聊家族墓地

  • 张红兵

  • 我已经能接受这样的话题
  • 我已不再将它看成节日里的禁忌
  • 关于那样一个所在
  • 他们表现出了极大的热忱
  • 欣慰于葬身之地的风水
  • 又忧虑于葬身之地的交通
  • 仿佛生死只是由一处搬迁到另一处
  • 仍需要呼吸,饮食
  • 需要进出,或者说
  • 仍然需要有人替他们呼吸
  • 饮食,替他们一次次外出归来

CORNERS

  • by Zhang Hongbo

  • You thought the boundless grassland has no corners:
  • the night misty and rainy,
  • a place entangled with weeds,
  • and shiny puddles broken by horses’ swift hooves.
  • But what lies ahead is darkness like a giant boulder.
  • That is the next turn,
  • no matter how celebrated you were,
  • moving forward ahead, you will vanish into the distance.
  • But we don't pause to pray.
  • It’s not yet dawn when the dahlias come in bloom.
  • Let the horse's whip be heard across the field,
  • let us skip over the antlers in the riverbed,
  • and fling your backpack on the river bank.
  • Tonight, a rainy night, you are a god, a hero.
  • Like an arrow, you fly around the fortress’ corner like a gust of wind,
  • firing raindrops to the end of the sky.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Wshl_zHi1phLm00-t9le-A


拐 角

  • 张洪波

  • 不要以为草原宽阔没有拐角
  • 雨夜迷蒙
  • 那个地方败草缠结
  • 只有马蹄急转踏过水光
  • 远方旷黑如巨石
  • 那是下一个拐角
  • 你无论曾经多么有英名
  • 向前 注定消失在远方
  • 但是不能驻足祈祷
  • 还未到早晨大丽花开
  • 让马鞭声响遍大野
  • 越过河床尖锐犄角
  • 把行囊甩在堤坡
  • 这个雨夜 你是神 是雄美
  • 如箭 你飙风般冲出故垒拐角
  • 把雨滴射向天边

THE WAITING

  • by Zhang Jianchun

  • A motionless bird awaits, for the rain
  • to revive autumn. Next to its knees, the water lilies
  • hide the fish under their leaves, also waiting for rain
  • to replenish food and oxygen. The waiting has also given
  • the river an excuse for not flowing.
  • Then, autumn comes to stay, the birds touch down,
  • opening their wings for shade, the sunrays
  • warm the scent of Osmanthus, a lovely old chalet comes into view
  • that soothes my weary head. I can almost hear horses trotting
  • on the path traveled by ancient knights,
  • through weeds, through time’s passage, to the candleberry tree,
  • whose red leaves rub the door couplet, still intact,
  • in matching meter and rhyme, as if all just a game.
  • Unlike the fish, the inscription can’t survive on rainwater.
  • I can almost hear Cronus laughing, the art of
  • willful men, time after time, is no match to a bird or a fish,
  • who, under the rain band, are resurrected spontaneously.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


等 待

  • 张建春

  • 一只安静的鸟,在等待雨
  • 救活秋天。身下的青莲
  • 藏着鱼,也在等待雨
  • 带来氧和食物。等待成为
  • 一道河不再流动的借口
  • 秋停下脚步,鸟停止飞翔
  • 鸟的羽翼丢下阴凉,太阳
  • 落在桂花的香气上,一个古旧的抒堡
  • 炸开皱纹思考,马蹄声碎
  • 剑戟走过的小路,游进
  • 记忆的荒草,乌桕在一旁
  • 红叶紧贴一副不朽的联句
  • 对仗工整,似是一场游戏
  • 铭刻绝非是鱼,雨救不活
  • 时光在另一边发笑,千秋万代的固执
  • 还不如一只鸟、一条鱼
  • 雨在路上,它们都将在某一刻复活

THE GIST OF IT

  • by Zhang Lin

  • Some things are big from birth, like oceans.
  • Some things are small ’till death, like grass.
  • Still a few other things
  • were already old when we got acquainted, like this old family home.
  • I myself, am gradually passing from small to big,
  • through the journey of growing old and feeble.
  • —All my life
  • I am like a sprig of grass, thinking of the ocean, as if that is home.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dHc49m3VRxyVJ6aDOMguPg


大意如此

  • 张 琳

  • 有些东西,生来就是大的,比如大海
  • 有些东西,至死也是小的,比如小草

  • 还有一些东西
  • 我认识她时就老了,比如老家

  • 我,正慢慢经历着
  • 从小到大,再渐渐衰老的过程

  • ——我的一生
  • 就像一棵小草,想起大海,如临故乡



THE SOUTHERN PEAK, A MORNING IN THE FOG

  • by Zhang Muxing

  • The temple’s door opens. The fog twists to give way,
  • the wind does, too.
  • The squeak
  • sounds like a god might have just moved a mountain,
  • but in the fog, how can anyone tell
  • if the mountain is to the left of our hearts
  • or a little more to the right.
  • Possibly the mountain didn't move at all,
  • but silence was pushed out three feet by two hands,
  • no more than three feet.
  • The old master walks to the pine tree without a word.
  • What does he and the pine exchange?
  • Other than serenity, most likely these two old friends
  • do not exchange anything.
  • The master’s ochre robe, an earthy tone of human pathos,
  • looks like a mirror before
  • the wind and the fog,
  • who seem to want to open up
  • but keep mum.
  • No language is suitable for their discourse.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pWDFkrqvBC8HzocJDaP7aQ


南岳,有雾的早晨

  • 张沐兴 (木头说话)

  • 寺门开了。雾侧了一下身,
  • 风也侧了一下身。
  • 那声吱呀
  • 像是神将一座山移动。
  • 没人看得到,大雾里的山
  • 是偏向我们心的左边多一点,
  • 还是偏向我们心的右边多一点。
  • 或者山根本没有动
  • 只是寂静被一双手推开了三尺。
  • 只有三尺。
  • 走到松树下的老法师不说话
  • 他与松树在交换什么。
  • 除了安宁,这一对老朋友
  • 大概也没有别的什么可以互换。
  • 那僧袍的深黄色
  • 多么具体而慈悲的色调,
  • 风与雾面对这面黄铜的镜子
  • 都一副倾诉的样子,
  • 其实并不出声。
  • 没有语言可以打开这种倾诉。

FAMILY HISTORY

  • by Zhang Qiaohui

  • A teenager stutters to describe his home:
  • downstream of Meiyang, a hamlet at the end of the ferry run,
  • a house, third floor unoccupied,
  • meant for him to save up to take a wife.
  • In the countryside, everyone is like that.
  • They work in a factory run by overseas Chinese, room and board provided,
  • and go home once a week. Less often, later on.
  • As we talk, the ferry has completed its journey.
  • The ferry carries those who want to leave,
  • and those who want to return home.
  • A dog waits at the door every weekend.
  • If you come back or not, it won’t move.
  • ( I had a dog like that. It got seriously ill but still waited for me.
  • Our days and our dogs,
  • they faithfully accompany us till the end.)
  • Flying Cloud Lake runs along our car,
  • serene and open, like a mother
  • listening to her son's description dotted with excitement and shyness.
  • Crossing Zhaoshan Narrow, a large dam appears;
  • it neatly chokes off a creek,
  • placid before its steep fall over the spillway.
  • I did not ask the young man’s surname.
  • The fields of rapeseed flowers along the road
  • look every bit like him. The home that he described
  • is like my native home that has long disappeared.
  • These years, I have loved another place
  • the way I love my hometown.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ueInY5wIsTrGJ6MKSKCTXw


家春秋

  • 张巧慧

  • 结巴少年,描述他的家
  • 梅垟下,渡口那头的小村,
  • 三楼空着,等他攒钱娶媳妇
  • 乡下人家都这样
  • 少年们在华侨厂里上班,管饭,管住
  • 一星期回一趟家。次数已越来越少
  • 交谈中,我完成一次撑渡
  • 想出去的人渡出去,想归来的人渡进来
  • 一条狗,每到周末都等在门口
  • 你回不回来,它都在那里
  • (我也曾养过一条狗,病重了还等着我
  • 忠实的生活和狗
  • 到死也等着我)

  • 飞云湖跟着我们的车跑
  • 平静,开阔
  • 像一位母亲,听儿子略带兴奋和羞涩的描述
  • 车过赵山渡,我看到大坝
  • 某种规则扼住溪的喉咙
  • 平静戛然而止,剩下落差与泄洪
  • 我没问少年姓什么,
  • 一路上我遇到的成片油菜花
  • 都像是他;他所描述的家,
  • 如我失去多年的故土。
  • 这些年,我像爱故乡一样爱着异乡。




WHEN SCENERY IS LOOKED AT AS A SCENE

  • by Zhang Shuguang

  • Among so many things, only scenery remains constant.
  • I mean the word. Sometimes they are pictures.
  • But can it also be the projection of objects on the retina,
  • entering and merging with the consciousness? Or the opposite,
  • when the inner consciousness finds
  • external clues that meet all the criteria, like a detective on a case?
  • Holmes or Wittgenstein. But this morning
  • I am reading “Looking Awry” by Slavoj Zizek.
  • He is an observer. Observing instead of watching.
  • Sometimes he drags in a foreign film. He is like a crow,
  • quacking and flying over the playground. But he appears
  • more like a bear who broke into the kitchen. Licking honey.
  • We see the world through the eyes of others,
  • such as the ancestors in us, or some demonic possession.
  • Freud or Id. We are genuinely pleased with it.
  • What is born from a seed is not a tree but
  • a large forest. Many birds perch on it.
  • Birds’ white droppings fall on the grass. Manet was with his lover
  • and friends on a picnic there. In fact, they were just
  • sitting, each looking at
  • somewhere outside the screen. Were they watching
  • someone or a particular scenery? Did they know
  • they were also becoming a scene, seen by us. When disrobed,
  • they were simply men and women, just like us.
  • I no longer praise any scenery. When a scenery
  • is looked at as a scene, it is no longer at ease,
  • but observed, tailored and critiqued. But it cannot but put up with it,
  • allowing others’ consciousness to immerse; accepting that
  • it may enter certain people's eyes
  • or become a picture in a frame. Intentional or not, it has to live with it.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JcnrbM0wunpjCHRhssPIrA


当风景作为风景

  • 张曙光

  • 在诸多事物中,只有风景保持不变。
  • 我是说这个词。有时是一些图片。
  • 但它是某些客观物在视网膜上的投射
  • 然后进入并形成意识?或是相反
  • 是由内在的意识在外在的事物中寻找到
  • 符合条件的一切,就像侦探破获一起案件?
  • 福尔摩斯或维特根斯坦。但今天早上
  • 我在读《斜目而视》,斯拉沃特·齐泽克著。
  • 他是一个观察者。观察而不是观看。
  • 有时他拉着洋片。他像一只乌鸦
  • 聒噪着飞过游乐场。但他的模样
  • 更像是一头闯进厨房的熊。舔着蜂蜜。
  • 我们透过别人的眼睛看着世界。
  • 比如身体里的祖先,比如附体的邪灵
  • 弗洛伊德或伊德。对此我们由衷感到快慰。
  • 在一粒种子中,孕育出的不是一棵树,而是
  • 一大片森林。上面栖着很多鸟。
  • 白色的鸟粪滴落草地。马奈带着情人
  • 和朋友在上面午餐。事实上他们只是
  • 坐在那里,各自把目光投向
  • 画面以外的某个地方。他们是在看着
  • 某个人,或某一片风景?是否知道
  • 他们也正在成为风景,被我们看到。当脱掉
  • 衣服,只是些男人和女人,和我们一样。
  • 我不再赞美风景。而当风景作为风景
  • 它已不再是自在的一切。它被观看
  • 剪裁和评说着。但它必须忍受
  • 让某些人的意识沉溺其中,同样
  • 还要忍受它会进入某些人的眼睛
  • 或取景框中。有意或无意,但必须忍受。

MOUNTAINS WITHOUT NAMES

  • by Zhang Weifeng

  • Between rivers and mountains, among birds and flowers,
  • I have a roosting place. I offer it fruits and candles at dawn,
  • and say wordless prayers in it after sundown.
  • As years go by and trees grow thicker,
  • my universe gradually reduces in size. The superfluous
  • are trimmed, the extravagant are disowned; cancers of the spirit
  • are scooped out without a second thought.
  • Between heaven and earth, I live imperceptibly and alone,
  • to honor the rivers and the mountains. They reciprocate
  • by taking me in. There are no talks of mad love between us,
  • but the simple delight of peaceful co-habitation.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/RVZFOSGiIvvTiUUdn6o4uQ


无名山

  • 张伟锋

  • 在青山绿水间,在鸟语花香处
  • 我偎依着一座房子。日出供奉果实和灯盏
  • 日落之后,还念着无字的经书
  • 宏阔的宇宙,随着年轮的增长
  • 慢慢变小。开始慢慢舍弃多余的部分
  • 身外之物,舍弃;刺伤心灵的部分
  • 毫不犹豫地剜除
  • 在天地之间,我静默,独处
  • 我把山川与河流放在高处。它们以同样的方式
  • 把我容纳在身体里。没有激烈和热血般的爱
  • 只有相安无事的共处和存在。

MISSING-PERSON POSTERS

  • by Zhang Xiaozhen

  • Missing-person posters are everywhere on Yangtze River Bridge.
  • We pass by it one misty afternoon.
  • Only angels without a home gently read the posters with a sigh.
  • The papers are already yellowed,
  • the same color as the water under our feet, with floating oil,
  • leaves, and dust.
  • See, she perches on the curled-up corner of the poster,
  • gently fluttering like an insect with translucent wings.
  • How amazing, no? We can’t find her.
  • We have dug canals for rainwater, mapped out power grids,
  • thawed out the northern permafrost,
  • and sent the southern wind to calm the great land.
  • We said Long Live . . . and ten thousand things live long.
  • We have planted seeds of ideas in steel,
  • and induced magnetic fields
  • to spy on homes of sulfur, on the valley of the shadow of death.
  • We have sent people to the balloon-like moon.
  • But we still cannot find her.
  • But we still drink the water, the murky water in the fog.
  • Raising our glasses, we tell ourselves
  • she might have reached Yangluo,
  • riding on the back of a great black whirlpool,
  • on the verge of triumph in the early morning.
  • Or maybe she reached Nanking, and took the big river
  • for the sea . . .
  • Laughing, we drank up our cups,
  • holding hands, saying hopeful words to lift our spirits.
  • Tomorrow will be a new day, we will surely find her
  • because all creatures are praying for us
  • with their inaudible sighs.
  • But how terrified we are by the thought of finding her!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/t3yc2z3t-Jl3jLs69wvU4Q


长江大桥上贴满寻人启事

  • 张小榛

  • 长江大桥上贴满寻人启事,在某个雾气弥漫的下午
  • 我们路过那里。只有无家可归的天使用叹息
  • 轻轻地读它们。它们的纸张都已经泛黄,
  • 就像脚下淌过的水,漂着油渍、菜叶与灰尘。
  • 你看,她就停在那张纸翘起来的角上,
  • 轻盈如翅膀透明的飞虫。
  • 多奇妙呢?现在我们找不到她。
  • 我们为雨水开道、为雷电分路,融化北方数百万年的冬季,
  • 放出南风使大地沉寂。我们一吩咐生长,万物就生长。
  • 我们在钢铁里播种意念,用导线牵引地极,
  • 借此窥探硫磺的家乡、死荫的幽谷。
  • 我们现在能把人送到气球般的月亮上去。
  • 但我们依旧找不到她。
  • 但我们依旧饮用那水,雾气中昏黄的水,
  • 一边举杯,一边告诉自己现在
  • 她或许已经到了阳逻,正骑在黑色的大漩流背上
  • 准备伴着清晨的歌声凯旋;
  • 又或许到了南京,把宽阔的水面误认成一片海……
  • 我们笑着喝尽杯中之物,拉着手互相鼓劲、互相打气:
  • 明天就是新的一天了,我们必找到她,因为众生灵都在
  • 用听不见的叹息为我们祷告。
  • 我们多么害怕我们将要找到她

EMBER-ROASTED SWEET-POTATO

  • by Zhang Xinquan

  • To roast sweet potatoes,
  • he selects the finest ones that speak to him,
  • places them in a barrel-shaped oven,
  • and arranges them to get snug and cozy along the oven's wall
  • in a circle, stretching, sweating,
  • just like poets. Aah! Aa! Ouch!
  • roasted over coals, they slowly turn soft, aromatic, sweet,
  • moans and sighs are now softer, giving steamy scents,
  • Mmm...
  • Before considering it done, he’d make sure
  • everyone is evenly roasted front and back
  • until he too becomes an ember-roasted sweet potato.
  • The red glow on his face and his coarse garment
  • has me awestruck,
  • so I huddle close to the oven and listen to his stories.
  • When he is flat out, I handle the money and change,
  • sharing his simple fare of strong tea and baked sesame bread.
  • It's dusk and I ride with him on his sweet-potato cart to go home.
  • Q: What do you do, my gray-haired big brother?
  • A: I write, paid by number of words, a few decades now.
  • He chuckles and says: "Far better to code sweet potatoes.
  • Change job, better to be a sweet, warm-hearted street pedlar..."

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊) : https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/zKn-uAZcNxiORBCQXlo56g


布衣红薯

  • 张新泉

  • 烤红薯就是把红薯中
  • 优秀而落寞的选出来
  • 放进炉子,让它们贴着炉壁
  • 站成一圈。伸腰,淌汗
  • 诗人一样——哦!啊!噢!
  • 然后逐渐变软,变香,变甜
  • 由叹气到哈气,到噫吁嚱
  • 卖红薯的烤完前胸又烤后背
  • 直到把自己也烤成一根
  • 红光满面的布衣红苕
  • 直到吸引我驻足观赏
  • 偎他炉子听他身世倚他车辕
  • 忙不过来时,帮他收整找零
  • 也接受他浓茶伴烧饼的便餐
  • 黄昏,搭他架子车回家
  • 问:白发老兄什么的干活?
  • 答:一个几十年的码字工
  • 他笑笑说,码字不如码红苕
  • 改行吧,来当糖心蜜肺的小商贩……

A LITTLE BIGGER LOVE

  • by Zhang Xinying

  • Staying too long in one profession,
  • you can lose your sharpness
  • without knowing.
  • May as well step up to the balcony.
  • While without purpose, you’ll see the point of
  • smoking and drinking,
  • the changeable clouds in the sky,
  • the two rivers before your eyes,
  • the steamboats that whistle at night,
  • the anonymous birds that
  • fly by and away.
  • You may not make the world greater,
  • but you may love the world a little better
  • if you are content
  • to be an amateur in many other things.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mW4UGWqLAxovMM34TyDriA

更大一点的爱

  • 张新颖

  • 在专业领地待久了
  • 你就变成了这个专业的外行
  • 而不自知

  • 还是到阳台上来吧
  • 你会懂得无所事事时的香烟和啤酒
  • 天空变幻的云

  • 你眼睛看得见的两条河流
  • 夜晚轮船的汽笛
  • 叫不出名字的鸟飞过来又飞走

  • 你或许得不到更大一点的世界
  • 但能得到对更大一点的世界的爱
  • 假如你愿意
  • 做许多事物的业余选手

CHANCING UPON SNOW

  • by Zhang Zhan

  • Snow has the beautiful look of ashes.
  • It hides its shadow,
  • feigning lightness.
  • It doesn’t write,
  • but lays out a sheet of paper
  • for those who want to.
  • It pretends that it was never a fire,
  • or a tree
  • before a fire,
  • or a flower
  • before a tree.
  • It pretends that it was never water,
  • like a pearl
  • held between
  • someone’s soft lips.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


遇 雪

  • 张 战

  • 雪有灰烬之美
  • 它藏起自己的影子
  • 假装自己轻
  • 它什么都不写
  • 铺好纸
  • 让别人写
  • 它假装自己不曾是火
  • 火之前
  • 不曾是树木
  • 树木之前
  • 不曾是花朵
  • 它假装自己不曾是水
  • 如珍珠
  • 当那人用柔软的唇
  • 将它含住

ODE TO SPRING

  • by Zhang Zhihao

  • My mother never wore a floral dress,
  • but does this mean
  • she was never happy?
  • Spring returns, but that last spring
  • when I carried her home on my back from the hospital,
  • on the small road behind our house,
  • she spoke next to my ears, in a soft and distant voice:
  • “Son, I won’t let you dream of me after I die
  • lest you should be afraid. I am content, I am happy. ”
  • It has been eighteen years, and whenever spring returns after winter,
  • I would remember that afternoon
  • when I carried my unfortunate mother.
  • On that road blooming with flowers,
  • I cried while I walked.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Qpp9Q01A_BVlvZmZEDD9jQ


咏春调

  • 张执浩

  • 我母亲从来没有穿过花衣服
  • 这是不是意味着
  • 她从来就没有快乐过?
  • 春天来了,但是最后一个春天
  • 我背着她从医院回家
  • 在屋后的小路上
  • 她曾附在我耳边幽幽地说道:
  • “儿啊,我死后一定不让你梦到我
  • 免得你害怕。我很知足,我很幸福。”
  • 十八年来,每当冬去春来
  • 我都会想起那天下午
  • 我背着不幸的母亲走
  • 在开满鲜花的路上
  • 一边走一边哭

1990, RUNNING WATER CAME TO THE VILLAGE

  • by Zhang Zuogeng

  • The upended water barrel was removed.
  • A damp circle was all that’s left, resetting time back to the beginning.
  • Water barrel, now a redundant worker,
  • was grabbed on the belly and dragged off.
  • Where's a good place for it?
  • —some younger and speedier servant will stand in.
  • Water pipe, not a line to lead you to the headwater
  • but runs underground, and tears open
  • an outlet at the faucet—
  • “This water, it smells of chlorine.”
  • “Oh, push buttons, valves and knobs everywhere.”
  • My elderly mother grumbles as she carries
  • clothes and vegetables to the pond to wash.
  • Cool running river, lichen sways on rocks,
  • as if water has grown a beard.
  • The evening after, Father removed the water barrel,
  • leaving behind an empty spot, a raw scar.
  • But then, why in the world do I still wake up
  • in the sound of a pail knocking on the water barrel,
  • as bright as before, as if Father were still with us,
  • carrying water, bringing us everyday's
  • blissful news.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-01-13/11820877.shtml


1990:村里通上自来水

  • 张作梗

  • 倒扣的水缸被移走。
  • 一圈湿印,使一切过往的日子归零。
  • 水桶,像一个突然多出来的人,
  • 拖着水桶般的腰身,
  • 不知道站在哪儿为好。
  • ——生活,有了更年轻、便捷的仆人。
  • 水管,可不是水的索引。
  • 它游动在地下,又在每一个水龙头那儿
  • 撕开一个缺口——
  • “这水,有一股漂白粉味儿。”
  • “唔,到处都是按钮、阀门和开关。”
  • 我的老母亲嘀咕着,依然将衣物、菜蔬
  • 提拎到门前的大水塘去漂洗。
  • 水声清泠,埠石上拂动的青苔,
  • 像是水长出的绿胡子。
  • 隔夜,我的父亲把水缸移走。
  • 那空出来的地方,新鲜如伤疤。
  • 可为什么每日早晨醒来,
  • 我依然听到水桶磕碰缸沿的声音,那么
  • 清脆,像是死去多年的父亲,
  • 仍然在为我们担水,送来一日
  • 清凉的福音?

PAINTINGS OF SPRING

  • by Zhang Zuogeng

  • Early morning, I push open the window.
  • You are there grinding an ink stone, and rolling out the paper for me to paint a bird song.
  • My heart flutters like a baby bird, and I say
  • —wait ‘till it sings, I can then paint
  • a real bird song.
  • The meadow is quiet in the afternoon, like an
  • after-hour bee house. Only the two of us still fly low,
  • hoping to find a twig on each other to perch.
  • You say, paint the sweetness of the world.
  • My heart burst open like a painter’s palette, I said
  • —when the palette is thawed by the spring breeze,
  • I can paint the life-like sweetness.
  • The lake fades into dusk – twilight touches the grass,
  • deepening the dark horizon. We get up,
  • walk towards a swaying boat,
  • thinking there is a roily whirlpool . . .
  • You mutter: hurry, paint a vortex of fear—
  • My heart pounds like a stone tossed into water,
  • I say, when the stone has turned to dust,
  • I can paint the real fear.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


春之画

  • 张作梗

  • 早晨,推开窗户,
  • 你研墨铺纸,要我画一幅鸟鸣。
  • 我的心怦怦跳着如一只幼鸟,我说——
  • 等它会叫了,我就能画出
  • 真正的鸟鸣。
  • 田野置于午后,寂静如一只打烊的
  • 蜂桶。唯有我俩低飞着,
  • 要在彼此身上找到停落的枝头。
  • 你说,画出世界的甜蜜吧。
  • 我的心哗啦展开如一个写生夹,
  • ——我说,等画板被春风融化了,
  • 我就能画出逼真的甜蜜。
  • 黄昏推开湖水——天光落在草尖上,
  • 加深了大地的幽暗。我们起身,
  • 向一条战栗的小船走去,
  • 仿佛那儿有一个疯狂的漩涡……
  • 你喃喃道,快,画一幅涡流的恐惧——
  • 我的心扑通如一块投水的石头,
  • 我说,等石头化为了齑粉,
  • 我就能画出真实的恐惧。

A HUMBLE POEM

  • By Zhang Zuogeng

  • The inexplicable
  • tiny
  • eye of a needle that lets a camel walk through,
  • the camel that looks like a small tumbleweed
  • will now enter my eye.
  • The earth that shudders under the wheelchair,
  • the rain’s glitter that falls through the air undetected,
  • those sobs that faintly ripple between the fingers,
  • the tender bud unaffected by the cold spell in spring…
  • The meteor shower
  • that slid by and caressed my cheeks,
  • the inexplicable
  • tiny
  • bristles of spring wheat that brushed against my heart…
  • —each of them a grain of sand that built the pagoda—
  • my humble and tenacious life.
  • Things infinitesimal,
  • smaller than a second,
  • but when I hold them all,
  • I feel larger than the universe.
  • When I gather all of their lightness,
  • I feel all the things that make up my life.
  • Therefore, I bend
  • like a sheaf of wheat.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jRqB8KxNlxbvgYfl366RhA

卑微之诗

  • 张作梗

  • 那微妙的
  • 微小的
  • 针孔里走骆驼的
  • 从任一方向看去都像微末的飞蓬
  • 要钻进我眼睛里的
  • 那轮椅下战栗的地面
  • 那空中察觉不到的雨星儿
  • 那微澜,那从手指缝里迸出的啜泣
  • 那一粒倒春寒也捂不熄的嫩芽儿
  • 那滑过我脸颊的
  • 流星的抚摸
  • 那微妙的
  • 微小的
  • 像春天的麦芒儿拂过我心尖的吹息……
  • ——它们聚沙成塔
  • 构成了我卑微而顽强的一生
  • 这些微茫的
  • 比一秒钟还小的东西
  • 当我完整地拥有了它们
  • 我感觉我比宇宙还大
  • 是它们的轻,让我获得了生命的重量——
  • 我因此像谷穗
  • 低下头来。

NIGHTTRIP THROUGH BANGDONG

  • by Zhao Jiapeng

  • The Almighty has drawn his black curtain.
  • The forest hills stand above the world,
  • letting their pet mountain mist out to play.
  • Passing through Bangdong, embracing the night's wind,
  • a world not unlike the hollow of a skull,
  • we scurry like rats.
  • The omnipresent fog presses on us,
  • it hastens our steps like a dog's sudden barking,
  • plunging us into abject misery.
  • Below us is the mighty Mekong River,
  • it flows south with a determined focus, yet we want to believe
  • its current existence is but an illusion.
  • For an instant, I almost burst out crying:
  • the trees on the side of the road look so wooden,
  • much like my folks back home.
  • I want to embrace them, like holding on to what is good.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/TrOUQ9tv5q8BOPOlMIhc5w

邦东夜行记

  • 赵家鹏

  • 上帝合上了他的黑帘布。山林岸然
  • 放出豢养的白雾

  • 此时,我们正怀抱风尘,穿过邦东之夜
  • 世界像眼窟窿,我们像末路之鼠

  • 一万顷浓雾压顶,更多时候它约等于一声犬吠
  • 加快我们的渺小

  • 脚下是浩阔的澜沧江,但我们更愿意相信:
  • 执意向南的流水,
  • 这时候不过是一种虚妄的存在

  • 有那么一瞬间,我差点就哭出声来
  • 路旁那些表情漠然的树木,他们多像我的亲人

  • 我想抱住他们,就像抱住善良



BEDTIME LETTER --TO SHEN NIANJU

  • by Zhao Jun

  • A Pushkin for my adolescent years,
  • bound in a gold cover. To soothe
  • the puberty years. It didn't induce
  • that "young Werther" kind of sorrows but rather
  • saved a youth from the backwater country: in reciting
  • love poems, the rural-urban gap was bridged,
  • filling the gulf between hearts. These verses and
  • the chirping of summer insects at the edge of town
  • chimed together for evening prayers, allowing me
  • to calmly study the stylish girls even if they were
  • the captain’s daughters. I became the gentleman
  • in that book, prolonging a duel which would not exist.
  • What far-off memory now: A red thumbprint on
  • "A Hundred Years of Solitude"! By the weeping willows along Yingxi River,
  • I inhaled the sweet smell of romanticism. Like mud
  • pecked away by swallows, or the low eaves sent to
  • the iron gut of the excavator, those infinitely disappearing
  • rice paddies replaced by modern housing,
  • dense population stacked in dwelling cubes
  • until downtown youths no longer believed
  • in poetry from Russia, nor even talked kindly about
  • the adolescents dipped in Russian romanticism.
  • Some twenty years later, you, a Pushkin go-between
  • carried me from far away back home,
  • to those displaced, stowed-away pillows and blankets.
  • As my lips echoed the verse into local dialect, I was unaware
  • you were here, too, in your lonely adolescent years, without
  • even a similar comfort. You sat in a dimly-lit publishing house,
  • a ferryman who delivered that bright light to me.
  • This is a time for tears: the lonelier we are,
  • the more potent is poetry to enchant our bleak life,
  • to defy the thought that we're destined for mediocrity. In the cold, in exile,
  • you never extinguished the flames. And we,
  • in times when conformity rules, will be a swift sword, made of bronze,
  • bursting out a piercing shine, to guard against amnesia.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gF3d52YevQ2CupWE0U5YCw


枕边书——给沈念驹

  • 赵俊

  • 青葱岁月里的普希金。长着
  • 金色的封面。在身边慰藉
  • 被荷尔蒙毒害的岁月。这并非
  • 少年维特之烦恼。这是山乡少年
  • 一种新的救赎:只有背诵这些
  • 爱情的诗句,才能弥合城乡差距
  • 而皲裂的心谷。在小镇的边缘
  • 这些诗句,和夏虫的鸣叫一起
  • 制造着晚祷的钟声。让我平静地
  • 看着时髦的少女。即便她们是
  • 上尉的女儿。我也会在书中变成
  • 真正的贵族。用鹅毛笔写下诗篇
  • 然后,制造一场并不存在的冗长决斗
  • 遥远的回想:沉睡的百年孤独被按上
  • 红色的手印。我在英溪河的杨柳边
  • 轻嗅浪漫主义的芬芳。像泥土被燕之喙
  • 带进人居。而低矮的屋檐逐渐被送到
  • 挖掘机的铁胃。那无限消失的稻田
  • 和它们一起构筑新型的居住环境
  • 那立体的房屋拉升着人口密度
  • 却再也无法让小镇青年,相信来自
  • 俄罗斯的诗歌。他们也不愿意以
  • 善意的唇齿。接纳染上俄罗斯气息的少年
  • 在二十年后,你作为普希金的摆渡者
  • 重新让远在天涯的我。回到小镇居室
  • 回到那已被乔迁封存的枕衾。在我用
  • 地方口音抚摸诗句的时候,我并不知道
  • 你也曾在故乡度过寂寥的青春期。你甚至
  • 没有这样的安慰。你在昏暗的编审室
  • 成为艄公,为我运送这样的明亮
  • 这是落泪的时刻:我们有多孤独
  • 就多么需要诗的妖娆,魅惑苍白的生活
  • 不再相信自我注定平庸。在寒冷的流放地
  • 他也不曾熄灭过火焰。而我们即便在
  • 越来越雷同的时代,依然会拥有青铜的质地
  • 闪耀着寒光,变成对抗遗忘的冷兵器

WHEN THE WIND SCOURS GUIYANG

  • by Zhao Weifeng

  • The spring wind scours Guiyang, as if staging a guerrilla war.
  • But all is fair.
  • For the love of beauty, it emulates
  • the plants by donning new outfits. The year before,
  • the moon even showed up to help.
  • If you can correctly judge who is more mischievous,
  • the wind or the moon, you’ll be able to predict
  • the winner in the battle between the faded memories and the fluid realities.
  • Spring wind hovers, and sweeps across the board—-across cities and villages,
  • across cutting boards, keyboards, and boards of developers, across you and me.
  • It goes where it wishes, most people
  • cannot see that the wind is going through phases,
  • from wild to violent, to feeble.
  • You say some winds have too many escapades.
  • You say some winds will have more to go through.
  • You say a few of them will
  • end in unsolved mysteries,
  • most will die young on the same old path.
  • You say a person, or more likely a faerie,
  • sneaked in at night with the wind
  • but stayed with you only briefly
  • before going back to the past,
  • to the sorrow-laden past.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-1Hloch7g9VxLpRnoRfABA


春风清洗贵阳的时候

  • 赵卫峰

  • 春风清洗贵阳的时候化整为零
  • 这就很公平
  • 爱美之心,开始了
  • 向换装的植物们看齐。还像去年
  • 月亮有时会来助阵
  • 如果你能看出春风与月亮
  • 谁更淘气
  • 就可以预见
  • 沉静的记忆,调皮的现实
  • 谁将取得胜利
  • 春风盘旋,春风浩荡,在城乡之间
  • 在果盘、键盘和楼盘、在你我之间
  • 随意变换体位,一般的人
  • 应该看不出风怎么乱来,激进
  • 又怎么衰弱下去
  • 你说一些春风经过太多
  • 你说一些春风还将经过更多
  • 你说春风中的少数
  • 投身不知所终的远方
  • 大半夭折于老路
  • 你说,那人简直是个神仙
  • 随风潜入夜,在你身上
  • 只逗留了瞬间
  • 然后就一步步退回到了从前
  • 忧伤的从前

IF MY DREAM LASTS LONG ENOUGH

  • by Zhao Wenhao

  • If only my dream would last long enough
  • for me to walk with you to the kitchen, to see how you
  • set each dish at its special place, to see how you
  • recall everyone's tastes and appetites,
  • for the elderly, help them sail through the days;
  • for those weighed down, lighten things up a bit.
  • It hurts horribly waiting, and waiting for you to wake up,
  • and I feel most useless to see that you look different now,
  • but despite all that, even though my heart
  • has given me many reasons to cry,
  • I come to remember
  • that, without making special arrangements,
  • I visited your home, while having a sesame flat bread,
  • listening to you recounting the small events of the day,
  • with a bowl in my hands receiving warm soymilk from you.
  • Let us resume, if only our dreams would last long enough,
  • long enough.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/yMlVS1PpBk9mtR4wEVNsRg


如果我的梦足够长

  • 赵文豪

  • 如果我的梦够长
  • 足够时间,陪您走到家里的厨房,看着您
  • 牢记冰箱里摆放每道菜的位置;
  • 牢记每个亲人的口味与胃口
  • 老了,日子淡一点;
  • 重了,计较轻一点。
  • 最脆弱的不是等待您醒来的难熬
  • 最脆弱的不是您变了模样
  • 尽管我们的心,
  • 总是告诉我无数次可以哭过的理由,
  • 却总是想起
  • 在兴之所至的日常
  • 来到您家里,吃着烧饼
  • 听您说着芝麻小事,拿着装满温热豆浆的碗接着
  • 接着,如果我们的梦够长
  • 够长

THE LOST HORSE RETURNED HOME BY ITSELF

  • by Zhao Yadong

  • We cut grass on the rolling hills, green juice
  • drips down the blade. The soft sparkles from the distant river
  • illuminates Father's blade.
  • It is indeed great timing as when we arrive home with the grass,
  • the lost horse also returns to the sunflower-filled courtyard.
  • It has walked through a dark forest, went around a hill of barren grave site.
  • Now it is chewing the freshly-cut grass, a low reverberation comes from between its teeth.
  • That is the most moving sound in the world ...
  • My mother, keeping company with the horse, cannot stop sobbing.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


丢失的马匹独自返回家中

  • 赵亚东

  • 我们在起伏的山冈上割草,绿色的草浆
  • 在刀背上流淌。远处的河流闪着谦逊的光芒
  • 刚好照亮了父亲的刀锋
  • 的确是最好的时辰,当我们把青草运回家中
  • 丢失的马匹独自回到长满向日葵的院落
  • 它曾走过一条幽暗的林中小路,绕过山冈上的枯坟
  • 现在它嚼着新铡的夜草,牙齿间发出深沉的回响
  • 那是世间最动听的声音……
  • 我的母亲,此刻守在它身旁,不停地哭

NOTES FROM EARLY SPRING

  • by Zheng Maoming

  • An empty truck rumbles through the alley behind the office building,
  • rattling all of its metal frame, clankety-clank.
  • Dazzling sunshine, sluggish spring, a groggy afternoon,
  • the truck passes and leaves behind a bit of quiet.
  • The trees have green halos; color of moss appears in a daydream;
  • an old chair tries to shine;
  • the desk files and reports never get moldy;
  • the phone rings, the door knocks, two waves of visitors without appointments;
  • that’s when the quiet ends,
  • as we chatter on and on about everything,
  • sprinkled with moments of boredom,
  • then I think of shaking the dirt from my shoes.
  • A tractor squeezes in, happily tooting along,
  • black smoke chugging out of its exhaust pipe,
  • belching soot like black flower petals.
  • Silence is gone again, and so is the noise.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Nhjno9dYzC9yJj_UOD8ZIA


初春记

  • 郑茂明

  • 空货车轰隆隆从写字楼身后驶
  • 抖着满身的铁,响声铮亮
  • 日光春困,半睡半醒的下午
  • 货车走过的地方,空出一小块寂静
  • 树木青晕,幻想中有苔藓的颜色
  • 一把陈旧的椅子,企图发出新
  • 桌上的文件和报表永不发霉
  • 电话和敲门,不约而至两波客人
  • 那是寂静终止的时候
  • 我们总在滔滔不绝谈些什么
  • 有时候,也会出现一个无聊的空当
  • 我就想抖一抖鞋子中硌脚的沙粒
  • 一辆拖拉机挤了进来
  • 突突突跑得正欢,烟囱里冒着黑烟
  • 像沙尘中盛开着薄而黑的花瓣
  • 寂静再一次远去了,喧嚣也不在这儿

DISTANT PLACES

  • by Zhijian Liunian

  • Both the future and distant places mean very little to me now.
  • I have only been to Harbin a few times.
  • The first time was to see my son off to a school in the South.
  • I saw an airplane for the first time and thought
  • it had been waiting there for us the whole time.
  • Later I learned that it flew in 30 minutes earlier.
  • My son waved to me from the security checkpoint, I said nothing,
  • sending him my farewell between travelers coming and going.
  • That was the first time he left us for a distant place.
  • Then the flight crew that had just landed walked by me,
  • pulling their luggage, looking spritely,
  • never stopped looking dashing and beautiful.
  • Every year I go into town a few times for business,
  • to buy seeds and fertilizers, once to exchange for a second-generation ID card,
  • the new head shot shows the years in-between.
  • Time has crushed this person,
  • now powdery, extraordinarily delicate and soft.
  • From a small village to a small town, what I have is
  • a little bit of a place. My courtyard,
  • at the end of February, still hardly feels warm,
  • still desolate, but I can detect
  • things are waking up: my grape vines
  • look shining as their roots in the soil
  • grasp tighter to the darkness.
  • You said: "Find the chance to get out more!"
  • I said: "Will do!" When young,
  • I wanted to go to Ireland, and walk
  • around the sad streets of Dublin,
  • with my hands in my pockets, like Bloom and Stephen.
  • At the time, I read James Joyce's
  • "Ulysses". I read Mr. Van Gogh,
  • and yearned for the wheat fields and crows in North Brabant.
  • "My dear Theo, if you were alive,
  • your brother would return your money ten folds."
  • Tiny Holland, rich with tulips and artists,
  • Rembrandt was obscured by Van Gogh's brilliance.
  • But, Amherst, you truly are so far!
  • Otherwise I really would like to go there for a few days. To your home,
  • which is turned into a Shell gas-station now.
  • Seeing your little desk, I'd sure be amazed,
  • did you really write the immortal poems at this small desk?
  • I'd be sitting in a small café in Amherst, seeing other
  • visitors, like me, come here to pay homage to you.
  • I imagine you in your lonely garden,
  • picking geraniums to make a flower specimen.
  • "Wild strawberries by the fence."
  • Well, Dickinson, I can't help but feel happy.
  • Now, I think the most livable place is England.
  • France is frivolous; Rome, the city of loneliness.
  • England has Shakespeare, it also has the Bronte Sisters.
  • It has Cambridge, football hooligans, gentlemen and paupers,
  • the simplicity of the countryside,
  • and islands that separate us...

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4phI2EaPuhJ9VxdFc6nORg


远 方

  • 指尖流年

  • 我对未来和远方几乎淡漠了。
  • 我只去过几次哈尔滨,
  • 第一次,是送去南方上学的儿子,
  • 我第一次看见飞机,我以为
  • 它一直在那里等候我们,
  • 后来我才知道它是前30分钟飞来的。
  • 儿子在安检口向我招手,我木讷。
  • 我夹杂在穿行的旅人里与儿子道别,
  • 那是他第一次离开我们,去很远的地方。
  • 刚刚降落的空少和空姐神采奕奕,
  • 拉着拉杆箱,从我身旁走过
  • 仿佛永远那么帅气漂亮。
  • 我一年去几趟县城办事。
  • 买种子化肥,和换二代身份证,
  • 我上面头像一年老过一年。
  • 时间已经把这个人碾碎。
  • 现在他呈粉末状,格外细腻柔软。
  • 从小村到小镇,我只有这么
  • 一丁点的地方。我的庭院,
  • 二月的末尾,乍暖还寒,
  • 还在荒芜之中,但我仍感到
  • 万物正在苏醒,我的葡萄藤蔓
  • 闪闪发亮,根系在尘土里,
  • 它正把黑暗抓得更紧。
  • 你说,“有机会出来走走吧。”
  • 我说“会的”。年轻时,
  • 我想去爱尔兰,手插裤兜
  • 走过都柏林忧伤的街,
  • 像布鲁姆和斯蒂芬,
  • 那时,我读詹姆斯.乔伊斯的
  • 《尤利西斯》。我读梵高先生,
  • 就向往北布拉班特的麦田和鸦群,
  • 我亲爱的提奥,如果你健在,
  • 哥哥一定把你资助的钱十倍奉还。
  • 小小的荷兰,盛产郁金香,也出艺术家
  • 伦勃朗被梵高的光彩已然遮蔽了。
  • 可是,安默斯特你真是太远了!
  • 不然我真想去那小住几日。去你家,
  • 据说现已改为“壳”牌加油站。
  • 去看你的小书桌,我惊叹,
  • 你就是在方寸的书桌上写下不朽的诗?
  • 我坐在安默斯特的小咖啡馆,看到这儿
  • 来的游客,他们都像我吧,为你慕名而来;
  • 我想你在你孤独的花园里采撷,
  • 准备制作天竺葵的标本。
  • “篱笆那边的野草莓”
  • 嗯,狄金森,忍不住我想乐。
  • 现在,我想最宜居的地方是英国,
  • 法国浪漫的轻浮;罗马,一座寂寞之都。
  • 英国,有莎士比亚也有勃朗特姐妹,
  • 有剑桥,也有足球流氓,有绅士也有穷人,
  • 有乡下的素朴,也有海岛把我们隔开…!

OUH LÀ LÀ

  • by Zhong Shiwen

  • I had hoped to see her bloom in the spring, tall and joyful among others,
  • ouh là là, but before spring, she bid us farewell,
  • leaving only a trace of fragrance. She said she didn’t feel belong.
  • Ouh là là, why did’t she stay, couldn’t she see that we were kind?
  • Were we not clean enough? Was the space we gave her not suitable?
  • Did I do anything wrong? Ouh là là, I suddenly thought of the heavenly you and the frivolous you.
  • Oh, nice Sunday weather, and a little breezy, I think l need to have a talk.
  • What's the date after Sunday? I was still so very young yesterday.
  • Did good weather cause me to age? So many others are already dead.
  • Ouh là là, so many names were picked up by others, wiped clean with sleeves
  • and taken home for reuse like some treasure. Ouh là là, was it like this in the old days?
  • I need a fish, a fish to accompany the river.
  • For sure this river of mine doesn't need anything. Ouh là là, all birds are dead.
  • My river, I decided the shoreline must not have trees. Too many decisions to make.
  • Oh, we can't negate our responsibilities. The flowers are all gone.
  • The birds are gone, too. I hope you will sum up useful things, including those I had no words for,
  • to tell everyone. Oh, I’ve lit a cigarette. Don't knock on my door after I fall asleep.
  • Oh, I’m famished, but there’s no need to eat, I am already in bed, under the covers.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


乌 啦

  • 仲诗文

  • 我曾希望她在春天盛开,希望她站在群花之中,露出欢颜
  • 乌啦,春天还没有到来,她就告别离开了
  • 她只给春天留下一点儿香味,她说她不属于这里
  • 乌啦,她为什么不愿意留下,我们的善她看不到吗?
  • 我们的洁净还不够吗?我们给予的空间不合适吗?
  • 还是我做错什么了吗?乌啦,我突然想到神明的你与愚蠢的你
  • 乌啦,星期天的天气很棒,有一点儿风,我需要谈谈
  • 星期天过了是几号?我昨天那么年轻
  • 是好天气让我衰老了吗?好多人已经死去了
  • 乌啦,好多人的名字被别人捡起来用袖子擦了擦
  • 宝贝一样带回家继续用。乌啦,从前也是这个样子吗?
  • 我需要一条鱼,我要鱼来陪伴一条河
  • 我的这条河真的不需要别的什么。乌啦,鸟都已经死掉了
  • 我的河,我决定河岸不能长树。需要决定的事情太多了
  • 乌啦,我们不能放弃责任。花儿离开我们了
  • 鸟也离开我们了。我希望你把那些有用的,那些我无法说出来的
  • 多讲出来给大家听。乌啦,我已点上了烟。在我睡下去的时候
  • 不要来敲我的门。乌啦,我饿了,但我不需要吃东西,我已盖了被子

ORANGES

  • by Zhou Sese

  • Far away in Hunan,
  • countless orange factories
  • hid among the dark green woods,
  • oranges rolling
  • from one end of the conveyor belt
  • to the kingdom of freedom—
  • a continuous stream of
  • new arrivals.
  • We climb onto the roof of the orange factory,
  • looking out at the distant orange groves,
  • fruit abounds
  • like plump hens. .
  • Crouching as I am on the hillside,
  • I want to taste their flesh,
  • only then can I really drink the raindrops, sunlight
  • and the nectar of midnight's dew.
  • When our group left,
  • the oranges flew all over the sky,
  • shouting for joy,
  • we kept on looking back.
  • Those were happy moments two years ago.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/RlYqI0CQ5_jRlCWL0C1U_Q


橙 子

  • 周瑟瑟

  • 在遥远的湖南
  • 有无数间橙子工厂
  • 隐藏在墨绿的树丛中间
  • 橙子滚滚
  • 从机器传送带一端
  • 奔向自由
  • 还有源源不断的
  • 橙子到来
  • 我们爬上橙子工厂楼顶
  • 眺望远处大片橙子树林
  • 它们果实累累
  • 像一只只体态丰满的母鸡
  • 蹲在湖南的山坡上
  • 我要走到它们体内
  • 才能吮吸到雨水、阳光
  • 和夜露的甜蜜
  • 当我们一群人离开时
  • 橙子飞满了天空
  • 橙子的欢叫
  • 让我们频频回头
  • 那是两年前的好时光




MY THREE DAILY RETROSPECTIVES

  • by Zhou Suotong

  • Three meals now reduced to two;
  • three things to do, not a one got done;
  • sleepless till dawn even after saying good-night.
  • Missing the old days but easily forgetting names;
  • never was sure if I really locked the door;
  • out for a walk without bringing a house key.
  • Hoping to be offered a seat in a crammed bus or subway,
  • but annoyed that the school kid called me a grandpa;
  • meaning to walk faster, but seemed to always lag behind.
  • What? The innocent lamp kept the night dark again for me!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KU5681rd100_2nntMHWgIQ


吾日三省

  • 周所同

  • 三餐减为两餐
  • 三件事没办成一件
  • 道声晚安却一夜失眠
  • 想念故旧常常忘了名字
  • 老是疑心没锁门
  • 散步回来却未带钥匙
  • 挤公交或地铁期待有谁让座
  • 小朋友喊大爷心里难受
  • 想快些走,反而总是落在人后
  • 怎么啦?无辜的灯又替我黑了一夜!

UP ON THE WHITE CLOUD PAVILION

  • by Zhou Xixi

  • Early spring, at 350 meters,
  • with a chilly nip in the air,
  • the White Cloud Pavilion sees very few visitors.
  • I come from the foothill,
  • each step a step closer to the sky.
  • Up here, the wind is hushed, white clouds slowly drift,
  • a few birds dash down, toward the human world.
  • The forest stays lush green, the lake shimmering, nothing
  • has changed except some folks are gone
  • from time’s precipice like a fallen stone.
  • The White Cloud Pavilion is a fixture here, wedged between the hard rocks of time,
  • shaped like an empty wine glass seen from below.
  • The sunset clouds are ablaze,
  • but butterflies seek oblivion in unseen niches,
  • this is not a place for doltish truth-seekers.
  • At Nanshan Temple, the unpruned ginkgo trees,
  • the unshaven monks, they witness time, but do not romanticize.
  • Bird songs are heard from the mountainside;
  • some go up, some go down.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/hAWnb7OFN8eBeq_MCTeCAg


白云阁登高

  • 周西西

  • 海拔三百五十米的早春,寒意料峭
  • 白云阁行人罕至。我从山下来
  • 每上一层,就向天空近一分
  • 更高处,风声清寂,托着白云缓缓游动
  • 几只鸟雀向下,飞往低处的人间
  • 山林苍郁,湖泊泛着微光,仿佛
  • 旧日模样。只是时光如悬崖
  • 故人已抱着石头离开
  • 白云阁像一枚钉子,楔在坚硬的时间里
  • 又似一只悬置在生活里的空酒杯
  • 此处晚霞过火,蝴蝶远遁
  • 缘木求鱼的人不宜久留。南山寺里
  • 带发修行的银杏
  • 只管见证,不问抒情
  • 山腰传来鸟的歌声,有坠落,也有上升

SOUNDS FROM LOW ELEVATION

  • by Zhou Xixi

  • Some ten minutes ago, the last sunset flare died in the wind,
  • speargrass bent down, as if to go underground.
  • Grandfather washes his feet and comes onshore,
  • his cigarette lights up the narrow path overreached by crop;
  • He is counting the days to harvest,
  • but now the seedlings are still below the wind’s path,
  • the wind is softer than the shade of the night, and the shade of the night
  • lighter than the thickets near the ground.
  • The uneven footsteps emerge from the ground, beneath
  • the elevation of rheumatism and back strain and sprain.
  • There is still time before sunrise
  • to calm the stubborn cough,
  • to distill dewdrops from the night’s aches and pains.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


低音区

  • 周西西

  • 十多分钟前,晚风吹熄残霞最后一朵火苗
  • 茅草伏下身子,仿佛要钻进土地
  • 祖父洗脚上岸
  • 点燃一支香烟照亮禾叶掩盖的田埂
  • 等待与镰刀秋后算账
  • 而现在,禾苗低于风声
  • 风声低于夜色,夜色低于草丛
  • 草丛里的脚步声高低不平,低于
  • 风湿和腰肌劳损
  • 太阳升起之前,他有足够的时间
  • 压低陈年的咳嗽
  • 把露珠和疼痛,从黑夜里分拣出来

HOW MANY NIGHTS DO WE HAVE

  • by Zhou Yuchen

  • How many nights are there
  • for us to countenance the sudden visit of sorrows?
  • How many still, deep interims are there,
  • as docile as paper, which we can smooth out,
  • for our memories to soak up ink and take a free run on them.
  • If the spirit is an ocean,
  • how big and how deep is it? In the stirring moments
  • that cause the seagulls to leap up, can it
  • carry me—my dejected heart, through surfs and undertows
  • while it breathes out strings of bubbles, lurching as if aching?
  • Let it come. The old wound will ring our doorbell.
  • We know: tonight a heart will suffer,
  • scalded, burned by the memories of bygone days,
  • but the blisters will close for healing in the cold waking hours.
  • Let it come. A night like tonight,
  • a night like an unknown X, when the fullness of time
  • hangs likes the moon over the end of the sea.
  • Ah, wanderers! How many moons does the ocean see,
  • and us, how many nights do we have?
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


我们有多少夜

  • 周雨辰

  • 我们究竟有多少夜
  • 能够耐受突如其来的悲哀?
  • 有多少 安静而深邃的时刻
  • 乖顺地像白纸 被我们抚平
  • 任由回忆跳进墨水 在上面奔跑
  • 如果灵魂是一片海
  • 我们有多少海水 让许多惊飞的
  • 海鸥一样的瞬间 随洋流涌升
  • 下沉——带着怅然的心灵
  • 留下很多串气泡 疼痛地摇晃?
  • 让它来吧。当旧伤叩响门铃
  • 我们知道:今夜必将有人
  • 心脏被过期的时间烫出水泡
  • 又在冰凉的清醒中化脓
  • 让它来吧。像这样的晚上
  • 未知数目的这样的晚上 在未来
  • 月亮般地 挂在海面尽头
  • 旅人呵!海洋能够拥有多少月
  • 而我们,又能够拥有多少夜?

DRUNK AGAIN SEEING OFF A FRIEND

  • by Zhu Ligen

  • This is how we usually wile away:
  • making innuendos, jesting and laughing.
  • Last year we sent off YQ, knowing
  • City of Dali would embrace him with its soothing nature and kiss him on the forehead.
  • The year before, we sent off WD,
  • to the delight of Shangri-La; its snow mountains and snow water
  • would wipe his face and eyes clean.
  • It’s winter now,
  • few leaves are still on the trees.
  • I thought the year was almost over,
  • but we will be seeing off TC today.
  • He is going to Banna, in the warmer southern Yunnan.
  • The jungle there, the Buddhist stupas, and the Dai women,
  • everyone will adopt him and care for him.
  • Let us bid him farewell with a glass of wine,
  • which suits Kunming in a cold day like this,
  • and suits our staggering swaying hungry hearts.
  • Only eastern Yunnan is still waiting for someone to go,
  • to admire its fog and collect its wildflowers.
  • We look at each other: a little tipsy,
  • I count heads, one by one,
  • DS, ZR, XW, AQ, JS, and lastly
  • Sun Bo, from northeast, towering over us,
  • heartless, merciless, he has been in Kunming all these years,
  • has been raising a glass towards northwest,
  • saying “Cheers!”
  • saying “I love you, Yunnan.”
  • saying “I love Yunnan, where no snow,
  • no snow ever came down like a hysteric, deathly rock-and-roll.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Z2AVOkPuz-VO_eQP_UQM6w

送友人往滇南又醉

  • 祝立根

  • 这是我们一贯的伎俩:
  • 指桑骂槐,笑出眼泪。去年送映泉
  • 大理的风月,会拥抱他
  • 亲吻他的额头
  • 前年送旺电,香格里拉的雪山和雪水
  • 会咧着嘴,擦去他眼角的灰烬
  • 已经是冬天了
  • 树上已经没有多少叶子
  • 我以为,这一年即将过去
  • 今天又送田超
  • 去版纳,温暖的云南南方
  • 那儿的丛林和佛塔,傣女子的手
  • 会收留他,看顾他
  • 祝福他吧,杯中酒
  • 适合降温的昆明
  • 适合那些东歪西倒、摇摇晃晃的
  • 一颗颗有缺口的心
  • 只有滇东了,那儿的大雾和野花
  • 一直没人去收集,没人去赞美
  • 我们面面相觑:借着酒劲
  • 我一一清点了一下人头
  • 杜松、子人、翔武、安庆和金珊,还有
  • 孙博,那个塔一样的东北人
  • 那么没心没肺,一直在昆明
  • 对着西北方,说干杯
  • 干杯
  • 说我爱,云南
  • 我爱云南从没有一场雪
  • 从没有一场雪下得像一曲歇斯底里的死亡摇滚

ASHEN SKY

  • by Zhu Ligen

  • My father, a dormant volcano,
  • with cinereous streaks of hair,
  • cultivated camellias all his life.
  • These broad-leaf trees had long and dark offshoots
  • that fueled spectacular red flames against the sky.
  • Mother was also a volcano, dormant,
  • hard at work all the time, hoarding magma.
  • The potatoes she planted
  • filled her little granary, and offset her worries.
  • Both worked the same family plot,
  • and waged a protracted tug of war;
  • Father, the idealist, wanted more room for good vibes.
  • Mother was pragmatic, forever optimizing for sunshine.
  • They quarreled and exploded . . .spewing fiery ash
  • over the stove, the thermos,
  • every inch of the heath all the way to the hills far away.
  • In later years, they finally reached an understanding,
  • like people accepting the gaiety and angst
  • of the battles between body and soul.
  • Their children, raised on the soil,
  • inherited the guileless humble traits of the potatoes;
  • still, to the everlasting sky and the deep blue sea,
  • they never failed to offer
  • festive fireworks and gorgeous brocades.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/1OZ7PEDH1knS-wjXHtRRQw

苍 茫

  • 祝立根

  • 父亲是一座休眠的火山
  • 他头发灰白
  • 一生栽种茶花
  • 大叶乔木又细又长的黑枝条里
  • 运送着焚烧天空的烈焰
  • 母亲也是一座休眠的火山,一生
  • 都在埋头劳作,囤积岩浆
  • 她种植的块茎
  • 是她对抗不安的、一个个小小的粮仓
  • 在同一块自留地里
  • 他们开展了持久的拉锯战
  • 父亲,希望热爱和理想的空间多一点
  • 母亲,想要多收集几缕现实主义的阳光
  • 他们为此争吵、爆发……火山灰
  • 曾覆盖灶台、暖水瓶
  • 他们目力所及的旷野和群山
  • 直到晚年,他们终于达成了谅解
  • 像一个人,容忍了灵魂和身体
  • 彼此撕裂的上升和下沉
  • 像他们的孩子,在地里生长
  • 继承了土豆的卑微与质朴
  • 对头顶那永恒不变的、蔚蓝的大海
  • 也一次次想要贡献
  • 节日的焰火,华艳的锦缎

DISSECTING THE DEER

  • by Zhu Tao

  • For the whole trip, the couple did not exchange a word.
  • The woman was looking at the scenery,
  • the man was staring at his phone.
  • Occasionally their hands grazed,
  • but pulled away
  • as if shocked by electricity.
  • How women and men
  • have forged mountains so high to become so separated.
  • As a child, I often had shaggy goats asking about my age.
  • I would jest
  • "I am eighteen or thirty-five."
  • They would say, "Child, you should learn math.”
  • or “go see a doctor.”
  • Luckily, this journey turned a corner,
  • a deer appeared,
  • all eyes darted to the train windows into the wilderness
  • as if to dissect the deer, fresh as a peach.
  • Something is calling you, calling you.
  • Among mists everywhere and flowers in every corner,
  • you are a long-distance traveler through this world and one communing with the ghosts.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/uXDyMF9Seil-5fIcEYeLaw


肢解那头鹿

  • 朱 涛

  • 整个旅程这对情侣不说一句话
  • 女的看风景
  • 男的盯着手机
  • 偶尔他们的手会触碰一起
  • 但旋即闪开
  • 像触了电

  • 女人与男人
  • 要锻造多少群山才能做到如此隔绝

  • 小时候常有秃了毛的山羊问我的年龄
  • 我总是胡编
  • “我十八或者三十五岁啦”
  • 他们会说“孩子你该学数学了”
  • 或者“快去医院吧”

  • 幸好,在旅途的拐角
  • 一头鹿出现了
  • 所有的眼睛逃出车厢奔赴旷野
  • 仿佛要肢解那新鲜如水蜜桃的麋鹿





RETURNING HOME

  • by Zong Hai

  • We got talking about mountains, bridges over brooks,
  • and the snow-dotted fields. We spoke too of derelict rural mansions, dense gathering of pines,
  • and relatives walking up the narrow winding path.
  • Our talk turned to the looming yearend,
  • and the annual homecoming,
  • an army of migrants
  • similar to the wildebeest herds in Africa savanna.
  • The stations surely were overflowing with people.
  • The wavering corridor filled up with dialects and smells,
  • helpless suitcases
  • got pushed around, chaos everywhere,
  • .... all these anxieties
  • just for returning home earlier
  • to hang a string of lanterns
  • under the low lintel of their doorway.
  • —We sit in a tiny tavern,
  • Words spoken in hushed voices,
  • like two clay jugs humming lowly in the wind;
  • the both of us, our hometowns lost.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/9ZJSCt8gvFevuzGZqyvvcw


回 家

  • 宗 海

  • 我们谈到了山脉,流水的小桥
  • 和落雪的田野。谈到了破败的庄园
  • 黑压压的松树林
  • 以及羊肠小道上走来的亲人
  • 谈到了即将到来的年关
  • 谈到了每年
  • 像非洲草原上成群迁徙的角马一样
  • 返乡的大军
  • 车站上肯定人满为患
  • 摇晃的过道里充斥着方言和气味
  • 无辜的行李
  • 被推搡着,找不见北
  • ……所有的焦灼
  • 都只为早日在故乡低矮的门楣上
  • 悬挂起
  • 那一串串喜庆的灯笼
  • ——我们坐在一家小酒馆里
  • 言语低沉
  • 像两只被风吹响的陶罐
  • 我们是两个,丢失了故乡的人

A VESSEL

  • by Zong Xiaobai

  • It ain’t simple, cause and effect;
  • such as why boiling water looses steam
  • being poured into a cup,
  • or for instance, being alone for long,
  • one becomes a friendly neighbor
  • to one's alter ego,
  • the acute pain of not being needed
  • gets old and is no longer the cause of death.
  • Certainly Confucius couldn't contain his pain
  • after saying to his student that
  • “Man should be boundless, unlike a vessel.”
  • his pain was not the effect
  • of emptying out of the fire in his heart.
  • nor for the friendly compromise
  • between his ego and alter ego,
  • for I know a vessel’s sorrow
  • has nothing to do with water.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/W2vS5IuMLApxdrvlPj2Zng


容器

  • 宗小白

  • 事物的因果关系让人费解
  • 比如将水注入水杯
  • 水就渐渐不再沸腾了

  • 比如独自一人呆久了
  • 就会习惯和另一个自己
  • 和谐相处

  • 就不会那么强烈的感受到
  • 不被需要的痛苦了

  • 我知道孔子对颜回说完
  • “君子不器”,这话之后
  • 内心的痛苦也像满溢的水

  • 但他的痛苦并不是因为
  • 内心的沸腾不见了

  • 也不是因为看着自己
  • 和另一个自己和解了

  • 我知道所有容器的悲伤
  • 并不是因为水




LONELY MOUNTAIN

  • by Zong Yue

  • The first time I came, I recognized right away that
  • Lonely Mountain was a medicinal shop.
  • Wintersweet is one medicine, crane is another.
  • the classic way of greeting a lady is yet another,
  • so is the poetic rejoinder of calling a man a gentleman.
  • I think these medicines are designed for me,
  • prepared for my illnesses,
  • each herb pointing to a disease.
  • Because the correlation is not precise,
  • I’ll need certain ailments to make use of some medicines.
  • For example, the bells of Lingyin Temple,
  • I shall grow an illness for it.
  • For the subtle scent of floating snow on Lonely Mountain,
  • let me grow an illness, too.
  • For the enshrouding morning mist,
  • I must also grow an illness.
  • Ailments, what a recurring theme in life,
  • as long as time, body, and soul co-exist.
  • When I return to Lonely Mountain next time,
  • I will be an expert with these medicines,
  • and drink them down, together with the waves of West Lake.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


孤 山

  • 宗 月

  • 第一次来,我就认出,孤山是一家药铺
  • 梅是一味药,鹤是另一味
  • 一声娘子,是一味药
  • 半句公子,先生,是另一味
  • 我认定它们,是专门为我准备好的
  • 为我身体里的病,准备好的
  • 一味,对应一种病
  • 因为这不讲道理的对应关系
  • 我的身体也要为另一些药,准备一场病
  • 比如,为灵隐寺的钟声
  • 生一场病
  • 为孤山上漫天飞舞的雪的暗香
  • 生一场病
  • 为清晨氤氲的薄雾
  • 生一场病
  • 生病,已然是一个人无止境的事业
  • 因为时间还在,灵魂与身体还在
  • 当我又一次来到孤山
  • 我会熟练地将这些药
  • 一并,以西湖水的波涛,送服。