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

POEM OF THE DAY 每日一首

AND I WON"T GIVE UP THE WORLD

  • By Qing Ling

  • Your arrival was a mystery,
  • so was your leaving,
  • as if only to deliver a pathway
  • for me to fall in love with grief.
  • Wrinkles spread across the mirror,
  • no sight of you in the sun,
  • the moon is shattered,
  • stars scatter everywhere.
  • You let me toss the road upwards.
  • It becomes a ladder,
  • connecting to another road at the rooftop.
  • Can it go any further?
  • Any higher and it will end up in the sky
  • The world is dark.
  • Stars do fall.
  • Someone makes a wish, but not me.
  • I know you won't give up the sky for me,
  • and l won’t give up the world that I have loved for so long.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/VT9okWwePY2asx3fi_0cMw


我也不会放弃爱了许久的人间

  • 青铃

  • 你来得莫明其妙
  • 走得也莫明其妙
  • 仿佛只是来送一条小路
  • 让我莫名其妙地爱上忧伤
  • 镜子爬满了皱纹
  • 阳光下找不到你的影子
  • 月亮被打碎
  • 星星撒得到处都是
  • 你让我把路竖起来
  • 竖成梯子
  • 梯子竖到房顶是另一条路
  • 还能再高吗
  • 再高就是天空
  • 人间很黑
  • 有星星落下来
  • 有人许愿但我不会
  • 我知道你不会为我放弃天空
  • 我也不会放弃爱了许久的人间

YESTERDAYS' POEM OF THE DAY 昨日的 每日一首

LINGAO*

  • by An Qi

  • Lingao: the coconut tree with a bumpy stump and big leaves,
  • I want to grow strong and tall like it.
  • I’ll invite you into my poetry just like you have welcomed me.
  • May is your month—romance in the air,
  • aroma of white potatoes, aroma of sweet potatoes.
  • May, peel it open: a golden beetle is crawling
  • on the cool tiled floor of The Golden Sand Hotel
  • and ends up in my cell phone conveniently.
  • Lingao: scenery unfolds in all directions,
  • the grass lush green, as if in some fairytale.
  • Trees ablaze with jackfruit from high up down to their roots.
  • Even a cane in the ground will bloom. Ah, Lingao,
  • the sea knows the mackerel pike and the ocean’s
  • every ripple. The sea knows the bullfrog's nightly call to the ox
  • and the poets who try to catch a verse.
  • Someone cast a large white net
  • into the starry night or perhaps at me.
  • I won’t try to break free.
  • I'm the blue crescent moon
  • overlooking the world on May 17,
  • sleeping secretly in your dreams.
  • *Note: Lingao, place name in Hainan Province, China
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

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


临 高

  • 安 琪

  • 临高:椰子树粗枝大叶
  • 我要像椰子树茁壮成长
  • 我要把你接进我的诗篇就像你迎我进
  • 你的五月——
  • 空气中都是热辣辣的情意
  • 烤白薯的香
  • 烤红薯的香。剥开五月
  • 一只金龟子
  • 匍匐在金沙滩酒店清凉的瓷砖地板上
  • 被我顺便装进手机
  • 临高!视野所及皆是风景
  • 茅草茂盛
  • 仿佛传说
  • 菠萝蜜头顶着头从树根一溜儿
  • 挂到树梢
  • 插一根拐杖也能开花啊临高
  • 海水了解秋刀鱼也了解海面上
  • 每一道皱褶,海水了解夜晚牛蛙对牛的呼唤
  • 也了解诗人们打捞诗句的心
  • 一张白色的大网
  • 撒向星空或者撒向我
  • 我不会挣脱
  • 我是5月17日蓝色临高的那枚
  • 上弦月
  • 秘密地酣睡在你们的梦里。

HIGH-SPEED RAIL

  • By Ban Ruo

  • I am not sure, but the village on this foreign place
  • is not my village. The sky is a mirror, lighting up
  • a world of winter. 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 things, just like I do not 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 relatives,
  • in a foreign place like this, where we meet and quickly separate. 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

  • Symultaneouly 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, and shook my hand.

  • He had just released a kept dove,
  • so his hand was even softer,
  • and his expression was like the autumn sky.

  • Many people don’t know Prince.
  • His lady friends gave him this nickname.
  • One time they called me, 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

  • Symultaneouly 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。




SNOW FALLS ON THE WHITE HORSE TEMPLE

  • by Bi Junhou

  • When snow falls, the white horses hidden in The White Horse Temple
  • begin to neigh, hundreds of them in the courtyard,
  • running to the front, running to the back.

  • In a cloistered room, a monk meditates into equanimity. Another monk
  • knocks on a wooden fish, meditating, too.

  • Snow makes no sound. The horse hooves splash thousands of flurries
  • that gently fall on the monastery.
  • All is serene, all is soundless.

  • Only the wooden fish can be heard, as if in response to pain.
  • Each white horse comes from the sky, like a scroll of white satin sutra,
  • to adorn The White Horse Temple, layer upon layer.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7Zku7Gk78OaQ6e0kjezzow


雪落白马寺

  • 毕俊厚

  • 大雪来临,白马寺内真的藏了几百匹白马
  • 从寺前寺后,满院子的白马
  • 咴咴而叫

  • 寺院偏厢房,一个僧人,在入定做功。另一个僧人
  • 手敲木鱼,也在做功

  • 大雪无声。白马的蹄子溅起千堆雪
  • 又轻轻落在寺院里
  • 寂静,无声

  • 只有木鱼"啵啵啵"地,一直在喊疼
  • 只有从天而降的白马,仿佛一匹匹经卷,绸缎似的
  • 一层又一层码在白马寺的身上

GRAIN-DRYING COURT

  • By Chen Renjie

  • A rectangular vacant lot, or we can say
  • the rectangular lot for welcoming autumn,
  • receiving its grain and cotton pods waiting to be dried
  • while summer flowers under the hedge can’t stop blossoming.

  • Why is it rectangular but not
  • other shapes? See, my joy is also a little
  • longer than wanting and a little shorter than longing.
  • Although when the evening comes,
  • it will be bent out of shape by noises—
  • a struggle is going on
  • between a pack of small wolves, a flock of baby lambs,
  • and the ghosts of those eaten quietly rise up.

  • The clouds stand ever so quiet,
  • sheltering an endless crest of blue spruce.
  • A perfect rectangle is still perfect,
  • not chewed over by the irregular village life.

  • Standing in this courtyard, I sometimes notice
  • an invisible line trailing to the sky, tethering
  • a young man, akin to a grain, and his unbridled dream
  • under the wings of a kite larger than my hometown.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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 2/3 of the original roll.
  • Across the field, someone is shaking a stalk of hay;
  • he looks like my father.
  • But he doesn’t have my face
  • or my big eyes.

  • The leftover twine, shaped like bread,
  • but does nothing to relieve hunger.
  • The tiny grains scattered across the field
  • will become seedlings soon,
  • but their sprouting so untimely,
  • and will eventually be pulled out and dry up.

  • The twine gives the divided land a profile.
  • The leftover twine rests in my hand,
  • I repeatedly loosen, tighten, and pocket it.
  • Now, one side looks like the Chu River,
  • and my side Han Territory.

  • Where is it, the used-up one third of the roll of twine?
  • There is a limit to the length of twine
  • that Father passed on to me.
  • Time, whereabouts unknown, once again graced
  • my late father’s portrait, and quickly slips away.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。




GOOD NIGHT, YOUNG MAN

  • By Ding Peng

  • The glittering city whispers to you over the cell phone.
  • You can't sleep, you're an electric conductor.
  • As your fingertips swipe across the screen
  • for second-hand truths, and your eyelashes open and close
  • like the bristles on a spring millet, a current makes tiny waves.
  • Yes, if you die in a game, you will surely be resurrected.
  • Good night, young man. The voltage is stable tonight.
  • Go back to bed, but recharge your phone.
  • The camera fixes its gaze on you as you close your eyelids.
  • Your heartbeats bounce on the earth, and you’ll fly
  • through a nebula to reach the edge of the universe.
  • You will come to stand in front of her just like before,
  • and kiss her, and share 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 barrier.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • 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 sun flowers were all executed in autumn.
  • Midway in the sky, sparrow hawks screech.
  • Are they looking for mates
  • 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 or sad.
  • Singing comes from a distance; it’s the sound of a marriage,
  • the same music as a funeral,
  • as if alluding to a maxim:
  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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



ME AND MYSELF

  • By Gan Sha

  • Sometimes I want to tell myself some home truths,
  • I suddenly feel touched
  • as if having met an almsgiver.
  • Sometimes I want to run away from the city,
  • to be alone to ponder,
  • I want to speak out loud what’s in my heart,
  • to hear it for myself.
  • Sometimes I am caught in a mesh of intrigues,
  • causing me to cease to exist,
  • only by shouting out loud, waking myself up,
  • that I know I am still here.
  • Sometimes I want to buddy punch 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




TIME'S SCREW

  • by Gao Jiangang

  • From a stopped wrist watch,
  • I took out a tiny little gold-plated screw,
  • so tiny that I daren't risk dropping it.
  • As a battery, sharp like a bird's eye, was inserted into its belly,
  • the screw, from the paper where it rested,
  • vanished suddenly.
  • 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 disappeared needle that Mother worried might pierce,
  • my late father's salary seal from long ago,
  • my children’s colored marble,
  • men’s hair, women’s hair,
  • sunflower seeds, red beans, 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
  • above the sea.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Symultaneouly 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

GINKGO TREES ON BEIJING ROAD

  • by Ge Feng

  • Beijing West Road is shedding again.
  • Its ginkgo trees, its courtyards,
  • the streetscape and the crowds,
  • and the sunshine of November,
  • all are in tune with my ex-girlfriend’s
  • moods while sipping coffee:
  • "Gold dances in the sky,
  • and commands me to sing.”
  • The hippyish older poets
  • sit on boulders.
  • Beijing West Road has prepared for them
  • hearty dinners and ideas for couplets.
  • An autumn wind by itself is enough
  • for a howl,
  • almost tuneful.
  • Ginkgo trees litter the whole street.
  • The endless summery love
  • is now gold all over the floor,
  • brightening up the passersby,
  • brushing shoulders with those walking down
  • and sometimes turning around suddenly,
  • their parallel faces parading on,
  • arranged 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

RUSTED LOVE

  • By Gu Baokai

  • A ceaseless drizzle falls on winter's wharf,
  • and falls on life's journeys, too.
  • I tried to call out your name but swallowed it.
  • I dare not touch those things that taper to a pointed end,
  • the heads of weed, the bristles of barley, a flimsy 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




MOURNFUL SOUNDS

  • by Gu Ma

  • In the temple courtyard, under a desert plant,
  • a tethered ox
  • lolls his tongue repeatedly and
  • licks his lips.
  • The fragrance of the desert blossoms
  • drifts next door to
  • the dormitory of a Chinese folk opera group.
  • It's dark,
  • shadowy figures move on the lit balcony.
  • Highrises show up in the northwest,
  • a disused ox-horn holds an ink line.
  • The world looks blurry
  • through the ox’s tears;
  • stars hide away, high above
  • the sickle moons atop the temple roof,
  • far behind the highrises and the floating clouds.
  • His tail sweeps constantly
  • to disperse
  • the restless dust in the air.
  • Daybreak is a realm of darts
  • that no one can walk around to avoid.
  • The ox begins a sorrowful bellow
  • with all his might, all night long,
  • hoping to eject the weight from his chest
  • to the void.
  • Its mournful sounds
  • wake up the celebrated opera singer,
  • causing him to toss and turn and think:
  • though I know how to move air through my belly,
  • I still cannot master a tune.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

WIND FARM

  • By Guang Zi

  • A whirling evening,
  • what dizzies the pasture is not the winds,
  • but the wind turbines, which
  • have one more horn than a bull, and as they turn gently,
  • they shuffle the sun behind the hills.
  • Some say these bewildering monsters
  • don’t merely chop the heads off the sheep
  • but also strangle great swaths of clouds.
  • Hungry hawks have avoided their swirling blades,
  • but can’t dodge their whirling backwash.
  • For this reason those docile sheep
  • move themselves to a new pasture,
  • bowing heads and chewing grass
  • as if doing it for us
  • until our hunched backs
  • also become at least as graceful and as meek as theirs,
  • no longer resisting the stabs from the great earth
  • or fighting 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 at rest,
  • the grasslands continue to spin.
  • The pasture is a huge wheel as a whole,
  • unceasingly spinning as twilight approaches.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

SOMETHING IS CALLING YOU

  • By Guo Jianqiang

  • Something is calling you, calling you,
  • calling you to go down Prosperity Place, down Courthouse Drive, down Mojia Street Market, down the office blocks, down Arts Museum,
  • down the various metaphorical windows on memory lane.

  • Something is calling you, calling you to enter a different city,
  • to mingle with a different crowd, whose airs and graces remind you of those once dreamt.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to enter even more different cities,
  • to wine and dine and sing or keep mum with even more people,
  • and afterwards to exit into the wilderness, 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 bird song ascending,
  • on a cloud, and on the sky above the clouds, on skies even higher.
  • Something is calling you, calling you to descend from the sky, to wake up on the sea,
  • to wake up on a scale 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 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 this lifetime of yours stacked and stacked with memories
  • when the spirits, being revived and poured into the chalice, is gradually looking amber.

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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





LET ME DISAPPEAR

  • Hai Nan

  • Let me disappear, like how it happens in storybooks,
  • reading, skimming pages, in forgetfulness
  • granted a gloomy night. I'm tired.
  • The inland route will lead me onshore to my
  • next life. I savor the autumn scenery slowly rising over the horizon.
  • Only after trekking far in the mud, I see
  • those women wearing silver ornaments across their chests.
  • Among them, some have already grown old.
  • The younger ones haven’t known the art of harvesting wheat.
  • Drawers, earlobes, hidden weapons, a downpour of rain.
  • The divide between men and women over generations
  • led to territories separated by earth and water.
  • The cooling autumn reminds me of porcelain
  • and the cold virgin forests.
  • I want to sob in your arms.
  • A hard autumn wind blows…

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/bVTZ5h7JxDvOGUSh8LnIGw


我愿意就此隐形

  • 海男

  • 我愿意,就此隐形,像那些书中的故事
  • 只在阅读、翻拂、忘却中
  • 获得幽暗的一夜。我累了
  • 那些从内陆上岸的路, 通往我的
  • 来世。我咀嚼着这渐渐上升中的秋色
  • 泥洼中我走了很远,才看到了
  • 胸前佩带银器的妇女生活
  • 她们中的部分人已老去
  • 更年轻的一代人已经失去了割麦子的手艺
  • 抽屉、耳垂、暗器中滑过一阵雨声
  • 男人、女人世世代代划分了性别之后
  • 才开始了以泥土和水为界
  • 秋天的冷,使我想起瓷器
  • 想起冰凉的原始森林。我愿意在你怀抱呼啸
  • 秋风猛烈的揺晃……



MEMORIES OF A SWAN

  • By He Bingling

  • One summer, on the way to Swan Lake,
  • halfway there I turned around.
  • I truly knew, at night
  • the darkest lake water
  • would summon you.
  • Those fish, with translucent, soft bellies,
  • lure us towards the lake’s depths.

  • I am a frog being cooked on low heat,
  • Hefei has been simmering in me for the past twenty years.
  • Countless bats fly low in the dusk.

  • Someone, on a balcony, is growing monks cress,
  • collecting its seeds.
  • In that seed is the face of a man grown old.
  • The past, so bitter, so dark.

  • But now, we are in late autumn,
  • and the south fork of Hefei river is slowing down.
  • I once was sensitive as a gypsy crab,
  • tramping along in September plying my trade,
  • no rest, day or night.

  • People find solace and love
  • at the water’s edge. She was nineteen,
  • and here she offered her first kiss.
  • In the twinkle of an eye, a little fish broke the surface
  • and rippled it, shining.

  • She shyly cupped her face,
  • her black hair flowing.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7_t03MjL_JugroPfbMeRPw


天鹅往事

  • 何冰凌

  • 某年夏天,在去天鹅湖的路上
  • 我折了回来
  • 我深深知道,在夜里
  • 黝黑的湖水会召唤你
  • 那些鱼都有发亮的软肋
  • 引着我们向湖的深处
  • 温水里煮着青蛙
  • 20年了,合肥在我的体内慢慢地热
  • 黄昏无数的蝙蝠低飞
  • 一个人在阳台上种花
  • 收旱金莲种子
  • 那种子里有一张老人的脸
  • 往事那么苦,那么深
  • 而今,秋天也越来越深
  • 南淝河的水流也慢了下来
  • 你曾是敏感的
  • 寄居蟹,在九月
  • 踏着哗哗作响的小水车
  • 昼夜不停歇
  • 人们总是在水边得到安慰
  • 和爱情。她十九岁
  • 在此献出初吻
  • 鱼儿一瞬间跃出水面
  • 波光粼粼
  • 她以手掩面
  • 黑发轻垂



THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

  • by Black Tooth

  • The interior of a mountain
  • is partially empty. Some are very roomy,
  • having more emptiness than clumps.
  • Some are hardly empty,
  • no room for another dust.

  • My hometown has a mountain.
  • It has an amazingly empty interior
  • that also comes with a magical function:
  • people who entered it came out
  • 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 the mountain,
  • and saw Niu’er, a shepherd all his life.
  • He appeared in front of me
  • in the shape of a jujube tree.
  • It was getting cold then, the grass yellowing.
  • He stood halfway up the mountain,
  • silently looking at 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

POET LI PO PASSING THROUGH HUISHAN*

  • By Hong Zhu

  • A lotus flower looks back, it sees a dragonfly.
  • A butterfly looks back, it sees Liangzhu**.
  • A Tang poem does the same, it sees poet Li Po,
  • who once looked over his shoulder, too.
  • Could he have seen me? I am one of Li Po’s other poems.
  • When a dream turns around, it’s time to wake up.
  • When a river turns around, time returns to the past.
  • When a road turns around and around,
  • it becomes a winding mountain road.
  • Can a mountain also turn around? How much effort would it take?
  • “Hui” means to go back, the same in Huishan and in Huijia
  • —to go back to the mountain or to go home.
  • If a mountain wants to go home, it will turn around.
  • But why am I here, in a town with a name like "Go-Back Mountain?"
  • All I want is to have a drink where Li Po once looked back.
  • There is a universe in the glass as well as time bygone.
  • The vintage wine that Li Po got drunk on, let me see, what’s its name?
  • Is this a rhetorical question? Everyone knows it’s called Homesickness.

  • Notes:
  • * Huishan (literally translated into Go-Back Mountain) is in Zhejiang province
  • ** Liangzhu: The Butterfly lovers, tragic love story of a pair of lovers Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai. One possible rendering of the second line: "Liang Shanbo looked back and saw his Zhu Yingtai." "A butterfly looked back and saw another butterfly..."

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/QEh3g2tKINapicrhhVkKWA


李白路过的回山镇

  • 洪烛


  • 一朵荷花回头,看见了蜻蜓
  • 一只蝴蝶回头,看见了梁祝
  • 一首唐诗回头,看见了李白
  • 李白也在这里回过头
  • 啊是否能看见我?我是李白的外一首
  • 一个梦回头,就醒了
  • 一条河回头,意味着时光倒流
  • 一条路回头,一次又一次回头
  • 就变成盘山公路
  • 一座山也会回头吗?
  • 那得用多大的力气?
  • 回山的回,和回家的回
  • 是同一个回字。即使是一座山
  • 只要想家了,就会回头
  • 我来回山镇干什么?没别的意思
  • 只想在李白回头的地方,喝一杯酒
  • 酒里有乾坤,也有春秋
  • 这种把李白灌醉的老酒,名字叫什么?
  • 还用问吗?叫乡愁




AFTER THE RAIN, IT BEGINS TO CLEAR

  • Hu Cuinan

  • After the flood, the rain finally stopped.
  • The dead grass will grow again after the Spring thunder.

  • The fledglings are anxious to grow, a little faster, then a little more
  • “His feathers have grown, along with his courage to fly.”
  • Dandelions, blown to all directions. Ah, such a vagrant life they lead.
  • At my window, I enjoy the storm’s strumming!
  • In the vast open fields, a teenager knocks at a door,
  • an old man hides behind the window curtains, not sure what to do.

  • Horses gallop, kicking up grass and flowers.
  • All is as expected.
  • A tender needlegrass stands tall again in the mud.
  • The things I have gone through
  • are also blessed to wear a new cloak of forgiveness.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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




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 classic tongue likes to mock,
  • and even Zhuangzi ruled them to be short-sighted,
  • are sitting, cooing on twigs of an oak tree.
  • For the longest time, I haven’t seen
  • turtledoves looking so grand,
  • seemingly they needn't dodge bullets nor arrows;
  • life has become posh.
  • Watching these birds’ short flight and wobble
  • between shrubs, oak trees, and cinnamon trees
  • as if that were the limit of their world,
  • it triggers in me, a dispirited middle-aged man
  • in the gloomy woods, a renewed cheerfulness in my steps.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3iUxAXewLLsXhlS_KKTO6Q


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



IN YANJIAO

  • Jiang Bohan

  • Yanjiao residents go to Beijing to work;
  • those who don't have regular jobs sell houses.
  • New college graduates say they haven’t made a sale in three months,
  • hit by a new policy that discourages property speculation.
  • I live in Yanjiao on a tree-lined boulevard,
  • own a house, don't go to work, no children to look after.
  • Here I read and write and cultivate a small plot of land
  • for Yanjiao's present and future—
  • anticipating when I’ll become a Beijing resident.
  • For now, everyone drives a Mercedes or a BMW,
  • hoping to pick up commuters rushing to work.
  • Ten yuan to Caofang or International Trade Center.
  • Once the car crosses Sanyuan Bridge to arrive at 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 to 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 long.
  • —Yanjiao is its suburb after all.
  • The loud, gurgling Chaobai River flows by.
  • The Xuyin Road Bridge connects Yanjiao and Songzhuang art colony in Tongzhou.
  • Left Bank Road and Right Bank Road stretch out
  • as if they are Beijing’s left and right arm.
  • I often cross the river to Songzhuang to look at arts.
  • There are so many painters there, all men, and naturally
  • some poetesses moved there later.
  • Different genres of arts come from all over the country.
  • The landlady cannot cope with the them but to raise the rent.
  • I look on, don't know what to say,
  • can’t stand the scene. Unable to get a bargain,
  • like with all those expensive paintings,
  • I say “Come to Yanjiao soon,”
  • “this is the last fertile ground.”

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

THOUGHTS OF FEBRUARY

  • by Jiang Shuting

  • February pales in comparison to the imperial canons and edicts.
  • It lacks the fire to rekindle a dead lamp deep in the mountain.
  • Without a word the emperor left the mountain for the bamboo grove to find his true self.
  • He bestows his kingdom to the fox, the fox to the badger, and the badger to the river, so the story goes.
  • But February is not March, we are not enticed to say flowery words as when Spring deepens.
  • Only small beads of light accompany those mending mottled garments as the east wind blows,
  • and young hallway swallows remind people of a forgotten past.

  • February lacks zest, its waters are no match to a crow’s bright daring
  • calls; only the orioles are intrigued by its infinite possibilities.
  • The thin frost lies low, the calligraphy continues to pile up, and the fallen petals are gone with last year’s poems,
  • songs become muddled like horse hooves splattering mud,
  • and the ancient road instigates unrest to remote villages.
  • The sky looks flat, lanterns on the cliff illuminate mountains faraway,
  • but make water nearby look darker.
  • Believe it or not, February looks forlorn, like an orphan eagle roaming barefoot.

  • February perplexes us, there’re longings in the flute's melody.
  • A drifting leaf won’t let go of its desolate homeland,
  • and there is the pain etched on by truthful drunken words,
  • haunting like crickets and tides of time past.
  • The courtyard trapped our years as youth vanished under the roof.
  • My love’s Facebook page reads like a couplet in a dismal Spring, a mirror of us,
  • unreachable are you at the unfathomable night,
  • your sorrows because of my loneliness, amplified by the chill.
  • Oh February.

  • The years pass, February brings uncertain news.
  • As I write, I guess the time you wake up,
  • the time of your return past the midnight hour.
  • Yearning to hear your footsteps as if longing for lush green,
  • eyes hurt in their long gaze. What drives you to exile?
  • Oh, February, you are heavy snow, but will be a peerless beauty in time.
  • Amid unfulfilled dreams, I will be steadfast, reaching the unreachable. Let me sigh,
  • let me remember how water bends, how boulders make hollow sounds,
  • how March brings rain to earth. Heaven will be kind.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

二月书

  • 江书廷

  • 二月平胸。不及皇家的制度、典章
  • 它的内涵点不燃锦绣山后的一盏枯灯
  • 无言的皇帝下山去了,在一棵青条上还原他真实的身份
  • 他把江山留给狐,狐留给獾,獾让给了流水的情节
  • 可是,二月不是三月,不是春深时的词浓情堪
  • 它只是星星点灯,东风补漏斑驳的缕衣,雏燕托出穿堂的旧问

  • 二月尝浅,它的流水不敌鸦声的浩瀚
  • 也不及它的清亮。无限的可能是一只流莺的猜测
  • 薄霜犹低,碑帖甚深,轻花拾不回去春的诗函
  • 马蹄踏溅着泥泞的歌谣,古道策反了疏淡的村庄
  • 天空简单,巉岩挂起的灯笼照亮了远山,却让近水更黑
  • 你无法相信,二月是赤脚行走的流浪的孤鹰

  • 二月是被折分的情怀,一半是长笛追赶的挂念
  • 像飘飞的叶,依然回望故土的苍茫
  • 一半是酒话钉入肉身的疼痛,牵扯出它年的蟋蟀与潮声
  • 井栏围攻了岁月。屋檐渡远了年华。
  • 爱人的脸书是减春的对联,两两相近
  • 我苦着你的三更的远,你渡着我的孤单的寒,二月啊

  • 年来年去,二月是踪影不定的消息
  • 指尖凝芳,推敲你的午夜的觉醒,凌晨的返回
  • 足音葱茏,碰伤山冈上的瞰望,鞭梢上的流放
  • 二月啊,你是我的身前的大雪,身后的惊鸿
  • 志向不酬,孤怀独运的坚守与辽阔。长空一叹
  • 我记取了水的弯腰、石的深喘,以及地长清明雨,天弄小乔船




TO A WHITE EGRET

  • By Jin Lingzi

  • White Egret, me and you are not alike, I’m very dark,
  • wearing black clothes
  • like a crow, incompatible with a snowy field. Like the black ink,
  • dripping onto white bound-scriptures,
  • that will fade with time. White Egret, you are very white,
  • whiter than me.
  • I have only one white garment
  • and it is worn and torn through longing, becoming threadbare.
  • White Egret, you are snow white; the kind of pure white
  • that whenever I think of my love, I see
  • a pear tree in white bloom, as white as my father’s hair
  • and the 10,000 taels of silver that he saved up for me,
  • as if the weight of love,
  • in an instant, colored the great earth with white,
  • made it white all over again.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/b3EJwLPS6d6eY0Vem0iC6Q


致白鹭

  • 金铃子

  • 白鹭,我与你不同,我很黑
  • 穿着黑衣服
  • 像乌鸦,同雪地格格不入。像墨水
  • 滴在白皮经典中
  • 也成不了千古。白鹭,你很白
  • 白过了我
  • 仅有的一件白衬衣
  • 它被相思穿旧了,被苦难磨出了孔
  • 白鹭,你雪白,白得我
  • 一旦想起我的爱人
  • 就看见,一树父亲一样的白梨花
  • 就看见他为我积蓄下来的万两银子
  • 如同沉重的爱情
  • 瞬间,把大地染了一遍
  • 白了一遍。




THE SNAKE

  • By Kang Wei

  • I was barely six when I saw the snake,
  • conceivably younger than it.
  • It was startled awake in the grass I was trimming,
  • and moved at an imperceptible speed
  • to the middle of the road.
  • To this day I remember its panic,
  • and for the first time I understood fate:
  • Life began, life frightened me.
  • And as my sickle slowly rusted,
  • the snake shed its skin, dry but retaining old markings.
  • I fled, and, for a moment, lost my dignity.
  • By then, I already amassed enough venom
  • but was still afraid. If it really reappeared,
  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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





MAIJI MOUNTAIN

  • by Lei Pingyang

  • A Buddhist statue acquired its shape
  • because a Bodhisattva intended for a copy of himself
  • on the stone at a comfortable height to look out at the world.
  • Some people talked about the devotion and endurance
  • of ancient sculptors; the Bodhisattvas listened,
  • some smiled,
  • some glared,
  • some stayed silent,
  • some fell apart, turned to nothingness.
  • A Bodhisattva enlightens through compassion,
  • but very few comprehend it, even though many come to worship,
  • prostrating under the statues with bleeding heads.
  • I am one of those dull minds in this senseless world,
  • climbing an iron ladder to go up Maiji Mountain,
  • spirally upward
  • to be with Buddha,
  • to stand next to him for just a little while.
  • But putting myself in a cold place like this is also
  • for a glimpse of Qinling Mountain in early winter and
  • for 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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

TINY ADOBE

  • by Li Pin

  • Through window panes I study clouds and rain.
  • Autumn is almost here
  • Days are hung up to dry on the drenched balconies,
  • letting memories be marred or bleached.
  • Under a lamp, I go through names not written on paper.
  • When the wind blows over the wildness,
  • leaves are free to whirl and swirl. Trees, untalkative,
  • burn for a human world prone to icy ailments.
  • Even the autumn insects can be prone to the seasons,
  • let them hug the earth, let them cry through the night.
  • Verses sprout wings on daily chores.
  • Bitter and hot spices join for a quick stir over a big fire,
  • and the sour and the salt simmer together,
  • let them open a new world for our taste buds.
  • Use the rest of the time to serve the dreamers
  • a dish that offers a mystifying sweet aftertaste.
  • Open the windows, take in the depth of view and serenity —
  • Where thoughts end, a goshawk takes off from the ragged cliff
  • for a farther mountain, and the sunset,
  • like a prehistoric fruit, stands like an emblem
  • in the wind.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Pa9hXmzlI33L5DjXqHmv3w

蜗 居

  • 李品

  • 在玻璃上,读阴天和雨讯。
  • 当秋日降临。泡过水的日子晾在阳台上
  • 允许它们带着回忆,褶皱,泛黄
  • 在灯火里,读那些没有写下的名字。
  • 秋风的荒原,允许叶子
  • 忍住眩晕。树木沉默,在低温症的人间烧灼
  • 允许秋虫想起一生。伏地,彻夜喊疼
  • 在柴米中,读所有长出翅膀的诗句。
  • 允许苦辣用大火快速翻炒,允许酸咸
  • 在文火上慢慢熬煮。允许味蕾
  • 打开一切。剩下时间
  • 给筑梦者的餐盘摆上经霜后,甜蜜的奥义
  • 在敞开的纸扉,读远方和宁静——
  • 思想的崖岸,峻峰林立。允许苍鹰
  • 向更远的山巅遨游,而夕阳
  • 这枚古老的桨果,在秋风上立起一个陡峭的暗喻

LIMITATIONS

  • By Li Qi

  • So sad— to be deeply attracted to a place,
  • but with no way of getting near even though the heart is willing.
  • My face turns pale, lips turn purple, death awaits.
  • "What you have is a bout of altitude sickness."
  • Here I am, a wretched creature from the lowland.

  • A body weighed down by clumsiness
  • —a metaphor itself or a reminder that
  • heaven and earth are indeed grandiose,
  • unlike my deplorable state,
  • laboring to breathe as I lay dying.

  • These snow-capped mountains and lakes,
  • this is where nature’s soul resides,
  • with hidden power and magic to enchant and hypnotize,
  • but now, all of them are gradually taken away from me.
  • What was a lofty plateau earlier is now a wet chrysanthemum,
  • looking grimmer and grimmer, unfurling a steely chilliness.

  • A transient only, but I have visited and revisited this place,
  • still, all that I picked up were fragments of illumination,
  • and the constant reminder of my limitations.
  • This dizziness is giving away clues,
  • here let me give you one: better to desire in small proportions.

  • Look, the meadow sparkles with children playing with yaks,
  • a sign that everything fits together naturally.
  • A child running with open arms
  • can take off any time now, and he may turn into a cloud or a star.

  • In the distance, a herd of handsome gazelles
  • hear something, freeze as if in a trance before swiftly turning around.
  • Look at the beautiful outline of their skulls.
  • They pause before dashing off again.
  • Did something just enlighten them?
  • They look like fairies
  • floating gracefully through the air.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/D66T23m5WRSeNLinbj95Jg


局 限

  • 李琦

  • 真是悲哀,被深深吸引的地方
  • 我又一次力不从心
  • 面色苍白,嘴唇乌青
  • 几乎奄奄一息。“你这是高原反应”
  • 我这可怜的、来自低处的人

  • 肉身的尴尬和沉重
  • 本身已形成隐喻或者提醒
  • 天地大美,我却如此不堪
  • 连呼吸都开始困难,如弥留之际

  • 绝美的雪山和湖水
  • 大自然最为幽微神奇的地方
  • 那些魂魄之处,必有玄妙和暗藏的机密
  • 而此刻,这一切正逐渐对我关闭
  • 高原,这个词是泡开的雪菊
  • 颜色渐深,缓慢散发着清冽的凉意

  • 我是过客,即便来过数次
  • 也只能是拾取领悟的碎屑
  • 更为懂得,什么是局限
  • 有些暗示,竟是从晕眩中获得
  • 比如,什么叫作——适可而止

  • 你看,那和牦牛在草地上玩耍的孩子
  • 简直金光闪闪!那是默契的光芒
  • 那个孩子,他张着两臂奔跑
  • 随时都会飞起来,变成云朵或者星宿

  • 远处,一群矫健的小羚羊
  • 听到动静,忽然怔住,蓦然转身
  • 头颅的轮廓,那么优美
  • 停顿一秒,而后,它们似有所悟
  • 继续奔跑,轻盈的身姿
  • 飘逸如幻觉



AT THE OUTER EDGE

  • Li Qingsong

  • I'm determined to stay here at the margins, on the outer edges,
  • wandering off the mainstream, thrown into uncertainty,
  • in exile like the restless clouds
  • that have retreated from the sky, paths and fields.
  • All that remain are ruins, weathered landscape, and deserted mines.
  • Boundless silence in the wilderness,
  • through the dying sun the hawk's watchful eyes.

  • The first snow can’t rein in the adolescent or the cubs.
  • Their tender looks float out of the mountain pass.
  • Snowflakes twinkle on their eyelashes, warm blood raging and flowing.
  • Even the overnight blizzard will find its home ground.
  • On their animated faces, each permanent tooth will have its day to take place.

  • Some things are buried, so are names,
  • until they reveal their original essence.
  • An air so clear and unique to land’s end
  • blows on me until I feel like an elf or sprite!
  • I house a ferocious drive and a tender heart,
  • with milk replenished by winds and blizzards,
  • I nurture the beasts and the weaklings in me.

  • The eagles take the world to a new cliff,
  • the snow lotus raises me to a new height.
  • That untouchable place! I speak through a shaman—
  • There have been thirty-nine blizzards, I was reborn after each snow.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/yhtHMtGHWgZbp9Mhj8eZVA


边地之边

  • 李轻松

  • 我执着于这边地之边,界限之限
  • 那偏离了主流的航道,那乱了的阵脚
  • 那些流亡的人、那些流云
  • 从天空、从小径、从稻田里溃退
  • 剩下的是山川遗址、矿里废墟
  • 一片旷野里的千里寂静
  • 一团残阳里的猛禽之眼

  • 原雪收不住少年与幼崽
  • 他们新鲜的模样,浮出脸庞的山口
  • 雪花扑闪着眼睫。一条河保鲜了血脉与血性
  • 让一夜的大风雪找到自己的宿主
  • 面孔生动,每一颗恒牙都有新的生辰

  • 一些事物埋了土,一些人埋了名
  • 都具有了原始的生存气质
  • 一种边地的透明空气——
  • 吹得我如妖似仙!
  • 我空有虎狼之心,流水之意
  • 我被风雪灌满的乳汁
  • 喂养那凶猛的野兽,也喂养那柔弱的动物

  • 山鹰提升了这世界的悬崖,雪莲提升了我的高度
  • 那孤绝之境!用通灵者的嘴唇说出——
  • 那三十九场大雪,将我生于每一场雪后……



CARRYING SHEAVES

  • By Li Ruguo

  • He needs to run ahead of the heavy rain
  • to carry home some dozen sheaves of new wheat.

  • A mountain of dark clouds
  • is coming down lower and lower.
  • He is like an ant in a hot pan,
  • hurriedly hauling the grain,
  • each sheaf three or four times his own size.

  • As the little mound of grain inches forward,
  • his back bends,
  • until it can bend no more,
  • then the little mound carries him forward.

  • From early on he has grown accustomed to heavy burdens,
  • Each sheaf is a tremendous load
  • with a very small comestible part,
  • the bulk is the useless stack of rottingstalks.
  • Still he perseveres and endures;
  • he is accustomed to the thought that whatever the burdens are,
  • they will pass if only he carries on.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Ax61APwd7ppXGa1bRihVDQ


背 麦

  • 李如国

  • 他得赶在暴雨之前
  • 将刚割完的几十捆麦背回家

  • 大块的乌云
  • 黑压压地压过来
  • 他像麦田大热锅里的蚂蚁
  • 匆忙地搬运着
  • 体积超过自己三四倍的麦的小山

  • 麦的小山每移动一步
  • 他的腰就弯一分
  • 当他的腰弯得不能再弯的时候
  • 麦的小山便携带着他走

  • 生活中的重量他早已习惯了
  • 在这巨大的重量里
  • 虽然属于粮食的成分只是很少很少的部分
  • 而更大的一部分是
  • 一堆毫无用处的烂麦草
  • 但他还是坚持挺住 他总认为
  • 不管什么事挺一挺就过去了





FORMER RESIDENCE

  • Li Tianjing

  • Light doors along the passage of time—
  • lift a foot, you can 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 gone back
  • in time, the reflections on the water
  • are as fresh as today’s flowers.

  • But images are mirages,
  • and a stranger in a strange place
  • cannot be heard knocking at doors.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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




SPEAKING LOUDLY TO MY MOTHER

  • by Li Wenming

  • My 73-year-old mother
  • told me on the phone
  • to get the shroud, the incense, the funeral suits 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

MORNING MIST

  • By Li Yang

  • So it turns out that morning mist is an ambience
  • to mend the rift between sky and lake.
  • People get to stroll in this atmosphere,
  • or should we say, in make-believe consolations.
  • That’s why someone will emerge from the morning mist,
  • clear his throat, and again return to more morning mist.

  • Any incidental train whistle is a threaded needle,
  • jabbing the morning mist. Unlike a cattail fan;
  • unlike falling leaves; unlike the word “mama”,
  • unlike water ripples or tree rings or stories
  • that spread in the morning mist. Spilled water can’t be gathered –
  • Ah, it is so. Through the soft and gentle mist, I see decline and decay,
  • I see a long bridge, a wound to be afraid of.

  • In the end, life is tinted with many mists,
  • and the imaginary lake cannot carry
  • the single, solitary boater.

  • White shore birds, what heavens’ void you bring in passing
  • that you cast no shadow in the morning mist,
  • I adore you, like my reverence for a twinkling star.

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

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


晨 雾

  • 立 扬

  • 原来晨雾是一种氛围,
  • 以弥补天空与湖水的巨大分歧。
  • 人们得以在这氛围里漫步,
  • 或者说,漫步于假想的安慰。
  • 所以常常有人从晨雾中钻出,
  • 清清嗓子,又钻进更多的晨雾。

  • 任何偶然的汽笛皆是引线而穿的
  • 针,给晨雾带来痛感。不像蒲扇;
  • 不像飞叶;不像一声“妈妈”,
  • 波纹一样年轮一样故事一样
  • 在晨雾中扩散。覆水难收啊——
  • 是的。于温柔里我看到颓败和衰老,
  • 看到大桥,一条恐惧的伤疤。

  • 最终,存在有了多种朦胧的方式。
  • 于是这印象的湖水再不能承载
  • 孤独的泛舟者了。

  • 白色水鸟啊,你是捎带了多少天空的虚无,
  • 才不会在晨雾里投下半点阴影。
  • 我崇尚你,像崇尚一颗闪烁的星。




NORTHERN NARRATIVES

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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。




A MOUNTAIN OF PINE NEEDLES

  • By Li Yun

  • Squirrels and birds are probably experts at counting them,
  • counting them with ten fingers won’t be the way to go.
  • Too many pine needles to count.
  • Pine needles fly along nature's thread,
  • sewing the misty mountain scenery,
  • embroider a screen of resplendent brocade.
  • Heaven and earth in fine stitches.
  • Collect pine needles by hand
  • or rake them into a basket
  • and return home assured of fires.
  • They're much needed in an ordinary life.
  • Insert one needle deeply into a numb acupoint
  • to activate a passion,
  • to revive a kind of courage.
  • I am clueless to the change of pine needles.
  • I hear their silent falling
  • in a moonlit night, while I dream;
  • drizzle falls that way, rustles outside the window.
  • Glorious is the golden needle, but the wait is long,
  • and soon the mountain will be dense with old-growth pines,
  • Mt. Nanshan1, I beg you to invoke the pine needles with magic
  • to rise above my middle-aged muddles.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-7QXVs8DidRNFzYj-gcyog


松针无数

  • 李云

  • 松鼠和鸟可能会数得清楚
  • 用十指肯定是数不过来
  • 松针无数
  • 飞针走线
  • 缝补山色溟濛
  • 绣出一屏锦绣
  • 天地间 细针密缕
  • 拾一枚松针在手
  • 或用竹扒搂集入筐
  • 回家盛火
  • 庸常的生活需要松针
  • 深扎麻木的穴位
  • 激活一种激情
  • 生存一种勇气
  • 松针何时在悄悄地生长我不知道
  • 松针无声的落我会听见
  • 月夜梦里
  • 牛毛细雨般地下窸窣窗外
  • 所谓金针度人
  • 我不会等到
  • 望满山苍松如盖似伞
  • 南山 恳请让松针度我
  • 走出焦虑的中年困境



THE LAMP

  • By Li Zhiyong

  • The flame is similar to a mountain, whose precipice is also blue.
  • Perhaps snow and boulders sit on the ridge of the mountain, reflecting light.
  • Someone may even be standing on it, looking at the edge of the sky.
  • The sun continues to rise and dip, dip and rise.

  • The lamp seems to be there specifically to forge something.
  • A stove, in the middle of the night, a silhouette busy by its side.
  • An excavator, a refugee, a writer, each huddles by the lamp.
  • It burns for their imaginings until the break of dawn.

  • The lamp carries the weight of its light, standing quietly on the table.
  • Every drop of oil takes part in fueling the flame.
  • When all is used up, things will take on a different look,
  • but it will be recognizable with the help of the lamp.

  • Because of the lamp, things cast shadows on the wall, even the lamp itself
  • casts a shadow. There is light,
  • therefore lamp walks out of the room, finding its way to the mountaintop.
  • It also finds its way to the sea.
  • As it glows, it hopes that the sea will dry up,
  • it hopes that the water will stay calm and stay cold.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Q1OrvaQsdlm7Xg5geHxUBQ


  • 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



The Eagle

  • By Liang Jilin

  • In the sky over Alxa League on the Mongolian plateau, an eagle flies,
  • carrying on its wings an enormous amount of silence.
  • It circles, it dives, it tilts,
  • suddenly it lets out a screech,

  • as focused as when we miss someone,
  • as penetrating as our sorrows,
  • as willful as when we reject the world.

  • A double-humped camel walks out from the desert,
  • head high, aloof, on a mission to convey my coolness,
  • looking at the eagle,
  • looking at the grain of relic buried in the sun.

  • Tell them, Baghatur, or the herder called Buren Menghe,
  • what is it that I like—

  • from the Left Banner to the Right Banner,
  • with five hundred plus kilometers in between,
  • there's the one as fiery as some sixty-eight-proof spirits—
  • a flower, in red,
  • a red flower.

  • The eagle takes after the sun, the sun,
  • an eagle.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。



MATTERS OF REGRET

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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。



SNIPPETS FROM THE FACTORY FLOOR

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




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

  • Symultaneouly 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——





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

  • Symultaneouly 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。




ALL THE GRAINS GATHER

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




EACH HAS HIS OWN MUSEUM

  • By A 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

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

  • Symultaneouly 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 SPRINGTIME

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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, METAPHORICALLY SPEAKING

  • 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 but there are no 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

  • Symultaneouly 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 hated it
  • was because it blocked my view, pretending
  • to be the end of the world. Still, it served
  • as a prison where I jailed people and things
  • that I loved to hate but dared not hate.
  • I took it all out on Mt.Qinling,
  • so when I hated you, and you, once, twice, and thrice,
  • I piled my hatred mountain high;
  • surely one of Qinling’s peaks was my work.
  • Hear the rainless thunder from the mountain,
  • hear its echoes spreading hatred.

  • But I loved it, too, though knew not how to say it
  • the way birds sang their praises
  • or peach blossoms showed their ardent love.
  • The craggy headstone and hardy grass
  • around my father’s grave spoke for my constant love,
  • which I simply wrote down as a list of words
  • and arranged them based on a secret formula,
  • just like a pharmacist writing out a prescription,
  • then fed them to the spring breeze and autumn wind.
  • The peak of the mountain is said to grow at a rate of two millimeters per year.
  • Does that growth partly come from the power of my love?

  • Nowadays I am more nonchalant,
  • very little love or hatred involved,
  • and the mountain seems to treat me just the same way,
  • listening to me calmly
  • without a trace of joy or sadness.
  • Now I can sit down with it snugly
  • and strike up a conversation.
  • If my past love and hatred could be returned to me,
  • I will use that love to backfill the cavities
  • undermined by hatred, so that we will see,
  • between the steep cliff faces and 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




EVENING STROLL

  • by Peng Jie

  • Winter came. 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 that
  • Ma Deming’s mother passed away, and
  • I was in the middle of writing a novel.
  • After dinner, if no visitors came to the door
  • and Ma Deming was not called to the iron mill
  • for an overtime shift, we would go for a walk
  • outside the village. Down a narrow road,
  • past a dark gleaming lake, we would be one
  • with the trees. Nary a lantern nor a soul,
  • only the moonlight shone us the way
  • to higher ground, where we
  • tooted our flutes, our melodies
  • leaping between bare branches
  • in the twilight until daybreak.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

PASSING SOUTH LAKE BY NIGHT

  • By Qing Xiaoyi

  • Little by little, the moon looks smaller, and eventually falls
  • in the lake, gone without a splash.

  • The fog rises. There’s always something rising
  • and something falling, as expected in this world.

  • A cabin by the lake emanates a warm light,
  • unlike anything in this world. I dare not approach.

  • Two pairs of shoes, soaked with dew,
  • walk with each other until finally losing their way.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/zaoYuG29sVm61CzyqImnYQ


夜过南湖

  • 青小衣

  • 月亮越来越小,掉进湖里
  • 没有溅起一朵水花,就不见了

  • 雾气升起来。这世上
  • 有东西往下走,就有东西往上走

  • 湖边的小房子,灯火温暖
  • 仿佛不是人间。我不敢靠得太近

  • 露水打湿了两双鞋
  • 它们互相走路,走着走着就走失了

SPUTTERS OF FIRES

  • By Qu Rui

  • It always has something to say, and I only answer
  • with silence; for instance, one winter we were elsewhere
  • and lit year-end fireworks in celebration, another time
  • we burned paper money at the graveyard.

  • Something compels us to sit before a fire.
  • It blurts out futile shouts,
  • meanwhile we listen to each ghost
  • returning to our world in the shape of a fire.

  • One Saturday I paid my mother a visit, and told her
  • about the dead appearing sad in my dream.
  • “Dreams will be gone, you must write them down."
  • She thought long before advising me.

  • We can't make a long-legged dream stay,
  • nor ask a burning fire to shelter us
  • as it morphs as if to mock as if to affirm
  • that we are deemed to miss out —

  • Every flame releases one last hope.
  • But it grows into a wild horse, leaving
  • the wilderness by itself, only the sputtering of fire
  • remains: seeing off lives already in decline.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

A HEART SWIMMING IN SOLITUDE

  • By Sea of July

  • A drowned man returned from the night
  • to touch her fingers, to teach her to play
  • the river that was not there.

  • Eyes float in the dark,
  • and the heart swims in solitude.
  • She wants to cry for the water’s sorrows,
  • and laugh for its happiness.

  • “I can no longer keep up
  • with the white goddess, let me submit to my own magic.”
  • A voice digs deep into her.

  • She takes his place and looks out the window
  • where the moon rises, plain-looking like a white dot.
  • The river’s waves are meaningless, too, hardly a eulogy.

  • All night she could not leave the dark spell,
  • but she loves the water’s lacework
  • far more than the snake deep in the river.

  • —How beautiful and quiet it is!
  • When she was cast ashore like a big fish,
  • she continues to search for the mysterious water.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/v1N0mt4Jv1PwBk7qOQOlmQ


一颗心在孤独里游泳

  • 七月的海


  • 溺死的人从黑夜中返回
  • 又一次牵动她的手指,去弹奏
  • 那条乌有的河流

  • 一个人的眼睛
  • 在黑夜里浮动,一颗心在孤独里游泳
  • 她想替水哭,替水笑

  • “我再也无法追上
  • 那白色的神像了,我只能屈从于自身的魔力”
  • 一个声音洞穿了她

  • 她替他忧伤地看着窗外
  • 而此刻,月亮只是一个白点
  • 浪花更是无用的悼词

  • 整个夜晚,她都在魔障里转圈
  • 但她爱锯齿状的花边
  • 胜过那条藏于水底的蛇

  • ——多么寂静而美好啊
  • 当她突然像一条大鱼
  • 被抛到岸上,她还在寻找那些秘密的水




MY BRO LAO HEH

  • by Sha Ma

  • One day I went to my bro Lao Heh’s house. His house sits in
  • a deep alley behind thick groves of trees.
  • After his divorce, he simply stayed in this hard-to-see house.
  • Each time I knocked on his door, it spooked some birds from the trees.
  • Each time he looked as if he wandered out of a dream.
  • This time he said he was very busy; I askedbusy with what?
  • He said he wanted to find every word of wine
  • embedded in Tang poetry and do a character count.
  • He hsaid Tang Dynasty was a wine dynasty
  • as all its poems had a wine flavor.
  • I guffawed ! Soon he brought out a plateof peanuts in shell
  • and a bottle of aged Beijing vodka,
  • opened the anthology “The Complete Tang Poetry”,
  • and pointed out to me, one by one,
  • every “wine” word
  • that he had circled with a red brush.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/GIzJZMIBYlOyDL6MTTjgQA

朋友老何

  • 沙 马

  • 一天去朋友老何家,他的家在
  • 一个很深的巷口,一大片
  • 树林遮住了他的房子,老何离婚后
  • 就一直住在这个别人难以
  • 看见的房子里。我每次敲他的门
  • 都会惊飞树林里一些鸟儿
  • 每次老何都像是刚刚从梦游里
  • 走出来。他说他很忙,
  • 我问忙什么呢?他说他要在
  • 《全唐诗》里把“酒”字
  • 都找出来,再统计一下看看
  • 有多少。他说那是一个
  • “酒”的年代,诗歌里都有酒味
  • 我嘿嘿地笑着。不一会老何
  • 拿出一碟花生米,一瓶老白干
  • 然后打开《全唐诗》把他用红笔
  • 圈过的“酒”字,一个一个地指给我看

BOOK OF SONGS

  • By Shen Mujin

  • How many years have we not heard the birds?

  • It is as if
  • in a twinkle
  • Earth’s power grid is turned off,
  • and suddenly you hear

  • a voice, and a voice.

  • Our ancestors’ poems,
  • every sound, every word re-emerges,
  • full of emotions, half-choked,
  • caught in your throat.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KUQ8-xP3w-IA1xRm5pe9jg


诗 经

  • 沈木槿

  • 有多少年没听见鸟声了呢?

  • 好比置身于
  • 一颗瞬间
  • 拉掉了电闸的星球
  • 忽然你听见了

  • 一声,又一声

  • 声声句句
  • 都像是哽在,挣扎在
  • 你嗓子眼里的
  • 祖先们的诗





OFTEN WHEN I FIND MYSELF SPELLBOUND

  • by Shi Maosheng

  • Often when I find myself spellbound, it is as if I have come to life’s end,
  • as if seeing a path to an unknown world,
  • and how I fear that life has been received in vain,
  • fear that precious time was wasted,
  • fear that my candle is burned up, at both ends.
  • Now, every twig is sunbathing as a twig should,
  • and the leaves expand into their expected pensive colors.
  • The lake fluctuates on its own within bounds,
  • and seems soothed by last night’s fireworks.
  • Maybe the grand lesson here is emotive, which one must experience
  • to reach the next best thing. At this place,
  • the Deity is given a praiseworthy personality,
  • the grass down the slope has a wild darker tone,
  • the air over the lake spins into a whirlwind.
  • I have seen people stroll into sunset in this park,
  • eased by old memories, comforted by the spring breeze.
  • He is almost like me, blessed with many good years,
  • and so-called time is just about done with its lesson.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Symultaneouly 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

ABOUT TOMORROW

  • By Shi Zhaotao

  • It's customary for me to bow my head when talking about tomorrow.
  • Some regrets are buried under the plum tree,
  • the rest locked away in the drawer.
  • Those who can’t open up are not up to talking about tomorrow,
  • let’s ramble on smog or the geese journeying south instead.

  • We look at each other across the long table while sipping tea.
  • You took the key point of my story out of its context.
  • About tomorrow or the future,
  • no one can get closer to their truth than a river can.

  • The cigarette butts are left on the edge of the table,
  • crushed before their last puff,
  • every cloud of fog feels like this morning’s rain,
  • prattling on about being cold.

  • Yet all I can do is
  • adding an extra padding of clothing
  • and lead a life steaming hot like porridge.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ilY2CAn2DbOnSVupsc0cow


关于明天

  • 时兆涛

  • 谈及明天,我习惯性地低下头
  • 一部分憾事被埋到梅花树下
  • 而剩下的被锁进抽屉
  • 无法摊开自我的人怎配谈论明天
  • 谈霾,谈南飞的雁

  • 放下茶杯,你我在长桌两头对视
  • 故事最关键的一句被你擅自剥离
  • 关于明天,或者说未来
  • 没有谁能比一条河流更接近真理

  • 你遗忘在桌沿的烟头
  • 未燃尽前被捻灭
  • 而每一团雾都像今早的雨
  • 喋喋不休地说冷

  • 但我所能做的
  • 只是添一件厚衣服
  • 过粥一般热气腾腾的生活

A PERFECT AUTUMN DAY

  • By Shiwu Lan

  • A perfect autumn day
  • is when I see persimmon trees standing on a hillside,
  • their creamy fruit dangling, orange like lamplights.
  • A perfect autumn day is to meet an old friend on the road;
  • seeing each other is like looking in the mirror:
  • with the same markings of the century, talk the same talk,
  • all those years gone by without us knowing.
  • A perfect autumn day is to be on the mountain in the morning
  • and by the water in the afternoon.
  • Autumn’s silhouette masks the hills.
  • A mother gave birth to many children,
  • naming 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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WWeChat (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

NIGHT TRIP

  • By Shu Dandan

  • Like a beetle, the car crawls on the misty intercity highway,
  • a confounding impenetrable world.
  • Through the headphones, she hears a male voice singing the blues:
  • “Hush, bird, rest your weary head,
  • your stars will be rising soon.”

  • A simple song changes the sky like autumn rain.
  • We cannot help but be enchanted by the magic
  • out of nowhere, the same way
  • we keep on slipping back into familiar memories.

  • It’s as if some things we cannot defy,
  • such as the weed that survives being pulled out thrice,
  • let it be, we should yield to its mysterious will
  • even if it belongs to the little barnyard grass.
  • Much has already happened that cannot be
  • mended, but to forget is also impossible.

  • Bitter adversity twists the mind
  • the way a dry pomegranate breaks inside out...
  • What else can counter our ennui?
  • In my journey this bleak night,
  • the moon moves, so do I,
  • and try my best to retain the last of innocence.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ZreOHCAiBC6DqXcdRyBsCA


夜 行

  • 舒丹丹

  • 像只铁甲虫,汽车在迷蒙的城际公路穿行
  • 一个无法剥离的混沌世界
  • 塞着耳机,听一个沧桑的男声唱着
  • “关住你的忧郁之鸟,你仰望的星光正在降临”

  • 一曲歌诗就能唤来一场漫天秋雨
  • 我们如此信赖,这看似虚无的
  • 精神的魔力,像执著于
  • 某些难以飘散的旧心情

  • 假如这也是不可抗拒的人生——
  • 田地里拔过三次仍不能除根的草
  • 就该让它自由生长,遵从那神秘的意志
  • 哪怕一株不结实的稗子?
  • 那么多不可思议的事已在这生命里发生
  • 弥补已不可能,遗忘,也不可能
  • 苦厄让心灵变得多么不知所措
  • 仿佛一只先从内部碎裂的枯石榴……

  • 还有什么能对抗人生的厌倦?
  • 在这荒凉的夜的旅途
  • 月亮走,我也走
  • 竭力保持最后一点天真




MARRIAGE

  • By Song Qiyuan

  • Crags everywhere, as if in a dream.
  • You hop between crags (or something like crags), into the light.
  • The light shows a cliff’s silhouette but not its depth.
  • With each jump, you rise from the valley,
  • and continue to jump, changing postures, here and there.
  • Although it can be very frightening, just like the night
  • when you lost your virginity, but no one dies from it.
  • 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 to 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 what 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 a pure waking world. Early morning in November,
  • the most significant crags are those in my inner world;
  • they rise straight up, fragrant. 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

  • Symultaneouly 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。



LET IT BE

  • by Su Ruoxi

  • No need to see to know
  • the sweet Osmanthi have blossomed
  • with their muted sorrows.
  • Where you don’t go,
  • a hundred larks flutter between the flowers.
  • Once they fly away, you remember your lost love.

  • Music can grow body and wings,
  • still I can't place myself between
  • the timid paper
  • and the dried ink pen.
  • Nothing ever happens, not even an embrace.

  • On the map is an unobtainable place,
  • which I have tried to reach all my life.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

SPEAKING OF COCONUT TREES

  • Sun Wenbo

  • …Coconuts, they don’t fall and smash people’s skulls.
  • But with the wind they will roll as fast as a football.
  • The sea is the home they return to.
  • Floating in the ocean, they still behave like a football;
  • the waves kick them, as if the ocean has sent out
  • who-knows-what ghosts to defend its amazing gates.
  • —One may ask, Isn’t this some fantasy?
  • Of course it is—but not without the facts.
  • It comes from folk tales.
  • My reliable source says that no one was ever smashed by a coconut.
  • I am not even slightly worried when walking in a coconut grove and
  • watching the coconuts suspended from the treetops.
  • On the contrary, it’s marvelous the way they rise up entangled
  • in unique shapes—truly too unique —even unique for trees
  • in their appearances; a ring above a ring around the tree trunk shows its age.
  • Generally they are perfectly straight like natural flag poles. I like to
  • watch them sway left and right in a hurricane —like ballerinas—Pink Girl Trees.
  • Yang Xiaobin has a knack for giving these kinds of names. Corresponding to the giant tree we call Fir,
  • which we consider a masculine name—it’s settled then—don’t you agree
  • that it makes your heart tingle with tenderness—
  • though the sentiment is possibly an indulgence.
  • So be it, let us indulge. This is like after we drinkcoconut juice,
  • we still want to eat its thick sweet meat. That’s one way to put it, how endearing this is—
  • especially as the sun is setting west,
  • and you are sitting under the palm trees in a reclining chair,
  • facing the ocean—no blossoms around,
  • but my heart is still filled with the sweet fragrance of my courtyard.
  • Notes:
  • *Yang Xiaobin, poet, author, Professor Yang Xiaobin , born Shanghai,1963, teaches Chinese linguistics in the United States.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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。




DONGWU SOUND

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • Dongwu Sound is a stretch of sea, an inland sea.
  • It is my forebearers' sea.
  • People live on it, wrap themselves around the impartial sea,
  • the ants, the banyan trees, the little streams and bays all do the same.
  • And every home opens to the sea
  • as if the ocean would respond to its every word
  • like a pillow mate, a dinner buddy and someone who knows the backstory.
  • There are also fishes near the seabed
  • living evenly with other lives, even though they might complain
  • when the sea turns rough, but more often
  • they tell tales to each other under the moon, believing the vast sea
  • raises not only the most predatory fish but also the smallest fry of little shrimp.
  • Life and death is overseen by God on high.
  • No noe gets lost here; getting lost is the same as crawling onshore.
  • Heaven looks at Dongwu Sound and is pleased:
  • good people onshore,
  • good fish in the water. The rest are
  • the jetsam and flotsam of the tides. They are my moods,
  • loud and passionate, now and then,
  • when there is something to proclaim.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/oNXnzHIwWXvNcO88-Akvmg

东吾洋

  • 汤养宗

  • 东吾洋是一片海。内陆海。我家乡的海
  • 依靠东吾洋活着的人平等活着,围着这面海
  • 居住,连同岸边的蚂蚁也是,榕树也是
  • 众多入海的溪流也是
  • 各家各户的门都爱朝着海面打开
  • 好像是,每说一句话,大海就会应答
  • 像枕边的人,同桌吃饭的人,知道底细的人
  • 平等的还有海底的鱼,海暴来时
  • 会叫几声苦,更多的时候
  • 月光下相互说故事,说空空荡荡的洋面
  • 既养最霸道的鱼,又养小虾苗
  • 生死都由一个至高的神看管着。在海里
  • 谁都不会迷路,迷路就是上岸
  • 上苍只给东吾洋一种赞许:岸上都是好人
  • 水里都是好鱼。其余的
  • 大潮小潮,像我的心事,澎湃、喧响、享有好主张

BEGINNING OF WINTER

  • by A Thousand Cranes

  • Folks out searching for gold will be returning.
  • The road is quiet. It has received many yearning gazes,
  • but will soon be swallowed by frozen dew.
  • Youngsters, studying out of town, will be returning.
  • Though roosters are still hopping without care,
  • knives are being sharpened with a wet stone.
  • Farmers can finally sit for tea, songs, and mahjong.
  • The ground will soon turn into hard stone,
  • and streams will trickle down like the moonlight.
  • Upon the hill, the wild and the lonesome north wind
  • is frantically scouting a way for snow to return.
  • The sky has grown darker.
  • I begin examining the things hidden in my dreamlands,
  • and see flowers in the pastures
  • meeting their end with a smile.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6FFmFVIqSPBD3Kq1rgib1A


立冬日

  • 千纸鹤

  • 出去淘金的人就快回来了
  • 沉默寡言的小路拾到许多热切的目光
  • 又被一层层白霜咽下
  • 出去念书的人也快回来了
  • 不下蛋的鸡还不知愁地蹦跳着
  • 刀锋正在磨石上就着冷水折腾
  • 种地的人终于有时间喝茶、听小曲、打麻将了
  • 泥土将露出石头的面目
  • 溪流一退再退,退成月亮的眼泪
  • 站在高岗上,看北风在天地间奔跑
  • 这孤独的狂欢在为回娘家的雪花探路
  • 天空的脸色又暗了几分
  • 我开始细数内心藏下的一道道风景
  • 它们如草原盛开的花朵
  • 习惯了以微笑面对死亡

ZHANG XIAOJING’S AUTUMN

  • By Tian Fa

  • A busy time for Zhang Xiaojing in the autumn.
  • Even before her crowfeet can relax,
  • she has to be in the field for the day’s work.
  • The grapes are ripe. As her husband,
  • I can only afford to come home now and then.
  • Therefore when my neighbors see me, they are all smiles:
  • “you are here to lend a hand.”
  • It seems as if Autumn is hers only,
  • and dreamlike I have been left out.
  • For Zhang Xiaojing, Autumn is here,
  • and I'm more like one of her hired hands.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3m9aPRoFEleae4ENVWqabg

张晓静的秋天

  • 田 法

  • 张晓静的秋天是忙碌的
  • 连眼角的鱼尾纹
  • 也顾不上舒展
  • 就要去地里干活
  • 葡萄熟了。而作为她的男人
  • 我只是隔三差五才能回来一趟
  • 以至邻居见了我,都笑着说
  • 回来帮忙来了
  • 仿佛,秋天只是她一个人的
  • 潜意识已把我
  • 忽略。张晓静的秋天
  • 我更像她的一个雇工



SONG OF LASTING WIND

  • By Tian Lan

  • The long wind blows through me, through you,
  • through the northern pines darkly,
  • through the blue flames of the sea.
  • The wind doesn’t die, as I push on with my journey,
  • lost in the long shadows of Mount West.
  • At this moment, I believe in gifts,
  • in the natural ability
  • to hear the call from a baby sea snail,
  • to hear the quietest birdsong on a chilly night.
  • I also believe in fateful meetings.
  • The long wind will one day
  • take me away from these mountains,
  • at sea I’ll raise my glass and hobnob with friends.
  • Snow falls in the deep of the night,
  • sealing off starlight, sealing off love.
  • The sea doesn’t sleep.
  • The wind carries the disillusion and the rebirth of the dreamer.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/h1Js8xtue390bu9_MGU20g


长风歌

  • 天 岚

  • 长风吹过我,也吹过你
  • 吹过北方幽暗的松林
  • 也吹过大海的蓝焰
  • 长风不息,我也赶路
  • 走失在西山长长的阴影里
  • 此时,我相信天才
  • 他有天生的本领
  • 从幼螺里领取召唤
  • 在寒夜听懂最喑哑的鸟鸣
  • 我也相信缘分
  • 有一天,长风定会把我
  • 再次带出群山
  • 在海上与朋友举酒言欢
  • 雪落在后半夜
  • 封死星光,也封死爱情
  • 大海一刻也不停
  • 风声中幻听者幻灭又重生





OLD THINGS

  • By Wang Erdong

  • All have become relics since you’re gone.
  • Some clothes were never worn, now reduced to ashes.
  • Food not eaten was offered to ancestors with incense.
  • Your new grave sits on the old earth
  • where you used to kneel and refuse to leave.
  • It’s your bed now.
  • You may be waiting for reincarnation,
  • but I don’t believe in meeting in the afterlife.
  • In any case we won’t recognize each other.
  • You have become a relic of eternity.
  • The wind will blow away the dust collected on the window sills
  • while you stood there dreaming of liberty.
  • The window frames were painted red over and over,
  • but peeling will accelerate with time.
  • After you left, I have decided
  • not to love love’s past.

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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/GM5HXxrgwZsxHME-TJHYBg


旧 物

  • 王二冬

  • 你走之后,所有事物都成了旧的
  • 没穿的新衣,一把火就成了灰烬
  • 没咽的饭菜,一炷香就成了祭品
  • 就连新坟上的土也是旧的
  • 这一次,你终于躺在了年轻时
  • 长跪不起的地方,等待来世
  • 来世,你或许会再次成为新的
  • 我是等不到了,就算再见
  • 我们也不会相识。在我的生命中
  • 你是旧的永恒,吹过窗台的风
  • 也会蒙上你渴望自由的灰尘
  • 旧的窗棂,红漆刷得越多
  • 时光脱落得越快,你走之后
  • 我决定,爱过的就不再去爱了



EDUCATION BY SNOW

  • By Wang Fugang

  • At dusk, lonely snowflakes arrive like guests in the north,
  • a passionate young poet, a little melancholy,
  • came to a small stingy inn that sells home brew,
  • 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
  • he once spent time with counting the stars. He says:
  • more snowflakes now than the stars we counted.

  • But he is a failed mathematics professor,
  • owns a million pounds but the little inn
  • offers no silky sweet wine, only coarse home brew.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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



POST OFFICE

  • by Wang Jian

  • I walked across half of the city
  • before seeing a post office
  • in an obscured alleyway.

  • I would like to own my address again,
  • the address that I once left
  • in a post office
  • —that outdated dwarfish green building.

  • I wrote a very long letter
  • to send to an old-world old friend.

  • I still try to be eloquent with words and elaborate my thoughts,
  • and know you will be delighted by the hieroglyphs
  • that evoke images of things
  • between the flowing of the ink.

  • This letter will fly across the sea
  • to deliver news of the new times. For example,
  • mankind has battled canine robots three times.
  • (Ultimately, mankind was defeated.) For example,
  • some people have fallen in love with robots.
  • (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 never to recover it again.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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 the grave
  • where my parents were buried in the mountain.
  • (They are together again finally.)
  • This morning, before leaving, I visited my mother’s second sister again.
  • 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 lot was unloaded suddenly.
  • Under the airplane’s wings is my poor home 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 mountain-and-gully terrain and hearth smokes I am familiar with —
  • including Father's white forehead, Mother's many 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 things below, to recognize…
  • I wish I were the boy in the story flying on a 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




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

  • Symultaneouly 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

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




WHITE FAIRY FOX

  • by Lao Si

  • I am late autumn, amid its crimson-red,
  • amid the somber atmosphere hanging on the willows.
  • I am at the lake, that has no doors,
  • where a destitute girl is about to jump in.
  • I am inside the head peeping out from an office window,
  • I am in the elevator with the oily smell.
  • I am with the line of the kite sinking to the sea;
  • I am in the boiling hot pot.
  • I am among the ashen faces of people,
  • I am with the migrant beggar at the stairway.
  • Iam the porcelain bowl that holds money and fortune.
  • Iam the night in your near proximity.
  • Iam a fox trotting by the lake,
  • then entering a building, entering a cooking pot,
  • slipping into time that flows, into worldly care
  • that put 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 me.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

YANGSHAN MOUNTAIN PASS

  • By Xiao Shui

  • When my grandmother was gravely ill, I returned from 1,000 miles 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




A FROG IN A 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

  • Symultaneouly 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



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 - 1117 CE).

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

  • Symultaneouly 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




THE THINGS I PRAISE ARE GENERALLY LIGHT

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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
  • with blurry features.
  • I think of the tractor driver yesterday and his two gold teeth.
  • He isn't at all related to the wizard,
  • but I recall his smile, which gives the cloud a nice golden edge.

  • Crossing a stream, Gansu Province is to the left, and Sichuan to the right.
  • The little inn's old mistress lets us pick vegetables in the fenced back yard;
  • we gather 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

  • Symultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cPkaNSpSsOCUO0qt3CyFSA

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

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.

  • 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 is the eleventh interval of the year, starting on the new moon after Summer Solstice.

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

  • Symultaneouly 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



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

  • Symultaneouly 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。

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, predetermined
  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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



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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • Symultaneouly 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。



THE ROMANCE OF A PAINTER SELLING BEER

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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




A GLIMPSE OF SOMETHING

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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



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

  • Symultaneouly 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。




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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

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

  • Symultaneouly 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

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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



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

  • Symultaneouly 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




DRUNK AGAIN SENDING OFF A FRIEND TO SOUTHERN YUNNAN

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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

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

  • Symultaneouly 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





A VESSEL

  • 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

  • Symultaneouly 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