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 (2019)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Ah Hua 阿华 (王晓华)

Aming Dongbai 阿明东白

An Qi 安 琪

Bai Ma 白玛

Bai Qingguo 白庆国

Ban Ruo 班 若

Bei Ye 北 野

Bi Junhou 毕俊厚

Black Tooth 黑牙 (徐占新)

Bo Xiaoliang 薄小凉 (郝焕岭)

Che Yangao 车延高

Chen Dongdong 陈东东

Chen Gong 陈功

Chen Liang 陈亮

Chen Liang 陈亮

Chen Renjie 陈人杰

Chen Shui 辰水

Chen Yundong 陈允东

Chen Yupeng 陈钰鹏

Ding Bai 丁白

Ding Peng 丁鹏

Ding Qi 丁 琦

Dong Li 东篱

Fang Bin 方 斌

Fang Qihua 方启华

Gan Sha 干沙

Gao Jiangang 高建刚

Gao Liang 高 亮

Ge Feng 格 风

Gu Baokai 顾宝凯

Gu Cheng 孤 城

Gu Gang 古 冈

Gu He 谷禾

Gu Nian 陕西顾念

Gu Ma 古 马

Gu Shanyun 孤山云

Guang Zi 广子

Guo Congyu 郭丛与

Guo Jianqiang 郭建强

Hai Nan 海男

He Bingling 何冰凌

Hong Li 洪 立

Hong Zhu 洪烛

Hu Cuinan 胡翠南

Hu Xian 胡 弦

Huang Fang 黄芳

Huang Jinsong 黄劲松

Huang Hao 黄 浩

Huang Lihai 黄礼孩

Huang Yazhou 黄亚洲

Jia Xiang 贾想

Jian Nan 剑 男

Jiang Bohan 姜博瀚

Jiang Shuting 江书廷

Jiang Ting 江 汀

Jiang Xuefeng *蒋雪峰

Jiang Zhiwu 蒋志武

Jin Lingzi 金铃子

Ju Mang 句芒

Kang Wei 康伟

Kong Gejian 空格键

Kou Junjian 寇钧剑

Lei Pingyang 雷平阳

Li Dong 李栋

Li Hao 李皓

Li Luo 黎落

Li Pin 李品

Li Qi 李琦

Li Qingsong 李轻松

Li Ruguo 李如国

Li Shuxia 李树侠

Li Tianjing 李天靖

Li Wenming 李文明

Li Yang 立 扬

Li Yongcai 李永才

Li Yuansheng 李元胜

Li Yun 李云

Li Yunlu 李昀璐

Li Zhiyong 李志勇

Li Zirui 李子锐

Liang Jilin 梁积林

Liang Ping 梁 平

Lin Mang 林 莽

Ling Lan 铃兰

Liu Jian 刘 建

Liu Liyun 刘立云

Liu Yanghe 刘阳鹤

Liu Quan 流 泉

Lonely Changsha 独孤长沙

Long Lingqiong 隆玲琼

Long Xiaolong 龙小龙

Lu Shan 卢 山

Lu Ye 路也

Lu You 吕 游

Luo Zhenya 罗振亚

Ma Zeping 马泽平

Maling Gudao 马岭古道

A Mao 阿 毛

Maolin Qingcha 茅林清茶

by Meng Xingshi 孟醒石

Black Camel 孟子岚 (黑骆驼)

Mowo Er 莫卧儿

Nan Qiu 南秋

Nan Shutang 南书堂

Pan Xichen 潘洗尘

Peng Jie 彭杰

Qi Zi 圻 子

Qian Lina 钱利娜

Qing Ling 青铃

Qing Xiaoyi 青小衣

Qu Rui 瞿 瑞

San Pi 散皮

Sang Mei 桑 眉

Sea of July 七月的海

Sha Ma 沙 马

Shang Shui 伤水

Shen Mujin 沈木槿

Shi Bin 世 宾

Shi Maosheng 施茂盛

Shi Zhaotao 时兆涛

Shizhi Mengren 诗之梦人

by Shiwu Lan 十五岚

Shu Dandan 舒丹丹

Song Qiyuan 宋憩园

Su Ruoxi 苏若兮

Sun Huifeng 孙慧峰

by Sun Wenbo 孙文波

Tang Yangzong 汤养宗

Tang Yangzong 汤养宗

A Thousand Cranes 千纸鹤

Tian Fa 田 法

Tian Lan 天 岚

Tian Yuan 天元

Tong Yusheng 桐雨生

by Wang Changting 王常婷

Wang Erdong 王二冬

Wang Feng 王 峰

Wang Fugang 王夫刚

Wang Jian 王 键

Wang Jiangping 王江平

Wang Jiaxin 王家新

Wang Jiaxin 王家新

by Wang Shaoyong 王少勇

Wang Xiaoni 王小妮

Wei Bo 渭 波

Jiji Qiucao (Lonesome Autumn Grass) 寂寂秋草

Wu Shaodong 吴少东

Wu Yan 午言

Lao Si 老 四

Xi Du 西渡

Xi She 西 厍

Xiao Shui 肖水

Xiao Xi 小 西

Xiao Xi 小 西

Xiang Wuhua 向武华

Xie Jiong 谢 炯

Xin Boping 辛泊平

Xiongguan Mandao 雄关漫道

Xue Di 雪 迪

Xue Hudie 雪蝴蝶

Yang Jiao 杨 角

Yang Kang 杨 康

Yang Qingxiang 杨庆祥

Yang Xuelong 杨薛龙

Yang Yang 阳飏

Yang Yong 杨 勇

Yang Zi 杨 梓

Ye Dan 叶 丹

Ye Xiaoqing 叶小青

Ye Yanbin 叶延滨

Ye Yu 夜 鱼

Yi Du 一 度

Yi Hang 一 行

Yin Ma 尹马

Yu Changxiong 俞昌雄

Yu Jian 于 坚

Yu Xiaozhong 余笑忠

Yuan Wei 袁伟

Zang Di 臧 棣

Zeng Jihu 曾纪虎

Zhai Wenjie 翟文杰

Zhan Chenglin 阿 成

Zhang Baimei 张白煤

Zhang Hongbo 张洪波

Zhang Lin 张 琳

Zhang Qiaohui 张巧慧

Zhang Xiaozhen 张小榛

Zhang Xinquan 张新泉

Zhang Xinying 张新颖

Zhang Zhihao 张执浩

Zhang Zuogeng 张作梗

Zhao Jiapeng 赵家鹏

Zhao Jun 赵俊

Zhao Wenhao 赵文豪

Zheng Maoming 郑茂明

Zhijian Liunian 指尖流年

Zhou Sese 周瑟瑟

Zhou Suotong 周所同

Zhou Xixi 周西西

Zhu Ligen 祝立根

Zhu Tao 朱 涛

Zong Hai 宗 海

Zong Xiaobai 宗小白

PRESENTLY

  • by Kong Gejian

  • There is only one secret in the wilderness:
  • each time it snows, a stone will get lost.
  • As if having a broken rib, after the snow melts,
  • the wilderness looks ghastly pale.
  • But it doesn’t groan, and the wind blows earnestly.
  • It has been a while since the wind delivered its last letter.
  • The wind itself is an old message with moldy stains.
  • ——Presently the wind feels like a spring breeze, a butterfly.
  • Right now, the wilderness gives us a few flowers,
  • and an afternoon without trespassers.
  • Right now, the wilderness looks undoubtably spacious.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cwVrFfonJL39Fa0z0WKMZw


现 在

  • 空格键

  • 旷野只有一个秘密:
  • 只要下雪,就会走失一块石头。
  • 如同断了一根肋骨,雪融之后的旷野
  • 总是脸色铁青。
  • 但它忍住了呻吟,
  • 郑重其事地吹风。
  • 风已经很久不送信了。
  • 风本身就是一封长满霉点的旧信。
  • ——现在的风是春风,也是一只蝴蝶。
  • 现在,旷野送上几朵花,
  • 和一个无人经过的午后。
  • 现在旷野有着不容置疑的容积。

YESTERDAYS' POEM OF THE DAY 昨天的 每日一首

COMPASSION

  • by Ah Hua

  • The moon and the zephyr have the heart of a Bodhisattva, they shine on
  • the mountains and brush on the rivers.
  • The trees and grasses also have Buddha’s nature,
  • they feel for
  • the birds above and for the insects underground.
  • About compassion, a layman returning from the Lotus Hill
  • is best qualified to speak:
  • “…newly coming down the mountain, everyone
  • was filled with compassion.”
  • “He sees everyone as a Bodhisattva, and a suffering sentient being.”
  • The ant on the leaf also has something to say
  • about compassion:
  • “Sunshine in the eyes, words are bound to be warm.”

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/FHGYIu_HI5Kh4SIQua_y8g


慈 悲

  • 阿 华

  • 明月和春风都有菩萨心,它们照着
  • 山川,也吹着河流
  • 树木和荒草也有佛祖的胸怀
  • 它们关心着
  • 树上的鸟类,也关心地下的昆虫
  • 关于慈悲,从莲花山归来的居士
  • 最有发言权
  • “……刚下山那会儿,每个人
  • 都是慈悲的”
  • “他们见谁都是菩萨,见谁也
  • 都是苦难众生”
  • 关于慈悲,树叶上的一只蚂蚁
  • 也有话要说
  • “眼里住着阳光,话里透着温暖”

WUGONG IN THE WINTER

  • by Aming Dongbai

  • Wugong* in the winter,
  • no need for flamboyant fineries,
  • yellow is enough to reveal her golden virtue.
  • When the north wind howls
  • louder than 10,000 army horses could neigh:
  • snow turns to ice, but underneath
  • Wei River, Qu River, and Qi River flow continuously.
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • children of Shennong continue to grow big dreams:
  • to revive their forebearers' high minds,
  • inscribed on Maoling the Han tomb.
  • An exile's devotion lofty like the clouds,
  • Tang Dynasty's romantic charm,
  • the immortal love sacrificed,
  • all have seeped into the soil and given it a fragrance.
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • she doesn't fall for sweet bewitching talk.
  • Birches go straight up, paths criss-cross the fields,
  • they exemplify her noble heart and fresh look.
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • we sleep peacefully as plants speed up growing,
  • cozy and warm on heated beds, lovely dreams
  • wait to soar into Spring.
  • Wugong in the winter
  • is a beautiful woman preparing to bathe,
  • removing her clothes,
  • ravishing, exquisite,
  • be gone the great Northwest's
  • dust and storm and scorn!
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • in brilliant water blue, the color of precious Lantian Jade,
  • sun-carved, moon-polished, forever new.
  • The people are the unparalleled true genius.
  • Ah,
  • Wugong in the winter,
  • I won't lament for your seven thousand years of troubles,
  • but will be there in your new quest:
  • I shan't seek a dream-like fairyland;
  • but will pour every charm and effort into bringing forth a new era.
  • Note: Wugong (Lit. Military Exploits), township in Shaanxi Province.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rGGblMxvHa23Bhu_uTb1vQ


冬日的武功

  • 阿明东白

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

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 and 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 casts 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

  • Simultaneouly 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。

ON TOP OF EASTERN MOUNTAIN

  • by Bai Ma

  • At forty, I thought I knew what was what, and moved to the mountains,
  • picked up prime farmland short of a hectare, riddled with clouds.
  • Spring is the time to sow, the soil bustling with people plotting life and death.
  • The fate of a fennel seed is in a flick of my hand.
  • The baby chestnut tree was brought home from the market,
  • then the soft rain, beseeched by me, came at night like a sigh.
  • Hundreds of flowers teeming, leaving me behind, useless to put on rouge.
  • The mountain felt like a middle-aged woman blessed with child.
  • Nature went about its business day and night: the ways of the birds and the bees
  • all enter the beekeeper’s account, like frost on the roof.
  • My romantic ambitions faded by end of summer,
  • those weird and unnecessary schemes.
  • A mountain embraces everyone under the gaze of the stars,
  • even a small snake, whom I stumbled across in the ravine;
  • and a myriad of plants and trees named by men, regardless.
  • Time is there in the mountains, absent of memories, undisturbed by the past.
  • Besides those resting in their graves, and me wandering about,
  • those taking a break at the potato patch or the secretive ones behind the bamboo groves,
  • there was hardly a soul around. I began to get used to how trees think
  • and how wild grasses grow. And let not my feet disturb the turtledoves.
  • As to the land, apart from praise, any other words is cheap talk.
  • Winter is for chopping wood and lighting fires, but to act like a thinker
  • is absurd. Compared to trees, mountains and rocks,
  • my complexion is too complicated: family name, age, acquired skills,
  • from places unknown, and whereto is anyone’s guess.
  • The full moon only shines on top of our Eastern Mountain.
  • The full moon only rests on the trees on Eastern Mountain,
  • lighting the graves, and lighting the ashen eaves of those few houses,
  • a weary scene from the never-ending years, a wordless lament.

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

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


东山顶上

  • 白玛

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

WHEN THE LAMP IS BURNING

  • Bai Qingguo

  • After the shadow passed from my sight,
  • the oil lamp on the wall flares up;
  • so small a lamp,
  • who-knows-when its smoke has blackened half of the wall.
  • Two rugged head shadows in conversation for a while,
  • the small lamp projects them on the wall, like giants, so tall.
  • In daylight, I haven’t seen them so big and so very tall.
  • The things they talk about, I must have heard them a hundred times,
  • the same things over and over and over again,
  • almost like the way each spring returns
  • with a missing blade or an extra blade of grass.
  • I am at a loss in the next dark room,
  • no light needed there as all is too familiar to me.
  • It has been this way for 30-odd springs and autumns.
  • My parents' conversations still continue
  • as if I was not there.
  • When serious matter comes up,
  • they would be like two statues,
  • not a word is said,
  • facing the darker corner unlit by the lamp,
  • lost in a daze.

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

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


灯燃亮以后

  • 白庆国

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

HIGH-SPEED RAIL

  • By Ban Ruo

  • I am not sure, but the village on this foreign place
  • is not my village. The sky is a mirror, lighting up
  • a wintry world. By the water, an old man flashes by,
  • keeping watch of his flock, of the weather, of the wheat field,
  • and the watery rice paddies.

  • An ox is drinking. I don't have names
  • for all of these creatures, just like I 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 folks,
  • 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

  • Simultaneouly 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, saying ”Bei Ye, come quick, Prince is already here!”

  • Sure enough, Prince was sitting on a little wooden stool.
  • He beamed at me from a distance.
  • A few cats lounged next to him.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

PAINTED FACE

  • by Bo Xiaoliang

  • Too lush, too brash,
  • defiant as if confronting life’s struggles, but in quieter moments,
  • she looks just like a maiden from West Street.
  • In the marketplace, people call her Xiu’er,
  • the tofu merchants’ eyes linger on her,
  • but when she raises her chin, everything else blanks out.
  • Still, society rejects her as hellbound, a temptress.
  • Drifters, poor scholars, gangsters, local officials
  • all play her like a goddess, or more like prey, in a gaudy boudoir.
  • She has weathered more than the world itself, lonely,
  • and destructively violent at times.
  • What can be more tormenting than being tormented over and over?
  • Yet she loves,
  • desperately loves.
  • Knowing everything amounts to dust, but she still loves
  • despite it all.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cBVaJZZ89mDoNgIjnTDfig


画 妖

  • 薄小凉

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

QIN·DUAN·KOU, BROKEN ZITHER

  • by Che Yangao

  • No need to verify the exact damage to the zither,
  • but to ask if anyone could restore it.
  • Qin·duan·kou, broken zither, it’s not merely
  • a simple name for an old place,
  • it seems to have an emphasis,
  • like a musician’s call waiting for a response.
  • A broken string can be restrung.
  • Indeed your soulmate has passed, but many others still live,
  • please, let your nimble fingers awaken those rusted spirits.
  • The river continues to flow,
  • shouldn't the current times not be obstructed by the past, too?
  • A death need not lead to the rejection of the living.
  • Tears suddenly well up, flowing from the eyes of the Chu Kingdom,
  • filling The Moon Lake with its leaden nights,
  • as wild grass flickers in the moonlight.
  • Boya and Ziqi rest here, their spotless minds and carefree spirits
  • cherished by our everlasting memories.
  • Nothing tangible remains except sheets of dust.
  • Two worlds, like the sword and sheath, greet each other,
  • no distance between two hearts
  • devoted to each other.
  • Qin·duan·kou, your waters continue to charm,
  • telling a lovely story of a broken zither.
  • Listen to the words, and tend even more to the sounds.
  • This moment, right now right here, surpasses history.
  • I bend down, to lift up the ladder of time,
  • climbing up Zither Terrace to play a tune,
  • a call of the mountains, and the river will respond.
  • *Note: The title of this poem Qin·duan·kou (lit: broken zither) is the name of a place in Hanyang, near Wuhan in Hubei province. The name had its origins in a qin player, Boya, who broke his instrument after hearing of the death of his friend Ziqi, a woodcutter, who was said to be "the only person who truly understood Boya’s music."

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/19QIIKBwveZd2zB42NR4bw


琴断口

  • 车延高

  • 不去考证那把古琴损坏的程度
  • 只问,有没有人想去修复它
  • 琴断口不仅是过去的地名
  • 它有强调的口吻,在等一句对白
  • 断过的弦可以在断过的地方接上
  • 是啊,知音死了,还有那么多人要活
  • 灵巧的指头为什么不劝劝生锈的心
  • 水流向前,生者不该被昨天伤害
  • 一个亡魂也不该让你拒绝活着的人
  • 泪突然间醒的,从楚国的眼眶落下
  • 月湖盛满夜的沉重,月影梳理野草
  • 伯牙、子期就坐在记忆守护的坟上
  • 灵魂洁净,两袖清风
  • 真正的符号夷为平地,尘埃
  • 覆盖一切
  • 现在空和有是相逢一笑的剑与鞘
  • 两颗心的想念缔约,废除了距离
  • 琴断口,你的流水有韵
  • 述说一柄古琴摔出的佳话
  • 听话听音,我知道今天一定比昨天重要
  • 弯腰,我把时间扶起
  • 去古琴台拨弦,听高山流水

CITY of YANTAI*

  • by Chen Dongdong

  • The Japanese envoy Ono no Imoko probably delivered the message
  • some 800 years later from Chinese court sorcerer Xu Fu.
  • Landing on the island of Zhifu, he hurried to Luoyang,
  • and invoked Emperor Molten Gold’s** wrath.
  • At sunset, it was even more sumptuous then,
  • he didn’t believe, what was once believed,
  • there were magic mountains in the sea.
  • During the next 800 years,
  • smoking watchtower was used to name this place:
  • but like the bamboo spear with a wolf’s name, it’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
  • A ship with eight pennants appeared in the telescope,
  • refocusing, a smaller and different horizon appeared.
  • We created the myth of Eight Drunken Immortals,
  • so Penglai Pavilion, Elixer of Life, lived another day.
  • Whether or not
  • the sea dragon conjured up a floating island,
  • strong minds and poets have different beliefs.
  • Fiction or fact, or fiction after all, sorcerers come and go,
  • did you really peer into the undersea Pearl Palace?
  • Walking on water or not, only the walker knows,
  • as believable as any mirage or phantom.
  • Still they must mount the overlook
  • for a view from the idle radar station,
  • to point out this and that from the cliff.
  • A lighthouse has replaced the smoking watchtower
  • to illuminate the wave of no return for the boys and girls,
  • reappearing in a 800-year dense fog.
  • They keep approaching, a brand new mirage.

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

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

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


烟 台

  • 陈东东

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

MY MOON, MY KINGDOM

  • by Chen Gong

  • One lone horseman,
  • meadow of the imaginary world,
  • whose desolation I can expand endlessly.
  • Please hide all traces of
  • reality, this domain is too small
  • to allow others to intrude.
  • A good horse does not rely on its reins,
  • no lamppost can tie down
  • the flying hooves.
  • The survival of the kingdom
  • should not concern the terracotta warriors.
  • This is my own kingdom, all it cares about is
  • keeping a man's fire bright
  • on the open roads at night.

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

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


我的秦时明月

  • 陈功

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

LOGS

  • by Chen Liang

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

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

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

木 头

  • 陈亮

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

A MOMENT OF STILLNESS

  • by Chen Liang

  • I live in an attic, pinewood ceiling,
  • wallpaper with curious Persian motif,
  • bedside table embossed with the ancients,
  • a Simmons mattress, and a huge ceiling fan,
  • spinning and spinning to give you an out-of-body experience.
  • The closet has a large crack,
  • causing me to be suspicious at times that it hides a fugitive.
  • Nextdoor neighbors are a few apprentices from a wine bar,
  • each speaking a dialect, all with overly prudent manners for their age.
  • The side window opens to a wall, but during the day
  • intense sunlight pours in through the skylight.
  • No deep sleep for the second half of the night, I seem to
  • want to look through the skylight, to search for
  • blurry bright spots in the sky.
  • It's as if suddenly I return to the wild country in Shandong.
  • A teenager sneaked up the roof,
  • holding a pole with a sticky end for catching cicadas
  • but trying to catch the stars in the low sky, for a moment
  • he thought he’s the earthling closest to the heavenly body.

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

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


且停记

  • 陈 亮

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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。

A MYRIAD OF COLORS FROM FAR AWAY

  • by Chen Yundong

  • Arriving at Delingha, the night is already quiet.
  • Darkness shrouds distant mountains and the Gobi Desert.
  • We recite poetry aloud in a halal noodle shop.
  • The drivers drink silently, swallowing down the day's itinerary,
  • faces weather-worn.
  • A blanket of snow in the forest covers birds' and beasts' tracks.
  • White breath falls from the eaves,
  • with a touch of red from the lanterns on the wooden beam.
  • I came a long way to this snowy country, a place out of this world
  • that lights up the silent river in me.
  • In the Mulan Weichang grassland, lakes descend from the sky,
  • the vast sky, towering and blue, a desolate blue,
  • overlooking the flowers, wine, and the rolling greens.
  • I pass here. The sun, the moon, the stars
  • pass here, people named the lakes after them.
  • On the way to Dunhuang, one meets the desert.
  • The ancient color of yellow stretches out before you,
  • dispelling all fears of the world.
  • From our blood vessels we will distill a strong spirit
  • to toast the grand moon, clear, presiding over heaven and earth.
  • I roamed a place larger than me, and always return to it,
  • to take home a myriad of colors, colossal colors
  • that will stay with me as my hair grows white,
  • and remind me of the secret of living
  • when I feel like a caged animal.

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

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


我从远方带回众多颜色

  • 陈允东

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

A BRIEF LETTER TO MOTHER

  • by Chen Yupeng

  • I seldom write to you, lest
  • my scribblings will cause you
  • sorrows, lest you compare my scraggly handwritings
  • to my scraggly existence. It’s now winter, no snow
  • shows up in Beijing yet, but there are occasional
  • sandstorms, even more plentiful are people
  • going through smog in mouth masks. And I belong to
  • the other group, staying in, books and music
  • are my fortress. It’s not a big space here,
  • but enough to live, enough to facilitate
  • eating, toiletry, daydreaming, and sleep.
  • After living here for a long time, it’s inevitable
  • that I get tired of the northern cuisine, and begin to miss
  • the fish, shrimp, vegetables, shellfish, and rice
  • that you cooked with your callused hands.
  • But, rest assured, Mom, I am still not a finicky eater,
  • and often with a good appetite. What’s less reliable
  • is a good night’s sleep, as I always dream of
  • what I imagine during the day. My dreams are
  • always a little sadder than those of others, and occasionally
  • I wake up sobbing, then stand by the window
  • to watch the moon with arms down, until the moon
  • rises higher and sees me by the window
  • with leaden arms. This is the quietest moment
  • of my day, and it always reminds me of
  • the years when we relied on each other,
  • when at the end of the day's work, you took me
  • through the city at night. I was little then, and curious
  • about the moon, but you answered my question
  • with a voice, tired and croaky, saying “the moon will
  • lead us home. ”
  • After leaving you, Mom, I loved many
  • strangers, but no one spoke to me
  • with words like yours. Mom, my messy life
  • is getting more and more confusing, and only now I understand:
  • the brightest and clearest part of my memories
  • has always been with you.


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

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


给母亲的简短家书

  • 陈钰鹏

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

SELF MANAGEMENT

  • by Ding Bai

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

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

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

管理自己

  • 丁白

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

GOOD NIGHT, YOUNG MAN

  • By Ding Peng

  • The 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

  • Simultaneouly 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




VISITING SACRED HOLLOW TEMPLE IN THE SNOW

  • by Ding Qi

  • The gold in the valley is not purer than the salt on the mountain.
  • Take care not to tread on the dreams of mushrooms
  • or the pillow boulders in the river bed.
  • You may even feel the way a Khitan or a Krorän feels
  • and begin to love a pine grove like a lamb,
  • and hear sutras in the howling Gobi Desert.
  • You may talk as the pagoda does,
  • walk like the stone elephant,
  • see the camel bells and sparrows as one.
  • Turning halfway,
  • The Yangtze River is there, no more than
  • a handkerchief dropped when heaven weeps.
  • The tires leave their footprints, not any tidier
  • than those of the mountain beasts.
  • Our gilded intellect is no more refined
  • than the mushrooms in the spring
  • that have acquired the likeness of a bodhisattva.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/8kaOE3sNCwCjGBYRGOWypA


雪中访灵谷寺

  • 丁 琦

  • 山下的黄金并不比山上的盐洁净
  • 你也会小心踩着蘑菇的睡眠
  • 和一条溪流软埋的枕头
  • 你也会有契丹人 楼兰人的乡愁
  • 误把矮松
  • 像羊羔一样喜爱
  • 把诵经当作戈壁的喉咙
  • 你也会像石塔一样地说话
  • 石象一样地行走
  • 你也看见 爬上檐角的驼铃与麻雀
  • 只隔半个轮转
  • 江南不过是天哭泣时无意撒落的
  • 手帕
  • 山下的轮胎并不比野兽的脚印更洁净
  • 锤炼黄金的思想
  • 并不比春天
  • 蘑菇长出菩萨模样的脑袋洁净

AFTER MID-AUTUMN, SITTING ALONE ON A BARREN HILL

  • by Dong Li

  • Old Heaven has a long, drawn-out face,
  • someone must owe him 800,000 in cash plus interest.
  • The hills are overflowing with little wild daisies,
  • but not a single one of them knows
  • why the 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

  • Simultaneouly 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



I ESPECIALLY LOVE THE PLANTS THAT DON’T BLOOM

  • by Fang Bin

  • On the shoulder of the mountain, when people loudly admire a gorgeous tree,
  • I cast my eyes lower, fix upon
  • a patch of shadowy, gloomy liverworts.
  • Clustering among rocks, wrapping them in time's nightgown,
  • they resemble a deep brown scab, or stitches on the earth's wound,
  • a wisdom covered up by dust that shields away daylight.
  • Yes, I especially cherish these plants that do not bloom,
  • like my love for a quiet mountain range, for the hidden mines or strut,
  • for a river's spring, forgotten as it collects water alone.
  • The lowly creatures usually only roam free at night, in icy blind spots,
  • like the current under the wings, or a clock's second hand making tiny advances.
  • It is the little pond with the moon in the wilderness, the mute watching the moon.
  • — they resemble my aunt who has not said one word in her life.
  • — I now have an epitaph for her:
  • Song Yue'er, female. Born in hardship, died in difficulties.
  • Using no words, she was the third leg for her husband.
  • Using no words, she painted a distant place for her son and daughter.
  • Please, kind-hearted passersby, the things she did not say,
  • you say for her...

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

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


我尤怜爱那些不开花的植物

  • 方 斌

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

SOME PLACE

  • by Fang Qihua

  • After work, I passed an island.
  • The reason I call it an island is because
  • its life seems out of place in the constant stream of traffic
  • on the North Ring Rd, like a miniature park place
  • next to a crammed highway.
  • Behind it is an old neighborhood,
  • where the folks must have sneered at this "park",
  • not even one percent of what it should be,
  • not a real flock of birds except
  • two wooden cranes facing each other,
  • no live animals but for two rattan-woven
  • deer, one, head raised back whinnying,
  • the other grazing timidly.
  • As to the grass, it's true, it's real,
  • laid down by some worker, and one can also wonder
  • about the exotica of the flowers here.
  • So, about this island, we can draw our conclusions
  • safely: it's isolated and it's pieced together, its existence,
  • half-real and half-dreamt up, I feel close to it
  • as our fates seem to intertwine.
  • And it's great for poetry, each time
  • I pass by, I imagine myself
  • a great poet, eyes,
  • nose, subconscious mind hoping to capture
  • something with a touch of poetry, doing it with eyes open
  • or closed, or hearing with eyes closed
  • for something bigger than the endless honking and the dust,
  • something resembling the so-called
  • "traditional bird songs and modernist flowers."
  • I try to prove my point, not unlike going
  • down this road, separating myself from the city,
  • voicing my opinions in a lively poetry group,
  • constant pros and cons, hoping for a change of order
  • out of cause and effect, trying to pry open darkness
  • for the slightest peek of light within, even though
  • it might well be an even darker view. I try to quiet myself,
  • try to catch very carefully the sound of blooming flower,
  • not to miss the faint cheer in case it is there.

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

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


一 处

  • 方启华

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

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


时间上的螺丝

  • 高建刚

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

THOSE DAYS

  • by Gao Liang

  • Those days, a long cord was tied to the switch,
  • you could still turn on a light while sitting on the bed.
  • Those days the lights were as plain as the country folks.
  • not worrying about the material of the cord.
  • You pulled it and it lit up, pulled again and it turned off.
  • After a light goes out, a winter night
  • often brings a deeper awakening
  • and even better vision.
  • Those days I used to like to get up in the dark,
  • and look through fence gaps or the seam of the doors
  • at what’s there beyond the dark world —
  • Moonlight, stars, white frost on the roof,
  • a small gray cat with bright eyes,
  • all were very fascinating,
  • and when a lamp broke, in those days,
  • they would compete to stand out and continue to shine.

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

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


那 时

  • 高 亮

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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




IN THE MOMENT

  • by Gu Cheng

  • Each step is the last step in life, to a higher ground
  • I go, perchance to walk into the next world
  • through a doorway glistening in clouds and mists,
  • and a cold spring from a handsome carved dragon.
  • To stay in the mountain, is it to live an innocent dream,
  • to perch tête-à-tête with a sweet flower on a branch of the other world,
  • counting stars, sipping dew,
  • doing something new every day for the joy of living.
  • The heavier the burden, the lighter the being,
  • look, the lotus flower is carved into stone:
  • the two are inseparable.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/8cUFonSH495d-JnB_wG_Gw


一步一莲花

  • 孤 城

  • 一步一莲花,登高台。会不会走着走着就
  • 走进了来生
  • 云雾洗涤出来的门槛,雕龙嘴里吐出的清泉
  • 是不是不下山,就可以干净地活在梦里面
  • 就可以
  • 朴素地站在来世的枝头,和一朵心仪的花儿头挨着头
  • 数星星,喝露水
  • 一天换一个花样寻开心
  • 苦难有多沉,身体就有多轻盈
  • 宛若莲花刻在石头里
  • 不离分

MOSQUITO

  • by Gu Gang

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

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

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


飞 蚊

  • 古 冈

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

AT LIANGHONG WETLAND

  • by Gu He

  • Early spring, the sun still imparts a touch of cold,
  • Callery pears are sprouting white buds,
  • wild reeds make waves in the wind.
  • All you can see is gray, as if the world is stifled by fate.
  • The sound of broken bones,
  • river ice cracking, while the rapeseeds glow by the water.
  • The rippling water reflects on its mirror
  • a new season that is foundering to take off.
  • So only love is not enough, it needs to take a leap,
  • and blind trust. No use to envy the eternal harmony between the clouds and the flowers.
  • This land so vast, the sky so low, you say it’s the earth holding the water,
  • or is it the other way around? I like
  • this scraggly, lazy early spring, in-between boats paddling,
  • dandelions and egrets take off,
  • retrieving old feathers and the key to regroup.
  • The river spreads like veins, reaching every part of the earth,
  • it will trickle through the spring
  • so as to retain bees, butterflies, and other flower robbers.
  • And I shall hold on to my secret craftsmanship
  • in keeping a poem self-contained and uncopiable.
  • I know, time will not lose heart
  • in the succession of seasons,
  • the earth dreams of flames and new bamboo shoots, it also moves the wetland
  • to where the river rests.

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

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


在梁鸿湿地

  • 谷禾

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

MOURNFUL SOUNDS

  • by Gu Ma

  • In the temple courtyard, under a 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

  • Simultaneouly 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。

PILGRIMAGE TO CHANG'AN

  • by Gu Nian of Shaanxi

  • 1.
  • Starting from the first brick, every part of Chang’an is real.
  • Like spring grass,
  • it once wilted, but fresh again in Bai Xiangshan’s poetry*.
  • Moss peeling off, a chunk at a time, the city walls
  • send the years off to somewhere faraway.
  • 2
  • The moon sits high, over the city alone, like a teardrop.
  • The wanderers at night wander like phantoms. Darkness
  • stretches out at the heel of the city wall, from here
  • to no end. A wind chime trembles in the doorway,
  • giving a hint of starlight.
  • 3
  • "I am a man on the road, dew on my eyelashes."
  • Chang’an burns under the moon. I say I feel cold.
  • I would like to set up camp in Chang’an, but I dare not say it.
  • Chang’an is a modifier, permeating my heaven and earth.
  • Note: Bai Xiangshan, Chinese poet, also known as Bai Juyi, CE 772-846

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/12nnn8RPJELXBRNanNu7KA

长安行

  • 陕西顾念

  • 1.
  • 从一块城砖开始,长安是存在的
  • 像春草
  • 在白香山的诗句里往复枯荣
  • 青苔整块整块的脱落,城廓
  • 将岁月交付远方
  • 2.
  • 月亮孤悬于城头,如一滴泪
  • 夜游人游荡的像虚无,大片大片的黑
  • 顺着墙根蔓延,顺着目光
  • 蔓延。风铃在门洞里,用颤栗
  • 指引细微的星光
  • 3.
  • "我是行路的男子,我的睫毛上有露水"
  • 长安在月下燃烧起来,我说我冷
  • 我想让长安成为我的宿营地,可是我不敢说
  • 长安是一个形容词,铺天盖地的落下

SUMMER STORY

  • by Gu Shanyun

  • My original plan was to go fishing with Gu.
  • The tackle and bait were ready to go,
  • but Sally asked us to go over to eat her salad.
  • She said she had just learned to make it.
  • While Sally was busy in the kitchen,
  • Gu and I continued talking about fishing.
  • That was one sultry afternoon.
  • Gu and I were hot and sweating,
  • but neither dared take off his shirt.
  • Sally was wearing a suspender dress,
  • looking very cool.
  • She asked both of us our opinion of her salad.
  • Gu was never a fan of westernized Chinese cuisine.
  • I said, very good, but I meant her dress.
  • Later, Sally became my wife.
  • That was a long time ago.
  • Now I am sitting alone in my yard, packing up fishing tackle.
  • Sally left for a coastal city.
  • a far more expanse of water than here.
  • Gu became food for the fish in the river,
  • that was the end of his poetry.
  • I confess, when they were gone,
  • I didn’t write either of them any letters.
  • Now right here I have lettuce, coriander, and cucumber.
  • I am not going to turn them into a salad,
  • but will wrap and pickle them in soy paste;
  • Sally would never understand why I did this.

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

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


夏天的故事

  • 孤山云

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

WIND FARM

  • By Guang Zi

  • A whirling evening,
  • what dizzies the pasture is not the 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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-pFdJWWa3yWP3yeo_OQjmA

让牧场晕眩的不是风,是风力发电机

  • 广子

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

SHANGHAI VIGNETTE

  • by Guo Congyu

  • On the narrow and dated alley, at a breakfast shop,
  • I ordered a bowl of sweet soy milk, and a poached egg,
  • the very best, with a soft yolk. All is steaming
  • hot. Wet March, the last of the lingering
  • cold. The breakfast shop owner spoke little even though she looked to be
  • at the “chatterbox” age. She held a large stainless ladle, leaning
  • on the kitchen counter. We tried not to notice the rubber peeling off the electric wire
  • or the sign of mold at the corner. From inside the door frame, one could see
  • a sprawling shopping center. All the luxury goods I knew
  • could be found here, and those unknown to me were usually even more luxurious.
  • The flowing sound of Huangpu River was near,
  • and Lujiazui was in a remarkable cycle.
  • The city gave different impressions depending on whom I brushed shoulders with
  • on Nanjing Rd. Still early in the morning, but I already received
  • the cell phone ordered the day before. My typing speed
  • still lagged behind. Even the keyboard, with an age gap with me,
  • did not understand me, and Shanghai was moving a step closer to
  • delirium. No other guests at the breakfast shop. As the owner looked at
  • my empty bowl, I realized I could have settled my bill. Being proactive and showing initiative
  • might earn me the right to hang out here a little longer.

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

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


上海琐记

  • 郭丛与

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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,
  • I turned around halfway.
  • 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

SUOYANG aka. C SONGARICUM

  • by Hong Li

  • We drive into Alxa,
  • all eyes burning for Suoyang,
  • autumn’s red flames in the dunes,
  • rustling in the wind.
  • We shout stop, a few of us went picking for them,
  • against the sun.
  • Two among us never stopped.
  • Their shadows got smaller and smaller,
  • our eyes squinted closer and closer.
  • When the sun blended with the sand dunes,
  • all is quiet, radiating red.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/w9qa_zupxwkR5DJWBCn8Yw


锁 阳

  • 洪 立

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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




FROM YONGXING ISLAND TO QILIANYU

  • by Hu Xian

  • 1
  • After the fighter jets roared by,
  • the birds started to sing again.
  • Their cheerfulness was consumed by the tourists.
  • And the roaring sound is
  • now high above the clouds with the fighter jets.
  • 2
  • No, this isn’t just another place.
  • These small islands where you haven’t set foot,
  • the storm, the coconut, and the hermit crab
  • that just climbed up the beach,
  • this is our ancestral land.
  • 3
  • The wind ruffles the beach cabbage.
  • What did the wind say?
  • Stones and corals grow old,
  • why doesn’t the sea grow old?
  • Someone is dredging oysters from the reef.
  • The beautiful sunset cannot be used
  • to barter for the oysters in his hands.
  • The sea has collected so much blue from the sky,
  • but still need to make it
  • to the map with the right kind of blue.
  • 4
  • I can't say this chain of small islands
  • is like a necklace,
  • just like a motherland is not only a beauty.
  • I also want them to be fun-loving children,
  • playing through the day without a care.
  • I also hope they are vibrant,
  • seven young brothers, tough and strong.
  • 5
  • Maybe this is as good as love can be,
  • waves rolling up the reef, the unmoving
  • reef –quiet, steadfast, as if
  • all words are unnecessary.
  • Maybe this is the highest bliss,
  • a coconut falls in the water and bobs with the waves,
  • it holds a different kind of water inside.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/b4L7zNJAcraLFoMWjaEjvg


从永兴岛到七连屿

  • 胡 弦

  • 1
  • 歼击机的轰鸣过后,
  • 鸟儿们重新开始歌唱。
  • 那歌声中的愉悦被游客消费。
  • 而阵阵轰鸣,
  • 已被歼击机带往云天深处。
  • 2
  • 不,这不是另外的地方。
  • 你从没到过的小岛、
  • 一阵风暴、一颗椰子、一只从水中
  • 刚刚爬上沙滩的寄居蟹,
  • 正是你我的祖国。
  • 3
  • 风经过草海桐,
  • 风说了什么?
  • 石头和珊瑚都有年纪,
  • 海水为何没有?
  • 有人在礁盘上捞牡蛎,
  • 夕阳的美,不能用于交换他手中的牡蛎。
  • 大海,已从天空中收集了那么多蓝,
  • 但还要教会它
  • 在一张地图上如何蓝。
  • 4
  • 我不能把这些小岛仅仅
  • 比喻成项链,
  • 就像祖国不仅仅是一位美人。
  • 我还希望它们是顽皮的孩子,
  • 在时间中无忧无虑玩耍。
  • 我还希望它们是蓬勃青年,
  • 是有力、健壮的七兄弟。
  • 5
  • 也许这就是那最好的爱了,
  • 浪扑向礁石而礁石
  • 不动——它沉默、坚定,仿佛
  • 语言是多余的。
  • 也许这就是那最好的幸福了,
  • 椰子落入水中,随波荡漾,
  • 内心怀抱着不一样的水。

THINGS TO COME

  • by Huang Fang

  • The beginning is very moving.
  • Let us not talk about the now, just listen to
  • the wind and the waves.
  • There are moments
  • when life feels like an onion peeled, a bunch of
  • untimely flowers.
  • Forgive me my hurried steps
  • that hide my incontrollable instinct.
  • Thank you for being addicted to Xanax, insomnia, and
  • shrill folk songs.
  • There are moments
  • when philosophy is just a migraine,
  • no more self-evident
  • than a mule, or a stubborn old black cat.
  • Thank you for releasing the caged soul,
  • letting it run wild in the forest.
  • Forgive me for holding the laurels of death,
  • rushing
  • to catch up with the heavy snow,
  • to bury up all the aftermath.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/2VaMk-oa4-9KHypSsuy2YQ


将来的事

  • 黄芳

  • 开始是极其动人的
  • 不说身前事,只听
  • 风和海浪
  • 有那么一瞬间
  • 生活是一个剥开的洋葱,一束
  • 不合时宜的花
  • 原谅我步履急促
  • 隐藏失控的本能
  • 谢谢你爱上阿普唑仑、失眠以及
  • 尖锐的民谣
  • 有那么一瞬间
  • 哲学不过是场偏头痛
  • 并不比一头驴,或者一只偏执的老黑猫
  • 更接近本质
  • 谢谢你释放了笼中的灵魂
  • 任它在森林中奔跑
  • 原谅我手执死神的花枝
  • 步履急促
  • 去追赶那场大雪
  • 去隐掉全部身后事

RECALLING ZHUCHENG CITY, 1993

  • by Huang Hao

  • Zhucheng City 1993, how it looked like a gigantic smokestack
  • choking out clouds of black smoke.
  • The Dahualing Mountain is an insurmountable ridge,
  • still I was often run off by little ruffians and barely escaped.
  • “Flows the Spring River” was a popular tune in the spring that year,
  • a time when more and more waded into the world of petty ventures.
  • The streets were flowing over with fake goods, and Dragon City Market was unrivaled.
  • We ate clams and drank beer from the vendors’ stands that summer,
  • love became chaotic; we said goodbye to old love, and the new was wild.
  • It was 1993, my first dip into the tinting vat of the underworld.
  • As the autumn wind picked up, I was stained motley.
  • one day at dusk as snow came down,
  • I rode a mountain bike along the Fuqi River.
  • The reeds in the river were swaying, letting out their sobs;
  • were they mocking me, for my innocence never to be regained?

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/E7iD3SdX-03jGY4hyiMT_g


一九九三年,诸城之忆

  • 黄 浩

  • 一九九三年的诸城,怎么看也像个巨大烟囱
  • 咕噜咕噜到处冒黑烟
  • 大华岭是一道不可逾越的屏障
  • 我时常被一群小痞子撵得落荒而逃
  • 那年春天流行一首叫做《春水流》的歌曲
  • 此时下海捞鱼摸虾的人们日益增多
  • 街上充斥着假货,龙城市场无比繁荣
  • 夏天,我们在地摊上吃蛤蜊喝啤酒
  • 爱情变得混沌不清,旧人离开
  • 新人却也狂热
  • 一九九三年,我初入江湖的大染缸
  • 秋风一起,我便五颜六色
  • 一场雪下来的黄昏
  • 我骑着山地车走在扶淇河畔
  • 河里的芦苇晃晃悠悠,呜咽声起
  • 是不是在嘲笑我,从此再也回不来的天真

PLAUSIBILITY OF MOTHERLAND

  • by Huang Jinsong

  • I woke from my slumber, and thought of the plausibility of motherland.
  • Well, it could be a dreamland,
  • form the Great Wall to the Yellow River, all roaring and solemn.
  • I have traveled from China's northeast to the north, to the east and the southwest,
  • climbing over the hills in the northwest, bathing in the southeast's climate,
  • whether north or south, whether east or west,
  • I did find things praiseworthy, which rise to infinite height
  • in the starlight of dreams to become a pursuit and a warmth.
  • Therefore, I will open my windows
  • for a view of the street and the red walls, to watch people going home
  • carrying their bags, as innocent as children.
  • In the children's dictionaries, there must be a list of
  • nouns associated with motherland to memorize.
  • After lunch, they'll quietly recite a poem and feel touched.
  • If I leave this city, I will surely be accepted
  • in another city. My ordinary, commonplace little face
  • will be refreshed to look like a real master,
  • potentially deserving an introduction. Then, motherland
  • will expand, like my malleable journey
  • that passes through cities and villages,
  • that passes through checkpoints at bridges and consulted by tigers,
  • that passes through vast crowds and receives fruit from their hands,
  • and this windswept world will stand out in the heart of motherland.

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

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


祖国的可能性

  • 黄劲松

  • 我在睡眠中醒来,思考祖国的可能性
  • 那么,它可能是一个梦境
  • 从长城到黄河,都在咆啸或者肃静
  • 我从东北到华北,到华东和西南
  • 经过了西北的山冈,沐浴了东南的风气
  • 无论是北方还是南方,无论是东部还是西部
  • 我都有一种赞美,在梦的星光中
  • 成为无限的高度,成为追索和温暖
  • 那么,我将打开我的窗子
  • 看到街道和红色的墙壁,看到归家的人
  • 提着袋子,像一个孩子般的纯真
  • 在他们的字典里,一定存放着一串
  • 祖国的名词,让他们铭记
  • 在午餐之后,他们会默默吟诵并且感动自己
  • 如果我离开这座城市,那么一定会被
  • 另一座城市接纳,我的微小、卑陋和朴素的面貌
  • 将会重新焕然一新,像真正的主人
  • 被赋予了叙述的可能。那么,我的祖国
  • 会越来越宽阔,如同我金属般的远行
  • 通过了所有的城市和乡村,通过了
  • 桥的认证、老虎的叮嘱,通过了
  • 广阔的人群和他们手里的果子
  • 而这苍茫的人世必将崛起在祖国的心脏里

SONG FOR SWALLOWS

  • by Huang Lihai

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

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

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


燕子之歌

  • 黄礼孩

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

MUSEUM OF MUSIC BOXES

  • by Huang Yazhou

  • The figurine in the music box, now, is performed by a person.
  • Elbow joints and knee joints move like mechanical clockwork.
  • Her brain is taken over by the gears, what coincidence
  • that a woman’s path in history almost seems as disjointed.
  • In a way time is flowing backwards, as if
  • the simple pleasure of the Middle Ages has caught up with us.
  • We applaud, we cheer, and yell,
  • the way our brains work now is ticking loudly.
  • Happiness does not expand in the steam engine era or the electrical age.
  • There wasn’t a 4G or 5G button,
  • but a small music box seemed enough to hold
  • all the laughter in the world.
  • The music box is all but gone, of course, it makes sense,
  • after all, its sound is not all that rich.
  • On the other hand, in this era, so much
  • information is overly rich, and horrifying.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cWXZXvQgYZyE0ZipSb7UUw


八音盒美术馆

  • 黄亚洲

  • 八音盒里面的小人,现在,就由真人来表演
  • 肘关节与膝关节,走成钟表的机械
  • 大脑被齿轮接管
  • 这个女人与磕磕绊绊的历史,是这么的默契
  • 时光就这样开始倒流,就这样
  • 中世纪简单的欢乐,俘虏了我们所有的人
  • 鼓掌、欢呼、吆喝
  • 我们的大脑,现在,只会嘀嗒作响
  • 快乐并不随着蒸汽机时代与电气时代一起膨胀
  • 更没有4G与5G的按钮
  • 一只小小的八音盒,足以装满
  • 人间所有的欢笑
  • 八音盒现在淘汰了,当然,淘汰得有理
  • 毕竟,音色不怎么丰富
  • 但是反过来说,现在这个时代,许多
  • 信息量很丰富的东西,只叫人恐怖
  • 许多的嘀嗒作响
  • 是定时炸弹

FATHER’S FLOCK OF BIRDS

  • by Jia Xiang

  • Father took me home, light rain on the way.
  • The motorcycle suddenly died. Farm fields left and right
  • jested at us, as the distant mountains
  • disappeared into the mist.
  • All we could do was walk. Rain, timid rain,
  • you looked at her with squinted eyes, but she said: I don’t exist.
  • Father’s pink ears stood out from his white T-shirt,
  • exploring the sounds.
  • Knowing it’s safe, the rain summoned all her companions
  • hidden in the clouds. Now a flash mob
  • striking on Father: pouring rain. Easy to hide in the field,
  • I immediately opened the umbrella and said:
  • I am not here.
  • Only Father and the boreal temperate vegetation were left,
  • naked in the rain as the flock of translucent birds landed on his shoulders.
  • What a good rain. But the seasoned farmer whispered:
  • I fear it will scare away autumn that has just arrived.

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

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


父亲的鸟群

  • 贾 想

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • by 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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




SENSE OF PLACE

  • by Jiang Ting

  • How do you know you are at the right place,
  • and exactly what does that means?
  • Whoever complains about these times,
  • well then, that's a telling sign that he has come to
  • the entrance of the park, and saw on the square
  • those old people who dip in ink to write,
  • those calligraphy enthusiasts.
  • “Hazy blue mountains and faraway waters,”
  • are you saying there is no connection
  • between these Chinese characters and time?
  • Quick! Take a look, look at the
  • things that are fading right before your eyes.
  • You suddenly catch a trembling ray of light.
  • How amazing that these amiable elders
  • are tearing down the face of the earth.
  • Try to stand firm where you are,
  • as if not knowing your feet are hovering in midair.
  • A herd of dainty elephants trample across the water’s surface
  • as if they have faith in all things,
  • while looking into a bright clear mirror.
  • But since we don’t live in portraits,
  • these are only relics of the past,
  • like those fading pools of Chinese characters.
  • They are the body, we are the soul.
  • We can only wonder about ourselves in introspection.
  • I walk through the square, trying to identify
  • what remains in calligraphy before they disappear.
  • Reciting poems, the last gasp of time,
  • I must try to understand their context.

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

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


位置感

  • 江 汀

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

A PRAYER

  • by Jiang Xuefeng

  • Ah, snowy mountains,
  • don't let them
  • all come up.
  • Leave God a peak,
  • a rounded cushioned seat!
  • Poets,
  • learn from trees secreting tree sap,
  • to write poetry like that.
  • Ah, long nights,
  • please lessen our burdens,
  • let the rickshaw pullers sleep.
  • Ah, people,
  • your endless blessings,
  • your endless hardships,
  • bestow them all
  • to our children as food!
  • Ah, Futian Flat,
  • bring me back
  • to the hard times
  • with cooking fire, grandma, and the sugarcane field!
  • The fellow who planted oats
  • until his last breath
  • is gone with a white cloud,
  • but his horse, with him since a colt, is still waiting for him.
  • Ah, lover, Ah, enemy,
  • are you the same person?
  • Excuse me,
  • please do not block
  • my sunlight from the sky.
  • Oh God, please help me,
  • let me give myself to the day,
  • but also regain myself.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/zSIgqAspwKy0eflZRAL_OA


祈 祷

  • 蒋雪峰

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

FOUR PEACH BLOSSOMS

  • by Jiang Zhiwu

  • Four peach blossoms gather together, all on one bough,
  • crimson, as tender as tender can be.
  • A bee rolls, pressing its every bristle
  • on the pistils. Under the peach tree, my scarlet passion
  • holds my body tightly together.
  • Red is my soul.
  • Spring is for new buds, and in time red flames
  • will erupt on the green ivy wall.
  • A true poet does what these flowers do too —
  • dreamy in the spring, and uses all efforts to produce a burgeoning fruit.
  • I love profoundness and darkness, but also a beautiful exterior.
  • When four peach flowers bloom together,
  • it’s the metalic earth playing a symphony,
  • with four dreams, while the music passes through the elastic mantle
  • to reaches the palisade underneath.

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

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


四朵桃花

  • 蒋志武

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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。




WORDS AND THEIR OBJECTS

  • by Ju Mang

  • It will be here soon. Make some room in this crowded space.
  • Go through the punch cards
  • for the records of your coming and your going.
  • Next page. The bell tolls,
  • the mix of the city noises beat you on the head.
  • A fist waving fiercely at the universe
  • defending his heart.
  • Serenity, home of poetry. After all the noises subsided,
  • the life force returns,
  • rising to proclaim for oneself,
  • empowered to speak in oracles.
  • The pen lies, and waits, for words to recognize their minds,
  • to grow willfully dark to penetrate the paper.
  • All is quiet after the thunder, the phone dares not ring.
  • Inside the paper shredder, disjointed words and phrases regroup.
  • What heretic writings!
  • Ore absorbs sunlight for a golden glow,
  • a forest of trees speaks with light and shadows,
  • conifers are dripping sweet sap, insects captured in amber.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ClArzknWuOuYEceiGa4gjw

词与物

  • 句 芒

  • 它将来临。拥挤的房间腾开地方
  • 订书机蹄铁
  • 敲着记忆报到册。
  • 翻过一页。现在是钟,嘈杂的
  • 市声之钟敲着脑袋,
  • 心灵方寸的拳头挥舞宇宙
  • 与之对抗。
  • 宁静是诗的处所。喧嚣退潮后
  • 一切开始具有活力。
  • 飘浮起来宣读自身的文件
  • 像圣谕说道权力。
  • 笔躺着,躺着,文字获得独立
  • 黑色意志力透纸背。
  • 雷霆已歇,电话机温驯地睡卧。
  • 碎纸机里语词破絮沉淀。
  • 充满谬误的书写!
  • 蓄积阳光的金色矿苗奋力生长
  • 森林众树拿光影说事
  • 松柏淌甘甜的树脂。昆虫琥珀。

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

  • Simultaneouly 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





THE NIGHT WATCHES THE FLOCK FOR ME

  • by Kou Junjian

  • The night watches the flock for me.
  • He watches it anonymously, faithfully like a sheep dog,
  • quietly watches it from above the vast sky,
  • from deep in the mountains, under the rugged twilight.
  • Dark night keeps the flock, but memories are mine to guard.
  • My morin khuur breaks free from the wind’s tug, dashing off
  • towards the end of time.
  • Hills, in an endless range, stretch over stillness.
  • Day and Night watch over the streams and over us,
  • and over the life-sustaining snow.
  • To the night, darkness is the nature of the sky;
  • moonlight, butter lamps, inner lines are all illusionary,
  • the grassland’s offerings to the flock.
  • The flock, it is kept safe by the night,
  • done without my consent.
  • In a similar fashion, the morning dew becomes a river
  • to tell stories to the lonely and magnificent meadow.
  • Every oxbow lake stays quiet, each offers a path
  • to the dark night.
  • The night watches over the flock for me,
  • in return I don the sky its turquoise blue.
  • The numerous stars enable me to talk to the untouchable sky.
  • They enter my eyes,
  • allowing me a peek into the secrets of the universe.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/uAmbZw5GWce3Q5pmGSOmZA


黑夜替我看管羊群

  • 寇钧剑

  • 黑夜替我看管羊群
  • 隐姓埋名,忠实地像一只牧羊犬
  • 在茫茫天际,一声不吭
  • 沉入远山和崎岖不平的暮色
  • 黑夜看管羊群,记忆交我保管
  • 马头琴挣脱风的管束,一路狂奔
  • 冲向时光的尽头
  • 山冈,无穷无尽,绵延于静寂之上
  • 日夜看护着溪流以及我们
  • 赖以生存的白雪
  • 于黑夜而言,漆黑是天空的本质
  • 月光、酥油灯、内心的直线是假象
  • 是草原献给羊群的祭台
  • 羊群,由黑夜看管
  • 不必事事经过我的允许
  • 譬如朝露,以河流的身份
  • 讲述孤独和波澜壮阔的沼泽湿地
  • 牛轭湖集体沉默,成为
  • 通往黑夜的众多路径
  • 黑夜替我看管羊群
  • 我报之以瓦蓝,用满天繁星
  • 与可望不可及的苍穹对话
  • 它们装得下我的眼
  • 对秘密的窥视

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

  • Simultaneouly 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。

VISITING SOMEONE IN BIG SNOW

  • by Li Dong

  • Visiting someone in big snow, surely
  • you are dying for a white head.
  • The wind blows across the icy lake,
  • brittle and thin, just like this world.
  • Untaken cattails shake their heads constantly,
  • sometimes with a sigh.
  • If you pause midway
  • and hear the lake squeeze-freeze,
  • would you hesitate to move on?
  • Would you catch the almost perfect sun
  • setting on the other shore? If
  • the recluse doesn’t want to be disturbed,
  • snow would be covering her fence.
  • In case she is full of sorrows,
  • please bring dark-colored opals
  • to adorn the new snowman with bright eyes.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信)
  • by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pjwc8GtAn8koFXJCBkJ72w


大雪中去见一个人

  • 李栋

  • 大雪中去见一个人
  • 一定是有白头的向往
  • 风从湖面吹过
  • 尘世薄凉
  • 未收割的蒲草不断地摇头
  • 有时是一声叹息
  • 如果你中途停下来
  • 听一听湖水结冰的声音
  • 会不会因此踌躇不前
  • 会不会看到坠向彼岸的落日
  • 已渐趋圆满。如果
  • 幽居的人不希望被打扰
  • 她的窗前,雪会覆满栅栏
  • 如果她满怀忧伤
  • 请带上幽深的猫眼石
  • 为新堆的雪人装上眼睛

EVEN THE HEAVY SNOW IS ONLY A BLUFF

  • by Li Hao

  • Some things have no real way
  • to sustain themselves, such as snow
  • in the presence of a magnificent turning,
  • and faced with spring fevers, one dream after another,
  • while thoughts meander and words fail to make real,
  • like an empty-headed slippery mudfish
  • that has left no tracks at all.
  • The big snow does not happen; it’s only another bluff.
  • Not all snow lovers are shy
  • in their laughter, but can hide rapiers
  • beneath a whitewashed hilt,
  • but I am sentimentally irrational,
  • not believing in self-fulfilling prophesies,
  • neither in snow, as it actually serves to cover up the dirt.
  • In our world, not one snowflake is pure.
  • There is no need for a big show of force;
  • if a snowflake is picked out of a snow berm,
  • most likely it would have had a tearful past,
  • some sorrow hidden under its beauty.
  • Great roads may point towards heaven,
  • but gullies deliberately descend below.
  • Fresh flowers are no longer into fame and fortune,
  • unenvious of a fertile soiled ground.
  • There is no daylight between loud crowing and angry barks.
  • Things that appear bright are actually stained.
  • Believe your intuition.
  • The north wind that you endure each year
  • has a brutal past.
  • It whistles a merry tune,
  • which doesn’t necessarily speak its mind.
  • It complains not, holds no grudges,
  • and in time will be replaced by the east wind.
  • Someday the snowflakes will turn to muddy water.
  • No matter how loud it howls, wails,
  • and divides, the big heavy snow is, for you and me,
  • by far winter’s best pastime.

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/NDGFlg57EMrZXlko2yt7UA


再大的雪也不过是虚张声势

  • 李皓

  • 那些虚幻的事物,譬如雪
  • 在坦坦荡荡的春天面前
  • 终究无法坐实,一场接着一场的
  • 春梦,言不由衷或词不达意
  • 像虚头滑脑的鲇鱼,了无痕迹
  • 再大的雪也不过是虚张声势
  • 不是所有喜欢雪的人,笑声
  • 都那么卑微,被粉饰的刀柄
  • 呈现出太平的利刃,而我有妇人之仁
  • 自始至终不相信语成谶,不相信
  • 雪,其实是用来藏污纳垢的
  • 在尘世,没有一枚雪花是清白的
  • 没必要大张旗鼓,让雪花从积雪里抽身
  • 顶多有一把辛酸泪,有隐忍之美
  • 大路朝天,沟壑自觉放低了身段
  • 鲜花退出了名利与粪土的纷争
  • 恶语相向的鸡鸣和狗盗沆瀣一气
  • 那些貌似明亮的东西其实是一个污点
  • 相信直觉吧,你一再容忍的北风
  • 它撕破脸皮总有自己的道理
  • 它吹着欢快的口哨,并不代表它的心思
  • 没有怨怼和记恨,当他被东风取代
  • 当雪花零落成泥,无论你怎么哀嚎
  • 决裂,是你我这个冬天再好不过的游戏

THE STOA

  • by Li Luo

  • The sound of running water. Sunlight penetrating treetops. It's midday.
  • You are mired in a world of whiteness, surrounded by small animals coming and going.
  • I shall not wake you. Perhaps you prefer to float away with the water.
  • Baby roses look very pretty on the top of the wall.
  • I envy their ability to undo barriers, to help you up.
  • There is water between us, and only tenacious flowers can reach the other shore.
  • Listen. Birds are chirping again, shattering my burnt-up cigarette.
  • The lump in my throat seems a little lighter now,
  • as if wanting to turn into fireflies, to wake the ten thousand mountains around,
  • as if hoping to light up an image of you.
  • Days are stretching thinner, and all I want is to learn to weave a wreath,
  • to ask the portico for a view of you as you leave. But, all it does is casting a chilly glow on the floor.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/d2N1vWmOGwxOARp7LbNUuw


长 廊

  • 黎落

  • 我听见流水声。正午的阳光从树梢下来
  • 你陷在一片白里,小兽四周出没
  • 但不叫醒你。或者,你更愿意随流水漂远
  • 蔷薇花真好看,爬在墙头
  • 我羡慕它们能穿透篱墙,扶你起身
  • 隔开的这段水路,只有花朵的坚持才能抵达
  • 你听。鸟鸣又起了,震落一截烟灰
  • 我喉管里的石头轻了几分
  • 它想变成飞萤,唤醒十万座大山
  • 想,替我照亮你
  • 日子越过越薄,我该学习编织花环
  • 向长廊索求你的背影。但它,只投下一地清凉!

THE MONARCH BUTTERFLY

  • by Li Manqiang

  • In my younger years,
  • I raised a tiger, a feral wolf and lion.
  • I thought they were a bolt of lightning, a knife, and a path forward.
  • As I grow older and less agitable, I preferred to raise
  • a butterfly. It had a frail torso,
  • yet could traverse more than 3,000 kilometers of sky through storms.
  • On the long migratory journey, their
  • thin antenna, guided at each moment
  • by the sun.
  • At one point when despair descends, I look up:
  • monarch butterflies are crossing the Americas
  • like a messenger from God.

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

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


金脉黑斑蝶

  • 李满强

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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





OAK

  • by Li Shuxia

  • The most alluring thing about oak trees
  • is when they bloom in spring.
  • No one pays attention to their leaves,
  • green, thick, oily, surprising for those butterflies that slip,
  • not something to praise, though.
  • But in the autumn, when surrounded by peace,
  • it scuds into a more secret place,
  • shaped like a bullet.
  • So quiet is this bullet
  • that it doesn’t startle a single rabbit in the woods.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JUvWH8uIY4siC9BXWXAcUw


橡 树

  • 李树侠

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

FORMER RESIDENCE

  • by 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • by Li Yongcai

  • In deep autumn, up north,
  • wherever you go, to be alone,
  • there is a sense of returning home.
  • No matter which way the wind blows,
  • the water does not glitter as much as before.
  • Then the wind stops howling, and the fallen leaves fall silent,
  • piles of them, held in autumn's embrace.
  • They look like discarded banknotes
  • to witness the innocence of our world.

  • Hiding is one way to go.
  • But, if you hang out with those people on the road,
  • be ready to live by your wits and the biting cold.
  • In desolation, you will be the only one
  • to know it takes creativity
  • to return to simplicity and monotony.
  • Like a Phoenix hiding in the sky,
  • despite the alluring calls of the world,
  • there is no trace of it on Phoenix Mountain.

  • Mountains and rivers, the setting sun
  • over the persimmon trees, and persimmons
  • weave a traditional narrative.
  • The fine afternoon is receding, replaced by an empty
  • silent space. What draws me closer to it,
  • to merge with the fade-away ambiance,
  • is not the soft sadness of a persimmon,
  • but the bass guitar on the wall, leaning back.
  • Its posture resembles a pear almost,
  • strumming autumn.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6xdJCeV9vArVNSCeEVHWyw


北方叙事

  • 李永才

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

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

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




OVER THE NORTHERN REEF OF PARACEL ISLANDS

  • by Li Yuansheng

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

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

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

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


过三沙北礁

  • 李元胜

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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



CROSSING THE CITY AT NIGHT

  • by Li Yunlu

  • Light is misused, and many other things
  • were also dragged down from the altar.
  • Countless shadows on the ground,
  • making this crowded world
  • even more obscure.
  • They have variable shades,
  • these flashing neon lights
  • can't, they can’t accurately show you the core.
  • They are the city drifters at night,
  • a dime a dozen.
  • If some wishes to be different, or to be linked
  • with something else, the light can rotate fast, too,
  • and clear out old connections.
  • It's gone, fast like ice.
  • Light and ice, both piercing and cold.
  • I cross the city alone, in one slim shadow I trust,
  • and evade all other suitors at my feet.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信)
  • by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Wrx_--f5ODvyPRLb8sUeeA


夜晚穿过城市

  • 李昀璐

  • 光被滥用,还有很多东西
  • 被我们拉下了神坛
  • 地面生出很多影子
  • 本就拥挤不堪的人间
  • 更加难以捉摸
  • 它们拥有不同的颜色
  • 变幻的霓虹灯
  • 并不能,准确描述灵魂
  • 它们是城市夜游的流浪者
  • 庞大的数量,让它们变得廉价
  • 如果渴望不同,或者渴望与其他的
  • 事物连接在一起,光也会很快地转动
  • 分开所有牵连
  • 消亡的速度太快了,像冰一样
  • 光也像冰一样,透彻、寒冷
  • 我孤身穿过城市,始终依靠着狭窄的阴影
  • 避开了脚下所有的追求者

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

  • Simultaneouly 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



AN ISLAND ALONE

  • by Li Zirui

  • There was once an inferno on this island
  • that was able to burn down everything, and
  • with its rolling flares
  • licked the waves blood-red.
  • The stele in the middle of the island is weathered,
  • the text that bears witness to time now unrecognizable.
  • The sea winds blows ceaselessly, the coconuts
  • on the tallest tree clunk softly together like silent bells.
  • Lynxes often appear and gaze at the azure distance
  • over the surging waves of the deep blue sea.
  • As for me, I stand above the wind, looking towards another island,
  • —in your direction, I look, and look...
  • Maybe tomorrow morning,
  • a mast will point towards the sun.
  • The wind will open her white sail,
  • and I will wade the distance alone
  • even if only for you.

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

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


孤 岛

  • 李子锐

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

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

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


  • 梁积林

  • 阿拉善盟,蒙古高原的上空
  • 一只鹰的翅膀上究竟能驮动多大的寂静
  • 它盘旋,它俯冲,它踅乎
  • 突然就唳了一声

  • 一个人的思念也不过如此
  • 一个人的伤心也不过如此
  • 一个人的遁世也不过如此一匹走出沙漠的双峰驼

  • 昂首,孤傲,挟带着我身体里的冷峻
  • 看鹰
  • 看一粒太阳的舍利

  • 巴特尔,或者就是那个叫布仁孟和的牧人
  • 我喜欢什么来着——

  • 从左旗到右旗
  • 五百多公里的距离
  • 就是那个有六十八度酒一样烈的人名字
  • 琪琪格,红
  • 红琪琪格

  • 鹰像太阳,太阳
  • 像鹰。



TIME DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CHENGDU AND PARIS

  • by Liang Ping

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/a6JdcU80kpfNt40hSF1T3Q


成都与巴黎的时差

  • 梁 平

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

AWE

  • by Lin Mang

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

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

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


敬 畏

  • 林 莽

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

MATTERS OF REGRET

  • by Ling Lan

  • Too bad, Ah, Sei Shōnagon
  • wrote about four seasons’ delights1,
  • but she certainly didn't see
  • the midnight summer rain, or the twilight
  • that raises the face of every tear-filled rose;
  • on a low wall, the cuckoos’ impatient calling.

  • She also didn't see that person, in dim light,
  • wrote out a name repeatedly on a notepaper,
  • like a moth drawn to a flame.

  • When I hear the cuckoos call
  • and know the barn is empty,
  • only a few pellets of popped wheat left in my hand.
  • This season burns like fire.
  • An even-tempered bookish man engrossed a dictionary.
  • In the open field musk thistle and red thatch grass are blooming,
  • seed staking shape.

  • Note:
  • 1. The Pillow Book2 gave examples of season's delight: Spring daybreaks; Moonlit summer nights, or dark nights with dancing fireflies; Fall, sunset clouds towards the evening and red maples; Winter days, early dusk.
  • 2. An essay collection written and completed in 1002 CE by Japanese poet and essayist Sei Shōnagon.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • by Liu Jian

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

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

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


工厂片段

  • 刘 建

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




BEDTIME READING

  • by Liu Liyun

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

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

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


睡眠前的阅读

  • 刘立云

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

APRIL (excerpt from THE YEAR’S SCORE)

  • by Liu Quan

  • March has hardly passed,
  • April is done building a cemetery for spring.
  • Grass, once green for our loved ones, has dried up for the same.
  • Pulling grass is the newcomers’ task.
  • I can't wait to go home, my parents were first to arrive,
  • offering wine to our ancestors
  • with candles burning and paper money arising in the wind song.
  • A few clouds, lighting up the roads to the Yin and the Yang worlds, but in fact
  • Yinyang is but a small piece of yellow paper,
  • when burned, puffs into blue smoke;
  • not burned, it’s the makeup of this mortal world.
  • I remember last year’s grave-sweeping day,
  • Father said to me— many years had passed
  • and all that he dreamt of
  • were childhood memories.
  • Later, I saw it,
  • a patch of grass, green, and growing tall
  • on my grandparents’ grave;
  • as I pulled them out, I saw
  • fresh water on their roots, glistening,
  • same as the years
  • — never been old.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jAwSUIdyRBvg5_fkSEA35Q


四 月 (选自《光阴谱》)

  • 流 泉

  • 三月刚过
  • 四月就为春天修好墓园
  • 青草,为故人绿,也为故人枯
  • 拔草是后来者的事
  • 等不及返回故园,父母已动身
  • 为先人斟酒
  • 备好的纸烛,风声涌荡
  • 三两云朵,照见阴阳路,其实啊
  • 阴阳不过一张小黄纸
  • 烧起来,是青烟
  • 不烧起来,就是人间之生活
  • 记得去年清明日
  • 父亲对我说——多少年过去了
  • 他梦见的,全是
  • 儿时事
  • 后来,我看见了
  • 有一把青草,绿绿的,长在爷爷奶奶的
  • 坟头上
  • 拔下的时候
  • 它们的根茎,有一汪水,清亮亮的
  • 仿佛岁月
  • ——从不曾老过

GROWING INSPIRATIONS

  • by Liu Yanghe

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

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

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


种烟士批里纯*

  • 刘阳鹤

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

STONE DRUM'S REPLY TO A LETTER

  • by Lonely Changsha

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

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

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


石鼓回信

  • 独孤长沙

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

DROMEDARY

  • by Long Lingqiong

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

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

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


单峰驼

  • 隆玲琼

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

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

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





GOODBYE, CHIMNEY

  • by Long Xiaolong

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

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

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


再见了,烟囱

  • 龙小龙

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

IN THE FLOATING WORLD

  • by Lu Shan

  • It's great to be in the sun again, basking on the balcony in winter.
  • I'm drying my wife's sweater. The night's wind sways her shadow,
  • I feel like I have tasted the sweet life once again.
  • I just graduated from a sanatorium
  • with a PhD on the ways of the floating world.

  • First winter tidings, the snow is not far away. Maladies led
  • to a traffic accident with sleet everywhere.
  • The breeze kicks up dust at day’s end,
  • the evening trees close in on themselves.
  • A pot of baby daisies sit next to my medical chart,
  • like an alluring traditional doctor in her prime.

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

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


在尘世

  • 卢 山

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

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




THE END OF THE ROAD

  • by Lu Ye

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

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

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


尽 头

  • 路也

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

ALL THE GRAINS GATHER

  • by Lu You

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

  • On this day all the grains gather
  • in a pot. Mother lines them up together
  • like us seven little siblings in your younger days
  • on a little heated brick bed, seven china dolls from one kiln,
  • faces chapped, mama bathed us one by one until clean,
  • just like she washes the grains. This is the day
  • they reunite across four cold and warm seasons,
  • in one boiling pot minus the black beans.

  • No black beans this harvest, we planted other crops for younger brother;
  • he can’t come home, like last year.

  • Notes
  • *The Laba Festival is celebrated on the 8th day of the 12th lunar month, when rice gruel or congee is eaten. The Festival is also called The End of the Year Offering of Meat Festival, a name which has its origins in hunting game that was cooked as sacrificial meat and then served at a family or communal gathering.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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




HOMETOWN BEARER

  • by Luo Zhenya

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

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

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


故乡的搬运工

  • 罗振亚

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

IF

  • by Ma Zeping

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

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

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


假 如

  • 马泽平

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

FATHER

  • by Maling Gudao (Horse Mountain Ancient Road)

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

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

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


父 亲

  • 马岭古道

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

EACH HAS HIS OWN MUSEUM

  • by 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

DESOLATION

  • by Maolin Qingcha

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

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

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


荒 凉

  • 茅林清茶

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

IN REVERSE

  • by Meng Xingshi

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

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


八月史

  • 黑骆驼

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

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



DAISY IN THE SPRING

  • by Mowo Er

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

  • Note: ^Anzhenmen Tube Station

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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




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

  • by Pan Xichen

  • After brewing for several seasons,
  • the snow finally fell,
  • covering up Mother
  • and all of
  • the magnificent north.
  • Now, even though in an entirely seperate
  • kingdom, sunny and enchanting,
  • with a temperature difference of 50 degrees,
  • I too can feel
  • the vicious
  • chilly cold.
  • Only those lazybones
  • will say “winter has arrived,
  • and spring can’t be far behind!”
  • Can anyone imagine that winter left on its own?
  • Who can tell me
  • there was ever a spring
  • that didn't go through a survival fight,
  • there was ever a spring
  • that was not a revival from near-death!

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

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


有哪一个春天不是绝处逢生

  • 潘洗尘

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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。

TUMBLEWEED

  • by Qi Zi

  • Tumbleweeds tumble in the valley across the fields and by the water.
  • I hoped to borrow classic verses
  • to elaborate our narratives about them,
  • for example, “wild, humble brambles, to be harvested…”.
  • But I have, truth be told, cut off the dead tuffs of grass,
  • bundled it to take back to the village for firewood.
  • I also once pried open its thickets to look for a graceful little bird
  • — some kind of thrush, nesting deep in wild grasses.
  • Out on the plains, you can hear it calling,
  • indeed a happy chance encounter.
  • Dried and disheveled weeds lashed by autumn winds,
  • looking dismal, much like many of life’s true stories,
  • little can be embellished.
  • Adrift in the valley across the fields and by the water,
  • trembling, forlorn, the embodiment of loneliness.
  • Here comes the tumbleweed rolling, tumbling
  • from the ancient mountains and rivers.

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

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


枯蓬记

  • 圻 子

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

MOONLIGHT

  • by Qian Lina

  • Think of me as a leaf,
  • a road in a previous world
  • now rolling out in your heart.
  • Move your lips closer to the leaf
  • and blow out a tune.
  • Each time the leaf trembles,
  • a note is born, entrapping
  • itself and begins to
  • grow a house, tables, chairs and beds,
  • which you call home.
  • It also forms fleeing clouds,
  • and squeezes out a rain storm.
  • Before thunders and lightnings tear it all apart,
  • we bathe in the moonlight as in a lodge,
  • like paradise, no sooner was it regained
  • than shattered again.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/s8Bld5vwB6agE96F1z-VxQ


月 光

  • 钱利娜

  • 把我当成一片叶子
  • 像前世的一条道路
  • 在你心中卷起
  • 把你的嘴唇放在上面
  • 吹出一个曲子
  • 叶片的每一次颤抖
  • 就长出一个音符,音符
  • 是她自身的囚徒
  • 长出房屋、桌椅和床榻
  • 你称之为家园
  • 也长出退缩的云
  • 拧出暴风雨
  • 在雷电撕裂伤口之前,沐浴我们的月光
  • 是一间临时出租屋
  • 仿佛重拾的天堂
  • 还没来得及破碎

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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。

CONTEMPLATION: AT THE STONEHENGE

  • by San Pi

  • I can’t understand their tongue.
  • There’s something that easily segregates us.
  • On the way here, I didn’t understand
  • the driver's animated introduction.
  • At the site of the Stonehenge, I am lost to
  • the deep whispers that echo among the stones.
  • I can only feel the world with my eyes.
  • Although here the sun moves the same way as in China
  • and the wind blows the same way as back home,
  • when the rain falls on Salisbury’s
  • soil and stones, it makes a rhythm
  • unknown to me, as if an old ritual in a foreign land.
  • An English maiden looks back and smiles, as I look at
  • the stones and adore.
  • The open fields effuse a green radiance.

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

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


沉思:在巨石阵

  • 散皮

  • 我无法听懂他们的语言
  • 有一种物体,把我们简单的隔离
  • 来途上,我听不懂
  • 司机抑扬顿挫的解说
  • 石阵前,我听不懂
  • 石头里回荡的深沉的低语
  • 我只能用眼睛抚摸世界
  • 虽然阳光的移动,和中国的一样
  • 虽然平原的风,和家乡的一样
  • 但雨落在索尔兹伯里的
  • 土地,石头,敲打着雨
  • 那是异域的密码,久远的仪式
  • 英格兰少女回头微笑,我的仰望
  • 驻留在石头上
  • 广袤的田野泛起绿色的光辉

HAND IN HAND

  • by Sang Mei

  • Now I sit down.
  • We sit down.
  • Amid old wooden tables, old bamboo chairs and strangers,
  • the gray turtledove looks more at ease than the masters and the pilgrims.
  • In the hot sun, a lotus holds up an umbrella outside the temple.
  • Unoccupied tables and chairs pile up like a pyramid in the corner.
  • The lids for our two bowls of tea also overlap.
  • What about the cool token in your bosom? Will you let it boil like water?
  • All doors in the attic are closed.
  • Robes hanging to dry faintly outline their masters’ shapes.
  • They are people sent to this world from another world,
  • flesh occupied by light breeze and white clouds.
  • I remember it, I was once preoccupied with clouds and breeze, too,
  • but when we poured out the last drops of tea and bowed to say goodbye,
  • he quietly picked up my hand,
  • as if I was a cliff cypress,
  • as if we would never be separated.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/GrlgqFJs-3NG09q_YtrSIQ


执 手

  • 桑 眉

  • 现在我坐下来
  • 我们坐下来
  • 夹杂在旧木桌、旧竹椅和陌生人之间
  • 那只灰斑鸠比师父和香客还自在
  • 烈日炎炎,碧荷在殿外举着伞柄
  • 无人落座的桌椅在廊角叠罗汉
  • 我们那两个盖碗茶盖也交叠在一起
  • 怀中清凉信物呢?可否交付沸水
  • 阁楼上所有房门都紧闭
  • 晾晒的僧袍隐约勾勒主人形态
  • 他们是另一个世界派到这个世界的人
  • 肉身装着轻风和白云
  • 记起来,不久前也曾生出浮云意
  • 可当我们泼茶揖别,他却悄然拾起我的手
  • 仿佛我是一粒崖柏
  • 仿佛我们永远不会失散

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

ADAPTATION

  • by Shang Shui

  • Suddenly it is sunset
  • even though the sun seems not to have appeared in the sky,
  • that kind of peacefulness
  • is not for me to understand, but for me to adapt—
  • to go with the sun, to disappear head to toe.
  • I wonder if I was ever illuminated.
  • Next time when the sun shines again, I will look carefully
  • to see if my dark parts are still there.
  • Right now, I can feel my body tremble.
  • How amazing: the mood that is both dark and bright.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/YRHxkLIBTJ4aKZi0-voaMA


适 应

  • 伤 水

  • 蓦然间就日落了
  • 好像太阳从没有在天幕出现过
  • 那种平静
  • 不是教我明白,而是让我适应——
  • 附和自头到脚的消失
  • 我怀疑我曾经被照亮过
  • 再有阳光时,我将仔细查看
  • 晦暗的部位是否依然
  • 此时,身体颤了一下
  • 多么奇异:又暗又亮的心境

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

  • Simultaneouly 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





Baby Ivy

  • by Shi Bin

  • Ivy has a new foot on the fence.
  • Prior to that, a gentle probe up the soil,
  • pestered by insects, it tirelessly
  • grew tiny leaves to build a ladder.
  • “I’ve got to live where the sun shines."
  • It never hides its intention, and
  • won’t allow hesitation for it knows
  • the laws in the plant kingdom don't house mercy.
  • Guided by its free will, the ivy climbs ever higher.
  • Its supple tentacles understand the
  • obstinate crushing power of the barriers.
  • A new home for the young ivy over the fence,
  • its hidden claws
  • cast a greenish net,
  • and soon will reach every corner of the world.

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

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


小青藤

  • 世 宾

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

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

理想的秋天

  • 十五岚

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

FRESH GREEN

  • by Shizhi Mengren

  • Every year I go, to my father’s grave, to see the same grass grow taller,
  • and a few new small mounds nearby tucked into the mountainside.
  • A few raindrops seep into the headstone, nothing remarkable,
  • but we like to call them tears because of our sadness.
  • Paper ash flies in the wind,
  • carrying with it sobbing and weeping,
  • only a few floating clouds remain in the sky.
  • Under these clouds, with swollen eyes, we turn our face towards the village,
  • where one person is no longer there, where white pear flowers are blooming.
  • Pear blossoms, really, so white, so fine, but I won’t be tempted by you
  • to mourn the restless souls —-
  • The season now is fresh and green, a mirror washed clean by the rain,
  • in which we turn into wild mountains and cool shades for ourselves.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/OzZshIO49IRxKqruvkDL-w


清 明

  • 诗之梦人

  • 年年去父亲坟头看一样的青草长高,
  • 又看到周围鼓起几个掖在山腰的小包包。
  • 几滴雨落入石碑的痕迹,说明不了什么,
  • 只是我们非要拿它唤作一种悲伤。
  • 烧过的纸灰任风吹起,还有泣声也随风吹远,
  • 惟独头顶的天空,照旧飘荡几朵浮云,
  • 浮云下,我们哭肿的脸总面朝来时的村庄
  • 少了一个人身影的村口,梨花正白。
  • 纯白的梨花哟,真的,我不想借你的名义
  • 再去凭吊游离的亡魂——
  • 清明,算是一次被雨水洗净后的镜子
  • 我们都成了镜子里装饰自己的野山和树荫。

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

WEST LAKE BRIDGE

  • by Sun Huifeng

  • No one came here today, the underwater steps
  • and my letter amourette lady snake* have both ignored me.
  • Today’s sunrise and sunset came and went,
  • night is longer than day.
  • So many people take the evening to the market,
  • but I am here, leaning, more than the broken bridge railing.
  • A day here is like three days of butterfly hovering**;
  • butterflies hover endlessly,
  • like the thoughts raging in my head, lapping over the steps.
  • It didn’t rain, sentiments mixed in vain.
  • Up turns the umbrella, spring flowers in succession.
  • Thin out thoughts, decant realgar wine*,
  • quit crabs and poached poetry,
  • ditch the wind that I cannot stand.
  • A day like this, people are listening to the stories
  • about West Lake, pricking up their ears.
  • I am alone by the river,
  • Lady White Snake whispers from ancient times.
  • Notes:

  • West Lake in Hangzhou has three bridges and four legendary love stories, among them:
  • * The Legend of Lady White Snake: immortal Bai Suzhen and mortal Xu Xian fell in love under his umbrella on a broken bridge at West Lake. During the dragon boat festival, she drank the traditional realgar wine, which revealed that she was a large white snake, and her husband left home. Lady snake went under the lake to challenge her fate, and caused a tempest.
  • ** The legend of Butterfly Lovers: a tragic love story of a pair of lovers, Liang Shanbo, a poor scholar, and Zhu Yingtai, the daughter of a prosperous family at West Lake.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/SD4owx13sfw0IMaE6is02A


西湖桥边

  • 孙慧峰

  • 这一日无人前来,水中的台阶
  • 和书信中的白素贞都回避了我。
  • 这一日朝飞暮卷,日光比灯光更短。
  • 那么多人带着夜晚去了集市,我比桥栏倾斜。
  • 这一日相当于蝴蝶盘旋的三日,蝴蝶盘旋
  • 那么多想法瞬间漫过台阶。
  • 雨没有下起,一场百感交集只是虚设。
  • 伞面朝上,春天里的花草大多步伐一致
  • 甩掉一些杂念和雄黄酒
  • 甩掉螃蟹和抄袭来的腹诽。
  • 甩掉几乎站不住的风
  • 这一日,听西湖故事的人伸长双耳
  • 我在河边孤独,白蛇在古代低语。

SPEAKING OF COCONUT TREES

  • by 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

  • Simultaneouly 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。




THE REBUILT HANDS AND FEET

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • Forty years past, watch, the world must cope with it again.
  • The eagle returns to nest on the cliff, taking 150 days
  • to remodel a body, first by hacking on the rock
  • and chipping off the overly bent, useless old beak,
  • then pecking off the aging toenails with its pristine new beak.
  • With brand new claws, it pulls off each ruffled feather on the wings.
  • “Unthinkable that one should manhandle oneself this way.”
  • The cliff that says this was upside down, its inside rearranged…
  • Well, everything is brand new, so new
  • that the same neck that once discovered the world is now shorter.
  • Nothing is that new or remarkable, but is a reminder
  • that this once ancient body is now a paradise regained.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pzhyv-St9z0q5w--nVIVbw


再造的手脚

  • 汤养宗

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

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 their every word,
  • like a pillow mate or a dinner buddy who knows your innermost tales.
  • There are also fish at 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 things. Life and Death
  • is overseen by God on high. No one
  • gets lost here; getting lost is the same as crawling onshore.
  • God looks at Dongwu Sound and He 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 or 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

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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





Summer In Two Cities

  • by Tian Yuan

  • In the past, summer signaled its arrival
  • through the Banyan trees’ silky aerial roots.
  • Monsoon came onshore the Indian Ocean,
  • and we only need to perk up our ears to hear a symphony.
  • I steped outside and immersed myself in the aroma of Banyans,
  • and learned a lesson aboout herbal brew from this medicinal plant;
  • both my rain boots and the red cotton flowers were great soup bowls.
  • In the tropical forest by the library
  • occasionally a twig would fall on my umbrella,
  • the sound struck me the same way a little monk was awaken by
  • his master knocking on his head, with the words:
  • just a quick shut-eye, ah, summer is here.
  • Is it already summer?
  • China Rose puts on bright new colors,
  • irises and plantain lilies are a head above all others.
  • The office air-conditioner reads 18 C,
  • the same number as when I was in Guangdong eight years ago.
  • With a hint of heat, we would dial it to the coldest;
  • and when it got really hot, the reading calmly settled at 26,
  • same as in Beijing, where I am now.
  • The southerly travels up through Baoding, Xingtai, and Shijiazhuang,
  • sending dense catkins with a mix of dust in the air.
  • It’s like watching an old TV. The fresh strawberries
  • are the only cure for sore eyes.
  • Beijing’s metabolism has accelerated,
  • earthy atmosphere, fervent commentaries, and clinging catkins
  • all have only a few days to live.
  • Summer is untenable, he
  • works up a sweat hopping up north from the south,
  • carrying me from a water city to a city built with mud.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/s5cbIkrL9i892w0WpBLG0Q

双城之夏

  • 天元

  • 以前提醒我夏天到了的
  • 是榕须
  • 南风吹来印度洋
  • 我们打开耳朵就是音乐节
  • 走出家门就学会了煲汤
  • 榕树散发出高级药材的香气
  • 雨鞋和木棉都用来盛汤
  • 图书馆旁的密林里
  • 偶有碎枝落下打在伞上
  • 就会让我忽然看到一个被师父敲头
  • 将将惊醒的小和尚,他说:
  • 才眯了这一小会儿,就到夏天了啊
  • 就到夏天了吗?
  • 月季堆叠出新的鲜艳
  • 鸢尾、玉簪出落得知性不凡
  • 办公室的空调面板开始有了数字,18
  • 这也是八年前我在广东的数字
  • 初热的时候,调到最冷的一档
  • 等到至热之时,面板亮起权衡而冷静的26
  • 我在北京,我现在的数字
  • 南风刮来保定邢台石家庄
  • 天空里柳絮密织着灰尘
  • 让人像在看旧电视——新上市的草莓
  • 是视觉唯一的疗救
  • 北京的代谢变得更快了一些
  • 土味的天气、热烈的文章以及缠人的柳絮
  • 去留也不过是几天的事情
  • 夏天是立不住的,他
  • 从南到北汗流浃背地跳来跳去
  • 将我从水做的城市带到了泥做的城市

THREE ENCOUNTERS WITH FATHER

  • by Tong Yusheng

  • My first encounter with my father
  • was before I formed the concept of father.
  • From my mother's chest of keepsakes
  • I took a dozen or so star-shaped medals
  • and pinned every single one to my chest.
  • Mother dragged me home from the street and spanked me,
  • removing all the stars, one star, then another star,
  • and fastened them all on a sheet of flannel,
  • and locked the chest.
  • The second time,
  • I finally knew which one was my father in a monochrome photograph.
  • I looked at it
  • while Mother told stories about him.
  • Later on, whatever kid on the street should ask: "Who was your dad?",
  • I would take him home to see that photograph.
  • It was only when I turned nineteen,
  • Mother pulled out from the bottom of her buckled-up box a vest with a badge, and said:
  • "Now you've grown up,
  • put this on."
  • The third encounter with Father
  • was when grandfather passed away.
  • My sister and I went to an earthen ditch
  • to try to dig up our father's bones.
  • My sister lifted up a skull from the pit and said:
  • "this is your old man's head",
  • next, the arms and the legs were unearthed
  • with fingers and toes missing.
  • While he was re-buried, our folks couldn't find him a head cushion,
  • and took a chunk of clay;
  • Dongyu, our dear brother, rest in peace, on this pillow of mud.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3yQPXS5gGg3HynH7jbp_ng


我与父亲的三次接触

  • 桐雨生

  • 第一次
  • 我还不知道父亲是什么
  • 我从母亲的扣箱里
  • 翻出十几枚五角星奖章
  • 全部别在胸前
  • 母亲从大街上将我抓回臭揍
  • 一颗星一颗星摘下
  • 整整齐齐别在一块绒布上
  • 为扣箱加锁
  • 第二次
  • 我终于从黑白照片里找到父亲
  • 我看着照片
  • 听母亲讲父亲生前的故事
  • 此后街上每有孩子问我谁是你爹时
  • 我就拉着他去看照片
  • 直到十九岁
  • 母亲从扣箱底翻出一件奖字背心说
  • 你长大成人了
  • 把这件背心穿上吧
  • 第三次
  • 爷爷过世了
  • 我和姐姐在一条土沟的水渠边
  • 挖出父亲的骨尘
  • 姐姐从土坑里举着骷髅头说
  • 这是咱老子的脑袋
  • 然后又从土里翻出胳膊腿
  • 手指和脚趾找不全了
  • 再入殓时乡亲找不到枕头
  • 抱了一块土圪垃说
  • 冬玉哥枕一圪塔土圪垃吧!

MAGNETIC FIELD

  • by Wang Changting

  • Let me settle here like an outcast, and sharpen knives,
  • using moonlight for water. Heroes come and go,
  • they fall, one after another, as youth disappoints.
  • Charred red soil, broken shards of pottery,
  • offering scorching hot sorrow.
  • Sediment gathers under the water,
  • the winds round up the clouds and the stars.
  • Give me a fire or an ice mountain
  • to make a north pole and a south pole, aligning all hearts
  • and traces of tears to journey homeward.
  • A magnet unveils the warmth of the earth,
  • like a mother's hands peeling open a sweet red potato,
  • peeling open the loneliness of this mortal world.
  • They bend down to make fire, roast eternity, melt the years,
  • bones snap with a radiant smile.
  • Water and mud ensnared in the scorching fire, that’s our world.
  • All that is left are the inscription on the porcelain.
  • It's a secret, a belief, the soul's magnetic field,
  • attracting the mortal world that glows for an instant
  • and the soaring hearts that skirt around it.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dS1ZLLssa2uBrz0QdZMhzQ


磁 场

  • 王常婷

  • 让我在此处落草吧,蘸上月光
  • 把刀磨快,过往的英雄
  • 纷纷倒下,青春变凉
  • 烧过的红土壤,碎了一地的陶片
  • 祭出滚烫的忧伤
  • 泥沙在水面下聚拢
  • 风卷住了所有的流云还有繁星
  • 再给我一把火,或者给我一座冰山
  • 造一个北极和南极,让所有的心
  • 所有的泪痕,都朝着家的方向
  • 一片磁揭秘了泥土的温暖
  • 像母亲的手剥开烤焦的红薯
  • 还有尘世的孤独
  • 他们弯腰取火,烧烤永恒,熔化岁月
  • 灿然一笑,裂出骨头的纹理
  • 水与泥在烈火中纠缠着,是尘世
  • 只剩下,这些瓷器写下的文字
  • 是秘密,更是信仰,是心灵的磁场
  • 吸引住了转眼即离开的俗世
  • 还有缠绕其上飞翔的心

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

  • Simultaneouly 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



FLOWERING STONE

  • by Wang Feng

  • Like a rock sleeping at the foothills,
  • letting paltry water drip into the fissures,
  • the shade of emerald green is thus kept anew.
  • It smiles in the breeze
  • and watches his love from the past life walking up today’s steps.
  • The golden rays of light
  • pour on her face.
  • There is room to forget, even when in love.
  • When you wake, the dream has ended.
  • Eternity is only found in the moment.
  • Life's fires
  • burn a gorgeous flame at both ends
  • —-sunrise, sunset
  • hand in hand, walk into the flowering stone.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/yrzy0yic7BZm2JVur4bdiQ


开花的石头

  • 王 峰

  • 就像睡在山脚下的岩礁
  • 让缝隙里贫苦的水滴
  • 养活着自己的深绿
  • 在吹拂中微笑
  • 看前世的情人踏过今世的台阶
  • 把金色的光芒
  • 都收拢在她的脸上
  • 相忘,在相爱时就已做了留白
  • 醒来就结束的梦
  • 永恒总在须臾之间
  • 岁月的炉火啊
  • 把两端烘托得那么美好
  • ——日出,日落
  • 手牵着手,走进开花的石头

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

AT THE KEBAB STAND

  • by Wang Jiangping

  • Before you came, the weather had changed,
  • but no matter, we walked down the alley, into
  • a germ storm cooked up by the heat wave.
  • Come to think of it— we hadn't met for years, some choice dishes
  • would pile up between you and me. We would eat them loudly,
  • an unspoken way of showing past regrets and joy.
  • Sharing a meal, the thing best friends do. I also noticed
  • you're getting teary-eyed — I probably did, too.
  • We used to ping-pong things, until thin clouds turned thick clouds
  • and became a rainstorm, shrouding us.
  • The rain rattled everything, and a snort came from a disgruntled, middle-aged person:
  • "How terrible!" Can't believe it, an entire afternoon
  • ruined, like shredded paper strewn in the wind. The streets were left with chipped
  • plates and broken glasses, subtropical plants conquered the chair where you once sat.
  • That's all I roughly remember, that and the loud drone of the cicadas, as if out of control,
  • crying sky high: Zhiwu, soul mate, my mate....

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/SyleKMVh65zXYnjdwCI_GA


烧烤摊

  • 王江平

  • 你到来时,天气已发生微妙的变化
  • 但不妨碍,我们穿过小巷,转身投入
  • 热浪卷起的巨大菌尘中
  • 想来——我们已多年不见,必不可少的食物
  • 会层层地筑起在你我之间。我们把想说的
  • 冷暖好坏,都默认在里面,并嘎嘣嘎嘣吃出响声
  • 吃,只是我们推心置腹的一部分。我还留意到
  • 你悄悄从眼角,释放的几朵白云——可能我也有
  • 我们曾经交换或者递来递去,直到天上的云层
  • 足够厚,足以发动一场大雨,笼罩在我们的四周
  • 雨里,有人在他闷闷的中年打出鼾声?
  • “多么恐怖!”这不,我们的整个下午
  • 像纸屑一样,被乱风卷走。只有散尽的街道中
  • 杯盘已碎,亚热带植物,迅速长满你坐过的空椅子
  • 这是我此后大致记得的模样,还有知了,失控地
  • 叫响着洗净的天空:知吾……知吾……知吾……

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 hometown's barren mountain range
  • with remnants of snow still on the shady sides.
  • (The sunny sides are all clear.)
  • Then I see a bare spot, a quarry (like a gouging wound),
  • then a blue reservoir, glistening like a tear drop…

  • These are the 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 on a flying goose as in the story,
  • 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

  • Simultaneouly 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




DIARY ON A TRIP THROUGH SNOWSTORM

  • by Wang Jiaxin

  • Driving sixty kilometers —
  • through city streets with scattered snowflakes,
  • then on Beijing-Chengde Freeway, but we had to turn back
  • at a roadblock as the road was closed for black ice,
  • so we took a rural dirt road and drove halfway up the mountain,
  • only to have a glimpse of you, the northern mountains draped in snow!
  • This is the first blizzard in who-knows how many years,
  • we ought to be thrilled, but there was
  • only silence, the boulders turned ashen and hills darken
  • amid sweeping snow and sniping cold,
  • each snow-covered mountain a gigantic demon,
  • presiding over a gloomy array of smaller hills and beacon towers,
  • slowly retreating into an even-bleaker atmosphere…
  • At that very moment, I saw DuoDuo — a poet traveling with us,
  • nearly in his 70s — face covered with snowflakes,
  • in tears, the way of a child...

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/M9n7csEmBYhiUhES4dFzhg


记一次风雪行

  • 王家新

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

THE SUNFLOWERS

  • by Wang Shaoyong

  • A sunflower is enough to melt my heart,
  • now it’s a crowd!
  • In the valley, a group of orphans
  • lift their tiny golden faces.
  • They gaze longingly all day,
  • and I too was there with them the whole day.
  • Now the sun is dipping over the mountain.
  • The sheep and cattle shimmer in the sunset,
  • a glow as if from within.
  • Two barefoot children run home.
  • The cooking smoke is calling them,
  • and I, the stranger,
  • squat down by a boulder,
  • and try to slice the sun in my body
  • into a thousand tiny pieces.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dn-sPn4TASqLF-3215fNxQ


向日葵

  • 王少勇

  • 一株向日葵就足够让我心疼
  • 现在是一群
  • 山谷里,一群无人认领的孤儿
  • 仰起金黄的小脸
  • 他们一整天都眼巴巴望着
  • 我也陪了他们一整天
  • 现在太阳要落到山那边了
  • 山坡上的牛羊泛着微光
  • 这光似乎发自体内
  • 两个光脚的孩子向家跑去
  • 炊烟在召唤他们
  • 而我,这个异乡人
  • 正在石头旁蹲下来
  • 试着把身体里的太阳
  • 切成几千份

A TOAST TO THE BARLEY WINE FROM DELINGHA

  • by Wang Xiaoni

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0B3MPfT4ddpypHwiGsH1nw


致德令哈的青稞酒

  • 王小妮

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/De-O47hlQBG9bxn8KNnXyQ


向晚过杉林遇吹箫人

  • 吴少东

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

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

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




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

  • by Wu Yan

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/FuvWjvw1J_DGC_LHNdRd3w


海河夜游--兼赠同行小友

  • 午言

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WWeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/2NTEk3ZHYO03P_ylzQgo-g

谢灵运

  • 西渡

  • 我独自渡过了江水
  • 我的影子没有过江

  • 我成为一个没有影子的人
  • 独自面对江上的风和海上的风

  • 我把影子留在山里
  • 我把怀念留给斗城

  • 我把四面的窗全部打开
  • 我让八面的风把我的心吹乱

  • 这是在江心,四面空阔
  • 我的心也空阔

  • 空,我就看见池塘生春草
  • 阔,我就听见园柳变鸣禽

  • 影子已经毫无用处了
  • 身体也毫无用处了

  • 我立下遗嘱,要热爱山水
  • 造就辽阔的心灵

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

WHITE DEW*

  • by Xi She

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/aLvkgVLwaomiigXAi2HwwA


白 露

  • 西 厍

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

CRYING

  • by Xiang Wuhua

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/cRO7OGg55OcVn4sHz7kqkw


哭 泣

  • 向武华

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rZBeTuUuL-XniyZ_w-j3FQ


阳山关

  • 肖水

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



PERSIAN SILK FLOWERS

  • by Xiao Xi

  • Opening the windows, vistas of silk trees abound.
  • Mostly pink flowers, only one tree yields yellow blossoms.
  • Under the tree a girl stands in her white skirt,
  • looking all the more striking.

  • Each breath a sweetness,
  • bestowed with a greater gift of imagination,
  • I walk up and embrace its waist. Its hand points into the distance—
  • Floating on the surface of the ocean a tiny hill,
  • with a daub of blue-green,
  • It commands a large sweep of the ocean's depths.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rH4hfAVJx6Hoioq2MrU8aA


合 欢

  • 小 西

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

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

I. EMPTY

  • by Xiao Xi

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/TZRKLSgdmO0GZS64E0YCOw


  • 小 西

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

A FROG IN THE WELL

  • by Xie Jiong

  • Sometimes
  • I would like to be a frog in a well,
  • a lifetime spent on a square of blue-green mossy
  • earth, a lifetime spent staring at the tiny world above,
  • yearning for a white cloud
  • to shelter me from the piercing sunlight.

  • When you tell me that you have traveled the seven seas,
  • seen the highest mountains, the deepest canyons, and the farthest shorelines,
  • your face appears
  • in my ever-changing sky.

  • But all I want is to be a frog in a well,
  • in the deepest pool, head raised, taking
  • all of you in.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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



READING POETRY ON LANTERN FESTIVAL, 2019

  • by Xin Boping

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

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

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


己亥元夕读辛稼轩

  • 辛泊平

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

BLACKSMITH

  • by Xiongguan Mandao

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

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

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


打 铁

  • 雄关漫道

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

BETWEEN THE MOUNTAIN RANGES

  • By Xue Di

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

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

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


群山之间

  • 雪 迪

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

GIFTS

  • by Xue Hudie

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

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

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


礼 物

  • 雪蝴蝶

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

THE YANGTZE RIVER AT POINT ZERO: A DROP OF WATER

  • by Yang Jiao

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

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

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


长江零公里:一滴水

  • 杨 角

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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




I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE MY LIFE

  • by Yang Qingxiang

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/j28X4smk-nQ4HfPNmtPY1w


我本来以为这就是我的一生

  • 杨庆祥

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

THE THINGS I PRAISE ARE GENERALLY LIGHT

  • by Yang Xuelong

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

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

COURTYARD IN THE WIND

  • by Yang Yong

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/r3iiUj4SI8574iJfEd-ihA


风中的庭院

  • 杨 勇

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

LESSER HEAT*

  • by Yang Zi

  • Under northern trees, there is still the trace of a cool breeze.
  • An eagle spreads its wings and circles.
  • The haystacks are all gone, leaving a few sparrows behind.
  • The garlic patch is brimming with little white flowers.

  • In the straw cage, crickets are chirping loud and bright.
  • A yellow dog lies at the doorway, tongue flexed, panting
  • The ox chews its cud, sparrows occasionally heard chirping in the fruit trees.
  • Magpies fly over the courtyard wall. The clouds seem to stir without moving.

  • Sitting on a step under the eaves in my small family courtyard,
  • I feel, at last, level like a vat of water, an indescribable feeling—
  • a cup of Pu'er tea, a bowl of noodles, a savory dish,
  • the scorching midday sun, a few simple words exchanged.

  • 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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/0Ekbf9oGd9_Kud8oUhpedg


小 暑

  • 杨 梓

  • 北方的树下还有一丝丝凉风
  • 老鹰平展双翼,盘旋高空
  • 地里已无麦垛,几只鸟雀飞来飞去
  • 一畦韭菜开满白色的小花

  • 麦秆笼里的蝈蝈,鸣叫更加响亮
  • 一只黄狗趴在门口,伸出全部的舌头
  • 牛在反刍,果树上的麻雀偶尔叽喳几声
  • 喜鹊飞过院墙,云朵似动非动

  • 在老家小院,坐在房檐下的台阶上
  • 我第一次感到一缸水的平静,却难以言说
  • 一杯砖茶,一碗长面,一碟小菜
  • 一个炎热的正午,几句简单的对话



A WINTER TRIP TO WUDAHAI FOR A VIEW OF CHAOHU LAKE

  • by Ye Dan

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/u6aidl9vugJLlzPLQ4LYvg


冬日吴大海观巢湖

  • 叶 丹

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

GIRLS

  • by Ye Xiaoqing

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/6TwpUItRLb1n3PZ3yYUXkw


叫婆嘞

  • 叶小青

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

THE AURA OF GREEN MOUNTAINS

  • by Ye Yanbin

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

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/5oWlskzwJ5gEvYLrIBiioA


青山风度

  • 叶延滨

  • 白云就那么从远方飘过来了
  • 那个如梦如幻的远方
  • 柔情逶迤霎时变成
  • 压城的厉兵
  • 是风吹来,风
  • 也吹走
  • 吹走云也吹走了雨丝万缕
  • 哭过骂过雷霆般吼过
  • 最后剩一滴露水
  • 挂在草尖上
  • 是雨送来,雨
  • 也送走
  • 送不走的是满天的星斗月圆
  • 月光如翼天涯共此时
  • 只望得那轮月光
  • 溶进了曙色
  • 是夜送来,夜
  • 也送走
  • 不走的是这满目的青山翠岭
  • 风来,青山度风
  • 雨来,青山度雨
  • 也度明月,度星光——
  • 山闲在,闲在的青山
  • 有万载千秋的青翠风度……

SNOWED IN

  • by Ye Yu

  • It's hard to fathom, one can't dream it,
  • when Anna Akhmatova lined up to visit the prison camp, how bitter cold it was,
  • or the biting chill that finally knocked down Osip Mandelstam.
  • Russian snow, to be sure like all snow, is
  • hexagonal crystals.
  • Text is also snow, sheets and sheets of it
  • bundled over hundreds of years and finding me on a dreary winter day.
  • I open them, breathe out icicles on the page,
  • read about a blizzard that has blocked out the daylight,
  • blocked out doors, blocking out the dawn of the human civilization.
  • "It is easier for a century to topple than a squirrel to fall.”
  • Occasionally, in a den smaller than a squirrel’s,
  • I search for the piercing rhetoric that was once in my mother tongue,
  • but all has faded, too little fresh air for ice crystals to form,
  • not even “a frost in our souls.”

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/qL-suJig5fbXtD_iSG7ang


大雪封门

  • 夜 鱼

  • 难以想象,也无法想象
  • 阿赫马托娃排在探监队列里的冷
  • 还有曼德尔斯塔姆倒下去的那种冷
  • 俄罗斯的雪,明明也是
  • 轻盈的六角形
  • 文字也是雪,纷纷累积
  • 积经年积百年,积到我在某个无聊的冬日
  • 翻开他们,我在呵气成冰的纸页上
  • 读到了漫天大雪,那么厚那么沉
  • 大雪封门,封家门封人类之所以为人类之门
  • “世纪落下来比松鼠还容易”
  • 我在比松鼠还小的蜗居里,偶尔探寻
  • 我的母语里曾经有过的凛冽
  • 都泛黄了,已找不到可供结晶的新鲜寒气
  • 和来自“我们心灵的薄冰”

CONFRONTATION

  • by Yi Du

  • My entire life is tainted
  • with a bad habit of confrontation.
  • And today, all those I confronted
  • are ganging up on me.
  • See, this tombstone abhors silence,
  • no less than a lush pathway loathes sunset.
  • Between wonderfully lean and languishingly gaunt,
  • I weigh and measure words, dallying away time.
  • How can we tell what is ailing the svelte horse?
  • Though withering, should I turn like the grass to the seasons?

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/1vlf5EC6J9UDrCKUvX1FjA


对 抗

  • 一 度


  • 我的一生,都在积郁中
  • 沾染对抗的坏习惯
  • 如今,这些对抗过的事物
  • 一起来反对我
  • 就像墓碑反抗无言
  • 没膝的小径反抗落日
  • 瘦骨和枯死之间
  • 选择合适的词,用于虚度
  • 如何在瘦骨里找到病马?
  • 在枯死中反对草木轮回?

THE RED-BRICK BUILDING

  • by Yi Hang

  • All day I kept looking back
  • on the color of the red brick building — rust,
  • cold, dark, the tone of my childhood.
  • Under the building’s shell,
  • we were malnourished, like shriveled nuts
  • growing in the shade.
  • The corridor was always damp, the stairs
  • smelled of bitter vinegar
  • as if some peanuts had caught mould,
  • Though unnoticeable from outside.
  • The mouse fled the fourth floor,
  • running to ground floor, being chased by children--
  • slapping, squealing, blood splashing
  • on the interior bricks, exposed after the lime peeled off.
  • Two shades of red overlapped
  • the exterior wall, too: cold evening,
  • the sunset veiled the red brick building.
  • At night, the searchlight on top of a sand mine
  • shone on the building, sometimes sweeping back and forth
  • as if to pinpoint something.
  • At that time, I would run up to the terrace,
  • trying to see the light source across the river.
  • After the sinking of the ship with more than
  • twenty people onboard, the entire mine
  • was shrouded in perpetual gloom.
  • At dawn, the sun slowly rose,
  • lighting up every brick
  • but didn’t impart any warmth.
  • Until the day I left, the brick building impressed me
  • with the color of congealed blood, too frigid to flow.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WWeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/j9B1V0Vls8P3fFoqVp_y1A

红砖楼

  • 一 行

  • 今天我只想念
  • 红砖楼的颜色。——铁锈一样的颜色,
  • 寒凉、深暗,构成了
  • 我童年生活的主色调。
  • 在它花生皮般的包裹中,
  • 我们营养不良,像蔫掉的仁儿
  • 往阴影里成长。
  • 楼道永远是潮湿的,台阶
  • 散发着苦醋似的气味,
  • 像是花生内部的黄曲霉变,
  • 从外面是嗅不到的。
  • 老鼠从四楼逃到一楼,被孩子们
  • 追打,尖叫着跳起,血溅到
  • 剥落了白石灰的内墙砖头上——
  • 而在外部,同样发生着
  • 两种红色的重叠:这幢楼
  • 变冷于幽深的暮光。
  • 每个夜晚,矿上的探照灯
  • 都要照向这里,有时会来回
  • 扫射,像在辨认着什么。
  • 那时我会从屋里跑到阳台上,
  • 向远处江边的光源眺望。
  • 自从那艘装载了二十余人的
  • 运砂船沉没之后,整座砂矿
  • 都被一层无法驱除的黑暗笼罩。
  • 清晨,阳光一点点
  • 将整幢楼的红砖铺满,
  • 却没有带来些微的暖意。
  • 直到我离开那里,那红砖楼的红
  • 仍像凝固的血一样,不肯流动。

PERFECTLY ROUNDED SETTING SUN

  • by Yin Ma

  • Thirty years ago, deep in the mountains, the setting sun looked perfectly round.
  • I shouted out my own name
  • to reassure myself. The beasts in the woods knew my father only,
  • as for me, they sneered as if I were but a leaf.
  • They came out in the moonlight, but I thought they came after me.
  • The setting sun was smashingly round, setting off my migraine.
  • Thirty years later, in the name of fatherhood,
  • in an urban jungle, I carefully play the role of
  • a father. I feel all alone,
  • not a city leaf has the edge of
  • the mountain leaves. The setting sun, still a perfect circle, and the secluded moonlight
  • feels like a penniless woman
  • who dares not say a word about being loved by me.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/02E1pGoLDz2W43iHe_e1Vw


落日浑圆

  • 尹马

  • 三十年前在深山,落日浑圆
  • 我喊自己的名字
  • 为自己壮胆。林间的兽,只认识我的父亲
  • 它们,借一片树叶取笑我
  • 借一捧月光追赶我
  • 落日浑圆,落成我的偏头痛
  • 三十年后我打着父亲的旗号
  • 在城市的丛林里,小心翼翼地做一个
  • 父亲。我那么孤独
  • 没有一片树叶,像深山里的树叶
  • 那么锋利。落日浑圆,一爿月光
  • 像一个贫穷的女人
  • 不敢提及被我爱过

ENCOUNTER WITH A BEEKEEPER, 2017

  • by Yu Changxiong

  • Bees have minds of their own,
  • they fly low, so low that the light that bounced off
  • their wings stays with the breathing grasses,
  • unllike the high waterfalls
  • or the silver pheasants that enter our lenses.
  • The beekeeper is quiet, quieter than
  • the trees in the mountain. What frightens me is that
  • when the bees leave their hives,
  • he becomes weightless, too,
  • with only his bright outline left.
  • But this floating light and shadow
  • is the epitome of nature’s stillness
  • and the clouds’ origin.
  • The beekeeper stops and goes, near and far.
  • He is always there, in a hidden valley
  • from the sweltering afternoon to the tipping dusk
  • under the silhouettes of birds.
  • He is larger than the well of a spring,
  • but smaller than the gentle breeze in the woods.
  • The bees rush home at nightfall, one by one,
  • their finely-weaved wings carry the big buzz.
  • On the mottled and heavy mountain,
  • the beekeeper is a lone light
  • while all around him the eternal darkness moves.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7BN6FWJ6Sw7HRzA-EV6msA


丁酉年登山偶遇放蜂人

  • 俞昌雄

  • 蜜蜂有自己的道路,不同于崖壁上的
  • 瀑布,也不像瞄准器里的白鹇
  • 它们飞得很低,低到翅膀的反光
  • 几乎陷入草木的呼吸
  • 放蜂人比山里任何一棵植物都要来得
  • 安静。这让我感到害怕
  • 每当成百上千的蜜蜂飞离蜂箱
  • 他也随即变轻,轻到不需要肉身
  • 只留下明亮的轮廓
  • 可是,正是那样一片漂移的光影
  • 让我觉察到了什么才是山水的静穆
  • 什么才是浮云的根
  • 放蜂人走走停停,忽远忽近
  • 从微微发烫的晌午到倾斜的黄昏
  • 他一直都在那里,在山涧迂回的地方
  • 在飞鸟的侧影里
  • 他比泉眼空阔,又小于林间的风
  • 蜜蜂逐一飞回,赶在天黑之际
  • 密密麻麻的翅膀携着那巨大的嗡嗡声
  • 整块山地如此沉重而斑驳
  • 放蜂人把自己浓缩为一盏孤灯
  • 牢牢地,安插在那颤栗而不朽的黑暗里

THROWAWAYS

  • by Yu Jian

  • I rarely come here, as infrequent as trying to grasp the drooping hands of acorpse.
  • Here lies a pile of throwaways: an old box, outdated magazines, a twenty-year-old rag doll,
  • Grandma's black case. Some things we dare not throw out,
  • unsure of their insignificance, or being indecisive,
  • leaving them to a careless offspring to discard.
  • But they hang on to them too, stashing them away out-of-bounds under the staircase,
  • or in some former person’s tiny room. Behind the house, in a perpetual shady spot,
  • I discovered a tiny sapling at dusk, now up to my knees. Where did the seed come from?
  • From the pregnant woman whose fading image was on the old photo album? What was her name?
  • Is there anything that hasn't been planted?
  • Mossy green matted curls, covered with tiny sprouting leaves,
  • boast of youth, the spirited and gloomy youth—
  • I rarely come here. The piano has been silent for years,
  • the last player has forgotten to close the lid.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CkZSYRs8qwC94UWXRtFbvQ


弃 物

  • 于 坚

  • 我不常到此 仿佛死者垂下的手 你不能再握
  • 堆着弃物 旧盒子 过期杂志 二十年前的布娃娃
  • 外祖母的黑箱子 有些东西我们永远不敢遗弃
  • 含义不明 下不定决心 留给下一代的冒失鬼去扔
  • 他们也不敢 于是留下来 成为一个禁区在楼梯下面
  • 在从前某人的小房间 屋后 阳光不管的一角
  • 发现了一棵小树 在黄昏 已经长到膝盖高 哪儿来的种子
  • 从旧像册里 那位怀孕的褪色妇女? 叫不出名字
  • 还有什么没有种下? 绿茸茸的卷发上满是小耳朵
  • 在向我炫耀着年轻 生机勃勃和幽暗的青春——
  • 我不常来此 那台旧钢琴暗哑多年 会弹的人走开时
  • 忘记了合上盖子

HIBISCUS

  • by Yu Xiaozhong

  • Now I believe all that appear in dreams
  • have taken a long, arduous journey,
  • and by chance come to our dreams to rest with us.

  • Much like those who left their old homes,
  • now antediluvian,
  • get acquainted with new neighbors.

  • Much like the pigeons in the glow of sunset,
  • circling near one another
  • nudge even closer to whisper.

  • Much like hibiscus that blooms after autumn frost,
  • its name tells its borrowed status, 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

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


大觉寺归来

  • 臧 棣

  • 黄昏时分,一个废墟谦卑如
  • 人生的空白还从来没有
  • 在你面前如此安静过;

  • 半山腰多娇一个自然的角度,
  • 俯瞰交替远眺,乾坤的极限逃不过
  • 有时,缓冲带在历史中藏得太深;

  • 而人心一旦缥缈,自我难免会
  • 投靠深奥;看上去,生动多于冲动,
  • 但总差那么一点,才是灵魂出窍。

  • 或者,地平线也不过是一道门槛;
  • 借着山风,古老的遗风吹进来,
  • 将巨人的悲伤过滤成沉浮太偏僻。



LEIJIA VILLAGE CHRONICLES

  • by Zeng Jihu

  • Now I see how it happened, in 1994,
  • I lugged a ragged wooden suitcase up the hill;
  • at that time, Li Fuming was, and still is, a legend there with a master’s degree;

  • but he is old now (he keeps saying that himself), gaining some weight;
  • a group of villagers strolled down from Leijia Village, the Eucalyptus next to the well (was it?)
  • shielded a large swath of the sky.
  • God tells the village’s future based on its wisdom and goodwill in the broken wing of a gray hen, but soon after,
  • a colleague, while we walked, tattled to me of an office romance with a married woman,
  • accompanied by the barking of dogs and the snorting of beasts.
  • I remember that night, the moonlight, sharp and futuristic,
  • which I turned into verse with a Latin American flair.
  • I needed to return to our village, grotesque under the sun.
  • More than once I revisited one of those dead restaurants, rows and rows of them,
  • and recalled a bizarre death at Fortune Hotel,
  • the death of one among us,
  • who drank cheap liquor in a shoddy place
  • to appease a certain group of people;
  • one of those nights, we pushed ourselves to flatter a ruthless group of people;
  • he was one among us.
  • The grass had only one more day to live before the arrival of the railroad tracks;
  • in the alleyways farmers stumbling home came across people taking a walk at night;
  • we walked all night, almost every day, how we felt exalted from those walks that cause brain hypoxia,
  • that heightened the sense of what set apart the south and the north;
  • a gloomy sky poured into the basin
  • but on top of the mountain, by the open-air ball room,
  • the moon overhead was a treasure compared to other crystalline gems.
  • It was winter 1994, I was 22 and weighed 51.5 kg.
  • I want to forget what has happened, can I not?
  • I want to trust sound reasoning, can I not?
  • I want to forget that I was trapped, stuck in a woeful web, can I not?
  • I want to intervene with my beloved intellect; and since I can, why don’t I?
  • Therefore, I can envision, on the edge of Leijia Village,
  • there is a floating fish bone,
  • a petty affair that will puff into smoke,
  • a white dog with black spots with a blue stripe,
  • an inadequate lover, husband, father; a teacher,
  • an inadequate son, soon a quinquagenarian, of a deceased couple.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/umCU1lgLKU6n26e7uW0s5Q


雷家村纪事

  • 曾纪虎

  • 我从现在看到以前,1994年的时候
  • 我拖着一个翻盖的破樟木箱爬到山上
  • 那时硕士李伏明是这里的一个传奇人物,现在还是
  • 不过他老了(他自己就是这么声称的),体重增加
  • 一群人从雷家村穿梭下来,井口边上的(是吗?)樟树
  • 占据了村子的一大半天色

  • 老天从雷家村一只灰母鸡残缺的翅膀上
  • 察看知识与善意的未来,但是不久,我与另一同事
  • 在夜色中穿过,在一阵犬吠外加兽类零星的鼻息中
  • 他谈到他与一个有夫之妇的办公室恋情
  • 我记住了当夜的、尖锐感的、属于未来的,月光
  • 我用一种拉美诗歌的夸张将它写入诗句
  • 我还是要回到这个在白天无比丑陋的村落
  • 回到一排排死去的各类小餐馆
  • 回到财源大酒店某人的离奇死亡
  • 我们就是某一个在小排档喝低端白酒讨好某一批人的酒客
  • 就着这夜色,让我们再一次讨好这些无所畏惧的人,他就是
  • 你身边的某一人
  • 那些第二天将死去的草丛,看到了两条铁轨的到来
  • 农夫们趔趄步履,在雷家村的巷道上,碰到了散步晚归的人
  • 我们几乎彻夜散步,几乎,每天,让大脑缺氧的散步何其珍贵
  • 加深了南方与北方的概念,还有
  • 椭圆形的铁盘里倾倒了阴沉的天空
  • 但是,在山顶上,露天舞场的旁边,头顶上的圆月如群冰中的瑰宝
  • 那是1994年的冬天,我年满22岁,体重51.5公斤
  • 我要忘记已发生的事,为什么不呢?
  • 我要相信可靠的知识,为什么不呢?
  • 我要忘记我被围住了,我陷在绝望的排列中,为什么不呢?
  • 我要让深爱的精神活动汇聚为可以打量的潜流,既然我可以
  • ——为什么不呢?

  • 所以,我能想到,雷家村边上有某根浮起的鱼骨
  • 有某一桩将变成气体的苟且恋情
  • 有某条白底黑斑的土狗,它边上一道蓝色
  • 有某个不够好的恋人、丈夫、父亲;某个教书的人
  • 某对死去夫妇的不够好的年近五十的儿子

OLD TIMES

  • by Zhai Wenjie

  • A village lay low in the plain,
  • dotted with small humble old houses.
  • A stool in front of the old house,
  • my small mother sat on a short stool.
  • She stood next to the dwarf wheat,
  • the wind blew across the field, hugging the ground.
  • The wind brushed on the golden wheat,
  • Mother’s bean field, ripe in the wind.
  • Dwarfish wind climbed no mountains;
  • it slowly walked over the shallows.
  • Water in the shallows flowed beautifully in the wind,
  • the low-lying village swayed beautifully in the wind.
  • Mother sat in times past,
  • the lowly old times, a beautiful thing it is.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rAaX8MjFfwHPyKINssXrFg


旧时光

  • 翟文杰

  • 平原上的村庄矮矮的
  • 村庄里的旧房子矮矮的
  • 旧房子门前的櫈子,矮矮的
  • 母亲坐在矮櫈子上
  • 母亲与矮矮的麦子在一起
  • 平原上的风也矮
  • 平原上的风吹黄麦子
  • 母亲的豆子地,被风吹熟
  • 矮矮的风不用翻山
  • 只行走在浅浅的水上
  • 浅浅的水,风中流动很美
  • 矮矮的村庄,风中摇曳着很美
  • 母亲坐在旧时光中
  • 矮矮的旧时光,很美

THE SAME FATHER UNDER EVERY STRAW HAT

  • by Ah Cheng

  • After two thirds of May, the weather is getting hotter —
  • The work on the mountains, on the farm, in the fields
  • is piling up. In the countryside, the straw hats are put to
  • their proper use— those straw-woven hats, yellow or gray,
  • smelling of sun and human sweat, in the granary or
  • long-untouched on the wall, are now grabbed
  • by men and solidly tied down
  • on their heads…
  • In these straw hats, they hoe, fertilize, reap, or
  • hatchet off the weedy brush or grass, sometimes
  • plough and till and plant and harvest
  • in the mud-strewing fields,
  • sun-tanned, clothes-rustling, as if all one;
  • —Toiling hard, silent for a long time, seen
  • from afar, it’s hard to tell who’s who—whose husband
  • or father. Anyone hurrying home and passing the field
  • wishes to greet their kin, yet is unsure of which one to call,
  • hesitates and hesitates and eventually remains quiet—
  • In fact, it makes no difference to shout or not— in summertime
  • in the countryside, the same father
  • under every straw hat.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/3XJgQJYjoWO_7SD9NJyJRg


每一顶草帽下都有一个相同的父亲

  • 阿 成

  • 小满之后,天气渐热——
  • 山上的、田中的、地里的活儿
  • 多起来,在乡村,草帽派上了应有的
  • 用场——那种草编的,或黄或灰的
  • 带着太阳的香味和人体汗味的,在粮仓或
  • 墙壁之上歇息多时的帽子,被男人们
  • 一把抓起,扎扎实实地扣在了
  • 脑门上……
  • 他们戴着草帽锄地、施肥、割草,抑戓
  • 用柴刀砍去田边的杂灌和芭茅,有时在
  • 泥水飞溅的田畴中犁田打耙、栽秧割禾
  • 肤色黝黑,衣袂飘飘,仿佛是同一个人;
  • ——埋头劳作,半天不说一句话,远远
  • 看去,不知是哪一家的男人哪一个人的
  • 父亲,当归乡的人匆匆穿过田畈,要喊
  • 一声,却不知要喊哪一个,于是不得不
  • 三缄其口——
  • 其实你喊或不喊都一样——乡村夏日
  • 每一顶草帽下,都有一个
  • 相同的父亲。

THE ROMANCE OF A PAINTER BAR TENDER

  • by Zhang Baimei

  • Hanging out on the river bank
  • one summer night along Songhua River*,
  • people watched the moon with their loved ones, eating assorted kebabs he made.

  • The discussion turned to soccer, growing vegetables, fine-brush painting,
  • and nine ways to slow-cook cutlassfish.
  • Love affairs are basically a matter of the mind.
  • On the other end of the phone, rain was pouring down.

  • The discussion turned lively:
  • which shop was cleaner;
  • what flowers to put in the room so it would feel romantic;
  • for the first rendez-vous, should it be in the boudoir or a cafe?

  • As they chatted, there stood Shanhai Mountain Pass**,
  • the rebel king had broken the defenses,
  • smoke signals were seen burning around Coal Hill
  • outside Beijing’s Xizhimen Gate****.

  • What do you say, shall we talk on the phone tonight?
  • You texted back, in-between selling beers: Sweetie, I won’t be home
  • before the soccer match ends at midnight.
  • On the banks of Songhua River, you and your friends got bored;
  • one of them, who’d die within two months,
  • said to everyone playfully:
  • after I leave tonight,
  • I won't be returning tomorrow nor the day after.
  • Never to return would be that moonlight tonight,
  • the dinner picture you painted for your girlfriend,
  • and the lovely smell of Dalie sourdough bread and Borscht soup in the kitchen.

  • In the moonlight of another city, your girlfriend read a story to her child.
  • A cozy, home-like scene?
  • Not everybody thought so.
  • The phone made a clanking sound,
  • hanging up on all love.
  • No reason, no warning sign,
  • the man who sold beer by the banks of Songhua River
  • fell into deep sleep; it's said he didn't have 100 yuan on him.

  • Notes:
  • *The Songhua River is over 1,400 kilometers long and flows from the Changbai Mountains on the China-North Korea border through Jilin and Heilongjiang provinces in China's northeast.
  • **Shanhai Pass is one of the major strategic passes along sections of the Great Wall of China, located in the northern province of Hebei.
  • ***King Chuang is the exalted nickname for Li Zicheng (1605-1645), a rebel leader who dethroned Chongzhen, the last emperor of the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644).
  • ****The Emperor Chongzhen (r. 1628-1644) hanged himself from a tree on Coal Hill in Jingshan Park, a park located behind the northern gate of the Forbidden City. It was from the Gate of Military Prowess that the Emperor exited the northern gate and made his way to Coal Hill.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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




CORNERS

  • by Zhang Hongbo

  • You thought the boundless grassland has no corners:
  • the night misty and rainy,
  • a place entangled with weeds,
  • and shiny puddles broken by horses’ swift hooves.
  • But what lies ahead is darkness like a giant boulder.
  • That is the next turn,
  • no matter how celebrated you were,
  • moving forward ahead, you will vanish into the distance.
  • But we don't pause to pray.
  • It’s not yet dawn when the dahlias come in bloom.
  • Let the horse's whip be heard across the field,
  • let us skip over the antlers in the riverbed,
  • and fling your backpack on the river bank.
  • Tonight, a rainy night, you are a god, a hero.
  • Like an arrow, you fly around the fortress’ corner like a gust of wind,
  • firing raindrops to the end of the sky.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Wshl_zHi1phLm00-t9le-A


拐 角

  • 张洪波

  • 不要以为草原宽阔没有拐角
  • 雨夜迷蒙
  • 那个地方败草缠结
  • 只有马蹄急转踏过水光
  • 远方旷黑如巨石
  • 那是下一个拐角
  • 你无论曾经多么有英名
  • 向前 注定消失在远方
  • 但是不能驻足祈祷
  • 还未到早晨大丽花开
  • 让马鞭声响遍大野
  • 越过河床尖锐犄角
  • 把行囊甩在堤坡
  • 这个雨夜 你是神 是雄美
  • 如箭 你飙风般冲出故垒拐角
  • 把雨滴射向天边

THE GIST OF IT

  • by Zhang Lin

  • Some things are big from birth, like oceans.
  • Some things are small ’till death, like grass.

  • Still a few other things
  • were already old when we got acquainted, like this old family home.
  • I myself, am gradually passing from small to big,
  • through the journey of growing old and feeble.

  • —All my life
  • I am like a sprig of grass, thinking of the ocean, as if that is home.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ueInY5wIsTrGJ6MKSKCTXw


家春秋

  • 张巧慧

  • 结巴少年,描述他的家
  • 梅垟下,渡口那头的小村,
  • 三楼空着,等他攒钱娶媳妇
  • 乡下人家都这样
  • 少年们在华侨厂里上班,管饭,管住
  • 一星期回一趟家。次数已越来越少
  • 交谈中,我完成一次撑渡
  • 想出去的人渡出去,想归来的人渡进来
  • 一条狗,每到周末都等在门口
  • 你回不回来,它都在那里
  • (我也曾养过一条狗,病重了还等着我
  • 忠实的生活和狗
  • 到死也等着我)

  • 飞云湖跟着我们的车跑
  • 平静,开阔
  • 像一位母亲,听儿子略带兴奋和羞涩的描述
  • 车过赵山渡,我看到大坝
  • 某种规则扼住溪的喉咙
  • 平静戛然而止,剩下落差与泄洪
  • 我没问少年姓什么,
  • 一路上我遇到的成片油菜花
  • 都像是他;他所描述的家,
  • 如我失去多年的故土。
  • 这些年,我像爱故乡一样爱着异乡。




WHEN SCENERY IS LOOKED AT AS A SCENE

  • by Zhang Shuguang

  • Among so many things, only scenery remains constant.
  • I mean the word. Sometimes they are pictures.
  • But can it also be the projection of objects on the retina,
  • entering and merging with the consciousness? Or the opposite,
  • when the inner consciousness finds
  • external clues that meet all the criteria, like a detective on a case?
  • Holmes or Wittgenstein. But this morning
  • I am reading “Looking Awry” by Slavoj Zizek.
  • He is an observer. Observing instead of watching.
  • Sometimes he drags in a foreign film. He is like a crow,
  • quacking and flying over the playground. But he appears
  • more like a bear who broke into the kitchen. Licking honey.
  • We see the world through the eyes of others,
  • such as the ancestors in us, or some demonic possession.
  • Freud or Id. We are genuinely pleased with it.
  • What is born from a seed is not a tree but
  • a large forest. Many birds perch on it.
  • Birds’ white droppings fall on the grass. Manet was with his lover
  • and friends on a picnic there. In fact, they were just
  • sitting, each looking at
  • somewhere outside the screen. Were they watching
  • someone or a particular scenery? Did they know
  • they were also becoming a scene, seen by us. When disrobed,
  • they were simply men and women, just like us.
  • I no longer praise any scenery. When a scenery
  • is looked at as a scene, it is no longer at ease,
  • but observed, tailored and critiqued. But it cannot but put up with it,
  • allowing others’ consciousness to immerse; accepting that
  • it may enter certain people's eyes
  • or become a picture in a frame. Intentional or not, it has to live with it.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JcnrbM0wunpjCHRhssPIrA


当风景作为风景

  • 张曙光

  • 在诸多事物中,只有风景保持不变。
  • 我是说这个词。有时是一些图片。
  • 但它是某些客观物在视网膜上的投射
  • 然后进入并形成意识?或是相反
  • 是由内在的意识在外在的事物中寻找到
  • 符合条件的一切,就像侦探破获一起案件?
  • 福尔摩斯或维特根斯坦。但今天早上
  • 我在读《斜目而视》,斯拉沃特·齐泽克著。
  • 他是一个观察者。观察而不是观看。
  • 有时他拉着洋片。他像一只乌鸦
  • 聒噪着飞过游乐场。但他的模样
  • 更像是一头闯进厨房的熊。舔着蜂蜜。
  • 我们透过别人的眼睛看着世界。
  • 比如身体里的祖先,比如附体的邪灵
  • 弗洛伊德或伊德。对此我们由衷感到快慰。
  • 在一粒种子中,孕育出的不是一棵树,而是
  • 一大片森林。上面栖着很多鸟。
  • 白色的鸟粪滴落草地。马奈带着情人
  • 和朋友在上面午餐。事实上他们只是
  • 坐在那里,各自把目光投向
  • 画面以外的某个地方。他们是在看着
  • 某个人,或某一片风景?是否知道
  • 他们也正在成为风景,被我们看到。当脱掉
  • 衣服,只是些男人和女人,和我们一样。
  • 我不再赞美风景。而当风景作为风景
  • 它已不再是自在的一切。它被观看
  • 剪裁和评说着。但它必须忍受
  • 让某些人的意识沉溺其中,同样
  • 还要忍受它会进入某些人的眼睛
  • 或取景框中。有意或无意,但必须忍受。

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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

ODE TO SPRING

  • by Zhang Zhihao

  • My mother never wore a floral dress,
  • but does this mean
  • she was never happy?
  • Spring returns, but that last spring
  • when I carried her home on my back from the hospital,
  • on the small road behind our house,
  • she spoke right to my ears, in a soft and distant voice:
  • “Son, I won’t let you dream of me after I die
  • lest you should be afraid. I am content, I am happy. ”
  • It has been eighteen years, and whenever spring returns after winter,
  • I would remember that afternoon
  • when I carried my unfortunate mother.
  • On that road blooming with flowers,
  • I cried while I walked.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Qpp9Q01A_BVlvZmZEDD9jQ


咏春调

  • 张执浩

  • 我母亲从来没有穿过花衣服
  • 这是不是意味着
  • 她从来就没有快乐过?
  • 春天来了,但是最后一个春天
  • 我背着她从医院回家
  • 在屋后的小路上
  • 她曾附在我耳边幽幽地说道:
  • “儿啊,我死后一定不让你梦到我
  • 免得你害怕。我很知足,我很幸福。”
  • 十八年来,每当冬去春来
  • 我都会想起那天下午
  • 我背着不幸的母亲走
  • 在开满鲜花的路上
  • 一边走一边哭

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jRqB8KxNlxbvgYfl366RhA

卑微之诗

  • 张作梗

  • 那微妙的
  • 微小的
  • 针孔里走骆驼的
  • 从任一方向看去都像微末的飞蓬
  • 要钻进我眼睛里的

  • 那轮椅下战栗的地面
  • 那空中察觉不到的雨星儿
  • 那微澜,那从手指缝里迸出的啜泣
  • 那一粒倒春寒也捂不熄的嫩芽儿

  • 那滑过我脸颊的
  • 流星的抚摸
  • 那微妙的
  • 微小的
  • 像春天的麦芒儿拂过我心尖的吹息……

  • ——它们聚沙成塔
  • 构成了我卑微而顽强的一生
  • 这些微茫的
  • 比一秒钟还小的东西
  • 当我完整地拥有了它们
  • 我感觉我比宇宙还大
  • 是它们的轻,让我获得了生命的重量——

  • 我因此像谷穗
  • 低下头来。



NIGHTTRIP THROUGH BANGDONG

  • by Zhao Jiapeng

  • The Almighty has drawn his black curtain.
  • The forest hills stand above the world,
  • letting their pet mountain mist out to play.

  • Passing through Bangdong, embracing the night's wind,
  • a world not unlike the hollow of a skull,
  • we scurry like rats.

  • The omnipresent fog presses on us,
  • it hastens our steps like a dog's sudden barking,
  • plunging us into abject misery.

  • Below us is the mighty Mekong River,
  • it flows south with a determined focus, yet we want to believe
  • its current existence is but an illusion.

  • For an instant, I almost burst out crying:
  • the trees on the side of the road look so wooden,
  • much like my folks back home.

  • I want to embrace them, like holding on to what is good.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/TrOUQ9tv5q8BOPOlMIhc5w

邦东夜行记

  • 赵家鹏

  • 上帝合上了他的黑帘布。山林岸然
  • 放出豢养的白雾

  • 此时,我们正怀抱风尘,穿过邦东之夜
  • 世界像眼窟窿,我们像末路之鼠

  • 一万顷浓雾压顶,更多时候它约等于一声犬吠
  • 加快我们的渺小

  • 脚下是浩阔的澜沧江,但我们更愿意相信:
  • 执意向南的流水,
  • 这时候不过是一种虚妄的存在

  • 有那么一瞬间,我差点就哭出声来
  • 路旁那些表情漠然的树木,他们多像我的亲人

  • 我想抱住他们,就像抱住善良



BEDTIME LETTER --TO SHEN NIANJU

  • by Zhao Jun

  • A Pushkin for my adolescent years,
  • bound in a gold cover. To soothe
  • the puberty years. It didn't induce
  • that "young Werther" kind of sorrows but rather
  • saved a youth from the backwater country: in reciting
  • love poems, the rural-urban gap was bridged,
  • filling the gulf between hearts. These verses and
  • the chirping of summer insects at the edge of town
  • chimed together for evening prayers, allowing me
  • to calmly study the stylish girls even if they were
  • the captain’s daughters. I became the gentleman
  • in that book, prolonging a duel which would not exist.
  • What far-off memory now: A red thumbprint on
  • "A Hundred Years of Solitude"! By the weeping willows along Yingxi River,
  • I inhaled the sweet smell of romanticism. Like mud
  • pecked away by swallows, or the low eaves sent to
  • the iron gut of the excavator, those infinitely disappearing
  • rice paddies replaced by modern housing,
  • dense population stacked in dwelling cubes
  • until downtown youths no longer believed
  • in poetry from Russia, nor even talked kindly about
  • the adolescents dipped in Russian romanticism.
  • Some twenty years later, you, a Pushkin go-between
  • carried me from far away back home,
  • to those displaced, stowed-away pillows and blankets.
  • As my lips echoed the verse into local dialect, I was unaware
  • you were here, too, in your lonely adolescent years, without
  • even a similar comfort. You sat in a dimly-lit publishing house,
  • a ferryman who delivered that bright light to me.
  • This is a time for tears: the lonelier we are,
  • the more potent is poetry to enchant our bleak life,
  • to defy the thought that we're destined for mediocrity. In the cold, in exile,
  • you never extinguished the flames. And we,
  • in times when conformity rules, will be a swift sword, made of bronze,
  • bursting out a piercing shine, to guard against amnesia.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gF3d52YevQ2CupWE0U5YCw


枕边书——给沈念驹

  • 赵俊

  • 青葱岁月里的普希金。长着
  • 金色的封面。在身边慰藉
  • 被荷尔蒙毒害的岁月。这并非
  • 少年维特之烦恼。这是山乡少年
  • 一种新的救赎:只有背诵这些
  • 爱情的诗句,才能弥合城乡差距
  • 而皲裂的心谷。在小镇的边缘
  • 这些诗句,和夏虫的鸣叫一起
  • 制造着晚祷的钟声。让我平静地
  • 看着时髦的少女。即便她们是
  • 上尉的女儿。我也会在书中变成
  • 真正的贵族。用鹅毛笔写下诗篇
  • 然后,制造一场并不存在的冗长决斗
  • 遥远的回想:沉睡的百年孤独被按上
  • 红色的手印。我在英溪河的杨柳边
  • 轻嗅浪漫主义的芬芳。像泥土被燕之喙
  • 带进人居。而低矮的屋檐逐渐被送到
  • 挖掘机的铁胃。那无限消失的稻田
  • 和它们一起构筑新型的居住环境
  • 那立体的房屋拉升着人口密度
  • 却再也无法让小镇青年,相信来自
  • 俄罗斯的诗歌。他们也不愿意以
  • 善意的唇齿。接纳染上俄罗斯气息的少年
  • 在二十年后,你作为普希金的摆渡者
  • 重新让远在天涯的我。回到小镇居室
  • 回到那已被乔迁封存的枕衾。在我用
  • 地方口音抚摸诗句的时候,我并不知道
  • 你也曾在故乡度过寂寥的青春期。你甚至
  • 没有这样的安慰。你在昏暗的编审室
  • 成为艄公,为我运送这样的明亮
  • 这是落泪的时刻:我们有多孤独
  • 就多么需要诗的妖娆,魅惑苍白的生活
  • 不再相信自我注定平庸。在寒冷的流放地
  • 他也不曾熄灭过火焰。而我们即便在
  • 越来越雷同的时代,依然会拥有青铜的质地
  • 闪耀着寒光,变成对抗遗忘的冷兵器

IF MY DREAM LASTS LONG ENOUGH

  • by Zhao Wenhao

  • If only my dream would last long enough
  • for me to walk with you to the kitchen, to see how you
  • set each dish at its special place, to see how you
  • recall everyone's tastes and appetites,
  • for the elderly, help them sail through the days;
  • for those weighed down, lighten things up a bit.
  • It hurts horribly waiting, and waiting for you to wake up,
  • and I feel most useless to see that you look different now,
  • but despite all that, even though my heart
  • has given me many reasons to cry,
  • I come to remember
  • that, without making special arrangements,
  • I visited your home, while having a sesame flat bread,
  • listening to you recounting the small events of the day,
  • with a bowl in my hands receiving warm soymilk from you.
  • Let us resume, if only our dreams would last long enough,
  • long enough.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/yMlVS1PpBk9mtR4wEVNsRg


如果我的梦足够长

  • 赵文豪

  • 如果我的梦够长
  • 足够时间,陪您走到家里的厨房,看着您
  • 牢记冰箱里摆放每道菜的位置;
  • 牢记每个亲人的口味与胃口
  • 老了,日子淡一点;
  • 重了,计较轻一点。
  • 最脆弱的不是等待您醒来的难熬
  • 最脆弱的不是您变了模样
  • 尽管我们的心,
  • 总是告诉我无数次可以哭过的理由,
  • 却总是想起
  • 在兴之所至的日常
  • 来到您家里,吃着烧饼
  • 听您说着芝麻小事,拿着装满温热豆浆的碗接着
  • 接着,如果我们的梦够长
  • 够长

NOTES FROM EARLY SPRING

  • by Zheng Maoming

  • An empty truck rumbles through the alley behind the office building,
  • rattling all of its metal frame, clankety-clank.
  • Dazzling sunshine, sluggish spring, a groggy afternoon,
  • the truck passes and leaves behind a bit of quiet.
  • The trees have green halos; color of moss appears in a daydream;
  • an old chair tries to shine;
  • the desk files and reports never get moldy;
  • the phone rings, the door knocks, two waves of visitors without appointments;
  • that’s when the quiet ends,
  • as we chatter on and on about everything,
  • sprinkled with moments of boredom,
  • then I think of shaking the dirt from my shoes.
  • A tractor squeezes in, happily tooting along,
  • black smoke chugging out of its exhaust pipe,
  • belching soot like black flower petals.
  • Silence is gone again, and so is the noise.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Nhjno9dYzC9yJj_UOD8ZIA


初春记

  • 郑茂明

  • 空货车轰隆隆从写字楼身后驶
  • 抖着满身的铁,响声铮亮
  • 日光春困,半睡半醒的下午
  • 货车走过的地方,空出一小块寂静
  • 树木青晕,幻想中有苔藓的颜色
  • 一把陈旧的椅子,企图发出新
  • 桌上的文件和报表永不发霉
  • 电话和敲门,不约而至两波客人
  • 那是寂静终止的时候
  • 我们总在滔滔不绝谈些什么
  • 有时候,也会出现一个无聊的空当
  • 我就想抖一抖鞋子中硌脚的沙粒
  • 一辆拖拉机挤了进来
  • 突突突跑得正欢,烟囱里冒着黑烟
  • 像沙尘中盛开着薄而黑的花瓣
  • 寂静再一次远去了,喧嚣也不在这儿

DISTANT PLACES

  • by Zhijian Liunian

  • Both the future and distant places mean very little to me now.
  • I have only been to Harbin a few times.
  • The first time was to see my son off to a school in the South.
  • I saw an airplane for the first time and thought
  • it had been waiting there for us the whole time.
  • Later I learned that it flew in 30 minutes earlier.
  • My son waved to me from the security checkpoint, I said nothing,
  • sending him my farewell between travelers coming and going.
  • That was the first time he left us for a distant place.
  • Then the flight crew that had just landed walked by me,
  • pulling their luggage, looking spritely,
  • never stopped looking dashing and beautiful.
  • Every year I go into town a few times for business,
  • to buy seeds and fertilizers, once to exchange for a second-generation ID card,
  • the new head shot shows the years in-between.
  • Time has crushed this person,
  • now powdery, extraordinarily delicate and soft.
  • From a small village to a small town, what I have is
  • a little bit of a place. My courtyard,
  • at the end of February, still hardly feels warm,
  • still desolate, but I can detect
  • things are waking up: my grape vines
  • look shining as their roots in the soil
  • grasp tighter to the darkness.
  • You said: "Find the chance to get out more!"
  • I said: "Will do!" When young,
  • I wanted to go to Ireland, and walk
  • around the sad streets of Dublin,
  • with my hands in my pockets, like Bloom and Stephen.
  • At the time, I read James Joyce's
  • "Ulysses". I read Mr. Van Gogh,
  • and yearned for the wheat fields and crows in North Brabant.
  • "My dear Theo, if you were alive,
  • your brother would return your money ten folds."
  • Tiny Holland, rich with tulips and artists,
  • Rembrandt was obscured by Van Gogh's brilliance.
  • But, Amherst, you truly are so far!
  • Otherwise I really would like to go there for a few days. To your home,
  • which is turned into a Shell gas-station now.
  • Seeing your little desk, I'd sure be amazed,
  • did you really write the immortal poems at this small desk?
  • I'd be sitting in a small café in Amherst, seeing other
  • visitors, like me, come here to pay homage to you.
  • I imagine you in your lonely garden,
  • picking geraniums to make a flower specimen.
  • "Wild strawberries by the fence."
  • Well, Dickinson, I can't help but feel happy.
  • Now, I think the most livable place is England.
  • France is frivolous; Rome, the city of loneliness.
  • England has Shakespeare, it also has the Bronte Sisters.
  • It has Cambridge, football hooligans, gentlemen and paupers,
  • the simplicity of the countryside,
  • and islands that separate us...

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4phI2EaPuhJ9VxdFc6nORg


远 方

  • 指尖流年

  • 我对未来和远方几乎淡漠了。
  • 我只去过几次哈尔滨,
  • 第一次,是送去南方上学的儿子,
  • 我第一次看见飞机,我以为
  • 它一直在那里等候我们,
  • 后来我才知道它是前30分钟飞来的。
  • 儿子在安检口向我招手,我木讷。
  • 我夹杂在穿行的旅人里与儿子道别,
  • 那是他第一次离开我们,去很远的地方。
  • 刚刚降落的空少和空姐神采奕奕,
  • 拉着拉杆箱,从我身旁走过
  • 仿佛永远那么帅气漂亮。
  • 我一年去几趟县城办事。
  • 买种子化肥,和换二代身份证,
  • 我上面头像一年老过一年。
  • 时间已经把这个人碾碎。
  • 现在他呈粉末状,格外细腻柔软。
  • 从小村到小镇,我只有这么
  • 一丁点的地方。我的庭院,
  • 二月的末尾,乍暖还寒,
  • 还在荒芜之中,但我仍感到
  • 万物正在苏醒,我的葡萄藤蔓
  • 闪闪发亮,根系在尘土里,
  • 它正把黑暗抓得更紧。
  • 你说,“有机会出来走走吧。”
  • 我说“会的”。年轻时,
  • 我想去爱尔兰,手插裤兜
  • 走过都柏林忧伤的街,
  • 像布鲁姆和斯蒂芬,
  • 那时,我读詹姆斯.乔伊斯的
  • 《尤利西斯》。我读梵高先生,
  • 就向往北布拉班特的麦田和鸦群,
  • 我亲爱的提奥,如果你健在,
  • 哥哥一定把你资助的钱十倍奉还。
  • 小小的荷兰,盛产郁金香,也出艺术家
  • 伦勃朗被梵高的光彩已然遮蔽了。
  • 可是,安默斯特你真是太远了!
  • 不然我真想去那小住几日。去你家,
  • 据说现已改为“壳”牌加油站。
  • 去看你的小书桌,我惊叹,
  • 你就是在方寸的书桌上写下不朽的诗?
  • 我坐在安默斯特的小咖啡馆,看到这儿
  • 来的游客,他们都像我吧,为你慕名而来;
  • 我想你在你孤独的花园里采撷,
  • 准备制作天竺葵的标本。
  • “篱笆那边的野草莓”
  • 嗯,狄金森,忍不住我想乐。
  • 现在,我想最宜居的地方是英国,
  • 法国浪漫的轻浮;罗马,一座寂寞之都。
  • 英国,有莎士比亚也有勃朗特姐妹,
  • 有剑桥,也有足球流氓,有绅士也有穷人,
  • 有乡下的素朴,也有海岛把我们隔开…!

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/RlYqI0CQ5_jRlCWL0C1U_Q


橙 子

  • 周瑟瑟

  • 在遥远的湖南
  • 有无数间橙子工厂
  • 隐藏在墨绿的树丛中间
  • 橙子滚滚
  • 从机器传送带一端
  • 奔向自由
  • 还有源源不断的
  • 橙子到来
  • 我们爬上橙子工厂楼顶
  • 眺望远处大片橙子树林
  • 它们果实累累
  • 像一只只体态丰满的母鸡
  • 蹲在湖南的山坡上
  • 我要走到它们体内
  • 才能吮吸到雨水、阳光
  • 和夜露的甜蜜
  • 当我们一群人离开时
  • 橙子飞满了天空
  • 橙子的欢叫
  • 让我们频频回头
  • 那是两年前的好时光




MY THREE DAILY RETROSPECTIVES

  • by Zhou Suotong

  • Three meals now reduced to two;
  • three things to do, not a one got done;
  • sleepless till dawn even after saying good-night.
  • Missing the old days but easily forgetting names;
  • never was sure if I really locked the door;
  • out for a walk without bringing a house key.
  • Hoping to be offered a seat in a crammed bus or subway,
  • but annoyed that the school kid called me a grandpa;
  • meaning to walk faster, but seemed to always lag behind.
  • What? The innocent lamp kept the night dark again for me!

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KU5681rd100_2nntMHWgIQ


吾日三省

  • 周所同

  • 三餐减为两餐
  • 三件事没办成一件
  • 道声晚安却一夜失眠
  • 想念故旧常常忘了名字
  • 老是疑心没锁门
  • 散步回来却未带钥匙
  • 挤公交或地铁期待有谁让座
  • 小朋友喊大爷心里难受
  • 想快些走,反而总是落在人后
  • 怎么啦?无辜的灯又替我黑了一夜!

UP ON THE WHITE CLOUD PAVILION

  • by Zhou Xixi

  • Early spring, at an altitude of 350 meters,
  • a chilly nip in the air,
  • the White Cloud Pavilion sees very few visitors now.
  • I walk up from the foothill,
  • each step a step closer to the sky.
  • Up here, the wind is hushed, white clouds stay put,
  • a few birds dash down, toward the human world.
  • The forest is lush green, the lake is shimmering, nothing
  • has changed, only that some folks are gone
  • from time’s precipice like a fallen stone.
  • The White Cloud Pavilion is a fixture, wedged between the hard rocks of time,
  • shaped like an empty wine glass seen from below.The sunset clouds are ablaze,
  • but butterflies seek oblivion in distant niches,
  • this is not a place for doltish truth-seekers.
  • At Nanshan Temple, the ginkgo trees are unpruned,
  • like unshaven monks, they are time’s witness, but do not romanticize.
  • Bird songs are heard from the mountainside;
  • some go up, some go down.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/hAWnb7OFN8eBeq_MCTeCAg


白云阁登高

  • 周西西

  • 海拔三百五十米的早春,寒意料峭
  • 白云阁行人罕至。我从山下来
  • 每上一层,就向天空近一分
  • 更高处,风声清寂,托着白云缓缓游动
  • 几只鸟雀向下,飞往低处的人间
  • 山林苍郁,湖泊泛着微光,仿佛
  • 旧日模样。只是时光如悬崖
  • 故人已抱着石头离开
  • 白云阁像一枚钉子,楔在坚硬的时间里
  • 又似一只悬置在生活里的空酒杯
  • 此处晚霞过火,蝴蝶远遁
  • 缘木求鱼的人不宜久留。南山寺里
  • 带发修行的银杏
  • 只管见证,不问抒情
  • 山腰传来鸟的歌声,有坠落,也有上升

DRUNK AGAIN SEEING 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

  • Simultaneouly 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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/uXDyMF9Seil-5fIcEYeLaw


肢解那头鹿

  • 朱 涛

  • 整个旅程这对情侣不说一句话
  • 女的看风景
  • 男的盯着手机
  • 偶尔他们的手会触碰一起
  • 但旋即闪开
  • 像触了电

  • 女人与男人
  • 要锻造多少群山才能做到如此隔绝

  • 小时候常有秃了毛的山羊问我的年龄
  • 我总是胡编
  • “我十八或者三十五岁啦”
  • 他们会说“孩子你该学数学了”
  • 或者“快去医院吧”

  • 幸好,在旅途的拐角
  • 一头鹿出现了
  • 所有的眼睛逃出车厢奔赴旷野
  • 仿佛要肢解那新鲜如水蜜桃的麋鹿





RETURNING HOME

  • by Zong Hai

  • We got talking about mountains, bridges over brooks,
  • and the snow-dotted fields. We spoke too of derelict rural mansions, dense gathering of pines,
  • and relatives walking up the narrow winding path.
  • Our talk turned to the looming yearend,
  • and the annual homecoming,
  • an army of migrants
  • similar to the wildebeest herds in Africa savanna.
  • The stations surely were overflowing with people.
  • The wavering corridor filled up with dialects and smells,
  • helpless suitcases
  • got pushed around, chaos everywhere,
  • .... all these anxieties
  • just for returning home earlier
  • to hang a string of lanterns
  • under the low lintel of their doorway.
  • —We sit in a tiny tavern,
  • Words spoken in hushed voices,
  • like two clay jugs humming lowly in the wind;
  • the both of us, our hometowns lost.

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

  • Simultaneouly broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/9ZJSCt8gvFevuzGZqyvvcw


回 家

  • 宗 海

  • 我们谈到了山脉,流水的小桥
  • 和落雪的田野。谈到了破败的庄园
  • 黑压压的松树林
  • 以及羊肠小道上走来的亲人
  • 谈到了即将到来的年关
  • 谈到了每年
  • 像非洲草原上成群迁徙的角马一样
  • 返乡的大军
  • 车站上肯定人满为患
  • 摇晃的过道里充斥着方言和气味
  • 无辜的行李
  • 被推搡着,找不见北
  • ……所有的焦灼
  • 都只为早日在故乡低矮的门楣上
  • 悬挂起
  • 那一串串喜庆的灯笼
  • ——我们坐在一家小酒馆里
  • 言语低沉
  • 像两只被风吹响的陶罐
  • 我们是两个,丢失了故乡的人

A VESSEL

  • by Zong Xiaobai

  • It ain’t simple, cause and effect;
  • such as why boiling water looses steam
  • being poured into a cup,

  • or for instance, being alone for long,
  • one becomes a friendly neighbor
  • to one's alter ego,

  • the acute pain of not being needed
  • gets old and is no longer the cause of death.

  • Certainly Confucius couldn't contain his pain
  • after saying to his student that
  • “Man should be boundless, unlike a vessel.”

  • his pain was not the effect
  • of emptying out of the fire in his heart.

  • nor for the friendly compromise
  • between his ego and alter ego,

  • for I know a vessel’s sorrow
  • has nothing to do with water.

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

  • Simultaneouly 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