These are unusual times. These poets are tale-tellers of their world.                  (All rights reserved.)



POEMS

SUMMER DAYS

  • by Li Shangyu

  • Trees make up the scenary, the dainty nerves of the world.
  • Time passes, men depart, and birds fly into the mist.
  • Alone in the city, up early, I eat only pickles and porridge,
  • in awe of the lush green, the season's quiet composure.
  • Last night I recalled Essays in Idleness by Urabe Kenko,
  • which by itself called for getting drunk —
  • Do you know? A new day has arrived,
  • morning and afternoon, the omnipresence of mist and grayness.
  • When the wind loves the trees, it moves it like deep ocean.
  • When the wind loves a man, oh, he walks out in style!
  • Well? Look! See! The hanging bridge arches over men, small like ants,
  • as white rain falls helplessly into the river flowing east.
  • This is summer, once young, now worn, perfect for a walk,
  • and I’ll never again sing songs of righteous ardor
  • because I am weary, am done with a certain way of life. Isn't it so?
  • Drunk in youth, showy in prime, deep in old age.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

夏 日

  • 李商雨

  • 树木即风景,人世清朗的神经
  • 一别悠悠,飞鸟空濛
  • 城里寂寞,早上只吃咸菜稀饭
  • 我惊愕于你浓绿的不动声色
  • 昨夜又想到“徒然草”,这成了
  • 忍不住饮酒的借口——
  • 你是否知道?当新的一天来临
  • 这儿,那儿,上午茫茫,下午冥冥
  • 当树爱上风,墨风;当风
  • 爱上了人,那风里来的人——
  • 啊,看见了吗?长桥铁索,人如蝼蚁
  • 当白色的雨徒然地射入东流水
  • 这是青春过后的夏日,我学会了
  • 漫步,不再歌颂热血,这表明我已厌倦
  • 一种生命形式。不是吗?
  • 青年昏昏,中年朗朗,暮年幽幽。

LIU YUNFAN AND HIS PAINTINGS

  • by Liu Nian

  • 1
  • At one point, the whole world seemed to scorn Liu Yunfan, including me and my wife.
  • 2
  • Liu Yunfan, 23 years old, completed vocational school, but then failed as a cook, a motor-scooter jitney, and a street peddler of roasted potatoes, so as a last resort became an unskilled laborer, which we reluctantly accepted, hoping he would survive with honest hard work. He worked on a farm, did concrete molding and landscaping, but in all these jobs he failed because he was too dopey and cranky. Earlier this year I told him to come to my classes. Even though it was unlikely he would be any good at poetry, I believe art can redeem life just like religion. Sure enough, he began to calm down and ponder his place in the world. He then got his qualification as a security guard, ready to be self-reliant. Just about then, I met Liu Hui, a 36-year-old man from Shaoyang, teaching at Laojida. A painter and a fair poet, quiet and gaunt, Teacher Liu defended art like a fierce warrior. Still, sometimes he despaired and looked for a glass of wine in my house.
  • 3
  • Liu Yunfan, stocky but slow-witted, clueless and muttering his words, was considered a dumbhead by many people and became a subject of ridicule and bullying. A while back, he was told off by a girl introduced to him by a match-maker, calling him a dodo. But Teacher Liu said his naiveté was essential for an artist, treasured by all great masters. That day, Teacher Liu saw the painting of a bird by Liu Yunfan —a parrot that had just died. As he grieved for the bird, I urged him to make a painting of it as a memento. The painting turned out to be very ugly, so I tossed it away. But Liu Yunfan had kept a photo of it and showed it to Teacher Liu. Staring at the painting, Teacher Liu proclaimed Liu Yunfan a genius. I didn’t believe it. We once enrolled him in an art class, and saw him disregard all perspectives and proportions. The teacher wasn’t critical, but his classmates made fun of him, so he gave up after a few classes. According to Teacher Liu: good portraits can be painted by any trained hand, but rarely does one come with ingenuity. He envied Liu Yunfan’s uninhibited mind, and said he should take up painting rather than wasting his life away as a security guard. Liu Yunfan agreed on the spot. In my memory that was the first time someone had said something good about him.
  • "Firefly Flowers" by Liu Yunfan
  • 4
  • “Make art with heart! Tackle problems on the way! Theories shackle the mind.” Teacher Liu's philosophy is as unconventional as his art. Liu Yunfan took home his first art work, basically a mob of wiggly lines. The second painting was called “The Fields”, with a hint of poetry and philosophy in it, akin to Wallace Stevens' jar in his poem. The third painting "The Earth" began to enthrall. His fourth and fifth paintings showed progress. Teacher Liu was prepared for surprises, but was totally dumbfounded. Liu Yunfan’s brush strokes were churlish, but authentic and bold. Moreover, his feel for color was unambiguous, his conceptualization was great, never failing to reduce complexity to simplicity, zooming into the heart of the matter, revealing down-home truths with his greenness, unveiling amazing artless beauty. At first glance, some of his paintings looked so-so, but on the wall they looked more and more interesting; their shortcomings in the old-school sense had become essential to his art. To the right: The Earth by Liu Yunfan
  • 5
  • Several weeks had gone by and Liu Yunfan’s creativity didn’t seem to be a fluke; only then did I dare to show my pleasure.
  • At three years old, he could only say one word, that was “Mama”, diagnosed as delayed language development linked to the center cord of his brain. Our well-meaning relatives and friends privately advised us to have another child, to help take care of Liu Yunfan in the years to come. We said "no" resolvedly as it would be unfair to pass on our responsibilities to his younger sibling. Therefore, my wife gave up her job to look after him and to help him become self-sufficient, which has been our common goal. Friends who knew our pain then would understand our happiness at this juncture.
  • 6
  • Exhausted from writing, I would come to sit in the living room. The walls are covered with his paintings. To shield them from the sun, wind and rain, I close all curtains.
  • In fact, there isn’t any need for windows because each painting opens into a brand new world. "Irises” was painted for the three iris plants I brought back from the deep mountains in Sangzhi a hundred kilometers away. The bundle had about a dozen leaves and similar number of flowers, but his painting shows only two leaves and two flowers. I thought perhaps he was too lazy to elaborate. The main object was green, but he also gave it a green background, against orthodoxy. I refrained from criticizing him. However, on the wall, the green leaves and the green background refract on each other, like the emerald from Yunnan, all the more touching and mysterious the longer you look at it. Two small flowers— one in bloom the other still a bud, are like two sullen personalities, back to back, pitifully sweet. That painting is one of my favorites. "Red Rock Ridge" was his first plein-air piece. That day, the sun was bright, the sky was blue and wide, the temperature was 32 degrees. The pebble beach of Lishui River had an unobstructed view. My only desire was for him to finish the painting, to foster the idea that the pursuit of art involved sacrifice. Being a manual laborer over the years, enduring hardship was nothing for him. There I watched before my eyes a blank canvas being infused with tension, weight and warmth. He used simple dark blue strokes to depict the river, and, breaking all convention, added lemon yellow to it.
  • Teacher Liu said this painting had got it. Sure enough, the painting’s bold lines and its squarely and full layout combine to produce an uncompounded magnificence. This is one of my favorites, too. Although called Red Rock Ridge, the mountain is actually dark red, made of sandstone with moss growing, therefore appearing blackish red. In Liu Yunfan’s painting, the mountain’s red pigment is fearlessly saturated, looking bright red, completely distorted; however, with just a glance my wife, still back home a long way away, recognized it as Red Rock Ridge, which she had visited only once.
  • In the evening, after playing basketball, we came back to sit in the living room, and I found a chance to ask him about his paintings.
  • What kind of flower is this? Firefly flower. He said. I asked him where did firefly flowers grow.
  • He said he imagined it. He felt there ought to be such flowers in the world, so he painted them.
  • He said let them exist, and they came to life, out of nothing.
  • For a moment, he was the creator, creating firefly flowers, with a yellowish glow, swimming like tadpoles.
  • The piece "Life" has a flower in some murky amniotic fluid like a trembling child in the uterus, as if bowing and apologizing to the glassware, as if paying homage to the uterus, clearly a good portrayal of Liu Yunfan himself. In "Grapes”, the subject was on the plate, but Liu Yunfan gave them wings to fly, with yellow sand and red rocks at the bottom, like a king reigning over the world. His “Sunflower" lacks zeal compared to Van Gogh’s. His flower looked frail, lonely, and sad, without the passion in Van Gogh’s painting. In ”Through Time and Space", he showed a green meteorite floating at the margin of time and space, as if carrying the first or the last hope of life. “Earth” has pleasing colors, but also gives the impression of struggle. The bunch of white flowers really want to break through the imprisonment of the vase to rejoin the earth, but the glass is too thick. "Flowers and Glass" suggests a different outlook: the flower is on fire, vibrant and profuse; the glass jar looks wobbly soft as if it could melt at any time, a sharp contrast to the flower. In “Roses", the boundary vanishes between the flowers and the glass. They meld into a mandolin, sharing a warm rhythm, just like when prison guards and prisoners dance together. In "Heavy Rain", the fat raindrops have a bomb-like texture, like the rain I braved on my motorbike through Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau. In "The Fields”, there was a basket of stones in the wilderness, reminding me of Wallace Stevens' “Anecdote of the Jar”...
  • ”The wilderness rose up to it,
  • And sprawled around, no longer wild.
  • The jar was round upon the ground
  • And tall and of a port in air.
  • It took dominion everywhere.
  • The jar was gray and bare.
  • It did not give of bird or bush,
  • Like nothing else in Tennessee.”
  • "Evening Cherry Blossoms" depicts the cherry tree downstairs; the branchlets, so heavy with flowers, that they break in light rain. This species of cherry tree does not bear fruit, which reminds me of people who sacrifice everything just to look pretty. I found a broken twig and put it in a vase at home, hoping its beauty would last a few extra days. It was indeed a blessing in disguise because Liu Yunfan preserved it on his canvas. He even housed it in his favorite jar with a spiral color background. Now the beauty for which the tree sacrificed everything would last forever. The three fish in "Fish" are like a family. They recently escaped the terrifying deep sea to swim in the shallows in white light. Naturally, I am the biggest and the last fish, with tears in my eyes. Do fish cry? I don't know, but I would. When Liu Yunfan was five years old, I stayed at home full time to teach him language. One day we were working on a poem:
  • “All birds have flown away, so high.
  • Lonely cloud drifts on, so free.
  • Gazing at Mount Jingting,
  • nor am I tired of him, nor he of me.”
  • After 136 repetitions, a number that I could never forget, he still jumbled the words, forgot the lines, without perceiving the meaning; but he tried and tried tirelessly. I pretended that I needed a bathroom break, but couldn’t stop tears rolling down my face in the corridor.
  • Why is there a white ball in the middle of "Azalea"? Like a spot with flaking paint. I tried three times to persuade him to change it to to the more pleasing yellow. He said it couldn’t be changed, it needed to be white. I asked again, and he, being slow with words and feelings, still couldn’t explain.
  • When he said it couldn’t be changed, it meant it couldn’t be changed.
  • In the canvas of fifty by forty centimeters, let him be his own god.
  • 7
  • Beauty, like religion, teaches us to be kind.
  • Compared with a year ago, Liu Yunfan seems a new person.
  • He has quit smoking, alcohol and beetle nuts. Apart from painting, he attends classes informally. He goes to different classes, sometimes repeating the same class of mine three times, but who knows if he absorbs them or not even though he always has a notebook with him. The rest of the time, he mails books out for me, prints documents for me, fills out forms, plays football, and does laundry and cooking for the family. He also writes a poem each week. The latest one is “Cooking Fish":
  • “First add a little oil
  • then plonk in the carp to fry
  • transfer it into water to boil
  • and simmer
  • next is to eat it
  • Fish is delicious
  • they say fish recharges the brain and IQ
  • particularly suitable for me.”
  • Mundane inventory, consistent ho-hum, without any technique.
  • He put it all down without thinking too much. Sending it off to circulate among his friends, he went out to play basketball.
  • I, however, tasted the sadness in it.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, 2022


刘云帆和他的画

  • 刘年

  • 1
  • 一度,感觉整个世界都在嫌弃刘云帆了。
  • 包括我和妻子。
  • 2
  • 刘云帆,23岁。职业高中毕业后,做不好厨师,跑摩的,卖烧洋芋烧苞谷,但这些不长久,就让他做体力活,希望今后能凭借诚实和勤劳养活自己。种过菜、做过装模木匠、园丁,手脚慢,性子躁,做不好。这一年来,让他听我讲课,学诗歌,未必能学成,但我知道艺术和宗教一样,能救赎人生。果然,渐渐静了下来,想争口气,于是考了保安证,准备去当保安养活自己。这时候,遇见了刘徽,邵阳人,36岁,在老吉大教书。不仅画画,诗也不错。看起来瘦弱文静,对艺术却有勇士般的绝决,偶有孤军奋战的无助,所以会来我家找酒。
  • 3
  • 四肢发达,头脑简单,不近人情,不谙世事,吐字不清,于旁人来说,刘云帆是傻子,憨头,是嘲笑和欺辱的题材,前不久,相亲的女孩子,就骂他愚宝,赶了出来。但刘徽说,这种未被世俗污染的性格,恰恰是绘画最需要,世界级的大师,往往终生追求的就是这种天真。那天,他见到刘云帆画的一只鸟,画的鹦鹉,他养死了,很悲伤,我建议他画下来留个纪念,画得粗陋不堪,像人的样子,纸当场就扔掉了,没想到他拍了下来,听刘徽是画家,就给他看,刘徽大呼天才,我不信。曾经让他学过几天画,完全不顾透视和比例,老师倒没说什么,同学们总是取笑他,便放弃了。刘徽说:画像是匠人做的事,画出创意则很难,刘云帆没有栅栏的头脑,连他都羡慕——当什么保安,学画来。刘云帆乐呵呵地当场答应了。记忆中,这是第一次,有人这么看重他。
  • 4
  • 直接创作!遇到问题解决问题!技术理论会给他的头脑套上枷锁,跟其绘画一样,刘徽的教学理念也别具一格。刘云帆带回了第一张,是一堆凌乱狂舞的线条。第二张,便是史蒂文森的“坛子”般的《田野》,有了诗意和哲学味。第三张便是《大地》,画出了力量。第四张,第五张,边画边进步,刘徽有了心理准备,依然觉得不可思议。用笔笨拙,但创意大胆,而且,对色彩的感觉很准,概括能力强,总能总能画繁为简,直抵事物的本质,使稚嫩变成了返朴归真的深刻和素面朝天的惊艳。有些画初看,觉得不过如此,挂上墙,则越看越有味,那些所谓的缺点,也变成了非此不可的特点。
  • 5
  • 几周了,确定刘云帆不是误打误撞了,才敢说出自己的开心。
  • 他三岁,只会说妈妈一个词语。被诊断为大脑语言中枢发育迟缓,好心的亲友私下劝我们再要一个孩子,以后可以帮他,我们坚持不要,转嫁责任,对他不公平,对弟弟妹妹也不公平。妻子因此放弃了工作,专心照看他。用尽一生,帮他独立生活,是我们私下定的一个目标。
  • 理解当年的疼痛的朋友,就会理解此时的开心。
  • 6
  • 写作累了,我会在客厅坐一坐。
  • 墙上挂满了他的画。
  • 怕进阳光和风雨,我把窗帘都关了。
  • 其实,不用开窗了,一幅画,就是一扇窗子,可以看到你从未经历过甚至是从未想过的世界。《鸢尾花》一幅,是我从山里一百公里外的桑植带回来的三株鸢尾花给他画的。十几片叶子,十几朵花,但他只画了两片,两朵。我觉得他是偷懒,画得太简单了,前景本就是绿的,背景竟然也违反常识的继续用绿,强忍着没有批评他。但挂上墙了之后,那种叶子的绿和背景的绿,相互映衬,像那种名贵的翡翠——腾冲绮罗玉,越看越神秘,越看越动人。两朵小花,一朵开,一朵含,像两个负气的人,背对背,可爱可怜,现在成了我最喜欢的画之一。《红岩岭》是他第一次外出写生的作品,当时烈日高照,万里无云,气温达三十二度。在澧水边的石滩上,没有任何遮挡,我觉得只要画完就好,让他意识到追求艺术,是需要牺牲精神的。干过那么多体力活,吃苦对他来说很在行,我是眼睁睁看着一张白布,是如何被他赋予张力、重量和温度的。画水,几笔深蓝过后,竟然破开荒的用了柠檬黄,刘徽说,这幅画有了。果然,粗壮有力的线条,稳定饱满的布局,画出了遗世独立的磅薄,是我最喜欢的作品之一。红岩岭虽然名为红,其实那是暗红的砂岩,长着青苔,因此红中带着黑,但在画中,饱和度被他肆无忌惮地夸张,变成了鲜红,完全失真,但远在老家的妻子,一眼就看出了是仅去过一次的红岩岭。
  • 傍晚,我们打完篮球回来,坐在客厅休息的时候,我找他聊了聊他的画。
  • 这是什么花?萤火虫花。我问他哪里有萤火虫花。
  • 他说他凭想象的,觉得应该有,于是就画了。
  • 他说应该有就有,没有也有了。
  • 这一刻,他就是造物主,造出了蝌蚪一样游动的带着微黄光芒的萤火虫花。
  • 《生命》一幅,小花在如子宫如羊水般的混沌里,像个战战兢兢的孩子,似乎在向玻璃器皿鞠躬道歉,或者向子宫致敬,分明是刘云帆自己的写照。《葡萄》实物本来在盘子里的食物,刘云帆让它长出了翅膀,飞到了天上,下面以黄沙和红岩相配,有了君临天下的气势。《向日葵》和梵高的热情如火不同,他画的是纤弱、孤独和悲伤。《穿越时空》,时空尽头,飘浮着一块绿色的陨石,仿佛是生命最初或者最后的希望。《大地》色彩悦目,但充满挣扎感,那束白色的花,很想冲破玻璃瓶的束缚,重回大地,但无奈玻璃却那么厚。《花儿与玻璃》却有相反的意思,花儿如火,充满了强大的生命力,而玻璃缸软塌塌的,似乎随时会融化掉,形成了鲜明的对比。《玫瑰》一幅,花与玻璃,打破了界限,交融成了一把琴,有了共同的韵律,有了狱警和囚犯一起跳舞的温馨。《暴雨》中,饱壮的雨滴,有炸弹一样的质感,那是我骑摩托在青藏高原遇上的雨。《田野》中,旷野里,一篮子石头,让我想起了史蒂文森的《坛子秩事》“……于是荒野向坛子涌起,匍匐在四周,再不荒莽。坛子圆圆地置在地上,高高屹立,巍峨庄严……它无法产生鸟或树丛,,不像田纳西别的东西”。《晚樱》画的是楼下的樱花,不胜其繁,一点小雨,就断了,这种樱花不结果,让我想到了那种为了美不顾了一切的人。捡回来,养在瓶子里,想让她多美几天。因祸得福,被刘云帆移到了纸上,并换了他喜欢的瓶子和旋转色块的背景,她拼了命开出来的美,可以一直美下去了。《鱼》三条鱼,像极了一家三口,刚从恐怖的深海里逃出来,往有白光的浅海里游去,我自然是最大最后的那条,眼里含着泪。鱼会流泪吗?我不知道,但我会,五岁的时候,在家全职教他讲话,那天读的是“众鸟高飞尽,孤云独去闲。相看两不厌,只有敬亭山。”教了他一百三十六遍,这是我一生都难以忘记的数字,不仅背不得,不仅读不准,还读不通。看着他努力的不厌其烦的样子,我假装上厕所,在走廊就泪流满面了。
  • 《映山红》那幅,中间为什么添一团白?像破洞一样,掉漆一样,我已经是第三次劝他,如果换成黄色可能更好看。他说不能换,就应该是白色。再追问,不善于表达的他,也说不出所以然来。
  • 他说不能换就不能换。
  • 在五十乘四十厘米的方框里,就让他做一回自己的上帝吧。
  • 7
  • 美和宗教一样,教人向善。
  • 相比于一年前,刘云帆仿佛换了一个人。
  • 戒了烟、酒和槟榔。除了画画之外,他做得最多的事就是听课。什么课都听,我的课,他可以听三遍,也不知听进去没,反正每次都带着笔记本。其余的时间,给我寄书、打印、填表、打球,还负责洗衣做饭。一个星期写一首诗。最近写了首《煮鱼记》:“先放点油/再倒草鱼炒/再用清水煮/煮开了/再用小火煮/然后煮熟就吃了/鱼好吃/他们说吃鱼会补脑补智商的/适合我吃”
  • 一贯的罗索,一贯的平铺直叙,没有任何技巧。
  • 他写出来,没当一回事。扔到朋友圈,就去打篮球了。
  • 但我竟然读出了悲凉。

EVER SINCE I SAW THE FACE OF THE STAR

  • by Asu Yue’er

  • What an unfathomable pool of dark water! So as not to drown in it,
  • I must hasten to leave before nightfall,
  • and make sure not to catch even a drop of blackwater
  • lest it contaminates my poetry
  • or muddy up my path and make it treacherous.
  • I shall take along my deep disenchantment about the world,
  • but bury the old fame and glory in the wasteland.
  • If a passing star happens to see me on my way,
  • I shall resuscitate the last poetic breath in me to catch it,
  • to hold it in my bosom to fall asleep,
  • and talk and drink with it every remaining day,
  • but no doubt the star will outlive me.
  • For the rest of my days, which are numbered,
  • I shall quickly learn the art of self-sufficiency,
  • to sow, harvest, and master every nitty-gritty in-between.
  • I also hope the birds will come to feed
  • when the cherries are ripe,
  • not to worry about landing on the fence to greet me first.
  • Ever since I saw the face of the star,
  • I have forsaken all the formalities of the world.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JW2-ql7RrCxKCWnlyKsLow


自从与天上的星星见过面

  • 阿苏越尔

  • 江湖水深。为了不被淹没
  • 我得赶在日落前离开
  • 为此,我不会让一滴江湖之水
  • 留在接下来的诗句中
  • 致使我的道路泥泞,湿滑
  • 我会带走累积多年的无力感
  • 在无人的荒野埋葬从前的功名
  • 这极有可能被一颗路过的星星看见
  • 我会动用气息尚存的诗句摘下它
  • 让星星和我一起蒙头大睡
  • 醒来后开始喝酒聊天,虚度余生
  • 星星的余生有可能比我的长
  • 在接下来的短暂余生中
  • 我还得抓紧学会自食其力
  • 耕作和采摘,这些技艺都得逐项学习
  • 要是我种的樱桃熟了
  • 希望有鸟儿不请自来,欢快啄食
  • 不必先落在墙头,假惺惺打招呼
  • 自从与天上的星星见过面
  • 世俗的虚礼我早已遗忘

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 graced by scattered clouds.
  • Spring is the time to sow when the soil bustles. Farmers decide who live and who die —-
  • the fate of a fennel seed is in a flick of my hand.
  • The baby chestnut tree was brought home from the market,
  • last night the soft rain, beseeched by me, came like a sigh,
  • Flowers are teeming, except me, useless even if putting on rouge.
  • The mountain feels like a middle-aged woman blessed with child.
  • Nature goes about its business day and night: the ways of the birds and the bees
  • all enter the beekeeper’s account as the roof glints in the moonlight.
  • My romantic ambitions fades by the end of summer--
  • those irrational and uncalled-for schemes.
  • The mountains accommodate every one under the stars,
  • even a small snake whom I came across in the ravine,
  • and the myriad of plants named by men, regardless.
  • Time flows by in the mountains, absent of memories, unaffected by the past.
  • Besides those resting in peace, myself puttering around,
  • the farmers taking a break on the potato patch, and the secretive few behind the bamboo groves,
  • there is hardly anyone around. I have slowly got used to how trees think
  • and how wild grass grow, and tread quietly so as not to startle the turtledoves.
  • As to the land, it deserves praises; any other words would be 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 own biography is overly complicated: family name, age, acquired skills,
  • origin unknown, and whereto is anyone’s guess.
  • The full moon only shines on our dear Eastern Mountain.
  • The full moon only rests on the trees of Eastern Mountain,
  • brightening the graves, and brightening up the ashen eaves of a few houses,
  • a weary scene from the never-ending years, a wordless lament.

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

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


东山顶上

  • 白玛

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

WHEN THE LAMP IS BURNING

  • by Bai Qingguo

  • After the shadows moved away,
  • the oil wall lamp brightens up the room.
  • So small is the lamp,
  • but it has blackened half of the wall with smoke.
  • While the two rugged heads conversed,
  • the lamp projected them on the opposite wall like giants, so tall.
  • During the day, they never look so grand.
  • The things they talk about, I must have heard a hundred times,
  • the same things over and over again,
  • almost like how spring returns every year
  • with minuscule differences, a blade missing or gained.
  • Oftentimes I feel stupefied in the adjacent room,
  • too familiar to me to need lights.
  • It has been like this for thirty-odd seasons.
  • My parents' conversation continues
  • as if I did not exist.
  • Only when a particularly serious matter comes up,
  • they would sit up like two statues
  • without a word,
  • facing the darker corner unlit by the lamp,
  • as if in a daze.

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

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


灯燃亮以后

  • 白庆国

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

HIGH-SPEED RAIL

  • by Ban Ruo

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

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

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


高铁上

  • 班 若

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

NOVEMBER

  • by Bangji Meiduo

  • In November, winter marches in full force on several fronts.
  • New snow piles on old snow, reshaping the cosmos.
  • In November, snow collapses from the defoliated pine.
  • They will stay on the mountain beyond spring.
  • In November, the setting sun on skeletal trees attracts a following.
  • The breeze over the Sun Moon twin lakes trails the high clouds.
  • In November, the sickle moon grows fat as the clouds shift.
  • A few deaths gently remind us of mortality, its randomness and inevitability.
  • In November, I want to come down from the scrubby mountain.
  • The tender grass under the weight of fallen leaves strives to bust out.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/XprT25ZPcaNK8oHtB8wRTQ


十一月

  • 邦吉梅朵

  • 十一月,冬天的力量在早晚分头行动
  • 雪落在雪上重新酝酿着天上和地下的一切
  • 十一月,松针掉落处传来雪落的声音
  • 它们将在山上保存至下一个春天以及以后
  • 十一月,枯枝撑着落日增加照片数量
  • 月亮湖和太阳湖上荡起的微风比云慢一些
  • 十一月,月亮从瘦变胖云在眼前来回几段
  • 死亡不经意间提醒着几个意外和必然
  • 十一月,我想从满坡的飘零中走出来
  • 落叶遮盖的嫩草尖上印着努力抛弃的痕迹

PRINCE

  • by Bei Ye

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


常公子

  • 北 野

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

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

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

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




OCEAN'S NEIGHBOR

  • by Bei Ye

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


大海的邻居

  • 北 野

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

EVENING PRAYER

  • by Bo Hua

  • Afternoons were way too long
  • in prepubescent Europe,
  • so when did evensongs begin?
  • Doomsday authors, writers of death, misanthropes,
  • I hope none of you will come.
  • Mr. Zongdai*, I have been thinking...
  • about that day on June 1st, 1924,
  • were you still remorseful about your zealous youth?
  • "In the warm glow of the atonement stars,
  • I say my prayers, giving my gratitude.”
  • Terrestrial and aquatic forces, wind and fire surge against entropy.
  • How did shrimps die? How did ants die?
  • Life is an off-chance, as fluky as a blind deep-sea turtle running into driftwood,
  • but how fast it grows and decays —
  • after breakfast comes lunch, and it will be dinner again soon.
  • Thinking about this, evening prayers…
  • Thinking about how to be
  • unfathomable in old age, as Goethe put it,
  • shall we never to forget, not for a minute,
  • those who have pained us?

  • *Translator’s note: Liang Zongdai (1903–1983) was a Chinese poet and translator, one of the most popular poets writing in free verse in early 20th Century.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang with Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-AHWO0P1TfjCNwLetFLKNw


晚 祷

  • 柏 桦

  • 午后的光景太长了,
  • 在欧洲的童年时代,
  • 晚祷从什么时候开始的?
  • 灾难作家、死亡作家、恨人类的作家
  • 我希望你们都不要到场
  • 宗岱先生,我也在想……
  • 1924年,6月1日这天
  • 你还在悔恨地沉思着狂热的从前吗?
  • 晚祷“在黄昏星忏悔的温光中
  • 完成我感恩的晚祷。”
  • 地大水大火大风大,散光了
  • 虾子怎么死的,蚂蚁怎么死的
  • 生命难得,方生方死多么快呀
  • 大海盲龟穿木——
  • 早饭过后是午饭,晚饭说来就来了
  • 想想这个道理,晚祷……
  • 想想为了像歌德说的那样,
  • 人应该在老了的岁月里变得神秘
  • 我们是否必须念念不忘
  • 那些曾经带给我们痛苦的人?

PAINTED FACE

  • by Bo Xiaoliang

  • Too lush, too brash,
  • a maverick in the battle of life, but in quieter moments,
  • she looks as pure as a virgin from the west side of town.
  • In the bawdy corners of the street, people call her Snow White.
  • If the tofu merchant's eyes dwell on her for too long,
  • she would raise her chin, then all else pales.
  • Still, society renounces her for being hell-bound and smutty, even though
  • drifters, poor scholars, gangsters, local officials, and the rest
  • who visit her gaudy boudoir treat her like diva, or perhaps more like prey.
  • She has weathered more than the world itself, q lonely soul,
  • savage and destructive at times,
  • but what can be more tormenting than being played repeatedly?
  • Yet she loves,
  • desperately loves.
  • Knowing that everything amounts to dust, she still loves,
  • despite it all.

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


画 妖

  • 薄小凉

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

BURNING CLOUDS

  • by Buri Gude

  • God likes hardworking people,
  • sprinkling gold
  • on sorghum and millet at sunset,
  • evincing them, vouchsafing the earth
  • with new sumptuous tales to tell.
  • Our insignificant days
  • are shrouded by burning clouds:
  • grandpa and grandma submerse in burning clouds,
  • same as the old well, the grain mill, the field roller at the village gate,
  • and the creaking old water wheel.
  • Baiyin'na Village and Taha River lie in burning clouds.
  • A small mountain train, carrying both cargos and passengers,
  • also moves through burning clouds. The front carriages
  • are a kaleidoscope of July's and August’s
  • greengrocery. The trailing carriages
  • carry odds and ends — oil, salt, vinegar, tea, sauces. Sometimes
  • a burning cloud clings to the carriage, dreaming
  • its way to a bumper autumn.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rt6hI4AxvWh6nPeBtKwZ0w


火烧云

  • 布日古德

  • 上帝喜欢勤劳的人
  • 愿意在落日之前,撒下
  • 一片金子,给高粱、谷子
  • 增加成色,也愿意土地上多一些
  • 成熟的故事
  • 小日子
  • 在火烧云里
  • 爷爷、奶奶在火烧云里
  • 村口那一口老井、碾坊、碌碡
  • 以及吱吱呀呀的老水车
  • 白银纳、塔哈河在火烧云里
  • 一列半货半客的山里小火车
  • 也在火烧云里。这一列
  • 小火车,前面是山上七八月
  • 新鲜的缩影。后面是一些枝丫
  • 油盐酱醋茶。有时候
  • 火烧云贴着车厢,睡在
  • 秋天自老山的半道上

Electricity

  • by Cao Seng

  • Linking earth to heaven, a towering giant at every pinnacle,
  • through infinite twin wires under every high moon,
  • it roams, lingers, and enters
  • a metaphysical space and reappears as a mighty force,
  • as a flash of ideas. Still it makes further inroads,
  • pecking your neck and sending shivers down the spine.
  • It travels a long way, but takes no more than
  • the blink of an eye. From concepts to gadgets, it alchemizes
  • into a cold-hearted thing, omnipresent and timeless;
  • but for those starving, thirsty or aimless, it can conjure
  • a stupendous landscape, complete with voluptuous flesh.
  • Perhaps it also conforms to physics, like light and wind;
  • with seductive fantasies made of virtual sights and sounds,
  • it offers us a brave new world, a new narrative.
  • Forceful and vulnerable, it bends and twists the river of time;
  • and for our great humanity, it might even add a poetic touch.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/wNtenaukL3-e7LW2Is_93g


  • 曹僧

  • 有天连地,有巨人连高塔,
  • 有无限的平行线陪明月高挂;
  • 供它跑,供它弥留,供它
  • 被导入比喻的把戏变成伟力,
  • 变成一闪念。但它要击穿,
  • 要咬脖子,要你酥酥麻麻。
  • 所以走了很远的路,却是
  • 一转眼。从道而器,变质的,
  • 炎凉摧心,它搬极地以冻龄;
  • 饿的、渴的、空虚的,它
  • 煲出山水,又煲成熟的肉身。
  • 它也有物性了吧,光、风;
  • 魅惑的幻视、幻听,变身为
  • 新的创世,叙述的开始。
  • 它强、它弱,拨转时间的河;
  • 在大愿前,作为诗它撬动。

HOW STRONG MUST THE WIND BE TO PURGE THIS LINE

  • by Chen Can

  • I know it makes no difference what direction I face,
  • when the gale-force wind picks up up from heaven and hell,
  • my body won't be able to evade its frontal assault.
  • Luckily I have already endured
  • the rowdy push and shove of more than one wind,
  • and have learned how to stand firm like a tree.
  • If one day I am finally uprooted,
  • no doubt the long scar from the old injury
  • will still scream out to the newcomers, and say: “you see,
  • this man was once a poetry warrior,
  • rescued to a make-shift battlefield hospital in the southwest,
  • his torn flesh and broken bones stitched up by a doctor,
  • left with a scar that looks like a line of poetry.”
  • For a poet who has a line of poetry engraved on his body,
  • how strong must the wind be in order to purge it?
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Hjl5AscDJEXdqPBFRDWgrQ


多大一阵风才能刮走这一行诗

  • 陈灿

  • 我知道无论我面朝什么方向
  • 一个人的身体对于天地间的大风
  • 都能构成正面袭击
  • 好在我的身体已经承受过一阵
  • 又一阵风莫名其妙的推搡
  • 最后我以一棵树的形象站稳了脚跟
  • 如果哪一天真被连根拔起
  • 我相信身上那一道长长的伤疤
  • 仍然会告诉后来者并大声说出你看
  • 他是一位战士诗人
  • 当年在西南那座简陋的战地救护所
  • 医生把碎了的骨肉重新缝补修复起来
  • 使他身上那一道伤痕多像是一行诗
  • 而一个诗人有了这样一行诗句雕刻在身体上
  • 要多大一阵风才能刮走这一行诗呢

CITY of YANTAI*

  • by Chen Dongdong

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

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang

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

  • by Chen Gong

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

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

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


我的秦时明月

  • 陈功

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

Filling in the Blanks

  • by Chen Guiliang

  • The sky, you see, is blank, so blank,
  • such a vast blank,
  • I wonder what it takes to fill it.
  • It reminds me of Death
  • and the way it is registered on a clan's genealogy;
  • each entry requires a person to give up his life.
  • On a spring afternoon,
  • my father suddenly passed away,
  • filling a generation’s blank space.
  • I know more kinsmen
  • will fill up the remaining blanks.
  • It won’t take long
  • before I replace these people
  • to become a husband, a father,
  • giving my love unconditionally,
  • and know there will be another
  • who will do as I do ––
  • fill in, fill in.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 6

填空

  • 陈贵亮

  • 你看,天空多空,这么大的空
  • 要什么才能填满
  • 如同死亡,在族谱上
  • 需要一个人舍身
  • 某个春日午后,我的父亲突然死去
  • 填补了一代人的空白
  • 我知道,还会有更多的亲人
  • 将填满那些余下的空白
  • 用不了多久。我也会代替他
  • 成为别人的丈夫,父亲
  • 把全部的爱给予他们
  • 然后慢慢等待
  • 另一个人,像我一样
  • 填填补补

LOGS

  • by Chen Liang

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

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

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

木 头

  • 陈亮

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

A MOMENT OF QUIETNESS

  • by Chen Liang

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

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

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


且停记

  • 陈 亮

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

Blushing Red, The Lacquer Tree

  • by Chen Min

  • Blushing Red, maiden in red...
  • More than corn brandy, more than their wives’ names,
  • she inflames the lacquer-tree men, eyes staring wide.
  • What a propitious time to be a bride.
  • In the autumn wind, as the horns blow and blow,
  • slowly and shyly, along the precipice she goes.
  • Walking up to the bluff, high above the field,
  • no thoughts of stopping;
  • watching months and years flying by,
  • no thoughts of stopping.
  • Lovely and sweet, arousing the deepest desires.
  • Brilliant and colorful, what beautiful attire!
  • Oh, which lacquer-tree cutter would not want you?
  • Until the young men call, the elders urge them on,
  • nursing mothers with sweet warm bosoms join in,
  • and dry-eyed foot-binding grandmothers chime in:
  • Blushing Red, maiden in red,
  • around the bend and over the hills.
  • Oh, Blushing Red. Yo!
  • These long rows of buttons don’t hold back a man’s lust,
  • the pickle-munching, potato-eating thinkers and revolutionaries
  • rant about the affairs of Blushing Red, half gasping and panting,
  • staring with eyeballs as wide as saucers, as spirited as wine cups,
  • gazing at a hill of blushing red, prettier than New Year’s Day, longer-lasting than the hills.
  • Blushing Red, maiden in red,
  • coloring heaven and all under it.
  • Oh, Blushing Red. Yo!
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 8

女儿红

  • 文 / 陈敏

  • 女儿红,女儿红......
  • 比包谷酒比老婆红火的名字,
  • 燃烧得割漆的汉子们眼睛发直。
  • 是该红火的时候,便做次新娘子。
  • 在秋风唢呐的护送下,
  • 羞羞答答姗姗走过徒崖。
  • 徒崖坎子挡不住,
  • 纷飞的岁月挡不住。
  • 漂亮得红艳欲滴,
  • 流光溢彩得出奇。
  • (哪个割漆的汉子不想你哟)
  • 直到少男们吆喝,老头们吆喝,
  • 敞开怀奶孩子香喷喷热烘烘的少妇 和
  • 眨巴着眼皮小脚婆婆一齐吆喝:
  • 女儿红,女儿红,
  • ——啊,那漫山遍野的女儿红!
  • 这些一长排布扣子拦不住欲望的汉子们,
  • 酸咸菜红薯糊糊的思想者和叛逆者们,
  • 一边嘟囔着女儿红的风流韵事,
  • 一边喘着气把眼睛瞪得比酒盅大比酒盅有神,
  • 眺望着
  • 这个比阴历年醇美比山坡久长的时辰。
  • ——女儿红,女儿红,
  • 那漫天遍野的女儿红哟!

GRAIN-DRYING COURT

  • By Chen Renjie

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

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

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


晒谷场

  • 陈人杰

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

WHEN DESIRE IS USED UP

  • by Chen Xianfa

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

欲望销尽之时

  • 陈先发

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

A DAY ON THE MOUNTAIN

  • by Chen Xianfa

  • My ‘self’ hides away, in illness rather than in good health,
  • as to what illness, it’s not worth mentioning.
  • Perhaps no illness is worth mentioning.
  • I used to embrace my vanity,
  • my irritability,
  • my antagonism,
  • deep commiseration for others —
  • which is arguably an even more spiteful pathogen.
  • Objectivity oppresses. Let me leave ink on the paper,
  • because no other soil would allow it to take root —
  • illness unlatches the door and walks in like an old friend.
  • I spent another night on the mountain,
  • but this purported empty mountain,
  • what can it do for me?
  • There are footsteps, but no one knows
  • to whom they belong.
  • There are flowers up hill and down dale, but every one of them
  • has been devoured by a nose before me.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4lp-R1tkXcLSVXO7qrJ_cg


山居一日诗

  • 陈先发

  • “自我”匿身在疾病而非治愈中
  • 但我的疾病不值一提
  • 也许所有人的疾病,都不值一提
  • 我对我的虚荣
  • 焦躁
  • 孤独
  • 有过深深的怜悯
  • 而怜悯何尝不是更炙烈的疾病
  • 客观的经验压迫。除了亲手写下
  • 别无土壤可以扎根——
  • 疾病推门而入像个故人
  • 在山中住了一夜
  • 但语义上的空山
  • 又能帮上我什么?
  • 满山有踪迹但不知
  • 是谁的
  • 满山花开,每一朵都被
  • 先我一步的人深深闻过

THE FISHING VILLAGE

  • by Chen Xiaoxia

  • After the typhoon passed,
  • candlelight flickers on the altar, in every home.
  • Waves lace the twilight shoreline,
  • outlined by red lanterns, stone alleys, and burning incense.
  • The grannie who lost her son to the sea leaned on the door all night last night.
  • The village opens its eyes in the arms of the cove,
  • much like mother and child ...
  • Lost souls in the surging storm
  • become tiny crabs, and
  • stumble on their old tracks from another life.

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

渔 村

  • 陈小虾

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

Holiday Hotel in Zhaotong Alley

  • by Chen Yanqiang

  • I am not talking about the famous Wide-Narrow Alleys in Chengdu
  • but the Holiday Hotel in ZhaoTong.
  • It is conveniently a short walk from the bus terminal—
  • a practical choice for me—
  • and spending 80 Yuan for the night would be fine.
  • Perhaps I once treated the hotel owner’s son to a late night meal,
  • so tonight he offered me a hot-pot dinner on the house.
  • I quickly turned down all other parties
  • and looked forward to a hearty drink.
  • Sitting across from me was a beautiful woman,
  • who conversed in Mandarin with every shot she drank.
  • Two of the men at our table passed out quickly,
  • so I called in a backup drinker.
  • But she was as steady as the bottle on the table
  • until around midnight,
  • when the shop owner's son helped her
  • to her rented room.
  • I thought the young man would be gone for the night,
  • but he returned before I finished a cigarette,
  • much to my hidden delight.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 3

昭通宽窄巷子假日酒店

  • 陈衍强

  • 不是成都的宽窄巷子
  • 是昭通的假日酒店
  • 由于步行几分钟就到客运站
  • 我图坐班车方便
  • 就花80元入住
  • 也许我曾经
  • 请店老板的儿子吃过夜宵
  • 他当晚在店里用火锅款待我
  • 我卸载掉别的应酬
  • 时刻准备喝醉
  • 坐我对面的一个美女
  • 一直用普通话下酒
  • 她的酒量很快就删除了我旁边的两个男人
  • 为了备份
  • 我赶紧叫来一个酒徒
  • 与她对饮
  • 她依然像岿然不动的酒瓶
  • 喝到午夜
  • 店老板的儿子
  • 才把她的酒气送回她的出租屋
  • 我以为店老板的儿子
  • 一去不复返
  • 谁知我还没抽完一支烟
  • 他已经返回
  • 我暗自高兴

I CARVE FOR MYSELF A SEAL

  • by Chen Yuguan

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


自刻章

  • 陈鱼观

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

A SHORT LETTER TO MOTHER

  • by Chen Yupeng

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

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

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


给母亲的简短家书

  • 陈钰鹏

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

PLAYING CHESS

  • by Chi Lingyun

  • It will be years before the victor becomes apparent,
  • but the result may not be cut and dry
  • as one may leave midway without warning. In the beginning
  • there was no sadness because no one was left behind.
  • They were preoccupied in building city walls, barehanded,
  • taking deep breaths, or muttering only a word or two
  • as if commanding an army, men and horses,
  • imagining the game would last forever.
  • But people who left early didn’t care.
  • Sometimes the smartest strategist didn’t get to play the winning hand.
  • They all cried. They buried their swords and spears.
  • Painful dreams recur.
  • The dangerous old field turns lush again
  • every spring. They light candles, pining for what’s lost,
  • recording the names of the opponents who left,
  • hoping the battlefield will quickly calm down.
  • They would set off from their own homes
  • after a glass of strong wine, and meet up on horseback
  • to fight the colossal War of the Four Kingdoms;
  • when one's whip is raised, you see
  • horsehair flying all over the chessboard.
  • They argue loudly and fight with words and hands
  • for affairs in a farfetched place.
  • They fight through the night until
  • one of them lays down a chip. How can anyone predict
  • one will be so easily defeated and take off forever.

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

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


他们在下棋

  • 池凌云

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

A Carved Wooden Chair

  • by Chilechuan

  • Not a trace of sky, earth, or ax ...
  • they have no effect on it anymore.
  • All the faults were smoothed out and polished,
  • now it looks like a timeless flower —
  • Someone separated it
  • from many other wooden chairs.
  • It sits alone, like the quietest heart
  • that yields to fate too often: lonely, powerless,
  • being sanded down again and again —
  • An antique, with countless old scars...
  • The carved wooden chair is no longer a chair.
  • Only time comes to rest on it,
  • and no one else dares to
  • do the same.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 7

雕花的木椅

  • 敕勒川

  • 似乎天空、大地和斧头……已与它
  • 无关,所有的伤口
  • 都被抹平,抛光,幻化成了
  • 永恒的花朵——
  • 一把雕花的木椅,被人
  • 从众多的木椅中分离出来,安静得
  • 不能再安静,像一颗
  • 过分安于命运的心:孤独,无奈……被一粒尘埃
  • 反复敲打——
  • 太古老了,那些疼痛……一把雕花的木椅
  • 已不再是一把木椅,除了时光
  • 已没有人敢
  • 轻易
  • 落座……

NINE TURNS*

  • by Deng Deng

  • Changing course doesn't mean
  • changing heart.
  • Everywhere I go, I have seen
  • similar tiny roads, winding
  • backward and forward,
  • getting thinner and thinner, quieter and quieter,
  • until there is no clue where it is going.
  • It happens in Inner Mongolia this time, at Nine Turns.
  • Seen from the airplane,
  • there is a knife hiding in every turn,
  • although the warriors' hands are tied
  • and unappreciated,
  • all with the same angry look,
  • red-faced under the setting sun,
  • as if all being chased by the same river
  • all running out of words:
  • maybe the warrior is running away from himself.
  • He keeps on checking with his heart on the journey.

  • Translator's Note:
  • Nine Turns: Nine turns of Wulagai River, the largest river in Wulagai Grassland, Inner Mongolia.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


九 曲

  • 灯 灯

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

SELF MANAGEMENT

  • by Ding Bai

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

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

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

管理自己

  • 丁白

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

by Ding Shogun


  • No more memories of the old house, no diary kept,
  • no more weeping in the corner,
  • chipped china bowls, piece by piece disappearing,
  • no way of being whole again.
  • Two Sticks my neighbor lamented about it, but he’s also gone,
  • no foreseeable date to resume the conversation.
  • The wooden door has a crack,
  • can’t close tight, has been that way always.
  • The mouse that held on to its way of life
  • finally had enough of the old ruthless cat and rushed off,
  • running away in the middle of the night.
  • There are still many riches in Mother’s vegetable garden.
  • She used to pour her love on those carrots, pumpkins, winter melons
  • to forget her worldly ills. The vegetables were jubilant growers.
  • Even I, though slim now, was often at the garden,
  • feeling as plump and confident as the melons.
  • Allow me to skim on the details, such as our pet black dog,
  • who dashed out of the village, crossed mountains and waters to greet me,
  • carrying our old house and old village on its back.
  • It leaped up and put its right paw on my left shoulder,
  • obviously has forgiven me for disobeying my ailing father.
  • Suddenly it groaned, as if bemoaning my long absence.
  • This place I left behind is growing more and more desolate.
  • Those big cities and small towns, the crowds there won’t even notice it if I am gone missing.

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

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


  • THE PLACE I LEFT BEHIND

我所离开的地方

  • 丁少国

  • 老屋记性不好,且当年没有笔墨来记录
  • 缩在墙角的哭泣,早就无声无息
  • 打碎的粗瓷碗,一片片地失踪
  • 不能逆行于时光破碗重圆
  • 邻居二桃子说起过这事,可他也离开了村子
  • 一切叙谈,只好无限期搁置门板破了
  • 关不严,以前就是这样的
  • 一只坚持自己生活方式的小鼠
  • 宣称受不了老猫的无情,曾轻易地冲门夺路
  • 半夜离家出走
  • 菜园里,有母亲的许多宝贝
  • 她受气时,更加疼爱萝卜白菜南瓜冬瓜
  • 菜蔬欢腾,可劲地生长
  • 别看我现在瘦骨嶙峋,那时我也常去菜园
  • 胆子大,敢与冬瓜比一比谁更胖
  • 想忽略一些小小细节,比如一条家养黑狗
  • 跑出村口,翻山涉水,半路来接我
  • 它背来一所老屋、一座村庄
  • 它腾空而起,右爪搭上我的左肩
  • 很明显,它已原谅我对病中老父的忤逆
  • 忽地,它呜呜低鸣,因我久别不归而委屈
  • 我所离开的地方,越发萧疏
  • 我所去的大城小城,人已很多,不缺我一个

PAST MID-AUTUMN, SITTING ALONE ON A BARREN HILL

  • by Dong Li

  • Old Heaven has a really long face today;
  • someone must have owed him 800,000 in cash plus interest.
  • The hills are overflowing with wild daisies,
  • but not a single one of them
  • knows why the sunflowers were all executed in autumn.
  • Sparrow hawks screech in the sky.
  • Are they looking for mates to raise a family
  • or are they hunting for food?
  • I sit on the hilltop, alone,
  • not thinking about our rundown village.
  • The farmers are harvesting at the foothill,
  • looking neither happy or sad.
  • Music is heard from a distance, the music for a marriage,
  • the same one played in funerals,
  • as if alluding to the adage:
  • there is nothing new under the sun.

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


中秋后,荒山独坐

  • 东篱

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



THE OLD CARPENTER

  • by An Qiaozi

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


老木匠

  • 安乔子

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

DAWN REDWOOD

  • by Feng Qiang

  • A squad of avenue trees stand guard at our Telecom Community,
  • awake like exposed urban nerves; their barren arms
  • remain inclined for gravitropism, quickly adopting
  • a proper tilt, best if perpendicular
  • to the ground, no arching or maundering, but ready for
  • a new spur. Dawn redwoods give themselves very little time to dither,
  • not all pleased with men’s arbitration of their space, but quickly gauge
  • the distance from one another, ironing out in what direction
  • to add a new spear so that everyone
  • gets a nice dose of sunlight. My daughter and I marvel at
  • their tacit mutual respect: what length of branch
  • for what opening, not stiff-necked about reaching for the sun,
  • but sidestepping at times and pushing harder
  • to rise to a new height.

  • Each tree meditates by the road, gilding and shading the avenue,
  • — sometimes one is chopped down to make room for car parking;
  • the pain is shared, with a subterranean fist-bump — welcoming
  • a benign pinch of lime and the otherwise total neglect. A dawn redwood
  • will always be a dawn redwood, always adjusting its tilt relative to the Earth.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/92F7JkECTuai8e-pK8G3JQ


水 杉

  • 冯 强

  • 电讯小区居委会前的整饬队列
  • 此地裸露的神经,叶片脱尽不影响
  • 他们热爱地心引力,每一个当下
  • 调整自己的弧度,热爱与地面的
  • 垂直,绝不驼背,绝不旁逸,又引而
  • 不发,水杉的时间允许暂时的困惑
  • 不满于人类给予的位置,他们测量
  • 相互间的距离,商议各自从合适的方向
  • 伸出下一根枝丫,以确保每一个自己
  • 获得恰当分量的阳光,我和女儿惊呼于
  • 他们的尺度和默契:多大的距离
  • 可以拉多长的枝,不一定向阳
  • 可以迂回,向阴面伸展,或者力争
  • 上游,在更高的地方透一口气
  • 在路边入定,装饰着掩护着路面
  • 被砍伐,为了腾出一个停车位的空间
  • 相互交流痛苦,在地面下碰拳,接受
  • 一米石灰的美意,接受我们的无视,水杉
  • 依然是一株水杉,纠正着自己与地面的倾斜

Letter to a Friend

  • by Ah Xin

  • Let me tell you about these sheep. In many ways
  • they are like those ocean creatures you know so well:
  • in the benevolence of the creator, they bear children,
  • each has a face of a lad or an old man.
  • These days they are on the hills, a tight flock, a warm flock,
  • with a thin frost on, like a white mountain.
  • Above them are countless constellations:
  • the Bear in the north, the Dipper in the south, the Arabian Aquarius,
  • the Milk Way flowing like the Amazon...ancient but refreshing.
  • I set up my tent next to them.
  • My dreams are numerous, too, and each brings its own comfort.
  • Dawn, dripping with dew, floats down to the grassland at the foothill,
  • like an armada of ships sailing towards an unknown sea.
  • As for me, I will return to the city, where
  • my days and my fate await.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper


  • 6

致友人书

  • 文 / 甘南阿信

  • 现在可以说说这些羊。它们
  • 与你所熟悉的海洋生物具有相似性:
  • 被上帝眷顾,不断地繁殖,长着
  • 一张老人或孩子的脸。
  • 现在它们回到山坡,挤成一团,互相取暖。
  • 现在它们身上覆着一层薄薄的寒霜,和山坡一样白。
  • 现在它们上方的星空也簇拥着无数星座:
  • 北方的熊,南方的榕树,盛净水的阿拉伯水瓶,
  • 南美大河……古老又新鲜。
  • 我的帐蓬就在它们旁边,
  • 我梦见的和它们一样多。安慰也一样多。
  • 黎明抖擞着潮湿的皮毛奔向山下的草地,
  • 像满帆的船队驶往不可测的海洋。
  • 而我将重新回到城市,那里
  • 有等着我的命运和生活

SPARROWS

  • by Gao Feng

  • Inside the tiny sparrow, there is a temple for mother earth,
  • and a care home for the elderly.
  • The heavy snow last year
  • caused starvation across the land, luckily no fatality.
  • All the sparrows survived.
  • They went from the Zhang’s to the Li’s,
  • having a look at the pigsty, the kitchen, and the windowsills.
  • A few cooked rice fell from
  • a child’s hands or an elderly’s lips,
  • where were they, buried under the snow?
  • With the burning ban, the rice stumps were no longer useful to them.
  • There were puzzle nuts everywhere, but too hard to swallow.
  • The birds perched on the telephone wire,
  • carring a current with heartwarming blessings.
  • They prevailed over winter,
  • flying sky high.
  • To conserve strength,
  • they start by falling, but at an inch from the ground,
  • their wings open up.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


麻 雀

  • 高 峰

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

The Wall

  • by Gao Pengcheng

  • I am not alluding to the body and flesh
  • of a generation
  • but only to describe some place that looked like someone’s
  • undecorated room. That year I visited
  • a remote schoolhouse in the countryside.
  • On one flaking wall, the red slogan “Long, Long Live…!” was still visible,
  • almost like the branding iron on the skin
  • of a whole generation of people.
  • The sun was particularly soothing on that end-of-April day,
  • but the red paint had seeped through the earthen wall.
  • I couldn't tell if this wall separated
  • two existences of a man,
  • neither could I say if his heart
  • resembled this bare room with such gloomy light –-
  • a wall covered with old newspapers,
  • a certificate of merit, two discolored movie posters for Red Peonies
  • and an outdated Christian calendar.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Huang Hongqi

  • 1

  • 高鹏程

  • 我不能说它是一个时代的皮肤
  • 和身体
  • 我不能说它是一个人身体的两面
  • 我要说的仅仅是一间,疑似某人寝室的
  • 陋室。在那年,在
  • 一所偏僻的乡村学校
  • 四月底的阳光正好。斑驳的墙体上,
  • 万寿无疆的红字依旧可辨
  • 像印在皮肤上的烙印
  • 字体的阴影,随着陈年的雨水渗入墙体
  • 我不能说这光线幽暗的陋室
  • 像他的内心——
  • 糊满旧报纸的墙上
  • 分别贴着一张奖状、两幅发黄的
  • 《红牡丹》电影海报以及一张过期的基督教年历

LIFE IN A FISHING VILLAGE

  • by Gao Pengcheng

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


渔区生活

  • 高鹏程

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

POEM OF RESTIVENESS

  • by Gao Shang

  • Above the white clouds
  • is miles and miles of nothingness.
  • (This is what I see on the flight
  • from Lanzhou to Shanghai. )
  • Two restive sentences
  • gently rattle in the air
  • from take-off to landing,

  • but I think
  • this world has no requirement
  • nor the need
  • to have these two lines of words
  • (and in fact they can be
  • just one line. The difference is like violin to fiddle. )
  • Therefore, I may as well leave them
  • in the outer world
  • to seed the vast emptiness.
  • Let them be sleepless,
  • adrift,
  • like me
  • in this world.
  • Let this restiveness
  • go adrift midair,
  • like clouds
  • over man’s roof.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/M-j9xARH1IxHwM_wtRi3kg


不安之诗

  • 高尚

  • 白云之上
  • 万里无云
  • (这是在兰州至
  • 上海的航班上。)
  • 两个句子
  • 整个航程
  • 在空中轻轻喧响
  • 可是我想
  • 世界不必
  • 也无需
  • 这两行
  • (其实也可以是
  • 一行。都一样。)
  • 那就把它们
  • 发往世外
  • 种在广阔无垠上
  • 让它们无眠
  • 游荡
  • 和我在这世间
  • 一样
  • 让不安
  • 一朵接一朵
  • 浮动
  • 在人类头顶上

RUSTED LOVE

  • By Gu Baokai

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


爱情是一件生锈的铁器

  • 顾宝凯

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

A BUTTERFLY SPECIMEN

  • by Gu Chunfang

  • A butterfly, pinned on the clock,
  • whose hour hand just passed twelve.
  • It brings back the memory of watching the making of a specimen.
  • Surrounded by water in the Amazon, midday
  • in the jungle, riotous hours.
  • The children hustled the entire summer,
  • all within the distance between the table and the chair.
  • They bent over the desk, over wooden frames.
  • It reminded me of the confessional
  • down the aisle at the end of the church.

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

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


蝴蝶标本

  • 顾春芳

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

MOSQUITO

  • by Gu Gang

  • Over a woeful corner, the setting sun flits by
  • like a mosquito.
  • Slender long feet, a slap,
  • its limbs stuck to the net,
  • sketches of tiny cracks
  • on a white tile.
  • Palm size, heat on the ice.
  • Rectangular window, an air vent,
  • without a sound, 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.
  • Waving a bamboo fan, a draft from left to right.
  • Plain longline shirt, rolled-up sleeves in summer heat,
  • bare elbows,
  • dry and cracked at old age.
  • Unable to ever swing again,
  • flying flies are stuck to our glassy eyes,
  • as if waiting for salvation.

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

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


飞 蚊

  • 古 冈

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

MOURNFUL SOUNDS

  • by Gu Ma

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

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

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


苦 音

  • 古 马

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

MOVING CAMP

  • by Gu Ma

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


转 场

  • 古 马

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

SHE ARRIVES AS PROMISED

  • by Gu Ma

  • In a desolate outpost at the end of the world,
  • we know no one and no one knows us.
  • Westwards, it is the panoramic Gobi.
  • Sunset walks in
  • solemnly down a red carpet,
  • arm in arm with solitude
  • towards a numinous, magical temple,
  • slowly.
  • Two mounds of spear grass
  • whisper and brush with each other, sand in their bristles.
  • We sit side by side,
  • looking into the golden landscape, lustful for life.
  • For our remaining days: who says we have no home to return to?
  • Tears in our eyes,
  • a warmth circulates from our hearts
  • to the sparrows on the wire.
  • Little sparrows,
  • sleep tight in your red willow house tonight.
  • When the sun’s afterglow shines kindly at the world,
  • the moon will arrive as promised,
  • and covers us
  • with a lustrous sheepskin.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/tR6rX2aQlNzZp8JnPnXznA


如约

  • 古马

  • 到边陲一座荒凉的小镇
  • 没有我们认识和认识我们的人
  • 镇子西头,是一望无边的戈壁
  • 落日庄重
  • 如走红地毯一般
  • 挽着寂寞
  • 缓缓走向
  • 神秘圆满的殿宇
  • 两墩芨芨草交头接耳
  • 头发中有些风沙
  • 我们肩并肩地坐在一起
  • 面朝西方金光炫目的屏幕
  • 渴饮余生:谁说我们无所回归
  • 我们热泪盈眶
  • 温暖的电流不禁从心里交会
  • 传给那些蹲在电线上的麻雀
  • 小小麻雀
  • 今夜你们去睡在红柳的家里
  • 在落日向世界投来善解人意的一瞥里
  • 月亮,会如约赶来
  • 把羊毛的银毡
  • 披在我们身上

SUMMER STORY

  • by Gu Shanyun

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

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


夏天的故事

  • 孤山云

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

WIND FARM

  • By Guang Zi

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

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

让牧场晕眩的不是风,是风力发电机

  • 广子

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

THE RED OF RED GRASS MARSH

  • by Guang Zi

  • I am not a lover of the color red,
  • perhaps the autumnal Ulanbuh Desert feels the same
  • as it hides a mystic bog of red grass in the deep.
  • If not for the invitation of the windblasts and quicksand,
  • I would not have seen it. Red Grass Marsh
  • does not bewitch me,
  • for I can tell it used to be the blue-green Suaeda.
  • The spring breeze and the autumn breeze caressed it first,
  • then wildfires and the white snow fell in love with it
  • until the sheep can no longer find it.
  • At Red Grass Marsh, I finally see a special kind of red —
  • withdrawn, subdued, impure,
  • with an utter lack of pretense.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, review by Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/WXtBRAKO5IZ0WO11pQ_GLA


红草滩的红

  • 广子

  • 我不喜欢红色
  • 我猜乌兰布和的秋天也是
  • 把神秘的红草滩藏在旷野里
  • 如果不是大风和流沙邀请
  • 我不会遇见它。红草滩
  • 没有让我感到晕眩
  • 还能认出它曾是青绿的碱蓬草
  • 春风吹过,秋风又吹
  • 直到野火和白雪同时爱上它
  • 直到羊群也找不到它
  • 在红草滩,我终于见到这样的红
  • 孤僻的、暗淡的、不纯粹的
  • 一点儿都不伪装的红

SHANGHAI VIGNETTE

  • by Guo Congyu

  • On the dated narrow alley, at a breakfast shop,
  • I order a sweetened soy milk and a poached egg,
  • the very best kind, with a soft yolk in it. Everything comes steaming
  • hot. Wet March, the last of the lingering cold.
  • The shopkeeper speaks very little even though she looks to be
  • at the “chatterbox” age. She holds a large stainless ladle, leaning
  • on the kitchen counter. I try not to notice the peel-off rubber on the electric wire
  • or the mold stain at the corner of the wall. From inside looking out through the door frame, one can see
  • a sprawling shopping center. All the luxury goods I know
  • can be found here, and those unknown to me are usually even more luxurious.
  • The flowing sound of Huangpu River is near,
  • and Lujiazui is in its oxbow.
  • The city impresses me in different ways, depending on whom I brush shoulders with
  • on Nanjing Rd. Very early in the morning, but I have already received
  • the new phone ordered yesterday. My typing speed
  • still lags behind. Even the keyboard has a generation gap with me,
  • not quite understanding, and Shanghai is moving a step closer to
  • delirium. All other customers have left the breakfast shop. As the owner looks at
  • my empty bowl, I realize it's time to pay. Being proactive and showing initiative
  • might earn me the privilege to hang out here a little longer.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang

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


上海琐记

  • 郭丛与

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

TEETH

  • by Guo Hui

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


牙 齿

  • 郭 辉

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

SOMETHING IS CALLING

  • By Guo Jianqiang

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


在叫你

  • 郭建强

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

LET ME DISAPPEAR

  • Hai Nan

  • Let me disappear, like how it happens in storybooks;
  • through reading, skimming pages, and forgetfulness,
  • I should be granted a shadowy night. I'm tired.
  • The inland route will lead me onshore to my
  • next life. One the way I shall savor the autumn colors rising over the horizon.
  • Only after trekking in the mud for a distance do I notice
  • a group of women who wear silver ornaments across their chests.
  • Among them, some have already grown old.
  • The younger ones haven’t learned the art of harvesting wheat.
  • Drawers, earlobes, hidden weapons, a downpour of rain.
  • The divide between men and women over generations
  • led to setting boundaries by terrain 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
  • Simultaneously 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……



ORDOS

  • by Han You

  • Ordos, a glaring bright spot.
  • I return to my destiny, or perhaps am reminded of it.
  • Where do I come from, and which way do I go?
  • A new metropolis, construction halted,
  • unable to continue its spin, has come to a standstill, unlike the earth.
  • Only a few people still live here, feeble and helpless,
  • on the overly-wide avenues, with sad asphalt roads,
  • and sad blue atmosphere.
  • Being in love makes me sad, and all the words for pain
  • stand out like the vibrant plants on the steppe,
  • no ranking or hierarchy among them,
  • but meld with one another to expand into a great greenfield.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


鄂尔多斯

  • 寒 友

  • 鄂尔多斯,一块刺目的光斑
  • 我重临或再度觉知了我的命运
  • 我从何处来到这,又面临什么去途
  • 偌大的新城,在竣工的天空下
  • 仿佛未能追随大地的旋转,永久停滞着
  • 稀少的居民在过于宽阔的道路上
  • 弱小而无助,柏油路让人哀伤
  • 空气里的蓝色让人哀伤
  • 爱情让我哀伤,一切对于痛苦的描述
  • 都像新鲜的植物伫立在平原上
  • 但从没有谁衬托另一个
  • 融为一片茂盛辽远的绿野

VOICES OF THE CORN

  • by Han Zongfu

  • Sooner or later Autumn will use its hoarfrost, as always,
  • to seal the lips of the corn — side by side, all quiet,
  • head-bent, receiving the unwearying eyes of the earth.
  • A few refuse to be voiceless, heading up into the sky,
  • calm and unwavering, to watch the birds coming and going.
  • Autumn wind has hollowed out the entire plain.
  • Oh, Corn, you ride together in old Bachelor Hou’s cart,
  • hand in hand, glowing with wild exuberance,
  • thankful to Autumn, thankful to the yellow earth, thankful to Mister Hou.
  • Oh, Mister Hou, your draught horse is as good as a wife,
  • wizening for you till the end, heartbreaking to watch sometimes.
  • Rainy October rushes those feet in damp shoes
  • to hurry on the road. These corns are a band of
  • wanderers without freedom; a bundle of greens unfit to be a torch.
  • Post-Autumn, they have moved on farther and farther away.
  • Can a nobody like me outshine the brilliant soul of the plant kingdom
  • and usher them to the right place?
  • I once dreamt of cornfields basking in the warmth of the sun,
  • many and many marvelous cornfields;
  • indeed there was a light shining on them,
  • a torch held high by a great mind.
  • Deep at night, the ants still hustle, the grasshoppers are on patrol,
  • a fine moon sits over the plain. The corn and I,
  • we love and are loved, like all mortals, and dream a small dream.
  • On the road in this desolate place, I am forced to admit:
  • my heart that is locked in by autumn frost
  • is the heart of a corn; my body that burns wild at night
  • is the body of a corn.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/pnEGgTFnqQ8Vievfw7fFhg


倾听玉米的声音

  • 韩宗夫

  • 秋天总是在某个时候,以白霜的嘴
  • 封锁了玉米的消息,它们全体缄默
  • 面朝土地深藏了不倦的眼睛
  • 也有几个不甘寂寞的,面向天空
  • 数着来来往往的鸟儿
  • 安静、自勉,秋风已掏空了整个平原的腹腔
  • 哦,玉米。坐着光棍老侯的马车
  • 集体的脸上永远洋溢着一种感恩的光泽
  • 感谢秋天。感谢黄土。感谢老侯
  • 哦,你马车的马,就是你的老婆
  • 它终究会为你而老,你难免为此痛惜
  • 十月的雨水,总是在催促潮湿的鞋子
  • 疯狂地赶路。它们是一群
  • 无法流浪的流浪者;是一束不能点燃的绿焰
  • 离开秋天,越走越远的玉米
  • 我是否能超越植物世界的心灵之光
  • 成为一名普通带路者?
  • 曾经梦见了一大垛一大垛阳光的玉米地
  • 是一块好玉米地;
  • 曾经照亮了一大片玉米地的灯光
  • 是智者手里的灯光
  • 深夜,蚂蚁们并没有休息,蚂蚱还在逡巡
  • 平原月亮的美丽。玉米和我一样
  • 有凡人之爱,有一个小小的心愿
  • 走在苍茫大地上,我被迫承认:
  • 我被霜白秘密锁住的心
  • 是一颗玉米心;我在黑夜中疯狂燃烧的身体
  • 是一棵玉米的身体

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
  • Simultaneously 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



A BRILLIANT NEW HOUSE

  • by He Qingjun

  • The weather front has passed, so we decide
  • to spend the day as originally planned, even if
  • the wind may veer towards the alluvial fan,
  • or the mosquitoes and the wasps may bother us,
  • we will trek up the mountain
  • and walk along its ridge. Fair-weather cumulus clouds overhead,
  • sun's rays reaching down like tight rubber bands,
  • with one end on the earthly broadleaf trees.
  • We sit down,
  • not thinking of going farther. In the distance,
  • two birds zoom in and out of a closed atmospheric cell.
  • We continue to chat, investigating the grass around us.
  • The moist air is being lifted up along the mountain face,
  • we therefore should expect rain.
  • We retrace our steps, trampling on the grass
  • that has just recovered from our weight earlier. Leaving the mountain,
  • our cleats step in and out of potholes until reaching the main road
  • that would take us back to our home in town.
  • Soon, we see our brilliant father tuning into the city channel
  • transmitted by the TV tower on the mountaintop.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


崭新的屋子

  • 何青峻

  • 自从锋面离开这里,往后的时间
  • 依照我们所计划的,不论是
  • 来自冲击锥的风力因素,
  • 还是蚊虫与黄蜂的阻扰
  • 我们都将沿着山路走上去,
  • 顺着山脊。近处是分散的淡积云
  • 阳光像绷直的橡皮筋
  • 在地球的这头系着阔叶树,
  • 我们就此坐下了
  • 不打算走。我们的远处
  • 一对山鸟在大气闭合环流中穿梭
  • 我们继续聊着什么,扒开草丛
  • 暖湿空气因山地阻碍而抬升
  • 很大程度上我们将遇见雨
  • 沿着来时的路,我们又一次踩踏
  • 愈合后的草丛。直到离开
  • 防滑鞋边踩着土窟窿边走向大路
  • 朝县城的家中走去
  • 我们看见崭新的父亲
  • 在换山顶电视塔传输的都市频道

SUOYANG aka. C SONGARICUM

  • by Hong Li

  • We drove into Alxa,
  • all eyes burning for Suoyang,
  • late autumn's red flames on the dunes,
  • swishing in the wind.
  • We shouted "stop", a few of us went picking for them,
  • against the sun.
  • Two among us wouldn't stop.
  • Their shadows got smaller and smaller,
  • our eyes squinted narrower and narrower.
  • When the sunrays blended with the sand dunes,
  • all was quiet, radiating red.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/w9qa_zupxwkR5DJWBCn8Yw


锁 阳

  • 洪 立

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

POET LI PO PASSING THROUGH HUISHAN*

  • By Hong Zhu

  • A lotus flower looks back, and sees a dragonfly.
  • A butterfly looks back, and sees Liangzhu**.
  • A Tang poem looks back, and sees poet Li Po,
  • who once looked over his shoulder, too.
  • Could he have seen me? Could I be Li Po’s extra poem.
  • When a dream turns around, it’s time to wake up.
  • When a river turns around, time returns to ancient days.
  • When a road turns around and around,
  • it becomes a winding mountain road.
  • Can a mountain also turn around? How much effort would that take?
  • “Hui” means to go back, the word that appears in Huishan and 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.
  • A glass of wine hides a universe, and the time bygone.
  • The vintage wine that Li Po got drunk on, let me see, what was its name?
  • What question is it? 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
  • Simultaneously 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




THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY

  • by Hu Cha

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


自然会有办法的

  • 胡 查

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

AFTER THE RAIN, IT BEGINS TO CLEAR UP

  • by Hu Cuinan

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


雨后初晴

  • 胡翠南

  • 大雨在洪水之后停止
  • 死过的草会在春雷后再次苏醒

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

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




DIGGING SWEET POTATOES

  • by Hu Hairong

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

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

挖红薯记

  • 胡海荣

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

GOOD NEIGHBOR

  • by Hu Liang

  • This plant gets only habitual neglect from me.
  • Relegated to my small balcony,
  • it has lived like a lodger for sixteen years. Before this autumn,
  • I had hardly any time to look at it.
  • — Now it surprises me with crowded red berries!
  • — they seem to be its first fruit!
  • I envisioned glossy privet to be prettier than this,
  • but this is indeed a privet! In the past fifteen years,
  • this plant has concealed her pearls. Today
  • onwards, what else will it hide from me?
  • Strings of planets? Every red berry
  • follows its own orbit, so unassuming, and unwilling
  • to return a glance at my shortsighted eyes. Oh, no,
  • what they are avoiding is my cold stony heart!

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/da6PvNQB_Vv3Mmo7v6iaLA


芳 邻

  • 胡 亮

  • 这株植物几乎每天都会获得我的忽视。
  • 它寄居于这个小阳台,
  • 已有16年。一直到这个秋天,
  • 我才有了一点儿看看它的余暇。
  • ——它居然结满了小红果!
  • ——就像首次结满了小红果!
  • 我想象中的女贞比它更俊俏,然而
  • 它就是女贞!此前15年,
  • 这株女贞对我隐瞒了珍珠。此后
  • 若干年,它还将隐瞒什么?
  • 一串串的星球?每粒小红果都沿着
  • 自己的轨道,那么谦逊,而又不屑于
  • 逼视我的近视眼,哦,不,我的铁石心肠!

LOOKING FOR ONE'S LOST FAMILY

  • by Hu Mingming

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


寻亲记

  • 胡茗茗

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

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

  • Simultaneously 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。

A Petite Flower in Ta'er Monastery

  • by Hu Yonggang

  • In the low ground, even lower, I see a petite flower.
  • Its head reaches out of dense grass, nudging up for sunlight,
  • and its golden tendrils dazzle in the sun.
  • It bends menially in the wind, like a pilgrim offering a prayer.
  • It has a dream unknown to all, hidden under tall grass,
  • but each time a wind blows by, the little flower sees its innermost self.
  • Walking by the petite flower, I feel curiously calm.
  • Dewdrops moisten my garment, my inner emptiness and my loneliness.
  • Afar, a prayer sways his praying wheel in the snow,
  • then prostrates lower than the flower, like the wild grass on the plateau.
  • In this vermillion monastery, flowers are the most touching sight,
  • and no passage in the sutra is as lovely as the mutual dependence of two hearts.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Huang Hongqi

塔尔寺之花

  • 青海湖

  • 在低处,甚至更低,我看见一朵小小的花
  • 在草丛中昂起头来,它沉默着,接近日光。
  • 叶脉上,金色的触须与天光辉映
  • 它卑微地弯腰,在风中致意,仿佛是朝拜。
  • 它有不为人知的梦想,深草遮蔽了它
  • 佛寺之风一次次把它吹开,看见自己的心。
  • 而我经过它身边,莫名地静了下来
  • 露水沾湿了我的衣裳,我沾湿了内心的空寂。
  • 远处,一个雪下面祈祷的人摇晃着经筒
  • 他比它更低地匍匐在地上,像紧贴高原的草。
  • 在赤红的喇嘛寺中,没有比花草更美的风景了
  • 没有一道经文比心心相印的依赖更生动。

FISH

  • by Huang Fan

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

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


  • 黄梵

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

THINGS TO COME

  • by Huang Fang

  • The beginning is very moving.
  • no words about the past, just listening to
  • the wind and the waves.
  • There are moments
  • when life feels like an onion being peeled, like 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

  • Simultaneously 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

THE SECOND ME

  • by Huang Guohui

  • There is me in the mirror, wearing pajamas inside out,
  • someone I haven’t seen before —
  • without a dashing profile,
  • no question it would be swamped in any crowd.
  • True, even I myself
  • wouldn’t pay much attention to it.
  • I take two steps back,
  • deliberately keeping a distance,
  • to take a better look — to see if it has a hunchback
  • or if there are other signs of wear?
  • I examine it the way I examine myself,
  • brushing off a lint on the shoulder.
  • The cotton thread falls like a dream
  • and I reach out to catch it.
  • It rests quietly in the other space,
  • waiting for a pair of gentle eyes all the same.
  • Suddenly I feel a little frightened.
  • Will this auxiliary me be ravaged by my fire?
  • The front man is as important as the guy backstage.
  • Indeed there is another me on the other side.
  • I feel the urge to go behind the mirror,
  • to talk to the stranger:
  • Hi, hello, there! Hello.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/k4s0HwfWuHCURGaneErAoA


第二个我

  • 黄国辉

  • 镜子里有一个穿反了睡衣的我
  • 那是我不曾见过的,自己的背影
  • 它好像并不挺拔也没有性格
  • 会不假思索地淹没在人群里
  • 真的,即使我自己
  • 也不会过多地关注它
  • 我后退两步
  • 有意与这背影拉开距离
  • 我想看看它有没有佝偻着
  • 有没有染上饱经风霜的模样
  • 我端详它就像在端详自己
  • 我为它掸掉肩上盘绕的一小段棉线
  • 棉线像梦境一样飘落
  • 我伸手接住它
  • 它便静卧在另一个空间里
  • 等待同样一双柔软的眼睛
  • 我忽然有些害怕
  • 我的背影会不会被自己灼伤
  • 面对的和背负的一样重要
  • 而我之背后,真的有另一个我
  • 我想走到镜子后面
  • 跟这个陌生人说一声
  • 嘿!你好

THE CONCEPT OF MOTHERLAND

  • by Huang Jinsong

  • I wake up from sleep, and contemplated the concept of motherland.
  • Well, it could be a dreamland,
  • form the Great Wall to the Yellow River, roaring or solemn.
  • I have traveled from the northeast to the far north, to the east and the southwest,
  • crossing the hills in the northwest, bathing in the breezy southeastern climate,
  • whether north or south, east or west,
  • I 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

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

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

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


燕子之歌

  • 黄礼孩

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

PENNYWORT*

  • by Huang Sheng

  • The transplant is easy — simply stick it in the soil,
  • no need to titivate;
  • even so, pennywort is nothing to sneer at.
  • Other than their looks, the wat they sway in the wind
  • also reminds us of gold coins, silver dollars,
  • beads of an abacus. They jingle.
  • Endowed with proliferous veins,
  • they sit in a hotbed of soil, waiting
  • to grow jungly in the spring breeze. Ka-ching, ka-ching,
  • a seductive sound
  • that only astute ears can tell. They dance loosely,
  • never as courtly as orchids, but cheery enough for a humble home.
  • Brought out by a pair of fat hands as a sumptuous showpiece,
  • they ring like the wind chime under the eave,
  • so persistent that even a deaf ear
  • cannot tune it out: pennywort, penny wealth, a mere grass.
  • Translator’s note:
  • *Pennywort: The literal translation of pennywort is “coin tree” in Chinese for the shape of its leaves.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/EZRBT0sG-Sjr5De3PP9prA


铜钱草

  • 黄胜

  • 移植不算难事,即插即活
  • 无需刻意培植
  • 但铜钱草,总让人无法藐视
  • 除肖似的外形,风中摇曳的样子
  • 会让人联想金币、大洋
  • 钱庄的算珠。金石般鸣响
  • 无处不在的血脉
  • 泥土是其温床
  • 春风捧出绿油油的欢喜。叮当作响
  • 唯有心人能听懂
  • 荡漾的声线。它们即兴舞蹈
  • 虽非芝兰,却满足了窘困的想象
  • 借肥厚的手掌,把丰盈的日子和盘托出
  • 像檐下风铃
  • 无法让人充耳不闻
  • 不时告诫:铜钱是草

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

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

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


父亲的鸟群

  • 贾 想

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

THE EAGLE, A LOW FLYER MOST OF THE TIME

  • by Jia Yuhong

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

鹰,大部分时间都在低空盘旋

  • 贾玉红

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

ON OLD SLATE MOUNTAIN, I SAW TURTLEDOVES

  • by Jian Nan

  • At dawn's first light, I saw turtledoves,
  • waking up in their warm nest.
  • These plump birds, mocked by the classics,
  • judged by Zhuangzi as short-sighted,
  • are perching on an oak tree and cooing.
  • It has been a long time since I saw
  • turtledoves looking so grand.
  • Without the need to dodge bullets nor arrows,
  • life has become posh.
  • Watching these birds taking short flight and wobbling
  • between shrubs, oak trees, and cinnamon trees,
  • untroubled by the confine of their world,
  • it triggers in me - a dispirited middle-aged
  • rambler in the shadowy woods - a renewed lightness in my steps.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2019-06-03/9854200.shtml


在老瓦山看见斑鸠

  • 剑 男

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

THE MIRACLE

  • by Jian Nan

  • On the base of a tumbled-down old house,
  • new grass grows amid broken bricks,
  • and a sapling has taken root on a rotten wood.
  • This isn't a miracle,
  • what's truly amazing is their growth rate.
  • With just an averaged spring rain,
  • before we had a chance to tidy up the bricks, the beams, the tiles,
  • the nails and other things,
  • life has taken hold across the ruin.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-04-09/13174106.shtml


奇 迹

  • 剑 男

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

DRIP DRIP QUICK

  • by Jian Nan

  • There is a bird that chirps Drip Drip Quick.
  • This morning, I went with my big sister and her son
  • to the peanut field to thin out new shoots,
  • and heard the same birds on the oily-camellia hill,
  • in the shrubbery by the road, and up the maple trees.
  • Their calls were short and quick, as if anxious.
  • Can raindrops drip quickly and not rush off to the stream?
  • It seems even birds can’t always control their rhythm,
  • at times self-contradicting as in human existence.
  • Last night the spring rain came, drip drop, drip drop.
  • My sister said this bird was heard only in the spring,
  • to coax the farmers out in the life-giving rain, the loveliest oil on earth:
  • Hurry plow! Hurry plant!
  • On the mountain path, winding and muddy,
  • my nephew and I walk behind my big sister,
  • and instinctively quicken our steps
  • whenever she says something.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/7Os1Dtxxun-pOUWcZPHHAw


滴水快

  • 剑 男

  • 有一种鸟叫滴水快
  • 清晨我陪大姐和外甥去地里间花生苗
  • 它在山上的油茶林中叫,在
  • 路旁矮灌丛叫,也在高高的枫杨上叫
  • 声音短暂而急促,似乎
  • 充满了焦虑
  • 滴水如何快起来,又不使其成为水流
  • 看样子鸟也有自己掌控不了的
  • 节奏,矛和盾也一样
  • 对立统一地存在于这些非人类生命中
  • 昨天晚上淅沥下了半夜春雨
  • 大姐说这种鸟音只有春天里才能听到
  • 是催促农人在贵如油的春雨中
  • 抢耕抢种
  • 山间小路曲折泥泞
  • 听到大姐的话,走在后面的我和外甥
  • 都不由自主地加快了脚步

IN YANJIAO

  • by Jiang Bohan

  • Yanjiao residents commute to Beijing,
  • mostly office workers, otherwise real estate brokers.
  • New graduates say they haven’t made a sale in three months,
  • hit by new policies that block property speculation.
  • I live in Yanjiao on a tree-lined boulevard,
  • in my own 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 —
  • pondering about life in Beijing.
  • For now, everyone drives a Mercedes or a BMW,
  • in hope of picking up commuters rushing to work.
  • Ten yuan will take you to Grass Hut or the International Trade Center.
  • Once the car crosses Sanyuan Bridge into Zhongguancun,
  • inside the Fourth Ring Road, the fare increases to fifteen yuan.
  • This is by far the fastest and cheapest way to get to Beijing.
  • The new-comers at Yanjiao work dawn to dusk,
  • charting 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, and makes
  • the road from Yanjiao to Beijing seem less tiresome.
  • — Yanjiao is the one-and-only Yanjiao.
  • The loud, gurgling Chaobai River flows by.
  • Xuyin-Road Bridge connects Yanjiao with the Songzhuang art colony.
  • Left Bank Road and Right Bank Road stretch out,
  • looking like Beijing’s left and right arms.
  • I often cross the river to Songzhuang to explore new fine arts.
  • There are so many painters there, all men, and naturally
  • some poetesses would moved in soon.
  • A good variety of new arts migrate here from all over the country.
  • The landlady can't cope with them except raising rent.
  • I look on, don't know what to say, nor can I
  • stand the scene. Unable to get a bargain,
  • like with all those expensive paintings,
  • I tell everyone “Come to Yanjiao soon,”
  • “it is the last land of honey.”

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


在燕郊

  • 姜博瀚

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

THE CREAKING DOOR

  • by Jiang Fei

  • You heard the door creak.
  • It's a hedgehog,
  • at night in the autumn,
  • loitering by your door.
  • The road twists and turns.
  • The hedgehog rolls its eyes,
  • and goes around obstacles
  • to come to push on your door.
  • It is there all night,
  • knocking at your door,
  • curious about what’s behind.
  • It makes a creaking sound.
  • It has no companion.
  • It comes here for food.
  • It wakes you up,
  • and you feel you must open the door.
  • As if it's coming home,
  • as if it belongs to a dream,
  • and curious whether the sleeper is real.
  • Outside your door,
  • a hedgehog is knocking at the door,
  • making a creaking sound.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/PvhBTuM-YxMaXKamLj01YA


门扇作响

  • 江非

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

STAR MAP

  • by Jiang Li

  • My grandmother told me every star in the sky
  • corresponded to a person;
  • when someone died, his star would fall.
  • It was summer, the handle of the Big Dipper was pointing south,
  • and I leaned on her knees to watch stars
  • streaming silvery bands across the sky.
  • I listened to her insider’s take on ghosts and gods, as if
  • they lived right there amongst grass and trees.
  • What a vast world that was.
  • They became permanently engraved in a child’s mind.
  • After the light of her star disappeared one night,
  • I no longer saw the brilliant Milky Way.
  • That’s why in my teenage years
  • I frantically searched for it in the library:
  • Ursa Major, which includes the Big Dipper;
  • Betelgeuse and Rigel, within Orion the Hunter;
  • and I envisioned Grandma’s star in Cassiopeia,
  • imagining that it only faded but didn’t vanish,
  • gone to join the bluer, deeper sky.
  • I resisted the cold science that describes the stars in terms of mass,
  • and liked to carry a lustrous star map with me
  • to give life an extra depth of view
  • over wisps of cooking smoke, villages in periwinkle sunset,
  • and old streets at sunrise, long before they were razed.
  • Her longings, and her somewhat clumsy constancy
  • still show me many of life’s hidden meaning after all these days.
  • What I am trying to say is: each of us carries one’s own star map
  • — to try to shape oneself,
  • to choose the manner of living, the fire in the soul.
  • Tonight, without stars, when my mother, my wife and children
  • are all asleep, I think of her,
  • the way she pointed at the huge full moon over the boughs.
  • She is a breath of wind that’s keeping the drifting dandelions afloat.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China by our partner —
  • Poetry Journal (诗刊) (Beijing, China, est. 1957) : https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/NDLhXS8uZBjYaKWtGO4nzQ

星 图

  • 江 离

  • 外祖母告诉我,天上的每颗星
  • 都对应着一个人
  • 每当有人死去,属于他的星就会陨落
  • 那是暑期,七星的斗柄正指向南方
  • 我靠在她的膝上,看着星辉组成的
  • 银色光带横亘天际
  • 听她讲鬼神的秘闻,仿佛草木之间
  • 到处都有神灵
  • 这是何其宽广的世界
  • 它们永久地铭刻在一个孩童的心中
  • 当她的那颗星带着光焰消逝在夜色中
  • 我就再也没有见到过那璀璨的银河
  • 这就是为什么,我还是少年时
  • 从图书馆里疯狂地寻找它们:
  • 北斗星所在的大熊座
  • 参宿四和参宿七构成的猎户座
  • 我想象着,外祖母的星应该是在仙后座
  • 想象着当它消隐之后,只不过是
  • 参与到更深邃的暗蓝色的夜空里
  • 我抵抗着,将星星描述为客体的冰冷知识
  • 带着那张璀璨的星图
  • 为了使它成为一种生活的远景
  • 那些炊烟、伫立在浅紫色晚霞中的村子
  • 那些已经拆除了的黎明时的街道
  • 你的渴望,你的看上去有些笨拙的坚持
  • 那么久远之后,依然在向我展现
  • 那种隐秘的意义
  • 我的意思是,每个人都带着自己的星图
  • ——我们主动塑造着的自我
  • 一种生活的风格,灵魂的强度
  • 今夜,没有星光,母亲、妻子和孩子们
  • 都已睡去,我想起你
  • 当你指着树枝上浩大的圆月
  • 而你是一阵风,托举着飘散的蒲公英

A PRAYER

  • by Jiang Xuefeng

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

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


祈 祷

  • 蒋雪峰

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

FOUR PEACH BLOSSOMS

  • by Jiang Zhiwu

  • Four peach blossoms get together, all on one bough,
  • crimson color, very delicate and tender.
  • A bee rolls on the pistils, pressing on
  • every bristle. Under the peach tree, my passion
  • is also red as my body slowly hold tight.
  • Red is the color of my soul.
  • New buds are for spring, and very soon red flames will erupt
  • across the green wall of ivy.
  • A true poet does what the flowers do —
  • dreamy in the spring, and pours out to produce burgeoning fruit afterwards.
  • I like depth and its darkness, but also love a handsome exterior.
  • When four peach blossoms florish together,
  • they are a four-dream orchestra played by earth's brass band,
  • trasmitting music across our elastic mantle
  • to the palisade underneath.

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

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


四朵桃花

  • 蒋志武

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

LEAVING THE STATION LATE AT NIGHT

  • by Jin Wenyu

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


深夜走出车站

  • 金问渔

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

Tea

  • by Jing Qiufeng

  • Through lovely scenery come and go,
  • in the drizzle of fog and mist,
  • trailing the sound of beautiful singing,
  • here you are, a Yangtze-River girl.
  • You can’t leave the water;
  • you live, you bathe in the water
  • as if to relive
  • the lovely scenery of your home
  • in the fog and mist,
  • where music floats out at every turn.
  • Homesick,
  • you taste the river in your tea.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 5

  • 井秋峰

  • 从秀山秀水的地方走来
  • 从总是落着雾样的小雨里走来
  • 从一阵阵优美的歌声里走来
  • 你是江南的女子
  • 你离不开水
  • 浴在水中
  • 你就像回到秀山秀水的家乡
  • 回到总是落着小雨的家乡
  • 回到了飞出一阵阵优美的歌声
  • 的家乡
  • 你想家的时候
  • 水也有了江南的味道

POTATO

  • by Kang Chengjia

  • It is fat and clumsy. A sniff of it,
  • the smell the earth will capture your nose.
  • It must have come from the countryside,
  • planted by an old man similar to my grandfather.
  • He watered it, fed it,
  • and even talked to it in his lonely hours.
  • The potato knew the land more than a child did,
  • with an unspoken ability
  • to mature finely after hoarfrost.
  • Soon after frost, it left the land
  • to lie in a big truck, then on a shelf
  • in a supermarket, then appearing on our kitchen table.
  • As I slice the potato open and hear it crisply split,
  • thoughts about older people, about the land,
  • about the change of seasons all rush to mind, but soon
  • replaced by the crisp lightness of the potato, now shredded.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/s8GM9Yff7VdGXFA6yMt_zg


土 豆

  • 康承佳

  • 它肥硕、笨拙,仔细闻
  • 还能嗅到泥土味儿
  • 它应该来自乡下
  • 像祖父一样的老人亲手种植的它
  • 给它浇水、施肥
  • 寂寞的时候,还会陪它说说话
  • 它比一个孩子熟知土地的习性
  • 也就意味着它更懂得
  • 如何在霜打白头后学会成熟
  • 不久后,它便离开了土地
  • 躺在了大卡车里、超市的售货台上
  • 以及我们家厨房的案头
  • 手切土豆,听它的身体脆脆地展开
  • 就这样一刻,那些关于老人、土地
  • 所历经季节里的日头,都纷纷赶来
  • 而后,又像土豆丝一样,脆脆地碎开

THE SNAKE

  • By Kang Wei

  • I was barely six years old when I saw the snake,
  • probably younger than the snake.
  • It was startled and moved in a flash
  • to the middle of the road, as I trimmed the grass.
  • To this day I remember how it panicked,
  • and for the first time I understood the meaning of fate:
  • life began, life frightened me.
  • As my sickle knife slowly became rusted,
  • the snake shed its skin, a dry-out shell with the old markings on,
  • which scared me and sent me fleeing, temporarily losing my dignity.
  • Now, I already amass enough venom,
  • but am still afraid. If the snake comes
  • hissing at me with its long, forked tongue,
  • I still wouldn’t know what to do.

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


  • 康伟

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





A TREE

  • by Kang Xue

  • Many forgotten mornings,
  • I walked by this road,
  • but only on thick foggy days
  • did I see that bald berry tree.
  • It has been there since my childhood,
  • overseeing me from six years old
  • to at least thirteen.
  • I have been away for far too long,
  • but never forgotten that tree
  • — forgetting suggests there is something to be forgotten.
  • To me, the tree has never really existed
  • until one day, already in my thirties,
  • I passed by it with my child's hand in mine,
  • and found, under thick brambles and tall grass,
  • enormous bundles of bead berries.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jaECriRJ31LtSkL0vWyyCQ


一棵树

  • 康雪

  • 在过去的很多个早晨
  • 我都路过那里
  • 只有在一场深刻的雾中
  • 我才见到了那棵光秃秃的楝树。
  • 其实在我的儿时
  • 它就站在那里
  • 它至少看着我从6岁
  • 长到13岁。
  • 我离开了太长时间
  • 但并没有忘记它——
  • 忘记是建立在存在的基础上
  • 而它从未真的存在
  • 直到我30岁以后
  • 牵着小孩经过它
  • 并从路旁的荆棘与茅草丛中
  • 捡出它的串串果实。

ONE AMONG US

  • by Kang Yuchen

  • I would love to have a drink with you in a diner,
  • to brag about my new poems with a lauding slap on my thigh.
  • The earth spun only twelve hours overnight, no chance
  • that our melodramatic world has rid of its ills during that time.
  • Instead I sat in a fancy auditorium on a student ticket,
  • listening to a group of cantabile singers, in purple or pink,
  • going round and round feigning and glamorizing
  • love and infatuations, for sure an outdated Italian transplant.
  • Suddenly I recalled The Unexpected Tales from the Ming Dynasty,
  • a classic but archaic, always with a moral, such as the story of
  • The Regain of the Pearl Gown. Do you or don’t you care for it?
  • It is full of life’s banal details, so banal that it feels sublime.
  • Ten hours of studying, four thousand words to write every day,
  • the small coding machine in me yearns for a bloody real life.
  • Staring at the pin-up vintage posters jazzes me up,
  • feeling their tenderness, like the sweet aftertaste of Hatamen cigarettes.
  • Higher-education means credibility, this is not elitism,
  • a learned fool will always be loved, the rest is
  • more complicated, and mindful of the cruel reality of
  • our society, and the need to understand the calculus of marriage and love.
  • I fall in the middle range, not too stupid or venomous, never did all-night chat
  • more than twice a semester, and cherish genuine friendship
  • more than seminars and thesis. All I want is someone to share
  • some feminine thoughts, to rejoice and grieve the small things in life.
  • All the artsy lads and lasses think Camus is goddamn handsome;
  • go find out how many among your online or real-life friends
  • use his headshot as their profile photo, Camus, Oh, Camus,
  • the important thing is that you take part in other people's lives.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


局内人

  • 康宇辰

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

SPRINGTIME

  • by Ke Xiuxian

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

春 天

  • 柯秀贤

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

AFTER THE RAIN

  • by Kong Gejian

  • The muddy puddle has a luminous sky in it.
  • Seven birds are singing;
  • two of them seem to sing for each other.
  • If there were unfinished business before the rain,
  • no one no longer remember them.
  • I am looking at this wild rose;
  • out of its five petals, only three are still intact.
  • Did it get anything from the world by giving away two fifths of itself?
  • The stream has quietly eased its run.
  • The ants nearby look blistering black.

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


雨 后

  • 空格键

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

MAIJI MOUNTAIN

  • by Lei Pingyang

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

麦积山

  • 雷平阳

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

THE HOSTILITY IN THE SNOW

  • by Lei Xiaoyu

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


雪中的敌意

  • 雷晓宇

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

KEEPING THE MOUNTAINS IN THE FOLD

  • by Li Daozhi

  • Near the border, looking up, all you can see are mountains,
  • kinky, jagged outcrops, as if forever ready for a run,
  • not to be held back. The indigenous people say: there are good mountains and bad mountains.
  • On a monkey-shaped mountain, the natives have quick hands and feet.
  • On a pencil-shaped pinnacle mountain, it is easier to find writers.
  • If indulged, the hearts of the mountains can run away like wandering clouds, but best to keep them in the fold.
  • From my balcony, I watch these mountains, and see flags on the outskirts
  • forming a giant ring. Whoever tries to climb over this palisade,
  • to smuggle out a pillar, a stone drum, a bedrock, or totem
  • will be detained by the rapids before the cliffs —
  • The intrigue is: in truth these mountains are all segregated,
  • and it's a mystery when and where
  • one feels obliged to stay. In the mountain breeze,
  • as I read the verse "a streak of sunshine, a dribble of rain ",
  • nightfall descends on earth, and beads of light pop up at the foothill.
  • The air is moist, the air is crisp,
  • and I oddly feel the want of the unreachable.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/17W8qi49dwWMb4cXshLTXA


养 山

  • 李道芝

  • 到边境,抬头全是山
  • 那弯曲的、冒尖的棱角,一再有奔跑的念头
  • 拦也拦不住。边民讲,山有好恶之分
  • 山像猴形,山民的手脚就比较灵敏
  • 若像巨椽大笔,就会出文章
  • 这里的山有狂云之心,不能放任只可圈养
  • 我在阳台看这些山,四周插着旗帜
  • 围成巨环,有人要跨越栅栏
  • 试图凿出柱墩、抱鼓、路基和石敢当
  • 都会在悬崖前被流水拉住——
  • 这妙不可言的事,证实山与山是分开的
  • 谁也不知道自己走到了哪里
  • 何时受到了管束。山风满衣袖
  • 当我读到“一时日照一时雨”的诗句
  • 夜幕已经落地,山脚升起灯火
  • 空气湿润,清新
  • 令人无端地想去捕风

VISITING SOMEONE IN A SNOWSTORM

  • by Li Dong

  • Visiting someone in a snowstorm, surely
  • you are itching for a white head.
  • The wind blows across the icy lake,
  • thin and brittle, just like our world.
  • Unharvested cattail can't help but shaking their heads,
  • sometimes with a sigh.
  • If you pause on your way
  • and hear the lake squeeze-freeze,
  • will you hesitate or will you move on?
  • Will you catch the almost perfect sunset
  • on the other shore? If
  • the recluse doesn’t want to be disturbed,
  • you will see snow piling on her fence.
  • Just in case she may be full of sorrow,
  • 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

  • Simultaneously 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

FORGIVENESS

  • by Li Hen

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

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

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


原 谅

  • 犁 痕

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

GRIEF OF THE EARTHBORN SPIRIT

  • by Li Jiawei

  • Thoughts, fuzzy cotton fibers, came to the funeral of the salt marsh
  • after the canal was diverted. A massive skyline stood in the red flames
  • as homeless birds circled over the burnt reeds,
  • crowing for their unborn children.
  • My aunt got down to sowing: there was a season for everything
  • just like a prison cell for each to return to. Other than the icy winter,
  • nothing could stop things from growing. Nature was a runaway train,
  • briskly readjusting its course. Suddenly she found herself
  • in the fattest of times and the leanest of times,
  • a birdless century, a dreamless century.
  • And men’s labor, burned on the tips of their tongues,
  • never gets a rest. When the terra firma stops yielding new crops,
  • the earthborn spirit sinks. Under a black umbrella, my older cousins
  • wait at the market for the bus; their country-boy's lilt
  • lauds about the old days. From time to time,
  • a rumble passes by, and leaves behind a silence to swell in the plain.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/SYZjeLnhdKKK2WwB4oprmQ


物候之哀

  • 李嘉伟

  • 思绪,或一种长绒棉,运河改道后
  • 盐碱滩的葬礼。大火映出繁荣的侧影
  • 鸟在芦苇灰烬中无处藏身
  • 盘旋哀鸣着她们尚未出世的子嗣
  • 三姨开始播种,像所有已知的囚禁
  • 每件事物都住进时刻表里。唯有冬之威胁
  • 生长如失控的列车,自然之影
  • 拼命纠正自己的身躯。她陡然身处
  • 一个无限丰富而又贫瘠的时代
  • 一个没有飞鸟的时代,一个没有梦境的时代
  • 而劳作,烙印在舌端的语法
  • 没有休息。当地层不再产出新的作物
  • 物候衰败着,年轻的表哥们打起黑伞
  • 在菜市场等车,他们的乡音
  • 满嘴往事,以后的时间里
  • 偶然的轰鸣为平原增添百倍的宁静

GALE

  • by Li Jiefu

  • On the way to you is a blockade of 10-ton gale,
  • whereas my lifeline and shadow add to less than 0.1 ton.
  • Taking the left at G Ave overpass, the long road goes on and on.
  • At one fork of the road, I see a gust pulling up three big trees,
  • although it didn't carry any pedestrians away.
  • The wind wants to blow me away.
  • It wants to blow me to the far end of the mountain,
  • but I know it won't succeed.
  • It is a messenger for a new season, and will drive my loneliness away.
  • I am anxious to know where the wind is coming from and going to,
  • but I find no answers. No one else knows either.
  • In my brief lifetime all that I see are silhouettes before and behind.
  • It is useless trying to beat the wind on its own game.
  • Voiceless lightning flashes ahead,
  • behind this wind is another wind.
  • When the winds die down, new faces will appear on fresh new streets.

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

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


大 风

  • 李洁夫

  • 在通往你的路上,有十吨大风挡在前面
  • 而我单薄的一生加上长长的影子都没有0.1吨重
  • 从体育大街地道桥西拐,前面的路被压成一根长长的面条
  • 我亲眼看到在一个十字路口,大风一口气推倒了三棵大树
  • 但是没有推倒一个行人。
  • 大风想把我吹跑
  • 大风想把我一下子吹到山的那边
  • 我知道,其实风一点也吹不动我
  • 大风只是吹来季节的消息并想吹走我的孤单
  • 我很想知道风从哪里来,又要到哪儿去
  • 可我找不到答案。也从没人告诉我答案
  • 我只知道,我短暂的一生,前后都是身影
  • 大风过处,没有谁能够跑到风的前面
  • 风的前面,一对哑巴一闪而过
  • 风的后面仍旧是风
  • 大风过后,干净的街道上面,还会走来新的面孔

THE BLACK BIRD

  • by Li Jihao

  • The black bird flew by punctually,
  • not a mournful thing to us,
  • who, as usual,
  • splashed down
  • by the only window open to the sunset,
  • and waved triumphantly
  • at the flotsam and jetsam of the world.
  • Yes, a suspicious day
  • had ended again, none of us
  • would be leaving, none of us
  • needed to flee a bubble of time.
  • The black bird flew by, reliable like no other,
  • leaving no footprints
  • on the railing we leaned on.
  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JI55qFAIX_8-bffIDtQ4Yg


黑 鸟

  • 李继豪

  • 黑鸟准时飞过
  • 并没有什么值得哀悼
  • 像平常一样
  • 在唯一能看到落日的窗前
  • 我们坍塌般坐下来
  • 向那些漂浮之物
  • 做一个胜利的挥手
  • 是的,可疑的一天
  • 又结束了,我们之中
  • 没有谁会离开
  • 没有谁被困在此刻
  • 只有黑鸟准时飞过
  • 在我们倚过的栏杆上
  • 留下看不见的爪痕

SOME KIND OF NOTHINGNESS

  • by Li Jinjia

  • I gave a rufescent wool sweater to a jackstraw. Since then, all the migratory rufescent birds startled when they saw me—those flying north, as well as those flying south. Then, as if with team spirit, they boldly opened and flapped their wings.
  • The rufescent birds in flight were staggered to see me—the single flier, as well as those in a flock.
  • When I went abroad —certainly you might take it as going into exile— that same year in September, Mother pulled out yarn from a train of burning clouds to knit the rufescent ribbed sweater for me.
  • She gave it to the jackstraw for the long trip in the winter, because the color represented the rufescent hope of a migratory bird, flying north, towards my native home, the eternal home.
  • The rufescent birds startled when they saw me—those with songs, as well as the silent ones.
  • Translated by Duckyard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KUrC8rQDILbza6CDCSgq0Q


一种无

  • 李金佳

  • 我将铁红色的羊绒衫送给了稻草人。从那之后,所有铁红色的候鸟遇到我,都不免在天上一愣。飞来的也是,飞去的也是。而后,想要表白似的,伸开双翅,昂然向外掊击。
  • 铁红色的候鸟,在天上一愣。孤飞的也是,群飞的也是。
  • 铁红色的羊绒衫,我出国——你当然可以理解为去国——那一年的九月,母亲从连绵的火烧云里,抽出一根长线,用空心针为我织成。
  • 送给了一个稻草人,因为它要在路上,度过整个冬天。因为它代表着候鸟铁红色的期望,正只身前往北方,我的家乡,并将永远留在那里。
  • 铁红色的候鸟,在天上一愣。唱歌的也是,不唱的也是。

LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY

  • by Li Jizong

  • The corn was harvested, and stacked on the gables,
  • and hung on a rowan tree that died of old age last year.
  • Thankfully, we couldn't bear to chop it down.
  • Wild chrysanthemums bloom everywhere, with a color
  • so handsome that it feels like a once-in-a-lifetime vision,
  • but let us not talk about that.
  • There is nothing to sweep up, but I bundle straws for brooms,
  • weave mats and baskets — although they are no longer used —
  • just for improving my craftsmanship.
  • Atop Eastern Mountain, the stars are many; atop Western Mountain, the trees are thick.
  • Sometimes, with a quick knock, the night
  • welcomes daybreak with a spattering of bird call.
  • At times I am willful, at times not enough;
  • when willful, I say you must come;
  • when I say you need not come, that’s when I am not willful enough.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/FuvRNHecNMQs_nhGJD2APA


乡野来信

  • 李继宗

  • 玉米已经收好,已经码在山墙
  • 已经挂在去年就老死的一棵山梨树上
  • 山梨树舍不得砍啊
  • 野菊花开得到处都是,颜色俊得
  • 像人这一辈子只能见一次
  • 但不说这些了
  • 没什么可扫也扎扫帚,编席
  • 编樊笼,其实早就用不上它们了
  • 只是练练手艺
  • 东山顶上星稠,西山顶上树多
  • 有时咣当一声,夜晚
  • 就在几声鸟鸣中迎来了一天日出
  • 有时武断,有时不够武断
  • 武断时认为你一定要来
  • 你不要来了,那是在不够武断的时候

Essential Things

  • by Li Li

  • Let me count a few things that I can’t do without.
  • In the past there were letters, so envelopes and post offices were essential,
  • then, there must be doves, a cool breeze, reveries,
  • and a backdrop of dusk on the way to the post office.
  • A place to say farewell is essential when it's time to leave home;
  • a ticket in my hand, him at the windy train station,
  • tears in our eyes, and the warmth
  • down my spine as I turn around.
  • Reaching middle-age, children nearby and healthy parents are essential,
  • so are the lovely words on the pages I turn,
  • and the fragrance of the fruits he brings to the room.
  • Finally, the peach flowers that bloom overnight —
  • if you catch the sweet scent of the apparitions under the trees,
  • please know they were my folks who left this world too early.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 7

重要的事情

  • 离 离

  • 一直以为,我这一生都是不可缺少的
  • 以前习惯写信,信封和邮局是必不可少的
  • 寄信的途中,鸽子带来清凉和梦想
  • 被它们惊动的黄昏是不可少的
  • 离家时远方的存在是必然的
  • 车票,站台和他在风里
  • 眼角一定是湿润的,我微微转过的
  • 身子是幸福的一种
  • 人到中年,儿女绕膝,父母健在是让人羡慕的
  • 我在灯下翻书,爱迷人的文字也爱
  • 他递来的果子的清香
  • 爱村里一夜间全开的桃花和
  • 花下的鬼,如果他们身怀香气
  • 就是我短命的亲人

Peaceful Avenue

  • by Li Longnian

  • I always feel that fish
  • probably swim up the avenues, to the trees.
  • I catch in the air the exhalations of shellfish
  • and the silver streaks of scabbard fish.
  • Their feelers touch the leaves
  • for them to secrete tiny green bubbles.
  • An avenue of graceful trees. I guess it has to do with sea fish.
  • The trees twist and twirl, like fish.
  • In fact, they breathe through the trees’ leafy lungs,
  • nestling up to them carefully,
  • to feel the gentle pulse and ripples in the air.
  • I am thrilled to discover this secret:
  • With regard to the word “graceful”,
  • the ocean gives us the most charming illustration.
  • They are also encoded
  • in the pure glow in women’s eyes.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 11

静静的街树

  • 李龙年

  • 我一直以为 海鱼们
  • 可能游上了街树
  • 我嗅到空气中 贝壳的呼吸和
  • 带鱼的银白色
  • 它们须角探触 令树叶吐出
  • 隐秘的 绿色气泡
  • 街树窈窕 我估计与海鱼有关
  • 街树扭动腰肢 如鱼
  • 其实只能在空气的微微波动中
  • 用心贴紧树的肺叶
  • 才能有 细微的感觉
  • 我发现了令人惊喜的秘密:
  • 海洋 关于窈窕这个词汇
  • 背后 令人心醉的诠释
  • 它们都写在
  • 女人们眼睛 纯净的光辉里

MONARCH BUTTERFLY

  • by Li Manqiang

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

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

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


金脉黑斑蝶

  • 李满强

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

Seductive Wind

  • by Li Shangyu

  • The telephone is ringing,
  • up blows a greenish black wind,
  • a seductive wind . . . for one’s lost days,
  • but soon telephone wire, computer wire, and so on and so forth,
  • all come to intrude in continuous coils; he feels his heart bound by wires.
  • Annoying wires, without end, trap him
  • in the bedroom, the parlor, the kitchen, every inch
  • an interrogation, but where is the arbitrator?
  • In China, the laws apply only to the feeble.
  • Seductive wind, tell him, life only comes once.
  • In the Song Dynasty, men got killed casually, knights wandered everywhere.
  • The telephone rings, up goes a greenish black wind.
  • Here comes Spring Girl, a seductive wind, but he can only feel the land's scorching heat.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 6

春女风

  • 李商雨

  • 电话铃里,吹起墨绿的风
  • 春女风……久已消失的人生
  • 但接着,电话线,电脑线,……
  • 纷至沓来,心已被线占据
  • 线的烦恼,无穷无尽, 他已陷入
  • 卧室,客厅,厨房,全都成为
  • 光阴的审判,可审判者呢?
  • 可在中国,法律只对弱者
  • 春女风,告诉他,生命只有一次
  • 宋朝,杀人轻易,侠客四方行走
  • 电话铃里,觑见墨绿的风
  • 春女如风,而他若苦夏的中国。

MIDLIFE

  • by Li Shangyu

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

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


人到中年

  • 李商雨

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

UNSIGHTLY SCENES

  • by Li Shangyu

  • The ancient poet Li Yishan commented on unsightly scenes,
  • and listed thirteen; here let me quote a few:
  • yowling down the garden to clear the way for ministers;
  • hanging wet trousers on a rose trellis;
  • raising chickens and ducks under a flower canopy.
  • He was definitely a fan of flowers, couldn’t stop talking about them...
  • But on this cool spring night, inspired by the moon and the winds from afar,
  • who knows why I am thinking of lard, grime, and the old times.
  • Those days,
  • weren’t there always chickens, ducks, geese, and pigs under the flower trellis,
  • and, as one would expect, the lonely and unexplained outbursts of
  • drinking, crying, and women complaining?
  • Translated by Meifu Wang

煞风景

  • 李商雨

  • 李义山云煞风景,共十三事,
  • 今援引几例:
  • 花间喝道,花下晒褌,花架下养鸡鸭……
  • 他真是对花痴迷,不停歇……
  • 而这可是风月浩荡春夜呀
  • 我却想起猪油、污垢、旧时光
  • 那时,
  • 花架下不正有鸡、鸭、鹅、猪?
  • 世上总有清冷、神秘的喧闹:
  • 喝酒的声音,啼哭,女人抱怨。

Summer Days

  • by Li Shangyu

  • Trees make up the scenary, the dainty nerves of the world.
  • Time passes, men depart, and birds fly into the mist.
  • Alone in the city, up early, I eat only pickles and porridge,
  • in awe of your lush green, your quiet composure.
  • Last night I recalled Essays in Idleness by Urabe Kenko,
  • which by itself called for getting drunk —
  • Do you know? A new day has arrived,
  • morning and afternoon, the omnipresence of mist and gray.
  • When the wind loves the trees, it moves like deep ocean.
  • When the wind loves a man, oh, he walks out in style!
  • Well? Look! See! The hanging bridge arches over men, small like ants,
  • as white rain falls helplessly into the river flowing east.
  • This is summer, once young, now worn, perfect for a walk,
  • and I’ll never again sing songs of righteous ardor
  • because I am weary, am done with a certain way of life. Isn't it so?
  • Drunk in youth, showy in prime, resigned in old age.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 6

夏 日

  • 李商雨

  • 树木即风景,人世清朗的神经
  • 一别悠悠,飞鸟空濛
  • 城里寂寞,早上只吃咸菜稀饭
  • 我惊愕于你浓绿的不动声色
  • 昨夜又想到“徒然草”,这成了
  • 忍不住饮酒的借口——
  • 你是否知道?当新的一天来临
  • 这儿,那儿,上午茫茫,下午冥冥
  • 当树爱上风,墨风;当风
  • 爱上了人,那风里来的人——
  • 啊,看见了吗?长桥铁索,人如蝼蚁
  • 当白色的雨徒然地射入东流水
  • 这是青春过后的夏日,我学会了
  • 漫步,不再歌颂热血,这表明我已厌倦
  • 一种生命形式。不是吗?
  • 青年昏昏,中年朗朗,暮年幽幽。

AT DUSK, A FATSO BY THE SEA

  • by Li Shaojun

  • Past middle age, the punishment God chose for him
  • was to make him put on weight, turning him into a fatso
  • with a dejected look,
  • huffing and puffing just for walking.
  • One day Fatso had the urge to see the ocean,
  • so he humped and bumped to the end of the world.
  • This hopeless fat man stood on the windy beach,
  • watching the beautiful sunset over the deep blue sea,
  • his heart ached and broke into tiny petals,
  • sent adrift to rise and fall with the waves.
  • Seen from behind, his huge body
  • looked like a lonely planet, quivering unceasingly.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang


黄昏,一个胖子在海边

  • 李少君

  • 人过中年,上帝对他的惩罚
  • 是让他变胖,成为一个大胖子
  • 神情郁郁寡欢
  • 走路气喘吁吁
  • 胖子有一天突然渴望看海
  • 于是,一路颠簸到了天涯海角
  • 这个死胖子,站在沙滩上
  • 看到大风中沧海落日这么美丽的景色
  • 心都碎了,碎成一瓣一瓣
  • 浮在波浪上一起一伏
  • 从背后看,他巨大的身躯
  • 就象一颗孤独的星球一样颤抖不已

THE SHAPE OF FOG

  • by Li Shaojun

  • The fog is a shapely thing,
  • visible and touchable.
  • Floating around the tree, it condenses into the shape of a tree;
  • adrift on the mountain path, it stretches out like a ribbon;
  • lingering over water, it takes on the shape of mist.
  • When the fog caps the mountaintop, it textures like a pagoda.
  • The fog is a shapely thing,
  • visible and touchable.
  • But the fog in our hearts
  • is vague and obscure.
  • No one knows what shape it is.
  • It sits there year-round and never dissipates,
  • a little chilly, a little damp, sousing our body and soul.
  • If someone insists that I describe it,
  • I can only say it has the shape of a riddle.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang


雾的形状

  • 李少君

  • 雾是有形状的
  • 看得见摸得着的
  • 雾浮在树上,就凝结成树的形状
  • 雾飘散在山间小道上,就拉长成一条带状
  • 雾徘徊在水上,就是水蒸汽的模样
  • 雾若笼罩山顶,就呈现出塔样的结构
  • 雾是有形状的
  • 是看得见摸得着的
  • 唯有心里的雾啊
  • 是隐隐约约朦朦胧胧的
  • 是谁也不知道它是什么样的形状的
  • 它盘踞在心里,就终年不散
  • 沁凉沁凉的,打湿着一个人的身与心
  • 如果我们硬要说它象什么形状
  • 我们只能说它象谜的形状

THE SORROW OF LOOKING BACK AT LUOJIASHAN

  • by Li Shaojun

  • For many years, I only wanted to remember the brimming cherry blossoms at Luojiashan.
  • So sad that I wasted the entire four years,
  • so sorry that the spring of youth and the glorious landscape are gone forever.
  • Indeed, Luojiashan was such a beautiful campus.
  • All the men who didn’t declare their love those years now admit it to their friends.
  • They are chided as silly geese and receive no sympathy.
  • At the reunion, these middle-aged classmates use their tipsiness as cover
  • to rush to confess whom they secretly loved and guess who else loved whom.
  • And those women, still alluring, reply with regrets: why didn’t you say so back then?
  • Finally, after drinking more than ten bottles of hard liquor plus beer,
  • all the men stand up and bow their heads,
  • apologizing to the women who are still unmarried,
  • apologizing for having wasted those beautiful years and opportunities.
  • One of them even kneels on the floor and cries.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper


回望珞珈山之伤感

  • 李少君

  • 多年来,我只要一回想起珞珈山的樱花烂漫
  • 就痛心疾首,就感觉虚度了整整四年光阴
  • 对不起那一去不复返的大好青春和湖光山色
  • 确实,珞珈山是如此美丽的一个校园
  • 所有向好友倾诉大学期间未谈过恋爱的男生
  • 都会被骂为呆鹅,得不到半点同情
  • 同学会上,人过中年的男生们借着酒意
  • 争相表白当年暗恋过谁,揭发谁喜欢过谁
  • 风韵犹存的女生则满怀幽怨:当年你不早说
  • 最后,在喝完足足十瓶白酒加若干啤酒后
  • 全体男生站立起来,低下头
  • 向至今还未嫁出去的女生谢罪
  • 向辜负如此良辰美景发自内心地道歉
  • 其中一个,还跪在地上痛哭流涕

UNEARTHED IN YIWU

  • by Li Shaojun

  • Yiwu is a trendy place, the epitome of international trade.
  • Yiwu is also very earthy, marked by the typical scenes of
  • hustling peddlers with a rattle drum.
  • At Yiwu Bus Station, a bazaar’s energy overflows —
  • the smell of sundries, spices, and body sweat.
  • Laughter, cries, and squabbling commingle to raise a torrent.
  • A Rolls Royce is stuck in the traffic amongst migrant hawkers.
  • Anxiety, jubilance, and pain on people’s faces, until
  • tears and rain unite as they seep through the earth.
  • Here, the meaning of grassroots comes true.
  • During a short trip to Yiwu, my usually spiffy
  • corduroy trousers caught some of the long-parted mud.
  • Most metropolis have only concrete pavement,
  • but here, there is also the earthy fragrance of soil and weeds.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang


义乌出土

  • 李少君

  • 义乌很洋,国际商贸城的风范
  • 义乌也很土,其经典形象
  • 仍是一个手摇拨浪鼓的货郎
  • 在义乌汽车站,扑面而来的集市气息
  • 风风火火,杂货味夹杂汗味飘散空气中
  • 笑声、哭声和骂声汇入同一喧闹的洪流
  • 劳斯莱斯和肩挑箩筐的农民工都堵在街角
  • 焦灼、欣喜和痛苦的表情交替闪现,直到
  • 一个人已分不清泪水还是濛濛细雨渗入泥土里
  • 在这里,我深刻感受到了什么是田野草根
  • 在短暂的义乌之行后,我一直笔挺的
  • 灯芯绒西裤,沾上了久违的泥巴
  • 因为在大都市里,只有水泥地
  • 而此地,还有土壤和野草散发的朴素清香……

WASTED GARDEN

  • by Li Shaojun

  • Seemingly random, but indeed every flower and every grass
  • was carefully curated.
  • Seemingly disjointed and wasted, the garden
  • was tidied up just yesterday.
  • Even those insouciant-looking pedestrians
  • in fact make a special point to come to visit.
  • One little critter is the exception — its fleeting shadow,
  • its hysteria are unplanned.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang


废园

  • 李少君

  • 表面随意生长的花花草草
  • 其实都是精心挑选出来的
  • 看似杂乱荒芜的园子
  • 昨天刚刚细致清理过
  • 连那些似乎漫不经心的行人
  • 也是专程赶来的游客
  • 只有小兽例外,一闪而过的影子
  • 它的惊慌是突然的


MOTHER'S CELLPHONE CALL

  • by Li Shaojun

  • I received a call from Mother in the car,
  • and scrambled to free up a hand from the steering wheel.
  • It was the first time my mother, nearly 70, used a cell phone,
  • she decided to try it by calling her son who lived far away.
  • I quickly answered: Mom, is everything alright?
  • Mother said: Nothing’s the matter, I just wanted to try the cell phone.
  • I said: That’s great. Is that all?
  • My car was making a turn.
  • I was about to put down my phone when Mother spoke again:
  • Nothing is new. We’re all well, but you must take care of yourself. Try not to gain weight.
  • I muttered: All right, I will. Any other things?
  • My car was merging into the surging traffic, I felt a bit overwhelmed.
  • Mother continued: Nothing’s the matter. We are all well.
  • Your dad is fine, too, you needn’t come home all the time.
  • Actually, I do not go back that often;
  • but the traffic was picking up.
  • I quickly said: Okay, you look after yourself, too.
  • Mom replied: I’m doing alright. You don’t need to come home all the time.
  • Your dad is the same as before.
  • You must take good care of yourself. Don't worry about us.
  • My words were picking up speed: Yes. Yes. I will.
  • Mom paused, then said: All right, that’s all.
  • Take care of yourself even if workload is heavy…
  • A police car appeared in front of me, I tapped the phone off.
  • My nose felt it first, but soon tears couldn’t help but roll down my face.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang


妈妈打手机

  • 李少君

  • 接到妈妈手机时,我正在开车
  • 有些火急火燎,有些手忙脚乱
  • 快七十的妈妈第一次用手机
  • 说给远在天涯海角的儿子打一个试试
  • 我急忙问:妈妈,没什么事吧
  • 妈妈说:没事,就试试手机
  • 我说好的,就这样啊。小车正在拐弯
  • 我刚想放下手机,妈妈又说:
  • 没事,没事,你要注意身体,不要太胖
  • 我支吾说好的好的,没事了吧?
  • 小车汇入滚滚车流,我有些应接不暇
  • 妈妈又说:没什么事,我们都挺好的
  • 你爸爸也很好,你不用老回来
  • 其实我回去得并不多,但车流在加速
  • 我赶紧说:知道了,你也注意身体
  • 妈妈说:我身体还不错,你爸爸也很稳定
  • 你要照顾好自己,不用为我们操心
  • 我语气加快:好,好,我会的
  • 妈妈又迟迟疑疑说:没什么事了
  • 再忙也要注意身体啊……
  • 前面警察出现,我立马掐掉手机
  • 鼻子一酸,两行眼泪不争气地流了下来

Discoveries (from A Worker's Notes)

  • by Li Sheng

  • That was an extraordinary discovery:
  • it is now apparent to us
  • that it would take over 10,000 years
  • on the fastest modern vessel
  • to reach the elusive Milky Way.
  • We go, ah, 10,000 years
  • towards the first dawn and night,
  • towards the first brilliant star.
  • If the sea must dry up, let it dry up.
  • If stones must crumble, let them crumble.
  • We go, ah, 10,000 years,
  • listening to the river in heaven.
  • On the other hand, we still have dinosaur bones
  • sleeping peacefully under out feet;
  • old memories are being recovered bit by bit.
  • So, go, just go! As early as possible,
  • do not hesitate, and do not forget
  • to take along those tumultuous human emotions,
  • and the truncated lines of modern poetry.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 13

发现, 选自劳动者札记

  • 李盛

  • 这是一项了不起的发现
  • 现在我们已经知道
  • 头顶上那条时隐时现的银河
  • 用当代最快的运载工具
  • 要走上一万年
  • 我们走啊,一万年
  • 向着这旦复旦息的第一个朝夕
  • 向着这煜煜照人的第一颗星辰
  • 海要枯,就让它枯
  • 石要烂,就让它烂
  • 我们走啊,一万年
  • 聆听头顶上的河流天堂的水声
  • 还有脚底下一付安卧的恐龙骸骨
  • 渐渐恢复起的记忆
  • 就这样走!趁早不要迟疑
  • 更不要忘记
  • 带上我们曾经折迭的情感
  • 和分行折迭的现代诗

OAK

  • by Li Shuxia

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

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


橡 树

  • 李树侠

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

TWO SHEEP

  • by Li Songshan

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


两只羊

  • 李松山

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

FORMER RESIDENCE

  • by Li Tianjing

  • The doors are light on the passage of time —
  • you only need to lift a foot to 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 flashed back
  • in time, the reflection on the water
  • is as crisp as today’s flowers.
  • But images are mirages,
  • like in a new town where no one
  • seem to hear me knocking at their door.

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


故 居

  • 李天靖

  • 时光很薄
  • 一抬脚 就能踉跄步入

  • 任童年的小手
  • 推开楼道所有的暗门
  • 木马复活———

  • 如电光燧石穿过
  • 儿时的庭院 镜面的倒影
  • 鲜花如斯

  • 映像如此脆弱
  • 像异乡客 终不能举起
  • 叩响门环的手




Stingy Winter

  • by Li Tong

  • I don’t know who handles Big Snow this season,
  • but it shrinks, and turns into Lesser Snow,
  • so little that it's now merely a decoration.
  • All of the accumulated snow, if piled up,
  • would not exceed what’s on the treetops.
  • Stingy winter, it is “as if a poor man holds a fistful of sand”.
  • Just today,
  • I kissed a few snowflakes,
  • and slowed my footsteps for them.
  • Still, in a few minutes, they were all gone.
  • Memories of the magnificent north keep coming back,
  • and I long to return — when the severe winter is over —
  • to join the horses racing across the field.
  • I would also look outside the window and see the crevices between twigs
  • holding a bundle of warmth and moisture,
  • blurry and clean.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper


吝啬的冬天

  • 李桐

  • 不知是谁,把大雪这个节气
  • 缩成小雪那么小
  • 它成为一种地道的摆设
  • 全部的雪加起来
  • 也不比,树梢上堆积的多多少
  • 吝啬的冬天,“仿佛攥在穷人手里的一把沙子”
  • 就像今天
  • 我把几片雪花亲吻过了
  • 把脚步放慢。它还是几分钟就去了
  • 我会一次次惦记北方的盛大
  • 会与奔跑的马匹一起,在收回严冬之后
  • 重新回到北方——
  • 窗外的枝条,空出许多缝隙
  • 许多温暖和潮湿
  • 模糊又干净

For the Love of a Tree

  • by Li Wei

  • You once said you fell in love with the woods
  • for the love of a tree. How wonderful!
  • Can you perhaps still tell that tree apart from the rest?
  • Later, there is a path into the woods
  • with a log cabin on the way
  • and an outpost nearby, but no buses will come.
  • It is for sitting, for listening to the wind
  • and the soft whispers of each tree.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang

因为爱一棵树

  • 李威

  • 你说,因为爱一棵树
  • 而爱上一片林子,多好啊
  • 可是或许,你再也认不出
  • 最初的那棵树
  • 虽然后来,有了林间小路
  • 有了小路旁的木屋
  • 还在近旁,搭建了小站
  • 虽然搭建了小站,也无车可等
  • 只是为了坐着,听听风
  • 虽然风中,有每一棵树的低吟

TALKING LOUDLY TO MY MOTHER

  • by Li Wenming

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

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


和母亲大声说话

  • 李文明

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

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

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

XIAMEN ISLAND

  • by Li Xianxia

  • In a new place, Time, this odd bird,
  • seems to whip along, setting off asthma
  • and sending hue and cry into the air. The feet have landed,
  • but the head is still in the clouds. With all the strangers around,
  • there is a marvelous sense of safety
  • even though the feel of being transient makes you nervous...
  • But, as charming as this place is, for sure you will only visit it once in a lifetime,
  • or no more than twice or thrice. You haven’t fallen for it,
  • but can’t help but ponder about fate and chance encounters
  • with the thought of “if only but”. The streets are spotless and the sky is blue,
  • with no sign of street sweepers, and for a minute
  • you dream about moving here in a few years,
  • but quickly dismiss it as whimsical thought, knowing
  • no souls can truly walk out of their native homes, just like
  • no souls can ditch their own childhoods. You
  • can run away now and anon, with the air
  • of an unconcerned globetrotter and elicit the envy of others,
  • but envy is a thing that will soon prove to be irrelevant ...

  • Translated by Meifu Wang with Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/eBn3TfHwueV04QyguqFpEw


厦门岛

  • 李衔夏

  • 在异地,时间这个怪家伙
  • 突然变得急促,它的哮喘病犯了
  • 空气翻起风雨。脚落地了
  • 心却还骑着风的坐骑。满目陌生人
  • 反而带给你美妙的安全感
  • 它的不可久驻令你焦躁不安……
  • 这里再美,你一生也许只来一次
  • 顶多两三次。你并未爱上这里
  • 却莫名地萌生了对生命因缘的感叹
  • 与不舍。街道和蓝天非常干净
  • 但没有环卫工人的身影,那么一刹
  • 你畅想若干年后搬到此地定居
  • 转瞬又自嘲是异想天开
  • 没有人能让灵魂走出故乡,正如
  • 没有灵魂能走出童年。你
  • 只能偶尔出走,装出一派浪迹天涯的
  • 豪情,让别人羡慕一下
  • 然后继续与你无关紧要……

Fatal Fantasy

  • by Li Xianzhen

  • At first she paints a man,
  • and then a woman.
  • The moment the man and the woman meet,
  • she hears a burst of burning pitter-patter sound.
  • In just a short time,
  • the canvas
  • turns into
  • ash,
  • and a slight wind blows it
  • out of sight.
  • Only at the imaginary edge,
  • the brush still holds a large drop of ink
  • like a tearful eye,
  • trying to refrain from uttering a sound.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Huang Hongqi

  • 1

致命虚构

  • 兰雪

  • 她先是画了一个男人
  • 接着画了一个女人
  • 男人和女人
  • 一相遇,她就听到“劈劈啪啪”的燃烧声
  • 只一会儿
  • 只一会儿,那块画布
  • 就化为一小片儿
  • 灰烬
  • 风,轻轻一吹
  • 就不见了
  • 只有那支画笔
  • 躺在虚构的边缘上,噙着一大滴墨
  • 就象噙着一大滴泪水
  • 欲语还休……

WEISHAN HILL

  • by Li Xing

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


微 山

  • 李 星

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

NORTHERN NARRATIVES

  • by Li Yongcai

  • In deep autumn, up north,
  • wherever you go, to be alone,
  • there is a sense of returning home.
  • No matter which way the wind blows,
  • the water does not glitter as much as before.
  • Then the wind stops howling, and the fallen leaves fall silent,
  • piles of them, 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 the Phoenix, hidden in the sky,
  • despite the tempting calls of the world,
  • there is no trace of it, not even on Phoenix Mountain.
  • Mountains and rivers, persimmons,
  • and the setting sun over the persimmon trees
  • weave a traditional scene.
  • The fine afternoon is retreating, replaced by a quiet
  • emptiness. What draws me closer to it,
  • to meld with the ambiance
  • is not the soft sadness of a persimmon,
  • but the bass guitar on the wall, leaning back,
  • the shape of a pear almost,
  • strumming autumn.

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


北方叙事

  • 李永才

  • 在深秋的北方,你躲进哪里
  • 都有一种故园的感觉
  • 无论风怎样吹
  • 流水都没有从前那样的亮色
  • 风声过后,落叶沉默
  • 一堆又一堆,被秋天抱在怀里
  • 这些人间丢弃的纸币
  • 足以见证,万物的清白
  • 躲是一种姿态。混迹于江湖
  • 总会邂逅一些炎凉的事物
  • 而躲进荒芜
  • 谁也不知道,单调和乏味
  • 是你的一种创造
  • 就像一只凤凰,躲进了天空
  • 无论怎么引诱
  • 在凤凰岭,都寻不见它的踪影
  • 山河,柿子和柿子树上
  • 一枚没落的太阳
  • 构成了一种传统的叙事
  • 天朗风清的下午消逝。空荡的
  • 寂静中,陷入情景交融的
  • 不是一枚柿子美好的忧伤
  • 而是墙上的贝司,以斜躺的
  • 姿势,近乎一个梨儿,
  • 弹奏的这个秋天。

THE NECTAR

  • by Li Yun

  • The heart of a flower only accepts the probe
  • of a needle. A mystery hidden in a thick riverbed,
  • similar to the formation of amber.
  • Flower fairies dance in thousands,
  • fanning honey, giving it the clarity of a child’s eyes.
  • How their golden wings arouse feverish dreams —
  • a golden atrium, bathing in silky golden rays.
  • Watch that golden swarm from flower to flower,
  • count the teary eyes of flower romancers.
  • A beekeeper is hooked on the venom of flowers.
  • I guard my spoonful of gold.
  • Not a word, except to listen to the buzz on the window,
  • once, twice, thrice...
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


蜜 汁

  • 李 云

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

AN ISLAND ALONE

  • by Li Zirui

  • A big fire once broke out on this island
  • that burned everything,
  • and, with its rolling flares,
  • licked the waves blood-red.
  • The stele in the middle of the island has weathered,
  • the text that bore witness to time unintelligible.
  • Ceaseless winds blow from the sea. The coconuts
  • on the tallest tree clunk together like dumb bells.
  • Lynxes often appear and gaze into the distance
  • over the surging waves of the deep blue sea.
  • I stand on the shoulders of the wind, looking towards another island,
  • — in your direction, I look, and look...
  • Perhaps tomorrow morning,
  • a mast will leave from here, heading towards the sun,
  • unfurling her white sail;
  • I will traverse the water alone,
  • if only for you.

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

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


孤 岛

  • 李子锐

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

AN INVENTD MOMENT


  • by Lian Shu

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

虚拟时刻

  • 连 殳

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

THE EAGLE

  • by Liang Jilin

  • Over Alxa League on the Mongolian Plateau, an eagle flies,
  • carrying on its wings a massive silence.
  • It circles, dives, swerves,
  • and suddenly lets out a screech,
  • as focused as a man's longing,
  • as penetrating as a man's sorrow,
  • as willful as a man's rejection of the world.
  • A Bactrian camel shows up on the desert,
  • head high, untouchable, sharing my pride.
  • It looks up at the eagle,
  • looks up at the relic of an old sun.
  • Remind me, Baghatur, or herder Buren Menghe,
  • what is it that I like —
  • From the Left Banner to the Right Banner,
  • with five hundred kilometers of vastness in between,
  • someone as fiery as a height-proof spirit —
  • a flower, a red one,
  • 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

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


  • 梁积林

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

UNDER SUN-MOON MOUNTAIN

  • by Liang Jilin

  • The stupendous yak by the ancient Silk Road,
  • softly panting, is the saving grace for this jolting journey.
  • I stop the car, and stop the hazy rush in my heart.
  • In the deep eyes of the bull, I see wind,
  • and almost hear the bell toll from the eaves of a temple
  • breaking years of silence.

  • Princess Wencheng* is now embedded in our consciousness
  • that points to the hinterlands, to love and nostalgia.
  • The mist and hues drift and waft, lending melancholy
  • to the mountain that veils and unveils
  • and even reveals for a moment a patch of blue sky.
  • Let me listen to the prayer flags flap
  • over the amazing safehold by the ravine
  • while, on the hillside, a granny shepherdess tends to
  • her burnish copper samovar on an earthen stove.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert

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


日月山下

  • 梁积林

  • 唐蕃古道旁的那头雄牛
  • 低声喘息,绝不亚于一次颠簸的迁徙
  • 我停下了车子,还停下了心里一种过于急迫的东西
  • 且看那牛,眼睛的铜铃随风晃动
  • 仿佛,庙堂檐角上经年的寂静
  • 突然就当的一声
  • 文成公主已然成了一句古语
  • 还带有点边疆的含义。还有爱和远古
  • 头顶的岚雾一直飘摇些说不清的忧郁
  • 山一会儿隐一会儿现
  • 还露了会儿晴空
  • 且听山坳里愕堡上的经幡拍打翙翙
  • 牧羊的老阿妈已在半坡的土灶上
  • 搭起了冉冉昕昕的黄铜茶炊

A QUIET LOOK

  • by Liang Xiaobin

  • On the footpath
  • in the middle of a selfless farm field,
  • I respectfully placed
  • a black clay pot.
  • In the black pot, there was
  • porridge as thin as a shadow,
  • mixed with square chunks of pumpkin.
  • And, on a big lotus leaf,
  • I left a few fistfuls of soybean
  • for my precious ox.
  • My ox and I agreed
  • we would enjoy
  • our respective breakfasts
  • after going a few rounds in the muddy paddy.
  • As long as breakfast was there,
  • even though we might be plowing up and down,
  • I understood in my heart
  • we were going around a fixed point under the sky.
  • Finally, over the black clay pot
  • a cowpea’s offshoot hung high,
  • a lovely living thing, fluttering in the wind.
  • That cowpea had
  • the loveliest look
  • and the freshest taste.
  • The principle of survival remains:
  • labor comes first,
  • eats comes afterwards.
  • The years that I devoted myself to farming
  • have tempered me,
  • and shaped me into someone
  • for whom a quiet look at something savory
  • is enough to liven up a bowl of porridge.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/aZ73qSCOSjdkqqJ77-rlxQ

端 详

  • 梁小斌

  • 在那忘我耕耘
  • 被我虔诚地摆放田埂上的
  • 那只黑色陶罐
  • 陶罐内含
  • 稀粥如影
  • 南瓜方正如印
  • 有荷叶
  • 摆放几把黄豆
  • 喂养亲爱的耕牛
  • 我和耕牛共同商定
  • 泥腿蹚过水田数遍之后
  • 就可享用
  • 各自的早餐
  • 只要早餐在那里
  • 我和耕牛看上去是在犁田向前
  • 我心里明白
  • 都在围着广阔天地打转
  • 田埂上的那只黑色陶罐,终于
  • 悬挂出一根黑豆角
  • 像活着一样在风中飘摇
  • 那只黑豆角
  • 形状鲜亮
  • 滋味很鲜
  • 但广阔天地的生存原则是:
  • 先劳动
  • 后吃饭
  • 是那忘我耕耘的岁月
  • 将我锤炼
  • 从此我变成一位
  • 端详着咸味
  • 就能喝下稀饭的人

WEISHAN VISTA*

  • by Liao Zhili

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

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

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

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

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


见维山

  • 廖志理

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

THE PARDONED SHEEP

  • by Li Zhuang

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


放生羊

  • 李 壮

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

A HEAVY STONE HANGING OVER MIDLIFE

  • by Li Hao (of Jiangxi Province)

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

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

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


巨石压顶的中年人

  • 江西李皓

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

SNOW IS NOT FALLING HERE

  • by Lin Changxin

  • Snow is not falling here, the birds have returned to the trees.
  • There is no falling snow here, only unseen needles in the air.
  • The sky looks dim. The way things look in the rain,
  • we know it like a book. But snow is not falling here.
  • He returns in a car. You return to your life,
  • and small daily rituals come to pass in my imagination.
  • Dearest, every time I miss you,
  • a snowflake is made, falling to earth.
  • But, dearest,
  • snow is not falling here.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Y6aFrne9sfvrFYdhklpj6g


雪没有下在这里

  • 林长芯

  • 雪没有下在这里,鸟重新聚在树梢
  • 雪没有下在这里,空气中暗藏针尖
  • 天色昏暗。事物在雨中的样子
  • 我们都熟悉。但雪没有下在这里
  • 他驾着车归来。你回到生活
  • 一些细节在想象中发生
  • 亲爱的。我每想你一次
  • 就有一朵雪花,落向大地
  • 但是,亲爱的
  • 雪没有下在这里

AWE

  • by Lin Mang

  • With a gunshot,
  • a puff of dusty smoke rose on the hillside.
  • Hopping sideways a few steps,
  • a small red fox, unharmed, turned his head to look at us.
  • The old bronze-faced driver shouted a few Tibetan words.
  • The passenger put away his gun.
  • That day, we were lucky to visit the sky-burial site with a skull-wall at upper Nu River.
  • We hurried down the muddy, steep-edged canyon road right before a cloudburst.
  • Ah, be grateful to Heaven and the gods, who had been looking over us
  • and guiding us.
  • Many years later, I reflected upon the way we were in our youth,
  • driving a thousand miles across the summery highland,
  • like those who risked death to climb a sacred mountain,
  • we were rash, ignorant, and rude to those lonely pious souls.
  • Behold the snowy mountains under the clear sky, towering, forbidding, awesome.
  • Looking ahead, I still can’t count the things my eyes can't see,
  • the things I wait to be enlightened, the things I need to be forgiven.

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

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


敬 畏

  • 林 莽

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

THE CAMEL PULLER

  • by Liu Dawei

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

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


牵骆驼的人

  • 刘大伟

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

SNIPPETS FROM THE FACTORY FLOOR

  • by Liu Jian

  • Those drab, dull metal sheets hide their sheen on the factory table.
  • Layer upon layer, what comes to light is not their hardness,
  • but in fact their inner weakness and softness.
  • Cast. Cut. File. Grind. There will be an end to the work down the line.
  • A well-calibrated blueprint does not indulge;
  • it has its plan and raises no voices,
  • more like god’s hand, with restraint.
  • The hustle and bustle of rush orders. Inspections meticulous.
  • Invoices neatly stacked in order.
  • I don’t know where these products are going, just
  • like myself, destiny unknown. I also see:
  • like the metal, we gleam when we sweat,
  • with a similar kind of shine.

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

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


工厂片段

  • 刘 建

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




BEDTIME READING

  • by Liu Liyun

  • "The car came to a stop as the great sleepwalker spoke her last words.
  • The trees along the Hindenburg Alley stood at regular intervals, green and Prussian.
  • We climbed out of the car, Bebra told the driver to wait;
  • I didn't want to go to Café Four Seasons, my foggy brain
  • needed fresh air. So we strolled to Steffen Park:
  • Bebra on my right, Roswitha on my left...."
  • Flipping open "Tin Drum", a war novel by Günther Grass,
  • by the page number at the lower right corner,
  • I know it was the second paragraph of page 351
  • of the translation by Mr. Hu Qiding, published by Lijiang Books.
  • Who was the "I" here? Where was Hindenburg Alley?
  • In which German city? The sleepwalker, who spoke like a prophet,
  • Was she Bebra, or Roswitha?
  • Then, who was "I" to Bebra and to Roswitha? Were they siblings
  • or lovers? Or was one of them a sibling, and the other 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 personas 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 am still 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 tilts to one side and I fall asleep
  • in the middle of a grunt: how can it be,
  • how does one sing-shatter beer glasses and light bulbs?
  • Suddenly the void opens up below me, and I fall
  • ten thousand miles into the abyss.

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

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


睡眠前的阅读

  • 刘立云

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

ALL LOVELY THINGS HAVE AN INNER GLOW

  • by Liu Nian

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


喜爱的事物都自带光芒

  • 刘 年

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

AT THE SILVERSMITH'S

  • by Liu Nian

  • The moon shine on the slate roof, giving it the polished-silver looks.
  • I think of Huaxi, a name with flowers and brooks in it.
  • Her skin glistened in the water --
  • perhaps women’s bones are made of silver.
  • On the silversmith's anvil, silver is feminine and soft,
  • easily bent into the shape of the moon.
  • They say silver bracelets work like magic, better than titanium tether,
  • if you want to keep a woman nearby.
  • All of a sudden, a silver ring falls from the table to the floor,
  • clinking rolling across the marble floor to some twenty feet away,
  • reminding me of Huaxi again.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ZMmlbRCtPeo9Ep0hbBEp1A

王村镇的银匠

  • 刘 年

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

THE YAK HERDER

  • by Liu Nian

  • She milks the yak while her calf stands by and looks on.
  • She is strong, giving endless milk.
  • The shepherdess carries the calf to the other side of the yurt;
  • it tries to break away, but this woman is stronger than its mother.
  • She could have just spurred it to go, instead she cuddled it —
  • embracing a weighty feisty thing seems to fill the void in her heart.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang

牧牦牛的女人

  • 刘 年

  • 女人挤牛奶,牦牛犊在旁边呆呆地看,它不在意
  • 它有个强壮的母亲,有着喝不完的奶
  • 女人抱小牛犊到帐篷另一边,小牛犊挣扎不过
  • 那是个比它的母亲还要强壮的女人
  • 女人可以赶,但她喜欢抱
  • 怀里抱样沉重的不听话的事物,能填补内心的空虚

TO CHONGQING

  • by Liu Ting

  • The river swells, like a mature man's potbelly,
  • but its crashing waves can't subdue the urban furor.
  • First a short holler, then a long howl, followed by a hoot,
  • it is a huckster with a head of ruffled hair.
  • It takes only spare change to hire him, to pass on
  • a scrap of our fortune to this tobacco-puffing drudge,
  • shouldering two baskets of duckweed with a pole,
  • while the only weight on us is the ferry ticket.
  • In this world, some sentiments live on
  • while the rest dissolve in the evening rain.
  • It is said, go to Chongqing if you are downhearted,
  • the hot pot there is the last romance for the mortals.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f

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


去重庆

  • 刘汀

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

THE EAGLE

  • by Liu Yang

  • the eagle
  • is the loneliest thing
  • in flight
  • without even the company of its own shadow
  • its small roaming body
  • takes on the boundless blue
  • its wings crash into sunset
  • and ride out with the sound of metal
  • when battered by stormy rain
  • its heart grows wiry like a hedgehog
  • in a thunder strike
  • it swoops towards the lightning, not to steal its torch
  • but to tear up the evening's canopy
  • that collapses squarely on its back

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/kycbZXAUfD6uS6s1NRWHmg


  • 柳扬

  • 一只鹰
  • 只有在飞翔的时候
  • 才显得那么孤独
  • 连影子都没有
  • 它是在用自己小小的自由身躯
  • 对抗没有边际的天空
  • 它的翅膀
  • 把残阳撞出金属的声音
  • 暴雨击打在它身上
  • 它生出刺猬的愤怒
  • 雷霆到来时
  • 它攥住闪电,不是为了照明
  • 而是要劈开那一摊
  • 坍塌在它背上的夜幕

GROWING INSPIRATIONS

  • by Liu Yanghe

  • After dinner, I go out for an ice latte
  • with friends. We drink while planting
  • cigarette butts in a mini-pot filled with
  • coffee grounds, one after another —
  • Between puffs, we also plant our contemporary writers
  • in literary history, and enumerate the air crashes
  • when modern poetry took off. Each time we swallow
  • a nip of cheese or salad, we hark back on
  • an acrid or sweet memory. Eventually we got
  • tired of our sad stories, too many tribal
  • feuds, too many internal conflicts.
  • In-between cigarettes, we inevitably pause
  • for silence, meanwhile the cheery laughter
  • from the next table spills over, verging on melodramatic,
  • mostly having to do with the absurdity of everyday life.
  • We will continue to plant, to grow something
  • with our sense of history; we have no reason not to
  • elevate Li Jinfa’s Light Rain* to the Drum Tower
  • to chime with the bells; the bad times must be included, too.
  • We plant and plant until all spaces are occupied.
  • Fortunately, I also plant
  • a few interesting phrases, or perhaps they are only bland...

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

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


种烟士批里纯*

  • 刘阳鹤

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

MEMENTOS

  • by Liu Ying

  • Some grasses are poor grasses, but find a way to survive.
  • I always thought they were mementos God left on earth;
  • for example, the stonecrop called dunce cap,
  • low, short, sometimes even giving up the little room it has.
  • Its dusty shade is far from crisp green.
  • A poor child in the plant kingdom that never caught our attention.
  • It roots in the air
  • and trains day and night
  • to drink from the wind and nurse in the moonlight.
  • One day I happened to raise my head
  • and see a few tiny dunce cap pagodas between roof tiles,
  • perhaps they were there to shield our old destitute home;
  • I was overcome by a sense of nobility
  • for being loved by these humble things all those years.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/d3XZpQXHfPiSTFrFREFatQ


信 物

  • 刘 颖

  • 有些草很贫穷,却能自己挽救自己
  • 我一直认为,它们是神放在人间的信物
  • 比如瓦松
  • 它低矮,甚至想省略掉所有的空间
  • 它土气,绿色只有七分
  • 它是植物中的苦孩子,从未收获人类的关注
  • 把根扎在空中
  • 日夜修炼自己
  • 与风借水,与月光借土壤
  • 某一天我偶然抬头
  • 看到一些小小的塔端坐在屋顶的瓦缝中间
  • 庇佑那些年我们清苦的家
  • 我感受到这么多年来,被低微的事物所爱的
  • 那种高贵

THE UNION OF THE SEA AND THE SKY

  • by Yinger Yinger

  • Old tea leaves lurch in the tray, coming
  • to rest like ghost memories.
  • An untold number of trifling matters bereave our days,
  • just like now, you and me,
  • at two ends of the table, in the sunset,
  • without words for the entire afternoon,
  • giving the impression that love is beside the point.
  • Contentions and mutual grievances, too many of them
  • have muddied the water, and I am surprised that
  • we still stay magically as a conjugate pair,
  • as a part of each other, even looking majestic
  • like the seamless union of the sea and the sky
  • even though something leery, a vessel called LIFE,
  • is slicing through the middle of it.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China by our partner —
  • Poetry Journal (诗刊) (Beijing, China, est. 1957) : https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/w_6xZLzY6qfi8tgqflbqcw

海天一色

  • 颖儿颖儿

  • 残茶在木盘里翻滚,下落
  • 安详得如同一个遗忘
  • 一些多余的东西擦洗着日子
  • 比如现在,茶的两端
  • 我和你,坐在夕阳里
  • 没有言语,整整一下午
  • 把爱情过成了多余的样子
  • 无数的怨尤相向,无数的南辕北辙
  • 沉落湖底,我惊讶于
  • 彼此,神奇地连接在一起
  • 成为对方的部分
  • 现出海天一色的威仪
  • 中间穿行着一个令人怀疑的
  • 被称做生活的物体

STONE DRUM'S REPLY TO A LETTER

  • by Lonely Changsha

  • Dear Bro QZ, this is the season when most trees are past bloom, a grievous season.
  • My days here in Lushan, other than splitting wood and watering the crops,
  • have not been fruitful for learning the arts of walking-through-walls
  • and breaking-bricks.
  • The endless drizzle these few months is a waste, all running off to the river.
  • The fengshui masters, cloud-catchers, fishermen,
  • and those contemplating mélange gravitate here.
  • The entire afternoon, they practice despondency, looking deep in thoughts.
  • The riverbank is lush as mid-summer has arrived quietly,
  • but, my brother, please don't ask me about my future plans.
  • Since flunking the college exam, I have put away all books.
  • Now I spend my days planting onion and garlic,
  • painting chrysanthemum, and making fish chowder.
  • If I had sufficient travel money, I would go to our capitol city
  • to study traditional medicine,
  • but let's forget it because both Sun Yat-sen and Lu Xun tried it already.
  • Recently I went down to the Three Gorges, and fell for a woman,
  • but her father saw me as crass and watched me like a tiger or eagle
  • to keep me away. Alas, what can I do?
  • Days fly by, and the future does not look promising.
  • After Wang Baogai left for the coastal metropolis, our town feels like an empty nest.
  • The crops are ripening, Summer Solstice is not too far away,
  • how are things with you in the mountains?
  • Looking forward to your return. Please send my best wishes to Bro Zhiqiu.

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

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


石鼓回信

  • 独孤长沙

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

DROMEDARY

  • by Long Lingqiong

  • After careful consideration, I concluded that when the world
  • becomes a wasteland, I would like to be a dromedary,
  • dreaming of only sand and water.
  • Without the need to ponder or worry,
  • the size of the head can shrink;
  • but walking is a must, so the feet are better to 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 need to share
  • tears or laughter, all I need to understand are three words:
  • Kneel! Kneel! Giddy up!

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

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


单峰驼

  • 隆玲琼

  • 我仔细想了,等到我的世界
  • 荒芜,就变一只单峰驼
  • 理想只留沙子和水
  • 已再没有什么需要思考和忧虑,头可以变小
  • 行走是逃不了的,脚掌一定要变大
  • 叹气也没必要了,就长一个粗长的颈
  • 喘息——
  • 认一个戴面纱的驯兽师作母亲吧,不用交换
  • 哭和笑,只需要听懂她的三个字:
  • 跪,跪,起——

THIS ROAD IS SHORT AND ENDLESSLY LONG

  • by Long Shuangfeng

  • Before sleep, I drink a pint of milk,
  • then remove my jadeite ring
  • and the wristwatch.
  • All that I want is
  • to go with the tide, to be carried away.
  • I no longer lose sleep wondering if I will
  • wake up again.
  • Never-to-return
  • means going from one metamorphosis to the next.
  • This is not a smokescreen for escape,
  • but more like riding a bicycle,
  • all alone,
  • propelling the chain links of the soul
  • from the commotion of one place
  • to the uproars of another place.
  • —written on the Chengguan intercity train
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/apArFxix-xUZWER1nxVVNw


这条路既短暂,又漫长 —成灌城际列车上所作

  • 龙双丰

  • 上床之前,饮尽一盒牛奶,取下翡翠戒指
  • 和手表
  • 我要做的
  • 只是顺其自然,不知不觉中放松自己
  • 我已不担心会不会入梦后
  • 不再醒来
  • 如果没有转回
  • 便当做从一个化身闪去另一个化身
  • 这并非金蝉脱壳
  • 好比骑上车
  • 独自一个人
  • 蹬着灵魂一环扣一环的链条,从喧嚣的甲地
  • 行到了喧嚣的乙地

GOODBYE, CHIMNEY

  • by Long Xiaolong

  • Father once said
  • where there were tall chimneys,
  • where there were smoke rising from chimneys,
  • there was first-class industry.
  • Nowadays, many plants has changed the way they make steam;
  • some use natural gas, some use electric boiler;
  • exhaust from natural gas is 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, they set off a directional implosion.
  • With a thunderous roar, 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 dear old father.

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

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


再见了,烟囱

  • 龙小龙

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

TO BIG BRIGHT TEMPLE

  • by Lü Heng

  • On the way to DaMing Temple*,
  • a wild chrysanthemum beckons at me
  • for a chitchat about autumn,
  • but I am as bad with words as the stone path.
  • The morning frost looks grey and cheerless.
  • Brushing shoulders with a few falling leaves,
  • I reckon that we often miss the season
  • or miss the place.
  • The wild persimmons, red like sleepless eyes,
  • have been looking into the ripples of the wind;
  • each ripple comes and goes like the cycles of life.
  • In the woods, a little critter
  • no sooner appeared than disappeared, lightsome like autumn,
  • perhaps it is just as blind as me.
  • I haven't figured out
  • why I am going to DaMing Temple. Plum blossoms
  • embrace solitude in the autumn sun, dead to the world.
  • Translator’s Note:
  • *DaMing (Lit. Big Bright) Temple is on the middle peak of Shugang Mountain, Yangzhou, Jiangsu Province.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/FuvRNHecNMQs_nhGJD2APA


去大明寺

  • 绿 蘅

  • 去大明寺的路上,
  • 一朵野菊把我认出,
  • 跟我谈论秋天,
  • 我和石径一样不善言辞
  • 清晨的薄霜,落落寡欢
  • 与几片落叶擦肩而过
  • 我们不是错过了时间
  • 就是错过了空间
  • 野柿子熬红的眼睛
  • 可以看见风的皱纹
  • 每一道皱纹都像生死轮回
  • 树林间,一只小兽
  • 一闪而遁,身怀秋天的敏捷
  • 或许,也和我一样盲目
  • 我尚未想清楚
  • 去大明寺做什么,梅花
  • 在秋阳中紧抱寂寥而眠

STAPLE REMOVER

  • by Lu Huiyan

  • A document was stapled together, but I missed a page.
  • I wanted to pull out that staple,
  • but it was already deeply embedded,
  • so I placed the missing page on top of
  • the rest, and re-stapled the document
  • right over the old nail.
  • Now, my life is spiked by double nails.
  • Still, some glorious moments are left out —
  • a tower of strength, a renewal, a breeze,
  • the starry sky and the forest seen from a midnight train —
  • how do I insert them and bind them
  • with today’s sorrows and joys?
  • It seems to me the assembly of life’s quintessences
  • is balanced by an invisible nail remover,
  • hidden somewhere undisclosed,
  • as though at the joint of the bones.
  • Deep at night, I hear it prying open the years.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jlwUkVwUMb5s4Ola_r8MnQ


生活需要一个起钉器

  • 陆辉艳

  • 用订书机订一沓文件时,漏了一页
  • 想要拔出那颗订书钉
  • 它已深深嵌入纸张
  • 我把漏掉的那一页
  • 覆盖在其他纸张上,在那颗订书钉的偏上方
  • 又订下了一颗
  • 现在,我的生活被揳入了双重钉子
  • 但我此生漏掉的那些光亮
  • 某个重要的人,新鲜的时间,微风
  • 一趟夜行列车外透出的星空,森林
  • 要如何与我现有的
  • 悲喜交集的生活装订在一起
  • 我感到所有这些加起来的分量
  • 被一个隐形起钉器平衡着
  • 它藏在这世上的某个角落
  • 在骨骼间的连接处
  • 深夜里,常常听见它扳动时间的声音

IN THIS FLOATING WORLD

  • by Lu Shan

  • It's great to be in the sun again, on the balcony this winter day,
  • next to my wife's sweater drying. The evening breeze sways her shadow,
  • and I feel I have tasted the sweet life once again.
  • I just graduated from a sanatorium
  • with a Ph.D on the ways of the floating world.
  • The first winter tiding is here, snow won't be far away. An illness
  • led to a bedraggled traffic accident.
  • The evening breeze kicks up the day's dust; the trees fold in their arms.
  • A pot of baby daisies sits next to my medical chart,
  • alluring like a young traditional doctor with all her luxuriant beauty.

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

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


在尘世

  • 卢 山

  • 再次沐浴到阳光真好,冬日的阳台上
  • 晾晒着妻子的毛衣。晚风摇曳着她的影子
  • 我仿佛重新品尝了活着的味道。
  • 我刚刚从疾病的修道院里毕业,
  • 拿到了一张关于人情世故的哲学学位证。
  • 大雪不远,立冬为证。疾病制造了
  • 一场泥泞的交通事故。
  • 晚风扬起一日的浮尘,树木从黄昏里折回藤蔓。
  • 我的病历本旁边端坐着一盆雏菊,
  • 俨然一位风华正茂的年轻中医。

INFINITUDE

  • by Lu Ye

  • Give sorrow a set of wheels, let’s hit the road.
  • Give loneliness an engine, let’s go.
  • Give dolor a chassis and wagon, let’s go,not to stop.
  • Life is too short for every detour, let’s go straight forward,
  • just like this cross-desert highway.
  • These brown barren hills, so stubbornly dry,
  • and the sky, so blue and alone without a cloud,
  • but the cacti adore them and cheer for them.
  • Suddenly a tiny one-horse town appears,
  • smack in the middle of nothingness, enshrining itself.
  • A train slowly crosses the distant landscape
  • — an orange locomotive pulling 126 carriages —
  • with the weight and drag, it manages not to look back.
  • An eagle, the confident flyer, at heel to the sky,
  • abandons everything to glide in the open nothingness.
  • Big puffy clouds, doing what they usually do:
  • coming and going at whim, loitering near heaven’s door.
  • The land retreats, but also stretches out.
  • Time and space weave in and out as we drive on.
  • Our big bus skirts three states, striking me as being on Mars.
  • The sun has rolled from our left window to the right window,
  • bright to a fault, as if flirting with ruin.
  • The horizon aims for something bigger: to blur the line between space and time.
  • It contracts, expands, bounces and leaps,
  • Indeed it is infinite. How much is infinitude divided by two? Infinitude again.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/C0Qi_q-kmZ5pWMcrgmU1cw


辽 阔

  • 路也

  • 给悲伤装上轮子,就这么一直开下去吧
  • 给孤独装上引擎,就这么一直开下去
  • 给苦闷装上底盘和车身,就这么一直开下去
  • 这人生不会太久,不必拐弯抹角,要笔直向前
  • 像这穿过沙漠的高速公路一样
  • 那些灰褐色远山光秃着,干旱得那么倔强
  • 天空已经蓝到举目无亲了
  • 仙人掌对它举手加额
  • 偶有巴掌大的小镇,在茫茫荒凉之中
  • 珍爱着自己
  • 一列火车在远处缓缓移动
  • 橙色车头牵引着总共126节车厢
  • 即使如此拖拖拉拉,也可以做到永不回头
  • 鹰把自己当英雄,飞至天空的脚后跟
  • 全力以赴地奔向空荡和虚无
  • 大朵大朵的白云,具有云的本色
  • 走走停停,飘浮在天国的大门口
  • 大地在向后撤退,同时又向前铺展
  • 时间和空间在速度里既重逢,又诀别
  • 大巴车斜擦过三个州的腰,仿佛行驶在火星
  • 太阳从左车窗翻滚到右车窗
  • 它过分鲜艳,以至于接近苦难
  • 地平线有更大野心,是不远不近的劫数
  • 它在拉紧,在伸展,在弹跳
  • 其实它是无限,无限的一半是多少?仍然是无限

PARTRIDGE

  • by Mai Dou

  • In wintry February, on a wet roof,
  • or in March, on one of those barren twigs,
  • it cries out with an outsider’s voice.
  • It seems to know only one call —
  • the melancholic call.
  • Its face is too small,
  • too small to display a smile.
  • It doesn't have a brave heart;
  • when seeing me, still far away, it flies off.
  • Its profile comes across as a lonesome outlander.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/762B8anq21Z0EVjWf3SsUQ


鹧 鸪

  • 麦豆

  • 二月冷雨的屋脊上
  • 或三月空荡的枝头
  • 它的鸣叫声像一个异乡人
  • 它似乎只会一种叫声
  • 听着忧伤的那一种
  • 它的脸太小
  • 小到不足以看见笑容
  • 它也没有一颗勇敢的心
  • 看见我,就远远地飞走了
  • 它的身影像一个孤独的异乡人

BOILING POINT AT DAWN

  • by Mang Yuan

  • Although water boils every morning,
  • its burbling sound has become more pronounced these years,
  • first due to my lighter sleep, also because of the flip alarm,
  • which pries the mind away from dreams,
  • reclaiming the body
  • bit by bit, like removing shadow from light,
  • like paring virtuality from reality,
  • like a sail boat returning from the abyss of time.
  • Every dawn is sizzling, and a little hostile.
  • Every dawn requires repair and self-discipline.
  • Hurry up, it's time to work —
  • and we get to see the multiple self-images in the bathroom mirrors.
  • On a freezing winter day, we wake up like an imperfect kettle,
  • comical and tough, uppity and helpless,
  • but will eventually begin to puff steam,
  • to join the revolution started by James Watt,
  • to crank up the heart of dawn,
  • so it quivers and roars.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/p3z9ZUGQAZKp44LbA6kwww


沸腾的黎明

  • 芒原

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

DESOLATION

  • by Maolin Qingcha

  • Alone in the Gobi Desert,
  • sunrays proliferate and nudge me from behind,
  • doubling and tripling their glory before my eyes.
  • The wind blows, and blows...
  • but I hardly notice it
  • until it begins to play me like a harmonica.
  • But I am just another object in the desert,
  • inhaling the emptiness,
  • transporting the silence,
  • and trudging on ever so slowly.

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

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


荒 凉

  • 茅林清茶

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

The Depths of Dusk

  • by Mei Yi

  • Those who love the depths of dusk have no choice.
  • Ah, in whatever season
  • on whatever treacherous road,
  • she won't hesitate to walk into twilight.
  • The lilacs by the road evokes her deep affection,
  • and the wild grapevine reminds her of the old days.
  • Fallen leaves reflect birth and death and everything in-between; as for loneliness,
  • dearest, the only reference she has is your departure.
  • She extracted you bit by bit from the universe,
  • and returned them bit by bit again.
  • She indulges in this game, seeing it as a gift,
  • similar to how raindrops return to being clouds
  • and later rendezvous with her again as a snowfall.
  • Alas, she takes this road at dusk daily.
  • She has no choice.
  • Who knows what she is grieving over -— something in the light,
  • sometimes in the dark.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/oemKQ_d4_vPGN4RuIi7Wkg


黄昏深处

  • 梅 驿

  • 走进黄昏深处的人只有一条路
  • 唉,管它什么季节
  • 管它怎样曲折
  • 她都会一直走进暮色里
  • 她用路旁的丁香花描述深情
  • 用树上的野葡萄描述过往的日子
  • 用满地枯叶描述生老病死
  • 至于孤独
  • 亲爱的,她只能用你的离她而去
  • 她把你从万物中一点点抽离
  • 又一点点还了回去
  • 她迷恋命运赐给她的这种游戏
  • 如同把雨水还给云朵
  • 让她在冬天邂逅一场雪
  • 唉,每个黄昏她都要走这条路
  • 她只有这条路可走
  • 是什么不肯饶恕她——有时候在明处
  • 有时候在暗处

IN REVERSE

  • by Meng Xingshi

  • The beauty of a vessel rests on its craftsmanship —
  • sift, wheel and pull, paint, engrave, and sinter...
  • The beauty of black pottery lies in the art of hollowing out,
  • to allow the light to enter its secluded heart.
  • Likewise, men's best quality at midlife is open-mindedness,
  • welcoming all weathers, and the swallows who come to nest.
  • For my remaining days, I would like to reverse the course —
  • extinguish the fire, smooth out the nicks, erase paint marks,
  • stop casting, panning or sifting,
  • to return black pottery to clay step by step,
  • and bury it with the white bones in Yellow River's old riverbed.
  • There is you in me, and me in you.

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

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


逆 行

  • 孟醒石

  • 器物之美,在于手工
  • 淘洗、拉坯、绘画、雕刻、烧结
  • 黑陶之美,在于镂空
  • 让光线照进幽邃的内心
  • 人到中年,在于通透
  • 接纳风雨,也接纳筑巢的燕子
  • 我的余生,偏要逆行——
  • 熄灭炉火,抚平刻痕,擦掉画迹
  • 停止拉坯,不再淘洗
  • 一步步,从黑陶返回胶泥
  • 在黄河故道,和那些白骨埋在一起
  • 你中有我,我中有你

November

  • by Meng Ye

  • She knows in November my eyes
  • will gain a little more depth.
  • She comes to see me then.
  • Every year when November comes, she grows a little restless.
  • She knows my eyes on such days
  • will have a deeper shade.
  • In November, the sky is almost empty with very few birds.
  • I know on such days, eyes gains a little more depth,
  • not just mine but everyone’s...
  • ”Let me have a look at you?” She holds my face up.
  • ”Ah…”
  • It’s as if a big bird, beating its wings, dives into
  • the deep pool of my eyes…
  • “Is it a bird?”
  • I can’t really tell,
  • but feel that it reaches deep…
  • She looks at me so quietly. She must be able to see that
  • I become a little more withered every year……
  • Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 2

十一月

  • 梦也

  • 她知道,十一月,我的眼睛会变得
  • 深邃起来。
  • 她来看我。
  • 每年的十一月,她就会变得不安。
  • 她知道,我的双眼准会在这样的日子
  • 变得深邃。
  • 十一月,天空晴朗,飞禽稀少。
  • 我知道,在这样的日子,不仅是我,
  • 所有人的眼睛都会变得深邃起来……
  • “瞧瞧好么?”她捧住我的脸。
  • “呀——”
  • 一只大鸟抖着翅膀,向我的眼球深处
  • 沉下去……
  • “是鸟么?”
  • 我也说不清。
  • 我只感觉到:向深处去,向深处去……
  • 她静静地看着我,能看得出,
  • 我一年比一年更枯萎……

My Good Will

  • by Meng Ye

  • Handle me any way you like. I am the tamest mule.
  • Feel free to stroke me, play with me, or lead me
  • wherever you like.
  • If you wish, I can even carry your bundles,
  • but please don’t put on a heavy load.
  • I can no longer glide and gallop the way I did.
  • Children like to have me around, going for a ride
  • as they roar and laugh: Gi-Di-Up!
  • All of this is fine with me.
  • Children know many tricks, taking me for something soft and sweet,
  • perhaps soft enough to cut up like a cake.
  • Sometimes they climb on me like a tree,
  • hoisting themselves up the trunk to pick fruit.
  • They do as they please, I don’t mind.
  • No, it doesn’t cause me pain;
  • in fact, I am pleased they are the way they are.
  • My comfort comes from the fact that a part of me
  • is being cut and picked away.
  • To tell you the truth: it’s not that I can’t feel pain,
  • but because, because of my good will,
  • my heart is transformed into a sea,
  • where pain is purified...
  • Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 2

善意

  • 梦也

  • 随你怎么看我。我像一头温顺的驴子,
  • 你可以摸我,嬉弄我,或牵着我到你
  • 愿去的地方。
  • 要是你愿意,我还可以驮上
  • 你需要的东西,只是不能太多。
  • 我已经不像年轻那会儿轻快地迈动蹄角。
  • 孩子们认为我好玩,总要骑骑我,
  • 并且大喊:驾!……他们笑了。
  • 随他们便。
  • 孩子们的花样总是很多,他们认为我又软又甜,
  • 可以像蛋糕那样切下来。
  • 有时,他们还把我当作一棵树,
  • 完全放心地沿着树干爬上去,随便地采摘果实。
  • ……随他们便。
  • 不要以为,这样一来,我会痛苦,
  • 其实,我乐于他们这样。
  • 我的幸福正是从类似于
  • 切和摘的方式中获得的。
  • 告诉你们,我不是真的不痛苦,
  • 而是因为,善意把我的心变成了一个大海。
  • 它使痛苦变得纯粹……

AUGUST CHRONICLE

  • by Black Camel

  • Further south, the boundless world is still under the mist
  • that won't tear open however we try. It is August,
  • and our curiosity has overcome the fear of height,
  • so we fly into the lofty bleakness of this wild west.
  • Perhaps let's go north...
  • Oh, but, please, fold in your wings.
  • Stop your spite and furor, do not blind yourself.
  • Take a closer look: there is a peachy story before our eyes:
  • The one on the first floor is washing vegetables.
  • The one on the second floor is cleaning dishes.
  • The one on the third floor is doing laundry.
  • The one on the fourth floor is taking a shower.
  • The one on the fifth floor is drying her hair.
  • Now, let's go up one more floor, and you will see the ones on the rooftop —
  • they lie there, watching clouds,
  • perhaps listening to the wind,
  • unpossessed, body
  • and mind.

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

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

A FLOCK OF BIRDS

  • by Mu Bei

  • Someone talks about a flock of birds, describing it as if
  • it's an old scar, but still tender.
  • He describes springtime as if it were some personality, as if
  • every event in life were inseparable
  • with the season. The forest where the birds once perched,
  • the lushness that made the forest special, a universe
  • with nothing but lushness...It’s as if words were his beloved old pet
  • that comes strutting by, morphing into a vision, a fantasy
  • that breaks free from the cage of time. It is as if
  • the flock of birds were still circling around, over where the forest used to be.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/_XcnAp8Vzd7b26DxlXfiWg


鸟 群

  • 牧 北

  • 有人说起鸟群,就像谈着
  • 远年的伤疤,鲜艳。
  • 好像春天也能成为性格,好像
  • 所有的情节都与时间
  • 情同莫逆。鸟群曾经栖息的树林,
  • 树林曾经的茂密,茂密曾经占据的
  • 空间……语言成为一只豢养多年的宠物
  • 摇头摆尾地化作想象、幻觉
  • 冲出时间的界限。仿佛
  • 鸟群仍盘桓在树林存在过的地方

An Afternoon in Yunnan

  • by Na Ye

  • An afternoon in Yunnan,
  • no mentioning of poetry,
  • no words about human sufferings before we went to bed.
  • We were two women,
  • neither was a mother.
  • We talked about the starry sky, the philosophy of Kant,
  • Mother Teresa, and cardiology.
  • We mused about the atheists who turned superstitious at old age,
  • and how shadows made things prettier.
  • In a way, being childless has kept us whole.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper


  • 8

云南的黄昏

  • 娜夜

  • 云南的黄昏
  • 我们并没谈起诗歌
  • 夜晚也没交换所谓的苦难
  • 两个女人
  • 都不是母亲
  • 我们谈论星空和康德
  • 特蕾莎修女和心脏内科
  • 谈论无神论者迷信的晚年
  • 一些事物的美在于它的阴影
  • 另一个角度:没有孩子使我们得以完整

THE RUMBLE OF THUNDER, A METAPHOR PERHAPS

  • by Nan Qiu

  • No sign of heavy rain despite long rumbling thunder,
  • a premonition that I must heed.
  • At least I should pay attention,
  • and try to see where it is from.
  • A lot like crying a long cry without tears.
  • A lot like a well-rehearsed stage play without dialogues.
  • A lot like a mansion with open doors without anyone coming or going.
  • A lot like a monk's mesmerizing ritual without a believer around.
  • A lot like an epic story without a protagonist.
  • Perhaps this is an illusory world
  • in which only the rumble of thunder is real,
  • or, can it be the opposite,
  • that thunder rumbles high and far, but is out of touch with the human pathos?
  • Perhaps thunder tries to communicate,
  • but we are too preoccupied with worldly concerns.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

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


雷声,或者语意

  • 南秋

  • 这么长久的雷声却不见大雨落下
  • 我必须引以为戒了
  • 至少,我必须认真地倾听
  • 剖析它们的来路
  • 这多么像长嚎之人却不见眼泪落下
  • 这多么像蓄势已久的朗诵却不见一句台词
  • 这多么像一座大房子敞开着却不见一人出入
  • 这多么像道士忘我地念念有词地做法事
  • 却不见一名至亲在场
  • 这多么像长篇巨著中未有一个主角现身
  • 或许,这世界只是个虚拟
  • 只有雷声是真实的
  • 或许,恰恰相反
  • 雷声虽然通天,却未必通晓人间
  • 或许,雷声言不达意
  • 我们已经入木三分



MY LOVE-HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH MT. QINLING

  • by Nan Shutang

  • They reason why I hate this mountain
  • is because it blocks my view, pretending
  • to be the end of the world. Still, it serves
  • as a jail door that keeps away the people and things
  • whom I love to hate but dare not.
  • I take it all out on Mt. Qinling,
  • so when I hate you, and you, and you, once, twice, and thrice,
  • I gradually build up a mountain of hatred;
  • surely one of Qinling’s peaks is the result of my work.
  • Hear the rainless thunder from the mountains,
  • hear its echoes spreading hatred.
  • At the same time I love the mountain for mysterious reasons —
  • the way birds sing their praises
  • or peach blossoms confess their ardent love.
  • The rugged boulders and the hardy grass
  • around my father’s grave also match the tenacity of my affection,
  • which I write down as a list of words
  • and arrange them with a secret formula
  • (the way a pharmacist writes out a prescription),
  • and feed them to the spring breeze and autumn wind.
  • The mountain is said to be growing at two millimeters a year.
  • Does that growth come partly from the power of my love?
  • Nowadays I am more even-tempered,
  • with little love or hatred in the heart,
  • and the mountain seems to treat me the same way,
  • listening to me calmly
  • without showing any joy or sadness.
  • Now I can sit comfortably with the mountain
  • and strike up a conversation.
  • If I could recover my past love and hatred,
  • I would use the love to backfill the cavities
  • undermined by the old hatred, so that we will have
  • a gentler landform that's worthy of our trust
  • between crags and chasms.

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

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


爱恨秦岭

  • 南书堂

  • 恨它的理由,是它一直
  • 阻挡我的视野,充当着
  • 世界的尽头。可它又像为我的恨
  • 专设了一个衙门,让我把
  • 想恨不敢恨的人和事
  • 冲着它,恨上一回,再恨上一回
  • 这样一推算,它的某个山峰
  • 肯定由我的恨堆积而成
  • 从山顶偶尔传来的闷雷
  • 仿佛这些恨的回声
  • 爱它,却无言表达
  • 因而鸟鸣和桃花
  • 抢先说出了鲜丽的部分
  • 长着白牙的巨石和父亲坟头的小草
  • 代言了执著的部分
  • 我只需药师一样,把一些词语
  • 按秘密的剂量,写在
  • 春风或者秋风的处方笺上
  • 据说,它的主峰,还在以每年
  • 两厘米的速度往高里长
  • 是不是其中也包含了我爱的力量
  • 现在,我对它更多的是
  • 不爱不恨,就像它
  • 始终都在平静地倾听
  • 而不显露悲喜
  • 现在,我已是可以与它坐下来
  • 促膝相谈的人,如果它能
  • 把我曾经的爱恨还给我
  • 我就会用那些爱去填补恨
  • 砸出的深谷,使人生看起来
  • 像这崇山峻岭间,确有
  • 一个个值得信任的平缓地带


IS THERE A SPRING NOT BORN OUT OF NEAR-DEATH?

  • by Pan Xichen

  • After trying to spawn day after day,
  • snow finally comes down.
  • Snowflakes cover up my mother,
  • and the entire
  • magnificent north.
  • Now, in a separate
  • kingdom, sunny and bright
  • with a temperature difference of 50 degrees,
  • I can still feel
  • the fierce, piercing,
  • unforgiving cold.
  • Only the dopy lazy bones
  • would say: Winter is here,
  • spring can't be that far away.
  • Can anyone imagine that winter would voluntarily leave?
  • Can anyone tell me
  • that he has known a spring
  • that did not go through a survival fight?
  • Can anyone tell me
  • that he has seen a spring
  • that wasn't born out of near-death!

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

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


有哪一个春天不是绝处逢生

  • 潘洗尘

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

SPRING NIGHT

  • by Pang Pei

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


春 夜

  • 庞 培

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

NIGHT STROLL

  • by Peng Jie

  • It was winter. We swept the leaves into the hearth,
  • carried the thrashed grain into the underground cache,
  • and hung red lanterns on the pergola.
  • That was three years ago, soon after
  • Ma Deming’s mother passed away, and
  • I was in the middle of writing a novel.
  • After dinner, if no one came around to visit
  • and Ma Deming wasn't called back to the iron mill
  • for overtime work, we would take a walk
  • outside the village. Down a narrow road,
  • past a black gleaming lake, we came to
  • a woodland. Nary a lantern nor a soul,
  • only the moonlight leading us
  • to the higher ground, where we
  • tooted our flutes, sending melodies
  • to bounce from one bare branch to another,
  • from midnight until daybreak.

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

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


夜晚的散步

  • 彭杰

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

Shadows

  • by Peng Shibin

  • A cloud drifts across my mind,
  • casting a shadow, in the shape of a homeless cat,
  • then a flower, then a dream.
  • Shadows are not made of darkness
  • but connected to their bright source.
  • Melancholy is the shadow of longings.
  • The road to the hot spring is long,
  • but I hear songs and birds, sweet fancies,
  • and the fireflies that light the way.
  • Those drooping vines in the wind,
  • the dogs and cats roaming the streets,
  • and fallen leaves, do they still cross our minds?
  • The dark cloud in the sky transforms
  • into the shadow of a lamb, raindrops, then a flower,
  • drifting with the silent wind...
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 5

阴影

  • 彭世彬

  • 阴影 心空一朵飘动的云
  • 一会飘向流浪猫 一会飘向花
  • 一会 飘向梦
  • 阴影不是阴暗 阴影连着光明
  • 阴影相似 折射本真的面目
  • 忧郁 因牵挂而生
  • 那温泉 可望而不可及
  • 歌声与飞鸟 甜美与梦想
  • 莹火虫闪亮 一路前行
  • 想着 那些无依无靠的枯藤
  • 流浪的狗 和猫
  • 落叶飘零 少有人过问
  • 天空 那朵乌云
  • 现出羊羔 雨水和花的影子
  • 风 沉默无语

THE WISH MUSEUM

  • by Pu Er

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

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


愿望博物馆

  • 朴 耳

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

MINOR HEAT

  • by Qi Lun

  • The silent afternoon brings its own seductive light.
  • "Goodbye spring, hello summer", a sneaky transition, almost poetic,
  • but causes people to feel a little uneasy, and wake up in reveries.
  • I quit drinking, fall in love with tea, come down from cloud nine.
  • Living on the 27th floor, sometimes I find myself miles away and suspended,
  • rather similar to mid-life. It’s not unusual for me to linger by the windows,
  • and, if I look down, I would always see the hints of a floating world,
  • such as dust, just about enough to conceal life’s existential gloom.
  • I like the sunrays from the west,
  • dropping in obliquely into the vast nothingness of my heart.
  • If I look farther into the distance,
  • a forest is in view, and I envision shadows upon shadows
  • in the woodland, making the cicadas sing even more bravely,
  • and higher, transmitting a vague sadness
  • to the white clouds. If there happens to be a little yellow dog
  • dozing in the shade of the tree, for sure it is intoxicated by love,
  • cluelessly dreaming about birds in the sky.
  • Oh, I mean, all souls find a way out of their bodies,
  • yes, if only because, because we love the thought of roaming and going home . ..

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/oZrKfEeYO5CxIV_X7HrZ4w


小 暑

  • 起 伦

  • 下午的寂静,自带诱人的光芒
  • 出梅入伏,一种诗意的暗度陈仓
  • 让人略感不安,又陷入冥想
  • 我戒酒了,爱上喝茶,对生活已无太多期待
  • 住在27楼,恍惚时有悬空的感觉
  • 颇像中年人生。常在窗前伫立良久
  • 如果俯瞰,大地上浮起的庸常事物
  • 比如尘埃,恰好可以掩盖万古愁
  • 我喜欢偏西的阳光
  • 斜照过来,落入内心辽阔的虚无
  • 如果把目光放远些
  • 会看见一片林子。我能够猜到林地间
  • 影子与影子的叠加,把蝉唱衬托得更加
  • 高远,把一种淡淡忧伤
  • 送向白云。如果有一只假寐的小黄狗
  • 躺在树阴间,它一定中了爱情的毒蛊
  • 没来由地梦到天空的鸟群
  • 呵,我是说,一切灵魂的出窍
  • 是,也仅仅是,爱上了漫游与还乡……

THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE

  • by Qi Yuqin

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


还 乡

  • 漆宇勤

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

TUMBLEWEED

  • by Qi Zi

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

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

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


枯蓬记

  • 圻 子

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

NIGHT OF THE BIG RIG

  • by Qi Zi

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

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


重卡车之夜

  • 圻 子

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

NOTES FROM A HOSPITAL WARD

  • by Qiu Shui

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


病房记事

  • 秋水

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

SPUTTERS OF FIRES

  • by Qu Rui

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

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


火的呓语

  • 瞿 瑞

  • 它总是有话要讲,像我面对它
  • 总是沉默。比如在外省我们
  • 放烟火的那个小年夜,或
  • 烧纸钱的那些坟墓旁。
  • 坐对火焰是必要的对质,
  • 它的爆裂是一种徒劳的呼喊,
  • 而我们聆听每一个幽灵
  • 回到人间,栖于火的形态。
  • 一个礼拜六,我去拜访母亲
  • 说起梦中面目悲伤的死者。
  • “梦会丢的,你要写下来。”
  • 她沉思良久,最后忠告我。
  • 我们无法挽住一个长脚的梦,
  • 如同无法向火借宿。
  • 火的变形仿佛试探,仿佛确信
  • 人注定会错过——
  • 每一束火焰的临危一挽。
  • 火灼烧如野马奔突,熄灭
  • 如荒原,唯火的呓语
  • 不息:送往人的每一种余生。

RELIVING

  • by Rong Rong

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


怀 念

  • 荣 荣

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

STRONG TEA OR FATHER

  • by Shao Qian

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

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

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

浓茶或父亲

  • 邵骞

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

SOMETHING HAPPENS IN THE DARK OF THE SOUL

  • by Shen Haobo

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

有些东西在灵魂的黑暗处发生

  • 沈浩波

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

CAMEL BRIDGE

  • by Shen Wei

  • Eastward, beyond the City of Huzhou,
  • the underworld of Qianshanyang Ruin
  • houses fossil silk, mulberry gardens with tall lonely trees,
  • Mama Wang's noodles, and perfectly preserved sandalwood...
  • Westward, today’s camels are made of alloy,
  • traversing between moonscape and metropolis
  • on a seemingly endless yellow sandy road.
  • It takes only a fumble
  • to stumble on this allegorical western frontier.
  • The eye of the spring perches high on Renhuang Mountain,
  • like an orange or a grapefruit on a sprig.
  • It joins the well-aerated Zhaxi River
  • under a weary masonry skeleton —
  • Camel Bridge*, which alludes to an old water town
  • that conversed and connected with a distant place.
  • The river’s lushness dribbles into the desert farther west
  • whilst sand dunes enter our dreams.
  • Streams meet, each from a lush mountain
  • to travel the great plain, rambling, meandering,
  • interweaving like a melancholic tassel of silk.
  • On the wavy humps of a camel, he rides into the spiritual
  • windswept landscape, westward, westward —
  • the new world is home, whilst old home is alien.
  • He says a prayer quietly
  • in the mix of native and foreign music:
  • our world, their world; the other shore, this shore,
  • go, go, all you can, to the other shore...

  • *Translator's Note: Camel Bridge was built in 685 C.E.in today's Huzhou, Zhejiang Province.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/qkeauZmewNi4s0AB-jmR6A


骆驼桥

  • 沈苇

  • 向东,湖州城外
  • 钱山漾的地下世界
  • 碳化的丝、桑园、孤独的高杆桑
  • 王大妈的面、淤泥里不腐的檀香木……
  • 向西,骆驼的肉身已是合金
  • 从荒寂到繁华
  • 一条黄沙路似乎没有尽头
  • 仿佛你凌乱一脚
  • 就踏入了西域的隐喻
  • 水的高处在仁皇山
  • 譬如枝头的柑橘和柚子
  • 富氧的霅溪之上
  • 石头和水泥的骨架也会颓丧
  • 骆驼桥,只是一个水乡隐喻
  • 一次与远方的对话和关联
  • 霅溪的湿,一滴滴注入远方的干旱
  • 而漫漫黄沙,总是梦里相见
  • 溪流会合,来自蓊郁群山
  • 在大平原,绵长、蜿蜒
  • 如一束惆怅的生丝
  • 骑着波峰的驼背,这心灵的
  • 雅丹地貌,一路向西——
  • 远行者已是他乡故人、故乡异客
  • 在丝竹和隐约的胡乐中
  • 一再默祷:
  • 此岸,彼岸;彼岸,此岸
  • 揭谛,揭谛,波罗僧揭谛……

OFTENTIMES WHEN I FIND MYSELF SPELLBOUND

  • by Shi Maosheng

  • Oftentimes when I find myself spellbound, as if coming to life’s end,
  • as if seeing a path to an unknown world,
  • how I fear that life has been received in vain,
  • that precious time was wasted,
  • that my candle is burned up at both ends.
  • But here, every twig is enjoying the sun as all twigs should,
  • and the leaves have reached the expected deeper color.
  • The lake fluctuates within its rim,
  • and seems to be calm because of yesterday's luster.
  • Maybe the lesson here is heightened emotion,
  • which helps to illuminate virtues. At this place,
  • deity is given a stellar personality,
  • the grass at the foothill is primevally dark,
  • the atmosphere over the lake plays whirlwinds.
  • I have seen people come here for a walk at sunset,
  • comforted by old memories, soothed by spring wind.
  • Each one is like me, blessed with many good years,
  • and the so-called time is just about done with its lessons for us.

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

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


常常在出神的一刻……

  • 施茂盛

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

A PERFECT AUTUMN DAY

  • by Shiwu Lan

  • A perfect autumn day
  • is when I see persimmon trees on the hillside
  • with creamy fruit dangling, orange like lamplights.
  • A perfect autumn day is to bump into an old friend
  • as if looking in the mirror:
  • with the same markings from our century, talk the same talk,
  • all those years gone by without us knowing.
  • A perfect autumn day is to go up the mountain in the morning
  • and walk around the water in the afternoon.
  • Autumn’s colors has tinctured the lower hills.
  • A mother's large brood,
  • each bears the name of a baby animal,
  • have return to give us a star-studded sky.

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

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

SPEAKING OF COCONUT TREES

  • by Sun Wenbo

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

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


椰树叙

  • 孙文波

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




JOURNEY THROUGH THE NIGHT

  • by Tan Xiao

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

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

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


夜路

  • 谈 骁

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

DONGWU SOUND

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • Dongwu Sound is a stretch of sea, an inlet, and my hometown.
  • People live off the sea, wrapping themselves around the impartial sea,
  • so do the ants, the banyan trees,
  • and the little streams and coves.
  • And every home opens to the sea
  • as if to hear the ocean's reply to their every word,
  • like a pillow mate or a dinner buddy who knows every bit of your history.
  • There are also fish at the seabed, living equally with other lives,
  • even though they might complain when the sea
  • turns rough, but more often
  • they exchange stories in the moonlight, about how the vast sea
  • raises not only the most vicious fish but also the tiniest critters.
  • Life and Death is overseen by the power on high. No one
  • gets lost here; you can say going onshore is as good as getting lost.
  • God looks at Dongwu Sound and is pleased: Good people on shore,
  • good fish at sea; the rest are the jetsam and flotsam of the tides,
  • like many of my moods, loud and passionate 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
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

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

THE REBUILT FEET

  • by Tang Yangzong

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


再造的手脚

  • 汤养宗

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

REMBRANDT IN SELF-PORTRAIT

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • A hundred and more self-portraits
  • in a lifetime, why? Still, his facial lines
  • were ever-changing, from age 34 to 63.
  • The monkey must have been difficult to work with,
  • too ill-at-ease to playact different personas,
  • and so he produced not a single portrait
  • that was heroic enough for posterity.
  • None of them shows a strong conviction about life
  • to offset that famous squint, peering into
  • a chaotic layered universe.
  • A master of planetary art, his treatment of light was unique:
  • “There you are, in this world, highbrow,
  • but you hide an old dyke in your eyes, weighty and about to burst.”

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/bjSBg5LPn5CF3vCGAKfzJA


自画像中的伦勃朗

  • 汤养宗

  • 一个人一生中为什么要画下
  • 一百多张自画像?脸上的线条一直无法
  • 落实,从34岁到63岁
  • 他感到难办的是一只十分为难的猴子
  • 时光中的变脸术捉襟见肘
  • 没有一张头像
  • 具有纪念碑式的气魄
  • 用来说服活着的主张,用来调整
  • 那出了名的斜视,它通向
  • 重叠又错乱的时空
  • 作为二维高手,这里有特殊的明暗法
  • “我看到的世界,都有眼神上扬的你
  • 而你眼里总是条不堪的老堤,沉稳和欲决”

SOME STONES ARE PARTICIPANTS IN MY LIFE

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • Some stones are participants in my life,
  • such as these two on my desk, one from
  • an old mountain trail on the outskirt of town,
  • the other from a lonely stream even farther away.
  • These unspeaking solitary souls
  • go about things their own way, whether I like it or not.
  • In addition to their rip-roaring looks,
  • they speak monologues, and in outbursts that only I can hear;
  • they also resurrect what’s dead in them,
  • and loom large in my study with their Ying and Yang,
  • like two gods sent by nature to watch over me.
  • Sometimes after writing a sentence,
  • I would sneak a peek at their faces to see how they like it.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/wLi4JSwcM_DRMQrwH9FVTQ


有些石头,已经参与了我的生活

  • 汤养宗

  • 有些石头,已经在参与我的生活
  • 我书桌的两块就是。一块来自
  • 县城郊外的山岭古道上
  • 另一块更远,曾是深山小溪里。
  • 丧失语言能力的独处者
  • 现在它们的生活我已经管不过来
  • 除热烈的表情,还有
  • 唯有我能听到的呓语或呵斥
  • 它们以前死去的那一切,在我书房里
  • 全又复活,并使用了石头自己的阴阳
  • 作为大自然派来看管我的两个神
  • 有时我写下一句话
  • 会偷偷拿目光瞄一下它们的脸色

THE MOON HESITATES

  • by Tian Xiang

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


推 敲

  • 田 湘

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

AN HOUR AT THE REC ROOM

  • by Wang Feng

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


在生活区休息的一个小时

  • 汪峰

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

EDUCATION BY SNOW

  • by Wang Fugang

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

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

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


雪的教育

  • 王夫刚

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

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

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

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



BIG BENDS

  • by Wang Fugang

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


大河拐大弯

  • 王夫刚

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

CRYSTALLIZATION

  • by Wang Jiaming

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

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


结 晶

  • 王家铭

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

POST OFFICE

  • by Wang Jian

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

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

邮 局

  • 王 键

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

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

  • 我写了一封长长的信
  • 要寄给一个过时的老朋友

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

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

  • 长大了的人类开始成倍地增长它的渴望

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

  • 我还确信:这个邮局也
  • 终将永久失去它的地址

FAREWELL

  • by Wang Jiaxin

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

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

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


告 别

  • 王家新

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

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

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




A TRIP THROUGH SNOWSTORM

  • by Wang Jiaxin

  • Driving sixty kilometers —
  • first through snow-dusted city streets,
  • then on Beijing-Chengde Freeway — but we have to turn back
  • at a roadblock because of black ice,
  • so we take a dirt road halfway up the mountain
  • only to have a look at you: the snow-draped northern mountains!
  • This is the first blizzard in who-knows-how-many years,
  • we ought to be thrilled, but no one break the silence.
  • Enclosed in sweeping snow and sniping cold,
  • we see ashen boulders, darkened hills,
  • and the demon-like snow-covered mountains
  • presiding over an array of smaller hills and beacon towers
  • as they slowly fade into the increasingly bleaker atmosphere...
  • At that very moment, I saw our friend DuoDuo — a poet
  • near his 70s — face covered with snowflakes,
  • in tears, the way of a child...

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


记一次风雪行

  • 王家新

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

WHERE IN THE WORLD

  • by Wang Jiaxin

  • The valley is awash with snow, but some outcrops begin to show.
  • Where we walked last year,
  • azaleas are blooming.
  • A bird unmasks the entire sky with a twitter.
  • We say to the things not yet arrived:
  • Come on! We are here.
  • On the hillside of life,
  • some places bask in the sun, twinkly and bright,
  • but these days
  • we are entrenched in the winter spirit,
  • walking in the shadow of the valley,
  • not knowing since when
  • or until when.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4lp-R1tkXcLSVXO7qrJ_cg


什么地方

  • 王家新

  • 山谷中充满了雪,岩石开始裸露
  • 就在我们去年走过的路上
  • 开出了杜鹃
  • 一声鸟鸣,廓开了整个天空
  • 我们对尚未到来的事物说
  • 来吧!我们在这里
  • 生命是一道山坡
  • 向阳的地方辉耀着阳光,那样明亮
  • 但是现在
  • 我们被冬天的精神充满
  • 我们仍在山谷里走着
  • 不知从什么时候开始
  • 也从不到达

MY INEPT LOVE FOR THIS WORLD

  • by Wang Jibing

  • The used sofa given by our neighbor
  • made my wife very happy.
  • She talked excitedly about the plan
  • to find a proper coffee table to go with it,
  • all the while trying to add a book, and another book,
  • to prop up the corner of the sofa that lost a leg.
  • I went to the bathroom, and washed my face with cold water
  • so as to come out with a fresh new smile.
  • All these years
  • I have been sweating in the sun,
  • laboring to squeeze out the juice of life,
  • but never can turn life into a gem.
  • In my own clumsy way, I have loved this world
  • and the one who loves me
  • for almost thirty years now; still, how unprepared I am
  • to let tears flow in front of her.
  • All I can do is be the pendulum of a clock
  • — love and love back, a tick to a tock —
  • a harmonic oscillator, ticktock, ticktock.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/d8KyOPiB2zw3PnBM2K3ibA


我笨拙地爱着这个世界

  • 王计兵

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

OVERDRIVE

  • by Wang Jibing

  • One must not miss an opening to make an entrance?
  • The truth is: oftentimes
  • the race track of life is as impervious as a wooden board.
  • The jockey rides on, stiffening his spine
  • like a spear
  • in order to ride the corners.
  • Every nail that’s bent
  • will be discarded
  • or straightened by a brutal hammer.
  • Building a life is like building furniture,
  • each piece needs more than a few
  • straight tidy nails.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mVWfY4RXK1ATwz7PIlXBig


赶 单

  • 王计兵

  • 见缝插针?
  • 实际上,很多时候
  • 生活平整得像一块木板
  • 骑手是一枚枚尖锐的钉子
  • 只有挺直了腰杆
  • 才能钉住生活的拐角
  • 每一根弯曲后的钉子
  • 都会被丢弃
  • 或者承受更猛烈的敲击
  • 重新取直
  • 生活是一种家具
  • 每一件,都需要很多
  • 工整的钉子

Dirt Road

  • by Meifu Wang

  • The dirt road and I, we resemble each other —
  • not very modern, nor durable.
  • In a camera lens, you will see us through a yellow haze.
  • If you wish to follow the road to the sea,
  • it will take a morning and an afternoon on foot,
  • but there is always a charming fragrance along the way.
  • When I close my eyes, I hear footsteps, and wingbeats,
  • in groups of threes or fives, lively and light,
  • a chorus in the air, like a song with wings
  • that lifts me out of despair.
  • I would listen to it in the morning.
  • I would listen to it in the afternoon.
  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 4

土路

  • 王美富

  • 我和腳前的土路有點相似,
  • 沒什麽現代元素,使不出多少力氣,
  • 面對照相機,總會蒙上一圈黃暈;
  • 如果想去欣賞那心愛的,婆娑的椰林,
  • 還得徒步一個早晨又一個下午,
  • 可是它總是散發出迷人的芳馥。
  • 每當我閉上眼睛,就聽見腳步——
  • 三五成群,輕快,靈活,腳步的合唱,
  • 就像乘載歌聲的翅膀——於是我不再絕望,
  • 也許那時正是早晨,或是黃昏。

Water Droplets

  • by Meifu Wang

  • Water droplets
  • leap from the falls,
  • crash into the cliff wall,
  • bellyflopping
  • down a starless hollow.
  • Winged angels, water droplets
  • awaken me from a dream
  • about an azalea
  • receiving mist
  • at the bottom of the gorge.
  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 4

水珠

  • 王美富

  • 水珠
  • 跳离瀑布
  • 冲向山岩
  • 穿过我身体的深渊
  • 像天使 长了翅膀
  • 在头顶上空 飞翔
  • 我的心 如梦初醒
  • 见杜鹃如璟
  • 在河谷
  • 接住水珠

SEA CRAG

  • by Meifu Wang

  • I go, far away from home,
  • with scattered thoughts trailing along
  • (ah, my winsome sidekick).
  • Roving till dusk, I need not raise my head
  • to see heaven’s curtain close.
  • He arrives more abruptly than the night,
  • soaring up from the deep blue sea;
  • using huge talons to stay the earth.
  • He lives in the ice-cold sea, in the blackish sea;
  • he hangs tight as the Earth spins,
  • and turns his face to the rain and the wind.
  • Consider how quietly my thoughts come and go,
  • my days, likewise, waft to and fro.
  • The sky sleeps in the bosom of the sea,
  • and I hear his drunken snore,
  • dark, now, and deep,
  • gentle, and soft,
  • asking me:
  • must you live thinking life is brief?
  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 8

海岩

  • 王美富

  • 我寄居于旅途,
  • 散漫的臆想像小书僮悄悄跟上。
  • 无须抬头,已见低垂的天幕。
  • 他,来得比夜更突兀;
  • 他,屹立于深海之中;
  • 他,用巨爪扣住地球。
  • 在冰冷的海里,在墨绿的海里,
  • 他肩骨嶙峋,背负坎坷的命运,
  • 与地球一起旋转;是他在挡驾风雨。
  • 臆想悄悄地来,悄悄地去,
  • 我的日子也同样飘忽。
  • 天睡在海的胸脯,我听见他的酣声,
  • 深沉且温柔,
  • 告诉我:不必在意人生的短促。

To Melville

  • by Meifu Wang

  • The day plods on, riding an overtired oxcart,
  • as I slowly grow impatient with the setting sun
  • that has waved goodbye but malingers
  • and continues to sprinkle gold dust everywhere,
  • flooding my chamber with an orangish hue.
  • But I am waiting for you,
  • knowing you will come, blending in with the dark.
  • You are not one of those who adore sunny days,
  • looking to show off your silver and gold.
  • You are not in the company of brash flowers
  • that flirt with honey bees
  • in constant talk of love.
  • But I am waiting for you,
  • knowing you will come, blending in with the dark.
  • Deserted by the sun, the sky is just right
  • when the northern light shows up for a gallivant.
  • You will be here, oh, Mighty Shadow.
  • You will be here, in the charming shade of the night.
  • Oh, night, deep as the sea,
  • I answer your love, deep as the sea.
  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 8

致梅尔维尔

  • 王美富

  • 时间像蹉跎的马车
  • 拖曳着走
  • 我开始对夕阳失去耐心
  • 它挥手告别 却慢条斯理
  • 顺便把耀眼的金光撒满水面
  • 彩霞也毫不迟疑地跨进窗户
  • 但是我在等你
  • 知道你和夜晚一起来
  • 你不属于街上的那一伙
  • 他们爱恋白日
  • 依赖白日照亮身上的金色银色
  • 朵朵娇艳的花
  • 常有青头的蜜蜂飞来围舞
  • 在艳阳下一起谈恋爱
  • 但是我在等你
  • 等你来了 那就像
  • 北极光飞旋在太阳沉睡以后的天空
  • 你魁梧的身材 是黑夜的魅影
  • 啊 夜深如海
  • 我对你的爱也深如大海。

To Father

  • by Meifu Wang

  • I knew you were with me only as a phantom,
  • but we spent a beautiful day walking and talking.
  • I kept telling myself how beautiful it was to see you again.
  • I knew you came to me like a phantom,
  • but I said if your phantom brought me such joy
  • that I couldn't tell the difference between the two joys —
  • one from being with the living you and the other with the phantom you,
  • Why shouldn't this phantom world be my desired world?
  • why should this joy be less than the other joy?
  • But I knew all along when I was with you,
  • while you held my hand and we strolled in the garden,
  • that you were speaking to me as a phantom.
  • Therefore I dreaded the moment when you had to leave
  • like Hamlet’s father in Shakespeare’s play.
  • Later on we walked by a sanctuary,
  • a row of cherry trees lined the passageway,
  • their sturdy silhouette contradicting the dusky sky.
  • I took a step into the long house.
  • I needed to step away for a minute
  • for I didn't want you to see my weary heart —
  • I was dreading the moment when you had to leave.
  • The door of the long house closed behind me,
  • separating me from you and the cherry trees.
  • But as soon as I was inside and you outside,
  • I sobbed: “Ah, how sad have I been since you left!”
  • My tears transported you instantly back to me.
  • You held my face and spoke to me:
  • “Yes, I know you have been sad.”
  • I looked at you and said: “I didn't want you to leave.”
  • You let my head rest on your shoulder, and said: “I know.”
  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang

  • 4

父亲

  • 王美富

  • 我知道身边的你只是一个幻影,
  • 但是今天我们一起散步聊天,我对自己说:
  • 能再一次与你相会我是多么的快乐!
  • 我知道身边的你只是一个灵魂,
  • 但是有你在我的身边我是多么的快乐!
  • 我心中满满的喜悦叫我不能分辩
  • 人间的你与灵界的你有甚么不同。
  • 那么今天的喜悦怎会不如往日的喜悦?
  • 今日的重逢怎么会不如不见?
  • 这个幻影的世界怎不是我心爱的世界?
  • 但是我知道,我知道身边的你,
  • 在花园里牵着我手陪我款款谈心的你
  • 只是一个幻影,
  • 于是我怕你很快就要离开,
  • 像哈姆雷特的父亲从莎士比亚的剧场消失。
  • 走着走着我们来到一间长厢房,
  • 厢房的拱廊外侧种了一排樱桃树,
  • 它们的树干在黄昏里显得特别粗壮。
  • 我紧走一步进入房内,
  • 不让你看出我的忧伤:
  • 我担心你很快就要与我告别。
  • 今天相聚,我要为你戴上笑容。
  • 进了长屋,我把木门在身后拉上,
  • 把你和樱桃树留在屋外,
  • 当你一下不在跟前,我就哭了,对自己说:
  • “从你离开那天,我一直多么的伤心!”
  • 但是我的泪水把你唤回眼前,
  • 你用手托着我的脸,对我说
  • “我明白你的忧伤。”
  • 我抬起头来对你说:“我的心不忍你的离别。”
  • 你让我把脸依着你的肩膀,说,“我都明白。”

Dirge

  • by Meifu Wang

  • Right, I didn’t give you a proper burial,
  • not even was I there to see you off on the last day.
  • Is that the reason why,
  • on this dark night
  • with the winds, gentle and fierce,
  • coming from left and right and front and back,
  • that you fly zigzag, descending halfway from sky
  • to disturb this tropical night?
  • But I have always declared my love for you,
  • every day and every hour while you were alive,
  • so why can’t you be at peace?
  • I would be if I were a dog or something akin to a human spirit.
  • Yes, perhaps once or twice
  • I didn’t pay attention to how I prepared your meal —
  • potato and meat mixed in a bowl set aside for your return.
  • But that day you didn’t return.
  • Then there were human quarrels that drove you into hiding.
  • You eaised your eyes to the pale-green faces
  • — faces so familiar —
  • but together you and I sent them away.
  • Tonight on this tropical avenue,
  • someone is singing about an eagle,
  • I ask if she indeed has seen an eagle or perhaps she has seen you.
  • A few spirits are floating among the giant banyan shadows
  • the way jazz floats out from many corners
  • in this post-colonial city,
  • with walled-in courtyards, cafés in deep alleys,
  • some non-native souls, the same as mine,
  • in and out of this dark night,
  • in and out of these dimly-lit streets,
  • in and out of my half-native consciousness.
  • Then, suddenly you fly zigzag from dog heaven,
  • halfway between sky and earth,
  • to remind me that I didn’t give you a proper burial.
  • I can deflect the ghost that comes to accuse me,
  • even with a friendly greeting,
  • just to show that I haven’t forgotten you,
  • but this darkishness, this windiness, and the foreignness of this city
  • will forever remain vivid in my mind
  • — on these very broad avenues,
  • where spirits rollick with giant banyan shadows
  • that overlook walled-in courtyards and music from deep alleys.
  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang (in Taipei)

挽歌

  • 王美富

  • 是的,我没有为你举行隆重的葬礼,
  • 就是你走的那天我也远在千里。
  • 难道这就是为什么在这个昏黑之夜,
  • 当轻风与狂风从四面八方呼啸而至,
  • 你从空中乘风而降,
  • 打扰这个亚热带岛上的一片空寂?
  • 可是你知道,当你还在的日子,
  • 当你还在的日子每一分每一秒,
  • 我都在向世界宣告我对你的爱
  • 为什么你还不愿意安息?
  • 如果我也是一条狗,曾经体会过人间的情谊,
  • 我一定会感到满足的。
  • 的确,有过那么一两次,
  • 我没有用心为你准备吃的,
  • 把马铃薯和骨头随便拌在一起,
  • 但是那一天你没有回来。
  • 有时人们的争执吓到你跑去躲在角落里,
  • 清澈的眼瞳盯着青绿的脸,
  • 就像天上的火把照出无以言喻的卑鄙,
  • 何况是那么熟悉的面孔,
  • 可是你和我,我们一起把他们驱逐尽净。
  • 今夜,在这条暖洋洋的大街,
  • 有人在浅浅的唱,在唱一首诉说老鹰的歌曲。
  • 我问她是不是真的看见老鹰,
  • 也许她看见的是你。
  • 在这条街上,我还看见古人的灵魂
  • 在老树之间悠游自如,
  • 也听到浪漫的爵士乐从角落飘出。
  • 在这个被殖民过的城市,
  • 街上有几户人家还围着矮墙,深巷里有咖啡屋,
  • 还有那些半洋化的人群,和我也不尽是两回事,
  • 若隐若现,出现在如斯的夜里,
  • 若隐若现,出现在昏暗的小巷里,
  • 若隐若现,出现在这个亚热带的岛屿,
  • 也出没在我不再纯粹乡土的意识里。
  • 而就在这时,
  • 你从空中狗的天堂翩翩而至,
  • 埋怨我没有给你一个隆重的葬礼。
  • 我可以委婉地打发走那个不请自来的面具,
  • 也愿意把他挽留,为的是表明我从来没有忘记你,
  • 但是这深深的夜,这狂野的风,
  • 这个有点陌生的城市,
  • 将会永远的留在我的脑海里。
  • 啊,岛上有郁郁桑桑的菩提树,
  • 粗壮的树干之间有留恋人间的灵魂,
  • 街角有陪伴矮墙的绿竹,
  • 深巷的咖啡屋传来叫人心酸的歌曲。

Reading Baudelaire Into the Night

  • by Meifu Wang

  • You speak to me. You speak to me
  • in a seductive voice.
  • Not that I don’t love your words
  • or crave your friendship,
  • but your sonorous voice brings phantom echoes
  • that blast open the portcullis of hell.
  • They pour in from all directions —
  • a motorcycle skidding on the asphalt road,
  • a screaming head under the blazing sun,
  • red roosters in the fighting ring,
  • a tidy garden next to the hospital morgue.
  • The walls are no longer useful barriers.
  • You speak to me in rhymes,
  • which lift my spirit out of the river of gloom.
  • Therefore, even though half-sedated by sleep,
  • I can feel the soft touch of time
  • and hear music from half a universe away —
  • the metaphysical universe that you belong to.
  • But I turn sleepless again at dawn,
  • and your sweet voice enters my chamber
  • and brings phantom echoes from all directions:
  • a jetliner rumbling through the sky,
  • cold silence in the skulled church,
  • sea of drift nets, ducks in New Year’s market,
  • spawning salmon in upper Snake River...
  • Then, I remember you are dead, too.

  • Written and Translated by Meifu Wang

夜讀波特萊爾

  • 王美富

  • 你對我說,輕輕地說,
  • 說到我如醉如癡。然而
  • 死亡的迴響从四方湧来,
  • 連你的詩歌与情誼
  • 都不能抵擋来自陰間的嘶吼。
  • 它們已衝破死靈魂的闸口。
  • 死亡的迴響來自四面八方:
  • 急剎車切過柏油路面,
  • 炎陽下某人在戻聲嘶喊,
  • 深掩的鬥雞場羽毛與血光四濺,
  • 殯儀館邊一排排整潔的花園。
  • 人間的溫柔鄉防不勝防。
  • 你對我說,柔聲細語地說,
  • 說到我如醉如癡,然而
  • 死亡的迴響从四方湧來。
  • 連你絕美的詩句與深挚的友誼
  • 都抵擋不住来自陰間的呼嘯。
  • 它們已衝破死靈魂的闸口。
  • 你對我說,輕輕地說,
  • 說到我眼皮沈重,如幻似夢,
  • 仿佛有天使的翅膀隨身撫慰,
  • 仿佛有歌聲來自遙遠的天邊,
  • 那個屬於你的,無邊無際的精神的世界。
  • 天亮之前,我再次驚醒,再次融入你詩歌的世界,
  • 不料陰間的迴響竟從四方湧來:
  • 噴射飛機正在撕破藍色的天空,
  • 陰冷的教堂裡頭顱砌起的灰牆,
  • 平静的大海中大洞小洞的魚網,
  • 春節的菜場籠子裡關著的鴨子,
  • 清淺的溪流裡滿腹爛斑的鮭魚,
  • 我才想起,原來你也已經死去。。

YARDSTICK MOUNTAIN

  • by Ah Long

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


铁尺梁

  • 阿垅

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

SEWEED IN THE CORNER

  • by Wang Xiaoji

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


屋角海带

  • 王孝稽

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

A TOAST TO THE BARLEY WINE OF DELINGHA

  • by Wang Xiaoni

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

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


致德令哈的青稞酒

  • 王小妮

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

ANTIQUE NIGHT MARKET

  • by Wang Yiping

  • If this is your first time here, you have no way
  • of getting to the heart of it.
  • Going alone won’t let you see what’s what.
  • Two in a team is ideal.
  • A group of three looks spurious.
  • One stand is happy to peddle to women and children.
  • The other place, if one doesn’t stay calm,
  • those iron and copper and utensils, recently unearthed or discarded,
  • may be reburied or thrown back to the dark.
  • Red lipsticks, long hair of the deceased,
  • weapons, wine cups, every item kneeling on the ground.
  • A private collection is being touched on the face by everyone;
  • who knows on which journey her beauty began to fade,
  • similar to the ones coming here, busy losing their helmets and armors.

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


古玩夜市

  • 王一萍

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

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

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

THE SCARECROW

  • by Wang Zhanbin

  • The lightning didn't show up, for the time being I am whole,
  • head to toe, inside and out.
  • I hear the wind holler-rolling across the wild north,
  • wham, wham, throwing its weight.
  • Sooner than later the nervy dusky sky will retire and disrobe,
  • while the ants, glummer than me, continue to hustle en masse,
  • even attempting to flip their oversized fate.
  • Slowly shriveling over time — the rain didn't help —
  • I now look more and more like a tramp,
  • swamped by the old straw hat,
  • but never contemplated doing without it.
  • The unchanging sunshine on the highland shows up each day.
  • The anticipated lightning flashed just once,
  • but punctured the silence, and emptied out my age-old ashes.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/IdJHYyLq5HtgWSTSCTfXLw


稻草人

  • 王占斌

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

REMEMBERING THE SNOWMAN IN WHITE HORSE FOREST

  • by Wang Zijun

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


忆白马林场的堆雪人

  • 王子俊

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

CONVERSATION IN THE MOUNTAINS

  • by Wang Zijun

  • With the historic rancors around these mountains in mind,
  • we begin to pour out our thoughts;
  • a somber atmosphere
  • redoubles the looming nightfall. Darkness, a world of its own.
  • Crises often happen unexpectedly.
  • See the scant few woodpeckers on the barren trunks —
  • with a peck,
  • they encapsulate the maple forest in complete silence.
  • We talk and talk as the tall spruces roil out of sight.
  • The high wind that started out in Yunnan
  • has slowed down, as if having blisters on its feet,
  • and simply unleashes the clouds to wander off to Sichuan.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/_qjhHdqx03pDMCgzq9JdPg


山间叙

  • 王子俊

  • 一想到山间那些烫手的历史,
  • 我们便开始谈论,
  • 萧瑟
  • 像马上要下来的暗。黑沉沉,一大片。
  • 危机,也往往让人始料未及。
  • 像枯枝上,几只斑啄木鸟,
  • 用唇喙
  • 嘟地一下,就封住了,槭树林落下的灰寂。
  • 我们一谈及,岭上松涛深藏。
  • 从云南出发的大风,
  • 像脚起泡了,
  • 干脆就让那些变形的晚云,落到了四川。

ELEGANT PINES

  • by Wei Tianwu

  • Hidden pines, unseen in the fog.
  • Mystifying fog, adrift in the mountain.
  • It's easy to imagine pine trees with elegance,
  • their shushing sounds, perhaps with a boy
  • walking under them, carrying a shoulder basket or maybe not;
  • the golden needles under his feet are medicinal
  • with psychedelic effects, like the fog in front of you.
  • How do you imagine things not seen before: pines, all elegant?
  • A tunnel without an end. Easy to think of it
  • as in a labyrinth of words. Imagining a bridge
  • spanning midair with car wheels slowly rolling.
  • Imagine a monotone old cat striding gracefully
  • on the ridge of the mountain, staring at
  • things unseen.
  • Note: Driving down China’s Highway G60, from Shanghai to Kunming, one will pass by Elegant Pines Tunnels No. 1 and Elegant Pines Tunnel No. 2, with a bridge spanning midair connecting the two tunnels.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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

松皆雅

  • 魏天无

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

TO THE READERS

  • by Wei Weiwei

  • You might come to visit
  • in a heavy snowfall
  • when critters hide and dream.
  • You could be the first to tread the fresh snow
  • or wait until all is gone to take in the fragments.
  • I will point out for you dead branches, sunset,
  • and the empty-handed hunter.
  • Try not to arouse the white fairy fox.
  • When you come to see me,
  • I shall pour out words for them to freeze in the air
  • and seal them away from the train of time.
  • You might return for another visit
  • when the warblers fly and the grass is green.
  • Friends meet and part, flowers bloom and fade.
  • Look, the water flows more convincingly than the fleeting time.
  • If you come to to see me,
  • and hold my hand
  • like a kite,
  • I'll show you how far the edge of the world is.
  • If you come to see me,
  • let us recall the good times,
  • play flutes, recite poetry, drink wine,
  • fall silent, sob, and part without saying good-bye.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Eq0dZ0qguSYLONrYopvxmA

致读者

  • 魏维伟

  • 你可能会来看我
  • 雪下得很大的时候
  • 藏匿的小动物正在做梦
  • 是要抢在别人前面踩上脚印
  • 或者等人们退去后,我们赏鉴碎片
  • 我指给你看枯枝、落日
  • 和两手空空的猎人
  • 不要惊动传说中成精的白狐
  • 你来看我
  • 我撒字成冰
  • 正好封禁身后的流年
  • 你可能还会来看我
  • 莺飞草长的时候
  • 长亭折柳,花开花谢
  • 流水比流年更真实
  • 你来看我
  • 执我的手
  • 像一只风筝
  • 我指给你看远走高飞的边界
  • 你如果来看我
  • 我们粉刷记忆
  • 吹笛,吟诗,饮酒
  • 沉默,哭泣,不辞而别。

ELEGY FOR THE MELTING SNOW

  • by Wu Yiyi

  • When you piled up the snow, I was dusting windows,
  • with black hands. Outside, the wintersweet plum looked ready to bloom.
  • In twilight, the snow pile looks like a gorgeous grave,
  • perhaps someone is buried in it, someone pure.
  • After the construction noise dies down, the sky is pitch-dark,
  • it’s time to light a lamp, to boil water and make tea. Just then, the snow suddenly begins to melt.
  • It must have loved a mountain.
  • It must have loved someone deeply;
  • if not for that, why did it go back to be rain water? Why did it
  • let go of its former existence right before our eyes.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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

融化帖

  • 吴乙一

  • 你送来一堆雪时,我正清扫窗户上的灰尘
  • 双手沾着污垢。窗外,蜡梅将开未开
  • 天色将暗未暗。你带来的雪像一座蓬勃的坟
  • 里面埋着的,一定也是洁白的人
  • 建筑工地停止喧嚣后,天就黑透了
  • 点灯,煮水,泡茶。雪突然开始融化
  • 它一定爱过一座山峰
  • 一定深深迷恋过一个人
  • 要不,它为什么重新变回雨水?为什么
  • 要让我和你,同时看见它正在崩塌的前半生

THE NAKED FIELD

  • by Ah Xin

  • A brutal wind rolls over the naked field.
  • Loaded with chunky ice, the big river slows down.
  • On horseback,
  • Kampot and Tenzin, two brothers, and I trot along the riverbank
  • as ice crystals grow on our mustaches and eyelashes.
  • Who is ahead of us? Is anyone waiting for us, making tea?
  • Who has dragged us into this thangka landscape?
  • One ashen-black horse, one sunset-red horse, and the last one maroon with snowflakes.
  • The wind fills our parkas, we tighten our belts.
  • Men and horses move quietly upwind, over the frozen naked earth.
  • Who is waiting for us ahead, making a pot of black tea?
  • Which messager from the dead throws us into this destiny,
  • to ford upstream of this stupendous river?

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): http://www.zgshige.com/c/2020-01-13/11820877.shtml


裸 原

  • 阿 信

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

THE OLD CARPENTER

  • by An Qiaozi

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

老木匠

  • 安乔子

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

I HAVE BEEN PRACTICING MY HOMETOWN DIALECT

  • by Bai Gongzhi

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


我一再练习方言

  • 白公智

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

THE DEFINITION

  • by Xi Chuan

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


何 谓

  • 西 川

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

POET XIE LING’YUN

  • by Xi Du

  • I crossed the river alone;
  • my shadow did not follow.
  • My shadow is gone, leaving me alone
  • to face the wind over river and sea.
  • My shadow stays in the mountains,
  • my nostalgia stays in town.
  • I open the windows on all fronts
  • to let the winds in to churn up my heart.
  • In the middle of this big river, emptiness abounds,
  • my heart is also vast and free.
  • Vast is the return of spring grass in the meadow.
  • Free are the songbirds in the weeping willows.
  • I no longer have use for a shadow,
  • this body, too, has no purpose in the least.
  • I offer my last will: love Nature,
  • expand your spirit, set it free.
  • Facing death is but this useless skin,
  • what might carry on are a few lines of poetry cherished by fate.

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

谢灵运

  • 西渡

  • 我独自渡过了江水
  • 我的影子没有过江
  • 我成为一个没有影子的人
  • 独自面对江上的风和海上的风
  • 我把影子留在山里
  • 我把怀念留给斗城
  • 我把四面的窗全部打开
  • 我让八面的风把我的心吹乱
  • 这是在江心,四面空阔
  • 我的心也空阔
  • 空,我就看见池塘生春草
  • 阔,我就听见园柳变鸣禽
  • 影子已经毫无用处了
  • 身体也毫无用处了
  • 我立下遗嘱,要热爱山水
  • 造就辽阔的心灵
  • 将要赴死的是一具毫无用处的皮囊
  • 将要不朽的是命运赐予的两三诗行

PERSIMMON

  • by Xi She

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

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

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

柿子

  • 西厍

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

MOUNTAIN SONGS

  • by Xi Zuo

  • Mountain songs flow,
  • flowing from the mouths that eat corn, potato, and buckwheat, from poor soil,
  • never posh or flowery;
  • flowing from folks who drink from mountain springs, taking in the earthy taste of rugged land.
  • Mountain songs enrich the valleys, and brighten up the birds’ eyes.
  • Mountain songs bridge the mountains.
  • Mountain songs sprinkle on the grass and soften it,
  • flow like an emerald river. The grazing sheep
  • move like sailboats, a thousand new and old sails on the horizon.
  • Mountain songs ride on clouds, which may descend
  • to give us rain, or even an awesome snow.
  • When mountain songs stop flowing, the birds’ eyes and the valleys look hollow,
  • and the rousing mountains segregate themselves again,
  • even though the grass is still there and the sheep are still there...
  • When folk songs die, our hearts are eaten out.
  • When folk songs die, a giant horse slowly drinks up our river of life.

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


山 歌

  • 西 左

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

INTERNAL CANDLELIGHT

  • by Xiao Fan

  • Tight shoulders, a creaky neck, the body dissolves
  • in the long night as a snake
  • and other frosty things run amuck, trying to suffocate
  • the little bird inside.
  • Then spring shows up, breathing new life into things,
  • there will be children, music, and books again
  • as if happiness sprints back from the soil, rich with memories.
  • But “each body is a universe”,
  • only after she realized the meaning of it
  • did she begin to learn about herself.
  • After decades of practice,
  • she finally has faith in the trees, a different shape in every season.
  • She tiptoes around so as not to topple the candle inside herself
  • that flickers, sways, points up,
  • and gives out a downy warmth.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang

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


体内宿有灯火

  • 筱凡

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

YANGSHAN MOUNTAIN PASS

  • by Xiao Shui

  • When my grandmother was gravely ill, I returned from far away.
  • She is propped up in bed, in blue jacket and red trousers,
  • not one gray hair was out of place. But her hands were limp, bearing
  • needle marks. She quietly told me that I must find
  • a shaman to chaperon her spirit for the exit. That very evening, it was unusually cold,
  • from our remote village I watched a sky full of stars,
  • and torches sending sparks to fly in the wind, rushing
  • through the valley as if coming for my grandmother.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rZBeTuUuL-XniyZ_w-j3FQ


阳山关

  • 肖水

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



A FROG IN THE WELL

  • by Xie Jiong

  • There are times when
  • I wish to be a frog in a well,
  • a lifetime spent on an inch of blue-green mossy
  • earth, a lifetime staring at the space overhead,
  • yearning for a white cloud
  • to shelter me from piercing sunlight.
  • When you tell me about your travel of the seven seas,
  • the highest mountain, the deepest canyon, and the farthest shoreline,
  • when your face appears
  • in my ever-changing sky,
  • all I want is to be a frog in a well,
  • in the deepest pool, raising my head
  • and taking all of you in.

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

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


井底之蛙

  • 谢 炯

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

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

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



AM I LOOKING AT THE SAME SEAGULLS?

  • by Xie Yishan

  • Passing the tropical rainforest, I arrive at Banda Aceh*.
  • October is the coolest, the most delightful month.
  • The silver beach, the smell of cappuccino,
  • the island wearing a glittering shawl,
  • am I looking at the same seagulls
  • flying northwest to the far side of Sumatra? Against the iridescent sky,
  • a tall ship is sailing in, looming over Noazi River mouth.
  • I remember the ancient who went out to the Western Seas^
  • from a country revered by tribes across the world;
  • they say it was October when he returned for the seventh time,
  • greeted by braying seagulls and a cadre of coconut trees.
  • Today, I loiter around the estuary of Noazi river,
  • waiting to catch the fast ferry to Budaken Island,
  • and finally see the seagulls,
  • but I sink into a moment of melancholy
  • because these gulls no longer fly to the distant lighthouses,
  • but seem to circle over the beach, ever and ever.
  • Translator’s note:
  • *Banda Aceh, a city on the tip of Sumatra Island, Indonesia
  • ^ Between1405 and 1433 CE, Chinese mariner Zheng He commanded expeditionary voyages to Southeast Asia, Indian subcontinent, Western Asia, and East Africa.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mW4UGWqLAxovMM34TyDriA

我是否仰望那些海鸥

  • 谢夷珊

  • 穿越一片热带雨林,抵达班达亚齐
  • 十月是最凉爽的季节
  • 银色的海滩,弥漫白咖啡的味道
  • 岛屿上空披着亮闪闪的外衣
  • 我是否仰望那些海鸥
  • 飞往苏门答腊西北。霞光中
  • 头枕诺亚齐河岸,驶来一艘永乐大船
  • 我遥想下西洋的古人
  • 源自一个万邦来朝的国度
  • 据说那年十月,第七次返航
  • 椰树列队,海鸥嘶鸣
  • 如今,我在诺亚齐河入海口徘徊
  • 终于仰望到那些海鸥
  • 还将赶上一趟快船,驶往布达肯岛
  • 此刻,我竟黯然神伤
  • 那些海鸥不再飞向遥远的灯塔
  • 好像永远在海滩上空低飞,盘旋

Sensō-Ji Temple

  • by Xie Yuxin

  • In a sacred place,
  • the spectators see no differences
  • between sunrise and sunset:
  • time allows time to pause,
  • everything welcomes everything to stay.
  • God willing, at the right moment,
  • the hallway wind
  • that awakens the copper bells
  • will also pick up the believers’ hair.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/LC2JbSUt3gYFyDqBuhhUdw


浅草寺

  • 谢雨新

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

DAISIES AND TANGERINES

  • by Xiong Fang

  • The most ostentatious things of the season
  • are wild daisies on the hill and red tangerines on the branchlets.
  • Daisies and tangerines, flowers and fruit face off
  • in simultaneous bloom—one pours its heart out,
  • the other wraps a softness inside and waits for its turn
  • to explode. The mirthless gray winter, still young,
  • is taunted to go rogue by yellow daisies and orange tangerines.
  • I am the least noticeable amidst these color tones.
  • This season has its mix of doldrums and witchery,
  • we also have our winter blues and furors.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/JLWb7kDYmrK-pepwuqrnLg


菊与橘

  • 熊 芳

  • 这个季节,最张扬的就是
  • 漫山遍野的小野菊和挂在枝头的红橘
  • 菊与橘,花与果在同一个季节
  • 以绽放的方式相遇,一个把姿态裸露在外
  • 一个把柔软藏于囊中,等待一场
  • 淋漓尽致的爆破,整个初冬的萧瑟
  • 都被这菊黄橘红撩得跃跃欲试,不可一世
  • 我也成了这暖色调中,最细密的一部分
  • 这季节有这季节的寂寥和妖娆
  • 这季节的我们有我们的静默与喧嚣

MY RIVER

  • by Xiong Linqing

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


我的河流

  • 熊林清

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

GOOD TIMES

  • by Xiong Man

  • Times are good when magnolias bloom
  • and speedwells suffuse the field;
  • something fills my heart
  • to the brim,
  • almost overflowing;
  • my throat wants to sing,
  • so my arms drop down naturally,
  • all ears to listen;
  • my feet no longer on the road
  • rush to hustle,
  • but resting on earth
  • to answer the call of the wild;
  • and, as I look out at a sea of people
  • once more after ten thousand times,
  • you happen to be there.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Ud8QYjzOh9bPa1zcNbdUQA


好时光

  • 熊 曼

  • 好时光是高处的玉兰开了
  • 低处的婆婆纳也开了
  • 心里有什么东西
  • 装得满满的
  • 就要溢出来
  • 嗓子有了歌唱的想法
  • 而手自然地垂落
  • 在一旁安静地聆听
  • 脚不再被什么驱赶着
  • 疲于奔命
  • 而是踩在土地上
  • 感受着田野的呼应
  • 目光在茫茫人海中
  • 一万零一次伸出去时
  • 你恰好出现

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 people could be forged like iron,
  • to this end, he produced a punitive rod,
  • 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 goal was lowered to county magistrate, constable or administrative officer.
  • Even 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 his dying day, Mr. Wang found no peace;
  • he couldn’t understand why there were blocks that couldn't be shaped.

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

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


打 铁

  • 雄关漫道

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

BRIEF AFTERNOON

  • by Xu Xiao

  • Oftentimes on a beautiful afternoon like this, we feel a tsunami
  • of lethargy and fear,
  • when the almost-monotonous
  • fading glow of the sun
  • spreads over every pore of our remains
  • until our feet
  • are all buried under wilted grass and fallen leaves.
  • The sun slides into the deep void once again,
  • and the earth is left with a stockpile of our old fitful struggles.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert

短暂的下午

  • 徐晓

  • 困倦和惊惧总是在这样晴好的午后
  • 海啸般袭来
  • 近乎同一的、暖融融的
  • 而又终将要逝去的辉光
  • 铺满了我们每一片身体残骸的微小角落
  • 直至我们的双脚
  • 被干枯的草叶完全埋葬
  • 太阳终于再一次滑下深渊去了
  • 遍地充塞着我们明灭可见的困顿的往昔.

REBIRTH

  • by Xu Xiao

  • Fate, I refuse to be your sacrificial lamb.
  • Rapier, my wounded tongue will no longer lick your shivery tip.
  • After this loud cry, I will yank out the hardened tumor in me,
  • but love, the eternal gift from heaven,
  • will swim day and night like oxygen in my blood.
  • Untested rivers, I will no longer risk my life to wade you.
  • My highbrowed eyes will continue to raise two mountains
  • — two armies across from each other
  • with flying banners since day one. Under my feet
  • is a regenerated garden. I have just arrived at
  • the new world. No more floating snow
  • of despair in my heart. The secrets have been locked away
  • for thousands of nights, and I still can't bring myself
  • loosen the dusty buttons that keep them in,
  • but hope they would join one another in comradery
  • in time’s ruin, adjusting to new routines
  • without having to go through the dreary "how do you do" routine.
  • I quietly await this moment. All shall crystalize —
  • when rebirth comes before dawn, with the memories of a brutal past.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/tKf3YRZ8TgZZ-KgjiG5_IQ

新 生

  • 徐晓

  • 命运,我不再是被你精心选中待宰的羔羊
  • 刀尖,我不再用带伤的舌尖舔你冰凉的锋芒
  • 这一次恸哭之后,我将拔除体内坚硬的顽石
  • 而爱是一项天赋,永不消逝
  • 日复一日游动,如血液里的氧
  • 对于未知深浅的河流,我不再以身试险
  • 我的眼皮依旧豢养着两座大山
  • 像两支旗帜飘摇的军队
  • 久久地隔岸相望。我脚下的土地
  • 是重新修葺的庭院。我初来乍到
  • 这个新世界。我的心中不再飘落
  • 雪花般沁凉的绝望。但秘密已被封存
  • 几千个日夜,我尚不能解开它
  • 积满灰尘的纽扣,愿它们在时间的废墟中
  • 团结友好,安于秩序的规训
  • 免于应付两片嘴唇了无生趣的日常问候
  • 我静默于这终于到来的。一切变得清晰——
  • 黎明前我将重新降生,带着过去残暴的记忆

LIMU MOUNTAINn*

  • by Xu Yanying

  • Lovegrass, the wind vane of the land, is always there,
  • while other greeneries seize the day to flaunt their brilliance.
  • The fog can no longer keep the blue hills from the world.
  • If you want to rant, why not blame spring’s first rumble
  • for waking up the trees and sending the streams to lace the mountain.
  • There are also waterfalls,
  • and large and small pieces of old stoneware in the riverbed,
  • for sure an old settlement was nearby, where wild purple rice goes where the wind blows.
  • I also hear green barbets' gabfest in the mountain,
  • bright and cheerful. Whose secret garden is this?
  • It must have heard the footsteps of immortals.
  • True, it took only one look
  • for the gods to make their second home here in this world.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CMC75o12JWk1odb4JhKyiA


黎母山

  • 许燕影

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

THE LAST FAREWELL

  • by Yan Huaqing

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

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

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


终 别

  • 闫画晴

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

BLACK SWAN

  • by Yang Chen

  • Yes. I like the blackness of the black swan,
  • similar to shadows everywhere,
  • but with a shape lingering behind closed eyes,
  • a little like the answer to a riddle.
  • When the night floods over, it looks like a boulder,
  • dividing darkness but stitching it back behind it.
  • Owing to it, the night here
  • has a bohemian undertone, with a deeper mystery.
  • I admit that it is the focus of the night,
  • the pupil of the night, through which
  • some people see eternal love, some others
  • see life’s noble nature. I see nothing,
  • except hoping to be captured and tamed by it,
  • and become a reflection of it. Suddenly
  • the swan swims towards me across the lake, as if
  • wanting to tell me something.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert

  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4irRVKjW1gt3kUUmC_JIVA


黑天鹅

  • 扬 臣

  • 是的。我喜欢黑天鹅的黑
  • 它像随处可见的阴影
  • 却有一闭眼就能想起来的形象
  • 也许是未解之谜的谜底
  • 当黑夜漫过时,它像磐石
  • 把黑暗分开,又在不远处缝合
  • 它的存在,让这里的夜晚
  • 有异样的底色,让我产生更多疑问
  • 我承认,它是黑夜的中心
  • 仿佛夜的瞳仁,透过它
  • 有人看见隐忍的爱,有人看出
  • 生的高贵。我什么都没看见
  • 宁愿被它驯化,成为黑夜的俘虏
  • 或者它的倒影。突然之间
  • 它从湖面朝我游过来,仿佛
  • 要告诉我它的一切想法

THE YANGTZE RIVER AT POINT ZERO: A DROP OF WATER

  • by Yang Jiao

  • Where will I be tomorrow, no way to tell,
  • but I won’t mention anything about yesterday.
  • Reborn as water, and runs downhill from here on,
  • it's about quieting your heart and getting closer and closer to the sea.
  • Dusk is always 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.
  • Downriver, the river will not a dashing physique.
  • Looking back, the rock cliffs have lost their set of gleaming teeth.
  • A drop of water, after traveling so far,
  • will return to zero.
  • This river has been there for a thousand years, each new day, a rebirth.
  • A poem that has reached this juncture
  • pray that it restarts each day, like the sun
  • rising from the river.

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

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


长江零公里:一滴水

  • 杨 角

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

EARLY-MORNING THOUGHTS

  • by Yang Jiao

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

早醒记

  • 杨 角

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

RECALLING JIANGNAN, SOUTH OF YANGTZE

  • by Yang Qingci

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

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

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


江南忆

  • 杨清茨

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

TUYA'S STONES

  • by Yang Senjun

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


图雅的石头

  • 杨森君

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

THE THINGS I PRAISE ARE GENERALLY LIGHT

  • by Yang Xuelong

  • The things I praise are generally light.
  • I praise them because my heart is heavy.
  • I praise rain, wanting it to wash away
  • the murkiness in me; I praise snow
  • for I see my wasteland, hoping it would be dressed in white.
  • I am even tempted to praise you,
  • carrying your home in a briefcase,
  • under the ominous moonlight in someone else’s hometown,
  • but, to praise exile
  • takes more bravado than to praise solitude.
  • Time backs away from us, awash with blurry faces,
  • and becomes lighter because of their lessened pull.
  • I often search at night for something light,
  • asking about the wind, going to lakes,
  • where I hope to find old sufferings
  • cloaked with rainbow colors with the years in-between.
  • But oftentimes I only see last years’ fallen leaves
  • with a faded sheen.
  • I am afraid to touch them
  • lest they fracture,
  • no longer to be admired
  • in full.

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


我想赞美的事物一般都很轻

  • 杨薛龙

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




LESSER HEAT*

  • By Yang Zi

  • Under northern trees, there is a trace of cool breeze.
  • An eagle spreads its wings, circling in the air.
  • The haystacks are all gone, only a few sparrows are still here.
  • 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, stretching out its tongue, panting
  • The ox chews its cud, sparrows chirp in the fruit trees.
  • Magpies fly over the courtyard wall. The clouds seem to stir without moving.
  • Sitting on a step under the eaves in my small family courtyard,
  • I feel, at last, level like a vat of water, an indescribable feeling—
  • a cup of Pu'er tea, a bowl of noodles, a savory dish,
  • the scorching midday sun, a few simple words exchanged.
  • Translator's note:
  • The lunar calendar divides a year into 24 climatological intervals; each interval is 15 days—-from new moon to full moon or full moon to new moon. The interval of Lesser Heat starts on the first new moon after Summer Solstice.

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


小 暑

  • 杨 梓

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

ELEVENTH HOUR: A NEW VIGOR

  • by Yang Zi

  • I hardly feel the train moving, no ripples in the glass of water.
  • In the dimly-lit carriage, people sit quietly or pretend to sleep.
  • I look through the window, and see beads of light flash by in the dark.
  • The woods, fields and villages all hide away.
  • The stars are supposedly bright, but erased from view quickly.
  • Rats parade out. A bell tolls through the midnight space.
  • Ideas surface one by one, but vanish in an instant
  • until the thought of you fills the misty-eyed platform,
  • where nothing moves, not even time, but I feel a new vigor in the air
  • as if to tell me to snap out of the romantic mood.
  • But, no matter if I am on the train, or the train is in my dream,
  • they all run towards you, into the arms of delusion.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jHJn180PdQiqpA0wWVYw0A

子时:阳始

  • 杨梓

  • 感觉不到奔驰,杯水没有波纹
  • 灯光昏暗,人们静坐或者假寐
  • 我望向窗外,一个个光点掠过漆黑
  • 树林、田野和村庄全部隐身
  • 星星应该明亮,却被飞速擦去
  • 老鼠游行。夜半钟声穿越时空
  • 一个个念头跳出,又瞬间熄灭
  • 直到想起你时,月台含着泪水
  • 每一秒都停在原地,阳气生发
  • 仿佛在提示,此刻不宜缠绵
  • 不管我在火车上,还是火车在我梦里
  • 都在向你奔去,奔向妄想的怀抱

THE AURA OF GREEN MOUNTAINS

  • by Ye Yanbin

  • Clouds floated by from somewhere far away,
  • somewhere dream-like, incredibly far away,
  • but in an instant, their coy tenderness transforms
  • into a fierce army raiding 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 with thunderbolts,
  • in the end only a dewdrop is left,
  • hanging on a blade of grass.
  • The rain sends them here; the rain
  • also sends them away.
  • What will not go are the moon and the stars.
  • The full moon, as if with wings, is adored by all from a world apart.
  • We gaze at its halo
  • until it dissolves in the twilight.
  • The night sends it here, the night
  • also sends it away.
  • What will not go are these emerald-green mountains.
  • The wind comes; the green mountains embless the wind.
  • The rain comes; the green mountains embless the rain,
  • and moonlight,
  • and starlight —
  • Mountains are simply there, those gracious mountains,
  • with infinite exuberant green.

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


青山风度

  • 叶延滨

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

SPRING'S SOFT RIBS (at 12-Week Pregnancy)

  • by Ye Yanlan

  • Going into May, time imparts an indomitable affection
  • that holds us tighter together.
  • Returning from the hospital, the road is bestrewed with silk-cotton flowers,
  • in rich bright red, like spring’s wet kisses.
  • The flowers fall headlong, giving up their places in the temple of life.
  • I take care to walk around these flowers
  • as if circumventing life’s bright red flags,
  • —— slow down, slow down.
  • It takes time for an imperfect mother to bare herself, to give the sap of life,
  • to team up with the perfect, fast growing new life.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang with Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/8pdXYIPF7YBx-p2fr_9nHg


春天的软肋 ——孕12周

  • 叶燕兰

  • 进入到五月,时间带着不可抗拒的深情
  • 将我们更紧密地联结在了一起
  • 从医院回来的路上,木棉花落了一地
  • 那饱满鲜艳的红,像春天的一个个湿吻
  • 似乎有意让出自己,身体最后的宫殿
  • 我小心地绕开那些花朵
  • 像绕开生活,醒目的警戒线
  • ——慢一点,再慢一点
  • 等一个不完美的母亲,以落红化泥的姿态
  • 匹配她多么完美的、正在快速长成的婴儿

SNOWED IN

  • by Ye Yu

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

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/qL-suJig5fbXtD_iSG7ang


大雪封门

  • 夜 鱼

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

EARLY AUTUMN

  • by Ye Yu

  • The cement worker is encased in dust,
  • man and machine have become one.
  • The ash erupts and binds with water vapor. Too often
  • this city is made of dust parcels.
  • After the impurity burns out, the blue sky
  • lures us with the dream of eternity,
  • but work won’t stop, there will be
  • sweaty backs for another ten thousand years.
  • The clamor, the scorching sun,
  • the endless fence that blocks and delays
  • the view of the end.
  • But all is not hopeless, if you miss
  • the smell of the golden tassels in the windy rice paddies,
  • don’t wait for the sky to turn dark,
  • or for the gale to stir up the lake,
  • all you need to do is close your eyes.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-1Hloch7g9VxLpRnoRfABA


初 秋

  • 夜 鱼

  • 切割水泥的人被关在灰尘里
  • 和机器混为一体
  • 灰尘喷发膨散,混合水汽。江城
  • 经常由一坨坨灰雾组成
  • 烧掉了杂质的天空,蓝得让人觉得
  • 还可以活一万年
  • 但工程永在,仍要有一万年的
  • 汗流浃背
  • 轰鸣配合阳光的热辣
  • 无穷无尽的工地隔板,障碍着延缓着
  • 终点的到来
  • 也不是全无希望,更非全部的湖
  • 要等到天黑,要等
  • 一阵突起的大风
  • 你闭上眼,就能嗅到田野上
  • 涌动的稻穗

The Sheep Come to Town

  • by Ye Zhou

  • In the midnight hour, the sheep come to town
  • through blustery snow,
  • across the city square.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep come to town
  • in winter coats, woolly side out,
  • like a group of prophets under torchlight.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep come,
  • crossing the Yellow River
  • into City of Lanzhou from the west.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep come,
  • straight to the butcher’s knives
  • behind the meat shops.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep come to town
  • like the holy scripture
  • unrolling.
  • The hidden happiness of childhood
  • is like milk pails
  • buried under the mountain snow.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • with brave footsteps,
  • like playful kids, around 18 of them.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • and carried the doors and beds away
  • in bamboo baskets.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came,
  • turning the city into a ghost town
  • and carrying the torch to their own sacrifice.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • with human faces, a squad
  • of rebels crushed in an uprising.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • with a chance to redeem
  • their fatherland: parents of an orphan.
  • The beautiful chant
  • has impressed those innocents
  • to leave home, to kneel down and submit.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • like a chorus of angels
  • in cheerful spirits.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • in the name of DEATH,
  • sitting on the ridge of the world.
  • In the midnight hour, the sheep came
  • in black or in white,
  • the look of love at the dawn of day.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 5

入城的羊群

  • 叶舟

  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 顶着大风雪
  • 穿过广场。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 反穿皮袄
  • 像一堆灯火中的小先知。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 东渡黄河
  • 来到兰州。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 迎着刀子
  • 走向肉铺。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 像一部圣经
  • 随便摊开。
  • 一阵美妙的童年时光
  • 雪山下着
  • 雪山埋住奶桶。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 脚步踢踏
  • 仿佛十八个儿童。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 提着筐子
  • 拾走门板和床。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 让城市空着
  • 接下牺牲的灯笼。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 是人,是群众
  • 是一伙失败之后的义军。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 是一次拯救
  • 祖国:一个孤儿的双亲。
  • 一阵美妙的念诵
  • 让赤子目击
  • 让赤子走出、跪下、敬受。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 合唱队员们
  • 精神抖擞。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 名叫“死”
  • 骑住人间的屋梁。
  • 午夜入城的羊群
  • 一半黑着,一半白着
  • 像黎明之下的爱情。

CONFRONTATION

  • by Yi Du

  • My entire life is tainted
  • by the bad habit of confrontation.
  • And today, all those I confront
  • are ganging up against me.
  • See, this tombstone abhors blank,
  • 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?
  • As I wither, should I gripe about the rejuvenation of grass?

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

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


对 抗

  • 一 度

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

Summer Days, 2. The Horror of Eternal Sunshine

  • by Yi Hu

  • Today's sunshine is prettier than yesterday's,
  • but there is something horrifying about it.
  • Yesterday, I lay nude in the sun,
  • pondering how to compose a murder story,
  • but today’s sunlight seems murderous
  • for its own sake.
  • It would be bad
  • if things continue this way
  • without a drop of rain or a wisp of wind
  • to stir my hair.
  • In that case, the romance will be lost,
  • and most definitely
  • I will lose my cool and be unable to write—
  • gone are the heightened suspense
  • and other extraordinary plots,
  • exactly what a thriller needs.
  • If every single person is like me,
  • feeling too ill-at-ease
  • to pursue what he wants,
  • it only tells the fact that
  • today’s sunshine, really,
  • has gone over the top.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang


  • 4

夏日两则, 2
天天阳光好其实是一种恐怖

  • 亦乎

  • 今天的阳光比昨天还好
  • 那其实是一件可怕的事
  • 昨天,阳光好亦乎一丝不挂
  • 想着写关于谋杀的文艺小说
  • 今天,阳光好亦乎就有一种
  • 恐怖感,是真的
  • 如果再这么好下去
  • 没有雨,也没有让人头发
  • 微微飘起的风
  • 那,那“真是不文艺”
  • 亦乎肯定是
  • “不能安下心来”
  • 写花花想看的,特
  • 悬疑的,又是那特什么的
  • 关于谋杀的小说

  • 如果每个人都不能
  • 安下心来
  • 干自己想干的事
  • 那只能说明
  • “今天的阳光”真的
  • 真的是太厉害了

11 Roses

  • by Yi Youxi

  • One flower begins to wilt,
  • another flower flaps its wings.
  • Three more flowers hide in their buds,
  • the others
  • show no visible activity.
  • In the beginning,
  • I changed water for them arduously,
  • but they requires less attention now.
  • I added water
  • the day before yesterday,
  • and can hardly tell
  • if it has reduced by even a drop.
  • Mr. Jiao Zhongqing, the classic tragic hero,
  • must have talked to himself:
  • Say it, say I am stupid.
  • Say I’m a fool that I don’t understand elopement.
  • I am not not considering
  • elopement.
  • After all, I must bring a toothbrush, right?
  • Toothbrushes are not commonly shared,
  • and pants, too.
  • Shouldn't I also put together a clean change of clothes?
  • What about soap and shampoo?
  • I am not a knight that comes and goes like a shadow,
  • in forever-prim white clothes,
  • and long wavy hair free of dust.
  • Have you ever seen a knight
  • that has to deal with cooking oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar?
  • Have you ever seen a knight
  • that washes his feet or uses the toilet?
  • On the contrary, I am only a common man,
  • so I must have these items:
  • pots, pans, bowls, ladles, a tub,
  • wash towel for cleaning,
  • foot cloth and toilet paper, right?
  • Her little feet are dainty,
  • suitable only for delicate walking —
  • running she can't possibly do,
  • but I won’t be able to carry her on my back,
  • so I may get a horse wagon,
  • padded with a futon and quilts,
  • and load up two sacks of rice, mosquito coils,
  • brushes, paper, ink stick, ink stone, and the harp that's part of her dowry.
  • I must also bring along her weaving wheels.
  • Only then would I choose a night, pitch dark
  • for a quiet exit,
  • to settle in an entirely new place.
  • I can teach in a small private school;
  • she will weave and play music
  • and bring a brood of children into this world
  • with neither grandmother around.
  • This, then, is what you all want
  • for our romance, right?
  • I have considered elopement, really.
  • Elopement
  • is no more than an unexpected disappearance
  • from family and friends.
  • See, how can the two of us do any better?
  • One will hang oneself,
  • the other will leap into the well,
  • not a trace of to be found,
  • all very neat and tidy.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper


  • 7

11朵玫瑰

  • 伊有喜

  • 有一朵开始凋谢
  • 另一朵振翅欲飞
  • 还有三朵含苞
  • 余下的
  • 不见动静
  • 我换水
  • 刚开始的时候
  • 要勤快些
  • 现在
  • 它们对水的需求
  • 似乎淡了
  • 前天换的水
  • 一点点
  • 都不见少

  • 焦仲卿自白
  • 说吧 说我傻
  • 说我笨说我不知道私奔吧
  • 我并不是没想到
  • 私奔
  • 我总要带上牙刷吧
  • 牙刷是不能共用的
  • 短裤也是
  • 换洗的衣服总要带几套吧
  • 香皂呢洗头膏呢
  • 我不是来无影去无踪的侠客
  • 白衣飘飘一尘不染
  • 长发飘飘不沾灰尘
  • 你看到过侠客的油盐酱醋吗?
  • 你看到过侠客洗脚和如厕吗?
  • 我无非是个普通人
  • 所以总得让我带上
  • 锅碗瓢盆
  • 抹布洗洁净
  • 擦脚布和手纸吧
  • 她可是天生的一双小脚啊
  • 纤纤作细步
  • 奔跑是不可能的
  • 我背着她是不可能的
  • 要不就用马车拉着
  • 顺便搭上棉絮棉被
  • 两袋香米 驱蚊片
  • 文房四宝和她陪嫁过来的箜篌
  • 我还想捎上她织布用的机子
  • 在某个黑漆漆的晚上
  • 悄悄出走
  • 到一个全新的地方
  • 我当私塾先生
  • 她织布弹琴
  • 生一堆小孩
  • 没有外婆和奶奶
  • 这就是你们要的
  • 我们的浪漫吧
  • 我想过私奔 真的
  • 私奔
  • 无非就是在熟人中间
  • 突然消失吧
  • 瞧我俩做的多么好
  • 一个跳水
  • 一个上吊
  • 一下子消失得
  • 干干净净

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 embolden myself. The beasts in the woods knew only my father,
  • but sneered at me as if I were a weightless leaf.
  • They came out naturally in the moonlight, but I thought they came after me.
  • The setting sun was smashingly round, achingly round.
  • Thirty years later, in the name of fatherhood,
  • in an urban jungle, I carefully play the role of
  • a father. I feel disconnected,
  • surrounded by city leaves, but none of them has the sawtooth edge of
  • mountain leaves. The setting sun, still a perfect circle, but the pale moonlight
  • feels like a penniless woman
  • who dares not utter a word about being loved by me.

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

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


落日浑圆

  • 尹马

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

THE FISH HERDERS

  • by Yu Bang

  • Through childhood memories darkly,
  • through a graveyard teeming with flowers,
  • into a mole’ hole we whisper low,
  • for fear the bones of the dead will be roused.
  • The oil has burned out, Haitong goes home
  • to receive the glory now inconsequential.
  • We, the fish herders, who can no longer
  • tell cattle from horses, launch out to the sea.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


牧鱼者

  • 育 邦

  • 从童年的幽影中走来
  • 我们穿过花朵飞舞的墓地

  • 鼹鼠的洞穴里,我们窃窃私语
  • 生怕惊醒那些死人的骸骨

  • 灯枯时,海桐回到故乡
  • 领取属于他自己的陌生荣耀

  • 秋水时至,我们这些牧鱼者
  • 不再辨别牛马,径直奔向大海

THROWAWAYS

  • by Yu Jian

  • I rarely come here, as it is as pointless as to hold the drooping hands of the dead.
  • Here lies a pile of throwaways: an old box, dated magazines, a twenty-year-old rag doll,
  • Grandma's black trunk. Some things we dare not throw out,
  • unsure about their insignificance, or being indecisive,
  • leaving them to a careless offspring to discard.
  • But everyone hangs on to them, stashing them away out-of-bounds under the staircase,
  • or in someone’s tiny old room. Behind the house, in a sunless spot,
  • I discover a tiny sapling at dusk, now knee-high. Where did the seed come from?
  • Perhaps from the pregnant woman whose faded image is here in this old album? What was her name?
  • Is there anything that hasn't been planted?
  • Mossy green matted curls, covered with tiny new leaves,
  • boast of their youth, the spirited and gloomy youth —
  • I rarely come here. The piano has been silent for years,
  • the last player forgot to close the lid.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CkZSYRs8qwC94UWXRtFbvQ


弃 物

  • 于 坚

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

HIBISCUS

  • by Yu Xiaozhong

  • Now I believe all that appear in dreams
  • are in a long, arduous journey,
  • and by chance come to our dreams to rest with us,
  • a lot like an antediluvian
  • leaving his old home to get acquainted
  • with a new neighbor;
  • a lot like pigeons circling in the twilight,
  • one following another,
  • and wanting to get closer for a whisper;
  • a lot like the hibiscus that blooms after autumn frost,
  • with a borrowed name, destined
  • to take an ambiguous role,
  • and to dedicate its life to it.

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



SMOKING

  • by Yu Zhen

  • Smoke puffs out from Father’s nose,
  • the same way it puffs out in today's life.
  • Replenished by cash,
  • set alight, inhaled, all is gone in a puff.
  • What does smoke leave behind?
  • My dad finished a cigarette, and went out.
  • Maybe he had no ideas where to go,
  • but when he lights the next cigarette,
  • he could be on the way here.
  • Nothing seems to have much meaning.
  • The road moves sinuously towards us,
  • who knows what kind of tales it brings with it?
  • Those tales light up like cigarettes,
  • burning the lungs, burning the hours,
  • like the mornings that while away in a cough.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/GCIt9PCJBvezYefVE9iQNA


抽 烟

  • 玉珍

  • 从我爸鼻子里冲出来一些烟
  • 就像现在的生活
  • 用钱买回来一些烟
  • 点上,抽上,烟消云散
  • 烟留下了什么?
  • 我爸抽完一根烟,走出去
  • 他可能还没想到该去做什么
  • 但下一根烟
  • 已在到达这儿的路上
  • 一切看上去毫无意义
  • 路在走向我们
  • 带着些什么故事
  • 故事像纸烟一样烧着
  • 烧着肺,烧着时辰
  • 像历来清晨在咳嗽中消失。

SMALL-TOWN SPIRITS

  • by Yuan Lun

  • A delicate clay jug, good for only two ounces of wine,
  • leaned on the burning coal on its rounded belly,
  • to warm up the homebrew whisky inside.
  • It was getting hotter, and giving off steam,
  • but the boil of the spirit in its small world
  • was gentle and deliberate. My very reserved grandfather
  • couldn't hear the babbling inside,
  • but lifted the jug close to his goatee.
  • The distilled mist got on his mustache,
  • like rime ice on pine needles.
  • Townsmen knew him for his whisky distilled from mountain spring.
  • He led a life as pure as his spirits but not without hangovers.
  • Years later, it is I who is cooking wine with words,
  • and slowly absorbs the town’s atmosphere.
  • A bliss like this is worthy of mortal risks.
  • He who gives up all esprits to drink from a slim earless jug
  • brings the world to the lips. Ah, I happens to be that person.
  • The way it is done, one may say, is almost blasphemous.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


在小镇煮酒

  • 远 伦

  • 一个小巧的陶罐,盛得下二两酒的陶罐
  • 腆着小肚腹躺在火炭旁边
  • 玉米酿造的烈酒在陶罐里发热
  • 升温,冒出热气
  • 而那内部小小的沸腾,酒精和水的沸腾
  • 温和而又内敛。沉默的祖父
  • 也听不见丁点酒水的喧哗
  • 他举起陶罐,山羊胡须上
  • 慢慢积聚起蒸馏水的微粒
  • 像是松针上,轻微悬垂的雾凇
  • 他是镇子上用山泉水煮酒的饮者
  • 一生清澈而又常常宿醉
  • 多年后,我也在这里,用词语煮酒
  • 慢慢地呼吸小镇的醇香
  • 此中妙意,须得生死一品
  • 那个放弃把柄,手执罐嘴
  • 把全世界拉近的人,正是我啊
  • 那样子,多像是对命运的冒犯

My Cousin from the West End

  • by Yuan Shiping

  • I called her my temptress cousin,
  • my tall and slender cousin.
  • She quit school right after junior high
  • and always called a tangerine a dangerine;
  • any objection would only meet with
  • her rolling eyes.
  • Since turning sixteen, she was enshrouded
  • in sheer beauty; beauty was her only costume.
  • To the widower Mr. Wang at the garage and his type,
  • all beautiful women were nude; thus,
  • a sea of erotic waves rushed up the west-end streets.
  • It might be hard for someone to see into the mind
  • of a teenage girl at the end of the century
  • when she walked down with a tattoo and a nose ring,
  • but the truth is that a monk's robe does not know
  • when the monk meditates into a trance.
  • Ah, to a wild flower, perfume is such a remote thing.
  • My cousin’s story ended abruptly
  • in a suburb of Beijing. She ran into a truck
  • when dodging a football
  • kicked around by children playing on the street.
  • She died a virgin.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 5

西单表妹

  • 袁诗萍(施施然)

  • 表妹是妖精的表妹
  • 表妹是高挑儿的表妹
  • 表妹是初中毕业
  • 管“橙子”叫“凳子”
  • (你胆敢指出其中的错误
  • 她便拿白眼球瞪你)的表妹
  • 从16岁开始,美,就将表妹
  • 遮蔽,成了她唯一的外衣——
  • 在修车铺王鳏夫的眼中
  • 美女都是裸体的。西城区的胡同
  • 曾荡起一个时代的性欲
  • 人们其实并不了解
  • 二十世纪末
  • 一个纹身、穿鼻环的街头少女
  • 正如袈裟不了解僧侣
  • 何时入定。野花不了解香水
  • 表妹的故事终止于一场意外
  • 在昌平,为了避开马路上踢足球的
  • 儿童,她和一辆卡车迎面相遇
  • 死的时候还是处女




REWIND

  • by Shi Shiran

  • A windless day outside the window. The princess trees
  • look stilly,
  • their lavender sway last summer
  • is long gone. Westbound
  • on Minjiang Road, an empty city
  • suddenly opens up like a beach at low tide,
  • reminiscent of
  • what’s left on the monitor after tapping Delete.
  • In the news, the construction of Huo-Yan Laboratory* is complete,
  • and EMTs rush in and out by starlight. On the scene
  • is another fallen brave worker,
  • and a million cries condensed inside the phone screen.
  • She repositions herself on the chair, and watches
  • the sky ignited by the setting sun. The opened book
  • in her hand is still the same restless Spinoza.
  • The table is set for dinner: rice,
  • asparagus, fish sprinkled with coriander.
  • But why is she in a daze,
  • in a frozen time frame since a year ago?
  • Translator’s Note:
  • *Huo-Yan Laboratory or Fire Eye Laboratory was open in 2020 to conduct Covid-19 testing.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang, Michael Soper & Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Fudgj0bqFm-5hP0evwkBrQ


倒 带

  • 施施然

  • 窗外没有风。因为泡桐
  • 在空中静止不动
  • 夏天里那淡紫色的摇曳
  • 早不知去向。沿着
  • 闽江道向西。空荡荡的
  • 城市,像退潮的海滩
  • 又像
  • 按下了清空键
  • 新闻里,火眼实验室刚刚建成
  • 医护星夜驰援;现场
  • 又倒下一位可敬的工作人员
  • 一千万呼唤,都凝聚在手机屏里
  • 她换了个姿势坐。看
  • 落日点燃远空。手中打开的
  • 仍是那本不安的斯宾诺莎
  • 晚餐已在桌面摆好:米饭
  • 芦笋,鱼肉上撒了香菜
  • 她恍惚怎么就
  • 坐在一年前的时光里

CATCHING LIGHTNING

  • by Yuan Wei

  • A drunken madman at the edge of the town died in the rain.
  • Apart from the fast train of words,
  • 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 a word of it. I totally respect
  • lightnings. During peak seasons of thunder and lightning,
  • I am especially careful not to say anything blasphemous
  • or make any ridiculous remarks. When one is too bold,
  • words can create precarious situations.
  • Instead I use the shutter to capture the lightning. A giant blue dragon
  • is imprisoned in a film, kept still.
  • Even so, at the moment of pressing the button,
  • I admit my offense and beg for forgiveness.
  • I’m still afraid of lightnings. Nerves of steel for me
  • is itself a lie.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/60ayq0Lb6R-bIlFCqNhe_A

捉闪电

  • 袁伟

  • 村头的酒疯子死于雨天
  • 除了嘴里时常马力十足的小火车
  • 他再也没能带走其它的殉葬品
  • 临时收留他避雨的老槐树,惨遭不幸
  • 这个被祖辈反复讲起的故事
  • 让我不敢说半句谎话,我对闪电
  • 心怀敬畏。在雷电缠绵的季节
  • 我尤为谨慎,生怕嘴巴不听使唤
  • 说一些荒诞不经之词。胆子足够大了
  • 遑论的地位就岌岌可危
  • 我选择用快门来捕捉闪电。蓝色的巨龙
  • 被囚禁于底片之上,动弹不得
  • 即便如此,我还是在按键的刹那
  • 承认自己的罪过并请求宽恕
  • 我依然惧怕闪电,胆量对我来说
  • 本身就是一句谎言

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

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

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/umCU1lgLKU6n26e7uW0s5Q


雷家村纪事

  • 曾纪虎

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

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

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

OLD TIMES

  • by Zhai Wenjie

  • A village lay low in the plain,
  • dotted with small humble old houses.
  • A stool in front of the old house,
  • my small mother sat on a short stool.
  • She stood next to 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 time past,
  • the lowly old times, a beautiful thing it is.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rAaX8MjFfwHPyKINssXrFg


旧时光

  • 翟文杰

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

The Dani Tribe

  • by Zhai Wenxi

  • Deep in the rainforest in Grand Gully live the Dani warriors,
  • ferocious hunters of eagles and leopards.
  • Crowned with egret feathers, boar tusks in the nose, leopard spots all over the body,
  • the Dani warriors arm themselves with poisoned spears, bows and arrows,
  • ready to pounce at the wind like wolves at a deer.
  • In the thatched hut, as my eyes follow the dance of the Dani tribe,
  • forces of life and death start their battle in my heart—
  • wriggling buttocks, crowded whistles, breathless drumbeats, a wave of spears, and animal calls.
  • The Dani people hold hunting rituals and make offerings to their ancestors.
  • One of the fearless Dani men is dying tonight, and
  • his wife will raise a stone axe to cut off a finger of her own,
  • and smear black hibiscus juice on the face.
  • For her remaining years,
  • she will continue to wither until wizen like her naked breasts.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Huang Hongqi

  • 8

达尼人部落

  • 翟文熙

  • 在大溪谷和雨林深处,达尼人
  • 是鹰、猎豹和嗜血的勇士
  • 头戴鹭鸶羽毛,脸挂野猪獠牙,身涂豹纹。达尼人
  • 手执淬毒的长矛或弓箭,像狼群一样扑向丛林中的风吹草动
  • 一秒钟内,我血管里奔跑的麋鹿被杀死
  • 在蘑菇一样的茅草房,我的内心,死与生
  • 开始跟着达尼人的舞姿挣扎。扭动的光屁股
  • 拥挤的口哨、短促的鼓点、挥舞的长矛,模仿野兽的呼叫声
  • 达尼人,把原始的盛典献给死去的猎物和祖先
  • 像豹子一样勇猛的达尼族男人,他们之中的一个将在今夜死去
  • 他的女人,举起石斧,砍下一节手指
  • 脸上涂上黄木槿树根的黑汁,剩下的余生
  • 像她裸露的乳房一样干瘪,萎缩。

THE SAME FATHER UNDER EVERY STRAW HAT

  • by Ah Cheng

  • Towards the end of May, the weather is getting hotter —
  • The chores on the mountains, on the farm, in the fields
  • are piling up. Here in the countryside, straw hats are put to
  • their proper use — those straw-woven hats, yellow or gray,
  • smelling of sun and human sweat, left in the granary or
  • untouched on the wall for months, are now grabbed
  • and solidly tied down
  • on men's heads...
  • Wearing these straw hats, they hoe, fertilize, reap, or
  • wack the weedy brush or grass, sometimes
  • plough and till and plant and harvest
  • in the mud-splashing fields,
  • sun-tanned, sleevs-flowing, in unison;
  • — Toiling, silent for a long time, seen
  • from afar, it’s hard to tell who’s whose husband
  • or whose father. Anyone hurrying home across the field
  • and wishing to greet their kin is oftentimes unsure of which one to call,
  • and eventually staying quiet after much hesitation —
  • In fact, it makes no difference to shout, or not — summertime
  • in the countryside, it is the same father
  • under every straw hat.

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

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


每一顶草帽下都有一个相同的父亲

  • 阿 成

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

THE ROMANCE OF A PAINTER BARKEEP

  • by Zhang Baimei

  • Hanging out on the riverbank
  • one summer night along Songhua River*,
  • people came to watch the moon,
  • to spend time with loved ones, to eat assorted kebabs he made.
  • The discussion turned to soccer, vegetable garden, fine-brush painting,
  • and nine ways of slow-cooking cutlassfish.
  • Love affairs were treated as 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 make a room romantic;
  • for the first rendez-vous, should it be in a cafe or bed?
  • As they chatted, there stood Shanhai Mountain Pass**,
  • the rebel king had broken the defense line,
  • smoke signals were burning around Coal Hill,
  • outside Beijing’s Xizhimen Gate***.
  • What do you say, shall we talk on the phone tonight?
  • He texted back in-between selling beers: Sweetie, I won’t be home
  • until the football match ends at midnight.
  • On the riverbank of Songhua River, he and his friends had nothing to do;
  • one of them, who would 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 dishes he painted for his girlfriend,
  • and the lovely smell of Russian bread and Borscht soup from the kitchen.
  • In the moonlight of another city, his 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 reasons given, no warning signs,
  • the man who sold beer by Songhua River
  • fell into deep sleep; it's said he didn't have even 100 yuan on him.
  • Translator's 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.
  • ***The Emperor Chongzhen (r. 1628-1644) hanged himself from a tree on Coal Hill in Jingshan Park, a park located behind the northern gate of the Forbidden City. It was from the Gate of Military Prowess that the Emperor exited the northern gate and made his way to Coal Hill.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/OmDz9uVH6xjMBkRtGgXVhQ


一个卖啤酒的画家的罗曼司

  • 张白煤

  • 在松花江畔游荡
  • 在松花江畔看夏夜的月亮
  • 在松花江畔和爱你的人
  • 一起,吃他亲手烤的各种串儿

  • 谈论着足球、蔬菜种植、工笔画和炖带鱼的九种方法
  • 爱情都是形而上的
  • 在电话的另一端大雨滂沱

  • 兴致勃勃,讨论
  • 应该去哪一家店比较干净
  • 应该摆放什么样的花朵比较有情调
  • 应该在床上,还是咖啡馆见第一面

  • 在语言的中间,是山海关
  • 闯王已经破城
  • 西直门外的烽烟绕着煤山

  • 请问你,今晚要不要打电话
  • 你在卖啤酒的空档里回复:亲爱的,我要看完12点的足球才回家
  • 在松花江畔,你和你的兄弟们闲的无聊
  • 其中一个,会在两个月后死亡
  • 并且顽皮地对大家说:
  • 我走以后,
  • 明天不会回来,后天也不会
  • 再也不会回来的
  • 是今夜的月光
  • 是你为女朋友画的晚餐
  • 厨房里,飘着大列巴和罗宋汤的浓香

  • 在另一座城市的月光里,女朋友为她的小孩读一册儿童故事
  • 那场景是温馨的么?
  • 并不是人人都这么看
  • 电话扑通一声
  • 将所有的爱情挂断
  • 没有理由,也没有征兆
  • 一个卖啤酒的男人,在松花江畔
  • 沉睡,据说他身上没有一百块钱




SMALL TOWN

  • by Zhang Ergun

  • Every small town has an old crank in faded army fatigue
  • with a blotted medal. His haggard face shows up on the street,
  • no one knows if he’s waiting to take a bullet, or looking for a comrade.
  • Every small town has a lonely little noodle shop.
  • The mistress in cheap rouge sits by a greasy window,
  • knitting a sweater, unraveling the yarn and knitting again.
  • No one knows why when she smiles or frowns.
  • Every small town was a stopover for some mysterious circus.
  • They hollered up and down the muddy street advertizing their stunts:
  • spitting fire, swallowing swords, and spinning plates.
  • No one knows what they buried under the arched bridge,
  • where they spent the night and cried.
  • In every little town, there are women who weep,
  • thieves who cry for pain, and lunatics who mumble.
  • In every little town, there are knees on the floor,
  • shoulders trembling, and shadows staggering on the street.
  • Every small town has a deity quietly keeping watch,
  • guarding mysteries from being revealed
  • and making sure they replay again and again.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


小 城

  • 张二棍

  • 每个小城,都有过一个穿着旧军装的糟老头
  • 他佩戴着褪色的勋章,面容枯槁
  • 在街头,一遍遍走动着
  • 没有人知道,他在等一枚子弹,还是寻找一个战友
  • 每个小城,都有一家门可罗雀的小面馆
  • 老板娘涂着廉价的脂粉,坐在油腻的窗前
  • 她手中的毛衣,织了拆,织了又拆
  • 没有人知道,她为什么笑了,又为什么皱眉
  • 每个小城,都停留过一个神秘的马戏团
  • 他们在泥泞的街头,一次次吆喝着
  • 有人吐火焰,有人吞刀子,有人顶着一摞碗
  • 没有人知道,在他们宿过的桥洞下,埋了什么,哭着
  • 每个小城,都有女人啜泣、小偷喊疼、疯子胡言
  • 每个小城,都有下跪的膝盖,颤抖的肩膀,摇晃的背影
  • 每个小城,都有一个默默盯着这一切的城隍
  • 让这些秘不发丧的故事,再一幕幕重演。

Gaze

  • by Zhang Fanxiu

  • The companion planting of sunflower and millet is quite interesting,
  • but very common in the plain of western Liaoning.
  • Oh, not unlike a wood cutter waiting on a small seamstress,
  • he must have been amazed.
  • I can’t really defend that tomfool though;
  • his divine image didn't do him much good.
  • How does he gaze at her?
  • The millet looks tattered and disheveled.
  • Devilish tramps,
  • they have snuck into these rolling hills.
  • — It is hard to be content with what one already has.
  • These devils know God’s ambition. Both have lost their edges,
  • divided, neither is much to look at.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 6

凝 视

  • 张凡修

  • 向日葵与黍子套种怪有趣的
  • 这在辽西极常见
  • 哦,劈柴喂马的伺候穿针引线的
  • 肯定有异样的凝视
  • 我终究不能替那个脖子上吊着勺子的家伙辩解
  • 他空有神的面具
  • 该怎样凝视,黍子逶迤,披头散发
  • 这群女鬼
  • 已先一步藏身于丘陵
  • ——吃着碗里的惦记锅里的
  • 女鬼太熟悉神的野心。两人都削去了自己的肩膀
  • 没了依托,则谁也不能,用来凝视

PUSH AND SQUEEZE

  • by Zhang Fanxiu

  • Look up. See that bird nest, good size, on a tall branch,
  • snug and safe, and is getting even safer.
  • Thanks to the tree limbs, the nest is pushed and squeezed into a nice shape.
  • Over the nest
  • is the symmetrical sky,
  • not affected by the work of push and squeeze,
  • always in view from where we are, over our black roof and white walls.
  • We nearly forgot these black roof and white walls
  • except recently the construction workers squeezed the labor market,
  • followed by waves of departure, one after another.
  • The making of a nest relies on the just-do-it spirit and good craftsmanship.
  • The clouds drift east, the sun treks west. The mud and the grass strive
  • for equilibrium. In the end, the outcome of the push and squeeze
  • may not depend solely on the actual pushing and squeezing.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


挤 压

  • 张凡修

  • 仰视。看那鸟窝,大大的,挤得树梢
  • 越来越安全
  • 因为多了支撑,挤压就有了形状
  • 鸟窝之上
  • 天空是对称的
  • 天空不因鸟窝的挤压而
  • 阻止我们在白墙黑瓦的地方
  • 仰视。白墙黑瓦
  • 被忽略
  • 近前,一群群泥瓦匠,挤压着短工市场
  • 一拨离开,又一拨离开
  • 鸟窝相信积极的锻造术
  • 云朵往东,日头偏西。泥与草的衔连
  • 紧密保持着
  • 两个身体的均衡。所以,挤压的痕迹有可能
  • 不取决于挤压

If at all Possible

  • by Zhang Fanxiu

  • “A shack is worth a fortune.” That is my narrow perspective
  • before these small housewares.
  • As trifling as they are, seeming invisible, like nothing,
  • they have upheld, maintained, and persevered us.
  • All the more unwilling to leave this old house,
  • all the more not wanting to abandon an earthen jar or a pitcher.
  • The iron pan can’t be left behind. I moved it only a few inches
  • and startled the ashes.
  • The remains of the old flames are hidden but still scorching hot.
  • I may try a flashback, or turn around, but this pot
  • won’t survive being turned upside down.
  • One family, each of us a pair of hands.
  • If at all possible, our hands will raise a new homeland,
  • and I still wish, and hope to have these citizens:
  • my wife, sons, daughters-in-law, grandsons, granddaughters,
  • great-grandsons, great-granddaughters.
  • It looks as if this is possible.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

  • 6

容 若

  • 张凡修

  • “破家值万贯”。当我的视野只狭窄到
  • 眼前这些鸡毛蒜皮的小家当
  • 那些容量那些容忍那些容纳
  • 若隐,若无
  • 越发不愿搬离,这所老房子
  • 越发不想扔下,一只坛子,一只罐子
  • 必须要带走的铁锅,挪移时
  • 惊扰了灰烬
  • 残存的几粒火,隐秘,灼热
  • 试图倒叙,试图转身。而锅
  • 绝不可扣过来——
  • 一家人,每人一双手。容若,捧着一个,新的祖国
  • 我还想,仍拥有这些人民:
  • 老伴,儿子,儿媳,孙子,孙女,重孙子,重孙女
  • 如若,容许。

OUR BOAT——to Julie

  • by Zhang Hezhi

  • Your amorous body walked into November,
  • and stopped there.
  • There is always a day when life stumbles.
  • You said, there were many boats moored in your hand.
  • You faded in and out in the middle of great pain.
  • It was autumn, and our room had been curiously dusty,
  • as if taking part in a patiently-planned death.
  • You didn't believe we could survive
  • the the bloody battle against binary codes.
  • You trusted only words, and the touch of skin.
  • By touching and writing, writing and touching,
  • you were convinced that the ancient night would return,
  • you said our boat
  • remained loyal to the twilight.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


船 ——给Julie

  • 张何之

  • 你多情的身体走进十一月
  • 就顿住了
  • 总有生命在日子上绊倒
  • 你说,你的手掌中停满船只。
  • 在难言的痛苦中你时隐时现
  • 这是秋天,房间里总是无端布满尘埃
  • 像一桩耐心计划的死事
  • 你不相信,我们终于能从
  • 信号的血海中杀出一条生路
  • 你只信字,信皮肤
  • 在反复地触摸与书写中
  • 你说古老的夜会来,
  • 你说,我们的船
  • 依旧忠诚于微光

HOLIDAY, LISTENING TO FATHER AND A COUSIN CHATTING ABOUT FAMILY GRAVEYARD

  • by Zhang Hongbing

  • I can finally accept the topic,
  • no longer treating it as a festival taboo.
  • As to its location, they show great enthusiasm,
  • rejoicing in the fengshui of the burial ground,
  • but worrying about the traffic around the plot,
  • as if the difference between life and death is simply relocation:
  • the deceased still need to breathe, eat and drink,
  • still need to come and go, or, shall we say,
  • still need someone to breathe on their behalf, to eat
  • and drink for them, to go home for them after they left.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


节日里听父亲和堂哥聊家族墓地

  • 张红兵

  • 我已经能接受这样的话题
  • 我已不再将它看成节日里的禁忌
  • 关于那样一个所在
  • 他们表现出了极大的热忱
  • 欣慰于葬身之地的风水
  • 又忧虑于葬身之地的交通
  • 仿佛生死只是由一处搬迁到另一处
  • 仍需要呼吸,饮食
  • 需要进出,或者说
  • 仍然需要有人替他们呼吸
  • 饮食,替他们一次次外出归来

CORNERS

  • by Zhang Hongbo

  • Only fools think this boundless grassland has no twists and turns.
  • In a misty and rainy night like tonight,
  • over a land covered with wilted grass,
  • water gleams under the horse's hooves when you make a swift turn.
  • But what lies ahead is darkness, like a giant boulder,
  • after the next turn.
  • No matter how big a hero you are,
  • moving ahead, you will definitely vanish in the distance.
  • But you must not stop to pray.
  • It’s not yet dawn, not a flower is in bloom.
  • Let the horse whip be heard across the field.
  • Let the horse jump over the sharp antlers in the riverbed,
  • before flinging your backpack on the riverbank.
  • Tonight, a rainy night, you are a god, a hero.
  • Like an arrow, you skirt the fortress like a gust of wind,
  • shooting off raindrops at the edge of the sky.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Wshl_zHi1phLm00-t9le-A


拐 角

  • 张洪波

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

THE GIST OF IT

  • by Zhang Lin

  • Some things are big from the beginning, such as oceans.
  • Some things are small until the end, such as grass.
  • Still a few other things
  • are already old even before we know them, like this old family home.
  • I, myself, am gradually passing from small to big,
  • through the process of aging and ailing.
  • — All my life
  • I am a sprig of grass, thinking of the ocean, as if returning home.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/dHc49m3VRxyVJ6aDOMguPg


大意如此

  • 张 琳

  • 有些东西,生来就是大的,比如大海
  • 有些东西,至死也是小的,比如小草
  • 还有一些东西
  • 我认识她时就老了,比如老家
  • 我,正慢慢经历着
  • 从小到大,再渐渐衰老的过程
  • ——我的一生
  • 就像一棵小草,想起大海,如临故乡

FAMILY HISTORY

  • by Zhang Qiaohui

  • A teenager stutters to describe his home:
  • downstream of Meiyang, a hamlet behind the ferry dock,
  • a house, the third floor unoccupied,
  • intended for him when he saves up enough to get married.
  • In the countryside, everyone is like that.
  • They work in a factory run by overseas Chinese, room and board included
  • and go home once a week. The home-coming trips become less often after a while.
  • As we talk, the ferry has completed the run.
  • The ferry carries those who want to leave,
  • and those who want to return.
  • A dog waits at the door every weekend.
  • Whether you come back or not, it won't move very much.
  • (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 lies along the road we are on,
  • serene and vast, like a mother
  • listening to her son's stories of adventures and trepidations.
  • Crossing Zhaoshan Narrow, a large dam appears;
  • it neatly chokes off a creek,
  • placid before the steep fall over the spillway.
  • I did not ask the young man’s surname.
  • The field of canola flowers along the road
  • look every bit like him. The home that he described
  • is like my hometown that has long disappeared.
  • These years, I have loved my adopted home
  • the way I loved my hometown.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/ueInY5wIsTrGJ6MKSKCTXw


家春秋

  • 张巧慧

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

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




MOUNTAINS WITHOUT NAMES

  • by Zhang Weifeng

  • Next to rivers and mountains, amongst birds and flowers,
  • I have my roosting place. At dawn I light candles and piously lay out fruits,
  • and say wordless prayers after sundown.
  • As years go by and trees grow thicker,
  • my universe slowly shrinks in size. The surpluses
  • are trimmed, the extras are disowned; cancers of the spirit
  • are scooped out without a second thought.
  • Between heaven and earth, I live unnoticeably and alone,
  • to honor the rivers and the mountains. They reciprocate
  • by taking me in. There are no talks of mad love between us,
  • only the simple delight of peaceful co-habitation.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/RVZFOSGiIvvTiUUdn6o4uQ


无名山

  • 张伟锋

  • 在青山绿水间,在鸟语花香处
  • 我偎依着一座房子。日出供奉果实和灯盏
  • 日落之后,还念着无字的经书
  • 宏阔的宇宙,随着年轮的增长
  • 慢慢变小。开始慢慢舍弃多余的部分
  • 身外之物,舍弃;刺伤心灵的部分
  • 毫不犹豫地剜除
  • 在天地之间,我静默,独处
  • 我把山川与河流放在高处。它们以同样的方式
  • 把我容纳在身体里。没有激烈和热血般的爱
  • 只有相安无事的共处和存在。

MISSING-PERSON POSTERS

  • by Zhang Xiaozhen

  • Posters for missing persons are everywhere on Yangtze River Bridge.
  • We pass by the bridge one misty afternoon.
  • Only nameless angels read these posters with a sigh.
  • The papers have already yellowed,
  • the same color as the water below us, with floating oil,
  • vegetable leaves, and dusts.
  • See, she perches on the curled-up corner of the poster,
  • fluttering like an insect with translucent wings.
  • How amazing, isn't it? We can’t find her.
  • We have dug canals for drainage, mapped out power grids,
  • thawed the northern permafrost,
  • and sent southerly winds to soothe the great land.
  • We said Long Live this and Long Live that, and ten thousand things thrive.
  • We have put a brain inside steel boxes,
  • and used wires to induce magnetic currents
  • for the exploration of sulfur caves, even into the valley of death.
  • We have sent people to the balloon-like moon.
  • Still, we cannot find her.
  • We continue to drink this water, the murky water in the fog.
  • Raising our glasses, we tell ourselves
  • she might have reached Yangluo, surfing its big black whirlpool
  • on the cusp of triumph,
  • or maybe she has reached Nanking, and mistaken the big river
  • for the sea . . .
  • Laughing, we drank up our wine,
  • holding hands, and saying hopeful words to lift our spirits.
  • Tomorrow will be a new day, we will surely find her
  • because the whole universe is praying with us
  • with inaudible sighs.
  • But how terrified we are by the thought of finding her!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/t3yc2z3t-Jl3jLs69wvU4Q


长江大桥上贴满寻人启事

  • 张小榛

  • 长江大桥上贴满寻人启事,在某个雾气弥漫的下午
  • 我们路过那里。只有无家可归的天使用叹息
  • 轻轻地读它们。它们的纸张都已经泛黄,
  • 就像脚下淌过的水,漂着油渍、菜叶与灰尘。
  • 你看,她就停在那张纸翘起来的角上,
  • 轻盈如翅膀透明的飞虫。
  • 多奇妙呢?现在我们找不到她。
  • 我们为雨水开道、为雷电分路,融化北方数百万年的冬季,
  • 放出南风使大地沉寂。我们一吩咐生长,万物就生长。
  • 我们在钢铁里播种意念,用导线牵引地极,
  • 借此窥探硫磺的家乡、死荫的幽谷。
  • 我们现在能把人送到气球般的月亮上去。
  • 但我们依旧找不到她。
  • 但我们依旧饮用那水,雾气中昏黄的水,
  • 一边举杯,一边告诉自己现在
  • 她或许已经到了阳逻,正骑在黑色的大漩流背上
  • 准备伴着清晨的歌声凯旋;
  • 又或许到了南京,把宽阔的水面误认成一片海……
  • 我们笑着喝尽杯中之物,拉着手互相鼓劲、互相打气:
  • 明天就是新的一天了,我们必找到她,因为众生灵都在
  • 用听不见的叹息为我们祷告。
  • 我们多么害怕我们将要找到她

EMBER ROASTED SWEET-POTATO

  • by Zhang Xinquan

  • To roast sweet potatoes,
  • he selects the finest ones that speak to him,
  • places them in a barrel oven,
  • and arranges them snug and cozy in a circle
  • on the wall, stretching, sweating,
  • like poets. Aah! Aa! Ouch!
  • Roasted over coals, they slowly turn soft, aromatic, sweet.
  • Moans and sighs are now softer, taken over by steams, Mmm...
  • Before considering it done, he will make sure
  • everyone is evenly roasted front and back
  • until he too looks like a roasted sweet potato, except in clothes.
  • The red glow on his face and his simple garment
  • leave me awestruck, so I stop
  • and huddle close to the oven to listen to him.
  • Later when he is flat out, I help to handle the money and change,
  • sharing his simple fare of strong tea and sesame bread.
  • Before the evening ends, I ride with him on his sweet-potato cart for home.
  • He asks: What do you do, my gray-haired big brother?
  • I replied: I write, paid by number of words, it has been a few decades now.
  • He chuckles and says: Far better to code sweet potatoes.
  • Change your job, better off to be a sweet, warm-hearted street pedlar...

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊) : https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/zKn-uAZcNxiORBCQXlo56g


布衣红薯

  • 张新泉

  • 烤红薯就是把红薯中
  • 优秀而落寞的选出来
  • 放进炉子,让它们贴着炉壁
  • 站成一圈。伸腰,淌汗
  • 诗人一样——哦!啊!噢!
  • 然后逐渐变软,变香,变甜
  • 由叹气到哈气,到噫吁嚱
  • 卖红薯的烤完前胸又烤后背
  • 直到把自己也烤成一根
  • 红光满面的布衣红苕
  • 直到吸引我驻足观赏
  • 偎他炉子听他身世倚他车辕
  • 忙不过来时,帮他收整找零
  • 也接受他浓茶伴烧饼的便餐
  • 黄昏,搭他架子车回家
  • 问:白发老兄什么的干活?
  • 答:一个几十年的码字工
  • 他笑笑说,码字不如码红苕
  • 改行吧,来当糖心蜜肺的小商贩……

ODE TO SPRING

  • by Zhang Zhihao

  • My mother never wore floral dresses,
  • but does it mean
  • she was never happy?
  • Spring always returns, but that last spring
  • when I carried her home on my back from the hospital,
  • through the small road behind our house,
  • she spoke into my ears, in a soft and faraway voice:
  • “Son, I won’t let you dream of me after I die
  • lest you should be afraid. I am at peace, I am happy. ”
  • It has been eighteen years since then, and whenever spring returns,
  • I would remember that afternoon
  • when I carried my unfortunate mother
  • through that small road teeming with flowers
  • with tears in my eyes.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/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

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 4 devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Peter Micic, Michael Soper, & Johan Ramaekers

  • A HUMBLE POEM

卑微之诗

  • 作者: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。

1990, RUNNING WATER CAME TO THE VILLAGE

  • by Zhang Zuogeng

  • The upside-down water barrel was carried out.
  • A damp circle was all that’s left, resetting time back to the beginning.
  • Water barrel, now a redundant worker,
  • was grabbed on the belly and dragged off.
  • Where's a good place for it?
  • — some younger and speedier servant will stand in.
  • Water pipe, not a line to lead you to the headwater
  • but runs underground, and tears open
  • an outlet at the faucet —
  • “This water, it smells of chlorine.”
  • “Oh, push buttons, valves and knobs everywhere.”
  • My elderly mother grumbles as she carries
  • clothes and vegetables to a river pond to wash.
  • Cool running river, lichen sways on rocks,
  • as if water has grown a beard.
  • The evening after, Father removed the water barrel,
  • leaving behind an empty spot, a raw scar.
  • But then, why in the world do I still wake up
  • in the sound of a pail knocking on the water barrel,
  • as bright as before, as if Father were still with us,
  • carrying water, bringing us everyday's
  • blissful news.

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

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


1990:村里通上自来水

  • 张作梗

  • 倒扣的水缸被移走。
  • 一圈湿印,使一切过往的日子归零。
  • 水桶,像一个突然多出来的人,
  • 拖着水桶般的腰身,
  • 不知道站在哪儿为好。
  • ——生活,有了更年轻、便捷的仆人。
  • 水管,可不是水的索引。
  • 它游动在地下,又在每一个水龙头那儿
  • 撕开一个缺口——
  • “这水,有一股漂白粉味儿。”
  • “唔,到处都是按钮、阀门和开关。”
  • 我的老母亲嘀咕着,依然将衣物、菜蔬
  • 提拎到门前的大水塘去漂洗。
  • 水声清泠,埠石上拂动的青苔,
  • 像是水长出的绿胡子。
  • 隔夜,我的父亲把水缸移走。
  • 那空出来的地方,新鲜如伤疤。
  • 可为什么每日早晨醒来,
  • 我依然听到水桶磕碰缸沿的声音,那么
  • 清脆,像是死去多年的父亲,
  • 仍然在为我们担水,送来一日
  • 清凉的福音?

PAINTINGS OF SPRING

  • by Zhang Zuogeng

  • Early morning, I push open the window.
  • You are there grinding an ink stone, and roll the paper out for me to paint a bird song.
  • My heart flutters, like a baby bird, and I say —
  • wait ‘till it sings, I will be able to paint
  • a bird song.'
  • The field is quiet in the afternoon, like an
  • bee house after work hours. Only the two of us still fly low,
  • hoping to find a twig in each other to perch.
  • You say, paint the sweetness of this world.
  • My heart bursts open like a painter’s palette, I say —
  • when the palette is thawed in the spring breeze,
  • I will be able to paint the real-life sweetness.
  • The lake fades into dusk – twilight touches the grass,
  • deepening the horizon. We get up,
  • walk towards a quivering boat,
  • thinking there is a riley whirlpool . . .
  • You mutter: hurry, paint a vortex of fear —
  • My heart pounds like a stone being thrown into water,
  • I say, when the stone has turned to dust,
  • I will be able to paint the true colors of fear.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


春之画

  • 张作梗

  • 早晨,推开窗户,
  • 你研墨铺纸,要我画一幅鸟鸣。
  • 我的心怦怦跳着如一只幼鸟,我说——
  • 等它会叫了,我就能画出
  • 真正的鸟鸣。
  • 田野置于午后,寂静如一只打烊的
  • 蜂桶。唯有我俩低飞着,
  • 要在彼此身上找到停落的枝头。
  • 你说,画出世界的甜蜜吧。
  • 我的心哗啦展开如一个写生夹,
  • ——我说,等画板被春风融化了,
  • 我就能画出逼真的甜蜜。
  • 黄昏推开湖水——天光落在草尖上,
  • 加深了大地的幽暗。我们起身,
  • 向一条战栗的小船走去,
  • 仿佛那儿有一个疯狂的漩涡……
  • 你喃喃道,快,画一幅涡流的恐惧——
  • 我的心扑通如一块投水的石头,
  • 我说,等石头化为了齑粉,
  • 我就能画出真实的恐惧。

BEDTIME LETTER -- TO SHEN NIANJU*

  • by Zhao Jun

  • A book by Pushkin for my boyhood,
  • bound in gold cover, to soothe
  • the puberty years. It didn't induce
  • the young Werther's sorrows but rather
  • saved a youth from the backwater: in reciting
  • love poems, the rural-urban chasm was bridged,
  • the hole in the heart replete. Those verses and
  • the summer insects at the edge of town
  • resonated like an evening prayer, allowing me
  • to look calmly at the smart girls even if they were
  • the captain’s daughters. I became the gentleman
  • in the book, inventing a lasting duel that never existed.
  • A memory so faraway now: I put my red thumb-print on
  • A Hundred Years of Solitude! By Yingxi River, under weeping willows,
  • I inhaled the sweet smell of romanticism, like a swallow
  • pecking a nugget of clay to make a nest. Meanwhile, old houses were swallowed
  • by the iron gut of the excavator, like those imminently disappearing
  • rice paddies replaced by modern housing,
  • and dense population piled into cubes
  • until downtown youths no longer believed
  • in poetry from Russia, no longer looked kindly
  • on other youths dipped in Russian romanticism.
  • Some twenty years later, you, a messenger of Pushkin
  • summoned me from another corner of the world to come home,
  • to the old, stowed-away pillows and blankets.
  • As my lips read out the verses in local dialect, I was unaware
  • you were also here before, in your lonely adolescent years, but without
  • similar comfort. You sat in a dimly-lit publishing house,
  • similar to a ferryman who delivered a torch to me.
  • These days the world makes us cry, but the lonelier we are,
  • the more potent poetry is, to elevate our bleak days,
  • 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,
  • emitting a piercing shine, to guard against amnesia.
  • Translator's note:
  • Shen Nianju: born in Zhejiang Province in 1940, a prominent literary editor and Russian literature scholar.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/gF3d52YevQ2CupWE0U5YCw


枕边书——给沈念驹

  • 赵 俊

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

THE UNIVERSE OF MOUNTAINS AND RIVERS

  • by Zhao Jun

  • Purposeless twilight sways,
  • and disappears in a rainy alley.
  • It reappears in the fabled world of dragonflies
  • with an entourage of red lilies.
  • With deep longings we come to engage you
  • after touring the gallery of your glorious past
  • — the ever-changing shades of shadows,
  • the sounds of oars in the water.
  • The world keeps up with all sorts of mumbo jumbo
  • while we are enthralled by your ethereal universe.
  • Even the epiphyllum bend their stems and leaves.
  • This quest will live on
  • in the heart of a mountain man landing on a river town
  • whilst water’s gears slowly sink into his windblown granite flesh.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang with Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/CWvibjgKrQ5SoMlORCC9qg


山水命题

  • 赵 俊

  • 无意义的黄昏摇摆,
  • 消失在雨巷。
  • 在蜻蜓的寓言里复活,
  • 带着对红的尾随。
  • 当幽思带着聘书,
  • 走过你光荣的履历表。
  • 你馥郁在重影中,
  • 带着水声和桨橹。
  • 有人炮制了谈话录,
  • 在你被恍惚劫持的瞬间。
  • 昙花也低垂着茎叶。
  • 永恒的追问将永不停息,
  • 当一个山乡人驾临水乡,
  • 水柔软的齿轮嵌入风的花岗岩。

WHEN THE WIND SCOURS GUIYANG

  • by Zhao Weifeng

  • A spring wind scours Guiyang, as if staging a guerrilla war.
  • But all is fair in love.
  • To look preety, it imitates
  • trees and flowers by donning new outfits. The year before,
  • the moon even showed up to help.
  • If you can tell who is more mischievous —
  • the wind or the moon — you’ll be able to predict
  • the winner in the battle between muted memories and lively realities.
  • Spring wind circles and sweeps across the board — across cities and villages,
  • across cutting boards, keyboards, and high-rises, across you and me.
  • It goes where it wants, most people
  • cannot see that the wind is going through phases,
  • from wild to violent, to feeble.
  • You say some winds have too many escapades.
  • You say some winds have still more to ride out.
  • You say a few of them will
  • end in unsolved mysteries,
  • and most will die young on the same old path.
  • You say a person, or more likely a fairy,
  • sneaks in at night with the wind
  • but stays only for a brief moment
  • before becoming the past,
  • the sorrowful past.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/-1Hloch7g9VxLpRnoRfABA


春风清洗贵阳的时候

  • 赵卫峰

  • 春风清洗贵阳的时候化整为零
  • 这就很公平
  • 爱美之心,开始了
  • 向换装的植物们看齐。还像去年
  • 月亮有时会来助阵
  • 如果你能看出春风与月亮
  • 谁更淘气
  • 就可以预见
  • 沉静的记忆,调皮的现实
  • 谁将取得胜利
  • 春风盘旋,春风浩荡,在城乡之间
  • 在果盘、键盘和楼盘、在你我之间
  • 随意变换体位,一般的人
  • 应该看不出风怎么乱来,激进
  • 又怎么衰弱下去
  • 你说一些春风经过太多
  • 你说一些春风还将经过更多
  • 你说春风中的少数
  • 投身不知所终的远方
  • 大半夭折于老路
  • 你说,那人简直是个神仙
  • 随风潜入夜,在你身上
  • 只逗留了瞬间
  • 然后就一步步退回到了从前
  • 忧伤的从前

IF MY DREAM LASTS LONG ENOUGH

  • by Zhao Wenhao

  • If only my dream lasted long enough
  • for me to walk with you to the kitchen, to see how you
  • set each dish in its unique place, to see how you
  • recall everyone's taste and appetite —
  • for the elderly, help them sail through the days;
  • for those feeling burdened, lighten things up a bit.
  • It hurts deeply to wait, and wait 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
  • oftentimes, without special arrangements,
  • I came to see you at home. While having a sesame bread,
  • I listened to you recount the little things of the day,
  • with a bowl in my hand to receive warm soymilk from you,
  • and on and on, if only our dreams lasted long enough,
  • long enough.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/yMlVS1PpBk9mtR4wEVNsRg


如果我的梦足够长

  • 赵文豪

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

NOTES ON EARLY SPRING

  • by Zheng Maoming

  • An empty truck rumbles through the alley behind the office building,
  • rattling every inch of its metal frame, clankety-clank.
  • Dazzling sunshine, sluggish spring, a groggy afternoon,
  • the truck passes and leaves behind a piece of quietness.
  • Green halos on trees; moss-green daydreams;
  • an old chair tries to shine;
  • the desk files and reports never get a chance to get moldy;
  • the phone rings, the door knocks, two waves of visitors come without appointments.
  • That’s when the quietness ends,
  • as we chatter on and on about everything,
  • dotted with moments of boredom,
  • then I think about shaking the dusts out of my shoes.
  • A tractor squeezes amidst it all,
  • happily tooting along, black smoke chugging out of its exhaust pipe,
  • belching soot like black flower petals.
  • Silence is gone again, so are the rackets.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Nhjno9dYzC9yJj_UOD8ZIA


初春记

  • 郑茂明

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

DISTANT PLACES

  • by Zhijian Liunian

  • Unreachable time and space mean very little to me now.
  • I have been to Harbin only a few times:
  • the first time was to see my son off to a southern university;
  • 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 only 30 minutes ago.
  • My son waved to me from the checkpoint, I said nothing,
  • waving him farewell with travelers coming and going between us.
  • That was the first time he left home for a distant place.
  • Then the flight crew that had just landed walked past me,
  • pulling their luggages, looking very animated,
  • as if they would stay young and dashing forever.
  • Every year I go into town a few times for business,
  • to buy seeds and fertilizer, once to swap a second-generation ID card,
  • the new and old head shots betray the years that had gone by.
  • Time has the power to crush a person,
  • making him powdery, delicate and soft.
  • From a small village to a small town, all that I ever 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
  • a few things waking up: my grape vines
  • look shiny even though their roots
  • grasp even tighter to the darkness of the soil.
  • You said: "Look for chances 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 the pocket, like Bloom and Stephen.
  • At the time, I read James Joyce's
  • Ulysses. I read about 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 blinded by Van Gogh's brilliance.
  • But, Amherst, you truly are too far!
  • Otherwise I really would like to be there for a few days. To your home,
  • which is converted into a Shell gas station now.
  • Seeing your little desk, I would sure be amazed,
  • did you really write those immortal poems at that small desk?
  • I would sit in a small café in Amherst, watching other
  • visitors, like me, come here to pay homage to you.
  • I imagine you in your lonely garden,
  • picking geraniums to make a flower press.
  • "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, and the Bronte Sisters.
  • It has Cambridge, football hooligans, gentlemen and paupers,
  • the simplicity of the countryside,
  • and islands that separate us from one another...!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/4phI2EaPuhJ9VxdFc6nORg


远 方

  • 指尖流年

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

OUH LÀ LÀ

  • by Zhong Shiwen

  • I had hoped to admire her bloom in the spring, tall and cheerful among others,
  • but before spring, ouh là là, she bid us farewell,
  • leaving only a trace of fragrance. She said she didn’t feel she belonged.
  • Ouh là là, why did’t she stay, couldn’t she see that we were kind?
  • Were we not clean enough? Was the space we gave her not okay?
  • Did I do anything wrong? Ouh là là, I suddenly thought of the heavenly her and the miserable her.
  • Oh, nice Sunday weather, and a little breezy, I think l need to chat with someone.
  • What's the date after Sunday? I was still so very young yesterday.
  • Did good weather make me age? So many are already dead.
  • Ouh là là, so many names are being recycled by others, wiped clean with their sleeves
  • and taken home for reuse like some treasure. Ouh là là, was it like this in the old days?
  • I need a fish, a fish to be in my river.
  • For sure this river of mine doesn't need anything. Ouh là là, all birds are dead.
  • My river, I decided no trees should be on its shore. Too many decisions to make.
  • Oh, we can't negate our responsibilities. The flowers are gone.
  • The birds are gone, too. I hope you will mention useful things for everyone to hear,
  • including those that I have no words for.
  • Oh, silly, I just lit another cigarette. Don't knock on my door when I am asleep.
  • Oh, I am famished, but there’s no need to eat, I am already in bed, under the blanket.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


乌 啦

  • 仲诗文

  • 我曾希望她在春天盛开,希望她站在群花之中,露出欢颜
  • 乌啦,春天还没有到来,她就告别离开了
  • 她只给春天留下一点儿香味,她说她不属于这里
  • 乌啦,她为什么不愿意留下,我们的善她看不到吗?
  • 我们的洁净还不够吗?我们给予的空间不合适吗?
  • 还是我做错什么了吗?乌啦,我突然想到神明的你与愚蠢的你
  • 乌啦,星期天的天气很棒,有一点儿风,我需要谈谈
  • 星期天过了是几号?我昨天那么年轻
  • 是好天气让我衰老了吗?好多人已经死去了
  • 乌啦,好多人的名字被别人捡起来用袖子擦了擦
  • 宝贝一样带回家继续用。乌啦,从前也是这个样子吗?
  • 我需要一条鱼,我要鱼来陪伴一条河
  • 我的这条河真的不需要别的什么。乌啦,鸟都已经死掉了
  • 我的河,我决定河岸不能长树。需要决定的事情太多了
  • 乌啦,我们不能放弃责任。花儿离开我们了
  • 鸟也离开我们了。我希望你把那些有用的,那些我无法说出来的
  • 多讲出来给大家听。乌啦,我已点上了烟。在我睡下去的时候
  • 不要来敲我的门。乌啦,我饿了,但我不需要吃东西,我已盖了被子

ORANGES

  • by Zhou Sese

  • Far away in Hunan,
  • countless orange factories
  • hid among dark green woods,
  • oranges rolling
  • from one end of the conveyor belt,
  • heading for the kingdom of freedom —
  • an endless stream of
  • new arrivals.
  • We climbed onto the roof of the orange factory,
  • looking out at the distant orange groves,
  • fruit abounds
  • like plump hens
  • crouching on the hillside.
  • I wanted to enter into an orange,
  • only then could I really taste raindrops, sunlight
  • and the nectar of midnight dew.
  • After the flock of us left,
  • the oranges took off into the sky,
  • shouting for joy,
  • causing us to look back.
  • Those were happy times two years ago.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/RlYqI0CQ5_jRlCWL0C1U_Q


橙 子

  • 周瑟瑟

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




MY THREE DAILY RETROSPECTIVES

  • by Zhou Suotong

  • Three meals now reduced to two;
  • three things to do, not a one got done;
  • sleepless till dawn after bidding a gentle Good Night.
  • Missing the old days but easily forgetting names;
  • never am sure if I really lock the door;
  • out for a walk without bringing house keys.
  • Hoping to be offered a seat in a crowded train or bus,
  • but annoyed that the school kid called me Grandpa;
  • meaning to walk faster, but seemed to always lag behind.
  • What? The innocent lamp left me in the dark again last night!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KU5681rd100_2nntMHWgIQ


吾日三省

  • 周所同

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

INPUT METHOD

  • by Zhou Weimin

  • It archives the vocabulary I used,
  • and the volume grows bigger
  • like troops marching forward.
  • Life slowly wears away.
  • Those loud slogans, covert profanity,
  • and the names best forgotten
  • bubble up as I frantically try to cover them up!
  • They gallop in cyberspace,
  • huffing and puffing before being reduced to archaic motifs.
  • Now I don't feel like picking anyone up.
  • This is the way it is meant to be,
  • the fated journey is taken.
  • I will be, in the twilight of my old age,
  • tapping the keyboard, to seduce,
  • to see which old words are still at my fingertips,
  • to replicate the world I have experienced,
  • or perhaps they would be gone without a trace
  • to somewhere faraway, to compile the lives of others.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Eq0dZ0qguSYLONrYopvxmA

输入法

  • 周卫民

  • 它记录我使用过的词汇
  • 使它们日益壮大
  • 如一支前行的队伍
  • 我的一生慢慢消磨
  • 这些义正辞严的口号与不为人知的秽语
  • 还有本该遗忘的名字
  • 会不时冒出来,让我慌乱遮掩
  • 它们在网络世界一路奔跑
  • 最终气喘吁吁,破碎成陈旧符号
  • 现在我不想捡起任何一个
  • 命运早已安排了
  • 一切。走过的都已走过了
  • 我将在老去后的黄昏里
  • 敲击键盘,引诱它们
  • 看其是否随时待命
  • 准确地重现我经历过的世界
  • 还是早已无影无踪
  • 远远地跑去,拼凑了他人的一生

UP ON THE WHITE CLOUD PAVILION

  • by Zhou Xixi

  • Early spring, at 350 meters,
  • with a chilly nip in the air,
  • the White Cloud Pavilion sees very few visitors.
  • I climb up from the foothill,
  • each step a step closer to the sky.
  • Up here, the wind is hushed, white clouds slowly drift,
  • a few birds dart down, towards the human world.
  • The forest stays lush, the lake shimmers, nothing
  • has changed except some folks have left
  • time’s precipice like a fallen rock.
  • The White Cloud Pavilion is a fixture here, wedged between the hard rocks of time,
  • shaped like an empty wine glass, suspended in the air.
  • The sky is ablaze at sunset, but butterflies seek oblivion in hidden niches,
  • this isn't a place for doltish truth-seekers.
  • At Nanshan Temple, the unpruned ginkgo trees,
  • the unshaven monks, both witness time but do not romanticize.
  • Bird songs are heard, coming from the mountainside,
  • some going up, some going down.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/hAWnb7OFN8eBeq_MCTeCAg


白云阁登高

  • 周西西

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

SEEING OFF A FRIEND, DRUNK AGAIN

  • by Zhu Ligen

  • This is how we usually wile away:
  • making innuendos, laughing and jesting.
  • Last year we sent off YQ, knowing
  • City of Dali, with its gentle nature, would embrace him
  • and kiss him on the forehead.
  • The year before, we saw off WD to Shangri-La,
  • who would welcome him with a big smile, and
  • brighten his face and eyes with its snow mountains and snow water.
  • It is winter now,
  • few leaves remain on the trees.
  • I thought the year was almost over,
  • but we are going to see off TC today.
  • He is going to Banna, in southern Yunnan, a warmer place.
  • The jungle, the Buddhist stupas, and the Dai women there
  • will all adopt him and look after him.
  • Let us bid him farewell with a drink,
  • which suits Kunming in a cold day like this,
  • and suits our staggering swaying hungry hearts.
  • Only eastern Yunnan is still waiting for one of us 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 China's northeast, tall,
  • heartless, merciless, been in Kunming all these years.
  • He raises his wine glass towards the northwest,
  • saying “Cheers!”
  • saying “I love you, Yunnan.”
  • saying “I love Yunnan, no heavy storm here,
  • never a blizzard, nothing would come down like the hysteric bloody rock-and-roll."

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Z2AVOkPuz-VO_eQP_UQM6w

送友人往滇南又醉

  • 祝立根

  • 这是我们一贯的伎俩:
  • 指桑骂槐,笑出眼泪。去年送映泉
  • 大理的风月,会拥抱他
  • 亲吻他的额头
  • 前年送旺电,香格里拉的雪山和雪水
  • 会咧着嘴,擦去他眼角的灰烬
  • 已经是冬天了
  • 树上已经没有多少叶子
  • 我以为,这一年即将过去
  • 今天又送田超
  • 去版纳,温暖的云南南方
  • 那儿的丛林和佛塔,傣女子的手
  • 会收留他,看顾他
  • 祝福他吧,杯中酒
  • 适合降温的昆明
  • 适合那些东歪西倒、摇摇晃晃的
  • 一颗颗有缺口的心
  • 只有滇东了,那儿的大雾和野花
  • 一直没人去收集,没人去赞美
  • 我们面面相觑:借着酒劲
  • 我一一清点了一下人头
  • 杜松、子人、翔武、安庆和金珊,还有
  • 孙博,那个塔一样的东北人
  • 那么没心没肺,一直在昆明
  • 对着西北方,说干杯
  • 干杯
  • 说我爱,云南
  • 我爱云南从没有一场雪
  • 从没有一场雪下得像一曲歇斯底里的死亡摇滚

ASHEN SKY

  • by Zhu Ligen

  • My father, a dormant volcano,
  • with streaks of cinereous hair,
  • cultivated camellias all his life.
  • These broad-leaf trees had long dark offshoots
  • that fueled spectacular red flames against the sky.
  • Mother was also a volcano, dormant,
  • hard at work all the time, hoarding plenty of magma.
  • The potatoes she planted
  • filled her little granary, and offset her worries.
  • Both worked on the same family plot,
  • and waged a protracted tug of war;
  • Father, the idealist, wanted more room for good vibes.
  • Mother was pragmatic, forever optimizing for sunshine.
  • They quarreled and exploded . . .spewing fiery ash
  • over the stove, over the hot water bottle,
  • and over every inch of the heath all the way to the hills far away.
  • In later years, they finally reached an understanding,
  • like people accepting the gaiety and angst
  • of the battles between body and soul.
  • Their children, raised on the soil,
  • inherited the guileless humble traits of the potatoes;
  • still, to the everlasting sky and the deep blue sea,
  • they never fail to offer
  • festive fireworks and gorgeous brocades.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/1OZ7PEDH1knS-wjXHtRRQw

苍 茫

  • 祝立根

  • 父亲是一座休眠的火山
  • 他头发灰白
  • 一生栽种茶花
  • 大叶乔木又细又长的黑枝条里
  • 运送着焚烧天空的烈焰
  • 母亲也是一座休眠的火山,一生
  • 都在埋头劳作,囤积岩浆
  • 她种植的块茎
  • 是她对抗不安的、一个个小小的粮仓
  • 在同一块自留地里
  • 他们开展了持久的拉锯战
  • 父亲,希望热爱和理想的空间多一点
  • 母亲,想要多收集几缕现实主义的阳光
  • 他们为此争吵、爆发……火山灰
  • 曾覆盖灶台、暖水瓶
  • 他们目力所及的旷野和群山
  • 直到晚年,他们终于达成了谅解
  • 像一个人,容忍了灵魂和身体
  • 彼此撕裂的上升和下沉
  • 像他们的孩子,在地里生长
  • 继承了土豆的卑微与质朴
  • 对头顶那永恒不变的、蔚蓝的大海
  • 也一次次想要贡献
  • 节日的焰火,华艳的锦缎

DISSECTING THE DEER

  • by Zhu Tao

  • For the whole trip, the couple did not exchange a word.
  • The woman looked at the scenery,
  • the man stared 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, old geezer liked to asking about my age,
  • and I would jest
  • "Perhaps eighteen, perhaps thirty-five."
  • They would say, "Child, you should learn math.”
  • or “go see a doctor.”
  • Luckily, our journey turned a corner,
  • a deer appeared,
  • all eyes darted through the train windows into the wilderness
  • as if to dissect the deer, fresh like a peach.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/uXDyMF9Seil-5fIcEYeLaw


肢解那头鹿

  • 朱 涛

  • 整个旅程这对情侣不说一句话
  • 女的看风景
  • 男的盯着手机
  • 偶尔他们的手会触碰一起
  • 但旋即闪开
  • 像触了电
  • 女人与男人
  • 要锻造多少群山才能做到如此隔绝
  • 小时候常有秃了毛的山羊问我的年龄
  • 我总是胡编
  • “我十八或者三十五岁啦”
  • 他们会说“孩子你该学数学了”
  • 或者“快去医院吧”
  • 幸好,在旅途的拐角
  • 一头鹿出现了
  • 所有的眼睛逃出车厢奔赴旷野
  • 仿佛要肢解那新鲜如水蜜桃的麋鹿