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

POEM FOR THE DAY 每日一首


TABLE OF CONTENTS ;
These poems first appeared in Poetry Journal (Beijing, China) between 2019 and 2021.



POEMS

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,
  • watching me grow, from six years old
  • to at least thirteen.
  • I have been away for far too long,
  • but haven’t forgotten the tree
  • — forgetting suggests there is something to be forgotten —
  • because it has never really existed
  • until one day, already in my thirties,
  • I passed by it with the hand of my child in mine,
  • and found, under thick brambles and tall grass,
  • its many 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。

ON TOP OF EASTERN MOUNTAIN

  • by Bai Ma

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

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

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


东山顶上

  • 白玛

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

WHEN THE LAMP IS BURNING

  • by Bai Qingguo

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

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

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


灯燃亮以后

  • 白庆国

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

HIGH-SPEED RAIL

  • by Ban Ruo

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

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

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


高铁上

  • 班 若

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

NOVEMBER

  • by Bangji Meiduo

  • In November, winter ploughs on full force on several fronts.
  • New snow piles on old snow, reshaping the cosmos.
  • In November, snow collapses from defoliated pine branches.
  • They will stay on the mountain beyond spring.
  • In November, arounded setting sun on skeletal trees attracts a following.
  • The breeze over the Sun and Moon twin lakes lags behind the high clouds.
  • In November, a slender moon grows fat, and clouds shift.
  • A few deaths gently remind us of its uncertainty and inevitability.
  • In November, I want to come down from the scrubby mountain.
  • The tender grass under the weight of fallen leaves strives to burst through.

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


大海的邻居

  • 北 野

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

PAINTED FACE

  • by Bo Xiaoliang

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

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


画 妖

  • 薄小凉

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

BURNING CLOUDS

  • by Buri Gude

  • God likes hardworking people,
  • showering down gold at sunset
  • on sorghum and millet,
  • evincing them, vouchsafing earth
  • with new sumptuous tales to tell.
  • Our little days
  • are shrouded in burning clouds:
  • grandpa and grandma submerse in burning clouds,
  • same as the old well, the grain mill, the field roller by the village gate,
  • and the creaking old water wheel.
  • Baiyinna Village and Taha River sit in burning clouds.
  • A small mountain train, carrying both freight and passengers,
  • also moves through burning clouds. The front carriages
  • are a kaleidoscope of July 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, 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/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 heaven with earth, like leviathans over pinnacles,
  • with 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 your 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 cook up
  • a stupendous landscape, complete with voluptuous flesh.
  • Perhaps it also conforms to physics, like light and wind;
  • In fantasies and hallucinations 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, 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/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 BIG A WIND MUST IT BE TO PURGE THIS LINE OF POETRY

  • by Chen Can

  • I know it doesn’t matter which direction I face,
  • when a gale gathers force from heaven and hell,
  • my body cannot escape its frontal assault.
  • Luckily I have already endured
  • the rowdy push and shove of more than one wind,
  • and 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,
  • operated on by a doctor who stitched up his torn flesh and broken bones,
  • leaving a scar that looks like a line of poetry.”
  • For a poet who has a line of poetry engraved on his body,
  • how strong does the wind have to be to wash that line away?
  • 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/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 late.
  • Landing on the island of Zhifu, he hurried to Luoyang,
  • but invoked Emperor Molten Gold’s^ wrath.
  • At sunset, which was even more sumptuous in those days,
  • he didn’t believe what was once believed
  • that there were magic mountains in the sea.
  • During the next 800 years,
  • smoking watchtower was used to name this place:
  • but like the bamboo weapon with a hawkish name, it’s glorious only in name.
  • A ship with eight pennants appeared in the telescope,
  • refocusing, a smaller and different horizon appeared.
  • We created the myth of Eight Drunken Immortals,
  • so Penglai Pavilion, home to elixir of life, lived another day.
  • Whether or not
  • the sea dragon conjured up a floating island,
  • strong minds and poets have different beliefs.
  • Fiction or facts, most likely fiction after all, sorcerers come and go,
  • did you really peer into the Pearl Palace under the sea?
  • Walking on water or not, only the walker knows, as believable
  • as any mirage or phantom.
  • Still they must climb the overlook
  • for a view, from the disused radar station,
  • they will point out this and that from the cliff.
  • A lighthouse has replaced the smoking watchtower
  • to illuminate the waves of no return for the boys and girls,
  • reappearing in a 800-year dense fog.
  • For sure they are ready for the next mirage.

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

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

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


烟 台

  • 陈东东

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

MY 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 other 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 terracotta 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

LOGS

  • by Chen Liang

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

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

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

木 头

  • 陈亮

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

A MOMENT OF QUIETNESS

  • by Chen Liang

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

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

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


且停记

  • 陈 亮

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

GRAIN-DRYING COURT

  • By Chen Renjie

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

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

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


晒谷场

  • 陈人杰

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

TWO THIRDS OF THE TWINE

  • by Chen Shui

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

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

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


三分之二的线团

  • 辰水

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

WHEN DESIRE IS USED UP

  • by Chen Xianfa

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

欲望销尽之时

  • 陈先发

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

DEEP LONGINGS

  • by Chen Xianfa

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


良 愿

  • 陈先发

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

DARK SKY AFTER SUNSET

  • by Chen Xiaosan

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


落日与天黑

  • 陈小三

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

THE FISHING VILLAGE

  • by Chen Xiaoxia

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

渔 村

  • 陈小虾

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

I CARVING FOR MYSELF A SEAL

  • by Chen Yuguan

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


自刻章

  • 陈鱼观

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

A MYRIAD OF COLORS, PRIZE FROM AFAR

  • by Chen Yundong

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

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

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


我从远方带回众多颜色

  • 陈允东

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

A BRIEF LETTER TO MOTHER

  • by Chen Yupeng

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

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

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


给母亲的简短家书

  • 陈钰鹏

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

PLAYING CHESS

  • by Chi Lingyun

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

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

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


他们在下棋

  • 池凌云

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

NINE TURNS*

  • by Deng Deng

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


九 曲

  • 灯 灯

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

SELF MANAGEMENT

  • by Ding Bai

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

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

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

管理自己

  • 丁白

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

GOOD NIGHT, YOUNG MAN

  • by Ding Peng

  • The glitzy city whispers to you over the cell phone.
  • You can't sleep, because electric conductors do not sleep.
  • Your fingertips swipe across the screen, causing a current
  • of tiny waves to open up a trove of second-hand truths.
  • Your eyelashes blink like Cockspur bristles in the spring.
  • No fears, if you die in a game, resurrection can be expected.
  • Good night, young man. Tonight's voltage is stable.
  • Go back to bed, but be sure to recharge your phone.
  • The camera fixes its gaze on you as your eyelids close.
  • Your heartbeats will reach the earth, and you’ll fly
  • through a nebula, to the edge of the universe.
  • You will come to stand in front of her, just like before,
  • and kiss her, and tell her your sorrows.
  • Good night, young man, see you online tomorrow,
  • when Truman Burbank flees his beloved hometown,
  • and you will make a heroic breakthrough like none other.

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


晚安,少年

  • 丁鹏

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




AFTER MID-AUTUMN, SITTING ALONE ON A BARREN HILL

  • by Dong Li

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

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


中秋后,荒山独坐

  • 东篱

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



SPRING SEASON PUBLIC WORK

  • by Dou Yongtang

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


春天的竞岗公示

  • 海外东经

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

MOURNING

  • by Du Hua

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

  • 独化

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

THE MULCH MAN

  • by Fan Jianming

  • I heard the sugarcane farmer murmur something
  • as he laid out garden fleece
  • over a bed of warm soil.
  • He is preparing his sugarcane for a journey,
  • from winter into spring,
  • as if sending a Noah's Ark out to polar fronts.
  • I touch my forehead —
  • moist and warm, compared to the sugarcane
  • under the mulch, almost the same.
  • More importantly I would like to know
  • what the farmer said — when flying soil
  • pressed down on the garden fleece and sugarcane leaves
  • — perhaps he was saying goodbye, perhaps
  • giving an intimate blessing,
  • the same way I locked a love letter in the drawer.
  • I vaguely know that the origin of language
  • lies in silence,
  • in waiting, and hope.

  • 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


铺地膜的人

  • 范剑鸣

  • 我听到蔗农说了句什么
  • 当他把地膜
  • 铺在泥土的温床
  • 他安排好了甘蔗的旅程
  • 从冬天到春天
  • 寒流中的诺亚方舟
  • 我摸了摸额上的体温——
  • 那温热和水分,跟地膜下的
  • 甘蔗,如此接近
  • 而我更想知道,
  • 那蔗农说了句什么,当泥土纷扬
  • 压住地膜和蔗叶
  • 像是告别。但也说不定
  • 是亲密的祝福
  • 像我把情书塞进一个抽屉里
  • 我隐约知道语言的来源
  • 在于沉默
  • 也在于等待和希冀

I ESPECIALLY LOVE THE PLANTS THAT DON’T BLOOM

  • by Fang Bin

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

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

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


我尤怜爱那些不开花的植物

  • 方 斌

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

SOME PLACE

  • by Fang Qihua

  • On the way home after work, I passed an island.
  • The reason I call it an island is because
  • its existence seems incompatible with the busy stream of traffic
  • on the North Ring Rd, akin to a miniature park
  • allotted to a congested highway.
  • Behind it is an old neighborhood
  • that must have sneered at this "park",
  • a miniscule copy of what it should be,
  • never a real flock of birds is seen
  • except two wooden phoenixes standing face to face,
  • no living creatures but for the two willow-woven deer,
  • one whinnying with a raised head,
  • the other grazing nearby timidly.
  • As to the grass, I must admit it is real,
  • laid down by some worker, and one can deduce
  • the flowers also come from some exotic places.
  • So, about this island, we can easily
  • conclude: it is isolated, pieced together, given
  • a half-real and half-dramatized existence. I feel
  • an affinity with it as our fates seem to coincide.
  • And it's a good subject for poetry, each time
  • I pass by, I imagine myself to be
  • a great poet — eyes,
  • nose, subconsciousness — hoping to capture
  • something poetic, doing it with eyes open
  • or closed, or listening to
  • something beyond the endless honking and the dust,
  • something resembling the so-called
  • "traditional bird songs and modernist flowers."
  • I try to prove my point by going
  • down this road, separating myself from the city,
  • voicing a specific viewpoint to a dynamic poets' group,
  • endlessly weighing pros and cons, hoping for a change of order,
  • a different cause and effect, trying to pry open the dark veil
  • for a peek into the light within, even though
  • it might well reveal an even darker place. I try to quiet myself,
  • try not to miss the sound of a budding flower,
  • not to miss a faint cheer in case it is there.

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

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


一 处

  • 方启华

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

WALLED IN

  • by Fei Bai

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


围 城

  • 飞 白

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

THE OLD CARPENTER

  • by An Qiaozi

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


老木匠

  • 安乔子

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

DAWN REDWOOD

  • by Feng Qiang

  • A squad of avenue trees stand guard at our Telecom Community,
  • awake like exposed urban nerves; their barren arms do not
  • lose the fondness for gravitropism, quickly adopting
  • a suitable tilt, preferably perpendicular
  • to the ground, no arching or maundering, but ready for
  • a new spur. Dawn redwoods give themselves a brief time to dither,
  • not all pleased with men’s allocation of space, they gauge
  • the gap between each other, ironing out which direction
  • to add a new spear, making sure everyone
  • gets a nice dose of sun. 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,
  • at times sidestepping shade to push harder
  • to rise, to transpire at a higher place.

  • Each tree meditates by the road, gilding and shading the avenue,
  • — sometimes one is fallen to make room for a parking space,
  • the pain 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 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

A FEW WORDS ABOUT SNOW

  • by Fu Guangtang

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


也写一场雪

  • 傅光堂

  • 写过春天的诗人
  • 会让雪存在

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

  • 纯洁的、肮脏的;宁静的、喧嚷的
  • 死亡的、复活的……雪

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

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

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

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

THE GLASS BRIDGE

  • by Fu Tianlin

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


玻璃桥

  • 傅天琳

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

A NAME FOR A LAKE

  • by Gan Haibing

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


为一片湖水命名

  • 干海兵

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

ME AND MYSELF

  • By Gan Sha

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

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


我和我自己

  • 干沙

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




SPARROWS

  • by Gao Feng

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

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


麻 雀

  • 高 峰

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

TIME'S SCREW

  • by Gao Jiangang

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

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


时间上的螺丝

  • 高建刚

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

THOSE DAYS

  • by Gao Liang

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

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

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


那 时

  • 高 亮

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

LIFE IN A FISHING VILLAGE

  • by Gao Pengcheng

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


渔区生活

  • 高鹏程

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

MELANCHOLY

  • by Gao Xingtao

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


伤 怀

  • 高兴涛

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

GINKGO TREES ON BEIJING ROAD

  • by Ge Feng

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

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

北京西路的银杏树

  • 格 风

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

LANLAN

  • by Ge Qingyun

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


兰兰

  • 歌青云

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

TEA IN SWEET DEW PAVILION ON TEA-HORSE CORRIDOR* — Dedicated to Huang Bin

  • by Gong Xuemin

  • This ancient passage has slimmed and become untraceable
  • except as a boldfaced line on a preservation list.
  • Each time a leaf falls, Old Soul feels a cut on his skin.
  • Old Soul sits across from me,
  • recuperating by sipping tea, which releases the latent power
  • of sunset in each unfurling leaf.
  • The tea gets stronger as it steeps, but the written world
  • has become so diluted that it tastes almost monastic.
  • Men and horses travelled this tea-horse corridor, arriving
  • at this pavilion, panting, resting and packing off until blending with the dark,
  • transporting a doze of serenity to the world.The tea I keep
  • is the best among all orders of teas,
  • joining Old Soul as the only true friends of mine in this world,
  • a lantern leading me out of the woods, shining it bright.
  • Translator’s Note:
  • *Sweet Dew Pavilion is a pavilion on Yaozijian corridor, a 30-km section of the ancient Tea-Horse trade route. Yaozijian: literally Hawk Sparrow Point.

  • 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/CSSN7bxnouX-sA_EcL-l0Q


鹞子尖茶马古道甘露亭喝茶兼致黄斌

  • 龚学敏

  • 古道越来越瘦,直到成为保护名录中的
  • 黑体字
  • 树叶每落一片,古风身上便多挨一刀
  • 羸弱的古风坐在我对面
  • 用茶水疗伤,夕阳的药丸,被我们
  • 一粒粒地泡化
  • 茶色浓酽,我们自己用字写成的江湖
  • 却越来越寡淡
  • 一队队翻过鹞子尖的茶,在亭子里喘气
  • 在夜色中,把自己走黑
  • 给四海打安宁针。被我挽留的那盏
  • 是茶中的义士
  • 与古风一道,成四海之内仅存的兄弟
  • 红红地,给我下山的路,照一切的明

RUSTED LOVE

  • By Gu Baokai

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


爱情是一件生锈的铁器

  • 顾宝凯

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

A BUTTERFLY SPECIMEN

  • by Gu Chunfang

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

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

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


蝴蝶标本

  • 顾春芳

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

MOSQUITO

  • by Gu Gang

  • Ailing in a corner, the setting sun flits by
  • like a mosquito.
  • Slender long feet, a slap,
  • limbs stuck to the grid,
  • sketches of tiny cracks
  • on a white tile.
  • Palm size, heat on the ice.
  • Rectangular window, an air vent,
  • withour 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, sleeves rolled up 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。

AT LIANGHONG WETLAND

  • by Gu He

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

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

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


在梁鸿湿地

  • 谷禾

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

MOURNFUL SOUNDS

  • by Gu Ma

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

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

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


苦 音

  • 古 马

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

MOVING CAMP

  • by Gu Ma

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


转 场

  • 古 马

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

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
  • slowly
  • towards a numinous, magical temple.
  • 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, with lust for life,
  • for every remaining day: who says we have no home to return to?
  • Tears in our eyes,
  • a warm current flows through our hearts
  • to the sparrows on the wires.
  • Little sparrows,
  • sleep tight in your red willow house tonight.
  • When the sun’s afterglow shines kindly on the world,
  • the moon will arrive as promised,
  • and drape over us
  • 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 eat her salad.
  • She said she had just learned to make it.
  • While Sally was busy in the kitchen,
  • Gu and I continued talking about fishing.
  • That was one sultry afternoon.
  • Gu and I were both sweating,
  • but dared not take off our shirts.
  • Sally was wearing a suspender dress,
  • looking very cool.
  • She asked both of us our opinion of her salad.
  • Gu was never a fan of westernized Chinese cuisine.
  • I said, very nice, but I meant her dress.
  • Later, Sally became my wife.
  • That was a long time ago.
  • Now I am sitting alone in my yard, packing up fishing tackle.
  • Sally left for a coastal city,
  • by a bigger water body than ours here.
  • Gu became food for the fish in the river,
  • that was the end of his poetry.
  • I confess, when they were away,
  • I didn’t send letters to either of them.
  • Now right here I have lettuce, coriander, and cucumber.
  • I am not going to turn them into salad,
  • but will dip and pickle them in soy paste;
  • Sally will never understand why I do it this way.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers

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


夏天的故事

  • 孤山云

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

WIND FARM

  • By Guang Zi

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

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

让牧场晕眩的不是风,是风力发电机

  • 广子

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

THE RED OF RED GRASS MARSH

  • by Guang Zi

  • I am not a lover of the color red,
  • and guess Ulanbuh Desert’s autumn feels the same
  • and hides a mystic bog of red grass in the wild.
  • If not for the open doors of windblasts and quicksand,
  • I would not have seen it. Red Grass Marsh
  • does not hypnotize me
  • because I can tell it used to be the blue-green Suaeda.
  • First the spring breeze and the autumn breeze caressed it,
  • then wildfires and the white snow both fell for it
  • until the sheep could no longer find it.
  • At Red Grass Marsh, I finally see a special kind of red —
  • with drawn, subdued, impure,
  • an utter lack of pretense.

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

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

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


上海琐记

  • 郭丛与

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

TEETH

  • by Guo Hui

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


牙 齿

  • 郭 辉

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

SOMETHING IS CALLING YOU

  • By Guo Jianqiang

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


在叫你

  • 郭建强

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

BORROWING THE HEART OF THE GRASS

  • by Guo Xiaoqi

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

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


借草木之心表白

  • 郭晓琦

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

ORDOS

  • by Han You

  • Ordos, a glaring bright spot.
  • I come back 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, weak 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 those vibrant plants on the steppe,
  • but none of them is here for each other,
  • unable to meld with each other to expand into a 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, heads up towards 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.
  • Past 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 fair 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

A BRILLIANT NEW HOUSE

  • by He Qingjun

  • The weather front has passed, so we decide
  • to spend the day as planned, even if
  • the wind may veer towards the alluvial fan,
  • or the mosquitoes and the wasps may bother us,
  • we will trek along the ridge
  • of the mountain. 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,
  • no thought of walking further. In the distance,
  • a pair of 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 muntain wall,
  • therefore we probably should expect rain.
  • We retrace our steps, trampling again on the grass
  • that has just recovered from our weight earlier. Leaving the mountain,
  • our cleats trod on potholes till we reach the road
  • that will take us back home.
  • Approaching home, we see our brilliant father tuning in
  • to the city channel transmitted from 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

ONE OF A THOUSAND

  • by He Xinle

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


千分之一

  • 何新乐

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

ODE TO THE AUTUMN WIND

  • by He Zhengguo

  • It seems like everyone has seen the autumn wind.
  • It seems like everyone tries to avoid the autumn wind.
  • The flustered woods upstages the mountain's serenity.
  • White clouds come and go without a care.
  • Riding on the wings of the wind, a flock of skylarks
  • swerve and disappear in the distance.
  • In the wind, the reeds can’t bend any lower.
  • In the wind, the stream gently carries away a few stones.
  • In the wind, crickets return to the night.
  • In the wind, wild horses return to the grassland.
  • In the wind, osmanthus flowers return to the twigs.
  • In the wind, I try to stand like a big tree,
  • allowing leaves to fall and fly 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/pWDFkrqvBC8HzocJDaP7aQ


秋风帖

  • 何正国 (蚂蚁唱歌)

  • 似乎谁都看见了秋风
  • 似乎谁都想躲避秋风
  • 林间的喧哗,高过空山的寂静
  • 一朵朵白云来去自由
  • 因为乘着风的翅膀,云雀也
  • 斜着身子往远方飞去
  • 在风中,芦苇低得不能再低
  • 在风中,流水轻轻卷走了石头
  • 在风中,蟋蟀回到了夜晚
  • 在风中,野马回到了草原
  • 在风中,桂花回到了枝头
  • 在风中,我努力站成一棵大树
  • 任内心的落叶纷飞

THE MAGIC MOUNTAIN

  • by Black Tooth

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

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

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

神山记

  • 黑 牙

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

THE NORTHERN SAILOR

  • by Hengxing Yanzhi

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

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


北方的航海者

  • 横行胭脂

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

SUOYANG aka. C SONGARICUM

  • by Hong Li

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


锁 阳

  • 洪 立

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

CASUAL BEAUTY

  • by Hou Ma

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

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


随意美

  • 侯马

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

GENGHIS KHAN'S SWALLOWS

  • by Hou Ma

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


成吉思汗的燕子

  • 侯 马

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

THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY

  • by Hu Cha

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


自然会有办法的

  • 胡 查

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

AFTER THE RAIN, IT BEGINS TO CLEAR UP

  • by Hu Cuinan

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


雨后初晴

  • 胡翠南

  • 大雨在洪水之后停止
  • 死过的草会在春雷后再次苏醒

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

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




DIGGING SWEET POTATOES

  • by Hu Hairong

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

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

挖红薯记

  • 胡海荣

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

GOOD NEIGHBOR

  • by Hu Liang

  • This plant gets only habitual neglect from me.
  • It is relegated to this small balcony,
  • living like a lodger for 16 years. Until this fall
  • I have had hardly any time to look at it.
  • — Now it surprises me with busy red berries!
  • — It looks like these are its first fruit!
  • I envisioned glossy privet to be prettier than this,
  • but this is indeed a privet! In the past 15 years,
  • this plant has concealed her pearls. From now
  • onwards, what else will it withhold from me?
  • Strings of planets? Every red berry follows
  • its own orbit, so unassuming, and unwilling
  • to look back at my shortsighted eyes. Oh, no,
  • what they are avoiding is my cold-stone 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 LOST FAMILY

  • by Hu Mingming

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


寻亲记

  • 胡茗茗

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

FISH

  • by Huang Fan

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

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


  • 黄梵

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

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 or distinctive 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 just the same.
  • Suddenly I am a little frightened.
  • Will this auxiliary me be ravaged by my fire?
  • The front man is as important as the man backstage.
  • Indeed there is another me on the other side.
  • I feel the urge to go behind the mirror,
  • to talk to the stranger:
  • Hey 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

ON THE HILL FAR, FAR AWAY

  • by Huang Haixing

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


在更远的山坡上

  • 黄海星

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

SONG FOR SWALLOWS

  • by Huang Lihai

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

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

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


燕子之歌

  • 黄礼孩

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

PENNYWORT*

  • by Huang Sheng

  • The transplant is easy — simply stick it in the soil,
  • needless to titivate;
  • even so, pennywort is nothing to sneer at.
  • As well as their looks, their swaying in the wind
  • 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 tone
  • 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 palms as a sumptuous showpiece,
  • they ring like the wind chime under the eave,
  • so persistent that even a deaf ear
  • cannot tune 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

FATHER’S FLOCK OF BIRDS

  • by Jia Xiang

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

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


父亲的鸟群

  • 贾 想

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

THE EAGLE, A LOW FLYER MOST OF THE TIME

  • by Jia Yuhong

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

鹰,大部分时间都在低空盘旋

  • 贾玉红

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

ON OLD SLATE MOUNTAIN, I SAW TURTLEDOVES

  • by Jian Nan

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


在老瓦山看见斑鸠

  • 剑 男

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

THE MIRACLE

  • by Jian Nan

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


奇 迹

  • 剑 男

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

DRIP DRIP QUICK

  • by Jian Nan

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

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


在燕郊

  • 姜博瀚

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

THE CREAKING DOOR

  • by Jiang Fei

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


门扇作响

  • 江非

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

STAR MAP

  • by Jiang Li

  • My grandmother told me that 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 the radiant stars
  • streaming in silvery bands across the sky.
  • I listened to her insider’s stories about ghosts and gods, as if
  • they lived right there in the 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 didn’t vanish after fading,
  • but had joined the bluer, deeper sky.
  • I resisted the cold knowledge that describes the stars in terms of mass,
  • and always carried a lustrous star map with me
  • to give life an extra depth of view
  • on top of wisps of cooking smoke, villages in periwinkle sunset,
  • and the old streets at sunrise long before they were razed.
  • Her longings, and her somewhat clumsy constancy
  • still show me many of life’s hidden meanings after all this time.
  • What I am trying to say is: each of us carries a star map of one’s own
  • — the SELF each is trying to shape,
  • 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,
  • how she pointed at the huge full moon over the boughs.
  • She is a breath of wind that’s keeping the drifting dandelions aloft.

  • 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

LONESOMENESS

  • by Jiang Sanli

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


孤 独

  • 蒋三立

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

SENSE OF PLACE

  • by Jiang Ting

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

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

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


位置感

  • 江 汀

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

A PRAYER

  • by Jiang Xuefeng

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

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


祈 祷

  • 蒋雪峰

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

FOUR PEACH BLOSSOMS

  • by Jiang Zhiwu

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

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

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


四朵桃花

  • 蒋志武

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

LEAVING THE STATION LATE AT NIGHT

  • by Jin Wenyu

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


深夜走出车站

  • 金问渔

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

THE SNAKE

  • By Kang Wei

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

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


  • 康伟

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





ONE AMONG US

  • by Kang Yuchen

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


局内人

  • 康宇辰

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

SPRINGTIME

  • by Ke Xiuxian

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

春 天

  • 柯秀贤

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

AFTER THE RAIN

  • by Kong Gejian

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

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


雨 后

  • 空格键

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

MAIJI MOUNTAIN

  • by Lei Pingyang

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

麦积山

  • 雷平阳

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

THE HOSTILITY IN THE SNOW

  • by Lei Xiaoyu

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


雪中的敌意

  • 雷晓宇

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

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

EVEN THE BIGGEST SNOW IS ONLY A BLUFF

  • by Li Hao

  • Some things have no real means
  • of sustaining themselves, such as snow
  • in face of unflinching spring, when we dream
  • again and again. Eventually they waiver and miss their targets,
  • like an empty-headed slippery mudfish
  • that leaves no trace.
  • Even the biggest snow is only a bluff.
  • Not everyone who loves snow flirts
  • with vice, some may hide a rapier
  • beneath their whitewashed hilt, but I am furiously sentimental,
  • and never believe in prophesies or prayers, never
  • believe that snow is useful for hiding soils.
  • In this floating world, not one snowflake is pure.
  • Best not to grandiose it; if a snowflake is plucked out of a snow berm,
  • most likely it would have a tearful past, some sorrow hidden under its beauty.
  • Big roads blaze up towards the sky, but gullies choose to be lie low.
  • Some flowering plants are not into fame and fortune, unenvious of those that bloom on a pile of dung.
  • There is no daylight between loud crowing and angry barks.
  • Things that look bright can actually be foul.
  • Trust your intuition. The north wind that you endure each year
  • is fierce because of its brutal past.
  • It whistles a merry tune, but not necessarily speaking its mind.
  • No need to hold a grudge, in time it will be replaced by the eastern wind.
  • Someday the snowflakes will melt to mud regardless of how hard you cry.
  • Breaking away is by far the best pastime for us this winter.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/NDGFlg57EMrZXlko2yt7UA


再大的雪也不过是虚张声势

  • 李皓

  • 那些虚幻的事物,譬如雪
  • 在坦坦荡荡的春天面前
  • 终究无法坐实,一场接着一场的
  • 春梦,言不由衷或词不达意
  • 像虚头滑脑的鲇鱼,了无痕迹
  • 再大的雪也不过是虚张声势
  • 不是所有喜欢雪的人,笑声
  • 都那么卑微,被粉饰的刀柄
  • 呈现出太平的利刃,而我有妇人之仁
  • 自始至终不相信一语成谶,不相信
  • 雪,其实是用来藏污纳垢的
  • 在尘世,没有一枚雪花是清白的
  • 没必要大张旗鼓,让雪花从积雪里抽身
  • 顶多有一把辛酸泪,有隐忍之美
  • 大路朝天,沟壑自觉放低了身段
  • 鲜花退出了名利与粪土的纷争
  • 恶语相向的鸡鸣和狗盗沆瀣一气
  • 那些貌似明亮的东西其实是一个污点
  • 相信直觉吧,你一再容忍的北风
  • 它撕破脸皮总有自己的道理
  • 它吹着欢快的口哨,并不代表它的心思
  • 没有怨怼和记恨,当他被东风取代
  • 当雪花零落成泥,无论你怎么哀嚎
  • 决裂,是你我这个冬天再好不过的游戏

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 MONARCH BUTTERFLY

  • by Li Manqiang

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

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

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


金脉黑斑蝶

  • 李满强

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

MIDLIFE

  • by Li Shangyu

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

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


人到中年

  • 李商雨

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

WEST HILL, THERE AND NOT THERE*

  • by Li Shaojun

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

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

西山如隐

  • 李少君

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

OAK

  • by Li Shuxia

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

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


橡 树

  • 李树侠

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

TWO SHEEP

  • by Li Songshan

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


两只羊

  • 李松山

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

FORMER RESIDENCE

  • by Li Tianjing

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

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


故 居

  • 李天靖

  • 时光很薄
  • 一抬脚 就能踉跄步入

  • 任童年的小手
  • 推开楼道所有的暗门
  • 木马复活———

  • 如电光燧石穿过
  • 儿时的庭院 镜面的倒影
  • 鲜花如斯

  • 映像如此脆弱
  • 像异乡客 终不能举起
  • 叩响门环的手




TALKING LOUDLY TO MY MOTHER

  • by Li Wenming

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

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


和母亲大声说话

  • 李文明

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

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

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

WEISHAN HILL

  • by Li Xing

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


微 山

  • 李 星

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

NORTHERN NARRATIVES

  • by Li Yongcai

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

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


北方叙事

  • 李永才

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

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

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




OVER THE NORTHERN REEF OF PARACEL ISLANDS

  • by Li Yuansheng

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

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

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

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


过三沙北礁

  • 李元胜

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

COLD BRANCHES

  • by Li Yue

  • Winter is over, but the leaves of parasol trees still hang
  • like brown paper cranes on every branch.
  • On a blustery day, they run riot as if squabbling.
  • In the soft breeze, a fluttering sound is heard,
  • but where it comes from is hopeless to know.
  • A woodpecker is drumming skyward,
  • having no doubt about where the focus is.
  • After the rain, the overcast afternoon turns gossamer
  • as clouds of rage roil and fume in the far sky.
  • By the window, the dining room’s lights turn on.
  • We sit around the table and talk,
  • setting the cold branches ablaze with the firestorm of our words...

  • 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


寒 枝

  • 李越

  • 冬天过去,梧桐叶仍挂在枝丫
  • 棕色纸鹤挂满一树。
  • 大风中它们聒噪,争论不休。
  • 微风轻抚,某个难以发觉的方位
  • 发出扑拉拉的声音
  • 一只嗑天空的啄木鸟。
  • 它知道病灶在哪。
  • 雨水使昏暗的下午亮如薄翼
  • 阴云暴怒在天际翻滚。
  • 晚餐窗口的灯光亮起,
  • 我们在餐桌前围坐、谈论
  • 语词的火焰烧着寒枝……

THE NECTAR

  • by Li Yun

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


蜜 汁

  • 李 云

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

THE LAMP

  • By Li Zhiyong

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

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


  • 李志勇

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

AN ISLAND ALONE

  • by Li Zirui

  • A big fire once broke out on this island
  • that burned down everything, and
  • with its rolling flares
  • licked the waves blood-red.
  • The stele in the middle of the island has weathered,
  • the text that bore witness to time 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...
  • Maybe tomorrow morning,
  • a mast will leave, heading towards the sun,
  • unfurling her white sail.
  • I will wade 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 BX Station.
  • 2
  • This morning 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 is made brand new time and time again.
  • 4
  • The simplest manifestation of God is fire,
  • the one thing that can be witnessed
  • but not reached,
  • white-hot
  • like a disease.
  • 5
  • This space is intentionally left blank,
  • to be continued next time —
  • a much-needed blank.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg

虚拟时刻

  • 连 殳

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

THE EAGLE

  • by Liang Jilin

  • Over Alxa League on the Mongolian Plateau, an eagle flies,
  • carrying on its wings a massive silence.
  • It circles, dives, 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 high-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 hinterlands, 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 shepherd granny 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 the 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 put a few handfuls of soybean
  • for my precious ox.
  • My ox and I agreed
  • that after going a few rounds in the muddy paddy,
  • we would enjoy
  • our respective breakfasts.
  • As long as breakfast was there,
  • even though we might be plowing up and down,
  • in my heart I understood
  • 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,
  • the freshest taste.
  • The principle of survival remains:
  • labor comes first,
  • food comes second.
  • Those years I devoted myself to farming
  • have tempered
  • and shaped me into someone
  • for whom a quiet look at something savory
  • is enough to relish 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

THE PARDONED SHEEP

  • by Li Zhuang

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


放生羊

  • 李 壮

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

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 spurs 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 back at us.
  • The old bronze-faced driver shouted a few words in Tibetan.
  • 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 treacherous muddy, steep-edged canyon road right before a cloudburst.
  • Ah, be grateful of 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 risk 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 repent.

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

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


敬 畏

  • 林 莽

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

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, when we sweat, we are gleaming
  • 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's 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 the 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

EVERY LOVELY THING HAS AN INNER GLOW

  • by Liu Nian

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


喜爱的事物都自带光芒

  • 刘 年

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

AT THE SILVERSMITH'S

  • by Liu Nian

  • Moonlight on the tiled roof looks like freshly polished silver.
  • I think of Huaxi, flower and brook make up her name.
  • Her skin glistening in the water,
  • as if women’s bones were made of silver.
  • On the anvil, silver is feminine and soft,
  • easily bent into the shape of moon.
  • They say silver bracelets work like magic, better than titanium tether
  • for keeping a woman.
  • All of a sudden, a silver band falls on the floor,
  • clinking across the marble to some twenty feet away,
  • reminding me of Huaxi again.
  • 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/ZMmlbRCtPeo9Ep0hbBEp1A


王村镇的银匠

  • 刘 年

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

TO CHONGQING

  • by Liu Ting

  • The river swells, like a mature man's potbelly,
  • but its crashing waves can't subdue the city furor.
  • First a short holler, then a long howl, followed by a hoot,
  • it was a huckster with a head of ruffled hair.
  • It took 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 literatury 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

STONE DRUM'S REPLY TO A LETTER

  • by Lonely Changsha

  • Dear Bro QZ, it’s the season when flowers are done blooming, a grievous season.
  • My stay here in Lushan, besides splitting wood and watering crops,
  • I haven't actually learned the art of walking-through-walls
  • or brick-breaking.
  • The endless drizzle these 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 arrives quietly,
  • but, my brother, please don't ask me about my future plans.
  • Since failing the college exam, I put aside all books.
  • Now I spend my days planting onion and garlic in the yard,
  • painting chrysanthemum, and making fish chowder.
  • If I had sufficient travel money, I would go to the capitol city
  • to study traditional medicine,
  • but forget it because both Sun Yat-sen and Lu Xun tried it already.
  • Recently I took a trip down 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 far,
  • how are things with you in the mountain?
  • 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 —written on the Chengguan intercity train

  • 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,
  • by myself,
  • propelling the chain links of the soul
  • from the commotion of Place A
  • to the uproar of Place B.

  • 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.
  • I heard a thunder, and the chimney instantly fell.
  • I felt terrible about it for a long time
  • as I suddenly remembered my late father who loved to smoke a tobacco pipe.
  • I held back tears and quietly said in my heart:
  • Goodbye, chimney.
  • Goodbye, my 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

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 above 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

THE END OF THE ROAD

  • by Lu Ye

  • No one waits for me in this little town,
  • no shadow of that person in that stone alley.
  • Stone walls on both sides stand tall.
  • Looking up, you see a narrow drizzly sky,
  • the same sky that allocates time to every earthling.
  • Every cloud is predestined to be there.
  • Ferns hang on the edge of the wall,
  • lush, lavishing, as good as they can be.
  • Slates upon slates, hiding age-old murmurs,
  • if you go down this long curved alley, you would hear a sigh.
  • When a road ends, the world also ends, isn’t that so?
  • The old courtyard dare to let go and crumble,
  • like a great beauty under unbearable load,
  • still holding on to a reality that cannot be,
  • as if having something to say, but in the end didn't say it.
  • The spirit of this little town is tired of its skin.
  • The past is, as always, where we are not.
  • A river circles around this village,
  • it has ten thousand reasons to keep flowing.
  • No one can say when the last ferry will come.
  • A bird of passage doesn’t know its final destination.

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

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


尽 头

  • 路也

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

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 shell, let’s go,never to stop.
  • Life is too short for every detour, let’s go straight on,
  • 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 all to glide in the openness and 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 one 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? Still infinite.
  • 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

ALL THE GRAINS GET TOGETHER TODAY

  • by Lü You

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

  • On this day all the grains get together
  • in a pot. Mother lines them up
  • like she did with us, seven fledgling siblings,
  • on a small heated earthen bed, seven china dolls from one kiln,
  • faces chapped; she bathed us one by one
  • the way she is washing the grains today. This is the day
  • they reunite across four seasons, cold or warm,
  • in one boiling pot, except black bean is missing.
  • We buried our younger brother instead of black bean;
  • he won't be able to return to us this year.
  • Notes
  • *The Laba Festival is celebrated on the 8th day of the December in the lunar calendar, when mix-grain porridge is eaten at family gathering.

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

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


所有的五谷都在这一天集合

  • 吕 游

  • ——写在腊八节前夜

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

  • 弟弟代替黑豆种在地里
  • 今年,还是不能回家




I KNOW HE WILL EVENTUALLY FORGIVE ME

  • by Lv Da

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


我知道他终将原谅我

  • 吕达

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

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

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

VIRGIN IVY

  • by Ma Huicong

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


爬山虎

  • 马慧聪

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

A MONOLOGUE OR ASIDE

  • by Ma Zeping

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

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


独白或者其他

  • 无字碑 (马泽平)

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

FLASHBACKS IN THE MORNING RAIN

  • by Ma Zeping

  • The bench I used to sit on is still here,
  • adorned by autumn’s glistening raindrops,
  • like a drudging behemoth suddenly waking up,
  • wiping off the chipped paint
  • from its faded skin,
  • revealing the slightly gnarled body frame.
  • But the wood has an amber heart,
  • sculpted by rain, perhaps
  • terrified a few times,
  • but now it looks demure,
  • like a wife waiting for her husband’s comfort.
  • The place I sat before
  • has collected rain, and where it abraded my tailbone
  • looks worn under natural forces.
  • Time is fair after all:
  • how much it lends us
  • is how much we have to give back someday,
  • for which I am deeply thankful for my lot in life.
  • There are many garden and parks in Beijing –
  • but not a single one feels intimate to me.

  • 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/l3CGCIPRKu1YdDr5deFFtw


晨雨中突然想到

  • 马泽平

  • 我坐过的那把椅子还在
  • 秋雨滴滴明亮,
  • 像困顿中突然醒来的巨兽
  • 剥去椅面上那些已经
  • 掉色的漆皮,
  • 又一点点啃噬结构。
  • 木头也有一颗琥珀之心
  • 接受雨水雕琢,可能
  • 也惊悚过
  • 但现在乖极了
  • 像等着丈夫抚慰的妻子。
  • 我坐过的那个位置
  • 积满雨水,磨损过我尾骨的
  • 也被自然力磨损
  • 时间终究是公平的
  • 借给我们多少
  • 到某一天,就得还回去多少
  • 我常常因此而倍感幸运
  • 北京有很多园林,
  • 但没有一座是我熟悉的。

PARTRIDGE

  • by Mai Dou

  • In wintry February, on a wet roof,
  • or in March, on one of the 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 a distance away, it flies off.
  • Its silhouette comes across as a lonely foreigner.

  • 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

  • Water in fact boils every morning,
  • but the burbling sound has become more pronounced these years
  • caused by, first, my lighter sleep, then the flip alarm,
  • which fitfully pries the mind away from dreams,
  • a process that reclaims the body
  • little by little, like removing light from shadow,
  • separating virtuality from reality,
  • like a boat sailing back from the abyss of time.
  • Every dawn is sizzling, and a little hostile.
  • Every dawn requires repair and self-discipline.
  • Hurry up, it's time for work —
  • after reviewing multiple self-images in the bathroom mirror.
  • On a freezing winter day, we also wake up like an imperfect kettle,
  • comical but tough, cold and helpless,
  • but will eventually begin to puff steam,
  • to join the revolution started by James Watt,
  • to 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,
  • the sun's rays proliferate and nudge me from behind,
  • and double and triple their glory before my eyes.
  • The wind blows, and blows...
  • but I hardly notice it
  • until it begins to resonate through my body.
  • 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 like the depths of dusk have no choice.
  • Ah, whatever time of the year
  • and however treacherous the road,
  • she won't hesitate to into twilight.
  • She compares the roadside lilacs to deep affection,
  • and compares her old self to a wild grape climbing the tree.
  • Fallen leaves remind her of birth and death and everything in-between; as for loneliness,
  • dearest, the only reference she has is your departure.
  • She extracted bits of you from the universe,
  • then returns them little by little.
  • She indulges in this game, seeing it as a gift,
  • similar to how raindrops return to being clouds
  • and give her the chance snowfall.
  • Alas, she takes this road at dusk daily.
  • She has no choice.
  • Who knows what she grieves over —something in the light,
  • or something 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 an artifact rests on craftsmanship —
  • sifting, wheeling and pulling, painting, engraving, sintering...
  • The beauty of black pottery lies in the art of hollowing out
  • to allow light to enter its secluded heart.
  • Likewise, men's best quality at midlife is open-mindedness,
  • the ability to welcome all weathers including the swallows who come to nest.
  • For my remaining days, I would like to reverse the course —
  • extinguish the fire, smooth out the nicks, wipe off the traces,
  • stop casting, no more panning or sifting, step by step,
  • to return the black pottery to clay,
  • and bury it with those white bones in Yellow River's ancient 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

FULFILLMENT

  • by Meng Xingshi

  • After the rain, I walk around town.
  • The evening breeze cools me, imparting
  • the feel of a porcelain before being unearthed.
  • In the springtime of life, a slender empty wine jug
  • always lured me to fill it with a strong spirit,
  • but these days I am able to leave it alone.
  • Time is short, but I would patiently wait
  • for plum blossoms, for heavy snowfalls;
  • we shall take a walk without reiving a twig from the tree.
  • In love, the lovers — two empty jugs —
  • try their best not to break the other as they come together.
  • Later on, earth will fill the vessels.
  • We are separate entities, but also fulfill each other.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s?__biz=MzAxNDM5NTIzNg


充 盈

  • 孟醒石

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

AUGUST CHRONICLE

  • by Black Camel

  • Looking into the boundless south, enveloped by impenetrable mist,
  • not to be pushed, pulled or manhandled. It is August now,
  • and our curiosity has overcome fears to fly higher
  • than the lofty bleakness of this wild west.
  • Let’s go farther north...
  • Oh, but, please, fold in your wings.
  • Stop raving, do not exasperate, do not blind yourself.
  • Take a closer look: there is a peachy story right before us:
  • 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 another level up, and you will see people on the rooftop —
  • they lie there, watching clouds
  • or perhaps listening to the wind,
  • free of possessions, free of
  • thoughts.

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

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


八月史

  • 黑骆驼

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

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



A FLOCK OF BIRDS

  • by Mu Bei

  • Someone is talking about a flock of birds, describing it as if
  • it’s an old scar, still tender and fresh.
  • He describes springtime as if it’s a personality, as if
  • every scenario in life is inseparable
  • from a season and time. The woods where the birds once perched,
  • the lushness that characterized the woods, the space that was satiated
  • with lushness...It’s as if vocabulary is his beloved old pet,
  • strutting by and turning into a fantasy or illusion,
  • breaking free from the cage of time. It is as if
  • the flock of birds is 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

THE RUMBLE OF THUNDER, OR A METAPHOR

  • 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 someone crying a long cry without tears.
  • A lot like a stage without any dialogues after many rehearsals.
  • A lot like a mansion with open doors but no one comes and goes.
  • A lot like a monk performing an incantation
  • but not a relative is present.
  • A lot like an epic story without a protagonist.
  • Perhaps this world is an illusion,
  • and 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 human pathos?
  • Perhaps thunder struggles to communicate,
  • but we are far too preoccupied with worldly matters.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan 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
  • I love to hate but dare not hate.
  • I take it all out on Mt. Qinling,
  • so when I hate you, and you, and you, once, twice, and thrice,
  • I pile my hatred mountain high;
  • surely one of Qinling’s peaks is the result of my work.
  • Hear the rainless thunder from the 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 in and day out,
  • 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 jump of 50 degrees,
  • I can still feel
  • the fierce, piercing,
  • unforgiving cold.
  • Only the dopy lazybones
  • would say: Winter is here,
  • spring can't be that far away.
  • Can anyone imagine that winter would voluntarily leave?
  • Can anyone tell me
  • there was ever a spring
  • that didn't go through a survival fight?
  • Can anyone tell me
  • there was ever 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
  • — a little untidy, but strong complexion,
  • hair soaking wet (probably just after a shower),
  • she came out from the afternoon market
  • holding a plastic bag stuffed with vegetables.
  • I walk a few feet behind her
  • on a crowded street ―
  • The weather has recently warmed up, making the wind
  • feel balmy, I suddenly realize it's March ―
  • People are catching up from behind,
  • causing me to almost stumble.
  • With passersby between us,
  • I can still feel her strong and steamy body.
  • I also feel the night sky, so deep and so blue, under it
  • are factory chimneys, a murky river,
  • a bustling city block with untidy vendor stalls,
  • and debris left from the used-up daylight hours.
  • In the twilight, in the wafting scent of the waterway,
  • she slowly walks away from me, and her silhouette
  • evokes, on this great earth,
  • a seductive spring night full of mysterious wonders.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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


春 夜

  • 庞 培

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

NIGHT STROLL

  • by Peng Jie

  • Winter. We swept the fallen leaves into the hearth,
  • carried the thrashed grain into the cellar,
  • and hung red lanterns on the pergola.
  • That was three years ago, around the time
  • Ma Deming’s mother passed away, and
  • I was in the middle of writing a novel.
  • After dinner, if no one came around to visit
  • and Ma Deming was not called back to the iron mill
  • for an overtime shift, 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 showed us the way
  • to the higher ground, where we
  • tooted our flutes, sending melodias
  • to bounce from a bare branch to another bare branch,
  • 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。

THE WISH MUSEUM

  • by Pu Er

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

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


愿望博物馆

  • 朴 耳

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

MINOR HEAT

  • by Qi Lun

  • The silence in the afternoon brings its own seductive light.
  • Goodbye spring hello summer, a kind of poetic ruse,
  • it makes people feel a little uneasy, makes them fall into 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 hang out by the window,
  • and, if I look down, I would always see something that hints to a floating world,
  • such as dust, just about enough to conceal life’s existential gloom.
  • I like the sun’s rays from the west,
  • dropping in obliquely into the vast void of my heart.
  • If I look farther,
  • a forest is in view, and I envision shadows upon shadows
  • in the woodland, making the cicadas sing even more,
  • and higher, and farther, bringing a vague sadness
  • to the white clouds. If there happens to be a little yellow dog
  • dozing in the shade of the tree, it must have been poisoned 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, there's no doubt about it.
  • Every plant has a lineage that can be traced
  • to some mountain or field,
  • but the return of a native can be 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 former residences were condemned and demolished,
  • and house number, street and village names were altered
  • beyond recognition.
  • Those wanting to return to their roots,
  • those hoping to lift their footprints from other places,
  • those thinking they 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 poetic about them,
  • such as, “wild, humble brambles, waiting to be harvested…”.
  • But I have, truth be told, chopped the dead tuffs of grass,
  • bundled them and took back to the village for firewood.
  • I also once pried open a thicket to look for a lovely little bird
  • — some kind of thrush, nesting deep in 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 waterr,
  • trembling, forlorn, the embodiment of loneliness.
  • Here comes the tumbleweeds rolling tumbling
  • from the ancient mountains and rivers.

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

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


枯蓬记

  • 圻 子

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

NIGHT OF THE BIG RIG

  • by Qi Zi

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

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


重卡车之夜

  • 圻 子

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

THE MAST VILLAGE

  • by Qiang Renliu

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

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


桅杆村

  • 羌人六

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

FEED THEM TO THE GRASS

  • by Qiang Renliu

  • This mountain hollow, this twilight, this wind and twinkling stars,
  • the pleasure-seeking world beyond the mountains,
  • the horse that scorns
  • convention and mediocrity,
  • they all hear a distant voice,
  • speaking in verse
  • while snipping off the bushy parts of the year
  • and feeding them to the grass.
  • The humming insects, books, toothaches, cigarette butts, and ruins
  • have always been lethal.
  • Early morning, he glides through silence like the wind
  • with a smile ear to ear,
  • thinking of the children
  • who catechized him about the "beards" on his legs —
  • But they will never meet again, as if they had already died
  • at the moment of meeting.
  • What lives on is the innocent encounter.
  • To meet again, it will not happen,
  • leaving only a distant voice,
  • speaking in verse
  • while snipping off the bushy parts of the year
  • and feeding them to the grass.

  • 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, Beijing, China): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rvmtPwPXnlu2vyDkyWO4zw


送给那些草去生长

  • 羌人六

  • 这深山,薄夜,风吹,闪烁的繁星
  • 山外灯红酒绿的人间,
  • 以及那匹对合群与平庸
  • 嗤之以鼻的马,听到一个遥远的声音
  • 在念诗,
  • 在把长得像马尾巴一样的岁月裁短
  • 送给那些草去生长。
  • 这虫鸣,书本,牙疼,烟蒂,和废墟
  • 原本就是凶器。
  • 凌晨,他像风一样驶过寂静,
  • 想起问他腿上
  • 为何长了那么多“胡子”的小孩
  • 依然高兴得合不拢嘴——
  • 但他们不会再遇了,仿佛他们早已
  • 在相遇的刹那死去
  • 活着的,是那纯真无邪的相遇
  • 相遇也不会再有了。
  • 只留下一个遥远的声音
  • 在念诗,
  • 在把长得像马尾巴一样的岁月裁短
  • 送给那些草去生长。

PUTRO VILLAGE

  • by Qin Kaiyong

  • The flagstones have been steeped in the mist since Emperor Xianfeng’s days*,
  • and begin a steep climb at Funang Pass.
  • Jelly mushrooms cling to the mountain’s hump;
  • horses are no longer heard rackety-clop in and out.
  • No one knows who dispersed the daisies along the road,
  • but see those soft rush, with healing magic and little lamps in the heart.
  • In the Guanyin temple that came up many times in our conversations,
  • I didn’t see the bodhisattva you mentioned.
  • A granny is picking mulberries behind her house,
  • at times raising her head, like a goddess of mercy.
  • Translator’s note:
  • *Emperor Xianfeng was the eighth emperor of the Qing dynasty, reigning from 1850 to 1861.

  • 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/qDnj8zyXJlvN33Ycz5PzxA


普陀寨

  • 秦开勇

  • 石板路走着咸丰年间的烟雨
  • 走到涪南关步子陡峭了起来
  • 地木耳贴紧山脊
  • 嘚嘚的马蹄声远了
  • 谁在布施沿路的雏菊
  • 灯心草心中有一味中药和灯盏
  • 被反复提及的观音庙
  • 我没有看见你说的佛陀
  • 一位老阿妈在她的屋后采桑
  • 她偶尔抬起了慈悲

NOTES FROM A HOSPITAL WARD

  • by Qiu Shui

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


病房记事

  • 秋水

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

SPUTTERS OF FIRES

  • by Qu Rui

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

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


火的呓语

  • 瞿 瑞

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

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

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

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

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

WHEN THE WIND BLOWS AND BLOWS

  • By Ren Huaiqiang

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


一阵阵风吹过了

  • 任怀强

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

RELIVING

  • by Rong Rong

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


怀 念

  • 荣 荣

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

THE DEFICIENT SPRINGTIME

  • by Rong Rong

  • In the era of material shortage,
  • spring still came, still delivered something for us;
  • for example, to the corners of the house,
  • the grass showed up as dense as an old scroll
  • with minuscule print. The grasshopper suddenly
  • hovered mid-air, its green color turning
  • to mud yellow with a hint of murk.
  • The wisp of cloud in the distance
  • easily dispersed in the slightest wind.
  • An early swallow flew by,
  • sundering the calm heart with its wings.
  • A child, in simple old clothes,
  • played with a wooden rifle decorated with red tassels.
  • A file of ants passed through his eyes,
  • the perfect army he carefully raised;
  • just then, the soldiers were carrying a greenfly.
  • The quietness of the afternoon followed the sun
  • to the stone steps, the barnyards, the riverbanks.
  • Up and down the China roses, butterflies jubilated primly.
  • A neighbor’s baby chased his own slanted shadow,
  • tottering down the deep end of the alley.
  • Not far away, the river swelled,
  • almost reaching the dragonflies in play,
  • meeting the eyes gazing out through the window.

  • 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/QcB8dDbIxywdhITdSJ6Sww


匮乏的春天

  • 荣 荣

  • 在物质匮乏的年代,
  • 春天还是带来了一些东西。
  • 比如屋边墙角,
  • 青草细密得如同一篇怀旧的
  • 蝇头小楷。蚂蚱会突然
  • 停在空中,它的青绿在渐渐转向
  • 泥黄,一丝淡淡的黯然。
  • 远处的那抹云彩,
  • 在很轻微的风里消散。
  • 一只早春的燕子飞过,
  • 翅膀剪开内心的寂静。
  • 孩子穿着朴素的旧衣,
  • 木壳枪缀着闪亮的红缨。
  • 他的眼里有蚂蚁一行,
  • 那是他精心饲养的军队,
  • 此刻,那帮兵们正集体背负着一只绿蝇。
  • 午后的宁静随阳光移向
  • 石阶,晒场,河廊。
  • 月季花旁,彩蝶在更静地欢呼。
  • 邻居的宝贝追赶自己歪斜的影,
  • 细弱的短腿跑向巷子深处。
  • 不远处,河水涨上来了,
  • 够着了嬉戏的蜻蜓,
  • 和窗前那双张望的眼睛。

Rousing at 3 A.M.

  • by Rong Rong

  • Rousing at 3 A.M. is an abandoned old writing.
  • She must have been looking for it up and down
  • and threw herself out of the dream in frustration.
  • Cupid, afloat like the wind,
  • waits on a bough at night, waiting for her.
  • She doesn’t mind immersing herself in this naive,
  • self-deceiving warmth and consolation.
  • Rousing at 3 A.M. is a boat given paper paddles.
  • Cupid, wafting like the drizzle,
  • waits on the other shore of the night, waiting for her.
  • She starts swimming, she strives to return,
  • but is carried farther into the cold, contrary to happiness.
  • Rousing at 3 A.M. is an alienated soul near breakdown.
  • She is drowned in her reverie; she is terrified with no end.

  • 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/QcB8dDbIxywdhITdSJ6Sww


凌晨三点的醒

  • 荣 荣

  • 凌晨三点的醒是一把使废的旧镐。
  • 一定是翻找得太狠了,
  • 她狼狈地将自己掀到了梦外。
  • 风一样晃来晃去的孩子,
  • 还等在黑夜的枝杈上,等她。
  • 她愿意沉浸,这非现实的,
  • 这自欺欺人的,温暖或宽慰。
  • 凌晨三点的醒是一把纸糊的木桨。
  • 雨水一样淌来淌去的孩子,
  • 还等在黑夜的彼岸,等她。
  • 她要泅渡,她要努力返还,
  • 却更冷冽地远离,与快乐悖反。
  • 凌晨三点的醒是一个人遗世的崩溃。
  • 她深陷于她的醒,她无边的惶恐。

THE BIRD AND THE PISTIL

  • by San Pi

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


鹊华之诗

  • 散皮

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

MOON SONG

  • by Shao Bing

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

月亮诗

  • 哨 兵

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

STRONG TEA OR FATHER

  • by Shao Qian

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

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

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

浓茶或父亲

  • 邵骞

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

SOMETHING HAPPENS IN THE DARK OF THE SOUL

  • by Shen Haobo

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

有些东西在灵魂的黑暗处发生

  • 沈浩波

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

Baby Ivy

  • by Shi Bin

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

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

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


小青藤

  • 世 宾

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

OFTENTIMES WHEN I FIND MYSELF SPELLBOUND

  • by Shi Maosheng

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

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

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


常常在出神的一刻……

  • 施茂盛

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

A PERFECT AUTUMN DAY

  • by Shiwu Lan

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

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

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

理想的秋天

  • 十五岚

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

MARRIAGE

  • by Song Qiyuan

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

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

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


婚 姻

  • 宋憩园

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



THOUGHTS ON A JOURNEY

  • by Su Ding

  • 1
  • Taking the same way back — it’s called a retreat,
  • true for battlefield charge and attack,
  • but the repeated episodes of “back to square one”
  • is indeed a frustration in life. No need for manners
  • when it comes to charge, or retreat.
  • 2
  • A rose-scented garden was the original idea,
  • but over-planting has deprived it
  • of any hint of aesthetics.
  • The beginning of the end starts at the peak of prosperity…,
  • it reminds me of the swelling of subway crowds at dawn
  • — crammed, and humiliating.
  • 3
  • Positioned a meter or two above the road
  • and speeding away — “on the road”
  • is the literal depiction of this journey —
  • affording only a glimpse of the river
  • because it crosscuts
  • the railway; inviting only a glimpse of the graveyard
  • because all the headstones look equally glum.

  • 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/tO8_WlxwnK1gwDYr40Pc1Q


途中短句

  • 苏 鼎

  • 1
  • 一路往回走。他们把回叫做退
  • 当然,这是相对冲锋而言
  • 回到原点的沮丧,不断
  • 被人们实现。无需讨论形式
  • 冲锋,亦或撤退
  • 2
  • 一开始的设想,是满园玫香
  • 而大片的栽种已超出
  • 审美的范畴
  • “事物的毁灭在于繁盛……”
  • 让我想起,早班地铁上的潮流
  • 拥塞,令人毫无颜面
  • 3
  • 路面之上,一到两米的位置
  • 飞奔。路上一词
  • 名副其实地贯穿在旅途之中
  • 一条河一现而过
  • 因为它的流向与铁道
  • 交叉;一片墓地一现而过
  • 因为成排的墓碑始终面孔沉默

A POET'S ENTREAT

  • by Su Qifei

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


干谒之诗

  • 苏奇飞

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

LET IT BE

  • by Su Ruoxi

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

无 为

  • 苏若兮

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

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

  • 就装着远远不能到达的地理
  • 试着走上一辈子

AUTUMN RECLUSE

  • by Su Xiaoqing

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

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


秋 隐

  • 苏小青

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

TREETOP LODGE

  • by Sun Songming

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


结在树顶的房子

  • 孙松铭

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

SPEAKING OF COCONUT TREES

  • by Sun Wenbo

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

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


椰树叙

  • 孙文波

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




JOURNEY THROUGH THE NIGHT

  • by Tan Xiao

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

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

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


夜路

  • 谈 骁

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

THE REBUILT HANDS AND FEET

  • by Tang Yangzong

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


再造的手脚

  • 汤养宗

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

HATS OFF TO AGING

  • by Tang Yangzong

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

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

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


渐老颂

  • 汤养宗

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

A FUDDY-DUDDY COMPARISON

  • by Tang Yangzong

  • To think that someone is walking over my head (in fact
  • overhead) , I suddenly realize
  • he may be on the way to Epang Palace or the Pyramid
  • as a pangolin sings a song
  • in the subterranean cave, teaching it to his kids, who will grow up
  • to dig the mountain, but he tells them there may be other possibilities,
  • (which can be clearly illustrated) for example, ABing the busker and Hua Yanjun the famous composer
  • were the same person with two personas, but no one could tell
  • which one was his body and which one floated in the air.
  • When you and I are almost drunk but not quite, and I tell you
  • I am floating in the air, please make sure
  • to hold me in place because I could have
  • left my worthless skin, gone like the fuddy-duddy winged horse.
  • 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/flJF7mXy7DDOGAQtshD_AQ


不合时宜的对比

  • 汤养宗

  • 一想到有人正从我的头顶(其实是
  • 天空上)走过,突然明白
  • 他可能是走向上面的阿房宫或金字塔
  • 而地底的穿山甲正在地窖里
  • 唱一首民歌,教导今后要
  • 继续挖山体的孩子,说不是就没了别的可能
  • (一比较道理就通了)阿炳与华彦钧
  • 就这样,谁也分不清
  • 哪个属于肉身哪个又在空气里
  • 我与你酒到将醉不醉之际,我说出
  • 有点飘起来的时候,请你一定
  • 按住我,那时我已经丢下
  • 这身臭皮囊,成为一匹不合时宜腾起的天马

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’s heroic enough for posterity.
  • None of them shows a strong conviction about life
  • to offset that famous squint, peering into
  • a layered and chaotic universe.
  • A master of planetary art, his treatment of light and dark 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”

THE MOON HESITATES

  • by Tian Xiang

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


推 敲

  • 田 湘

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

CALLING OUT TO FATHER

  • by Tu Yong

  • In front of the wintry Yangtze, while no one is around,
  • I let go of myself and cry out: “Father!”
  • The river is unmoved, aging,
  • thinning and showing boney riverbed here and there,
  • and full of scars.
  • A few shore birds stand upright in the fog,
  • passing for tombstones.
  • I stand at the water’s edge behind the mud flat,
  • exposed and dry, like an open mouth
  • with rotting canker sores.
  • A wave of grief rushes over me,
  • like a summertime flash flood that ravages everything.
  • As I stand lost in a world of my own, my son
  • suddenly comes up and circles his arms around my waist,
  • and calls out to me: “Father!”

  • 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/IzTCZ6KFn7znCSkIws1y3g


喊一声父亲

  • 涂拥

  • 趁没人,面对冬日长江
  • 我忍不住喊了一声:父亲!
  • 江水并不因此而激动,它老了
  • 瘦下去的河床露出骨头
  • 还漏洞百出
  • 几只水鸟立在上面,朦胧中
  • 像是几块墓碑
  • 我站在岸边,淤泥张开大嘴
  • 已经有水喝不到了
  • 腐烂无法抑止
  • 我的绝望如夏天洪灾
  • 泛滥,蛮横,席卷一切
  • 趁我还在恍惚,儿子
  • 突然从背后将我拦腰抱住
  • 大喊一声:父亲!

AN HOUR AT THE REC ROOM

  • by Wang Feng

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


在生活区休息的一个小时

  • 汪峰

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

EDUCATION BY SNOW

  • by Wang Fugang

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

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

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


雪的教育

  • 王夫刚

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

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

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

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



BIG BENDS

  • by Wang Fugang

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


大河拐大弯

  • 王夫刚

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

LETTER TO MYSELF

  • by Wang Huailing

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


与己书

  • 王怀凌

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

CRYSTALLIZATION

  • by Wang Jiaming

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

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


结 晶

  • 王家铭

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

POST OFFICE

  • by Wang Jian

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

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

邮 局

  • 王 键

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

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

  • 我写了一封长长的信
  • 要寄给一个过时的老朋友

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

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

  • 长大了的人类开始成倍地增长它的渴望

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

  • 我还确信:这个邮局也
  • 终将永久失去它的地址

FAREWELL

  • by Wang Jiaxin

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

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

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


告 别

  • 王家新

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

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

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




A TRIP THROUGH SNOWSTORM

  • by Wang Jiaxin

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

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


记一次风雪行

  • 王家新

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

MY INEPT LOVE FOR THIS WORLD

  • by Wang Jibing

  • The used sofa given by our neighbor
  • made my wife very happy.
  • She talked excitedly about the plan
  • to find a proper coffee table to match it,
  • all the while trying to add a book, and another book,
  • to prop up the corner of the sofa that lost a leg.
  • I went to the bathroom, and washed my face with cold water
  • to come out with a fresh new smile.
  • All these years
  • I have been sweating in the sun,
  • laboring to squeeze out the juice of life,
  • but still cannot turn it into a gem.
  • In my own clumsy way, I have loved this world
  • and 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 and 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

PLANET OF MANY AND MANY A PEAR

  • by Wang Nianjun

  • Earth — planet of many and many a pear
  • that evoke thirst in the beholders —
  • its pear trees readily capture
  • our fancies, engendered under the trees.
  • We didn’t see the orchard in bloom,
  • but their young green pears
  • with fitful yellow freckles lured us.
  • I can't help recalling how we climbed the trees
  • to pick a few of the fullest fruits from the twigs
  • and lobbed them on the tender lush grass.
  • Pears of the century exist for us,
  • their cores have not all hardened and darkened.
  • Like little thieves, we evaded the owner,
  • eating pears whilst stealing a kiss under the trees, and
  • spitting the stubs on the pea racks by the road.
  • We didn’t see the orchard in bloom,
  • but have tasted the biting green pears.
  • They evoked lust in us,
  • not guilty for conquering our hearts so easily.

  • 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


许许多多梨子的地球

  • 王年军

  • 许许多多梨子的地球
  • 人们见了就叫渴
  • 梨树轻易地捕捉我们
  • 在树下生出的欲望。
  • 我们未见到果园开花
  • 路过那青青的梨子
  • 表皮有不规则的黄色斑纹。
  • 回想起我们是怎样爬树
  • 摘下树梢最圆的几颗
  • 扔进茂密柔软的草丛。
  • 世纪的梨子为我们而生
  • 果核尚未完全变黑变硬。
  • 像小偷一样避开主人
  • 我们一边吃,一边在树下接吻
  • 把碎渣吐在路边的梅豆架上。
  • 我们未见到果园开花
  • 就品尝起汁水青涩的梨子
  • 人们见了就叫渴
  • 休怪它轻易地捕获我们。

SUNSET ON YABULAI ROAD

  • by Wang Qi

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

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


雅不赖路上的落日

  • 王琪

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

STONES

  • by Wang Shaoyong

  • There are no words or phrases here
  • but miscellaneous stones
  • as multifarious as words and phrases.
  • Casually laying out a few,
  • it is bound to please the wind’s ears,
  • to delight the snow’s eyes.
  • There are no meanings or purposes here
  • but miscellaneous stones
  • as rich as meanings and purposes.
  • Picking up a stone and casually walking away
  • is to render them
  • an eternal parting.

  • 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/F2oba2RgL-kDF26mY2LdlQ


石 头

  • 王少勇

  • 这里没有词语
  • 只有和词语一样繁杂的
  • 石头
  • 随便摆出几颗
  • 风听得见
  • 雪读得懂
  • 这里没有意义
  • 只有和意义一样丰富的
  • 石头
  • 随便捡一颗带走
  • 它们就被赋予
  • 一次永别

YARDSTICK MOUNTAIN

  • by Ah Long

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


铁尺梁

  • 阿垅

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

SEWEED IN THE CORNER

  • by Wang Xiaoji

  • These wrinkled fabric looks derelict,
  • even more so after being wind dried.
  • The grains of salt, the relics despoiled on it in the sun,
  • are finicky 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 in a churning 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 bright with 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 what we are waiting 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。

ANTIC 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, and 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 one coming here, busy losing his helmet and armor.

  • 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 anticipated lightning didn’t come, for the time being I am whole,
  • head to toe, inside and out.
  • I hear the wind rolling-howling across the wild north,
  • wham, wham, throwing its weight.
  • Sooner than later the nervy dusky sky will call it a day and disrobe,
  • while the ants, glummer than me, continue to hustle en mass,
  • even attempting to flit their oversized fate.
  • Slowly shriveling over time — the rain didn't help —
  • I now look more and more like a bum,
  • swamped by the old straw hat,
  • but never contemplated doing without it.
  • The unchanging sunshine on the highland comes and goes.
  • The anticipated lightning flashed just once,
  • but punctured the silence, and emptied 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

HIGH HOPES

  • by Wang Zhangjun

  • Seeing hoof prints of the flock going uphill,
  • I remember my father, who raised me into manhood
  • and used to let his bullwhip speak for his wishes.
  • Halfway on a mountain, to ascend or to descend
  • is always a difficult decision to make,
  • but Father would say: keep up with the flock,
  • whoever gets lost needs to give himself a good whipping.
  • Cows and sheep, doomed to misfortune,
  • still live happily.
  • I hold a lamb in my arms, the dearest thing on earth,
  • a soft cotton in heaven, an unworried cloud,
  • patient and loyal, the only thing in the snowy world
  • that warms our tenuous name and measly hometown.
  • Tomorrow is the day to move camp with the flock.
  • On the new meadow, I will utilize sunshine and poetry
  • to build a big house, to grow timeless flowers,
  • to hold together my dreams with a lamb.
  • 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/c_lxEwGzXFLESO5Ty4n7rw


奢 望

  • 王长军

  • 牛羊的蹄印,步步登高
  • 这时我想起,教我成人的父亲
  • 他一生的愿望,总是被牧鞭说出
  • 在山腰,上去,或者下来
  • 我常常犹豫不决
  • 父亲说,跟紧牛羊
  • 谁迷路,谁就狠狠地鞭打自己
  • 牛羊们,背着注定的厄运
  • 依然兴高采烈地生活
  • 我搂着一只羔羊,如获至宝
  • 这天堂里的棉花,这忘忧的云彩
  • 忠实、隐忍,在大雪来临之后
  • 暖着我的姓氏和单薄的故乡
  • 明天我就要转场了
  • 在另一片草地,我要用阳光和诗歌
  • 建一座大屋,四季花开
  • 能容得下,我和一只羔羊的梦想

REMEMBERING THE SNOWMAN IN WHITE HORSE FOREST

  • by Wang Zijun

  • In a huge timberland, all was still, except
  • the moderate snowfall that came every five years.
  • Someone said we might be lucky enough
  • to see last year's jujube berries.
  • ... to make a snowman, moderate snowfall
  • was ideal. 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。

CONVERSATIONS IN THE MOUNTAINS

  • by Wang Zijun

  • Thinking on the historic rancors around these mountains,
  • we begin to pour out our thoughts;
  • a somber atmosphere
  • redoubles the nightfall at the doorstep. Darkness, a world of its own.
  • Crises often break out there and then.
  • See the scant few woodpeckers on the barren trunks —
  • with a peck,
  • they encapsulate the entire maple forest in silence.
  • We talk and talk, and the tall spruces churn out of view.
  • The high wind that started out in Yunnan
  • has slowed down as if having blisters on its feet,
  • and simply unleashes the roily 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, even with a boy
  • walking under the pines, carrying a shoulder basket or not;
  • the golden needles under his feet has medicinal herbs'
  • psychedelic affect, like the fog in front of you.
  • How do you imagine things unseen: pines, all elegant?
  • A tunnel without an apparent end. Easy to think of it
  • as a labyrinth of words. And to see a bridge
  • spanning midair with car wheels slowly turning,
  • and a monotone old cat striding gracefully
  • on the mountaintop, staring at
  • things that it cannot see.
  • Note: Driving down China’s Highway G60, from Shanghai to Kunming, one will pass by Elegant Pines Tunnels No. 1 and Elegant Pines Tunnel No. 2, with a bridge spanning midair connecting the two tunnels.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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

松皆雅

  • 魏天无

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

TO THE READERS

  • by Wei Weiwei

  • You might come to visit
  • in a heavy snowfall
  • when the little animals hide and dream.
  • You tread fresh snow before everyone
  • or wait until they have left 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,
  • I’ll pour out words 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 visit,
  • and hold my hand
  • like a kite,
  • I'll show you how far the edge of the world is.
  • If you come,
  • 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。

DEATH OF THE ELEPHANT*

  • by Wu Xiaochong

  • *In Mandarin, the word “elephant” is homophonic with the word “grand vision”, or “grand illusion” as in Buddhist teaching.
  • —Translator’s note
  • The meadow stays green, the spring lies in the mountain,
  • but the Tang Dynasty outpost nearby is reduced to a playground,
  • an emperor’s dragon robe for rent at 20 yuan
  • — to see the sea in a drop of nectar —
  • plus, for free, the drifting clouds and the wind-swept willows.
  • Dreamer Zhang is not bothered by any of that,
  • but focuses on keeping his tiny house safe,
  • including his wife’s tomb after three decades together.
  • His left leg is prone to arthritis past midnight;
  • not an old fogey in looks, but he longs for the end of life’s toil.
  • Arm in arm, all of us took part in
  • the death of the grand vision. The thing to do now
  • is to remember the hard times when life is good, to foresee
  • bloodshed in peacetime, to keep our minds open for epiphanies.
  • The only destructible part of life is our old skin.
  • Why not climb the Fairy Mountain.
  • Why not visit the Wonders of Crater Cavern.^
  • Translator’s note:
  • ^Wonders of Crater Cavern, or Tiankeng Difeng in Chinese, is a Karst physiographic region characterized by a big sinkhole and an underground river system including caves. It is located in Fengjie near Chongqing, China . It is also known as the Heavenly Pit.
  • 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/7vg98ZVa2yWwH1dXMvKQrw


大象之死

  • 吴小虫

  • 草甸以绿,泉水以山
  • 唐朝的驿站被稀释着
  • 游人花20块钱就龙袍加身
  • 一滴大海藏于瓶中
  • 看天际白云朵朵风吹斜了柳枝条
  • 张有梦不管这些,他要养活那个小家
  • 三十年老妻埋于地下
  • 二更天左腿预感阴沉
  • 垂垂老却并无形象,延残喘仿佛等待
  • 身处其中的意思,每个人都参与了
  • 大象之死
  • 如何在茶歇中思乱离,刀枪入库
  • 思流血,见清澈以为是清澈
  • 能被伤害的,也只有对等之此身
  • 且上仙女山
  • 且在天坑地缝

ELEGY FOR THE MELTING SNOW

  • by Wu Yiyi

  • When you delivered the mound of snow, I was dusting windows,
  • with black hands. Outside, the wintersweet plum tree looked ready to bloom.
  • Twilight fell. The snow had the look of a gorgeous grave,
  • perhaps someone was buried in it, someone pure.
  • After the construction noise died down, the sky was pitch-dark,
  • it’s time to light a lamp, to boil water and make tea. Just then, the snow suddenly began to melt.
  • It must have loved a mountain.
  • It must have loved someone deeply;
  • if not for that, why did it go back to be rain water? Why did it
  • let go of its former existence right in front of 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 blows across the naked field.
  • Loaded with heavy floating ice, the big river slows down.
  • On horseback,
  • Kampot and Tenzin, the brothers and I ride along the riverbank,
  • ice crystals grow on our mustaches and eyelashes.
  • Who is ahead of us? Is there anyone waiting for us, making tea?
  • Who has dragged us into this thangka landscape?
  • One charcoal-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?
  • Who has the message for us from the dead, throwing 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?

WUGONG IN THE WINTER

  • by Aming Dongbai

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

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


冬日的武功

  • 阿明东白

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

THE OLD CARPENTER

  • by An Qiaozi

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

老木匠

  • 安乔子

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

I HAVE BEEN PRACTICING HOMETOWN DIALECT

  • by Bai Gongzhi

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


我一再练习方言

  • 白公智

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

THE DEFINITION

  • by Xi Chuan

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


何 谓

  • 西 川

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

POET XIE LING’YUN

  • by Xi Du

  • I crossed the river alone;
  • my shadow did not follow me.
  • My shadow is gone, only myself
  • to face the wind from the river and the sea.
  • My shadow stays in the mountains,
  • my nostalgia is left in town.
  • I open the windows on all sides
  • to let the winds stir my heart wild.
  • In the middle of this big river, emptiness abounds,
  • my heart is also vast and free.
  • Vast is the vista of spring grass in the pond.
  • 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 hopes to carry on are a few lines of poetry bestowed by fate.

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

谢灵运

  • 西渡

  • 我独自渡过了江水
  • 我的影子没有过江

  • 我成为一个没有影子的人
  • 独自面对江上的风和海上的风

  • 我把影子留在山里
  • 我把怀念留给斗城

  • 我把四面的窗全部打开
  • 我让八面的风把我的心吹乱

  • 这是在江心,四面空阔
  • 我的心也空阔

  • 空,我就看见池塘生春草
  • 阔,我就听见园柳变鸣禽

  • 影子已经毫无用处了
  • 身体也毫无用处了

  • 我立下遗嘱,要热爱山水
  • 造就辽阔的心灵

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

PERSIMMON

  • by Xi She

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

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

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

柿子

  • 西厍

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

MOUNTAIN SONGS

  • by Xi Zuo

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

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


山 歌

  • 西 左

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

Springtime, the Window May Not Make a Sound

  • by Xian Ren

  • I left the harmonica on the window sill,
  • below, some of the snow has faded,
  • I feel I haven't done a thing, but perhaps have done everything.
  • This is a chromatic harmonica, its reed plate
  • was inspected by me and all seemed good, but one hole tends to trap moisture.
  • I blow into the harmonica, just like the spring breeze
  • blows life into me. Every time a tune calls for the sticky key,
  • I simply skip it, giving it a silent beat,
  • but this adaptation begins to hound me,
  • prompting me to remember other things I tried to rescue but haven't done.
  • Playing the harmonica gives me the feeling of falling in love,
  • soon there is an open sea in my mind.
  • Once I got used to it, the adjustment becomes natural till the end.
  • Spring comes ashore, as I fall in love.
  • I fall in love with the phrase Spring comes ashore, as I fall in love.
  • The world is growing new shoots, new flower buds ...
  • And once in a while, the wind blows on the window;
  • the window may not make a sound, perhaps me either, locked down indoors,
  • almost silent, the natural state of a part of something larger.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper

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

春天,如果窗子是哑的

  • 闲 芢

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

CRYING

  • by Xiang Wuhua

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

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


哭 泣

  • 向武华

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

INTERNAL CANDLELIGHT

  • by Xiao Fan

  • Tight shoulders, a creaky neck, the body dissolves
  • in the long night while a snake
  • and other frosty things run amuck, trying to suffocate
  • my tiny little bird.
  • Then spring shows up, breathing new life into things,
  • there will be children, music, and books again
  • as if happiness sprints back from the soil, rich with memories.
  • But “each body is a universe”,
  • only after she realized the meaning of it
  • did she begin to learn about herself.
  • After decades' of practice,
  • she finally has faith in the trees, a different shape in every season.
  • She tiptoes around lest she topples 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.
  • Supported, she leaned against the bed, in blue jacket and red trousers,
  • not one gray hair was out of place. But her hands were limp, bearing
  • needle marks. She secretly told me that I must find
  • a shaman to escort her spirit. That very evening, it was unusually cold,
  • from our isolated village I watched a sky full of stars,
  • and sparks carried away by the mountain wind, rushing
  • into the canyon as if coming for my grandmother.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/rZBeTuUuL-XniyZ_w-j3FQ


阳山关

  • 肖水

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



A FROG IN THE WELL

  • by Xie Jiong

  • Sometimes
  • I would like to be a frog in a well,
  • a lifetime spent on a square of blue-green mossy
  • earth, a lifetime staring at the tiny world above,
  • yearning for a white cloud
  • to shelter me from the piercing sunlight.
  • As you tell me that you have traveled the seven seas,
  • seen the highest mountains, the deepest canyons, and the farthest shorelines,
  • and 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

  • Past the tropical rainforest, I arrive at Banda Aceh*.
  • October is the coolest, the most delightful month.
  • The silver beach, the smell of cappuccino,
  • the sky wearing a glittering shawl,
  • am I looking at the same seagulls
  • flying northwest to the far side of Sumatra? Against an iridescent sky,
  • a tall ship is sailing in, looming over the headland of the Noazi River.
  • I remember the ancient who went out to the Western Seas^
  • from a country revered by tribes across the world;
  • it is said that it was October when he returned for the seventh time,
  • greeted by braying seagulls and a cadre of coconut trees.
  • Today, I walk around the Noazi river mouth,
  • 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 around and over the beach, forever 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 holy place,
  • sunrise and sunset
  • make no difference to the spectator:
  • a time when time is allowed to pause,
  • when everyone welcomes everyone 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

GOOD TIMES

  • by Xiong Man

  • Times are good when magnolias bloom,
  • and speedwell flowers suffuse the field;
  • something fills my heart
  • to the brim,
  • almost overflowing;
  • my throat wants to sing;
  • my arms hang down naturally,
  • on hand to listen;
  • my feet are no longer pressed to
  • hustle on the road,
  • but at rest on earth
  • to answer the call of the wild;
  • and, as I look out to a sea of people
  • the ten thousandth and one time,
  • 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 that 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 the day that Mr. Wang passed, he 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

REEDS IN THE WILD

  • by Hua Yu

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

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


旷野的芦苇

  • 花 语

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

Brief Afternoon

  • by Xu Xiao

  • Oftentimes on a beautiful afternoon like this, we feel a tsunami
  • of lethargy and fears,
  • when the almost monotonous, warm,
  • fading glow of the sun
  • spreads and penetrates every pore of our remains
  • until our feet
  • are completely buried under dry grass.
  • The sun finally slides into the deep void once again,
  • leaving the earth 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 chosen lamb to the slaughter.
  • 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 above,
  • 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 banners on high since day one. Under my feet
  • is a garden regenerated.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 cannot bring myself to undo
  • the dusty buttons, yet hope they would join in comradery
  • in time’s ruin, and adjust to new routines
  • without having to pay lip service to the dreary how-do-you-do.
  • I quietly await that 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

A BREEZE COMBS THROUGH...

  • by Yan Bin

  • A breeze combs through the woods,
  • setting the branches on fire,
  • people wake up to a world ablaze,
  • where new year’s green jujubes turn flaming red.
  • Nests on the branches are fuming,
  • big birds are flying south
  • just as I wake up
  • to a world ablaze outside the window.
  • As if old passions are also rekindled,
  • my young love perches on the tree,
  • dazing me with a reverie of the old days;
  • from a shadowy corner I gaze up at her.
  • High noon, ashes adrift, a breeze picks up,
  • time to rise to work whilst the sun is golden.

  • 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


微风轻拂的时候...

  • 严彬

  • 微风轻拂着大树,
  • 野火在大树上燃烧,
  • 清醒的人隔窗看见它们,
  • 野火烧红了新年的青枣。
  • 鸟巢在树丫点燃,
  • 大鸟都飞到了南方,
  • 那时我正好醒来,
  • 隔着窗户看见火光一片。
  • 像往日的情感重新燃烧,
  • 我看见昔日的爱人在树上
  • 向我重现过去生活的倒影,
  • 我在那灰色的影中凝望她。
  • 微风轻拂在余烬飘落的正午,
  • 阳光金黄是人们劳作的时候。

DISAPPEARING WATERS

  • by Yan Yuening

  • On the highway, the only distraction
  • is the refractions from an unfathomable pond, sunken
  • and streaked with tree shadows. I saw them at intervals,
  • but lost them when coming close—a confusion
  • that gave me a chill and a pang to the heart on this sunny day.
  • I have never described them to others,
  • wondering whether, on this inestimable journey through life,
  • I am the only one who can see them.
  • Unlike the serenity of the ponds backhome,
  • I worry I might vanish like a sunken lake
  • in a strange town, seen only as refractions
  • by passers by while the road continues unmoved. I suspect
  • the fishing rod that I cast into the lake amid reeds and fishes
  • still has not caught a thing,
  • like so many profound
  • presages that have come to nothing.

  • 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/g51xP2GKJvzvh7NgAHqTGA


消失的水域

  • 燕越柠

  • 高速公路上,唯一让人分心的
  • 是低洼处折射出来,与树影连接
  • 幽深难测的水塘。隔一段便看见它们
  • 临近了又倏忽消失,阳光下
  • 有着令人心口一紧的迷惑凉意
  • 我从未跟人描述过它们,或许
  • 在生而无涯的旅程里,只有我
  • 能看见它们。不同于故乡池塘的宁静
  • 我总疑心我会在陌生城市坠落
  • 随着水塘消失,成为众人眼中
  • 一晃而过的光线,在那之后
  • 道路依旧是平坦的。我总疑心
  • 年少时抛出的,经历过鱼群和芦苇
  • 如今依然一无所获的
  • 那根钓竿,仅仅是另一道
  • 消失的预言

EARLY-MORNING THOUGHTS

  • by Yang Jiao

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

早醒记

  • 杨 角

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

MY CHINA

  • by Yang Ke

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

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

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


我的中国

  • 杨 克

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

I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE MY LIFE

  • by Yang Qingxiang

  • I used to take a walk after rain
  • on other people's foorsteps.
  • Twin shells rest in the sand,
  • kissed by rolling waves.
  • I was going to build a home there, to listen to
  • the wind in different seasons.
  • To read books written by someone afar, and wake
  • in the bell chime from across the water.
  • I cry and dry my tears.
  • I love, from the deepest of my tender heart.
  • I was going to write you a long letter in the moonlight,
  • occupying my mind with the ten thousand things at dusk.
  • Have children, and tell stories under a tree,
  • tend to the rice field, and leave the mountains green when I die.
  • I was prepared to do that, I thought:
  • — This would be my life.

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


我本来以为这就是我的一生

  • 杨庆祥

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

TUYA'S STONES

  • by Yang Senjun

  • The amazing thing about stone enthusiasts is
  • they began by professing their love for stones,
  • prefering 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 to 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 of mind.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://wemp.app/posts/2aa31f02-596a-4006-a524-bec76b56280f


图雅的石头

  • 杨森君

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

THE THINGS I PRAISE ARE GENERALLY LIGHT

  • by Yang Xuelong

  • The things I praise are generally light.
  • I praise them because 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 becoming 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 see, with so many years in-between,
  • tattered memories with a rainbow tint over old sufferings.
  • But oftentimes I only find yesteryears’ fallen leaves,
  • covered by a faded sheen.
  • I am afraid to touch them
  • for fear they may fracture,
  • unable to be picked up,
  • unable to be admired.

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


我想赞美的事物一般都很轻

  • 杨薛龙

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




HEADWATER OF WHITE DRAGON RIVER

  • by Yang Yang

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


白龙江源头

  • 阳飏

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

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 out of 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 are out parading. A bell tolls through the midnight space.
  • Ideas surface one by one, but are gone in an instant
  • until the thought of you occupies the misty-eyed platform
  • where nothing moves, not even time, but I feel a new vigor in the air
  • as if a reminder that this isn’t the time to smooch or indulge.
  • No matter if I am on the train, or the train is in my dream,
  • they all run towards you, towards the embrace 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

TRAIN STATION WAITING ROOM

  • by Ye Hui

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


候车室

  • 叶 辉

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

THE AURA OF GREEN MOUNTAINS

  • by Ye Yanbin

  • Clouds casually floated by from somewhere far away,
  • somewhere dream-like, incredibly far away,
  • but in an instant, their coy tenderness is transformed
  • 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 stay are these emerald-green mountains.
  • The wind comes; the green mountains embless the wind.
  • The rain comes; the green mountains embless the rain,
  • and embless moonlight,
  • embless 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……

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

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?

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 COURTYARD

  • by Yu Bang

  • The deserted courtyard
  • continues to unfold in a certain order —
  • a pattern of plumed cockscomb, elm, and red spider lily
  • has taken shape.
  • At the lingering funeral,
  • we respect understatements
  • — the lowering of eyelids.
  • The rice stalks quiver in the light rain.
  • We sit on our heels on the doorstep,
  • reminiscing how autumns come and go.
  • Oh, we have the hallmark of ore
  • from the barren mountain, spurting
  • black laughter at twilight,
  • involving no mystery at all,
  • and will return on hands and knees, to dust and 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/fB3JZgcXjaDvgADEtX4CIw


院 子

  • 育 邦

  • 荒芜的院子里
  • 某种秩序得到继续发展
  • 青葙、榔榆与红花石蒜的形态
  • 被建立起来
  • 在漫长的葬礼上
  • 我们尊重羞怯
  • ——垂下眼睑
  • 稻谷在细雨中颤动
  • 我们蹲坐在门槛上
  • 说起又一个秋天
  • 哦,我们仅属于矿石
  • 在空山里,在暮色中
  • 分泌出黑色的笑声
  • 没有任何秘密
  • 俯身于尘埃

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



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

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

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 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。

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

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 turns.
  • In this misty and rainy night,
  • 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,
  • but there is a turn around it.
  • No matter how big a hero you were,
  • moving ahead, you will only vanish into the distance.
  • But you don't stop to pray.
  • It’s not yet dawn, not a flower is in bloom.
  • Let the horse whip be heard across the field,
  • jump over the spiked antlers in the riverbed,
  • and fling the backpacks on the riverbank.
  • Tonight, a rainy night, you are a god, a hero.
  • Like an arrow, you fly around the fortress like a gust of wind,
  • shooting off raindrops to the end of the sky.

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


拐 角

  • 张洪波

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

THE GIST OF IT

  • by Zhang Lin

  • Some things are big from the beginning, like oceans.
  • Some things are small ’till death, like grass.
  • Still a few other things
  • are already old when we get to 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 like 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 money to take a wife.
  • In the countryside, everyone is like that.
  • They work in a factory run by overseas Chinese with room and board,
  • and go home once a week. 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.
  • Either you come back or not, it doesn't move.
  • ( I had a dog like that. It got seriously ill but still waited for me.
  • Our days and our dogs,
  • they faithfully accompany us till the end.)
  • Flying Cloud Lake stretches out along the road we are on,
  • serene and vast, like a mother
  • listening to her son's stories of excitements 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 fields of canola flowers along the road
  • look every bit like him. The home that he described
  • is like my native home that has long disappeared.
  • These years, I have loved another place
  • the way I 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

  • Between rivers and mountains, next to birds and flowers,
  • I have my roosting place. I light candles and offer fruits at dawn,
  • 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
  • but the simple delight of peaceful co-habitation.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang & Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/RVZFOSGiIvvTiUUdn6o4uQ


无名山

  • 张伟锋

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

MISSING-PERSON POSTERS

  • by Zhang Xiaozhen

  • 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 dust.
  • 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 oven wall, stretching, sweating,
  • like poets. Aah! Aa! Ouch!
  • roasted over coals, they slowly turn soft, aromatic, sweet.
  • Moans and sighs are now softer, giving steamy scents, Mmm...
  • Before considering it done, he would make sure
  • everyone is evenly roasted front and back
  • until he too looks like an roasted sweet potato, except in clothes.
  • The red glow on his face and simple garment
  • has me awestruck, so I stop
  • and huddle close to the oven to listen to his stories.
  • 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 evening I ride with him on his sweet-potato cart to go home.
  • He asked: 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……

A LITTLE BIGGER LOVE

  • by Zhang Xinying

  • Staying too long in one profession,
  • you can lose your sharpness
  • without knowing.
  • May as well step out onto the balcony.
  • You’ll see the beauty of smoking and drinking without purpose,
  • see the shifting clouds in the sky,
  • the two deep rivers in the eyes,
  • the steamboats that whistle at night,
  • the nameless birds that
  • fly by and away.
  • You may not make the world greater,
  • but you may love the world a little better
  • if you are content
  • to be an amateur in many other things.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/mW4UGWqLAxovMM34TyDriA

更大一点的爱

  • 张新颖

  • 在专业领地待久了
  • 你就变成了这个专业的外行
  • 而不自知
  • 还是到阳台上来吧
  • 你会懂得无所事事时的香烟和啤酒
  • 天空变幻的云
  • 你眼睛看得见的两条河流
  • 夜晚轮船的汽笛
  • 叫不出名字的鸟飞过来又飞走
  • 你或许得不到更大一点的世界
  • 但能得到对更大一点的世界的爱
  • 假如你愿意
  • 做许多事物的业余选手

CHANCING UPON SNOW

  • by Zhang Zhan

  • Snow has the beautiful look of ashes.
  • It hides its shadow,
  • feigning lightness.
  • It writes nothing,
  • but lays out a sheet of whiteness
  • for others to write on.
  • It pretends that it was never a fire,
  • or a tree
  • before being a fire,
  • or a flower
  • before being a tree.
  • It pretends that it was never water,
  • pearl-shaped,
  • held between
  • someone’s soft lips.
  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


遇 雪

  • 张 战

  • 雪有灰烬之美
  • 它藏起自己的影子
  • 假装自己轻
  • 它什么都不写
  • 铺好纸
  • 让别人写
  • 它假装自己不曾是火
  • 火之前
  • 不曾是树木
  • 树木之前
  • 不曾是花朵
  • 它假装自己不曾是水
  • 如珍珠
  • 当那人用柔软的唇
  • 将它含住

BLACK HORSE

  • by Zhang Zhan

  • A black horse dashes through the crack
  • to restore darkness to the world.
  • It’s not true that no one burns candles anymore
  • since electricity came to town.
  • The room is way too bright
  • while the roof tiles cache the spotted shadows.
  • There will always be worn-out socks with holes at the heels.
  • There will always be non-natives kept away by dogs.
  • The hearts that are full of love will climb the sky ladder,
  • those who love less will take down the ladder.
  • But, let us set up table for dinner:
  • pour out the bluish-gray milk from the ocher jug,
  • crush the setting sun with our teeth, let the sweet juice flow.
  • The grape in your mouth is not the last grape,
  • please sit down and savor it, do not be afraid.

  • 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/bo0qSBTW85ZA-5Qiicujhw


黑 马

  • 张 战

  • 黑马掠过黑隙
  • 夜晚还原了黑
  • 不是有了电灯
  • 就再没人燃起蜡烛
  • 屋里灯光太亮
  • 瓦缝却能收藏碎影
  • 哪里都会有被脚后跟磨破的袜子
  • 哪里都会有因怕狗而不敢进村庄的人
  • 总是爱得更多的人爬上了云梯
  • 而爱得少些的人又抽走了梯子
  • 但请在晚餐时摆下这样一张餐桌
  • 从橙黄的陶罐里倒出灰蓝的牛奶
  • 请咬碎你齿间的夕阳让它甜汁四溢
  • 你嘴里的葡萄并不是最后的一颗
  • 请坐下品尝,不要恐惧

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,
  • on the small road behind our house,
  • she spoke next to 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 content, I am happy. ”
  • It has been eighteen years, and whenever spring returns after winter,
  • I would remember that afternoon
  • when I carried my unfortunate mother.
  • On that road blooming with flowers,
  • I cried as I walked.
  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Qpp9Q01A_BVlvZmZEDD9jQ


咏春调

  • 张执浩

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

1990, RUNNING WATER CAME TO THE VILLAGE

  • by Zhang Zuogeng

  • The 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。

A HUMBLE POEM

  • By Zhang Zuogeng

  • Through 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 sprinkle that falls through the air undetected,
  • the tiny waves, the weeping that escapes the fingers,
  • the tender buds unaffected by the cold spell in spring...
  • The meteor shower
  • that caresses my cheeks,
  • the inexplicable
  • tiny
  • bristles of spring wheat that brush across my heart...
  • — each of them a grain of sand that builds this pagoda —
  • my humble and tenacious life.
  • Things infinitesimal,
  • shorter than the blink of an eye,
  • but when I hold them together,
  • I feel an existence larger than the universe.
  • When I gather all of their lightness,
  • I feel the density that makes up my life.
  • Therefore, I bend
  • like a sheaf of wheat.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/jRqB8KxNlxbvgYfl366RhA


卑微之诗

  • 张作梗

  • 那微妙的
  • 微小的
  • 针孔里走骆驼的
  • 从任一方向看去都像微末的飞蓬
  • 要钻进我眼睛里的
  • 那轮椅下战栗的地面
  • 那空中察觉不到的雨星儿
  • 那微澜,那从手指缝里迸出的啜泣
  • 那一粒倒春寒也捂不熄的嫩芽儿
  • 那滑过我脸颊的
  • 流星的抚摸
  • 那微妙的
  • 微小的
  • 像春天的麦芒儿拂过我心尖的吹息……
  • ——它们聚沙成塔
  • 构成了我卑微而顽强的一生
  • 这些微茫的
  • 比一秒钟还小的东西
  • 当我完整地拥有了它们
  • 我感觉我比宇宙还大
  • 是它们的轻,让我获得了生命的重量——
  • 我因此像谷穗
  • 低下头来。

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: A 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 home. Meanwhile old houses were chewed up
  • 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 verse in local parlance, I was unaware
  • you were once here, too, in your lonely adolescent years, but without
  • similar comfort. You sat in a dimly-lit publishing house,
  • a ferryman who delivered a light 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

WHEN THE WIND SCOURS GUIYANG

  • by Zhao Weifeng

  • A spring wind scours Guiyang, as if staging a guerrilla war.
  • But all is fair.
  • For the love of beauty, it imitates
  • the plants 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 lifely realities.
  • Spring wind circles around and sweeps across the board — across cities and villages,
  • across cutting boards, keyboards, and blocks of 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 frail.
  • 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 short while
  • 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 weighed down, lighten things up a bit.
  • It hurts terribly waiting, and waiting for you to wake up,
  • and I feel most useless to see that you look different now,
  • but despite all that, even though my heart
  • has given me many reasons to cry,
  • I come to remember that
  • often, 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 all 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 sand out of my shoes.
  • A tractor squeezes admist it all,
  • happily tooting along, black smoke chugging out of its exhaust pipe,
  • belching soot like black flower petals.
  • Silence is gone again, so is the noise.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Nhjno9dYzC9yJj_UOD8ZIA


初春记

  • 郑茂明

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

DISTANT PLACES

  • by Zhijian Liunian

  • 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 the university in the South;
  • I saw an airplane for the first time and thought
  • it had been waiting there for us the whole time.
  • Later I learned that it flew in only 30 minutes ago.
  • My son waved to me from the checkpoint, I said nothing,
  • sending him farewell with travelers coming and going in-between us.
  • That was the first time he left us for a distant place.
  • Then the flight crew that had just landed walked past me,
  • pulling their luggage, looking very spritely,
  • consistently dashing and pretty.
  • Every year I go into town a few times for business,
  • to buy seeds and fertilizers, 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 more powdery, delicate and soft.
  • From a small village to a small town, all that I have is
  • a little bit of a place. My courtyard,
  • at the end of February, still hardly feels warm,
  • still desolate, but I can detect
  • a few things waking up: my grape vines
  • look shiny even though their roots in the soil
  • grasp even tighter to the darkness.
  • You said: "Find the opportunity 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 pockets, 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 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...!

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

LOOKING FOR EARTH

  • by Zhong Hai

  • Snow erases
  • every converse, parlance, and phone screen.
  • (A photographer stares softly at the sky,
  • — what bonny gray tone, what lovely whiteness —
  • but it is the lens that's longing for a metaphor
  • as words are poor for something so light.)
  • The dominant vs. the dominated —
  • I wake up at the point of great anxiety.
  • No birdsongs, but a bird on a bare spot
  • is cheeping out its hunger,
  • boring a hole in my audible world,
  • tearing open
  • the mesh of this infinite snowfall.
  • In a complex metaphor, I stand alone as a vehicle,
  • (snow-white is my tenor, the soft spot
  • melts first, snowflakes out of thin air,
  • a thousand flowers around me, helpless and alone.)
  • and stand for the aloneness of the vehicle.
  • Hunger lolls around, and the bird, for all its innocence,
  • took a wrong turn into the human world. In the shade,
  • the thick snow is slow to melt.
  • 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


寻土记

  • 中海

  • 大雪覆盖了所有
  • 论述、语言和手机页面
  • (摄影师对着天空发呆
  • 他对灰暗着迷,对白色着迷
  • 实际是镜头对隐喻的着迷
  • 那么轻的东西无以描绘)
  • 控制的和被控制的——
  • 我在这一刻的狂躁中醒来
  • 鸟鸣掩埋,鸟儿从一小块裸露的土地上
  • 叫出饥饿
  • 在我的听觉上砸出一个荒唐的小洞
  • 从大雪落下的密集中
  • 砸出一个缝隙
  • 在多喻性中,我是单一的喻体
  • (我寄于白色,将最软的部分
  • 视为融化,雪凭空飘来
  • 我在千万朵花间站成无助之人)
  • 也将是喻体的单一
  • 饥饿持续,鸟儿在它自身的洁白前
  • 误食人间烟火。而背阴处
  • 积雪迟迟不肯化去

OUH LÀ LÀ

  • by Zhong Shiwen

  • I had hoped to watch 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 belong.
  • Ouh là là, why did’t she stay, couldn’t she see that we were kind?
  • Were we not clean enough? Was the space we gave her not okay?
  • Did I do anything wrong? Ouh là là, I suddenly thought of the heavenly you and the miserable you.
  • Oh, nice Sunday weather, and a little breezy, I think l need to have a talk 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 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 go with the river.
  • For sure this river of mine doesn't need anything. Ouh là là, all birds are dead.
  • My river, I decided no trees for the shoreline. 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, including those I have no words for,
  • for everyone to hear. Oh, I just lit a 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 covers.

  • Translated by Meifu Wang and Michael Soper
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/13R0x2LSUnZeclmIjdCKIw


乌 啦

  • 仲诗文

  • 我曾希望她在春天盛开,希望她站在群花之中,露出欢颜
  • 乌啦,春天还没有到来,她就告别离开了
  • 她只给春天留下一点儿香味,她说她不属于这里
  • 乌啦,她为什么不愿意留下,我们的善她看不到吗?
  • 我们的洁净还不够吗?我们给予的空间不合适吗?
  • 还是我做错什么了吗?乌啦,我突然想到神明的你与愚蠢的你
  • 乌啦,星期天的天气很棒,有一点儿风,我需要谈谈
  • 星期天过了是几号?我昨天那么年轻
  • 是好天气让我衰老了吗?好多人已经死去了
  • 乌啦,好多人的名字被别人捡起来用袖子擦了擦
  • 宝贝一样带回家继续用。乌啦,从前也是这个样子吗?
  • 我需要一条鱼,我要鱼来陪伴一条河
  • 我的这条河真的不需要别的什么。乌啦,鸟都已经死掉了
  • 我的河,我决定河岸不能长树。需要决定的事情太多了
  • 乌啦,我们不能放弃责任。花儿离开我们了
  • 鸟也离开我们了。我希望你把那些有用的,那些我无法说出来的
  • 多讲出来给大家听。乌啦,我已点上了烟。在我睡下去的时候
  • 不要来敲我的门。乌啦,我饿了,但我不需要吃东西,我已盖了被子

ORANGES

  • by Zhou Sese

  • Far away in Hunan,
  • countless orange factories
  • hid among dark green woods,
  • oranges rolling
  • from one end of the conveyor belt
  • heading for the kingdom of freedom —
  • a continuous stream of
  • new arrivals.
  • We climb onto the roof of the orange factory,
  • looking out at the distant orange groves,
  • fruit abounds
  • like plump hens
  • crouching on the hillside.
  • I want to enter into an orange,
  • only then can I really drink the raindrops, sunlight
  • and the nectar of midnight dew.
  • When the flock of us left,
  • the oranges took off into the sky,
  • shouting for joy,
  • we kept on looking 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 even with 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 kept the night dark again for me!

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/KU5681rd100_2nntMHWgIQ


吾日三省

  • 周所同

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

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,
  • puffing and panting before being reduced to archaic motifs.
  • Now I don't feel like picking anyone up.
  • This is the way it’s meant to be,
  • the fated journey was taken.
  • I will be, in the twilight of my old age,
  • tapping the keyboard, to seduce,
  • to see whether those old words are still at my fingertips,
  • to replicate the world I have experienced,
  • or perhaps they’re gone without a trace
  • to somewhere far, to piece together 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 come 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 shimmering, nothing
  • has changed except some folks are gone
  • from 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, seen from below.
  • The sky is ablaze at sunset, but butterflies seek oblivion in hidden niches,
  • this is not 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 go up, some go down.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/hAWnb7OFN8eBeq_MCTeCAg


白云阁登高

  • 周西西

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

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 would embrace him with its soothing nature and kiss him on the forehead.
  • The year before, we sent off WD,
  • to the delight of Shangri-La; its snow mountains and snow water
  • would brighten his face and eyes.
  • It’s winter now,
  • few leaves are left on the trees.
  • I thought the year was almost over,
  • but we will be seeing off TC today.
  • He is going to Banna, in southern Yunnan, a warmer place.
  • The jungle, the Buddhist stupas, and the Dai women there,
  • everyone will 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; he has been in Kunming all these years,
  • has been raising a glass towards the northwest,
  • saying “Cheers!”
  • saying “I love you, Yunnan.”
  • saying “I love Yunnan, no heavy storm here,
  • never a snowstorm that comes down like the bloody hysteric rock and roll.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Peter Micic & Johan Ramaekers
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/Z2AVOkPuz-VO_eQP_UQM6w

送友人往滇南又醉

  • 祝立根

  • 这是我们一贯的伎俩:
  • 指桑骂槐,笑出眼泪。去年送映泉
  • 大理的风月,会拥抱他
  • 亲吻他的额头
  • 前年送旺电,香格里拉的雪山和雪水
  • 会咧着嘴,擦去他眼角的灰烬
  • 已经是冬天了
  • 树上已经没有多少叶子
  • 我以为,这一年即将过去
  • 今天又送田超
  • 去版纳,温暖的云南南方
  • 那儿的丛林和佛塔,傣女子的手
  • 会收留他,看顾他
  • 祝福他吧,杯中酒
  • 适合降温的昆明
  • 适合那些东歪西倒、摇摇晃晃的
  • 一颗颗有缺口的心
  • 只有滇东了,那儿的大雾和野花
  • 一直没人去收集,没人去赞美
  • 我们面面相觑:借着酒劲
  • 我一一清点了一下人头
  • 杜松、子人、翔武、安庆和金珊,还有
  • 孙博,那个塔一样的东北人
  • 那么没心没肺,一直在昆明
  • 对着西北方,说干杯
  • 干杯
  • 说我爱,云南
  • 我爱云南从没有一场雪
  • 从没有一场雪下得像一曲歇斯底里的死亡摇滚

ASHEN SKY

  • by Zhu Ligen

  • My father, a dormant volcano,
  • with cinereous streaks of hair,
  • cultivated camellias all his life.
  • These broad-leaf trees had long and dark offshoots
  • that fueled spectacular red flames against the sky.
  • Mother was also a volcano, dormant,
  • hard at work all the time, hoarding magma.
  • The potatoes she planted
  • filled her little granary, and offset her worries.
  • Both worked the same family plot,
  • and waged a protracted tug of war;
  • Father, the idealist, wanted more room for good vibes.
  • Mother was pragmatic, forever optimizing for sunshine.
  • They quarreled and exploded . . .spewing fiery ash
  • over the stove, the thermos,
  • every inch of the heath all the way to the hills far away.
  • In later years, they finally reached an understanding,
  • like people accepting the gaiety and angst
  • of the battles between body and soul.
  • Their children, raised on the soil,
  • inherited the guileless humble traits of the potatoes;
  • still, to the everlasting sky and the deep blue sea,
  • they never failed to offer
  • festive fireworks and gorgeous brocades.

  • Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists, a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, Guy Hibbert
  • Simultaneously broadcast in China via WeChat (微信) by our partner — China's Poetry Journal (诗刊): https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/1OZ7PEDH1knS-wjXHtRRQw

苍 茫

  • 祝立根

  • 父亲是一座休眠的火山
  • 他头发灰白
  • 一生栽种茶花
  • 大叶乔木又细又长的黑枝条里
  • 运送着焚烧天空的烈焰
  • 母亲也是一座休眠的火山,一生
  • 都在埋头劳作,囤积岩浆
  • 她种植的块茎
  • 是她对抗不安的、一个个小小的粮仓
  • 在同一块自留地里
  • 他们开展了持久的拉锯战
  • 父亲,希望热爱和理想的空间多一点
  • 母亲,想要多收集几缕现实主义的阳光
  • 他们为此争吵、爆发……火山灰
  • 曾覆盖灶台、暖水瓶
  • 他们目力所及的旷野和群山
  • 直到晚年,他们终于达成了谅解
  • 像一个人,容忍了灵魂和身体
  • 彼此撕裂的上升和下沉
  • 像他们的孩子,在地里生长
  • 继承了土豆的卑微与质朴
  • 对头顶那永恒不变的、蔚蓝的大海
  • 也一次次想要贡献
  • 节日的焰火,华艳的锦缎

DISSECTING THE DEER

  • by Zhu Tao

  • For the whole trip, the couple did not exchange a word.
  • The woman 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, I often had old gits asking about my age.
  • I would jest
  • "Either eighteen or thirty-five."
  • They would say, "Child, you should learn math.”
  • or “go see a doctor.”
  • Luckily, this journey turned a corner,
  • a deer appeared,
  • all eyes darted through the train windows into the wilderness
  • as if to dissect the deer, fresh as 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





SUMMER NIGHT, MOONLIGHT

  • by Zhu Xiani

  • Summer night, unsleeping cicadas
  • wake me singularly, and there you are, on the moon.
  • With daylight, it’s easy to guard the truth I vowed to hide:
  • but with you in mind, and hometown, I quickly give in.
  • I heard children playing outside, speaking a foreign tongue,
  • which we all did at one point in time.
  • But time’s viper has tamed our misspent youth;
  • about things in the past, I'm still mending a few old patches.
  • It is midnight here, already noon where you are.
  • Please let the noise of your world wash out my groans,
  • and leave the unvoiced part to keep.
  • When the colors of the leaves change, a new day will come.
  • My memories, my native home: the reflective moonlight.
  • All is there, always there; but vanishes when I arrive.

  • 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/eQSLEgdmSGWPua3A7sKkvA


夏夜,月亮

  • 朱夏妮

  • 夏夜,蝉不眠,
  • 独自唤醒我,月亮是你。
  • 因为日光善于隐藏我想守住的真相:
  • 想到你,想到故乡,我就屈服了。
  • 我听见孩子们在外面玩,说着外语,
  • 每个人都曾熟悉的一种语言。
  • 但是时间,一条驯服年轻人的蛇;
  • 过去的事,那些碎片我还在缝。
  • 现在于我是深夜,对你来说已经是中午了。
  • 所以,请让你的噪音带走我的痛苦,
  • 我的沉默你可以留下。
  • 当树叶变色时,便是新的一天了。
  • 我的记忆,我的家:反射的月亮。
  • 永远在那里。我到达时便消失。