天使之合体

翻译：诗验室

大海的黑色肠道

吞下一群沐浴在月光中的蝙蝠

神笑了，抛下一口崭新的

盛满优雅之浪的卡诺卜坛

只为挑拨赛特与荷鲁斯之争

神又笑了，黑暗

将遥远的青山踩在脚下

荷鲁斯哭泣 赛特昏厥

神皱眉，发光透亮的

黑暗裹住每一朵花

古老的悬崖与可怖的螃蟹

在清澈的月光下继续凝固

可灰色的猫头鹰用羽毛

将所有千层树的魂灵围住

一如既往的胜利，帕拉斯

从大角星找到

北斗七星的诡异密术

地球在天使之合体中返回

Angelic Syzygy

by Diana Thoresen

The dark intestine of the sea
Swallowed a colony of moonlit bats
God laughed and threw a new

Canopic jar of graceful waves
For Set and Horus to quarrel over
God smiled again and the darkness

Stampeded over distant green hills
Horus cried and Set fainted
God grimaced and the luminous

Blackness enveloped every flower
Ancient cliffs and ghastly crabs remained
Transfixed by limpid moonshine

But the pale owl wrapped its feathers
Around the spirit of every paperbark tree
Victorious as ever, Pallas traced

The eldritch mnemonics of the Big Dipper
To Arcturus and the earth
Rejoined in an angelic syzygy

静香

作者：旎

地平线绑缚你。焚身用色素

欺瞒你，你才不至于陷得更深。在我之上

橘子仍在学习今天的腐烂

（停顿，至少三十分钟）

往复锈石路，被遗弃的

假象乱如麻。密友一一

将我指认：子宫有意脱垂。

湿润的婴儿

不应背着自己行走

观愈远愈臃肿。铃声

长出一对空心的双乳。慈母吸吮

我们

到甜的

鸟中去，到嬗变的灯笼里去。

Still Fragrance

translated by PLS

Horizon binds you. Burning with pigments

deluding you, so you won’t become too involved. Above me

oranges still apprehending the decay of today

(pause, for at least thirty minutes)

Moving back and forth on Xiushi Road, abandoned

illusions utterly confusing. Confidantes one after another

identified me: uterus intentionally prolapses.

moist baby

should not walk carrying herself on the back

The further you watch, the more inflated it is. Bells

grew a pair of hollow breasts. Devoted mother sucking

us

into sweet

birds, into evolving lanterns.

春之杜鹃

翻译：诗验室

又一春：

绿色炮口就地发出信号，

年生植物在边界地区引爆；

视网膜野蛮的埋伏。

散步变成冒险，

避开鲜花的齐射

与绚丽的弹片。

红之盛，

橙之啼，

黄之尖叫，

水仙之火的

叽叽喳喳。

我渴望夜空温柔的绽放。

然后我就看见它们……杜鹃，

在黄昏中闪着微光

令人神魂颠倒，花瓣眨着眼

从柔软的紫闪到大胆的蓝。

仿佛冷酷的火焰，

闪烁着，

蓝的神韵。

他们柔滑的光，

平息着我的双眼，

安慰着我，

在天鹅绒的

时光里。

Spring Azaleas 

by Roddie McKenzie

Another spring: 

green muzzle flashes from the ground,

annuals detonate along the border;

savage ambushes of the retina.

A walk becomes hazardous,

dodging the floral salvos

and technicolour shrapnel.

The boom of reds,

the whine of orange,

the shriek of yellows,

the zip and chatter

of automatic daffodil fire.

I long for the soft bloom of evening skies.

And then I see them.... azaleas,

fluorescent and hallucinogenic

in the dusk, petals winking

from soft violet to bold cobalt.

Like cool flames,

flickering,

nuances of blue.

Their soft satin light,

soothes my eyes,

comforts me,

in velvet

moments.

松鼠记

作者：吕周杭

树木对攀登保有母性。即使疼痛

即使松鼠因庇护遗忘飞行，即使

松鼠衰老，粮仓在地下氧化燃烧

抑或他奔向新的阁楼，狠狠关掉

朝向你的窗。唯独不忘攫取果实

奉献且无惧背叛。至纯之爱

莫过松木留给松鼠柔软的羽翼

纵容天真与薄情暗暗掩住枯枝

掩住雷声，蚊虫的繁殖与入侵

钥匙旋开旱季时土地缓慢的龟裂

蓬松尾鎏金。你爱看夕阳融化他

仰脸思考的小模样。划破天空

捧给他大朵郁金香。生活无危险

你把他举到神的唇边，私有晚霞

在肥胖的手腕系好幸运的红绫

某日，根系触及他曾私有的房间

皮肤上爪痕滚烫若新生胎记

想起他狡黠的闪电，傲慢的夺取

与椭型的回归轨迹。想起离去

凉风与脚下的火山岩夜夜相对

想起深爱不致挽留，即使虔诚

想起树冠下，时间沙漏滤去耐心

空气中盐粒跳动。想起澎湃的风

淡蓝的河谷，一只松鼠展开双翼

踮起脚暗暗生长的岁月一去不返

On Squirrels

translated by PLS

trees keep a maternal instinct for climbing. Though painful

a squirrel forgets how to fly under shelter, and

the squirrel ages, barns oxidize and burn underground

or he runs towards the new attic at a gallop, ruthlessly shutting 

the windows facing you. Only to remember collecting fruits

giving and being not afraid of betrayals. Love of sublime purity

no more than the soft wings pines left for squirrels

collusion to innocence and ungrateful love enshroud withered twigs

the sound of thundering, propagation and invasion of mosquitos

keys unlock slow cracks of the earth during dry season

fluffy tails shine with gold. You like to watch his cute pondering face

shining under the sunset. Slash the sky open

endorse him with giant tulips. Life is danger-less

you hold him up to the lips of gods, private sunset glow

ribbons the rounded wrist with auspicious vermillion silk

one day, the roots reach his former residence

scratches on the skin burning like a birth mark

reminding me of his furtive lightening, arrogant steals

and oval recursive orbit. Of departing

cold breeze and lava staring at each other night after night

of even the deepest love won’t keep one, however loyal

of under the canopy, sandglass of time filters out patience

salt particles dancing in the air. Of roaring wind

cerulean ravine, a squirrel unfolding its wings

the days of growing furtively on the tips of toes are long gone

重写城市

翻译：诗验室

我怀念现已逝去的地方

夹着汗味与烟味的气息

摇晃的火炉

和闻起来像清新泥土的坡度隧道。

可在推土机撕开一切后

至少还能为伤口消毒。

更糟的是那些一成不变的地方

城市并未开裂

而是折叠与翻转

搅乱你的视觉

尽管材料依旧如故。

人行道与门

从天花板垂下的胸罩

一名口吐红酒的手绘恶魔

一个高级浴室挂架

以及曾经弄脏我们衣服的白色泥墙

他们看起来一模一样。

这些僵死的摆设不再有人光顾

或者更糟，有新面孔光顾

冷冷地游荡在你最念念不忘的地方。

那些被保存下来、曾经意味着某些东西的过道

现已毫无意义

就像这座城市已将你抛之脑后。

于是你开始重写它

你的故事

关于刻板的新篇章

重写舞池中的臂膀

门口的一群吸烟者

卫生间里跪着的人

赤裸的烛光旁无尽的长谈。

抹去一些脸庞

吸入一些新脸庞

像书脊一样

因频繁使用而发皱

那些抹除

那些排挤

那些驱邪

一次比一次不完整。

一家酒吧、一个街角、一个隐蔽的楼上房间、一张床

在一个地方无法留给你任何新的记忆之前

你究竟可以重复使用它们多少次？

只是一塌糊涂的老地方

黏稠而厚重地横着。

于是你重新调整这些东西

将骨头编入错位的组合。

他们撞击与抽搐着

然后在你随意书写之手的暗黑力量下

彼此结合

只是没有组成任何一个整体。

Rewritten City

by Erica Martin

I miss the places that are gone now

Smoky sweaty air 

Grates that shake 

And a sloping tunnel that smells like fresh earth. 

But as the bulldozer rips them away

At least now the wounds can cauterize.

Far worse are the places that remain unchanged

As the city folds and flips

Instead of ripping

Upending your perspective

Though the materials remain.

Sidewalks and doors

Bras that drip from the ceiling

A painted demon who pukes red wine

A very exclusive bathroom shelf

And the chalky drywall that once smeared our clothes

They look exactly the same.

These mummified sets now hold no players

Or worse, new ones

Traipsing callously through your most haunted spots.

Preserved halls that meant one thing now mean

Nothing

As the city turns its page on you.

So you rewrite it

Your story

On the starchy new page

Rewrite the limbs on the dance floor

The menagerie of smokers by the door

The kneeling people in the bathroom stall

The long chats by unsubtle candlelight.

Erase a few faces

And draw in the new

As the book spine wrinkles

From vigorous reuse

And the erasing

The eviction

The exorcism

Gets less complete every time.

How many times can you reuse a place

A bar, a street corner, a hidden upstairs room, a bed

Before it has no new memories left to give you?

Just a chaotic mess of the old ones

Laid on syrupy and thick.

So you reshuffle the pieces

Braid the bones into mismatched sets.

They clink and twitch

And fit together

Under the dark power of your scribbling hand

But not into anything whole.