有关爱情的学问

作者：李盲

终有一天，事物在语言的倒退中变得迟钝

我们会用一整天，以慌乱的蓝光眼捉蝴蝶和玫瑰的相互亲吻

命令它们的影像也相互亲吻。傍晚建造一个三层高的温室

将房子、钢琴、桫椤、万年笔和热带果树装入其中

“作为诗人的我们俩还会相互致以诗歌吗？”你问

姐姐，那时候词句已如瓷片般古老，我们要开口

就想要艰难地抹开唇齿上的古渍，而我们常常会摔进另一句话里：

要有光。这是唯一一句穿过了玻璃墙的话

它激起了诸多物种的抗议：虎、蝉、鬼、猿

在众多啸声中，它又准确地抵达了你。当你向我开口

你用你的第一句话揭示翻译的必要性：要有爱。

由此，在终日的沉默过后，我们仿佛重返泪光，词语半开半合之际

一只鸟向与它同居的鸟问了第一个问题：为什么？

science of love

translated by PLS

one day, things will be blunt in the regression of languages

we will use an entire day to capture the kiss between butterfly and rose with panicking blu-ray lens?

ordering their reflections to kiss each other too. at dusk we build a three storey green house

stuff it with house, piano, tree fern, fountain pen and tropical fruit tree

“as poets will we still send each other poems?” you asked

sister, by then the lines will be as ancient as the tiles, if we wanted to talk

we need to wipe off the old stains around our mouths in struggle, yet we often fall into another sentence：

there needs to be light. this is the only sentence that travels through the glass wall

which instigates protests from different species: tiger, cicada, ghost, ape

and in the sound of flutes, reaches you in accuracy. when you start speaking to me

you use your first sentence to illustrate the necessity of translation:there needs to be love.

from that, after days of silence, it seems as if we return to tears, between the opening and closing of words

a bird asks the first question to its cohabitant:why? 

airy nails

translated by PLS

the airy nails that hammer me

aren’t nailing me into the ground

on the smooth and shiny crust of the earth

the sun keeps a perpetual distance from me

and it reminds me with shadows: 

there is always uncrushable shadow, shameless, resistant

you can only detest it, yet you can’t touch it

rusty nails, by contrast

are far more reliable

once in the flesh, they are unremovable

from time to time, at four in the morning

the glowing of bent nails can be seen

we are all weeping

for even moonlight is hurting us

空气钉子

作者：林翠羽

锤击我的空气钉子

并不把我锤进地里

在光滑 油亮的地表之上

太阳和我——保持永恒的距离

它用影子提醒我

“总有踩不灭的影，赖皮、顽强

只能厌恶，不能触及”

相比而言，会生锈的钉子

要牢靠的多

它们扎进肉里，就无法拔除

偶尔，在凌晨四点

会看见体内弯折的钉子闪烁

我们都在流泪

月光也在伤害我们

雪里有我祖先忘记融掉的复仇

因此

现在轮到我来告诉你烧冰的秘诀

翻译：诗验室

玻璃易碎人们祈祷                              对着有警卫守护的一块石头                         塔里的枪在一名士兵

的防弹衣中达到巅峰，一颗钢铁的心顽固地跳动着。他脸上的那根毛和阴部的三根毛暗示着缺乏资格性

晚一年以及如今所有的掷弹者都已长大成人并逐渐出落成杀手、谋杀者、恐怖主义者和凶手。有些人，则成了二流的施虐狂。

夜里，我慢慢看着雪在灯罩的光中下下来当它闪的速度慢五拍时

我会鬼叫。我呼唤着高处昏暗的神不要拿我的脚下方的黑雪来折断骨头在四处飞溅的叫声中。不在黑雪以比我双手挥舞的速度快七尺的节奏填埋时凝住我的眼皮一月末的冻疮没有一只带壳的鸟愿意死去。

血不能与雪相融，最终的图案并不美丽在丑陋中被淹没。身体连词里飞蝇的孤独与退步者的休战。你不准向你父亲提问。或者他的父亲关于母亲以及他们的母亲因为他们可能从未缓过来。

你本该下雨的脸，被泪水淹没 灰色的眼燃着一九零四的烧。很快，墓地以牙还牙。

乌鸦们在被废弃的工具棚里斋戒在到处都是强奸在其脚下祷告的女人以及强奸他们的神明的和尚的寺庙里在拒绝赔偿的法庭里。

现在，每个人都在预见中被拒绝一切都被怨恨蒙蔽双眼。他们都

与地沟油那样锃亮的乌鸦同行涂满油与面糊的洋葱在油炸中卷缩

它们发出整齐的呐喊这些叫喊被设立在每个角落的耳朵听见。

这老掉牙的污秽，被听见了的，陈词滥调。

乌鸦在更早之前就已经存在了。在我们当中一些人存在之前，但多数人并不在乎。

他们不在乎因为树上的金块与占卜者之须挂在一起

而他正喝着威士忌夜间晚些时候，村庄被那些被无耻的和尚强奸的女人

的尖叫惊醒。和尚身上乳白的绳结在结束时已成血红。

连红色都是黑的。

如果你不得不等，黑色会沮丧成投降，双手会被画成地方监狱里一个扭动的小躯体被捧在手中的心脏。

狱卒说他知道一个会

在强奸犯的睡眠中将其杀死的神。狱长对不能自杀的条例很伤心。如果没有刀和棍棒或变态的狱友来满足他的话，这一条例足以迅速演变成悲剧。

There is a vengeance in the snow that my ancestors forgot to melt 

and 

now it is my turn to tell you how to burn ice 

by Shalini Singh

Glass brittle people prayto a stone watched by guards guns in towers that pinnacle

in a bulletproof vest of a soldier,a steel heart pumps solid.single hair on his chin and three on his pubes signaling the non-eligibilitiesa year late and- now all the pelters have grown up graduating into killers, murderers,terrorists, and slayers. Some, sophomores in sadism.

At night, I slowly watch the snowfallin the light of the lampshadecry ghost when it flickers

five times too slowly.I call the murky gods rooted highto give not my feet black snow beneath to break bonesin a spatter sputter cry. To freeze my eyelids not when the black snow buries seven feet faster than my hands can whipfrostbite in late Januarywhen no crusty birds want to die.

Blood cannot mix with snow and the patterns are not pretty awash in ugly. The truce of the bodies fly’s solitary in conjunction and a retrograde.You must not ask your father.Or his father aboutmothers and their mothers for they might never recover.

Raining as it should, your face is tear-maskedcharcoal eyes burning fever of a hundred and a four. Soon, a cemetery in kind.

Crows have been fasting in an abandoned toolshed in a monastery filled with filthy monks

that raped women who prayed at their feet andraped their gods and the courts denied reparations.

Now, everyone that was denied everything inforesight is blind with spite. They all walk with crows that shine like gutter oil andoiled battered onions pucker in deep fry, together they cry in unison and the cries areheard in ears chartered in all corners.

The filth is old, heard, old.

Crows existed even before. Before there were some of us and most did not care.

They did not carefor the gold on the trees was hanging by the threads of a fortune teller’s whiskers

as he drank whiskey and later in the light, the village was awakened by the cries of the women who were raped

by monks, filthy.Monks that wore string cheese white and they finished red. Red would be black.

If you had to wait, the black was crestfallen into surrender and the hands would paint into the

handheld heart of a small body wreathing in a county jail.The jailer says he knows of a god that

can kill rapists in their sleep. The warden grieves that suicide is not an option. That options canrun into tragedies if not pleasured by a knife and a baton or bougie loin kinky comrades.

red hooded sister

translated by PLS

lettuce, lettuce, please loosen your long hair

and let me ride it as a scaling ladder

riding your black hair to enter your temple of black

lettuce, lettuce, you said what you love about the moon is the danger in it

brambles slit the knights’ eyes blind, their faces

captured by true owls to carpet their nest

the world is the umbrageous lacquered bowl on your table

bloody fingers in the abysmal soup 

the dawn and sorcerers are still asleep in the forest but will eventually wake

lettuce, lettuce

your curse was once broken, and you are now stitching it up

the story is like severed limbs and fragmented bones

every version has fresh love and cruelty

fairytales are formed this way, you grew up this way

you hair, longer and longer

devouring your room

the new betrayal stems from your own body

lettuce, lettuce, walk out of your castle

or lay down your long hair first

i’ve walked that quiet lane

and locked grandma’s door

cute lies and tragic songs

i’ve sung alone in the abdomen deep as an abyss

but no legendary fiction has been written this way

lettuce, lettuce

i’ve walked past you too many times

not sorcerer, nor prince

we are all caressed by the pitch-black moon

lettuce, lettuce

put your long hair down

let me ride it as a scaling ladder

with your black hair

we walk out of the night

hurl a fire, rid of that temple of black

if you are still not sure about

returning the residual hair or ash to the wind

then please take my red hood first

红帽姐姐

作者：袁婵

莴苣莴苣，把你的长发放下来

让我以之为云梯

乘你的黑发在黑夜进入你的黑色圣殿

莴苣莴苣，你说你赏月赏的是危险

荆棘丛划瞎了骑士的眼，他们的脸

被鸱鸮抓去巢内作毯

世界是你桌上阴翳的漆碗

深幽的汤水中有血红的手指

黎明和巫士还在森林沉睡但终将苏醒

莴苣莴苣

你的魔咒破碎过，你又把它重新拼合

故事如断肢、碎骨

每一个版本都有新的爱与残忍

童话都是这样成形，你也如此长大

越来越长，你的头发

它在吞噬你的房间

新的背叛出自你的身体

莴苣莴苣，从你的城堡出来

或先把你的长发放下

那清僻的小路我曾走过

外婆的家门我也锁过

可爱的谎言、悲伤的歌

我也在如深潭的腹中独自唱过

可传奇小说没有这样写过

莴苣，莴苣

我路过你太多太多次

不是巫士，不是王子

我们都被乌黑的月亮照着

莴苣，莴苣

把你的长发放下

让我以之为云梯

乘你的黑发

我们走出黑夜

扔一把火，翦除那黑色圣殿

如果此时你还不愿

还风以残发或余灰

那便先借你我的红帽

song of wind

translated by PLS

i’ve seen wind, it’s a touchable force against a wish

the grasses are about to bloom no matter how withered they are, you don’t need to hide

once autumnal as a broken shadow in the tea, i will float up from the bottom

oh, the lake keeps sculpting, chasing the pathetic balance between you and me

is there really such a painting, in which nothing happens yet still being appreciated

empty hall with the only door shut, open the window let the sound of rain burn

the moth carrying fine powder fading out of signature, thus you stop writing

i also want to swirl like her, die in a cobweb like her yet to be painted by you

both running away, jumping from one old den to the other

don’t create unreal stability in the cave, and then ripple

like appoggiatura, heart beating the strings but how to swing the strengthless clock

with its most absolute flow and vocabulary of eloquence, face to face

i reappear unintentionally in this blast of wind, timid as a skirt

plentiful promises glowing as before in the newly woven romance

unprovoked convections rubbing flirtingly in the air, there are some people

who can simulate sly wings without any worry, and plummet

風歌

作者：陈聪

我見過風，它是能觸的另一與願望相反的力

萬草再輪番枯敗都行將展開，你也不必隱藏

秋得像一杯茶中的殘影，我就從底下浮上來

湖啊無限雕刻，追逋你和我之間可悲的平衡

豈真有這樣一幅畫，當中無事發生還被欣賞

獨關著一扇門的空廳，敞開窗任憑雨聲灼燒

馱伏細粉的飛蛾子淡出款書，你這樣停了筆

我也想如其盤旋、如其僵死於蛛網但被你畫

互相地出逃，從一所窠臼跳進另一所窠臼里

勿在洞中營造不切這真實的穩定，然後波動

如倚音，心在琴上狂砸但怎麼擺動無力的鐘

以其最似絕對性的流動與詞彙雄辯，面對面

我無意在這陣風中復現，像條裙子那般荏弱

而俯拾即是的承諾於新織的愛情里光輝如初

無端的對流在空中作曖昧的摩擦，還有些人

能全無後顧地模擬出狡詰的翅膀，然後墜落