涂

翻译：诗验室

我将你的卧室

涂成死去的向日葵之色

就如你放在我母亲

坟墓旁的那簇

希望通过死亡

我们能够忘却

雷声不断的夜晚

当日落击打着

我们肮脏的客厅

我们起舞，光脚

起泡并相爱，当

账单出现时我们

无言以对，你申请

远方的工作，我打着字

对着那些我们亲眼看着溶解

在雾蒙蒙的力之碰撞

或巧合中的梦想

当我结束时

我置身事外，审视着

种种不完美：

如果不了解我们的

故事你就可能错过的

一片片凹凸不

平的热情

Paint 

by Erin Jamieson

I paint your bedroom

color of dying sunflowers

like the ones you left

at my mother’s grave

hoping through death

we could forget 

thunderstruck nights

when sunsets blistered

our stained living room

& we danced, barefoot & 

blistered & in love & lost

beyond words as our bills

collected & you applied to

far away jobs & I typed away

to dreams we watched dissolve

with misty collisions of force

or coincidence

When I am finished

I stand back, noting

the imperfections:

flecks of uneven

passion you might miss

if you didn’t know

our story

year of fate

translated by PLS

“would the sound remain in the tape?”

ya qiu, waterfowls swooping up and down in your diary,

wavering inquietude, wavering

the parking apron where dews starting to settle. is it the right path？

many things tend to rush to assert, the fruits on the tree

ill with rain, secretly cracked open by sunlight.

i wonder, i have been trying to conquer the days and nights, so many

jelly beans re-poured into the pocket, no less than a disappointing

assault

ya qiu, the potted plants you once fed, are spewing

insomniac mammoth. space regressed to imaginary numbers, are all rainforests

barbaric?

the conveyer belt accelerating, steadfast carriage crunching the full moon

but the teeth haven’t got the permission. for a while,

there are red fire hydrants arrayed in the aisle

i couldn’t carry myself, or be as happy as before.

ya qiu, all these zigzags have rendered you and i…but the sound,

can it really stay here?

本命年

作者：吕周杭

“声音会留在磁带里么?”

雅秋，水鸟在你的日记本里起落，

摇曳着不宁，摇曳着

水露方息的停机坪。是我们的路么？

好多事情急于肯定，那悬在树上

罹患雨季的果实，被日头悄然剥开。

我想，我在努力攻克那些昼夜，那么多

再次灌入口袋的糖豆，不亚于一次失落

的冲锋

雅秋，你曾饲喂的盆栽，正吐出

失眠的猛犸。空间退至虚数，雨林

尽是蒙昧的么?

运输带加速传动，车厢一路南行硌碎满月

可牙齿未经允许。好些时候，

甬道里排列着红色的消防栓

我无法搬运自己，像从前那样快活。

雅秋，这曲折的使你我……可声音，

真的可以留在这里吗？

暴风雨

翻译：诗验室

午后审视着被恐惧

染过的寂静；警笛与警察

将公园、学校、教堂与超市

串了起来

无人清理的垃圾被风

从下水道口吹到屋顶到一条空无

一人的长凳旁。鸽子们游荡着

在这个昏暗的午后。一席

凉风对抗着焦虑

这是一群学生进行日常速写

的工作日。他们画下的小坟墓

哀悼着事件的突发性

如同一夜之间

蔓延成死亡的植被

他们不想对此习以为常

The Storm

by Hazel Ma

The afternoon witnesses silence 

tainted by fear; the park bonds with

the schools, the churches, the supermarkets

through sirens and police 

Unattended garbage is blown 

from sewer holes to rooftops to the feet of a bench

where people have fled. Pigeons wander

in this dim atmosphere. The air of

coolness countering angst

A usual weekday for a group of students

to do their sketches. They make little tombs that

mourn about the incident’s suddenness

like vegetation sprawled to death

in the blink of a night

They don’t want to be used to it

science of spring

translated by PLS

birds know that isolation is a very un-spring thing

plants know that with a desire to grow the vines can lift up a rock, instead of blossoming

the rock would crumble in a few years, the hardness won’t matter. birds know that in fact

we have squandered the most optimistic and healthy rainwater of the year

on nourishing weeds and fake news. plants know that the land

hasn’t grown more fertile because of this, it has become narrow minded, and depressed, it

is the only land that wants to climb up on the globe, it pines to become a highland

thus plants and birds are prone to oxygen deficiency during orogenesis. last night

a moth orchid was dying of hunger and weariness, in order to elude the surveillance of the land

we had to talk about an honest and pure thing in a different language: the death is approaching—

she has been a nobody, and has been too scared to drink the water flowing backwards to the highland. she is agitated at night

—and for this she hasn’t forgotten to apologise. in the secret future, she will always be seen as the mother of fruits

once she becomes a flower, she will be seeded in you for ever, all the way to your heart. you once told me:

flowers won’t be flowers, and grass won’t be grass, until the day the land learns how to apologise to the spring

有关春天的学问

作者：李盲

群鸟知道，隔离是一件很不春天的事

植物知道，生长的渴望可以让藤蔓举起岩石，而不是开花

岩石会在数年后碎裂，而坚硬无济于事。群鸟知道，实质上

我们已经浪费了今年最乐观、最健康的雨水

全用在滋养杂草和假新闻上。植物知道，土地

没有因此变得肥沃，土地心胸狭隘，土地心情郁结，土地

是全球唯一一块想要往上爬的土地，它渴望成为高原

植物和群鸟故而很容易在众多造山运动中缺氧。昨晚

一朵蝴蝶兰因饥饿和疲倦奄奄一息，为了逃避土地的耳目

我们不得不用异语谈论一件诚实且纯洁的事：死亡将至——

她一直无名，一直不敢饮用计划倒流回高原的溪水。她在深夜暴怒

——她没有忘记为此道歉。在隐秘的未来，她一直被当作果实的母亲

当她成为花时，她就长久地种在你的身上，入心入肺。你告诉我：

花不能为花，草不能为草，一直到土地学会向春天道歉

我的 heart 之启蒙

翻译：诗验室

活着，其它已不重要

但不满像剪纸一样

展开。为何一切都感觉像

在溶解。为何这漫长的

夜已经坍塌成

二月。我不可能是唯一一个

小心翼翼抚摸脸颊、

头发、臂膀的人。确认

我还在。在这里。依然活着。

放风筝，今年的风并不顺。

学会如何舔伤口。

泡绿茶与姜茶的清晨；

新伤与重被撕开的旧

伤；把树叶当膏药

涂抹。被问题充斥的

下午：为何我不

休息—为何太阳要下山—为何

周日令人忧伤。就这样

溜走的模糊的一天。灯光暗亮

直至寂静结束的时刻。

处于冬眠中的粘稠的梦，

一罐花生酱里的冬天。

heart 跳动频率如此微弱，如此缓慢

但我依然活着。因为月亮

已满过而我的 heart，耐心地跳动着。

abecedarian for my 心*

by Emily Liu

alive. and nothing else should matter

but dissatisfactions open like paper

cuts. how can all things feel

dissolving. how has the long

evening already crumbled into

february. it can’t be only me

gingerly touching my cheeks,

hair, arms. reassurances that

i remain. am here. am alive.

just need a moment or a while.

kiting, this year’s winds not kind.

learning how to kiss the bruises.

mornings with green, ginger tea;

new wounds and old newly torn

open; apply leaves as a

poultice. afternoons with

questions: why i don’t

rest—why the sun sets—why

sundays depress. hazy

thief of a day. lights dull bright

until past the quiet hours.

viscous dreams in hibernation,

winter a jar of peanut butter.

心 pulse so faint, so slow

yet i am alive. for the moon passes

zenith and my 心, patient, pulses.

*heart (xīn)