我们的时代空无一物
作者：萧潇
我们的时代空无一物
旧日园圃里的葡萄已经坠地
与火红果子的残骸
构成大地破碎的流彩
一阵酸涩在我的舌尖泛开
绿叶上，花蝴蝶褪去了甜蜜的悲哀
螳螂割开天空的肉体
春天生长 冬天毁灭
太阳下坐着黄昏的丰碑
我走进去 又走出
我是人间最闪耀的物质
雨水打在脸上，分散成甜味因子
昏沉的日光在藤蔓间躲藏
石阶上遗落着撕裂的红领巾
敲响十一级阶台的钟
枯叶开始绽放霜痕
我走进去 又走出
柳树下我看见孩子的梦
水池的皱纹记录着蜻蜓的相思
泪水穿透墙壁
喊声飞越窗沿
我记得我曾有母亲
她的鞋只 被烦恼拥在怀里
萧潇，河北秦皇岛人，喜欢用诗歌记录自己的情绪和生活。
Our Generation Has Nothing
translated by PLS
Our generation has nothing
Grapes from old vineyards have fallen
Together with the debris of flaming-red fruits
Constituting earth’s broken colours
A taste of sourness dancing on the tip of my tongue
On green leaves, butterflies with their sweet melancholy gone
Mantises cutting open the sky’s flesh
Spring sprouting; Winter withering
Under the sun sat the monument of dusk
I walked in, and out
I am the brightest substance in the world
Rain slapping on the face, dispersed into sweetness
Murky sunlight hiding in the vines
Over the steps, red scarves torn
Striking the bell of eleven steps
Dry leaves starting to show traces of frost
I walked in, and out
Under the willows I saw children’s dreams
Wrinkles in the pond recording a dragonfly’s lovesickness
Tears drilling through the wall
Screams flying over the windowsill
I remember I once had a mother
Her shoes, cradled by troubles
Xiao Xiao, from Qinhuangdao of Hebei province. He likes to use poetry to record his emotions and life.
LOSS
by Lily Jackson
Slowly, but easily, they slipped away
The names of things, the fundamental measure of each day.
Well-used, familiar words, I thought they were my friends
Companions from my childhood, deserters at the end.
Breakfast; blanket; songbird; snow.
Why did they disappear, where did they go?
Did I use them carelessly
And fill them with self-doubt?
Did I fail to cherish them,
Did they just … wear out?
Mother; father; daughter; son.
Even the most precious names now hesitant or gone.
And what shall I be when all of them are lost?
For without words, how can we love the things we value most.
Lily Jackson is a former teacher, now living in the Cotswolds. She writes for her own pleasure and that of her friends.
迷失
翻译：诗验室
渐渐地，却又轻而易举地，他们就这样溜走了
那些事物的名字，每一个日子的基本丈量。
那些熟练而恰当的词语，我曾以为他们是我的朋友
那些童年的伙伴们，到最后都不过是逃兵。
早餐、毛毯、鸣禽、雪。
他们为何都消失了，又都去了哪里？
我是不是对他们太过随意
让他们充满自我怀疑？
我是不是没有好好珍惜他们，
还是他们只是……累坏了？
母亲、父亲、女儿、儿子。
就连最珍贵的名字现在都变得迟疑或早已逝去。
那么当他们全都迷失的时候我又变成了什么呢？
而如果没有词语，我们又该如何去爱那些自己最珍惜的事物呢。
Lily Jackson 曾是一名教师，现在居住在英国的科茨沃尔德。写作是她的个人爱好，她的作品通常都是围绕朋友而写。
拿枪的孩子
作者：杜文辉
拿枪的孩子在瞄什么
枪里有没有子弹
我看见他们往里镶子弹
他们瞄树上的鸟
瞄鸟的歌唱、胸脯和
飞翔
他们互相瞄
在墙角、花树、 柱子背后
玻璃背后
轮胎背后
在人背后
分成两派、三派、几派
瞄对方的眼睛和头
杜文辉，甘肃静宁人，有文学作品集《树叶的心头》与《石头之轻》等。
Kids With a Gun
translated by PLS
Kids with a gun
What are they aiming at
There’s no bullet in the gun
I saw them loading it
They aim at birds on the tree
Birds’ tweets, chest and
Flight
They aim at each other
Behind street corners, flowers and columns
Behind windows
Behind tires
Behind people
Divided into two groups, three, or more
Aiming at each other’s eyes and heads
Du Wenhui is from Jingning county of Gansu province. His published literary collections include At the Heart of Leaves and Lightness of a Rock.
Strandbeest
by Kevin McGowan
when man is but a hieroglyph etched
into pocked walls of jungle skyscrapers
and nothing comes calling for the carrion
réveillon decomposing through a time
that no longer has hands with which to tick
they will rove by grey seas, these kinetic
seraphs, with the rhythms of all evolution
wheeling scuttling flapping maybe searching
fibrous limbs whispered to life by wind like
pawns traversing an unmanned chessboard
Kevin McGowan is a writer based in Stirling, Scotland. He has been published in: Fiction on the Web, Literally Stories, Inklings Anthology (Stryvling Press), Peeking Cat Poetry, Eunoia Review, Bandit Fiction, Plum Tree Tavern, Pendemic, Snakeskin, and Runcible Spoon. His short story, ‘God’s Shoulder’, was awarded Stirling University’s Research-Based Learning Prize.
风力仿生兽
翻译：诗验室
当人类不过是被刻入
摩天大楼群凹痕墙的一个象形文字
腐肉无人问津
酒宴腐烂 在一个
无针可转的时代
他们将在灰色的海边游走，这些活跃的
精灵们，带着所有进化的节奏
旋转疾跑摆动着，或许正在寻找
纤维状的肢体被风的细语唤醒，一如
兵卒穿越无人守护的棋盘
Kevin McGowan 是一名文字工作者，现居苏格兰斯特林。他的作品曾发表于《Fiction on the Web》、《Literally Stories》、《Inklings Anthology》（Stryvling Press 出版社）、《Peeking Cat Poetry》、《Eunoia Review》、《Plum Tree Tavern》等处。他的短篇小说《上帝的肩膀》获得斯特林大学研究性学习奖。
六月最后一颗杨梅
作者：袁婵
吃完最后一颗杨梅
六月就过去了
肉土在核儿的四周垮塌
释出未来的信号
——甜酸记忆终将改写
如此道别
我依然爱你
流水中的臃肿与苍老
踏上那片
你开始征费的海滩
看过的桃花谢了
开出人头
腥风淡在五星酒店巍峨的身体前
行走在小岛的人
曾看见过你的白眼睛
挂在树上，嵌在天边
那时你想烧死
矫饰的裙摆，泥泞的雨鞋
后来变成
树枝、礁石
深邃的大海、乱爬的螃蟹
我看见海神焦灼，向赫拉求情
——“神祇中谁也无法与你对抗”
火神赫法伊斯托斯你赢了
我看见塑料与土地牢牢粘黏
我看见艺术家的画被海浪冲走了
我知道有船
而你不与我渡海
八千个椰子能捕捉到什么
白色绳索坠下山谷
失修的教堂被众人推倒
黑蹄小羊失足
看夕阳的影子背后便是它的尸骸
海滩变作殷红色暗墟
杨梅晾晒脱落的肉土
成为罐头或酒？
——往事
我脚踩一粒一粒浑圆的硬核
独自于落潮时
离开六月
袁婵，香港大学文学博士，作者，翻译，作品散见于《星星诗刊》、《香港文学》、《声韵诗刊》（香港）、《秋水诗刊》（台湾）、《台客诗刊》等。
Last Waxberry of June
translated by PLS
After swallowing the last waxberry
June will be gone
Its flesh crumbling around the kernel
releasing signals from the future
— memories of sweet and sour will eventually be rewritten
Such a goodbye
I am still in love with you
bloating and ageing through flowing water
stepping on
the beach you started taxing
The peach flowers I saw have withered
budding with people’s heads
A reign of terror diluting before the grand figure of a five star hotel
Those who are walking on the islet
once saw your pale eyes
hanging on a tree, decorating the sky
You wanted to burn
the feigning hemlines, muddy rain boots
which then turned into
twigs and reefs
deep oceans and aimless crabs
I see Poseidon getting anxious, pleading for Hera —
“There’s no god who can compete against you”
Hephaestus you have won
I see an adhesion between plastics and the ground
I see artists’ paintings being washed away by waves
I know there’s a boat
But you won’t ride with me
What can eight thousand coconuts capture
White ropes falling into a valley
Chapels fallen into disrepair destroyed by the people
A lamb with black hooves slipped
Behind the shadow of sunset lies his carcass
The beach turned into darkish-red ruins
Waxberries drying its detached flesh
to become fruit tins or wine?
— history
I stepped on each perfectly round kernel
Alone when the tides were ebbing
Leaving June
Yuan Chan, writer and translator, her works have been published in The Stars Poetry, Hong Kong Literature, Voice & Verse poetry magazine, Qiushui poetry magazine, and Taiwan Hakka poetry magazine.
This Thing Writes Itself | 行走的文字*
by Maxwell Owen Clark | 翻译：诗验室
.
Personal companion 私之伴兮，
Meat stew 肉之烩兮，
Or whatever. 或任其之。
.
I love the wild birds 我怜野鸟，
And feel better 玲珑其声，
When they sing. 闻之至喜。
.
Two languages 二语相会，
Playing at the edges 如天之极，
Like clouds. 如云之悠。
.
My hair 有须之直，
Straight, 修如厚帛。
Thick silk.
.
Abstract 有手之语，
Sign 可以迷离。
Language.
.
***
***
.
How goes 子之园艺，
Your gardening 今之何如？
Today?
.
Hurry up! 子且快焉。
Eee!
Run! Run! 去兮！去兮！
.
I like this one, 斯之乐我，
But not that one; 莫之彼也。
Agreed? 然否？
Maxwell Owen Clark is a poet, painter, and musician living in Portland, Maine, USA. His first book, entitled (((...))), or 'Triple Parenthesis Ellipsis', was published by NYC's Roof Books in 2017.
Maxwell Owen Clark 是一位居住在美国缅因州波特兰市的诗人、画家兼音乐人。他的处女作《(((…)))》或《三重括弧省略号》于2017年由Roof Books出版。
*注：此诗应原作者意思，按诗经风格翻译。
听觉之外
希洛
火车上，脸贴着窗。
嘈杂若隐若现
三分之二的头，还在
昨天，十八重溪
透明的绿色里。
嬉闹声、鸟声
以及木炭烧成的灰
在铁轨拖出的无限中
加速搅拌着明天
在
听觉之外。
希洛，诗人与翻译。
Beyond Hearing
translated by PLS
On the train, face glued against the window.
Chaos slowly fading and reappearing
Two thirds of the head, still stuck
With yesterday, in the crystal green
Of the Eighteen Streams.
Kids romping about, birds chirping
Charcoals crackling
In the infinity drawn by the rails
Hastily whisking tomorrow
Beyond
Hearing
Xi Luo, poet and translator.
Final Scene
by Zheng Shihua
dropping stars, fallen leaves
the poetic aspects of life
you collected ages ago
flipping through her fingers
point to a strange place
a familiar yet long lost home
put your stuff in boxes
seal them up and pat their shoulders
unpacking could be tedious
when you realize we are all hoarders
of various bits and pieces
and how much memories tend to linger
when you let go of any last wish
the floor is shaking my dear
could use some repair
or just flee the inevitable
summon up the remaining expectations
set them on frizzing water
here is the poison of youth
invented by voiceless ghosts
come now and listen
sizzles of unrequited dreams
hope is a dangerous thing
shared by the majority
let them preach
this ceremony of sacrifice
steals all kinds of interpretations
how this miracle sustains
since the boundary was wiped off
how do we cope with loss
a greater deal of one's fair share
how to name the faceless
since shapes and forms matter more
than the sharp and severe
how could one argue against the self
for what remains is just ambiguity
who wrote the final scene
the tragic heroine defeated her flaw
hence betrays the doomed ending
an outcast by default
was that the end
vague meanings piled up
seasons left no trace
how long can the narrative carry on
when fortune stands as a curse
leaving the audience gasping for
air no longer clean
Zheng Shihua, born and raised in Sichuan. She loves sunset and especially in love with cities with rivers and lakes.
最后一幕
翻译：诗验室
陨落的星星，坠落的叶子
你在多年前拾起的
诗情画意的生活
在她的指间飞逝
对着一个陌生的地方
一个熟悉却又久违的家
把你的东西装进箱子
将其封好并轻拍他们的肩膀
当你意识到我们都不过是
各种小玩意儿的囤积者时
拆封有时会变得很无聊
当你放弃最后的愿望时
有多少记忆会选择徘徊
亲爱的这地板正在颤抖
已经年久失修了
或者逃避不可避免的
召集残留的期望
把她们放在卷曲的水面
看看无声鬼魂制造的
青春之毒药吧
快来倾听一下
单相思之梦的唏嘘吧
很多人都抱有希望
不过它是一个危险的东西
让他们继续说教吧
这场关于牺牲的仪式
盗走了各式各样的阐释
这奇迹该如何维持
因为边界已经模糊
我们该如何应对失去
它掠走一个人太多应得的东西了
如何为这无头人命名
因为形状与体态
比尖锐与苛刻更为重要
我们该如何与自己争辩
因为剩下的只是模糊不清
谁书写了这最后一幕
悲惨的女英雄战胜了她的不足
因此违背了命中注定的结局
与生俱来的异类
难道这就是结局么
模糊的意义开始堆积
季节不留下任何痕迹
这样的故事会持续多久
当命运成为诅咒时
观众正竭力喘着
不再洁净的空气
郑诗画，生长于四川盆地的落日爱好者，格外喜欢有江河湖海的城市。
我喜欢星星
作者：霁晨
我喜欢星星，它的救赎——
小时候，我只要看着天空移动
就看到最远的梦想和生活的极端，
我小小的心就已不安。
我渴望星星拯救我，尽管我没有罪，
没有痛苦，但我口渴。我渴望着
天空能下一阵雨，这没有错。
仿佛我为此地带来了时鲜的荔枝和芒果，
早于资本发现本地生活，那么
我又有一阵子的快乐，快乐好像一场雨。
我们的雨会生产，但不生产摩托。
下完雨后，在街上走路，都是孩子，
笑着，原来地上也会有星星，原来
鱼从海上来到这里，会有泡沫。
那是一种箱子，灵魂从海上来到这里，
就会透明；我们从这里走到海上，
就会高烧；都要装进箱子里，
等别人来买我们。这个流程，
就叫丰富的课余生活。
当我发现自己手脚掺着砂砾，
我的生活就有了一座城堡，一场故事会。
说的是，我一个朋友每次去海边
都要带回几片贝壳，他说
你不需要做什么，贝壳会记住你的快乐。
说的是，“孤寂好像一场雨”。
反正就是这些雨，教会我诉说。
让我潮得要命，怒火中烧，
外婆说，再给灶台拢点柴火。
烧呀，烧呀，建议我再烧点什么，
去除我脸上的冰，之后看起来
又像个小家神。我是星星指派的
风火轮，留在这世上沉沦，
让我挤得要命，甩手出门。这个动作，
就叫本地的家庭生活。
你可知道，“家神”是骂人的话，
你没听过，泥娃娃是恐怖的吗，
嘴巴不说话？你没有勇气可言，
就看不到，木板在烧时就是旗，
被浇时就是唱片，还能转换，一种神圣的，
一种超现实，你没有浪漫可言，
不懂孩子的音乐，你个白痴！
那么，我要回家。我要回家可不是一句
冒犯的话。不再与野蛮的孩子在一起，
因为我已经野过他们，从风雨里找到安宁。
那么，我也可以不回家，就站在
这里，站在星星底下。我也可以
站在其他屋檐下，不忍受那些点和线的标度。
那么，我要回家去冲破蛛网，就有花香
我一门心思想要回去，我的家在哪里？
有时我就不能忍受，毕竟我家不存在
经纬度，天上的地址才能照到此地，
这里的家是永久，我是星星之子。
霁晨，他对童年有太多的幻想。
I Like Stars
translated by PLS
I like stars, their salvation —
When I was little, every time I saw the sky moving
I would see the most distant dreams and life’s extremes
My little heart had already shown unrest.
I was hoping the stars would save me, even though I had no sin,
no pain, but thirst. I was hoping
the sky would pour some rain, there was nothing wrong with this.
As if I brought to this place fresh lychees and mangos,
earlier than the capitalists discovered local lifestyle, so then
I had a short period of joy, such as rain.
Our rain could produce, but it couldn’t produce motorbikes.
After the rain, it’s only kids who were out walking in the street,
laughing. It turned out the ground had stars too, fishes
came here from the sea, with bubbles.
That was a type of case, souls came here from the sea,
and became transparent; We walked from here to the sea,
and started to have fever; We were going to be encased,
waiting to be bought. This process,
was called wonderful post-school life.
When I found out there were grits stuffed in my arms and legs,
I was like having a castle to myself, and a storytelling party.
In the story, every time a friend of mine went to the beach,
he would return with some shells, he said
you don’t need to do anything, the shells will remember your joys.
In the story, “loneliness is like rain”.
It was this rain that taught me how to share my feelings
filled me with moisture, and tons of anger,
Grandma said, add some wood to the stove.
It was burning, again and again, and suggesting I burn something else,
to remove the ice on my face, and then I looked like
a little Penates. I was the flaming chariot
dispatched by the stars, staying in this world to corrupt
feeling unbearably crowded, slamming the door and left. This action,
was called a local’s family life.
Did you know that “Penates” here is an insulting phrase,
Haven’t you heard that mud dolls are scary,
they have a mouth but can’t talk? You don’t have any courage,
so you can’t see, the wood is a flag when it’s burnt,
a record when poured upon, can be converted, a sacredness,
a type of surrealism, you don’t have any sense of romance,
don’t understand kids’ music, you idiot!
So then, I am going home. This is not
an offensive saying. No longer with wild kids,
because I am wilder than them, I can find peace in the windy rain.
So then, I can also not go home, just standing
here, right under the stars. I can also
stand under some eaves, not having to stand the scale of points and lines.
So then, I am going to go home in order to break the spider’s web, there will be fragrances of flowers
The only thing I am thinking of is to go home, but where is my home?
Sometimes I just can’t stand it, after all my home doesn’t have
coordinates, only in heaven can we find this place.
This home is forever, I am the son of the stars.
Ji Chen, has too many fantasies about childhood.
风，一旦停息
作者：Ottsan
隧道
在我眼前
倾倒 潮水般的黑暗和寂静
所有的灯被按上静音
薄纱在冰块般的空气里淡淡流淌
一抹石榴色烧入我的视野
烟波散开
与炽热的火焰一起
凝结在干冰里
挣扎着，破裂
我奔跑
一切却都在倒回
树影驶向前方
汽笛声缝补天际
唱片机里的琴键亲吻空气
风消失在寂静的话语里
Ottsan 是来自成都的一名高中生。
Once the Wind Stops
translated by PLS
Tunnels
In front of me
Pouring waves of darkness and quietude
Every light is silenced
Gauze traversing through the air cold as ice
A cluster of red burning into my eyesight
Waves of smoke dispersed
Together with blazing flames
Frozen in dry ice
Struggling, and bursting
I am running
But everything else is going backward
Tree shadows driving forward
Sirens stitching up the sky
Music from the record player kissing the air
Wind disappearing in the mumbling of silence
Ottsan is a high school student in Chengdu.
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