Autumn '25 Issue｜2025 秋季刊

Making Love to a Memory

by Rafael Katz

She lies

Flat and groping

Glistening and odorless

A landscape dissolving

Into a thought

Rafael Katz is a painter, writer and translator who currently lives in Shanghai.

与记忆交欢

翻译：诗验室

她平

躺着摸索着

发着光却毫无气味

一个山水融

成一个念头

关世宁是一位画家、写作者与译者，目前居住于上海。

---

新闻

作者：杨过

我已经放弃了进一步革命的可能

默许了灰尘、变节者和旧信的插入

空气中到处滑行着7的靴子

轻盈又和谐

即将到来的现实带着

继续寒冷的前景

叫喊和色彩不断消融

不断堆积，在无语的光里

我选择了复数的你

我需要你

在这个寂静的空间,我说出的话

泼水难收

奔跑的人总会遭遇不经意的0

像露水一样新鲜

我们在其中晃动

不知身处何地

它的界限在哪里

而它却总是知道我们的位置

我们即将经历的1

将是我们自己的新闻

杨过，原名杨孝峰，长期工作生活于上海。

news

translated by PLS

i’ve given up on the possibility of a further revolution

tacitly allowing the infiltration of dust, renegades and old beliefs

there are ”7“ shaped boots gliding about everywhere

lightly and harmoniously

the imminent reality has

the prospect of prolonged cold

screams and colours keep dissolving

heaping, in the light of silence

i choose the plurality of you

i need you

in this silent space, the words i’ve said

cannot be unsaid

those who run always encounter the surprise of “0”

fresh as dew

we sway in it

not knowing where we are

where its borders lie

but it always knows our exact location

the “1” we are about to live

will become our own news

Yang Guo, formerly known as Yang Xiaofeng, lives and works in Shanghai.

---

On the Revolution

by Penny Wei

1.

On Mondays, my grandmother's ribs clicked like 

abacus seeds and braided cicada skins into her hair. 

She murmured that The Party loved unmolted 

women. I think they forked her tongue 

as denunciations too loud and too often. 

2.

On Tuesdays, Uncle peeled his eyelids to 

see the revolution. He spooned us peach 

pits and uncursed the mirror.

3.

On Wednesdays, their voices rot. Both 

of them. So they hung a girl by her pigtails 

over a fish hook and sang until her teeth 

chimed, porcelain against steel. 

4.

On Thursdays, I was told to swallow the 

seal stamp whole. I shit red wax for hours 

till my intestines spoke Mandarin in cursive.

5.

On Fridays, rice boiled paper and chrysanthemum piss. 

Rations as dry sockets and mildew. In the courtyard, 

roosters recited confessionals. When we clapped, one 

dispatched mid-

sentence.

6.

On Saturdays, mother's milk soured and fear 

fermented in her ducts. I was thrown bitterness

and I snorted it as aspirin.  

7.

On Sundays, we kissed Mao's face like a god 

in formaldehyde. Soon Pusa will flee our 

mouths in increments. We will return as 

eyeless beings, our gums blistering loyalty.

Penny Wei is from Shanghai and Massachusetts.

论革命

翻译：诗验室

（一）

周一，我外婆的肋骨响如

算珠并将蝉衣编入她的头发。

她嘀咕着党喜欢不蜕皮的

女人。我觉得他们将她的舌头弄成两半

只因控诉太大声太过频繁。

（二）

周二，叔叔剥开他的眼皮

只为看一下革命。他舀给我们

桃核并解除了对镜子的诅咒。

（三）

周三，他们的声音在溃烂。他们

两个人的。于是他们将一个女孩的辫子

吊在一个鱼钩上并唱着直到她的牙齿

打颤，陶瓷压着钢。

（四）

周四，有人让我一口

吞下印章。我连续好几个小时拉红蜡

直到我的肠胃用草书说普通话。

（五）

周五，宣纸和菊黄色的尿。

如干槽和霉一样定量供应。院子里，

公鸡哼着忏悔。当我们拍手时，一个

被调遣的句

                    中。

（六）

周六，母乳酸了恐惧

在她的管道里发酵。有人将挖苦扔

与我而我把它当阿斯匹林吸进去。

（七）

周日，我们像亲吻神明那样在福尔马林

里亲了毛的脸。很快菩萨就成堆逃离

我们的嘴。我们将如无眼的生物般

返回，我们的牙龈迸着忠诚。

Penny Wei 来自上海与马萨诸塞州。

---

无题

作者：Veo

我是装在破搪瓷杯里的

莫斯科的骡子。

我不知道诗和爱，

我只会敞开胸膛奔跑，

在冻土和雪上。

人们说，不懂事的畜生。

不客气，这也是你的冬天。

Veo，喜欢写作。

Untitled

translated by PLS

I’m a Moscow mule

trapped in a broken enamel mug.

I don’t understand poetry and love,

all i know is to run with my arms open,

over permafrost and snow.

They say, you ignorant piece of shit.

You’re welcome, this is your winter too.

Veo likes to write.

---

In the Shadow of Towers

by Craig Fredrickson

We stand where the river folds,

between steel and glass,

watching our faces

fracture in the shopfront reflections.

The streets flow without end.

A thousand voices in a hundred tongues

rise and dissolve into traffic,

their syllables scattering like incense in wind.

Crosswalks blink.

Smoke from the baozi stall rises,

to be lost in neon haze.

I am a grain of rice on a banquet table,

a pixel in the billboard’s endless loop.

But here—

between the horn blast and its echo,

between the rush of the train

and the silence that follows—

something holds.

It is not absence.

It is a weight,

as if the air has remembered Eden

and refuses to exhale.

The stranger’s voice beside me

is speaking only to her phone,

yet the syllables brush my skin

like warm rain.

Steam curls toward my face.

And in these small ascents,

I hear it—

not shouted, not even spoken—

a benediction threading through the noise:

You are mine.

The towers do not bow,

the traffic does not pause,

the streets do not hush for ceremony.

But I walk on,

carrying a quiet so dense

it could bend glass.

Craig Fredrickson works in manufacturing.

在大厦之影中

翻译：诗验室

我们站在河水折叠的地方，

在钢筋与玻璃之间，

看着我们的脸

在橱窗的倒影中分裂。

街道源源不断。

一百张舌发出的一千种声音

升起又消融于车流中，

它们的音节如散于风中的香。

路口眨着眼。

来自包子摊的烟升起，

只为迷失于霓虹之雾中。

我是宴会桌上的一粒米，

循环播放的广告牌上的一个像素。

但是这里 ——

在汽笛与回声间，

在火车的匆忙

与随之而来的寂静间 ——

有一种东西。

它不是缺席，

而是一种重量，

仿佛空气仍记得伊甸园

却拒绝吐气。

我身旁的陌生人

正与她的手机说话，

可是音节滑过我的皮肤

如暖雨般。

卷起的蒸汽扑向我的脸。

在这些小小的升起里，

我听到了它 ——

不是吼出来的，更不是说出来的 ——

一个穿梭于喧闹中的祝福：

你是我的。

大厦们不低头，

车流不停步，

街道不为仪式而安静下来。

而我继续前行，

带着一种清静它稠得

足以压弯玻璃。

Craig Fredrickson 从事制造业。

---

身份证

作者：杨过

你我的关系正在生长，

在这片忙碌的工地上，

累累的钢筋

正在被水泥逐渐凝固。

春天的蒸汽锤就这样

一下一下地砸下来。

你的伤害

正是这座建筑的基础。

最初的蓝图已被不断更改

那最后的形状

你我无从知晓。

一只蝴蝶煽动在

春天最小的损失里，

这是我对你最好的表达。

ID

translated by PLS

the relationship between you and me grows

on this busy construction site

steel bars after steel bars

glued together by cement

the steam hammers of spring smash

down one after another like this

your wounds

are the foundation of this building

the original blueprint has been altered again and again

its final shape

not known to you or me

a butterfly flutters

in the tiniest loss of spring

it is the best articulation i can give you

---

Season

by Felicia Chang

1. Does a tree talk

2. Or is the line mostly silent

3. I stand in the park reminding myself

4. I’m not a metal kettle nor a stone

5. I grew up in an average sized family

6. I never used to feel dispirited

7. This thing where I split–

8. My feelings fading on the train

9. I am not a metal kettle but sometimes

10. I feel nothing and remember nothing

11. I hate a wasted day

12. But the tree wastes all its days

13. Until a spring of horny flowers

14. Think they make the world a pearl

Felicia Chang is a writer and artist based in San Francisco.

季节

翻译：张景超、诗验室

1. 树会说话吗

2. 还是这条线总是无人应答

3. 我站在公园中提醒自己

4. 我不是一只铁壶亦非一颗石头

5. 我成长于一个平凡的家庭

6. 也从未消沉丧志

7. 可如今这样魂不守舍 ——

8. 我的情感在行进的火车中退去

9. 我不是一只铁壶但有时

10. 我失去感觉也记不起什么

11. 我讨厌虚度光阴

12. 可树却虚度它所有的光阴

13. 直至一春蠢蠢欲动的花朵

14. 以为自己能让世界化作一颗珍珠

Felicia Chang 是一名居住于洛杉矶的写作者兼艺术家。

张景超是一位项目发展经理。

---

年終總結

翻译：郭月洲

2025，還他媽是同一扇

咖啡館窗戶

還在用“你”代替“我”真是個

懦夫你勇猛地

從你手中奪走了香煙

從你眼中刮去了模糊

劃掉的句子比你寫出來的還多

你又弄碎了一顆心

在尿跡斑斑的單人監牢中哭過

跟某些中國店鋪老闆聊過天

他們抱怨歐洲已死

法國人不再做事，整天捧著

被該死的硬塑料包裹的手機

講電話

你曾對一個男孩吐露你的秘密

在他的耳中

一支來自未來的金屬之歌

只為他而唱

在他的房間中你曾驚恐地凝視

一個門把手緩而穩地

旋轉，從外面

被一把握在一隻隨機的手裡的

隨機的鑰匙，在外面的

樓梯上，來自過去的腳步聲

仍舊虛弱地吱呀作響

你曾懷疑過但仍未成功覺察

你只是醒進了

另一重夢境

你曾闖入過又一條

不屬於你的街道，在那裡

冬日的陽光是高傲的鳥

只撿最高的樹梢停息，當你

迎著一群逆光的身影跌撞地

走下街道，它們向你的眼睛

抖落羽毛，讓你感到

隱形。事實上是世界對於你

變得隱形。儘管如此你仍然從

顏色和形狀的獄欄中解放出來

並在每個陌生人的眼中

尋找一把壞掉的雨傘

那些眼睛空洞而決斷：

一個個隱藏密碼的小黑點

浮過你的身側

它們身後的空氣

劃開又縫合如

船尾的水。它們身後的世界

也隨之封閉。

你曾著魔地佇立在一場風暴中

它的雪花們

無聲地蜂擁進高架橋

在莊嚴的灰水泥柱中間

尋找著它們各自的房間

很長一段時間你都站在那裡

在性病檢查之後

在參觀完公寓之後

對你種種失敗的思索

如彩色雨傘般升起並擲下

溫暖的陰影

如櫃櫥裡的大白菜和土豆

如單層窗戶上的冷凝水

它們會活過整個冬季並且最終

活過你

總有一個水管在某處滴答

你在想你是不是瘋掉了

你在想它會不會逐漸變成

你自己的那支隱藏的歌

郭月洲，生於北京，現居巴黎。著有詩集《往日無尋》與《Mangosteen Core》，作品散見《詩刊》《我聽見了時間：崛起的中國90後詩人》《Earthbound Press》 等。

Year-end Report

by Annie Guo

2025, still the same damn café window,

still replacing the “I” with a “you” what a 

coward you’ve courageously 

snatched out the cigarettes from your hands,

scraped out the blurriness from your eyes,

crossed out more lines than you’ve written.

You’ve managed to break another heart,

cried in the middle of a piss-stained cell, 

chatted with some Chinese shop owners 

who complained that Europe is dead,

that the French do nothing but talk 

on their phones wrapped in 

fucking hard plastic shells.

You’ve revealed your secrets to a boy

in whose ears 

a metallic song from the future 

sings for him and him only, 

in whose room you’ve stared in horror 

at a doorknob turning slowly and steadily 

by a random key in a random hand 

outside, out 

on the staircase 

that cracked and leaked

faded footsteps of the past.

You’ve questioned and failed to realise

that you’ve woken up yet into

another dream. 

You’ve intruded on another street where

you don’t belong where

winter sunlight was supercilious birds

who rest only on the highest treetops, shedding 

their down-feathers into your eyes as you

staggered down the street brushing past

a herd of backlighted figures, feeling 

invisible. While it’s the world that turned

invisible to you. Nevertheless freed 

from the prison bars of shapes and colours,

you've searched for a broken umbrella

in the eyes of every stranger,

eyes vacant with resolutions: 

little black dots of hidden passcodes, 

floating past you, the air behind them

was slit open and sewn closed, 

like water behind 

the tail of a cruiser. The world behind them 

sealed up also. 

You’ve stood spellbound in a storm

whose snowflakes 

silently swarmed 

beneath a viaduct, 

finding their separate rooms 

between the solemn concrete columns. 

For a long time you’ve stood there,

after the STD tests,

after the apartment visits,

the contemplation of your various failures 

rose up like colourful umbrellas that cast down 

warm shadows. 

Like cabbages and potatoes

in the cabinets, like the condensation 

on your single-paned windows,

they will last you 

throughout the winter and eventually

outlast you. 

Somewhere a tap is always dripping,

you wonder if you are going crazy,

you wonder if it is becoming 

your own hidden song. 

Annie Guo was born in Beijing and now lives in Paris. Her poetry has appeared in Veer Books, Earthbound Press, Poetry Periodical, and elsewhere. 

---

The Passing

by Penny Wei

have you ever loved life that was not yours?

I have—in between green-eyed growing 

sprouts who called me a monster. 

in another light, I am taught to 

take a pill & feed the baby.

clumsily, I scramble to your knees &

wipe your blood-lit eyes into a clearing.

after all, we worship the same heartbeat.

for a forthcoming spring, you press crescented 

melons into a mid-moon laugh &

peck at a bird’s wandering.

I look at your hat tilting as overriped sunflower—

it is now 2 feet tall.

a swallowed seed roots inside a dehydrated belly.

did you know? 

I dare trade every orchid for a penny.

an insider sees the kitchen light spilling 

yellow on the linoleum. he is not wrong— 

where the tree bared its ribs is also 

where the dishes stack as tombstones.

glistening, you feed cherries to my eyes.

eventually, I chose not to forgive, &

let remembrance slide between chocolate fingers. 

the sun is a wound we refuse to close.

流逝

翻译：诗验室

你曾经爱过一种不属于你的生活么？

有过 —— 在叫我怪兽的

生长中的绿眼新芽间

在另一种光中，我学会 

吃一粒药和喂婴儿。

笨拙地，我爬到你的膝前 &

把你带着血丝的眼擦成林中空地。

毕竟，我们热爱的是同一个心跳。

在接下来的那个春天，你将月牙状的 

蜜瓜压成一个半月状的笑 &

啄着一只鸟的游荡。

                                               我看着你的帽子像过季的向日葵那样倾斜 ——

现在它已经两尺高了。                                       

                                                   一颗被吞下的种子在一个脱水的肚子里扎根。

你知道吗？

我敢用每朵兰花换一分钱。

一位知情人看到厨房的灯光外溢 

在油毡上泛着黄。他并没错 —— 

树裸露其肋骨的地方亦是 

   餐盘堆叠成冢的地方

你满面红光，往我的双眼喂樱桃。

最后，我选择不去原谅，&

让记忆滑入巧克力条间。

太阳是我们拒绝合上的一道伤。

Eroding

by Hemroag Sireler

Trees dress in violent green; wind hauls the dawn.

Sky remains stitched to dark—yet birdsong cracks the gloom,

sun-flushed leaves dance, air’s silent hymn.

My sleep drowns in no sunrise—

I only live at the present

unspool my spirit to embrace the whispering earth—

so I might hold your horizon in my hands.

I saw you: entire. No shadows cut—

your pupil’s cold star burns against my ribs,

though continents crowd between us,

stripping night from my path.

I ride the wind’s spine, chasing your ghost of jasmine,

as you blaze—fixed, a comet in my sky.

Let me fall; I’ll land with only your name,

your face, engraved on my heart.

Strayed. Stayed. Never rooted.

Now I kneel at day’s first breath, vowing:

I’ll trace your shadow daily before I go.

If doubt still bleeds your trust,

Let the Moon be my heart.

Hemroag Sireler is a physics learner and explorer.

腐蚀

翻译：诗验室

树身着热烈的绿；风拖着清晨。

天空仍然粘于暗 —— 而鸟鸣切开阴，

缀满阳光的叶子轻舞，空气静谧的赞歌。

我的睡意没有淹没在日出里 ——

我只活在当下

解开我的活力只为拥抱低语的大地 ——

所以我可能在手中握住你的地平线。

我看见你：完整的。完整的影 ——

你的眼球是在我的肋骨里燃烧的冷星，

然而各个大陆在我们之间拥挤着，

从我的道路上剥走夜。

我骑着风之脊，追着你的茉莉魂，

你燃烧着 —— 在我的天空里一颗定住的彗星。

让我落下吧；我将只随你的名字一起着陆，

你的脸，刻在我的心上。

游荡过。留下过。却从未扎根。

现在我跪于白日的第一口呼吸前，发誓：

我将在离去前每日追随你的影。

如果疑惑仍在抽空你的信任，

那就请让月鉴我心。

Hemroag Sireler 正在学习与探索物理。

photography 摄影 © 离耳