Spring '23 Issue | 2023 春季刊
虚构
作者：肖禾子
一些微小的差异
再无法支撑，遗落
在铜墙铁壁之间
对立开裂的时刻
他们的话语悲叹就像
大质量的 深渊
水生产水，幻想填补空白
第一个字仿佛就要出产
你终日枯坐在这里
我日夜躺卧在那里
心甘情愿走入坟墓
祈祷着 从未有过的结局
丧钟竟成为禁忌
我终于怀揣着某个答案
只怕它难逃千古宿命
在自身内部解体 塌陷
肖禾子，日本北海道大学博士课程在读。
fiction
translated by PLS
minor differences
no longer able to hold up, the hours
breaking from each other
between iron walls
their words moan like
an abyss of great mass
water churning out water, fantasy replacing emptiness
the first letter is almost there
all day you sit idle over here
and i remain supine over there
willingly walking into a tomb
praying for an unprecedented ending
a death knell actually becomes a taboo
i have finally come to an answer
lest it be doomed forever
disassembling and crumbling inside itself
Kako Sho is a PHD student in Hokkaido University.
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)
Emily Liu is a San Diego native teaching English in Taiwan. Her poetry has appeared in Red Ogre Review.
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。
Emily Liu 来自圣地亚哥，现在台湾教英文。其诗作曾发表于《Red Ogre Review》。
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
李盲，曾獲「青年文學獎」（2023）、「光華詩歌獎」（2022），詩作見「字花·別字」、「虛詞」、《詩歌月刊》等處。
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: 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 forever, 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
Li Mang has won Youth Literary Awards (2023) and Guanghua Poetry Prize (2022), some of his works can be found in Fleurs de Lettres, Xu Ci, Poetry Monthly and so on.
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
Hazel Ma is a first-year masters student at NYU’s XE Experimental Humanities and Social Engagement department.
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
Hazel Ma 是纽约大学在读研究生。
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？
吕周杭，谁怜风露中宵立。
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 dew is starting to settle. is it the right path？
many things tend to rush to affirm, 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 carriages 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?
Lv Zhouhang, who pities one that stands in the dewy wind all night.
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
Erin Jamieson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Miami University of Ohio. Her writing has been published in over eighty literary magazines, and her fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is the author of a forthcoming poetry collection (Clothesline, NiftyLit)
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
Erin Jamieson 曾在80余家文学刊物上发表过，其小说曾获“小推车文学奖”提名。她的最新诗集《Clothesline》即将由NiftyLit出版。
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
陈聪，哲学系研究生。
song of wind
translated by PLS
i’ve seen wind, it’s a touchable force against a wish
the grasses