上海刀片
作者：张敬成
上海刀片被你
递到灰暗的桌面上，闪闪发光
很像古老的，被照耀的美德，比如守时
所有应得的果实蒂落你只需要听着
脆弱的折断声，胡须丛的晚春
按时落日如同按时迟到一样重要
美德潜在玉质的水中
数以万计，你喜欢形容的，胡须，红蜻蜓
我们无法再度量更多，亿兆，宇宙尺
唱片上每粒小尘埃都是摩擦的信徒
为大于自身的声音倾倒，美丽的摧毁
而我们是它的集合
你交给了我危险的一生
我会于你心脏的狮子洞中听见回响
张敬成，1999年生。
Shanghai Blade
translated by PLS
the Shanghai blade was handed by you
to a gloomy tabletop, glittering
like ancient virtues shined upon, such as being punctual
all deserving falls of fruits all you need is to listen
to the fragile sound of snatching, the late spring in the thicket of whiskers
a timely sunset is as important as a timely delay
virtues submerged in the water of jade
tens of thousands, those you like to describe, whiskers and red dragonflies
too much for us to measure, zillion, cosmic ruler
every grain of dust on the vinyl is a believer in friction
falling for sounds grander than itself, the charming destructions
and we are its collective
you’ve handed me a dangerous life
i shall hear an echo in the lion’s den of your heart
Zhang Jingcheng, born in 1999.
What passes for intimacy
by Jill J. Tan
What passes for intimacy around here
is clutching at passions alike
Tomorrow I am going to touch your soul
I am not interested in a sliver.
Just as quickly as it smogged
our screens
the mist has left us
and clarity hurts.
This the constant grouse
Let us attend to it not symptomatically
but pull from our roots fine hairs
and plant them in the forgotten ground.
No more adversarial pithiness
wit heating by the fire waiting to burn
we will use our words to say what we mean
What we god forbid feel.
Jill J. Tan is a Singaporean writer, artist, and anthropologist. Her work appears in Guernica, Ghost Proposal, Resistant Hybridities (Lexington) and Death and the Afterlife (Routledge). Tan’s hybrid poetics project “Notes on the bicentennial of a f/l/ound/er/ing (2019)” was awarded the Yale University-wide Theron Rockwell Field Prize in 2022.
被视为亲密的东西
翻译：诗验室
亲密在这里被视为
抓住相同的激情
明日我将触及你的灵魂
我对裂片不感兴趣。
雾离开我们
与笼住我们
屏幕的速度一样快
清晰多伤人。
这永无止境的牢骚
让我们不用病症式的眼光看待它
而从我们的根部拔出细软的发丝
将它们种在被忘却的土地里。
对抗的简洁不再
火旁待燃的炙热风趣不再
我们将用语言表达自我
我们但愿存在的感受。
陈洁恩是一名新加坡作家、艺术家与人类学家。其作品曾发表/收录于《Guernica》、《Ghost Proposal》、《Resistant Hybridities》（Lexington）及《Death and the Afterlife》（Routledge）等处。她的混合诗学项目“Notes on the bicentennial of a f/l/ound/er/ing(2019)”获2022年耶鲁大学“瑟隆·费尔德奖”。
赤裸
作者：李曼旎
如果你有一块砧板我恰好在你手边
想要被切割成数块寄给
不同的你
真实的你、虚假的你
牙牙学语到刚刚学会走路的你
在中学用棒球棍将我击碎的你
初次变成大人的你。
这些你腐烂在相同的时间，
展露出并不存在的內里。
以前写过浪漫的诗里，我说过黄昏
好像是我们的皮肤
拥抱着轻飘飘的空壳。
而如今褪去它的我们
有未及完成的赤裸。
李曼旎，写小说和诗，作品散见于《字花》、《创世纪》及《江南诗》等处。
nudity
translated by PLS
if you had a chopping board and i happened to be near you
longing to be sliced into multiple pieces to be sent
to the different you
the real you, false you
from the you learning to talk to the you learning to walk
to the you that crushed me with a baseball bat in high school
and to the you who just entered adulthood.
these yous are rotting in the same time,
revealing the non-existent interior.
in a lyrical poem i wrote before, i said dusk
is like our skin
cuddling our light husk.
and now, stripped of it, we
have yet-to-be-achieved nudity.
Li Manni, writes fiction and poetry, some of her works can be found in Zihua, The Epoch Poetry, and Jiangnan Poetry.
Winter Sun
by Mercedes Lawry
leap and follow,
shadows break, scatter,
evaporate as fog
lifts, damp trickles skate
across glass,
this winter sun
with diminished warmth,
a scuttled echo
Mercedes Lawry has published three chapbooks; some of her poems appear in journals such as Nimrod and Alaska Quarterly Review. Her book Small Measures is forthcoming from ELJ Editions, Ltd. in 2024.
冬日阳光
翻译：诗验室
跳跃并跟从
影子破裂、散落
随着雾的升起而
蒸发，潮湿的细痕溜
过玻璃，
这带着瘦削暖意的
冬日阳光
疾跑的回音
Mercedes Lawry 已出版三本诗册。其作品散见于《Nimrod》与《Alaska Quarterly Review》等。她的新作《Small Measures》将于2024年由 ELJ Editions 出版。
荷花阳台
作者：子玄
房间挨着房间好像横生的藕节
门窗禁闭，气孔里塞满秘密
店主长满绒毛的手里举着莲蓬
她说：“一枚莲子对应一个
角色，一片花瓣能缝制
一套戏服。”
你支付三颗干瘪的莲子，三片
枯萎褪色的花瓣，看着她
用丝线编织出断桥残雪
这里空气多水，带油香的甜味
让你想起荷花酥。
她说“开场”你就被带进
更里面的房间，戏服在你的
胸前打了个死结
首先扮演水黾和它的疏水性
你在浴缸的水面爬行
尝试用波纹示爱
有人扮演蚊子的幼虫孑孓
并且几乎被你吃掉。
布景转变，你感到廉价的
香水把你包围，打了个喷嚏
第二个角色是蜻蜓魔法师
你真实地飞行在餐桌
和吊灯之间，气压迫使你
飞得很低，迫使你
失败地召唤童年却成功
召唤出雨水，你钻到餐桌下
躲雨。躲不掉最后一次
饰演，池塘的霸主
妆容刺痛你的皮肤仿佛鳞片
你旋转身子，适应夏天的
水温，崭新的鳃和鳍
尖锐的骨刺在体内炸裂
店主提刀前来杀鱼
你尝试逃，拼命地游，拼命
润滑自己最终搁浅
在荷花阳台，鱼的尸骨之间。
子玄，现居成都。
lotus balcony
translated by PLS
rooms entwined with rooms like horizontally grown lotus nodes
windows and doors shut, pores filled with secrets
the shop owner holds the seedpod with a hairy hand
saying: “a lotus seed represents
a character, while a petal makes
a whole costume.”
you pay for three desiccated seeds, three
wilted fading petals, watching her
weave out a broken bridge and lingering snow
the air here is full of humidity, the oil scented sweetness
reminds you of lotus cakes.
you are taken to a room further back as she
says “it’s on”, the costume snarls up
on your chest
first play the role of a water strider and its hydrophobicity
you skate across the water in the tub
trying to show your love with ripples
someone plays the role of a mosquito larvae
and is almost engulfed by you.
then a shift of scene, you feel cheap
fragrances surrounding you, letting out a sneeze
the second character is a dragonfly magician
you are actually between dining table
and the chandelier, the atmospheric pressure forces you
to flow low, forcing you
to evoke childhood in vain but successfully
evoke rain, you sneak under the table
to avoid the rain. yet unable to bypass
the last act, the overlord of the pond
the makeup stings your skin like scales
you turn around, adjusting to the temperature of
the water in summer, brand new gills and fins
a sharp bone spur exploding inside the body
the shop owner comes to kill the fish with a knife
you try to escape, swimming at full speed, self
lubricating with all your might, eventually stranded
at the lotus balcony, among the fish’s remains.
Zi Xuan, currently resides in Chengdu.
Elements
After John Thompson’s “The Onion”
by Erin Vosters
He is toasting spices, tawny cumin
browning in the cast iron pan
seasoned weekly in his attention,
and the air is hot with it. Windows
open, fan on, each breath
burning at the heart of me.
Sometimes I have to walk out, sit
on the cool concrete front step, breathe
the empty evening before I steep again
in the curried air. With the knife blade flat, he cracks
into cloves of garlic, and their isotopes
light the main floor, a bright rush of scent. How hot
should I make this? The smell is not just smell but
presence, atmosphere, and we
are alone in it. In the emerald living room, I sit
and look through to the kitchen. His neck
bends over the cutting board, an onion
comes apart, his eyes strain
open
Erin Vosters (they/them) currently lives in Shanghai. They have previously published poetry in Juice.
元素
仿 John Thompson 的《洋葱》（The Onion）
翻译：诗验室
他在烤香料，茶色孜然
在生铁锅里变褐色
每周都被他细心调成佐料
它使空气变辣。窗户
敞着，风扇开着，每口呼吸
都在我的胸口灼烧。
有时我不得不出去，坐
在门前冰凉的水泥台阶上，在重新
浸入咖喱味的空气前呼吸
空荡的夜晚。他横着刀刃，切开
蒜瓣，它们的同位素
点亮地板，一股明晃晃的气味。“我
要把它做多辣才合适？”气味不只是气味也是
存在、氛围，而我们
独自在其中。在翠绿色的客厅，我坐着
望向厨房。他的颈部
向砧板弯曲，一只洋葱
开裂，他用力睁开
双眼
Erin Vosters 现居上海。TA们的作品曾发表于《Juice》上。
白夜的出生
作者：白昕沄
在床上，我见证
一千万恒星的逃逸
夜一如既往的残忍
一如既往的温热，黏腻
梦里，我又是一条
覆膜的鱼
挤出长齿咀嚼的甬道
继而是一具下沉却未发芽的身体
是今夜的
就全部倾给今夜
初次的心跳，呼吸
比喻，抒情
我依然能阖眼，或湿透
或洄游，到七岁、八岁
到恒星的光与热
与称量不出的不透明的螺旋
那时，一切都该是白的
因为我的记忆/遗忘
也不比鱼更加丰富/危险
刺痛。
我终又迎来一千万恒星/鳞片
第一千万次的
湮灭/睁眼。
白昕沄，卡迪夫大学博士在读，自由译者。
birth of a white night
translated by PLS
in bed, i witness
the escape of ten million stars
night brutal as usual
sultry as usual
in a dream, i am again a
laminated fish
forcing out a corridor chewed by tusks
then a sinking yet un-sprouted body
what belongs to tonight
should all be handed to the night
the first heartbeat, breath
analogy, lyricism
i can still shut my eyes, or be soaked
or migrate, to the age of seven, eight
to the light and warmth of the star
and the unmeasurable, opaque spirals
back then, everything should be white
because my memory/oblivion
aren’t as abundant/dangerous as fish
piercing pain.
at last i welcome another ten million stars/scales
the ten millionth time of
sinking/waking.
Bai Xinyun, freelancer translator and a PHD student at Cardiff University.
S at the Gay Bar
by J.B. Kalf
The air conditioning mattress with springs refusing to curb
bathroom nicotine like the ship and its hull the patio
lifting the lid and the wind little indulgences
on miseries and dolls flashing grip of the navel
desperate men and crooners as exiting the diner
and entering the dive outside the wrong entrance
protected by the butch vanguard condensation
and chit chat violence of the homosexual surviving
through hips gripping tinfoil roofs and closed tabs and
each image becomes the duplicate where sidewalk
vomit red misses the mark but inside the house is empty
and the owner is gone and it is unlocked and it is left alone.
J.B. Kalf has been published or has forthcoming work in Beaver Magazine, BULL, and elsewhere.
S 于 Gay 吧
翻译：诗验室
制冷的弹簧床垫拒绝约束
浴室尼古丁如船与船体露台
拎起盖子与风不幸时的
小放纵娃娃闪亮抓住肚脐
绝望的人和低音歌手离开餐馆
到外面潜水错误的入场
被高大的尖兵保护凝结的水珠
与闲聊同性恋自胯部存活下来
的暴力抓住锡箔屋顶与关闭的选项卡
每幅画面都变成副本那里人行道
呕吐物红色错失标记但房子里头是空的
主人已去它被打开且无人问津
J.B. Kalf 的作品曾经/即将发表于《Beaver Magazine》与《Bull》等处。
下一跳
作者：nobody
四月四号的四
跳下悬崖才能跳入人心
多么无意的刻意安排啊
个人同归于尽
背着峭壁仅以无声对抗
命运这个洋气的阴谋家
召唤灵魂出窍
贫穷与生俱来似鬼压床
在生前将你我手脚扎紧
自阴间的子宫
将压死祥子的芥草偷来
想超生而同日死的人替
早死而同日生
换赴死之人的救命稻草
大家保全了做人的尊严
jump off
translated by PLS
four (as in the fourth day of the fourth month)
jumping off the cliff to dive into people’s hearts
such a careless intentional plan
individuals perish together
back against the precipice protesting in silence
destiny this arrogant conspirator
summoning the spirits out
inherent poverty is like a haunting ghost
before death you tie up my limbs
from the uterus of hell
steal the last straw that crushed Xiangzi*
those who wish to reincarnate but die on the same day
dead early but born on the same day
replace the life-saving straw for those who wish to die
save everyone from losing the dignity of being a man
* the rickshaw boy from Lao She’s novel Rickshaw Boy.
Platters
by Jill J. Tan
It is me
I am the thing that smells like garlic
Bouquet garni innerself
emanating from uncut fingernails
having worked an hour too long
on another’s creation
I cut apples, skin
still soft, unworked
The hands you called privileged
scalded and scored
now taking hold of the jugular
cracking down bone-deep into porcine regret
I am revulsed by this work
the indelible scent and slow-fading burn
grease-fogged cheek and aching feet
At the end of the day there is food
Not for me, or you,
but for the table.
大拼盘
翻译：诗验室
是我
是我闻起来像蒜
在他人的创造之上
花了整整一个小时后
香料袋内在自我
从未剪的指甲发散
我切苹果，肌肤
依旧柔软，粗糙
你称之为特权的手
烫伤或刮伤
如今捧着颈静脉
狠狠压至猪一样的遗憾
我反感这工作
这难以消除的气味与许久才褪的伤痕
被油烟熏过的脸与刺痛的脚
到最后有吃的
不是给我，或你
而是桌子。
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