代价
作者：朴杪
幽绿的气息旋绕着，
屋外是潮湿的茫然。
一个场景里风的加入，
终结了没有引擎轰鸣的童年。
造物主和造物已接连逝去。
还剩什么在抽搐呢？
我们不再服下
与自己姓名有关的事物。
身后漫长的鸿沟里，
流水仍浸润
未被收藏的死亡的倒影。
列车必须开动前，
拔起狗尾草时的“噗嗤”
成为体内不断拉长的哨音。
朴杪，是一名学生。
cost
translated by PLS
the emerald air billows
outside wet confusions.
the participation of wind in a scene,
ends a childhood without the roars of an engine.
the creator and the created are both gone now.
what else is left to convulse.
we no longer medicate ourselves
with anything related to our names.
in the never-ending chasm behind us
the shadows of death yet to be collected
are still soaked by the water.
before the train has to take off
the sound from uprooting a foxtail
has become a swelling whistle inside you.
Pu Miao is a student.
多汁的眼睛
去年今日此门中
— 唐.崔护
作者：刘炯
一定是气候，催生多汁
的视线，让许多夜晚
相互浸透，界限模糊
苦笋的气息剥开旧年，这片密林
正以想象的沉默赋予另一个人光阴
嫩绿光照处，笃信露水的真理
枝头，果实的欲望再显，像极了
潜意识漫来痉挛。此刻
我不是孤寂的空，而是枝条上
无数被窥见的隐秘花期
刘炯，居皖南小城屯溪。
sappy eyes
this time last year by this door*
translated by PLS
it must be the climate, that breeds
the sappy view, allowing many a night
to infiltrate each other, borders blurred
the scent of bitter bamboo shoots strip the old year, this forest
endows time to another person with imagined silence
upon the tender green light, believing in the truth of dew
over treetops the desire of fruits reemerges, so much like
the subconsciousness that brims and cramps. right now
i am no isolated emptiness, but the secret
countless blooming periods glimpsed across the twigs
*from a poem written by Cui Hu, a Chinese poet of the Tang dynasty.
Liu Jiong lives in Tunxi, Anhui.
回声之夜
作者：阿勒
你不会在我的唇间找到你的名字，
它已经在昨夜被盐分浸透，
在玻璃窗后的对白中，
被阴影遗弃。
你不会在门前等到一个陌生人，
雨滴悬在空气里，像破裂的钟声，
时间站在街灯之下，
拨弄着夜晚残余的音符。
你不会在眼中窥见泪水，
井已干涸，石头仍在沉默，
只有脚步声穿过午夜，
被回声缓缓地吞没。
阿勒，现居哈萨克斯坦。
night of echoes
translated by PLS
you will not find your name between my lips
for it was permeated by salt yesterday
abandoned by shadows,
in the dialogue behind the window.
you will not encounter a stranger at your doorstep
drops of rain hang in the air, like exploded bell sounds
time, standing beneath a street lamp
fiddling with the remnant notes of the evening.
you will not see a tear in the eye
the well has dried, stones are still silent
the footsteps that traverse the night
are swallowed by echoes, bit by bit
Alkar Sarsenbek currently lives in Kazakstan.
霾
作者：寻泽
风从冬天的尽头赶来
在第七日停下 ——
铁锈爬满钟摆，
困意是年轮最后的证词
田野在雾中塌陷
桥的骨骼沉入地心
鼾声压弯了野草
人们的居所
因忽然失去质量
而缓缓弥散
尘埃是唯一的锚
山，碎成一片剥落的天空
风在裂缝中沉默
我们穿过清江
影子与江水绞成绳索
在折叠成梯子的太阳下
每一步都是雾的刻度
寻泽，高中生。
smog
translated by PLS
wind hurries from the end of winter
stops on the seventh day—
rust swarms the pendulum
drowsiness is the last testimony of the year
fields crumble in the mist
skeletons of a bridge sink to the ground
snores bend the grasses
the abodes of villagers
disperse slowly
for they’re emptied of their content
dust is the sole anchor
mountains, a slice of peeled sky
wind speechless among the cracks
we cross the Qing river
our shadows wrestling against the water
under the sun creased into a ladder
each step is a measurement of the mist
Xun Ze is a high school student.
Witness II
by C.Z. Liu
A black umbrella fell
against the tides of Manhattan
upside down
It wouldn’t be so bad
to lay here
in the home of millions
Heimat of none.
And so the ghosts at the cemetery
walked around town
asking the typical when
why and what
But you hid your confusion
for you’ve seen the map: A dot
A black umbrella fell
Where
X marked the spot.
C.Z. Liu lives in Metropolitan Atlanta.
见证者
翻译：诗验室
一把黑色的伞飘落
于曼哈顿的浪上
仰面朝天
在此处安身
或许并没有那么糟
那么多人的家
无人的故土。
墓园里的鬼魂
在街上游走
象征性地问着何时
为何什么
而你却将不解隐藏
因为你已见过地图：一个点
一把黑色的伞飘落
在
标记着“X”的地方。
C.Z. Liu 现居美国亚特兰大。
山坡
作者：刘炯
头上，羽翅的火焰忽然蹿起
扰动气流。心也跟着
烫了一下
沿拓荒人耕种
的时蔬往上
我的手小于驱鸟手套
与几只鸭子分享，池塘的明净
坐下，冬天不再阴郁
刘炯，居皖南小城屯溪。
hillslope
translated by PLS
above your head, the flames of wings soar
stirring the air. then a hot rush
through your heart
up along the vegetation
cultivated by the settlers
my hands are smaller than garden gloves
to share with a few ducks, the clarity of the pond
to sit down, so the winter no longer depresses
Liu Jiong lives in Tunxi, Anhui.
七夜的倒数
作者：阿勒
七个夜晚升起，火焰朝向火焰，
它们在狭窄的巷道相遇，
像潮水退去时残留的字迹，
一封无人拆阅的信，在晨雾中泛白。
六颗心脏低语，第七颗已经停息，
它们敲击着木门，但门早已敞开，
风穿堂而过，回音在空旷的长廊盘旋，
指尖在灰烬中摩挲，寻找未曾写下的词语。
五朵玫瑰枯萎，四盏灯闪烁，
夜晚倾倒泉水，洗净被遗忘的街道，
三道影子在窗口浮现，两道回声沿墙滑行，
而第一步，始终悬在夜的边缘。
阿勒，现居哈萨克斯坦。
the countdown of seven nights
translated by PLS
seven nights ascend, flame towards flame
they meet each other in a narrow alley
like the residual traces when the tides are gone
a sealed letter, pallid in the morning mist.
six hearts whisper, the seventh has stopped
they knock on the wooden door, which is already open
wind sweeps through the hall, echoes swirl in the empty corridor
fingertips fumble in the ashes, searching for unwritten words
five roses wither, four lamps blink
night pours out spring water, washes the forgotten streets
three shadows float on the window, two echoes glide across the wall
but the first step, still lingers at the edge of night
Alkar Sarsenbek currently lives in Kazakstan.
Eyes of an Angel
by Shawntaye M. Scott
Chewy, intense eyes smell me
brisk milky, silky threads
float on through the moon
swimming its gooey fury
lowering vapors on my blood.
My aimless anxiety freezes
as your calculated kindred steps
glide and permeate my psyche.
your dust evaporating my pants
whisking me as wistful leaves.
A shapeshifter on four paws
you engulfed me as a presage
a benediction of visceral silence
I crumble my internal whirlpool
inking onward universally.
Shawntaye M. Scott is a Shanghai-based writer. She has previously been published in Inkwell Shanghai, Tiny Seed Literary Journal and elsewhere.
天使之眼
翻译：诗验室
耐嚼而热情的眼神闻我
明快丝柔润滑的线条
从月亮身上飘过
游着其粘稠的不快
往我的血液压气
我漫无目的的焦虑凝住
而你刻意且均匀的步伐
滑过并渗透我的魂
你的尘蒸发着我的裤子
如若有所思的叶子拍打着我
你是有着四爪的变形者
将我像预示般吞噬
一份本能沉默的祝祷
我崩塌我的内部漩涡
集体往前挪动
Shawntaye M. Scott 现居上海，其作品曾发表于《Ink Shanghai》及《Tiny Seed Literary Journal》等处。
photography 摄影 © 离耳
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