Spring '26 Issue｜2026 春季刊

PLS诗验室
Mar 17
15 min read

Updated: Apr 2

The Heartbreaking Beauty of the Cerulean Falls

by David Huntington

Ryan, my brother, it is good

to sit beneath the veil unprotected

from the sheer growth of summer.

We have come a long way into the roar

of everything, so high above so low below that the horizon

is crushed into a tidal wave

scouring the coasts of memory. Brother,

we are both real and small & you say

the petal of the lilac tastes

like you were meant to taste it & I

can hear nothing but the summons

of the roar: for what is small is real

& what is real is naked in the rays

of infernal time; & I cannot let go,

I can’t, of the dream of purpose,

that from the roar emerges

a cavernous lament in which the high domes

of new years might dwell—I am proud

you have found in endless waters a way.

But of every rumbling droplet is a shadow

humming me into being & humming me out

out into the clear expanse of pain

where even the most startling blues are black.

But, I know how deep you know:

Neither of us is going home.

David Huntington lives between Shanghai and Tucson. His poetry, translations, and short fiction have been published in A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Katabatic Circus, Post Road, and elsewhere. He has been an editor and organizer for the Spittoon Literary Collective.

蓝色瀑布令人心碎的美

翻译：诗验室

瑞恩，我的兄弟，在未

受夏纯粹的增长保护的

掩饰下坐着挺好的。

我们走了很长路才到达这

万物之吼，忽高忽低以致于地平线

被压成一道翻滚的浪

冲刷着记忆的海岸。兄弟，

我们都真实又渺小而你说

丁香的花瓣尝起来

就像你注定要尝的那样而我

除了咆哮的召唤外什么都没

听到：因为渺小的亦是真实的

而真实的则裸在地狱时光的

照耀里；而我却不能放手，

我不能，放弃生活的梦想，

那就是从咆哮中将产生

空荡的叹息其中或许住着未来

之年的高穹 —— 我对你已在

无尽的水中劈出一条路而自豪。

可每一滴轰鸣的水都是一个暗影

它将我哼入存在并将我哼出

来到疼痛清晰而广阔的地带

那里就连最惊艳的蓝都是黑色的。

但是，我知道你清楚得很：

我们都不会回家。

David Huntington 居住于上海和图森两地。他曾是 Spittoon Literary Collective 的编辑与组织者，其诗歌、译作及短篇小说曾发表于《A Thin Slice of Anxiety》《Katabatic Circus》及《Post Road》等处。

散步的一年

作者：帕凡

蝉开始悬挂灵魂 ——

黄昏和雨云的指掌

在天边消长

树影潜入散淡的街面

与平缓的气流一道

推送沿途的风箱

路人手执谜题

在各自的回声里

调整内现的雨林

时而坚固、时而惺忪

时常凌空蹈虚的信念

催促生活的手风琴

这是散步的一年

水和光线的折叠

构成时钟一半的灵魂

风在不同的叶片上闪烁

影子走在身前

解散长日下空旷的边缘

帕凡，现居福建福州。

a year in wandering

translated by PLS

cicadas begin to hang the souls—

the palm of dusk and clouds

changes its size at the edge of the sky

shadows of trees sneak onto leisurely streets

pressing the bellows along the way

with a gentle flow of air

passersby, riddles in hand

are adjusting their interior rainforests

in their own echoes

the sometimes firm, sometimes loose

often groundless beliefs

are now urging the accordion of life

this is a year in wandering

the creases of water and light

sculpt half of the soul of a clock

wind blinks on a variety of leaves

your shadow walking ahead of you

dismisses the open border under a stretched sun

Pa Fan currently lives in Fuzhou, Fujian.

The Oceanic Feeling

by Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi

watching danger dim in

one of many subsequent

days. death to the parenthe-

tical. i bid ocean to the

stairwell. bind its infinite

flow onto polar opposites.

and in crackling of needle

ice: comes the embrace

of burning witch and

rope spread thin in the

catch and go of its fire.

laugh-shots ricochet in

the village. two thirsty

lovebirds (literal) peck

at the empty feeder in

protest. suffering. as

many prophets have

been told. to have done.

Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi (They/Them) is a queer, Iranian born, Toronto-based Poet, Writer and Translator. Their full-length collection of experimental dream-poems Daffod*ls is out with Pamenar Press, and their fifth poetry manuscript Book of Interruptions is out with Wolsak and Wynn.

海洋之情

翻译：诗验室

看着危险在其

中一个来日暗

沉。附加说明都去

死吧。我把海洋献

给楼梯。将其无限

之流与对立绑到一处。

而在冰针的破裂

中：有了燃烧女

巫的拥抱而绳股

在对火的追捕与

释放中变细。笑

弹在村里弹来弹

去。两只饥渴的

爱鸟（真的）不

满地啄着空荡的

喂食器。受苦。如

许多先知被告知

的那样。为完成。

Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi （TA 们）是一名伊朗出生、常驻多伦多的酷儿诗人、作家兼译者。其实验诗集《水*仙》（Daffod*ls）由 Pamenar Press 出版，第五部诗集《断书》（Book of Interruptions）由 Wolsak & Wynn 出版。

Domesticity

by Jenny Chu

In winter, we keep the water running.

Like us, it’s only good to wash with—

not drink. We are so dirty yet

so aware of it. You’re on my kitchen floor,

sculpting potatoes into tiny yellow prisms,

bossa nova lush over your shoulder blades.

Ever since girlhood, we have loved

hurting things to test them, starting

with each other. I scored too well

an hour ago, so we won’t salt over

our parents’ memories tonight. What is there

to say anyway? you ask, voice coiled

as if slithering into the weight of your

suitcase. The one you brought

to my apartment years ago,

in escape. Still, I know what we are—

two and the same. So I start the

pot up, let the bubbles answer you.

Jenny Chu writes from Dallas, Texas. Her work is forthcoming in or has appeared in Pithead Chapel, The Shore, and BRAWL Lit, among other publications.

家庭生活

翻译：诗验室

冬天的时候，我们会让水一直流。

像我们，它只适合用于盥洗 ——

但不能喝。我们那么脏可又

对此多么清楚。你在我的厨房地板上，

将许多土豆雕成许多小而黄的棱镜，

波萨诺瓦的热情充溢着你的肩胛骨。

自童年以来，我们就喜欢

为了试探而伤害东西，从我们

自身开始。我一个小时前就

已经赢麻了，所以今晚我们

不会在父母的回忆上撒盐。还有什么

好说的呢？你说，声音蜷成一团

仿佛要跌跌撞撞溜进你行李箱的

重量里。那个你好几年前

拖到我家的行李箱，

为了逃。不过，我也很清楚我们 ——

不同躯壳里的同一颗心。于是我开始

烧锅里的水，让奔腾的气泡回应你。

储瑞秋现居达拉斯。其作品散见于《Pithead Chapel》《The Shore》及《BRAWL Lit》等处。

自由

翻译：张皓

自由不会到来

今天，今年

也永远不会

经由妥协和恐惧。

我和其他人一样，

有权利

用我的双脚

站起来

拥有这片土地。

我厌倦了听到人们说，

让事情顺其自然

明天又是新的一天

我死后不需要自由。

我不能靠明天的面包活着。

自由

是一颗强大的种子

播种于

庞大的需求间。

我也生活在这里。

我想要我的自由

就像你一样。

张皓，喜欢写诗和小说，偶尔搞点翻译。

兰斯顿·休斯（1901-1966）是一位诗人、社会进步人士、小说家和剧作家，他是“哈莱姆文艺复兴”核心人物。《犹太人的好衣服》《守梦人》《哈莱姆的莎士比亚》是其最出名的几部诗集。

Freedom

by Langston Hughes

Freedom will not come

Today, this year

Nor ever

Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right

As the other fellow has

To stand

On my two feet

And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say,

Let things take their course.

Tomorrow is another day.

I do not need my freedom when I’m dead.

I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread.

Freedom

Is a strong seed

Planted

In a great need.

I live here, too.

I want my freedom

Just as you.

Langston Hughes (1901-1967) was a poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, and a significant figure of the Harlem Renaissance. Fine Clothes to the Jew, The Dream Keeper, and Shakespeare in Harlem are among his most well known poetry collections.

Zhang Hao likes to write poetry and short fiction, sometimes translates.

Entelechy

by David Huntington

Generally devastation of the colors

feels itself into the wing tips—

I am riding the implosion of the air.

In the sixth hour of no hours

a gate in the stone—

a sun cut in two

by a long vulture:

a grave.

生机

翻译：诗验室

总体而言颜色的悲伤

将自己感知成翼尖 ——

我正骑着空气的内爆。

在不时的第六个时辰

一扇门在石中 ——

一轮被一只长秃鹰

切成两半的太阳：

一座坟。

冬至

作者：帕凡

在没有歌声的夜晚

蹑足行行

街灯投下群星的线索

摇晃许久的水

斟入连环的光盏

凝定的波动扩散开来

让步道微微倾斜

我们心中残缺的石膏造像

来自古老的心脏

海一般弓着背

吐纳隐现的礁岩

很长时间里

你着迷于多梦的金属

以人群中虚掩的反光

和相互空白的褶皱

消磨旅途的内胆

雷声席地而坐

编织微尘与经文

失明的音节在低处凋萎

一些震动终年朗读：

“在橄榄树之上开始是森林。

松树一定曾经遍布整个地区……”

木质的理解向上伸展

周游的热带不时吹亮

未竟的形意，一束烟波

在无垠间反复练习

帕凡，现居福建福州。

winter solstice

translated by PLS

in a song-less evening

i tread on aimlessly

street lamps cast hints of stars

water that has wobbled for some time

is pouring into a chain of lit cups

frozen ripples start to sprawl

slanting the footpath gently

the fragmented statue in our minds

comes from an ancient heart

he hunches like an ocean

and spews obscure cliffs

for a long time

you have been obsessed with dreamful metals

consuming the bladder of journeys

with a slightly ajar blink of the crowd

and reciprocally hollowed folds

thunders sit on the ground

weaving dust and scriptures

the blind syllables wither below

some vibrations read perennially:

“what begins above the olive trees is a forest.

the pine trees must have been everywhere…”

the wooden perception stretches upward

the touring tropic illuminates at times

the undone shape, a ripple of smoke

practices over and over in the vastness

Pa Fan currently lives in Fuzhou, Fujian.

in the broader deal of ideas

by Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi

think a rose.

sat. enduring the IDEA of a rose. think a curse.

every single day. staying at home. found my pollen

people. putting up stanchions bollards pylons that

mace the wider valley of the airport. and sure. the

moment grows towards fate. but a separation always

has its flare-ups. the sun is not separate from the

cold. it can impart it. the bedroom is not separate from

our nakedness. it can impart it. what we exchange. then.

in increments. of the literal. what do we then weave spoken

word from? what do we then use to pale present evocation?

what striking features. like whip. makes text. by death

of grammatta?

关于念头的一些看法

翻译：诗验室

想一朵玫瑰。

坐。忍受一朵玫瑰的念头。想一个咒。

每一天。待在家里。发现我的花粉

人。架起那些强占整个机场谷的

支柱护柱电缆塔。好吧。到了命中

注定的时刻了。但分别总是会有

不顺的时候。太阳与冷密不可分。它

可以透露它。卧室与我们的裸密不可分。

它可以透露它。我们当时。探讨的东西。

一点点递增。字面的。可我们用什么来

编织口语诗？又用什么使当前的回忆暗淡？

多么突出的特征啊。像鞭子。创造文本。用

文字之死？

阿曼

作者：哈诺

24/12/2019 16:07:15

Woher kommst du?

muscletop 24/12/2019 16:08:23

O man, hast du das gehört?

24/12/2019 16:08:36

Was soll ich hören?

muscletop 24/12/2019 16:09:27

Was?

Nein.

Oman.

Ich komme aus Oman.

彩虹一角落在教堂塔尖

抗议者零星散落在广场上

高音喇叭发出空洞的声响

立牌上的文字，带着缅怀的意味

环绕着许多张温暖的笑脸

“我们反对因极端右翼造成的暴力”

奇怪的定语

是缺失造成的误解

他想问我的是

是否听说过，而不是

是否听到了

这是门被介词支配的语言

我打开搜索引擎：

“阿曼位于阿拉伯半岛东南沿海”

—— 没听过

最终约好当晚九点半见面

他发来站名

灰色的圆圈旋转着

红色的图标忽然落在了郊外

“快到了告诉我，我去接你”

他这么坚持

“在后面跟着，离一米远的距离”

“上楼的时候小声一点”

这里是阿曼人的社区

低矮的茶几旁放着水烟壶

落地灯散发出潮湿的光

我想戴着帽子

因为头发太长了

“不，放下来”

他舔舐我的耳朵

“你的头发很好看”

我想要尽快离开

或许是因为他卷曲的胡子

或许是年龄差距让我感觉像个娈童

或许是那略带央求的笑

让我想起立牌上的那一张张脸

„Auf Wiedersehen“

这是门善于欺骗的语言

离开的公交车上

夜晚黑得太过轻盈

他发来“圣诞快乐”

可这与我们两人都无关

“是否加入黑名单？”

暴力可以被反对吗？

哈诺，1997年生，现生活工作于陕西西安。

Oman

translated by PLS

24/12/2019 16:07:15

Woher kommst du?

muscletop 24/12/2019 16:08:23

O man, hast du das gehört?

24/12/2019 16:08:36

Was soll ich hören?

muscletop 24/12/2019 16:09:27

Was?

Nein.

Oman.

Ich komme aus Oman.

the rainbow rests one foot on the spire of the church

protesters scatter across the square

hollow voices burst out of megaphones

words on the monument, in memory of something

surround many smiling faces

“we oppose violence incited by the far right”

what a bizarre attribute

a misunderstanding caused by absence

what he wanted to say is

have you heard of, not

have you heard

this is a language dominated by prepositions

i look it up on a search engine

“Oman sits in the southeast Arabian Peninsula”

— not heard of it

eventually we agreed to meet at 9pm

he sent me the name of the station

the grey circle spun

and the red icon suddenly landed in a suburb

“let me know when you’re close, i’ll pick you up”

he insisted

“follow me, but keep a distance of one metre”

“be quiet when you go upstairs”

here comes the Omani community

besides a low tea table, a water pipe

damp light emanated from the floor lamp

i wanted to keep the hat on

because of my long hair

“no, let go”

he gave my ear a lick

“your hair is pretty”

i wanted to leave as soon as possible

perhaps it’s his curly beard

perhaps the age difference made me feel like a catamite

perhaps the pleading smile

reminded me of the faces on the monument

“Auf Wiedersehen”

this is a language of deception

on the bus

the darkness of night too thin

he sent a text “merry Christmas”

but it has nothing to do with either of us

“blacklist or not?”

can violence actually be objected to?

Ha Nuo, born in 1997, currently lives in Xi’an, Shaanxi.

The Killer’s Agent Asks for a Final Favour

After Wong Kar Wai’s Fallen Angels (1995)

by Angela Yang

The Agent, infatuated with her work partner, the Hitman, learns of his intention to end their professional tie when he fails to show up to their meeting, leaving a jukebox song as his message. Shaken by the betrayal, she arranges a final job—with the Hitman as the target.

When he told me to come closer, I knew then

we were very far. If I tell you one hundred and fifty-five weeks are given

by the oceanic distance between hands—his to make blood

and mine to freshen the bed that sleeps him. If I tell you a body

such as mine is not a refuge island, but a tissue

of light. In the bar, the angel number of take-back reveals itself

as a jukebox coin, while Shirley Kwan sings of the very three words

I least want to hear in the world. There I learn

that 夢 and 忘 could almost be mistaken for each other to ears

in sadness, that there is only sameness in dreaming

and to forget. So what of me now but to fold towards the centre

of myself until I slip small into the crawlspace of beer cans, warping

but unshaken, to have sipped away every breath-note in the death

of his throwaways with my lipstick mouth. Off-camera, I drink

until both cheeks turn into the pink meat of a rainbow trout. In the scene

where I feel myself, the director tells me to show a new kind of nudity,

one that is wholly clothed. My pain beautifully bared out

across the widescreen, granularly diegetic and blurring

into dream pop. I close my eyes to remember him: the man

standing, not going, paraphrasing the good-sport silence

into cigarette smoke. Only the neon motion of his footfalls. How

the bright sound of trains slices whole strikethroughs

of nothing across his face—a soft afterimage

in the making. How love is always carnage, quiver-lipped. I hadn’t

always known this. A throat twitch I once mistook

for a spy-penned valentine unsealing. That night the rain,

like all the city’s chandeliers at once. So as to say, to forget him

is to forget rain. So I was his in name and in this way,

held. Because I love you, so I will destroy you. So slowly

I see this: among a firework of bodies, his clear and paper-white

as the first shot of morning. Later, when the Hong Kong night sky

outgrows ghost green, I will count the hours

before we exit ourselves. Later someone else’s shoulders,

my dreaming head—my name mine.

Angela Yang is a Shanghai-born high school student based in Sydney, Australia.

杀手助理的最后一个请求

王家卫《堕落天使》（1995）观后感

翻译：诗验室

那个恋上工作搭档兼“杀手”的助理，在前者失约并留下一首在点唱机放的歌作为线索后，意识到他想结束二者的关系。难以从这种背叛中走出，她于是安排了最后一个任务，将目标瞄准了这位“杀手”。

当他告诉我再靠近一点，我已经意识到

我们之间已经有了隔阂。如果我告诉你两只手之间的海洋距离

给出一百五十五周的时间 —— 他的手沾满血

我的打理他睡过的床。如果我告诉你我这样的

身体不是一个避风港，而是一张

光之纸。酒吧里，天使以幸运号码和电唱机

硬币宣告了自己的爽约，而光淑仪正唱着那三个

我最不愿意听到的字。在那里我意识到

to dream 与 to forget 在一对失落的耳朵里很可能

彼此混淆，而梦与忘的世界里只有

同类。所以我还能怎么样，将自己蜷成一处直至

渺小到可以滑入啤酒罐的绝命空间内，变形

却笃定，用我的口红嘴在他扔掉的死亡中

一口口泯掉呼吸的味道。镜头之外，我一直喝

直到两腮红成虹鳟的肉。镜头内

我感受着自己，导演叫我展示另一种裸，

全身穿着衣服的那种。我的痛在宽屏上

完美地裸露着，粒状的剧情，模糊成

梦幻流行曲。我闭上双眼回忆他：站着

并未离开，将有情有义的沉默演绎

成烟。只有他的脚步声的霓虹动态。火车

明亮的声音怎样将他脸上空无的完整

删除线切断 —— 一张正在生成的柔和的

残留影像。爱怎样保持一场大屠杀，嘴唇微颤。我有时候

并不清楚这点。我曾经误以为是

间谍专属的公布爱情的哽咽。那晚的雨，

看起来像这座城市同时砸下的全部水晶灯。只为告诉你，忘记他

就应该忘记雨。所以我在名义上是他的并且这样

被记住。“因为我爱你，所以我将毁了你。”我花了很长时间

才看到：在身体的烟火里，他的清晰企而纸白

如清晨的第一发炮。以后，当香港的夜空

走出了幽绿，我将数着时辰

直至我们从自身脱身。后来有别人的肩膀，

我梦着的头 —— 只属于我的名字。

Angela Yang 是一名生于上海、现居悉尼的高中生。

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Spring '26 Issue｜2026 春季刊

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