Summer '22 Issue | 2022 夏季刊

翡冷翠与北平湾*

作者:雷知雨


东方学家们想象

异国诗人的爱

对一座欧洲城市至关重要


他们错了

诗人不爱城市

诗人只爱女人


“这也不赖

总归是文明人的爱”

他们念念有词,继续施展着想象


可卡拉瓦乔以及圣马可教堂里的壁画

怎么也抑制不住

测绘仪里野蛮敞亮的恸哭


不去分辨

是原始人的情感过于廉价,还是

人文主义失效了


多年后,把标记了所有遗址的地图

交给可以忽视等高线的战略家

让他把历史,埋进故国的秋


*注:

翡冷翠,徐志摩将佛罗伦萨译作“翡冷翠”。

北平湾,美国地质学家贝利·维里斯将三面环山、一面为敞开平原的北京称为“北平湾”。


雷知雨,学生,散步爱好者。


Firenze and Beijing

translated by PLS

orientalists imagine

the love of foreign poets

is crucial to a European city


they are wrong

poets don’t love the cities

they only adore women


“this is not bad

it’s still the love of the civilised”

the imaginations continue as they mumble

yet there doesn’t seem to be a way

for Caravaggio and the mural inside the Basilica of San Marco to stop

the barbarous and spacious wailing in the theodolite


not to differentiate

whether it’s the cheap emotions of primitives, or

the failure of humanism

years later, a map with all the ruins labelled

is handed to a strategist who ignores the contour line

to let him bury the history in the fall of the homeland

Lei Zhiyu, student, an avid walker.

 

rank (shanghai 2016)

by S. C. Gordon


back end of summer and they

trimmed the trees on Yongjia Lu

one cicada

in the mêlée broke rank or was

broken from it

tossed

a husk

onto the tiles

but living let out a croak

a shock

an aggravating cadence

outside the shirring chorus of its kind


S. C. Gordon is a Liverpool-based writer of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry. Her works have appeared in Eunoia Review, United Verses (2014), Unsavory Elements (Earnshaw, 2013) and more. She has previously published two poetry collections: Peckham Blue (Penned in the Margins, 2006) and Harbouring (Math Paper Press, 2015).


队列 (2016年上海)

翻译:诗验室


是夏日的尾巴于是他们

在永嘉路上修剪树枝

一只蝉

在混乱中脱队或是

被动离队

抛出

一枚壳

至地砖上

但谋生发出一声低吼

一声重击

一个恼人的节奏

在同伴抽褶般的合唱之外


S. C. Gordon 是一名居住在利物浦的小说、非虚构及诗歌写作者。她的作品曾发表在《Eunoia Review》、《United Verses》(2014)与《Unsavory Elements》(Earnshaw,2013)等处。她曾出版过两部诗集:《Peckham Blue》(Penned in the Margins, 2006)与《Harbouring》(Math Paper Press,2015)。


 

最终,散步去

作者:O


是蛙鸣?听上去仿佛一块筹码的两面,颤抖着跌落。盛大的光景走进时,一切音乐从此熄灭。为爱而爱如同为恨而恨,无数旋转的游戏从此揭开五光十色的歌幕,掷出一枚硬币仿佛子弹穿过徘徊于水边的朗姆酒,重心偏移的一霎,便如同摇曳的影的葬送。旋律也是玫瑰色,盘旋于失去雨幕的不设防夜空,仰卧在满地阴影。咳嗽时,刀锋也在蛛网上滋长盘结,命运同水汽升腾失去形体,我注视我时怀有野兽的精敏。每一次苦痛的发作带来放纵,肆意扣动的扳机。告诉我,那本来没有什么。任何如雕像矗立于湖畔的行人,本来没有什么。每日八点钟方向的凝望与八点钟亮起的路灯,那本来没有什么。规律正在运行,一次酒醉没有什么,如雾消散的一切从来。没有什么。

唯一一道士官生的口令,抛进舞蹈舒展的曲线。沥青池轻薄的涟漪荡开并无痛苦的解咒,带来遗忘的芳香,解开故乡异国的密语,夜光中升起的日光也在弥散,陷入沉静的睡眠。


O, 永远在漫游中寻找自己的身份。


Take a Walk, Finally

translated by PLS


Is it the croaking of frogs? It sounds like the two faces of a betting chip, falling in a tremble. As magnificent scenes enter, all music comes to a halt at once. Love for the sake of love as hate for the sake of hate, colourful curtains unveiled by a multitude of spinning games, tossing a coin as a bullet pierces through rum lingering around water, the moment the gravitational centre deviates, is like the burying of a swaying shadow. Melodies are rose coloured too, hovering about the unfortified sky without a curtain of rain, lying supine on a floor of shadows. When coughing, blades also grow and coil on the cobweb, fate losing its shape like the evaporation of water, I am alert as a beast when stared at by myself. Every fit of pain brings overindulgence, arbitrarily pressed triggers. Tell me, that is supposed to mean nothing. Any wanderer who stands by the lake like a statue, is supposed to mean nothing. The daily gaze at the eight o’clock position and the lamps lit at eight o’clock, are supposed to mean nothing. The law is working, drunk for once doesn’t mean anything, things dissipating like fog never. Mean anything.

The only password from the cadet jumps onto the unfolding curve of dance moves. Ripples from the asphalt pond sweep away painless disenchantment, rousing the fragrance of oblivion, decoding foreign languages at home, sunlight ascending at night is dissipating too, plunging into calm sleep.

O, always searching for their identity in wandering.


 

One Step at a Time

by Ilias Tsagas


Reality is shaped like a cube

whose sides interlock.


A man trains inside the cube.

He jumps, stretches and sings


sleeps and makes dreams

that he never fulfils.


Ilias Tsagas is a Greek poet writing in English and in Greek. His poems have appeared in Sand Journal, The Shanghai Literary Review, Tint Journal and elsewhere. He was also a runner-up at the Briefly Write Poetry Prize 2021.


一步一脚印

翻译:诗验室


现实的形状如一个

面面相扣的立方。


一名男子在立方内锻炼。

他跃起、拉伸及歌唱

睡觉并做着

永远无法实现的梦。


Ilias Tsagas 是一位用英语与希腊语写作的希腊诗人,其作品散见于《Sand Journal》、《上海文艺评论》、《Tint Journal》等处。此外,他还获得2021年 Briefly Write 诗歌奖第二名。

 

无形

作者:袁婵


黑巨人的头是圆的

放工经过紧闭的咖啡室

见到山下的他遗失了发盖

银色血从头顶汩汩冒出

在海面铺开鲜亮的薄雾

——人们都赶去看


飘出去的魂遇水就重了

再遇七月

便沸腾、便冒烟、便滋跳

便反光,便将城市煎炸至脆至坚硬

至白昼夜晚、阴阳两界

互成镜面


黑巨人的身体

一半在丛林,一半在都市

我以为那些人

在亮灯的房间活着

阴影涌上来就死了

所有人都在独居

电梯门规律的一开一关

防火警报半夜响起

——没有人逃难


不必再有身而为人的骄傲,或脆弱

凶宅照旧住着

宿舍正对家族墓地,风水绝佳

鸽笼与劏房已撕裂灵肉

何须怕魂魄勾走,召不回


不必再有身而为鬼的怀疑,或恐惧

已低到城市最底

咸水轻摆,没有根

孑然一身去向下世

不会有更强大的孤臣孽子


黑巨人是我

一半在都市,一半在丛林

自身是自身的投影

是观者,亦成为景观的银色血雾

飘出去的魂遇人就轻了

再遇七月

便热腾、便飞升、便柔软

便缭绕,便将城市蒸煮至软至温柔

至白昼夜晚、阴阳两界

浑然自成


七月

纸钱燃起长街

都市的形单影只者

敬孤魂野鬼

以烟与火


袁婵,香港大学文学博士,作者,翻译,作品散见于《星星诗刊》、《香港文学》、《声韵诗刊》(香港)、《秋水诗刊》(台湾)、《台客诗刊》等。


shapeless

translated by PLS


the head of the black monster is round

passing by a closed cafe after work

saw him without his wig at the foot of the hill

silver blood gurgling out of his head

spreading out a bright thin mist over the sea

— people hurried over to watch


the drifting spirit becomes heavy when it meets water

and then it meets the month of July

simmering, smoking, sizzling

shimmering, frying the city till it’s crisp and hard

till day and night, the alive and the dead

turning to each other’s mirror


the body of the black monster

half in the jungle, half in the city

I thought those people

were alive in the brightly lit room

and died when shadow flooded in

everyone was living alone

the habitual opening and closing of elevator doors

the fire alarm ringing at midnight

— no one escaped

no need to bear the pride in being a human, or the insecurity

the haunted house still occupied

the dormitory facing the family cemetery with excellent fengshui

pigeon houses and butchered rooms have already ripped the body of spirit

why be afraid that our spirit will be summoned away and not return


no need to carry the doubt of being a ghost, or the dread

already sinking to the bottom of the city

salt water undulating, without any root

embracing death alone

no man surrounded by solitude more powerful than this

I am the black monster

half in the city, half in the jungle

I am my own reflection

a witness, but also a mist of silver blood as a landscape


the drifting spirit becomes lighter when it meets a human

and then it meets the month of July

steaming, soaring, softening

surrounding, boiling the city till it’s soft and gentle

till day and night, the upper and nether worlds

become one

in the month of July

joss paper burns out an endless street

the loners in the city

are toasting to the wandering ghosts

with smoke and fire


Yuan Chan, writer and translator, her works have been published in The Stars Poetry, Hong Kong Literature, Voice & Verse poetry magazine, Qiushui poetry magazine, and Taiwan Hakka poetry magazine.


 

Derivative, Water Drops, Negotiates the Bowl’s Whorls

by s. g. mallet


Map an arrow as it lands like helium

lands with a shock through the frame

in your own spellcheck. Melt the snow

into hillslope runoff, distil a sloe

gin from it and handfuls form

from their tips—put the funds

toward anti-homeless architecture

toward homes for them instead!, you said.

You said they grew like an orange

grows inside her. You said groves


spread likes hives from a nexus, tilt,

hurl the syzygy of baseball-to-moon,

moon-to-black hole—nap out in fields

when being sublates into non-being,

green beneath the protean surface,

green-iced floes in fluxed patches

fan as flotsam-flames of ice—

ideographs, a tenor sax left in the rear

of the bus, the fly agaric lid left on

on the lighthouse, the empty harbour lilts.


s. g. mallett’s volumes of poems include Disparate Logoi, forthcoming from ABP, and Markov Chainmail, forthcoming from Cactus Press.


衍生物、水滴、就碗之螺纹进行谈判

翻译:诗验室


在一支箭如氦一般坠落

从你自己的拼写检查之框中

带着震惊坠落时标记它。将雪融成

山坡径流,从中提炼出

杜松子酒,雪尖就能

流出不少 — 把基金

投入为流浪者建造的房子

投入为他们打造的家园!你说。

你说他们像一只在她体内生长的

橘子一样生长。你说树林


像蜂房一样从中心处蔓延、倾斜、

投掷棒球至月球与月球至暗黑之洞

的融合体 — 在田间小憩

当有被否定成无时,

变形表面之下的绿

融化的不规则绿色浮冰

如冰之碎状火焰摇曳着 —

表意文字,一把被忘在巴士尾部的

次中音萨克斯,灯塔上方

毒蝇伞状的顶盖,空荡的港口哼着小曲。


s. g. mallet 即将出版两部诗集:ABP 出版的《Disparate Logoi》和 Cactus Press 出版的《Markov Chainmail》。


 

夏夜大雨

作者:雅萱


夏夜大雨

脚下没有一处不被雨水打湿

雨中的猫和床底的猫是同一只

时间的规律被结过婚的女人参透——

有些事来得早,在二十五岁

有些事来得晚,在七十岁

兴许是同一件事,又兴许不是

只有尚未许诺的等待可以阻挡事件发生


时间的缺角

朝东南西北四个方向肆意下落

像晴天里的河流,像瀑布

在不可抗力下绵软地打转

在圆圈中生出没有,生出无

女人相信时间的轻和时间的重

相信科学已经证明一切的虚构

正如相信母亲常念叨的那句——

神鬼不管人间世


雅萱,出生成长于深圳。

torrential rain on a summer night

translated by PLS


torrential rain on a summer night

there’s not a dry spot on the ground

the cat in the rain and the cat under the bed are the same

a married woman sees through the rules of time —

some things happen early, at twenty-five

some late, at seventy

they may be the same things, or not

only un-promised waiting can prevent things from happening

the missing corners of time

falling aimlessly from every angle

like a stream on a sunny day, like a waterfall

spinning powerlessly under vis major

circling out an absence, and nothing

the woman believes in the weight of time

believes science has proven all fictionality

just as her mother likes to say —

the supernatural don’t give a damn about what’s happening


Ya Xuan, born and raised in Shenzhen.


 

The Tiger at Tiger Leaping Gorge

by Anthony Tao


Listen to the weltering water.

As he prepares to jump he knows this time, as last time and every time before he will make it.

He is a myth of his own devising.

Look: how his muscles tense, his fur bristling in the windy flume, his paws, gripping the rock, ready to release into the mist of the echoing roar.


Anthony Tao is a writer and editor in Beijing. His poetry has appeared in The Cortland Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Cha, etc. His poem "Coronavirus in China," published in Rattle in February 2020, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.


虎跳峡之虎

翻译:诗验室

听那翻滚的江水。

当他准备跃起时他深知

这一次,如上一次

和此前许多次一样

他都会成功。

他是自己发明的神话。

看:他的肌肉如此紧绷,他的毛发

在风洞中翩翩起舞,

他的利爪,紧扣石头,

只待冲入

回荡的怒吼之雾中。


Anthony Tao 是一名居住在北京的撰稿人与编辑,其诗歌作品散见于《The Cortland Review》、《Michigan Quarterly Review》、《Cha》等处。他的诗歌《新冠在中国》(Coronavirus in China)于2020年2月在 Rattle 上发表,并获得“小推车奖”提名。


 

夜曲

作者:匪石


沿着堤岸你也会把柳条错当是自己的脚飞行起来

其实是轻扑扑的心往上一努抓住了颤动的风中之簧

一阵阵乐声一阵阵游丝般的暖意压低了身子叫你免礼

将你递来的手不相上下地浮在正负几毫米误差之内

大家一边寒暄一边瞻顾着不要落伍一道往东边凉亭走

暮春春暮的馥馥花油即将告罄的焦味坦然露怯

素色花箔们薄薄的细软谢了这个谢了那个一应被遣散

那时已是十分之一的黄昏剩下的全部是夜晚


美丽的人造橘子菠萝梨的混合光色先是充盈灯泡

再就泡泡泡泡地吹起整个鱼行街了伸手可见橙黄的五指

玻璃糖纸绿的河水揉揉搓搓再向银边的两岸慢慢捋平

倒映着的是全不成形的服装店五金店美发店的烂漫


夜是一条巨大的黑船停在头顶那么眼前就是巍峨的船酋

那么上空应该泊着许许多多船轰轰轰舷侧铁板发出挨挤声

你啊你怎么也在大伙中呢也是来观摩这庞然的漂浮物吗

高耸之夜竟然能在见首不见尾的成群结队里相互认出


我是从河滨的旅馆窗上落下来的因为这和风往那面吹

知道这风里有你的气味所以就不假思索的溯过来

人们交熙接攘难不成就是为了亲睹这一船一船乌压压的风景

不是的不是的谁还不是盲从着往下游去哪里是爱夜色


我相信这船上载的都是鸦雀无声的黄金只差烛光一照

假使被调包这个夜晚已经不是那个夜晚我仍相信船上的贵重

不便打开的珍宝总是藏在暗暗的箱子里埋头渡过埋头渡过

这样才解释得通如此漆夜背着我们的是何密意幽悰


一定有什么蒙着面过去了打个哈欠的时间夜就旋踵过半

怪的是你怎么住这儿呢可别说天地如逆旅动辄如参商之类的

你那漂亮的夜夜偎倚在你身边形同舟楫的家伙呢

他呀要么就是一脚涉入别的水里要么就是拢向它岸了


原来又是这种如花脱萼的无果怪事先是一夜一夜点缀

再就使你枝柯扶疏得绿雾一样像是不为繁实所累的景观树

多怕自己又鸟语般被你茏葱围住啊我已经想见夏天

一旦真的夏天了又是夜莺又是鹧鸪的夏天啊绝非我栖所


夜是我全部的呆滞我流向你的全部呆滞为笨重的夜

深而沉的夜不是指针上说说就深沉了必是有东西在巨轮上面

我那绮语堆叠我堆堆叠叠的绮语多想一匹一匹地裁给你

怎么卸下来呢你摸着这船的黑只是摸毫无验货的心愿


就是这样夜了无数回都无处系泊的夜第二天碧空如洗

我们的凉亭才刚浅浅发亮时一边是劳一边是燕正豁然分开

中间是疲歇在地的笙竽四围是影子一一对应的嫩叶

你已经很远很远了我呢我也当的一声薄薄地碎成碎片


匪石,超级形式主义,偷师狂。


nocturne

translated by PLS

along the bank you would mistake the willow twigs as your own feet and start flying

it’s actually the light heart that catches the spring in the wind as it pounds upward

bursts of music bursts of silky warmth bow down to tell you to forgo formalities

keeping your hand afloat at a level with a margin of error of a few millimetres


we greet as we watch the way to not fall behind to head east to the pavilion together

the burnt scent of fragrance of flowers in the late spring of the spring late in arrival unfolding its timidity in full

plain petals thin and soft biding farewell to this and to that have all been dismissed

there was only a tenth of dusk left the rest belongs to the evening alone


the mixture of dazzling ersatz orange pineapple pear first fills the light bulb

then bubbling bubbling into a whole fish wandering around fingers holding orange

cellophane-wrap-green river water kneaded and rubbed then slowly smoothed out to the silver banks

reflecting the unwhole brilliance of clothing shop hardware shop and barbershop


night is an enormous dark ship anchored to the head then what stands affront is the towering captain

then there should be a multitude of boats above the sides of which crowding into a giant roar

oh you how come you are also in the crowd are you also here to see this floating monstrosity

in this steep night we even recognise each other among the endless crowds of people


I fell from the window of a riverside hotel because the wind blows the other way

I smelled you in this wind so I swam across without any hesitation

do people cluster here just to witness the boat after boat of dark scenery

no no who doesn’t swim blindly downward it’s not the beauty of night

I believe there is silent gold all over this ship it just needs to be shone over

even though being swapped this night is no longer the one I still believe that the valuable

not to be revealed treasures always bury themselves in the dark trunks and stay buried

only through this way can we explain what mastership the night dark as such carries

there must be something that balaclava-ed across the night already half spent in a blink

strange how you live here don’t even mention how time flies and that it’s difficult to meet by chance

where is that beautiful guy who used to snuggle up to you like an oar that never leaves the boat

he either dipped into someone else’s water or swam to another bank


it turns out these kind of obvious fruitless events first keep adorning night by night

then turn you into a green mist of luxuriant foliage like a landscape tree free of the burden of fruits

how I am scared of being girdled by your lushness like the chirping of birds I already wish to see the summer

once summer is really here the summer filled with nightingales and partridges is definitely not my abode


the night is all my sluggishness I flow toward all your sluggishness is a heavy night

deep yet dull night doesn’t mean the casual profundity on the pointer there must be something on the great ship

the pile of my flowery verses my flowery verses piling up how I wish to gift them to you piece by piece

how to unload them you touch the darkness over this ship only to feel it without the desire to examine the goods


thus is the night night-ing over and over again without a place to moor the next day the sky is blue and cloudless

when our pavilion just starts to glimmer there’s a sudden parting between the shrike and the swallow

in the centre of the ground is the tiresome reed instrument surrounded by new leaves mirroring shadows

you are far gone too far away now whereas me I am also broken into pieces, slenderly with a clunk


Fei Shi, super formalist, reference maniac.


 

Heart Of Power

by Sam Bartle


Oh! How we built such empires!


The villages and towns

we razed,

Unfettered zeal

of the power-crazed.


Oh! How we built such fires!


Ambitions burned

naked in the flames,

Upon the ashes

of forgotten names.


Oh! How such empires we built!


Blood of sons

and daughters spilt,

Free of burden,

without guilt.


My! How still they rage and lust,

Decreeing to us,

that we must,


Forever build such empires again.

Sam Bartle’s works have appeared in The High Wolds Poetry Festival Collection 2021, on BBC Radio York’s Upload programme and more.

嗜权之心

翻译:诗验室


啊!我们怎么就造了如此之帝国!


那些被我们

夷为平地的村镇,

有嗜权者们

放荡不羁的狂热。

啊!我们怎么就燃起了如此一把火!

熊熊烈火中

愈烧愈旺的野心,

而灰烬之中

无人知晓的姓名。


啊!如此之帝国怎么就被我们造出来了呢!


无辜儿女

血溅四方,

反倒痛快,

清清白白。

天!他们竟然还贪得无厌,

甚至昭告天下,

督促人们,


必须永远缔造这样的帝国。


Sam Bartle 的作品曾被收入《The High Wolds Poetry Festival Collection 2021》并出现在BBC广播约克的 Upload 栏目。



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