Winter '21 Issue | 2021 冬季刊
Devoid of Facts
by Ember
When he looked back,
a gale pushed all the heavy curtains away;
beams of light threw themselves into the vacant space.
Gleaming particles of dust.
To think that we could ever obtain freedom,
as if one day Time would release us
from its chains and fetters,
letting us run,
swiftly and wildly,
like the dog that chases the boomerang,
only finding ourselves
rushed back to where we started.
There is always a “tomorrow,”
one that sprawls beyond the itching expiration date.
Night’s wind sharpens its blade
with the limbs of towering trees.
No enemies to swallow its slash,
or spill blood with massive scars.
Is there anyone to hear the silent rage?
Rage against the smothered,
snowy feathers of a crow.
Ember is a recent graduate from the photography department at New York University.
缺乏事实
翻译：诗验室
当他回头望去时，
一阵风将沉重的窗帘推开；
阳光泻入虚空。
灰尘明亮的颗粒。
我们竟然有可能获得自由，
一如时光终将把我们
从它的枷锁下释放，
让我们逃跑，
又快又猛，
像那只追逐回力镖的狗，
只不过发现自己
一番奔波后又返至原点。
“明天”源源不断，
那个蔓延至难忍的有效期以外的明天。
晚风磨刃
用大树的身躯。
没有敌人吃下它的乱斩，
或者用巨大的伤痕溅血。
这无声的愤怒有人听见么？
对一只乌鸦沉闷的、
雪白的羽毛的愤怒。
Ember 是纽约大学摄影学院的应届毕业生。
爸爸
作者：袁婵
你每往前一步
我就下陷一点
柏拉图的洞穴
不是摇篮
是你的影像
从圆形的光孔映出
我守护你的雨伞
它炸裂是子弹
合上是沉默的箭矢
爸爸
如果你所谓的正义的冰块
在一些地方坚硬
一些地方消融
你是不是可以考虑回来
陪我
吃完这包冷掉的薯条
我试着爬起
跪上纸盒
翻过众人目视的椅背
你的声音高过所有风筝、云彩
我转身捂住身体
不确定自己的立场
想得到什么呢？
是玩具、坚果、蘑菇
还是番茄酱和芭蕾舞鞋
爸爸？
有人还在低语而你
忽然终止
你变语态的高亢为动作的果决
回来
拿起剩下的橙汁和伞
没有任何关于遗弃和等待的解释
离开
像风筝和云彩
我跳下椅背跟随你了
爸爸
你知道的
所以才放心地
几步并作一步
极速向前
可爸爸
你从未看到我
在冰冻的橙汁里颤抖
暴雨冲垮了洞穴
——不是摇篮
是你
给我的
幻影
独自在光里幽微
袁婵，日常作画，偶尔写诗。
father
translated by PLS
the further you move forward
the deeper I sink
Plato’s cave
is not a cradle
but the image of you
diffracted through a circular aperture
the umbrella with which I guarded you
was a bullet when blasted open
a silent arrow when closed
father
if your so-called ice of justice
hardens in a place
and melts in another
would you then mind returning
to finish off this bag of cold fries
with me
I tried to stand up
kneeling on the carton
climbing over the back of the chair everyone’s watching
your voice higher than all kites and clouds
I turned around and wrapped myself up
unsure of my stance
what do you want？
toys, nuts, mushrooms
or ketchup and ballet shoes
father?
someone was still whispering but you
all of a sudden stopped
turning the vibrance of speech into a resolute action
and came back
picking up the unfinished juice and umbrella
no explanation about abandoning and waiting
departing
like kites and clouds
I jumped off the chair and followed you
father
you knew
so reassuringly
you mended your pace
dashing forward
but father
you never saw me
trembling in the cold orange juice
the storm burst the cave
— not a cradle
but the phantom
you
left me
fainting in light alone
Yuan Chan, usually paints and sometimes writes poetry.
Yearning
by Anna Seidel
Listening
to glistening raindrops
with the hunger of a child,
searching
for the known taste of milk.
This stained world
drips honey in our mouths.
Our words – stolen,
leaving us
with our human need
to impose
on memory a body language,
some shape
that holds our losses.
Anna Seidel founded the poetry foundation The Napkin Poetry Review. Her poetic works have been published in Mantis, Inkwell, Marble Poetry, Horizon Poetry Magazine, and Frontier Poetry.
渴望
翻译：诗验室
带着婴儿的饥渴
聆听
闪烁的雨滴，
找寻
熟悉的奶香。
这个被玷污过的世界
往我们的嘴里滴入蜂蜜。
我们的词语 — 被盗，
留下我们
与我们本能的需求
在记忆中
强行塞入一个肢体语言，
一种能够抓住
我们失去的事物的形状。
Anna Seidel 是诗歌平台 The Napkin Poetry Review 的创始人，其作品散见于《Mantis》、《Inkwell》、 《Marble Poetry》、《 Horizon Poetry Magazine》及《Frontier Poetry 》等处。
手
作者：梁津铭
手，植物的根部说
这不是我的手。
岸上零零散散地落着枯死的矮木桩
就在一条不能称为小溪的流水旁
像是早与油污结成了朋友
共同朝看不到的地方生长
见证见证者的存在
植物的根部以及岸边的杂草
他们、手的主人，显得冷漠
矮木桩里满是空心的洞
洞里凿出灰色的大海
像颜色均匀的丝绸
今天岸边出现了呼吸声
鼾声 以及但不限于
歌声
可是听渔民回家对妻子的话
“今天岸上又是一片死静”
妻子反而回答
“当你说话时，一切都离你远去”
在日记里昭示真理吧
——柔软的宇宙随着孩子的呼吸
与大海同时收缩：收缩间
我看见光明向神秘的方向袭去
就好像没有人知道那样
——确实没有人知道
“当你看到时，一切都已枯死”
在孤独的地方的绝对幸福
这是木桩的道理
把灰色的丝绸装进眼睛里 瞧！
你将再不会生产任何东西
与房子一起沉没吧
就沉没在时间之上
用黑暗的方式告诉手的主人你下定决心与话语道别
或从未抵达话语
你与木桩、孩子、植物的根部和岸边的杂草一起
——你将听到妻子对渔民说
永远失去眼睛
梁津铭，美国纽约州瓦萨学院大一学生。
hand
translated by PLS
hand, the root of the plant says
this is not my hand.
withered stumps scattered along the bank
beside a stream no longer deemed a creek
like an old friend of oil spills
growing toward a dark direction
witnessing the existence of witnesses
the root of the plant and weeds along the waters
they, master of the hand, seem indifferent
the stumps are filled with empty holes
inside which there are grey oceans
like evenly-colored silk
today there appears the sound of breathing
snoring, including but not limited to
singing across the bank
but the fisherman goes home and tells his wife
“it’s another dead still day on the bank”
to which the wife replies
“when you speak, everything is abandoning you”
reveal the truth in the diary
— the supple universe and the sea contracting simultaneously
along with a child’s breath: among the contractions
I see light stretching towards a secret direction
as if no one knows
— indeed that’s the case
“by the time you see, everything will have withered”
there is absolute happiness in solitude
this is the truth within stumps
store the grey silk in the eyes and behold!
there’s nothing else coming out of you
sink with the house
right above time
tell the master of the hand in darkness that you are determined to say farewell to speeches
or have never reached any speech
you, together with the stumps, kids, the root of the plant and the weeds along the bank
—— you’ll hear the wife telling the fisherman
don’t let the eyes return
Liang Jinming, is a freshman at Vassar College.
This Is All About Us
by Eric Low
There ought to be a word for those hours
you wake coughing, your mouth tasting of salt and blood.
The leaked half-light tells you it's too late
to forget, count sheep, go back to sleep,
but too early for coffee.
The days are turning cold,
but a text sent from Akagawa San-Chome,
reminds you that someone out there,
says she’s feeling colder.
Your father's call from hours ago echoes in your head.
He tells you he is managing on, old but no big deal,
everybody falls once in a while,
and your mother misses you.
The phone cuts us off right at the end of
“when are you coming home?”
It will be days before you reply.
Outside the window,
a couple bickers on the sidewalk entirely in Shanghainese.
She’s had it, she screams, as she turns her back to him
but does not move any farther.
Run to her, grab her from behind and never let her go;
you find yourself urging the man on.
He inches forward as if to respond,
but he just freezes there, looking almost happy,
in this one moment that is his and only his.
Even from this distance, you envy him.
Oh god, all you ever do, is envy.
Eric Low resides in Shanghai. His poems have been published in several print and online journals, like the Asia Literary Review, Mascara Review, Santa Clara Review etc. In 2009, he won Singapore’s Golden Point Award for poetry.
我们那些事
翻译：诗验室
肯定能找到一个合适的词来形容
你咳着醒来、嘴里满是盐与血的味道的时刻。
房间里漏着的微光告诉你既不能
选择忘掉、数羊、继续回去睡觉，
也不能起来喝咖啡。
天气越来越冷，
可是来自赤川三丁目的一条短信，
提醒你那里有个人，
说她感觉更冷。
你父亲几个小时前的电话还回荡在你的脑海里。
他告诉你他自有安排，虽然年纪大但也没什么大碍，
每个人偶尔都会遇到一些坎儿，
你妈妈想你。
“你什么时候回家？”这句话刚落音
电话就断了。
你至少需要好几天才能回答这个问题。
窗外，
一对情侣在人行道上全程用上海话斗嘴。
她已经受够了，她转过身对他尖叫道
但脚下却一动不动。
冲向她，从后面抱住她，别让她跑了；
你发现自己在心底催促这个男人。
他缓慢向前挪动步子，仿佛在回应着，
但是他就僵在那里了，看起来还蛮开心，
这一刻属于他且只属于他。
你就这样远远地羡慕他。
天，你就只能羡慕他。
Eric Low 住在上海，其诗歌作品散见于《亚洲文学评论》、《Mascara Review》、《Santa Clara Review》等处。2009年，他获得新加坡“英文诗歌组金笔奖”。
Diet of Blood
by Christian Garduno A steady diet of blood I sink my teeth into memories of you This silence isn’t quiet enough for exhausted angels to recuperate The fire is burning white rising from the charcoal This night has its claws out for us screeching into the ether Separate from your own shadow blowing out Jardin de Paris candles Rivers never rush in reverse butterflies never return into caterpillars Looking for a loophole in the ocean when all of the sky turns plum
Christian Garduno lives and writes along the South Texas coast. His debut poetry chapbook, “Lightning in Your Room”, is available from Guerrilla Genesis Press.
以血为食
翻译：诗验室
以血为食的日常
我用牙齿咬入关于你的记忆
这样的沉默对于需要从身心俱疲中恢复的天使来说
还不够平静
火在燃烧
炭中升起的白
夜晚正向我们伸出爪牙
朝天空发出刺耳的尖叫
从自己的影子中脱离
吹熄巴黎花园的蜡烛
河水从未在倒流时匆忙
蝴蝶从未变回毛虫
当整片天空变成紫红色时
在大洋中寻找一个漏洞
Christian Garduno 在美国得克萨斯南部海岸居住与写作。他的首部诗歌小册《你房里的闪电》在 Guerrilla Genesis 出版社有售。
树
作者：汤雅萱
一颗心里的树
在月亮下的椅子上
听夜晚和秋的声音
一种初生的果实无法听见的低吟
这棵树从不穿鞋，也不囤积回忆
因此拥有了厚实的脚底，是时间的岩石
近一点，她说，再近一点
你可以和我说话 ——
让落在地上的词语流淌像长河
没有人会为一棵树流泪或奔走
因为树的孤独比沉默更轻
我伸手去摸她身上的褶皱
像触到了雾中的森林
可她偏要说 ——
在所有的颜色与乌云里
树的归树
森林的归森林
我跺起脚来
发出熟睡时干瘪又急促的声音
我想说假若有一天
历史的盗贼要偷走她身上所有的果实
我会记住其中的每一颗
让她们紧紧拥抱在黑夜里
她还是走了
没那么远，又没那么近
留下我和一整片森林一起
接受并习惯遗忘的前提
忘记大海尽头的岔路
忘记锋利
忘记时间的里里外外
忘记窗外的伤心
她走以后，我看见四季远远地舒展自己
看见自己，也在四季里
汤雅萱，出生成长于深圳。
tree
translated by PLS
a tree from the heart
on a chair under the moon
listening to the sound of the night and the autumn
a groan newly formed fruits cannot grasp
this tree never wears shoes, nor stores memories
so it has thick soles, is the rock of time
closer, she said, closer still
you can talk to me —
let the scattered words flow like a river
no one would cry or run for a tree
because solitude of the tree is lighter than silence
I extended my hand to feel the creases on her body
as if touching a forest in the mist
but she insisted —
in all colors and dark clouds
those of the tree belong to the tree
and the forest to the forest
I started stomping
making a flat yet hurried noise in sleep
I wanted to say that if one day
thieves of history stole all of her fruits
I would remember each one of them
keep them huddled in the dark night
she left anyway
not so far, nor so close
leaving me with the whole forest
accepting and becoming accustomed to the idea of forgetting
forget about the crossroads at the end of the sea
the sharpness
the ins and outs of time
the sadness beyond the window
after she’s gone, I saw four seasons stretching themselves in the distance
seeing myself, also in these seasons
Tang Yaxuan was born and raised in Shenzhen.
found poem, I
by Ana Padilla Fornieles
trust me,
you do not want to see the
blockbuster visions of a nation of dreamers
marching on,
playing with fire,
rejoining the battle,
obsessed with
bread lines, a domestic bonanza,
bringing relief to
a resurgence of
troubled waters
deflated by the weight of responsibility,
the grim picture of a blue-collar necessity.
urged to share a hero’s welcome.
hyping child stars.
warning signals flash for
something ventured. in a golden age of
old tales, a struggling couple
fears a sobering mindfulness.
tomorrow a blistering summer
will heat up an empty nest.
how long can it last?
how low will it go?
middle-class urbanites
clothe me with famine and political turmoil.
my hands itch in public bathhouses.
broken in the chaos,
these men still spend all day
draped in varying states of torpor.
they like to stave off loneliness and old age,
and named me after a flower.
I assume it’s because they love me unconditionally.
Ana Padilla Fornieles is currently based in Beijing, Her prose and poetry have been featured in The Shanghai Literary Review, Womanhood, Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine and more.
失而复得的诗，一
翻译：诗验室
相信我
你不希望看到
一个国家的追梦者
集体前行、
与火共舞、
重返战场、
迷恋
紧急救济、自娱自乐、
为那些被
责任的重量压扁
却又卷土重来的
困惑之水
缓解痛苦
的轰动场面，
蓝领们必须面对的残酷。
被怂恿着欢迎英雄归来。
捧红童星。
一旦“抛头露面”
警示信号就不断闪烁。在传说漫天飞
的黄金时代，一对拼命奋斗的夫妻
惧怕清醒的正念。
明天，一个酷热的夏天
将使一个空巢变热。
它能持续多久？
它能卑鄙到何种程度？
中产阶级的都市人
用饥荒与政治混乱裹住我。
我的双手在公共澡堂里发痒。
虽然在嘈杂中四分五裂，
这些人依然整日
以各种麻木束身。
他们喜欢延缓孤单与衰老，
和用一朵花来命名我。
我猜这是因为他们无条件爱我。
Ana Padilla Fornieles 目前居住在北京。她的作品散见于《上海文艺评论》、《Womanhood》 及《声韵诗刊》等。
空想
作者：薄桜
时间像盐 融化在肌体，
剩下我们凝望的眼睛：
月升日落，记事本上昂扬的惊叹号早已
弯曲如镰刀，叩问来处与归返。
沙漠还是待垦的荒地，曾坚信
必须追究一个未来的清晰答案
但生命不能精确如天平，区分出
黄金或者铜锈，推开夜色的旅人
蒙眼洞悉辽阔，尖草吻别破旧的
义足，等待手杖化作桃林，躯干
变成比光阴更深的海，旱地生泽国。
薄桜，真名魏萱，2001年生人。
daydreaming
translated by PLS
time melting inside the body like salt,
what’s left is our gazing eyes:
moon rising in the sun’s descent, the jaunty exclamation marks on the notebook
already bent like scythes, inquiring about the whereabouts.
the desert or a wasteland waiting to be cultivated, believing once
there must be a clear answer for the future
but life can’t be as accurate as a scale, differentiating
gold or patina, the voyager who enters the night
grasping the vastness with eyes masked, sword grass kissing goodbye to the dilapidated
prosthetic legs, expecting the walking stick to turn into a peach blossom, and the torso
into an ocean deeper than time, water all over an arid land.
Ususakura, real name Wei Xuan, was born in 2001.
Blue Kitchen
by Xanadu
Blue tiled wall and
black oven plate aside
Copper of utensils as bright as sun shines among starry squares of blue-green where the oven is blacker than
your skin when you don't know
Anyone round or square except
20th century furniture
Rearranged like an open museum indeed decorated by casual wear of excited women and men visitors
from East and West
Open window as Impressionist feature le soleil brille et les couleurs sonnent * on summer holiday in Normandie
after pandemic seemed to have gone
Garden returns as chaotic as Monet's streak of paint that draws an unexpected
whole of ensemble
Cubism explodes in colors as real as everyday life of painters and
their lovers.
*Translation from French: sun is shining and colors are sounding.
Xanadu isn't a biological person, but a contextual pseudonym.
蓝色厨房
翻译：诗验室
蓝色瓷砖铺成的墙面
一旁是黑色烤盘
餐具之铜明亮如日
在蓝绿色星纹方块间闪耀
这里的烤箱比你的
皮肤还黑你不知道
除20世纪的家具以外
所有圆状或方形的人
都像一个开放博物馆般陈列着
也确实被来自西方与东方
激情高昂的男女访客们
的休闲装所装饰
敞开的窗户是印象派之特色
阳光闪耀，色彩作响
在诺曼底的一个夏日假期
在疫情似乎已经过去以后
花园重返如莫奈笔下
绘出一个整体的
全部的那抹
色彩一样嘈杂
立体派在颜色中爆发
与画家们及其
爱人的日常生活
一样真实
Xanadu 非生物人，而是一些文本的笔名。
九寨沟游记·镜海
作者：齐格果
你从未像她们一样， 妩媚多姿， 招徕万国游人。 你靛青色的眼眸， 拥抱的是他乡之客。 命名是件礼物， 你从中诞生， 来自深处。 镜子， 哪怕被微风吹皱， 却依旧敞开怀抱。 你太清澈， 容纳不下阴影， 可飞鸟却从中飞过。 或许某日， 山峦崩摧， 星辰坠落， 尘埃弭平沟壑。 你悠然隐去， 却不曾消亡， 仍在世界的另一角。 你的宠儿， 对于那些山林， 生亦何忧，死亦何扰， 它们欢笑着睁开双眼， 又甜甜地转而入眠。 可人却不能， 醒时或睡着， 都有太多惊厥。 我愿长久沉醉， 可你挥挥手， 送我归返。 凡人无法在此间居住， 他们的寓所， 是迷惘和烦恼。 即便筑造木屋， 离你都过于迢遥。 我何时能故地重游？ 你不再言语。 可我知道， 你的微笑里， 答案早已写好。
齐格果，2000年出生，就读于四川大学。
On Jiuzhaigou - Mirror Lake
translated by PLS
you are never like them,
fascinating and alluring,
courting people from all around.
those indigo eyes of yours,
attracting all kinds of strangers.
it’s a gift to name one,
from which you are born,
the deep.
mirror,
even though wrinkled by the wind,
still having its chest wide open.
you are too clear
to bear any shadow,
but birds skim across it.
maybe someday
mountains crumble,
the sky falls,
dust fills the ravine.
you slowly fade,
but never disappear,
still somewhere in the world.
your darling,
to those mountains and forests,
leaving no trace of trouble,
their eyes open with smiles,
then closed in sweetness.
but human beings cannot,
awake or asleep,
they are burdened with too many convulsions.
I wish to indulge in this forever,
but you wave your hand,
sending me back.
no human being is allowed to live here,
the place they dwell
is confusion and sorrow.
even to build a log cabin
is too far away from you.
when can I return to visit?
you stay silent.
but I already know,
there is an answer
in your smile.
Qi Geguo, born in 2000, is currently studying at Sichuan University.
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