“From One House to Another“, audio by Chi Lingyun

Produced by The Tenonists

From One House to Another

From one house to another, 
no more familiar faces:
what kind of game is this? 

We took turns hiding in closets, 
silent, so no one could find us. 
All the training that love needs: 
to test whose loneliness lasts longer. 

Later, we forgot to look for each other,
and got used to living in anonymity, 
like hiding inside a big truck.

But this is the last time. 
I know you won’t come back to find me.
We have been missing persons for so long, nameless. 

2008.2.27

从一座房子到另一座房子

从一座房子到另一座房子
再也找不到一个熟悉的人
这是一个什么游戏啊——
 
我们曾轮番躲在衣柜里
不出声，不让别人找到我们
一切爱所需的训练：看谁的孤独更持久。
 
后来，我们忘记了要去找到对方
习惯了默默无闻地生活
宛如躲在一个大箱子里。
 
然而，这一次是最后一次
我知道，你再也不会来找我
我们早已是没有名字的失踪者。

2008. 2. 27

The Well

Down an ancient alley,
a wind-filled well
tells me what it has seen and heard.

A lens collecting soul fragments.
Invite us to stare into the void,
but pray for an infinitely-extending ladder.

 2019.9.3

井

在一个古老的巷子里，
一口灌满了风的井
告诉我它的所见所闻。

一枚收集灵魂碎片的透镜。
教人向深渊凝视，
却祈求一把无限延伸的梯子。

2019年9月3日

Silence Makes the Wind

silence makes the wind, and the river endures in the earth
one setting sun after another feeding gray houses
its emptiness has a fiery past
in every reservoir filled with dust
there’s a long sigh before dawn and a flame after the calm
I open my mouth, yet the song is no longer there
the mirror of early spring has long been broken upon the crumpled map
if I can still sing with a low voice
it’s because I’m sure smoke can last forever, a sad face
feels the embrace ever cherished by death.

2009.2.23

寂静制造了风

寂静制造了风，河流在泥土中延续
一个又一个落日哺育灰色的屋宇
它的空洞有着炽烈的过去
在每一个积满尘土的蓄水池
有黎明前的长叹和平息之后的火焰
我开口，却已没有歌谣
初春的明镜，早已碎在揉皱的地图上
如果我还能低声歌唱
是因为确信烟尘也能永恒，愁苦的面容
感到被死亡珍惜的拥抱。

2009.2.23

Let the Wilt Grow Taller

Let the wilt grow taller, and then go to harvest.
Let the elderberry connect to the groove hungering for death.
Let the solitary gray lips speak.

Let it become dark later, when plants paint colors upon the ground.
Let the spring water glisten with a glimmer of light and pass through the black hole of despair.
Let the pen rise to its feet and the axe depart by itself.

2011.10.29

让枯萎长高一点

让枯萎长高一点，再去收割。
让接骨木，接住渴念死亡的沟槽。
让灰色的嘴唇独自言谈。
   
让天黑得晚一点，草木在地上画出颜色。
让泉水带上微光，经过绝望的黑洞。
让笔锋站立，刀斧自己出门。

2010.10.9

All Sounds Go to Bass

At sunrise, all sounds go to bass.
The movement of night crushes the protruding buds,
dewdrops and teardrops sink into the mud,
everything is annihilated without trace. Only 
the eyelids of the blind remain on our faces,
black ink knows this experience well. A hunger
and sickness grope for kudzu vines like qin strings.
Our loved ones turn their backs
gasping and wordless, unable to wash off
the mess surrounding them. The iron railings of the night
are locked up during the day, no one is released.
There is neither visible ice nor volcano nearby.

2010.10.9

所有声音都要往低音去

日出时，所有声音都要往低音去。
夜的运动把伸出的幼芽压碎，
露珠与泪珠都沉入泥土
一切湮灭没有痕迹。惟有
盲人的眼睑，留在我们脸上
黑墨水熟悉这经历。一种饥饿
和疾病，摸索葛藤如琴弦。
我们的亲人，转过背去喘息
他们什么也没说，他们无法洗净
身边的杂物。黑夜的铁栅
在白天上了锁，没有人被放出去。
没有看得见的冰，附近也没有火山。

2010.10.9

Summer Notes

Of all the skills, I’ve learned only one:
Burning.

To become ash instead of dust
I bend my knees, but do not know how to shine.

How can you devour me when I am about to disappear?
The flames are few, the flames are few.

2009.7.10

夏天笔记

这么多技艺，我只学会一样：
燃烧。
 
为了成为灰烬而不是灰
我盘拢双膝，却不懂如何发光。
 
我即将消失，你还要如何消耗我？
火焰已经很少，火焰已经很少。

2009.7.10

Go Inside a Tree

I can’t depict a tree:
its longing invites endless wind. 
So, let’s go inside a tree. 

I’m not familiar with frank and open branches:
all these greens, trying to note something down. 
So, let’s go inside a tree.

Heal a day’s distortion and dearth:
an easily dimmed fire is easily tied up by an idea.
So, let’s go inside a tree. 

It sees more clearly than I do —
that the beauty of life is buried deep in roots and fallen leaves. 
The air and the earth wake each other, acquiring new qualities. 
So, let’s go inside a tree. 

2008. 2. 27

到一棵树中去

我无法描绘一棵树
它的憧憬引来永无终结的风
所以，到一棵树中去。

我不了解毫无保留的枝杈
那绿色，像要记录下什么
所以，到一棵树中去。

要医治一天的扭曲和贫乏
轻易就熄灭的火，被一个念头捆住
所以，到一棵树中去。

它比我看得更清楚——
生命之美深藏于根须和落叶
空气和土壤互相唤醒，获得新的素质
所以，到一棵树中去。

2008.2.27

Talking about the Galaxy Casts Us in Shadow

Flowing light finally rises to the black vault, 
the two of us lonesome and doleful puppets
cowering in their ill-fitting shells,
it is up to us to make up for a certain star’s coldness.

Against the atmosphere, our silhouettes grow dimmer,
perhaps the galaxy is a game we can’t win, 
resembling a cryptic joke
with no special meaning in itself.

And if we believe the fabled galaxy does exist
the moment to recall that world has long passed.

2009.8.26

谈论银河让我们变得晦暗

流动的光，最终回到黑色的苍穹
我们寂寞而伤感，像两个木偶
缩在窘迫的外壳里
某一颗星星的冷，由我们来补足。

在大气层以下，我们的身影更黑
或许银河只是无法通行的游戏
看着像一个艰涩的嘲弄
它自身并没有特别的意义。
 
而如果我们相信，真有传说中的银河
这样的人间早已无可追忆。

2009.8.26

Moment of Crows

When a flock of crows solemnly gaze at me,
quietly feel my fierce cold and thirst,
the sky starts to spin.
I almost want to speak to them.

They are so small, not supposed to love light
but the night is loyal.
A starving homeland quietly feeds them.

My hands are tucked into my sleeves,
measuring what comfort the icy universe receives.
A frozen twig is turning green.

I remember that moment, amid a vast expanse of whiteness,
a solitary birch standing upright,
its leaves gone, while dozens of crows,
perching in the branches, gazed at me.

2015.12.21

乌鸦的时刻

当一群乌鸦保持静穆，注视我
暗中感知我强烈的冷与渴，
我的天空开始旋转，
我几乎要开口对它们说话。
它们那么渺小，不该喜爱光
但黑夜忠于它们。
饥饿的故乡在悄悄给它们食物。
我的手缩在衣袖里
估量着冰冷的世界得到的慰藉。
一根冻僵的树枝在醒来。
我记得那个时刻：白茫茫的雪地上
只有白桦树挺立在那里
所有树叶都落光了。只有数十只乌鸦
栖息在枝条上，注视着我。

On the Freshly Paved Asphalt Road…

Early in the morning, while walking in the mountains,
I enter a solidified space:
on the freshly paved asphalt surface, snakes and frogs
are half squeezed into the road, dozens of dragonflies
are submerged in the glimmering black asphalt,
they want to flit away - colourful 
and translucent wings
striving to open, in pain and scared.

Have they stopped for a roadside rest, or
are they yearning for a new wasteland? But it’s too black
even if they have spectacular, compound eyes.
When they flew down at night,
not a single human hand 
cast a falling leaf to save them.

Is every black, sticky road
stained with snapped, colourful wings?
In that haunting summer, I thought I
witnessed an array of perfect wings,
but all it revealed to me was: the moment I determined 
never to hurt them,
a freshly paved road brought an array
of lives shimmering with tears before me.

2018.12.8

新浇的柏油路上……

清晨，当我去山中散步，
像进入一个凝固的空间：
新浇的柏油路上，小蛇与青蛙
被半压进路面，数十只蜻蜓
陷进黑得发亮的沥青中，
它们想要飞离的样子——彩色
而透明的翅膀
奋力张开，痛苦而惊惧。

它们是要在路上停歇，还是想
察看一片新的荒原？但是太黑了
即使有惊人的复眼。
当它们在夜晚飞行着降临，
没有一只人类之手
抛出一片救命的落叶。

每一条黑色的粘稠的道路上
是否都沾满了折断的彩色翅膀？
在那个难忘的夏天，我以为
见到了那么多堪称完美的羽翼，
而我全部的发现就是——在我决心
永不伤害它们的时刻，
一条崭新的道路，将那么多
泪光闪闪的生命送到我面前。

2018.12.8



Chi Lingyun 池凌云
Born in Rui’an, Wenzhou in 1966, Chi Lingyun has once been a teacher, a reporter, and an editor. She started writing in 1985, and since then she has authored “Selected Poems by Chi Lingyun”, “Light That Sneaks In”, “One’s Translation”, etc. She has won prizes including October Poetry Award, Dongdangzi Poetry Award, among others. Some of her poems have been translated into German, English, and Korean.

“Moments of Crow”, “On the Freshly Paved Asphalt Road…”, “Talking about the Galaxy Casts Us in Shadow” – translation: Cui Yixiong (崔奕雄) and Stephen Nashef
“Go Inside a Tree”, “From One House to Another” – translation: Shen Zhi (沈至) and Stephen Nashef
“Silence Makes the Wind”, “Let the Wilt Grow Taller”, “All Sounds Go to Bass” and “Summer Notes” – translation: Jia Wei (葭苇) and Stephen Nashef.

“A Guide to Post-Mortem Affairs“, audio by Yang Xiaobin

Produced by The Tenonists

A Guide to Post-Mortem Affairs

 The moment I dropped dead, they
 blamed me for my hasty departure.
  
 Actually, it was the first time I died,
 and I forgot to bring my wallet and keys:
 “To be continued.”
  
 I closed my mouth on the way out, snuffed out
 the sunlight deep in my throat.
 Next time I could die more handsomely, I think.
 In my dream I should at least
 remember to wash my spikes and bristles clean.
  
 Later, I found I could not muster the breath to sing.
 I suddenly felt like I wanted to wake up, but
 they thought it better for me to remain dead,
 so they lit a fire, celebrated my silence. 

后事指南

 我刚死的时候，他们
 都怪我走得太匆忙。
  
 其实，我也是第一次死，
 忘了带钱包和钥匙：
 “一会儿就回来。”
  
 我随手关上嘴巴，熄掉
 喉咙深处的阳光。
 我想下次还可以死得再好看些。
 至少，要记得在梦里
 洗干净全身的毛刺。
  
 后来，我有点唱不出声。
 我突然想醒过来，但
 他们觉得我还是死了的好，
 就点了些火，庆祝我的沉默。 

A Toast to the Famale Sun

 But I didn’t realize the sun was female
 until she squatted down to pee.
  
 She’s been uncharacteristically lively since early morning,
 hopping along the treetops and licking at the windows like 
 a juvenile delinquent fresh out of the penitentiary.
  
 She was burning all over. She seemed to be looking for water to drink.
 I handed her a cold, manly beer,
 “You’ve got a fever. Cool off a bit.”
   She grasped me by the back of the neck and didn’t let go.
 “Cut the crap, and take a drink of this.”
 She slurped me up, while spewing out the darkness of the previous night.
  
 “Well, bottoms up.”
  
 Just like that she sucked the ocean dry with one gulp, then lay drunk on the horizon:
 “The world is so soft. You really can’t do anything with him.” 

为女太阳干杯

 不过，当太阳蹲下来嘘嘘的时候，
 我才发现她是女的。
  
 她从一清早就活泼异常。
 树梢上跳跳，窗户上舔舔，有如
 一个刚出教养所的少年犯。
  
 她浑身发烫。她好像在找水喝。
 我递给她一杯男冰啤：
 “你发烧了，降降温吧。”
  
 她反手掐住我脖子不放：
 “别废话，那你先喝了这口。”
 她一边吮吸我，一边吐出昨夜的黑。
  
 “好，那我们干了这杯。”
  
 瞬间，她把大海一口吸干，醉倒在地平线上：
 “世界软软的，真拿他没办法。” 

Magic Mirrorism

 After squeezing out, I forgot
 how to become shorter than myself.
 Even the stars are white-dwarfed into golf-like orbs.
 What else can't be reduced?
 Even time can be bent.
 How can I complain that
 the burden of life is too heavy?
 If you can't be short, at least
 it’s not that hard to be fat–it’s simply a matter of
 facing the sky, listening to the sound of
 of the wind in the recesses puffing at the skin.
 In fact, it’s not too hard to understand.
 All I have to do is to face the mystery.
 Everything is twisted with such dreadful grace.
 And every piece of crooked, deformed fruit
 can blossom into an eye-catching smile. 

哈哈镜主义

 挤出来后，我忘了
 怎么才能比自己更矮。
 连星星都白矮成高尔夫球，
 还有什么是不能紧缩的。
 连时间都能折腰，
 我又怎么好意思抱怨
 生活的扁担太重呢。
 如果矮不起来，至少
 胖是容易的——无非是
 面对苍穹，谛听一阵阵
 凹处的风声吹鼓皮囊。
 其实，这没什么难懂的。
 我只要站到玄机前，
 一切拧巴都婀娜得要命。
 而每一颗歪瓜劣枣，
 也都绽放出夺目的笑脸。 

Winter at the Sawmill

 Long are the saw’s teeth; short is the day.
 The plant manager bundled up the forest and piled it on the bank of the river.
 A small waterfall concealed fish and mysteries, along with dead branche
 secretly reciting poetry, grinding their teeth
 while sucking the melting ice.
 The plant manager dreamed of sawing out a comfortable living from under the bark.
 Listen to the north wind, as hoarse as
 sawdust stuck in the back of the throat.
 Snow tried to moisten winter’s throat, but forgot 
 how the wren’s crisp voice was formed.
 The plant manager climbed out of the chipper alone,
 cracks all over his body, like snowy mountains
 syncopated and sinking into a frenzied whisper. 

锯木厂的冬天

 锯齿长，白昼短。
 厂长把森林捆起来堆到河岸上。
 小瀑布暗藏鱼玄机，顺枯枝
 偷偷吟诗。一边磨牙
 一边吮吸融冰。
 厂长梦见从树皮下锯出小康，
 听北风，也一样嘶哑，
 好像木屑卡在舌根。
 雪要给冬天润喉，却忘了
 鹪鹩的清脆嗓门是怎样练成的。
 厂长独自爬出削片机，
 满身裂痕，好像雪山的布景
 在切分音下陷入迷狂和呢喃。 

A Guide to the Big Bang

 Where is Cosmos? My Cosmos is missing.
 I just felt it in my pocket.
  
 Cosmos can be naughty at times, so I hold 
 him in my hand
 Loath to part with you, my Cosmos.
  
 Let him endlessly expand, make a spectacle of himself, so that
 he gloats, full of himself.
  
 He smiled, Cosmos actually smiled,
 what kind of world is this?
  
 When I close my eyes, Cosmos envelops me.
 When I open my mouth, Cosmos sings along.
  
 Cosmos you are no impassioned scatter,
 but winsome dahlia, dahlia!
  
 I hate him, as I hate my own shadow.
 When night falls, I start to miss him.
  
 My Cosmos is surely lost, lost on the road?
 I look back and Cosmos explodes.

大爆炸指南

 宇宙在哪呢？宇宙不见了。
 刚才我还在口袋里摸到它。
  
 宇宙有时候不乖，就捏在手心里。
 我舍不得送人的宇宙。
  
 让它无限膨胀，出洋相，这样
 宇宙就更自以为了不起。
  
 它笑了，宇宙它居然笑了。       
 这是一个什么世界啊。
  
 我闭上眼，宇宙就笼罩我。
 我一张嘴，宇宙会唱起来。
  
 （宇宙谁说你松散泼辣，
 宇宙就是美眉茉莉，茉莉！）
  
 我恨它，就像恨我的影子。
 天空暗下来，我开始怀念它。
  
 宇宙真的不见了，是掉在了路上？
 一回头，宇宙爆炸了。 

Excess Supply Weekly Report

 On the first day, I sold nightmares,
 but no one bought them.
 Jumbles of nightmares piled up in the bedroom, intertwined like flesh and bones.
  
 On the second day, I sold yawns, but no one was interested either.
 Steaming hot, freshly baked yawns, 
 Were they so wet that they weighed more than people could bear?
  
 On the third day, I started to sell sneezes.
 Such a thunderous roar, that more fled than arrived.
 I wondered, did I
 need something more discreet?
  
 On the fourth day, I decided to sell laughter.
 Ha-ha, heh-heh, whee-hee, haw-haw.
 as you could imagine whee-hee was the most expensive, because it’s harder to come by.
 The lover who leapt through the window to get his hands on one
 smashed his front teeth and now can’t close his mouth properly.
  
 On the fifth day, I was sure heartbeats would sell well.
 But I was surrounded on all sides by roaring machine guns and thumping drums,
 so much pain, so many transactions.
 The heartbeats were finally overwhelmed, and fell to the ground.
  
 On the sixth day, I secretly sold libido.
 Flushing, panting, becoming erect, until there was not a single piece left.
 Buyers and sellers collapsed on the floor in exhaustion.
  
 On the last day, I had only dreamless sleep to sell.
 But the moment I examined my goods, I fell asleep, knowing nothing of what happened afterwards. 

后销售主义者周记

 第一天，我卖的是噩梦，
 但一个都没卖出去。   
 梦和梦，堆在卧室里，骨肉相连着。
  
 第二天，我改卖哈欠，也无人问津。
 热腾腾的新鲜哈欠，是不是太湿，
 以至重量超过了人们的承受力？
  
 第三天，我开始卖喷嚏。
 一阵响亮，逃走的比赶来的还多。
 我很奇怪：难道
 非要更私密才行吗？
  
 第四天，我决定卖笑。
 呵呵哈哈嘻嘻嘿嘿，当然
 嘻嘻的价高，因为太难了。
 那个跳上窗口来抢购嘻嘻的恋人
 撞碎了门牙，还合不拢嘴。
  
 第五天，我想心跳一定卖得更好。
 但四周机关枪突突，鼓声咚咚， 
 如此地痛，如此地畅销。
 心跳终究敌不过，应声倒地。
  
 第六天，我偷偷卖起欲望来。
 潮红、激喘、勃起，一件不留。
 买的和卖的都累垮了。
  
 最后一天，我只有无梦的睡眠可以卖。
 但我一示范就睡着了。此后我一无所知。 

A Guide to Appreciating the Sea of Sunflowers

Enter from the east and you will 
 see them, lined up, looking up to the setting sun. 
 Such solemnity, as though the world had
 closed its eyes smiling.
 Continue westward and you might even find,
 in the glittering tides,
 more gold of affection, falling heavily
 onto the field of illusions. 
 As the saying goes, if you plant gold,
 you always garner sunflowers. And so, 
 you don’t need too intimate a touch
 for the honeybees to make fragrances enshroud 
 memory’s thorns. Whether you 
 recognise yourself or not, the necessary flash
 will reflect the inexplicable happiness 
 and how it emits, 
 from the garland on your head,
 the rotten smell of raging fire. 

向日葵花海赏花指南

 从东边踏入，你就会
 看见它们列队仰望夕阳。
 如此肃穆，彷彿世界已经
 微笑着闭上了眼睛。
 继续往西，你还可以在波光        
 粼粼里找到更多
 情感的黄金，沉甸甸地
 落在幻觉的田野上。
 俗话说，种下的是黄金，
 收割的总是葵花。那么，
 不用太亲暱的爱抚，
 蜜蜂就会让香气氤氲
 在记忆的刺点。在
 必须的闪光里，不管你
 是不是认出自己，
 都能照出莫名的快乐
 从头顶上的花环，
 散发出烈火的腐味。 

A Guide to Gold Panning

 Compared with yellow, it is indeed 
 a little heavy. That’s hardly surprising.
 But it’s a bit over the top if even bamboo poles 
 in dreams are piled up to make towers. 
 Regardless, the processes are as complex
 as the fun is real —
 My patience is fine like sand, my mood
 muddy like silt, yet my hands, well-versed
 in the quenching methods they learnt on Mars,
 splatter fireflies across the sky, too beautiful 
 to recognise the dirt face that once was. 
 Nevertheless, dressing up truly makes all the difference:
 only then do I know what vivacity is. 
 But the sea is another matter entirely —
 pretending to own gold only to 
 put on appearances, as if the world  
 had hidden under a piece of golden foil 
 and stayed for thousands of years. Turn over 
 a yellow-dotted page, where only
 fish’s clenched teeth remain faintly visible, but
 can all love and hate hang 
 on the ear lobe of the future? Might all truth
 fall into the historical trap of the ring finger? 
 Fine, keep stirring until 
 the colour of manure becomes glorious 
 and offal becomes hard, like a man,
 curled up, shining bright, welcoming
 the sweaty touch of the setting sun.  

淘金指南

 比起黄色来，它确实
 重了些。这并不出乎意料。
 可是，连梦里的竹竿也能
 叠出些塔来，就有些过分了。
 无论如何，趣味有多实在，
 工序就有多繁琐——
 我的耐心细成了沙子，心情
 烂成了淤泥，但巧手
 从火星学来的淬炼法，
 溅出漫天流萤，漂亮得
 认不出曾经是土脸。
 不过，一打扮真不寻常：
 我才知道什么叫水灵。
 但海根本是另一回事了——
 只是假装有黄金，显出 
 很富贵的样子，仿佛世界
 藏在一片金箔下面发呆，
 度过了几千年。翻开一张
 有黄斑的书页，只有
 鱼的切齿依稀难辨，但
 一切爱恨都能悬挂在
 未来的耳垂？所有真理
 都上了无名指的历史圈套？
 好吧，继续搅，直到
 粪的颜色也辉煌起来，
 杂碎都变硬，像条汉子，
 灿烂地蹲成一团，迎接
 夕阳汗津津的抚摸。 

A Guide to the Old Society

 The reason I leave for the old society
 is to find a warlord to have a drink with, and, if time permits, 
 buy a famine to slim down with while I’m there. 
  
 Of course, I’d better check in on the widespread devastation:
 rebelling against the rampant tyrants
 would be a decent adventure. 
  
 I leave for the old society because I want to
 fool a female traditional Chinese character into a relationship. 
 Why not wear a tattered mantle
 and give the last female sculpted railing a pat? 
  
 Once I’m gone it’ll be hard for me to come back.
 For the old society is too old:
 it is a real priceless antique. Whereas the new society
 is but a knock-off of the old one.  

旧社会指南

 我去旧社会，其实是为了
 找个军阀喝杯酒。假如时间宽裕，
 就顺便买场饥荒来瘦瘦身。
  
 当然，最好参观下满目疮痍，
 在恶霸横行时揭竿而起
 也会是一次不错的历险。
  
 我去旧社会，还有
 骗女繁体字谈个恋爱的小心思。
 要不，穿件破马褂，
 拍一拍末代的雕花女栏杆？
  
 这一去，我就很难回来了。
 因为旧社会太旧，
 是价值连城的真古董。而新社会
 不过就是旧社会的山寨版。 

A Guide to the Value of Starlight

 When you smile you are pretty like a gold coin.
 In the bedroom flower bush, you 
 cover your belly with your left hand and hold
 a thick microphone in your right. Your 
 coquettish voice falls as that of Wang Fei’s rises, 
 You’re dying to throw an apron like a lasso
 over all the voyeurs in the universe. 
 Pointing to the heavens, you ask them 
 to launch a few more stars with rockets.
 You take a bite at a freshly roasted rabbit, 
 the shining grease unable to illuminate the bones within,
 and you can only paste the steaming breast meat
 to the teeth of a wolf howling for food.
 You put on rabbit ears, and dance
 a Broadway can-can, kicking your
 rainbow embroidered legs, mopping up
 the panoply of reading glasses in the front row. 
 Even if the blush was mixed into the fake cognac, 
 it would not make your dimples able to reveal
 the hornet’s gaudy posturing. No wonder
 the Milky Way tightens its ancient heart
 every time you frown.
 What the Milky Way worries about the most
 is the flickering you,
 pretending to be Vega,
 throwing yourself into
 Orion’s forest, wiggling your deft tongue 
 and whispering: ‘mua mua’.   

星光值指南

 你一笑就漂亮得像金币。
 在卧室的花丛间，你左手
 遮着小肚子，右手握住
 粗壮的麦克风。你的
 嗲声音跟王菲此起彼伏，
 恨不得把腰围像绳套一样
 甩给全宇宙的窥视者。
 你指着苍穹，催他们
 用火箭多发射几颗星星。
 你自己啃起刚出炉的烤兔：
 油色可鉴，但照不出骨头，
 只能把胸肉热腾腾地
 贴到嗷嗷待哺的狼牙上。
 你戴上兔耳，跳一段
 百老汇康康舞，劈出
 彩虹般绣腿，一举扫荡了
 前排形形色色的老花镜。
 就算把红晕掺在假干邑里，
 也不会让酒窝随便暴露
 虎头蜂的艳姿。难怪
 你挤一次眉，银河就
 绷紧一次古老的心脏。
 银河最担心的就是
 像你这样忽明忽暗的，
 假扮成织女，扑向
 猎户的森林，舞动巧舌
 低语：“么么哒。” 

Yang Xiaobin 杨小滨
Born in 1963, Yang Xiaobin is a poet, artist and critic. He is the author of ten poetry volumes and a number of critical/scholarly works, and serves as Editor-in-Chief of A-Cross Poetry (Taiwan). He has won international and domestic prizes including Hu Shih Poetry Prize, First Book of Collected Poems (Modern Poetry Society, Taiwan), among others. Having earned his Ph.D. at Yale University, Yang Xiaobin is now a research fellow at Academia Sinica and lives in Taipei. 

 

“A Guide to Post-mortem Affairs”, “A Guide to the Big Bang”, “Excess Supply Weekly Report” – translation: Cui Yixiong (崔奕雄) and Stephen Nashef
“A Guide to Appreciating the Sea of Sunflowers”, “A Guide to the Value of Starlight”, “A Guide to Gold Panning”, “A Guide to the Old Society” – translation: Shen Zhi (沈至) and Stephen Nashef
“A Toast to the Female Sun”, “Magic Mirrorism”, “Winter at the Sawmill” – translation: Jia Wei (葭苇) and Stephen Nashef

“Sysetem Failure“, audio by Liang Xiaoman

Produced by The Tenonists

System Failure

 before we speak about this, can we
 lift you from your body like a saddle 
 being unburdened from a horse
 the ego is a type of processor
 not too advanced; sometimes
 inhibiting the way you
 run more difficult tasks
 we use it to solve 
 basic problems in life
 when feeling ill
 we’re able to go to the hospital by ourselves
 engage in simple transactions
 purchase daily necessities 
 and promote consumption, thereby
 acquiring a spark of dopamine
 which benefits us 
 when approaching the opposite sex
 and arranging a date in a buoyant mood
 under the influence of just the right amount of alcohol
 it updates its serial number for the gods
 before we speak 
 let's upgrade this processor
 facing the bathroom mirror
 you embrace yourself like embracing
 a line of code, you don’t experience
 love, nor do you feel desire
 at this point, let's begin by 
 speaking openly, what is love?
 love is one’s path to the ultimate
 what is the ultimate?
 the ultimate is the program that the gods wrote for you
 what then is death?
 death is system repair
 what is poetry?
 poetry is system failure...
 what is poetry?
 poetry is system failure...
 what is poetry?
 poetry is system failure... 

系统故障

 在谈论这个之前能否
 将你从你身上解除就像
 把马鞍从马身上卸下来
 自我是一种不太先进的
 处理器，它有时候妨碍你
 运行更高难度的任务
 有了它，我们能解决
 生活的基本问题
 身体不太健康的时候
 我们能够自行去医院
 进行简单的贸易
 购买日常用品
 促进消费，并因此得到
 某种多巴胺，那有益于
 我们怀着一颗愉快的心
 接近异性，安排约会
 在酒精适度的效用下
 为神更新它的序列号
 开始谈论前让我们
 先升级这个处理器
 面对浴室里的镜子
 你拥抱自己像拥抱
 一行代码，你感觉不到
 爱，也感觉不到欲望
 这个时候，让我们开始
 谈论吧，爱是什么？
 爱是一个人通向终极之路
 终极是什么？
 终极是神为你写的程序
 死亡又是什么？
 死亡是系统的修复
 诗是什么？
 诗是系统的故障
 诗是什么？
 诗是系统的故障
 诗是什么？
 诗是系统的故障……

Golden Pool

 at the junction of Shangbu Middle Road and Yuanling
 there are a few old buildings once used by the Municipal Party Committee
 downstairs there was a dining hall for the public
 selling leek steamed buns, food for northerners
 on the roof of the top floor, ground tiles
 broken and dirty, but on summer afternoons
 the pool at the bottom of the building
 glistens with golden starlight
 the blue water is rippling, and gently embraces
 those smooth, sturdy bodies
 surrounded by lush lychee forests 
 back then, sitting on the wall of the rooftop
 was a young girl whose thin legs swayed slightly in mid-air
 the warm summer breeze and the golden pool
 people’s laughter and words
 the young girl gazes a long time at the earth
 the soft sky above 
 this turret in the city, happy people
 the boundless lychee forest, even more distant
 as far as the eye (or perhaps the mind) can see, the sides of the railroad track
 are divided by the train heading north every night
 the black hole of the universe, the dreams of the young girl
 are also divided together —
 they once resonated with the pool at the bottom of the building 
 laughter, words
  
 the young girl’s thin legs sway slightly in mid-air
 she’s counting the hours, counting the twilights
 little did she know that she would go on 
 to live another twenty-nine years 

金色泳池

 上步中路与园岭的交界处
 有几栋老旧的楼，曾是市委
 楼下有面向市民的食堂
 卖韭菜包子，北方人的食物
 顶楼的天台上，地砖
 残缺、肮脏，然而
 夏天的午后，楼底的泳池
 闪耀着金色的星光
 蔚蓝的水波荡漾，温柔地拥抱
 那些光滑的、结实的身体
 周边生长着茂密的荔枝林
 那个时候，坐在天台的围墙上
 少女幼细的双腿在半空轻微摇晃
 温暖的夏风，金色的泳池
 人们的欢笑，言语
 少女长久地凝视着大地
 柔软的天空
 城市的这个角楼，幸福的人们
 漫无边际的荔枝林，更遥远
 目光所极（也许是意会），铁轨的一侧
 每个夜晚被驶向北方的火车等边分割
 宇宙的黑洞，少女的梦
 也一起被分割——
 那里也曾与楼底的泳池共鸣着
 欢笑，言语
  
 少女幼细的双腿在半空轻微摇晃
 她在默默数着时间，数着黄昏
 她不知道，后来
 她又活了二十九年 

Rainbow Train

 the little train leaves from the rainbow body
 dwarfs with round heads, round hands...
 a round bubble bursts and with a snap of the fingers
 childhood has departed
  
 she remains where she was
 waiting for a cold-day kiss
 falling in the eternal desert
 thirsting for the source of water in water
 unbuttoning her shirt, with bitter milk overflowing
 the ever-unredeemed desires
 as innocent as forbidden fruit
  
 they are cast like specks of light into this moment
 passing by the skylight
 heading into the past, flies a rainbow train

2019

彩虹火车

 虹身里开出的小火车
 圆脑袋的小矮人，圆的手⋯⋯
 圆气泡裂开，一响指间
 童年便过去了
  
 她还留在原处
 等待冷昼般的亲吻
 落在那旷日持久的荒漠
 于水中渴求水源
 解开衣裳，溢出苦涩的乳汁
 那一直未被拯救的
 与蛇果一样无辜的欲念
  
 它们如光斑投射在此刻
 天窗前经过的一辆
 驶向过去的彩虹火车 

2019

Ear

 at this moment, what makes us hesitate is an ear
 is it still there - like the sky pressing its vastness down,
 mist shrouding passing birds, questioning its silence 
 while holding its breath
  
 we anticipate this ear, which is acquainted with 
 the falling of sonorous thunder from the sky above, while down in the mire
 the moanings of insects blanket each other, and we indulge
 this ear to extract its obscure waves
  
 it’s as if the sea derives from its eardrums
 far away at times, closer at others,
 while the tide rushes to what it needs to listen to
 some lines of poetry, or ancient rhetoric
  
 it’s words that render us indistinguishable from each other
 that allow us to give each other lines of poetry as gifts and to denigrate each other
  
 that huge ear, as if God
 were hovering among us 

耳朵

 此时，让我们犹豫的是一只耳朵
 它是否还在——像天空垂下阔大
 雾霭笼罩着掠过的飞鸟，屏息中怀疑
 它的静默。
  
 我们期待这一只耳朵，它习惯于
 洪亮的雷声从高天坠下，淤泥中
 呻吟的虫鸣覆盖彼此，我们纵容
 那耳朵，掏出它晦暗的浪声
  
 仿佛大海来自它的鼓膜
 它一时很远，一时很近
 潮汐涌向需要它聆听的
 一些诗行，或古老的修辞
  
 是言说让我们无分彼此
 互赠一些诗行，互相诋毁
  
 那只巨大的耳朵，就像上帝
 悬在我们之中 

Travel

 the beehive-like, mirrored chest cavity
 on the clean and polished floor
 a late arrival only in comparison with the sky
 a bird lands, then flies away
 in a state of protracted expectation we chat about
 disease, how it
 penetrates the aging body
 disease is as ancient as the world itself
 the bird lands, then flies away
 on TV a great leader is
 constructing the history of East Asia
 we start to do some stretches, to show
 how sinews and bones rectify the growth of muscles
 in the cochlea the music of utopia rings
 we start to swallow some hyperreal pills
 on TV the hands of those political leaders meet, then wave towards the masses
 we talk about disease the way we talk about politics
 or the latest Sony earphones
 outside the landing window, a monstrous fuel-powered lump is waiting
 the lighthouse has not yet sent out its signal
 the bird keeps an abstemious distance from people
 the flight is one of all flights
 as the bird is one of all birds
 its eyes are so fresh, while the morning breeze skims the tip of the lighthouse
 and the shining wings
 are a kind of nostalgi —
  
 idling away our time, we witness
 our voices slowly fading in this tumorous cavity.  

旅行

 蜂巢状的镜子胸腔
 洁净的、发亮的地板上
 只比天空晚一点抵达的
 鸟儿落下，飞走
 我们在延迟的期待里闲谈
 疾病，如何
 进入衰老的身体
 疾病，和世界一样古老
 鸟儿落下，飞走
 电视机里一代伟人正在
 缔造东亚的历史
 我们开始拉伸腰肢，示范
 筋骨之术如何纠正肌肉的生长
 耳蜗响起乌托邦的音乐
 我们开始服食超现实的药丸
 电视机里领导人握手，向群众挥手
 我们谈论疾病像谈论政治
 或是索尼新款的耳机
 落地窗外由燃料发动的庞然巨物在等候
 灯塔迟迟未发出信号
 鸟儿与人保持着节制的距离
 这一趟飞行，是所有飞行的其中一次
 正如这只鸟儿，是所有鸟儿的其中一只
 它的目光如此新鲜，晨风正吹过灯塔
 与闪闪发亮的机翼
 那也是一种乡愁——
  
 无所事事的我们
 在这个多瘤的身体里逐渐丧失声音。 

November

 heat waves ebb only at night, the ocean rocks
 hairs tipped with tiny sweat beads, have the stars been here before
  
 the universe is imprisoned in a secret chamber, gazed upon, thus empty
 a planet in its prehistoric era, where tyrannosaurs reigned
  
 now plastic prevails, plastic feeding bottles, plastic dolls,
 homo plasticus - molecules of plastic invade our veins and brains
  
 a planet in its prehistoric era, where tyrannosaurs died of cold
 we are engulfed in wintry heat waves, the ocean rocks
  
 and rushes to the eyebrows, the forehead, the universe imprisoned therein
 an endless marine snow is falling 

十一月

 热浪只在夜晚消退，大海摇动
 细密的汗珠覆盖绒毛，星辰何曾来过
  
 密室禁锢的宇宙，因凝视而虚无
 史前的星球，暴龙曾是它的主人
  
 如今塑胶蔓延，塑胶奶瓶，塑胶娃娃
 塑胶人——塑胶微粒进入我们血液和大脑
  
 史前的星球，暴龙死于寒冷
  我们被冬天的热浪裹挟，大海摇动
  
 涌向眉额，在那里禁锢的一个宇宙
  一望无际的海雪正在落下 

You will mourn for others, and enter into sorrow

You will mourn for others, and enter into sorrows.
                                                                       —Ovid
  
 it is dry, so dry
 black blood gushes out of the seared and shattered well
 a metamorphic bird squawks prophecy
 endless night is but a great fire
  
 the ashes fall, the hurried, capricious faces
 of shepherds and immortals can hardly be recognized
 the mask transforms you, Cassandra
  
 no one listens, God will rebuke
 his forgetful people, ferocious ravens feeding on waste
 the throat of the Styx has been strangled, who in the void
 are mourning the loss of loved ones
 bite into the pomegranate, mutilated snowflakes deluge the lungs
  
(2020, in memory of Li Wenliang) 

你将与哀悼的人们为侣

 你将与哀悼的人们为侣
           ——奥维德
  
 干涸，太干涸了
 泉井迸裂，黑血冒涌
 变形之鸟，尖叫着预言
 永夜既是一场大火
  
 灰烬落下，牧羊人与仙
 奔走的脸不能被识别
 面具幻化你，卡珊德拉
  
 无人听佢，神将训诫
 失忆的子民，腐食的凶鸦
 冥河咽喉已封锁，虚空境内
 谁在哀泣失去的亲人
 咬开这石榴，破雪淹没肺腑
  
 （2020，悼李文亮） 

Playground

 summer is cruel
 hair, skin, fats, veins
 and muscles all march in one direction
  
 the reefs of middle age grow thick
 you feel their excess
 slowly, sweat drips onto
 a sharp blade edging into the heart
  
 the people on the playground amount to a zero
 the people on the playground are a rubber
  
 distorted into a shape or size by an intangible force 
 good for transporting, installing, lining up and storing
 it doesn’t know that your dreamscape lies outside reality
 it doesn’t know that all your life you’ve loved pranks 
  
 the rain is delayed; from the playground filled with empty cartons
 rises the sudden chirruping of birds. 

操场

 夏天是残忍的
 毛发、皮肤、脂肪、血管
 肌肉往一个方向正步
 中岁的礁石丛生
 你感受到它们的多余
 汗水缓缓地流向
 即将插入心脏的尖刀
  
 操场上的人是一个零
 操场上的人是一块橡皮
  
 被无形的力扭成一种形状与体积
 适宜运输、装置、列队、入库
 它不知道你的梦境在现实之外
 它不知道你这一生热爱恶作剧
  
 雨被延迟，堆满空箱的操场
 忽然响起了鸟鸣—— 

Nocturnal Animal

 animals fleeing in the dark 
 belonged to dreams and hepatitis A in quarantine
 a black chimpanzee on a swing gazed
 at your eyes gazing at her 
  
 too many beasts and exiles
 in those past nights
  
 there was always a gunshot behind your head
 boiling your blood and squeezing your bladder
  
 at night, the black ape you gazed at
 gazed at you, a small companion  
  
 night imprisoned the fleeing beasts
 upon your liver grew nocturnal flowers  

2019.4

夜行动物

 趁着夜色逃亡的动物
 属于梦与隔离的甲肝
 秋千上的黑猩猩凝视着
 你凝视她的双眼
  
 那些过去的夜晚       
 有太多的野兽与逃亡
  
 脑后永远有一声枪响
 让血液沸腾，小便失禁
  
 被你凝视的黑猿于夜晚
 凝视着你，一个小小的同类
  
 夜晚幽禁着逃亡的野兽
 你的肝上长出夜之花朵 

2019.4

Fire

 years later, from the spirit of the mortal 
 you were to recollect a dying instant of that dusk —
 scratching the evening star, outside organic glass, 
 a hawk, returning from the underworld, blew its whistle    
  
 finally, from a distance, you saw the prophesied fire city—
 it’s an infinity too, flashing her nine stars 
 from below, born in the abdomen of fire,
 banished from the city every night  
  
 ‘it is not you that moves; it is the dark’*
 from the land of sunrise to the boulevard of sunset
 the tired mortal, having taken a long trek, 
  
 reached the city of Christ, an uninhabited desert 
 and saw a towering mushroom cloud rising in the East
 an upside-down city, a one-legged priest…
  
 the bird in her spirit had yet to fly out
 it had been waiting its whole life for one signal: fire 
  
*Robert Penn Warren, ‘Immortality Over the Dakotas’  

火

 多年以后，从必死者的神中
 回忆那个傍晚将逝的瞬间——
 与晚星擦身，有机玻璃之外
 冥界返回的鹰它吹响的哨音
  
 终于望见那预言的火城——
 它也是一个无穷，在底下
 煊赫她的九大恒星，从火的腹部
 诞生，每一个夜晚被拒之城外
  
 移动的并不是你。是黑暗*
 从日出之国来到日落大道
 疲倦的必死者长途跋涉
  
 曾抵达基督的城，无人荒漠
 曾见高耸的蘑菇云在东方升起
 倒悬的城市，单腿的教士......
  
 她神中的那只鸟尚未飞出
 它这一生等待着一个信号——火 

 *移动的并不是你。是黑暗”——引自罗伯特.潘.沃伦 

Liang Xiaoman 梁小曼
Liang Xiaoman, born in Shenzhen in 1974, is a poet and translator. She has been composing poems since 2009, and her poetic work have been published in magazines including Today, Enclave, Hong Kong Literature, Ming Pao Weekly and Poetry East West; she has been featured in Selected Poems of Chinese Female Poets (2018 and 2019) and Anthology of Chinese Female Poets (to be published in Mexico); she published her poetry collection System Failure, and appeared in a collection of poems by ten female poets, The Night is Brighter than the Day. Liang also has several translated books published. 

“Playground”, “Nocturnal Animal” and “Fire” – translation: Shen Zhi (沈至) and Stephen Nashef
“Travel”, November” and “You will mourn for others, and enter into sorrows” – translation: Cui Yixiong (崔奕雄) and Stephen Nashef
“System Failure”, “Golden Pool”, “Rainbow Train” and “Ear” – translation: Jia Wei (葭苇) and Stephen Nashef

“1975: Mirror“, audio by Li Heng

1975: Mirror (Excerpt from Eye Prison: in Memoriam Audrey Tarkovsky)

As light develops on carbon paper,
your liquid gaze overflows from morning on the oaks.
Tears drop — drumbeats, crystals, spindles —
and the edge of icicles reflects the march from infancy to old age.
First it is Mother, making her way through the ferns, the thorns, and the fences,
through the scalding ground fermented by the winter sleep of animals,
through the skyline twined by enemy spy planes,
through the open terrain all surrounded by alders, 
going around, panting in the tide of morning lights, hands raised,
surrendering herself to the scarring Sun, as if nothing has happened…
A pigeon is rowing a narrowboat of air current;  
your wife, lifting the aperture’s curtain, alights, 
as if she is the only passenger. She knew you before Mother,
walking through you, an ageing passage with peeling walls:
Lenin Street is raining; go and look for an everlasting roof,
hide under it, and, in a trance, become immortal —
Rain falls in 1936, 1966, the Pyrenees, the Ussuri.
What history means: waiting for the food to expire.
We eat, day after day, without saying prayers,
prying open cans to receive the grace of decomposition.
Father is back. You hear that Sputnik I,
having orbited the earth for 22 days, burnt up in the atmosphere.
Turn the TV on, get the radio ready, and ladle out
a basinful of cold water to freshen up. Amidst the buzz of electric waves,
you ask Father: ‘Where are you going?
There are unstable reflections between exits.
I’m picking up my son; he gets lost on his way home.’
As your steaming gaze rises from the swamp of Yuryevets,
ink marks of light disperse in the rain. If you turn around
now, the mirror would take back the last glance before death.

1975：镜子（选自《眼睛监狱——纪念安德烈•塔可夫斯基》）

“光明”在复写纸上显影，
你的液态的目光溢出了橡树上的清晨，
眼泪在下坠，鼓点，晶体，纺锤，
冰凌的锋棱上反射从幼年到晚年的队列。
先是母亲，穿过蕨草、棘刺、篱栏，
穿过被动物们的冬眠发酵得滚烫的泥土，
穿过被敌军的侦察机打结的天际线，
穿过三百六十度的，赤杨包围的空地，
绕圈，举手，在曦光的起伏中喘气，
向即将结疤的太阳投降，若无其事……
野鸽用双翅划动气流的窄船，
妻子推开光圈的帘幕，走下来，
似乎她是唯一的乘客，先于母亲认识你，
经过“你”这条变老的通道，墙皮剥落，
列宁大街下雨了，快去寻找
永恒的屋檐，在下面发呆，不朽——
雨落在1936、1966，比利牛斯、乌苏里江。
历史的意思是：等着食物过期。
我们日复一日地吃饭，不再祈祷，
撬开罐头就像领受了腐烂的启示，
父亲回来了，你听到斯普特尼克1号
环绕地球22天后，在大气层烧毁的消息，
打开电视，调好无线电收音机，
舀满一盆洗脸的凉水，在嗞嗞的电波声里，
你问父亲：“您准备去哪儿？
出口和出口之间，是不稳定的反光，
我要去接儿子了，他经常找不到回家的路。”
你的蒸汽的目光从尤里耶维茨的沼泽上升，
“光明”的墨痕在雨水下消散，这时如果
扭头，镜子会收回死亡前的最后一瞥。

Museum

Your left eye and right eye,
nose, mouth, ears, limbs
are ten museums of
history, beauty and distances. 

Wandering between setups and breakdowns,
blood makes sunrise and moonset
set the stage along the texture of muscle and skin.

Remembrance and imagination
each opens up an
endless glass corridor.
They wait for nightmares to rob
to no avail.

You walk into their museums
like a giant sleeping in Lilliput.

2013

博物馆

你的左眼和右眼、
鼻子、嘴巴、耳朵、四肢，
是十座博物馆，
收集历史、美和距离。

在开幕和撤展之间流转的
血液，让日升月落
沿着肌肤的纹理布景。

回忆和想象，
各自展开一条
没有尽头的玻璃走廊。
等待着噩梦来盗窃，
却一无所获。

你走进他们的博物馆，
像巨人睡在小人国。

2013

Glory

the field has long been empty
forty days of gravel and forty days of rain
the universe stirs its rumbling stomach
you will have to walk, alone, towards the back of some tiny planet,
through the ring of silence,
and start to speak; the future overflows with blood
patience lets the closed doors
be forced open from the seafloor of death by a geyser
your dream is covered in dust; you dream that you keep
walking towards yourself: a country,
a mountain peak, ivory clothes
In decay you wander like a vibrating string

2010

光荣

旷野早已无人
四十天的暴雨和四十天的沙石
宇宙蠕动着饥饿的胃
你要独自走向哪一个小小的星球的背面
穿过沉默的光环
开始说话，未来一直涌出鲜血
忍耐，使紧闭的门
从死亡的海底被喷泉顶开
你的梦盖满灰尘，你梦见你不停地
走向自己，你自己就是国家、
山巅、洁白的衣服
你在衰朽中成为流浪的琴弦

2010

Dead Yaks at the Roadside

one afternoon in the summer of 2006
my friends and I journeyed from Namtso to Lhasa
through a peaceful valley
something, strangely quiet, loomed, waited
we stopped the car, high on the blue sky
mists being caught and wrapped
blue flames glided not far above us, a blue bucket
fetching water from the universe
the shadows of clouds were still, while the lone stream
flowed, like a length of khatag being ceaselessly drawn
something, strangely quiet, loomed, waited
a dozen or so yaks lay, a jumbled chaos
most of them dead,
a few were floundering sadly in a pool of blood
that stained the road red, someone pointed at the other side:
an overturned bus
the yaks must have dashed down from the hill
crashing into the hurtling bus
in the past few days, as we travelled through the hinterland of the plateau,
whether by train or by bus, yaks were always seen along the road
distant, speck-like, they endured the hushed abyss
at dawn, at midday, or with the arrival of dusk
the sky was always low
absolute, vast, as something being hushed
lurked behind it, yaks were secret-keepers
taciturn, flocking, solitary souls, like the aged
as I saw the dead heralds before me
I felt that something was lost, the yaks were
the blind that crashed against the world
what was lost of which we could not speak

2010

公路边死去的牦牛

06年夏天的那个下午
我和朋友们从纳木错返回拉萨
汽车经过安谧的溪谷，前方静得出奇
我们停下来，蓝天敛起雾气
蓝色的火焰在低空跳跃，蓝色的
篮子在宇宙中打水
云的阴影不动，溪水兀自流走
像一根哈达不断抽去，前方静得出奇
十几头牦牛横七竖八地躺着
大多已经死亡，还有的
在血泊中悲伤地挣扎，公路
几乎染红，有人指向路的另一侧：
一辆客车翻倒了。听说，
一定是牦牛从山坡上冲下来
正撞上疾驶的旅游大巴
这些天，当我们穿行在高原腹地
乘火车或汽车，沿途都是牦牛
远远的小黑点承受着安静的深渊
不论破晓、正午，还是
黑夜将至，天总是那么低
那么绝对那么浩瀚，像有什么秘密
不能说出，牦牛是沉默的保密者
老人一般孤独地群聚
看着眼前这些死去的使者
我感到有什么永远失去了，它们是
瞎子撞向了世界，那失去的我们说不出

2010

Firework, Firework

instant, just an instant
weary men rise aflame
down their secret paths, whips of meteors
the bird you released
sings me the requiem
as an elevator, the winter in the
skyscraper of night, plunges 

焰火，焰火

一瞬，只是一瞬
疲倦的人们开始燃烧
各自的道路是流星的鞭子
你放飞的鸟
也是我的安魂曲
冬天像电梯，从黑夜的
高楼下降

Dinner at the Town of Nothingness

I eat my left ear
they are babbling things I don't understand.
one fiery day gulps the next
daylight closes in, a snowball growing
then I eat my right ear, I cannot hear
my own words, plain daylight
enshrouds me, descends and faintly drones
in the daylight all the faces of the People
melt into deformed steam, which
binds my left hand, so I eat,
flesh in the shape of a fist, of a lone arm reaching out
desperate for help, so I eat,
now my right hand is a gathering of all possible hands  
an ignoble fistfight between Labor and Revolution
I could have left my footprints everywhere
yet everywhere the solid ground scorns them
so I’d better eat them.
what I am, I cannot say
fierce rain and bold winds rage nationwide
I eat the last, sole remains of myself, my mouth

2011

乌有镇的晚餐

我吃掉自己的左耳
他们说着我听不懂的话
炽热的一天吞掉下一天
日光的雪球越滚越大
再吃掉右耳，自己的话
我也听不见，只有日光
在我周围扩大并微微轰鸣
日光中人民的面孔
熔化成扭曲的蒸汽
缚住我的左手，于是我吃下
拳头的形状、求助的独臂
的形状，我吃下，这时
我的右手是所有手的集合
劳动和革命羞辱地互搏
我可以去任何地方
但哪儿也不是我的土地
那不如把双腿也吃了
我是什么，我说不出
急雨带着烈风覆盖整个国度
我吃下最后的唯一的嘴

2011

Drinking Tea

the taste of tea plays piano on the tongue
that’s when you feel your body is water
while the curtains and teapot become steamed up
with arms loose, the afterglow-like living room
is filled with an endless sea horizon
a boat is drawn from spleen and stomach,
the ever-spreading lotus clusters
behold, a watery message is coming through
with a watery staircase descending

2008

饮茶

茶香在舌头上弹着钢琴
这时你才感到身体是水
窗帘桌几是雾
手臂在四散，晚霞状的客厅
撑满了悠长的海平线
脾胃中拨出小舟，脾胃是
不断延展的莲丛呀
你看这水样的短信传来
水样的楼梯朝下

2008

A Lonely Potato

the rainy villages of the Andes
roadless snow, coast of the face of the deep
Native Americans arrived at the end of the world, in the ground
they dug for the sun as a mundane affirmation
against the continuous chill

eight thousand years later, Spanish sailors brought it to Iberia
two hundred years later, donkey riders took it over the Daba Mountains
in 1988 or 1989 I was waiting for winter
waiting for a blackout
leaving the living room with only the stars of the charcoal fire

with her fireplace poker, grandma dug out
a scalding potato for me from the cave of stars and clouds
a small steaming station, illuminated by a cluster of stars
peeling what seemed to have been reaped from a dark field
awaking, I found I had been carried far away by a long-distance train

upon disembarking midway, I found the potatoes had now
turned into a muddy map of humanity, rolling them around
one by one, all the children held them up in their hands
I traveled alone, a long way; feeling myself
buried deep within the earth; falling asleep: waiting

2010

孤独的马铃薯

在安第斯山阴雨的村庄
无路的积雪，渊面海岸
印第安人到来世界尽头，从地下
挖出太阳，像一种平凡的肯定
抵御着重复的寒冷

八千年后，西班牙水手把它带到伊比利亚
两百年后，骑驴客带它翻过了大巴山
一九八八或一九八九年，我等待着冬天
等待着停电的一刻
堂屋将只剩下炭火的星星

外婆将用火钳，从星云的洞穴中
为我刨出一颗滚烫的马铃薯
一个星星映照下的，热气腾腾的小站
剥开它，像黑暗田野上的一次收割
醒来我已被长途列车载远

我曾在中途下车，发现马铃薯
成了人类的地图，带着泥巴，一颗颗
四处滚动，所有的儿童捧起它
我孤身一人走了很远，感觉自己
在土地的深埋中，睡去并等待

2010

Night Visit to a Grave

everyone is flashing a torch, little by little light
cuts through the path in the mountain pass
I perceived the rocks, weeds, and mud
merging into a dark slit like scrolls
where I could no longer see myself
nor could they see
how this slit swallowed me
then the deep ravines, and the mountains
then that night became a point
or it may well be that this point
is great-grandpa's lonely grave
which has never been sought out

2007

夜间上坟

大家打着手电，亮光一点一点
剖开山坳的路
我看见石头、杂草、泥巴
随后它们就像卷轴
合成一道黑暗的缝，我看不见自己
他们也看不见
这道缝怎么收拢了我
接着收拢深沟和群山
接着这个夜晚成为一个点
或者这个点，就是我们还未找到的
曾祖父的孤坟

2007

Some Place

some place you’ve been, and edited into an old film
some place you always spoke of, and sketched out
but those with whom you planned to meet
left you early for the grave
that place becomes a cinerary urn, crystal and clear
some place is your snug harbor, reading each and every day
a poorly spelled love letter
some place will burst into you,
upon arrival you’ve reached yet another place
folding the map, you ask, ‘am I here yet?’

2007

某地

某地你曾经去过，后来把它剪成
一部老电影
某地你总是说起它、计划它
你约好的人过早死去
那个地方成了一具
透亮的骨灰盒
某地是你的安身之处，每天读它
读一封错字连篇的情书
某地会突然闯进你
一到那里就到了另一个地方
叠好地图，你问：“我来了吗？”

2007

“1975: Mirror”, “Museum” and “Glory” – translation: Shen Zhi (沈至) and Stephen Nashef
“Dead Yaks at the Roadside”, “Dinner at the Town of Nothingness” and “Firework, Firework” – translation: Cui Yixiong (崔奕雄) and Stephen Nashef
“Some Place”, “Drinking Tea”, “A Lonely Potato” and “Night Visit to a Grave” – translation: Jia Wei (葭苇) and Stephen Nashef