dream duplex
by Emily Liu
fishing for brighter things, my digits wrinkle:
what is this life but a flowing stream?
what is my life but a beautiful dream?
eyelids closed or open are lighted.
alight on eyelids closed or open:
zhuang zi’s butterfly cares not what you dream.
zhuang zi only cares about his butterfly,
winnowing through both day and night.
windows in the day fall silent at night—
stars obscured by a razor moon.
obscured by the razor moon, stars take their rest.
we rise like stars up the blazing silver.
we rise, starry-eyed, into the blind moon
leaving for brighter things, brighter dreams.
Emily Liu is a second-generation Chinese American writer from San Diego, California. Her work appears or is forthcoming in No Tokens, Lost Balloon, Gone Lawn, and other places.
复梦
翻译：诗验室
打捞更明朗的东西，我的数字起皱：
这生活若非一股涌动的流又是什么？
我的生活若非一场美梦又是什么？
眼皮不论紧闭与否都是亮着的。
在不论紧闭与否的眼皮上亮着的：
庄子的蝴蝶并不在乎你的梦。
庄子只在乎他的蝴蝶，
振翅飞过日与夜。
白日的窗户在夜里沉默 ——
星辰被一轮镰月遮蔽。
被镰月遮蔽的星辰正歇息着。
我们自耀眼的银中如星辰般崛起。
我们崛起，双眸清澈，进入盲月
奔向更明朗的东西，更明朗的梦。
Emily Liu 是来自美国圣地亚哥的第二代美籍华人作家，其作品曾或即将出版于《No Tokens》、《Lost Balloon》及《Gone Lawn》等处。
光
作者：霄凌
雨后，阳光
穿过高楼与树丛
迫不及待地落在我面前
它热情坦荡，但姿态暧昧
引诱我更近一步
嗔怪我的犹豫
它倏地钻透镜面
刺伤我的眼睛
再抬头时，半截彩虹
已被浓云吞没
霄凌，原名张晓玲，妄以创作小说和诗歌作为生活出口。
light
translated by PLS
after the rain, sunlight
traverses skyscrapers and trees
landing before me in haste
eager and candid, it lures me to get closer
with its flirting postures
displeased with my hesitation
it suddenly pierces through my glasses
stabbing my eyes
as i lift my head again, half of the rainbow
has been engulfed by a swathe of clouds
Xiao Ling, aka Zhang Xiaoling, trying to make a living by writing fictions and poetry.
m
作者：拉枣
m 是一把梳子，维也纳车站
的麦当劳店，夜里玻璃水汽上
你画的字母。你不知道拼音里
是读一声 m：行走时咬汉堡的声音
梳不开的雾中央，剪影
在努力地压出黑暗的印子
我把声音憋在胸腔
梳开是由 M 型的欧洲建筑完成
两个狼狈的人，在坚固的底部侧身
沿着雾梳开的光线而行
在迷阵的狡诈中暗暗联手
各自放弃了不能相连的
遥远而黑暗的侧面与背景
所以你从不知道
在汉语拼音里 m 只是
一个无法大写的声母
婴儿吮吸时唇上的柔软
东方的诗人
把那声音烙在透明的母腹
拉枣，诗歌与小说写作者。
m
translated by PLS
m is a comb, the McDonald's
at Vienna station, the letter you draw
on the steamed up window at night. you don’t know it reads as first tone
in pinyin: the chewing sound as you eat a hamburger while walking
the centre of the mist that can’t be combed clear, the silhouette
is working hard to press out a dark shape
i am holding the sound in my chest
the combing is done by the M shaped European architecture
two embarrassed men, at the sides of a firm base
walk along the light tunnel dug out by the mist
colluding in a maze of cunning
each abandoning the unconnectable
the distant and dark sides and the background
so you never know
in pinyin m is merely
an initial consonant that can’t be capitalised
the tenderness on the lips of a baby when they suck
the poet of the east
engrave the sound in the transparent abdomen of a mother
La Zao, poetry and fiction writer.
书与莎士比亚
作者：袁婵
书与莎士比亚之间
谁都知道
该作何选择
不能在舞台演出的
不能在台下观看的
不能共时、共存、共情的
除非是诗，很长的诗
否则没有成书的必要
四月二十三日的午后
仿若异域
是与陌生人共度
共谈莎士比亚
而后在小街看见了光
谁都知道
该作何选择
难以用文字叙写的
难以在书本驻足的
东方
有我们自己
朱丽叶似的太阳
很好的诗，最好的诗
铺出一路明亮
莎士比亚在阶前坐下
微笑着
尽看着人们
走上去
袁婵，大学教师。
Books And Shakespeare
translated by PLS
everyone knows
how to choose
between books and Shakespeare
those that can’t be performed on stage
those that can’t be watched off stage
those that cannot synchronise, coexist or empathise
it is not necessary to turn them into books
unless they are verses, the long ones
the afternoon of the 23rd of April
as if in a foreign land
is spending time with a stranger
talking about Shakespeare
and then spotting light on a narrow street
everyone knows
how to choose
those that can’t be written down in words
those that can’t remain in books
the east
has our own
Juliet-like sun
good verses, the best ones
pave a path of brilliance
Shakespeare sits on a step
smiling
only watching people
walking up
Yuan Chan, a college teacher.
春雨，和探戈
作者：范杰
这为爱倾斜的火海
踩着雷点
接上一双上天入地
勾魂摄魄的星眼
款款侵近那弯冷艳
一呼一吸的璀璨，驾着
荡尽千军万马的两侧流风
从脚底一丝不挂地溜进
两扇摇来摇去的颤抖
你进我退，你退我进
进进退退，退退进进
一次次紧绷绷的以退为进的扭动
挤落了一条又一条鱼线
落地有声的渴望
润湿了大地万物昼夜不停的呻吟
也浇灭了一团团朽木年胜一年的了断
探戈，这万劫不复的火种
让一切死灰复燃
范杰，现居德国。
spring rain, and tango
translated by PLS
this ocean of fire tilting for love
steps on emotional limits
with a pair of omnipotent
and seductive eyes
slowly approaching that curve of aloof elegance
the brilliance inhales and exhales, steering
the trooping breezes from the sides
sliding bare from the bottom of their feet into
two swaying, trembling arcs
one steps forward and the other backward, and vice versa
two steps forward and two steps backward, and vice versa
one after another taut swerves to retreat in order to advance
shedding assertive desires from
furrow after furrow of adonis belt
moistening the intermittent groans of everything on earth
while extinguishing the constant endings of deadwood
tango, this perennially doomed tinder
kindles everything back to life
Fan Jie, currently lives in Germany.
the wayfarer’s inn
by Emily Liu
take a break from love
my love, take a break from want,
take a break from heart
my heart, stop and rest a while.
come to the wayfarer’s yellow inn
dressed in a dream of flowers:
come to the painted eggshell room
drifting with quiet hours.
so take a break from love
my love, take a break from want,
take a break from heart
my heart, stop and rest a while.
come to the cotton candy bed
tucked in a crescent moon’s bower;
let your weary heart fall still
in gloaming’s tawny shower.
旅人的栖所
翻译：诗验室
从爱中暂时脱身
我的爱，从欲望中暂时脱身
从心跳中暂时脱身
我的心，停下并休息一会。
来到旅人的黄色栖所
身披一场花之梦：
来到漆过的蛋壳房
与安静的时辰一同漂浮。
那么从爱中暂时脱身吧
我的爱，从欲望中暂时脱身，
从心跳中暂时脱身
我的心，停下并休息一会。
来弯月闺中的
棉花糖之床吧；
让你疲倦的心静下来
在暮光茶色的沐浴中。
渡轮
作者：Pareys Liu Yiyi
我们搭乘了那天最后的
一班渡轮，晚上七点，
从槟城到半岛。
七点半，从半岛返回槟城。
我们曾经喜爱这样的旅途。
很多次，从这端到那端。
等船，听船员拉绳，放下踏板。
开闸，登船，东张西望。
从尖沙咀到中环，
从曼谷鲜花市场，
回到大雨中的黎明寺。
在家乡的高架桥
兜兜转转，只为了
再和你过一次河。
有时会走进暗巷，需要多一点时间，
才会到达码头，有时等不到想坐的
那班小轮，还是上船了，
反正也只是拍照，沉默，看着灯光发呆。
有时也会忘了下船，直到船员催促。
好像下船后的世界，并不如港口之间的水
那样适合共度我们的时间，
那样了解彼此的相伴。
她说，水有时脏兮兮，有时又洗净很多东西。
那是我们最后一次渡河，
港口的灯放大了光芒。
除此之外，码头周围
只有海水，黑暗，黑暗中的海水。
即使此时，朝灯光走去，
也没有小轮渡我到海上了。
她说，水有时脏兮兮，
有时又洗净很多东西。
兜兜转转，只为了
再和你过一次河。
Pareys Liu Yiyi 目前居住于香港，其作品散见于《PEN Voices: English》、《飞地》及《Cha》等期刊。
ferry
translated by PLS
we took the last ferry
that day, seven o’clock at night
from Penang to the peninsula.
then at half past seven, from the peninsula to Penang.
we used to love trips like these.
many times, from this end to that.
waiting for the boat, listening to the boatmen tightening ropes and lowering the gangplank.
when the gate opens, boarding, and looking around.
from Tsim Sha Tsui to Central,
from Bangkok flower market,
back to Temple of the Dawn in torrential rain.
at the viaducts in our hometown
wandering around in circles, only to
cross the river with you again.
sometimes i would walk into a dark alley, therefore it took a bit more time
to get to the pier, sometimes if there was no ferry i wanted
to take, i would still board one,
besides, i’m just taking photos, falling silent, staring blankly at the light.
sometimes i would forget to get off, until i was ushered out by a boatman.
it seemed the world after disembarking the boat, isn’t as nice as the water
between ports for us to spend time together,
or as good at understanding time spent in each other's company.
she said, the water is sometimes dirty, though it can also wash a lot of things clean.
that was the last time we took the ferry together,
lights at the port amplified their brightness.
other than that, around the pier
it was just water, darkness, and water in the dark.
even now, if i walked toward the light,
there would be no more ferries to take me out to sea.
she said, the water is sometimes dirty,
though it can also wash a lot of things clean.
wandering in circles, only to
cross the river with you again.
Pareys Liu Yiyi is currently based in Hong Kong. Her writing has appeared in PEN Voices: English (2017), Enclave Magazine (2017), and Cha: An Asian Literary Journal (2023).
天空呈几何状
作者：Hazel Ma
世界似乎是一架巨大的机械，轰隆旋转、无从顾忌人在轨道旁的渺小。人，攥着火箭模型似的一只铅笔，脚跟碰着狗尾巴草——列车已去，旷野寂寥，一整个灰蓝天空的笼罩，挤不下水滴。呼吸石子的烧焦味道。
草图本上一长串的圆圈，是前夜透过望远镜观察的行星，太阳璀璨后的月亮晶莹。地球一望无际，包围昆虫幽灵，穿过人大脑的显微镜，开出小小的图形花朵。越是够不着的，便越有潜能。神的弓箭曾穿过厚壳儿的行星，给予它们陀螺般舞过天际的权利——这里有人所听不见的音乐，被有序、层次、谦逊所指挥，任凭苦思冥想也难以完全圈定。
探索科学而为天空献祭。
Hazel Ma 的作品曾发表于《Gallatin Review》等处。
The Sky’s Geometric Shape
translated by Hazel Ma
The world seems to be a giant machinery, rumbling and swirling, heedless to the insignificance of humans compared to its track. The man is holding a pencil like a rocket model, with his heels touching the foxtail grass — the train has gone, the wilderness is lonely, and the entire gray-blue sky is enveloped, with no water droplets to squeeze out. Breathe in the smell of burnt stones.
A long string of circles on the sketchbook are the planets observed by the telescope the night before when the sun’s glory had set to the moon’s translucence. As far as the eye can see, the earth, endless, encircles insects and spirits, passes through the microscope of one’s mind, blooming into tiny graphic flowers. That which is out of reach has more potential.
The gods’ bows and arrows once penetrated the thick-shelled planets, giving them the right to dance across the sky like gyros — the music here that no one can hear is conducted by order, gradation, humility, and it is difficult to completely delineate it no matter how hard one thinks about it.
Explore science as a sacrifice for the sky.
Hazel Ma’s work has appeared in Gallatin Review and others.
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