中秋后，荒山独坐

东篱

老天把脸拉拉到

谁欠他八百吊的长度

漫山的小野菊不明白

为什么向日葵

会被秋决

半空中的鹞子鸣叫着

是找寻配偶

还是觅猎食物？

我独坐山顶

不是思忖破败的乡村

山脚下的农民在收获

不喜也不悲

远处婚庆的歌声

与白事并无二致

仿佛一句箴言

亘古如斯

选自《诗刊》九月号

AFTER MID-AUTUMN,SITTING ALONE ON A BARREN HILL

Dong Li

Old Heaven has a long, drawn-out face,

someone must owe him 800,000 in cash plus interest.

The hills are overflowing with little wild daisies,

    but not a single one of them knows

why the sun flowers were all executed in autumn.

Midway in the sky, sparrow hawks screech.

Are they looking for mates

or hunting for food?

I sit on the hilltop, alone,

not thinking about my tumbledown village.

The farmers are harvesting at foothill,

looking neither happy or sad.

Singing comes from a distance; it’s the sound of a marriage,

the same music as a funeral,

as if alluding to a maxim:

There's nothing new under the sun.

多遗憾呀，写下四时之趣①的  

清少纳言肯定没见过  

夏日夜半落雨，清晨旭日升，那光芒  

恰恰好托起一朵朵含泪的蔷薇  

矮墙上布谷鸟叫声急促  

你也没见过灰暗的灯光里，便笺上  

重复了无数遍的名字  

像飞蛾扑向灯火    

当我听到布谷鸟叫时  

粮仓空空  

手心里只有几粒炒熟的麦子  

时令如火烧。  

好脾气的书生在读词典  

田野里飞廉和红茅草开花，正在结籽  

注①：《枕草子》写四时之趣，是指春天破  

晓，夏日月夜或暗夜流萤飞舞，秋天傍晚晚霞  

红枫，冬日早晨。  

选自《诗刊》九月号

MATTERS OF REGRET  

Ling Lan  

Too bad, Ah, Sei Shōnagon 

wrote about four seasons’ delights1, 

but she certainly didn't see 

the midnight summer rain, or the twilight 

that raises the face of every tear-filled rose; 

on a low wall, the cuckoos’ impatient calling. 

She also didn't see that person, in dim light,  

wrote out a name repeatedly on a notepaper, 

like a moth drawn to a flame.  

When I hear the cuckoos call 

and know the barn is empty, 

only a few pellets of popped wheat left in my hand. 

This season burns like fire. 

An even-tempered bookish man engrossed a dictionary. 

In the open field musk thistle and red thatch grass are blooming, 

seed staking shape.  

Note:  

1. The Pillow Book2 gave examples of season's delight: Spring daybreaks; Moonlit summer nights, or dark nights with dancing fireflies; Fall, sunset clouds towards the evening and red maples; Winter days, early dusk. 

2. An essay collection written and completed in 1002 CE by Japanese poet and essayist Sei Shōnagon.

我愿意，就此隐形，像那些书中的故事

只在阅读、翻拂、忘却中

获得幽暗的一夜。我累了

那些从内陆上岸的路, 通往我的

来世。我咀嚼着这渐渐上升中的秋色

泥洼中我走了很远，才看到了

胸前佩带银器的妇女生活

她们中的部分人已老去

更年轻的一代人已经失去了割麦子的手艺

抽屉、耳垂、暗器中滑过一阵雨声

男人、女人世世代代划分了性别之后

才开始了以泥土和水为界

秋天的冷，使我想起瓷器

想起冰凉的原始森林。我愿意在你怀抱呼啸

秋风猛烈的揺晃……

选自中国诗歌网每日好诗

LET ME DISAPPEAR

Hai Nan

Let me disappear, like how it happens in storybooks,

reading, skimming pages, in forgetfulness

granted a gloomy night. I'm tired.

The inland route will lead me onshore to my

next life. I savor the autumn scenery slowly rising over the horizon.

Only after trekking far in the mud, I see

those women wearing silver ornaments across their chests.

Among them, some have already grown old.

The younger ones haven’t known the art of harvesting wheat.

Drawers, earlobes, hidden weapons, a downpour of rain.

The divide between men and women over generations

led to territories separated by earth and water.

The cooling autumn reminds me of porcelain

and the cold virgin forests.

I want to sob in your arms.

A hard autumn wind blows…

北方的树下还有一丝丝凉风

老鹰平展双翼，盘旋高空

地里已无麦垛，几只鸟雀飞来飞去

一畦韭菜开满白色的小花

麦秆笼里的蝈蝈，鸣叫更加响亮

一只黄狗趴在门口，伸出全部的舌头

牛在反刍，果树上的麻雀偶尔叽喳几声

喜鹊飞过院墙，云朵似动非动

在老家小院，坐在房檐下的台阶上

我第一次感到一缸水的平静，却难以言说

一杯砖茶，一碗长面，一碟小菜

一个炎热的正午，几句简单的对话

选自《诗刊》2018年9月号

LESSER HEAT*

By Yang Zi

Under northern trees, there is still the trace of a cool breeze.

An eagle spreads its wings and circles.

The haystacks are all gone, leaving a few sparrows behind.

The garlic patch is brimming with little white flowers.

In the straw cage, crickets are chirping loud and bright.

A yellow dog lies at the doorway, tongue flexed, panting

The ox chews its cud, sparrows occasionally heard chirping in the fruit trees.

Magpies fly over the courtyard wall. The clouds seem to stir without moving.

Sitting on a step under the eaves in my small family courtyard,

I feel, at last, level like a vat of water, an indescribable feeling—

a cup of Pu'er tea, a bowl of noodles, a savory dish,

the scorching midday sun, a few simple words exchanged.

Note:

The lunar calendar divides a year into 24 climatological intervals; each interval is 15 days—from new moon to full moon or full moon to new moon. The interval of Lesser Heat is the eleventh interval of the year, starting on the new moon after Summer Solstice.

二月平胸。不及皇家的制度、典章

它的内涵点不燃锦绣山后的一盏枯灯

无言的皇帝下山去了，在一棵青条上还原他真实的身份

他把江山留给狐，狐留给獾，獾让给了流水的情节

可是，二月不是三月，不是春深时的词浓情堪

它只是星星点灯，东风补漏斑驳的缕衣，雏燕托出穿堂的旧问

二月尝浅，它的流水不敌鸦声的浩瀚

也不及它的清亮。无限的可能是一只流莺的猜测

薄霜犹低，碑帖甚深，轻花拾不回去春的诗函

马蹄踏溅着泥泞的歌谣，古道策反了疏淡的村庄

天空简单，巉岩挂起的灯笼照亮了远山，却让近水更黑

你无法相信，二月是赤脚行走的流浪的孤鹰

二月是被折分的情怀，一半是长笛追赶的挂念

像飘飞的叶，依然回望故土的苍茫

一半是酒话钉入肉身的疼痛，牵扯出它年的蟋蟀与潮声

井栏围攻了岁月。屋檐渡远了年华。

爱人的脸书是减春的对联，两两相近

我苦着你的三更的远，你渡着我的孤单的寒，二月啊

年来年去，二月是踪影不定的消息

指尖凝芳，推敲你的午夜的觉醒，凌晨的返回

足音葱茏，碰伤山冈上的瞰望，鞭梢上的流放

二月啊，你是我的身前的大雪，身后的惊鸿

志向不酬，孤怀独运的坚守与辽阔。长空一叹

我记取了水的弯腰、石的深喘，以及地长清明雨，天弄小乔船

选自中国诗歌网每日好诗 

THOUGHTS OF FEBRUARY

Jiang Shuting 

February pales in comparison to the imperial canons and edicts.

It lacks the fire to rekindle a dead lamp deep in the mountain.

Without a word theemperor left the mountain for the bamboo grove to find his true self.

He bestows the kingdom to the fox, the fox to the badger, and the badger to the river, so the story goes.

But February is not March, we are not enticed to say flowery words as when Spring deepens.

Only small beads of light accompany those mending mottled garments while the east wind blows,

and young swallows under the hallway eaves remind people of a forgotten past.

February lacks zest, its waters are no match to a crow’s daring

and bright calls; only the orioles are intrigued by its infinite possibilities.

The thin frost lies low, the calligraphy continues to pile up, and the fallen petals are gone with last year’s poems,

songs become muddled like horse hooves splattering in the mud,

and the ancient road instigates unrest to remote villages.

The sky looks flat, lanterns hung from the cliff illuminate mountains faraway,

but make water nearby look darker.

Believe it or not, February looks forlorn, like an orphan eagle roaming barefoot.

February perplexes us, there’s the longing in the flute's melody,

a drifting leaf won’t let go of its desolate homeland,

and there is the pain etched by the truth in drunken words,

haunting like crickets and tides of time past.

The courtyard trapped our years, youth vanished under the roof.

My love’s Facebook page reads like a couplet in a dismal Spring, which echoes us,

unreachable are you at the unfathomable night,

your fears of myloneliness doubled by the chill.

Oh February.

The years pass, February brings uncertain news.

As I write, I guess the time you wake up,

the time of your return after the midnight hour.

Yearning to hear your footsteps as if longing for lush green,

eyes hurt in their long gaze from the hilltop. What drives you to exile?

Oh, February, you are heavy snow, but will in time be a peerless beauty.

Though dreams unfulfilled, I will be steadfast, reaching the unreachable. Let me sigh,

let me remember how water bends, how boulders make hollow sounds,

March will bring rain to earth, heaven will be kind. 

江书廷，自由之身。读诗、诵诗、写诗。主张诗歌写作的隐秘性，认为陌生化能强化诗歌的生命力，并使诗在不断突破中获得技术支撑。