Bilingual Readings of Spring '25 Issue

天使之眼 翻译：诗验室 耐嚼而热情的眼神闻我 明快丝柔润滑的线 从月亮身上飘过 游着其粘稠的不快 往我的血液压气 我漫无目的的焦虑凝住 而你刻意且均匀的步伐 滑过并渗透我的魂 你的尘蒸发着我的裤子 如若有所思的叶子拍打着我 你是有着四爪的变形者 将我像预示般吞噬 一份本能沉默的祝祷 我崩塌我的内部漩涡 集体往前挪动

Eyes of an Angel by Shawntaye M. Scott Chewy, intense eyes smell me brisk milky, silky threads float on through the moon swimming its gooey fury lowering vapors on my blood. My aimless anxiety freezes as your calculated kindred steps glide and permeate my psyche. your dust evaporating my pants whisking me as wistful leaves. A shapeshifter on four paws you engulfed me as a presage a benediction of...

七夜的倒数 作者：阿勒 七个夜晚升起，火焰朝向火焰， 它们在狭窄的巷道相遇， 像潮水退去时残留的字迹， 一封无人拆阅的信，在晨雾中泛白。 六颗心脏低语，第七颗已经停息， 它们敲击着木门，但门早已敞开， 风穿堂而过，回音在空旷的长廊盘旋， 指尖在灰烬中摩挲，寻找未曾写下的词语。 五朵玫瑰枯萎，四盏灯闪烁， 夜晚倾倒泉水，洗净被遗忘的街道， 三道影子在窗口浮现，两道回声沿墙滑行， 而第一步，始终悬在夜的边缘。

the countdown of seven nights translated by PLS seven nights ascend, flame towards flame they meet each other in a narrow alley like the residual traces when the tides are gone a sealed letter, pallid in the morning mist. six hearts whisper, the seventh has stopped they knock on the wooden door, which is already open wind sweeps through the hall, echoes swirl in the empty corridor fingertips fumbl...

山坡 作者：刘炯 头上，羽翅的火焰忽然蹿起 扰动气流。心也跟着 烫了一下 沿拓荒人耕种 的时蔬往上 我的手小于驱鸟手套 与几只鸭子分享，池塘的明净 坐下，冬天不再阴郁

hillslope translated by PLS above your head, the flames of wings soar stirring the air. then a hot rush through your heart up along the vegetation cultivated by the settlers my hands are smaller than garden gloves to share with a few ducks, the clarity of the pond to sit down, so the winter no longer depresses

见证者 翻译：诗验室         一把黑色的伞飘落         于曼哈顿的浪上          仰面朝天 在此处安身 或许并没有那么糟 那么多人的家 无人的故土。 墓园里的鬼魂 在街上游走 象征性地问着何时 为何什么 而你却将不解隐藏 因为你已见过地图：一个点 一把黑色的伞飘落 在 标记着 “X” 的地方。

Witness II by C.Z. Liu A black umbrella fell against the tides of Manhattan upside down It wouldn’t be so bad to lay here in the home of millions Heimat of none. And so the ghosts at the cemetery walked around town asking the typical when why and what But you hid your confusion for you’ve seen the map: A dot A black umbrella fell Where X marked the spot.

霾 作者：寻泽 风从冬天的尽头赶来 在第七日停下 —— 铁锈爬满钟摆， 困意是年轮最后的证词 田野在雾中塌陷 桥的骨骼沉入地心 鼾声压弯了野草 人们的居所 因忽然失去质量 而缓缓弥散 尘埃是唯一的锚 山，碎成一片剥落的天空 风在裂缝中沉默 我们穿过清江 影子与江水绞成绳索 在折叠成梯子的太阳下 每一步都是雾的刻度

smog translated by PLS wind hurries from the end of winter stops on the seventh day— rust swarms the pendulum drowsiness is the last testimony of the year fields crumble in the mist skeletons of a bridge sink to the ground snores bend the grasses the abodes of villagers disperse slowly for they’re emptied of their content dust is the sole anchor mountains, a slice of peeled sky wind speechless amo...

回声之夜 作者：阿勒 你不会在我的唇间找到你的名字， 它已经在昨夜被盐分浸透， 在玻璃窗后的对白中， 被阴影遗弃。 你不会在门前等到一个陌生人， 雨滴悬在空气里，像破裂的钟声， 时间站在街灯之下， 拨弄着夜晚残余的音符。 你不会在眼中窥见泪水， 井已干涸，石头仍在沉默， 只有脚步声穿过午夜， 被回声缓缓地吞没。

night of echoes translated by PLS you will not find your name between my lips for it was permeated by salt yesterday abandoned by shadows,  in the dialogue behind the window. you will not encounter a stranger at your doorstep drops of rain hang in the air, like exploded bell sounds time, standing beneath a street lamp fiddling with the remnant notes of the evening. you will not see a tear in...

多汁的眼睛                  去年今日此门中                       — 唐 . 崔护 作者：刘炯 一定是气候，催生多汁 的视线，让许多夜晚 相互浸透，界限模糊 苦笋的气息剥开旧年，这片密林 正以想象的沉默赋予另一个人光阴 嫩绿光照处，笃信露水的真理 枝头，果实的欲望再显，像极了 潜意识漫来痉挛。此刻 我不是孤寂的空，...

sappy eyes this time last year by this door* translated by PLS it must be the climate, that breeds the sappy view, allowing many a night to infiltrate each other, borders blurred the scent of bitter bamboo shoots strip the old year, this forest endows time to another person with imagined silence upon the tender green light, believing in the truth of dew over treetops the desire of fruits reemerges...

代价 作者：朴杪 幽绿的气息旋绕着， 屋外是潮湿的茫然。 一个场景里风的加入， 终结了没有引擎轰鸣的童年。 造物主和造物已接连逝去。 还剩什么在抽搐呢？ 我们不再服下 与自己姓名有关的事物。 身后漫长的鸿沟里， 流水仍浸润 未被收藏的死亡的倒影。 列车必须开动前， 拔起狗尾草时的 “ 噗嗤 ” 成为体内不断拉长的哨音。

cost translated by PLS the emerald air billows outside wet confusions. the participation of wind in a scene, ends a childhood without the roars of an engine. the creator and the created are both gone now. what else is left to convulse. we no longer medicate ourselves with anything related to our names. in the never-ending chasm behind us the shadows of death yet to be collected are still soaked by...