Month: March 2018

没有地址
一封信无法寄出
但你觉得该说的都说了
它们浮游于芬芳的空气
变得更加丰满
消除了一纸墙角的孤僻
和一览无余的平面
连同梦中的向隅而泣
它们吸收了空中的潮润
不再干脆，而是具有韧性了
既然一切和盘托出的
都蛰居在空气里
它们就不会静止不动
而是会出游天下
寻找那个未留下地址的人
直到进入她的梦
进入她的呼吸，进入她
收到信后的惊喜
像蛇盘绕挥之不去的预感
为你的记忆加温
道路通达，寂静的庭院
响起一串黄昏的风铃
多么像当年邮递员
自行车的铃声

Twelve roses are twelve zodiacal constellations
To win the sun’s favor, competing gorgeously
Early spring buds start from Aries
riding on the wings of the green wind
until each rose is made
into a beautiful day
hanging on the pale wall of time

Does anyone know tonight who is waiting for whom?
whose secret is this? And to whom it speaks to?
The warmness of night song breezes us
But we have fallen into sleep
still holding in hand that rose

Autumn in the stream, laying funeral flowers of Daiyu
or possibly Hamlet’s Ophelia
Rose petals float away with her
A dead leaf appears on the shore
The hands we stretched out to roses
have only caught a dead leaf

The dilemma of existence, just like our palm prints
Still remember your delicate fingers
like plumage walking in my palm
lingering in my lifeline
But who can tell me the earth’s blood vessel
the secret of roses and dead leaves?

Twelve roses and a girl dressed in scarlet
are both the gifts of the earth
The dead leaves
clearly record the palm print of the earth

新月的第一天
像一块刚开垦的处女地
想收获什么就种什么
又像一件洗净的棉织衣
散发出淡雅的香味
静静等候你梳洗更衣

时间每一刻都是新的
重复的是我们的体态
我们移动的位置
我们身上的汗味和腐味

时间清洗我们
我们不断地整洁
不断地污秽
不断被时间切割
变成多时态的实体位格

我们不断忏悔
又不断地犯错误
新月第一天我们是洁净的
虽然只是片刻的感觉，也
总比尘垢在心里吞云吐雾
遮住青山的信念要好

如果你错过了新年第一天
仍可以用新月第一天去补救

The orange-colored leaves
carpet the terrace quietly
in the wind’s knocking
Your letter comes late
I understand, every leaf’s mature
is the negation of mature itself

The fluid of your full emotion
along the veins of life
flows smoothly and deeply
One says you have crossed the Yangtze River
Another says you have crossed the Pacific Ocean
The door casts its heavy eyes
on the words of leaves combination

The time embroidered on leaf veins
like feather flies in my eyes
In which book that tender sparkling leaf
has become a bookmark?
We cheers each other remotely
raising the cup of sunset light
toasting the whole past

Roses with thorns
flowers and leaves long lying in soil
only thorn has left
The expectation of bank has become
the memory of water
In undulating waves of time
we row a tiny boat
The waves subside, we are grounded
becoming shells

Whose sigh
is playing zither alone in the wind?
Lost memories automatically come back
riding a skinny horse
into your
deciduous forests

语音的织网
往往跟在鱼汛后面
宣告新一轮钩子
无非是强调语言的新用法
尖锐，锋利，钩沉
但不一定，处处勾魂

作为艺术，还是作为工具？
语势的平衡在于自信
并非只有湖面的镜子
才能照出存在的碰触点
入夜之后
黎明无时不在准备自己

在万般不适中
你感到太阳脱臼
手心的钉子随雨抛撒
缓慢的钢琴声赶不上雨步
你铺纸沉思
听见烧红的烙铁
在一个奴隶背上的吱吱声

存在的连接充满极化
关系的赤裸
在于一来一去的同义反复
当你赏花，花并不赏你
通过颠倒，历史成了当下
当下成了循规蹈矩
你下笔千言，其实一言可蔽之

The eve of golden falls
Hangs on your shady cliff
Let my blood flow under your eyes
Let the night wave a soft blanket
Gently hold my beating heart rolling from the Sun

Will experience deep but nontransparent days
Will arrive at a silent shore of stars, where sands wait for
being swept away
My sigh lives in a song of wave
Longing for entering your closed cabin

Bearing the heavy March I cannot stop my steps
My string plays the rain of night and mud of dawn
The eyesight flowing from a cold window cannot heat the stones
They chime in my mild melancholy melody

The waiting heart is an arrow off bowl
Running wildly for a secrete word
For being at a long forgotten field
Sowing seeds, outgrowing wheat

太经常的经常
赤裸的感觉
就穿上厚厚的衣裳
麻木和遮羞成了一回事
御寒倒是被放在第二位了

极端地言及变化
从一个长着雀斑的男孩
变成一个皮肤白皙的少女
小提琴的颤音里
袭来一阵阵苹果味的风
使人对最初的夏娃心生怜悯

夜空长一身黑黑的茸毛
时间的盈余塞满星光
岁月蒸发后
你不再是一座大山
而是畏缩成泥石俱下的土坡
对每一分光阴流失斤斤计较

汁液饱满的黑莓
被不断抽空，成了一具干尸
一个面无表情的词
一部荧光冷艳的手机
吐出数码的烟圈
被你吸入肺叶
在那里建立起一个王国

Other than sunshine, who will come?
But outside the window, weather suddenly has changed
The Blonde you used to see did not appear
Wind and rain sweep across the street
pounding on windows heavily
A boy anxiously entering the room
would not think of what is happening inside

The tide must be rising on the shore
Today, have to give up the plan to lighthouse
Let the boat stay at sand
counting the stories of the past
On the tower, opening the thick curtain
you don’t have the courage to break away from self

Now, must directly face up to
the pitter-patter of wind and rain on the door
No wonder, their eye sight is always drifting
Her skin is clove, is charming chrysanthemum
Her eyes are pure blue of sky at noon
That weather, you have taken for granted
thus no longer appreciate, and treat it as a maid
Only when you lose her
you then realize the loss

You begin to catch on the backgrounds of changing things
But you, can never paint the passed beauty on canvas
That light and warmth do not belong to a rainy day
The rain is still dripping outside window
There comes out warm sweat from your palm
All of these, you have no control