Ling Yue,
translated by Ye Chun

我们在寂静的屋子里过冬

 

我们在寂静的屋子里过冬;过去的
变化了的形象不断摇晃,有三年
你不再习惯于回顾往日,而让疑惑追随着血液,
有三年,这书本里的喜悦激起了日子的仇恨,
在眼睛里,类似影剧院的最后光亮中,
我们丢弃在寂静的屋子里。
而生活,它有这冬天的幻觉,
它有这隐藏啜泣的墙壁的恐怖,
并且我们也已不在那文字的火苗中召唤。

冷冽的空气有一种清新,而时光
映现出雪花寂静雕像中虚幻的风景:
干净的球场,太瘦的冬日,
我们在“吱吱”叫唤的老鼠的声音里过冬,
我们沉默着,让过分疲倦的
冬天之光照亮屋子的一角——竟然是睡熟的情侣。


We Spend Winter in a Silent Room


We spend winter in a silent room where the past’s
changed images swing. For three years,
you’ve stopped looking back, but doubts still follow your blood.
For three years, the joy in books arouses hate for the days.
In our eyes like a theater’s final light,
we’re abandoned in this silent room.
While life has the illusion of winter
and the terror of these walls hide sobs,
we no longer beckon the flames of words.

The cold air is fresh, and time’s
illusions show in snowflake-silent statues:
clean playground, too thin winter days.
We spend the season among the squeaks of mice.
Silent, we let the tired
winter light into a corner of our room—sleeping lovers.


阴天逼视着我

 

阴天逼视着我:
无处逃遁,大自然沉静的光芒
沿着雨丝滑落。
幻影挑逗瞳仁,
风抚动发廊门前悬挂的毛巾,
姑娘们在嬉闹——像是在夏日明晃晃的画布上。
对于人的豪迈的个性而言,现实即荆棘。
同样杯盘狼藉的盛宴,
同样柔软的丝绸和它炫耀的眼波,
没有人显出疲态——真是咄咄怪事。
落地窗分散市声,
不真实的喷泉垂头丧气,
落日,只是为了慰藉空虚而存在过。
我们回去吧,聚会是可耻的,
像棉被下纠缠的四肢,默默放纵。
爱——视而不见,
天光将万物隐匿。
精神的恩宠究竟不那么踏实。
——把手搭在我的臂弯吧。


The Cloudy Sky Stares at Me

 

The cloudy sky stares at me:
nowhere to escape, nature’s quiet light
sliding down the raindrops.
Phantoms tease my eyes
while wind ruffles some towels that hang in front of a hair salon
and the girls joke and play, as if on a painted summer canvas.
For a heroic temperament, reality is a thorn.
Same feast at its messy end,
same soft silk and its flamboyant allure,
but no one appears weary—how strange.
The floor-to-ceiling window disperses city sounds,
the unreal fountain hangs its head,
and the setting sun has only existed to soothe the emptiness.
Let's get going then: partying is a shame,
like limbs tangled under a quilt, quietly indulging.
Love—turns a blind eye,
as the sky’s light hides everything.
Spiritual grace isn’t practical after all—
why not put your hand on my arm.

 

Ling Yue / 凌越 is a contemporary Chinese poet, literary critic, and translator. He has published two books of poetry, Songs of the Dust World (Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House, 2012) and Floating Address (Beijing United Publishing Company, 2021), five collections of criticism, as well as seven volumes of poetry translations. A winner of the prestigious Liu Li’an Poetry Award, he teaches sociology and political science at Guangdong Police College in Guangzhou, China.

Ye Chun / 叶春 is a bilingual Chinese American writer and literary translator. Her novel, Straw Dogs of the Universe, was longlisted for the 2024 Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Fiction and was named a Washington Post’s Notable Work of Fiction of 2023. She has also published a  collection of stories, Hao; two books of poetry, Travel over Water and Lantern Puzzle; a novel in Chinese; and  four volumes of translations. A recipient of an NEA Fellowship and three Pushcart Prizes, she is an associate professor at Providence College and lives in Providence, Rhode Island.


ISSN 2472-338X
© 2024

Also by Ye Chun: "Child," "Pine," "Winter Birth"
In the store: broadside triptych
Interview: a conversation with Ye Chun on Lantern Puzzle