为进一步繁荣新时代诗歌，推动汉语诗歌走向世界，激励本土诗人们创作出具有世界影响力的优秀作品，中国诗歌网与美国华盛顿PATHSHARERS BOOKS（出版有季刊21st Century Chinese Poetry）合作开展汉诗英译活动。《诗刊》每期刊登的诗作及中国诗歌网“每日好诗”中的佳作，将有机会被译成英语，刊于21st Century Chinese Poetry，并在中国诗歌网做专题展示。

敬 畏       林 莽

随着枪声  山坡上冒出一小缕尘烟

它轻轻跳开了几步    

一只土色的小狐狸依旧回过头来向我们张望

面如古铜的老司机用藏语低吼了几句

那个搭车人收起了他的枪

那天我们幸运地拜谒了怒江上游有骷髅墙的天葬台

在暴雨到来之前赶过了那段泥泞而陡峭的峡谷险路    

啊  感恩一直俯视和指引我们的苍天与众神

时隔多年  想起当时还算年轻的我们

在夏日的高原上驱车千里

像那些冒死攀登神山的人们一样

用一种近乎无知的鲁莽    

兴致盎然地冒犯了那些寂寞中苦修的亡灵

看晴空下的雪山凛然屹立令人心生敬畏

嗷  但至今我依然不知这一生中

到底还有多少事应该幡然领悟  虔心忏悔  

选自中国诗歌网《每日好诗》

Awe 

by Lin Mang

With a gunshot,

a puff of dusty smoke appeared on the hillside.

Sideways hopped a few steps,

a small ochre-colored fox, unharmed, turned his head to look back at us.

The old bronze-faced driver shouted a few words in Tibetan.

The passenger put away his gun.

On that day, we were fortunate to visit the sky-burial platform with a skull-wall

on the upper reach of the Nu River.

We hurried through the muddy, steep and treacherous canyon road

ahead of a sudden heavy rainstorm.

Ah, let us be grateful to heavens and gods, who have been looking down

and guiding us.

After many years, I reflected upon the way we were, still youthful then,

driving a thousand miles across a summery plateau,

like those who risk death to climb a sacred mountain,

we were rash, so ignorant, and rude to those lonely pious souls.

See those snowy mountains under the clear sky,

towering, forbidding, evoking a feeling of awe.

Oh, looking ahead, I can't count the things I am still in the dark,

the things I need to be ready for enlightenment, to repent.

林莽，1949年出生于河北徐水，朦胧派代表诗人之一。1968年到白洋淀插队，“白洋淀诗歌群落”主要成员。出版著作11部。代表作《林莽的诗》，《我流过这片土地》、《永恒的瞬间》等。

长 廊       黎落

我听见流水声。正午的阳光从树梢下来

你陷在一片白里，小兽四周出没

但不叫醒你。或者，你更愿意随流水漂远

蔷薇花真好看，爬在墙头

我羡慕它们能穿透篱墙，扶你起身

隔开的这段水路，只有花朵的坚持才能抵达

你听。鸟鸣又起了，震落一截烟灰

我喉管里的石头轻了几分

它想变成飞萤，唤醒十万座大山

想，替我照亮你

日子越过越薄，我该学习编织花环

向长廊索求你的背影。但它，只投下一地清凉

选自《诗刊》

The Stoa

by Li Luo

The sound of running water. Sunlight streaming through midday treetops.

You are mired in a world of whiteness, surrounded by critters coming and going.

Not to wake you. Perhaps, you prefer to float away with the running water.

Baby roses climb on the wall, looking very beautiful.

I envy their ability to penetrate barriers, to help you up.

There is water between us, only tenacious flowers can reach the other shore.

Listen. Birds are singing again, shattering my burnt-up cigarette.

The lump in my throat seems a bit lighter,

as if wanting to turn into fireflies, to wake the ten thousand mountains around,

as if hoping to light up the image of you.

Days stretch thinner and thinner, I should learn to weave a wreath,

asking the portico for a view of you as you leave. But, it only casts a cold glow on the floor.

黎落，湖北人，热爱诗歌写作十数年。有作品入选年度版本，诗歌是向内的行走。

如果我的梦足够长       赵文豪

如果我的梦够长

足够时间，陪您走到家里的厨房，看着您

牢记冰箱里摆放每道菜的位置；

牢记每个亲人的口味与胃口

老了，日子淡一点；

重了，计较轻一点。

最脆弱的不是等待您醒来的难熬

最脆弱的不是您变了模样

尽管我们的心，

总是告诉我无数次可以哭过的理由，

却总是想起

在兴之所至的日常

来到您家里，吃着烧饼

听您说着芝麻小事，拿着装满温热豆浆的碗接着

接着，如果我们的梦够长

够长

选自《诗刊》

If My Dream Lasts Long Enough

by Zhao Wenhao

If only my dream would last long enough

for me to walk with you to the kitchen, to see how you

set each dish at its special place, to see how you

recall everyone's tastes and appetites,

for the elderly, help them sail through the days;

for those weighed down, lighten things up a bit.

It hurts horribly waiting, and waiting for you to wake up,

and I feel most useless to see that you look different now,

but despite all that, even though my heart

has given me many reasons to cry,

I come to remember

that, without making special arrangements,

I visited your home, while having a sesame flat bread,

listening to you recounting the small events of the day,

with a bowl in my hands receiving warm soymilk from you.

Let us resume, if only our dreams would last long enough,

long enough.

赵文豪，喜欢诗，希望有天成为诗喜欢的样子。著有《写作门诊室》、《迁居启事》等。曾入选《2017年青年诗歌年鉴》、2015台湾优秀青年诗人奖、2013台湾诗选。目前为台湾师范大学台湾语文学系博士候选人。

我与父亲的三次接触      桐雨生

第一次

我还不知道父亲是什么

我从母亲的扣箱里

翻出十几枚五角星奖章

全部别在胸前

母亲从大街上将我抓回臭揍

一颗星一颗星摘下

整整齐齐别在一块绒布上

为扣箱加锁

第二次

我终于从黑白照片里找到父亲

我看着照片

听母亲讲父亲生前的故事

此后街上每有孩子问我谁是你爹时

我就拉着他去看照片

直到十九岁

母亲从扣箱底翻出一件奖字背心说

你长大成人了

把这件背心穿上吧

第三次

爷爷过世了

我和姐姐在一条土沟的水渠边

挖出父亲的骨尘

姐姐从土坑里举着骷髅头说

这是咱老子的脑袋

然后又从土里翻出胳膊腿

手指和脚趾找不全了

再入殓时乡亲找不到枕头

抱了一块土圪垃说

冬玉哥枕一圪塔土圪垃吧

选自中国诗歌网《每日好诗》

Three Encounters with My Father

by Tong Yusheng

My first encounter with my father

was before I formed the concept of father.

From my mother's chest of keepsakes

I took a dozen or so star-shaped medals

and pinned every single one to my chest.

Mother dragged me home from the street and spanked me,

removing all the stars, one star, then another star,

and fastened them all on a sheet of flannel,

and locked the chest.

The second time,

I finally knew which one was my father in a monochrome photograph.

I looked at the picture

while listening to Mother telling tales about him.

Later on, whenever any kid on the street asked: "Who was your dad?",

I would take him home to see that photo.

It was only when I turned nineteen,

Mother pulled out from the bottom of her treasure trove a vest with a badge, and said:

"Now you're an adult,

put this on."

The third encounter with Father

was when grandfather passed away.

My sister and I went to an earthen ditch,

trying to dig up our father's bones.

My sister lifted up a skull from the pit and said:

"this is our own old man's head",

next, the arms and the legs were unearthed

with missing fingers and toes.

While he was re-buried, our folks couldn't find him a head cushion,

and took a chunk of clay;

Dongyu, our dear brother, rest in peace, on the pillow of mud.

荣润生，男，笔名梧桐雨生，桐雨生，雨生。现常用笔名雨生。山西省太原市人。客居苏州。上世纪八十年代开始创作。著有诗集《我的心烫着了黑夜》（长江文艺2017年出版)。

远 方     指尖流年

我对未来和远方几乎淡漠了。

我只去过几次哈尔滨，

第一次，是送去南方上学的儿子，

我第一次看见飞机，我以为

它一直在那里等候我们，

后来我才知道它是前30分钟飞来的。

儿子在安检口向我招手，我木讷。

我夹杂在穿行的旅人里与儿子道别，

那是他第一次离开我们，去很远的地方。

刚刚降落的空少和空姐神采奕奕，

拉着拉杆箱，从我身旁走过

仿佛永远那么帅气漂亮。

我一年去几趟县城办事。

买种子化肥，和换二代身份证，

我上面头像一年老过一年。

时间已经把这个人碾碎。

现在他呈粉末状，格外细腻柔软。

从小村到小镇，我只有这么

一丁点的地方。我的庭院，

二月的末尾，乍暖还寒，

还在荒芜之中，但我仍感到

万物正在苏醒，我的葡萄藤蔓

闪闪发亮，根系在尘土里，

它正把黑暗抓得更紧。

你说，“有机会出来走走吧。”

我说“会的”。年轻时，

我想去爱尔兰，手插裤兜

走过都柏林忧伤的街，

像布鲁姆和斯蒂芬，

那时，我读詹姆斯.乔伊斯的

《尤利西斯》。我读梵高先生，

就向往北布拉班特的麦田和鸦群，

我亲爱的提奥，如果你健在，

哥哥一定把你资助的钱十倍奉还。

小小的荷兰，盛产郁金香，也出艺术家

伦勃朗被梵高的光彩已然遮蔽了。

可是，安默斯特你真是太远了！

不然我真想去那小住几日。去你家，

据说现已改为“壳”牌加油站。

去看你的小书桌，我惊叹，

你就是在方寸的书桌上写下不朽的诗？

我坐在安默斯特的小咖啡馆，看到这儿

来的游客，他们都像我吧，为你慕名而来；

我想你在你孤独的花园里采撷，

准备制作天竺葵的标本。

“篱笆那边的野草莓”

嗯，狄金森，忍不住我想乐。

现在，我想最宜居的地方是英国，

法国浪漫的轻浮；罗马，一座寂寞之都。

英国，有莎士比亚也有勃朗特姐妹，

有剑桥，也有足球流氓，有绅士也有穷人，

有乡下的素朴，也有海岛把我们隔开…

选自中国诗歌网《每日好诗》

Distant Places

by  Zhijian Liunian

I am almost indifferent to both future and distances.

I have only been to Harbin a few times.

The first time was to see my son off to a school in the South.

I saw an airplane for the first time and thought

it had been there waiting for us the whole time.

Later I learned that it flew in 30 minutes earlier.

My son waved to me from the security checkpoint, I said nothing,

sending him my farewell between travelers coming and going.

That was the first time he left us for a distant place.

Then the crew that had just landed walked by me,

pulling their luggage, looking spritely,

as if continuously dashing and beautiful.

Every year I go into town a few times for business,

to buy seeds and fertilizers, once to exchange for a second-generation ID card,

the new head shot shows the years in-between.

Time has crushed this person,

powdery, now extraordinarily delicate and soft.

From a small village to a small town, what I have is

a little bit of a place. My courtyard,

at the end of February, rarely feels warm,

still desolate, but I can detect

things are waking up: my grape vines

look shining, while their roots in the soil

grasp tighter to the darkness.

You said: "Find the chance to get out more!"

I said: "I will!" When young,

I wanted to go to Ireland, and walk

through the sad streets of Dublin,

with my hands in my pockets, like Bloom and Stephen.

At the time, I read James Joyce's

"Ulysses". I read Mr. Van Gogh,

and yearned for the wheat fields and crows in North Brabant.

"My dear Theo, if you were alive,

your brother would return your money ten folds."

Tiny Holland, rich with tulips, and artists,

Rembrandt was obscured by Van Gogh's brilliance.

However, Amherst, you are so far!

Otherwise I really would like to go there for a few days. To your home,

which is said to be remodeled into a Shell gas-station now.

To see your little desk, I'd sure be amazed,

did you really write the immortal poems at this small desk?

I'd be sitting in a small café in Amherst, seeing other

visitors, like me, come here to pay homage to you.

I imagine you in your lonely garden,

picking geraniums to make a flower press for specimen.

"Wild strawberries by the fence."

Well, Dickinson, I can't help but feel happy.

Now, I think the most livable place is England.

France is frivolous; Rome, city of loneliness.

England has Shakespeare, it also has the Bronte Sisters.

It has Cambridge, football hooligans, gentlemen and paupers,

the simplicity of the countryside,

and islands that separate us...

指尖流年，也用名“桑田”，黑龙江勃利县人。

“汉诗英译” 同步更新于美国“21st Century Chinese Poetry”网站 

http://www.modernchinesepoetry.com/

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