Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Paul Celan

Paul Celan (1920-1970) was influenced by French surrealism and symbolism. Author of The Sand from the Urns (1948), Poppy and Memory (1952), From Threshold to Threshold (1955), Speech Grille (1959), and Snow Part (1971). He also translated literature from Romanian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Russian, Hebrew and English into German.



Peter Feng


Peter Feng received a PhD in English Literature from Nanjing University in 2011, and since then he has been exploring the interconnections between poetry, philosophy, and psychoanalysis. He has translated a novel, three travelogues, and numerous poems in English, including The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath (Shanghai Translation Publishing House, 2013). His phenomenological approach to poetry crystallizes into three books of poems: Cruel Raven (coauthored with Sun Dong, Nanjing University Press, 2011), The Desert Swimmer (Pulsasir Publishing, 2015), Parallel Tongues (Showwe Information Co., Ltd., 2015). His works appear in Poetry Sky, Chinese/Western Poetry, The American Poetry Review and many others.



No one moulds us again out of earth and clay, no one conjures our dust. No one. Praised be your name, no one. For your sake we shall flower. Towards you. A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering; the nothing-, the no one's rose. With our pistil soul-bright, with our stamen heaven-ravaged, our corolla red with the crimson word which we sang over, o over the thorn


无人再以泥土与黏土捏制我们, 无人向我们的尘埃吹气。 无人。 赞美你啊,无人。 为了你,我们 愿意开花。 向着 你。 一个无 我们曾是,现在是,将来 也是,绽开着: 那无的,无人的 玫瑰。 以 灵魂般闪亮的雌蕊, 被天堂损毁的雄蕊, 被紫红之词 染红的花冠,那是我们 在荆棘之上 之上的 歌唱。

Tübingen, January


Eyes talked into blindness. Their—“an enigma is the purely originated”—, their memory of H?lderlin towers afloat, circled by whirring gulls. Visits of drowned joiners to these submerging words: Should, should a man, should a man come into the world, today, with the shining beard of the patriarchs: he could if he spoke of this time, he could only babble and babble over, over againagain. (“Pallaksh. Pallaksh.”)


被说服 致盲的眼睛。 他们的——“纯粹的 起源是一个 谜”——,他们 关于漂浮的荷尔德林塔楼 的记忆,被海鸥的嗡鸣 环绕。 溺水的木匠 造访 这些浸没之词: 如果, 如果一个人来, 如果一个人今天来这世上,带着 光焰四射的 族长胡须:他可以 谈论这个 时代,他 只能 胡言乱语 始终 咿咿,呀呀。 (“可否。可否”)



Arnica, eyebright, the draft from the well with the starred die above it, in the hut, the line —whose name did the book register before mine? — the line inscribed in that book about a hope, today, of a thinking man's coming word in the heart, woodland sward, unlevelled, orchid and orchid, single, coarse stuff, later, clear in passing, he who drives us, the man, who listens in, the half- trodden wretched tracks over the high moors, dampness, much.


山金车,小米草, 井里舀水喝,上方一颗 星形骰子, 在那 小屋里, 记入留言薄 ——在我之前 它还记下谁的名字?—— 在这本书中 写下那行 希望的字,今天, 为了一个思想的词 在心中 到来, 林中草地,未平整, 红门兰与红门兰,独自地, 率直,后来,在车上, 清清楚楚, 为我们开车的人,那人 也听见了, 走了一半的 高地沼泽里的 圆木小路, 非常, 潮湿。

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