Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Chen Xianfa


Chen Xianfa (1967-) was born in Tongcheng, Anhui in 1967 and graduated from Fudan University in 1989. He has published several anthologies of poetry, including Death in Springtime, A Past Life,Written Monument of the Heart, A Mystery of Raising a Crane (Taiwan Edition). His novel Soul-Stealing Opera was published in 2006 and a volume of essays, Heichiba Notes in 2014. He has been the recipient of dozens of literary awards, including: The October Poetry Prize; The October Literature Prize; China's Ten Pioneering Poets, 1986 -2006; China's Poets of the Year, 2008; China's Top Ten Influential Poets, 1998-2008; the inaugural China Hainan Poetry Biennial Award; the inaugural Yuan Kejia Poetry Prize; Tian Wen Poetry Prize; Chinese Laureate Poets Award, etc. His works have been translated into English, French, Russian, Spanish, Greek, among others.


Nancy Liang


Nancy Liang, born and raised in Heilongjiang, China, graduated from Harvard Business School in 2004 with a Master's Degree in Business Administration. She currently lives in Boston, MA and Cary, NC.


Between the Two

清晨环绕着我房子的 有两件东西 斑鸠和杨柳 我写作时 雕琢的斑鸠,宣泄的杨柳 我喝茶时 注满的斑鸠,掏空的杨柳 我失眠中 焦灼的斑鸠,神经的杨柳 我冥想时 对立的斑鸠,和解的杨柳 我动一动,斑鸠丢失 我停下 杨柳又来 视觉的信任在触觉中加固着 这点点滴滴 又几人懂得? 我最想捕获的是 杨柳的斑鸠,斑鸠的杨柳 只是我的心 沉得不够深 不足将此般景象呈现出来 但两者的缝隙 正容我身 我在这分裂中又一次醒来


This morning surrounding my house Are two things A turtledove and a willow When I write A polishing turtledove, a venting willow When I have tea A filled turtledove, a hollowed willow When I suffer insomnia An anxious turtledove, a nervous willow When I meditate An opposing turtledove, a compromising willow Once I make a move, the turtledove is lost When I stop The willow is back Trust from seeing gets stronger with every touch How few will ever understand These bits and pieces? What I want the most are A willowing turtledove, a turtledoving willow But my heart Did not dive deeply enough To present such a scene But the fissure between the two Is just right for myself In this split I woke up once more


The Body as One

从多义性泥泞上挣脱而出, 如今我敢于置身单一之中。 单一的游动, 没有蛇。 单一耸动的嗅觉, 无须花香。 单一光线中的蝇眼紧盯着 玻璃被洞穿时状态的虚无 我驻足于它的 一无所见。 单一的味觉掀翻了 压在舌尖上的 每一垄菜地, 无须那么多的名字。 春枝繁茂, 湖心一亭, 我坐等它的枯竭。 我坐等每一次的我 在它每一种结构中的 枯竭。 我未曾顺着一根新枝 到达过它的尽头 我未曾料到这 单一中的 枯竭,要成为我的源泉


Struggling to free myself from the muddy, multiple meanings I dare to stand in monosemy. A pure swimming, Without a snake. A pure arousal of the sense of smell, With no need of floral fragrance. In a pure beam of light, a fly is gazing at The void when glass is penetrated I attend to it seeing nothing. The pure sense of taste overthrows Every ridge of vegetable field That weighs on the tongue in no need of so many names. In the lush spring branches A pavilion stands in the lake, And I wait for it to wither. I wait for myself every time within all its structure To wither. I have never followed a new branch To its end I never predicted The withering of oneness Would become my origin

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