Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Yang Guang


Yang Guang, originally Yang Guang, born in 1970’s. His work includes The Poem Writing And Aesthetics Appreciation, The Death of Love, and The Wandering Muses. His representative work includes The Poem Aesthetics Body System Arrangement(Poetics), Poet-Prophesy and The City Abnormal Man.


Shaoming Zhang

张绍敏, 1988 年毕业于西南师大(现西南大学)外语系英语专业。主修英国语言与文学, 现从事英语教学。

Shaoming Zhang graduated from English Department of Southwest Teacher’s University (Southwest University) in 1988. She works as an English teacher.


The Death Of a Young Man

三点一线 地球上最后一只鸟 应声而落 三点一线 地球上最后一个人 自己瞄准了自己


Three points, a line, The last bird on earth Answers and falls! Three points, a line, The last man on earth Takes aim at himself!


Poet-The Red Bird

燃烧的欲望膨胀着 地球的热浪 你枯鱼的眼 在听烟炎的呼啸声 人心却一天天霜冻结冰 你枯鱼的眼 在听灵魂碎裂的咔咔声 一只红红绿绿的鸟— 诗人前生的一滴血 来世的一颗泪 幻化的天地灵物 盘旋三日 呐喊泣泪 在你的头顶 红红黑黑的热血 在飘 褐褐绿绿的血痂 在落


Smoldering desire expands, The earth's furnace gusts. Your eyes like a dried fish, Listen to the inflamed groans of the earth. And our hearts grow ever colder Your eyes like a dried fish, Listen to the tickings of a broken soul. A red red, green green bird, A drop of blood before the poet's birth The last tear of the future, Inspires a transformed world. The bird circles for three days Crying and weeping! Over your head, Black black, red red blood blasts A brown brown, green green scar falls off!


Life-The Death Of Water

唇裂的大地 含着几茎纤草 几茎纤草 举起几条瘦手 捧着一只半枯的蝶 一只半枯的蝶 伸长干脆的细嘴 吮吸热浪里的星点水汽 热浪里的星点水汽 在喟然长叹声中 自焚


The cracked earth Grows a few blades of withered weeds. A few blades of withered weeds Sustain only a few thin hands, Carrying a half-dried butterfly. A half- dried butterfly, Stretching its thirsty mouth, Sucks the steam from the heat wave, But the steam from the heat wave Heaves and consumes itself.


Heat Wave-The Red Bird Blood

疯狂的热浪 层层燎焦 山顶的枫树 人心的冷 步步紧逼 山脚诗人的瑟缩 几群悲怆的红鸟 盘旋 呐喊 泣血 雨飘


The insane heat wave Spreads in layers, Scorching the maples atop the mountain. The heart's cold blood Approaches beat by beat, At the foot of the mountain, the poet cowers. Flocks of sad red birds Circle overhead, crying out, They cry blood in a violent rain.

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