Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

David Cope

David Cope was born in Detroit, 1948. He obtained a BA from University of Michigan and MA from Western Michigan University. He has published six books of poetry and was the winner of Pushcart Prize in 1977. He received an award in literature from American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1988. Editor and publisher of Big Scream magazine for 43 years, Cope served as the Poet Laureate of Grand Rapids from 2011 to 2014. He edited three anthologies: Nada Poems (Nada, 1988), Sunflowers & Locomotives: Songs for Allen (elegies for Allen Ginsberg, Nada, 1998), and Song of the Owashtanong: Grand Rapids Poetry in the 21st Century (Ridgeway, 2013). At present he is working on The Correspondence of David Cope and Allen Ginsberg (1976-1996) and his Invisible Keys: New and Selected Poems is going to be released by Ghost Pony Press this year.



Peter Feng


Peter Feng is a poet and translator from Qingdao, China. He 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 number of American poets, including elsewhere by Scott Alexander Jones and The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath (Shanghai Translation Publishing House). He is the author of Parallel Tongues, The Desert Swimmer, and Cruel Raven (co-authored with Sun Dong, Nanjing University Press). His poems appear in Poetry Sky, American Poetry Review, Big Scream, Grey Sparrow, Napalm Health Spa, and others.

Ghazal for the Coming Spring

加扎勒: 致将来的春天

broken men march with bleeding ears, guns trained on their backs, glistening. here tanks & launchers burned, masses of corpses flew & fell, ripped & stinking: here graves mass—open jaws & sockets of skulls tell no hero’s story nor sing where blood ran into sand & sank, where rain & shamal remake the land daily: passing caravans tell & retell a silken story & pilgrimage sums a lifetime’s hope. women of Kuwait wail & shriek for lost love & burning wellheads blacken the sky; across the world, old men dream in starlit silence among lilacs budding early.


崩溃之人以流血的耳朵游行 枪训练有素地架在肩上,闪闪发光。 此处坦克和发射器燃烧,成堆的 尸体飞来飞去,倒下,剖开,发臭 此处坟墓聚集——咧开的下巴,眼洞 头颅,无事迹可讲,无歌可唱 血从沙堆沉下去, 雨水与夏马风每日重组这土地: 驼队经过,讲述,重新讲述 一个丝绸故事,朝圣之旅。 科威特的女人嚎啕大哭,为失去的爱人 燃烧的水源遮黑了天空; 整个世界,被星光点亮的沉默之间 初开的丁香丛中,老人酣然入梦

The Invisible Keys


dead, old John, premiere piano player, found sitting up on his toilet after 3 days not answering his bell: yellowing sheet music, old records, unpaid bills piled on his dresser; clock radio blaring the latest hits, the morning news; government checks stuffed in the mailbox, unclaimed; no relatives, no claims for his things, landlord to arrange his funeral. spot on the sax, he’s on his knees making that thing scream just above the heads of the dancers who’re humping it, sea of heads jumping in the dark, smoke haze up in the lights & now it’s John’s turn, bass thumping raw nerves underground raging river, he lights into those high keys, staccato— fingers flying faster & faster, sweat dripping off his eyebrows, crashing cymbal & snares & high hat clanging! & now that guitar coming in sweet & low, trying to take it— even the bouncers at the door look in, the dancers stop dead to watch or collapse into their seats, exhausted, take it babe— that guitar out front all alone burning away sadness & anger, unpaid bills & careless loves, burning a bright new fire to get them all to that coming dawn, burning all desire away, leaving them quiet, breathing softly together at last. somewhere that old tune’s floating up in a dingy hallway one bare bulb hanging & those keys’re rolling, waves under fast fingers— & two floors up a woman sobs alone on rumpled sheets shattered glass on the floor, picture on her pillow— two lovers in white, with a red rose— hearing those notes again, she’ll rise & look out at the empty street, streetlights going off in the lavender dawn, & she’ll remember an embrace, a tender moment in a room like this, & sighing, wipe her eyes & fix her hair, who knows who might turn up today, toes still tapping to that old song.


老约翰,一流钢琴演奏家 被发现死在马桶上,在三天 不应门铃之后: 发黄的散页乐谱和旧唱片 未付的账单 堆在他的五斗橱上 定时开关收音机播放新曲 早间新闻; 邮箱里塞满未认领的 政府支票 没有亲戚,无人认领他的东西 房东安排他的葬礼。 灯光聚焦于 萨克斯风, 他跪着让那玩意 尖叫 略高于跳舞的人头顶 人群如痴如醉, 黑暗里人海涌动 灯下,烟雾升起 该约翰登场了 贝斯重击 神经痛处,奔流的地下河 他切入高音键 断奏—— 手指飞速移动,越来越快 眉间汗如雨下 钗钹,小鼓,高礼帽 撞击轰鸣! 现在吉他加入 低沉而甜美 想要技压全场—— 连门口保镖也往里瞥视 跳舞的人 中途停下来观看 或塌入椅子,精疲力尽 你信吗—— 那吉他声 独领风骚 烧掉了哀愁,愤怒,未付的账单 无望的爱 点燃崭新明亮的火 将一切带入将来的黎明 烧光了一切 欲望 让一切 平静地 呼吸 轻柔地 最后 待在一起。 某处 只挂一只灯泡的 破败大厅内 熟悉的乐曲漂浮 那琴键 正滚动,快速弹奏的波浪—— 两层楼上面 一个女人在揉皱的被单上抽泣 地板上 酒杯碎片,枕头上一张照片—— 两个 白衣恋人,红玫瑰—— 又一次听到 那旋律,她起身,俯看 空荡的大街 薰衣草的黎明中 街灯黯淡 她记得一次拥抱,一个 温柔瞬间 在一个这样的房间,叹息 擦干眼泪 整理头发,没有谁知道 谁将在今日出现 她的脚踏着那歌的节拍

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