方石英，1980年生于中国浙江台州。著有诗集《独自摇滚》《石头诗》《运河里的月亮》等，参加《诗刊》社第32届“青春诗会”，曾获“华文青年诗人奖”等奖项。现居浙江杭州。

Shiying Fang was born in 1980 in Taizhou, Zhejiang, China. He has published three books of poetry, Rocking Alone (2011), Stone Poems (2016) and The Moon on the Canal (2016). He was an invited attendee at the 32nd "Celebration of Youth" Annual Poetry Gala organized by the Poetry Journal. He won the Chinese Young Poet Award (2017) and a number of other awards. He lives in Hangzhou.

阿九，原名李绚天，职业工程师和诗人。著有诗集《兰园学报》（2015）。译著《拉金诗全集》即将出版。他住在加拿大温哥华。

Dr. Xuantian Li, aka Ajiu, is a professional engineer and poet. His first book of poetry in Chinese, The Langara Journal, appeared in 2015. His is the translator of Philip Larkin's Complete Poems (2017). He lives in British Columbia, Canada.

运河里的月亮

Moon on the Canal

多少次我是一张洁白的宣纸
在暮色中，依靠微弱的霞光
静静飘落水面
我的每一个毛孔都在倾听
流水，一场尚未命名的恋爱
等着月亮升起来

我宣布，我终于失败了
在充满鱼腥味的空气中
有从树木年轮里渗出的忧伤
哦，回忆需要一个起点，而终点
是运河里的月亮，长着一张多变的脸
一张让我痛哭之后依然想哭的脸

我宣布，我终于失败了
即使烂醉如泥
也无法挽回，各个朝代的瓷片
在水底一起尖叫
而我的月亮，运河里的月亮
是一场梦，开始流向我儿子
			

Time and time again, I'm a blank piece 
of Xuan paper, quietly falling on the water 
in the faint evening glow.
Every pore on my skin listens 
as the water flows by, an unnamed love
awaiting the moonrise.

I declare total failure, finally.
In the fishy air I smell sadness 
that permeates through the wood's rings.
O, memory requires a beginning, but the endpoint is the moon
in the canal, whose face is always changing,
a face that makes me cry after my tears dry out.

Finally, I have to admit failure,
a failure with no redemption even if I get stewed
to the gills. Fragments of porcelain from past dynasties
are shrieking in the river bed
and my moon, drifting on the canal,
is a dream that flows down to my son.
			

钟表匠

The Clockmaker

每一秒都适合沉默
在寂静里，在昏黄的灯下
空空的酒瓶，空空的心
折射往事绵延的旧时光

我相信每一个零件
都是宿命的必需
每一次调试
我都全神贯注
忘记疼痛
忘记故乡离我越来越远

每一秒都是倒计时
无名之树长在窗前
它的根被瓦砾与碎石挤压
但依然站得笔直

我已习惯颠倒的生物钟
白天做梦，夜晚失眠
即使有一天双目失明
还有一副墨镜替我注视
这爱恨交织的世界
我的心，我的钟，它还在走
			

Every second is meant for silence.
In its stillness, an empty wine bottle lies
under the evening light. An empty heart reflects 
on the lingering old days.

I believe every bit and piece
is indispensable in destiny.
I concentrate my attention
in every tuning
to forget the pain, to forget 
that my home has moved farther away.

Every second is counting down.
A nameless tree lives outside my window,
its roots squeezed by rubble and debris
yet standing stout and upright.

I've got used to this topsy-turvy biological clock – 
dreaming in the day, sleepless at night.
Even if one day I lost my sight,
I'd still have goggles to stare 
at this world of love and hate.
And my heart, my clock, ticks on.