Yidan Han

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Shu Dandan


Shu Dandan, a contemporary Chinese poet and translator, born in Changde, Hunan Province in 1972, now lives in Guangzhou. Her poems and translations have appeared in various poetry journals and anthologies. Her poetry collections include A Dragonfly Visiting, Oranges In Late Autumn. She is also the translator of several English poetry collections, including Collected Poems of Philip Larkin, Complete Poems of Raymond Carver, and Selected Poems of Paul Muldoon. Her works also include An Album of Paintings and Poems. She is the recipient of numerous national poetry awards and translation awards, including "Poetry Exploration Award", "The Best Poet Award 2016", etc. She has ever been invited to participate in many international poetry festivals including The 3rd Iasi International Poetry Festival in Romania, and was honored with the title of "Poetry Ambassador" by the government of Iasi.


Shu Dandan


The Dusk in Bucharest

探身在阳台的黑铁栏杆上,深呼吸 树叶亮绿得仿佛一团盛大的氧气 隐约的市声,让僻静的街巷 更加清凉。这是抵达布加勒斯特的第一个黄昏 晚霞尚未消退,街灯渐次亮起 名叫“Hug”的咖啡馆里,高鼻深目的金发美女 在招牌上微笑:“今天你拥抱了你的啤酒吗?” 噢,除了异域之美,我没有什么可拥抱 我的眼皮整天在跟时差打架。习性 多么强大:我们的胃,记忆 还有爱,它们只认得旧相识 我们游荡在一条陌生的街道上,辨认 每一寸天光的挪移,这缓慢与我的日常 何等不同。我在这安闲自得的人群中 想起我们曾经的奔忙。无论独自一人 或与同伴们融入那些绿树、画壁 或新鲜面孔中,心灵上 都是孤独的旅行。而这孤独多么珍贵 用以疗愈的,短暂的抽离和回归 由此我重新打量布加勒斯特 每个古老的角落,犹如探寻一个陌生人的历史 而他对我一无所知,这让我陡觉自我神秘 甚至莫名奇妙占了上风


Poking my body out of the iron railing of the balcony, I take a deep breath. With leaves as green and bright as a mass of oxygen, The faint sounds of the city make the quiet street More cool and refreshing. This is the first dusk in Bucharest. The sunset glow hasn't faded away, while street lights gradually on. In a cafe named "Hug", the blonde beauty with deep eyes Is smiling on the signboard, "Have you hugged your beer today?" Oh, except for the exotic beauty, I have nothing to hug. My eyelids have been fighting with jet lag all day long. How strong are habits: our stomachs, memory, And love, familiar with their old acquaintances only. Wandering on a strange street, we distinguish The moving of each ray of daylight, whose tardiness is totally different From my daily life. Among the carefree and contented crowd, I think of our bustling days in the past. No matter all alone Or blending in the trees, painted halls, Or strange faces with my buddies, it's always been a lonely trip In heart. But how precious the solitude is! A kind of healing, a transitory dissociation and regression. Therefore I look again every old corner up and down In Bucharest, as if exploring the history of a strange person, While he knows little about me, which makes me feel suddenly a personal mystery, Even somehow or other, prevailing.

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