Forrest Gander is the editor of Mouth to Mouth, a bilingual anthology of contemporary Mexican poets, and the author of numerous books, including Eye Against Eye (poems, New Directions, 2005) and Faithful Existence: Reading, Memory, & Transcendence (essays, Shoemaker & Hoard, 2005). Gander's most recent translations are No Shelter: Selected Poems of Pura López Colomé and, with Kent Johnson, Immanent Visitor: The Selected Poems of Jaime Saenz, a PEN Translation Award Finalist. The recipient of Gertrude Stein Awards for Innovative Writing, NEA Fellowships in poetry, The Whiting Award for Writers, and a Howard Foundation Award, Gander has written critical essays for numerous journals, including The Nation, The Boston Review, and The Providence Journal.  He keeps a small orchard outside of Providence, Rhode Island. Gander is Professor of Literary Arts and Comparative Literature at Brown University. He is the winner of 2019 Pulitzer Prize in poetry.

佛勒斯特-甘德是当代墨西哥诗人双语诗集《口头相传》的编辑，多部书的作者，其中包括诗集《对视》(新方向2005年出版)和散文集《信仰的存在：阅读、记忆、超群》(鞋匠与储藏2005年出版)。他的最近的译作有《无处栖息：寇洛姆诗选》和与约翰逊合译的《内在的访客：萨恩兹诗选》(入选美国笔会翻译奖决赛)。作为斯泰恩创新写作奖、全美教育同盟诗歌奖、豪沃德基金奖得主，甘德还为许多期刊杂志写评论文章，其中包括《国家》、《波士顿评论》、《普罗维登斯报》。他在罗德岛州的普罗维登斯市郊外拥有一座果园。甘德是布朗大学文艺和比较文学教授。他是2019普利策诗歌奖得主。

Mario Li is an American Chinese, with interests in poetry, photography, arts, gaming, history and the future, residing in Nevada, USA.

老哈，美国华人，关注诗歌、摄影，艺术、博弈、历史及未来，定居美国内华达。

Beckoned

打招呼

At which point my grief-sounds ricocheted outside of language.
Something like a drifting swarm of bees. 
At which point in the tetric silence that followed
I was swarmed by those bees and lost consciousness. 
At which point there was no way out for me either. 
At which point I carried on in a semi-coma, dreaming I was awake,
avoiding friends and puking, plucking stingers from my face and arms.
At which point her voice was pinned to a backdrop of vaporous color.
At which point the crane's bustles flared. 
At which point, coming to, I knew I'd pay the whole flag pull fare. 
At which point the driver turned and said it doesn't need to be
your fault for it to break you. 
At which point without any lurching commencement, 
he began to play a vulture-bone flute.
At which point I grew old and it was like ripping open the beehive with my hands again.
At which point I conceived a realm more real than life. 
At which point there was at least some possibility.
Some possibility, in which I didn't believe, of being with her once more. 
			

那一刻，我的悲嚎声，在语言外的空间里，子弹般乱撞。
好似一群漂流的蜜蜂。
那一刻，酸楚的沉默随之而来。
其间我被这群蜜蜂簇拥而起，失去了知觉。
那一刻，我别无任何出路。
那一刻，我半昏迷间，梦见自己醒来，
努力避开朋友，忍住呕吐，从脸上，胳膊上，把刺拔出来。
那一刻，她的声音在雾气蒙蒙的背景上定格。
那一刻，起重机的喧嚣声响了起来。
那一刻，我开始明白，我会支付全程票价。
那一刻，司机转身说，
并非得是你的错，你照样会被打趴下。
在没有任何启动的情况下，
他开始吹起了秃鹫骨笛。
那一刻，我变老了，就像是再次用手撕开蜂箱。
那一刻，我臆想到一个比生活更真实的境界。
至少有些可能性。
有些我不相信的可能性，就是再次和她在一起。
			

What it Sounds Like

听起来像什么

As grains sort inside a schist
An ancient woodland indicator called dark dog's mercury
River like liquid shale
And white-tipped black lizard-turds on the blue wall
For a loss that every other loss fits inside
Picking a mole until it bleeds
As the day heaves forward on faked determinations
If it's not all juxtaposition, she asked, what is the binding agent?
Creepy always to want to pin words on “the emotional experience” 
Azure hoplia cockchafer, the caddis worm, the bee-louse, blister beetle, assassin bug
The recriminations swarm around sunset
When it was otherwise quiet all the way around
You who were given a life, what did you make of it?
			

谷物排列在片岩层内
一片古老的林地有名为黑狗水银的标志
油页岩的液状表面好似河流
白趾的黑蜥蜴爬在蓝色的墙上
为了一个包容所有其它损失的损失
抠一颗痣，直到它流血
因为伪造的决定使得这一天前进了一大步
如果不仅仅是并列，她在问绑定剂是啥？
令人毛骨悚然的总是在想为“情感经验”寻找词眼
天青蛇怪，金龟子，蜜蜂虱，水泡甲虫，刺客虫
日落时分，容易群情激愤
而其他时候恰恰相反，寂静无声
被赋予了生命的你，做了些什么？
			

The Sounding

声响

What closes and then 
luminous? What opens
and then dark? And into
what do you stumble
but this violet
extinction? With
froth on your lips.
8:16 a.m. The morning's 
sleepy face

rolls its million 
eyes. Migrating flocks
of your likesame species 
incandesce 
into transparency.
A birdwatcher lifts 

her binoculars. The con-
tinuous with or without 
your words 
situates you here
(here (here)) even while 
you knuckle your eyes
in disbelief. Those

voices you love (human
and not), can you
hear their echoes
hissing away like
an ingot's fiery
scale hammered
on some
blacksmith's anvil? 
And behind those
voices, what is that
blowing 
the valves of your ears open
as black rain,
not in torrents, but 
ceaselessly comes
unchecked out of everywhere 
with nothing
to slacken it.

Note: Resistance, Rebellion, Life: 50 Poems Now, ed. 
      Amit Majmudar: “The Sounding,” Knopf, 2017
			

有什么关上后
会发光？有什么打开
就会变暗？
不管你怎样跌绊
都掉不进
这紫色的灭绝？
嘴唇上有口水白沫，
早晨8点16分，
睡意正浓的脸，

上百万次
眼珠转动。
与你同类的物种迁移群
白炽得
透明。
观鸟者举起

她的双筒望远镜。
这继续，无论是有
或是没有你的话语，
都将你定位在这里
（这里（这里）），
即使你揉着眼睛，
难以置信。那些

你热爱的声音（人
或与否），
你能听到
嘶嘶远去的回响声，
好似一块
火热的锻铁
在铁匠的铁砧上
接受锻打吗？
还有在那些
声音的后面，有什么
在吹响，
打开你耳鼓的阀门，
如同黑雨，
不是暴雨如注，
而是无休无止，
肆无忌惮，
无处不在，
完全没有一点
减缓的意思。

注： 《抵抗，叛逆，生活：当下诗50首》，阿米特·马吉姆达编
       辑:《声响》, 美国克诺夫出版社2017年出版）