Poetry Quarterly

  Editor-in-Chief:
  Yidan Han

  Contributing Editors:
  Vera Schwarcz

北塔 Bei Ta 苏州吴江人，供职于中国作家协会现代文学馆，专治诗歌、评论与翻译。著作有诗集《正在锈蚀的时针》，专著《吴宓传》、《戴望舒传》等，译作主要有《八堂课》、《米沃什词典》和《犁青诗选》等。 Originally named Xu Weifeng, born in Suzhou, China in 1969. He serves for National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature as a professional poet, critic and translator. He is the author of the poetry collection The Rusting Hour Hands (2002). His academic works include A Biography of Mi Wu (1999) and A Biography of Dai Wangshu (2003). His translations include Eight Lessons (2004), Milosz ABC (2004), A Selection of Li Qing’s Poetry, etc.		译者 Translator 北塔 Bei Ta

屋檐下的冰柱		An Icicle on the Eave
被一夜寒潮吊死的孩子赤裸着尚未被尘埃污染或塞满的身子整个儿已经僵硬那等待中的一夜像混乱而又孤独的一百年就等着太阳出来抚摩他、抚摩—— 直到他缓缓地一滴滴地重新化成水像蜡烛一寸寸地被烧成灰石头的缝隙是他的归宿像我饥寒的童年总是在母亲的屋檐下被喂养、被温暖而如今，我的心像一颗冰雹像一颗颗冰雹从烟雾弥漫的空中直直地摔到水泥地上因为我已没有屋檐 03/03/2005		A child hanged to death by a whole night's cold waves Bare, his body has not been Contaminated or filled by dusts Now wholly frozen One night of waiting Is like a century of chaos and loneliness Waiting for the sun to come out And touch him, touch--- Till he slowly and renewedly Turns into water drop by drop Like a candle burned into ashes Inch by inch The stone's aperture Is his end-result Like my hungry and cold childhood Always under mother's eaves Being fed and warmed And now, my heart Like a piece of hailstone Like pieces of hailstone From the hazy sky Falls directly onto the cemented earth 'cause I have no eaves any more

虚室		The Empty Room
虚室之外，我与他们相似的地方越来越多我拥有的不是太少而是太多，太多的杂念堆积在这窄小的仓库日夜闻着腐臭的气息赶不尽杀不绝的害虫搅乱我的睡眠和胃口每次转弯，每次睁眼我都要被不同的东西碰倒，总有一天我会无路可走，无路可退除非作好牺牲的准备我将死得不明不白我得模拟死亡，一次次模拟结束时间的战斗我闭紧眼睛，天昏地暗所有的家具和用品都随均匀的呼吸悄悄溜走我将站在屋子的正中央使自身发出光辉照得四壁雪白，没有手指能找到我的门能按响我的门铃没有阴影能碰倒我的墙能污损我的屋子通过他们前来的一切都将受到愤怒的拒绝包括阳光和阳光下的花朵包括月光和月光下的情歌鲜花和爱情都染上了灰尘和汗渍，在这里什么都不再是纯真的什么都不再是纯洁的除了虚室，除了虚室的主人，我的地毯和瓷砖不欢迎宾客的鞋底，在虚室里无依无靠，是幸福的我聆听上帝的声音模仿他的形体，创造我自己，只有在虚室里诗歌才被命名为生活		Outside the empty room, I have More and more similarities with them What I possess is not too little But too much. Too many miscellaneous ideas Are piled in this small warehouse I smell the rancid odor day and night The vermin that cannot be driven away or killed Are now shuffling my sleep and appetite Every time I swerve or open my eyes I am knocked down by various things. Someday I will Have no way to go or recede Except preparing for sacrifice I will die without being understood I have to simulate death--- once and again Simulate the fight to wind up time I tightly closed my eyes, feeling dark all around All furniture and appliance Have stealthily fled away with my even breath I will stand at the centre of the room Making myself emit light To enlighten all the walls to be as white as snow. No fingers can find my door Or ring my doorbell No shadows can come up against my wall Or defile my room All the things that come with them Will come under angry refusal Including sunshine and sunflowers Including moonshine and serenades Wine and love both have been contaminated With dust and sweat. Here Nothing is naive anymore Nothing is innocent anymore Except for the empty room, except for The master of the empty room. My carpet and tile do not welcome The sole of guests. In the empty room Having no one to depend on is fortunate I listen respectfully to the voice of the God Imitating his physique, creating Myself. Only in the empty room Is poetry baptized as "life"

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