本帖最后由 雨荷风 于 2015-10-7 20:29 编辑
《春夜》
文/寒烟儿
一滴酒精，于夜色中穿行
城池沦陷
蚂蚁开始搬运
大片大片发脆的月光
不必说出一只夜鸟的危情
也不必道破那只蝶儿的秘密
潮汐漫上水岸
我用体温
捂热那朵沁心的微笑
小棉袄被强行拆卸
失血的桃花，沿着三月的河岸
零落纷纷
On A Spring Night
Written by Hanyan’er; Translated by Yin Xiaoyuan
A drop of alcohol, galloped through the night
A city has fallen
while the ants started removing
Pieces of crisp moonlight
No need to tell the perilous affections of a night bird
Or to disclose secrets of that butterfly
When the tides brimmed onto the banks
I warmed the refreshing smile
With my temperature
A padded coat was unraveled by force
And cherry blossoms that have lost much blood, faded away petal by petal
along the banks of March
《乌镇》
文/许礼荣
乌镇 细雨打湿的乌镇
乌云正在水中压低着天空
在拱桥上看远处的深巷
正向水的深处延伸
斑白的墙上挂着一抹沧桑
沿墙攀登的绿明亮着乌镇
也明亮着我对乌镇的一隅尘缘
屋檐下的青石板
在窄细的巷子里暗暗发光
记忆是木质房上的雕琢
深陷在历史的檐角上
听水声中乌镇
一艘船一艘船穿过时光
载着风景如画
载着石巷和水街
泊在乌镇的烟雨蒙蒙中
其实岸上的人
都是揭不开乌镇的雨纱
The Town of Wuzhen
Written by Xu Lirong; Translated by Yin Xiaoyuan
Wuzhen, a town so dewy with drizzles
Where dark clouds duck into the lake, and make the sky seem close
Standing on the arch bridge, I overlook the winding lanes in the distance
Which seem to stretch themselves into waters
A streak of bleakness is hanging on the flecked wall
And the emerald glimmers that have climbed up the walls, light up our Wuzhen
They kindle my tender infatuation with it too
The bluestone slabs underneath the eaves
Shimmer mysteriously in the slender lanes
Memory is carvings on the beams and rafters of a wooden house
It always lingers around corners of history
And listens to the rhythm of water flowing through this town
Boats sail across time, one after another
With scrolls of landscapes inside
And shadows of stone lanes and moist streets
Anchored in the misty rain here day and night
People on the banks
Can’t unveil this little town, either
《更接近我》
文/荒原子
那在地面上行走的影子，我完全有理由
把它看作一颗小草，在风中
直言一场雨，或者雨滴里隐藏的
那张脸，难以腐朽
目光透过窗户的夏天，纠结着我的阐述
闭着眼睛的猫，在一把沉思的藤椅上
重返庸常的人间，它替我的样子
更接近我
Better Than Myself
Written by Huangyuanzi; Translated by Yin Xiaoyuan
I have plenty of reasons, to regard the shadow
Romping on the ground, as a blade of grass, which foretells a rain
in front of the wind, or foretells a face
hidden in the raindrops, which never decays.
My narrations are entangled, in the sunshine cross the window-glass.
The cat lying in the cane chair, squinted
And returned to colorless reality. It resembles me
Better than myself
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发表于 2011-7-14 22:14:32