Karen
Yang

某一天我的身边升起许多彩色的气球，
它们把红色，粉色，橘色，青色的圆圈印在我空空的墙上。
我抓着它们，
身体被空气托着向上掉，
摇曳的树枝扫去我身上的灰尘——
云朵抚过我的脸颊——
阳光被我一整个吸进肚子。
我怕气球破掉，
于是给它裹上了几层绷带，硬邦邦圆鼓鼓。
气球变得好重，灰溜溜滑到我脚下，
大喘着气要送我回家。
我只好跟着下降，降——
看着五彩斑斓的世界重新飘回我头顶。
回到白白的房间，
我将绑带拆掉，却发现颜色全都渗去，
我可爱的气球只剩下光秃秃的脑袋。
于是我将它们的气放去，
把蔫蔫的气球放进爱心收纳盒，
再藏进床头灯肚腩里的小密室。
有一天我上学校，
看到同桌脚上有一双亮亮的袜子，
丰满的彩色的像我身边升起过的气球，
圆鼓鼓。
但这不是我的气球，
它不会胀的像火红的太阳，
它不会飞上蓝蓝的天空，
它只会服服帖帖的套在别人的脚上。
我的气球吸收着台灯的光焰，
做着一万支美梦，
它命令我等着他找回色彩感。
晚上关了灯，它暗暗的彩色圆圈会印在灯罩上，
印在我的眼睛里。
它许诺某一天它会变得更结实，
再带我去云层后面的海洋。

That day I was surrounded by colorful balloons,
They imprinted red, orange, and blue circles on my empty walls.
I grasped on to them, as my body fell upwards, drowning into the sky.
Clouds brushed against my cheeks,
Branches swept dirt off me,
sunlight was swallowed whole into my belly.
Afraid the balloons might burst,
I wrapped them with layers of bandages, firm and round.
The balloons became so heavy,
Gasping for breath, they slipped to my feet,
And hastily brought me back home.
So, I fell with them
—down— I fell.
Watching the vivid world float back above my forehead.
Back in a blank room,
I removed the bandages, only to find the colors had all seeped away…
My lovely balloons turned into bald heads.
So, I released their air,
laid the deflated balloons in a heart-shaped storage box,
then hid them in the secret compartment inside my bedside lamp's belly.
One day at school, I saw my desk mate wearing bright socks,
Plump and puffy like the balloons that once surrounded me.
But these were not my balloons,
They wouldn't swell like the fiery sun,
They wouldn't soar into the blue sky,
They would only motionlessly snug on someone else's feet.
My balloons drank light from the lamp,
Dreaming ten thousand beautiful dreams,
And commanded me to wait for them to regain their colorful sense.
At night, when I turned off the light, their dim colorful circles would be imprinted on the lampshade,
Imprinted in my eyes.
They promised that one day they would come stronger,
And take me beyond the clouds of ocean.

青年们滔滔不绝着
一知半解的话题，
我将他们的狂妄与虚荣拾进糖纸，
装进透亮的玻璃罐头。
盖上盖子，
一罐糖像满天星，
一眨一眨。
嘘——
糖罐被我藏在，
酒巷的墙角。
嘘——
不要打扰他们，
一眨一眨，
在湿润的土壤里。
在我吹着萧的黄昏，
夕霞在他的指肚下，
一触即粉碎。
天上没了指明的星星，
于是我去找，
去找玻璃罐头。
在喘息的节奏里，
糖纸里包的星星，
还在一眨一眨。
拧开了罐头，
放飞了，
萤火虫一般的。
去吧！去吧！
傲慢的 偏见的 热血的 充满棱角的！
可是狂妄们不解，
为何阳光已经熄灭，
世界变成永恒的黑夜。
是一场梦吧。
是吧？ 是吧！
于是他们安详的闭上了双眼，
连那闪烁的，
也没有了火焰。
可能在另一片天空吧，
他们在嬉戏， 在默念：
另一场场梦会持续到永远。

The young ones chatter endlessly,
On topics they scarcely understand,
I gather their arrogance and vanity,
Wrap them in candy wrappers,
Store them in transparent glassy jars.
Seal the lids tight,
A jar of sweets like a sky full of stars,
Blinking, one by one.
Shhh— I hid the candy jar,
In the corner of that wine alley.
Shhh— Do not disturb,
Blinking, blinking!
One by one, 7 feet beneath the mucky earth.
As I play a melancholic tune on the flute,
The glassy evening glow rests beneath his index finger,
Dancing as his gesture inches near.
Crushing under a single touch.
The stars in the sky blackened and blanked,
And I go searching,
Searching for the glass jars.
In the tones of my heavy breathing,
The stars wrapped in candy wrappers,
Kept on blinking.
I unscrew the jar,
Release them,
Like fireflies.
“Go! Go! Proud, prejudiced, passionate and witty!”
But the stars failed to realize.
Why has sunlight faded,
Why has the world turned into eternal night?
It's just a dream.
Isn't it? Isn't it!
So they merrily close their eyes,
Even the brightest ones, died out their flames.
Must be in an alternate sky,
Where they are blinking and staring,
And silently repeating,
Let darkness become an eternal dream.

我将世界分成一粒粒，
拨开了无数个间隙，
好让光焰呼吸。
我手臂一挥，
一粒粒的海浪
一浪推一浪，一直推
推到天边的城邦。
于是我睁眼，
自由女神像在漂浮，
金门大桥弯曲又弯曲，
船只不停的旋转，
追随倒立的灯塔。
秦始皇的大军闯入亚历山大图书馆，
卢浮宫的吊灯粉碎在林肯的窗前，
世界在世界中毁灭。
我将世界分成一粒粒，
它们无数次重组，
我亦无数次重生。

I divide the world into tiny particles,
Creating countless gaps,
So the flames of light can breathe.
With a wave of my arm,
Wave by wave of the sea,
One wave follows another, endlessly,
Pushing towards the cities at the brink of the sky.
So I open my eyes,
The Statue of Liberty is floating,
The Golden Gate Bridge bends and curves,
Boats keep spinning,
Chasing the inverted lighthouse.
The armies of Qin Shi Huang invade the Library of Alexandria,
Chandeliers in the Louvre shatter in front of Lincoln's window,
The world is destroyed within the world.
I divide the world into tiny particles,
They rearrange countless times,
And I am reborn countless times.

床是我的坟墓 / 每个夜晚我被埋葬 / 我的骨灰汇入天堂 /
清晨我的灵魂将再次轮回 / 手背印上更长一串号码 / 乍醒后像新生儿一样拥抱太阳
可是有时我会掉下地狱 / 那些我不懂得的都一个劲敲打我的头颅 / 丑陋的恶灵将我的眉毛绑在一起 / 用吸管饮去我嘴唇的红润 / 再用叉子拨开我的眼睛 / 它们的笑声在我角膜旁震荡
在一些像今晚一样安静的晚上 / 我微睁着双眼拿指甲盖数数 / 我会非常平静 / 很平静很平静的沉去 / 我会听沙土自顾自的松弛 / 还有我墓碑上的雏菊干裂的花瓣在风中沙沙作响 / 这一切的一切将带我回到意识的灰色地带 / 在被褥的褶皱间刻写生与死的偏旁

My bed is my grave and I'm buried every night
My ashes blends with heaven
In the morning, my soul will be reincarnated
Another set of numbers will be tattooed onto my wrist
I wake up like a newborn baby embracing the sun

But sometimes I fall into hell
Things I don't understand keep pounding my head
Ugly spirits bind my eyebrows together
sucking the redness from my lips with a straw
and prying open my eyes with a fork
Their laughter echoes around my corneas

On some quiet nights like tonight
I half-open my eyes and count with my fingernails
I become so calm and sink into a deep, deep dungeon
My ears catch the sand softly loosening
and the dry petals of the daisies on my tombstone rustling in the wind
All of this will bring me back to the gray area of consciousness
where life and death are engraved in the folds of my bed sheets

被血水洗刷的玻璃墙
像指针的跳动一样
传出有节奏的敲击声
撞——
撞——
撞出肌肉记忆
你
煞亮的
再多血也遮不住
新鲜的空气
可是；
透明的倒影印不下
旱热的嗓音穿不出
玻璃这边我被禁锢
玻璃那边你获新生
但是；
骨头比玻璃先断裂
人肉比指针先腐朽
没有一个善良的洞
能让我呼吸你的笑容。
于是，
我垂下糜烂的小臂
捡起脚趾上的玻璃碎
建起下一堵玻璃墙
再建一堵，
再建一堵，
直到模糊到看不到原来那堵
被血水洗刷的玻璃墙，
和它后面飘着的霞紫。
好吧，好呢。

The glass wall washed by blood,
pounded like the ticking of a clock,
Self defense from my rhythmic bumping.
Bump— Bump— shoving into the muscle memory.
Oh! Your brightness and youth,
the fresh air you breathe,
cannot be concealed,
no matter how much blood shielded the glass.
My reflections may not be sealed,
My hoarse voice may not penetrate.
On my side of the glass,
confinement,
On your side of the glass,
new life.
Yet;
Bones will break before the glass does,
Flesh will decay before the clock's hands do.
There is no one generous pore
That will allow me to breathe in your charming smile.
So, I lower my decaying forearm,
Pick up the glass shards on my toes,
and begin building the next glass wall.
Another, then build another,
Until the walls blurs the Glass wall washed by blood,
And the rosy glow that drifts behind.
Alright, fine.

一
世界是海浪，一潮退一潮涨。
我在它最高最尖的地方，
双眼紧闭的眺望。
我在听远处倒斜的灯塔里，
战战兢兢的火光，
斯拉斯拉的摇曳
在作弊的守望台上。
水母们将触角缠绕，
小丑鱼带着面罩。
我背着一枚巨大的指南仪，
一点一点将海岸线卷起，
汗水挤进海水的间隙。
二
海龟的余光里，
海浪像陈旧的胶片卷轴，
一圈一圈裹着松散的沙滩。
月亮像猫咪的毛线球，
一卷一卷含着暧暧的星光。
一只灰色的西格尔，
落在南北海的边界上。
边界是片好大的玻璃墙，
左边的是红水，右边是绿水。
东海有涂满唇膏的岩石，
在太阳底下显得格外油亮。
西海是海鸥回收站，
白色的羽翼堆成了层层云雾和陡峭的悬岸。
西格尔向西海展翅去，
它的眼泪已全部腐烂。
待鸟儿拉起穹顶的帘子，
我坠入了满是青苔的梦。
海藻变成你的秀发，
一浪浪褶皱似你夏末穿的青衫，
海风是广播，
传递着我未署名的心跳。
可在碰到你白暂的皮肤时
它与回忆一同化为了泡沫。
三
当钟表停留在十三点时，
死鱼扑腾的进食着贝壳。
天空是受冻的牙齿，
咀嚼着海上的绿洲。
月亮红的像我们圣诞节放的孔明灯，
月光已经发霉，
我在它的压制下，
呛了一口过期的海水。
我使劲将它咳出来，
也将自己的睡意全部干呕出来，
我醒来了，
大海是太阳和月亮的蹦床。
在诗的最后一节，
我站在世界的混沌中，
任由湿气侵袭。
我感觉自己在下降——
下降——
海浪冲击了我的耳膜，
它好重，
海浪好重。
我的手臂扑闪，
呛了一口过期的海水。
像良药般
它将我镇定了。
我慢慢的松弛，
慢慢的下沉。
任由海浪挤开眼前的太阳，
周围响起了小时候我向海风许过的愿望。
大海不会过期
我的眼睛会

I.
The world is a tidal wave, ebbing and flowing.
I stand at its peak,
Eyes tight, gazing at the horizon.
I begin listening to the tilted lighthouse in the distance,
The flickering, trembling flame
On that prying watchtower.
Jellyfish wrap their tentacles,
Clownfish with their masks.
I carry a huge compass on my back,
Rolling up the coastline inch by inch,
Sweat squeezing into the gaps of seawater.
II.
In a sea turtle's cornea,
The waves roll like old film reels,
Encircling loose sand beaches.
The moon is a cat's wool ball,
Preserving dim starlight.
A gray seagull falls
On the boundary of the North and South Seas.
The boundary is a huge glass wall,
Red water on the left, green water on the right.
Lip Balm-covered rocks in the East China Sea,
Shining particularly oily under the sun.
The Western Sea is a seagull recycling station,
White feathers piled up into layers of mist and steep cliffs.
The seagull spreads its wings towards the West,
Its tears have already rotted away.
In my moss-covered dream,
Seaweed is your hair,
Pale skin turns into foam,
Waves after waves swaying like your blue shirt in late summer.
The sea breeze is a broadcast,
Conveying my unnamed heartbeat.
III.
When the clock stops at thirteen,
Dead fish thrashing eating shells.
The sky is frozen teeth,
Chewing on the green oasis on the sea.
The moon is red like the paper lanterns we release during Christmas,
The moonlight has already gone moldy,
I choke on expired seawater under its oppression.
I cough it up with all my might,
Also vomiting up all my drowsiness,
I wake up,
The sea is a trampoline of the sun and moon.
In the last section of the poem,
I stand in the chaos of the world,
Letting the dampness invade.
I feel myself descending —
Descending —
The waves strike my eardrums,
So heavy,
The waves are so heavy.
My arms flap,
Choking on a mouthful of expired seawater.
Like a good medicine,
It calms me down.
I slowly relax,
Slowly sinking.
Letting the waves push away the sun in front of me,
The wishes I made to the sea breeze in my childhood echo around me.
The ocean never expires,
My eyes will.

提笔，落神。
今晚的思绪缠着亘古的月。
寻寻觅觅，
床缝里的纸条。
认不出的字迹，
沿指甲盖爬到发梢。
眼镜柄上闪过莫名的光点，
怎么抓也抓不到。
烧着了，烧着
小羊羔皱皱巴巴的角。
怎么想也想不起，
六岁盛夏的歌谣。
那么
我要寄一封空白的信，
到彩霞早朝和云上天桥。

I lift my pen, mind scattering
Tonight orbits the timeless moon.
Search––searching,
A note sank between the seams of the bed.
Unrecognizable handwriting,
Climbed from my nail bed to the tips of my hair.
A mysterious glint on the stem of my glasses
Escaped, how I tried.
Burn––burning,
The little lamb's wrinkled horns.
Decayed, how I tried.
The song of a six-year-old midsummer.
Sings me a blank letter,
That I'll send
To the sky bridge up above.

他的调色盘上有唾液和泪水，
他的笔尖蘸满了胆汁。
他的眼镜遍布是贴纸，
他的嘴角流出彩色的绸丝。
他是以身试验的化学家，
连夜写出安眠药和兴奋剂的反应式。
他的窗口永远充满光明，
他的月亮常年不掉下。
袖口的小人跑到了他的心脏上，
奏歌狂舞，
让他整个身子咯咯摇晃。
活着的他在梦里，
在梦里他永远活着。
我带着一桶崭新的笔刷，
跳到他起茧子的桌台上。
我拆掉了他缝起微笑的针线，
在他干涸的唇纹上画画。
我开始填涂他皮肤的红晕，
再将一颗发着光的星星塞进他的领子。
我的名字，
是作者治疗师。
在他拯救了无数个蹒跚的灵魂后，
我决定来拯救弱小的他。

His palette is filled with saliva and tears,
His pen dipped in gall.
Stickers covered his glasses,
Colorful silk dripped down from the corners of his mouth.
He does experiments on himself,
All night,
making up reaction equations for sleeping pills and jets.
His window is always bright,
His moon never sets.
Devil Dwarfs roll out from his sleeves and race into his heart,
Playfully dancing,
Cracking his whole body awake.
Alive, he is in dreams.
In dreams, he forever lives.
I bring a bucket of brand new brushes,
Jump onto his calloused table.
dismantle the stitches sewing up his smile,
Paint on his parched lip lines.
I start to apply blush to his skin,
Then tuck a glowing star into his collar.
My name is the Author's Therapist.
After he has saved countless stumbling souls,
I decided to save the fragile him.

我靠在窗边，看自己的影子，
映在空中。
灯灭了，
黑夜流进了房间。
马路在流血，
红红的一片。滴——滴——
流啊流，尖叫声也跟着流。
等血都流完了，只剩下晦暗的疤。
该到饮酒的时候了，于是我拿起一个杯子，
接了一点黄昏，又接了一点
飘在空中的词藻。
全部饮下……
啊，我醉了。
耳朵呢，第一次的能听见了，
听见了夜的声音。

Leaning on my bedroom window,
Blending in with the icy glass.
The darkening night sky starts flowing in,
together with the breath of sweet-scented osmanthus
——an enchanted stream.
The road bled,
with crashing red backlights.
Beep. Beep.
The screams rolled down the hill.
With my hand I made the shape of a cup,
And held my cup up high to fill,
Fill it with words of nonsense floating in the vacuum.
Like an icy sting it awoke me,
And my ears are able to hear again,
Hear howlings of the silent night.