Tonight

It must have been too much alcohol,

even your look becomes suddenly 

                                            so tender

and full of the promise 

                             of a summer’s night.

I’m longing to have you, 

                                   here and now

before the harsh daylight steals you away

and I might never see you again.

                                  Anyway that’s the game,

a sweet but ruthless encounter 

 

                                   with no tomorrow

for queers like us in this all-embracing land.

But I like you tonight – 

that’s why this empty bar

does call for something more intimate 

                                     between us.

your face— 

your half-open shirt—

Your creamy chest— 

O the rushing sound 

                           deep inside my veins!

It’s been too good a night to let you flee,

                           just stay a while longer—

If you desire admiration,

                           or compliments 

from all men before and after me,

I have nothing better now

                          than my loneliness 

in a promiscuous life,

and tonight,

                            I’ve given it to you.

 

Published on The New English Review

Whispers Of Nanny, A Translation by A.H

呢喃曲

written by Clock Li

吟吟碎,纤云醉,

南国秋夜迷人睡。

哝哝诲,岚风退,

一年一期,几世前生;

还罪。

呤呤念,水帘倩;

夏雨风卷离人涟。

咿咿羡,檐瓦见,

一世蝉鸣,一日觅欢;

生怨。

Whispers Of Nanny

Translated by Aiden Heung

Your whispers 

                      broken;

Drunk

                     the tender cloud above;

This southern land,

                      This autumn,  for us, 

inebriating, 

                       soporific.

Now the mountain haze retreats

                       and abate 

your whispers. 

Our rendezvous

                                once in a lifetime,

exhaustion of all felicity 

                              of my previous lives.

Or my remission.

 

Broken whispers,

                          from the curtain 

of falling water;

Comes the summer rain, 

                               or the wind

 that ripples the lake— 

Your departing face 

                          and lost!

Under the eaves, 

                         a cicada moans 

a lifelong time

and yearns 

                        for the pleasure of a day.

 

The sorrow of life…
* As required by A Shanghai Poetry Zine to translate one of their received Chinese poems,  written by a local Shanghainese poet Clock Li.

*I do not have the right to the Chinese poem, should any objection arise for publishing in my personal blog, I would delete it accordingly.

*I reserve my right to the translation.

November, 2018

The sad blue sky’s clear dust gropes its way down 

toward the city,

The asphalt roads glimmer like ice.

Red lights dim, like eyes deprived of sleep, 

trying to understand the great mystery of the morning.

                      

An old man stands at an empty phone booth,  

looking at his map

on which a thousand places are marked,

                                                   with no names.

His walking stick dangles on his arm, 

a compass uncertain of the south, where

the sun throws a shadow.

  

Soot-colored silence,

a black cat,

jumps into an open window, the curtain tied back and knotted.

An army of houses stand vigil on the first day 

                                                   of a lunar winter 

Car Crash On Fuxing Road

I came out from the subway, 

a sense of loss 

began 

to surround me.

People gathered around the exit, 

did not give way.

I hardly knew them, 

I did not understand 

their dialect.

But some words, like birds

escaping 

a horrifying storm,

came to me 

with the sound 

of Death.

 

It was eight in the evening,

rodents began to crawl on the street;

Cameras perched on a branch

and blinked.

A police car 

parked like a corpse

beneath.