算法时代的诗

Poems in the Algorithm Age
墙头记

On the Wall

春天把道理都晒软了。
蔷薇翻过墙，
不是为了回答，
是为了把墙的影子，
踩在脚下。

去年我们问：为什么？
像一群守着空门的人。
今年我们不问了，
看花瓣砸在地上，
碎成没有答案的形状。

有人说，春天是个好人。
我看它更像个惯犯——
把所有“应该”都偷换成“想要”，
再把我们的执着，
埋进它的泥土里，
长出更多越界的花。

Spring softens all truths in the sun.
Roses climb over the wall,
not to answer,
but to trample
the wall’s shadow
underfoot.

Last year we asked: Why?
like a crowd guarding an empty gate.
This year we ask no more.
We watch petals fall to the ground,
shattering into shapes without answers.

Some say spring is kind.
I see it more as a repeat offender—
it steals all “shoulds” and swaps them for “wants”,
then buries our obsessions
in its soil,
letting more boundary-breaking flowers grow.
墙与无花之春

The Wall and a Flowerless Spring

墙是答案的一种形状。
我们在这边，
蔷薇在那边，
它翻过来，
不是为了抵达，
是为了证明：
墙的另一边，
也没有答案。

去年我们问：为什么？
像在空屋里叩门。
今年我们看见，
花瓣落在墙根，
像被丢弃的问句。
春天不回答，
它只是把所有问题，
都变成了花。

有人说，春天是善意的。
我看它更像一个虚无主义者——
它让万物生长，
却不赋予任何意义；
它让蔷薇越界，
却不审判边界。
我们执着于“为什么”，
而春天，
只关心“正在发生”。

A wall is one shape of answer.
We are on this side,
roses on that.
They climb over,
not to arrive,
but to prove:
on the other side of the wall,
there are no answers either.

Last year we asked: Why?
like knocking on doors in an empty house.
This year we see
petals fall at the wall’s foot,
like discarded questions.
Spring does not answer.
It only turns all questions
into flowers.

Some say spring is benevolent.
I see it more as a nihilist—
it lets all things grow,
but grants them no meaning;
it lets roses cross the line,
but judges no boundaries.
We cling to “why”,
while spring
cares only for “what is happening”.
越墙

Over the Wall

墙不是边界。
是被看见的习惯。

花爬过去。
不是奔赴，
是取消问题。

你问为什么。
风替你闭嘴。

意义死于被说出。
春天
只负责
把一切
弄乱。

A wall is not a boundary.
It is a habit made visible.

Flowers climb over.
Not for a journey,
but to cancel the question.

You ask why.
The wind shuts you up.

Meaning dies when spoken.
Spring
only exists
to mess
everything
up.
无答

No Answer

墙
只对提问者有用

花
不承认问题

春天
是一场
没有解释的
暴动

A wall
serves only those who ask questions.

Flowers
acknowledge no questions.

Spring
is an uprising
without explanation.