亚历克斯·S·约翰逊与马永波全新诗集。亚马逊官网有售平装本。夜角图书出品
这场跨洋联袂堪称里程碑——一边是亚历克斯·S·约翰逊，《末日嬉皮士》《肉体博士》作者，被约翰·雪莉赞为“我们这个时代的波德莱尔”；一边是马永波，中国极具影响力的先锋诗人之一，复调写作与客观化诗学创始人，英美文学重要译者。
海伦·普莱茨评价马永波的意象：“美得令人过目难忘，读完许久仍萦绕心间，那些诗句仿佛获得了超越文本的永恒生命。”
马永波说：“我们的诗如同海洋的两种形态——亚历克斯的诗汹涌炽热，我的诗则于平静之下暗藏湍流。二者相融，便诞生了超越语言与国界的全新表达。”
《星河》正是东西方思潮交汇之地，风暴与静谧在此相拥，两位极具远见的诗心，共绘一片苍穹。
封面设计：艾德里安·鲍德温
## 图书信息
《星河》(平装)|2026年5月21日
- 亚马逊标准识别码(ASIN)：B0H2LMJH6C
- 出版社：独立出版
- 出版日期：2026年5月21日
- 语言：英文
- 页数：168页
- 国际标准书号(ISBN-13)：979-8197928818
- 商品重量：9.8盎司
- 尺寸：5.5×0.38×8.5英寸
购买链接：https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H2LMJH6C
RIVER OF STARS
The new poetry collection by Alex S Johnson and Ma Yongbo. Available in paperback from Amazon.com.
A NOCTURNICORN BOOKS release
Two oceans meet in this landmark collaboration between Alex S. Johnson—author of The Doom Hippies and Doctor Flesh, hailed by John Shirley as “the Baudelaire of our time”—and Ma Yongbo, one of China’s most influential avant‑garde poets, founder of polyphonic writing and objectified poetics, and a major translator of Anglo‑American literature.
Helen Pletts writes that Ma’s imagery is “so beautiful that it stays with you long after reading, until the phrases seem to have an elevated existence of their own.”
Ma Yongbo adds: “Our poems are like two states of the ocean—Alex surging and passionate, my own hiding turbulent undercurrents beneath a calm surface. Together, these forms create a new expression that transcends language and national boundaries.”
RIVER OF STARS is where those currents converge—East and West, storm and stillness, two visionary voices shaping a shared sky.
Now from A COLLECTIVE PAW.
Cover design by Adrian Baldwin
River of Stars Paperback – May 21, 2026
by Alex S Johnson (Author), Ma Yongbo (Author), Adrian Badwin (Illustrator)
A cross cultural collaboration between acclaimed poets, Nocturnicorn Books founder Alex S Johnson, called "the Baudelaire of our time" by The Crow primary screenwriter John Shirley, and Nanking University professor, translator and author Ma Yongbo.
Product details
ASIN : B0H2LMJH6C
Publisher : Independently published
Publication date : May 21, 2026
Language : English
Print length : 168 pages
ISBN-13 : 979-8197928818
Item Weight : 9.8 ounces
Dimensions : 5.5 x 0.38 x 8.5 inches
Contents
目录
Zero The Hero (Late Capitalist Decay Remix)
零号英雄(晚期资本主义衰变混音版)
A Poem of Negation
否定之诗
The Crystal Tide
水晶潮
The River That Floods Periodically Connects to the Underworld
定期泛滥的河与冥界相通
Whitman's Sleeves
惠特曼的袖子
The Last Room—to Old Aged Whitman
最后的房间——致暮年的惠特曼
Generation of Hell
地狱世代
Correspondences
对应
Caravan of Shadows
暗影商队
Journey on Frost's Descent
霜降日的旅行
River of Stars
星河
Voice from nowhere
无地之声
Sunset Nude
日落裸体
Naked Sunbathing
裸身日光浴
Extraordinary Madness, For Patti Smith, friend of William S. Burroughs
非凡的疯狂，致帕蒂·史密斯，威廉·S.巴勒斯的朋友
The Spitting White Horse, In Tribute to Patti Smith
吐唾沫的白马——向帕蒂·史密斯致敬
Vortex
漩涡
Blessed Are the Defiled
那些污浊的有福了
River of Stars
星河
The Seven Cantos of the Sun
太阳七章
At the Green Heart of Form
形态的绿色心脏
The Chaotic Summer
纷乱的夏天
Zipping Neurons for R.U. Sirius
为R.U.西里乌斯压缩神经元
Towards the Silence of Highest Abstract
走向最高抽象的沉默
Howling Mad Life Of Beats
嚎叫的疯狂：垮掉派的生活
I Don’t Want to Change
我已不想改变
The Beautiful Downgrade
美丽的降级
Chronicle of Summer
夏天纪事
It's Raining Windows
下雨的窗户
The Singular Person
单数的人
Zero The Hero (Late Capitalist Decay Remix)
For John Shirley
Accept the fact that you're second-rate, life is easy for ya
It's all served up on a gold plated plate
And we don't even have to talk to you
Your face is normal, that's the way you're bred
And that's the way you're going to stay
Your head is firmly nailed to your TV channel
But someone else's finger's on the control panel-Black Sabbath, "Zero the Hero"
Songwriter(s): Terence Michael Butler, Tony Iommi, Ian Gillan, Bill Ward, Anthony Iommi, William T. Ward
Benumbed, a hipster in black
with designer jeans and a lipstick smile
Caressing the silver screen with prurient fingers of junk
A psychopomp descends like crashing chords of the Death Jazz
With a scatter of black and iridescent feathers
Towards the rapidly putrescent gentleman
Toppling foreword with a wig of blood
He's borne aloft on cryptic rays from the tomb enveloping form
He's massacred by norms, a botfarm host
He's nearly a ghost, a spectral stutter on your TV
As you hold the remote in a lazy paw
Face grossed up with grease, jamming a fat sandwich in your hideous beak
As you wait for the show to begin
As pinpoint fires light up the sky
As the teeming digital tide slams and shatters repeatedly
Watching your own face in pixels as it
Floods through the screen and you
Emit a gentleman's scream
The fires persist on the hillside, it's
Dark now and the foxes have gone to ground
You light another cigarette and
Reach for her absent hand
Realize too late what you've lost
A thing of ones and zeros
Zero the Hero
Has left the living theater.
by Alex S. Johnson
零号英雄（晚期资本主义衰变混音版）
致约翰·雪莉
认清自己是二流货色，生活会变得容易金盘盛装的人生套餐已经备好我们甚至无需与你交谈你的面容平常，与生俱来也将永远如此，与生同去你的头颅被牢牢钉在你的电视频道上但控制面板上是他人的手指——
黑色安息日乐队，《零号英雄》
词曲作者：特伦斯·迈克尔·巴特勒、托尼·艾欧米、伊恩·吉兰、
比尔·沃德、安东尼·艾欧米、威廉·T·沃德
迟钝的黑衣潮人身着名牌牛仔，唇膏笑容以毒瘾发作般的淫邪手指爱抚银幕
勾魂使者降临如死亡爵士乐崩溃的和弦散落黑羽与虹光翎毛向着急速腐败的绅士俯冲他以血的假发向前倾倒
被来自坟墓的诡异射线高高托起被常规屠戮，沦为机器人农场的主人他近乎幽灵，在你的电视机里闪烁噪点而你握着遥控器的爪子松垮油光满面的脸，可怕的嘴里塞着肥厚三明治等待节目开场
当针尖火焰点亮天际当汹涌数字浪潮反复冲击和破碎之时你注视自己像素化的面孔漫过屏幕发出绅士的尖叫
山坡上的火还在继续燃烧，此刻夜幕降临，狐狸遁入地下你点燃又一支香烟摸索她缺席的手为时已晚，明白你失去的东西不过是1与0的排列组合
零号英雄业已谢幕离场
A Poem of Negation
Begin with negation, to speak the unspeakable
a negation ascending until "the ignorance of clouds"
listen to the surge and vanish of waves in grooves of sand
the surge of foam and pebbles, or push beyond the edges of control
from the dome-shaped brain of "I see"
to the room opposing history, all against all
from the crimson-purple reflected in evening clouds
to a series of motionless gods who seem almost ashamed
or white astonishment, from the last illusion of roses
to being content to gaze, not exceeding the distilled space of gazing
and the meaningless green and yellow
until the final silence, the fate of all poets
the certain thing, fleeting hoofprints
in the twilight indistinguishable from dawn or dusk, interlaced heartbeats
an osprey’s wings tinged pink with salmon
olive leaves flicker between light and shadow
from the quieter song that is both evening star and morning star
from the gait on Lydian streets, recognizing one’s mother
no, no language can separate dawn dew from mist
or white ankles from hoofprints
the urgency of spells and the cry of prayers evoke
only the mother whose breast is accidentally grazed by her son’s arrow
the unspeakable wrath, infinite pi, absorbing all tides
the divine internalized into being—this highest poem
transcending affirmation and negation, being and non-being
it is identity with the divine, achieved through self-negation
a midnight paying homage to noon
or the tracery of a tribunal’s window transformed by light
insist on lovely errors rather than dry, politically correct locust shells
no, an eraser scrubbing away human speech, leavinga smudged doodle
this is the poet’s final end, beyond joy or sorrow
it was always a cathedral caught in a net of pebbles
in an Asian field you’ve never visited
an old radio’s fragmented lament, incomprehensible
gray ghosts of last year, watching you at the stairwell’s turn
searching for a twisted bronze key—what arm could lift such a burden
since no hand comes to aid us, no hidden mouth urges us onward
and passing is merely replacing a part of the scenery
both people and landscape feigning ignorance
merely snow hesitating to speak a lie before touching ground
we’ve exhausted the dark, slowly lifting black eyelids
the black procession flowing from bridges
from London Bridge, from Florence’s bridges
for every definition is negation—condition, place, time
stripping branches of leaves to make flags
as if to survive, as if still life owed the world
reality’s half-hearted imagination, a stained-glass dome
nets, mirrors, fragile paper—the fragmented state of now
unable to grasp both sides of a thought
or the greatest spring collapsing, corpses without death
until the uprightness held by a burning candle yields to migraine’s wax tears
until “I don’t know” becomes the only right answer
a secluded writer’s classical underworld
certainty within uncertainty, a blood pool one cubit square
drink the blood and recognize oneself, where rivers rest into the sea
no, this is merely waiting, elbows taut
merely a desert dictated by spatial adjacency
and revolutionary time, an unsaved ripple
a silhouette between expanding useless thoughts and actions
meditation creates its own object, not the object first, then meditation
no, this is far from enough—a lurching cabin
a lamp pressing on a chart’s briefly lit area
shadows emerging where lines intersect
and the useless unease of other women
slow burning, the cruelty justice demands
devour us, great father Kronos
since neither market nor theater can stage your full pantomime
since we cannot complete ourselves alone, complete praise and mourning
since we don’t know which gray fold we emerged from
since we can begin anytime, but never end
By Ma Yongbo
否定之诗
从否定开始，言述那不可言说者
向高处移动的否定，直到“云的无知”
倾听海浪在沙滩沟槽里的涌动和消失
泡沫和鹅卵石的涌动，或者推开控制力的边缘
从“我看见”的巨大的穹顶形大脑
到房间反对历史，所有人反对所有人
从傍晚的云彩反射的紫红
到一系列似乎有些羞愧的静止的众神
或白色的惊愕，从最后的玫瑰的幻觉
到安于凝视，不超出凝视蒸馏出的空间
和没有意义的绿色和黄色
直至最后的沉默，这所有诗人的命运
那可确定之物，闪现的羊蹄
在不辨晨昏的微光中，交错的心跳
鱼鹰带着鲑鱼的粉色的翅膀
橄榄树叶明暗交替的闪烁
从同时是晚星和晨星的更寂静的歌曲
从吕底亚街头的步态
分辨出自己的母亲。不，任何语言都不能
将朝露与迷雾分开，将洁白的脚踝与羊蹄分开
咒语的急切和祈祷的呼求唤起的
只是那胸脯被儿子的箭无意中划伤的母亲
不可言说的愤怒
无穷的圆周率，吸收所有的潮汐
神圣内化于存有，这最高的诗
超越了肯定与否定，存在与非存在
它是与神圣的同一，依靠对自身的否定
是在午夜向正午致敬
或者审判所窗花格的变形与光
坚持可爱的错误而不是干燥的
政治正确的蝗虫的空壳
不，橡皮擦在纸上反复擦掉
人的言说而留下——一团模糊的涂鸦
这就是诗人最后的结局，不知悲喜
它本就是鹅卵石的网捕获的大教堂
一片你从来没有去过的亚洲田野里
一台旧收音机，听不懂的断续的哀鸣
灰色的去年的幽灵，看见你在楼梯拐弯处
寻找弯曲的青铜钥匙，什么样的手臂
举得起这样的重担，既然没有一只手
来帮助我们，也没有一张暗中的嘴
来催促我们经过，而经过，仅仅是
替换风景的一部分，人和风景都佯装不知
仅仅是雪在落地前，犹豫地说着一个谎言
我们已经耗尽了黑暗，慢慢抬起的黑色的眼睑
从桥上流过的黑色的行列
它从伦敦桥上，从弗洛伦萨的桥上
因为一切规定都是否定，条件、处所、时间
把树枝削去树叶变成旗帜
似乎就能活着，似乎像静物亏欠了世界
现实那不认真的想象，多彩的玻璃穹顶
网，镜子，脆弱的纸，现在的碎片状态
抓不住一个思想的两面
或者最大的泉眼崩溃，无死亡的尸体
直到手持燃烧的蜡烛保持的正直
让位于偏头痛的烛泪
直到“不知道”是唯一正确的答案
一个偏僻的写字者的古典的冥世
不确定中的确定，一个一肘见方的血坑
喝了就能认出自己，认出河流入海安息的地方
不，这仅仅是等待，绷紧了肘部
仅仅是空间的相邻性所决定的沙漠
和具有革命性的时间，一个不被拯救的涟漪
不断扩大的无用的思想与行动之间的剪影
冥想创造出它自己的对象
而非先有对象，然后有冥想
不，这还远远不够，颠簸的船舱
一盏灯压住的海图上暂时被照亮的区域
线条与线条的交织中多出来的阴影
和其他女人那无用的不安
缓慢的燃烧，正义所要求的残酷
吃掉我们吧，伟大的父亲，克洛诺斯
既然集市或剧场，都不能
上演你完整的哑剧，既然我们不能
独自完成自己，完成赞美和哀悼
既然我们不知道自己来自哪一层灰色的皱褶
既然我们可以随时开始，却不能随时结束
