生于北京。文革中下乡，后返城读书工作。92年赴波兰。99年来美，从2001年起和家人定居小城伊萨卡。曾发表诗及译作。

Born in Beijing. She went to countryside for labor work during the Cultural Revolution, and then back to city for school. She moved to Poland in 1992 and 1999 to the Unite States. She resides in Ithaca, New York with her family since 2001. Her poetry and translation were published in a few journals.

欢愉

Joy

院里那棵年轻的海棠树
为昨夜的大雪所披盖
这使她更寒冷还是温暖
你竟无法得知

一只北方红鸟
似从天外飞来
在一株枝头停落
轻轻地咕叫和跳跃

小红鸟多么鲜艳
像一点闪烁的火星
照着雪的世界

年轻的海棠树多么荣幸
一个小红精灵在敲击她的身体
你可以听到那些枝叶
颤动在欢愉中

The young crab apple tree alone in the yard
Is fully coated by last night's snow
Is she colder or warmer
You could never tell

A Northern Cardinal
Suddenly comes from nowhere
Lands on a branch of the tree
Lightly cooing and hopping in between

The little red bird is so bright
As a glittering fire stat
Against the snowy world

What a treat to the apple tree
A small red spirit is softly beating her body
You could hear those twigs
Trembling with delightful joy

二月的天空

February Sky

傍晚
二月最冷的一天
乌云紧锁天空
即使地面新鲜的白雪
也无以照亮凝重的天色

听到遥远的雁鸣
越来越近，一只大雁高高飞过
它是此刻灰暗的空中
只身单飞的行者
可它高亢的叫声
如徒迁的雁阵一样热烈
它飞行的目的
向北或南，我无法告知

但我的确感到了光
由一个勇敢野性的生灵
带来，
又带入暗冷的冬夜

late afternoon 
the coldest day in February
thick clouds blotted out the sky
even fresh snow on the ground
couldn't lighten the gloomy air

Heard the loud honk far away
close and close, a wild goose flying by
he was an absolutely single traveler
right moment on the dark sky
but made same vehement sound
as a whole migrate voyage can be
it flew toward the direction
south or north
I couldn't tell

But I did feel the light
brought by the wild soul
to the winter night-fall

漫步在风中

Walking in the Wind

一扇旧木栅栏门
吱扭着摆动
开启又关合

枯败的橡树叶
在冷空中簌簌作响
唱诉着晚秋
未完的故事

几家门廊
风铃叮咚
轻敲着记忆深处
遥远的土地
古塔，悬挂的钟铃

这是寒冷的周日早晨
漫步于小巷间
你是唯一的听众
聆听
北风奇妙的乐声

An old door of wooden fence
Creaks as it self moved
Back and forth

Withered oak leaves
Rustle in clear air
Chanting an unfinished story
Of the late fall

The chinking of wind chimes
From porch to porch
Lightly knock the heart of memory
You think of the remote land
Pagodas, and hanging bells

It is a severe cold Sunday morning
Walking down the short streets
You are the sole audience 
Listening
The magical music of north wind