Jim received a BA from the University of Colorado at Boulder in 1976, and a Certificate of Poetics in 1980 from Naropa University’s Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics where he was teaching assistant to Allen Ginsberg. In 1997, he founded the on-line Museum of American Poetics. He is the author of Green Sky (1980), Prairie Falcon (1989), Grasslands (1994), The Dance Of Yellow Lightning Over The Ridge (1998), The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter (2009), and Mantra Winds (2010).

吉姆-科恩于1976年从科罗拉多大学毕业，1980年从纳罗巴大学的杰克-克鲁亚克解体诗学院获得诗歌文凭，曾担任艾伦-金斯堡的助教。1997年，吉姆在互联网上创办“美国诗学馆”。他出版的诗集有：《绿天空》（1980）；《大草原猎鹰》（1989）；《草原》（1994）；《山脉上黄色闪电之舞》（1998）；《我告诉女儿的传奇故事》（2009）；《祷文之风》（2010）。

冯冬，1979年生于重庆，南京大学英文系博士毕业，现任教于暨南大学，译过游记《中华帝国纪行》、《亲密接触中国》、小说《蛛网与磐石》等，在海内外诗刊发表作品，与人合著诗集《残酷的乌鸦》（2011），主要研究诗歌、精神分析和当代哲学。

Peter Feng was born in Chongqing, China, in 1979. He has received a Ph.D degree in literature from Nanjing University and currently teaches English at Jinan University. He has co-translated A Journey through the Chinese Empire, Intimate China, and The Web and the Rock, and co-written a book of poems Cruel Raven (2011). His study includes poetry, psychoanalysis, and contemporary philosophy.

Treasures for Heaven

天堂的珍宝

I
Forgive me, Angels,
You had only wings, I poems
That entered me as a man
Enters the house
Of unwavering light
Thick as labyrinths
Coming apart at the bottom
Where all that could be I left for you.

II
Through the enduring memory
Of the present
I walk past the blue hells of
Delusion's
graffiti handcuffs
That no matter how sublime
Bring greatness to the empire
For naught.

III
Soon I come to the confluence
Of spring & forever, but
I've no one to share a happy moment
Save a vague voice calling
But I'm thinking of no one special
Round the entire
Ghoulish star field
As it begins again to shift.

IV
I give you emotional radio
Live from the galaxies
Of Mercy that linger
So near
Our understanding each other
Like a woman
Who always rises late
& love that comes without bounds.

V
In your voice is an immensity
Greater than near-death
Along a stretch of cactus-dotted
Power plants where
We met on the corner
Of love-at-first-sight
With its violin wrapped tight
In the cool silk of your arms.

VI
I heard things
Only star dust hears––
The tiny white eyes
Of garden shadows,
The stillness of clotheslines under February's moon,
The sadness
Of empty baskets
Having seen too much.

VII
Wolves circle the gold mosque, then
Disappear like old Chinatown
Record stores in Philadelphia
As I see eternity in myself
As a patchwork of mirrors
Presented at the War Crimes Convention
Where the jailer loved to watch you
Roll down your nylons.

VIII
How old is the light
At the core of yourself––
Does it go back to You
Teaching men to break branches
In a freight car of the slain
Where the heat of your breath
Is more delicate than
A world filled with lies?

IX
I slipped into a theater
To get out of the
Thousand sheets of rain
But the movie didn't touch me
& just hearing the actors' words
Turned my cheek's pale
Because no one can tell me
Where you are.

X
There were boarded up windows,
& factories of corpses &
Ninety miles out of town
I can still hear the endless weeping
Of mourners at the gate where
No one has to ask why
The Angels stopped
Lighting themselves on fire.

XI
So much has changed
In so little time
& yet I still crave the sight of you
Dancing in the park
With the sun
Coming out again
From the stormy weather
Of the joy we shared.

XXIX
Your notebook was washed ashore,
But it was hardly
The last change
In the first realm of paradise
Where Love
Dreams of the way Beauty
in all her languages says
The work of the world is peace.

XXXI
I grieve the chaos
Of the deceased in their smeared make-up
Of slit throats
Where in mid-sentence
I repent the monsters
Of unlicensed nihilism
Because I am from the massacre
& I am the massacre.

XXXIII
I've always been enchanted
By the persimmon tree
That requires
So many years to bear fruit
Even as you wipe away
The hysterical pleasures
Of self-conscious bitterness
From the eternal circle of your heart.

XXXIV
Humanitarian disaster
everywhere I turn
Reminds me of someone else
I'll never know.
There's a tin cup on my table--
You left it here, maybe you left it for me.
I take it out to catch the tears that harmlessly fall
Thinking they've damaged the earth.

XXXVIII
You often talked with me
About the spaces
Between breaths as far richer than wealth &
So I looked there for you--
Hoping to see, touch & hear
All that is born
Like a poem
That once read is never found again.

XXXIX
At Crystal Pass
Where I wait for you
Flowers call out
To their gypsy lovers
That their tedious acceptance of praise
For one's state of mind
Is as ridiculous as
Having two feet.

LVI
Angels, my Poem
Never sleeps--
It watches over the planet
The way a graveyard
Watches over music,
The way loss watches over war,
The way failure
Watches over the living.

LXXI
As the families arrive,
The gold-toothed undertaker
Turns off his
Hearing aids
That bleed
In the light of the blue-grey snow
As he covers her body
In full sight of the peacekeepers.

LXXIII
Why do we hide
Our weaknesses
Like hangmen writing elegant postcards
With ink made of urine
In the emergency rooms of memory
As doctors weigh the fingers of
Deadmen sitting in chairs
With shiny yellow badges?

LXXXV
Of one million families
Ruined by the heavy toll
Only a hundred endured.
If I was President
I'd paint the White House black--
Then I would write on its wall--
The fruits of their crackdowns
Will also prove illusory.

XCVIII
No regrets, though I wish
I'd been able to write the laughter of women.
The wild river of laughter--
My whole life,
Immersed in this laughter.
The laughter of women--
Who can hope to reply
To such exquisite songs?

XCIX
Those who commit
The most ungodly acts
Still do so with the assurance of the feeling
That nothing will be done.
This is why we have chosen to appear
Through the madrone blossoms
Willing to give our lives
So that others might live.

C
Face to face,
The mind in its holy vacuum,
I have passed many seasons
My endless phrases
Addressed to no one--
Like the light dust
Falling upon your shoulders
As you ride past Jupiter hot springs.
			

I
原谅我，天使，
你只有翅膀，我只有诗
它进入我如一个人
进入光的房子
坚定、繁复、厚重的光
在底端分离
我留给你
一切可能之事。

II
穿过关于现时的
持久的记忆
我路过
幻想的
涂鸦手铐的
蓝色地狱
无论它多崇高
也不能使帝国变伟大。

III
很快我来到春天与永恒
的交汇处，但
没人可分享这幸福时刻
除了模糊的呼喊
在这食尸鬼似的
星球大地上
我没想到任何特别的人
它很快又开始挪移。

IV
我给你的情感收音机
从慈悲的银河
现场直播
如此靠近
我们之间的默契
如一个起得很晚
的女人
如无边无际的爱。

V
你的嗓音有一种巨大
比仙人掌点缀的
一排发电厂
更接近死亡
我们邂逅于
一见钟情的角落
小提琴紧紧裹在
你冰凉的丝般的手中。

VI
我听见惟有
星尘能听见的事物——
园中阴影的
小小的白眼睛，
二月的月光下，寂静的晾衣绳，
空篮子的
忧伤
见得太多。

VII
狼群围绕金色清真寺
随即消失如费城
旧日唐人街上的唱片店
此刻我在我自己身上目睹永恒
如镜子的拼凑物
在战争犯大会上展览
那儿狱卒喜欢看着你
脱下你的尼龙袜。

VIII
你中心的
光芒有多苍老——
它是否返回你自身
教会人们在被杀害者的
货车车厢内折断树枝
那儿你温热的气息
比充满谎言的世界
更加易碎？

IX
我悄悄走进剧院
为躲避
一千层的雨
但电影并不吸引我
演员的台词
让我面色苍白
因为没人能告诉我
你在哪里。

X
那儿有木板封住的窗，
尸体的工厂
离市区九十英里外
我仍听见哀悼者在门口
无尽地哭喊
别问为什么天使
不再用火焰
点亮自己。

XI
转眼间
许多已改变
而我仍渴望见到你
在公园
与太阳一起跳舞
再度从
我俩所分享的喜悦
的风暴中出走

XXIX
你的笔记本被冲到岸边
但它已不再是
天堂第一层
的最终修改
爱在那儿
梦见了美
以她所有的语言说
世界的作品乃是和平

XXXI
我悲痛于
死者的混乱，弄污的化妆
割断的喉咙
在句子中途
我忏悔，为无节制的
虚无主义怪物
因为我从屠杀中来
我即是这屠杀

XXXIII
我一直醉心于
柿子树
它需要许多年
才结出果实
哪怕你从心的
永恒之圆中
擦掉了痛苦的自我意识
的歇斯底里般快感

XXXIV
我四面观看
到处是人道主义的灾难
它使我想起我永远
无法知道的某些事。
我桌上有个锡杯——
你放在那儿，也许是留给我。
我拿它来盛
毁坏大地的无辜眼泪。

XXXVIII
你经常与我谈论
呼吸的空间
那比财富更丰盛
于是我在那儿寻找你——
希望见到、触摸并听到
一切新生之物
它们如诗
阅后即无处可寻

XXXIX
我在水晶的关口
等待你
鲜花呼唤着
它们的吉普赛情人
单调地接受
关于情绪的赞美
与拥有两只脚
一样可笑。

LVI
天使们，我的诗
从不沉睡——
它守望着星球
如墓园
守望着音乐，
如丧失守望着战争，
如失败
守望活着的人。

LXXI
家人抵达时，
镶金牙的抬棺者
关闭他的
助听器
它在蓝灰色雪的
光芒中流血
他当着众多维护和平的人
盖上她的尸体。
 
LXXIII
我们为何隐藏
我们的缺陷
如刽子手用尿做的墨水
填写精致的明信片？
记忆的急诊室里
戴闪亮黄色勋章的死者
坐在椅子上
让医生称量其手指。

LXXXV
如果有一百万个家庭
被沉痛的伤亡毁坏
只有一百个维持下来。
如果我是总统
我将把白宫漆成黑色——
然后在墙上写下——
他们镇压的成果
将被证明是虚幻。

XCVIII
没有悔恨，虽然
我希望写下女人的欢笑。
狂野的河的欢笑——
我的一生，
沉浸在这欢笑中。
女人的欢笑——
谁指望回答
这般精致的歌？

XCIX
那些犯下
极端亵渎罪行的人
还在继续，他们满以为
什么也不会发生。
这就是为什么我们选择
从浆果鹃花丛中现身
我们愿意献出自己的生命
好让其他人活下来。

C
面对面，
精神处于神圣的真空，
我经历许多季节
我无尽的话语
向着无人述说——
如轻轻的灰尘
落在你肩上
当你骑马经过朱庇特温泉。