Robert Bly was born on December 23, 1926, in Madison, Minnesota. He has published over a dozen poetry collections, including My Sentence Was a Thousand Years of Joy, The Night Abraham Called to the Stars, Morning Poems, Eating the Honey of Words: New and Selected Poems, and The Light Around the Body, for which he won the National Book Award in 1968. He has translated work of Pablo Neruda and other poets. Bly's honors include Guggenheim, Rockefeller, and National Endowment for the Arts fellowships. He lives on a farm in the western part of Minnesota with his wife and three children.
韩怡丹，笔名绿音。生于中国福建。著有诗集《临风而立》（1993）、《绿音诗选》（2004，中英双语）和《静静地飞翔》（2008）。主编《诗天空当代华语诗选，2005-2006》双语版（2007）和《诗天空当代美国诗选，2005-2008》双语版 （2009），并参与编著五本中国古诗文评点译析导读书籍。《诗天空》（Poetry Sky）双语季刊创始人及主编。其中英文诗散见于《诗刊》《创世纪》《普罗维登斯日报》《科罗拉多评论》等。她现居美国新罕布什州。
Yidan Han is the author of three books of poetry, including Standing against the Wind (1993), Selected Poems of Green Voice (2004, bilingual), and Flying in Silence (2008). She is the editor of The PoetrySky Anthology of Contemporary Chinese Poetry, 2005-2006 (2007), The PoetrySky Anthology of Contemporary American Poetry 2005-2008 (2009), and a coauthor of five academic books that explore classical Chinese poetry. Her Chinese and English poems have appeared in various literary journals and anthologies in China, United States and other countries, including The Providence Journal, Colorado Review, and Shi Kan. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of Poetry Sky. She lives in New Hampshire.
There's no doubt winter is coming. I see
My London Fog jacket is made in China.
The fall is like a bare writing desk.
The ashtray outside my window
Has no leaves, and Ignatow is gone. . . .
But my pen still moves freely
On this paper. And Vera, where is she?
In a nursing home in Newtonville.
Lamplight shines on the floor boards.
No response. Can I read anything I want
Now, how about Stalingrad? Go ahead.
Those I am dear to me, those dear to me . . .
I can stand and let my palms sweep
Up over my stomach furnace-
You know, the pot-bellied stove
The Taoists talk about. And maybe
A plume of energy does climb,
As they say, up the spine. The turtles
On the Galapagos don't feel old.
They breathe only once a minute.
Sometimes I get in my car on a late October day
And drive north. Everything that I haven't done-
Raking, visiting-all those reasons for not living-
Fall away. I pass half-abandoned summer towns,
Admiring the shadows thrown by bare trees
On bare lakes where cold waves lap the sand.
The renegade minister-the one they all gossip
About-would see those waves too, after throwing
His Sunday hat out the window. He'll be
All right. Death hugs the underside of oak leaves.
In each cove you pass you will see
What you had to say no to once.
It's all right if you walk down to the shore.
You'll feel time passing, the way the summer has.
You'll see the little holes that raindrops leave in fine sand
And the old fishing lines driven up on the rocks.