Dara Wier's books include the forthcoming, Remnants of Hannah (Wave Books 2006), Reverse Rapture (Verse Press 2005), Hat on a Pond (Verse Press, 2002) and Voyages in English (Carnegie Mellon U. Press, 2001). Awards include the Jerome Shestack Award by the American Poetry Review's Jerome Shestack Prize, a Guggenheim and a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship. Her poems are included in volumes of the Pushcart Prize and Best American Poetry series. She is a member of the poetry faculty and director of the MFA program for poets and writers at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst.
达拉-维尔的诗集包括即将出版的《汉娜的残迹》(浪潮书社, 2006)以及《逆向狂喜》(诗行出版社, 2005) 、《池塘上的帽子》(诗行出版社, 2002) 和 《英语远航》(卡内基梅隆大学出版社, 2001) 。曾获奖项包括《美国诗歌评论》所颁布的歇斯塔克奖、古根海姆奖和美国艺术捐赠基金奖。她的诗被收入《普希卡奖诗集》和《美国最佳诗作》系列。她是美国麻省州立大学诗歌教授，并任诗人作家艺术创作班硕导主任。
Poet and translator. Under Chinese pen name Laoha, he translates and writes poems both in English and Chinese. He was born in China in 1960 and now lives in Northern Nevada, USA.
I Tire Too of Watching the Osprey
Your ants and my ants were meeting far out in space
Which frightened me at first as I feared they were meeting
On the plains of war. I got that wrong. They were meeting
To swap stories about us, they're concerned. They understand
That we build things that sometimes kill us and they wonder
What are we thinking when we do this. They've observed
How infrequently we put to good use what we've observed.
They marvel how we've barely learned from our mistakes.
How strange we are, they murmur to one another in awe
Of our reckless ways. They worry that we rarely recognize
The one choice we make whose consequences can not be
Reversed. How sweetly seem our ants as they stand around
On their pneumatic onyx legs gesticulating to underscore
Their riddled fear for us, how artful their antennae are.
A Cadaver in the Take out Aisles
It was impossible not to find one's self staring at her.
As though her proximity to such an abundance of food
Animated her revolving near reeling from cold case
To hot case from pastas to salsas to dumplings to seeds,
She spoke loudly across the aisles inquiring of ingredients,
Applying for re-installation of her hands among the living.
It looked as if she'd been dead for several years, her onyx
And absinthe skin tones shone around her sunken eyes, so near
Her skull her skin stretched it seemed as if it would burst.
When so as not to be staring I turned away I could see
The eyes of all of the others who couldn't help but be watching
Fearfully and tenderly to take her in, wondering what would
Become of us all later after she's disappeared when she's left
To linger in among the multifarious take-out our minds are let in.
Addressing a Preposterous Flower
Where do you come from, preposterous flower, what do you
Hope to accomplish with your lanky stems from which hang a series
Of swollen hearts from which extend additional extremes which
From a distance look like tiny teardrops? Your earnest melodrama
Is comical. It is not so for the maypop also known as passion
Flower whose elaborate design displays remain indescribable.
If I were a photographer I would photograph you to see how you
Look in a photograph. When wind and hail and hard rain hit do
You feel shaken, do you feel anything? You look as if in the past
You've felt something so traumatic it transformed your appearance.
You look as if you're telling us something about it, with all you can
Muster. I'm trying to think of what might lead me to sprout multiple
Hearts down the length of my arms, bare them to the world, show them
Dripping, quite pleading tears. Difficult. Daunting. Not unimpossible.