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.

与空杯对饮

Drinking with an Empty Glass

我望着
一个空空的透明酒杯

我的手指
徘徊在酒杯边缘
像环绕着漫长的海岸线

曾经有酒
一片绛红色的海
波涛汹涌

那时我们面前是海
身后是墓地
一片百合
怒放于
一个稍纵即逝的夏

此刻
酒杯里盛满了海水
秋正阑珊 
			

Far away,
I look at an empty glass.

My fingers
linger around
the edge of the glass
as if lingering around
a long, wandering coastline.

Once there was wine,
there was a claret sea.
Waves surging.

The sea was in front of us.
Graves behind.
Lilies blooming ardently,
a fleeting summer.

Now
the glass is filled with sea water.
Autumn is coming
to an end.
			

十月午后

October Afternoon

阳光在百叶窗上来回踱步
一脚轻一脚重
屋里忽明忽暗
令人如在时空里穿梭
透过百叶窗望去
葡萄藤上, 一大半的
叶子已经枯黄
而远处灰色的屋顶上方
深红和金黄的叶子
燃烧着

最美的季节已经来临
却仿佛正转身离去
草地依然是绿的
上面总会有一些落叶
提醒人们，秋的帷幕已经拉开
蓝鸟在不远处发出阵阵悲鸣
其尖利的叫声
与一个在树下叮当作响的风铃
的悦耳音乐混合在一起

花儿们相继离去了
一只蝴蝶趴在
最后一朵紫兰色的花上
享受着最后的午餐
之后, 它将飞向哪里
			

Sunshine saunters back and forth
across the blinds, 
one foot light, another heavy.
Inside, suddenly bright, suddenly dark,
as if I were shuttling between space and time
Looking through the blinds,
I see the vine
more than half 
its leaves withered yellow
Far away, above the gray roof,
Leaves burn
crimson and golden.

The most beautiful season 
has arrived
though it seems as if 
it has already turned to leave.
Grass, still green, on which
leaves scatter,
The reminder that autumn has begun.
Blue jays burst with lament
not far away, 
their sharp calls
blend with the sweet music
of jingling chimes
underneath a tree.

Flowers fall 
one by one.
A butterfly
Perched on a lone violet, enjoys
its last supper.
Where will it now fly?
			

故乡

Hometown

是越想越模糊的那条
        乡间小路
是越望越明亮的那轮
        中秋月

是染千年佛光的古寺
是披万里风尘的家书
是子规声里
流不尽的小桥流水
是斜风细雨中
看不够的雕梁画栋
是躲在墙角
吟不完的那只蛐蛐
是杏花村内
剪不断的缕缕炊烟
是吹不成调的芦笛
淌不成声的银河


是永远走不完的那条乡间小路
是越望越近的那轮中秋月
是长在心头的那棵银杏
郁郁苍苍
每逢深秋
便写满一地的
相思
			

It's the country road that gets vaguer and vaguer 
when you think of it
It's the mid-autumn moon that gets brighter and brighter
when you look at it

It's the ancient temple 
bathed in the light of the Buddha
It's the letter from home 
across thousands of miles 
It's the stream under the bridge
flowing endlessly
It's the carved beams and painted rafters
never faded in slanting wind and fine rain
It's the cricket hiding in the corner of the wall
singing constantly
It's the wisp of kitchen smoke in the apricot flower village
that cannot be cut off
It's the reed, tuneless
It's the milky way, out of voice

It's the country road you can never 
find the end of
It's the mid-autumn moon that gets closer and closer 
when you look at 
It's the gingko growing from your heart
green and verdant

Every year in late autumn
it will write its yearnings
fully on the ground