Kevin Young was born in 1970 in Lincoln, Nebraska. He received his BA from Harvard University in 1992, and his MFA in Creative Writing from Brown University in 1996. His poetry collections include Book of Hours (2015); Ardency: A Chronicle of the Amistad Rebels (2011); Dear Darkness: Poems (2008); For the Confederate Dead (2007); Black Maria (2005); To Repel Ghosts (2001).

凯文-扬于1970年出生于内布拉斯加州林肯市，1992年从哈佛大学毕业，1996年从布朗大学获艺术创作硕士。出版的诗集包括《时辰之书》（2015）；《炽热：黑奴起义》（2011）；《亲爱的黑暗：诗集》（2008）；《献给南部邦联战死者》（2007）；《黑人玛利亚》（2005）；《驱魂》（2001）。

王一笑，笔名一笑，生于中国河北。著有诗集《是时间在唱歌》（2011）、《走过就不会忘记》(2008） 。诗歌散见《诗选刊》、《七里海》等刊物。

Wang Yixiao, pen name Yi Xiao. She has published two books of poetry, including Singing of Time (2011) and Never Forget the Paths We've Taken. Her poems have appeared in various magazines, including Poetry Selected in China. She lives in Hebei, China.

from Book of Hours

时辰之书

The light here leaves you
lonely, fading

as does the dusk
that takes too long

to arrive. By morning
the mountain moving 

a bit closer to the sun.

This valley belongs
to no one—

except birds who name
themselves by their songs

in the dawn.
What good

are wishes, if they aren't
used up

The lamp of your arms.

The brightest
blue beneath the clouds—

We guess
at what's next

unlike the mountain

who knows it
in the bones, a music 

too high
to scale.

* * *

The burnt, 
blurred world

where does it end—

The wind
kicks up the scent

from the stables
where horseshoes hold

not just luck, but
beyond. But

weight. But a body

that itself burns,
begs to run.

The gondola quits just
past the clouds.

The telephone poles 
tall crosses in the road.

Let us go
each, into the valley—

turn ourselves 
& our hairshirts

inside out, let the world
itch—for once—

* * *

Black like an eye

bruised night brightens
by morning, yellow

then grey—
a memory.

What the light was like.

All day the heat a heavy,
colored coat. 

I want to lie
down like the lamb—

down & down
till gone—

shorn of its wool.
The cool

of setting & rising
in this valley,

the canyon between us
shoulders our echoes.

Moan, & make way.
			

这里的光让你感到
孤独，淡出如

很久才
抵达的

黄昏。清晨
那座山

又离太阳近了一点。

这个山谷不属于
任何人——

除了晨曦里
以歌唱为自己

命名的鸟儿。
愿望何为

若它们
不被耗尽

你臂膀之灯。

云下方
最明亮的蓝——

我们猜测
接下来会是什么

与山不同

它骨子里
就知道，一种

音乐，太高
无法抵达


* * *


烧焦的世界
面目全非

会在哪里终结——

风
扬起

马厩的气味
此处马蹄铁

不仅带来好运，还有
更远。还有

更沉重。还有一具

自燃的躯体，
在祈求奔跑。

贡多拉刚刚离开
经过云朵。

电话线杆
路上高高的十字。

我们每个人
都去那幽谷吧——

把我们
和我们的僧侣衣

从内至外翻开，让这世界
发痒——哪怕一次——


* * *


黑如一只眼

瘀伤的夜
因清晨而闪亮，金黄

接着灰色——
一场记忆。

光像什么。

一天的闷热
如一件沉重的深色外衣。

我想如
那羊羔一样躺下——

躺下，躺下
直至消失——

被剪掉羊毛。
凉爽的

日出，日落
在这山谷中，

我们之间的幽谷
承载回声。

呻吟，让路。