Yidan Han

  Contributing Editor:
  Kyle David Anderson

Robert Bly

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.



Yidan Han

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.

The Turtles On The Galapagos


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.


毫无疑问,冬天已经来临。我看到 我的“伦敦雾”夹克是中国制造的。 秋天宛如一张无遮蔽的书桌 我窗外的烟灰缸 没有落叶,伊格那托走了…… 但我的笔还在这张纸上 自由地移动。还有薇拉,她在哪? 在牛顿威利的一个养老院里。 灯光照亮了地板。 没有反馈。我可以读一些我想读的 什么吗,比如斯大宁格勒?继续下去, 那些我感到亲切的,那些对我感到亲切的…… 我可以站着让我的手掌 将我胃中的火炉打扫干净—— 你知道,我是说道教所说的 大腹便便的火炉。可能 能量的烟流在上升, 就像人们所说的,上升至脊柱。 加拉帕戈斯群岛上的海龟 不感觉到老。 它们一分钟只呼吸一次。

The Half-Abandoned Summer Towns


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.


在十月末有时我会驾车 北上。做一些我从未做过的事—— 搜索,探望——所有那些不愿存活的理由—— 消失了。我穿过一半被废弃的夏日小镇 欣赏着那些光秃秃的树上落在无遮蔽的湖上 的阴影。那里冰冷的波浪轻拍着沙滩。 叛教者的牧师——大家都谈论的 那个人——也会看到这些波浪,在他把 他礼拜日戴的帽子扔出窗外之后。他会 没事的。死亡拥抱着橡树叶的阴蔽面。 在每个你经过的小海湾,你会看见 终究要说一次“不”的景物。 如果你走向沙滩,你会觉得不错。 你会感觉到时间消逝,就如夏日消逝一样。 你将看到雨滴留在细沙上的小洞 以及往岩石上漂移的陈旧的钓鱼线。

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