骆英（本名黄怒波），文学博士、诗人、登山家，宁夏人。中国诗歌学会会长、北京大学中国诗歌研究院副院长、麦德林国际诗歌节荣誉主席、中国登山协会副主席。毕业于北京大学中文系，骆英1992年出版了第一部诗集《不要再爱我》。此后出版的诗集包括《拒绝忧郁》《落英集》《都市流浪集》《小兔子及其他》《7+2登山日记》《第九夜》（繁体版）《知青日记及后记:水-魅》《骆英诗选》《绿度母》《小兔子》（再版）《动物日记》《文革记忆》《第九夜》《太阳神》，中篇小说《蓝太阳》及旅行随笔散文《德国，你如此优雅》、《法国，你如此迷人》。八部作品被译为英、法、德、日、韩、俄、蒙古、土耳其、西班牙等语种文本。他是中国第一位完成登顶七大洲最高峰和穿越南北极点的诗人、第一位在世界最高峰珠穆朗玛峰顶朗诵自己诗歌作品的诗人，也是第一位三次登顶珠峰的诗人。

Luo Ying (Autonym: Huang Nubo), born in Ningxia, China, is a Doctor of Literature, poet, and mountaineer. He is the president of the Poetry Institute of China, the vice president of Chinese Academy of Poetry, Beijing University, the honorary president of Medellin International Poetry Festival, and the vice president of Chinese Mountaineering Association. He graduated from Peking University and has published 15 books of poetry since 1992. Eight of Luo Ying's works have been translated into English, French, German, Japanese, Korean, Russian, Mongolian, Turkish, Spanish, etc. Memory of the Cultural Revolution was highly recommended by Groupe Gallimard and archived by French National Library. He was the first Chinese poet who has reached the summit of seven continents and crossed the North Pole, the first poet who has read his poems on the Mountain Everest, the highest mountain in the world, and the first poet who has summited Mountain Everest for three times.

Denis Mair holds an M.A. in Chinese from Ohio State University and has taught at University of Pennsylvania. He is currently a research fellow at Hanching Academy, Sun Moon Lake, Taiwan. He translated autobiographies by the philosopher Feng Youlan (Hawaii University Press) and the Buddhist monk Shih Chen-hua (SUNY Press). His translation of art criticism by Zhu Zhu was published by Hunan Fine Arts Press (2009). He also translated essays by design critic Tang Keyang and art historian Lü Peng for exhibitions they curated respectively in 2009 and 2011 at the Venice Biennial. (See Lü Peng, From San Servolo to Amalfi, Charta Books, Milan, 2011). His book of poetry Man Cut in Wood was published by Valley Contemporary Poets in 2003.

梅丹理(Denis Mair)， 美国诗人，中英文译者，俄亥俄州立大学中文硕士。曾担任美国宾州大学东亚语文系讲师，现任北京中坤基金翻译顾问、台湾日月潭涵静书院研究员。译作包括冯友兰的《三松堂全集自序》（夏威夷大学出版社）、真华法师的《参学琐谭》（纽约州立大学出版社）、朱朱的《一幅画的诞生》（湖南美术出版社）。诗歌翻译包括《麦城诗选》（Shearsman Books,，2009）; 奚密、马悦然编的《台湾新诗选》（哥伦比亚大学出版社，2005）; 杨四平编的《当代中文诗歌选》（上海文艺出版社，2007）; 吉狄马加的《黑色狂欢曲》（俄克拉荷马大学出版社, 2014）。他的个人英文诗集《刻在木头里的人》(Man Cut in Wood)2003年由美国当代山谷出版社(Valley Contemporary Poets)出版。

死亡-意象（组诗）

Death-Image

七

夜晚的树  朦胧  诡秘  在这个意义上它是一棵树
你可能从树根处仰望  枝叶间你能直接看到黑夜的深处
此时你赤裸不赤裸都不重要  你绝不可能与一棵树讨论死
既便是你以利刃深深地刺入树的枝干也不能让你因此不痛苦
在你是一个意象时  你呼叫还是闭嘴都不能像一棵树摇动
那种深深的把根扎向地狱并因此开放出恶之花来
在等待树亮起来的时候  宇宙会先暗下去  如一个铃铛
从不知光年的路途上摇响而来骑着枯骨的海羊
在这个意义上  死是一种高尚的结局是一种意象的表达
杀死和被杀死  都已无关哲学的最终意义
敲敲宇宙的门与远离一棵黑夜的树都无关活着还是死去的问题
在雪花飞扬起来的深夜  你已经不需要再辨别任何方向了
那种冷冻在8000米高度的人已经让你失去仰望的种种可能
即便是你呼喊  哭泣  招手  这种宇宙不再是你的了
在天空慢慢亮起来时  你必须从那棵树上下来
并且  必须从一种死亡意象中慢慢走过


八

在知道“偷油婆”就是蟑螂时  世界上所有蟑螂都就死了
那种轻而易举的死  微不足道的死  都因此脱离死的意象
比如  从一种悬崖眺望另一种悬崖时你只是一匹马
而从一种死亡观看另一种死亡时你就可能是一种蟑螂了
在蟑螂于黑夜飞起来时  它们其实只是地狱的一种臭虫
它能从千里之外伸出细细的爪子捕捉一切生灵
当然了  在一切都没有消失前  蟑螂  也就是一个偷油婆
即使是我们不再对死亡有任何质疑  我们也还是统统痛苦不堪
那些观看马奔腾的人们慢慢都消失了  环佩叮当
夜一会白一会暗  在石头后面散发出香味或是恶臭
夜鸟无影无踪了  它的羽毛正在长成一根黑紫色的刺
生灵静下来  等待着某时某刻某处某个生灵被刺穿心脏
此刻  天空中洒下来一种露水  让你撕心裂肺的疼
它冰冷彻骨  空气沉重就如上帝的那种泪水
将死的马收起双蹄跪下来  让鼻息渐渐地慢下来
在一切都安静后  一只蟑螂从地下爬出来去向了不明的地方


九

天空终于渐渐发亮了  远方的船也许在慢慢起锚
长蛇从海岸边爬上来  湿润  滑腻  吐出鲜红的舌
海乌贼也许正在往海面上赶  戴着它们黑重的项链
它杀死过谁  捕获过谁  都因此显得无关紧要
拼命张望  谁也无法在此刻找出死的痕迹
厚厚的海在波涛将起时先向深处深深地降了下去
应该是鸟从海平面飞过来  羽毛散落  叫声凄厉
它以白色的血痕在海面上划出一条长长的宇宙界限
声音开始嘈杂了  有呼喊有叹息有悲哀有惊恐
海像拉开了地狱的窗帘  让所有的魔鬼都扑到了海面
突然间透明时  一切都在急急地赶路饥不择食
大白鲨向着海的远处疾驰一定是接到了死亡密令
没有人说什么也从无听到有人说过什么
说到死有的人恐惧  有的人担忧  有的人高尚  有的人只是死
我轻轻掀开海的一层皮时  我没有听见任何人喊痛
之后  我穿上了一件皮的衣服戴上了一幅死亡面具
			

#7

The tree tonight is obscure…bizarre…and that is what makes it a tree
Seated on roots perhaps you peer through leaves, straight into night's depths
Naked or not, now it does not matter…there is no discussing death with a tree
Even sticking a sharp knife into its bark will not relieve** your pain
You are an image…and yet your cries are made by mouth…unlike a tree's swaying
Or its way of planting roots in Hell and thus blooming with flowers of evil
As one waits for light to come to a tree, the cosmos darkens like a bell
One rides here on a lonesome road of light years, a sea of bones, ringing that bell
In this sense death is an exalted terminus, an image to be expressed
To kill or be killed no longer relates to philosophy's ultimate meaning
To ring the cosmic bell or hold back from night's tree…is no life-or-death question
On a night of sifting-down snowflakes…you need not distinguish directions
That corpse frozen at 8000 meters pre-empted your upward gazing possibilities
Even if you cry out…sob…wave your arms…such a cosmos is no longer yours
As the sky gradually brightens…you need to get down from that tree
What is more…you need to walk slowly past an image of death


#8

When “Oil-Stealing Old Lady” was found to be just a cockroach…the world's roaches died
Such quick, easy deaths…such trifling deaths…so disconnected from the death ? image
For instance, when gazing from one cliff upon another…you are just a horse
But when gazing from one death to another…you may be a cockroach
Roaches that fly on muggy nights…are just one kind of stinkbug from Hell
Fine claws of such a bug can reach hundreds of miles, catch any living thing
Of course before all things disappear…a roach is just an Oil-Stealing Old Lady
Though we have no more doubts of death whatever…still we are in utter misery
Observers of galloping are slowly disappearing…pendants clink in the distance
Night is white awhile, then dark…a scent or stench is emitted from behind a rock
A night bird leaves no trace…one of its feathers grows to a deep-purple thorn
Creatures grow quiet…now listen for the “what-where-when” of a heart-pierced creature
Just as dew sprinkles from the sky…the kind that causes you gut-wrenching pain
Its iciness is bone-piercing…the air weighs on you like God's tears
The dying horse kneels, pulls in its hooves…slows the snuffling of its nostrils
All things grow quiet…a roach crawls from under ground toward an unidentified place


#9

At last the sky gradually brightens…boats in the distance are perhaps raising anchor
A long snake climbs up from the sea's edge…slimily sticks out its bright red tongue
Even now a squid may be surfacing…wearing a heavy black necklace
Who it may have caught or killed by now seems not to matter much
Peer about as one might…no one can find death's trace at this instant
When grand waves are about to swell, first they dip toward the depths
A bird flees over the face of the waters…its feathers scattering…its cries chilling
With its white blood-flecks on the surface a boundary line is marked in the cosmos
Sounds turn noisy…there are cries and sighs…sorrow and fright
The sea seems to draw aside Hell's curtain…letting demons lunge to the surface
Suddenly transparent…all things rush about…not choosy about what food they catch
The great white shark streaks toward a far spot…surely under orders of death
No one says anything and no one has ever said anything
Speaking of death some are fearful, or high-minded, or worried…some just die
Lightly parting a layer of the sea's skin…I hear no shouts of pain
Afterward I dress in leather clothes…put on my death mask