Ted Kooser was born in Ames, Iowa, in 1939. He was educated at Iowa State University and the University of Nebraska. His books have won many awards, including the Society of Midland Authors Prize, the Pushcart Prize, the Stanley Kunitz Prize, the James Boatwright Prize, two Prairie Schooner Awards and the 2005 Pulitzer Prize in Poetry. He is the 13th Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress.

泰德-库舍1939年生于艾荷华。在艾荷华州立大学及尼布拉斯加大学受教育。他是一家保险公司的主管，也是尼布拉斯加大学的副教授，偶而教教写诗课程。他是美国国会图书馆的第十三届桂冠诗人顾问。他的书得过许多奖。

诗人非马出版有十四本诗集 （除《秋窗 》是英文外，其它都是中文） 以及几本翻译，包括双语诗选《让盛宴开始──我喜爱的英文诗》。他还编选出版了几本台湾及中国现代诗选。他是前任伊利诺州诗人协会的会长，现居芝加哥。

William Marr (Fei Ma) is the author of fourteen books of poetry (all in his native Chinese language except Autumn Window which is in English) and several books of translations, including the bilingual anthology Let the Feast Begin—My Favorite English Poems.  He has also edited and published several anthologies of contemporary Taiwanese and Chinese poetry.  A longtime resident of Chicago, he served from 1993 to 1995 as the president of the Illinois State Poetry Society.

At the Center

在中心

In Kansas, on top
of an old piano,
a starfish, dry
as a fancy pastry
left sitting there
during a wedding,
spreads its brown arms
over the foam
of a white lace doily,
reaching for water
in five directions.
			

在肯萨斯，在一架
旧钢琴顶上，
一只海星，干得象
一块精美的糕点
在婚礼中
被遗留在那里，
伸出它褐色的手臂
在一张镶白边手巾的
泡沫上，
向五个方向
找水。
			

A Monday in May

五月的一个星期一

                           
It rained all weekend,
but today the peaked roofs
are as dusty and warm
as the backs of old donkeys
tied in the sun.
So much alike are our houses,
our lives.  Under every eave--
leaf, cobweb, and feather;
and for each front yard
one sentimental maple,
who after a shower has passed,
weeps into her shadow
for hours.
			

整个周末都在下雨，
但今天尖耸的屋顶
多尘而温暖
如被拴在太阳下的
老驴子的背。
我们的屋子都那么相似，
还有我们的生活。每个屋檐下——
叶子，蛛丝，以及羽毛；
而在每个前院
一棵多愁善感的枫树，
在阵雨过后，
都向自己的影子
掉好几个钟头的泪。
			

At Nightfall

夜幕低垂

                           
In feathers the color of dusk, a swallow,
up under the shadowy eaves of the barn,
weaves now, with skillful beak and chitter,
one bright white feather into her nest
to guide her flight home in the darkness.
It has taken a hundred thousand years
for a bird to learn this one trick with a feather,
a simple thing.  And the world is alive
with such innocent progress.  But to what
safe place shall any of us return
in the last smoky nightfall,
when in our madness have put the torch
to the hope in every nest and feather?
			

有着黄昏色泽的羽毛，一只麻雀，
自农舍檐下的阴影里飞起，
此刻用它熟练的喙与叽喳，
把一根亮白的羽毛织进她的巢
好在黑暗中导引她飞回她的家。
一只鸟用千万年的时间才学会了
这羽毛的技巧，
一桩简单的事。而世界便因这种
单纯的进步而生存了下来。但我们将如何
在那最后的烟雾弥漫的夜晚
回到安全地带，
当我们在疯狂中把每一个巢与羽毛的
希望，都付之一炬？
			

Latvian Neighborhood

拉脱维亚邻区

                           
Along this street,
snow blows
from the shoulders
of old houses,
lifts,
catches the wind
like long white hair,
like pipe smoke,
like the thin gray scarves
of immigrants
standing in line,
hands in their pockets,
cold fingers
pinching the lint
of their stories.
			

沿着这条街，
雪自老屋的
肩头上吹落，
扬起，
绊住风
像白长发，
像烟斗的烟，
像排着队的移民们
薄薄的灰披巾，
手在他们的口袋里，
冰冷的手指
捏着他们故事的
棉絮。
			

A Widow

寡妇

                           
She's combed his neckties out of her hair
and torn out the tongues of his shoes.
She's poured his ashes out of their urn
and into his humidor. For the very last time,
she's scrubbed the floor around the toilet.
She hates him even more for dying.


Note: English version of poems above was first 
published in Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985 
(University of Pittsburgh Press, 2005)
			

她把他的领带从她的头发里梳走
并把他鞋子的舌头扯出来。
她把他的骨灰从骨灰瓮里倒进
他的雪茄盒。最后一次，
她洗刷马桶边上的地板。
她因他的死而恨他更深。


注：以上诗作译自泰德-库舍的《夜间飞行: 诗 
1965-1985》(匹兹堡大学出版社，2005)