卞之琳(1910-2000)，笔名季陵，诗人、学者和翻译家，祖籍江苏溧水，生于江苏海门，1933年毕业于北京大学英文系，曾任北京大学西语系教授，后长期担任中国社会科学院外国文学研究所研究员，直至去世。著作有：《三秋草》、《十年诗草1930-1939》等，译著有《莎士比亚悲剧四种》等。

Bian Zhilin(or Pien Chih-lin), Chinese poet, scholar and translator, born in Hai-men County, Jiangsu province, China in 1910. He graduated from the English Department of Beijing University in 1933, and became a professor of Beijing University and researcher in Institute of Foreign Literature, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences till his death. His volumes of poetry include: Grasses Of Three Autumns (1933), A Selection of 10 Years' Poetry (1930-1939), etc. His translations include Four Tragedies of Shakespeare, etc.

苏州吴江人，供职于中国作家协会现代文学馆，专治诗歌、评论与翻译。著作有诗集《正在锈蚀的时针》，专著《吴宓传》、《戴望舒传》等，译作主要有《八堂课》、《米沃什词典》和《犁青诗选》等。

Originally named Xu Weifeng, born in Suzhou, China in 1969.  He serves for National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature as a professional poet, critic and translator.  He is the author of the poetry collection The Rusting Hour Hands (2002).  His academic works include A Biography of Mi Wu (1999) and A Biography of Dai Wangshu (2003).  His translations include Eight Lessons (2004), Milosz ABC (2004), A Selection of Li Qing’s Poetry, etc.

白螺壳

White Spiral Shell

空灵的白螺壳 
孔眼里不留纤尘， 
漏到了我的手里 
却有一千种感情： 
掌心里波涛汹涌， 
我感叹你的神工， 
你的慧心啊，大海， 
你细到可以穿珠！ 
可是我也禁不住： 
你这个洁癖啊，唉！ 

请看这一湖烟雨 
水一样把我浸透， 
像浸透一片鸟羽。 
我仿佛一所小楼 
风穿过，柳絮穿过， 
燕子穿过像穿梭， 
楼中也许有珍本， 
书页给银鱼穿织， 
从爱字到哀字—— 
出脱空华不就成！ 

玲珑吗，白螺壳，我？ 
大海送我到海滩， 
万一落到人掌握， 
愿得原始人喜欢， 
换一只山羊还差 
三十分之二十八， 
倒是值一只蟠桃。 
怕给多思者拾起： 
空灵的白螺壳，你 
带起了我的愁潮！ 

我梦见你的阑珊： 
檐溜滴穿的石阶， 
绳子锯缺的井栏…… 
时间磨透于忍耐！ 
黄色还诸小鸡雏， 
青色还诸小碧梧， 
玫瑰色还诸玫瑰， 
可是你回顾道旁， 
柔嫩的蔷薇刺上 
还挂着你的宿泪。

1937年5月

Vacant white spiral shell, there aren't 
Any grains of dust left in your eyelet.
Yet when in my hand, it has a thousand 
Kinds of feelings: there are billows 
Surging in the heart of my palm
O, sea, I am deeply moved by your 
Divine skills and bright heart. 
You can be so fine to thread through 
Beads! Yet I can't help saying:
Hey, your cleanliness to such an extent!

Behold, this lake of mist
Has soaked me like water, 
Like soaking a flake of feather.
Like a small building, I let 
The wind, the catkin and swallows
Be drilling me through like shuttles.
There might be curiosa in the building
And leaves shuttled through by whitebaits,
From the word "love" to the word "grief"--- 
I will be Ok when getting out of vanity.

Exquisite, white spiral shell, and I?
When delivered to the beach by the sea,
I'd like to be loved by some primitive
In case of falling into one's grasp.
If I have myself exchanged with a goat, 
The price ratio might be 30 to 2,
Yet I am still worth a flat peach. 
I am afraid of being picked up by contemplator:
Vacant white spiral shell, you
Have stirred the tide of my worry!

I have dreamt of your waning:
The stone steps dripped through by raindrops,
The well railing jagged by straw ropes…
Time has been abraded through by patience!
Let yellowness return to the little chicken,
Let greenness return to the little phoenix tree，
Let rosiness return to roses.
Yet, look back at the roadside:
On the thorns of the tender rosebush,
There still hanging drops of your old tears.

May, 1937