生于1949年11月。在北京上小学、中学。1969年到河北白洋淀插队。同年开始诗歌写作，是“白洋淀诗歌群落”的主要成员。曾在北京的中学和大学任教，1992年到中国作家协会工作。除诗歌创作外，还有散文、诗歌评论文章发表。著有《我流过这片土地》、《林莽的诗》、《永恒的瞬间》、《林莽短诗选》等诗集，还出版有诗文合集《穿透岁月的光芒》。编辑有《诗探索金库-食指卷》、《中国百年诗歌精华》、《中国知青诗抄》等多种诗歌选本。现为中国作家协会会员、中国诗歌协会理事、北京作协理事、《诗探索》编委、作品卷主编、《诗刊》编委等。现在《诗刊》工作。

Born in November 1949. He went to primary and high school in Beijing. In 1969 he went to Bai Yang Dian, beginning to write poetry and became one of the key members of Bai Yang Dian Poetry Group. He taught in high school and college in Beijing until he worked for China Writers' Association in 1992. He also writes non-fiction and poetry critical articles. His publications include I flow over the land, Lin Mang's Poetry, Eternal Instants, Short Poems by Lin Mang, The Light Penetrating Years. He has edited a number of poetry anthologies. He is a member of China Writers' Association,one of the directors of China Poetry Association and Beijing Writers' Association. He is one of the key editors of Poetry Exploration and Poetry Magazine. He works for Poetry Magazine in Beijing.

An American poet. He has taught and traveled in Asia and Europe.

美国青年诗人，曾在各国任教，游踪遍及欧亚等国。

Jin Lei is a native of Yunnan Providence in China. She studied in the United States for a few years.

云南人，曾留学美国。

小城霏雨

Downpour in a Small Town

清晨，屋外正在落雨
室内幽暗
在我久居的院落深处
雨水滴嗒
打湿了我窗前的老树和葡萄藤
悠然间我想起
那夏日里曾客居的外省小城
早市的喧闹把我从睡意中唤醒

沿滴水的店铺屋檐
我走过早市的街巷
人流在伞的下面
在毗连的木屋檐下
在异乡的语音中
一条平缓而从容的溪水
从这条巷到那条巷
渐渐地
从沉甸甸的装满青菜的提篮里
从一丛丛淌着水滴的花束中
雨水霏霏，溶入一片江南画屏

当我沿早市的街巷
走回我客居的小屋
这外省小城和一束鲜花的幽香
给我留下了深深的温情
连雨水也那样亲切

有如我北方的家
晚饭后院落中的寂静
小女儿一整天玩得疲倦了
在初睡中喃喃梦呓
有时雨水就是在这时滴落在葡萄架上
一丝凉意正浸入夏夜的深处
有如那束晚香玉所唤起的
			

Dawn breaks to rain outdoors
And indoors it is dark
Drumming rain
Wets the old tree and the grapevine outside my window
Back in the courtyard that has long been my home
And my thoughts turn
To a summer's day spent in a small town in another province
When the noise of the morning market woke me from slumber

I walked through market streets
Whose shop eaves dripped with rain
Packed with people under umbrellas
Under abutting eaves of wooden houses
Amid the accents of another place
A brimming gentle stream
Going gradually
From one street to the next
Through handbaskets laden with greens
And dripping bunches of flowers
Fused by pouring rain into a painted southern screen
And the little town in another province
With its aroma of cut flowers
Warmed me deeply as I walked
Back to my narrow lodgings
With intimacy even of rain

As if after supper in the still courtyard
Of my northern home
My daughter tired with daylong play
Murmured in the somniloquy of first sleep
And sometimes now raindrops on the vine trellis
Infuse cool deep into a summer's night
Like those tuberoses calling
			

被遗忘的高原小站

A Small Forgotten Station on the Plateau

午后的寂静中
我们走向坡地上的小站
高原的青石峰下
空旷  看不到一个人
道路左边  渐渐侵入的流沙群
在阳光下金黄地闪烁
两只追逐的狗  远远地
从路基上倾斜而下
钻进了一片疲倦不堪的矮树林

那辆风狂的卡车
扔下我们  拖着尘土的长龙
很快地消失在山路的拐角上
阳光直射
再也听不到任何声音

穿铁路制服的小伙子迎面走来
突然终止了他缓慢的口哨声
从他疑问的目光里
我们已注定地被抛弃在这儿

远远望去
这高原的七月
那座几乎被列车遗忘的小站
在蒸腾的气流中遥遥而立
比来自远方的客人更孤单
			

We walked in the solitude of afternoon
To a little hillside station
In Open land under a crag on the plateau
With no one to be seen
And encroaching sand sparkling gold
In the sunlight on the right of the road
Far off two chasing dogs
Swerved down from the roadbed
And plunged into exhausted bushes

The mad lorry 
Threw us off and vanished quickly
In a trail of dust
Round the bend of the hill road
And all sound stopped
In direct sunlight

The lad coming to meet us in railway uniform
Broke off his slow whistling
And we knew from his interrogative gaze
That we were doomed to be abandoned here
The distant little station
Looked almost forgotten by trains
Swaying in the steaming draught
Of the July plateau
Lonelier than a traveller from distant parts
			

瞬间

Instants

有时候，邻家的鸽子落在我的窗台上
咕咕地轻啼
窗口的大杨树不知不觉间已高过了四层楼的屋顶
它们轻绕那些树冠又飞回来
阳光在蓬松的羽毛上那么温柔
生命日复一日

我往往空着手从街上回来
把书和上衣掷在床上
日子过得匆匆忙忙
我时常不能带回来什么
即使离家数日
只留下你和这小小的屋子
生活日复一日

面对无声无息的默契
我们已习惯了彼此间的宽容
一对鸽子在窗台上咕咕地轻啼
他们在许多瞬间属于我们

日复一日灰尘落在书脊上渐渐变黄
如果生活时时在给予
那也许是另一回事
我知道，那无意间提出的请求并不过份
我知道，夏日正转向秋天
也许一场夜雨过后就会落叶纷飞

不是说再回到阳光下幽深的绿荫
日子需要闲遐的时候
把家收拾干净，即使
轻声述说些无关紧要的事
情感也会在其间潜潜走过
当唇际间最初的战栗使你感知了幸福
这一瞬已延伸到了生命的尽头
而那些请求都是无意间说出的
			

Sometimes the neighbour's pigeons land on my windowledge
Cooing softly
Where the great poplar at the window has somehow
    grown beyond the fourth-floor roof
They skim round its crown and back
The sunlight on their fluffy feathers
Alive day by day

I keep coming indoors empty-handed
And throwing book and jacket on the bed
As the days hurry by
I can bring scarcely anything home
Even after days away
Only you remain and the little room
Living day by day

We have grown used
By an unspoken pact to the room's breadth
A pair of pigeons cooing softly on the windowledge
Which at many instants belong to us
Day by day
Dust that falls on book spines gradually yellows
Perhaps it is otherwise
That life, if it does, provides
I know that the unwitting request is not excessive
And that summer turns to autumn
Perhaps fallen leaves will swirl after a night of rain

It does not mean a return to green shade deep in sunlight
A house-cleaning when leisure affords
Feelings may come on latent even as 
Irrelevancies are spoken softly
The instant when a first trembling on the lips teaches you happiness

Lasts till the end of life
A request always voiced unwittingly
			

暮冬之雪

Late Winter Snow

我来到您的身旁
静度这一年中最安闲的时光

炉火不用生得很旺
屋里已足够温暖
可以无心地睡一会儿
梦着小时候的日子

靠着棕色的木板隔墙
我仿佛又听到了
那有些忧伤的哼唱
当年乡下的老屋
也许早已不存在了
石竹花在窗台上慢慢地生长

暮冬的雪飘落了一个又一个黄昏
寂静中能听到它们打在玻璃上的声音
透过被飞雪映得发亮的窗子
老树的枝桠显得更加黝黑
屋檐上融雪垂落的声音
使我久久不能入睡

像我小时候一样
母亲依旧那样整日地操劳
她从这间房到那间房  最后
掩掩我的被角才去睡了
飘飞的雪花渐渐掩住了以往的记忆
隐约间我听见
细枝坠落
温暖的炉火上
水壶在发出嘶嘶的声息
			

I have come to you
To spend the calmest time of year in peace

The fire need not be very bright
It is warm enough here
To sleep awhile unwittingly
Dreaming of youth

Against the brown wooden partition
I can almost hear
The somewhat distressed humming
The old country house
May no longer be there
With pinks growing slowly on the windowsill

Late winter snows float down twilight by twilight
To be heard in the solitude against the glass
And through the window illuminated by snowflakes
The old tree's crotches seem swarthier
And the sound of melting snow falling from the eaves
Keeps me long from sleep

And in my youth
I did not sleep till Mother
Having slaved daylong
From one room to the next
Tucked in my coverlet
So the snowflakes gradually tuck in memory of the past
And I faintly hear
Twigs fall 
And the kettle singing
On the warm fire