赵然，本名赵小波，福建南安人。上个世纪八十年代在大学读书时开始创作，毕业后从事新闻工作，写诗断断续续，作品散见于报刊。现任中国华侨大学新闻处副处长、《华侨大学报》总编辑，长期主持《华侨大学报》“中国高校诗歌联展”栏目。

Zhao Xiaobo, pen name Zhao Ran, born in Nanan, Fujian, PRC. He has written since 1980s and worked as a journalist after graduation. Most of his works were published on newspapers and journals. He is the vice-president of News Department of Huaqiao University, editor-in-chief of Newspaper of Huaqiao University and host column of "Poetry Exhibition of Chinese Universities."

老哈，诗人、译者，原名李小庆，1960年出生于中国成都，1986年赴美，后定居内华达至今。

Laoha, poet and translator, pen name of Xiaoqing Mario Li, born in China in 1960, moved to USA in 1986 and made his residence in northern Nevada since 1987.

麦田

Wheat Fields

是谁往杯子里
斟满液体
夜光平滑
如楠木桌面
一滴水来过
又走了
却未曾留下痕迹

麦田在秋天之外
收获的季节
镰刀在雪地里
浮云如歌
记录粮食的变迁

通往麦田
古道有炊烟
句号之后
还是句号
像日子　普通
平常　并且周而复始
不断轮回

在子夜
星光如灯
一个季节之后
麦田　遥远的山外
是谁在劳作
还有谁
企图
一手将月光遮挡
			

Who was it, 
filled up the cup with liquid 
of smooth gleam of night, 
like the face of cherry wood table. 
A drop of water came, 
then gone, 
left no trace.

Beyond the autumn, the wheat fields 
during the harvest season, 
sickle in the snow fields, 
the floating clouds, as of songs, 
are recording the mutations of the grains.

Through the wheat fields, 
there are cooking smoke by the ancient path. 
After the period, 
there are more periods, 
as ordinary 
as the normal days, back and forth  
like a circle.

At midnight, 
stars shine like lights. 
After one season is over, 
in the wheat fields, 
beyond the faraway mountains, 
who is still there doing the hard work, 
and who is there 
trying to block the moonlight 
with one single hand? 
			

二月的某个正午

A Noon in February

我蹲在老家土屋的墙角
晒着太阳
我观察一条河
怎样从我的眼前流过
（我对青蛙特别敏感
那是上个世纪的动物）
河水已经不很清澈
有点混浊
可能也没有鱼虾之类的生物
土屋的墙体早就脱落
我还是蹲着
我的身边有一棵孤独的树
挣扎着发芽
			

I was squatting at the corner 
of my old clay house wall, 
bathed in the sunlight, watching 
how a river flowing by in front of me.
(I have been very allergic to frogs, 
the animal that belonged to the last century)
The river water was no longer clear, 
kind of slurry, in it there might be 
not a single living things, like fishes or shrimps.
Though the clay house wall had been collapsed 
for some time now, I still squatted there.
Next to me, there was a lonely tree 
struggling to burgeon.
			

语言

Languages

深夜街头
全部语言开始生长
一种比喻从左手传出
右手握着床的象征
这个时候
那朵花悄然凋谢

月夜时刻的计划
延伸至街道
飘浮不定的空气
似桔红色的液体
语言分解为两种类型
一部分和真理无缘
另一部分必须时刻等待

应该栽树  或者
开掘有源头的渠道
规定所有的语言填写履历
文字重新进行注释
在一个绝对多情的黎明
一种声音歌唱着
另一种声音附和
语言作为载体
从此失去意义
			

On the street in the deep night, 
all the languages started to grow. 
One metaphor transfigured from the left hand, 
and the symbol of bed held in the right. 
At this time, 
with sorrow the flower withered quietly.

The plan of the moon night 
extended to the street. 
Like a tangerine colored liquid, 
the air constantly floated around. 
The languages discomposed into two different types, 
one had nothing to do with truth, 
and the other had to be waited for some time.

Trees should be planted, or 
some channels with source be dug. 
Make it a rule that all languages 
be used in writing resume, and 
the words must have footnote. 
In a dawn surely full of sentiment, 
a voice was singing, chimed with another. 
Since then, as a carrier, 
the language lost its meaning.