Glenna Holloway is the founding president of the Illinois State Poetry Society and a member of the Chicago Poets' Club. Her poetry has appeared in numerous magazines including Western Humanities Review, Georgia Review, Christian Science Monitor and many others.

格兰娜·豪勒威为前任伊利诺州诗人协会会长，是一位职业艺术家，从事釉瓷、银饰及宝石等工作。她的特约文稿，小说及诗登载在美国许多重要的报刊上，包括芝加哥论坛报。她曾多次获奖，包括美国州际诗人协会联盟大奖及美国女作家笔会联盟诗奖等。她也是芝加哥诗人俱乐部的成员。

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.

Stealers Keepers
          ─For Monet

谁偷谁得
          ──给莫奈

You stole the country colors,
the aubergine, the muted mauve
and viridian, and confined them
on canvas to defy death.

You confiscated shade and shadow,
took the running secret light 
and held it.

Making love to waterlilies
                               haystacks
                                  mists
stroking them, streaking them
with exultation, you fused them
to a palimpsest of knowing.

Beautiful thief,
taking what you wanted 
at its richest moment,
you robbed time of its teeth.
			

你偷窃乡村的色彩，
茄紫，淡紫
以及青绿，把它们囚于
画布内以抵御死亡。

你没收阴影，
掠走流动的秘光
把它扣住。

同睡莲
	干草垛
		薄雾做爱
抚摸它们，刻画它们
以狂喜，你把它们融入
一张你熟悉的羊皮纸。

美的窃贼，
取你所要的
在它的巅峰，
你抢走时间的利齿。
			

Glimpses

闪光

                           
When I was seven or eight
I imagined
storms were swept-up piles
of evil, black bags of it
the devil hung over us
to break suddenly
with writhing weight.
And when all that corruption
began to spill,
it clawed like a falling cat
ripping open the sky, letting
heaven show for a split instant,
brighter than compounded suns.

And then the earth jarred
as God snapped shut
the jagged tear
with an irate boom,
knowing we weren't yet ready

for such unshielded shining.
			

在我七、八岁的时候
我想像
风暴是扫起的
罪恶──装进黑袋里
魔鬼把它悬在我们的头顶上
让它因自己的重量
而突然迸裂。
而当所有的污秽
开始溢出，
张牙舞爪如一只跌落的猫
撕破天空，让
天国在一瞬间显露
比所有银河更亮的光芒。

然后地球格格作响
当上帝猛然关闭
那锯齿的裂缝
以一个愤怒的轰隆，
知道我们还受不了

如此无遮蔽的亮光。
			

Furniture Shipment From Formosa

台湾运来的家具

                           
A small statue was all I meant to buy
as Chinese wood carvers told of Kuan Kung,
an ancient warrior still revered.  Sweet shavings
curled around my feet, romance colors and breath
of auspicious beginnings swirled in my head.
The replica of Kuan Kung's buffet mesmerized me
like the artisans' shimmering tales.

The eight-foot rough-sawn crate came today,
rattling like a giant gourd of fertility--
three hundred twenty-one pounds (minus myth)
on the bill of lading from the Mikagesan Maru
out of Keelung.  Outside our everyday Chicago door:
a sudden collage of neighbors, crowbars, splinters
and groaning nails forced from their pits.
The ordinary drifted away like incense smoke.

We rummaged layers of cardboard, scalloped
like Taipei roof tiles, wads of excelsior (or maybe
the phoenix's nest) and swathes of red tissue.
A sudden avalanche of dried mung beans
(source of the rattle, added as desiccant)
bared a fat in-curved leg.  The scent of teak
lined with camphorwood conjured lotus pools,
burning joss sticks, folk dancers' flying silks.

A dragon's eye shone within shadow shapes
slashed with gold.  Peering from depths
of the Ming Dynasty, urged on by its winged cohort,
it pierced the last wrappings by its own dint.
Coiled on drawers and doors,
enormous impatience slipping its bright ties,
the dragon flexed its magic.

Through a paper fissure on one flank, a trick
of light on hand-rubbed lacquer:  the phoenix wing
was a battle-ax, and Kuan Kung, pursuing
his vow to liberate the mainland, adjusted
his armor and headdress, turned and vanished
behind the patina of legend.  Only bird and beast
burst free, flaming pearls clutched in claws,
scales glittering blackly,
and shook off the last dust of island China.
			

我本来只想买一个小雕像
当中国木雕师谈起关公，
一个至今仍受崇拜的勇士。芳香的刨花
卷缩在我脚跟前，浪漫的色彩
与吉兆的气息在我脑中回荡。
一个关公雕像的碗柜吸引了我
如工匠闪烁的故事。

八尺的粗糙货柜今天抵达，
嘎嘎作响如一个大葫芦 ──
三百二十一磅（不包括神话）
载于从基隆出发的货轮
收据上。在我们日常的芝加哥门口：
一群突然围拢的邻居，铁杠，木片
以及被强拉出来的钉子的呻吟声。
平凡散去如焚香的烟气。

我们在层层毗连如台北屋瓦的
厚纸板、团团的木花（或竟是
凤凰的巢与一卷卷红纱纸里搜索。
突然崩落的干豆
（嘎嘎声的出处，用来做干燥剂）
露出一条向内弯的胖腿，麻栗树
掺杂著樟树的香味，使人想起莲池，
烧香，以及民间舞者飘扬的丝带。

一只龙的眼睛在金色的阴影里
闪闪发光。从明代深处
向外窥视，在带翅的武士簇拥下，
它用自身的力量穿出最后一层包扎。
盘踞在抽屉及门上，
不耐地挣脱束缚，龙显示了它的威力。

从一侧的纸隙，一个光影
在手涂的漆上：凤凰的翅膀
是一柄长刀，而关公，为了
逐鹿中原的誓言，调整
他的盔甲，转身在神话的绿锈后
隐去。留下鸟兽
四处奔突，燃烧的明珠在爪下，
黑鳞闪闪
抖落来自岛国的最后一片尘埃。