《诗歌风赏》2025年第一卷发出6位外国女诗人专辑

《唐诗三百首》辑录了唐代近300位诗人的作品，是中国古典诗歌的精华选本。 #生活常识# #历史文化普及#

长江文艺出版社，2025年12月，主编：娜仁琪琪格

共收录6位英美女诗人作品——海伦·普莱茨Helen Pletts，珍妮特·丽兹Janet Lees，海伦娜·卡多纳Hélène Cardona，诺尔查·福克斯Nolcha Fox，帕特里夏·斯皮尔斯·琼斯Patricia Spears Jones，芭芭拉·哈里斯·莱昂哈德Barbara Harris Leonhard

海伦·普莱茨（Helen Pletts，1960-），现居剑桥，其作品已被译为中文、孟加拉语、希腊语、越南语、塞尔维亚语、韩语和意大利语。普莱茨的诗歌创作屡获殊荣：五度入围布里德波特诗歌奖（2018、2019、2022-2024），两度入选《里亚尔托》自然与地方诗歌奖长名单（2018、2022），入围银杏生态诗歌奖（2019）、英国国家诗歌大赛（2022），获广场散文诗大赛亚军（2022-23）并再度入围该奖项决选名单（2023-24）。她出版的三部诗集包括与罗米特·伯杰合作的插图诗集《你的眼睛守护着软趾雪花莲》（2022年），在艺术委员会资助下出版的《瓶子银行》（2008年）与《致训诫之鸽》（2009年）。其获奖散文诗收录于《广场奖选集》，生态诗歌见于“打开快门”出版社与“墙头蝇”出版社的选集。作品广泛发表于《国际时报》《民众之声》《墨汗泪》《美学》《奥比斯》《麦基诺》《剑桥诗刊》《沼地芦苇》《湖上诗刊》《城邦》《欧洲诗歌》《诗虚拟》《魔法》《原始传说》《诗界》《理念的圣痕》《菲利克斯领域》等。

the immortalisation of everything

—for Yongbo

existence is this repeated stillness;

a bright moonbeam still talking to poetry,

white continuously falling has itself perpetuity

the space is suspended in a falling grace.

A green dot of light on a black screen

has the echo of moonbeams, speaking,

the words falling but they stay in the flux of song,

like polished obsidian rocks still conjuring brightness,

stone age daylight shivers in darkness, like a

purring cat, cold in the night, coming back

endlessly viewing itself again in black glass

25th May 2025

“our poems will live in our place, quietly breathing in the depths of time”

Ma Yongbo, 24th May 2025

万物的不朽

存在是这重复的寂静；

一缕明亮的月光仍在与诗歌交谈，

持续飘落的白自有其永恒

空间悬浮于坠落的优雅之中。

黑屏上一个绿色的光点

带着月光的回响，在诉说，

词语飘落却停驻在歌声的流波里，

如打磨过的黑曜石仍在召唤光明，

石器时代的日光在黑暗中颤动，

像一只低吟的猫，寒夜里归来

在黑色玻璃中不断重新打量自身

yellow jasmine summoning the sun in a spring hedge

is yellow jasmine in all her dizziness;

spinning in the dark green leaves.

As she rises his darker leaves stretch beneath her rising colour.

Darkness exists where the shadows are still tumbling

in their winter sticks,

he glimpses her yellow rising neons,

the hot sun suddenly opening her;

matching her blazing

7th April 2025

黄色报春花在春日树篱中召唤着太阳

报春花在一片眩晕中金黄闪耀；

在深绿的叶片间飞旋。

当她把他的黑暗提升

在她愈发浓烈的色彩下延展。

阴影仍在冬日黑暗中翻腾

那里，黑暗依旧存在，

他瞥见她的黄色升起的霓虹，

炽热的太阳突然将她开启；

与她耀眼的光辉相呼应。

raining in darkness

the rain is constructing us

forming us from silver and darkness,

our toes standing in silver

under the shorting street light

relentless seconds in on and off,

tonight the visible cloud is a two tiered

stage of darkness with white edges,

opening like a black panther’s mouth swallowing lost light;

the circuitry of the road is momentarily a dazzled green.

Rain has changed our perception of red light too,

and she is still building, she borrows from

shadow and silver to give us shape,

she flexes, only to blur us again, dressing us only in water.

Rain finally decides we are finished,

she gives us white voices of bright mist rising in earnest

1st June 2025 midnight

—on a dry night in Cambridge, just because he sent me a text

earlier tonight from Nanjing saying “raining in darkness”

雨在黑暗中下着

雨正在构筑我们

用银与黑暗把我们塑造，

我们的脚趾立于银色之中

在不停短路的街灯下

无情的秒针在开关之间跳动，

今夜可见的云是双层的

边缘泛白的黑暗舞台，

如黑豹张口吞噬迷失的光；

道路的电路瞬间化作眩目的绿。

雨也改变了我们对红灯的感知，

而她仍在构建，她借用

阴影与银线赋予我们形状，

她弯曲，却又让我们变得模糊，

只用水为我们更衣打扮。

雨终于认定我们已经成型，

便以真切升滕的明亮薄雾

赋予我们白色的嗓音。

a bird man standing under a tree

bird-thought is as optional as shaving.

The critical point at which a bird has thought

is as close as a blade to a whisker on skin,

the beak, slightly askew, as it comes up close,

thought hanging in there, like the whisper

of a thread black leg of a closely gobbled beetle.

The bird man is thinking about shaving.

Bird as a man is thinking about shaving

all the legs off all the beetles.

Thought is the thin leg of everything

and sometimes it does, or does not, come out

of the mouth

27th March 2025

一个鸟人站在树下

鸟的思想和刮胡子一样可有可无。

鸟类思考的临界点

就像皮肤上的刀刃和胡须一样接近，

当它靠近时，鸟喙略微倾斜，

思想悬在那里，像一只被紧紧咬着的

甲虫的细线黑腿发出的低语。

鸟人正在考虑刮胡子。

像一个男人，鸟正在考虑

把所有甲虫的腿都剃光。

思想是万物的细腿

有时它会，或不会，

从嘴里说出来

in which I place myself as continuously moving eel

when her silver is thinner. I am the silver thread tucking in my fins,

I have forgotten the timelessness of liquid peeling silver in my ears,

destiny drumming on my sides, the urgency of sideways pressure,

the velocity of water scoring rocks over time with clawed feet,

and I am footless, there is no emerging route, I am only in the next

curve, sometimes a silver sickle slicing, for only a moment; a silver dart

25th May 2025

我将自己视为一条不停游动的鳗鱼

当她的银光渐淡，我是藏于鳍间的银线

早已忘却液态银光在耳畔剥落的永恒

命运擂击我的身侧，侧压的急迫感蔓延

水流以利爪随时间在岩石刻下速度

而我无足，亦无浮现的出路，

只存在于下一道弯曲里，

有时是银镰挥斩，不过刹那；一只银矢

the name of water

in a clear spring, vowels are resting minnows,

light in tiny silver, circling, embellishing.

Each beginning as a small silver embryo.

A pale soft curling, is gradually opening,

straightens a bit and leans against a willow

unspooling her green hair into the brook.

Should we not stretch the poet out any further,

why not leave him resting here

in quiet silver? His floating fins are rippling

pen strokes, here he glances night and day

as one dance. Here he can languish in a muddy berth,

rocked only by the willow’s gentle spiralling wave

26th April 2025

水之名

在清冽的泉水中，元音是休憩的鲦鱼，

泛着细碎银辉，游弋盘桓，点缀其间。

每一个开端都如一枚银色的小胚胎。

灰色柔软的蜷曲，正缓缓舒展，

微微挺直，倚着一棵柳树，

将她的绿发垂入溪流中舒展。

我们不应再将诗人拉长，

为何不让他在此处休憩

在静谧的银辉里？他浮动的鳍

是荡漾的笔触，在这里，他日夜顾盼，

如同一支舞蹈。在这里，

他可在软泥的铺位上倦怠慵懒，

唯有柳枝轻柔旋卷的波浪将他摇晃

two soft horses of golden sunlight

together they are blazing in the bright street,

their hooves occasionally meeting in sparks.

Gold re-fashioning their soft forms;

light softly entering and re-entering their shapes.

How does a horse move silently

as a ribbon of stolen light?

What door is left ajar?

Without the dull fixings

they gently spin in softer air?

And every surface of glass shimmers,

clouds are left undefended.

They can neither grey, nor whiten;

the sun is the furnace keeper of two.

20th April 2025

两匹柔软的金色阳光之马

它们一同在明亮的街道上燃烧，

它们的蹄子偶尔碰撞出火花。

黄金重塑着它们柔软的身形；

温柔的光反复进入它们的轮廓。

一匹马如何无声地移动

像一条偷来的光带？

是什么样的门虚掩着？

没有笨重的羁绊

它们在更柔软的空气中轻轻旋转？

所有玻璃的表面都在闪烁微光，

云朵卸下防备。

它们既不变灰，也不变白；

太阳为它们两个守护着熔炉。

珍妮特・丽兹（Janet Lees），诗人、艺术家兼诗电影制作人。她 2019 年出版的《水之屋》将诗歌与艺术摄影相结合，而《一袋天空》则在2019年 “霜火首届小册子竞赛” 中荣获一等奖。

她的诗歌广泛发表于各类期刊和文集中，包括《岩浆》《诗歌新闻》《灯塔》以及《山谷出版社散文诗选集》。她在诸多赛事中斩获殊荣，如布里斯托尔诗歌奖、根西岛国际诗歌奖、《审美家》创意写作奖决赛入围，并以 “回望” 为主题的作品赢得《诗歌新闻》会员诗歌竞赛冠军。

珍妮特的视频诗歌和艺术电影入选众多国际电影节及展映活动，包括斑马诗歌电影节和《审美家》艺术奖。2024 年，她在密歇根州 Filmetry 电影节中获得一等奖，并在都柏林布鲁姆日电影节中摘得 “最佳国际诗歌短片” 奖。2022 年，她的作品亮相温哥华里程碑式展览《手持摄像机的诗人：1980-2020诗电影》；2021 年，她赢得了 Ó Bhéal 国际诗歌电影竞赛。此外，珍妮特屡获殊荣的艺术摄影作品已在全球各地的个展和群展中展出。

Albatross

My blood is crude

A dull song

that doesn’t scan as it should

It stultifies these fingers

glues sternum to spine

occludes the workings of each eye

My blood covets

greedy in the dark

It will never have enough

While I’m asleep it leaches

into the soil into the sea

and there

two thousand miles from anything like me

it hardens and sharpens

slices seabirds out of the air

supplants their viscera

with board game organs

made to last a hundred lifetimes

builds nests of dolls’ house leavings

that double up as graves

in the guts of earthbound young

who cry out their numbered days

to the same blank sky

that has its blue hooks in my blood

And when they tear me open

and fill my veins with rain maybe

there will be an end to this

信天翁

我的血液粗粝

一首滞涩的歌

失却应有的韵律

它使这些指尖麻木

将胸骨与脊柱黏合

遮蔽每只眼的运转

我的血液充满贪念

在黑暗中饕餮

永远不会满足

当我沉睡时，它渗入

泥土，渗入海洋

在那里

距我这样的人两千英里之遥

它变得坚硬，锐利

将海鸟从空中劈落

用棋盘游戏的器官

替换它们的内脏

足以维系百代光阴

用玩偶屋的残骸筑巢

也用作坟墓

在困于陆地的幼雏腹中

它们向同一片空茫的天空

哭喊着屈指可数的时日

而天空的蓝钩正扎进我的血液

当它们撕开我的身体

以雨水注满我的血管——或许

这一切才会终结

Bedtime

When I was eleven –

a ball of wildfire hissing at rules, lies,

cracks in the pavement, blurred desires –

they pinned me into the bedclothes

to starve my heart of air and light,

little knowing that inside I was water

compelled to run downhill towards

a huge man seen through trees at dusk,

as if he were my saviour.

Tonight, as I lie confined

to the same small place as yesterday,

he is running towards me.

I want to punch him

but I pray for him instead,

fill him up with holy smoke

until he falls down dead.

And now he walks again

into that Soho diner

with tangerine leather seats

and scorch marks on the walls.

He wants us to stay here

forever, he tells me,

picking burnt seeds out of his teeth,

sprinkling ashes into my cup

睡前

十一岁时——

我是一团野火，对规则、谎言、

人行道的裂缝、模糊的欲望嘶鸣——

他们将我按进被子里

让我的心脏缺失空气与光亮，

却不知我得内心是流水

注定朝山下奔去，奔向

黄昏树影间窥见的一个巨人，

仿佛他是我的救主。

今夜，当我再次困于

与昨日相同的狭小空间，

他正向我奔来。

我想挥拳相向，

却转而为他祈祷，

用圣烟将他填满

直到他倒地而亡。

可如今他又起身行走

走进苏荷区那家小饭馆

有橘色的皮革座椅

墙壁上烙着焦痕。

他想让我们永远留在这里

他告诉我说，

一边从他齿间剔出烧焦的种籽，

一边把灰烬撒进我的杯里

House of water

He caught your untrained heart

the first time you watched him walk

the long white shore on his clever feet

and now you have caught him;

brought him, laid on the blade of your tail,

home to your house of water

washed him clean of his name

stroked away the sorrows

from his milk and butter skin

explained to him the secret ways of fish

and all the things you wish –

you, born of moonshine

blood part-brine part-stardust

daughter of the world’s misfortune –

your whole body singing all mine all mine

blind to his closed eyes

his salted lips

his silent heart.

Yours to keep. So bury him deep

in your bed of fool’s gold

until he turns to water too

then hold his bones and dream his tread

and rise to walk the sleepless shore

on dumbstruck feet

each step more painful than the last;

condemned to live as flesh and blood

when all you wanted was to love.

Inspired by the painting ‘The Depths of the Sea’ by Edward Burne-Jones

水之屋

当你第一次看见他用灵巧的双足

走过漫长的白色海岸

他便捕获了你未曾驯服的心

如今你也捕获了他；

将他置于你的尾刃之上，

带回你的水之屋

洗净他的姓名

抚去他的忧愁

从他乳脂般的肌肤

向他解释鱼类的秘径

以及你所有的祈愿——

你，生于月光之下

血液半是盐水半是星尘

身为世间苦难的女儿——

全身都在唱着“全是我的全是我的”

却看不见他紧闭的双眼

咸涩的嘴唇

沉寂的心脏。

你将他据为己有，把他深埋在

愚人黄金铺就的床榻

直到他也化作流水

然后抱着他的骨头，梦见他的步履

起身走向无眠的海岸

用麻木的双足

每一步都比前一步更疼痛；

注定要以血肉之躯存活

而你全部的所求不过是爱。

注解：灵感源自爱德华・伯恩-琼斯的画作《海之深处》

海伦娜·卡多纳（Hélène Cardona），多语言诗人兼演员。她著有双语诗集《悬浮的生活》《梦见我的动物自我》等，译著包括《绑架》《伯南森林》（何塞·曼努埃尔·卡多纳著）、《超越他处》（加布里埃尔·阿尔努-劳雅克著）、《沃尔特·惠特曼内战时的作品》（译自法语）及《我们所承载之物》（多里安妮·劳克斯著）。

她曾获20余项荣誉与奖项，包括独立出版社奖、阿尔贝蒂娜与FACE基金会奖、海明威基金等。她拥有巴黎索邦大学美国文学硕士学位，曾任加拿大驻法大使馆译员，并在汉密尔顿学院与洛约拉马利蒙特大学任教。此外，她还获得过歌德学院与安达卢西亚国际大学的奖学金，作品已被翻译成20种语言。

Night Messenger

I wake. In a meadow

braided with wild grasses and flowers

notes of music drift from a harp.

A penguin is running.

I follow to the river.

He lays on a leaf,

lets the current carry him

and says, this stream is your life,

instead of watching from the meadow,

flow with its rhythm.

Guided by Scottish pipes

I reach the gate

between my past and the waterway.

Like the penguin, I lay on a leaf,

let the river transport me

knowing I’ve entered another world.

夜间信使

我醒来。草地上

野草与繁花丛生交织

一只竖琴飘出音符。

一只企鹅正在奔跑。

我随它来到河边。

它躺在一片叶子上，

任水流载着它漂行

并且说道，这条溪流是你的生命，

别再从草地上旁观，

要随着它的节奏流动。

在苏格兰风笛的指引下

我抵达那扇门

位于我的过往与水道之间。

像那只企鹅一样，我躺在一片叶子上，

让河流携带我前行

知道自己已进入另一个世界。

Quiescent Infinite

On a visit to my ancestors, I’m shown

into the palace of hypnotists

through a small entrance and grand rounding staircase,

each step a drawer containing sculptures.

The landing expands into huge vistas

over fountains, centaurs and other creatures,

statues come alive, stunning spectacle.

Windows open onto a lake

― adorned by willows and vines ―

whose surface, smooth and silver,

reflects the astonished beauty

of mutable selves riveted on the horizon.

寂静的无限

在探访先祖时，我被引入

催眠师的宫殿

通过一道小门和宏伟的环形楼梯，

每一级台阶都是藏着雕塑的抽屉。

楼梯平台延展成壮阔的视野，

俯瞰喷泉、半人马与其他生灵，

雕像苏醒过来，化作震撼的奇观。

窗户朝着湖泊敞开——

湖面装点着垂柳与藤蔓，

平滑如银的水面

映照着惊鸿之美：

那些铆在地平线上的反复无常的自我。

Cornucopia

Subtle feminine power creates a magnificent

universe, rich soil,

Edenic mythological birds

and trees blooming in apotheosis.

I travel corridors of mind, synapses

of chaos, frenetic amnesia, beguiling

impulses, diffusion of heaven, past marble

portals to crystalline temples.

Poseidon’s laughter resonates: Hail

the water dragon. With amethyst eyes

witness dashes of magic. Smiling

crocodiles turn to tortoises, my name

pyramid, antique amulet, the heart

a secret tower I inhabit. Across

the web I’ve woven I cut loose

the end of sorrow. I’m here to stay.

丰饶之角

微妙的女性力量创造了

壮丽的宇宙，肥沃的土壤，

伊甸园神话中的飞鸟，

以及神圣中开花的树木。

我穿梭于心灵的长廊，

混沌的突触，狂乱的失忆，

迷人的冲动，天堂的扩散，

穿过大理石的门户，通往水晶神庙。

波塞冬的笑声回荡：万岁水龙。

用紫水晶般的眼睛，

见证魔法的点点滴滴。

微笑的鳄鱼变成了乌龟，我的名字

金字塔，古老的护身符，

心脏，我栖息的秘密高塔。

穿过我编织的网，我斩断

悲伤的结尾。我将在此驻留。

Pathway to Gifts

Whispers wake me.

I return home

behind a procession of swans

to an island in the heart of Paris.

On the cliffs where the wild ones come

to show themselves,

I sing this whistling song,

look at the other side of the world

as if a deck of cards spread out

to peek under and flip over

for a glimpse at the hidden side.

The dream opens forgotten realms of creation.

I think that’s what time is.

通往天赋之路

低语将我唤醒。

我启程回家

跟随一队天鹅的行列

抵达巴黎核心的一座岛屿。

在野天鹅现身的悬崖，

我唱起这支哨音之歌，

注视世界的另一面

如同摊开一副纸牌

窥探其下，翻转牌面

只为瞥见那隐藏的一面。

梦幻开启被遗忘的创造之境，

我想，那便是时间的本质。

Woodwork

If I could gather all the sadness of the world,

all the sadness inside me

into a gourd,

I’d shake it once in a while

and let it sing,

let it remind me of who I used to be,

bless it for what it taught me

and stare at it lovingly

for not seeping out of its container.

木工活

若能将世间哀愁悉数收起，

连同我骨血里的沉痛

装进一枚葫芦，

我当偶尔将它摇响

让它低吟

让它提醒我曾是何人

感念它授予的种种

并深情注目

因为悲辛未曾从这小小的容器渗漏。

诺尔查・福克斯（Nolcha Fox，1954-），美国女诗人，其诗歌广泛发表于纸质和在线期刊，曾获“网络最佳作品”和“手推车”提名。作为畅销书作家，出版诗集《我父亲的幽灵讨厌猫》《大浪底》《如何叫我早起》《记忆是那只浣熊》《牛轧糖》《为什么鸡肉在微波炉里会爆炸》《癌症不只是一个星座》《我的骨盆想成为猫王》《用文字画手指画》《文字成象》等。现任《咀嚼者》杂志编辑。

I’m From

I’m from a Marine base built

on the backs of billions of bugs,

stewed in humidity and heat.

We drove in front of a hurricane

to leave that place behind.

I’m from pink snapdragons,

purple morning glories

that called me Chatterbox.

Green grass as far as

my little blues could see,

green grass on my knees.

I’m from smog that cut through

rubber, paint, and freeway glut.

Buildings blocked the sun.

People packed in sardine cans

who did their best to

know no one at all.

我来自

我来自一座海军基地

它建在亿万昆虫的背上，

在湿气和热浪中闷煮。

我们在飓风前驱车离开

把那个地方抛在身后。

我来自粉色的金鱼草，

紫色的牵牛花

它们叫我"话匣子"。

绿草远远地延伸向

我的小蓝眼睛能望见的尽头，

绿草沾在我的膝盖上。

我来自烟雾，它能穿透

橡胶，油漆和堵塞的高速公路。

建筑物挡住了太阳。

人们挤在沙丁鱼罐头里

竭尽全力

与所有人保持陌生。

Make Much of Something Small

The crunch of leaves that fall,

once green, then yellow,

quickly dry and crumple,

love notes lost to coming winter.

How quickly gusts denude the trees,

to leave them shivering in the wind.

Leaves don’t complain.

They turn to mulch

to keep the garden warm.

They know new leaves

will show again when winter

melts to sparkling spring.

化小为大

落叶嘎吱作响，

曾经是绿的，然后黄了，

很快就干枯而皱缩，

爱的音符失落在凛冬将临。

多么快，阵风就把树剥光，

让它们在风中瑟瑟发抖。

树叶没有抱怨。

它们变成了覆盖物

给花园保温。

它们知道，当冬天

融化成明媚的春天，

新叶会再次出现。

To Think Like Winter

If I had a winter mind,

my inner clock would

slowly pace two minutes

for a second’s grace

to watch a bird’s flight

shatter clouds and moan

a mournful ode to spring.

像冬天一样思考

如果我有冬天的心态，

我的内在时钟

就会走慢两分钟，

等待一秒钟的宽限，

看一只飞鸟翱翔

打破云层，呻吟着

一首哀伤的春天颂歌。

Within Reach

Summer’s pears hang low enough,

I reach them from my seat.

A book I love is close enough

to relish with delight.

I start to cut those juicy pears

to eat while I am reading.

But words distract me from my task.

Pears brown before I taste them.

触手可及

夏日的梨子挂得足够低，

我从座位上够到它们。

我喜欢的一本书离我足够近，

我可以尽情享受。

我开始切那些多汁的梨子，

一边看书一边吃梨。

但文字分散了我的注意力，

我还没有尝到滋味，它们就黄了。

So Tender

She gently dusts flat surfaces.

She carefully cleans the dishes

I left in the sink. They shine.

She gently polishes silverware,

although it’s stainless steel.

She finds the keys I lost again

and puts them in my bag.

She shakes me hard

to wake me up

each year at the exact

time that she died.

如此温柔

她轻轻掸去平面上的灰。

她仔细清洗我留在

水槽里的盘子，

让它们闪闪发光。

她轻轻擦亮镀银的餐具，

尽管它们是不锈钢的。

她找到我一再丢失的钥匙

并将它们放进我的包里。

每年她去世的那天，

她都会用力

摇晃我，把我叫醒。

Borrowed

It’s said we live on borrowed time,

in bodies lent, in rented rooms,

sublet from shrouded landlord,

who handed us keys and promises

to take back what is his someday.

If I pay him right on time,

will he let me stay longer?

借来的

据说我们活在借来的时间里，

借来的身体，租来的房间，

从遮遮掩掩的房东那里转租而来，

他递给我们钥匙，承诺

有朝一日会拿回属于他的东西。

如果我按时付钱，

他会让我多住几天吗？

帕特里夏·斯皮尔斯·琼斯（Patricia Spears Jones，1951-），出生于阿肯色州的福雷斯特。美国诗人、剧作家、文论家、教育家和文化活动家。著有诗集《心爱的社区》（2023）、《透明之火》（2015）、《止痛药》（2010）、《世界女性》（2006）、《致命的天气》（1995）。曾获得众多奖项，包括杰克逊诗歌奖、国家艺术基金、纽约艺术基金、当代艺术基金、歌德学院奖金等。自20世纪70年代以来，琼斯一直居住在纽约市，在亨特学院、巴纳德学院、阿德尔菲大学教授创意写作，并担任2020年霍林斯大学驻校作家。她在作家社区、美术工作中心、诗人之家、布鲁克林诗人、纽约和布鲁克林公共图书馆等机构领导诗歌工作坊，也是美国诗人大会的组织者，她还与人合作策划了圣马可教堂诗歌项目的周三晚间系列。马布矿场剧团排演了她的戏剧《母亲》和《纽约之歌：男人坐着编织时女人在做什么》。2023年，琼斯被任命为纽约州诗人。

Morning Glory

Sunlight softens helicopters hover

Skies above Brooklyn Presidential

Visit, murder investigation, matters little.

Noise in the skies, noise on the ground.

You should prune the morning glories

I tell my elderly neighbor.

She refuses. She likes the way the vine has

Curled around her fence with a ferocity

That cannot be so easily cut back. I get that.

Wildness is rare on a Brooklyn city block,

Old roses return late May as if to say, ha! you

Think we do not know the season? Squirrels

Roam the bricks of buildings, while the gleaners

Fight with raccoons for the spoils of left-out trash.

Huge green leaves for plants with names

Unknown to me sparkle on mornings bright

And dead tree leaves demand constant sweeping away.

The tabby is big, old, and tired—too many kittens

Not enough food—these are ungenerous cat lovers.

Neighbors greet each other and shake their heads

At the young men and women, mostly, but not

All Whitefolk running running—or their faces

Drowning in a pool of handheld devices.

You almost wish they smoked or cursed

Had personality—but they run and run and run

Thus, the joy of this vibrant morning-glory vine

Rooted in her garden’s disarray—happily dominating.

Oh, morning glory—purple, green

Leaves plump as Italian cookies, blossom

Your hearty display for all to see, hold your

Vine’s haven on Macon Street. Only

Winter, harsh winter will take your vines

Back to the ground your wildness calmed.

牵牛花

阳光变得柔和，直升机盘旋在

布鲁克林上空，总统视察，

谋杀调查，都是无关紧要的

天空的噪音，地面的噪音

你应该修剪牵牛花

我告诉我年迈的邻居。

她拒绝了。她喜欢藤蔓盘绕在

她的篱笆周围的样子，那种凶猛

不是那么容易削减的。我明白了。

布鲁克林的街区很少有野地，

五月末，老玫瑰归来，仿佛在说，哈!

你以为我们不知道季节？松鼠们

在砖砌的建筑物上漫游，而拾荒者

与浣熊争夺丢弃的垃圾。

巨大的绿留给那些我不知其名的植物

它们在早晨明亮地闪耀

枯叶需要不断地清扫。

虎斑猫又大又老，疲惫不堪——小猫太多了

没有足够的食物——这些吝啬的爱猫人士。

邻居们互相问候，摇着头

主要是针对年轻男女，但不是

所有跑啊跑的白人——或是他们

被一堆手持设备淹没的脸。

你几乎希望他们抽烟或咒骂

有个性——但是他们跑啊跑啊跑

因此，这生机勃勃的牵牛花藤的快乐

扎根在她花园的凌乱中——幸福的统治。

哦，牵牛花——紫色，绿色的牵牛花

叶子饱满有如意大利饼干，绽放

衷心地展示给所有人看，抓住你

梅肯街的藤蔓避风港。只有

冬天，严酷的冬太才会把你的藤蔓

带回地面，你的野性才会平静下来。

Borges Dream, 4:35 a.m.

I dreamt Borges lived in Norway.

I know he’s from Buenos Aires.

I know he’s Argentinean.

But in my dream,

he lives in Norway near a fjord.

He built a library near a fjord.

People come to visit the town.

They come to see the fjord.

They come to visit the library.

When they see the fjord, they gasp.

When they search for the library, they find mist.

Borges is fond of eating ferocious salmon and fierce rice.

Wine is served from heavy pewter pitchers.

If lucky, visitors to the library are

told tales of delicate heroism and gentle ribaldry.

Borges enjoys the green green of short summers.

And the white whites of long winters.

On occasion, books sway to a bandoneón’s

pulsations.

At night, all the keys are noisily put away.

博尔赫斯之梦，凌晨4:35

我梦见博尔赫斯住在挪威。

我知道他来自布宜诺斯艾利斯。

我知道他是阿根廷人。

但在我的梦里，

他住在挪威的一处峡湾旁。

他在峡湾边建了一座图书馆。

人们来到这座小镇。

他们为看峡湾而来。

也为参观那座图书馆而来。

见到峡湾时，他们会发出惊叹。

寻找图书馆时，发现的却是迷雾。

博尔赫斯爱吃凶猛的三文鱼和辛辣的米饭。

葡萄酒盛在沉重的锡镴壶里。

若是足够幸运，造访图书馆的人会听到

关于精致的英雄主义与温和戏谑的故事。

博尔赫斯喜爱短暂夏日里的浓绿，

也喜爱漫长冬日里的纯白。

偶尔，书籍会随着风琴的律动轻轻摇晃。

到了夜晚，所有钥匙都被哗啦啦地收起来。

芭芭拉·哈里斯·莱昂哈德（Barbara Harris Leonhard，1951-），美国诗人，著有《三便士记忆：诗意回忆录》、《零号遗失之书》，与人合著《太过欢乐难合法》。她的诗作曾获《博学 2021》 和 “溢出词语”出版社的奖项和荣誉。她入围了手推车奖和最佳网络奖。“热门诗人”将她评为 2023 和 2024 的年度诗人。她的部分诗作已被翻译成意大利语、阿尔巴尼亚语和中文。芭芭拉是 《咀嚼者USA》和《滋养神圣》 的编辑。现居中密苏里州，喜欢和丈夫一起开车去一处当地湿地数鹿。

Ode to the Hull of a Mud Turtle

Looking past the shell we found on the creek bed -

from the mud turtle wedged between two branches

under storm-ravaged waters, struggling

to get to the surface for a breath, his hulk

now resting on a dining room window sill -

I view the patio.

A bedraggled fence

stained by rain and life left wild.

The rim, scraped by squirrels and raccoons.

Birds perch there waiting for a spot

on an upraised corner of the patio floor,

where I spread bird seed each morning

for the wrens, a pair of mourning doves,

and cardinals, but the squabbling squirrels,

steal the sunflower seeds and scatter the birds.

Ivy sneaks between the tainted boards

and wraps around the trunk

of a 9-foot Norfolk Pine,

hauled there on a dolly and now

standing in a pot of fresh soil,

where squirrels bury seeds and nuts,

unaware that the pine will be rescued

back to the dining room before first frost.

The squirrels scuttle up the pine tree’s trunk to the fence rim,

back and forth from the redbud branch

stretching to the roof on the east side of the patio

to their pan of sunflower seeds,

anchored to a stand outside the fence on the west side.

Next to the Norfolk Pine,

an Umbrella Tree stretches her palms

out to the sun, grateful for one more summer outside.

She, too, is blessed with a bigger pot

and is no longer tethered to the pine

to prevent a fall.

Tonight, the next generation of raccoons

will finish the water served daily,

then scurry along the fence rim

to the squirrels’ feeding station

to feast on shucks, then up to the roof,

where the entry through the chimney

is now blocked off.

Last year, we rescued a kit,

who miscalculated her leap –

or was possibly pushed –

from the squirrels’ table, toppling into the gap

between the gate and the fence post,

her body draped like a rag doll between crib slats.

I hold the turtle shell,

imbued with these stories

in the cipher on its carapace,

mirroring the patio’s stonework symmetry;

the hulk, housing memories of home.

the underbelly, prophetic design:

All life is stubborn with surprise,

awaiting its winding journey

to the constellations.

献给一只泥龟壳的颂歌

越过我们在溪床上发现的龟壳

我眺望庭院——

那泥龟曾在风暴肆虐的水下

夹在两根树枝之间，挣扎着

要浮出水面喘息一下；如今它的躯体

安卧在餐厅窗台上。

一座破败的栅栏

被雨水和任其自然的时光染色。

顶端，被松鼠和浣熊刮擦。

鸟儿栖息在那里，等待位置，

在庭院地面一处高出的角落，

我每天早晨撒上鸟食，

喂给鹪鹩、一对哀鸽

还有红雀，可是争斗的松鼠们

偷走了葵花籽，惊散了鸟群。

常春藤偷偷爬过脏污的木板，

缠绕在一棵九英尺高的

诺福克松树的树干上，

那是用推车拖来的，如今

扎根于一盆新鲜的土壤中，

松鼠在里面埋了种子和坚果，

浑然不知这松树会在霜降前

被搬回餐厅里。

松鼠窜上这松树的树干，奔向栅栏顶，

又在庭院东侧伸向屋顶的紫荆枝间

来回跳跃，直奔到西侧栅栏外

固定在架子上的装有葵花籽的盘子。

在诺福克松旁边，

一棵伞树向太阳伸出手掌，

感激又一个夏季的户外生活。

它也幸运地有了一个更大的花盆

不再被拴在松树上以防翻倒。

今晚，新一代的浣熊

将喝光每天供应的清水，

然后沿着栅栏顶

溜到松鼠的喂食站

去啃食玉米壳，再爬上屋顶，

那里通向烟囱的入口

现在已被封闭。

去年，我们救下了一只浣熊幼崽，

它算错了自己跳跃的能力——

或者可能是被推下去的——

它从松鼠的餐桌上掉了下去，

翻进了门和栅栏柱子之间的缝隙，

像挂在摇篮栏杆间的一只布娃娃。

我握着这块泥龟壳，

它蕴含着这些故事

壳背上的密码

映照着庭院砌石的对称形状；

这残骸，承载着家的记忆；

这下腹，有预言未来的图案：

所有的生命都执著于意外的惊喜，

等待自己曲折的旅程

通向星座的彼岸。

Ode to a Yard

The backyard, now a room.

The teeming branches

of the pin oak, red bud,

and elm stretch into a canopy.

We leave part of the lawn alone

to sow a meadow. Violets, clover,

dandelions. Tall patches of native grass

go to seed. Periwinkle blushes

on the yard’s borders.

Gardening tools laze about

atop a disheveled log.

The garden soil, dry, still not tilled.

The metal spikes that held last year’s tomatoes linger,

supporting withered stalks.

Clustering around the far edge,

a thick crop of never-fail oregano.

Elsewhere, batches of volunteer kale

surprise us.

On the garden's edge, a hose lies coiled

ready to strike.

Inside on a counter, seed packets sit

waiting for soil and sun.

庭院颂

后院，如今成了一个房间。

繁茂的枝条

栎树，红木，榆树，

伸展成一顶华盖。

我们留出一块地方，

栽植出一片草坪。紫罗兰，三叶草，

蒲公英。高高的本地草

结出种子。长春花灌木

蔓延到庭院边缘。

园艺工具闲置在

一截粗糙的原木上。

花园里的土干燥，尚未翻耕。

去年的金属支架还立着，

支撑着枯萎的番茄茎秆。

在远处角落成堆的，

是浓密不败的牛至。

其他地方，一丛丛意外生长的羽衣甘蓝

让我们惊喜。

花园边缘，一条水管盘成圈

蓄势待发。

屋内的柜台上，一包包种子，

在静静等待着土壤与阳光。

网址：《诗歌风赏》2025年第一卷发出6位外国女诗人专辑 https://www.alqsh.com/news/view/275270

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