诗人简介：Xiaoly Li is a poet, photographer and computer engineer who lives in Massachusetts. Prior to writing poetry, she published stories in a selection of Chinese newspapers. Her photography, which has been shown and sold in galleries in Boston, often accompanies her poems. Her poetry is forthcoming or has recently appeared inChautauqua, Rhino, Atlanta Review, Whale Road Review, Rockvale Review, Cold Mountain Review, J Journaland elsewhere. She has been nominated for Best of the Net, Best New Poets, and Pushcart Prize. Xiaoly received her Ph.D. in electrical engineering from Worcester Polytechnic Institute and Masters in computer science and engineering from Tsinghua University in China.
冬日之梅——为晓梅而写
Xiaoly(Helen)
窗外的雪花一层一层的
撒向地面，盖在还没融化的旧痕上
那只细长的腊梅
选择这个没有太阳的
日子，打开黄色的
翅膀，淡淡的，不动声色的
就如冬日的太阳
就如零点的生命
你就坐在我们中间
一起上课
一起举杯
没有哀伤
没有愁容
笑对悬着的
达摩克利斯之剑
波士顿冬天漫长近半年
死亡只在瞬间
而你的微笑却是永远
穿越坚冰
穿越生死
美国诗歌已经超越了简单的情感表达，分享Wallace Stevens 两首诗和我的理解：
1.The Poem that Took the Place of a Mountain
BY WALLACE STEVENS <https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/wallace-stevens>
There it was, word for word,
The poem that took the place of a mountain.
He breathed its oxygen,
Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.
It reminded him how he had needed
A place to go to in his own direction,
How he had recomposed the pines,
Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,
For the outlook that would be right,
Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:
The exact rock where his inexactnesses
Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged,
Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea,
Recognize his unique and solitary home.
****** My notes*****
Writing poetry is a journey
of climbing a mountain
a solitary process for direction
a creative yet uncertain walk
to recompose and shift both
subject and object segments
until find the exact vintage point
to see the new reality
and rest in one’s spiritual home
All that support this journey
is the oxygen of the poetry
this mysteries and vital oxygen
2. The Planet on the Table
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.
Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.
His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.
It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,
Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which they were part.
Wallace Stevens, "The Rock" (1954) in Collected Poetry and Prose (The Library of America 1997).
******My notes*******
Reading Notes about “The Planet on the Table”
The poetry WS written is as equal
as the nature (the sun, or part of the creator)
and bare its character and affluence
And he is glad about it
He suggests it is read as such
even if half understood and not
survived
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