Albert F. Moritz
Albert F. Moritz (A. F. Moritz) is the author of 20 books of poetry. He has received the Griffin Poetry Prize, the Award in Literature of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Guggenheim Fellowship, the Ingram Merrill Fellowship, Poetry magazine's Bess Hokin Award, selection to the Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets, and three nominations as finalist volumes for the Governor General's Award, among other recognitions. His most recent books are The Sparrow: Selected Poems (2018) and Sequence: a Poem (2015), both from House of Anansi Press.
阿尔伯特-莫里茨（A. F. Moritz）是20本诗集的作者。他的诗歌获得了格里芬诗歌奖，美国艺术与文学学院文学奖，古根海姆奖学金，英格拉姆美林奖学金，诗歌杂志的贝丝霍金奖，普林斯顿当代诗人系列奖，以及三次提名总督奖，以及其他表彰。他最近的一本书是The Sparrow：Selected Poems（2018）和Sequence：a Poem（2015）。
星子安娜是加拿大密西沙加市首任桂冠诗人,已出版六本诗集,英文诗荣获2005 年安省的TedPlantos纪念奖，2010/2014 MARTRY文学奖以及2016/2017年获西切斯特大学诗歌大会奖学金和安省艺术协会奖金。她的诗歌在Arc Poetry、《中国日报》、《世界日报》和CBC电台发表。她也在学校教授诗歌。
Anna Yin was Mississauga's Inaugural Poet Laureate and has authored six books of poetry, including Wings toward Sunlight and Seven Nights with the Chinese Zodiac. Anna won the 2005 Ted Plantos Memorial Award, two MARTY Awards etc. Her poems appeared in Arc Poetry, China Daily, World Journal and CBC Radio. She teaches Poetry Alive at schools in Canada.
What They Prayed For
What they prayed for seemed not much,
and already, despite the dusty weeds
extending to the sky, a possession:
a grassy land, lightly wooded,
rolling, with intricate slopes
and crossed by streams, relieved
by lakes, pools and reedy swamps.
Breezes over the water to suggest
music; and, visible from rises,
the ocean, glinting among the trees,
near so that when you are silent
within yourself it can be heard.
Also shade and shadow:
an openness to the sun,
to the sky, that is yet defended
and moistened by fingers of the earth.
Then a few things will follow
from these first conditions: women
singing in full light and at dusk
before reflecting water;
and some way to live together
that is not a scandal and a shame.
A Narrow Silent Throat
How many nights eaten by rain
have I sat here, dreaming of the world,
this world which is, facing a blank wall,
the sound of ruining water?
Or dreaming by day when the dust
filled the throat and the dry light
burnt all strength from the eyes:
a dream of night with its grateful moisture
out of the sides of the air,
its repose of trees and hedges, its gift
of music in running water?
Dreaming in suffocating nights
of a noon on wooded slopes:
breathable flame, agate that quenches thirst,
and the excellent shape of a maple leaf,
its shadow among a million shadows
conferring a just degree
of darkness upon day: the vegetable
humanizing the light.
Dreaming of a life still possible
in an anguished moment,
a narrow silent throat
where one by one, pulsing and shining,
the unbodied elements pass.