William Heyen (1940- ): William Hein, twentieth-century American poet, studied at New York University in his early years, is now a professor of English at the university, and is the author of the poetry collections "The Lamp of Long Island" (1979), "City Fables" (1980), "Dragonfly King" (1981) and other volumes; He has edited contemporary American poetry anthologies such as "American Poets in 1976" (1976) and "Generation in 2000" (1984), and has won many important American poetry awards such as the Whit Binner Prize. His poems have a strong depth and breadth, the language is natural, not carved, and the influence is greater among young and middle-aged poets in the United States.
Pheasant eyes
Or called Adonis,
The loss of another flower that wants to be remembered,
Blood. That handsome boy
Die. In Palestine, young men
Still dying. Their handsomeness shines
And small red tears flowed from the grass.
The next spring, Adonis re-blooms.
buffalo
The cattle roamed the moon,
We can see them
In the clear night sky,
.
A river of black lights
The flow poured in again
In the sea.
Urban fables
These hooks with meat fat hanging from them
Tied to a lamppost:
Some people will put it
.
They swallowed, almost deeply
make their lives unbearable,
Barbs, tearing them apart,
.
Hear their own disgusting roars,
Seeing their own blood sprinkled on the sidewalk,
These hooks are stuck in their sternums,
.
The flames of their brains erupt
Bright or dim as this city
Receive them, reject them.
apricot
Palestine has once again turned to the early days of the year.
Now, beautiful apricots
The mind blooms into a light white flower.
.
This one was spoken in the wind
What is youth in the white air of apricots?
What should we know about the winter of blood?
.
The ancient Arabs, the ancient Jews, or the tree you became,
Snow white apricots in January,
We could almost hear it.
Wittgenstein
I was confused.
The city is confused.
I want to get rid of it.
.
I tried its windows: too high.
I tried its chimney: too narrow.
I tapped on its wall: too thick.
.
I turned: the tune began, the melody.
This time its doors were all open.
spider
Sometimes, even before they speak,
In the unattended air behind my eyes
The spiders appeared,
Each one was facing the ground I couldn't find
.
Bending a thin stem of grass,
There is one at the end of each stem
A spider that shines pale like its flowers.
They reveal the world
.
Image of the spider,
Luminous spider, long-legged
Fine drops of semen.
Soon, they flowed in tears
.
Wait until I close my eyes
And the spiders are gone.-
I do know,
Stand
.
But when we die, we die
The spider that drops of semen
Where it flickers and sways,
Where the thin stems of its grass are bent.
Mustard grass
We looked around at the lake below,
Seeing the clumps of weeds in the wheat,
Seeing the fishermen in front of their nets,
See the yellow flowers of mustard grass
The pods burst at the ends of the straight stems.
.
Dry graves, their seeds
It has been three thousand years as if it were a moment. Exposure again
These things sprout in new tears. Weeds, wheat,
The fishermen are still in front of their nets
Under the golden sun, and mustard, give it to us
.
Tasting the sadness of the world that never ages,
The wisdom that is crushed into powder blooms on the tongue.
Focus on reading and sleeping, poetic inhabitation
Facing the sea, look for light with black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "giving voice to grassroots poets" as its mission and carries forward the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of the truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, and the spiritual pleasure of poetry. He has published a collection of poems co-authored by poets, "Spring Warm Blossoms of Reading Sleeping Poems" and "Grass Long Warblers Flying in Reading Sleeping Poems".