heute ist karfreitag
ein strahlender tag
viel schöner als viele andere tage
wolken und regen, aber nicht viel
wolken und regen heißt etwas anderes
in der sonne ist es recht warm
der wind ist noch kalt
heuer ist ostermontag der tag des grabes
in china
mein vater ist grad 75 geworden
unser sohn ist 10, unsere tochter ist 12
als baby war sie ein engel
wenn sie nicht schrie
vieles war nicht leicht
vieles ist ungewiss
vieles klingt vielversprechend
manches ist jeden tag fast dasselbe
unsere tochter schreit immer noch
und ich auch
heute ist karsamstag
eine zeitlang war es wärmer als gestern
somewhere in the south on a restaurant table
I saw a pagoda
of red shining pork
(I hope I don’t remember its name)
when it appeared
I gazed on that thing
couldn’t take off my eyes
all the other dishes
had become worshippers
I was a worshipper
until I remembered
where I was born
in tibet
all those believers around a pagoda
their heads on the ground, offering incense
I was one of them
now I am one of them here
all those years, I kept my respect
for the mystery of a pagoda
I also kept my taboos about foods
looking at this pagoda of pork
red dazzling meat
I understand what appetite means:
people will eat all they can eat
and they will eat up all things they can’t
raising their chopsticks, sharing the food
the shining pagoda
pork dazzling red
I didn’t hear any sound
but it was as if I could see the dust
the rumbling dust
of our beliefs prostate on the ground
shoved down the throats of other people
their juices have no taboos
they clear it up without any sound
am ersten april sind die straßen ganz voller leute
am ersten april stehst du und wirst ein spucknapf
wartest auf den straßen der stadt bis dir jemand
erzählt von feuer, vom krieg
von sachen die nicht jeden tag vorkommen
das hat ein spucknapf davon dass er wartet
auf einen dicken mundvoll – die lust der erwartung
den ganzen tag
die sonne rutscht ihm vom scheitel hinunter
wie eine fliege mit rotem kopf
ausrutscht und sich das rechte bein bricht
auch diese blicke die bleichen
die kommen herüber
und bleichen die roten vorhänge vor den geschäften
die bürger der stadt
sind voller kultur
nicht ein einziger schöner
faden von speichel
heute bleibst du ganz sauber
und ganz allein
an sonstigen tagen
bückst du dich und sammelst
den schleimigen schorf
das blut von den lügen
in meiner brust
in meinem herzen
wächst ein wald von pagoden
es sind lauter dichter
aus alten zeiten
verstummt
stehen sie
deshalb bin ich so ernst
in mir funkelt
ein licht von buddha
der glanz den du siehst
in meinen augen
grenzenloses leid
kein ausweg in sicht
hier ist mein eigener turm
er hilft mir nicht zu schweigen
die spitze ragt bei mir aus dem mund
das ist meine kleine pagode
im großen wald
in dieser kleinen pagode
tief in meinem körper
bin ich ganz enthalten
Yi Sha 《善良的愿望抑或倒放胶片的感觉》 FROMMER WUNSCH ODER DAS GEFÜHL EINEN FILM ZURÜCKZUDREHEN
patronen schießen zurück in die rohre
worte ziehn sich zurück in den stift
schneeflocken fliegen hinauf von der erde
der helle tag rennt in die sonne
züge verstecken sich alle im tunnel
ruinen richten sich auf als gebäude
maschinen zerfallen in einzelteile
kinder kriechen zurück in den bauch
auf den straßen sind weniger leute
blätter springen zurück auf die zweige
das lebensmüde mädchen hüpft in den zweiten stock
verschwundene lösen sich von den vermisstenanzeigen
hände nach leuten ausgestreckt gehn zurück in die taschen
braut entflieht der hochzeitsnacht
und erlebt ihre erste liebe
der junge bursch wird ganz unschuldig
saugt an einer flasche nicht an zigaretten
und sie kommt zurück
geht rückwärts in mein kleines zimmer
ich entfliehe dem kalten
und fremden bahnhof
bin zurück auf der schulbank
mit einem roten tuch um den hals
steh auf für den lehrer sitz in der stunde
jeden tag nach oben lerne fleißig
im antiseptischen
flughafen: eine frau
hält ein schild: “papa”
MW 2015-03-12
标牌
维也纳
等中国来的飞机
消毒的机场
年轻的中国妇女
举牌
”PAPA“
2015-03
OMI IST IN DER BUTTERMILCH
Wir sitzen im Zug
Zurück nach Wien
Am Stuhleck sieht man den Lift
Am Semmering liegt auch noch Schnee
3 Dichter im Zug
2 Dichter aus China im Zug nach Wien
Von Graz nach Wien
Ein Frühlingstag
Von Graz nach Bruck
Entlang der Mur
Frisches Brot
Mit Buttermilch
Du bist in der Buttermilch
Meine Kindheit
Ist in der Buttermilch
Deine Wohnung
Ist in der Buttermilch
Leben
Ist in der Buttermilch
18. März 2015
SCHÖN
die sonne ist heute wirklich recht schön
ich kann mir noch aussuchen was ich heut tu
schreib ich halt ein gedicht
ich hab gerade ruth klüger gelesen
sie erzählt von wien
auch in der sprache
ich sitz in der wohnung
warum räum ich nicht auf
wenn ich schon nicht arbeite
sollt ein bisschen schlafen
gedichte ordnen
abschicken
ruth klüger hat zwanghaft gedichte gelernt
von uhland und schiller
als jüdisches kind
die sonne ist heute wirklich recht schön
sobald der regen weg ist
ich seh zum ersten mal einen baum
hör die möwen
oder die krähen
ich ich ich
warum schreibt man ein gedicht?
man erholt sich halt wie man kann
gestern war ich wieder bei martin
hab mit leo gespielt
seinem zehnjährigen sohn
in der nacht im traum
war ich sein kleiner spielkamerad
zehn jahre alt
sollte in österreich noch einmal aufwachsen
alles frühere ausradiert
unglaublich kompliziertes
gefühl
völlig durcheinander
martin und ich
kommen zum tiergarten
er hält ein kind
in windeln gewickelt
vor uns erscheint
eine riesige schlange
hebt ihren kopf
will das baby verschlingen
ich versteck mich hinter martin,
sag ihm: “schnell, gib mir das kind,
ich renn zuerst …”
drachenpferdhaus-sommerinsel des meisters
tranströmer- apfelbaumhain
was ich sage im herzen
ist nur für deine ohren
der alte versteht mein gedicht “farbenblind”
und lässt es gelten
aber ich entspring noch einmal
aus dem freudenmoment
auf dem couchtisch liegt
sein gedichtband auf hindi
ganz frisch hergeschickt
aber ich neid ihm nicht seinen erfolg
sondern wie er geliebt wird
in seinem alter
seit 12 jahren
vom schlaganfall stumm
kann grad noch summen
wie eine biene
nur seine monika
versteht was er sagt
seinen ganzen ausdruck
wie ein kind dass sich verirrt hat
voller erwartung
schaut er sie an, schaut sie an
liebe
ist das unsere zukunft
kann ich es verdienen
ich will nichts mehr sagen
von heute an
werd ich mich bemühen
outside of broadcasting studio #1
I’m holding on to a marten fur coat
stumbling about
I am holding the coat
for a #1 singer queen just like wang fei
to everyone
of the people who ask me what I am doing
I throw them one sentence
resounding and clear:
“I am a poet!”
“I am a poet!”
“I am a poet!”
finally there comes the day
of the last dress rehearsal
the director with pubic hair on his chin
is thinking of something
he’s calling me over:
“hey! you are a poet, right?”
how about a recital for our show?”
and so
with a country girl who sings in the underpass
and two migrant workers straining their throats
to tell you they’re old and alone
I am representing the downtrodden masses
the evening before the lunar new year
maybe because I’m a poet
I don’t look as nervous as the three others
ein kleines kind baut im sand am strand den sommerpalast, windsor castle, den kreml, den eiffelturm, pyramiden mit mumien und pyramiden von mayas mit menschenopfern
wind weht streichelnd vom meer
von der sonne ein goldener glanz
dann steigt die flut, es ist aus mit der menschheit
after my son wrote his first poem
after I went through six poems
he wrote in one month
with the most critical eye
I think I could muster
when I firmly believed
he had what it takes
I sighed with relief
raised my head
discovered this world
had improved very much
in this very moment
I lost my anger, my fighting spirit
no angry words deep down in my heart
I was loosing my balance
stretched out my hands
for something to grab
something to hold onto
the apples that year
made up on the stage
caressed my disease
like one crazy bun
sexy, beautiful, close to the skin
the apples that year
flew down to earth
they lit up my road coming home
oh how they needed photosynthesis
I held her skin and all
then I understood
the pain in my back
apples in their last year
your body most pure
blown ripe by the wind
no way to go forward, no path to retreat
a pair made of jade like ice doesn’t melt
cannot be put to rest
der kleine ma war erst 12 und trug die teller mit rindsnudelsuppe
ich sah ihn zum ersten mal
mit seiner kleinen weißen mütze
reichte er nicht bis zum salatregal
der kleine ma hat einen sohn
der trägt mit zwölf teller mit rindsnudelsuppe
wir nennen ihn ebenso
den kleinen ma
“viele leute nerven dich”
hat er mir letzten sommer
in qingdao gesagt
ich geb zu
das ist nicht falsch
er sprach die wahrheit
aber ich bin kein trottel
aus seinen worten
hör ich etwas anderes
nämlich er nervt mich
das macht überhaupt nichts
ich nerv ihn ebenfalls
nerv ihn bis zum geht-nicht-mehr
im netz
gibt der den ganzen tag dummheit von sich wie zum spass
da schau ich nicht seit gestern zu
aber seit er das gesagt hat
brauch ich mich nicht zurückhalten
kann einfach sagen
was mich stört
“You are mine,
you are mine”,
I‘ve told you countless times.
Your eyes are mine
(maybe your glance belongs to France)
your nose is mine
(sinus infections belong to spring)
your lips are mine
(hot kisses are pure molten lava)
your breasts are mine
(milk was for our kids)
your raven hair is mine
(white hairs one or two are from the years)
your attachments are mine
(no infected attachments, you don’t have adnexitis)
your eighty years are mine
(eighteen years are for the photos)
if you
go before me
your ashes are mine
(gravestone belongs to the earth)
auntie had seen the world
she always thought
mother’s hair style from the Miao mountains
too coarse, like
a snail
when mother went into the city
she waited until mother slept
then came with the scissors
cut down mother’s hair
mother woke up
discovered
her head feeling lighter
her style handed down
from the ancestors, gone
mother cried
back at the village, neighbours laughed
“a guerilla commander!”
“a new Liu Hulan!”
mother felt more ashamed
always wore a straw hat
at work in the fields
for over a year
her comb went through her empty scalp
one day her hair was long enough
she coiled it once more into a snail
went out the door, her head held high
du bist der mond über alaska
du bist der fluss
grüne wellen spiegeln dein schwarzes gewand
du zündest dir selbstgedrehten tabak an
ich seh du bist 16 schläfst mit einem jungen
machst raudau, nimmst drogen, machst liebe
du gießt mir wein ein
hoffentlich ist es roter
du spielst gitarre
sagst du geht nach thailand und wirst ein mönch
dein meister ist in vietnam
kann sein deine seele blieb in tibet
deinen traum, den gabst du vor langer zeit auf
und wirst doch wieder unsicher
am nachmittag wirst du namenlos müde
du schläfst ein und träumst
du streiftest umher im früheren leben
du liebtest jungen
ich war deine große schwester
du wachst auf und bist verheiratet
und findest im netz eine junge chinesin nach deinem herzen
anyone who is for
masters of war
what should u do with them?
I’d rather not
give him a prize.
MW 2015/1
KUBIN
anyone who is for
the chinese government
against ai weiwei
anyone who pretends
no-one gets disappeared
there is justice in china
what should u do with them?
I’d start with naming one.
nine thirty at night walking on dongguan road
third-floor balcony on an old building
middle-aged woman coming up half of her
then
a dozen empty boxes falling, thundering
“hey sir, good fortune”,
she says to the person picking up trash
those years she was there
he was there if
if they took a turn
arrived at those years
she didn’t like it if
he didn’t like those years
she was always there those years
he was always there what if
he was hoping so much
what if those years
weren’t there
11/4/14
Yang Yan 杨艳 WENN DIE JAHRE NICHT WÄREN
die jahre war sie da
war er da wenn
wenn ums eck
gleich die jahre wären
sie mag es nicht wenn
er sie nicht mag die jahre
wo sie immer da war die jahre
und er immer da war wenn
er so gern hätte
wenn sie nicht wären
die jahre
Went to a search engine,
searched for my name.
Found out on renren.com,
there are 53 people
called Zhao Lihong.
16.67% of them are from the north.
22.22% are born in the nineties,
62.22% are male.
I want all these people,
these Zhao Lihongs
to come together,
to hear us shout it together,
our own name,
Zhao Lihong,
Zhao Lihong.
To hear us calling each other,
each calling the name
Zhao Lihong;
to hear one Zhao Lihong
call another Zhao Lihong;
to hear an old Zhao Lihong
call for a young Zhao Lihong.
Hear a boy Zhao Lihong
call a girl Zhao Lihong,
hear a north Zhao Lihong
call for a south
Zhao Lihong.
To hear a
public security guy Zhao Lihong
call a teacher
Zhao Lihong.
baumaugen
wachsen nicht nur unter der stirn
(es ist nicht kulturell festgelegt
wieviele ein baum haben darf
also hat er ebenso viele
wie er grad mag)
sie passen auch nicht zueinander
(es gibt keine muster
sie stellen sich nicht in ein rechteck)
und strahlen auch nicht
(sie blinzeln eher
wie alte hündinnen
ihnen rinnen die tränen)
sie haben wimpern
(ein kurzer vorhang,
kauf nicht soviel stoff)
und schlaf in den augen
warten auf käfer, die machen sauber
(vögel oben am nasenrücken
putzen die käfer weg)
baumaugen
größer als kuhaugen
deshalb erschrecken sie
kinder, die spielen
in bäumen verstecken
Erschienen in
Yi Shas Gedichte des Neuen Jahrhunderts
am 19. 1. 2015
Übersetzt von MW im Jänner 2015
Am Neujahrsmorgen
mach ich die Augen auf
und hör die Nachrichten.
35 Menschen am Bund getötet
im Gedränge um Mitternacht.
Im Schreck
weck ich gleich die Frau an meiner Seite,
sag ihr was passiert ist.
Was mich wirklich traurig macht
ist der Live-Bericht nachher:
In der Halle der Notaufnahme
liegt groß und klein.
Sie haben eines gemeinsam,
sie atmen nicht mehr.
Bei vielen sind Handys in ihren Taschen noch in Bewegung.
Man sieht, sie empfangen
Neujahrsgrüße.
am ersten tag auf der uni
traf ich ein mädchen
sie nahm mir den platz weg
ich sagte ich sehe schlecht
sie sagte sie auch
doch ihre augen glänzten ganz groß
wir waren einander bös
redeten einen monat nichts mehr
I write
not compared to grown-ups
or kids
but compared to
my shadow
2014-12-15
Tr. MW, 1/7/15
《比》
我写诗
不和大人比
不和小孩比
只和自己的
影子
比
2014.12.15
You Ruoxin AT THE SUPERMARKET
supermarket, papa and I
I see something to wear
beautiful
I want to buy it
papa agrees
but from the rack
he takes out the hanger
to beat me
I’m standing stiff
then
I wake up
“Ne perdons pas notre temps en vains discours. (Un temps. Avec véhémence.) Faisons quelque chose, pendant que l’occasion se présente! Ce n’est pas tout les jours que l’on a besoin de nous. Non pas a vrai dire qu’on ait précisément besoin de nous. D’autres feraient aussi bien l’affaire, sinon mieux. L’appel que nous venons d’entendre, c’est plutôt à l’humanité tout entière qu’il s’adresse. Mais à cet endroit, en ce moment, l’humanité c’est nous, que ça nous plaise ou non. Profitons-en, avant qu’il soit trop tard. Représentons dignement pour une fois l’engeance où le malheur nous a fourrés. Qu’en dis-tu? (Estragon n’en dit rien.) Il est vrai qu’en pesant, les bras croisés, le pour et le contre, nous faisons également honneur à notre condition. Le tigre se précipite au secours de ses congénères sans la moindre réflexion. Ou bien il se sauve au plus profond des taillis. Mais la question n’est pas là. Que faisons-nous ici, voilà ce qu’il faut se demander. Nous avons la chance de le savoir. Oui, dans cette immense confusion, une seule chose est claire : nous attendons que Godot vienne.”
Voici un texte publié par Charb, directeur de la rédaction de Charlie Hebdo tué ce matin. Il l’avait publié en octobre 2012. Il s’intitule “Rire, bordel de Dieu”
a slice of lemon
a slice of tangerine
a ginger cake
finally we have snow
MW Dec. 28, 2014
Yi Sha DREAM #203
I am on an iron ladder
on the side of a tall building
I’m facing outside
stepping down slowly
outside of my dreams
I’m not at all afraid of heights
but in this dream
my hands and feet are cold with fear
I’m risking a look
down to what I call
mother earth in my poems
getting dizzy
wanting to fall, headlong
gingerly feeling my way
step by step
finally
losing my feet
but – I’m still okay
because by now
it’s not more than a man’s height to the ground
lightly and softly
my feet touching down
the doctor at the physical said
your IUD
is an old model
not easy to get it out
you fill out an application form at your work unit
get a stamp from the family planning bureau where you live
then come again and we’ll extract it
in your mind’s eye
you see the old elm tree for hanging the laundry
iron wire grown into the tree
scar looks like cutting a body in half
now you want the wire pulled out from your flesh
your knees getting weak
People’s Hospital corridor
you sit thirty minutes
and still can’t get up
there are things we know, there are things we don’t know.
there are things everyone knows we know we know them.
there are things no-one knows we don’t know them
and there are things we don’t know we know them.
the point is we know there are things we don’t know we don’t know them.
I memorized these lines and made a guy listen.
he was dying with laughter, tears in his eyes.
sometimes I think rumsfeld wasn’t bad after all.
made you laugh like a baby, laugh yourself silly.
made me say this world is actually nice
to make one person happy.
Yu Cui-fang 于翠芳 has grown old,
can only go to her grave.
Funeral music played on and on,
becoming a shroud,
big enough to wrap up a life.
Yu Cui-fang, I don’t know her at all.
I’m a young Chinese guy in a small town
Yu Cui-fang must be kin to our landlord,
downstairs they set up a funeral tent.
I just went down to empty the garbage,
all I could see were these three characters.
Yu Cui-fang has grown old,
funeral music played on and on.
I must get up early for my driver’s exam.
Every night
before I sleep,
in my heart
I say “good night!”
Sometimes I think
of certain people,
or I say it just to myself.
No clamour outside now,
my heart’s growing calm.
This day in this life
moving out far away.
All in all on this day
I am feeling content –
“good night” …
this rain
going on seven days
primary school textbook says
“let it rain, let it rain!
let my buds grow in!”
my son also says
he likes the rain
he says the canal in front of our compound
doesn’t stink anymore
2014-09-13
Tr. MW, Nov. 2014
Wang Youwei
HERBSTREGEN
dieser regen
geht schon sieben tage
im volksschullesebuch steht
“nass und nasser, nass und nasser,
lass mir meine knospen wachsen!”
auch mein sohn
mag den regen
er sagt der kanal vor unserer anlage
stinkt nicht mehr so
a group of teenagers
surrounding and beating
a beautiful girl
with fists and feet
with rocks
a country road
in southern france
maybe on sicily
just this one scene
seen on tv
it was in the evening
and I knew it was a movie
I had other things to do
so I could not go on watching
a little sick
all the way sick
abnormally sick
I know what I felt
had nothing to do with the content they showed
but something was kindled inside
I could not pinpoint a reason
I was left hanging
with no place to land
at the supermarket
I see an old lady
she goes to buy peanuts
she goes to chew peanuts
she goes to buy grapes
she stuffs her mouth
doesn’t wait if they’re sweet
she buys persimmons
she squishes
a good one
she buys salted fish
holds a fish under her nose
takes a good whiff
finally
at the check-out
with the clothes-stand
she doesn’t forget
to wipe her hands
Tr. MW, Nov. 2014
Zhuang Sheng IM SUPERMARKT
im supermarkt
seh ich eine alte dame
vielleicht kauft sie erdnüsse?
sie stopft sich erdnüsse in den mund
vielleicht kauft sie weintrauben?
sie kaut die trauben
egal ob sie sauer sind
vielleicht kauft sie kakis?
sie zerquetscht eine
gute
vielleicht kauft sie eingelegte fische?
sie hält sich einen unter die nase
schnuppert gründlich
am ende
bei der kassa
vergisst sie nicht
sich am wühltisch mit den kleidern
die hände abzuwischen
at all sorts of places
in many seasons they become victims
on streets on both sides of bridges
inside races and systems,
cities and villages
within knowledge even outside the internet
oh yes
life goes on at the site of the victims
and high tech must be present
so their suffering
is always refreshed
even bystanders are
refreshed, becoming victims
a screw drops to the floor
in this night of overtime
going straight down, there’s a small sound
nobody notices
just like before
on a night like this
when a person fell down
2014-01-09
Tr. MW, November 2014
Xu Lizhi EINE SCHRAUBE FÄLLT HINUNTER
eine schraube fällt hinunter
in dieser nacht in überstunden
fällt gerade zu boden, ein leiser klang
niemand achtet darauf
genau wie davor
in einer nacht wie dieser
da fiel ein mensch hinunter
sie sagen alle
ich sei ein junge der nicht viel spricht
das will ich gar nicht verleugnen
ob ich spreche oder nicht
mit dieser gesellschaft
bin ich im konflikt
I’m emigrating to the moon
you all shouldn’t be jealous
on the surface there’s all sorts of glory
actually I’m having headaches
for example how do I get there
which is the most practical vehicle
is it the bicycle the public bus
is it the ferry is it an air-plane
is it a rocket is it Shenzhou 10
I have no idea
and so I stretch my hand to the sky
to grasp a white cloud
just like Sun Wukong on TV
with a few somersaults I’m on the moon
at the time of my successful landing
I’m even receiving a telegram
with President Xi’s congratulations
Tr. MW, Nov. 2014
Xu Lizhi EMIGRATION
ich emigriere auf den mond
ihr braucht mich nicht beneiden
zwar ist der ruhm grenzenlos
aber in wirklichkeit hab ich kopfweh
vom überlegen wie ich da hinkomm!
was ist das praktischste verkehrsmittel –
ist es das fahrrad oder die straßenbahn
ist es die fähre oder das flugzeug
eine rakete oder die SHENZHOU 10
ich habe ja doch keine wahl
also streck ich die hand in den himmel
pflück mir eine weiße wolke
mach es wie Sun Wukong im TV
ein paar purzelbäume dann bin ich am mond
im augenblick meiner erfolgreichen landung
bekomme ich ein telegramm –
gratulation von Präsident Xi!
meat should be eaten
there is no other value for its existence
so while I’m eating the meat on my body
bit by bit
I realize
the value of my existence
Tr. MW, Nov. 2014
许立志 存在与价值
被吃掉
是肉存在的唯一价值
因此当我一片接一片地
吃掉自己身上的肉时
我实现了
自我存在的价值
Xu Lizhi ELEVATOR
I’m walking into
a standing casket
as the lid slowly closes
I and this world
are separated
Tr. MW, Nov. 2014
许立志 电梯
我走了进去
一副站起来的棺材
随着棺材盖缓缓合上
我与这个世界
从此隔绝
Xu Lizhi MEDITATION
after writing this poem
I’m going to go among the willows to sit in peace
I’ll watch the sky over the mountains, the sunset
let cicadas call over the lake
wash the dust off this world, and a traveller’s heart
Into the dusk I plead forgiveness, tolerance,
a little mercy, sympathy ….
gegessen werden
fleisch ist für nichts anderes wert
indem ich mich bissen für bissen verspeise
realisiere ich langsam den wert
meines daseins
Übersetzt von MW im Nov. 2014
Xu Lizhi FAHRSTUHL
ich gehe hinein
in einen sarg der aufrecht steht
dann geht der deckel ganz langsam zu
ich und die welt
sind nun getrennt
Übersetzt von MW im Nov. 2014
Xu Lizhi MEDITATION
wenn ich mit diesem gedicht fertig bin
geh ich unter die weiden und setz mich ruhig hin
schau in den himmel, die sonne sinkt hinter den berg
ich lass zikaden zirpen über dem see
wasch mir den staub von der welt,
vom herz eines wanderers,
fleh in den abend hinein um vergebung,
um toleranz, mitgefühl …
people’s names on the boards at arrivals
written in english
or in chinese
written in arabic script
at international arrivals, leaning against the railing
in the corridor along the exit
people are swarming
some of the names carried off by a smile or a hug
some of the names haven’t arrived at being carried off
they are waiting together
becoming familiar
some even looking in one direction
standing next to each other
beginning to talk
breathe, 呼吸 (hu-xi) 开关 (kai-guan) 外内 (wai-nei) open-close out-in breathe 呼吸 what thing 啥事 (sha shi) what the thing 啥呼吸 (sha huxi) what breathe 啥写作 (sha xiezuo) what writing what make up 傻创作 (sha chuangzuo) 作弄 (zuo nong) 打坐 (da zuo) hit sit 装作 (zhuang zuo)
make believe 装作 make up 装冷 (zhuang leng) you’re cold 装热 (zhuang re) you’re hot 发作 (fazuo) break out listen 聆听 (lingting) 等 (deng) wait
给你看 (gei ni kan)
给你听 (gei ni ting)
给你弄 (gei ni nong)
任你想 (ren ni xiang)
4 u please see please hear do your thing think whatever 打坐 吐纳 (tu-na) hit sit in out breathe
呼吸 old new 啥打坐 啥静坐 (sha jing-zuo) meditation 坐禅 (zuo chan) sit-in
occupy central
佔中
走神 (zou shen)
dichten, offen werden, zu atmen, liegen atmen, stehen atmen, sitzen atmen, gehen laufen, sehen atmen, still atmen, stillen atmen, durst atmen, hören atmen, ohr atem schöpfen atem, ein atem, aus atem, warten atem, kommen atem, hör atem, auf atem, fang atem, ball atem, dich
mind is a most wonderful word
make up, open coming, close breathe in, listen breathe in, out breathe in, lying breathe in, down breathe in, sit breathe in, stand breath in, walk running, see breathe in, still nursing, thirst breathe in, hear breathe in, ear take your breath take your width breathe, in breathe, out breathe, wait breathe, come breathe, stop catch breath run, low catch, throw breathe, curl breathe, up breathe, your breathe, thing breathe, make breathe, make up breathe, open breathe, close breathe, close to breathe, body breathe, fear breathe, pain breathe, make up breathe, clothes breathe, colors breathe, white breathe, contact breathe, spar breath, no breath, words breathe, open breathe, clothes come again come loose come win me make up make shut atem make contact atem remember, atem breathe, 呼吸，开关，外内 open-close out-in breathe, 呼吸 what thing 啥事 what the thing 啥呼吸 what breathe 啥写作 what writing what make up 傻创作，作弄，打坐 hit sit 装作 make believe 装作 make up 装冷 you’re cold 装热 you’re hot 发作 break out listen 聆听， 等 wait
the leaves are often just like over there
one week ago I was on the road.
this is a city. sometimes it is fair
sometimes in the morning it’s great to behold
the railway line past central station
rose-colored sky and a few birds
trains and some motorcar lights in the distance
nothing much in between –
overgrown earth, maybe some gravel,
and a few rabbits. if I went down there
maybe I’d see one. they are big hares.
most of it will be a park in the end.
but even now there’s only sky
shot through with traces of planes
slowly unravelling on all saint’s day
today I’m going to see her grave.
das flugzeug fliegt der sonne voraus.
die sonne geht unter.
der mond ist ein strich,
eine feine weisse kurve.
der horizont leuchtet in blau,
hellgelb und weiss.
flug in die rosen-
farbene iris,
farben des feuers.
wenn ich an blumen denk,
denk ich an dich.
der himmel leuchtet
wir sind über rumänien,
irgendwo unten ist sibiu.
gestern abend war ich in kanada.
ich schau ins feuer
ein lagerfeuer war nicht genug
mit anna kubelik.
mit nick dem riesen,
mit seinen messern.
der horizont ist ein leuchtendes rot.
darüber schlieren,
schwarz und dann grün.
der horizont ist ein brennendes rot,
darüber orange,
schwarze schlieren:
grün sind die
grauschwarzen tücher
der wolken.
wir haben schwarze flügel die blinken,
dahinter:
der mond
viennese is the ugliest language
I cannot really tell it apart
vienna was the city of hitler
the city of schirach
vienna was once a city of jews
I am from vienna
viennese is the most beautiful language
vienna was the city of freud
a city of music
I know exactly how it should sound
Yi Sha Song dynasty lyrics: Qing Ping Yue
for Martin
Frost state has no temples,
but there are times to see each other.
In my country, small people keep chirping.
Beyond the skies I am finding my friends,
red maple leaves on the trails in green hills,
streams keep on flowing.
Two people born in the year of the horse:
We raise our heads, go like the wind.
Written 10/16/14 at Vermont Studio Center
Tr. MW, Oct. 2014
Yi Sha SONG OF VERMONT
(Tang dynasty style)
Green peaks raise blue skies,
clear brooks meet in ponds.
Maples reflected –
is this the real world?
Wang Wei walked here
to his Journey’s End.
Frost stopped in woods,
we have miles to go.
I am just a guest,
with geese flying south.
Red leaves send us off,
snowflakes greeting spring.
Written 10/16/14 at Vermont Studio Center
Tr. MW, Oct. 2014
Yi Sha RED LEAVES (Tang dynasty quatrain)
Have met frost, heart’s still warm.
So in this fall I meet red leaves.
Should we cover all the roads?
Like a bell I sit in Chang-An*.
Written 10/15/14 at Vermont Studio Center
Tr. MW, Oct. 2014
*Chang-An: Today called Xi’an, capital of China through 13 dynasties. Yi Sha’s home town.
saddam hussain
before they hanged him
asked for a cigarette
fuck! that one smoke
had he drawn it into his mouth
he‘d have been floating in heaven already
one satisfied sigh
at he end of his life
would have been the best cigarette
he ever had
better than each of those
very best quality
cuban cigars
but –
mean little
iraqi warden
stuck to the rules and refused
fuck! what was that for
smokers don’t want very much before death
now he’s past all regret
he had nothing to say
facing his hour
saddam hussain went like a man
the night they announced
the lu xun literature prize
my mobile phone rang
it was the ningxia muslim poet
shan yongzhen. he said:
“only if you are never considered
for the biggest official prize,
you can become
a great poet in china.
tonight my first candidate
would have been chang yao
(who died in 2000)
the second one I thought of
was you, brother yi!”
hearing these words
brother yi stammered
didn’t know what to say
would have liked to hang up
brother shan said:
“so you don’t want to
discuss this topic
in any way?”
I said:
“yes, yes ….”
he didn’t know
what I was doing
I didn’t want to discuss any topic
I was watching a porn flick
on my computer
there was this great
piece of ass from thailand
in front of my eyes
sex is that almost innocent thing
love is that almost innocent thing
dance is that almost innocent thing
life is that almost innocent thing
song is that almost innocent thing
next door to my studio
a tibetan poet from india
when he was ten
he fled with his parents
writes in english and in tibetan
does not speak chinese
everyday he brings a guitar
actually it’s his own three-stringed instrument
when inspired
he breaks out in song
music goes through the walls
I don’t feel
he is disturbing me
I often prick up my ears
oh, it comes again
he is singing
I feel like I am going to cry
he sings in tibetan
but it is the tune
“nothing is more red then the sun,
no-one is closer than chairman mao…”
die blumen auf meinem tisch sind für dich
die blumen auf meinem tisch sind für dich
sie sind für meine oma
für meine frau
für meine mutter
für meine tochter
für jede frau die blumen mag
die blätter wiegen sich auf den bäumen
die blätter werden noch einmal rot
die blätter treiben den fluss hinunter
die blätter kommen
auf dem dachfirst sitzen die tauben
am strand in der früh
glänzen die steine wie karamell
der fluss ist klar
gestern hab ich gebadet
es gibt reiher und enten und andere vögel
wildgänse ziehen
hoch oben nach westen
im wald ist ein wasserfall
und dann noch einer den bach hinauf
wo wir wohnen ist eine schule
volkschule hauptschule und noch ein college
man sieht hoch übers tal
in einem geschäft bald nach der tankstelle
gibt es eine küche für frisches essen
dort hängt eine uhr
die geht nach links
die ziffern verkehrt
die hängt schon lange
die leute wissen nicht wo sie herkommt
die blumen auf meinem tisch sind für dich
the flowers on my desk are for you
the flowers on my desk are for you
they are for my granny
for my wife
for my mother
any woman who likes them
the leaves are rocking up in the trees
they get red one more time
they float down the river
the leaves are coming
the pigeons are on top of the roof
in the morning
caramel rocks wet on the beach
the water is clear
yesterday I went in again
herons, kingfishers, ducks, other birds
wild geese migrate
high up in formation
why are they going west
not straight south?
in the woods there is a waterfall
up the brook there’s another
where we stay there’s a school
elementary, high school, state college
from the college up on the hill
you see the whole valley
in a store after the gas station
you can get breakfast, fried stuff and such
at the counter they have a clock
clock goes the left way
numbers all backwards
people there say they don’t know where it came
the flowers on my desk are for you
at vermont studio center
in front of maverick writing studio
I ask joann
the female writer from chicago:
“I heard the longest residence here
is twelve months.
have you met any writer or painter
who stayed that long?”
“yeah, I’ve seen one”, says joann
stretching both arms in front of her
hopping forward
gihon is one of the waters of paradise
under our windows in johnson town.
how long did adam and eve have their residence?
maybe four weeks. not even that.
then they were driven to the next airport.
it was the snake. it was the tree.
it was the apple. it was the gas station
stocked with the cider. the chinese restaurant.
actually god is a jolly old fellow
tells everyone how they founded the place.
god has the breadth. god has the width of it.
maybe the masons one hundred years ago
building their temple, leaving their clocks –
there is that clock down in the grocery store
clock that goes leftwards, numbers all turned –
maybe the masons were like the hippies.
anyway if you are in paradise
most of the time it is just life.
you tell your wife you are in paradise.
you tell your husband, you tell the kids.
they will say nice, hope you are coming back.
then you are gone. maybe you come again.
I’m sure the river stays for a while.
“when I see such a town
here in america
I have this feeling
of lurking horror
maybe from the movies
guess I’ve seen too many”
I say to martin
my translator from austria
“I know what you mean”,
martin says,
somewhat to my surprise
“in austria, are there many small towns
such as this?”
“yes, very many”
“when you see those towns
do you have a feeling
of lurking horror?”
“yes”
“why? it is your native country,
you must know it quite well …”
I flew from beijing into detroit
and there I walked to immigration
facing two members
of the border police
one checking people
one checking luggage
I didn’t care what they were doing
I came prepared with one magic word
“I am a poet”
(from my successful experience
at the embassy getting a visa)
one policeman was old, one was young
but their expressions
surprised and delighted and even respectful
were exactly the same
over and over they stamped my passport
actually I had some experience before
this is not the first time I’m going abroad
except in my country where I keep quiet
I beat my chest everywhere and exclaim:
“I am a poet!”
shsh! don’t let the terrorists hear me
god bless america
and keep it safe
Yi Sha
HAVING MY VISA REFUSED AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY
all morning till noon
one hundred people in a small room
like smuggled in a container
among boring figures and faces
a beautiful girl studying ballet
brings us all to attention
before my meeting with the official
I have a bit of bad feeling
among the people who get a visa
not one man under 50
only two men
an old guy with his wife
and one so small he doesn’t reach to the counter
America’s scared
they are really afraid
must be scared of our men!
holy shit! visa-official with a big beard
looks like a muslim, much more than me
much more like a terrorist
he doesn’t deliberate
he’s very sure he’s refusing my visa
must have seen something in my eyes
we say big apes cherish each other
he saw some deep hidden blood lust
an intention to immigrate
he’s reading the signs
the great li taibo from the tang dynasty moving to persia
no fucking international jokes please
holding my head up while taking my leave
I see the ballet girl was also refused
at another counter by a black woman
but she’s one happy duckling
flying outside with a song on her lips
“her parents were forcing her to go to america …”
someone from the crowd knows how it is
Pigtail is meeting his friend at the tent.
“Bao, do you have cigarettes?”
That box of cigarettes was stolen,
just like the type 64 handgun up on the roof.
Bao sits on the bed in the construction tent.
He broke his leg when they ran with the pistol.
Bao wants to sell it
and go to the hospital to get his leg fixed.
Pigtail is all against that.
“Bao, they will take down your head!”
Bao starts to cry,
crying harder and harder: “Look at the state I’m in!”
“I haven’t eaten at all for two days.
You want my leg to stay broken?”
Now Pigtail starts crying.
He’s wiping his face: “Look at this state we’re in!”
Pigtail decides to sell the gun.
He sells the gun to Mr. Dong.
This was the beginning of a big case:
The 12/1/97 murders* in Xi’an.
On such a night everyone thinks of the murders
I think of Pigtail and of Young Bao.
These hopeless kids from the bottom of China,
this people’s poet can’t get them out of his head.
1998-1999
Tr. MW, August 2014
*This serial murder case from the beginning of 1998 was made into a TV series and broad-casted all over China in 1999 and 2000. The police gun mentioned in the poem was lost on December 1st, 1997, and the case was eventually named after that date. The police in Xi’an were pressured to solve the murders before March 31st, 1998, because US-President Clinton was coming to Xi’an in June. See John Pomfret in the Washington Post.
(http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/WPcap/2000-01/13/086r-011300-idx.html)
伊沙 《中国底层》
remember haizi
reading in honor of haizi
recital in honor of haizi
haizi symposium: call for papers
remember haizi
haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi haizi
searching for bei dao
reading in search of bei dao
recital in search of bei dao
symposium in search of bei dao: call for papers
searching for bei dao
bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao bei dao
Li Yunqi
LEADER, HOW COME YOU BECAME A CRIMINAL MONSTER?
— surprised to see security chief Zhou Yongkang reduced to a prisoner
For a long time, you were our leader.
On the chairman’s pedestal,
you stood tall and strong.
On the TV screen,
your vigor was shining.
Your voice carried strength,
you were sound as a bell.
You fought against crime,
you were unforgiving.
When you held the reins,
to protect law and justice for our nation,
every man on the street stood behind you.
Now I know, you became a criminal
only because you lost your power.
If you were still up in control,
no-one could do anything,
no-one would ever dare raise his voice.
Every ounce of a doubt
would have been slander.
Every one not behind you
would be against you.
Each one resisting
would be a traitor.
When you were up and running,
who gave you the highest place at the top?
And when you lost power,
who made you a stinking criminal monster?
Black and white, right and wrong,
Great leader and criminal,
it was all very sudden.
If you held onto crime and controlled justice,
should I believe fairness rules in society?
If greed led you all the way to the peaks,
should I believe in a value system?
How about people judged criminals by the criminal,
are they endangering our nation?
How long will it take till we won’t hear any lie in the media?
How long until power isn’t a wrestling driven by greed?
When will it be that my hand,
a small helpless hand,
becomes a shield to cut off crime when it spreads?
the former camp of the production brigade
has become our ancestral hall
we say the Zhao family temple
when I was small
every time I passed this place
I felt its mystery
people’s commune and county leaders would often gather
alcohol fumes drift through the air
none of us dared to steal a look at those dignified faces
at the spotted western wall
five classic characters written in lime:
LONG LIVE CHAIR-MAN MAO
solemn and serious
I thought there must be many officials in the whole country called Chairman Mao
and wondered if there was one in our production brigade
löwen haben kein kleingeld dabei
löwen brauchen fleisch zum essen
löwen haben kein kleingeld dabei
löwen haben kein geld dabei
löwen haben kein geld
löwen haben gar kein geld
löwen brauchen fleisch zum essen
löwen sind keine löwen im sternzeichen
löwen haben keine sternzeichen
löwen haben kein geld
löwen können nur in der steppe bleiben
löwen brauchen fleisch zum essen
lions haven’t brought change
lions need to eat meat
lions haven’t brought change
lions haven’t brought money
lions have no money
lions just don’t have money
lions need to eat meat
lions aren’t leo
lions have no zodiac
lions have no money
lions can only stay in the grasslands
lions need to eat meat
Tr. MW, July 2014
Jiang Tao
LÖWEN HABEN KEIN KLEINGELD DABEI
löwen haben kein kleingeld dabei
löwen brauchen fleisch zum essen
löwen haben kein kleingeld dabei
löwen haben kein geld dabei
löwen haben kein geld
löwen haben gar kein geld
löwen brauchen fleisch zum essen
löwen sind keine löwen im sternzeichen
löwen haben keine sternzeichen
löwen haben kein geld
löwen können nur in der steppe bleiben
löwen brauchen fleisch zum essen
taking a walk in the afternoon
I come out of the east gate of fengqing park
and I see
a young woman leaning on a bicycle
talking on her cellphone:
“hello, director chen
just let my kid into your school
on top of the 50,000 sponsoring money
I will add 10,000 for you,
ok? ….”
behind her
on the back seat of the bicycle
sits a little boy
three or four years old
I walk down the street
but after a while
under the afternoon
hot summer sun
I want to cry
not because I am moved
I’m not moved at all
it was no surprise
it was perfectly normal
but I want to salute
the downtrodden masses accepting their fate
myself among them
the great chinese people
gäbe es keine weltmeisterschaft
schaute ich heute nacht in die sterne
dächte an große fragen der menschheit
meditierte im dunklen zimmer
im großen und weichen
simmonsbett säße ich
und sagte sutren auf
bis im osten der tag anbräche
morgenrot den himmel erfüllte
aber —
gäbe es keine weltmeisterschaft
wäre ich sicher nicht wach
they scurry across like wandering souls at the train station
at the machines the industrial zone squalid rented rooms
their thin female bodies like knifeblades like paper
hair fibres air their fingers cut
iron plastic film etc they’re numb and exhausted
like wandering souls packed into machine tables
work clothes assembly lines their glowing eyes
in the bloom of their youth scurrying into the shadowy stream
they created themselves I can’t tell them apart
I am standing among them no one knows who I am a sack of skin
limbs movement vague expressions one harmless
face after another they are always assembled lined up
forming electronics factory anthill toy factory beehive females
smiling standing running bending curling
each simplified into one pair of hands thies
fastened screws cut iron sheets
compressed plastic curved aluminum cut fabric
their frustrated satisfied weary happy
tangled up helpless lonely expressions
they come from villages hamlets valleys teams they’re intelligent
awkward they are weak timid
today they are kneeling before the shining glass windows doors
black-clad security polished limousines green tangerines
gold-emblazoned factory name shining in sunlight
kneeling at the factory gate holding up a cardboard sign
awkward charakters “give us sweat-and-blood-money”
they look quite fearless as they kneel at the factory gate
surrounded by a crowd days ago they were colleagues
from the same province friends coworkers above or below
women without any expression watching four kneeling women workers
watching four colleagues dragged away by security watching
one of the four losing a shoe watching another worker
getting her pants torn in the struggle silently watching
four kneeling women dragged far away in their eyes
there is no sadness no joy without any expression entering the factory
their tragedy leaving me sad or depressed
Yi Sha WATCHING THE BEIJING CAPITAL INDOOR STADIUM FROM A WINDOW OF THE JAPAN AIRLINES NEW CENTURY HOTEL
It isn’t as grand
as it was before;
but still my heart
goes pounding.
So many beautiful
youthful memories;
like the willows around it,
they are still blowing.
One evening in May, 1987
I was here watching the game
when the Chinese badminton team
won all five world championship titles
for the first time.
I saw Yang Yang beat Morten Frost
Li Yongbo and Tian Bingyi
They were still in the team
and won the men’s doubles for the first time.
After the games
I rode a shoddy bicycle
through Beijing’s midnight streets
shouting and screaming
“Long live China!”
in between the traffic.
In the same year
I went with a girl
to the Northwest folk rock concert
“My hometown is not beautiful,
low straw houses, bitter well water …”
Tengger’s voice, my blood went boiling.
After the concert
I didn’t bring her home,
just up to the night bus;
that was the more responsible way …
Oh, someone’s knocking,
my friends are here.
I have to leave the window
and open the door.
Oh, I haven’t thought
of that time for a while.
actually, they have
just finished their early shift
and found a noodle shop
to let their spent up bodies rest for a while
handmade noodles, two yuan fifty fen
they don’t want to pay any more for the sauce
only a tea-egg
colored much like their skin
happiness rolled into one
they keep the egg and the soup till the end
as if to remind themselves
not to let this darkness
pass into their wives’ pregnant bellies
Prone to nosebleed since I was small
I have a few methods
to stop the blood.
Ice-cold water on the forehead;
middle finger tied at the base;
raise up your hand on the other side;
block your nose with tissue paper.
It might also be a good choice
to use chalk from the blackboard.
The most unique method
comes from my grandfather, my mother’s father.
Up in the hills or in the fields
suddenly my nose was bleeding.
He never panicked,
took off one shoe (those shoes made from cloth),
one side of the sole
he pressed on my nostril
and kept rubbing.
From the sole, a taste of mud;
a taste of sunlight;
a taste of grass;
a taste of sheep droppings;
a taste of dead insects;
stirred up together
right up my nostril.
I choked and gasped,
the blood shot back up.
Great video. Yan Li has been an important figure in art and poetry in China and outside for a long time. I have translated a few of his poems. I like this one for the same reason that Paul Manfredi states – having cared for small children. And the poem reminds me of Hung Hung and Duo Duo. And I like Yan Li, as I said.
soccer fans all over the world
know about pele’s predictions
he knows before who wins the crown
and who must go down
even brazil his own team
he has predicted bad luck for them
several times, these are
all facts
proving
he’s the real deal
king of the game
every real king talks to the spirits
right or wrong is all one
der mond ist groß und hell hinterm haus gegenüber
nicht sehr weit oben, gleich über den kränen
der erste sommer im neuen haus
der erste winter, der erste frühling
der war nass und kühl
jetzt ist es richtig sommer geworden
so viele mohnblumen
so viele lichter
so viele neue wohnungen
und ein besetztes haus in der nähe
wahrscheinlich kommen die schmierer von dort
die unsere neuen häuser verschönern
ein sechzehnjähriger liegt noch im koma
nach einer ubahn-graffitti aktion
die polizei war offenbar gründlich
und die security der wiener linien
der mond ist rund und hell hinter wolken
gleich dort hinterm haus
There were demonstrations in Vienna yesterday. I went during the day, but in the evening I was too tired. It was important in the evening, of course. They let far-right organizations march through the city, canvass at universities and so on, aggressively protected by police. Anti-fascist protesters have a hard stand. Police brutality is fatal sometimes. A young subway sprayer was beaten into a coma by Wiener Linien public transport security and police in early April, and has not woken up since then. In the evening of June 3rd, the East Asian Studies department at Vienna university held an open discussion. The most interesting thing was three young female students who had interviewed Fang Zheng 方政 via Skype. He was that athlete whose legs were severed by a tank when he helped a female student get out of the way in the morning of June 4th, 1989. He became a disabled athlete and set records. But they were always worried he would get too much publicity, so he was barred from some international events. He kept quiet during the Olympics in 2008, so that he would get his passport and could leave in 2009. Lives in San Francisco, chairs an exile organization there. That presentation was great. The North Korea specialist made some interesting remarks, and in the end a Chinese professor finally made a brief personal statement. Vienna University vice president Prof. Weigelin-Schwiedrzik asked the students present what they would have done, if they would have stayed on the square under the threat of martial law. It is a romantic question – the protests in 1989 are always romanticized, as if it had been one great student party. Students took the lead, but the most important thing about any nationwide protest is popular participation, workers and many common people, not elites. Same with Taiwan’s recent Sunflower Movement. Anyway, I raised my hand and said I could not know what I would have done. Several people said so. I said I was in Taiwan in 1989, they also had demonstrations, with different aims. The February 28th, 1947 massacre in Taiwan had not yet been acknowledged. What I should have said when I raised my hand was that everyone present should think about taking part in the anti-fascist protests the next day in Vienna, on June 4th, 2014.
just a bit of relaxing
just a bit of the sun
gleaming on every spire
just a bit of the world
settling down for the evening
and the birds sing for springtime
just like they did when I was a kid
although everything’s new
all the shiny new buildings
in this new part of town
though we’re close to the center
you can see every ridge
it’s a beautiful city
beethoven walked here,
and schubert and brahms
and vivaldi was buried
unmarked, just like mozart
it’s a beautiful evening
of a beautiful sunday
they had eu elections
there is hope for the future
this city is fortunate
this city was worse
the worst on the planet
they voted for hitler
and killed all the jews
and then it was bombed
and then our parents
came here and we grew
and moved elsewhere and now
we are here in this building
in this town on this world.
the city is growing
it is still rather small
it was big and growing
in 1914
now we have the eu
there is privatization and deprivation
all over the continent
still it is springtime
let us build something new.
MW May 25, 2014
Picture by Juliane AdlerTrain station in Liesing, Vienna
Hung Hung
MARTIAL LAW ERA – AFTER HEARING THAT SUN YAT-SEN’S STATUE AT THNG TEK-CHIONG PARK IN TAINAN HAD BEEN TORN DOWN
all those bronze statues
are busy at night
patrolling the streets
lest people get drunk and say the wrong thing or kiss in the alleys
or play mahjong at home
statues will check at the newspaper press
is there a piece on the chief like last year?
is there a space for respect at the top?
has someone scribbled in the blank spot?
bronze statues are busy
they are scared of too many things
scared stamps could bear other portraits
scared streets and squares, schools, libraries
would all change their names
no more school kids saluting
no more chatting with sparrows
scared that one day
there’d be a rope
to pull them down
“mama, why is the statue green in the face?”
“no finger-pointing, your fingers fall off!”
“mama, the statue hides for a smoke at the fire brigade!”
“he just takes a break, he got burned in the sun every day.”
those statues have long forgotten the killings
of another generation
forgotten how they are still being used
they only remember the heat of the forge
it was hard to bear
and once you cool down, then come the years
standing empty and cold
Written on the eve of Febr. 28th, 2014,
67 years after the Febr. 28th, 1947 massacre.
Tr. MW, May 2014
I was very astonished when I first saw the picture. It does look like violence, the statue is smeared red. The poem is a revelation. Why would people have something against Sun Yat-sen? Nice guy, compared to what came later. Late retribution, for the killing of Thng Tek-Chiong, governor of Tainan in 1947, one of the first dead in the February 28 massacre? Sun Yat-sen is rather far from home in Tainan, far from his home base. I remember that small park near the train station in Taipei, where Sun Yat-sen lived when he visited Taiwan, it was a Japanese hotel back then. Small garden, very peaceful. A little forlorn and frail among the hustle and bustle around Taipei train station. Why would anyone be angry at a statue of Sun Yat-sen? In 2011 and early 2012, there were many conferences around the world in memory of the 1911 辛亥革命. People talked about many interesting things, but something like this? Without this poem, I would never have thought people would think that way about these statues. Not that much. So many killings back then, so much White Terror in decades, and no retribution. And the KMT still in power. There is repressed violence in people’s hearts, and everybody can count there lucky stars if they take it out only on statues.
Taiwan is a very peaceful and safe place, all in all. One-party dictatorship does create a sense of security for some, at least in retrospect. The world gets more complicated in those new-fangled pluralist societies. So there are people who blame the subway knife attack of a deranged student on May 21 on the student-led protests in March and early April this year. In Austria, the shameless tabloid that is much bigger than Murdoch and Berlusconi in their countries, still says things like all demonstrations and protest are leftist, and cost a lot of public money. When there are anti-foreigner rightists marching in Vienna, and the police need to protect them, it is not their fault, right? And if they want to have a ball in the emperor’s palace and parade on the square where Hitler proclaimed the Anschluss in 1938, it is their right and they should be protected, and if the whole city center is full of police barricades, it is the fault of those leftists.
It’s the other way around! In a more open society, there is much less repressed violence. Look at the recent bloody clashes and attacks in many cities in China. That won’t get less, probably. Taiwan people should be very proud of that big, peaceful demonstration on March 30. Their country has become a much better place through the changes of the last 25 years. The KMT could and should be proud of that, too. But they are the 中國國民黨, so they have to think about stability in a much bigger way, don’t they?
Is Zhang Ziyi beautiful or not?
Some people say she’s beautiful,
some say she isn’t.
Liu Ping in our office
says she is not beautiful.
But Zhang Yimou says she is.
Ang Lee says she is.
Jackie Chan says she is.
Wong Kar-wai says she is.
Henry Fok’s son says she is beautiful.
Steven Spielberg says she is beautiful.
Now even Feng Xiaogang also says she is beautiful.
Then after all is Zhang Ziyi beautiful or not?
In my opinion
Zhang Ziyi is more beautiful than Zhang Yimou
and Ang Lee
and Jackie Chan
and Wong Kar-wai,
more beautiful than Henry Fok’s son,
more beautiful than Spielberg,
even more beautiful than Feng Xiaogang.
But she is not
as beautiful as Liu Ping in our office.
under the system
you learn to compromise
anyone
the system
is a huge condom
never let no-one pierce it
you might get pregnant
being pregnant
means all sorts of things
you could get aborted
you could be induced
and end up dead
compromise
the english word
you make a promise
a common promise
collective promise
“tuŏxié” in mandarin
“xié” like in “xiéshāng”
negotiation
“tuŏ” like in “tuŏdang”
suitably done
“mai hart lieb zapfen eibe hold/ er renn bohr in sees kai/ so was sieht wenn mai läuft begehen/ so es sieht nahe emma mähen/ so biet wenn ärschel grollt/ ohr leck mit ei!/ seht steil dies fader rosse mähen/ in teig kurt wisch mai desto bier/ baum deutsche deutsch bajonett schur alp eiertier”
… sowie von Odd-Duck-Ring nach High-Lee-Can-Shut – und noch viele andere Verbindungen.
Nicht nur für Touristen hier ein Plan der Wiener U-Bahnstationen in phonetischem Englisch
Not for tourists only here’s a map of the Vienna Metro system in phonetic English.
李勤岸Li Khin-huann
Translated by Tiunn Boo-thinn 譯 …
We planted sunflowers at Parliament
To bring some sunshine inside
To bring all that mold to light
To bring the people’s rights to light
We planted sunflowers on the president’s lawn
To throw the floodgates wide open
And flood away the steel webs of a dictator
And let the young whales of democracy swim on, and on and on
We planted sunflowers in the streets
To bloom come rain and bloom come wind
To bloom for always and for all days
By the darkening roads we must yet take
We’re planting flowers in every alley and every valley
In the cities and in the country
In the mountains and by the sea
The sun will still flower
May the will of young hearts
Rise up high in our free skies
阮種日頭花
–《人面冊ê花蕊》264
李勤岸
Li Khin-huann
WE PLANT A SUNFLOWER
we plant a sunflower in parliament
to draw in the sun
stir up the poor state of our congress
stir it up for the rights of our people
we plant a sunflower in the president’s palace
to call a young sea spirit of Taiwan democracy
to stir up a flood
to sweep away the iron nets of dictatorship
we plant a sunflower on every street
to brave wind and rain
to stir and bloom
to shine a light on our dark road ahead
we plant a sunflower on every corner
in the village in the city
on the mountains at the sea
to stir and bloom
our spirit of youth
will brighten our homeland and our skies
As Ding Jiaxi’s wife, every time after the lawyers met with Jiaxi, I couldn’t wait to ask them for audio or video recordings of Jiaxi, and listen or watch eagerly when I got them. Jiaxi’s familiar voice and hearty laughter have always moved and inspired me. From these recordings, I learned more about Jiaxi, understood more about the things he did, and supported him more firmly. Sometimes I feel those people who detained and imprisoned him and will put him on trial are pretty stupid. They are scared of people who oppose them, but what they do is make more people, like me , oppose them. I have also decided to be a citizen who speaks out and who has an attitude. I say: Stop creating more unjust and false cases. Release…
Ilham Tohti. Photo from Tibetan writer Woeser’s Twitter account @degewa.
On January 15, 2014, Chinese authorities arrested Ilham Tohti, a Uighur economics professor at the prestigious Minzu University in Beijing. Authorities formally charged him with separatism on February 25, and have so far denied him access to his attorney.For years, Tohti has discussed and commented on not only Chinese policies in the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region, where the vast majority of this Turkic Muslim population lives, but also the state of Han-Uighur relations. He founded the Chinese-language website 维吾尔在线 (Uighur Online), which is meant to facilitate communication and understanding between the two peoples.The following autobiographic essay, written in January, 2011, provides a much-needed portrait of the man. In dealing with Ilham’s case, we demand that the Chinese government acts transparently and in accordance with its own Criminal Procedure Law as well…
We teach our kids to believe in justice.
You torture righteous children to death
and exonerate murderers.
We teach our kids to believe in peace.
You betray the people’s trust for your profits.
We teach our children honesty.
You swindle voters, they pay the bills.
We teach our kids democracy.
You auction off our rights on the side.
We teach our children respect.
You trample poor people under your feet
and then give out alms.
We teach our children to live in justice.
You wheel and deal and sell off their homes,
let them drink pesticides crawling and crying.
You call our children a violent mob.
Their clothes may be dirty, at heart they are pure.
Your clothes are perfect, calmly you put on your elegant ties
and wrap the filth in your hands.
You say you’re calling on education
but you let police clobber our children
and have them arrested as criminals.
What we taught our children went against facts.
They had to memorize and recite
and write it one hundred times if they failed.
Now they won’t believe what we tell them.
We put down our textbooks
to practice democracy,
exercising a spirit you never knew.
Protect our children!
Don’t let your cold-blooded thinking sentence them to death.
We are fighting to testify for all those pure and gentle hearts.
imagine many years later
can we still watch japanese cartoons
imagine letters we might receive
maybe with contents crossed out in red
imagine we could answer in peace
curious questions from our children
I will tell them about tonight
concise and in detail
so they can swiftly run to any crowded stage
I will tell them
peace is short-lived
struggle is constant
come on, go now
on this island
find your comrades
keep your loved ones
build your dream house
look for the nation of your ideals
raise all the flags
light every lamp
shout out your pursuits
warm winds will blow
coconuts sway
students, policemen sleeping together
rain will keep falling
till you wake up to a dry day
Hai Zi
BEIJING SPRING (FACE THE SEA, SPRING IN BLOOM)
from tomorrow, let me be happy
feed horses, chop wood, let me travel the world
from tomorrow, vegetables, grain
I have a house, face the sea, spring in bloom
from tomorrow, writing my family
tell everyone how I am happy
this lightning happiness tells me
what I will tell everyone
give every creek every peak a warm name
stranger, I want to bless you also
may your future be bright
may your lover become your family
may you find happiness in this world
I only want to face the sea, spring in bloom
all these good people at school want to lend you a pencil.
all these good people will rush to pull you up when you fall down.
all these good people won’t help you when you are bullied.
because to the bullies they are also good schoolmates.
all these good people at the army will polish your boots and stand guard for you.
all these good people will lend you money so you can get back to your hometown.
all these good people won’t help you if you are bullied.
because to the sergeant they are also good soldiers.
all these good people at work want to brew you a coffee.
all these good people will listen all night when you’re broken-hearted.
all these good people won’t help you if the boss shouts at you.
because to the boss they are also good workers.
all these good people on the street will pick up your things when you drop them.
all these good people want to give you directions when you are lost.
all these good people won’t help you when your house gets torn down.
because to the government they are also good citizens.
some of these good people will become good police.
some of these good police will protect you against violence.
all these good police won’t help you if there are bad policemen who beat you.
because to the bad policemen they are also good comrades.
all around us the world is full of good people.
all these good people are filled with good intentions.
our world depends on cooperation among these good people.
when it is time we need to stand up by ourselves and step past good people.
Der Vogel furzt, der Schneemann weint, die Sonne scheint. Die Mutter schreit: „Hurra! Der Frühling, der ist wieder da!” Die Kinder spielen im Garten. Der Vater schläft im harten Bett. Die Oma, die ist ziemlich fett. Der Opa kocht. Sein Herz pocht, er riecht den Frühling. Die Blumen blühen, die Farben glühen. Das Pferd sagt: „Wieher!” Es klingt wie: „Der Frühling, der ist hier!“ Anna sagt: „Das erste Schneeglöckchen, das gehört mir!“ Die Tulpe sagt zum Löwenzahn: „Hör auf, in mein Gesicht zu niesen, die Rose versucht uns aufzuspießen!“ Doch Adam pflückt die Rose ab und schenkt sie Eva. Das war knapp!
中国大好き 