Die Tochter schreibt auf WeChat,
“Gorbatschow ist gestorben!”
Ich denk mir,
das lässt sie nicht kalt.
Will ihr grad antworten,
da schreibt sie wieder,
“Hab geglaubt, er wär schon lang tot.”
Fenstertag,
heute war Schule,
jedenfalls in Leos Schule.
Nächstes Schuljahr
gibt’s nicht mehr,
die Bildungsdirektion
der Stadt Wien,
der Stadtschulrat,
sagt, es gibt kein Geld
vom Ministerium,
um denen, die es brauchen,
noch Schule zu geben.
Das betrifft uns.
Und noch ein paar Eltern
und Kinder, Jugendliche.
Und Friederike Mayröcker
ist gestorben.
Und heute ist 4. Juni,
Gedenktag für 1989 in China,
nur nicht offiziell halt.
Offiziell hat der junge Oberdissident
von Belarus
alles zugegeben,
im Fernsehen.
Der Geburtstag meines Vaters
an den ich mich am besten erinnere
ist der 5. 8. 1990, er war 55.
Am Anfang der Ferien ging ich nach Beijing,
Kommilitonen wie Xu Jiang und Sang Ke
haben an unserer Uni ein Zimmer gemietet.
Ich hab mit ihnen zwei Poesie-Wochen verbracht,
(wir wollten unsere Uni-Zeit einfangen,
die gerade erst vorbei war).
Ich bin genau an dem Tag zurück gekommen,
um Vaters Geburtstag zu feiern.
Damals war die Alte G noch meine Freundin,
und meine Mutter war noch gesund.
Was sie gekocht hat,
hab ich in diesem Leben
am liebsten gegessen.
Beim Essen hat sie so unendlich froh
zu mir hingeschaut,
als ob die ganze Welt mich verwöhnt,
so wie die Alte G jetzt unsern Sohn anschaut.
der geburtstag von meinem vater
den ich überhaupt nicht vergessen kann
das war am 5.8. 1990
mein vater war 55
ich war in den ferien nach Beijing gefahren
zu xu jiang, sangke und anderen von unserem jahrgang
wir haben ein studentenheimzimmer besetzt
an unserer pädagogischen hochschule
ein dichtertreffen zwei wochen lang
dann bin ich zum vatergeburtstag zurück
damals war meine frau nur meine freundin
meine mutter war noch gesund
was sie gekocht hat war das allerbeste
was ich jemals gegessen hab
während des essens hat sie mich so angeschaut
als ob die ganze welt mich verwöhnen will
so wie meine frau jetzt unsern sohn
In the early 1990s
the city I live in
didn’t celebrate Christmas.
The college I teach at did,
a foreign languages campus.
It was more like each class had it’s own party,
students and their foreign teachers
singing foreign Christmas carols
into the air from the classroom building
and into the sky looking for snowflakes
to sing with in harmony.
I would stop and listen,
feeling the civilization and beauty
patching my still raw wounds inside.
sind wir am besten
wenn wir am offensten sind
so wie 2015
oder 1989
aber greta
ist auch nicht schlecht
sie ist wichtiger
wir sind wichtiger
als die regierung
wer sind wir
woher kommen wir
wohin gehen wir
wohin gehen wir?
wir sind die erde
wir kommen von der erde
wir gehen mit ihr
solang sie uns lässt
I joined Twitter in 2009 when Iran looked like China in 1989. I was in Taiwan in 1989. Taiwan changed. Much for the better. Probably. Europe changed. All for the better? No. Changed very much. All for hell, in Yugoslavia. Much of. Some of still. And China? #MyTwitterAnniversarypic.twitter.com/aCPwSOEcrn
Dreamt of Marx last night.
Everyone was Marx.
Young and old, male and female, all the same name.
On the street people hailed each other “Marx!”
I guess the dream was in German or English.
Just one name, only one syllable.
Nothing else.
Everyone of us throughout the city.
Not sure which city actually.
No me, only us.
In this dream it was very natural.
MW May 2018
DER MOND IST AUFGEGANGEN
der mond ist aufgegangen
der mond ist heut orange
geht über kränen auf
der park ist voll von kindern
es ist bald 10 am abend
doch morgen schlafen alle lang
denn morgen ist fronleichnam
ein feiertag ein großer
mit großer prozession
und jedenfalls viel ruhe
und weniger getue
und auch ein bisschen sommer schon
wir stolzen menschenkinder
sind eitel arme sünder
und wissen gar nicht viel
wir spinnen luftgespinste
und suchen viele künste
und kommen weiter von dem ziel
mond lass dein heil uns schauen
auf nichts vergänglichs trauen
nicht eitelkeit uns freun
lass uns einfältig werden
und vor dir hier auf erden
wie kinder frech und fröhlich sein
so legt euch denn ihr brüder
in gottes namen nieder
kalt ist der abendhauch
wir wollen alle schlafen
denn wir sind müde affen
und unsre kranken nachbarn auch
ich halt eine pomelo in meiner hand
eine goldgelbe große
mit ihrem leicht bitteren duft
ein kleines messer ist schon genug
obwohl die haut recht dick gewirkt hat
ein wortloser schmerz
ich fang an zu zittern
ein leben in dem du keinen schmerz spürst
ein obst das niemand herunter nimmt
wartet nur aufs verfaulen
ich will wirklich gern die pomelo sein
geschnitten werden oder gebissen
besser im schmerz
in ruhe sterben
als im eigenen faulenden körper
die maden wimmeln sehen
einen ganzen winter
mach ich dieselbe sache
schneid eine pomelo nach der anderen auf
und hol mir nahrung aus ihrem tod
13. September 1999
Übersetzt von MW im März 2018
Liu Xia ist Malerin, Dichterin und Fotografin. Sie war mit dem Friedensnobelpreisträger Liu Xiaobo verheiratet. Geb. 1. April 1961 in Peking. Ehepartner: Liu Xiaobo (verh. 1996–2017) Geschwister: Liu Tong, Liu Hui (Wikipedia)
Das ist kein gutes Wetter,
sag ich unter der prallen Sonne
zu mir selbst.
Ich steh hinter dir,
geb dir einen Klaps auf den Hinterkopf.
Deine Haare stechen mich in die Hand,
das ist mir neu.
Ich komm nicht dazu, dir noch ein Wort zu sagen,
du bist in den Nachrichten.
Ich schau zu dir auf mit allen Leuten
und werd immer müder.
Ich muss mich verstecken hinter den Massen,
ein bisschen rauchen
und in den Himmel schauen.
Vielleicht wird gerade ein Mythos geboren,
aber die Sonne scheint mir in die Augen,
ich kann ihn nicht sehen.
Two years ago at this time
I was in Vermont.
In that month,
I was with poets and writers, all kinds of artists,
everyone doing their stuff.
60 people,
I was the only one waiting for news on the Nobel.
I asked them
why they didn’t care.
They gave me strange looks,
like I was some Chinese bug on the ground.
Oh, we have such a deep Nobel complex,
it’s in our cultural genes.
Plainly said it’s opportunism,
always looking for shortcuts,
no doubt about it.
I remember
three years ago
in Vermont,
Austrian sinologist Martin Winter told me
he didn’t agree
when I translated “light” into “guangming” 光明,
bright light.
“Light is just light”, he gave no reason.
I thought he didn’t like
the false pathos from the Mao era,
using big words.
Only just now
I see the light!
光 guang is immediate experience,
if you add 明 ming, meaning bright
the language is one step removed.
A colloquial poetry eagle
doesn’t pick up second-hand words.
we have a late poet and critic
in his many writings
he also named my greatest sin:
after 1989,
the Third Generation of elite poets –
some went to prison
some went into business
some had stopped writing
hence my sudden rise
this kind of thinking is interesting
let me use it on Charles Bukowski
from 1960 to 62
China was stuck in extreme misery
people were starving
he didn’t care if we starved to death
kept slurping cheap wine
kept writing good poems
and became famous
LIU XIA. Eine Fotografin aus China. Vernissage am 10.Februar 2015. Ausstellungsdauer: 21.Februar – 19.April 2015 m Martin Gropius Bau Berlin. LIAO YIWU
KLAGE UM LIU XIAOBO
Von Liao Yiwu
Er ist tot, was kann das ändern.
Hell scheint die Sonne, Schnee auf den Alpen
glitzert wie Fischschuppen. Seine Asche im glitzernden Meer,
Fischschuppen. Unsere Erinnerung an ihn
schwimmt weg wie Fischschuppen?
Was wird das ändern, er ist tot.
Ein zerrissenes Buch.
Seine Frau, ein verletzes Lesezeichen
rutscht aufs Bettpolster. Sie schaut ihn an,
möcht sich hinwerfen, schrein: „Du darfst nicht sterben! Mein Lieber, stirb nicht, oh Gott!”
Aber sie darf nur schweigend zuschauen,
ein rausgefallenes Lesezeichen,
schaut wie sein Buch zerrissen wird, Seite für Seite.
Die ganze Welt sieht, wie er umgebracht wird.
Weißkittel geistern rund um ihn im Käfig.
Ein Büchermensch, wollt um den Tod nicht China verlassen.
Politischer Häftling, vier mal im Gefängnis,
sagt nun er will im Westen sterben. Hört es irgendwer?
Bist du taub, hast du doch einen Mund.
Bist du stumm, du schaust doch noch zu!
Bist du blind – können Blinde sich aufregen?
Über eine Milliarde Blinde, werden sie sich aufregen?
Was kann das ändern, er ist tot.
Ich wart noch auf die Nachricht, dass sein Flieger abhebt.
Vögel schreien im Wind, in der Nacht.
Blüten fallen, Gras wächst. Frau und Tochter im süßen Schlaf.
Ich geh als Geist auf und ab in der Nacht. Er kommt näher,
fegt als Komet am Horizont. Flug in den Himmel, von 1989?
Lässt die Hand seiner Frau los,
sagt ihr noch, sie soll leben, so gut sie nur kann.
Das war vor vielen Jahren am Tian’anmen.
Panzer dröhnen. Schüsse, Schüsse.
Kinder fallen in Reihen, im Reigen. Seelen steigen,
sagen ihm Lebewohl. Sagen ihm, er soll leben,
so gut er nur kann für die Geister des Massakers.
Was wird das ändern, er ist tot.
Angenagelt von der KP, ewig wie Jesus;
steht auf in Folter und Tod.
Ich wart noch, dass sein Flieger abhebt,
dass er seine letzten Zeilen an seine Liebe zu Ende schreibt,
seine Frau in die Ferne begleitet, in der Fremde begraben wird.
Dass wir oft hingehen können, um nach ihm zu sehen;
wenn die Nacht niedersinkt, die Vergangenheit fließt durch die Zweige.
Aber alles ist uns zersprungen. Er hat keine Freiheit,
im Leben nicht und nicht im Sterben. Seine Asche, seine Liebe.
Die ganze Welt schaut zu, wie ein aufrechter Mensch,
ein besonderes Buch, wie es langsam zerrissen wird.
Niemand kann sie aufhalten, die ignorante Gewalt.
Aber jeder möchte sie aufhalten!
Was kann das ändern, lieber Gott.
Er ist tot.
Hung Hung ONE MAN VS. ONE COUNTRY – FOR LIU XIAOBO
one man dies
one country awakes from a dream
actually it wasn’t sleeping
the country was just pretending to dream
it keeps its eyes open behind its mosquito net
watching who dares to dream their own dream
who dares in their dreams to sing their own song
who dares to call each stag a stag, each horse a horse
this country never sleeps
its atm’s count their money 24 hours
its warriors patrol on the net day and night
to bury alive every weathercock showing his head
this country infects with its disease
the livers that aren’t asleep
so they can’t detox anymore
they can’t tell the limbs to move around freely
the case history of this country is painted as poetry
everyone of the people it calls its citizens
must memorize and recite without rest
just like that hottest summer 28 years ago
a summer that seems to go on forever
one person dies
and the blood that was washed off
flows out steaming again on the square
to jump the dark floodgate
only when this sick country dies
every person can finally wake up alive
7/13/17
Translated by Martin Winter, July 2017
───────────────────────
Hung Hung EIN MENSCH GEGEN EIN LAND — IN GEDENKEN AN LIU XIAOBO
Ein Mensch stirbt.
Ein Land erwacht aus einem Traum.
Eigentlich hat das Land gar nicht geschlafen.
Es hat nur so getan, als würde es träumen.
Hinter seinem Moskitonetz sperrt es die Augen auf:
Wer wagt es und träumt seinen eigenen Traum?
Wer wagts, singt im Traum sein eigenes Lied?
Wer nennt einen Hirsch einen Hirsch, und ein Pferd auch ein Pferd?
Dieses Land kann nicht schlafen.
Seine Bankomaten zählen sein Geld Tag und Nacht.
Seine Krieger patrouillieren 24 Stunden im Netz:
jeder Wetterhahn der seinen Kopf hebt
wird lebendig begraben.
Dieses Land steckt mit seiner Krankheit
jede Leber an, die nicht schläft:
sie können alle nicht länger entgiften
oder Glieder anstiften, sich frei zu rühren.
Es malt seine Krankengeschichte aus als Gedicht
und befiehlt allen jenen, die es seine Bürger nennt
das Gedicht vorzutragen bis sie nicht mehr können.
So wie in jenem heißesten Sommer vor 28 Jahren.
Der Sommer geht offenbar nie vorüber.
Ein Mensch ist gestorben:
Das abgewaschene Blut
spritzt wieder heiß hervor auf dem Platz,
schlägt gegen das finstere Schleusentor.
Nur wenn das schwerkranke Land endlich stirbt
kann jeder Mensch erst lebendig erwachen.
“I know, we’re all so concerned with Turkey, Syria or that maniac in the US, and that’s alright, but it’s about to draw some attention back to human rights violations in China. Please. I do know some people personally who are or have been imprisoned in China for no crime but writing on behalf of humanistic endeavours.”
“The news that Liu Xiaobo’s time in a Chinese prison has left him terminally ill has spread across the globe.
Liu Xiaobo and his wife Liu Xia have been close friends of mine for decades. As their friend, I hereby call upon the leaders of Western governments, particularly leaders in the US, Germany, France, the UK, and the European Union, to urge the Chinese government to allow Liu Xiaobo and his wife to leave the country to seek medical treatment overseas.
This is a humanitarian imperative.”
Liao Yiwu
2012 Recipient of the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade
26 June 2017
LIU XIA. Eine Fotografin aus China. Vernissage am 10.Februar 2015. Ausstellungsdauer: 21.Februar – 19.April 2015 m Martin Gropius Bau Berlin. LIAO YIWU, MARCUS HAGEMANN, MARTIN WINTER
“Dies ist ein Appell an die chinesische Regierung von Herta Müller, Liao Yiwu, Ulrich Schreiber und vielen Freunden. Inzwischen haben auch Elfriede Jelinek, Eva Menasse, Madeleine Thien, Salman Rushdie, Wole Soyinka, Ian McEwan und 100 weitere Autoren aus allen Kontinenten unterzeichnet.
Nobel Peace Prize Laureat Liu Xiaobo has been diagnosed with liver cancer. His wife, Liu Xia, who has been under house arrest for several years, is also gravely ill. They have the wish to travel to Germany so they can receive medical care. Their wish to leave China is so strong that Liu Xiaobo has stated that – if he is to die – he does not want to do so on Chinese soil. Liu Xia also no longer wishes to live there. Time is running. We urge the Chinese government to grant Liu Xiaobo and Liu Xia the freedom to leave the country!
Der Friedensnobelpreisträger Liu Xiaobo ist an Leberkrebs erkrankt. Er und seine Frau Liu Xia haben hat den Wunsch geäussert, nach Deutschland auszureisen, um medizinische Hilfe für beide zu bekommen – denn auch Liu Xia, die seit Jahren unter Hausarrest steht, ist schwer erkrankt. Der Wunsch der beiden geht soweit, dass Liu Xiaobo sagt, er möchte – selbst wenn er sterben muss – nicht in China sterben. Und Liu Xia sagt, dass sie nicht länger in China leben möchte. Die Zeit ist knapp. Wir appellieren dringend an die chinesische Regierung: geben sie diesen beiden Menschen die Freiheit, das Land zu verlassen!
El Premio Nobel de la Paz, Liu Xiaobo, está muy enfermo, tiene cáncer de hígado. Tanto él como su esposa Liu Xia han expresado su deseo de poder viajar a Alemania para obtener ayuda médica para ambos. Xiu Liu, con arresto domiciliario desde muchos anos, también está muy enferma. El deseo de ambos, así lo dijo Liu Xiaobo, es tan fuerte que dice no querer morir en China – si esto es su destino inmediato, y su mujer insiste que no quiere seguir viviendo en China. El tiempo apremia, y por ello pedimos al Gobierno de China: Por favor, conceden la libertad a estas dos personas para que puedan dejar el país.
Le lauréat du prix Nobel de la paix, Liu Xiaobo, est atteint d’un cancer du foie. Lui et son épouse Liu Xia ont émis le vœu de se rendre en Allemagne afin de recevoir des soins médicaux pour les deux. En effet, Liu Xia, qui est en résidence surveillée depuis plusieurs années, est gravement malade. Leur souhait est si profond que Liu Xiaobo dit qu’il ne veut pas — s’il doit décéder — décéder en Chine. Liu Xia quant à elle dit qu’elle ne veut plus vivre en Chine. Le temps est court. Nous en appelons d’urgence au gouvernement chinois: donnez à ces deux personnes la liberté de quitter le pays.
Fredspristagaren Liu Xiaobo är sjuk i levercancer. Tillsammans med sin Liu Xia har han uttryckt önskan om att få resa till Tyskland för att där få den medicinska vård de båda behöver. Också Liu Xia, som sedan många år befinner sig i husarrest, är nämligen svårt sjuk. Liu Xiaobo säger att om han måste dö så vill han inte dö i Kina. Liu Xia säger att hon inte längre vill leva i Kina. Tiden är knapp. Vi appellerar till den kinesiska regeringen att snarast ge dessa två människor friheten att lämna landet.
O ganhador do Prêmio Nobel Liu Xiaobo está com câncer de fígado. Ele e sua Liu Xia manifestaram vontade de viajar para a Alemanha, a fim de obter tratamento médico para ambos. Liu Xia, que está sob prisão domiciliar há anos, também está gravemente doente. A vontade deles, nesse sentido, é tanta que Liu Xiaobo afirma que não deseja morrer na China, mesmo que sua condição seja terminal. E Liu Xia diz que não quer mais viver na China. O tempo é curto. Por isso, dirigimos um apelo urgente às autoridades chinesas: concedam a essas duas pessoas a liberdade para sair do país.”
Liu Xia’s handwritten letter
廖亦武: 眼下，刘晓波夫妇已被严密控制，我不得已公布刘霞的手迹。我还有刘霞向国宝提出出国申请的手迹，暂时不便公布。媒体，以及大伙儿可以此为凭：出国治病是他们最迫切的心愿，劉曉波説死也要死在西方，千真万确！
“I am sick of my life, this grotesque life. I want to tear the version of myself who lives this grotesque life to pieces. I long to escape.
I can hardly believe that Xiaobo agreed to leave China together with me and [my brother] Liu Hui. When he finally learned about it, he was very concerned about my illness.
I am grateful to you and to our friends for everything you’ve been doing and cannot wait to embrace you.
Is there a way?
Is there a good way?
Is there a good way to poetry?
Is there a good way to translate poetry?
Why not?
Depends on the poetry.
The source poetry,
the target poetry.
The audience
and the massacre. Maghiel van Crevel’s translation
of Han Dong’s Big Wild Goose Pagoda
is perfect.
Both pagodas are perfect.
Maybe the small one
retains more of the flavor
of Xi’an 20 or 30 years ago.
Haven’t been to the small one in many years. Nicky Harman’s translation quoted by Xujun Eberlein
in the LA Review of Books
should have no quite in my opinion
only quiet.
Otherwise it is perfect.
Is there a good way to translate poetry?
Into what?
Mashed potatoes?
If I’m not a poet
in target poetry
– how many shots for a dollar?
If the person in charge
doesn’t produce competent targets
why do they buy them?
Is there a way?
Is there a good way to poetry?
Depends on the poetry.
The source poetry, the target poetry.
The audience and the massacre.
June 3rd, 2016
P.S.: Pls refer to Shen Haobo’s REPUBLIC. Maybe his best poem. Maybe my best translation.
惦記他
故他在
记得9/11以後
他在紐约唱保羅西蒙的歌
America
惦記盧·里德
兩三年前聽他的現場
惦記臺灣老朋友
廖瑞銘臺灣語教授
记得88年在臺灣買崔健的卡带
惦記傳聲頭像
AC-DC 酒吧
平克·弗洛伊德
寫在BUFFALO TOWN 天花板
惦記臺灣摇滚
以及所有抵抗强暴的聲音
2016.1.11
————————————
星期六七月26号去了鲍勃.迪伦现场 – Bob Dylan concert 在 Wiesen, 奥地利 Austria.
Rather good. Full raspy voice. Lots of ambivalence in the songs. Experimenting with old songs, making it new.
Songs from the albums TIME OUT OF MIND, WORLD GONE WRONG, BLOOD ON THE TRACKS and others. “Love Sick” was the last song. Very, very good. Before that, a new version of Blowin’ in the Wind.
Dylan was rather like Cui Jian 崔健 when he’s good – new songs every time, all of it – especially the classics.
Dylan mostly played piano. Good band. Each song a surprise. We saw Lou Reed two years ago. Also very good. Experimental, still.
That was the last chance I would get to experience Lou Reed live. He was himself, as far as I could tell. They also had what was left of The Doors – still with Ray Manzarek – and Ian Anderson and others. Doors trying to sound like on the records. Oh well. Ian Anderson coherent for one song only. Sad. Lou Reed strong. Like Dylan this time.
even after tian’anmen
tian’anmen wasn’t always oppressive
you could fly a kite
then came the tanks
in 2009
for the 50th anniversary
of the liberation
this year they celebrate into september
beating the japanese
at least getting rid of them
I’m sure there will be
perfect command
of dancing children
no kites and no pigeons
at least for a while
I n-need t-to b-b-break out
f-f-from y-y-your s-sp-pout-ting s-song
b-break o-out o-of y-your h-house
m-m-my sh-shoot-t-ting t-t-tongue
m-m-mach-chine g-g-gunn f-fire
it feels so good
i-in m-m-my s-st-tut-t-ter-ring l-life
the-there a-are n-no g-ghosts
ju-just l-llook at-t m-my f-face
I d-d-don’t c-care!
1991
Tr. MW, 2015
Yi Sha 《结结巴巴》 ST-STO-TO-TT-TERN
m-mein st-sto-to-tt-ternd-der m-mund
b-b-behind-dderter schschlund
b-b-bei-sst- s-ich wund
an m-meinem r-rasenden hirn
und m-meine b-beine –
euer t-trief-fend-der,
schschimmliger schschleim
m-meine l-lunge
i-ist m-müd’ und hin
i-ich w-will r-r-aus
aus eurem g-gross-a-artiggen rh-rhythmus
a-aus eurem h-haus
m-m-meine
sch-schp-prache
m-masch-schinengewehr-s-salven
es tut so gut
in m-meinem st-stott-ttoterndem r-reim
auf m-mein l-leben g-gibt es k-keine l-leich-chen
s-s-seht m-mich a-an
m-m-mir i-ist all-les g-gleich!
1991
Übersetzt von MW im April 2013
<結結巴巴>
結結巴巴我的嘴
二二二等殘廢
咬不住我狂狂狂奔的思維
還有我的腿
你們四處流流流淌的口水
散著霉味
我我我的肺
多麼勞累
我要突突突圍
你們莫莫莫名其妙
的節奏
急待突圍
我我我的
我的機槍點點點射般
的語言
充滿快慰
結結巴巴我的命
我的命裡沒沒沒有鬼
你們瞧瞧瞧我
一臉無所謂
1991
Photos and videos by Beate Maria Wörz
Yi Sha 《精神病患者》 GEISTESKRANKE
theoretisch
weiß ich nicht
wie es sich äußert
wenn eine geisteskrankheit ausbricht
ich hab nur gesehen
in diesem land
in dieser stadt
wenn ein geisteskranker loslegt
streckt er den arm hoch und bricht aus
in parolen
der revolution
theoretically
I don’t know
how it should be
when a mental patient
suffers an outbreak
but what I have seen
in this country
in this city –
a mental patient suffers an outbreak:
up goes his arm
out come the slogans of revolution
1994
Tr. MW, 2013-2014
Photos and videos by Beate Maria Wörz
Yi Sha 《我想杀人》 ICH MÖCHTE JEMANDEN UMBRINGEN
ich fühle mich etwas komisch
ich will jemanden töten
oh! das war letztes jahr
herbst kroch über das laub
zwanzig todeskandidaten
am flussufer nördlich der stadt
“peng! peng!”
einer wurde aufgeschnitten
in der folgenden operation
erhielten WIR eine niere
I am feeling a little strange
– I want to kill someone
Oh! It was last year
autumn crept over the leaves
twenty death candidates lined up
at the river north of the city
„Peng! peng!“
One of them was cut open
and in the following operation
We got a kidney
1994
Tr. MW, 2015
Yi Sha 《9/11心理报告》 9/11 AUF DER COUCH
erste sekunde mund offen scheunentor
zweite sekunde stumm wie ein holzhuhn
dritte sekunde das ist nicht wahr
vierte sekunde kein zweifel mehr da
fünfte sekunde das brennt nicht schlecht
sechste sekunde geschieht ihnen recht
siebte sekunde das ist die rache
achte sekunde sie verstehen ihre sache
neunte sekunde die sind sehr fromm
zehnte sekunde bis ich drauf komm
meine schwester
wohnt in new york
wo ist das telefon
bitte ein ferngespräch
komme nicht durch
spring zum computer
bitte ins internet
email ans mädl
zitternde finger
wo sind die tasten
mädl, schwester!
lebst du noch?
in sorge, dein bruder!
2001
Übersetzt 2013 von Martin Winter
Yi Sha 9.11 REPORT FROM THE COUCH
Ist second: mouth barn-door open
2nd second: wooden-chicken stiff
3rd second: couldn’t believe it
4th second: it must be true
5th second: what a great fire
6th second: well they deserve it
7th second: this is retribution
8th second: these buggers have guts
9th second: must be their religion
10th second: before I realize
my own little sister
lives in new york
I need a telephone
long distance call!
can’t get a connection!
I go storming for a computer
where is the internet
typing out characters
writing an email
shaky fingers
“sister, sister!
are you alive?
your elder brother is worried sick!”
die erde bebt
als ob der himmel brennt
walter
du stehst am brückenkopf
hörst die kirchenglocken
ein schlag nach dem andern
unter den parteistandarten
die altstadt ein haufen ruinen
walter
du weißt was du gebrauchst
ist nicht mehr ein kennwort
was verteidigt werden muss
ist auch nicht nur
der boden
es ist der wind
ob er durchwehen kann
die gassen in feindeshand
zwischen verlassenen
häusern hindurch
auch wenn nur eine
eidechse überbleibt
spricht sie serbokroatisch
vielleicht bleiben nach einer explosion
nur noch kreisende mücken
aber du musst dich dennoch anzünden
walter walter
die erde bebt
als ob der himmel brennt
I praise cigarettes
the fingers that produce them
I imagine where tobacco comes from
in that golden season
people appear in and out of the sun like black slaves
a battered truck drives into the distance
smokestacks puff out grey curling clouds
the cigarettes I crave
that’s where they come from
on the assembly line
they are like bullets ready to fire
or like rows of standard white poplars
but I cannot compare them like this
I know the meaning of work
every good cigarette
retains a heavy taste of sweat
each time I enjoy them
watch them burn to ash
in a short time
I have a special satisfaction
because I care about origins
1989
Tr. MW, April 2015
Yi Sha LOB DER ZIGARETTE
ich preise zigaretten
die hände die sie produzieren
ich stelle mir vor wo der tabak herkommt
in der goldenen jahreszeit
leute tauchen auf aus der sonne wie sklaven
ein verbeulter lkw fährt in die ferne
schornsteine speien ringelnde wolken
die zigaretten auf die ich warte
dort kommen sie her
auf dem fließband
sind sie wie patronen fertig zum schießen
wie standard-reihen von weißen pappeln
aber so kann ich sie nicht vergleichen
ich weiß was arbeit heißt
eine gute zigarette
hat noch das schwere aroma von schweiß
wenn ich sie genieße
wenn sie in kurzer zeit
abbrennen
hab ich eine eigene befriedigung
ich achte auf herkunft
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
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
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
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.
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
In the summer of 1992, in a vegetable garden on the roof of a shed housing inmates of the Sichuan Province Prison # 1, I spent three days alone with the old prisoner Zhang Fafu, who had been transferred to this prison at Nanchong from forced labor at a coal mine. Our task was to build a wall out of plastic parts and wire at the side where the roof garden faced the bathing pool, to prevent other prisoners from secretly watching the women taking their baths down below. I got this assignment at that time because my sentence was short, I was working at the kiosk of my unit and wasn’t considered a common criminal. So the cadre chose that old prisoner from the coal mine and me.
From the second day on he told me everything about himself. From his talking, I could feel the jolts in his soul. He had attended high school before Liberation in 1949, he loved reading and understood a lot of things; he even liked poetry. He asked me so often until I had no choice but to give him one of the poems I had written. A few days later, I was transferred. After I arrived at Prison # 3, someone from # 1 came to go over my accounts. That’s when I heard something happened to Zhang Fafu. He had taken the plastic parts from our wall, tied them to is arms and jumped from a building. He wasn’t dead, but he became a vegetable.
I don’t know if he read my poem. Later, when I was released from Prison # 3 upon completion of my sentence, I stuffed the original manuscript of this poem into a bamboo flute I had got from Liao Yiwu, and blocked the hole at the bottom with soap. This way I got to take the poem with me. All these years, whenever I think of Zhang Fafu, I think of our plastic wall. It’s not the same as the wall in my poem, but now I cannot separate the poem from Zhang Fafu.
Tr. MW, 2013
Translator’s note: Li Bifeng’s NOTE and the following poem (http://wp.me/PczcX-zk) are part of his novel Wings In The Sky (天空中的翅膀). One chapter is available on the LIBIFENG2012 WordPress site. The main characters are an old prisoner, a bird and a woman who lives in a shed not far from the prison with her daughter. The plot is rather interesting.
Thanks to Charles Laughlin for his eloquent and far-reaching defense of literature. A defense, at least a deeper discussion of art and literature, is what has been missing from the debate. We’ve had apologies of Mo Yan 莫言, or the Nobel prize 諾貝爾獎. From himself, in his storied speech. From commentators, including me. I said debate in China is the best thing, perhaps the only thing, that comes from this prize. But what kind of debate? And why? Shouldn’t we be glad about the attention for Chinese literature, and for literature in China? Isn’t it enough to read more, and read more carefully?
Nick Kaldis has observed that Anna Sun’s article was the first attempt to debate Mo Yan and the current situation of Chinese literature in literary terms. Charles has pointed out the crucial flaws. The concept of Mao-speak or Mao-ti 毛體 came up in the 1980s in the context of a renaissance of culture, writing, philosophy, debate- everything that had been missing in the Mao-aftermath. Charles has emphasized that new literature in the 1980s, like the fiction of Yu Luojin 遇羅錦, Dai Houying 戴厚英, Zhang Wei 張煒, Zheng Yi 鄭義, Zhang Jie 張潔, A Cheng 阿城, Wang Anyi 王安憶, Liu Suola 劉索拉, Zhang Xianliang 張賢亮, Han Shaogong 韓少功, Jia Pingwa 賈平凹, Can Xue 殘雪, Ma Yuan 馬原, Yu Hua 余華, Ge Fei 格非 and many others, along with the critical writing, philosophy etc. around it, was supposed to overcome the effects of Mao-speak. Charles has also shown how Anna Sun’s view deliberately blocked out major portions of Chinese literature in many centuries, including the last 100 years.
But let us go back to the 1980s. In hindsight, it was very naive to believe that art and literature could renew the nation. What nation? What kind of nation, stemming from which revolution? It’s very easy and futile now to say all the hope of renewal was naive. The hope ended in 1989, and has been ending ever since, in the selling off of land 地, air 空氣, culture 文化, heritage 傳統, water 水, people 人 – with steadily worsening consequences. On the other hand, art and literature are still involved in an ongoing renewal, with very interesting results.
The only flaw in Charles’ essay, from my point of view, is what I’ve said before, too many times perhaps. I believe that ideology isn’t harmless. Questions involving ideology and philosophy aren’t harmless. At least they were thought of as relevant in the 1980s. Copying Mao’s seminal 1942 speech on literature and art in 2012 is just a ritual, yes. But what do Mao Zedong, the “Yan’an Talks” 延安講話, the involved concepts and the furious critique of ritual obeisance signify in the first place?
Are they all more important than reading more art 藝術? Maybe not. Still, how about a little theory 理論? What is ideology 意識形態? Lacan’s 拉岡 answer, according to Žižek 齊澤克, comes down to emptiness 空虛. No, this is not about Buddhism 佛教. Ideology is what people hold on to in their hearts and minds, in order to belong. To belong to a group. To have an answer, the hope of an answer, a meaning. Do you need to know what your ideology is all about, where it came from, what it involves? Not really. It’s there. Like the believe that everyone is entitled to buy automatic weapons. Every citizen.
In the 1980s, such questions, or more intelligent ones than I can elaborate here, there and anywhere, were asked a lot. A very, very big hope was involved. That’s where Liu Xiaobo 劉曉波 comes from. That’s where Wang Shuo 王朔 comes from. That’s where Yu Hua 余華 comes from. With some writer’s, it’s not always obvious where they come from. Liu Zhenyun 劉震云 and Feng Xiaogang 馮小剛, who are known for lively comedies, with sometimes well-hidden serious issues, have just released “1942”, a film about famine 飢荒. Man-made famine, mostly. And campaigns. Campaigns to unite the nation, to beat intruding foreigners.
It is rather obvious where Gao Xingjian 高行健 comes from, when you hear him speak. Some Weibo 微博 users did that last weekend, for a comparison in Nobel literature speeches 諾貝爾文學演講. Gao’s Nobel speech was available, copied on Chinese servers, which had not been policed very severely in this case, apparently. Gao Xingjian’s Mandarin has a southern accent. He is not hard to understand, but it’s not the kind of Mandarin Mo Yan commands, rather effortlessly, it seems. Mo Yan is the Writer’s Association’s 作家協會 vice chairman 副主席. The chairwoman is Tie Ning 鐵凝. I like her stories, they are very much about memory. But I haven’t heard her speak in public. Don’t know if a shining, booming Mandarin like Mo Yan’s is the standard at official cultural associations these days.
Is it obvious where Mo Yan comes from? Everybody knows where he comes from, we know his aunt, father, wife and brother, as far as they have been interviewed and compared to how they might appear in his novels. That’s what Mo Yan said in his speech. Is that all we need to know? Mo Yan spoke about is mother. It was very moving, at least to me. It’s a great text, that speech. Censorship-resistant. Available in six or seven languages on the official website. Which is blocked 被阻擋 in China, of course.
Gao Xingjian and Mo Yan are very different in their language. Everyone who has read Soul Mountain 靈山 and One Man’s Bible 一個人的聖經 in the original knows that. Mo Yan and Gao Xingjian are very different in their attempts to overcome Mao-ti. Both have written great novels, in my experience. Both stay away from day-to-day political issues and debates. But Gao Xingjian emigrated in order to write and paint in peace, comparatively. Mo Yan worked on his spoken Mandarin. Ok, that was unfair, I don’t know how he sounded in the 1980s. His novels from back then are great, especially The Garlic Ballads. Liu Xiaobo liked Red Sorghum 紅高粱, because it was very sexy, in the 1980s. I like The Garlic Ballads 天堂蒜薹之歌, and The Republic of Wine 酒国. Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out 生死疲勞 and Big Breasts And Wide Hips 丰乳肥臀 are fascinating, too. All stories about more or less recent decades. Sandalwood Death 檀香刑 is a 19th-century-story. Sex, gore and folklore. Very well done. And maybe as moving as Mo Yan’s words about his mother.
Yu Hua’s first novel Cry In The Drizzle 在細雨中呼喊 has a guy running amok in China’s 1970s. The hero’s father, if I remember correctly. Gao Xingjian’s Nobel made many exiled and self-exiled writers and other culture workers think about their paths. Maybe the prize was for all of them, in a way. Is Mo Yan’s prize, in a symbolic way, a reward for everyone in China? Depends on your ideology.
(Sorry, I am not sure where exactly Žižek 齊澤克 published what I’ve related above. Maybe in Has Someone Said Totalitarianism?)
I went to a great reading/ concert/ political happening by Liao Yiwu in Taipei tonight. It was organized by Wang Dan’s New School for Democracy. First time Liao performed his legendary poem Massacre from the night before June 4th, 1989 in public for a Chinese-speaking audience. Very memorable experience. People wept and remembered the White Terror and the Feb. 28, 1947 massacre in Taiwan. The case of Zhu Yufu, who got 7 years for a poem in China, was mentioned several times. Liao Yiwu was asked for his opinions about the controversy around the boss of the Want Want conglomerate and media czar (China Times etc.) who recently denied there was a major massacre in 1989. Liao Yiwu reaffirmed the answer he had given at Taipei International Book Fair. He just said he wasn’t very interested what some merchant would have to say. They would say anything to please Beijing, and unfortunately they would get away with it very easily. Liao was also very critical of the book fair. Glossy and haphazard in many ways, that was his impression. No dignity for authors, no thorough organisation of readings. Well, I must say I liked all the events I saw or participated in. The show girls and the people walking around advertising discounts did not give the impression of a very cultured event, rather like some market selling everything aside from books, just like Liao said. But they certainly did have some well organized readings, and international highlights in French and German, for example. Anyway, Liao Yiwu’s performance tonight was a very exceptional event. I think they recorded it, and I heard it was broadcasted live on the Internet. Don’t know where exactly. Liao was asked what he thought about the relation of literature and politics. He spoke about reading Orwell’s 1984 in jail, and talked about the parts leading up to the end of the novel, how Winston is broken with the use of a rat and made to rat out his girlfriend, and how he loves Big Brother as he is taken away to be shot. Perfect example for his own aesthetics, Liao said. He still supports people doing ‘pure literature’, goes to poetry readings about the Full Moon Sound Magazine (http://fullmoonsoundmagazine.tumblr.com/) and stuff like that. He was not interested in politics until 1989, he said. The Hakka songstress Luo Sirong sung a very poignant lullaby at the end. This part would not have been forbidden in China. Liao’s performance was so intense it made you vary of police barging in. But the most precious thing was the whole event together, the songs and the music, the talks and discussions. The strong interaction made it all very special and rare.
it is children’s day today
so i’m very very tired
as i’ve been for many years
so i don’t appear so often
so i’m very very late
so i’m here like anyone
so we’re doing what we can
so i’ll have another birthday
so we’ve china to remember
so we’ve 1989
so we’re doing what we can
As rich European countries go, maybe Austria is just as bad as Italy or France. Only smaller, more provincial. Newest anti-foreigner laws package passed on Tuesday, Feb. 22nd, 2011. The protesters in Egypt didn’t really look to America or Western Europe, but to protest experiences in Serbia and such. At least that’s what I remember from reports in the NY Times, among others. A Chinese friend told me he was watching the Arab protests very much,while he was in Europe, because the pictures from Egypt reminded him of Beijing in 1989.
China has had too many so-called revolutions under Mao and a big failure with protests for civil rights and democracy in 1989. But there are many protests in China all the time. Labor unrest, land seizures, health hazards etc.. There may also be a big craving for stability, hence the hesitation to participate in larger protests. The op-ed in the NYT (IHT) by Daniel Bell, designated Western politics professor in Tianjin, was very academic. Or very wishy-washy. Civil rights are universal. No, China’s not so special. Reporters know, especially when they go to see the blind Women’s rights activist lawyer in Shandong and get waylay-ed and beaten. No, nobody cares about supposed academic discussions on why democracy might not work. Yes, people try to lead a good life, individually, for their family, and sometimes they notice the limits, and try to work around them, and many do talk about it. Sorry for the rambling. As I said, rich countries are no beacons. Maybe I am more politics-sensitive than before, since we moved back to Austria from China, after 10 years in Beijing and a few more in other cities. Roger Cohen is right, the EU doesn’t look very good at all these days.
Any discussion on forbidden topics is worthwhile. And this topic seems to be at least semi-forbidden on websites easily accessible in China. Social unrest is widespread and continues to grow. China is built on denial. Not on the Nile. There is no river in Beijing. I wonder if there has been any precipitation by now since fall. It was pretty bad in 2000, I remember. They dug huge canals all the way from around Nanjing and Wuhan to bring water for Beijing and Tianjin. Imagine a new canal dug through a city center, 100 meter down. That’s what I saw somewhere in Henan in 2007 or so. Maybe most people don’t take part in uprisings yet. As anywhere, people are concerned with their family and their livelihood. Not with the government. Unless something bad enough happens, you don’t need to take action. Maybe you’ll discuss something, like Premier Wen visiting the Beijing Petition Bureau. They do seem to feel the need to address some problems publicly, and not only through suppression. They continue to suppress many words, such as eleven or civil society. Actually I’m not sure if eleven is still sensitive, but it wouldn’t surprise me, since a certain dissident who was sentenced to eleven years on Dec. 25, 2009, got a lot of publicity lately. Any comparison of China with countries in volatile situations is worthwhile. It’s important not to end up in the Nile, or in denial. That’s a nice little joke I heard from our friend Liam, very nice if you’re far away, I guess. To a very large extent, China is built on denial. The same could be said about other societies, like Austria. But maybe at least there is less denial now than 30 or 40 or 50 years ago. In Austria, maybe. It’s a dialectical process, maybe. There is still a lot of denial. But in China denial is at the base of the system. In private talk, if you’re a friend, people will tell you what they went through in the 1950s, -60s, -70s and so on, or what they are doing now, even if it’s against official policy. But is there enough public discussion of past and present grievances and problems? This is already very close to the question Adam (see below) has put in his post. Adam is right, saying that China is very special and very stable and so on often gets very obnoxious. I am very wary of any big-time supportive international collaboration with institutions in China. Just look at what happened at the Frankfurt Book Fair 2009. The organizers cooperated with China’s GAPP, the general administration of pressure and prodding to toe the government line in publishing. The Ministry of Truth. Maybe they had to, to stage a China-themed fair. And the ensuing scandal was good, except for a few officials. Any kind of discussion is good, any kind of publicity, if there is a lot of denial. I wonder if the Robert Bosch trust fund and other Western sources of funding for cooperation with China learned anything. In December there was a discussion in Germany and Austria, after an article in the Sueddeutsche Zeitung suggested that Chinese Studies institutions staid away from the topic of the Nobel Peace Prize award for a Chinese dissident. Maybe some of them do, if the people in charge are too closely affiliated with the Confucius Institutes situated right inside the Chinese Studies department, as it is usually the case now. In Vienna, this wasn’t a problem. There was a big discussion on January 11 at the Sinology department of the East Asian Institute, one of the most engaged and open events at Vienna University in a while, probably. Bei Ling, author of the Liu Xiaobo biography was there, reading and talking to an enthusiastic crowd, in a very interesting discussion about the roles of intellectuals and public institutions. Professor Weigelin was fully in her element. Prof. Findeisen and Dr. Wemheuer contributed important points on literature and society. Who would have thought that in January, people around the world would spontaneously think of 1989? At least for me it feels like back then, very sudden change sweeping through several countries. So of course there are many comparisons. It is nice to live in exciting times, and important not to end up in the Nile. May they have peace and better times in Egypt soon!
This is a book about an absent person, who is held in prison; who has won a Nobel Peace prize and is not allowed to collect it: Liu Xiaobo. His old friend Bei Ling writes about him. He draws a many-faceted picture – only a knowledgeable friend can do that. This book is concerned with manifestos, petitions, political actions, but also with self-doubt and guilt, stubbornness and ambition. The author Bei Ling, who was imprisoned himself before, sees his duty in painting a complicated picture of this civil rights activist, with many different shades and colors. Bei Ling knows that he can see Liu Xiaobo only from one side, he can only portray him in profile, not from the front. But even if it is only part of a bigger picture, this part shows us a whole cosmos of courage and repression, of labor camps and life outside watched by security agents, like the life that the wife of this civil rights activist is forced to lead. This book offers a lot of information, but it doesn’t explain everything, because it wants you to keep asking questions. This is why I think everybody should read it.
Elfriede Jelinek, Tr. MW
伊沙推荐语
China
中国大好き 