On this day, October 8th (John Lennon's birthday), writer, literary critic, political essayist and democracy advocate Liu Xiaobo was awarded the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize.
Peace.
By Cindy M. Carter, published
On this day, October 8th (John Lennon's birthday), writer, literary critic, political essayist and democracy advocate Liu Xiaobo was awarded the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize.
Peace.
Comments
If there's surplus translation energy still floating around the blog, I think we should work up some translations of Liu Xiaobo's works -- the media doesn't seem to have anything of his, but he was a fairly accomplished poet and writer. A lot of his work is collected here.
I'll start:
Infinitesimal
In the dark night
I turned a light on
weak light
could only brighten the space of a palm
However
with light
I can think that there's hope
Spring
Spring's here!
Village dogs
along the long dike
and in the fields
chase around and romp
just like dogs in spring heat
I know
feeling, this thing
is like sex and seasons
when you oppress it with all your might,
like a dog dreaming of a lover,
it will go to the fence gate and peek out
Let's see if that formats correctly. Who's next? I know you're all just sitting at your desks...
N., October 8, 2010, 6:23p.m.
A Night Without Moonlight
This night is a night without moonlight,
and alone, I pace along the riverside.
Oh, my dear one--already you've
gone to that far away place.
With only stars flashing, flashing,
this night is a night without moonlight.
Unattended shadows drift in the wind,
and this deepens my heart's anguish.
Oh, far away stars--
you teach me what is distance.
This night is a night without moonlight.
In dark mood, I hear my blood
gurgling forth from my heart
Oh Ocean--you truly know:
when Sun grows great as you, so is my time of death.
This night is a night without moonlight.
The flowers on the table already sleep.
The clock sighs its even breaths.
Oh Time--stop!
I fear this blinking passing.
-rtc
r.t. cotton, October 8, 2010, 10:12p.m.
Gonna throw in two more short ones:
Delusion
The eagle sees the earth
and thinks the world is grey.
The chicken sees the sky
and thinks the world is blue.
Humankind's tragedy, too,
is often not living
in our own world.
Illusion
She came to my home,
entered the front gate,
walked down the path,
and stood in the center of the yard.
She says: This rooster's gorgeous.
I laughed.
Then she says:
This piglet's really beautiful.
I laughed as before.
Still she says:
This flower's really pretty.
I know what she said were lies,
but my heart is still warm.
r.t. cotton, October 8, 2010, 10:54p.m.
I'm sort of new at this. I just picked a zawen at random:
How Can Keeping the Lights On Still Be This Hard
Sam, October 9, 2010, 12:21a.m.
Second part. Did I break your webpage?
Sam, October 9, 2010, 12:22a.m.
Fixed it! And thanks so much for these samples! It's true that there's not nearly enough of his writing in English…
Eric Abrahamsen, October 9, 2010, 2:19a.m.
They're not so complex -- he has a kind of proto Han Dongish attitude towards poetry (the zawen I wouldn't have even been able to try). It would only take a talented, fashion-forward website administrator (or a Cindy Carter!) a half hour to rough out something and post it under the name "Michael Vick" or somesuch other name.
N., October 9, 2010, 4:23a.m.