Recent blog entries for sye

老舍 齐白石 蛙声十里出山泉

syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2017-01-18 14:12:00 (Updated 2017-01-18 14:18:12) from badvogato

Draft on translating 'Ash Wednesday'

《聖灰星期三》- 叶澍苍 释译

因为我不再乞求变卦
因为我不乞求
因为我不乞求变卦
渴望拥有此人的天才和彼人的天赋
我不再努力不再费心于這些琐事
(为何老鷹必然想要展開翅膀?)
為什麼我必需哀悼
人权,人命与人性的自然完了?
因为我不再乞望我能洞解
浩渺的历史时流
因为我无心思考
因为我知道我永远无法领悟
唯一的千变万化的神通
因为我无能化源
在彼岸,树木开花,春泉叮咚,
在彼岸,万事不复,万物皆空。

因为我知道时空永远是时空
故土终归只是故土
事故若为真,必仅有一回
也尽在一方
我开心于千事依旧万物自然
我不求红脸的关公
也不怕黑脸的张飞
因为我不再乐意改造我的本性
自然而然我欣喜若狂,尽心尽意标新立异
神游于我的世外桃源,怡然自乐无穷稚趣。

我只求菩萨勒令道长多存怜悯之心
只求我能够忘却或超脱
千情百酬中的自相矛盾
因为我不肯回首
且让我的言语答应
好事多磨,何苦无事生非,
但愿裁决之甲不得以压抑我等俗人。

原来 此翼已不再是比翼双飞之翼
而仅仅是落魄的苟延残喘
空气稀薄又干燥
比意念还要渺小
我们由此领悟到
无所不在的关怀
无念的屏息静坐。

请为我等罪人祈禱, 
此刻及死神降临之时
请为我祈祷,
此刻及临终之际。
syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2017-01-15 22:17:00 (Updated 2017-01-15 22:20:29) from badvogato

John Masefield: On Reading "Bridge to Heaven" (1942)

On Reading The Bridge of Heaven  《天桥》written by 熊式一

by John Masefield Oct. 15th, 1942

To Ta Tung, as a boy,
This hope gave gentle joy,
To plant, in some green close,
A plum-tree or white rose,

That, so, in Spring or June
The lamp of the full Moon
Might show to Man the flower
White, in its whitest hour,

That, those who came to seek,
Would whisper: "Will she speak
This Wonder? Will she bless
Our woes to nothingness?
Will she descend the green
Sweet sprays, and be our Queen?
Our Saviour Queen? O, still ...
She moves... She will."

Then, growing-up, be found
No garden-close, no ground,
In all wide China's space
To be a planting-place.
Instead, an iron will
To learn to kill, and kill
The tangle of the weeds
That thwart men's needs.

Thus is Man's youth today,
An April without May,
A May without a June,
Night without Moon.
But Hope from thwarted lives
In unquenched beauty strives
Slowly its glimmer breaks
The darkness of mistakes.
So many million flames
Will burn away the shames;
Ta Tung will surely find
His plot of Peace of Mind;
His blossomed plum will lift
White as the snow in drift,
Under a Moon of Peace
In skies like the still seas.

syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2017-01-03 22:24:00 (Updated 2017-01-03 22:24:11) from badvogato

30 Dec 2016 (updated 30 Dec 2016 at 16:06 UTC) »

熊式一《天桥》

史学大师陈寅恪1945年秋到英伦“疗治目疾”时获赠《天桥》,“听读佉卢百感加”,先后“题赠二绝句”和一首七律,其一云:
海外林熊各擅场,卢前王后费评量。
北都旧俗非吾识,爱听天桥话故乡。
陈寅恪祖籍江西南昌府宁州,少时曾居南昌,与熊式一谊属同乡。诗中把熊式一与林语堂在英语世界的影响相提并论,借用“初唐四杰”中杨炯“愧在卢(照邻)前,耻居王(勃)后”的典故“评量”《天桥》和《京华烟云》,认为自己“不识”林语堂笔下的“北都旧俗”,还是偏爱描写故乡的《天桥》(小说中“天桥”首尾呼应,“楔子”写乡绅李明在南昌城外赣江支流修建新桥,命之曰“天桥”;“尾声”又写李明之子李大同重造新的“既美丽又坚固”的“天桥” ),评价不可谓不高。

世人谁识熊式一?与早已名满天下的林语堂不同,熊式一先生的文学成就,特别是他作为20世纪中国屈指可数的双语作家对中外文学交流所作的贡献,至今鲜为人知。《王宝钏》中英文对照本2006年3月才由北京商务印书馆推出,《天桥》中文本现已经在内地出版。《天桥》1943年英文版伦敦首印后重印十余次,被译为多国文字,畅销海外。时隔近七十年,经外语教学与研究出版社的努力,简体字版首次在中国大陆问世。熊式一与林语堂并称海外的双语作家,在英语世界撰写并执导戏剧的中国第一人。其英文话剧《王宝钏》,连演三年近千场而不衰,轰动欧美。因此,我以为把他晚年所作的《八十回忆》以及《天桥》、《大学教授》中文本序跋等篇章编集出版,以补现代文学史之阙,正其时矣。

source: http://baike.baidu.com/view/4240421.htm

http://character.workercn.cn/363/201603/04/160304164030332.shtml
syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2016-12-30 14:58:00 (Updated 2016-12-30 15:32:56) from badvogato

22 Dec 2016 (updated 22 Dec 2016 at 16:06 UTC) »

林语堂英译陶渊明《归去来兮辞》

林语堂英译陶渊明《归去来兮辞》


Ah, homeward bound I go!
Why not go home, seeing that my field
and gardens are overgrown?
Myself have made my soul serf to my body:
why have vain regrets and mourn alone?

Fret not over bygones
and the forward journey take.
Only a short distance have I gone astray,
and I know today I am right,
if yesterday was a complete mistake.


阅读更多帖子 »
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Syndicated 2016-12-22 03:11:00 (Updated 2016-12-22 15:42:29) from badvogato

13 Nov 2016 (updated 15 Nov 2016 at 04:01 UTC) »

pics

syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Today I Read Everything, July 1, 2009
By Pavel Somov, Ph.D., author of "Lotus Effect," "Present Perfect," & "Eating the Moment"
This review is from: Today I Wrote Nothing: The Selected Writing of Daniil Kharms (Hardcover)
I have read Kharms both in English and Russian quite a few times since my dad (a journalist and "ghost" writer in the USSR) introduced me to Kharms in mid 80s (after he had reportedly "snagged" the last copy of the "Incidences" from some street bookseller in Perestroika-era Moscow).

Each time I read Kharms I'd browse through any given compilation of "selected writings" and read at random. In later years I'd either re-read the stories I had liked or, on the contrary, choose only to read the ones I had skipped on previously. But today I read everything - the entire "Today I Wrote Nothing" from cover to cover.

Two reasons: this particular collection of Kharms' writings is skillfully organized: the incidences/old woman/blue notebook/other writings sequence is an excellent warm-up. Each pattern-interrupting-absurdly shocking-non sequitur-laden "incidence" - like a notorious Moscow pothole - violently shakes up the mind and loosens the inflexibly default of expectations of sense and logic. These "incidences" quickly warm up the reading mind for the absurdly cold scenery of the "Old Woman" novella. Just as you begin to tire of the "Old Woman" you are thrown into the paradoxical vortex of the 29 vignettes from the "Blue Notebook." And after that - with the mind cracked open for possibilities - you sail off into the greater philosophical, esoteric, metaphysical depths of "other writings" where you after such a deep dive as "On Phenomena and Existences," with compiler's astute guidance, you are helped to resurface to the by-now-familiar "shallows" of the absurd.

The sequence of this presentation is no small achievement. Consider that the people behind this collection have been charged with a mandate of dosing micro-shocks, with a task of figuring out how to tactfully deliver Kharms' literary micro-concussions. Reading Kharms - any Kharms' collection - is on par to spending an evening in a batting cage where each and every ball is a curveball of the oddest spin.

Confusion - as I have learned from Kharms - is a prerequisite for enlightenment. Kharms models that we have to lose our mind (our "equalibrium" - a genius rendition of intentional misspelling by the translator Yankelevich) to find our consciousness, our sense of self. Kharms - as I am more and more convinced - wasn't an absurdist or a literary shock-jockey, he was a mystic with a Zen bent who, I believe, wrote to stay awake during one of the darkest dreams in modern history (Stalin years).

For an English-speaking Russian, Kharms seems deceptively easy to translate. But he is anything but easy. Kharms' subtle connotation-level puns coexist next to the grotesque and the idiosyncratic. Translating Kharms' koans is like translating a haiku: with often so few lines of text to work with, one linguistic misstep, one connotational bias and you end up reading an entirely different story. Matvei Yankelevich has skillfully navigated the fiords of Kharmsian translational incidentals.

Kharms is a "monk that walked into a mausoleum" and never walked out; an inquisitive and quizzical mind born at the wrong time and in the wrong place who seems to have managed to complete the long existential arc from neurosis to acceptance just in time to die hungry in a Leningrad jail, utterly unrecognized and unknown. In this literary mausoleum, I see Kharms next to Kafka and Hamsun. I wonder where you'll place him...

Pavel Somov, Ph.D.

Syndicated 2016-11-13 00:48:00 (Updated 2016-11-13 00:48:35) from badvogato

Writing Verse in Classic Chinese

This poem of mine came to me through 'conversational' writing in March 2005 between myself and an unknown netizen who served in Iraqi war.

Writing Verse in Classic Chinese
I was smashed by a pale spirit
out of Bath a misty winter morn
it haunts hours away
from my X-Window frames.
Alas by this end of hours
and by this end of day
oh How i cut and paste
in every way
to restore a dream I've dreamt
yet lost ever since I left.
O blessed is the hours so ardently spent
waiting by wings of angelic forms
whereby beauty and grace behold
a forgotten tongue
a rusty art
of making ancient music
with silent sound
echoing between thousands of years
and thousands of miles around.
[fiveshinylights: comrade, dost you speaketh the china man's tongue?]

Brother 'cool hand luke', yes i do.
now as i remember my mother tongue
endured warring kingdoms hundreds of centuries strong
it is not to speak
but to paint, silently
out of gentle brushes rainfalls of firm strokes
thy worst enemy and thyself's speck of mind
for words uttered always turning into querrels by hauling wind
for words carved into oracles smoked by time and shifted by sand
can mean many things to one eye kings
thus bind thy people with one faith
no words no names
but mixing bloody drops from unquenchable dreams
syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2016-10-24 15:03:00 (Updated 2016-10-24 15:03:14) from badvogato

submit my resume to lulu's current job post for voice associate ( replay photo ...) after I rediscovered my projects with them in June 2006 are still there.... also changed my public profile address to--> linkedin.com/in/advogato

A crow waits on me

#2 乌鸦等我
* A crow waits on me

One day, my parents will depart this world,
my siblings may travel afar
my dear wife, sooner or later, shall desert me
as I am hanging on
my irresistable downtrodding.

But if on that day,
there still sits a crow
crowing on top of the television broadcasting tower
it gives out a sound
more piercing and cold than my sneer
Then, there is hope that people see
this ugliest crow, takes a sip of water
after its long flight, and
waits on me.

@copyright 2016 LairdUnlimited
syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2016-10-05 16:28:00 (Updated 2016-10-05 16:29:07) from badvogato

Winding Up by Derek Walcott

Winding Up
by Derek Walcott

I live on the water,
alone. Without wife and children,
I have circled every possibility
to come to this:
a low house by grey water,
with windows always open
to the stale sea. We do not choose such things,
but we are what we have made.
We suffer, the years pass,
we shed freight but not our need
for encumbrances. Love is a stone
that settled on the sea-bed
#13
under grey water. Now, I require nothing
from poetry but true feeling,
no pity, no fame, no healing. Silent wife,
we can sit watching grey water,
and in a life awash
with mediocrity and trash
live rock-like.
I shall unlearn feeling,
unlearn my gift. That is greater
and harder than what passes there for life.


 吾将上下而求索

我住在水上,
独处,无妻无子,
弃掉漩生出的各种可能
我成为如今的样子:
一片灰水的一间低矮房子里,
窗户总是敞着
面向无波的海。我们并非选择了这些事,
但最终我们还是从了本来的命运。
遭受,流逝的年岁,
我们卸下负荷 而非对自我的
自怜自爱。爱如石
安置于灰色水域的
河床。现下,我一无所求

真情出嫁于诗境
无怜无名无救。无言的内人
我们一同坐看泉泉的暗流。
和 浮世一生
在庸常和垃圾中
受洗的顽石。
我应该解下感情,
解下天赋。这比当初得到它们可是麻烦多了,
这也比一生随波逐流要好吧。

based on reader azur@douban 's another fine translation  ( without the title and #13 line onwards...)

Tension in contextualized translation...from English to Chinese, wor(l)ds apart... ? - ResearchGate. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/post/Tension_in_contextualized_translationfrom_English_to_Chinese_worlds_apart [accessed Sep 21, 2016].
syndicated from nuniabiz.blogspot.com

Syndicated 2016-09-21 20:00:00 (Updated 2016-09-21 20:01:19) from badvogato

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