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


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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
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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-->

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
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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
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.


我们卸下负荷 而非对自我的

和 浮世一生

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: [accessed Sep 21, 2016].
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Syndicated 2016-09-21 20:00:00 (Updated 2016-09-21 20:01:19) from badvogato

Song of Foresight 謝選駿三部詩集

Xie, Xuanjun Three Collections of Poems by Age 26

出版說明 1980年代的學者、二十一世紀 的思想者,謝選駿在1970年代前 後(1967年──1980年)寫下了 這裏的三百六十餘首詩歌。這些 早期的詩行先於其學術和思想, 卻是其學術與思想的雛形,作為 「未與社會環境同化之前的靈魂 之作」,堪稱《先覺之歌》。

eBook .pdf









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Syndicated 2016-09-18 17:35:00 (Updated 2016-09-18 17:36:44) from badvogato

14 Sep 2016 (updated 14 Oct 2016 at 19:12 UTC) »


Most Like an Arch This Marriage
John Ciardi

Most like an arch - an entrance which upholds
and shores the stone-crush up the air like lace.
Mass made idea, and idea held in place.
A lock of time. Inside half-heaven unfolds.
Most like an arch - two weaknesses that lean
into a strength. Two fallings become firm.
Two joined abeyances become a term
naming the fact that teaches fact to mean.
Not quite that? Not much less. World as it is,
what's strong and separate falters. All I do
at piling stone on stone apart from you
is roofless around nothing. Till we kiss
I am no more than upright and unset.
It is by falling in and in we make
the all-bearing point, for one another's sake,
in faultless falling, raised by our own weight.

             如彼拱门   此桩婚姻

如彼拱门                                       横空似练
磐石叠立                                       一门洞天
以物喻理                                       理在其间
时不逝兮                                       内展穹天
如彼拱门                                       俩弱成强
相依偎兮                                       双坠弥坚
浪迹之侣                                       终成眷属
宣彼神迹                                       彰其美意
有念如斯                                       当无大谬
独强难存                                       天理如斯
我日垒石                                       盼伊相随
无你之空                                       如厦无顶
无获爱吻                                       吾乃鄙夫
相濡以沫                                       在彼深渊
无私相爱                                       我为卿狂
纵身跃下                                       永结连理

Children's Day and Father's Day, where has the time gone? - ResearchGate. Available from: [accessed Sep 14, 2016].

泰戈爾《零散的鸟语》葉氏(yezi)  一片冰心 滿紙馮唐 =  造化?翻异 ?


现世里孤孤单单的小混蛋啊  混到我的文字里留下你们的造孽?  (yezi)

大千世界在情人面前 解开紗丽 绵长如舌吻 纤细如诗行 (yezi)

如果因为思念太阳 而终日哭泣 星星也将离你而去

新的一天 我坐在窗前 世界如过客 在我面前走过 停了 点头 又走了

你无法看到真身  你能看到的多是自生的印象 (yezi)

端莊的美 在敬爱中 自作的秀 在镜愛里。(yezi)

不要为了收集花朵而留步 花朵也盛开在你前头?

飞黄腾达的人 号称有如神佑 神羞愧地低下了头?

鸟觉得它把鱼叼离海面 是积德行善

一个太忙着做好事的人 发现自己没时间做好人

当我无所事事时 请让我在深深的从容中 无所事事 仿佛水波不兴的岸边的漫漫长夜?
姑娘 你的简单仿佛湖水的碧蓝 彰显真理的绚烂

因为失去的爱情 生命变得更丰盈?

别说,“又早晨了” 别用一个早已用过的名字 见每个早晨如同初相见 如见一个还没有名字的孩子?

当我们爱这个世界的时候 我们才活在这个世界上 人变成禽兽时 禽兽不如

that i exist is a perpetual surprise which is life
我的存在無外與一个永恒的问号化梵。 (yezi)

Sorrow is hushed into peace in my heart like the evening among the silent trees. 痛在我心里渐渐平和/ 如夜被屏息的深林哄睡。(yezi)

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Syndicated 2016-09-14 19:30:00 (Updated 2016-10-14 18:51:33) from badvogato

whose head is on the plate?

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Syndicated 2016-09-14 14:56:00 (Updated 2016-09-14 14:57:51) from badvogato


2016-03-27 | 信息来源: | 原作者: | 查看:520
摘要: 中国的古代诗歌题材,一向以中原文明及其周边地区的素材为主。近代以来,中国突然发现自己必须面临三千年未有之大变局。外面的那个陌生新世界,对古老的华夏文明从政治、经济和科技等几乎所有领域都发起了剧烈冲击。即使是在最为坚固的文化壁垒上,亦开始有了稍稍的撬动。

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Syndicated 2016-09-05 12:38:00 (Updated 2016-09-05 12:38:25) from badvogato

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