Out & About

Guest Blogger:92nd St Y

Check out my 92Y Blog post about my visit to the Unterberg Poetry Center on November 21, 2011. Poets Sapphire and Sherman Alexie gave a memorable reading.

Poem

Queered Translation of Wang Wei

Guernica has published of my poems!: “Bamboo Grove” & “A Place Named for Deer”

"Bamboo Grove," by Wang Wei; calligraphy by Kuo-Hsiung Chen

“Bamboo Grove” was translated using a “crib” found in Wai Lim Yip’s Chinese Poetry: Major Modes and Genres (University of California Press, 1976).

1. alone sit dark / secluded bamboo/s among
3 [sic]. strum lute and / again long whistle
3. deep forest man not know
4. bright moon come mutual / each-other shine*

* (1) to keep him company by shining; (2) illumination; (3) the primary meaning of shining

Yip’s 1976 translation is:
I sit alone among dark bamboos.
Strum the lute and let loose my voice.
Grove so deep, no one knows.
The moon visits and shines on me.

In my distranslation of the poem, the chinese character for “man” introduces a secondary person into the scene, so that the third line, “deep forest man not know,” becomes “so deep no one knows who you’re with.” I call it a “queered translation” of the original because the ambiguity and secrecy of the romantic scene pictured is enriched by queering the characters: two men meeting to literally make music in the woods. My bending the poem toward this reading was also in part brought on by the final two characters of the fourth line, especially the first definition of “shine” offered: “to keep him company by shining.”

The second, “A Place Named for Deer,” was translated after reading 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei: How a Chinese Poem is Translated, by Eliot Weinberger and Octavio Paz (Moyer Bell Limited, 1987), using the crib provided in that text.

Recommended

“Birthday Present” by May Sarton

Renewal cannot be picked
Like a daffodil
In a swift gesture,
Cannot be cut like a pussy willow
And brought into the house.
It cannot even be imagined
Like the blue sky
We have not seen for days.

But we can be helped toward it.
True love gave me time,
Gave me, for myself alone,
This whole open day
We would have spent together.

True love gave me this—
Harder to find
Than a hummingbird’s nest,
Rare as the elusive
Scent of arbutus
Under sodden leaves,
More welcome than a cup
Of spring water
After long drought.

I hold it in my hands,
I breathe it in,
I drink it,
While fifty-nine years
Of ardor and tenderness,
Of struggle and creation—
The whole complex bundle—
Falls away in a streak of light
Like a shooting star,
As the soul,
Unencumbered,
Alive, ageless,
Meets the pristine moment:
Poetry again.