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philoSOPHIA Forum on Translation: Cycles of Engendered/Endangered Contemporaneity in Han Bo’s China Eastern Railway Poems

I’m grateful and pleased not only to have my own work in the latest issue of philoSOPHIA, but also to share space with the writer and artist Han Bo alongside scholars and translators Sun Dong, Yuan Gao, Yuming Piao, and Yizhong Ning in a special forum focused on Han Bo’s China Eastern Railway 《中东铁路》 cycle of poems. (I post this a day after having received here in Shanghai the physical copy of the journal — physical mail between the US and China seems to arrive later and later.)

Philosopher, translator and theorist Kyoo Lee — “translingual reader of all things poetic as well as prosaic” — proposed and edited the project a year or so after I gave a talk with her at Fudan University on poetry and translation for a graduate seminar led by Bao Huiyi. In On & Off the Rails: Notes on the Practice of Poetry & Translation in which I talked about a set of in-progress translations of Han Bo poems that Monika Lin and I would later publish as The China Eastern Railway.

Kyoo was fascinated by the dense wordplay within the poems and how it sustains multiple, proliferating readings of a text that, on the surface, is a poetic travelogue tracing 2012 journey tracing the historic route of a built by imperial Russia, seized by Japan, and which played a complex role in the convulsive sequence of transitions from the faltering Qing to the shaky Republic to a doomed Manchukuo and then on into the volatile stages of revolutionary and post-revolutionary PRC history.

Kyoo, as she notes with coeditor Alyson Cole, was particularly interested in how the nine-poem cycle can be read in (troubled and unsettling) terms of gendered and sexed identities and forms of production and reproduction:

The last entry in the tranScripts in this issue is a new category, FORUM in Translation. The topic we chose for this collective experimentation is “Cycles of Engendered/Endangered Contemporaneity in Han Bo’s China Eastern Railway Poems.” Initially, we were intrigued by a fascinatingly untranslatable wordplay in one of Han Bo’s signature poems, “现代性器” (Xiandaixingqi, a compound word that carries three concepts at once — modern, xiandai; modernity, xiandaixing; and sexual organ, xinqiquan 性器官 — which could then be something like “modernisexuorganicity,” a translated neologism by Kyoo Lee). Sensing some ingenious potency of this newly cast concept, without providing any specific instructions or suggestions, we asked each invited contributor to translate the poem in their own words together with another piece by Han Bo on “器” (qi, machine, equipment, organ, container, capacity) cross-referentially for some context (as that “qi” is what is generating this sudden disorientation). We also asked everyone — David Perry, Yuan Gao, Yuming Piao, Yizhong Ning, and Dong Sun — to provide their own brief analysis of those two pieces read together as specifically and theoretically as possible. With Han Bo’s responsive reflection that follows, we now have a uniquely rich and dynamic collection of articles that freshly engages his iconic China Eastern Railway poetry through close readings and closely contextualized commentary, a polyvocal collection in translation that, in some obliquely allegorical ways, addresses some of the thorny questions on gendered modernity in China today and its share of traumatic complexity and contemporaneity. (Coeditors’ introduction)

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Meditations in an Emergency: The Cosmopolitan, the Quotidian, and the Anthropocene Turn in Sun Dong’s 2020 Pandemic Poetry

This past July I spent two weeks in the mountain village of Chenjiapu translating a set of poems by the Nanjing-based poet Sun Dong. She was able to join me for a few days toward the end of the residency, and we worked together on drafts of the translations. I finished the residency with drafts of two dozen poems and the preface to her most recent book, Broken Crow (破乌鸦 Pò wūyā), publishing eight of the poems along with an essay for Paper Republic: “Meditations in an Emergency: The Cosmopolitan, the Quotidian, and the Anthropocene Turn in Sun Dong’s 2020 Pandemic Poetry.” The long-term goal is to translate a book-length collection of Sun Dong’s work.

Sun Dong and David Perry in Chenjiapu

The Chenjiapu Avant-Garde Bookstore (先锋书店) deck overlooking Wuyi Shan in southern Zhejiang. The village has come to host a number of studios for writers and artists and, despite being impassable to cars, Chenjiapu is being developed as a cultural retreat and eco-tourism destination.

Thanks to the Nanjing-headquartered Librarie Avant-Garde (先锋书店 Xiānfēng shūdiàn), the outstanding Paper Republic Chinese literature in translation, and their collaborative Chenjiapu Translator Residency, I was able to spend two weeks working in a beautifully situated apartment overlooking the village and the Wuyi surrounding mountains.

The on-site Librairie Avant-Garde team provided fantastic support in this car-free village nestled at the head of a steep, densly forested ravine. Well-worn stair-stepped lanes ran between and among the village’s several score small buildings overlooked from the side of the ravine opposite my apartment by the beautiful Librarie Avant-Garde bookstore and event space that anchors what has become a writers’ colony and cultural tourism destination.

Unfortunately, none of the writers with studios in the area — including the poet Chen Dongdong, whom I’d met years before in Shanghai — were there during the steamy August weeks I was in residence, but I do hope to return to reconnect with new friends, to further explore the mountains, and connect with more Chinese writers and artists.

If you are a translator of Chinese literature, keep an eye out for future chances — pandemic permitting — to apply to this superb residency, and if you simply find yourself in the vicinity of Lishui, make your way up into the mountains to spend a few days in a guesthouse. It’s a marvelous place, and I hope that it remains so as its profile as a tourist destination grows. (I’ll save more critical thoughts on “ecotourism,” cultural tourism in the PRC, hotel development and related factors for another place and time.)

 

Of Rare Compatibility”: Jen Bervin’s Silk Poems and Making Kin in the Sericene in The Journal of Foreign Languages

I’m pleased to see my article on Jen Bervin’s Silk Poems and the Anthropocene appear in JFLC. Thanks go out to editor Lauri Scheyer in particular. The paper can be downloaded here and here.

Abstract: Scripting what may be read as a “string figure” companion to Donna Haraway’s Chthulucene, Jen Bervin’s 2017 Silk Poems project becomes entangled with the damage of the Anthropocene — and with projects of recuperation in the face of that damage — via a proposed Sericene: an ecopoetic weaving of human-worm-moth symbiosis in silk, a human voicing articulated through the nonhuman persona of Bombyx mori, the domestic silkworm (家蚕 jiācán). This larval Sericene, like Haraway’s critical reinscription of the Anthropocene as the “tentacular” Chthulucene, underscores the necessity of thinking and acting in what Haraway terms “sympoiesis — making-with and becoming-with” in a time of accelerating planetary ecological crisis, insisting that we read ourselves in coproductive kinship with other species not merely as a strategy for poetry, art, and critical intervention, but for long-term multispecies survival. It is important to keep things light, we learn: the silkworm is never a hectoring lecturer, but rather often quite the comedian, good-natured in the face of individual and collective mortalities. Haraway’s Chthulucene and Bervin’s Silk Poems converge in unsettling self into selves, species-being into multispecies being, and suggest sites of refuge, recuperation, and future-oriented sympoiesis within the ongoing crisis of crises which “the Anthropocene” attempts to name, and in which critical memetic neologisms (Capitalocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene) seek to intervene, renaming and reframing in coproductive critique.

Keywords: Jen Bervin, Silk Poems, Donna Haraway, Anthropocene, experimental poetry

Matt Turner’s translation of Lu Xun’s 野草:Weeds with woodblock prints by Monika Lin from Seaweed Salad Editions

Lu Xun’s 1927 collection of modernist experiments in prose poetry,  Yecao《野草》has, until now, been available in English translation only as Wild Grass, a 1974 translation by Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang originating with Beijing’s own Foreign Languages Press. Needless to say, that was quite a while ago and, in a number of senses, a world or two ago. Mao was still alive and kicking, the Cultural Revolution was still officially still underway, China had yet to become the factory to the world — and so on. Turner, author of a set of brilliantly cut and cutting poems, Not Moving (Broken Sleep Books), brings a tough-minded critical force and an ear for what he’s called the “spikiness” of Lu Xun’s idiosyncratic early modernist Chinese to the task of translation and thereby, I think, not only gives us a fresh look at one of 20th century literature’s most important writer’s strangest texts, but also new ways to think about how far we’ve come from not only the ’70s of the Yangs’ version but, more importantly, the 1920s of Lu Xun’s period of existential struggles with himself, Chinese culture, modernity, and the expressive limits of his time’s language. I suspect we might have more to learn from this book about where we are now, and how we got here and what we might do (or not do) about it than we might think at first glance.

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Generational breakdowns: Deep time fissures & abyssal geological vortices vs. Greatest Generation nostalgia vs. MAGA

The Classic of the Great Sage Maga Zi

It’s really something, isn’t it, to reckon with generational narratives, such as that of the Greatest Generation and the US role in WWII, in light of MAGA on one hand and, on the other, the end-Holocene transition into the [ ]?

My father recently shared via group email a truly touching Memorial Day Salon column by US military family man Lucian K. Truscott IV, in which Truscott compares Eisenhower and Cronkite’s 1964 commemoration of D‑Day to Trump and Laura Ingraham’s in 2019 (Trump didn’t commemorate, of course, slipping quickly from history-as-word-salad into Dem-bashing).

A couple of my father’s retiree email correspondents — men born in the 1940s — took predictable-enough Reply-all shots at Trump and praised the old generals (Truscott IV also writes about how his grandfather, who led US forces in Italy, commemorated the dead at Anzio).

In my response (pasted below), I had, upon reflection, future generations in mind — my ten-year-old daughter’s, to start with — and my own retirement-age years. And when it comes to soldier-writers and wars, I find I have more in common with Iraq War vet Roy Scranton than Truscott. Scranton’s latest “we’re doomed, now what” piece argues that the children of the “Greatest Generation,” roughly, cast climate change in a narrative that resonates, I think, with my father’s correspondents’ take on Truscott’s take on Ike’s take on defeating the Nazis. Scranton, reviewing Bill McKibbon’s Falter, writes:

The story McKibben knows best is one in which our mission in the wilderness has foundered but can be saved by spiritual renewal. When he turns to face the future, he does so dressed in a faded patchwork of Protestant confessionalism, Disneyfied Romanticism, and faith in human redemption.

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What is [urban] poetry now without photography? With photos as cheap [we’d like to think] as words [are we mistaken] why not just [also] take a picture? (Post-Personism?)

 

All things Anthropocene. All things, that is, marked by language — this word, Anthropocene, in particular, in this instance — by the inadequacies of language to do more than whatever it might be doing in the moment of its activation in embodied mind (in the human brain).

Poetry goes way back: representation pushed to limits beyond “mere” representation, the attempt through rhythm and rhyme and the makings of other patterns to weave language in the instance of its movement through embodied mind (chanting, song, recitation, voicing) to go beyond denotation, beyond words pointing to things, and even beyond words entangling with perceptual fields extending beyond material things (a rock, say) or phenomena (the color of the eastern sky at dusk; a blue-hued rock; a blue feeling, the abstract thought of blueness) to enact pattern-making and unmaking, to perform dynamic change unfolding in time and to model it, thereby fixing and embedding that model — a narrative, instantiation of a moral value, group identity, ethical guidelines and moral imperatives all bundled up – in “reality” in increasingly “permanent” ways.1*Part of this project involves an exploration of the Changes – the Zhouyi and the Yijing with its “Ten Wings” and the voluminous interpretive apparatus that has evolved from and around the core eight trigrams.

This began, simply, as a means of generating a walking algorithm for use in Situationist-inspired psychogeographical forays into Shanghai neighborhoods. I had been generating the algorithms otherwise, until, teaming up with Tim Tomlinson for a walk with students, I took his suggestion (after first resisting it, thinking it corny and stale and a bit too Chinoiserie-indulgent, if not an outright “problematic” instance of cultural appropriation) of using the Yijing. Over the past few years, the role of the Yijing in the project has grown, suggesting itself not only as a means of generating a 6 – 12 step walking algorithm, but also as a means of conducting walks and writing corresponding texts in ways that may resonate and correlate with not only the history of Chinese thought and culture as, in significant part, animated by the Changes, but also with “the West” by way of its translations and uses and appropriations of the Changes.

With regard to something like the question of the origins of language, for instance, it’s useful to me now to refer the second chapter of Richard J. Smith’s The I Ching: A Biography, in which he traces the relative codification of the Zhouyi into an official classic during the Han Dynasty and summarizes the “Great Commentary” from the “Ten Wings” on language:

“The process of consulting the Changes involved careful contemplation of the ‘images’ associated with, and reflected in, the lines, trigrams, and hexagrams of the basic text. According to the Great Commentary, sages like Fuxi ‘had the means to perceive the mysteries of the world and, drawing comparisons to the with analogous things, made images out of those things that seemed appropriate.’ Initially, then, there were only hexagram images, trigram images, and line images — pure signs unmediated by language. But later on, hexagram names, judgments, and line statements appeared in written form to help explain these abstract significations. Thus subsequent sages came to use words to identify ‘images of things’ (natural phenomena, such as Heaven and Earth, mountains, rivers, thunder, wind, and fire), ‘images of affairs’ (social and political phenomena, including institutions, war, famine, marriage, and divorce), and ‘images of ideas’ (thoughts, mental pictures, states of mind, emotions, and any other sensory or extrasensory experiences). Later commentators sometimes likened images to ‘flowers in the mirror’ or ‘the moon in the water’ – that is, reflections of things that ‘cannot be described as either fully present or fully absent’ ” (64).

This, all in the context of a larger presentation of the history of the Changes that makes it clear that the text itself can only ever be encountered – whether in a Chinese version or translation into another language, or via the hexagrams as posited “pure signs unmediated by language” (not possible) – as a reflection of itself that “cannot be described as either fully present or absent.” One question moving forward, for me, is how thinking about the Changes in the context of the Anthropocene might work, based in part on the premise that somewhere in the Changes we’re picking up signals of what it was like for humanity to transition out of the the Pleistocene and the Neolithic into the Holocene and the acceleration of technology – writing and image-making very much included – that settles in around the Bronze Age.
 

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2019 Shanghai International Literary Festival appearance with Han Bo, Monika Lin and Jacob Dreyer

 

Gesso print art edition cover by Monika Lin

We’ll be launching our debut bilingual poetry chapbook, Han Bo’s China Eastern Railway at noon on Tuesday, March 19 at the 2019 Shanghai International Literary Festival. The event will be in Chinese and English, featuring Han Bo reading his poetry alongside my translations. Book designer (and partner extraordinaire) Monika Lin and writer, art critic, and editor Jacob Dreyer will join in a panel discussion at the intersection of poetry, translation, mapping, China’s history, ecology, and Han Bo’s reflections on China’s rustbelt Northeast.

More on the event and the publication of The China Eastern Railway at Seaweed Salad Editions.

 

Yang Jian’s Long River out from Tinfish Press

My blurb:

Yang Jian composes a poetry of slow erosion and quick frosts, of liminal moments that course through and undermine our human-made world’s crude fabrications, clearing the mind for just as long as necessary before its return. “I need to be more sincere in pain,” he writes, and “I’m fortunate to be born in a country where sincerity inspires.” In a land where “Chimneys erupt out of the wheat field” and “At the foot of the mountain that has been blasted open, / there’s a chunk of old willow, like the corpse of a dragon, / surrounded by scorched grasses” he asks: “Since the land is a dream, / why look back, why sorrow?” Elsewhere, he reminds us: “There are hundreds of sealed ancestral temples in your body but you simply ignore them.” So: pay attention. If ever “You seem to be living a nightmare,” take note: “Wherever leaves fall, / there is light — “

— David Perry

More about the book at Tinfish Press (including order link)