Tag: Multilingual

Tradition en Suisse: Danse et Costume | Swiss Traditions: Dance and Constume
March 4, 2018 11:00 pm Comments Off on Tradition en Suisse: Danse et Costume | Swiss Traditions: Dance and Constume
En effet, la Suisse a une forte tradition de costumes traditionnels et cet article s’intéresse au costume traditionnel et à la danse folklorique en Suisse généralement, et spécifiquement au canton de Valais. Un aperçu unique de l’histoire sociale du pays provient de l’analyse des costumes traditionnels. Le style de danse et la façon de s’habiller réunissent les Suisses et favorisent leurs identités culturelles. Les fêtes folkloriques rassemblent les Suisses pour partager leur histoire et suscitent l’intérêt dans la culture suisse avec ce spectacle. Indeed, Switzerland has a strong culture of traditional costumes and this article focuses on traditional costume and folk dance in Switzerland generally, and specifically in the canton of Valais. By analysing such traditional costumes, a unique insight into the country’s social history can be gleaned. The dance style and the method of getting dressed brings the Swiss people together to promote their cultural identities. The folk festivals also brings together the Swiss people and arouses interest in Swiss culture through storytelling.
La danse folklorique de la Suisse a été influencée par ses voisins et a continué son développement au cours du XXème siècle. Les danses sont variées selon les régions, et influencées par les traditions folkloriques italiennes, françaises et allemandes. Le développement des styles est lié aux régions linguistiques. Les formes qui existent en Suisse sont notamment la scottisch, la polka, la valse, la mazurka, la march-fox et le fox-trott. En outre, quelques formes de danse anciennes restent populaires, comme la danse des zoccoli au Tessin. Les danses folkloriques sont connues aujourd’hui comme les « vecteurs du sentiment patriotique ». Certes la Suisse a une longue histoire de danse, mais la cultivation de la danse traditionnelle dans la forme que l’on connait aujourd’hui a commencé dès les années 1930. De plus, ce n’est qu’en 1986 que la Commission nationale suisse pour l’Unesco a chargé un groupe de faire un inventaire des danses populaires suisses. Il existe encore des associations et groupes de danse qui participent à des événements comme la fête d’Unspunnen. En tout cas, la danse en Suisse s’est développée pendant le siècle dernier en mélangent les styles étrangers pour créer les danses patriotiques qui aident à célébrer ce qui est d’être suisse. The folk dance of Switzerland was influenced by its geographical neighbours and continued its development during the twentieth century. The dances are varied according to the regions, and influenced by the Italian, French and German folk traditions. The development of styles is also linked to linguistic regions. The forms that exist in Switzerland include Scottish, polka, waltz, mazurka, march-fox and fox-trott. In addition, some ancient dance forms remain popular, such as the Zoccoli dance in Ticino. Folk dances are known today as the “vectors of patriotic feeling”. While Switzerland has a long history of dance, the cultivation of traditional dance in the form we know today began in the 1930s. Moreover, it was not until 1986 that the National Commission Switzerland for Unesco commissioned a group to make an inventory of Swiss folk dances. There are still associations and dance groups that participate in events like the Unspunnen party. In any case, dance in Switzerland has developed during the last century by mixing foreign styles to create patriotic dances that help to celebrate what is to be Swiss.
Symboliquement, en Suisse les costumes traditionnels ont un double sens : l’un de tradition et l’autre d’innovation. Il existe plus que 700 costumes traditionnels en Suisse. Chacun des vingt-six cantons à leur propre costume. Par exemple, dans le canton de Valais, situé dans la partie française de la Suisse, en particulier dans les villages plus isolées de la région d’Evolène, un grand nombre de suisses ont continué de porter les costumes traditionnels de la vallée d’Hérens dans la deuxième partie du XXème siècle. D’un côté, les costumes sont vus maintenant comme les symboles de l’identité nationale, mais de l’autre côté, cette interprétation éclipse leur but originel et les réalités de la vie passée auxquelles ils appartiennent. D’un autre côté, les costumes traditionnels, autant pour les femmes et que pour les hommes, étaient séparés entre la tenue de tous les jours et celle du dimanche. Autrefois, les suisses possédaient seulement deux costumes et ces deux ensembles devaient leur durer très longtemps. Ils s’occupaient de leurs vêtements et devaient respecter des règles strictes, comme celles qui dictaient les occasions où ils pouvaient porter certaines couleurs ou types de matériaux. Le monde dans lequel ces suisses habitaient était celui d’une vie dure et simple. Les costumes sont un souvenir tangible et durable des suisses qui ont lutté contre la nature pour créer leurs existences simples. Les costumes sont un symbole des réalités historiques de la vie en Suisse, en même temps que les marqueurs des régions et communautés différentes, ce qui fait d’eux un symbole encore très puissant de l’identité nationale de la Suisse. Symbolically, in Switzerland traditional costumes have a double meaning: one of tradition and the other of innovation. There are more than 700 traditional costumes in Switzerland. Each of the twenty-six cantons in their own costume. For example, in the canton of Valais, located in the French part of Switzerland, especially in the more isolated villages of the Evolène region, a large number of Swiss continued to wear the traditional costumes of the Hérens Valley in the second half of the twentieth century. On the one hand, costumes are now seen as symbols of national identity, but on the other hand, this interpretation eclipses their original purpose and the realities of the past life to which they belonged. Traditional costumes, for both women and men, were separated between everyday dress and Sunday dress. Formerly, the Swiss had only two costumes and these two sets were to last for a very long time. They took care of their clothes and had to follow strict rules, such as those dictating the occasions when they could wear certain colors or types of materials. As such, the world in which these Swiss lived was that of a hard and simple life. The costumes are a tangible and lasting memory of the Swiss who fought against nature to create their simple lives. The costumes are a symbol of the historical realities of life in Switzerland, along with the markers of different regions and communities, which makes them a very powerful symbol of the national identity of Switzerland.
En somme, le développement de la danse folklorique et les costumes traditionnels ont permis au pays de créer les symboles de son identité nationale et de partager leurs histoires avec les citoyens et les touristes au travers le spectacle. Tout simplement parce que quelque chose appartient au passé, ne signifie pas que ça ne peut pas aussi appartenir au présent. La danse et le costume traditionnel en Suisse sont à la fois des innovations et des traditions car ils ont une importance pour le passé et le présent.. Ils expriment l’identité nationale et offrent un moyen d’expression de la vie suisse. En conclusion, la Suisse est un pays uni, composé de différentes régions, chacune typifiée par leurs costumes traditionnels et leurs danses folklorique. In sum, the development of folk dance and traditional costumes have enabled the country to create symbols of its national identity and share their stories with citizens and tourists through folk festivals. Simply because something belongs to the past, it does not mean that it cannot also belong to the present. Traditional dance and costume in Switzerland are both innovations and traditions because they are important for the past and the present. They express national identity and offer a means of expression of Swiss life. In conclusion, Switzerland is a united country, composed of different regions, each typified by their traditional costumes and their folk dances.

Références
« Danse, » Dictionnaire historique de la Suisse, mis à jour le 17 septembre, 2007.
Vos, Anton. « A Evolène, où l’art de porter le costume disparait, » Le Temps, le 4 janvier 2003, https://www.letemps.ch/culture/2003/01/04/evolene-art-porter-costume-disparait, consulté le 24 septembre 2017.
« Traditions et coutumes, » Valais,
https://www.valais.ch/fr/savoir-faire/culture-patrimoine/traditions-et-coutumes, consulté le 23 septembre 2017.
https://www.rts.ch/archives/tv/information/madame-tv/3453542-le-costume-d-evolene.html, consulté le 20 septembre, 2017.
« La richesse des costumes en Suisse, » MySwitzerland.com,
https://www.myswitzerland.com/fr/la-richesse-des-costumes-en-suisse.html, consulté le 22 septembre 2017.
« Histoire et Faits, » Unspunnen,
http://www.unspunnenfest.ch/fr/informations-sur-la-fete/histoire-et-faits.html, consulté le 24 septembre 2017.
« La danse populaire en Suisse centrale, » Traditions Vivantes, http://www.lebendigetraditionen.ch/traditionen/00214/index.html?lang=fr, consulté le 24 septembre 2017.
Pichard, Franck. « Le costume d’Evolène, » filmé le 12 mars 1966 pour Madame TV, vidéo, Les archives de la RTS,
http://www.hls-dhs-dss.ch/textes/f/F11884.php, consulté le 25 septembre 2017.

A French essay about the Swiss tradition of dance and costume, with an accompanying English translation.

Sarah Hodge
De camino a Yotala | On the Way to Yotala [1]
10:54 pm Comments Off on De camino a Yotala | On the Way to Yotala [1]

El médico hizo la señal de la cruz y susurró:
—En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo. Amén.
Besó el crucifijo que colgaba de una cadena de plata alrededor de su cuello y luego se volvió para mirarme con expresión pensativa.
—¿Crees en los espíritus?—me preguntó, volviendo su mirada hacia camino desolado que teníamos delante.
—Claro que sí.
—¿Quieres escuchar una historia de terror?—me preguntó con una sonrisa malvada.
—Cuéntame.
The doctor made the sign of the cross and whispered,
“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
He kissed the crucifix that hung on a silver chain around his neck and turned to look at me with a pensive expression. [2]
“Do you believe in spirits?” he asked me, returning his eyes to the desolate road ahead of us.
“Of course.”
“Would you like to hear a scary story?” he asked with a wicked smirk.
“Tell me.”

Una noche después de una fiesta, yo y dos de mis amigos estábamos manejando de regreso a Sucre. Estaba sentado en el asiento del pasajero, aturdido después de demasiados Four Lokos. Mi amigo en el asiento trasero, Juan Carlos, comenzó a contar la historia de una mujer que fue brutalmente asesinada por su marido. Se rumoreaba que arrojó el cadáver en el área en la que nos encontrábamos. Aparentemente, su espíritu camina por la noche buscando a su marido para vengarse.
Recuerdo que me sentía incómodo y me aferré a mi crucifijo. La conversación terminó y el ambiente se había puesto realmente silencioso a excepción del suave zumbido del motor.
—¡Mierda!—exclamó Juan Carlos, asustándonos a Rodrigo y a mí. El idiota no había abierto bien la bolsa de plástico, así que derramó un poco de llajua en sus pantalones.
De repente, Rodrigo frenó bruscamente y lo inesperado de todo eso me hizo gritar.
—Una cholita caminaba casualmente por el camino—dijo. Luego se volvió para mirarme.
—Por cierto, si quieres tomar fotos de cholitas, siempre debes preguntarles. Algunas de ellas todavía creen que el hecho de que les tomen una fotografía es lo mismo que quitarles su alma.
Rodrigo murmuró una serie de malas palabras en voz baja y continuó conduciendo. Me giré para echar otro vistazo a la cholita, pero no estaba a la vista.
After a party one night, I was driving back to Sucre [3] with two of my friends. I was sitting in the passenger seat, all woozy after one too many Four Lokos [4]. My friend in the backseat, Juan Carlos, starts to report the tale of a woman who was brutally murdered by her husband. It was rumoured that he dumped the body around the area that we were driving through. Apparently, she walks around at night looking for her husband to get revenge. I remember feeling uneasy and holding onto my crucifix. It had gotten really quiet except for the soft humming of the car’s engine. Then Juan Carlos exclaimed, “Shit!”, scaring me and the driver, Rodrigo. The idiot had spilt some Ilajua [5] on his pants because he did not open the plastic bag properly. All of a sudden, Rodrigo slams his foot on the brake and caused me to scream.
“A cholita [6] was casually walking across the road!” he said.
Then her turned to look at me.
“By the way, if you want to take pictures of cholitas, you must always ask them. Some of them still believe that having their photograph taken is the same thing as taking away their soul.”
Rodrigo muttered a series of curse words under his breath and continued to drive. I turned around to have another look at the cholita but she was nowhere to be seen.

Tenía una sonrisa en la cara todo el tiempo que el médico estaba contando su pequeña historia.
—Ahora es mi turno de compartir mis experiencias sobrenaturales en Bolivia—respondí.
—Cuéntame.
I had a grin on my face the whole time that the doctor was recounting his little tale.
“Now it is my turn to share my supernatural experiences in Bolivia,” I responded.
“Tell me,” he said.

Me decepcionó el no tener el tiempo suficiente para ir a La Paz para ver el Mercado de las Brujas. Viajé a Sudamérica porque quería encontrarme a mí misma y quería que alguien me dijera mi futuro, por lo que mi profesora de español me dijo que existía un mercado de brujas más pequeño en Sucre.
Allí conocí a una bruja que leyó mi futuro usando cartas del tarot. Me dijo que iba a vivir una vida muy lujosa, pero que nunca encontraría el amor ni tendría hijos.
Como mi profesora no creía en las cartas del tarot, me sugirió una lectura de hojas de coca y me ayudó a buscar una mujer especializada en esto. Una vez allí, agarré un puñado de hojas de coca y las arrojé sobre la mesa. Ella había estudiado todo el movimiento, desde la forma en que arrojé las hojas hasta la forma en que aterrizaron sobre la mesa:
—Crees que has encontrado el amor de tu vida, pero no lo has hecho. El que coma achachairú te dará un beso que sabe a miel.
I was disappointed that I did not have enough time to go to La Paz [7] and see the Witches Market [8]. I travelled to South America because I wanted to find myself and I wanted someone to tell me my future. My Spanish teacher told me that there was a smaller Witches Market in Sucre. I met a witch who read my future using tarot cards. She told me that I would live a very luxurious life but never find love or have any children. My teacher did not believe in tarot cards and suggested that I had my coca leaves read. We found a woman who specialised in coca leaf reading. I grabbed a handful of coca leaves and threw them onto the table. She had studied the whole movement, from the way I threw the leaves to the way they landed on the table.
“You believe that you have found the love of your life, but you have not. The one who eats the Achachairú [9] will give you a kiss that tastes like honey.”

—Bueno, irás a Santa Cruz la próxima semana—comentó el médico.
Es muy pronto para decir si la bruja que leyó mis cartas del tarot estaba en lo cierto. Sin embargo, puedo confirmar que la bruja que leyó mis hojas de coca había acertado.
“Well, you are going to Santa Cruz [10] next week,” the doctor remarked.
However, it is too soon to say whether the witch who read my tarot cards was right. Though, I can confirm that the witch who read my coca leaves was precise.

___________
Footnotes
1 A town in Bolivia that is often described as a place where time has stopped.
2 In Bolivia, citizens who are both Catholic and a doctor are well-respected.
3 The constitutional capital of Bolivia.
4 A popular alcoholic energy drink.
5 A popular hot sauce prepared from locotos (type of capsicum) and tomatoes.
6 An indigenous woman.
7 De facto national capital.
8 A market in La Paz run by local witch doctors selling potions and other magical goods.
9 A tropical fruit native to Santa Cruz. Achachairu means “honey kiss” in the indigenous Guarani language.
10 Santa Cruz de la Sierra is the most populated city in Bolivia.

A short tale written in Spanish with an accompanying English translation.

Cassandra Wilmot
等待 | Waiting
February 21, 2018 9:56 am Comments Off on 等待 | Waiting
小船像黄龙，
The little boat looks like a yellow dragon,
人家爱古样。
Some love its ancient shape.
别怕船破裂，
Others fear that it will break,
黄龙正飘荡。
Yellow dragon drifts on the waves.

黄龙浮湖上，
Yellow dragon floats on the lake,
人家怕沧海。
Some fear the dark green expanse.
别觊鱼丰胖，
Others covet the fat abundant fish,
黄龙正等待。
Yellow dragon must perpetually wait.

Written in Modern Chinese. Translated into Australian English.

Anna Mitchell
An Ancient Guide to Hair Growth
9:46 am Comments Off on An Ancient Guide to Hair Growth
ܣܢܽܘܢܺܝܬܳ ܩܛܘܽܠ
ܘܰܐܘܩܶܕ ܥܰܡ ܚܽܘܛܪܳܐ ܕܪܳܥܝܳܐ
ܟܰܕ ܝܰܒܝܺܫܝܺܢ ܛܰܖ̈ܦܶܝܗ̇
ܘܰܚܠܘܽܛ ܒܰܬܝܳܢ̈ܶܠ ܕܰܛ̇ܳܝܶܐ
ܕܠܳܐ ܝܳܕܥܺܝܢ ܙܘܽܘܳܓܳܐ
ܘܛܘܽܫ ܘܝܳܥܷܠ ܣܰܥܪܐ
ܘܡܳܪܶܩ ܠܶܗ ܫܰܦܝܺ.
Kill a swallow,
And reduce it to ashes with a shepherd’s crook
Whilst drying some leaves.
Then mix it with the urine of young men
Who are unacquainted with copulation (lit. knowledge of matrimony).
Smear (lit. pollute) it upon the hair (esp. of goats and camels, but sometimes men)
and it [the hair] rejuvenates handsomely.

This guide was a serious prescription by medical scholars during Antiquity, but presents itself today as a satirical ‘how-to’ guide for hair growth.

Charbel El-Khaissi
Avant L’Hiver (Before Winter)
October 24, 2017 11:20 pm Comments Off on Avant L’Hiver (Before Winter)
Eblouie
Pour des raisons mal-comprises,
Inconnues.
Comm’elle me tombe bien, cette pluie
Et comme mon cœur danse,
Ma petite âme, qui suive l’automne et la lune.
Ce soir, on va partager les étoiles
Une à une.
Rien pour moi ; je n’en veux aucune.
Je ne veux rien de cette pluie belle de l’hier
Sauf pour une feuille jaune
Pour emporter chaleur dans mon hiver.

*

Dazzled
For reasons not understood
Unknown.
How I love this rain
And how my heart dances,
My little heart, who follows the autumn and moon.
Tonight, we will share the stars
One by one.
None for me ; I don’t want any.
I don’t want anything of this beautiful rain of yesteryear
Except for one yellow leaf
To bring warmth into my winter.

Akka Ballenger Constantin
回应郑尹莉的《碎片空间》’Sawjig’: A Response to Cherry Zheng’s ‘Jigsaw Moments’
11:19 pm Comments Off on 回应郑尹莉的《碎片空间》’Sawjig’: A Response to Cherry Zheng’s ‘Jigsaw Moments’
读郑尹莉 (Cherry Zheng) 的文章《碎片空间》仿佛像是看着一面颠倒的镜子、又或是像用手机的翻转屏幕照相一样。和她一样，我跨跃不同的国家和文化生活。不同的是，我是个白人，我从小住在百分之八十五人口为华人的新加坡。
虽然新加坡有许多外国孩子，但是我的父母决定送我去一个公立学校，而不是一个非常贵的国际学校。所以，上学时，我是一千亚洲学生中间的唯一一个白人。（虽然有一次来了个从芬兰的男孩，但是他很快地被开除了。）
其实，我感到非常幸运。在我旅居新加坡的那十四年，我从未感觉曾有被排斥。我在忍受着新加坡严苛教育的同时也能得心应手地学习华语。然而，回想那十四年地时光，我最深刻的回忆其实是一些不自在的感觉，它使我在新加坡上学时一直有种人在他乡为异客的彷徨。记得在人头攒动的礼堂里，因为我比新加坡的同学们要高，不仅我的棕色头发熠熠发光,，早上站着唱国歌时也是宛如鹤立鸡群。我每换一个学校便增加一番愁苦：我总是需要忍受新同学们对我表露的惊奇。我经常需要解释：“不，我不是欧亚（混血？）人，我是高加索人”；“对，我可以跟你一起上中文课”；“不，我的家人不会每晚都吃汉堡包”。每到新学校一个星期左右，我的新同学们才能对我的存在习以为常，但是那些惊讶的眼神仍然会频频跟随着我，无论是在地铁上，在另外学校的辩论比赛上，还是在补习课等等场合。我永远都不会忘记走进小学六年级会考的口试时，考官那满脸惊讶的神情。
当我回到澳大利亚上高中后，本以为那不舒服的感觉会一去不返，记得当时我曾得意地想到：“我终于不再是不同的那个了”！事实却证明了我的幼稚。回到悉尼上学后才发现原来我并不能够像想像中那样很快的融入我的社会。虽然我感觉上不像一位新加坡人，但是我到底也不完全是澳洲人。我的澳洲同学们都对我说，“雅丽，听说你是个天才！”（这是因为澳洲的教育水平比新加坡低很多）。我甚至需要调整自己的性格。澳大利亚和新加坡的幽默有种难以言喻的不同，直到现在，我依旧不能洞悉那分别到底是什么。
我回澳洲许多年了，现在也大致融入了当地社会，但我还不是一个“完整” 的澳洲人。有些英文字我还会发错音；我的朋友们还说我是“外国人”；而且我也不懂为什么澳洲人觉得《Rhonda and Ketut》的广告那么好笑。不过，就像尹莉写的，我们这样的人不需要刻意去适应所有的地方。我是我，我创造我自己的空间。随着世界的不断全球化，我认为我们这小小的“第三文化孩子”的空间也会持续扩大。对此我十分期待。

*

Reading ‘Jigsaw Moments’ was like looking in a mirror, but in reverse – maybe it was more like looking at myself on a flip-screen front-facing camera. Just like her, I straddle countries and cultures. The difference, however, is that I am a (white) Australian who grew up in Singapore, where the racial majority is Chinese.
While there are many expatriates and expat children in Singapore, my parents sent me to a local public school instead of one of the exorbitantly expensive international schools. This meant I was the only white student in a school of 1000 or more Asian kids. (Well, there was a Finnish boy once, but he got expelled). I was very lucky: no one was overtly xenophobic towards me, I could handle the much higher standards of education, and I moved there early enough to pick up Mandarin naturally. Yet the predominant feeling I will remember about my 14 years of living there is one of discomfort.
I felt constantly awkward. Even my dark brown hair shone out amongst the black in the school canteen; and as we sung the national anthem every morning, my head would stick out as I stood amongst my naturally shorter peers. Every school change – primary, secondary, then junior college – brought the added angst of having to endure the visible surprise of my new schoolmates. No, I’m not Eurasian, I’m Caucasian. Yes, I’ll be in your Chinese classes. No, we don’t eat hamburgers for dinner every night at home. After a week or so I’d be as integrated into the new school community as any other student, but those stares were always around – on the train home, at debating competitions in other schools, at tuition classes. I’ll never forget the look of shock on the face of my examiner when I walked into the room for the Chinese Oral component of my Primary School Leaving Examination.
So when I left Singapore to do my last two years of high school in Sydney, I thought the discomfort was finally over. I won’t stick out! People will understand my family’s dynamics! I’ll belong! Ah, naivety. I arrived to find that while I didn’t feel Singaporean, I certainly wasn’t all that Australian either. My new classmates greeted me with ‘oh my god, I heard that you’re like, a genius’ – indeed, the education standards here were, at first, disorientingly low. I also had to re-calibrate my personality. To this day, for example, I can’t articulate what exactly makes this so, but people have a different sense of humour here. That first year was hard.
It’s been a while now, so I’m pretty much adjusted, but I’m still not a ‘normal’ Australian. I still pronounce some English words incorrectly. My friends dismiss my ignorance on noughties-era Australian politics with ‘oh yeah, that’s right, you’re foreign’. And for the life of me, I really don’t see what’s so funny about Rhonda and Ketut. But, like the author of ‘Jigsaw Moments’ said, I don’t have to make myself fit in anywhere. I am me, and I make my own space. And as the world continues to globalise, our little niche, the web of third-culture kids, will grow. I look forward to it.

Alessandra Panizza
Cartas de Amor (Love Letters)
11:01 pm Comments Off on Cartas de Amor (Love Letters)
Hoy encontré el verde de mi corazón:
Amor sellado en una carta de madera, sin razón
Atado con dos cuerdas de acero.
Toda la paz y luz te doy, bonito extranjero.

*

Today I found the green of my soul:
Love sealed within a wooden letter, without a reason
Tied with two steel strings.
I give you all the Peace and Love, beautiful stranger.

Akka Ballenger Constantin
(Love) عشق
October 4, 2017 10:16 pm Comments Off on (Love) عشق
عشق، لحظه دیدار پدر بر سر سفره هفت سین است.
عشق، لحظه شنیدن صدای مادر در شب سال نوست.
عشق، آن اسکناس نوی تا نشده عیدی من لای قرآن است وقتی چشمان کوچک منتظرم به دستان تو می نگرند.
عشق، آن فالهای حافظ بعد از سال تحویل است.
عشق، پیچش دلمه های برگ مو زیر انگشتان مادر
عشق، رقص دانه های سرخ تسبیح بر سرانگشتان پدر
عشق در خانه من، خانه من پیچیده در آهنگ عشق،
خانه من در دل عاشق من جاکرده، عشق من در خانه من جا کرده.
تاپ تاپ افتادن توت روی زمین از درخت بلند توت داخل حیاط
صدای شرشر آب از فواره حوض کنار درخت توت
جوجه ها به دنبال هم می دوند.
کدوتنبل سنگین شده، داد می زند: مرا بچین!
گیلاسها رنگ شراب شده، زنجره ها می خوانند.
کاهو سکنجبین عصر تابستان می چسبد،
بچه گربه ها گرگمیش صبح، مادر را برای نماز صبح بیدار می کنند.
هندوانه خنک داخل رودخانه می چسبد.
فانوس های رنگی را مادر برای روز مبادا نگه داشته.
عشق یعنی گل ارکید من پشت پنجره گل داده،
عشق یعنی لبخند عمیق و مهربان تو زمانی که از کنارم رد شدی
عشق نسیم آرامش بخش عطر خوشبوی توست که برایم بجا ماند.
عشق، تماشای رقص ماهی های قرمز سفره هفت سین،
عشق یعنی کباب خوشبویی که پدر برروی آتش درست کرد،
عشق دست یاری برادر است که به سوی پدر باز شده است.
خانه یعنی آرامش، عشق و امنیت.
عشق یعنی خانه، خانه یعنی قلب من، قلب من پر از عشق.
همه را گفتم تا بدانی گل ارکید پشت پنجره،
لبخند پیرزنی که مرا مثل دخترش دوست دارد،
سرانگشتان خسته مادر وقتی برایم ژاکت می بافد،
چشمان منتظر و صدای آرام پدر وقتی دلش برای دخترش پر می کشد،
آرامش و امنیتی که برادربرایت می خواهد،
بوی نان تازه اول صبح با کره و عسل
یا صدای آواز مگپای اول صبح و همه و همه می گویند:
” بیا، بنشین، عاشق شو و دیگر نرو.”
*
Love is hearing Mum and Dad’s voice on New Year’s Eve,
Love is the fresh unfolded note, my new year present inside the Quran,
when my waiting small eyes are looking at your hands.
Love is hearing Hafiz’s wisdom words at the start of New Year.
Love, twists of grape leaves for dolmades under Mum’s hands,
Love, dance of red beads of Dad’s rosary at his fingertips,
Love is in my home, my home wrapped with music of love.
My home found home in my loving heart,
My love found home in my lovely home.
Mulberries touching the ground ‘top top’ falling from the tall tree in the garden,
Calming sound of water of the fountain near the tree,
Chickens noisy in the garden, running around;
The pumpkin is heavy, crying out: ‘Pick me up!’
Cherries are red as wine, crickets’ loud song;
Tasty lettuce and doshab in the hot summer nights.
Kittens waking Mum up at the dawn for morning prayers,
Chilled tender red sweet watermelon out of the river.
Mum saved colorful lanterns for rainy day,
Hanging above the cupboard on top of the silver tray.
Love is my orchid’s soft delicate petals smiling behind the window,
Love is your deep kind smile that passed me by,
Love is the breeze of your perfume that I was left by.
Love, watching the dance of goldfish at the New Year’s table,
Love is the delish juicy kebab dad made on fire,
Love is brother’s hand helping out father.
Home means: peace, love and security.
Love means home, my heart’s home, my heart full of love.
I said it all so you know: the orchid behind the window,
the smile of the old woman who loves me as her daughter,
Mum’s tired fingertips of knitting my jacket,
Dad’s restless looks waiting for his daughter,
safety and happiness that brother wants for you,
smell of fresh bread with butter and honey,
or magpies singing loud under the rain,
and all and all, …
are asking you: “Come here, Sit, Fall in love and Stay forever!”

Asefeh Abedini
About the Eyes
9:27 pm Comments Off on About the Eyes
– Quizás, mis ojos son negros porque vieron demasiadas tormentas sin querer.
Demasiada lucha, demasiada hambre y cosas que no deberían ver.
Mis ojos son lagos claros; llenos del tormento de mi madre, tan gran,
Quando ella no sabía adónde buscarnos el siguiente pedazo de pan.

Hoy vivo en un país de gente con ojos azules y almas tan nobles.
De gente que siempre sonríe. Yo también sonrío.
Y a veces mis lágrimas siguen fluyendo, como un río.
Pero mis ojos todavía son negros. Y fuertes, como los robles.

– Mes yeux sont vertes, ou peut-être foncés
De tous les orages que j’ai vu, de fracas et de bruit.
Des fois, mes yeux changeants deviennent dorés
Comme le printemps murmurant doucement dans la nuit.

– Mi-s ochii bruni ca mierea de-asta vara
Si-n ei port stelele si ploaia, alternand.
Port curcubeu si soare, port lup si caprioara
Toata padurea mea de-acasa o port ascunsa-n gand.

– My eyes are blue like seas in summer days
With shores of endless promises ahead
Sunsets so bright, setting horizons in a blaze
And plains of wheat – you’ll never worry again about the bread.

Los ojos negros, les yeux vertes, ochii bruni and the blue eyes
The same red blood runs through all veins and we all matter.
We love the same green grass; we’re sheltered by the same bright skies,
And all together, we drink the same colourless water.

– Who knows, perhaps my eyes are black because they saw too many storms, without wanting it
Too many fights, too much famine and things they shouldn’t have seen
My eyes are clear lakes, full of my mother’s agony, so great,
When she didn’t know where to find us the next piece of bread.
Today I live in a country of blue-eyed people, with hearts so noble.
People who always smile. I smile too.
And sometimes, my tears keep flowing, like a river.
But my eyes are still black. And strong like the oaks.

– My eyes are green. Or maybe dusky.
From all the storms I have seen and from noise and fracas.
Sometimes, my changing eyes turn golden
Like the Spring murmuring sweetly through the night.

– My eyes are brown like honey from the yester summer
Within them, I carry stars and rains in turns
I carry the rainbow and the sun, the wolf and the deer
The forest of my home – I carry it hidden in my thoughts.
*
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
We live in times of great turmoil; worldwide, we are divided by power, greed, discord and famine. I think it is more important than ever to acknowledge that we live under the same sun and that we are all equal. I think we should all concentrate on the things that unite us, rather than divide us.
In the poem “About the eyes”, I imagined 4 different characters, with different languages, different eye colours and different life experiences. They are made by the different memories each of them carries.
The black eyes remember storms, wars and their mother, trying to find her children’s next piece of bread. Even when they find peace, living in a different country, a country of blue-eyed people, the memories come back.
The green eyes remember different kinds of storms and spring nights.
The brown eyes remember the enchanted forest of their childhood.
The blue eyes have never known famine and they reassure the black eyes that they will never have to worry about the bread.
In the end, we all have the same red blood running through our veins and we all drink the same colourless water.

Akka Ballenger Constantin
致我出生的地方－永安 (To the place I was born – Yongan)
September 19, 2017 11:22 pm Comments Off on 致我出生的地方－永安 (To the place I was born – Yongan)
那条河轻轻流过我的家乡，
潺潺的浪花涌向远方。
那条狗在艰难的岁月里陪伴了父亲和我。
母亲的背影变得越来越小。
吵闹的麻雀忙着在枝桠上筑巢。
熟人三三两两的在街上徘徊。

古老的橡树插满了新芽。
我的母亲去哪里了？
这个问题没有被问出，
但是保留在我的记忆里。
夜晚被拉长，扭曲。

蝉子贴着树枝，
在有月光的夜晚嗡嗡叫。
摩托车的噪音吵着了熟睡的人和警惕的土狗。
让人不安的深夜谈话在记忆之中朦朦脓脓。

有的蜻蜓在飞，有的蜻蜓藏在睡莲从中。
细长的茎，粉红的花瓣，嫩嫩的花蕊
在古老的画中收聚。
弥漫的香气在下着小雨的天变得更浓。
在唐代的古诗里，
睡莲叶上的露水和一个妃子的泪水是同等重的。
宫灯的响声在长长的弄巷里回荡。

吵闹的蝉最后也睡着了。
鸡鸣吵醒了熟睡的人。
老年人总是最先醒来的，
然后是小孩子。

母亲重新出现在我的记忆里。
她红色的汗衫浸透了咸咸的汗水。
她转过头来检查我是不是在哭。
她满面红光，身材短小精干。
她的背结结实实；她的手忙忙碌碌。

青苔在阴郁的季节里铺张开来。
青蛙直到深夜还在鸣叫。
时间到了离开父亲母亲上幼儿园的时候了。

不从众和羞涩把这个孩子和其他孩子们分开。
这个孩子的挣扎来自早熟和成熟。

宁静和蓬发的期待在雾天里生根。
村民被不适时的公鸡叫声轻轻惹怒。
无辜的公鸡只是为了叫醒有职务的人们！
背上沉重瓢虫图案的书包,
小孩着着急急得往学校赶。

*

The river gently flew cross my hometown,
the murmuring waves running afar.
The dog accompanied my father and me in the poignant years.
The image of my mother’s back grew smaller and smaller.
The chirping magpies were busy
with setting up nests at conjunctions of twigs.
The acquaintances haunted the street in twos and threes.

The ancient Chinese locust tree was studded with buds.
Where was my mother?
The question was unasked,
but stayed in my mind.
The evening was stretched and twisted.

The cicadas were clinging to the branches，
droning in the moonlit night.
The noise of motorcycles irritated the slumber and the alert terrier dogs.
The disturbance of some deep-night chatters unfurled in my memory.

The dragonflies flew and hid,
Among the sleepy water lilies.
Slender stems, pink petals, tender stamens,
came to life in the old paintings.
And the permeating fragrance consolidated in the sprinkle raining days.
In those ancient poems from Tang dynasty,
The weight of dew on the water lilies’ leaves was equal to a concubine’s tears.
The blaring of palace lanterns resonated across the alleys.

The noisy cicadas finally fell asleep.
The rooster interrupted the sweet dreams.
The elderly always woke up first,
The children next.

Mother reappeared in my memory.
Her red shirt was drenched in salty sweat.
She turned back and checked whether I was crying.
Her rosy cheek was glowing; her figure was tiny but vigorous.
Her back was sturdy; her hands were brimmed with doing things,

The lichen was spreading in the gloomy season.
The frogs were croaking till deep in the night.
The time had come to depart from mother and father for a pupil,
venturing into the kindergarten.
Nonconformity and timidity built the gap between the child and the peers.
Conflicts came between prematurity and maturity.

Tranquillity and blooming expectations rooted in the foggy days.
The villagers were slightly annoyed by the untimely roosters.
Innocent roosters were only waking up people with duties!
Carrying the burdensome backpack with the pattern of ladybugs,
the pupil rushed to the school.

Mian You