Ai Weiwei Rockin' Out
by Griffin Cote
Chinese artist, Ai Weiwei, has announced that he is producing a rock album, to debut in about three weeks; this is not his first attempt at music – he created a parody of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” late last year. Like his parody, this music will most likely be aimed at the Chinese government, as it is inspired by his imprisonment for alleged tax evasion, and includes songs about the activist Chen Guangcheng and government internet blocks. Ai Weiwei is famous for his architecture and sculptures, which include the Bird’s Nest Stadium and exhibits across Europe and America, many of which reflect his critical views of the Chinese government.
by Griffin Cote
Chinese artist, Ai Weiwei, has announced that he is producing a rock album, to debut in about three weeks; this is not his first attempt at music – he created a parody of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” late last year. Like his parody, this music will most likely be aimed at the Chinese government, as it is inspired by his imprisonment for alleged tax evasion, and includes songs about the activist Chen Guangcheng and government internet blocks. Ai Weiwei is famous for his architecture and sculptures, which include the Bird’s Nest Stadium and exhibits across Europe and America, many of which reflect his critical views of the Chinese government.
This album may be highly censored in China – the Chinese government has not historically approved of Ai’s works – but regardless of its success in its home country, it may be very significant both there and abroad in informing many more people of conditions China. The government of China, despite the recent works against corruption in the Railways Ministry, still seems to place itself and the law above the freedom of its people, which Ai Weiwei has shown in many of his works, and will undoubtedly be evident in his new album. He believes that, “[his] art is about expressing opinion and communication,” and that this is just another of his works, like sculptures and films; we will simply be hearing his opinions this time instead of just seeing them.
It’s going to take some seriously strong songs to start any change in China, though. Though knowledge of Ai Weiwei is spread around the world, it seems that the number of people that know of him is relatively small, whether that's due to the Chinese government or the nature of his works. Hopefully this new media will allow him to make his voice heard; China, despite having the world’s second largest economy, is lacking in the way it treats its citizens – many people are often overlooked and lack of environmental regulations are creating serious health concerns.
Translating 李白
by Logan Pauley
Considering the lack of an alphabet or a canonized
etymological form, Mandarin Chinese is one of the hardest languages to learn
and interpret. The ambiguity of language, however, has significant merits in terms of literature
and poetry. The translational bridge between Chinese and other languages calls
for not only a literal translation of each character in a piece, but also an
analysis of the structure and organization of the characters. A Chinese poem (詩; shi1 – it
is of note that 詩 is a blanket term used for all
Chinese literature, but is more geared towards poetry and poetic forms) can be
arranged in a manner that shows a correlation between the literal translation
and the aesthetic qualities of each character. The complexity of the Chinese
poem makes it nearly impossible to generate a perfect translation, which has
led there to be multiple translations of many famous poems. Below is a reading
of Li Po's “Drinking Alone by Moonlight”, and a literal translation of each
character.月下獨酌 Yuè Xià Dú Zhuó (moon, under, alone, pour wine)
花間一壺酒 Huā jiā yī hú jiŭ (blossom, among, one, pot, wine)
獨酌無相親 Dú zhuó wú xiāng qīn (alone, pour wine, without, one another, intimate)
舉杯邀明月 Jŭ bēi yāo míng yuè (to lift, cup, invite, bright, moon)
對影成三人 Duì yĭng chìng sān rén (couple, shadow, complete, three, people)
月既不解飲 Yuè jì bù jiĕ yĭn (moon, since, not understand, drink)
影徒隨我身 Yĭng tú suí wŏ shēn (shadow, disciple, follow, my body)
暫伴月將影 Zàn bàn yuì jiāng yĭng (temporary, companion, moon, shadow)
行樂須及春 Xíng lè xū jí chūn (to go, cheer, must, to reach, spring/joy)
我歌月徘徊 Wŏ gē yuè pái huí (I, song, moon, irresolute, wander)
我舞影零亂 Wŏ wŭ yĭng líng luàn (I, to dance, shadow, remnant, in confusion)
醒時同交歡 Xĭng shí tóng jiāo huān (to be awake, accompanying, to make friends, joyous)
醉後各分散 Zuì hòu gè fēn săn (intoxicate/finally, each, divided, scattered)
永結無情游 Yŏng jiē wú qíng yóu (forever, to bind, not, merciless, to travel/roaming)
相期邈雲漢 Xiāng qī miăo yún hàn (heavenly river/Milky Way, profound/remote, cloud)
獨酌無相親 Dú zhuó wú xiāng qīn (alone, pour wine, without, one another, intimate)
舉杯邀明月 Jŭ bēi yāo míng yuè (to lift, cup, invite, bright, moon)
對影成三人 Duì yĭng chìng sān rén (couple, shadow, complete, three, people)
月既不解飲 Yuè jì bù jiĕ yĭn (moon, since, not understand, drink)
影徒隨我身 Yĭng tú suí wŏ shēn (shadow, disciple, follow, my body)
暫伴月將影 Zàn bàn yuì jiāng yĭng (temporary, companion, moon, shadow)
行樂須及春 Xíng lè xū jí chūn (to go, cheer, must, to reach, spring/joy)
我歌月徘徊 Wŏ gē yuè pái huí (I, song, moon, irresolute, wander)
我舞影零亂 Wŏ wŭ yĭng líng luàn (I, to dance, shadow, remnant, in confusion)
醒時同交歡 Xĭng shí tóng jiāo huān (to be awake, accompanying, to make friends, joyous)
醉後各分散 Zuì hòu gè fēn săn (intoxicate/finally, each, divided, scattered)
永結無情游 Yŏng jiē wú qíng yóu (forever, to bind, not, merciless, to travel/roaming)
相期邈雲漢 Xiāng qī miăo yún hàn (heavenly river/Milky Way, profound/remote, cloud)
- Li Po -Jordan Dickie, 2008
With each
character having a separate meaning, the actual act of deciphering the poem comes from interpreting the meaning of a
character in response to those that succeed it. Below are two translations of
Li Po's poem, one by Ezra Pound (famous author of the Cantos, known
translator of Chinese poetry) and the other by Elling Eide (a foremost expert
on Li Po and a noted sinologist).
The moon lingers while I am singing Whenever I sang, the moon swayed with me;
The shadow scatters while I am dancing Whenever I danced, my shadow went wild.
We cheer in delight when being awake Drinking, we shared our enjoyment together;
We separate apart after getting drunk Drunk, then each went off on his own.Forever will we keep this unfettered friendship But forever agreed on dispassionate revels,
Till we meet again far in the Milky Way We promised to meet in the far Milky Way.
The shadow scatters while I am dancing Whenever I danced, my shadow went wild.
We cheer in delight when being awake Drinking, we shared our enjoyment together;
We separate apart after getting drunk Drunk, then each went off on his own.Forever will we keep this unfettered friendship But forever agreed on dispassionate revels,
Till we meet again far in the Milky Way We promised to meet in the far Milky Way.
-Elling Eide -Ezra Pound
Upon
reading both interpretations, the most evident difference aside from the
literal translation is the tone. Eide's interpretation is more detached in
nature; Eide's 'party of three' is composed of two entities which 'do not
understand him' and 'vainly follows his body' which leads the narrator to
convince himself of his enjoyment, where as Pound 'makes friends' with the moon
and his shadow, despite their lack of similarity. This notion is amplified when
the narrator sings and dances – in one translation, the moon simply exists and
the shadow loses itself, but in the other, the moon and shadow participated in
the festivities. When looking at the aforementioned literal translation of each
character, the divergent theme of the poem is justified. 徘徊 directly translates to 'hover', which makes the moon's course
of action ambiguous – does the moon just hover and exist? Or does the moon
float along with the narrator's pulse? 零亂 translates to disorder/scattering,
which could depict a shadow's crazy dance moves, or a sort of dissipating
existence – does the shadow fervently enjoy what it is experiencing? Or does
the shadow take offense from the occurring actions? The act of drinking also
leads to a different outcome in the two translations; When Eide's narrator
drinks, the 'delight' that the three shared goes away, and they separate. In
Pound's interpretation, there is a softer form of release from company, in that
each party member left 'on his own', not that they separated 'after getting
drunk'. The final two lines also exemplify the difference in experience of the
narrator; Eide's narrator sparked an 'unfettered friendship' with the moon and
his shadow – they are completely in tune with one another, making the party of
three bound to meeting again in the future. Pound's narrator, however, partook
in 'dispassionate revels', a fun experience that the three enjoyed and agreed
to repeat again. In a translation by Arthur Waler, 雲漢 is
translated as paradise, showing how the future meeting of the company is the
most enjoyable/desirable experience the narrator could have.
Analysis of 詩 could continue on forever. The uncertain nature of the relationship of
characters in the Chinese language adds a level of depth and artistic quality
to poetry and literature that is almost completely unfathomable in English. The
ambiguity of the Chinese language can produce two diametrically different
compositions, or two pieces that differ only slightly – that's the beauty of 中文.
* Cartoon dramatization of Li Bai's upbringing
* Cartoon dramatization of Li Bai's upbringing
Hong Kong's Graffiti King
When the subject of graffiti is brought up in western conversation, thoughts of colorful scribbles, cryptic messages, and urban masterpieces all come to mind. These street-side compositions are rarely focused on and examined before they disappear, lost either to the natural elements or to a peer with a spray can.
The work of the late Tsang Tsou-choi, popularly known as the “King of Kowloon”, has set him apart from western stereotypes. Rather than being thoughtless and brief, the King’s artwork presents a form of graffiti that is both distinct from the western expectations of what graffiti should encompass visually and provide the viewer with intellectually.
For over half a century, the King of Kowloon (Kowloon is a geographic area in Hong Kong containing nearly 50% of the provinces’ population) slowly crutched through the busy streets of Hong Kong, lugging his paint and brushes in plastic bags tied to his crutches. This King’s message was simple; he was the rightful ruler of the Kowloon Peninsula because his grandfather once controlled it. He asserted his claim to rule against both Queen Elizabeth during the British occupation and the various leaders of Hong Kong and China that succeeded her.
For 50 years, the King scrawled his claims on buildings, columns, and even cars using his modern calligraphic style. He asserted his claim to rule against both Queen Elizabeth during the British occupation and the various leaders of Hong Kong and China that succeeded her. The King even went as far as to create fictitious leadership roles for his eight children, referring to them in his inscriptions as princes and princesses.
During his lifetime, the King was received with mixed feelings. For years the government sought to arrest him and erase his claims, which were seen in their eyes as fictional and outrageous. His family disassociated themselves from him, fearing that he was loosing his mind. However, civilians have grown accustomed to the King’s messages and consider them to be part of Hong Kong’s image. Many other artists, musicians, and filmmakers have openly stated that their own work is inspired by the King’s.
The popularity of the King’s artwork skyrocketed after he died from a heart attack in 2007. The Hong Kong populous has fought for the preservation of the King’s remaining works along the cities streets. Residents and tourists alike, flock to popular sites, such as this column at Star Ferry Pier. Surprisingly, the government has conceded to the people’s demands and taken steps to preserve the King’s remaining messages, despite there anti-government meaning. Recently, a piece of the King’s artwork sold at one of Sotheby’s auctions for nearly $7,000 USD.
The King’s graffiti is simplistic, containing little flair. He includes nothing more than his message, conveyed through the use of black ink. The King’s style drastically differs from the extravagant, vibrant methods of most western graffiti artists. The focus seems to be on the content of his message, not the creation of something visually exciting.
Although the King of Kowloon has passed away, he has left his messages scattered throughout Hong Kong, constantly reminding the population of his claims. Even though his messages are slowly washed away by rain, the citizens of Hong Kong remember his urban calligraphy, forcing them to wonder if he actually was the rightful King of Kowloon.
Zhong Biao: A Modern Artist’s Depictions of Modern China
Contemporary Chinese artist, Zhong Biao uses his paintings as a medium for expressing his personal views on global modernization and its effects on humans, specifically the Chinese. Zhong describes how he uses color in his artwork to communicate the constant change of the world:
“I like to paint people in black and white because people are temporary - they will eventually leave the world and become the past. However, some buildings live longer than people; they continue to exist in the world. This is why I paint people in black and white and the background in colour.”
Zhong Biao’s choice of color creates a unique contrast between the constant and ever transforming. The contrast gives Zhong’s works a sense of ambiguity, forcing the audience to unravel the mysterious meaning of each piece. For example: What is the relationship between the elderly couple and the woman on the couch? Based on the colorful red armband on the elderly man, is Zhong suggesting the eternality of the communist party? Why are there sunflowers in the window? Zhong allows viewers to draw their own conclusions about his artwork, suggesting that they come to understand his creations on their own terms.
Additionally, Zhong sometimes diverges from his reasoning regarding color. For an unexplained reason he chooses to depict buildings in black and white and human beings in color, completely contradicting his previous rational. This creates further confusion among viewers. Is Zhong suggesting that this city ceases to exist or that this woman is immortal? Zhong Biao again leaves these questions to the viewer, forcing them to draw their own conclusions.
There is little doubt that Zhong Biao has earned his place among Chinese modern artists. His choice of subject matter adequately expresses the period of change and modernization that China has experienced in recent decades. The inconclusive nature of Zhong’s artwork may serve as a representation of the unknown direction of China’s future. Zhong challenges his audience, will the neutral tones of China’s people be able to adapt to the rapidly changing colors of their surroundings?
Poetry that Crosses Borders: Ha Jin
This issue's featured artist is Chinese poet Ha Jin. Ha Jin was born as Jin Xuefei in Liaoning, China in 1956. He studied at Heilongjiang University and Shangdong University while in China, receiving a bachelor’s degree in English and a master’s degree in Anglo-American literature and later traveled to America to complete his doctoral studies. Ha Jin was deeply troubled by the Tiananmen Square incident which occurred while he was studying in America. The incident served as a turning point for him; he chose to remain in America in order to "preserve the integrity" of his writing, which he believed might be censored in China.
Since coming to America, Ha Jin has received numerous awards for his work including two PEN/Faulkner awards, the National Book Award and the Flannery O'Connor Prize for Short Fiction. He currently teaches at Boston University.
Below is one of Ha Jin's poems, "Homework,” which offers a good example of the subtle conflicts present in his work and the sort of commentary it makes about the functioning of the world. “Homework” appears in Language for a New Century: Contemporary Poetry from the Middle East, Asia, and Beyond.
Homework
Under his pencil a land is unfolding.
"I'm making a country," he says.
In no time colors shine
all over his pear-shaped island.
A blue bay opens like a horseshoe
along the neck of a glacier,
below which a long sierra zigzags
greened by rain forests.
Further down he puts mines of metals:
aluminum, silver, copper, titanium,
iron, gold, tungsten, zinc and tin.
A desert separates two oil fields
that stretch beside branching rivers.
In the south a plain extends
to vast fertile land, where
he crayons farms and orchards
that yield potatoes, oranges, apples,
strawberries, wheat, broccoli, cherries,
zucchini, poultry, beef, mutton, cheese.
There's only one offshore fishery
because he hates seafood.
On the same map he draws a chart—
railroads crisscross the landscape;
highways, pipelines, canals
are entwined; sea-lanes curve
into the ocean while airports
raise a web of skyways;
He imposes five time zones.
A child's country is not yet marred
by prison camps and concrete silos
or expanded by warships and bombers;
nor is it under a power that issues
laws, money, visas, rhetoric
beside rattling nukes like slingshots.
More information about Ha Jin can be found in this interesting article which he wrote for the New York Times about his writing and how he struggled with whether to continue his work in Chinese or English after coming to America: www.nytimes.com/2009/05/31/opinion/31hajin.html
结束
Xi Chuan
Issue 1 (Guest Poster: Kyle Anderson)
Sleep-inducing academic conferences are the last place one expects to have a profound life experience. But a series of unexpected events at Rollins College in Orlando, Florida, recently threw me right into heart of American and Chinese poetry.
I didn’t think our conference’s keynote speaker would be the caliber of person he was. Arthur Sze, a soft spoken, but powerfully gifted and decorated American poet, shared some of his work and his connections with prominent Chinese writers. My informal conversations with Arthur over the weekend revealed that Arthur was a good friend of one of China’s most prominent writers: Xi Chuan. They often collaborate together and translate each other’s work into Chinese and English.
Today’s art spotlight is a translation of one of Xi Chuan’s verses recently published in the renowned literary journal Chinese Literature Today, out of the University of Oklahoma. Xi Chuan was born in 1963 in Xuzhou, Jiangsu province, and is now resident in Beijing. He was a frequent contributor to unofficial poetry journals in Beijing, Shanghai, and Sichuan during the 1980s and 1990s. The following selection, “Sense of Reality, Part I. My Grandma” provides a good sense of the rhythm, poignancy, and sensuality of Xi Chuan’s verses about the quotidian.
My Grandma
My grandma coughs, waking a thousand roosters.
A thousand roosters crow, waking ten thousand people.
Ten thousand people walk out of the village,
With the roosters in the village still crowing.
The roosters cease their crowing, while my grandma is still coughing.
My coughing grandma mentions her grandma, her voice getting softer.
As if it were my grandma’s grandma’s voice getting softer.
My grandma talks and talks and then stops, shutting her eyes.
As if it were only now that my grandma’s grandma really died.
Issue 1 (Guest Poster: Kyle Anderson)
Sleep-inducing academic conferences are the last place one expects to have a profound life experience. But a series of unexpected events at Rollins College in Orlando, Florida, recently threw me right into heart of American and Chinese poetry.
I didn’t think our conference’s keynote speaker would be the caliber of person he was. Arthur Sze, a soft spoken, but powerfully gifted and decorated American poet, shared some of his work and his connections with prominent Chinese writers. My informal conversations with Arthur over the weekend revealed that Arthur was a good friend of one of China’s most prominent writers: Xi Chuan. They often collaborate together and translate each other’s work into Chinese and English.
Today’s art spotlight is a translation of one of Xi Chuan’s verses recently published in the renowned literary journal Chinese Literature Today, out of the University of Oklahoma. Xi Chuan was born in 1963 in Xuzhou, Jiangsu province, and is now resident in Beijing. He was a frequent contributor to unofficial poetry journals in Beijing, Shanghai, and Sichuan during the 1980s and 1990s. The following selection, “Sense of Reality, Part I. My Grandma” provides a good sense of the rhythm, poignancy, and sensuality of Xi Chuan’s verses about the quotidian.
My Grandma
My grandma coughs, waking a thousand roosters.
A thousand roosters crow, waking ten thousand people.
Ten thousand people walk out of the village,
With the roosters in the village still crowing.
The roosters cease their crowing, while my grandma is still coughing.
My coughing grandma mentions her grandma, her voice getting softer.
As if it were my grandma’s grandma’s voice getting softer.
My grandma talks and talks and then stops, shutting her eyes.
As if it were only now that my grandma’s grandma really died.
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