Monthly Archives: February 2014

5 poems by Julie O’Yang in Romanian. Translation by Super, Great, Nice Marius Surleac, with the English original enclosed.

Julie O’Yang – poeme

by Marius Surleac on 2 februarie 2014 in Fără categorie, poeme, traduceri
Ceva MARE a fost aici*

Vreau să asculți în liniște vidul:
ticăitul unui ceas
târșâitul multor picioare (întotdeauna prea multe)
și mâinile, două mâini
atingând & citind una alteia soarta
pe măsură ce produc sunetul burniței
Amore, numesc ele această împărtășire de zgomote
Inima – îmi dau seama ce animale aureolate
Oameni Pisică din Cartea Odelor
…Cer prea mult pentru un pic de somn?

Something BIG has been here

I want you quietly listen to the void:
ticking of a clock
shuffling of many feet (always too many)
and the hands, two hands
touching & reading each other’s fate
as they make the sound of drizzle
Amore, they call this sharing of noises
The heart – I can tell which haloed animals
Cat People from a book titled poetry
…Is it too much to ask for some sleep?

Pe 4 Iunie, Camera Nr. 1989 (un fel de interpretare a viselor)*

Acele experiențe obișnuite
Acele imagini obișnuite
Grăbindu-se accidental în
Spațiul meu nocturn al unei femei
Transformându-se singure în cuvinte arabești
Din figuri geometrice, înfrunzite și florale încolăcite
Forme ale unui peisaj cu nori stacojii
Mașină a timpului purpurie aducându-mă în fața trandafirilor în decembrie
Unde ai făcut dragoste cu mine
Ți-am spus că aveam gust de mare
În acel loc de vară agitat de
Orele de iluminare, Camera Nr. 1989
Am vorbit limbi absurde precum fac iubiții
Am simțit simțăminte nebune pe care iubiții le simt
Dragostea nu ne-a preschimbat în mari poeți
Pronunțând cuvinte arabești
Din figuri geometrice, înfrunzite și florale încolăcite
Am simțit că te-ai simțit beat
Am simțit că te-ai simțit iubit
Pentru prima oară în suflarea ta mereu tânără
În respirația ta m-am întins ca să simt nori stacojii, îndepărtați
Să prind a noastră mașină a timpului, albă-lebădă
Suntem jucători care cunoaștem eșecul atunci când îl vedem
Și am eșuat
În acel loc de vară agitat de
Orele de iluminare, Camera Nr. 1989
Apoi dintr-o dată
Pic, pic, pic, roșu închis, dens
M-am trezit cu elixirul Vieții
Ploaie sărată, stacojie, de fier în timpul orelor de iluminare și măcel
Tandru, pe buzele mele am degustat marea trainică, bizară
Am gustat respirația ta plecată:
Nu mai fac parte din poemul tău
Tu nu mai faci parte din visul meu

On June 4, Room No. 1989 (A somewhat dream interpretation)

Those ordinary experiences
Those ordinary images
Rushing into
My nocturnal, one woman’s space by accident
Turning themselves to arabesque words
Of intertwined floral, foliate, and geometric figures
Shapes of a crimson cloudscape
Wine-red time machine bringing me to roses in December
Where you made love to me
I told you that we tasted like sea
In that summer place stirred by
The hours of lightness, Room No. 1989
We talked silly languages like lovers do
We felt mad feelings lovers feel
Love didn’t change us into great poets
Pronouncing arabesque words
Of intertwined floral, foliate, and geometric figures
I felt you felt drunk
I felt you felt loved
For the first time in your young-old breathing
In your breath, I reached out to feel distant crimson clouds
To catch our feather-white time machine
We are gamblers who know failure when we see it
And we failed
In that summer place stirred by
The hours of lightness, Room No. 1989
Then suddenly
Drip, drip, drip, dark red, dark thick
I awoke to the sap of Life
Salty, crimson iron rain during the hours of lightness and carnage
Tender, durable paradox sea I tasted on my lips
I tasted your departed breath:
I’m no longer in your poem
You are no longer in my dream

O analiză a diferențelor mele de fus orar: salutări din Manhattan

o primăvară newyorkeză
poartă ochelari de soare ce se aburesc
de la suflarea sa de bazar
mulțimi în stradă îmblânzind cu răbdare un animal drăguț
este un cameleon
iar noi am vizitat acele grote magice din preistorie acum câteva minute
și am văzut oceane ce nu țin rădăcini

A sampling of my jetlags: greetings from Manhattan

a New York spring
wears sunglasses that fog up
from its bazaar breath
crowds in the street patiently taming a pretty animal
it’s a chameleon
and we visited those magic grottoes of prehistory just minutes ago
and we saw oceans that don’t hold roots

Întâlnire cu moartea (un poem)

O plimbare cu rău de înălțime pe la palidele ore șase seara
Pentru a-ți așeza la cap camelii roșii
Aștept toată noaptea
Pentru a te asculta cum asculți convorbirea mareelor oceanice înflorite

Rendezvous avec la mort (a poem)

A drowsy walk of pallid six afternoon hours
To lay red camellias by your head
I wait through the night
To listen to you listening to the chitchat of the blossom ocean tides

O poveste lila sau șapte zile în Xanadu (un poem)

Purtând o umbrelă din hârtie cerată, hoinărind
în adânc, adânca
și oglindita a șaptea alee
aștept să întâlnesc
o fată cu tristețea unei povești lila, ea

va fi cufundată în apusul lichid, hoinărind
unită dar singură
în povestea mea oglindită și purtând o umbrelă din hârtie cerată
la fel ca mine, singură și pășind
în tăcere, ea

va sosi în liniște lila
va trage aproape și va privi în gol, adânc în ochii mei
se va abate pe lângă, precum o figură
la trecerea într-un vis, precum o clepsidră
din ce în ce mai departe, în tăcere lila și

trecând peste un gard prăbușit
pășind pe pulsul melancoliei, al bătăilor inimii violete
culoarea ei dispărând
mireasma ei ștergându-se
către sfârșitul poveștii mele oglindite, ea

va dispărea precum a sa privire
cu tristețea unei clepsidre lila

trecând pe lângă mine
ca o fată

A lilac tale or seven days in Xanadu (A poem)

Carrying an oil-paper umbrella, wandering
in the deep, deep
and mirrored seven alley
I expect to meet
a girl with sadness of a lilac tale, she

will be steeped in the liquid sunset, wandering
joined but alone
in my mirrored tale and carrying an oil-paper umbrella
just like me, solitary and walking
in silence, she

will approach in lilac silence
draw close and gaze deep, deep into my eyes
will drift past like a figure
in a dream drifting, like an hourflower
further and further, in lilac silence and

passing a broken-down fence
treading on the melancholy pulse of the purple rain heart
her colour fading
her fragrance washed out
toward the end of my mirrored tale, she

will fade away like her gaze
with sadness of a lilac hourflower
drifting past me
like a girl

© Traducere de Marius Surleac – *poeme publicate inițial în Semne Bune

Julie O’Yang

Julie O’Yang este romancieră, scenaristă, producătoare de filme și artist vizual stabilit în Europa. În curând va lansa China Noir (un thriller politic) si un excepțional serial de 10 episoade (dramă și ficțiune) cu acțiunea în timpul dinastiei Tang. Operele sale de ficțiune, eseurile și recenziile de film au apărut în reviste internaționale renumite. Cea mai recentă carte a sa ”Butterfly, A novel” a primit laude atât de la cititori cât și de la recenzenți și critici literari din toată lumea. Este nominalizată la Micro Awards.
Website: |

Fallen/Empty Kingdom  Artowrk by Julie O'Yang (c) 2012

Fallen/Empty Kingdom
Artowrk by Julie O’Yang (c) 2012



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Horse talk: galloping onto global stage with me

One of the most appealing animals in Chinese art is Night-Shining White, a well-fed hunk of a horse with a powerfully muscular chest. His name came from his luminous moon-white coat, and he was a favourite in the stable maintained by the Emperor Xuanzong唐玄宗, the most powerful ruler of the Tang dynasty (A.D. 618 to 907).

Night-Shining White sat, or rather pranced, for his portrait between 740 and 756, presumably done by Han Gan韩干, a renowned painter of horses at Xuanzong’s court. But he was also limned by other Tang painters and celebrated by Du Fu杜甫, the best Tang court poet.

Han Gan’s spirited ink drawing of the frisky beast, beautifully stylized with charmingly caricatured details, is one of the many attractions of “Power and Virtue: The Horse in Chinese Art,” a lively equine exploration at the China Institute Gallery. Joining other single-theme exhibitions — of rocks, trees, dragons — presented by the institute over the last 25 years, it ambitiously traces the role of the horse in Chinese politics and culture. Its 30 objects — ceramics, paintings and drawings — range in time from the Western Han dynasty (206 B.C. to A.D. 9) to the early 20th century.

Horses, thought to be related to dragons, played on the Chinese imagination from an early date. But besides their involvement with myth, they were also regarded as military necessities, as China was constantly menaced by the superior horse count and riding skills of barbarians from north and central Asia. By the fourth century B.C., images of horses as symbols of power had emerged in royal tombs.

The earliest work in the show, from the Western Han dynasty, is a painted earthenware guardian figure from the tomb of a noble. It portrays a stocky horse with a bound tail mounted by a mustached cavalryman in brightly colored garb. He sits on a rudimentary saddle, a painted oval that represents a piece of cloth.

By the time of the Northern Wei dynasty (A.D. 386-534), however, the Chinese had developed a functional saddle and stirrups that gave better seating to combat riders. An elegant tomb figure from this era, ”Caparisoned Horse,” also of painted earthenware, sports an ornate rig with a rosette around its huge neck, a saddle draped with a blanket and a backstrap with tassels and bells.

It was the Tang dynasty, however, that went in for horses in quantity, both live and as a subject for art. Recognizing the need to keep big herds as a national security measure, the Emperor Taizong, who ruled from A.D. 626 to 649, made the procurement of horses a major priority. By the middle of the century7th century, gifts from tribute states and good breeding practices had produced a pool of some 700,000 animals.

And with such royal attention paid to horseflesh, could art be far behind? By depicting horse activities, artists could work their way to recognition, as would, a thousand years later, their English successors, like George Stubbs (1724-1806), the popular painter of race horses for the British aristocracy. In Chinese art, horses became symbols not only of military and political clout but also of barbarian faults and virtues, along with the attributes and troubles of nobles.

”Emaciated Horse” (1931), for instance, one of the show’s most woeful hanging scrolls, was made by Pujin, a cousin of the last Chinese emperor, Pu Yi. It depi爱新觉罗.溥仪cts a worn-down old plug, ribs and backbone protruding, head bowed low as it plods slowly along. It is a copy of a painting by a 13th-century Yuan artist, Gong Kai龚开, who had held office in the Southern Song dynasty before its overthrow by the Mongols and retired to a life of poverty.

Among China's various craft masterpieces, Bronze Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow 马踏飞燕 is unique with its splendid designs and is a classical work of Chinese ancient aesthetics.

Among China’s various craft masterpieces, Bronze Galloping Horse Treading on a Flying Swallow 马踏飞燕 is unique with its splendid designs and is a classical work of Chinese ancient aesthetics. (+/- AD186-219)


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