“i frequently go to sleep.” (during my concerts) -phill niblock
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[春天,宋庄 | Spring in Songzhuang, China; Matthieu & Sylvie & mode d’emploi]
Posted by 丫 | more »the translator (for a song of one notion)
In terms of the linguistic aspects, i think it has to do with my hesitations about the propagation of ideas and beliefs in the first place… how we live and die and shun and fraternise and conspire and love and love and loselove by these things, all framed for and to one another by these very fragile things such are words. Please excuse my feeling a bit pessimistic tonight, but it all feels very silly and futile when looked at from this context, as most of the time we’re simply misunderstanding one another in language, not so much that you or i or we or other are necessarily so different.
But through this comes the power of the translator as an in-between, a conductor, a metaphorical parlay and/or very possibly subversive player. We cannot ignore the importance of this in the thinking about why we should translate texts, but also maybe why we shouldn’t. There is no one-to-one here, no 辅导, not even you and me. That parlay is neither yours nor mine, yet what stakes should we play to come to something new, to something better?
As he speaks, his gesturing hand inadvertently slaps a loaf of bread.
I laugh in my own thoughts;
he won’t stop talking to me about the better.
I leave, feeling upset.
He likes discussion. I keep thinking of productivity. Yeah, yeah, yeah… boil it all down to 语言, to 文化区别. So where is the translator? Can we add to meaning? Can we destroy it? What was that term of vital nourishment, about boiling the thing down until only its essence is left? Oh right, so sorry. I’m neither the chef nor the translator. But let’s put that in motion, a blurry train ride, a thought of chasing down your unmade sculpture. What is hidden laid bare behind our backs. Like the difference between a solitary fish leading the others, a single fish swimming in front of a shoal.
Posted by 丫 | more »in opportunity and loss, a blank slate, fresh laundry, 新年快乐
news from madrid, the caption reads: “This woman put her lottery ticket in the washing machine. It was the winning lottery number.” in opportunity and loss, a blank slate, fresh laundry, happy new year.
在西班牙，一个女人忘掉她的奖券票在衣服里，放了在洗衣机。洗完之后发现她的票号得了230万欧元奖。机会和损失，开端和清新衣服……庆贺2009年。新年快乐！
Posted by 丫 | reply »on iwishicoulddescribeittoyoubetter, eyh
Who made this? asks the naive moment.
My first stir of thought has been to think of making.
The idea of making is the first and most human of ideas.
“To explain” is never anything more than to describe a way of making: it is merely to remake in thought.
—- from Paul Valéry, “Man and Sea Shell,” in The Collected Works of Paul Valéry, vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1956), p. 117.
Posted by 丫 | reply »materials, forms, processes
the street without glove
today as i was cycling i passed over a small crumpled brown satin glove on the street, and, as i always do, thought of aka, about taking a photo of a glove on the street for her, as she always did, as she perhaps still does. but it’s a busy process, this taking of photos of lost gloves on streets, and at some point i stopped to do it anymore, because there are just so many lost gloves on streets around the world, and maybe they are quite even the most lost things in the world, beyond money and pets and love. f says that she always thinks of aka when she sees gloves, too. so we are consistently finding the lost things, and whether or not we take the picture, we keep losing and finding and losing again —- the thought. the money, the pets, the love.
and these thoughts happened within the space of about 50 meters, at which point i happened to ride right past the matching small brown satin glove, and though i didn’t stop, i slowed down a bit, thinking how this may be the first time in my life to see a whole pair lost, not quite together, but close. and maybe they weren’t lost, maybe the woman riding her bicycle could feel the spring as i do when i ride my bicycle these days, and she decided to fling her gloves away in joy. oh, the thought!
and so i couldn’t resist anymore, the chance to find and take a photo of a pair of lost brown satin gloves, so i slowed down more, turned around and started to go back to the place where i passed them. But just as i turned around, a man on a scooter slows down and swiftly picks up the small brown satin glove from the street and rides right past me.
so… the gloves and the money and the pets and the love.
sigh…
and a photograph for you.
Posted by 丫 | more »
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