All posts filed under: Everyday

Sunday: 29 Oct

  It’s been 5 weeks since I’ve left Norwich on the very same date I arrived a year ago. Transitioning feels like jagged creeks and running detours but I am now about 7.5/9 Singapore and 0.5/9  elsewhere. There’s a 1.0 straddling a liminal space in which some clarity slowly twist into form. The state of movement evidence what is left behind, and it is in this left behind that I find something closer to truth. My days now are full of uncertainty but also full with people. For that, I am grateful. I do not think it easy to find humans who make you realise it is possible to be yourself. Time with them keeps me focused on the larger picture, in both heart and mind.     Advertisements

Bibliography (MA Literary Translation Dissertation 2017)

  Ang, Thomas. Conversation with Thomas Ang (20 August 2017) Boase-Beier, Jean, Translating the Poetry of the Holocaust: Translation, Style and the Reader (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015) —————— Stylistic Approaches to Translation (Manchester: St. Jerome Publishing, 2006) —————— ‘Loosening the grip of the text: theory as an aid to creativity’, in Translation and Creativity, ed. Loffredo, Eugenia and Perteghella, Manuela (London: Continuum, 2006), pp. 47-56 Barnstone, Willis, The Poetics of Translation: History, Theory, Practice (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993) Barthes, Roland, ‘Rhetoric of the Image’, in Image Music Text, trans. by Heath, Stephen (New York: Hill and Wang, 1977), pp. 32-51 Borkent, Mike, ‘The Materiality of Cognition: Concrete Poetry and the Embodied Mind’, Wreck, 3:1 (2010), pp. 6-12 Boroditsky, Lera, ‘How Language Shapes Thought’, in Scientific American (2011), pp. 63-65 Brandt, Line and Brandt, Per Aage, ‘Cognitive poetics and imagery’, in European Journal of English Studies, 9:2 (2005), pp. 117-130 Brower, Reuben A., Mirror on Mirror: Translation, Imitation, Parody (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974) Demjen, Zsofia, Sylvia Plath and the Language of Affective States: Written Discourse …

Norwich: Spring

was late. As we waited for milder days, hail came, a storm before calm. Then sprung longer days, deeper shadows, turning shy poppies from eyes of the night into blossomed blood. Sleep needs new tactics, its turf reclaimed. Sun nourishes as rest denies, unfurling violet-lined eyes. New leaves emerge in darkness. I now tap and not tread, dance,  not dread.

the silence before the breath

I do apologise for the lapses between posts — they seem to be widening unproportionately to the strands of thoughts and reflections in my head. A substantial part of them go into the communal ‘swimming notes’ I share with two others who find air and clarity underwater as much as I do, and yet there are many more waiting to be drawn into less transient forms, untangled, clean. My journalling is turning into a classic Benjamin Button. It started flowing 14 years back, thick and hearty as any beard would be proud to be, but with time is returning to infancy as I battle with the intentions behind the sharing. Do I share my reflections on reading — from Smith to Lessing, Barthes to Bhakti, Jacobson to Benjamin — when they’re only half-looking glasses, incomplete in context and breadth of knowledge? Or reflections essay-style, that are actually ‘drawers’ better opened at more appropriate timings? I am learning so much, so fast here. There is literature, philosophy, academic and literary language. When I arrived, I was only but a toddler …

Kashiwa Dasuke — Stella

One of the few ‘-‘ that always makes me feel the same way. I tried to describe how, but it brings so much—the balm of strings and an aching freedom, the breath of opera, the solid colours of good films, the bittersweetness of being, of knowing now is all is and at the same time nothing is right now— words fail. But that’s why we have music.

Autumn: Norwich

It’s officially two months in. You’re adjusting, adapting: sorting out teething issues about accommodation, the loss of both passport & visa, clashing module schedules; easing into being a student, thinking academically,  stubbornly holding on to freelance work. You find the swimming pool and want to learn its embrace. The weather waxes and wanes. Your mood dips and rises. They are not always directly correlated but sunshine is light. The trees throw out surprises every day, flaunting coats from a wardrobe of autumnal refractions. They remind you of living: helplessly bent and shed in wind and rain, yet and still trunks of vigour, sprouting being in new leaves and berries in dawn. You move into a place you can call your own for a year. It’s lovely to have a kitchen again; a cat meows at you for food in the mornings. You create space by folding up the bed and removing the chair, feel thankful for the essential oils shoved into your luggage on impulse. Your phone clogs up with pictures of trees, leaves, plants, flowers, berries, amidst occasional selfies …