Sunday, August 12, 2007
Highway 1--Here and there
I started reading "US 1" in the Muriel Rukeyser book I bought here. It's a great anthology that includes a poem about workers afflicted with silconitis. Rukeyser investigated a case that happened in West Virginia in the 1930s. The poem incorporates excerpts from congressional hearings and stock quotes more brilliantly than I've been able to weave materials from daily life.
I was in awe at the way Rukeyser brings these different strands together. Standing alone, the transcripts and stock quotes are the banal products of modern life, but when dropped into a poetic context--the description of dying workers and lost dreams, the work becomes mirror and voice to the exploited--and to those who would seek change in our society.
This is the intellectual Highway 1 I travelled, with thoughts of the past, mountains and what it means to be an American in the most abstract and actual sense. But I also got gritty on Highway 1 here in Viet Nam.
I took a taxi down this road to teach at the ABB company which has its Viet Nam headquarters just outside the city. Highway 1 is the closest thing Viet Nam has to a freeway, and it is like the U.S. road system: a three lane highway with stoplights every few kilometers. But it is at the same time unlike any U.S. highway. It's three lanes of cars, motorbikes and bicycles all living in a benign chaos. The traffic here rages against American sensibility.
I was in awe at the way Rukeyser brings these different strands together. Standing alone, the transcripts and stock quotes are the banal products of modern life, but when dropped into a poetic context--the description of dying workers and lost dreams, the work becomes mirror and voice to the exploited--and to those who would seek change in our society.
This is the intellectual Highway 1 I travelled, with thoughts of the past, mountains and what it means to be an American in the most abstract and actual sense. But I also got gritty on Highway 1 here in Viet Nam.
I took a taxi down this road to teach at the ABB company which has its Viet Nam headquarters just outside the city. Highway 1 is the closest thing Viet Nam has to a freeway, and it is like the U.S. road system: a three lane highway with stoplights every few kilometers. But it is at the same time unlike any U.S. highway. It's three lanes of cars, motorbikes and bicycles all living in a benign chaos. The traffic here rages against American sensibility.
Labels: poetry, politics, Viet Nam and the West
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Finding Vietnamese poetry
The last few weeks visiting Lang Hoa Binh have been a revelation. We've been blessed with the volunteer efforts of Toan, a young man who is studying at the university. He has an excellent voice and has been teaching the children various folk songs. Lucky for me, he also speaks English and has been able to translate these songs.
One of my favorites is "The white storks."
The white storks fly
across green rice fields
the white storks circle
above the houses
Yeah
The white storks bring happiness
to those who work on the farm
the white storks are farmers
who work hard all their lives
and still face hardship
Toan translated Yeu, a word that means love, as work in this poem. Thus work becomes love. What you work for is what you love.
Vietnamese poetry and song glorifies work the same way we glorify love. And this is fitting in a country where many women still tote terrific loads on poles across their shoulders. I couldn't believe it, the other day I saw a guy catch two bricks in the crook of his arm, like he was catching a couple of cans of soda.
Here is another poem/song in the same vein, an ode to the sun.
"When the sun rises"
Because of the sun
my homeland has a source of light
because of the sun
the trees are green
and the rice plants grow well
because of the sun
many children can happily sing in the rice fields
because of the sun
many farmers can work conscientiously on the farm
because of the sun
the farmers still work hard
despite difficulties
Finally there is this song, which is so rhythmic I came close to learning it in Vietnamese in one lesson.
"Oh my homeland"
the sun rises
three legged stove burns
sea of rice,
tide of grass,
bamboo forest sings lullabies
white storks fly
wind blows the kite
Welcome full Moon!
oh, my homeland
One of my favorites is "The white storks."
The white storks fly
across green rice fields
the white storks circle
above the houses
Yeah
The white storks bring happiness
to those who work on the farm
the white storks are farmers
who work hard all their lives
and still face hardship
Toan translated Yeu, a word that means love, as work in this poem. Thus work becomes love. What you work for is what you love.
Vietnamese poetry and song glorifies work the same way we glorify love. And this is fitting in a country where many women still tote terrific loads on poles across their shoulders. I couldn't believe it, the other day I saw a guy catch two bricks in the crook of his arm, like he was catching a couple of cans of soda.
Here is another poem/song in the same vein, an ode to the sun.
"When the sun rises"
Because of the sun
my homeland has a source of light
because of the sun
the trees are green
and the rice plants grow well
because of the sun
many children can happily sing in the rice fields
because of the sun
many farmers can work conscientiously on the farm
because of the sun
the farmers still work hard
despite difficulties
Finally there is this song, which is so rhythmic I came close to learning it in Vietnamese in one lesson.
"Oh my homeland"
the sun rises
three legged stove burns
sea of rice,
tide of grass,
bamboo forest sings lullabies
white storks fly
wind blows the kite
Welcome full Moon!
oh, my homeland
Labels: literature, music, poetry, Viet Nam
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Finding an American Poet
I found a compilation of Muriel Rukeyser's work in a bookshop in Ha Noi. Several years ago I was introduced to her work by the women's writers circle and poetry maestro Dano, but I never realized how many years ago she wrote. She seems very cuttent but actually she began writing poetry books in 1935 and died back in 1980.
Reading her work, I can see her innovation and ability to create a vision which is uniquely hers, but yet is representative of our country and culture. Here we see how the struggle for justice can become a pulse and a breath.
The book seemed to be waiting for me to take it home. Rukeyser made here own trip to Ha Noi in the 1970s, puting her feet where her pen was in the pursuit of peace.
Her poem "Flying to Ha Noi" is a simple but revealing description of not only the trip, but her life odyssey.
Flying to Hanoi
I thought I was going to the poets, but I am going to the children.
I thought I was going to the children, but I am going to the women.
I thought I was going to the women, but I am going to the fighters.
I thought I was going to the fighters, but I am going to the men and women who are inventing peace.
I thought I was going to the invenotrs of peacebut I am going to the poets.
My life is flying to your life.
What I find most intriguing is the term "inventors" of peace. Perhaps this is a metaphor that is useful in trying to gain insight in this seemingly fruitless dream.
Peace is usually seen as an undiscovered land (Shangri-la) or a lost original state (Eden). We look to history and maps to discover the secret of peace. But Rukeyser, the pilot, the poet, the mother and daughter sees it in a different way.
Peace is something that never has been. Yet it is possible. It can't be discovered but has to be created Wright style, with bicycle chains and a vision and understanding of how to simplify the problem. It can only be created by people who have suffered the horrors of war.
People like the Vietnamese. People like us, post 9/11.
For more information on Muriel Rukeyeser's life and work, you can check out this link:
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/rukeyser/rukeyser.htm
Reading her work, I can see her innovation and ability to create a vision which is uniquely hers, but yet is representative of our country and culture. Here we see how the struggle for justice can become a pulse and a breath.
The book seemed to be waiting for me to take it home. Rukeyser made here own trip to Ha Noi in the 1970s, puting her feet where her pen was in the pursuit of peace.
Her poem "Flying to Ha Noi" is a simple but revealing description of not only the trip, but her life odyssey.
Flying to Hanoi
I thought I was going to the poets, but I am going to the children.
I thought I was going to the children, but I am going to the women.
I thought I was going to the women, but I am going to the fighters.
I thought I was going to the fighters, but I am going to the men and women who are inventing peace.
I thought I was going to the invenotrs of peacebut I am going to the poets.
My life is flying to your life.
What I find most intriguing is the term "inventors" of peace. Perhaps this is a metaphor that is useful in trying to gain insight in this seemingly fruitless dream.
Peace is usually seen as an undiscovered land (Shangri-la) or a lost original state (Eden). We look to history and maps to discover the secret of peace. But Rukeyser, the pilot, the poet, the mother and daughter sees it in a different way.
Peace is something that never has been. Yet it is possible. It can't be discovered but has to be created Wright style, with bicycle chains and a vision and understanding of how to simplify the problem. It can only be created by people who have suffered the horrors of war.
People like the Vietnamese. People like us, post 9/11.
For more information on Muriel Rukeyeser's life and work, you can check out this link:
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/rukeyser/rukeyser.htm
Labels: poetry, politics, Viet Nam and the West
