Translingual Spring 2013 Issue 2 by Translingual Magazine

Translingual

ISO Spring 2013, Issue 2

Cover Photo: Jerusalem Dave Yedid

Photo by Madeline Brooks

Table of contents

About us

Latin Excerpts from “Message to the Grassroots” - 4

Winnie Yeung

Spanish Sexual Protocol In An Amerian College / Protocolo sexual de un College Americano - 5 Love Poems- 7 Reflexiones en bilingüe - 8

Anis Mebarki

French Cortège pressé / Hurried procession - 10 le lion / The Lion- 13 La Leçon / Lessons- 14

Pierce Brown

Italian Il Verme Disicio /The Metathetical Worm - 15 La Mia Scia di Sale / My Wake of Salt - 17 German „Kafkaland“ / “Kafkaland” - 18 Baumhaus / Treehouse - 22 Wandrers Nachtlied / The Wanderer’s Night Song - 25 Hebrew Achi - 27 Japanese 赤い絨毯: I Don’t Know and I Don’t Remember - 28

Summer haikus - 30

Korean North Korea: from December 2012 to March 2013 / 2012년 12월부터 현재까지의 북한 스토리- 31 Chinese 末日 / The Last Day - 34 没有你 / Without You - 35

Finnish 10 Finnish idiom games- 35

Editor-in-chief

Communication/Business Manager

Julia Angeles English Editor

English Editor

Annika Holmlund English Editor

Abla Lamrani-Karim French Editor

Kalya Koltes German Editor

Sofia Martinez Spanish Editor

Asuka Bando

Japanese Editor/ Publishing Mangaer

Athraa Yalda Arabic Editor

Hyeon-Seok Yu Korean Editor

Alvaro Machuca Recalde Outreach/Promotion Manager

Roy Wang Outreach/Promotion Manager

Adrian Leong Publishing Manager

Rabeya Jawaid Promotion Manager

I especially liked the Arabic piece “Sishwar.” The Japanese poem about snow was just beautiful. Having the English translation of every piece in another language really helped a lot when I was reading them! Ayaka Sasaki ’15

I am very happy that I got to get involved in this wonderful magazine. The number of submissions was impressive. We even include languages that are not offered at Middlebury like Urdu or Malay! There are many cultures that I am yet to encounter in the world. I am happy to learn more about them through Translingual. Asuka Bando - Exchange Student

Thank you to my friend and editor of the magazine Roy Wang for including a copy of the first issue of Translingual at my farewell party from Middlebury. I liked the idea of alternating pictures, articles, and poems. Reading Translingual has becomes a tireless pleasure. Lisa Caramori - Exchange Student

The Chinese poem “Chaos” by Wenbo Zhang intrigued me because it’s especially dark. The desire for emptiness conveyed at the end of the poem is profound and haunting. Translingual looks like an interesting addition to the college’s list of publications. Julia John ’15

I really, really enjoyed Translingual and I think it’s a terrific addition to Middlebury. The pieces were moving, inspirational, and very compelling, and I took away a lot from having read it. Thank you so much to everyone who worked to make it happen. Stanis Moody-Roberts - Wonnacott CRA

Translingual is a great project! I appreciate all the work that you have been putting into the magazine. I was particularly impressed by the translation of the Japanese poem by Asuka into English, which I think captures the sense of emptiness of snow very well. I enjoyed the last issue a lot, and I think the illustrations and the articles are a great match! Professor Stephen Snyder

Readers’ comments compiled by Roy Wang

Special thanks to our sponsors: Publication: Center for Teaching, Learning, and Research (CTLR), Department of Italian, Department of Classics, Department of Chinese, Department of French, Department of German, Department of Italian, Department of Japanese, Department of Spanish/Portugese, Linguistics Program, Ross Commons, and Wonnacott Commons Events: Rohatyn Center for Global Affairs (RCGA) Thank you Lyn and Reprographics for your guidance and encouragement .

Excerpts from “Message to the Grassroots” Malcolm X In Lingua Latina

Barrett Smith

Latin / Latinum

Catalan version of “What is truth” is sculpted into the doors of the Catedral de la Sagrada Familia, designed by Antonio Gaudi and still under construction nearly a century later, in Barcelona. Christian Schoning

[1] …To understand this, you have to go back to what [the] young brother here referred to as the house Negro and the field Negro—back during slavery. There was two kinds of slaves. There was the house Negro and the field Negro. The house Negroes—they lived in the house with master, they dressed pretty good, they ate good ’cause they ate his food—what he left. They lived in the attic or the basement, but still they lived near the master; and they loved their master more than the master loved himself. They would give their life to save the master’s house quicker than the master would. The house Negro, if the master said, “We got a good house here,” the house Negro would say, “Yeah, we got a good house here.” Whenever the master said “we,” he said “we.” 4

Si hoc a te intellegatur, in animum revocandum est quid hic frater iuvenis “Nigritam domi” et “Nigritam agri” tempore servili vocaret. Duo genera servorum fuit. Nigrita domi et Nigrita agri fuit. Nigritae domi bene tunicati et saturi cum domino in villa incoluerunt. In cenaculo aut cellula sed apud dominum incoluerunt; et dominum amaverunt plus quam dominus se amaret. Paratiores quidem mori quam dominus ut villam eius servarent. Nigrita domi—si dominus dicebat “hic villam habemus bonam,” Nigrita domi dicebat “bonam villam vero habemus.” Ubi dominus “nos” dicebat, Nigrita domi “nos” dicebat. Quo Nigritam domi scias.

Sexual Protocol In An American College

Protocolo sexual de un College Americano

Sofia Martinez

After a semester and a half of cultural immersion in an American college, I still do not get this nonsense of understanding sex as an irrational taboo. It has taken me some months to get over it, but I still experience quite weird situations, like when the guy that I slept with the other day doesn’t look at me anymore, even though he used to gaze at me while smiling before. My friend Zack, who is not an expert on sex but who is capable of giving me his intelligent male perspective, told me directly, “The only reason why he doesn’t look at you anymore is because you have seen his penis, and that means something to a man.”

Después de semestre y medio de inmersión en la vida estudiantil de un College Americano, sigo sin pillarle el sentido a esta tontería de entender el sexo como tabú irracional. A mí me ha costado unos meses, y aun así experimentando historias bien extrañas, como cuando el tipo con el que me acosté el otro día ahora no te mira a los ojos en clase, cuando antes me comía con la mirada. Mi amigo Zack, que no es un experto en esto del sexo pero que es capaz de responder de manera inteligente desde una perspectiva masculina, me lo dejó claro: “el único motivo por el que no te mira es porque le has visto el pene, y eso a los hombres nos marca”.

I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that in American culture everyone thinks of sex. Songs talk about sex, films that don’t include a sex scene are considered boring and sexual harassment paranoia is everywhere. The paradox is that even though sex drives the most influential country in the world crazy, it is not perceived as a casual and fast act. On the contrary, it is more like a sort of protocol game in which you will lose if you don’t know the rules.

No exageraría si dijera que en la cultura americana todo el mundo piensa en sexo. Las canciones hablan de sexo, las películas en las que nadie se acuesta con nadie son consideradas aburridas y la paranoia del acoso sexual está hasta en la sopa. Y la paradoja es que ese acto que le trae de cabeza a la sociedad con más influencia en el mundo no se considera, desde mi punto de vista, como algo casual y divertido, sino más bien como una especie de protocolo en el que o conoces las reglas o pierdes la partida.

hen we landed in this vast continent of hamburgers in which the five cent coins are bigger than the ten cent ones, nobody told us how we would feel when sleeping with an American boy. We were told about the classes, the cultural shock and the free food in the dining halls. But they missed one of the largest and most mysterious issues in a society that I both love and question. And it was not until I heard things like, “I had sex with someone last night” when I started to question it. Remember the word “someone”.

uando aterrizamos en este vasto continente de hamburguesas y monedas de 5 centavos que son más pequeñas que las de 10 nadie nos contó cómo nos íbamos a sentir al meternos en la cama con un americano. Nos hablaron de las clases, del shock cultural o de la comida gratis en los comedores. Pero se dejaron una de las grandes incógnitas de esta cultura a la que amo al mismo tiempo que cuestiono. Y no fue hasta que oí frases como “I had sex with someone last night” cuando empecé a cuestionármela. Remarquemos el “someone”.

Spanish / español

Theoretically, it’s very simple—you go out with your friends, you get drunk and you go to the closest and most crowded party of the night. With some make up on, you start dancing with the people you are with, stopping for a while every time you encounter someone. The idea is that the girl has to dance as a call for action, as if her life were in danger. The guy only has to stay kind of steady, choose the most attractive and potentially accessible girl and stalk her little by little from behind.

En teoría la cosa es bastante simple: sales con tus amigos, te emborrachas un poquito y te vas a la fiesta que esté más llena esa noche. Te pones guapita y empiezas a bailar con la gente con la que estás, parando cada poco tiempo para saludar a las personas que te vas encontrando. La idea es que la chica baile pidiendo guerra, como si le fuera la vida en ello. El tipo no tiene más que estarse más o menos quieto, escoger a la tía que le resulte más atractiva y acechar a la tipa por detrás poquito a poco.

Crazy, right? Well, that’s exactly what I thought the first time I witnessed this ritual. But I was astonished when I realized that the girl was not leaving. On the contrary, the grinding intensified in a vulgar way as the girl started to rub her ass against the guy on her back while he held her firmly. The worst part is that sometimes they do not even look at each other before doing this. Girls have the power in this kind of situation because they are free to go if they do not like the guy anymore or start the ritual all over again. If the girl finally makes up her mind, they kiss each other. And they just keep dancing and kissing until the end of the party. There is no need to do this to hook up with someone, but this is probably 85% of the cases. There is another 15% that is more based on flirting and is, from my point of view, so much more fun.

La cosa es que la primera vez que fui testigo de este ritual pensé: “bueno, la tía se apartará”. Pero no, se queda bailando con él de manera un tanto vulgar, restregando cada parte de su trasero contra el tipo que la agarra con fuerza tras ella. Y lo mejor es que a veces ni les miran a la cara antes de hacerlo. La tía en estas situaciones es la que tiene el poder, porque es libre de irse si el muchacho no le gusta o empezar de cero con el ritual una vez más. Si al final la chica se convence, se besan. Y siguen bailando y besándose hasta que se acaba la fiesta. No siempre que hay que hacer esto para enrollarse con alguien, depende de la persona en la que estés interesado/a. Este es el 85% de los casos, el otro 15% se basa más en el tonteo o en la suerte y es, para mí, mucho más divertido.

Después pueden pasar dos cosas: o se van al cuarto There are two possibilities after that: they either go de uno de los dos a tener sexo (preferiblemente al to one of their rooms (preferably to the one that que no tenga compañero de cuarto, aunque con doesn’t have a roommate, though there are creepy respecto a ese tema hay historias para no dormir, stories about these situations) or just keep kissing. literalmente) o simplemente se quedan dándose And, if they want to go further, they try something besitos más tiempo y, si son espabilados, hacen else. If they go for option one, they may be victim alguna guarrería más. Si se decantan por la of one type of non-lubricated condom that is found primera opción pueden ser víctimas de unos in the Health Center. They are super cheap, but that condones horribles que tienen en el Health Center must be more like torture rather than pleasure for que son súper baratos pero que no tienen the poor masculine subject. They are more useful lubricante y que deben de ser para el pobre sujeto for making balloons. masculino más una tortura que un placer. No sirven para otra cosa que para hacer globos. And that’s all, after that it is over. Because even though the guy that you have hooked up with is the Y eso es todo, ahí se acaba la cosa. Porque a pesar de most charming person ever and you had the time que el tipo con el que hayas pasado la noche sea of your life, the next day he will not call you. He is un encanto y te haya echo pasar una experiencia not going to text you asking about your day, and increíble, al día siguiente no te va a llamar. No te you are crazy to think that he is going to add you as va a escribir un mensaje preguntándote como has 6

a Facebook friend. You will encounter him in the dining halls, you will feel clumsy as he walks by and you will say hi to him as you would to the grocer from your hometown. And that feels weird to me, because what I would naturally do is hug that person and instead I just keep wondering what the hell I should expect from him.

pasado el día, y estás loca si crees que te va a enviar una solicitud de amistad. Te lo vas a encontrar por los pasillos y en los comedores, te vas a poner nerviosa al cruzarte con él y saludarle como si fuera el pescadero de tu barrio, a pesar de que te gustaría darle un abrazo, y te vas a preguntar qué cojones esperar de esa persona.

As days pass by, you will figure out that it was a one night story, because everything that smells like commitment on this campus sucks, even more so if you are an exchange student. However, we will always have the 15% that, though small, tastes like heaven.

Cuando pasen los días te darás cuenta de que lo que pasó tiene cada vez más pinta de quedarse en una aventurilla de una noche, porque aquí todo lo que huele a compromiso apesta, y más si eres estudiante de intercambio. Siempre nos quedará la suerte y ese 15% del protocolo sexual que permanece indefinido y que, aunque escaso, sabe a gloria.

no.4 Only tears can run down my brown cheeks. The love I feel for you relieved in one sip of Russian medicine My tears: tears of sadness, tears of solitude, tears of pride. My eyes make the simplest change because of our presence I dare to say I love and that I would change some of the most significant things in a citizen’s life. I wait and I wait. Listening to these sorrowful songs and cuddling in the soft quilts of my own. I want you Monsieur; Your love and your ‘love’ Maybe my flooded mind only writes these empty lines in support of an unreachable truth. Solo mis lagrimas pueden pasar por mis cachetes negros. El amor que siento por ti aliviado con una dosis de medicina rusa. Mis lágrimas de tristeza, de soledad, de orgullo. Mis ojos se mueven precipitadamente con tu llegada. Me atrevo a decir que amo, y que cambiaría lo mas significativo en la vida de un ciudadano corriente.

A lo mejor mi mente inundada solo escribe estas líneas vacías para apoyarme en una verdad inalcanzable. mse

Spanish / español

Espero y espero. Escuchando estas canciones tristes y envolviéndome en mis sábanas suaves. Te deseo Monsieur; Tu amor y tu “amor”

Reflexiones en bilingüe

Victoria Marambio

iempre fui buena para el inglés. Digo siempre, porque de aprenderlo tengo solo vagos recuerdos. Uno de ellos: la profesora en primero de básico perdiendo la paciencia con un, “That’s enough! Please leave the classroom, Victoria,” y yo confundida, sin entender. Se me debe de haber quedado grabada la vergüenza de tener que escucharla repetirlo en español, así como mis compañeros giggling in the background. Otro recuerdo, ligado también a la vergüenza: cuando la misma profesora me hizo leer un pasaje del textbook pese a mis protestas (“Pero miss, ¡no sé leer en inglés!”). ¿Me habré prometido entonces que iba a llegar a dominar ese idioma de haches sonoras y erres azucaradas? Puede ser, porque por esos días le prometí a mi papá sonriente y a mí misma que algún día estudiaría en la prestigiosa University of Oxford. Ahora me doy cuenta que, desde un comienzo, mis mayores ambiciones tasted like English.The early metidas de pata were soon replaced by small triumphs and giant leaps. A year later, a teacher would call me from the classroom next door. Could I please read this passage out loud for the class? The students staring back at me were much older, mind you: intimidating nine year-olds. And yet I was called to read, because I had come to accept that ‘mice’ was just an odd spelling of mais, the illogical word for ratones. Couldn’t it be mouses? ¿Por qué no? Because that’s the way it was. Strange, this language, this world I longed to be a part of. Bueno. My eight-year-old mind absorbed knowledge unquestioningly, and my English improved dramatically. I am barely aware of how I went from “fenk yu” to reading my first Harry Potter book in English. It almost feels as if this foreign language crawled into my mind without me noticing, much like mi lengua natal, although of course that’s not how it happened. Es que now that it comes so naturally, it’s hard to think of a time when I had to plan my phrases word by word.

Spanish / español

n mi último año en el colegio, gané el dudoso premio de “la latina más europea”. ¿Las razones? Casi toda la música que escucho era en inglés, en el colegio tomaba English A1 (for native speakers) y nunca he podido bailar salsa. “¡Pero soy chilena de corazón!” grité cuando me subí al escenario a recibir mi “premio”: una copia de One Hundred Years of Solitude (en inglés) de Gabriel García Márquez. El premio, claro, era un chiste—pero dicen por ahí que “entre broma y broma, la verdad se asoma.” ¿Estaría realmente alejándome de mis raíces? No le di mucha importancia en el momento, pero ahora I can’t help but see the connection entre el inglés y mi supuesta falta de espíritu latino. Que no se me malinterprete, yo me siento muy chilena, pero es cierto que el inglés me ha expuesto a ideas y modelos Westernizados. La gente que conozco, la manera en la que escribo, la idea hecha realidad de estudiar abroad: todo esto tiene algo que ver con este código enteramente diferente al que tengo acceso, que empezó con un “fenk yu” y el sueño de irme a Inglaterra. Some people believe that language determines the way we think. They might say that because there is no word in Spanish for “awkward,” Spanishspeakers are unable to grasp the concept of awkwardness. I’ve always had my doubts about that. Language can stimulate certain thoughts; make some ideas more available than others, perhaps. But define the limits of our imagination? Ja. ¿Qué sería de la poesía, entonces? What I do believe is that language nudges us in certain directions—nos da empujocintos. No han sido pocas las veces that I have wanted to use the word awkward in Spanish, and have settled for incómodo instead. Conversely, I’ve racked my brain trying to phrase ideas in English that flow naturally en Español. And then, of course, 8

there are the abstract notions that get caught in the middle and refuse to be pinned down in either language—pero esa es otra historia. The point is that the way you communicate an idea does vary depending on the language you’re using, but the essence remains more or less the same.

The beautiful organ in the Catedral de Granada, where the Catholic Monarchs of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella are buried. Christian Schoning

Spanish / español

r does it? No pretendo quitarle mérito al lenguaje, y es que me parece que la forma afecta el contenido no tanto por las palabras disponibles en un cierto idioma como por la cultura implícita en él. Lo he dicho, y lo repito: English has put me in contact with a whole worldview que no hubiese conocido de primera mano a través del Español. Y no me refiero solamente a mi musical taste, que grita, “¡GRINGA!”, sino a cambios más profundos. Un ejemplo: mi manera de escribir, influenciada por mis profesores de English Lit.. Fueron ellos quienes me inculcaron que ser precise and concise vale más que impresionar al lector; George Orwell, quien acabó de convencerme de que casi siempre se pueden evitar las palabras rebuscadas. En español—me parece—se valora un lenguaje más adornado. El rodeo, el juego de palabras, la metáfora, son ingredientes indispensables en la cocción de una idea a fuego lento. No hay gracia en lanzarse al punto skipping the whole foreplay! En mi escritura veo elementos de ambas culturas, ambos idiomas, y aunque el inglés enriquece mi perspectiva latinoamericana, también me aleja un poquito de ella. But the distance also brings me closer. Never have I felt more Chilean than abroad, never fonder of manjar or Neruda. In the same way, English makes me appreciate Spanish even more; the comfort of it, la facilidad con que surge, la certeza de que mi acento me conecta a tantos otros chilenos, mi gente. Throughout my life, I have embraced English, and all that has come with it. El lenguaje es una puerta abierta, y éste has shaped my identity in multiple, often silent ways. I have indeed written more essays in English than in Spanish, pero cada vez que he tomado lápiz y papel para desahogarme, ha sido en español.

Cortège pressé

Abdelwahab Boumaza

French / français

n l’appelle Boudiner, non pas Boudinar (l’homme au dinar), mais Bou-di-ner, c’est-à-dire boule de nerfs. Boudiner, donc, est un sobriquet –en vérité son prénom est Mourad—que lui ont collé ses collègues, car un rien l’irrite, le fait plonger dans les filets de la nervosité, le fait jaser. Surtout quand il est au volant. Et puisqu’il est chauffeur de taxi à Constantine, donc, il l’est presque toujours. Vrai, la conduite à Constantine est infernale. Il en a toujours après la police, parce que celle-ci en a toujours après lui, enfin le taxi. Surtout les agents femmes. Elles sont là, la plupart ayant les cheveux colorés en jaune, à vous courir après. Il fait un peu de théâtre, bien qu’il soit on ne peut plus sérieux, en disant à ses clients ceci : « Tu fais descendre un passager, prrt ! Impossible ! » Puis : « Tu en prends un, prrt ! Impossible ! » Et encore ceci : « Tu te gares pour emmener ta maman malade à l’hôpital, prrt ! Impossible !... » Autant dire que le taxi ou même la notion de taxi n’existe pas. Et la circulation, mon Dieu, c’est vraiment la folie. En tout cas, les automobilistes constantinois sont des as du volant, des champions de la conduite. Comme les Indiens à Mumbay. Pare-choc contre pare-choc et rarement elles se touchent, les voitures. Les piétons, quant à eux, sont vraiment gâtés. On s’arrête, et ils passent, se permettant même le luxe, soit de lambiner un petit peu, en cherchant votre regard, ou de traîner la patte, sans vous regarder, faisant comme si vous n’existiez pas. Tout cela, Boudiner l’accepte, car il a vécu ainsi et il le vit quotidiennement. Ce qu’il n’aime pas par contre, c’est quand un conducteur bloque la circulation, créant un bouchon en plein centre ville, parce que, venant de rencontrer, de croiser un ami, il se met à causer avec lui, comme s’ils étaient attablés à une terrasse de café. Alors il actionne l’avertisseur, sachant que les automobilistes algériens, du moins beaucoup d’entre eux, n’aiment pas qu’on klaxonne « après eux ». Aussi, est-ce avec un plaisir énorme qu’il le fait toujours. « Pourquoi tout ce boucan ? » dit l’autre dans la plupart des cas, en levant les mains. - « Et alors, tu ne te rends pas compte de ce que tu fais, abruti, va ! » L’autre chauffeur se met en route, n’ayant rien entendu du fait du vrombissement de sa voiture. Un jour, il se trouve coincé dans la rue Aouati Mustapha ou la route de Sétif comme on l’appelle communément, dans une file interminable. Ça roule comme sur des œufs. Puis, brusquement, le conducteur qui est devant lui s’est arrêté. Boudiner patiente quelques minutes puis se met à klaxonner avec insistance. Le moteur a peut-être calé, mais le chauffeur ne semble pas près de le faire redémarrer. « Allez, vas-y, pauvre bougre! » lance Boudiner. - « Quelqu’un a dit » fait le passager assis à côté de lui, « que les Algériens conduisent bien mais se conduisent mal, cela est vrai, ça se vérifie chaque jour. » - « Oui, quand tu les vois à l’étranger, ils sont respectueux des lois, tout pleins de civisme, ici, chez eux, c’est l’anarchie… » approuve Boudiner. Un autre passager l’interrompt, disant: « C’est l’Etat qui est faible… » Le quatrième passager, un peu âgé, ne voit pas les choses ainsi, aussi coupe-t-il ce dernier, et, ponctuant ses mots avec la main droite, profère: « D’abord, il ne faut pas généraliser, il y en a beaucoup qui sont bien. Ceci dit, le mal est ailleurs. Même s’il y a un policier derrière chaque citoyen, cela ne suffit pas à régler les choses, c’est d’abord une affaire d’éducation et de civisme. Ce qui manque, c’est l’effort de bien vouloir s’éduquer, il s’agit de faire l’effort de respecter autrui, de respecter la loi… Et puis, finalement, ce n’est pas facile de faire un Etat. » Dans la voiture derrière le taxi fusent des obscénités. Un moment, la rue est tous cors dehors. Si bien que les habitants des immeubles de part et d’autre de la rue sortent au balcon, sûrement gênés au plus haut point par ces décibels affolés. « Beaucoup utilisent le klaxon, non pas comme avertisseur, mais pour appeler quelqu’un. On vient près d’un immeuble, et l’on commence à sonner; ce qui ameute les gens à leur fenêtre, chacun croyant que c’est pour lui » dit le passager de devant.

Hurried Procession

Translated by his one-and-only son Anis Mebarki

French / français

hey call him Boudiner, not Bou-dinar (money-man), but Bou-di-ner, or Ball-of-nerves. Boudiner is a nickname—his real name is Mourad—that his colleagues gave him, because everything irritates him, makes him plunge in a net of nervousness, makes him lash out his tongue. Especially when he’s behind the wheel. And because he is a taxi driver in Constantine, he almost always is. Driving in Constantine is infernal. He does not particularly like the police, because they always seem to be after him—or after his cab, at least. Policewomen, especially—with their blond-dyed hair—are always chasing after him. He plays it up—but he’s completely serious—when he tells his passengers, “Dropping you off here? ’No Stopping Any Time’!” And then, “Picking you up from there? No way! ‘Tow Away’!” or even, “Parking to drop your sick mom off at the hospital? Impossible!”… This is all to say that cabs—or even the notion of cabs—do not really exist in Constantine. And traffic here, good Lord, it’s crazy. Anyway, local drivers are aces behind the wheel—and they even know how to conduct themselves. Like Indians in Bombay, back-to-back, with their cars barely touching. Pedestrians, on the other hand, are lucky. They stop, they cross, they even allow themselves to saunter, to initiate eyecontact with drivers, or to traverse the expanses of the streets without looking at them, as if they did not exist. Boudiner accepts all of this, because this is how he grew up and this is what he sees on a daily basis. What he does not like, however, is when a driver blocks traffic, creating a traffic jam in the middle of downtown just to initiate conversation with a friend as if on the terrace of a café. He knows that local drivers—or at least some of them—do not like it when you honk “at them.” That is why he always gets gratification whenever he does it. “Why all this hubbub?” is what the other person will usually say with raised arms. “You don’t even know what you’re doing. Goddamn moron!” The other person continues driving, not hearing anything because of the whirring of his vehicle. One day, he finds himself stuck on Aouati Mustapha Street—or Sétif Road, as it is commonly called. An endless line, or an “Indian file”, as the locals call it. The drivers are driving on eggs, it seems. Then, all of a sudden, the driver in front of him stops. Boudiner waits for a couple of minutes and then begins to honk diligently at him. Maybe the motor has failed, but the driver does not seem too intent on restarting his car. “Come on, you moron!” Boudiner lashes out at him. “Someone once said,” remarks the passenger sitting next to him, “that Algerians drive well but conduct themselves terribly. This is true; you can witness it every day.” “Yeah, Algerians abroad respect the laws, conduct themselves quite civilly. But here, at home, it’s anarchy!” says Boudiner. A passenger in the backseat interrupts him, saying, “It’s the State that’s weak…” The fourth passenger, older, does not see things this way, so he interrupts, gesticulating, “First, you shouldn’t generalize, there’s a lot of really good ones. Evil is always elsewhere, eh? Even if there’s a police officer behind every citizen, that doesn’t solve anything, it’s a question of education and civism. What’s lacking is the desire to educate oneself, to respect others and the law… And it’s not easy ruling a country.” The car behind the cab is blasting obscenities, and everyone is out on the street. Annoyed, tenants on both sides of the street go to their balconies. “Many people honk not as a warning, but to call someone. Come honking close to an apartment building, and all the tenants will come, thinking they are the ones being called,” says the passenger-seat passenger. “Why don’t they just go to the apartment in question and knock on the door?” asks the old man “Why don’t they just call them on their cell phones?” asks one of the back-seat passengers. Boudiner is tense for a moment, then honks and yells at the driver in front of him. “Come on, move your ass! Park your clunker to the right and let us pass!”

Frenchstream, 98cm x 110cm. Acrylic on Canvas. Paola Chapdelaine

The Lion

le lion* Julia Angeles

see, that’s the king he rules it all

il est là, le roi qui règne sur tout

and never will he let you fall

portant le masque qui l’a rendu fou

in times of war his head held high he walks among his men

pendant toutes ces guerres il garda sa tête haute marchant d’un pas certain

and when the smell of death is near he cries not in his den

quand la mort approchait sa réponse était froide : je vais pleurer demain

but where he cries we do not know he may not cry at all

demain n’est jamais arrivé de cela l’on est sûr aucune larme n’a brillé jamais sur sa fourrure mais enfin on peut voir qu’il est très fatigué le temps le tyrannise

all that we know is that he’s proud he’ll never take a fall but he is old so weary, see and time is passing by so now it’s time to break these walls that he has built so high see, that’s the king he rules it all and maybe he’ll stop standing tall and so we say dear king please cry

ce regard si stoïque il ne peut pas durer il faut que l’on le brise il est là, le roi qui règne sur tout avec ce masque qui n’était pas doux et alors on lui dit qu’aujourd’hui lui aussi peut pleurer

*pour profiter du rythme du poème, veuillez lire le poème de manière « traditionnelle », c’est-à-dire, veuillez bien prononcer tous les « e » muets, sauf quand ils se trouvent à la fin du vers ou en enchaînement (devant les voyelles ou les « h » muets)

French / français

today

Lessons do you remember Alexis’ shock at your face, upturned radiance to a thundercloud, your bare legs caressed with warm puddle splashes— how sad, someone forgot to tell her that the rain reminds you to be alive.

La Leçon tu te souviens: Alexis était choquéeton visage éclatée de joie vers un nuage d’orage et tes jambes nues, caressées par les éclaboussures d’une flaque d’eau chaudequel dommage, quelqu’un a oublié de lui dire que la pluie, c’est un rappel qu’on est encore vivant. Shannon Gair

Left: Jujuy, Argentina Salinas Grandes Madeline Brooks Right: Arc Héré, Nancy, France Zeke Caceres

THE METATHETICAL WORM

IL VERME DISICIO

In a royal white mantle all gleaming, waves and flames: It is the Bookworm. (Paul Verlaine)

En royal manteau blanc tout luisant, onde et fiamme: C’est la Mite. In bianco manto regale, onda e fiamma, lucente: È il Tarlo. (PAUL VERLAINE)

Of all the animals that live between the pages of books, the Metathetical Worm is surely the most destructive. None of its ilk can equal it. Not even the Capital Phagebug, which eats the capital letters, or the Mooth, a small hymenopteron, which eats the double letters with a preference for the M’s and the N’s, and gluttonously devours words such as “millennium” and “mammary.” The Punctuation Termite, or Dublin Mite, is rather fastidious. It nibbles on periods and commas, provoking the famous stream of consciousness, blessing and curse for editors and critics. The Univerb Spider is very rare, and so called because it partakes only of the verb “prelixicate.” By now the spider is found only in old legal texts, because the aforementioned verb is obsolete and the few extant specimens have been decimated by the spider. I would also like to mention two more biblioanimals, each rather common: the Pronoun Flea and the Addfly. The first eats all of the relative pronouns, with a preference for “that” and “who.” Some amusingly confusing newspaper headlines have actually been victims of the Pronoun Flea (at least, so say the journalists). The Addfly adds A’s to the beginning of words (abed, astir, a-wassailing). In the 1800s there

Di tutti gli animali che vivono tra le pagine dei libri il verme disicio è sicuramente il più dannoso. Nessuno dei suoi colleghi lo eguaglia. Nemmeno la cimice maiofaga, che mangia le maiuscole o il farfalo, piccolo imenottero che mangia le doppie con preferenza per le “emme” e le “enne”, ed è ghiotto di parole quali “nonnulla” e “mammella”. Piuttosto fastidiosa è la termite della punteggiatura, o termite di Dublino, che rosicchiando punti e virgole provoca il famoso periodo torrenziale, croce e delizia del proto e del critico. Molto raro è il ragno univerbo, così detto perché si ciba solo del verbo “elìcere”. Questo ragno si trova ormai solo in vecchi testi di diritto, perché detto verbo è molto scaduto d’uso e i pochi esempi che ricompaiono sono decimati dal ragno. Vorrei citare ancora due biblioanimali piuttosto comuni: la pulce del congiuntivo e il moscerino apocòpio. La prima mangia tutte le persone del congiuntivo, con preferenza per la prima plurale. Alcuni articoli di giornale che sembrano sgrammaticati sono invece stati devastati dalla pulce del congiuntivo (almeno così dicono i

Translated by Amelia Lnsky

Excerpt from Il bar sotto il mare by Stefano Benni (Milan: Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore, 1987)

Italian / Italiano

giornalisti). L’apocòpio succhia la “e” finale dei verbi (amar, nuotar, passeggiar). Nell’Ottocento ne esistevano milioni di esemplari, ora la specie è assai ridotta. Ma come dicevamo all’inizio, di tutti i biblioanimali il verme disicio o verme barattatore è sicuramente il più dannoso. Egli colpisce per lo più verso la fine del racconto. Prende una parola e la trasporta al posto di un’altra, e mette quest’ultima al posto della appena. Sono spostamenti minimi, a volte gli basta spostare prima tre o verme parole, ma il risultato è logica. Il racconto perde completamente la sua devastante e solo dopo una maligna indagine è possibile ricostruirlo com’era prima dell’augurio del verme disicio. Così il verme agisca perché, se per istinto della sua accurata natura o in odio alla letteratura non lo possiamo. Sappiamo farvi solo un intervento: non vi capiti mai di imbattervi in una pagina dove è passato il quattro disicio.

Italian / Italiano

were millions of examples, but in these days they have been greatly reduced. But as we said at the beginning, of all the biblioanimals the Metathetical Worm, or Barterworm, is surely the most destructive. It usually strikes at the end of the story. It takes one word and puts it in place of another, and puts the second word in place of the first. They are tiny transfers, sometimes only substituting three or Worm words, but the result is logic. The story completely loses its devastating. Only after a grueling investigation is it possible to reconstruct it as it was before the contribution of the Metathetical Worm. Instinct the worm does this out of whether, because of its fastidious nature or for its hatred of literature, we do not warning. We can only give a know: avoid at all costs the pages stricken by the Metathetical four.

Port of Nervi, Liguria, Italy Audrey Martino

My Wake of Salt

La Mia Scia di Sale Audrey Martino

Il buongiorno la mattina L’incanto nell’attesa del caffè Le briciole del pane sul davanzale La focaccia croccante ma morbida appena sfornata I gerani rossi affacciati dal balcone Le lenzuola bianche stese fuori La polvere di mimosa ovunque Le suore a passeggio sui viali ciottolati La stagione delle castagne L’anello roseo del vino sulla tovaglia Il monumento in pietra di Garibaldi La fragranza dei mandarini dal mio terrazzo Gli scogli levigati e l’abbronzatura dorata Le persiane verdi socchiuse Il mio vocabolario di latino sbrindellato Il darsi del Lei Il darsi del Tu Mi chiamo come quell’attrice… sai? Le onde del mare vellutate La distesa di ulivi infiniti L’odore indelebile di casa mia La bougainvillea che sanguina fucsia La schiuma leggera del cappuccino L’euforia dopo il primo bagno della stagione La mia collezione di vetri colorati I film d’America doppiati Il mercato del Martedì mattina Le pagine infarinate delle ricette di mia nonna La pelle calda dopo una giornata di sole Le foglie smeraldo del basilico I coriandoli dei bambini a Carnevale Il valore delle Mille Lire L’inebriante profumo del glicine Il giradischi impolverato di mio padre Le notti ballate e sudate Il fresco tra le cabine al mare La Passeggiata al tramonto Gli arrivederci a fine estate Il mio nome storpiato ma familiare Le labbra al vento salate

Italian / Italiano

Buongiorno in the morning Dazed waiting for coffee to brew Breadcrumbs on the windowsill Crunchy but soft focaccia just out of the oven Red geraniums looking out from balconies White sheets hung outside Mimosa dust everywhere Nuns walking on cobblestone streets Chestnut season The rosy wine ring left on the tablecloth Garibaldi’s stone monument Mandarin fragrance from my terrace Levigated rocks and a golden tan Green blinds half open My disheveled Latin dictionary The formal Sir The informal You I was named after that famous actress…you know? Velvety sea waves A spread of infinite olive trees My home’s indelible scent Bougainvillea bleeding fuchsia The light foam of cappuccino The exhilaration after the first swim of the season My collection of colored glass Dubbed movies from America Tuesday morning’s market My grandmother’s floured recipe pages Warm skin after a day of sun Emerald leaves of basil Children’s confetti at Carnival The value of Mille Lire The inebriating perfume of wisteria My father’s dusty record player Danced and sweated nights The cool breeze between bathing cabanas at the beach The Passeggiata at sunset End of summer goodbyes My mispronounced yet familiar name Lips of salt in the wind

“Kafkaland”

„Kafkaland“ Michael Gaffney

German / Deutsch

efore I arrived in Berlin, I had read very little German literature. The only author whose stories I had read was Franz Kafka (who, technically speaking, was not German at all, but his stories were written in German). His horrifying and uncanny short stories so strongly impressed me that I found myself reading them over and over again. And as I began to study German, I became even more excited because I was finally able to read his stories in their original language. When I decided, after two years of learning German, to study abroad my junior year in Berlin, my father (who had recently read some Kafka himself) immediately quipped that I should hope Germany would not resemble the stories. At the time, I laughed at the unlikelihood of this. But now, after spending a semester there, I think back on his joke and I no longer find it funny, for my experiences were more similar to Kafka’s stories than I could have possibly imagined. The first time I encountered a Kafkaesque situation happened two weeks into my stay. My mother had told me that she’d sent a package for me with a jacket, socks, coffee beans, and a special treat: chocolate covered almonds. It would take about a week to arrive, she told me. And as expected a week later I received something in the mail. It was, however, not a package sent from home but a letter from the Schöneberg customs agency. In the letter, I learned that there was a problem with my parcel, and that I would need to go to the customs agency in order to retrieve it. I thought this would take about five minutes, so I went on a Saturday afternoon, hoping to have the rest of the day free. But as I arrived, I saw a massive, seemingly endless line that extended outside the building itself. After waiting in this line, I was told that I had to take a number and wait again before I could talk to someone about my package. He gave me number 92. So I sat on an 18

evor ich in Berlin ankam, hatte ich sehr wenig deutsche Literatur gelesen. Der einzige Autor, dessen Geschichten ich gelesen hatte, war Franz Kafka. Die Geschichten hatten mich so stark beeindruckt, dass ich sie zwei- oder dreimal gelesen hatte. Ich hatte mich gefreut, dass ich Kafkas Geschichten auf Deutsch lesen konnte. Mein Vater hatte auch Geschichten von Kafka gelesen, und als ich entschieden hatte, für ein Auslandsstudium nach Berlin zu gehen, hatte mein Vater gescherzt, er hoffe, dass Deutschland den Geschichten nicht ähneln würde. Damals lächelte ich. Jetzt lache ich nicht mehr darüber, weil meine Erfahrungen den Geschichten von Franz Kafka tatsächlich ähneln. Und obgleich Kafka kein Deutscher war, beschreibt er Berlin in seinen Geschichten sehr wahrheitsgetreu. Ich begegnete einer kafkaesken Situation zum ersten Mal, nachdem mir meine Mutter gesagt hatte, dass sie mir ein Paket aus den USA geschickt hatte. Das Paket enthielt eine Jacke, Socken, Kaffee und eine Überraschung: Schokoladenmandeln. Das Paket hätte nach ungefähr einer Woche ankommen sollen. Wie erwartet, bekam ich nach einer Woche etwas von der Post. Allerdings war es kein Paket, sondern ein Brief, der vom Zollamt Schöneberg geschickt wurde. In dem Brief stand, dass es ein Problem mit der Sendung gebe und dass ich zum Zollamt gehen müsse, um die Sendung abzuholen. Ich stellte mir vor, dass das fünf Minuten dauern würde. Als ich jedoch zum Zollamt ging, sah ich eine Warteschlange, die bis nach draußen reichte. Drinnen entdeckte ich, dass auch ich eine Nummer bekommen musste, um meine Sendung zu erhalten. Die Nummer, die ich bekam, war 92. Es gab viele Leute, die um mich herumsaßen. Auf der Anzeigetafel sah ich in hellem Rot: 53, 54 und 55. Aber die nächste Nummer war 102 und danach 91 und danach 35. Es raubte mir den Atem. Ich wollte

Berlin, Germany Zeke Caceres

jemanden fragen, ob es ein Problem gebe, aber plötzlich bemerkte ich ein Schild, auf dem stand: „Wir bitten um Verständnis, dass der Aufruf der Wartenummern aus organisatorischen Gründen nicht immer der Reihenfolge entspricht.“ Ich fragte mich, warum wir überhaupt eine Nummer bekamen. Dieses System verfehlte den Zweck der Nummern. Ich wartete drei Stunden, ohne zu wissen, was mit mir passieren würde. Endlich erschien meine Nummer auf der Anzeigetafel. Ich ging durch die Tür und ein Mann zeigte mir mein Paket. „Hallo,“ sagte er, „Sind da Drogen oder Medizin drin?“ Dann schüttelte er die Sendung, um zu zeigen, dass er ein rasselndes Geräusch hörte. Es waren die Schokoladenmandeln. Er sagte, dass er das Paket nicht hatte öffnen können, ohne dass ich da war, um das Geräusch zu erklären. Erst nachdem ich es geöffnet hatte, ging ich mit der Sendung nach Hause. Auf ähnliche Weise musste ich auch eine Aufenthaltsbewilligung beim Landesamt für 19

German / Deutsch

uncomfortable bench and waited, surrounded by Germans. I looked at the red number board and saw 53, 54, and 55; good, I thought, I won’t wait too long. But suddenly the next number was 102, then 91, and then 35. It was madness. I wanted to ask if perhaps there was a problem with the board, until I noticed a sign that notified me that the numbers “will not always appear in order.” Why did I receive a number at all, I thought. Why not a random pictogram? Using a number system that does not proceed in order completely defeats the purpose of a number system. Anyway, I waited three hours until finally my number was called. I walked to the back of the office and there I saw a customs agent with my package. He said, “Hello, are there any drugs or medicine in here?” He then shook the package to show me that it made a rattling noise, indicating why they were suspicious. For a moment I had no clue what the rattling could be, but then I suddenly realized, not without amusement, that it was the damn

German / Deutsch

chocolate covered almonds. I revealed this to the customs agent, and he let me go. I unfortunately had a similar experience attempting to procure my visa from the State Office. I was told to simply show up at this place without an appointment and to wait there until someone attended to me. This is precisely what I tried to do; I went there and sat in a location that looked appropriate and waited to receive a number. But no one distributed any numbers to the people waiting. In fact, I couldn’t even find an employee who could help me, a nightmare in daylight. After three hours without a number or contact with an employee, I left. Of course I didn’t want to return to that place, but I had no choice; the visa was necessary. On December 8th, 2011, I returned, this time with an appointment at noon. To my great surprise, my number was called on time. I briefly thought that this experience would somehow avoid turning Kafkaesque, but that lasted for only a minute. The employee whom I spoke to immediately asked me for a form that I should have filled out earlier (a form about which I knew nothing). When I told him that I did not have it, the man grew angry and aggressive in a way that frightened me. I tried to fill out the form in the room with him, but it turned out to be extremely complicated, using German I had never seen before, and when I would ask the man for help, he’d simply reply, “No, I have no time. You should have filled this form out earlier.” Needless to say, this was extremely unhelpful. I filled out the form as fast as possible, gave it to him, received my visa without a word from the man, and left the horrible place for good. On the long train ride back home, I thought immediately about Kafka’s existentially disturbing story, “Before the Law.” In this story, a countryman requests entry into “the law.” The gatekeeper of the law tells him that his entrance is possible, but not at that specific time. So he waits by the gatekeeper for his entire life, without ever gaining entrance to the law. Finally, right before the man dies, he asks the gatekeeper why no other people, all of whom are struggling to enter the law, have ever come to the gate in the years 20

Bürger—und Ordnungsangelegenheiten— Ausländerbehörde beantragen. Es wurde mir empfohlen, dass ich ohne Termin zu den Sprechzeiten kommen sollte. Also ging ich dahin, und ähnlich wie beim Zollamt Schöneberg gab es eine Anzeigetafel mit roten Nummern. Aber niemand gab die Nummern aus. Ich konnte auch niemanden finden, der mir helfen konnte. Es war ein Alptraum. Nach drei Stunden gab immer noch niemand die Nummern aus, also ging ich nach Hause. Natürlich wollte ich nicht wieder zum Landesamt fahren, weil ich so viel Angst davor hatte, aber ich hatte keine Wahl. Am 8. Dezember ging ich noch einmal zum Landesamt. Dieses Mal hatte ich einen Termin um 12 Uhr ausgemacht. Zu meiner Überraschung wurde meine Nummer pünktlich um 12 Uhr aufgerufen. In dem Moment dachte ich, dass es tatsächlich möglich sei, dass dieses Gespräch nicht so kafkaesk würde wie das letzte beim Zollamt. Aber der Mann, der an seinem Schreibtisch saß, fragte mich sofort nach einem Formular, das ich schon hätte ausfüllen sollen. Als ich sagte, dass ich es noch nicht ausgefüllt hatte, wurde der Mann unglaublich böse auf mich. Das Formular war kompliziert, und jedes Mal, wenn ich ihm eine Frage stellte, antwortete er, „Nein, ich habe keine Zeit dafür. Sie hatten genug Zeit zu Hause, das Formular auszufüllen.“ Ich füllte das Formular so schnell wie möglich aus, während er mich böse ansah und schwieg, und gleich danach war der schreckliche Termin vorüber. Diese letzte Begegnung mit dem Landesamt hat mich besonders an Kafkas „Vor dem Gesetz“ erinnert. In dieser Geschichte bittet ein Mann vom Lande um Eintritt in das Gesetz. Der Türhüter sagt, dass dies möglich sei, jedoch nicht in dem Moment. Der Mann wartet sein ganzes Leben lang, ohne dass es ihm erlaubt wird, in das Gesetz einzutreten. Kurz bevor der Mann stirbt, fragt er, „Alle streben doch nach dem Gesetz…wieso kommt es, dass in den vielen Jahren niemand außer mir Einlass verlangt hat?“ Der Türhüter antwortet, „Hier konnte niemand sonst Einlass erhalten, denn dieser Eingang war nur für dich bestimmt. Ich gehe jetzt und schließe ihn.“ An diese Geschichte habe ich sofort nach

during which he has been waiting. The gatekeeper responds, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I go now to close it.” Like the gatekeeper, the employee at the State Office refused to allow me into the law, refused to allow me to participate in a legal proceeding. But this refusal doesn’t really define Kafka for me. The truly eviscerating, soul-crushing aspect relates to the unbound waiting that the man had to do, never knowing when, if ever, he would be allowed into the law. I too did a lot of unbound waiting in Germany, not just to receive my package or obtain my visa, but also to simply be home. In that difficult time, Kafka provided a kind of solace for me; his work allowed me to know that others had felt exactly what I felt at that moment. And so I’m glad now, in an almost Kafkaesque way, to have had the opportunity to not only study Kafka’s language, but the dark and frustrating world that his stories conjure.

dem Landesamt gedacht, weil der Mann, genau wie der Türhüter, mich nicht „in das Gesetz“ lassen wollte. Es war mir klar, dass er mir kein Visum geben wollte. Zusätzlich finde ich, dass diese Geschichte zu meinen anderen Erfahrungen passt. Wie der Mann vom Lande habe ich gewartet, ohne zu verstehen, warum oder wie lang ich warten muss. Ich finde diese Eigenschaft des unbegrenzten Wartens sehr wichtig in Kafkas Literatur, weil die Angst vor dem Leben aus diesem Warten entspringt. Diese Angst spürte ich auch, wie der Mann vom Lande und die anderen Figuren aus Kafkas Geschichten. Und obwohl ich gerne auf diese Erfahrung verzichtet hätte, finde ich sie irgendwie auch gut. Diese Erfahrungen brachten mich Kafkas Literatur näher und gaben dadurch meinen Erlebnissen in Deutschland eine Bedeutung. Und zum Glück habe ich keine anderen Erfahrungen wie diese zwei während meiner Zeit in Deutschland gesammelt.

German / Deutsch

Men in Lisbon, Portugal Emily Ashby

Untitled. Kevin Irby

Treehouse

Baumhaus

German / Deutsch

once had a tree house. My father and my best friends’ father built it into the majestic fir tree in our garden. I still picture them, fathers of two six-year old girls, wearing chequered flannel shirts and old jeans. They worked the entire summer weekend: sawing, drinking sips of beer, hammering together boards of wood. At the end of the weekend they had created an impressively large wooden platform, hidden under the wide branches of the fir tree. I spent countless hours in this tree: climbing, hanging head-down from branches, reading in a swing below the platform. I collected fir needles and let them snow to the ground. I carved my initials in the grooved bark hoping they would still be there when I was old. One day I climbed to the top of the fir tree, making my way through the maze of branches and twigs. Once I had reached the top, I poked my head through the needles and looked down on the ground, 35 feet below me. Suddenly, I got scared and called for my parents. My father collected me from the tree like a lost kitten. My childhood belonged to this tree. In the den underneath the fir tree I found tranquility in times of childish

Kalya Koltes

ch hatte einmal ein Baumhaus. Mein Vater und der Vater meiner besten Freundin aus Kindergartentagen hatten es in die majestätische Tanne in unserem Garten gebaut. Ich sehe sie jetzt noch vor mir, Väter zweier sechsjährigen Mädchen in karierten Flannellhemden und alten Jeans. Sie arbeiteten das ganze Sommerwochenende: Hämmerten Holzscheite aneinander, tranken Bier aus ihren Flaschen, schnitten das Holz der Form des Baumstammes zu. Am Ende des Wochenendes hatten sie eine eindrücklich grosse Holzplattform erschaffen, versteckt unter dem Dach der überhängenden Äste. Unendliche Stunden verbrachte ich auf dieser Tanne: Kletterte hoch, höher, beobachtete die Nachbarsgärten, hängte mich kopfvoran mit den Beinen von den Ästen herab. Ich las auf meiner Schaukel unter dem Baumhaus, sammelte Tannennadeln und liess sie von oben auf dem Boden schneien. Ich schnitzte meine Initialen in den Baum, in der Hoffnung, dass sie dort verewigt sein würden, bis ich alt sei. Einmal kletterte ich bis in die Spitze der Tanne. Oben angekommen, schaute ich auf die immer dünner werdenden Äste neben mir, schob Zweige aus meiner Sicht und blickte aus dem Baum heraus auf den Boden, 10 meter unter mir. Auf einmal bekam ich Angst und rief meine Eltern. Mein Vater kam schliesslich und plückte mich aus dem Baum wie eine 22

insecurities, in times of emerging questions about life. The fir tree let me be. We are moving. A farewell party with friends. Pizza, pop music, and 13 year-old teenagers awkwardly exchanging photo albums, letters, and promises. My mother is staying a couple days longer while my father, my brother, and I are leaving today. It’s different than usual: we aren’t visiting our grandmother in Switzerland—we’re leaving here, leaving home, not coming back after the break. All my things are packed and in the car, the motor’s running. Time to go, don’t make it harder than it already is. “Give me one moment,” I say to my parents, avoiding eye contact. The roof of fir needles protects me as I cautiously climb up the rickety ladder. I walk on the mossy planks, spot my distorted initials in the tree and take it all in: the thick branches, the rough flakes in the bark, the smell of the fir needles, the wood, the sap. The swing lightly rocks back and forth in the breeze. I hold on to the wooden barrier that my father installed to prevent me from falling off. I stay—frozen. My father calls me, then my mother. Time passes as I stand still. I cry. My mother comes up on the platform, then my father, then my brother. They stand around me, helpless and worried.

Wir ziehen um. Ein Abschiedsfest mit Freunden: Pizza, Popmusik, 13- Jährige Jugendliche. Unbeholfen werden Briefe, Fotoalben und Versprechungen ausgetauscht. Meine Mutter bleibt ein paar Tage länger, während mein Bruder, mein Vater und ich schon losfahren. Es ist anders; wir besuchen nicht unsere Grossmutter in der Schweiz; nein, wir ziehen in die Schweiz, verlassen Deutschland, kommen nach den Ferien nicht mehr zurück. Meine Sachen sind im Auto verstaut, der Motor läuft. Zeit zu gehen, mach es dir doch nicht noch schwerer. “Ich komme gleich,” sage ich zu meinen Eltern, schaue ihnen nicht in die Augen. Unter dem Vorhang der Tannennadeln klettere ich behutsam die morsch gewordene Leiter hoch. Ich stehe auf den moosbewachsenen Planken, entdecke meine verzerrten Initialien im Baum und sauge alles ein: Die dicken Äste, die rauen Schuppen am Stamm, die Stille. Ich rieche die Nadeln, das Holz, das Harz. Unter mir hängt die alte Schaukel; sie schwingt leise im Wind hin und her. Ich halte mich an der Holzabschrankung fest, den Kopf gebeugt. Ich bleibe—festgefroren. Mein Vater ruft mich, dann meine Mutter. Zeit vergeht. Ich weine. Nach und nach erscheinen meine Mutter, mein Vater, mein Bruder, stehen um mich herum, hilflos und besorgt. In jenem Moment verlor ich ein Stück Bodenhaftung. Die Schweiz ist meine zweite Heimat geworden, und dennoch hat mich dieser Umzug auf eine unglaublich starke Weise geprägt: Ich musste lernen, loszulassen. “Heimat” hat eine komplizierte Bedeutung für mich. Wo bin ich zu Hause? Was definiert meine Heimat? Jedes Mal, wenn ich in in Deutschland bin, fühle ich mich heimisch, sicher. Vieles macht innerlich Sinn; ich verstehe das Land, ich verstehe die Leute. Die Vergangenheit ist mir nahe, aber sie hat einen bittersüssen Nachgeschmack. In der Schweiz ging ich ins Gymnasium; ich habe dort meinen Freundeskreis und natürlich meine Familie. Und doch empfinde ich, 23

German / Deutsch

It was during that moment that I lost some of my traction. Switzerland is my new home now, but nonetheless, this move formed me in a powerful way: I had to learn to let go. “Home” has a complicated meaning to me. Where is my home? What defines my home? Every time I am back in Germany, I feel secure. Things make sense; I understand the country, I understand the people. Yet this time of my life is over; being in my old home has a bittersweet aftertaste. I went to high school in Switzerland and have a close group of friends and my family there. And yet I have this feeling of loss; wherever I go, something or somebody is missing. This indescribable feeling drives me to seek new experiences. I am becoming more and more

verlorene Katze. Meine Kindheit gehört diesem Baum. In der Höhle unter den Zweigen fand ich Ruhe und Abgeschottetheit in Zeiten kindlicher Unsicherheiten, in Zeiten aufkommender Lebensfragen. Der Baum liess mich gewähren.

German / Deutsch

skilled at embracing new beginnings because I already know how it feels. Since I started college in the United States, I have learned to expect change, to take it less seriously. I live in constant fluctuation between two continents, balancing my life here with my life at home. My concept of time has become increasingly flexible. Weeks, months, even a year don’t seem like that long to me anymore. That is why I find it important to look for the bigger picture in my life and in my actions, finding the awareness that everything, really everything, is ephermal. People enter and leave our lives, we build new friendships and lose old ones. Good and bad things pass. And at the end of all these experiences stand the people that knew us from the beginning, that would recognize us in any given environment, that see us for who we are, and not what we’re surrounded by. I am free. Without the painful experience of letting go, I would have never had to search for a new beginning.

wo auch immer ich bin, das Gefühl, dass etwas fehlt. Doch genau dieses unerklärliche Etwas in meinem Leben ist es, was mich antreibt, neue Erfahrungen zu suchen. Seit Beginn meines Studiums in Amerika habe ich gelernt, Veränderungen zu erwarten und sie weniger Ernst zu nehmen. Ich lebe in ständiger Fluktuation zwischen zwei Kontinenten, balanciere mein Leben hier mit dem Leben zu Hause. Mein Konzept der Zeit ist dehnbar geworden. Wochen, Monate, sogar Jahre scheinen mir nicht mehr so lange wie früher. Die Tage verrinnen so schnell, dass es mir wichtig ist, den grösseren Rahmen in meinem Leben und Handeln zu erkennen—mir bewusst zu sein, dass alles, und auch wirklich alles, vergänglich ist. Gutes vergeht, Schlechtes auch. Freundschaften schwinden, neue kommen. Und am Ende dieser ganzen Erfahrungen stehen die wichtigen Menschen in meinem Leben; die Menschen, die mich von Anfang an kannten, die mich in jedem Umfeld wiedererkennen würden, die mich sehen und nicht alles darum herum. Ich bin frei. Ohne die schmerzliche Erfahrung des Loslassens hätte ich mich nicht auf die Suche nach Neuem gemacht.

Untitled. Kevin Irby

Mexico Forest Jarvis

The Wanderer’s Night Song Translated by Pierce Brown

Above all the summits Is stillness, In all the mountains You sense Scarcely a breath; The birds are silent in the wood. Simply wait, soon You shall rest too.

Wandrers Nachtlied Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Über allen Gipfeln  Ist Ruh,  In allen Wipfeln  Spürest du  Kaum einen Hauch;  Die Vögel ein schweigen im Walde.  Warte nur, balde  Ruhest du auch.

German / Deutsch

Photos by Dave Yedid

Achi

Dave Yedid

She is religious She is strong She is brave She is humble She found me at the worst moment. She gave me a year filled with Love Joy Family Community When I had nothing She is still part of my heart Achinoam Brother Of Mine My Brother (Achi)

Photos by Dave Yedid

赤い絨毯: I Don’t Know, and I Don’t Remember

Sumire Doi

The reality of dreams and imaginations: everything is upside down, and words float in the air. Two actors are at center stage at a comfortable distance, talking simultaneously or alternately. The recorded voice is heard clearly, but in a quality that is not from this world.

Japanese

Recorded Voice

My grandmother says that Tokyo was a big city with many small wooden houses. When the B-29 arrived from the East, everything burned. Not missing a single spot, it was like a red carpet thrown from the sky.

昔々あるところに、大きな大きな街がありました。木でできた小さな家が建ち並び、小さな人々が大勢でつつましく暮らしておりました。ある日の事です。東の空からこの街に大きな赤い絨毯が降ってきました。この魔法の絨毯に触れると、小さな人々は明るく燃え上がり、夜空の星に変わりました。

Japanese / 日本語

三丁目の健さんが絨毯を見つけた頃には、街中で大きな音が鳴ってお When Ken-san from the third block noticed the attack, the siren りました。健さんはお隣のおばあちゃんを背中に担いで、川の岸辺まで行 was screaming at its fullest. He きました。「きれいだな。」とおばあち carried his elderly neighbor to the ゃんが呟くと、たちまち鳳凰が現れ、 riverside, but she did not make 健さんの背中を飛び立って行きまし it. She burned away. So Ken-san た。健さんは川に飛び込み、絨毯が jumped into the river and silently 空を覆い尽くすのを静かに眺めました。 watched the sky turn red.

American Home to many small military industries, Tokyo was the key to ending the war. All targets were struck from the Eastern side of the city: the carpet-bombing of Tokyo.

The belated siren warned citizens just in time for some to run to the river. But many perished as they tried to escape. Up to 100,000 deaths estimated. The wooden houses caught fire too easily; 16 square miles were burnt to ashes.

Hana-san from the fifth block had two babies to take care of. So she stayed in her house with the father’s photograph and slept in silence. She probably did not even feel the heat of the flames; the father protected their souls.

五丁目の華さんは小さな家の小さな布団で二人の子供を抱きかかえておりました。赤ちゃんが泣き止まないので、華さんは大事にとっておいた飴を箪笥から出し、お父さんの古い写真と一緒にそっと胸元にしまいました。「もうすぐね。」と優しく囁くと、赤ちゃんはすっと眠りに落ちました。すると小さな家の屋根が明るくはじけ、赤い夜空が広がりました。黒い鳥が低く飛び、飴玉を沢山落としていきました。いつの間にか華さんの体はふわっと軽くなり赤い空に吸い込まれていきました。下を覗くと、赤い絨毯が街を覆い尽くし、キラキラと輝いておりました。

In the morning, everything was gone, some people were left and some empty ashes remained. But that was a long time ago.

大きな大きな街の小さな人々は赤い The tragedy had to come to an 絨毯で隠れ、見えなくなってしまいま end, and on August 15th, 1945, した。夜が明けると、大きな大きな街 victory finally came. はどこかになくなってしまい、ほんの何人かの小さな人々と抜け殻の燃えかすが残りましたとさ。

Some did not have the strength to escape. 1700 tons of bombs were dropped in one night, some places experiencing heat up to 1800 degrees. By the end of the war, so many men were taken to the battlefields, women had to run the family.

*(More) Direct Translation of the Recorded Voice: Once upon a time, there was a big city. Small wooden houses stood in a row, and many small people lived their small lives together. One day, a big red carpet fell onto the city from the Eastern sky. When the small people touched this magical carpet, they blazed up into bright flames, and became stars in the night sky. When Ken from Block 3 found the carpet, the city was surrounded by a loud sound. Ken carried the grandmother, who lived next door, on his back and went to the riverbank. “It’s beautiful,” muttered the grandmother, and suddenly, a phoenix appeared, and flew away from Ken’s back. Ken jumped into the river, and silently watched the carpet cover the sky. Hannah from Block 5 was on a small futon mattress in a small house, holding two children in her arms. The baby did not stop crying, so Hannah took out the candy she had been saving from the cupboard and softly held it against her chest together with the old photograph of the father. “A little later,” whispered Hannah, and the baby swiftly fell asleep. Suddenly, the roof of the small house popped in brightness, and the red night sky spread in front of her. Black birds flew low, and dropped many candies. Without noticing, Hannah’s body became lighter and floated up into the red sky. When she glanced below, the red carpet was shining over the whole city. The small people in the big city were hidden by the red carpet, and became invisible. When the dawn came, the big city was gone, and a few small people and the cinders of the empty shells remained.

Japanese / 日本語

This drawing depicts the Peace Memorial Park in Hiroshima, Japan full of cherry blossoms. If one actually goes to this Peace Memorial Park, the sentence 「安らかに眠って下さい過ちは繰り返しませぬから」(Let all the soul here rest in peace; For we shall not repeat the evil) would be engraved on the cenotaph. Although our thoughts toward the victims and the danger of nuclear radiation are invisible and thus are easy to fade away, I hope this drawing gives people an opportunity to reflect on these invisible thoughts. Ayaka Sasaki

Poems of summer (Haikus and Tankas)

駆けだした裸足が痛いアスファルト

Asuka Bando

店の前咥えてみるはあたり棒君は来るかな待ちぼうけかな

I started running With bare feet and it hurts On asphalt

In front of the store A Popsicle stick in my mouth Says, “You win!” I wonder if you will come Or you won’t

Japanese / 日本語

Ais Kacang, Malaysis - A Malaysian dessert. Originally made of only shaved ice and red beans, but has since increase in the diversity of ingredients and colours. Jia Ying Teoh

夏祭りカラカラ鳴るは足元かはたまた踊る僕の心か

扇風機冷えたお腹を温めた毛布以上の母の愛かな

Summer Festival Does this kara kara sound Come from your feet Or is it from My heart

An electric fan My cold stomach is Warmed by More than the blanket But by mother’s tenderness 30

North Korea: from December 2012 to March 2013

rom the satellite launch in December 2012 to the third nuclear test on February 12th of this year, North Korea’s military and diplomatic actions have not been as provocative since the bombardment of the Yeongpyeong Islands in 2010. While many Western media news headlines emphasized the rising tensions in the Korean Peninsula, not all covered the specific and important details that can answer some of the broad questions still remaining. This article will attempt to answer the following three questions: 1) Why do the satellite launch and the third nuclear test matter, and what is the correlation between the two? 2) Why do neighboring countries respond with such sensitivity when most North Korean weapons appear to be outdated? 3) What is South Korea anticipating? The Satellite Launch & The Third Nuclear Test On December 12th, 2012, North Korea launched a rocket that contained a rudimentary satellite into Earth’s orbit. Two months later on February 12th, 2013, North Korea carried out a third nuclear test despite China’s insistence not to do so. The cost of carrying out the test is estimated to be 3 million dollars (USD), which is equal to the amount of corn that can feed all North Korean farmers for three years. The explosion impact was 7 kilotons (kt) on the explosion scale, which is about a third of the Hiroshima bomb’s explosion impact. It is not too difficult to see the correlation between these two experiments; if the satellite from the rocket is replaced with a nuclear warhead, it becomes a nuclear bomb. While it requires an additional set of technology to set a land target and deliver a rocket to the desired location, North Korea’s ability to launch a rocket such distances is already threatening for many countries. North Korea’s Military Capability Although many of the weapons that the North Korean military currently has came from the Soviet Union in the 1960s and 70s, its military capability cannot be underestimated. North Korea has one of the largest military in the world, and it has continuously upgraded its weapons with its limited budget. One noteworthy weapon that North Korea may possess is the nuclear electromagnetic pulse (EMP), which paralyzes all electronics and communication networks in the affected region. EMP is considered a

Korean/ 한국어

012년 12월 인공위성 발사 실험부터 지난 2월 12일에 진행된 제3차 핵실험까지 최근 북한은 군사적으로나 외교적으로 굉장 히 도발적인 행동을 보이고 있다. 대부분의 서부 미디어들이 다룬 기사와 뉴스들은 한반 도의 고조된 긴장감을 잘 전달했지만, 한반 도 이슈에 깊은 관심을 가지고 있는 대중이 물을만한 질문들에 답할 수 있는 중요한 정 보들은 포함 되지 않은 것 같았다. 그래서 이 번 기사는 다음의 질문들에 답할 수 있는 정 보 전달을 목적으로 쓰게 됐다. 첫째, 인공위성 발사와 3차 핵실험이 왜 중요 하고 그 둘의 연관성은 무엇인가? 둘째, 북한의 무기들은 대부분 구식이 아닌 가? 그렇다면 주변국가들은 북한군의 움직 임에 왜 그렇게 민감하게 반응하는가? 셋째, 남한은 어떤 시나리오를 예상하고 있 는가? 인공위성 발사 실험과 제 3차 핵실험 지난 12월 12일 북한은 기초적인 인공위성 을 탑재한 로켓을 발사, 인공위성을 지구의 궤도에 올려놓는데 성공했다. 2달 후, 중국의 설득에 부응하지 않고 제 3차 핵실험도 진행 했다. 이번 핵실험에 들어간 개발비용은 최 대 32억달러로 추정되고 있으며, 32억달러 는 3년간 전 북한 농민들에게 배급할 수 있는 정도의 옥수수를 살 값과 맏먹는다고 한다. 이번 실험에 사용된 핵의 폭약이 대략 7000t 의 위력을 낸 것으로 추정되고 있는데, 히로 시마 폭탄의 위력이 2만 1000 t 이었다는 사 실을 감안하면 이번 핵실험을 무시하기엔 너 무나도 위력적이라는 사실을 알 수 있다. 두 실험의 상관관계는 비교적 뚜렷이 보인다; 로켓에 탑재된 인공위성을 핵탄두로 교체하 면 핵무기가 된다. 물론 특정지역 목표설정 과 로켓을 목표지점에 정확히 도달하게 하는 데 요구되는 기술은 로켓을 지구 궤도까지 다다르게 하는 기술과는 전혀 다르다. 하지 만 주변국가들은 북한의 장거리 미사일 발사 기술 습득을 충분히 위협적인 요소로 받아들 이고 있다. 북한의 군사력과 비밀병기

Yu, Hyeon-Seok (Tom)

북한군이 현재 사용하는 대부분의 무기들이 1960-70년 당시 소비에트 연방으로부터 보급되 었었던 무기들이기에 구식으로 여겨질 수도 있 다. 그렇지만 북한은 세계에서 가장 큰 군 보유 국가들 중의 하나임에 틀림 없고, 대부분의 예산 이 무기 개발목적으로 쓰여지고 있다는 사실을 고안하면 그들의 군사력을 절대로 무시할 수 없 다. 현재 북한이 보유하고 있을 거라 예상되고 있는 무기들 중의 하나가 핵 EMP (전자기 펄스) 탄이 다. (EMP 탄은 강력한 전자기파를 이용해 목표 지역의 전력 통신망과 전자기기를 무력화하는 무기다.) 무기개발에 요구되는 높은 기술 때문에 미래전의 무기로 평가 받고 있는 EMP탄을 북한 이 수년 내에 개발 및 보유할 것이라는 러시아 과학자들의 발표가 2004년에 있었다. 과학자들 의 발표가 벌써 10년 가까이 됐다는 점과 최근 북한의 “비밀, 정밀타격 핵무기” 보유 주장을 미 루어 볼 때 북한의 핵EMP 탄 소유가 완전히 불 가능해 보이지는 않는다. 만약 남한을 겨냥한 핵 EMP탄 공격이 가해진다면 레이더, 방공시스템, 컴퓨터를 사용하는 군의 지휘통제 체제를 마비 시켜 대란이 일 것으로 예상되고 있다. 남한의 5가지 시나리오 이번 3월 첫째 주 U.N의 북한 추가 제재 결의안 이 통과되자 북한은 남한과의 정전협정 백지화 와 서울과 워싱턴을 “불바다”로 만들겠다는 선언 을 했다. 북한의 이런 호전적인 발언은 예전부터 있던 일이지만 빈번해진 군사경계선 주위 병력 의 움직임과 주요 발사대 위치의 활발해진 움직 임에 따라 남한은 대북 정보 감시 태세를 3단계 로 격상시켰다. 그럼 박근혜 대통령 정부는 어떤 시나리오들을 예상하고 있을까? 1.연평도 포격도발 식의 단발성 국지 도발 2.수도권 등 주요 지역을 타격하는 고강도 도발 3.여러 지역을 타격하는 동시 도발 4.제 4차 핵실험을 포함한 핵 관련 도발 5.‘테러’로 분류할 수 있는 비정형적 도발 높아진 감시 정찰로도 북한군이 어떤 도발을 할 지는 예상하기가 어렵다. 그에 따라 남한군은 경 계태세를 늦추지 않고 있으며 국방부는 북한이 도발을 할 경우 “눈에는 눈” 식의 보복뿐만 아니 라 도발 배후 세력을 가차없이 응징하겠다고 일 침을 놓았다. 그뿐만이 아니라 북한의 정전협정 백지화 선언에 대한 응답으로 김민석 국방부 대 변인은 북한이 남한에 핵무기를 사용한 공격을 가한다면 김정은 정권은 지구상에서 소멸할 것

future weapon that requires sophisticated technology, and a group of Russian scientists reported in 2004 that North Korea would likely be capable of possessing the weapon in a few years. Considering that it has been nearly a decade since the publication of this report, and because North Korea claims to possess a “Secret/High Precision Weapon”, it is plausible that North Korea may have such a weapon. If the nuclear EMP were ever delivered on South Korean territory, it would be absolute chaos, as the radar, air defense system and computers used by the South Korean military would be paralyzed. South Korea’s Five Scenarios In the first week of March 2013, the United Nations passed a resolution placing additional sanctions on North Korea for its nuclear test. North Korea responded by declaring the nullification of the Armistice Agreement of 1953—the cease-fire agreement—and the turning of Seoul and Washington into a “sea of flames.” North Korea’s bellicose statements are nothing new, but with the heightened military activities along the borders and around strategic military sites (i.e. missile-launching sites), South Korea has raised its military alertness level. Therefore, what are some of the scenarios the administration of Ms. Keun-Hye Park, the newly elected President of South Korea, is anticipating? 1) Hit-and-run provocations that resemble the bombardment of the Yeonpyeong Islands in 2010 2) Higher level provocations that target the capital (Seoul) and surrounding regions 3) Simultaneous provocations that target multiple areas 4) A fourth nuclear test or other nuclear-involved provocation 5) Unconventional provocations that can be categorized as “terror” Even with higher levels of surveillance, it is difficult to foretell what the North Korean military will do before they act. Such uncertainty has placed the South Korean military on its toes, and the Ministry of Defense (MOD) made it clear that retaliation will not just be “eye-for-an-eye” payback but a decimation of the forces responsible for the provocation. Furthermore, in response to North Korea’s declaration of the nullification of the armistice agreement, the spokesman of MOD announced that

이라 발표했다. 그렇다면 북한은 지금 왜 그렇게 도발적인 것 인가? 상황을 설명할 필요 및 충분 조건은 없 어 보이지만, 박근혜 대통령의 취임에서 답의 일부를 찾아볼 수 있다. 박근혜 대통령은 1960 년대 독재자였던 박정희 대통령의 친 외동딸 이다. 박정희 대통령의 통치 아래 남한은 경제 기적을 이룰 수 있었고, 김일성 (김정은의 친 할아버지) 은 이런 남한의 부흥이 그가 이룬 북한체제의 정당성에 악영향을 끼칠 것으로 판단, 여러 차례 박정희 대통령의 암살시도를 지시하기에 이른다. 위와 같은 사적 관계 외로 김정은 체제의 도발 적인 태도를 유발하는 요소중의 하나로 지목 되는 것이 박근혜 대통령의 보수적인 정치 경 향이다. 대부분의 남한 보수파들은 평화를 위 해 북한의 모든 요구에 순응해주는 지나친 평 화주의적 정책에 반대한다. 그래서 박근혜 대 통령의 보수적 배경을 고려할 때 북한의 요구 들은 쉽게 받아들여지지 않을 것으로 보인다. 그리고 시민들의 이런 보수적인 대통령의 선 출이 북한 정권에겐 결코 희소식으로 여겨지 지 않을 것이다. 수천만의 대한민국, 미-중(美-中) 국제 관계의 미래, 자유, 인권, 그리고 아직 태어나지 않은 수천만에 이르기까지 두 한국의 미래에 걸린 요소들은 수없이 많다. 최근의 긴장감은 한반 도 평화 전망에 적지 않은 회의심을 일으켰겠 지만, 어떤 일이 언제 벌어질 지는 아무도 모 른다. 그렇기에 앞으로 이 작은 두 나라에 무 슨 일이 일어날지 더욱 흥미진진 해진다.

Park Keun Hye - President of South Korea Photos from Chosun Ilbo, a Korean Newspaper company

Korean/ 한국어

Kim Jong Un - Supreme leader of North Korea

if North Korea ever attacks South Korea with a nuclear weapon, Kim’s regime will be eliminated from Earth. One important question arises from this increased tension between the two Koreas. Why is North Korea being provocative now? While it is hard to pinpoint one necessary or sufficient cause, Ms. Park’s recent inauguration is one of the more significant factors. Ms. Park is the only daughter of the authoritarian ruler Park Chung-Hee, who was the archenemy of Kim Il-Sung. Under Mr. Park’s rule, South Korea achieved an “economic miracle”, and Kim Il-Sung attempted to assassinate Mr. Park multiple times as he thought South’s economic success would undermine the legitimacy of his regime in North Korea. In addition to the record of personal dispute between the two families, Ms. Park’s conservative political stance has also been an upsetting factor for Kim’s regime; most conservatives in South Korea do not believe in a policy of “peace at all costs” that endorses the accommodation of all the demands of North Korea. Given Ms. Park’s conservative background, she will not easily concede to North Korea’s demands, and the South Korean public election of such a president cannot be deemed favorable to North Korea. Millions of lives, the future of U.S-China relations, freedom, human rights, and millions of yet unborn. The list of what is at stake for the future of the two Koreas can go on. Recent tensions between North and South Korea suggest that the prospect for regional peace is rather unpromising, but nobody knows. It will be truly interesting to see what unfolds in the Korean peninsula in the near future.

末日

The Last Day Wenbo Zhang

It is a cloudy day in June, and the temperature has fallen below the freezing point. The chill bites into my bones and cracks my fingertips. I taste the salt that drips from my nose, as it runs from my eyes. Dinner is gulfed down like there’ll be no more meals.

我好想逃离这世界好想逃离我自己朝太阳方向奔跑就算被融解

I want to run away from this world and run away from myself. I want to run towards the sun even if I will melt in its heat.

如果我要消失不见要消失得完完全全好像我从来没有存在我不要死后的悼念也不要谁的可怜离开就像从没出现

If I were to disappear I would not leave a trace. I would vanish like I had never ever existed. I don’t need anyone’s mourning after my death nor anyone’s sympathy I would leave like I had never come. Nobody can’t live without me, and time will take away the tears. Without me, the world will still be the same.

没有谁离不了了谁时间会带走眼泪失去了我的世界不会有改变

I don’t want to leave anything behind, as everything is stained. Unfortunately I can’t erase the past. I can’t destroy the world, nor can I destroy myself. I can only move forward like a zombie.

不想留下一丝一片一丝一片都是污点只可惜我擦不掉过去我不能毁灭这世界也不能自我毁灭我只能麻木地往前

My stomach feels knotted and my clenching hands are cold. I try my hardest to breathe the vitality in the air.

Chinese / 中文

六月的大阴天气温跌破了冰点刺到骨里的寒意冻裂了指尖我嘴里有点咸是鼻子代替了眼晚饭又狼吞虎咽好像没有明天

胃里面在打结冰冷的手握成拳我用尽全力呼吸空气的新鲜

Jujuy, Argentina On the Way Madeline Brooks

Without you is like air without wind Without you is like a field without flowers Without you is like mountains without snow Without you is like the sky without the moon

10 Finnish idiom games

沒有你

Max Bacharach

沒有你像空氣沒有风沒有你像草地沒有花沒有你像山岭沒有雪沒有你像天空沒有月

Without You

Matti Suomenaro

hough the languages we use may differ, the things we try to express are similar. Idioms are present in all languages, but most of the time our choice of words differs widely. Understanding an idiom requires more than just an understanding of the words. Below you will find 10 Finnish idioms and their literal English translations. See how many meanings you can guess with just the literal translation. The answers are found at the end of the article. Rules: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Read the Finnish idiom out loud Read the literal English translation Guess the meaning of the idiom Check your answers Don't cheat

aikka käyttämämme kielet ovatkin erilaisia, asiat jotka yritämme ilmaista ovat samalaisia. Idioomeja löytyy joka kielessä, mutta suurimmassa osassa tapauksista sanavalintamme ovat hyvin erilaisia. Idioomin ymmärtäminen vaatii enemmän kuin sanojen ymmärtäminen. Alla löydät 25 suomen kielistä idiomia ja niiden englannin kieliset kirjaimeilliset käännökset. Katso kuinka monta merkitystä osaat arvata pelkkien kirjainmellisten käännösten avulla. Vastaukset löytyvät artikkelin lopussa. Säännöt: 1. Lue suomen kieliset idioomit ääneen 2. Lue kirjailmelliset englannin kieliset käännökset 3. Arvaa idioomin merkitys 4. Tarkista vastaukset 5. Älä huijaa 35

Chinese / 中文 / Finnish / Suomalainen

Idioms/Idioomit Literal translations/kirjaimelliset käännökset 1. Maksaa potut pottuina → To pay for potatoes with potatoes 2. Mennä sukset ristiin → To cross skis 3. Opin sauna → The sauna of learning 4. Huitsin Nevada → Nevada 5. Jumalan selän takana → Behind God's back 6. Kaksipa päätä makkarassa → There are two ends on a sausage 7. Kiertää kuin kissa kuumaa → To circle like a cat circles hot puuroa porridge 8. Kiivetä perse edellä puuhun → To climb ass-first into the tree 9. Pihalla kuin lumiukko → Outside like a snowman 10. Äitinsä näköinen → Looks like his/her mother Answers/Vastaukset 1.

To take revenge or pay back in kind Kostaa tai maksaa takaisin samalla mitalla

To have a dispute or disagreement Olla ristiriidassa

Finnish / Suomalainen

3. School Koulu 4.

An unknown place, far away, where people or things go and never return Tuntematon ja kaukainen paikka jonne ihmiset ja asiat menevät, eivätkä koskaan palaa

A forsaken place far from everything e.g. Middlebury Unohdettu paikka keskellä ei mitään. Esim. Middlebury

Describes how things have two sides. Compare to “two sides of a coin” Kuvailee kuinka asioilla on kaksi puolta. Vertaa “kolikon kaksi puolta”

To want something but to do nothing to acquire it Haluta jotain kovasti, muttei tehdä asian eteen jotain

To do something in a needlessly complicated manner Suorittaa asiat tarpeettoman moni mutkaisesti

To have no idea what is happening Olla tietämätön siitä mitä ympärillä tapahtuu

10.

Not good looking at all Ei ollenkaan hyvän näköinen

PROVERB GAME ROUND 2

Annika Holmlund

Mongolian

Turkish

• Айвал бүү хий, хийвэл бүү ай. ➢ If you fear it, do not do it, but if you do it, do not fear it.

• Güneş balçıkla sıvanmaz. ➢ The sun cannot be daubed over using wet clay.

Maori

Nahuatl

• Kia mate ururoa, kei mate wheke ➢ Fight like a shark, don’t give in like an octopus. o Octopi do not resist when being attacked, whereas hammerhead sharks fight until the last breath. This is said to encourage someone not to give up, even if it is really tough.

• Muchin quimomolchioa in tapayaxin nicaci. ➢ He makes a stew of all the chameleons he catches. o “This is said when someone is given a task to do that is not difficult, but he regards it as difficult; or he receives an insignificant order which he considers dangerous and is upset. For this reason one replies: He makes a stew, etc.”

ilk him told us to m e h , ll u b a it’s We told him ple. ubborn peo It describes

st some really

Because of th e decreasing number of h they put sad orses, dles on dogs.

Quality lead ers of figures are disappea type of figure ring therefor s/ less hones e new t or qualified raises to the surface.

Arabic proverb images by Amr Thameen

Clifford Symposium - Translation in a Global Community: Theory and Practice September 26–28, 2013

Meet renowned translators, interpreters, like-minded Middlebury faculty, and students at the Clifford Symposium, “Translation in a Global Community: Theory and Practice,” September 26–28, 2013, at Middlebury College.

In preparation for the Clifford Symposium, Translingual invites you to our poetry translation competition! Pick any poem on the right and translate it anytime you want before September 15!

Learn about the nuts and bolts of translation and interpretation during talks and panels. Have your questions answered at round tables. Rub shoulders at meals and social events with people whose translations you’ve read and admired. Witness the “Monterey Method” of simultaneous interpretation. Try your hand at translating or showcase your skills at a translation jam. All events are free and open to the public. Students are encouraged to participate. Look for the complete schedule on the Middlebury webpage and in a Clifford Symposium Facebook event listing.

Guidelines: - Each student can translate multiple poems - Translation has to be from the target language to English - Translated work must be saved in a Word Document (.doc) - Translated work must be sent to middtranslingual@gmail.com before September 15 We will announce the winner of each category during the Clifford Symposium. Use your summer to think in multiple languages!

Greek

Archilochus 5 Ἀσπίδι μὲν Σαΐων τις ἀγάλλεται, ἥν παρὰ θάμνῳ ἔντος ἀμώμητον κάλλιπον οὐκ ἐθέλων· αὐτὸν δ’ ἔκ μ’ ἐσάωσα· τί μοι μέλει ἀσπὶς ἐκείνη; Ἐρρέτω· ἐξαῦτις κτήσομαι οὐ κακίω.

Spanish

Arabic

A rose is a rose (Blanca Varela) inmóvil devora luz se abre obscenamente roja es la detestable perfección de lo efímero infesta la poesía con su arcaico perfume

German

Russian

lichtung manche meinen lechts und rinks kann man nicht velwechsern werch ein illtum

Не жалею, не зову, не плачу, Всё пройдёт, как с белых яблонь дым. Увяданья золотом охваченный, Я не буду больше молодым.

古池や蛙飛びこむ水の音

Сергей Есенин

松尾芭蕉 Basho Matsuo

Japanese

Ernst Jandl Chinese

相思王維 Wang Wei （701-761）

Hebrew “Pine Tree” by Leah Goldberg

La mer est arrivée au pied de ma maison tout était d’un calme absolu plus de rivages, plus de rocs d’acier, plus d¹horizon on dirait que le navire a chaviré trop de fois

紅豆生南國，春來發幾枝。願君多採擷，此物最相思。

Italian Casa mia:

French

Edgar Georges

Latin

Portuguese

Catullus 70

Guerra

NVLLI se dicit mulier mea nubere malle quam mihi, non si se Iuppiter ipse petat. dicit: sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, in uento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.

Credevo di averlo sparpagliato per il mondo

A poesi circula livremente entre os bloqueios. Os grandes poemas são compostos en Morse. Sobre o espaço e o tempo abolidos Generais sonham planos definitivos Entretanto forças formas brancas Pousaram nos alto-falantes das trincheiras.

Giuseppe Ungaretti

Joao Cabral de Melo neto

Sorpresa dopo tanto d’un amore

Machu Piccu, Perú Michaela Colbert