Every print issue of Two Lines is accompanied by an online supplement—Two Lines Online—featuring prose and poetry that seems to us to have a character that would thrive in an online space. We asked Associate Editor Marthine Satris to review a piece in the current issue.
Jennifer Hayashida’s translation of “White Blight,” by the Swedish writer Athena Farrokhzad, has a visual presence that pops, so the choice to include an excerpt from the long poem in Two Lines Online this fall came very naturally. The poem also answers the present discussion of how Europe will respond to migrants from the Middle East by foregrounding the voices of those who have broached European borders before.
Two Lines Online’s selection from the long poem, which will be published in full this year by Argos Books, captures the poem’s key concerns. In a long poem, the accretion of reference is always a vital part of the form, and in taking just a sliver it’s impossible to reproduce that effect. Yet, the poem’s vision of family as both accuser and provider of succor, its chorus of voices, and the repeated references to darkness, light, white, milk, and night, are all present in the excerpt we chose to share with Two Lines readers, which hopefully will intrigue and delight those unfamiliar with Farrokhzad’s daring and dashing writing.
As a reader, it is “White Blight”’s insistence on the visual and spatial element of poetry that is most enlivening. While rhyme and meter often must be adjusted or abandoned in translations of poetry, Farrokhzad’s yawning gaps of blank space and her innovative use of white text highlighted in black carry across to the English without change, showing the potential visual and spatial elements of literature have to infuse the text with more than the denotative power of the words can hold.
Farrokhzad’s poem brings the voices of outsiders to the fore, highlighting her family’s origins outside of Sweden in the language of the poem while the form conveys the material fact of their otherness as Middle Easterners in a sea of polar light. In Hayashida’s translation, family members order the writer to tell their story in the right way:
My mother said: Write like this
For my opportunities my mother sacrificed everything
I must be worthy of her
everything I write will be true
Read the full post on the Two Lines Press blog.
Welcome to the new season of Two Voices Salons, intimate conversations with authors and translators about the art and craft of translation! The first event features translator Katrina Dodson talking with our very own Scott Esposito about her work translating the hefty "Complete Stories" of Brazilian novelist Clarice Lispector.
"The Complete Stories" was published this summer by New Directions and is getting so much attention, we decided to move the Salon from our office to the Book Club of California—only a few blocks away—to accommodate more people.
A quick intro to Lispector: born in Ukraine in 1920 to a Jewish family and raised in Brazil after the family fled anti-Semitic violence, Lispector published her first stories and journalistic writing while in law school. She gained instant fame when her first book, "Near To the Wild Heart", was published when she was 23. She spent the next decade and a half outside Brazil with her diplomat husband, producing her most celebrated works after her return to the country in 1959.
Between that time and her death in 1977, Lispector published several books which only added to her reputation as one of the best Brazilian writers, including "Agua Viva", "The Passion According to G.H.", and "Family Ties". She’s often compared to Virginia Woolf and was recently described in Slate.com as “a genius on the level of Nabokov.”
Interest in Lispector was rekindled after the publication of her biography in 2009 and release of a quartet of new translations—each by a different translator--from New Directions.
Katrina Dodson will talk about the ins and outs of working with Lispector’s famously bizarre Portuguese. She’ll also talk about how Lispector’s art evolved through the years and why her writing has touched so many readers. We’ll have copies of the book for sale, or bring your own copy and come ready to join the discussion.
Complete event details are here, and you can RSVP to secure your spot.
"The Complete Stories", with its 80-plus stories, has gotten attention from The New York Times, Bookforum, and The New Yorker, among others. And you can watch a 1977 interview with Lispector and check out related articles.
Did you know that the Nobel Prize for Literature has never been awarded to an author from Southeast Asia? Some blame the region’s linguistic and cultural diversity for this, but the Center and our longtime partner Green Apple Books on the Park have teamed up to spotlight some of the great writing from this dynamic part of the world.
In just a few days, on September 17, we’re co-presenting an event with leading Indonesian writer Eka Kurniawan at Green Apple’s fantastic store just steps away from Golden Gate Park. He’ll be joined by his translator Annie Tucker and Center for the Art of Translation founder Olivia Sears for a conversation about contemporary Indonesian literature and translation.
Kurniawan is the author of two recent releases: Beauty is a Wound (New Directions) and Man Tiger (Verso).
He’s been described as the “brightest star in Indonesia's new literary firmament”, author of two remarkable novels whose sheer beauty, elegance, cosmopolitanism, and ambition have brought comparisons not only to Pramaoedya Ananta Toer, considered Indonesia's modern literary genius, but also to Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Mark Twain.
Publishers Weekly named Kurniawan a “Writer to Watch” for Fall 2015, and his books were recently reviewed in The New York Times and San Francisco Chronicle.
Don't miss your chance to meet the author in person! Both books will be for sale at the event. RSVP to let us know if you’ll be there.
For more translations from Southeast Asia, check out a story by Thai writer Prabda Yoon and poetry from Vietnamese poet Ngo Tu Lap in Two Lines Online.
The fall fog is hovering over San Francisco and school is back in session. For about a month now, teachers and students have been readjusting to the sound of bells, the homework, the concepts, impossible locker combinations.
I remember September as a mass of anxiety mediated only by my excitement of the unknown. My brother and I would stand outside our red house in our first day outfits, backpacks on, and my mother would take a photo. But what began with my nervous smile and my brother’s insistence on wearing his bug t-shirt quickly transformed into a world of dissolving boundaries and crystalizing nuance.
In the coming months, a lot can happen. It’s amazing how quickly children develop their interests and knowledge. They go from scientists, to poets, to 100-yard sprinters, to historians–oftentimes all within the course of a single school day.
The arts, in their many forms, transcend the boundaries of school subjects, which is just another reason to celebrate them this week as part of National Arts in Education Week.
Coinciding with the start of the school year, Arts in Education Week is a good reminder to all of us of the importance of multidisciplinary education. The experiences, no matter how small, that kids have in the classroom greatly influence them and inspire them outside the classroom. It is important, too, to remember that Art is a broad spectrum, including many forms of creative self-expression, such as the written arts and, yes, translation.
The California Alliance for Arts Education has a Top 10 list of things to know about arts education, and the National PTA has a fact sheet about the benefits of arts education.
Here at the Center, we’re excited to kick off the school year with a Poetry Inside Out Teachers Workshop next week (Sept. 25-26) for Bay Area classroom teachers interested in bringing our poetry and translation-based language arts curriculum to their classrooms. Participants will learn the ins and outs of the program and join a community of likeminded practitioners passionate about diversity in education. Find out more about the workshop and register here!
And don’t forget to check out the Arts Education Resource Fair on Sept. 24 here in San Francisco!
While you’re waiting for your copy, here’s a preview of what you’ll find inside. We asked Poetry Inside Out Program Coordinator (and Two Lines editorial assistant) Sarah Coolidge to write about her favorite story. You’ll have a chance to read about her pick and Associate Editor Marthine Satris’ recommendation in the next few posts, which come to you from the Two Lines Press blog.
“One day, a strange man came along playing a flute, and all the children danced after him, drooling, their eyes wide and round as chrysanthemums.”
When I was in fourth grade, I decided to learn to play the flute. We had to choose an instrument to learn, and I thought that because it was the smallest of the orchestral instruments it must be the easiest. That’s how child logic operates sometimes. Needless to say, I was mistaken.
Unable to achieve the rounded notes of my teacher (and some of the naturals in my class that I copied with mounting desperation), I produced instead several squeaky, high-pitched peeps that must have been quite painful to listen to. With each breath of air, blown roughly through the “O” shape of my unnaturally pursed lips, I mastered the art of squeaking. Unfortunately, there was no place for squeaking in the school orchestra. The next year I gave it up.
Today, when I hear the rounded notes of a flute I remember the remarkable (dare I say magical?) way that our teacher guided us through a song, directing and obstructing air in a dizzying flurry of the fingers. This brings me to one of my favorite pieces from the upcoming 23rd issue of Two Lines. Told through 44 unique vignettes, Yoko Tawada’s “The Piper” is unlike any other fairytale I’ve read. Translated by Margaret Mitsutani, the story—if you can really call it a single story—is a contemporary and sharp-edged transformation of the tale of the Pied Piper.
Popularized by the Brothers Grimm, the Pied Piper has since been retold in verse and prose by Goethe and Robert Browning. The poet Marina Tsvetaeva, who lived through the “terrible years” of Russian history, which included civil war and famine, borrowed the tale as an allegory for Bolshevik propaganda. Fairytales are beautiful for their ability to adapt to their surroundings; authors consistently modernize them, and we delight in their soothingly universal relevance.
Instead, Yoko Tawada dives into the shockingly personal details left out by most fairytales. After all, in fairytales we speak in general terms. The community is grouped into vague cloisters of townsfolk and people, and even the protagonists fade into unanimity, often going by their titles alone: prince, fairy, piper, etc. And yet each character, under the thumb of the omnipotent narrator, hides a unique perspective behind his or her silence.
In “The Piper,” these perspectives are unleashed. Secrets are voiced that we almost regret having heard. The story of a mass kidnapping takes a carnivalesque twist. A pair of traveling entertainers is likened to a pair of fleas; children are continuously compared to rats; and the Piper, with his feathered red hat and magical flute, pops up across centuries and cultures. Tawada goes so far as to ask us to consider the rats: are they really guilty of carrying disease, or are they mere scapegoats for human filth and folly?