Cambodia

Today we’re celebrating Cambodia’s Independence Day—the anniversary of Cambodia’s 1953 independence from France. It had been part of French Indochina for a while before that, though had a much longer history without European colonialism. Cambodia was under French control from 1863 to 1953, with a brief interlude of Japanese occupation during World War II.

When I think of Cambodia a few things spring to mind. Pol Pot is automatically one of them, along with landmines and the Killing Fields. For those whose realm is perhaps a little to much on the side of pop culture, there’s Angelina Jolie’s impassioned attitude toward the country, that gave her her first adopted son—oh, and Cambodia also played a part in that classic film (that was sarcasm) Tomb Raider. Okay, so Tomb Raider was not really one for the ages, but Angkor Wat is, by all accounts, spectacular.

On a different note, one thing that really never fails to make me choke up: the 2000 Paralympics Volleyball team from Cambodia. Most teams are of course made up by people disabled through the accidents of modern life—Cambodia’s team was made up of people missing limbs due to landmines. I hope that that story made people think more about the realities of Cambodia. I’ve been talking and thinking a lot about aftermath of late—but with the number of landmines still out there, it seems difficult, even now, to think of it as being “after.”

And if anyone wants to see a wonderful Australian film that tells the stories of a group of refugees coming to Australia, but in particular the story on one Cambodian refugee, then I have to recommend Lucky Miles.

So I mentioned Angkor Wat. It was built in the 12th century—a few centuries later it was sacked by the Thai, which led to its abandonment.

Most of the population is of Khmer ancestry (90%) and even more of the population is Buddhist (95%) even though the religion was suppressed under the Khmer Rouge.

Some of your clothes are probably made in Cambodia.

Today’s poem is by U Sam Oeur—it comes from Language for a New Century, and I believe more of his work is available in English translation. (I believe, in fact, that I shelved one of his books in my advisor’s library the other day…) Read. Enjoy. Find out more.

The Fall of Culture

I hid the precious wealth,
packed the suitcases with milled rice,
packed old clothes, a small scrap-metal oven,
pots, pans, plates, spoons, an ax, a hoe,
some preserved fish in small plastic containers—
loaded it all in a cart and towed it eastward
under the full moon, May ’75,

“O home! Home! The sacred ground where we lived happily,
the heritage built, bit by bit, by my father.
O, the Naga fountain with its seven heads,
preserving our tradition from days gone by,

O, Monument of Independence! O, library! O, books of poetry!
I can never chant the divine poems again!
O, quintessential words of poets!
O, artifacts I can never touch or see again!

O, Phnom Penh! O, pagoda where we worship!
O, Angkor Wat, sublime monument to the
aspirations of our ancient Khmer forefathers.
Ah, I can’t see across those three wildernesses:”

I’ll be nowhere,
I’ll have no night,
I’ll have no day anymore:
I shall be a man without identity.

“Sorrow for the Cambodian women
who were faithful to their lovers;
now they wander without sleep,
any piece of ground their home.
O, rang trees, the spawning grounds,
turned to charred stilts by the Pot-Sary conflagration.
Annihilate the rang trees, the sugar palms
the Khmer Republic!”

There are no more intellectuals, no more professors—
all have departed Phnom Penh, leading children,
bereft, deceived to the last person,
from coolie to king.

—U Sam Oeur
translated from the Khmer by Ken McCullough
from Language for a New Century

Turkmenistan

On 27 October Turkmenistan celebrates its Independence Day. Independence? From the USSR: on this day in 1991 Turkmenistan declared its independence; on 8 December independence was recognised. The capital is Ashgabat.

So, Turkmenistan is Turkic nation in Central Asia, sitting on the eastern side of the Caspian Sea. Given its position between the Middle East and the large East Asian powers, I guess it’s not surprising that the country was conquered a few times over the years—even Alexander the Great. It was in the seventh century or so that Arabs conquered the region, bringing Islam with them, also incorporating Turkmen into Middle Eastern culture.

Turkmenistan became a Soviet Socialist Republic in 1924. As part of the USSR the alphabet changed from Arabic script first to Latin, and then to the Cyrillic alphabet.

If you were reading about Central Asia a few years ago you may have come across stories about Saparmyrat Nyýazow, who served as head of state pre-independence from 1985, and until his death in 2006. Now this was a totalitarian leader—his regime was incredibly repressive. And yet, most of the stories I remember were really about things that were portrayed as over-the-top, silly, extravagant—but not really cruel. An example? Well, he renamed months after family members. He over saw the building of the tallest structure in the capital, the Neutrality Arch—and placed on top of the monument a gold-plated statue of himself that rotates 360 degrees over the course of 24 hours, and always faces the sun. On the more serious side, in 2007 Reporters Without Borders ranked Turkmenistan the thirds most restrictive country in the world when it comes to press freedoms. Add to that repression of homosexuality and the authorities monitor religious groups. And, in a measure that I’m guessing makes Johnny Depp extremely unwelcome, beards and long hair are banned. But, really, I’m sure those last few facts have passed you by, and you’re still thinking about the Neutrality Arch. Oh, it seems Nyýazow’s successor, Gurganguly Berdimuhammedow (that’s an amazing name!) is tired of thinking about the Neutrality Arch. He had to moved to a highway at the edge of Ashgabat.

And today’s Turkmen poem is by Gurbannazar Eziz. I comes from the amazing Language for a New Century.


The Eastern Poem

A green wind brushed a slender branch,
opening the mouths of the buds.
Head thrown back to the sky, a wolf howled,
as if telling his complaint to the moon.

Moonshadow fell on the river,
weaving a golden carpet across the water.
Beneath the Asian sky, a girl
recited a poem by the eastern poet.

Beneath this sky. in moonlight,
the poetry written in ancient times,
finding no place in the kings’ golden castles,
knocked on the door of the common people.

Nothing of the ancient world is old
if a nation’s people have the desire.
Old is something new that’s been forgotten.
New means the legacy of what was before.

And so if this sky remains,
if this moon continues to extend its beam,
as the early star is born each morning,
the eastern poem will cast its glow over the world.

We will pass away.
After us, there will be many others,
and then a girl, turning her face toward the sky,
will remember what was written in pursuit of eternity.

—Gurbannazar Eziz
translated from the Turkmen by Eric Welsapar and Idra Novey
from Language for a New Century

Macau

On 7 October Macau, a special administrative region of the People’s Republic of China, celebrates Chong Yeong, or Ancestors’ Day. Macau? It was the first Europeans colony in China—the Portuguese arrived in the 16th century, administering the region until 20 December 1999, when it was handed back to China. This means it also outlasted the other special administrative region of Hong Kong. Macau itself (which is very close to Hong Kong) consists of the Macau peninsula and the islands Taipa and Coloane.

While there were people living the region a long time before the Portuguese arrived, apparently Macau didn’t develop into a major settlement until the Europeans hit the shore. I imagine it must have been laidback when it was mostly fishermen—no casinos back then. (Tourism is big—can you say “Gambling Mecca?”)

After the establishment of the People’s Republic of China, relations between the Portuguese and the Chinese got a bit complicated—the government in Beijing declared the Sino-Portuguese Treaty of Amity and Commerce invalid, deeming it an “unequal treaty.” When the government first declared this in 1949, there wasn’t a lot of movement on the question. Things started to change after riots broke out in 1966, during the Cultural Revolution. The Portuguese government apologised, and this saw the beginning of de facto control by the Chinese. While there was a treaty signed in 1987 making Macau a special administrative region of China, it took another 12 years for China to resume sovereignty.

Rather than a poem, what I actually have something a little different: a segment of Jules Verne’s book The Great Navigators of the Eighteenth Century, which contains an account of La Perouse, the French explorer, arriving at Macau during his voyage around the world. The full text is available online here.

After taking the position of the Bashees, without stopping, La Perouse sighted the coast of China, and next day cast anchor in the roadstead of Macao.

Here La Perouse met with a small French cutter, commanded by M. de Richery, midshipman, whose business it was to cruise about the eastern coast, and protect French trade.

The town of Macao is so well known that it is needless for us to give La Perouse's description of it. The constant outrages and humiliations to which Europeans were daily subjected under the most despotic and cowardly government in the world, aroused the indignation of the French captain, and made him heartily wish that an international expedition might put a stop to so intolerable a state of things.

The furs which had been collected upon the American coasts were sold at Macao for ten thousand piastres. The sum produced should have been divided among the crews, and the head of the Swedish company undertook to ship it at Mauritius; but the unfortunate sailors themselves were never to receive the money.

Leaving Macao on the 5th of February, the vessels directed their course to Manilla, and, after sighting the shoals of Pratas, Bulinao, Manseloq, and Marivelle, wrongly placed upon D'Après' maps, they were forced to put into the port of Marivelle, to wait for better winds and more favourable currents.

—Jules Verne, The Great Navigators of the Eighteenth Century

China

China. It’s so big that its national day is celebrated for three days. Yes. That’s right—from 1-3 October this year the Chinese will be celebrating. It’s the celebration of the 1949 founding of the People’s Republic of China. Yes, we all know that China’s been around a lot longer—thousands of years—but it’s current political form started with the declaration of the People’s Republic. Oh, and China? Great Wall of China. The Terracotta Army. Ming Dynasty art and Ceramics. Beautiful films by Wong Kar-wai.

People will often talk about the fact that China is the most populous country in the world (over 1.3 billion people…) but we should also remember that it’s the world’s third largest country in area—behind Russia and Canada. I’m sure that those of us who play trivial pursuit or stare at maps a lot already know that, but other than knowing “oh yeah, Russia’s the biggest” there are probably others who would have a bit of trouble ranking the top five (the next two are USA and Brazil… I admit, without checking I would have put Australia in at five. Let’s call it blind affection.) It’s not all the hustle and bustle of the eastern coastline, either. There’s the Gobi desert, the forest steppes, as well as subtropical forests and the Himalayas. There’s a lot going on.

And, you know, Marco Polo went to China… (Though there are certainly scholars out there that assert he never made it to China. I will leave the debate up to more learned people, and go with the stories of my childhood on this one. Happy, as always, to be proven wrong.)

As for the People’s Republic of China… well, forget all the dynasties. It’s Mao Zedong, the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution… There’s a lot I wouldn’t have wanted to live through, even if it did eventually lead to the cessation of such things as foot-binding (though there are still women living who have bound feet… incidentally, the story of Cinderella originates in China, with the tradition of foot-binding. It is a story about fitting a tiny shoe to prove nobility…) So, the Great Leap Forward took on the model of the Five-Year Plan. The first step? Well, part of it was increase the production of steel, while also doubling agricultural production. This ran into trouble pretty quickly. I mean, peasants weren’t really equipped to make steel, authorities were misreporting the production numbers, and while they were making low-quality steel—much of which couldn’t be used—they weren’t tending to many other things. So, there was a famine—which Mao Zedong wanted to hide from the world to save face, so he exported much of the grain that was still being produced. Millions died. And the Cultural Revolution? Abolish the old. That is: the Old Customs, the Old Culture, Old Habits and Old Ideas. Okay. What next?

After Mao’s death the economy transitioned to a mixed economy with an increasingly open market. But democratic freedoms remained—and still remain for many—elusive. 4 June 1989. Tiananmen Square. The People’s Liberation Army is ordered to fire on the people. Some of the images from Tiananmen are unforgettable—in particular, a man, standing in front of a tank. The world reacted, condemning China for its actions.

And yes, these days China is still considered to be one of the countries with the least press freedom. It’s believed that human rights violations are widespread. And China is head of the class when it comes to the number of executions. There are environmental concerns too. But you know, a lot of what I’ve written here is about the government. The events of the twentieth century are a tiny portion of the story.

Today’s poem is by Che Qianzi. It comes from Language for a New Century. Have I bullied you into buying this volume enough yet? I was sitting by the Canal in Washington DC the other day, reading it…


Sentences

1: A spire in the north. A spire in the south. In the south a nail
 was pulled out.

2: A half moon, two earths, one earth, very soft when stepped on,
 very soft shyster.

3: The gods appear to have freckled faces; the masses’ point of view;
 the rubble creeps over the branches; you are going to hunt birds.

4: A box that cannot keep secrets, darkness and Jiangsu Province,
 will be reduced to a leaky cage. In the cage there is nothing,
 the background contains it.

5: A water drop too is curved.

6: Lace words on the cuff, Tailor Song threads the eye of the needle.
 Shrimp heads twisted off their bodies.

7: Tadpoles drifting between commas, differentiated by their tails, were
 finally expelled from the fictitious revolutionary troop. Transformed
 into iron-skin green frogs, with the press of a button they jump
 without stop, without stop.

8: One sentence is no longer than one character. The character gets a big
 head. The character becomes a big star. A spire. Ursa Major
 hammering bright the nails in the north. 

9: One sentence circled three times around one character, circling
 the fourth time it broke. 

—Che Qianzi
translated by Jeffrey Twitchell-Waas and Yang Liping
from Language for a New Century

Tajikistan

It’s that middle part of the map that people forget. You have some idea of Russian culture, and perhaps some idea of Irani, Pakistani... maybe even Afghani. But you look at the former SSRs and realise, you don’t really know much about them—you don’t, for instance, know much about the 7 million or so Tajik people of Tajikistan, and that the Tajik language is a modern variety of Persian. But this is a area that has a long history—it’s been inhabited continuously for around 6000 years. In 875 CE the Samanid Empire was established here. More recently, as the USSR broke up, Tajikistan declared its independence on 9 September 1991.

As well as Persian history, there’s Scythian history, contact with the Han Dynasty of China in the second century BCE, the introduction of Islam by Arabic people in the seventh century CE, the presence of the Mongols, and to jump back a little, perhaps most fascinating of all to me, even a small community of Jews who were displaced from the Middle East after the Babylonian capitivity found their way to the Tajik region around 600 BCE. Now that’s a diverse history.

And then there was Russia—the Russian Empire spread to Central Asia in the 19th century, and when Imperial Russia came to an end, the Central Asian basmachi, local guerrillas, failed to gain independence from the Bolsheviks. Unfortunately this led to the destruction of mosques and villages, and the persecution of Muslims, Jews and Christians. Many Bukharian Jews emigrated during the Soviet era, and a lot settled in the United States (particularly New York City), re-establishing their communities in a new country.

Independence hasn’t been smooth sailing—first, the country fell straight into civil war, with factions based on clan loyalties. There have been allegations of ethnic cleansing. A ceasefire was reached in 1997, with elections held peacefully in 1999—but while these elections were peaceful, the opposition also claims they were unfair. The most recent election was boycotted by many opposition parties. These days Russian, American, Indian and French troops are stationed in the country, while borders Afghanistan.

Something extra nice about the country? Poetry is a really important part of their culture. I am always heartened to hear that a place values its poets. And yes, I have a poem for you, by Bozor Sobir. Once again it comes from Language for a New Century.

Letters

I opened your letters
And I have them up to the air,
That they might become spring clouds,
That letters of memories
Might weep over the hills,
That they might weep springs and rivers.
That the letters might weep over us.

Last night I told a story
Of you to the wild wind.
In memory of you I recited from memory
A verse to the streams,
That the water might bear it away
And tell it to the rivers,
That the wind might bear it away
And sing it to the plains.

Last night under the rain
I walked road by road in my thoughts.
Your tresses strand by strand
In my thoughts I walked, braiding strands.
The kisses that had not been planted on your lips
—Along, all along the road,
Along the edge, the edge of the stream—
I walked, planting them in the ground.
So that, ever following in my footsteps
—Along, all along the road,
On the edge, the edge of the stream—
Kisses might grow like daisies,
Kisses might grow like wild mint.

Last night it rained and rained.
The water was too much for the river to hold.
Last night my loneliness
Was too much for me alone to hold….

Last night the April rain
Washed the footprints from the ground.
The wound in my heart grew worse,
Because it washed away the imprint of your foot.
Last night I wandered the streets in vain,
Like a hunter who has lost the trail I searched….

Last night the world was all water,
The sky was refreshed,
The ground was refreshed,
But I, with your name on my lips,
All alone like the parched land
I burned up under the rain.

—Bozor Sobir
translated from the Tajik by Judith M. Wilks
from Language for a New Century

North Korea

Back in the day I watched a lot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and by back in the day I mean… not very long ago… and I would still watch a lot of it if I had a television) somehow when I think of North Korea I think of the country that for a long time in the last decade everyone thought of as the “big bad.” Things have changed a little there, but it’s still a dictatorship, with a huge amount of government control. At least, though, UN inspectors were able to verify the shutdown of nuclear facilities last year—I’m a fan of denuclearisation. I just wish there were more of it. Many human rights organizations assert that North Korea has one of the worst human rights records out there. As well as the extreme curtailment of political and economic freedom, there are large prison and detention camps reported, with concerns over the use of torture. That said—it’s hard to know exactly what’s going on in such a closed country. Despite all this, yes I am marking North Korea’s Independence Day, the anniversary of their formal declaration of independence in 1948. Oh, and please don’t think I’m trying to trivialise anything by starting with Buffy.

So we remember the division of Korea, right? When the Japanese left after World War II the Soviet Union took control of the region north of the 38th parallel while the United States took control of the south? The makings of a classic standoff. When the USSR and the US withdrew their troops, the advent of border skirmishes led to the Korean War. For those fuzzy on the details—I’m guessing a lot of younger readers are, since I know that I grew up hearing a lot more about Vietnam than about Korea—the war officially lasted just over three years—from June 1950 to July 1953. Since the signing of the Korean War Armistice Agreement the Korean Demilitarized Zone, also know as the DMZ, has separated the two Koreas.

These days, yes you may be able to visit North Korea. If you can get a visa, expect to be assigned a permanent guide to ensure you get the right view of the country.

But there are still poets—there are poets everywhere, and poetry seeps out of places, gets itself heard. By the few that are listening for the voices of poetic witness. Today’s poem comes from the anthology Language for a New Century. I know I have praised this anthology before, but I continue to be amazed by the diverse range of poets and nationalities that have been drawn together in this book. This poem is by Hong Yun-Suk.


Ways of Living 4

You have to wait.
At the crossroads’ red traffic light,
you have to stop going along, pause for breath,
look up for once at the forgotten sky,
hoist up and fasten the slipping pack.
A scrap of pink cloud on a remote mountainside,
inky darkness, on the corner you turn,
on the road left ahead cold rain pouring down
we are all being soaked as we pass through this age
for see, this is destiny’s winter
and no one can escape from this rain.
Frozen, we rub one another’s flesh,
we sparingly share and kindle the remaining fire.
In the darkness our roots twine together.

—Hong Yun-Suk
translated from the Korean by Brother Anthony of Taizé
from Language for a New Century

Vietnam

Ah, Vietnam. Let’s think about Vietnam, as 2 September is the National Day of the Vietnamese people—on 2 September 1945 they gained independence from Japan… obviously due to Japanese occupation of the country during World War I, with the Japenese War in the Pacific. They invaded Vietnam in 1941, so their stay was comparatively shortlived. There were a few other independences to be won in the history of the country. After all, it was under Chinese control for a thousand years before it became a nation-state in the 10th century. There was also the period of French colonialism—I’m still surprised when I hear “Indochina,” but then I’m young, and grew up hearing about Vietnam. And we all know about the blundering of the Vietnam War. Historically the country has also had quite a few names—but Việt Nam has been used for centuries.

If you visit Hanoi you can visit the body of Ho Chi Minh. Along the way, you can drink excellent coffee, eat amazing food, wander around the Old Hanoi for days and ride on the back of motorbikes (without a helmet). I was there a few years ago (I think, now, that every member of my family has been to Hanoi) and I loved riding around on motorbikes in the morning, and then wandering around in the afternoon monsoonal rain. I think it was the film Vertical Ray of the Sun that ensured my love of the monsoon.

When I was in Central America recently I met an amazing fellow who had worked as a gamekeeper in South Africa for years and years—he was about to move to Vietnam to help set up marine national parks. The country has a very high level of biodiversity—recently it was reported that a certain giant soft-shell turtle that everyone thought was extinct was found in northern Vietnam. It’s a beautiful country.

On the downside, there are concerns about freedom—in particular, Vietnam does badly in the Worldwide Press Freedom Index. All media in the country has to be sponsored by a Communist Party organization and registered with the government—still, some manage to have less government control than others.

Today’s poem from Vietnam is by Nguyễn Duy and comes from Language for a New Century.


The Father

In this place there are so many
who spent half their life in Viet Bac, the other half among the Truong Son
mountains,
men and women who once ate roots, bamboo shoots for meals
and now make do with taro leaves and wild tendrils.

Their great hopes have turned their skulls white,
their native villages so far away now, like distant seasons.
A lifetime working in sun and rain,
a lifetime walking, and they’ve yet to reach home.

All along the far horizon, families drift off the sleep.
A father old as a thousand hills, a mother old as a hundred rivers.
When the winds come, they’ll have to arc and circles, climb over
the great bends and twists of the forests to get to this place.

— Nguyễn Duy
translated from Vietnamese by Nguyễn Bá Chung and Kevin Bowen
from Language for a New Century

Tibet

It was heartening to see the number of protests surrounding this year’s Olympic torch race, as many people used this as a way of protesting China’s treatment of Tibet. I always like to see get involved in political causes - especially human rights issues. I feel that it gets talked about so much that in a lot of the Western world people do still think of it as a separate country—but we know that’s not true in practice, and the Dalai Lama has been in exile for decades. Though it is not a holiday in Tibet—obviously that is not allowed—the Tibetan exile community observe 2 September as Tibetan Democracy Day. There’s so much debate about Tibet that matters like size and population can’t be settled.

I was rewatching Twin Peaks recently, and had forgotten Agent Cooper’s speech about how the plight of the Tibetan people moves him. In a way, it’s so out of left field (compared with, say, Scorsese’s Kundun) that, at that point when everyone wanted to know who killed Laura Palmer, I hope it made people think about that little area of the world that didn’t seem to be as much in the public eye in 1990 as it is now.

After the outside world had come to Tibet (bringing with them, for instance, the first potatoes in the country) in the 1850s Tibet shut its borders to outsiders. The British sent in people in disguise to secretly map the area, and there are stories of various people disguising themselves as pilgrims.

In 1913 the country officially issued a proclamation of its independence. It was 37 years later that China invaded Tibet, leading to the Dalai Lama’s departure in 1959.

One of the things that interests me is that while the Dalai Lama named Gedhum Choekyi Nyima as the 11th Panchen Lama, the People’s Republic of China named a different child—Gyancain Norbu. Tibetans in exile refer to him as the Panchen Zuma, or fake Panchen Lama. I suppose I find it strange that the PRC would name someone at all.

Pico Iyer has written a number of essays on Tibet. He is wonderful.

Today’s poem comes from Language for a New Century and is by Tsering Wangmo Dhompa.


One more say

Think on this when prayers fall like thick paint on dry asphalt.

Think on this when the face is fading.

Think on this and be decisive in your motions. The breathing. The
utterance.

No Eastern star leading conch shells and a rainbow at dusk. Those
who must believe, so.

Who dares to question the accuracy of a direction when the journey
was not theirs.

The moment of birth. Before the father extended his arm toward
the mother.

Here is a location. Here it is scattering like mustard seeds.

—Tsering Wangmo Dhompa
from Language for a New Century

Uzbekistan

When I was young I had a crush on one of my oldest brother’s friends—a lovely guy who unaccountably became… well… an accountant. Not long after starting his working life he got an offer to work in one of the overseas offices for the company employing him. The next thing I knew he had moved to Tashkent in Uzbekistan. So now that I’m thinking about the 1 September celebration of Uzbeki independence, celebrating the 1991 declaration of independence from the then-USSR, I can’t help but think of my brother’s friend too. Oh, and because I like those odd facts, and I don’t see any pirates in the history (not surprisingly, since its one of only two doubly landlocked countries in the world) I thought you might like to know that Uzbekistan is the world’s second largest exporter of cotton. It’s also the only Central Asian country to border all the other Central Asian countries.

I expect you know that Alexander the Great conquered the area. What you may not know is that he married Roxana, daughter of a Bactrian chieftain—and Bactria is a region of greater Iran that covers some Uzbeki territory too. And Tamerlane—the man who overpowered the Mongols—was from the region. Not surprisingly he’s an Uzbeki national hero.

These days there are some concerns over human rights—and by some concern, I mean that human rights groups report widespread violation of human rights.

Another red flag is the environment—the Aral Sea, for instance, which is adjacent to Uzbekistan. While it was once the fourth largest inland sea, the resource has been misused for decades, and is now a fraction of what it once way—and there’s high salinity too. Where does your cotton come from?

While you’re thinking about that question, here’s a poem for you. “The Corpse of a Sufi” is by Eshqabil Shukur. Thanks, as so often, to New European Poets.


The Corpse of a Sufi

In a dark cave lives a snake,
A black wind nestles there,
The corpse of a Sufi lies flaming,
It has been thus for five hundred years.

The corpse of the Sufi each day
Speaks one piece of wisdom… the snake writes it
down in a book.
The truth lies five hundred years beyond.
Five hundred years hence tarries a lie.

Every day on the ceiling of the cave a spider
Easily weaves a shroud for the corpse.
The snake lies protecting the treasure,
Every day the wind tears up the shroud.

—Eshqabil Shukur
translated from Uzbek by William M. Dirks
from Language for a New Century

Kyrgyzstan

So, 31 August and we have Independence day in Kyrgyzstan—you know the one. Landlocked, surrounded by Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and China. Descended from nomadic tribes, tucked in the middle of ex-SSRs, I feel like Kyrgyzstan gets forgotten by most of the world. I could not have told you yesterday that Bishkek is the capital, though I could have pointed to the country on a map.

Historically the Kyrgyz people did pretty well for themselves in the first millennium or so of the common era, expanding their territory—but then the Mongols began to push them back into smaller spaces again.

Then came Russia—people who think of Kyrgyzstan at all most likely think of it in the same breath as Russia. The country was part of the Russian empire in the 19th century. In 1919 Soviet power was established, and in 1936 the country became the Kirghiz Soviet Socialist Republic. Obviously when the USSR broke apart, Kyrgyzstan was left to form an independent nation.

Because the populations around the area had been quite mobile before the establishment of firm borders, there is a Kyrgyz enclave in Uzbekistan, and a number of Uzbek enclaves in Kyrgyz. This has been the cause of ethnic tension at different points.

Oh, and the nomadic background of the Kyrgyz people continues as herding families still return to the high mountain pastures in summer.

Interestingly, the Kyrgyz language has been through a few alphabetic changes—at first it was written with the Arabic alphabet. In the early twentieth century this was changed to the Latin alphabet until the impact of the USSR kicked in with the change to Cyrillic.

Also, bride kidnapping still happens sometimes. As in, a man might tell his family he wants to marry, they pick out a girl and go kidnap her. It’s illegal though, and I don’t know how common it is. Still, when it does happen it’s rare that anyone does anything about it.

Today’s poem from Kyrgyzstan is by the Kyrgyz poet Suyunbay Eraliev, and comes from Language for a New Century.

Beginning

From the green meadows of Altai
I brought back a miraculous new wine
to the great summit of Tyan’-Shan’ya,
so that it might regenerate our self-esteem,
strengthen our people’s spirit
amid the devestation,
amid the battles,
amid our wanderings,
so that it might invigorate our spirit from year to year,
amid our legendary traditions.
In the firmament,
on the vaulted slopes
where flow the crystal waters,
in the villages so highly protected
by the endless stream of years gone by.
One could almost hear the strains of “Manas”
as time suddenly released the reins,
even the rain,
like the glance of an evil eye,
gave up its place to that weather.

—Suyunbay Eraliev
translated from the Russian by Yuri Vidov Karageorge
from Language for a New Century

Malaysia

Malaysia is the first overseas country I ever travelled to (I don’t count my stopover in Singapore, where I sat in a chair at the airport for an hour, worried that I wouldn’t know when to board the plane.) I was eleven and travelled by myself, to go see my best friend whose family was living in Kuala Lumpur at the time. I’d caught a few planes by myself at that stage—in fact, had begun to see myself as something of an old hand—but was terrified of this process of changing planes in one country to get to another. I survived, and ate curry and bought a lot of knock-off t-shirts and plastic earrings. Hey, what can I say? I was shallow. Though it was also during that trip that I read Wuthering Heights for the first time—my first Brontë novel. I wish I could remember more of my trip now that it’s 31 August and we’re celebrating Malaysia’s “Hari Merdeka,” or Independence Day (Independence s from the United Kingdom, and came in 1957.)

My father still calls Malaysia “Malaya” reasonably often. Other people his age that I’ve met do too, which surprises me whenever I hear it. When I hear “Malaya” I think of World War II.

Malaysia has been inhabited for tens of thousands of years, and Ptolemy knew it. Or that’s what his map suggests—how else would he know to include it? From the beginning of the common era there’s been a fair bit of movement, as well as changing religious influences, with Hindu, Buddhism and Islam arriving in waves—there is evidence of the latter from the 14th century onwards.

Then of course there was the European influence, as Western explorers ventured further afield. First came Portugal in 1511, and then the Dutch in 1641. Britain was late in the game—1786, when Penang was leased to the British East India Company. Essentially the Malay archipelago ended up divided between Britain and the Netherlands, and Malaya (yes, it was still Malaya) was in the British zone.

Japan invaded the country during World War II—after this the local population were more keen for independence to arrive. When what was then Malaya merged with a few crown colonies on Borneo in 1963, Malaysia was born. (Singapore was initially part of Malaysia too, but separated from the nation in 1965.) It wasn’t all smooth sailing—as well as Singapore’s leavetaking, Indonesia and the Philippines caused some headaches.

While we’re celebrating Hari Merdeka, here is a poem to help the festivities along. “Language” by Baha Zain comes from Language for a New Century. Enjoy!


Language

How hard
to accommodate the word to the meaning
such trouble
to wrap decorum with language
the emotions of old bards;
a fish flashing in water
you already know its gender.

—Baha Zain
translated from Malay by Muhammad Haji Salleh
from Language for a New Century

Afghanistan

When I was a child we used to play this game “Around the World” in school. Taking it in turns we’d go around in a circle. To kick things off, someone would say a place name—country, state or city. From there, the next person had to name a place that started with the last letter of the previous place. If you repeated one or didn’t find a place in time (only a few seconds) you were out. I was a bit of a champion at this game. Anyway, “A” could pose a problem. Why? Because there were so many places beginning with “A” that ended with “A.” The game would inevitably find itself in a Alberta—Alaska—America—Alabama—Australia—Austria cycle. Then I would bring out “Afghanistan.” This was the mid-eighties, so the National Geographic photo (you know, the photo) was new, and there was a different war going on there, with the Soviet invasion. The name fascinated me—I thought it was—still think it is—a beautiful word. And on 19 August Afghanistan celebrates Independence Day—marking its 1919 independence from the United Kingdom.

Obviously the country has a long history before its 1919 independence—and prior to its position as part of the British empire. Excavation indicates that the region has been inhabited for at least 50,000 years—and they started farming early. Placed between so many Indo-European civilisations is it any surprise that there’s been so much activity there?

Genghis Khan did some damage there—1219 saw the Mongols run amok in Afghanistan, and their rule was extended after the invasion of Timur Lang, or, as the Western World better knows him (through people like Christopher Marlowe) Tamerlane. The first “Afghan State” came about in the 18th century.

And then there were the Europeans. After the Anglo-Afghan wars (there were three—did you know that? 1839-42; 1878-80 and 1919) most of Afghanistan’s territory came under British control. The Brits had a lot of influence but when King Amanullah Khan took the throne in 1919 Afghanistan regained independence. Good job.

1973 saw the move (via a coup—a bloodless one) to a Republic and some years of internal conflict—until the Soviets moved in. Then the blood really started to flow, with somewhere between half a million and two million Afghani civilians killed before the withdrawal of the Soviets in 1989.

Then came the Taliban, followed by the invasion by US troops. I won’t go into all the al-Qaeda stuff. But you remember the Taliban’s destruction of the Buddhas of Bamiyan, right? I remember when the story was published in the newspaper—I tore it out, and stuck it in my diary, something to mourn over periodically.

More recently, the film Kandahar had some amazing images in it. The unforgettable? The sight of prosthetic limbs being dropped over the country, floating to the ground with their parachutes. It’s a wonderful film—you should see it.

Today’s poem is called, appropriately, “The Silenced.” We don’t hear a lot of Afghani voices. This is written by Nadia Anjuman, and comes from Language for a New Century.


The Silenced

I have no desire for talking, my tongue is tied up.
Now that I am abhorred by my time, do I sing or not?
What could I say about honey, when my mouth is as bitter as poison.
Alas! The group of tyrants has muffled my mouth.
This corner of imprisonment, grief, failure and regrets—
I was born for nothing that my mouth should stay sealed.
I know O! my heart, It is springtime and the time for joy.
What could I, a bound bird, do without flight.
Although, I have been silent for long, I have not forgotten to sing,
Because my songs whispered in the solitude of my heart.
Oh, I will love the day when I break out of this cage,
Escape this solitary exile and sing wildly.
I am not that weak willow twisted by every breeze.
I am an Afghan girl and known to the whole world.

—Nadia Anjuman
translated from the Dari by Abdul Salam Shayek
from Language for a New Century

Indonesia

Krakatoa. Doesn’t it evoke a kind of sublime? Sumatra. Java. Bali. Borneo. When are we going?

I’m not sure how I’ve not been to Indonesia, since I have been to Malaysia and Singapore. It seems quite lazy of me, in fact! But rest assured, Indonesia is high—very high—on my list of places to go. Though its not an official Islamic state, Indonesia is still the nation is still the most populous mostly-Muslim country going. It’s a republic—Indonesia declared its independence in 1945. It used to be known as the Dutch East Indies. Like spices? There’s quite a spice-history in the place. Nutmeg, for instance. Native to the Banda Islands. The Europeans were definitely fans. And there’s some serious biodiversity going on there.

Indonesia… reminds you of “Indo-European,” “India,” and perhaps the “Indus Valley.” It comes from a combination of Latin and Greek—“Indus” is Latin for “India”. (Yes, yes, imaginative.) “Nesos” is the Greek for “island.” The name began to circulate in the 18th century, though the Dutch were not fans—this was, after all, the Dutch East Indies. Asserting empire is important. From the beginning of the twentieth century, though, more people began to use the name until it became the official name of the country.

We know, don’t we, that Indonesia has been inhabited for a hell of a long time—at least half a million years.

The Europeans began visiting in the 16th century. While the Dutch established the region as a colony, their control was a slight thing, and it ended with the Japanese occupation of the area. Only two days after Japan’s surrender, Sukarno declared independence. The Netherlands was unsuccessful in trying to put their stamp on things again.

Sukarno became an authoritarian leader, and lasted until he was outfoxed by General Suharto in 1968, resigning 30 years later in 1998. These days Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono is in charge, though I feel like I still hear as much about Suharto ten years after the resignation as I do about the current president.

Another of those new things I’ve learned from this project: Indonesia is the home of the Toba supervolcano. Not familiar with supervolcanos? Well, the term only official entered volcanology in 2003. Their eruptions are greater than any mere volcano of recorded history, and their eruption can cause global devestation: for instance, a super volcanic eruption can cause an ice age. Wow. Oh, and the Lake Toba super eruption was responsible, apparently for the formation of sulphuric acid in the atmosphere. Who knew?

Now that I’ve read all that, I’m definitely going. Sometime. I want to study geology more, too.

In the mean time, I’ll leave you with a poem, while you’re digesting the supervolcanic info. This piece, “Saint Rosa, I,” is by Dorothea Rosa Herliany, and is taken from Language for a New Century.

Saint Rosa, I

for the husband of my past, I write no history.
the old books in the library of my heart
only record a few sad stories of defeat.
a group of soldiers lined up like children.
returning home to snail shells on coral reefs.
abandoning vague scraps of hope, among
broken sharks’ teeth.
for my lovers, I search for an anxious body
abandoned in a room filled with men
eager to set the world on fire. they offer
stacks on second-hand goods, wonderful
air-conditioning machines. I enjoy the heat,
it is brief, silent, while my thirst is endless.
my disappointment makes me man. I have stayed too long.
I want to climb up into the Himilayas and stay there.
watch my lust grow cold, then explode
and destroy the world.
but I am tired of dreaming
the house is narrow and covered with dirt.
if hope should ever arrive
it would be a useless lump of time.

—Dorothea Rosa Herliany
translated from the Indonesian by Harry Aveling
from Language for a New Century

South Korea

In an episode of The Gilmore Girls, Lorelai tells Rory to turn off the stereo because it’s time for Rory to leave for school, only for Rory to say it wasn’t her listening to the music. Cut to Lorelai opening Rory’s bedroom door to find Lane dancing. “Where does your mom think you are?” asks Lorelai. Lane’s answer? “On a park bench, contemplating the reunification of the two Koreas.” (The conversation continues—Lorelai: Not here, skanking to Rancid? Lane: Wouldn’t be included.) I do like that The Gilmore Girls had Korean characters in amidst the whitebread Connecticut set of Star’s Hollow. My other association? The 1988 Seoul Olympics of course. Watching Debbie Flintoff-King win gold for Australia as I watched the action obsessively.

We hear a little more about North Korea than South Korea these days, what with rumblings about weapons of mass destruction and all that jazz. The Korean empire ended in 1910, and South Korea was established in 1948. 15 August both marks the 1945 Liberation Day and the 1948 creation of the First Republic. Happy Liberation Day! These days, the country is still working towards reunification.

The Korean civilisation is an old one—5000 years. And, something I really didn’t know, it has the world’s sixth largest armed forces and tenth largest defence budget. How could I have had no idea? Sounds like a powerhouse, though it’s overshadowed by neighbouring China, its attention-grabbing sibling to the north, and Japan just across the way.

Korea produced the Jikji in 1377—this is a Korean Buddhist document, and it’s the oldest existing book printed with the world’s oldest movable metal printing press. Gutenberg eat your heart out.

The split between the Koreas came about with Cold War antagonism—the north established its communist government, while the south went for capitalism. 25 June 1950 saw North Korea’s invasion of the South, leading of course to the Korean War. And technically, since there never was a peace treaty signed, the two countries are still at war. Ah, for technicalities.

The coolest thing about Korea? Well, how can you choose just one? My two favourites, then: it’s a world leader in robotics; their film industry has been doing some awesome stuff.

Plus, there are of course South Korean poets to think about. Today’s poem us “Foreign Flags” (we’ve seen a lot of them on this blog…) by Kim-Nam-Jo.


Foreign Flags

There I first glimpsed
such desolate loneliness.

Above the soaring towers of the old castle
at Heidelberg
a flag is waving
like a boat being rowed
like a windmill turning in the wind
waving on and on
until the threads grow thin
then casting away that body like a corpse
they raise a new flag

I wonder
what it’s like to be up there all alone
in the sky with the drifting clouds,
what it’s like
to be shaking all over, looking down
on the mutability of people and things?
There I first glimpsed
such adult prayer.

—Kim Nam-Jo
translated from Korean by Brother Anthony of Taizé
from Language for a New Century

India

India. It’s such a large idea. I don’t feel that I can do it anything approaching justice in a little posting here. I feel like it’s one of the places that has a bunch of associations that you can’t quite escape from. Seventh largest in area, second largest in population, and home to four major world religions, at the same time as being early outposts of other major religions. It has an ocean named after it. It’s not just the British East India Company. And, in case you didn’t know, the central motif of the flag is a chakra—the 24 spokes correspond to the 24 hours of the day. Apparently this implies that there is life in movement, and death in stagnation.

I feel like India would be one of those countries to understand through food: the differences between curries in different regions, the different ingredients and how they line up with the different cultural identities. The ceremony around drinking tea, or drinking chai. The ways herbs and spices are used—and why those spices were so valuable to the rest of the world.

For instance, in the north of India they use a lot more dairy products—the gravies are dairy cased. In the north the cuisine features a lot of flat breads, and they also have samosas. The staples are generally lentils, vegetables and bread, and the meat dishes arrived with Muslim influence in the country.

In the east, think about desserts—think of something like ricotta cheese combined with semolina, think sugar syrups and maybe some coconut. Think of things a little bit fried. And then there’s rice—the stable in this region, served with side dishes of vegetables, and maybe some fish.

The south is all about rice, with lots of coconut, and lots of pickles. A fan of bhaji (that is, onion pakora)? That’s from the south as well.

Then there’s the west: the Gujarati are in the west, and Gujarati cuisine is primarily vegetarian. (I have met a number of people from Gujarati background who have never eaten meat.) Goan cuisine, also in the West, is influenced by Portuguese foods—beef and pork are both popular, while they’re not as common in other areas of a nation whose largest religious groups are Hindu and Muslim.

Obviously this is simplification in the extreme—but it’s interesting to think through the differences within a large nation. And food really is a big part of religious and social identity—not just in India, but everywhere. But in India, about a third of the population is vegetarian. Spices like turmeric, cardamom, pepper and mustard have been harvested in the region for over 5000 years. When tomatoes, chilli and potatoes arrived from the new world, Indians quickly found uses for them in their own food traditions. Islamic rule brought with it gravy, kebabs, and a slew of fruits—apricot, melon, peaches, plum, while the British, alongside the Portuguese, introduced the idea of baking. Anyone who has ever moved from one country to another knows how much of national identity can be bound up in what comes from the kitchen.

Today’s poem from India comes from The Vintage Book of Contemporary World Poetry—it’s by the poet Jayanta Mahapatra.


Main Street Temple, Puri

Children, brown as earth, continue to laugh away
at cripples and mating mongrels.
Nobody ever bothers about the,

The temple points to unending rhythm.

On the dusty street the colour of shorn scalp
there are things moving all the time
and yet nothing seems to go away from sight.

Injuries drowsy with the heat.

And that sky there,
claimed by inviolable authority,
hanging on to its crutches of silence.

—Jayanta Mahapatra
from The Vintage Book of Contemporary World Poetry

Pakistan

Pakistan was once home to the Indus Valley Civilization—the first cities in the region grew up there, with urban planning and municipal government evident from what’s been pieced together. Impressive stuff. Following that, the influence of Vedic, Persian, Indo-Greek and Islamic cultures arrived—long before the British showed up. Pakistan was part of “British India” until 1947. Obviously it is when Pakistan showed Britain the door that year that we celebrate: Independence Day. Just under a decade later the country officially became an Islamic Republic.

Obviously the British arrived in the form of the British East India Company. I’m sure a lot of you have heard of the Sepoy Mutiny—this was 1857, the last big armed struggle against the British Raj. Following this, the more peaceful struggle for freedom began, though it was led by the Hindu-dominated Indian National Congress. In the 1930s, the Islamic side of then-British India responded with the formation of the “All India Muslim League,” to make sure the Islamic faith was not under-represented. This began with the 1930 call for an autonomous region in northwestern India for Indian Muslims—obviously this paved the way for Pakistan. Initially there was an East Pakistan too—in 1971 this became the independent nation of Bangladesh.

Following the 1956 establishment of Pakistan as a republic, democratic, civilian rule was put on hold by a coup—General Ayub Khan ruled for the eleven years from 1958-69. There was a return to civilian rule in the 1970s, which ended in 1979 when General Zi-ul-Haq came to power. Following his death in 1988, Benazir Bhutto was elected as the first female Prime Minister of the country. After her assassination last year, the election process was postponed, and the instability of the political process in Pakistan was highlighted again.

Did you know that, in size, Pakistan is as big as France and the United Kingdom combined? I feel like that doesn’t come across in maps. (I think that the “Cartographers for Social Equality,” the fictional group portrayed on The West Wing, had a point... Check out the Hobo-Dyer projection map. It’s really interesting.)

There is plenty of desert in Pakistan. Makes up for a lack of pirates. Though speaking of pirates, Pakistan is something of a haven for pirates of another kind—you know, the kind of piracy that upsets the entertainment industry Plus the amazing Markhor goats are the national animal. Also, there are rare Indus River dolphins. I feel like, exotic big cats aside, we don’t find out a lot about the animals of this region: wild sheep, beautiful varieties of goat… It’s worth it. I promise.

While you’re still thinking about wild sheep and goats, I’ll give you a poem. Today’s is called “Non-Communication,” and it comes from the inimitable Language for a New Century. Pakistan has a long literary history—definitely worth checking out. The poem is by Kishwar Naheed.


Non-Communication

Like the body peeping through a muslin dress
now all the taut veins of my brain are evident.
Separation’s first day was easier than the second
for the first day’s first night
was spent telling stories like Sheherzade.
A night like one thousand one nights,
white like unwritten paper,
this creaseless brightness
is like the image formed in the mind
before a word comes to the lips.
In the crowded era of my days and nights
you
like a comb passing through hair
keep announcing your existence
but passion and love
like my unkempt hair
keep knitting a web inside me.
Like broken, diffused clouds in the sky
the termite-ridden page of life
will not even sell at the price of scrap.
Thundering like clouds you,
cascading like the rain I,
like two deaf singers
are singing each other a song.


—Kishwar Naheed
translated from the Urdu by Mawasg Shoaib
from Language for a New Century

Singapore

9 August is Singapore’s National Day—it marks the country’s separation from Malaysia. (It’s a little confusing: on 31 August in 1963 the country attained independence from the United Kingdom. Just over two weeks later, on 16 September, Singapore merged with Malaysia—then just under two years later the country separated from Malaysia again. These days? Sixth wealthiest country in the world (that’s in that whole GDP per capita way of thinking…).

So there are records of settlement from around the 2nd century, back in the days of the Sumatran Srivijaya empire. When I think of “outpost of empire” I always think of poor Ovid in exile. But I suspect I’m the only one with that problem. Back then it was called Temasek—a Javanese name that meant (imaginatively) “Sea Town.” There have been some artefacts from Temasek found,

When Portugal was engaged in their Malay-Portugal wars in the 17th century, they basically played arsonists to the settlement of Singapore. Grumps. Then they took control for a while, until the Dutch took over for a while, but it didn’t seem to have much impact. The fishermen of Singapore continued to fish.

Then the British East India Company came along. 1819 saw Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles—the perfect British name, really—land on the main island. Raffles realised that this was a great place for a trading post and did some wheeling and dealing with the Sultan Hussein Shah, of the (Malay) Sultanate of Johor until Singapore officially became a British colony.

Oh, and World War II saw the Japanese invade Malaya, with the Battle of Singapore being the main event. The Brits were beaten in six days, and Winston Churchill was not pleased at all. The Japanese occupied the island from 1942 until a month after the Japanese surrender in 1945.

They’re extremely serious about law and order in Singapore. Right down to the appearance of the streets. Litterbugs will face serious consequences. The negative side is that the government controls everything very tightly—for instance, there’s not a lot of freedom of the press. There are more restrictions elsewhere, but Singapore is definitely at the strictly-curtailed end of the list.

Oh, and I’m sure those of you flying around Southeast Asia a lot will stop in Singapore regularly. The airport is, shall we say, huge.

Today’s poem is by Paul Tan—it comes from the wonderful new treasury of Asian poetry, Language for a New Century. Indulge. Buy it. Read it. Email me about how much you love it.


The Sentry at Mutianyu Speaks to the Astronaut

I watch strange creatures unfurl
with each labored breath
and think of your dragon’s flight,
launched to such fanfare.

At the end edge of the kingdom,
language is pointless,
even if our lips were not blistered,
our tongues frost-dead.

These vats of oil dispatch flames
to the sky. In blazing sequences,
we send stories to the capital.
What cosmic language do you use?

Can you see me, nameless sentinel
on this endless line of stones?
Are there marauding barbarians
in cold outer space?

You and I have linked destinies—
we puncture small holes
in the wintry darkness against
strange winds and shifting stars.

We obey the emperor’s bidding,
do not think of earthly rewards;
the festooned laurels we will
save for another life.

—Paul Tan
from Language for a New Century

Maldives

So you’re listing the countries of Asia. You’re doing well—you’re proud of yourself that you remembered Sri Lanka, and at least a few of the former SSRs. The Maldives? Oops! I forgot about those little islands southwest of India. Why don’t we remember them now? 26 July is Independence Day in the Maldives—in 1965 they gained their independence from the United Kingdom.

Oh, and population-wise, the Maldives is the smallest country in Asia. It’s also the smallest predominantly Muslim nation in the world. The country is the lowest in the world—the maximum natural ground level is 2.3 metres. No hills there. This obviously means that Maldivians are concerned about global warming—rising sea levels could submerge the entire nation.

Around the third century BCE Buddhism came to the Maldives, and this remained the main religion until the 12th century. From 1153 until 1968 the nation was governed as an Islamic sultanate—even during the period from 1887 until 1965 that it was a British protectorate. In the 1950s there was an attempt to become a republic, but the sultanate was quickly brought back. In 1968, however, the same move was successful: the monarchy was abolished and a republic declared—though in practice there wasn’t a huge change in the way the nation was governed.

In 1988 there was a coup. A group of Maldivians removed President Gayyoom from power, before the Indian military pitched in against the Tamil mercenaries that assisted with the coup, and Gayyoom was reinstated as president. The name of the Indian operation to restore the status quo? Operation Cactus. No, I don’t have any idea why that chose that name.

More recently, like so many nations, the country was devastated by the 2004 tsunami. While the death toll was low compared to some other nations, the damage was estimated at $400 million—which represents about 62 percent of the GDP of the Maldives. Fourteen islands were completely evacuated, while six were apparently “decimated.” Twenty-one resort islands had to shut down—while the locals might not have been the ones enjoying the resort islands, tourism is big business in the Maldives—and is the largest industry in the country. That’s got to hurt. Cartographers are actually planning to redraw maps of the nation, as the tsunami caused alterations.

Today’s poem is by Farah Didi. It comes from the wonderful Language for a New Century.


Dying for a Himalayan Dream

pristine white snow-capped peaks,
painted across the horizon,
above green clad foothills and valleys,
glacial waters cold and sullen,

meandering rivers now stand still,
where Sherpas carry their daily loads,
a fresh chill spreads along the wake
of footsteps over virgin snows,

a crimson range stenciled in the sky,
bleeding in the evening light,
half-shadowed flotilla of clouds,
descends into a misty night,

trudging against the hostile glare,
a ghostly moon to guide along,
with frozen breaths they suck the air,
as she pulls them ever closer to her womb,

the people of the frozen tombs,
the final dream, the dizzy heights,
the chilling promise the goddess made,
the summit for their lives.

—Farah Didi,
from Language for a New Century

The Philippines

The Philippines consists of over seven thousand islands. I’m always amazed when I read things like that. And, yes, today is Independence Day in the Republic of the Philippines, which has been peopled for about 50,000 years, and, during the age of discovery, was colonised first by the Spanish in the 16th century before becoming a US territory at the outset of the 20th century. The Philippines gained its independence from the United States on the 4th of July in 1946; before that, the declaration of independence was made on 12 June.

The Philippines, when I think of it, is a mixed culture—with Asian roots, and Spanish and American influences. In fact, Spanish was the official language there until 1973, when both English and Filipino took over. Oh, and it was the Portuguese Ferdinand Magellan, in the service of Spain, who starting the infiltration of European influence. This was continued when Miguel Lópex de Legazpi, coming from Mexico, formed the first settlements. Before that, the Philippines had had ties with Malaysia, Indonesia and India for centuries, and traded with China and Japan from around the 9th century.

Having friends growing up in the Philippines, or Filipino families, I was always struck by their stories of devout Catholicism—that for Good Friday, for instance, it is not unusual to stage a real crucifixion.

The movement towards independence started in the 1930s, but was interrupted by World War II. Following the defeat of the Japanese and end of the war, the Philippines was granted independence in 1946.

Since independence, it hasn’t all gone smoothly. There have been rebel groups and martial law, assassination and what are believed to have been fraudulent elections. The current president, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo has found her administrations. The Philippines, too, is one of the outposts for processing and assembly of cheap good—Naomi Klein has written about factory conditions in the country.

And, who can forget Imelda Marcos? When she left the Malacañang Palance after the People Power Revolution in EDSA, it was found that she owned 15 mink coats, 508 gowns, 888 handbags and 1060 pairs of shoes. I can only wonder how Carrie Bradshaw would feel about the whole thing…

Today’s poem is from Language for a New Century, and is by the poet Cesar Ruiz Aquino.

She Comes with Horns and Tail

She comes with horns and tail
     And yet no nightmare
Made of air
     With such a gift
She carries heaven when she walks.
     On all fours, she is
The metamorphosis.
     Hair done or undone
True to the touch
     And true only to her looks
Till she comes with horns (not the moon)
     And tail (not the comet)
Someone no woman has met
     In the mirror. 

—Cesar Ruiz Aquino
from Language for a New Century.

Timor-Leste

The Democratic republic of Timor-Leste gained its independence in 2002: on 20 May they celebrate Independence Day. As one of the nations closest to Australian, East Timor is a country that I have felt very conscious of in the last decade as independence became an issue.

East Timor’s independence has been a long process: in 1975 the country declared independence from Portugal (and 28 November is a public holiday too—known as Proclamation of Independence Day) but later the same year was invaded by Indonesia who occupied the country for a long time. In 1999 Indonesia relinquished control of the territory and in 2002 Timor-Leste became the first new sovereign state of the twenty-first century. Following independence the government requested the official name in all languages to be Timor-Leste, but most English speakers still refer to it as East Timor. In the Australian media, where the struggle for independence and subsequent history of the country have been a constant stream, the media always calls the country East Timor.

Timor-Leste has been inhabited for at least 40,000 years—the earliest migrants were related to the indigenous groups of New Guinea and Australia. Around 5000 years ago, Austronesians migrated through the region, including Timor-Leste—they may have developed agriculture in the country. A third group, proto-Malays, arrived in the country too—I don’t know when. In the fourteenth century Timor became part of the Chinese and Indian trading networks.

The Portuguese arrived in the sixteenth century, establishing an outpost in Timor. In 1769, when European occupation of the territory really started, the capital Dili was founded. The Portuguese provided very little by way of infrastructure for the island.

During World War II, the country was occupied briefly by Dutch and Australian armies: they wanted to preempt the invasion of the island by Japan. The Japanese arrived and drove the Australians out of Dili. At the end of the war, Portuguese control was reinstated until they began decolonisation in 1974.

It was only nine days after the 28 November declaration of independence in 1975 that Indonesian forces invaded. A guerrilla outfit—Falintil—fought against the Indonesians from 1975 until 1999. One thing that really interests me about the Indonesian occupation is that the Indonesians banned the Portuguese language (along with Tetum, the official language of Timor-Leste) in the country, and so Portuguese was used clandestinely, and became a symbol of resistance: one colonisers language was used as a kind of weapon against the new coloniser. The 1991 Dili Massacre brought international attention to Timor-Leste, strengthening support for an independent East Timor.

Though an independent Timor-Leste was recognised in 2002, tensions have continued—in 2006, for instance, riots broke out, which led to peace-keeping forces from a number of countries. In February this year, the president José Ramos-Horta was injured as the result of an assassination attempt during a failed coup.

A recent issue—as in much of the rest of the world—is hunger. 2007 saw a bad harvest, and the lack of food led to deaths in several parts of the country.

Today’s poem was written by the East Timorese Prime Minister Xanana Gusmão, the second poem of the project so far to be written by a poet who became a country’s leader. Gusmão wrote this poem while he was in Cipinang Prison.


My Sea of Timor

If I could capture between my fingers the sighs of the sea and share them with children
If I could caress with my fingers the wave's gentle breeze and feel the hair of children
If I could feel between my fingers the kiss of the foam and hear the laughter of children
If I could touch with my fingers the sleep of the sea and coax to slumber the eyes of children
If I could take between my fingers pretty little shells and make of them necklaces for children
Oh, sea of mine! why do you wait? why don't you give? why don't you feel? why don't you hear?
Immersed in my thoughts I was suddenly shaken From the sea, my sea, Out of the bellies of ships, tremors came
I looked at the erupting sky and the size of the sea were cries of agony the gentle breeze the smell of dust and blood the kiss of the foam the death-rattle the sea's slumber. The pebbles of the gravestone and the pretty shells traced the destiny of the Homeland!
—Cipinang Prison, Jakarta October 8, 1995

—Xanana Gusmão