From the IPTRC Blog: English - Chinese

[India] R.K.Singh  Gleam of Light（印度，英汉对照）

(2012-09-12 10:40:28)

                       

                                  [印度]R.K.辛格

Gleam of Light

Late August:
clouded midnight, sneezing
restless in bed
all negative vibes
well up the mind
jackals yell outside
I read Hsu Chicheng’s poems
for a gleam of light

[印度]R.K.辛格

光芒闪烁

八月末：

黑云密布的午夜，打着喷嚏

我不安的躺在床上

所有的负面情绪

涌现大脑

豺狼在屋外嗥叫

我捧读许其正的诗

而得见一线光芒

                                    （野鬼Diablo  译）

附作者来信：

Dear Friend Dr. Hsu Chicheng,

May I share a poem I composed at midnight last month. I was trying to overcome my restlessness reading your poetry.

My new collection has some “selected poems” you read earlier, but there are several new ones. I hope you found them different from the earlier ones and enjoyed reading them.

In my free time, I have read your collection and learnt how your poetic sensibility is rooted in Nature, the hills and mountains, the fields and villages, the hard rural and urban life, and the transitions you experienced at various points of time. You have a sense of history and I appreciate your commitment. Your poetry in original Chinese must be very inspiring. Getting older is a learning experience in itself. I too am learning.

With best regardsR.K.Singh, from India

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_5f9f84d80102dz8h.html

____________________________________________________________________________

Prof.R.K.Singh,from India(印度，英汉对照）

(2012-01-07 10:30:46)


Barbed Wire Fence (and another poem)

My window opens

to the back of a garage

where guards make water

at times show their dick

to the maid in my kitchen:

they care for none

how can I complain

if boys and girls make love

in the bush between

the children’s  park and

my backyard? They are distanced

by a barbed wire fence

           

Overload

Goes awry

the electrical circuit

in the brain cells

in my drugged sleep

I utter expletives

unmindful of

the victims:

I can’t help my sensory

overload

[印度] R.K.辛格

带刺的铁栅栏（外一首）

我的窗户朝向

一个车库的背面

那里的警卫在此小便

有时他们对我厨房的女仆

显露他们的老二

满不在乎

如果小伙子和姑娘

在灌木丛中做爱

我怎么能投诉

孩子们的运动场和

我的后院吗？它们被

一道带刺的铁栅栏隔开

           

超载

脑细胞里的

电路

出了错误

我在麻木的睡眠中

发出咒骂声

没留意

那些受害者：

我的知觉失控

超载

                                         （樱娘Madam Cherry  译）

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_5f9f84d80102duqp.html 

____________________________________________________________________________

Dr.R.K.Singh，from India(印度，英汉对照）

(2011-06-24 08:39:12)

[ India]R.K.Singh
Threat (and other two poems)

We chase myths in self-made Amazon
fish turtles that change color in new waters

we create landscape of nightmares and wade through
anacondas that threaten our confidence

lost in the jungles of our own making
we beat about thorny grasses now

look for the twin flames for convenience
cloud judgment  and reality for control

challenge the Republic and divide
the defense that could never be


       Fisherman’s Song

Walking along the beach
they collect empty shells
that fascinate senses
in the salty river

feel the life now no more
but argue about the sex
of a conch ignoring
the fisherman's song


      Golden Reward

With sudden twists and turns
popping up each new day
life still awaits intrigues
through meandering pathways
I search the golden light
the rising capricorn
held for a sunday child

the labyrinths are dark
and scary but I know
the way in is the way out
I can't trip along the way
like others in blind alleys
the guardian angel
leads me to golden reward

[印度]R.K.辛格　

威  胁(外二首）

　　　　　

我们追寻神话，在自己设想的亚马逊河

捕捉新水域色彩诡变的海龟。

我们创作梦魇般的风景画，艰难地跋涉

穿过恐吓我们信念的巨蟒。

迷失在自己开辟的深林之中，

现在与荆棘、杂草相争。

寻找使我们方便的两个火炬

云的判断与现实的调控。

向共和国挑战，分享

永不存在的保护。

               渔夫的歌声

他们沿着海滩漫步

一路捡集着空壳

那令人神魂颠倒的海贝

躺在咸味的河里。

感觉生命不再长久

但对海螺的性生活

却争论不休，听不见

渔夫的歌声。

                 果  报

从天而降的坎坷

会忽然出现在每一个新的一天。

生活依然等待阴谋诡计

穿过曲折的小径。

我苦寻金色的灯光

那升起的摩蝎座

高举着一个礼拜日的孩儿。

迷宫又黑又恐惧，但我知道

出来进去的门道

我不能轻快地沿路行走

如黑暗的小巷中人。

              

守护神天使啊

请引领我走向果。

                                    （霍冬克  译）

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_5f9f84d801017qal.html

_______________________________________________________________________________

[印度] R.K.辛格 打破沉默：老年痴呆症患者及他们的看护人（英汉对照）

(2011-02-16 08:28:55)

 [ India] R.K. Singh

 Breaking the Silence: Sufferers of Alzheimer’s and Their Caretakers

Despite striking achievements of science and technology, the problems of human life and destiny have not ended, nor have the solutions been seriously affected by scientific knowledge. Alzheimer’s disease, which currently affects about 10% of people over 65 years of age and 50% of those over 85 years of age, has no cure.  As many as 5.3 million Americans are now living with the devastating disease. In India, too, more than 3.7 million of an estimated 100 million elders are believed to be suffering from dementia-related afflictions.  According to a study, unless new treatments are developed to decrease the likelihood of Alzheimer’s disease, the number of individuals with Alzheimer’s disease in the USA may rise to 14 million by the end of the year 2050.

Read against this background, Frances Kakugawa’s book, a mix of poetry, story and practical guide, is a recognition of the services rendered by professional and voluntary organizations that seek to minimize the pangs of Alzheimer’s sufferers as well as the sufferings of their near and dear ones. It pays tribute to caregivers who have been untiringly working for creation of a world without dementia, stroke, or cancer just as it seeks to help them endure the innumerable crises of caregiving.

Breaking the Silence: A Caregiver’s Voice  merges Frances Kakugawa and her poet-colleagues’ varied experiences with a broad human perspective, engaging both mind and heart.  The caregivers seek to share their compassionate spirit with a sense of gratitude to all those who help the victims of Alzheimer’s disease negotiate their mentally vacant existence. They are not only aware of the sufferers’ substantial loss of brain cells or progressive decline in their ability to think, remember, reason, and imagine, or their language problems and unpredictable behavior, confusion, or loss of sensory processing, but they also know well how the Alzheimer’s victims suffer a sort of living death, becoming a mere body stripped of its humanity. They have been witness to caregiving family members of increasingly confused and helpless sufferers themselves often becoming the disease’s exasperated and exhausted victims:

             “ Is she the mom who nurtured me?

              Is it the dementia playing havoc with my mind?

              Or is this really my mom? I don’t know.”

                                                                                     (‘More Glimpses of a Daughter and Mother’)

and

            “I am torn between two needy factions.

             Mom unaware, daughter pushing all boundaries

             Both out of control.”

                                                                                      (‘The Sandwich’)

For Frances Kakugawa, caregiving is a mission even as the memory and image of her Alzheimer’s struck mother persists in her life as a “loud presence”.  She gives voice to many caregivers who are ever worried about their loved ones not even able to carry out the simplest tasks and/or are completely dependent on others for their care.  She expresses the very haunting fear of death:

           “Is she breathing? Is she alive?

             Is she finally gone, freeing me once again?

             I continue my sentinel watch.”

                                                                                      (‘Unspoken Mornings’)

Frances not only articulates their fear but also learns to negotiate it by boldly facing it as part of life.  In fact, she turns the metaphor of death as integral to life, be it in the form of “an ache of emptiness”, “unfulfilled dreams”, or “unlived moments”.  In her deeper silences, she explores the very meaning of life:

          “A second gust of wind

           Lifts another fistful  of ashes.

           Be still and listen.”

                                                                                      (‘Song of the Wind’)

It is hearing the inner silence, which is something meditative, Biblical, and spiritual.  It is awaking to the self, the Holy Spirit, the Divine himself. When the soul peaks into silence, human becomes divine. She sounds earnest and exceptional, seeking harmony with the highest ideals, irrespective of chaotic personal experiences. As  Setsuko Yoshida says in ‘Can I?’ :

               “Poems by Frances this morning

               Reveal the feelings of ‘divine’

               In caregiving.”

In fact, as women poets, Frances Kakugawa and her caregiver colleagues (Elaine Okazaki,  Linda McCall Nagata, Eugene Mitchell, and others) present a feminine and yet very humane perspective to the dementia-related illnesses. Jason Y. Kimura, Rod Masumoto, and Red Silver, though male poets, demonstrate the ‘Prakriti’ or ‘Yin’ aspects in rhythm with other contributing caregivers’ sensibility.   They variously turn the Alzheimer’s into a metaphor for the loss of language, the loss of memory, and the loss of voice.  Their poetry, often brief and personal, and rich and insightful, becomes a means to communicate the sufferers’ loss of feeling, love, dignity, honor, name, and relationship; in short, their isolation, or threat to living itself:

              “All my life I have lived

               With crayons in one hand,

               Filling in spaces,

               Spaces left by departed lovers, family, friends,

               Leaving me crayons smashed against walls

               Creating more grief than art.”

                                                                                      (‘Empty Spaces’)

They also use the metaphor for challenge to survive, to exist, without fears and anxieties:

             “I am woman,

               Suppressed,

               Dying.”

                                                                                      (‘Nissei Woman’)

and

             “I am not merely heaven, man and earth

               Rooted by cultural hands.

               Sift those sands. Yes!

               I am free!

               I am tossed into the winds.

               I shed my kimonos.

               I spread my legs.

               I am free.”

                                                                                       (‘Lesson #3’)

and

            “When I am 88

               I will still be woman,

               Yes!”

                                                                                      (‘When I am 88’)

and

             “I am still here

               Help me remain a human being

               In this shell of a woman I have become.

               In my world of silence, I am still here.

               Oh, I am still here.”

                                                                                   (‘Emily Dickinson, I am Somebody’)

They convert the Alzheimer’s into a search for reprogramming the mind, the thought, and the attitude to overcome the irreversible suffering and helplessness.  As Frances very feelingly asserts: it is the search for

               “…the same umbilical cord

                 That once set me free

                 Now pulls and tugs me back

                 To where I had begun.

                  There must be hidden

                  Somewhere a gift very divine

                  In this journey back.”

                                                                                      (‘Mother Into Child, Child Into Mother’)

They are true to themselves as they voice their search for the whole.  With an empathetic awareness, they disclose their innate goodness, trust, and compassion to make   a “symphony of truth.”  At the core of their musing lies a desire to integrate themselves, to live in time as well as in eternity:

              “What other path is there

                Except the divine

                Where love, kindness, compassion,

                Help me discover little pieces of myself

                That make me smile

                Bring me such quiet joy

                At the end of each day.”

                                                                                       (‘Bless the Divine’)

They reveal the working of the primal impulses of the human soul which rises above the differences of race and of geographical position.  In short, they give vent to the thought of all people in all lands.

As poet-caregivers they cope with their tensions, fears and anxieties through introspection, and accommodate their inner and outer conflicts, sufferings and celebrations through imaginative insight.  They mirror the broad social or familial conditions as well as their own personal state with perceptions that are often different from those of the male poets (or male caregivers).  Their quest is for real reality vis-à-vis degeneration, privation, insecurity, helplessness, anonymity, and death.  They search for life and live with awareness of what lies beneath the skin of things around, the psycho-spiritual strains, the moral dilemmas, the betrayals, and the paradoxes:

             “Why do you say I am sacrificing

               Good years of my life

               For caring for my mother,

               When it shouldn’t be a secret

               That I am really living

               In a way I have never lived before?

               …

               No, this is not sacrifice.

               It is just reality.

               I am really living

               In a way I have never lived before.

               I am living love.”

                                                                                                (‘What I Know’)

Against the complexities of experiences, they demonstrate a sense of values such as love, faith, truth, tolerance, patience, peace, charity, harmony, humility, and healthy relationships.  They tend to think intuitively and/or turn personal, inward, spiritward, or Godward, without indulging in intellectual abstraction.  They write with poetic sensibility. Their metaphors and images reflect their inner landscape as much as their responses to what they observe or experience externally.  They are often reticent and honest in their verbal expression, and their inner vibrations touch or elevate the readers’ senses.  As they create discourse of themselves as caregivers, they  also sound committed to their home, family, children, motherhood, and neighborhood, often voicing their own vision and understanding which cuts across cultures and regions. 

They seek to transcend their body or feminity and respect the woman in themselves, even if affected by the Alzheimer’s environment.  They turn inside out and reveal what is personal yet universal in their different roles as mother, wife, daughter, and feel the agony of the spirit while trying to know “Who I am?”, or “How I should live, who I should be”, or “What am I looking for? Why did I come?”

As they look back or reflect their present, they also voice  the need for strong sense of togetherness  vis-à-vis their inner conflicts, spiritual hunger, loneliness, or dependence.  They sound challenging the Alzheimer’s itself:

             “You could not rob us, though we forgot.

              You could not erase us, though we could not write.

              You could not silence, though we could not speak.

              The stories, the laughter, the moments that passed

              Into their keep, you could not steal

              Into a night of silence.”

                                                                                                  (‘Hey Alzheimer’s’)

As they fill one with hope for ageing with grace and dignity despite the challenges of loss, they  create an alternative motive and impulse for social action at a very personal level:

             

              “Through this deepest darkened night

                I will hold the light

                To take away all your fears.

                Just know I will always be near.”

                                                                                                           (‘To My Mother’)

There is an urge for changing the situation for themselves, or for being in peace with oneself.  The poets and caregivers of Breaking the Silence seek to create a new culture as they rationalize how we ought to live in future.

Work Cited：

Kakugawa, Frances H. Breaking the Silence: A Caregiver’s Voice. Nevada City, California: Willow Valley Press, 2010. Print. (All references are from this book).

       

[印度] R.K.辛格

打破沉默：老年痴呆症患者及他们的看护人

科技成果斐然的今天，人类生命和宿命的问题仍然没有停止，科学知识也没有显然改变解决这类问题的方法。目前，世界上65岁以上身患老年痴呆症的人数约占10%，85岁以上身患该病的人数约占50%，患者一般无可救药。在美国，患有这种灾难性疾病的人多达530万。同样，印度约1亿老人中，发现其中370多万人患有痴呆类疾病。据研究，除非研制新的治疗方法减少老年痴呆症发病率，美国老年痴呆症患者的人数2050年底可增至1400万。

在这种背景下，弗朗西丝·卡库加瓦的书（包括诗歌、故事和实际指南）肯定了为努力减少老年痴呆症患者痛苦、减少他们亲人朋友痛苦的专业机构和自愿者组织所 提供的服务。书中作者赞扬了那些一心致力于创造“无痴呆、无中风、无癌症”世界的看护人员，因为他们帮助那些患者度过了“无人看护”的危机。

《打破沉默：看护人之声》，以触及身心的宽广的人文视角，集合了弗朗西丝·卡库加瓦及她的诗友们的种种经历。看护人以感恩之心，试图和那些帮助老年痴呆症 患者克服精神空缺的人，分享他们的同情心。他们不仅意识到患者有的丧失了大量脑细胞，有的思考、记忆、推理、想象能力退化，有的出现语言障碍或发生未知行 为，而且他们更清楚老年痴呆症患者忍受着虽生犹死的痛苦，犹如一尊没有人性的僵尸。他们注意到，那些被看护的家庭成员越来越迷惑、无助，常被疾病折磨得精 疲力竭。

“她是养育我的母亲？

是痴呆症在扰乱我的神经？

或许这就真是我的母亲？我不知道。”                                   

（《多看几眼女儿和母亲》）

及

          

“我在两个贫困的派别间挣扎。

母亲没有意识，女儿推开所有界限

她们两个都疯了”

（《三明治》）

对于弗朗西丝·卡库加瓦，当老年痴呆症母亲的记忆和形象在她生命中犹如“喧嚣的存在”挥之不去，看护成了一种使命。有些人担心所爱的人甚至不能完成简单的事情或完全依靠他人的照料，而她替这些人说话。她正表达了对死亡萦绕的恐惧：

          

“她在呼吸么？她还活着？

最终她要死去，让我重返自由？

我继续看护，监视。

（“不语的清晨”）

弗朗西丝不经强调他们的恐惧，而且试图在生活中勇敢的面对恐惧，克服恐惧。实际上，她将死亡暗喻成生命的一部分，尽管死亡的表现形式是“空虚的痛苦”，“为实现的梦想”或“不在世上的时光”。当她更加沉默时，她真正探索了生命的意义。

          

“又一阵强风

吹起另一撮灰。

安静，静静的听。”

（《风之歌》）

它倾听内心的沉寂，沉思、恪守和圣歌。它唤醒自己，圣灵，和神灵本身。当灵魂突然沉寂，人变为神灵。她听起来诚实、超然，寻求与最高理想的和谐，不论个人经历如何纷繁。Setsuko Yoshida说“我能？”：

              

“今天早晨

法国的诗歌揭露了

看护时的神圣感情。”

事实上，作为女诗人，弗朗西丝·卡库加瓦和她的看护人同事（伊莱恩·冈崎，Linda McCall Nagata，尤金·米切尔等）对痴呆类疾病提出了一种女性但非常人文化的视角。虽然是男诗人，詹森· Y. 木村, 罗德·马苏莫托，及Red Silver展 现了“原质”或“阴”的方面，与其他看护人的感受共鸣。他们采用各种方法将老年痴呆症暗喻成丧失了语言能力，丧失记忆，不能说话。他们的诗歌简洁又具个 性，充实又有洞见，成为和丧失感情、爱、尊严、荣誉、姓名和关系的患者进行沟通一种方式；简而言之，就是和他们的鼓励和威胁生存本身进行沟通的一种方式。

            

“我过的一生，

一手握着蜡笔，

涂抹空白，

涂抹死去了的爱人、家人和朋友的空白，

涂抹的让我将蜡笔粉碎在墙上

留下的不是艺术，而是更多的烦忧。”

（《空虚之境》）

她们还采用暗喻的手法，对无所畏惧地生存和存在进行质疑。

“我是女人

压抑窒息

逐渐消亡”

（《入西女人》）

及

           

“我不仅是扎根于

文明之手的天堂、人类和大地。

筛掉那些沙子。对！

我自由了！

我被抛到风里。

我脱掉我的晨服。

我伸展我的双腿。

我自由了。”

（第3课）

及

        

“当我88岁时，

我还将是女人。

没错！”

（《当我88岁时》）

及

            

           “我还在这里

帮我保持人的样子

我已变成一副女人的躯壳。

在我沉默的世界里，我还在这里。

啊，我还在这里。”

（《艾米莉·狄金森，我是大人物》）

他们将老年痴呆症转变成重塑想法、思想和态度的一种追求，以克服不可逆转的苦难和无助。正如弗朗西丝主张，这是为了追求：

             

“……相同的脐带

曾经给我自由

现在拉我回来

回到开始的地方。

在归途中

一定有地方

藏着一份非常神圣的礼物。”

（《母亲变孩子，孩子变母亲》）

呼吁追求整体时，他们对自己是真诚的。有怜悯之心的他们，揭示了他们内在的善良、信任和同情，奏一曲真实的交响乐。他们思想深处潜伏着统一自己的愿望，及时、永恒生活的愿望。

“除了圣途外，

还有别的出路么

圣途中，

爱情，善良，同情帮我发现自己的渺小

在每天结束时

让我发笑

带给我宁静的喜悦。”

（《祈祷圣途》）

他们揭示了那种高于种族地理差异的原始冲动所起的作用。简而言之，他们抒发了任何国家任何民族普遍存在的思想感情。

作为看护人的诗人，他们通过内省克服自己的紧张、恐惧和焦虑、适应内外冲突；通过想象经受痛苦和庆祝快乐。他们常以迥异于男诗人（或男性看护人）的直觉， 反映广阔的社会现实和自身状态。他们追求的是关于堕落、匮乏、不安全感、无助、不为人知和死亡的确凿现实。他们寻求生活同时也意识到精神紧张、道德困境、 背叛、矛盾等身边现象的本质：

            

“你说为什么

我牺牲了生命的大好时光

来照顾我的母亲

而这不是我真正活着

似乎从前没有活过

的秘密？“

……

不，这不是牺牲

这只是现实

我真正的活着

从前我没有真正活过

我是为爱而活着。”

（《我知道的》）

尽管经历复杂，他们还是表现了爱、信仰、真诚、宽容、忍耐、和平、慈善、和谐、人性以及健康关系等价值观。他们喜欢直觉思考，或趋向个人、内心、精神或神 灵层面，但又不沉溺于抽象思考。他们带着诗意写作。他们的暗语和意象反映了他们的内心世界，正如他们对外部世界所观察、所经历的反映。通常，他们在言语表 达谨慎、诚实，他们的内心起伏触及或提升读者的意识。他们自称为痴呆患者的看护人，同时还致力于自己的家、家人、孩子、母亲和邻里，常发表自己的意见，理 解跨文化、跨宗教的差异。

即使患了老年痴呆症，他们仍试图超越自己身体，或超越女性本征，最终女人本身。他们剖析问题，揭示了母亲、妻子、女儿等不同角色中个性却又普遍的东西；他们试图理解“我是谁？”，“我该怎么生活”，“我追求什么？”，“为什么我来这个世界？”时，感受到精神的痛苦。

当回首过往或反思现在时，他们也表达了与自己内心冲突、精神渴望、孤单或独立意识“交心”的强烈需求。他们是在质疑老年痴呆症本身：

             

“你不能掠夺我们，尽管我们不能记忆。

你不能擦除我们，尽管我们不能写字。

你不能沉默我们，尽管我们不能说话”

故事，笑声和过往的时光由他们保存

你不能窃取，遁入沉默的夜。

（《嘿，老年痴呆症》）

他们让人不论失去什么，都愿意优雅、尊贵的老去，他们个人创造了另一种动机，另一种冲动。

         

“穿过这深黑的夜

我将擎着灯光

驱除你所有恐惧

记住我一直在你身边。”

 （《致我的母亲》）

我们呼吁他们要么改变自己的状况，要么心平气和的对待自己。《打破沉默》中的诗人和看护人试图在未来合理生活的同时，也在创造一种新的文化。

参考文献：

弗朗西丝·卡库加瓦《打破沉默：看护人之声》。加利福利亚内华达市Willow Valley出版社2010年印。（所有引用源自此书）。

                                                                                                                           （贺葵   译）

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_5f9f84d80100p79x.html 

 
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Prof.R.K. SINGH,from India(印度）

(2009-06-08 18:11:32)

[India] R.K. SINGH
                        THE VALLEY OF SELF
I do’t know which psalm to sing
or which church to go to feel
the flames within for a while

sit or lie still with
faith weather the restlessness
brewing breath by breath.

I don’t know the god
or goddess or the mantra
to chant when fear overtakes
my being and makes me suffer

plateaus of nightmares
paralysing spirit to live
and be the promised fulfillment.

I see not savior come
to rescue me when mired
to seek freedom from my self:

my ordeals are mine alone
in the valley of self
I must learn to clear the clouds
soaring high or low.



                         HELPLESSNESS
I have no magical power
to change my restlessness
into glory radiating
peace or purpose in living.

They give me no room to better
men or myself but condemn
as one hanged for nothing:
poets are no living lessons.

I stand aside ruminating
what I couldn’t do or be
or await miracles through
circles and zigzags of the mind.

Even corrupt faith and curse
destiny for the maze
of my own making and yet say
I know the spirit’s upward fire.
   

http://blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_5f9f84d80100e14v.html

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