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THE LOG: October 9, 2017

THE LOG is a periodical series about daily encounters giving inspirations for thinking and writing. 

“THE LOG” 的中文版本为近处

Joan Didion. Goodbye to All That.

Joan Didion with her Corvette, 1971. Julian Wasser New York Times

Joan Didion with her Corvette, 1971. Julian Wasser New York Times

It all started with one sentence I read this morning from “Letter from the Editor” on Vogue, October 2017.

“…strength of character is everything, and age irrelevant.”

Anna Wintour, Vogue’s Editor in Chief, opens the letter talking about Hillary Clinton’s “gracious and eloquent concession speech” after November 9, 2016, and her recent memoir, What Happened, published on September 12, 2017. Then the letter goes on about other women with strong character, including Joan Didion.

It’s hard not to know about Hillary Clinton, whether or not living in New York. But I don’t know who Joan Didion is, except for what’s stated in the letter that at 82, the acclaimed writer, journalist, and former Vogue employee still has a sharp and sensitive gaze, “attuned to the local particulars and the broader implications.”

Convinced that Joan Didion was a name never coming across me before, I naturally turned to her Wikipedia page. She is a prolific writer moved to LA after living in NYC for some years…wait, why does this sound so familiar?

A few years ago I bought Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York, from Strand Bookstore at the corner of Broadway and 12th Street as I was walking downtown to the Village on a warm spring day. It’s an easy-read book of 28 writers’ personal stories coming to New York, trying to stay in New York, and eventually choosing to leave New York. The book sat on the nightstand next to my bed for a while. Every night I found myself amused by a few pages before going to bed.

For some reason, I started looking for the book in my recently rearranged apartment. Luckily, it’s not too hard to retrieve it from my bookshelf. Sure enough, I found Joan Didion there. In fact, the entire book is inspired by Didion’s 1967 essay, Goodbye to All That. On the front page of the book, there is a quote from her essay,

“All I mean is that I was very young in New York, and that at some point the golden rhythm was broken, and I am not that young anymore.”                 

I easily downloaded a pdf version of the short nine-page essay and read through it for the first time, sitting in front my new giant desk in Astoria, New York, my cat Xiaomi quietly accompanying this morning reading.

It’s Columbus Day. A rain early in the morning brought a real sense of autumn after two-week unusual warm temperature. Pumpkins and leaves are turning colorful, the air cooling down accompanied by a touch of the heavy fall sentiment. I had just obtained a new desk and was thrilled to be able to sit upright and concentrate on reading and writing. Xiaomi apparently loves the desk too – she made herself very comfortable in a chair next to mine, just sleeping and purring the entire time, with occasional patrols among my notebooks, computers, iPad & iPhone, teacups, pens and books on the desk. With David Bowie’s Five Years (1969 – 1973) in the background, working on THE LOG about Joan Didion seemed to be the best version of my New York story. Like Didion and all the 28 writers, I tend to look back at my years in NY from time to time, and often question (more often these days than before) whether I should stay or leave.

I found a few more quotes from Didion’s essay that speak to my heart this particular morning:

“ …I enter a revolving door at twenty and come out a good deal older, and on a different street.”

“It is often said that New York is a city for only the very rich and the very poor. It is less often said that New York is also, at least for those of us who came here from somewhere else, a city for only the very young.”

"…I was in love with the city the way you love the first person who ever touches you and never loves anyone quite that way again."

 “ You see I was in a curious situation in New York: it never occurred to me that I was living a real life there.”

“…New York was no mere city. It was instead an infinitely romantic notion, the mysterious nexus of all love and money and power, the shining and perishable dream itself.”

Didion makes it very clear that New York is for young people. It perhaps is the best city for many to spend their youth, me included, though I came here already halfway through my twenties (and I didn’t really start living in the city until my 30s). Everyone has the time when you have nothing but youth and dreams. New York is all about that. Whether the dream is about freedom, money, power, love, or fame, it’s all about being young and wondering in the Big Apple feeling all you dream are within the touch.

Didion moved away from New York after married in late 1960s. Speaking of “strength of character”, I also learned that Anna Wintour refers to Didion very specifically. Didion lost her husband to an unexpected massive heart failure at their dinner table one night after living together inseparably for over 40 years. Shortly after she lost her adopted daughter too. With her role of being a wife and mother ceased to exist, Didion struggled to regain her sense of identity, all reflected in her book, The Year of Magical Thinking, an example of “fictional journalism” she is widely known and acclaimed for.

In a picture published in the New York Times in 1971, Didion reminds me of 三毛,the Taiwanese writer most famous for her witty essays about youth and travel, her heavenly happy marriage (as depicted in her books) ended tragically with her Portuguese husband died in a work-related accident, and her suicide in the bathroom of her own home. They both have long dark hair, piercing eyes, and intelligent look with melancholy, except that at 82, with white hair and wrinkles all over her face, Didion still carries her sharp and sensitive gaze. And now she has many years to pierce back too, if she wants.  

In 2005, Wiki says, Didion moved back to NY and has been living here since. 

Somehow it’s a comfort for me to know. 

Astoria,New York

A Day in New York: Chinese Contemporary Poetry and Subway

SZ @ China Institute

R Train in Rector Street, New York City

R Train in Rector Street, New York City

Of course a story about New York has to have something to do with the subway.

Recently I am reading a book “ Goodbye to All That: Writers on Loving and Leaving New York” (not that I’m thinking of leaving New York, or am I?), and almost every single one of the 28 writers talks about New York subway ----how old, cramped, smelly, and unbearably frustrating it is----and yet, it has became so quintessentially New York, even a story on a day about poetry can’t avoid it.

It was October 22, Saturday. I went to China Institute for the first seminar of a series: Expanding the Boundaries of Chinese Poetry, given by Yibing Huang, known by his pen name Mai Mang (麦芒) , who established himself as a poet in China in the 1980s and came to U.S. in the 90s.

……

告诫我的不是一个人,而是

两个人、三个人……

先微笑,然后是沉默和迷惘

 

在数着星星的过程中

也许会忘记了自己眉毛底下

两颗最有人性的眸子

它们离我一样遥不可即

 

而我多么疲惫,多么恍惚

就像白昼一个未结疤的

伤口,有着腐败的肉和新鲜

的血,无人用嘴吮吸

 

手指,手指在跳动,仿佛

弹着一根并不存在的琴弦

我的诗啊,请埋进浓重的黑暗

不要为谁而唱,也不要为我

 

你只需叹息,像一场梦

你只需存在,哪怕被毁灭

这一切已经足够幸福了

就不要再追求什么不朽

 

—— 麦芒,1990年4月1日,《今夜的火花今夜就会熄灭》

 

English Translation by Mai Mang


Not just one person warned me
But two, three…
First smiling, then silent and lost
 
In the process of counting stars
Perhaps will forget beneath one’s own eyebrows
Two most human pupils
They are as far and unapproachable as the stars

And how fatigued, how unfocused am I
Just like an unhealed wound
Of the day, having rotten flesh and fresh
Blood, no one would suck it by mouth


Fingers, fingers are jumping
As if plucking a non-existent string
Oh my poetry, please bury yourself into the thick darkness
Don’t sing for anyone, not even for me

You only need to sigh, like a dream
You only need to exist, even if perish
All this would already be enough to be happy
Then please pursue no more so-called immortality

(Tonight's Sparks Will Die Out Tonight, by Mai Mang, April 1, 1990)

A faculty at the Connecticut College now, Mai Mang, a middle-aged man with long hair in a style surprisingly similar to mine, had to drive to a station in Connecticut to catch a Metro-North train, and switch to a New York subway to get to China Institute in order to give this lecture to a dozen participants (and who knows how they got there on a Saturday afternoon!).

My story of getting to China Institute was a typical New York subway story, that is, a frustrating one. I was planning to take the  #7 train from Queens into Manhattan after having lunch with a friend. The lunch was pleasant, which made me stay longer than I probably should. Only after swiping into the station, I found out the Manhattan direction platform was blocked (obviously no train went to Manhattan from that station). I could either take #7 to the next station OPPOSITE direction of Manhattan and switch back, or…… there were really no other options without alternative subway lines around. Instead, I stood around the corner of Sunny Side and Bliss Street for 20 minutes waiting for an Uber, which somehow didn’t show up and yet charged me $5 cancellation fee, and finally got myself into a green cab to 59th and Lexington Ave., only to get stuck in the traffic on Queens Borough Bridge. After getting off, I submerged to #4 train, the express line (and hence the most time-saving to get to China Institute on a NORMAL day), which, didn’t fail to disappoint me this time by only running to 42nd Street. It was only the beginning of a chain of switching trains underground from #4 to #6 (a local line taking twice as much time to get downtown) then to R, which finally went to Rector Street, a station closest to my office. Like most (if not all) New Yorkers, I particularly hate the walk from #6 to R at Canal Street. The connecting tunnels are as filthy as others and exceptionally long. Among all the semi-relaxing locals going out on weekends and confusing tourists who typically move slowly even when trains are running smoothly, I knew I appeared to be uncharacteristically impatient for a Saturday. Well, who cares?

I lost track of time. The mission of the day seemed not about the poetry seminar anymore, but to overcome all the barriers in the subway system between Queens and downtown Manhattan.

And of course, it was a rainy and windy Saturday. After an oddly warm and beautiful week, New York finally felt like late fall on this VERY Saturday, with falling yellow leaves, dreary rains, and almost everyone in black, depressing.

Thirty-minutes before the two-hour poetry seminar ended, I finally walked into China Institute. I dropped my two bags (did I mention that I was carrying two big bags all this time?) in my office, changed my flats to high heels, and stepped quietly into the library with beautiful traditional yet sleek Chinese design and walls of books (some from over 100 years ago) surrounding Mai Mang and the audience.

啊,亲爱的,让我们

再看看外面的世界吧

看看傍晚时分的烟酒店

雨水打湿的街道,车辆和情人

再看看起风的时候,城市多么荒凉

没有果实的树,又多么孤单

你就会感到: 我们应当在一起

我和你在一起的时间

就是家庭的时间

你就会停止在玻璃窗上写字

再不沉默,再不犹豫

也再不看我,就扑回我的怀中……

—— 多多,1973 - 1980, 《感情的时间》

Translation by Gregory Lee:

Oh my love, let's

look once again at the world outside the window

look at the wine and tobacco shop as night draws in

the street wet with rain, the traffic and lovers

look once again as the wind gets up, the town is so

desolate

fruitless trees, and how alone

you can just feel: we are meant to be together

our time together

is a homely time

you can stop and write (or "stop writing"? - by Shenzhan) words on the window pane

never again silent, never again hesitant

and never again looking at me, just throwing your arms

around me (or "throwing into my arms"? -- Shenzhan)...

Duoduo, born in 1951 and considered to be one of the most important contemporary poets in China's poets' circle, was the topic of the seminar.  When I walked in, Mai Mang was reading this poem in Chinese (and it was an amazing performance). An audience followed to read its translation in English. Was Duoduo talking about ONLY Beijing? The corner deli for cigarettes and drinks; the streets in the rain with cars and lovers (are they walking down the street holding hands? with an umbrella? Or riding a second-hand bike in yellow rain ponchos? ); the trees with leaves falling in October and soon to become bare branches……all were so charmingly familiar to me not only because of my 7-year life in Beijing prior to New York, but its surprising  resonance to the life in New York, even a hectic one I just had.

Did Duoduo ever live in New York? If yes, there must have been at least one day like mine he would have gone through. How would it appear in his poem? What would be included? The eyes and faces of confusing passengers packed on the platform? The headlight of the R train finally inching into the Canal Street Station after a long wait? The mumbles from the radio in the train announcing yet another route change “due to planned construction”? The filthy tunnel filled with bright white light that hurts eyes and gives headache?

There is really a poem in everything. My favorite Chinese writer, Wang Xiaobo, referring to Nietzsche, once wrote,

“一个人只有今生今世是不够的,他还应当有诗意的世界。” (It’s not enough for one to just have this life and this world. One shall own a poetic world.” - translated by Shenzhan)

你已经迟了

久等的地铁缓缓驶进站台

好像在嘲讽

——你忍气吞声

迫不及待地

扑进张开的门

—— 廖申展,10/2016, 《诗与纽约地铁》

BTW: next seminar by Mai Mang will be about Wang Xiaobo.

(Thanks to Mai Mang to provide poems and translations on Duo Duo and Mai Mang.)

10/23/16

60 Beans, Astoria, New York

A Book and A Stream

"Open House for Butterflies", by Ruth KraussIllustrated by Maurice Sendak

"Open House for Butterflies", by Ruth Krauss

Illustrated by Maurice Sendak

What slows you down?

I tried many ways, as it appears not too easy for me. Recently my favorite time to slow down is to curl up in my sofa and get lost in brainpickings (brainpickings.org), an e-newsletter posting a digest of interesting readings every Sunday by Maria Popova . This week’s topic, “The Magic of the Book: Hermann Hesse on Why We Read and Always Will”, is most relevant to me as I have been seeking answers to exactly the same question: in a multi-media dominated world, is reading (and hence books) still relevant? Hesse claimed “We need not fear a future elimination of the book” in his 1930 essay “ The Magic of the Book”,

“… It will become evident that formulation in words and the handing on of these formulations through writing are not only important aids but actually the only means by which humanity can have a history and a continuing consciousness of itself.”

Reading and (especially) writing take more time than receptively absorbing what’s imposed in front of you by TV, movies, or radios. A book is less aggressive. It’s just there. It’s up to YOU to open it. And it takes more energy to dig in. The meaning of a book has to be an interactive result between the reader and the writer on a deeper level, otherwise, the meaning simply does not exist.

Just like sitting next to a stream. You need to be quiet so that you can listen to how your heart is connected to a book. And that’s when magic starts.

6/12/2016

Astoria, New York

A Dialogue on the Alchemist

SZ @ New York

Old Chase Building in Financial District, New York

Old Chase Building in Financial District, New York

A little over a year ago, I was reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. Since English is not my native language, I don’t read many English novels as I am always frustrated with the feeling not being able to capture nuances.

However, I was deeply moved by The Alchemist. There is one paragraph in the preface so powerful, that I wrote it down in my note book (a real one made of paper), translated it into Chinese and shared with my best friend, a professional editor for a publishing house in Beijing.

The paragraph goes like this:

In the silence of our hearts, we know that we are proving ourselves worthy of the miracle of life. Each day, each hour, is part of the good fight. We start to live with enthusiasm and pleasure. Intense, unexpected sufferings pass more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until, one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from the bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives.

My  translation goes like below:

静谧的内心深处,我们深知 自己必得证明不枉这生命的奇迹。每一天,每一个小时,都是这场卓绝战斗的一部分。我们的生命始于激情与欢愉。强烈而意外的痛苦远比可以轻易容忍的痛苦消逝 得迅速;后者延续多年,在不知不觉间蚕噬我们灵魂,直至有一天,我们再无可能从这痛苦中解脱——它将伴随我们的余生。

One day, I came across a surprising discovery while I was randomly looking through an old manuscript of a novel, titled “Departure from Afar”(《从远方出发》), that I started years ago and still yet to finish. It opens with the following:

“没有比在最平凡的生活中看到意义更重要的事情了。并不是所有的人都能遭遇伟大的时刻,抵抗自然的突然来袭,与无人想象的困难作斗争——无人想象的困难在每一天的沉默中:在这里,存在如此轻而易举,其意义却如此渺茫,折磨着时时思考意义的人们。

Nothing is more important than seeking meanings through the most ordinary life. Not everyone encounters great moments, fights against an unexpected disaster imposed by nature, or struggles with unimaginable challenges. For most people, unimaginable challenges only exist silently in daily lives. There, the existence itself is easy, while the meaning fades every day, which troubles people with a burning quest seeking the meaning of life. ”

A dialogue completed, which explains why I was so moved by The Alchemist. (BTW: Did I mention it was translated into English from Portuguese?).

3/5/16
Astoria, NY