Maja Haderlap and Bei Dao - Workshop 22/08/22
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0.000 HBDMaja Haderlap and Bei Dao - Workshop 22/08/22
 Hello, everyone. Maja Haderlap was born in Austria in 1961. She has won awards for writing in both Slovenian and German. Bei Dao was born in China in 1949. He is an American citizen who lives in Hong Kong. He has been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature several times. Memory and reminders feature in the first poem. How can you write about memory or about being reminded of something? The countryside and old age are themes in the second. But a sense of the past also creeps in. Write about any or all of these ideas. The structure of the first poem is all lower case - think about removing case from your poem. The structure of both texts is mostly without punctuation. Perhaps remove some punctuation you might usually use. Six words to attempt to incorporate into your writing from Haderlap: fall, ferns, open, mockery, crash, remind. Six words from Bei Dao: music, tide, far, tree, nets, years. If you have a copy of The Exercise Book (Manhire, Duncum, Price & Wilkins), turn to page "#122: What Are They Thinking: a point of view exercise " for an additional challenge. That's all. I hope you are inspired to write today. --- what was by Maja Haderlap once a year when bookmarks fall out of my books with memoranda like counting ferns, registry carnations, nettle clips, i go back to my village. on open pages stories yellow. they have turned to legends and laid down their arms, mockery, tumult, the dance sweat that dripped from the brows of the dancers. i put on my red smock, put my hair over my head like a bush, wear dirty socks and boots that would fit a man. i smell the pig fat in the unventilated kitchens, try out names and their shadow stories that once kicked free, crash about like floating wood. i stop at the yard entrance. here i laid a stone with a furrow encased in lime. it was supposed to remind me where i came from. --- Pastoral by Bei Dao Translated by David Hinton wolves of music weave their way at a run hawthorns wheeze with clandestine laughter turning a new leaf, tide's out young ship-captains high up on balconies look far away through telescopes east and west a single fruit cut into halves beneath a tree grown from the pit I once spit out I've hung nets to trap birds, and waited how many years
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