DOT: Yang telah menoktahkan sebuah kisah. Kisah yang telah mati. Atau kisah yang belum dihidupkan lagi? Yang tidaklah jauh di depan, di atas susurmasa yang disimpang-siurkan jalan ceritanya. Dengan garis-garis cahaya yang menjelmakan awan-gemawan, laut, pokok kelapa, pasiran pantai dan sebagainya. Landskap pagi yang mempesona. Salin tak tumpah seperti sebuah lukisan. Lukisan alam.
DOT: Putting an end to a story. A dead story. Or a story which has yet to come alive? Which is not too far ahead of us, on the timeline with a zigzagging storyline. With lines of light conjuring up clouds, the sea, palm trees, sandy beaches and so on. A mesmerising morning landscape. A mirror copy of a painting. A painting of nature.
The Caduceus Corporation, in extending the length of stay for the inhabitants of the Nerovo star system for three more generations, had also guaranteed social security to all inhabitants until everyone in the last generation had migrated elsewhere. That was the contract Hajeong’s grandmother’s generation had agreed to.
The Three-Twenty-Seven train from Tehran to Andimeshk left the station at 11.45 in the morning of July fifth, 1984, with my father in compartment number eight of its third car. My mother was not there to wave a handkerchief and cry, or to place a consoling hand on my head, or to hold up Sara to the window for a last kiss.
C'è un momento, nella vita di ogni essere umano, in cui i tratti del volto assumono un'aria indefinita; diventano un guazzabuglio di linee poco marcate, indecise sulla direzione da prendere, una confusione sospesa tra ciò che non è più e ciò che deve ancora diventare.
What was I afraid of? Losing Shurik. Nothing could be more terrifying. What was Shurik afraid of? Of the monsters that live under the bed and in the pipes when his mother is nowhere to be found. An empty apartment in the evening.
We're delighted to be joined on the blog this week by translator and author Paige Aniyah Morris, to tell us more about her translation of Soyeon Jeong's 'Ensign'/ 깃발.
