minor revolutions

Just this afternoon, we felt another minor earthquake. There were quite a few of us still working in our offices, and when the building shook, it was such a little shake that we didn't even stop our activities. Everyone continued at such a normal pace that I'd have to say the quake was dismissed as insignificant. As we continue to experience these little shocks, I see more and more that we have become lulled into a comfortable disregard for such little things. We no longer pay attention, and we no longer hold our breaths as the buildings shifted left to right.

As I think about this, I can't help but wonder how much longer we will be able to ignore such movements. And, what other occurrences in our lives have we dismissed with such complacency, without so much as an acknowledgement?

Is this similar to how we respond to the rapid changes taking over the earth? Is this how we respond to the rapidly melting ice caps? The quickly deteriorating forests? The steadily rising ocean levels? The climbing carbon emissions? Is this how we choose to respond? To do nothing at all?

Actually, no. As I can personally attest, the greening revolution is catching on, and spreading fast -- even faster than wild forest fires. Haha. I'm a part of the greening initiative at my church and at my seminary. We are starting small, and starting slow but steadily. We are only a small contingent of the larger movements, which is proof that change is happening...

no distance of place

"No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the love..." - Robert Southey

babbling ceaselessly

A man may seem to be silent, but if his heart is condemning others he is babbling ceaselessly. But there may be another who talks from morning till night and yet he is truly silent. -- Henri Nouwen, The Way of the Heart

lights out...

2day began on a high note -- connected with old friends, met new ones, did good work, went to a festival, greeted new church guests, had dinner w/ friend, went to Jupiter, enjoyed jazz/afro-latin/funk/hiphop, loved eating ice cream on the way home... a full Saturday... and I come home and see the entry about the miners in Utah, and am appalled the day went so well, for me. how to reconcile how we feel? i go to bed now on a somber note.

Remembering the miners in Utah

For the great loss of life, for the deepest hurt that carry the families...

Most merciful God, whose wisdom is beyond our understanding: Deal graciously with the families of the miners in their grief. Surround them with your love, that they may not be overwhelmed by their loss, but have confidence in your goodness, and strength to meet the days to come; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Eternal Lord God, you hold all souls in life: Give to your whole Church in paradise and on earth your light and your peace; grant that we, following the good examples of those who have served you here and are now at rest, may at the last enter with them into your unending joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

"Maid, Mother, Crone"

The Bade Institute at PSR is currently showing an exhibition by Eileen Baker called "Maid, Mother, Crone." The pieces are a variety of watercolors, pastels, and mixed media, many of which are images of the Holy Family. Interestingly, baby Jesus is depicted in many images as a gremlin-looking type of creature with protruding tongues and big ears and, in some, furry feet. What does such a portrayal of the holy family suggest? Is it merely our interpretation of the non-divine, the in-human? How do we understand these images in relation to our understanding of the traditional gender roles, of the traditional definition of family? And, of Mary? We are instructed, given loose parameters, even before we see these images that we are to view these with lenses different from the familiar. If we are to understand that "maid, mother, crone" refers to Mary, mother of Jesus, wife of Joseph the carpenter, then these titles (imposed upon her by the contexts of her time period or of a later time?) force us to redefine the traditional family, the traditional gender roles. In fact, we would have to re-imagine the "modern" family (see Rosemary Radford Reuther's Christianity and the Making of the Modern Family). What I know is this, you can't just rely on what your eyes tell you...

hoa 22

It's been a long while since I've posted pictures, which slightly disrupts my month-long slideshow... so, here it is again... continued.

not my rice?!

So glad to know that CARE has decided to turn down federal aid in order to support local farmers -- in Africa. Read more at NY Times or at the End Poverty Blog. It has always perplexed me why we continue this practice. It's also perplexing that organizations like World Vision continue to believe in this method... It also becomes tiring having to explain and constantly apologize to my international friends because of the American practice of giving charity, aka ONLY subsidized American farm product, to developing countries, which of course always beats out the struggling farmers in those developing countries. It's like we have no shame in feeding them fish after fish (that we've harvested unnaturally?) without givin them the ability to learn how to fish for themselves. In fact, we're probably grabbing the fishing rods out of their hands and breaking them in half and shoving fish into their hands. Tragic...

The same thing happens in Viet Nam. When there was famine in southern VN, there was plenty of rice in the northern regions, but it was impossible to transport them from north to south. When the U.S. brought in aid, it wouldn't help transport the domestic rice but forced the VN gov't to use U.S. rice instead.

plunging into ministry

"The Gospel of Christ knows no religion but social, no holiness but social holiness.

You cannot be holy except as you are engaged in making the world a better place. You do not become holy by keeping yourself pure and clean from the world but by plunging into ministry on behalf of the world's hurting ones."

-- John Wesley

my funeral: my way

Travel to space.

Rebuild Atlantis.

Land on the Moon.

Buy a diamond ring.

Who knew that after I die, I could accomplish all these things -- and more! I just finished reading a fabulously interesting article from Interesting Thing of the Day. Apparently, the author has figured out that with our ashes, we are able to do all these things: travel to space, rebuild Atlantis, and land on the moon. The only thing misleading about my quote was that we don't actually buy the diamond ring after we die -- we could actually become the diamond ring.

That's right. No more "you are dust, and to dust you shall return". No sirree. There is a company that will take your ashes and compress them into an artificial diamond ring. There's also a company that will take a portion of your ashes into space, or if you prefer, you could have your ashes sent to the moon. Another interesting option is to pay this other company to put your ashes in concrete and use it as a building block of an artificial reef that is being built off the coast of Miami -- yes, the reef is modeled after Atlantis. You could, essentially, become the cornerstone of the city under the sea. Hahaha.

I am reminded of the ancient kings of Vietnam (not to mention the Pharaohs of Egypt, the Emperors of China, etc.) who built their mausoleums in preparation for their deaths. It is quite extraordinary. The elaborate architectures, the blueprints, the designs, the labor that went into building these edifices and facilities that will house them in their deaths. Though our methods differ from theirs, our desire, our need to prepare for death in our own way very similary reflects those of the ancient kings and pharaohs. I suppose it is that human need to feel like we can manage every little thing, that we do have control over all things even death, no matter how futile.

hoa 15

Tear It Down

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of raccoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within that body.

- Jack Gilbert, The Great Fires

neighbor no more

But the fear of the inexplicable has not only impoverished the reality of the individual; it has also narrowed the relationship between one human being and another, which has as it were been lifted out of the riverbed of infinite possibilities and set down in a fallow place on the bank, where nothing happens.

-- Rilke, Letter 8, Sweden, 1904

Just yesterday, I noticed that our neighbor of 2 years had moved out. It didn't even occur to me that they were thinking of moving -- there were no usual indicators; no moving vans, no boxes, no trash loaded up in the dumpster. In fact, it was rather quiet even for the summer. I didn't even know they moved until M told me the windows were missing all the blinds and we could see only empty walls. It seemed odd to me that after being neighbors for two years that they would just leave without saying ciao.

It is most likely that their transitioning occurred during the day, when I'm at work, and by the time I get home, there are other preoccupations that keep us from chatting up our neighbors. No matter what, it felt strange. We brought cookies over to them; we exchanged amiable conversation; we talked about work; we oohed and aahed over their lovely children (two boys, very sweet).

Their decision to move and not tell us is none of my business. They are under no obligations to notify me or any of their other neighbors of their intentions. We have no right to interfere and inquire about their lives. Nevertheless, I feel as if we had been rebuffed, ignored, regarded as insignificant, unimportant. What we were -- neighbors -- ranks very low on the totem pole, because when you think about it, neighbors in this day and age in our societies don't really matter. Or do they?

I wish that we could cultivate closer ties with our neighbors -- not in the Mr. Roger's Neighborhood manner -- but a bit more than just passing hellos on our way to work in the morning. There is a sense of estrangement and indifference in our lives that grows increasingly uncomfortable for me. I miss the days when we could run over to our neighbors and ask for a cup of sugar and eggs b/c I suddenly wanted to make cookies and didn't have any ingredients, and then we would talk for two hours about nothing. I miss the days when we talked about our gardens -- about how our trees (my dad's apple tree especially) is growing tall but no fruits, and our neighbor's fruits are plopping everywhere...

And why should it matter so much to me that our neighbors who don't really talk to us have "rebuffed" us in this dismissive manner? Why do I frame what happened as if they were "rebuffing" us? Why should it make me uncomfortable to know that an entire family has considered itself strangers to us in the most distanced and aloof kind of way, and has moved out without not so much as one word of acknowledgement.

It is also likely that they are a quite and unassuming couple who wish to remain ensconced in their privacy without interruptions and interference from us. Yet, I cannot believe that two years of living as neighbors would simply pass by...

The Myth: Than Thoai

Thần Thoại Sáng tác: Chưa rõ - Thể hiện: Nhật Kim Anh

hoa 14

hoa 13

one's own pain

One has the right to, may feel compelled to, give voice to one's own pain -- which is, in any case, one's own property. - Susan Sontag, On Photography

gathering in community

The real question that must guide all organizing activity in a parish is not how to keep people busy, but how to keep them from being so busy that they can no longer hear the voice of God who speaks in silence. Calling people together, therefore, means calling them away from the fragmenting and distracting wordiness of the dark world to that silnece in which they can discover themselves, each other, and God. thus organizing can be seen as the creation of a space where communion becomes possible and community can develop.

- Henri Nouwen, The Way of the Heart

online churches

What does it mean to have an online church? Can a church be online and nothing more? Is the definition of being online antithetical to the meaning of church? Will online churches be the new model of churches for the new century? How is the church evolving and how do we understand the way culture has influenced the new church model(s)?

hoa 12

way of the heart

I'm aware of the irony of this post, given the fact that I am a poet, a writer, a dealer and craftsperson of words. However recent events in church, work, and home have further strengthened my resolve to think more carefully about the words I speak, and about the value of silence.

In Henri Nouwen's book on desert spirituality and contemporary ministry, he writes about silence as "solitude practiced in action." Contemporary Christians often forget large chunks of Christian history, and we most often neglect the Desert Fathers and Mothers who teach us the way of the desert, the way of the heart. They emphasize silence as not only a way to commune with God or a way of avoiding evil, but in this "wordy world", silence "can be a sign of God's presence in the different forms of ministry."

In this day and age, words dominate our existence. Indeed, they build up the cages in which we operate. As a poet, I craft language and words in ways to help break through the anesthetized daily living so that experiece comes through. The volley of words that come at us through online ads, junk mail, spam mail, billboards, commercials, text messages, emails, etc., -- we are inundated with words, and are driven further and further from the solitude that we need in order to hear and feel the Divine presence in our lives.

With silence, says Nouwen, we are able to tend to our inner fire and to keep the Spirit aflame. In silence, we can guard the Spirit and not dilute the preciousness of our faith, not weaken the strength of our discipline. And, in silence, we are able to discern what word needs to be spoken -- the word that is filled with "fullness and presence, not the human silence of embarrassment, shame, or guilt, but the divine silence in which love rests secure." When we learn to be silent, we can use the word that "calls forth the healing and restoring stillness of its own silence..."

It may sound funny, and slightly contradictory, but silence does and will teach us to speak holiness, to be contemplative and to embody the Divine presence. In silence, we can better understand and hear one another...

we go to poetry for one reason

"Let us remember...that in the end we go to poetry for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit our lives and the world in which we live them, and that if we more fully inhabit these things, we will be less apt to destroy both." -Christian Wiman

hoa 11

I see these all over the place, but I don't know what they are called.

zipped, mum, silence

One danger of making grand declarations is that you fail to carry them out. But the trouble with talking candidly about what one thinks and believes is always a risk, particularly if one were crawling around other people's spaces. Thanks to the WWW, we've managed to wiggle our way into any one's page, friendly or foe, and thanks to the internet, we are able to opine and comment in any way we choose, on any subject we prefer.

Recently, I got myself involved in a conversation about the role of women in the church -- particularly, ordained women. I have always maintained an open position on the ordination of women, accepting and supportive of the United Methodist Church's stance on the role of women clergy. However, I know that many people do not accept the same. In fact, some of the more conservative friends that I have may even say that I and others like me are merely "demanding" titles and degrees, that women who wish to be ordained are merely shirking our "divine duties" (thien chuc) as mothers. Ah, this is not a new argument, and I will skirt around the issue b/c I do not wish to enter into this debate at this time (when IS the right time, then?). I bring this up to say that it surprises me, frequently, whenever I am reminded that many of my friends and relatives maintain a position so oppositional to mine. Quelle surprise!!?! Not at all. I don't mean that it is a surprise that they have differing opinions, but what I am surprised about is that they find it so uncharacteristic of me, or they think I have been negatively influenced by my particularized upbringing in the U.S.

I admit that I have qualms about articulating my position, mostly because I fear that some irreparable harm will be committed, and that we will not be able to move forward amiably after having our conversations. And since those who have religious views drastically different from mine consist of 99% of my coworkers, friends and family (who are still speaking to us), well, we go through daily life cheerfully discussing things that are irrelevant to what really matter to us. Because, frankly, I could debate the merits of ordaining women with my uncle in C--, but it would only strain our relationship even further b/c he already feels I've strayed so far...

Alas, alas.

forgotten dialect of the heart

How astonishing it is that language could almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.

Trong tap tho The Great Fires, the poet Jack Gilbert raises the discussion on Language to a new, different, poetic level. Using words of visual imagery, he presents the limitations of language -- iterating that what we write and say could never completely encapsulate our meanings, that there is a mystery of being that language could never signify.

"Love, we say, / God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, but the words / get it all wrong." The words themselves could only link us to something greater, deeper, far beyond what a few alphabets could conjure. Whether French, Sumerian, Vietnamese, English, whatever the tongue, they "can almost mean" but could never capture "what we feel most". Language "does not quite" express who we are, our essences, or our ideas -- but nevertheless, we try. Perhaps it is the signification, what these words recall within us that makes us understand the full meaning of what is unstated, implied, absent.

When Gilbert uses the word "cinnamon," we smell the fragrance, and when he mentions "slabs of salt" we think of the deep taste in our throats, on our tongues, the necessary condiment of life sinking into our palettes. And that is what he means about God -- about the presence of the Divine. Think of how accurate it is for him to say the Holy, the Divine, is as life-giving salt, is like the beauty and preciousness and value of "ingots of copper."

Yes, with these words, Gilbert demonstrates what we must not forget, that it is our construction and understanding and usage of language that changes how we think, and influences who we are. What if we were to recapture "lost vocabularies that might express some of what we no longer can"?

This is why I write poetry. To articulate thoughts, feelings, hopes -- crafting them into different expressions in order to understand them differently. New ways of feeling, new ways of being. Instead of saying how much we love, instead of merely gesturing toward worship, we could actually mean it. "What we feel most" may not be articulated in words, with language, but if we think of the objects, if they were actually the things that stood in for those "feeling words," then we could understand better: "what we feel most" is the color of amber, the fragrance of cinnamon, the grace of flying birds, the power of thundering horses, the precision of archers stringing their bow and arrow...

And so, when I write my comments, when I blog, it seems as if everything is so insufficient, inadequate. Regardless of what is written, listen to what my heart is really trying to say...

introducing HAT's new look

This is a "non la", a.k.a. conical hat.

hoa 10

right left right... other foot

Earlier this evening, I went to my very first salsa dancing lesson at the Allegro Ballroom. Nothing fancy, just beginner's course. It was the most invigorating and embarrassing one hour of my life in recent history. I learned three basic moves, and picked up lots of pointers on what not to do.

1) Learn to trust a stranger, and trust enough so that he can lead me where to go and show me what to do. In fact, trust him enough to lean far back enoughto actually fit into his palms.

2) Close my distances. Salsa requires the kind of intimacy and closeness that I am not yet comfortable with, and I constantly walk out of my partner's arms. No matter how short or how tall they are, I always keep my distance, asa if my rigidity and straightforwardness could keep me master the moves.

3) Push back a little. Give and take. Whenever I lost my grip or my footing, I just had to remember to push back a tad, swish a little, then right, left, right, and so forth...

I think, perhaps, the training and discipline will be good for me. We'll see where we go from here.

hoa 9

Salsa lessons...

...begin this Thursday! HAT has never ever tried salsa before (except for the in-a-bowl w/ chips variety) so it will be an exciting new experience. Wish me luck!

hoa 8

language of one

I am a derivative of both my parents. Part of my name, "Anh", is derived from my father's first name. Part of my name is taken from my mother's first name. In fact, all three children have "anh" in our names. Although my parents wanted to highlight their union through the naming of their three kids, "anh" also has several definitions in Vietnamese and in Chinese. In fact, some of them rather grand. However, in light of a conversation I had on IM with a good friend yesterday, I want to think about only one definition of "anh".

In Vietnamese, there is no "I". There are multiple terms used in the 1st person singular: toi, tao, tui, minh, and in other regions and dialects, I'm guessing there are others. They can all be used in place of the "I."

Additionally, other terms can also be used in place of "I" (such as em, anh, chi, co, ba, chu, ong, v.v.) even though in other contexts they would actually carry other definitions. Given the nature of these pronouns, we always identify ourselves within a larger social order, a greater power dynamic -- there are gradients of who belongs where depending on the term you use.

For example, when I'm speaking to my sister (she's older so she is "chi" or "che"), I refer to myself as "em." When speaking to my younger brother, I in turn am "chi" or "che che". Speaking to my parents, "con". Speaking to my grandparents or aunts/uncles or those of their age ranges: "chau". Speaking to my cousins' children, I become "co" (on paternal family side) or "di" (on maternal family side).

And, if we add birth order to these terms, they'll identify exactly where I am (mom's side, dad's side; 2nd or 3rd child, etc.). For example, "Chi 3" means I am second born. My sister is firstborn so she is Chi 2 (the numbering is off, I know, but that'll be explained some other time).

The joke in my family is that even though we all have "anh" in our names, none of us are older brothers. Because, in fact, "anh" means older brother, whether or not that person is your familial brother. Everyone wants to be "anh" and no one wants to be "em". Haha.

So if I had an older brother, I would call him Anh. But if your regular Joe off the streets is older than me, I would call him Anh if I were to be courteous and socially polite (unless, of course, his age places him in the range of "Chu" or "Ong" or "Cu").

In Chuyen Kieu, Nguyen Du speaks of Kieu's "than phan" as a woman, and no matter her age, as a woman, she will always be "em" -- that is, she will always call her husband "anh". The usage of such a term places her in a particular position of respect, a particular status and rank. She is, always, "em", and by connotation, younger, less experienced, weaker. For some, that terminology perpetuates a linguistics system of subservience and deference.

All this semi-deconstruction of "anh" is nothing new, and though I try to think about these things from different perspectives, I always end up arguing for one side only, regardless of the complexity. In the conversation I had with my friend, we talked about the power dynamics of linguistics. Actually, we didn't really talk about linguistics, but the gist of the conversation touched upon issues of gender equality, language, power hierarchies and evaluative systems of naming. In the end, what my friend said was this: what does it matter what you call one another as long as you sincerely show respect and honor for that person.

Whether I call him "anh" or "em" or "mi" or "minh", it's what is embedded in the intent and intonation of the words. The language used by one for another is weighted in the meaning behind the words.

hoa 7

rhetoric of one

Ah, trong loi nhan xet cua Bu cho blogpost lan truoc cua minh, Bu da noi dung, va minh dong y. HAT cung da nay ra y nay nua (remembering nhung gi minh da hoc hoi khi con trong college!)...

That ra, khong phai muon post everyday va cung khong muon post ve tat ca moi dieu. The difficulty of being an excellent and effective writer is in discerning which subject is the best subject to tackle. Also difficult is discerning how to approach your chosen topic. Tai vi co nhieu dieu muon chia se, nen khong biet phai viet o blog nao! Minh co rat nhieu blogposts da draft ra, nhung no cu chong chat o do, het ngay nay qua ngay khac, ma khong biet o dau la "best audience" cho nhung y tuong do. Vi that ra, khong phai audience nao cung la thich hop voi nhung gi minh noi. The context of our audiences and our "social location" within each audience requires us to be mindful of what we write for that audience. Our rhetoric changes -- it must -- in order to be effective communicators of our ideas, de tranh khoi bi hieu lam.

Khong phai la minh muon compete voi nhung nguoi writer khac muon viet xuong tat ca y tuong de cho blogosphere doc. Minh cung khong muon compete de xem ai viet thuong xuyen nhat hoac duoc nhieu nguoi doc blog nhat. Doi khi, su bat luc cua ngon ngu khien cho minh phai chu tam hon khi viet mot blog post -- du la tieng Viet hoac tieng Anh. Language chi la signifiers for the signified, dung khong? Khi minh ngoi xuong de viet ra mot blogpost, la mot cach bay to y tuong cua minh, va khi minh viet bang tieng Viet, khong cach nao completely describe nhung ideas -- the essence cua y tuong -- va vi vay, what we are on the screen, on the page, is very incomplete -- nhung thought processes nghe rat "vun(g) ve" (dung chinh ta kg?).

On the other hand, as a writer, I feel compelled to write everyday -- just a little thought here and there. Often, those things are not published to the blogs -- va chi la de cho minh doc va suy gam ma thoi. But here, I enter the realm of discourse about private vs. public spheres, which minh se write about mot ngay khac (da co nhieu ideas lam roi)...

hoa 6

Co don

Hom nay, moi nhan duoc tin rang ba cu ten Mary o trong HT bi benh ung thu phoi. Bac si da diagnose va ngay mai se di kham lai de biet prognosis nhu the nao. Tin tuc nay chac chan ngay soc cho gia dinh, vi ong cu moi gan day ve voi Chua -- chac khoang 1 hoac 2 thang ma thoi. Ba cu luc nay thi tinh than vui ve, nhung co le rat co don. Da song chung voi chong may chuc nam, bay gio thi co don mot minh. Du ba cu song trong nha chung voi gia dinh cua nguoi con gai lon, nhung ba khong thay thoai mai vi ba la nguoi co tanh tu lap. Va lai, khong co nguoi chong cua minh o ke ben -- buon lam. Bay gio thi ba lai bi benh ung thu. Lam ca nguoi met moi, va tinh than cung hoi suy sup. Ca HT deu cau nguyen cho ba, va ai ai cung co gang giup nang do tinh than.

Nghi den ba cu, minh chua hieu duoc cai noi dau long cua Ba. Minh con tre tuoi, chua tung trai qua kinh nghiem giong ba, cho nen minh chi co the tuong tuong ma thoi. Du vay, trong imagination thoi, cung du dau kho roi...

Changing Identity art exhibit @ Mills College

On July 11th, a group of us went to see the Changing Identity art exhibitation/installation at Mills College's Art Museum. It was an extraordinary experience in that I did not quite know how to interpret or understand the evening. There were 50 installations that made up the exhibition, and they were pieces contributed by 10 different Vietnamese female artists. Two live in the U.S. and 8 others live in Viet Nam. The highligted installation that evening was presented by artist Ly Hoang Ly who was visiting from Vietnam, and who also provided us with an art performance for her installation. (One of the grants that traveling exhibition received allowed it to bring one artist to each location. They take turns and this time was Ly's opportunity to perform and talk about her art work and installation.)

I can only describe some of the things that happened in Ly Hoang Ly's art performance, and even now am still figuring out how to interpret the performance.


The installation took up quite a portion of the larger exhibition. One entire wall was painted red. Women's feminine/maxi pads, unwrapped and exposed were stuck to the wall in a regular pattern, creating a white against red patchwork type of design. On the floor was a circular pattern of maxi pads, still wrapped in their pink plastic wrap, arranged in a swirl design, reminiscent of the meditative labyrinth or of the Buddhist karmic circles, or just the cycles of life and death.


During one part of the interactive performance, Ly invited the audience to step up to the circle and unwrap a maxi, then to stick it to the floor. From what I could see, the majority of the people in the audience participated. Later, she taped maxi pads onto her chest and back, and invited people to put their mark on her with red paint.


Part of Ly's performance included a number of props, two of which were the woven bamboo baskets that Vietnamese women often use to do their daily housework (such as sorting grains and carrying groceries from the market), and the two things that Buddhist monks use for meditation (they are used to "tung kinh" in Buddhism).

The performance asked us to think about the boundaries of public vs. private in the lives of Vietnamese women; about rites and rituals and how they are used in various ways to define and subjugate women into certain positions of submission, subserviance; about the systematization of unequal gender rights; about the multiplicity of women's identities and roles in Southeast Asian cultures in general and in Vietnam in particular.

The safest road to Hell...

The safest road to Hell is the gradual one -- the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts. - C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

hoa 5

hoa 4

A Poet's Alphabet - a beginning

Z is for the zenith, the ultimate influence. It is the highest point in the sky directly overhead; it is what some hats point towards, yet what umbrellas deny; it is the eventual extreme of highest thoughts, and the divine refutation of earth and earthiness; it is the utmost point of contact with utmost otherness; it is the final resting place and celestial terminus of poems worth having.

- from "A Poet's Alphabet", Mark Strand, The Weather of Words

Recently, our renga group began a new renga about idolatrous art. Part of this renga idea is to acknowledge the origins and sources of some of our inspiration through the use of unflinchingly blatant and honest imitations of other poets and poetry.

I've just finished reading Mark Strand's "A Poet's Alphabet", and have been inspired to write my own alphabet. I don't know yet whether it will be the same words that Strand used, or why. I don't know where to start either; one would think that, given the alphabet, you could begin at the beginning or at the end, but beginnings and ends are relative given the circular nature of alphabets and language, so it is a bit more difficult for me to decide whether A is the beginning or the end. I also have not yet determined whether this alphabet should include other languages; I consider this because each poet's alphabet is different -- the basic building blocks of the artist's craft will differ from person to person. I believe the piece will, eventually, come to me in some form, but as I draft this particular piece, I'd love to hear what people would do.

- Where would you begin? A? Z? M? Q? Which letter would you pick as the starting point?
- How long is your alphabet? Would you create your own alphabet or would you follow tradition?
- Would you write it in English? If you have the opportunity to write this in another language, which would it be?

undoing the damage of haste

Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't. You must believe: a poem is a holy thing -- a good poem, that is... -Theodore Roethke

I'm not a professional photog, so I'm unable to speak eloquently on craft and form and meaning of photographylike Susan Sontag. In fact, my photos as you can see, are marked the lines, colors, and gradients of an amateur or, even more accurately, a tourist photographer. However, I've come to realize that when taking photos, I have to stop and breathe for a while before proceeding. If I don't the pictures develope very blurry. The more anxious I become, the more frustrated I feel, and then nothing comes out properly. Recently, I was taking photos in Monterrey, and there was a particular flower I needed desperately to photograph. I can't even recall how many shots I snapped before giving up. The angle was wrong, the lenses weren't working, automatic didn't fix it, manual didn't help, the wind was blowing too hard, the sun was hiding, etc. I had to walk away because none of the shots took. I remember being frustrated because the wind was constantly blowing. Thinking back, having the wind's movements blow through the flowers was probably the best thing ever. It didn't need to be perfect, and how silly it was to wish that the wind could stand still.

For Roethke, art is the tool to unravel the knots of haste, the solution to patching up whatever kinds of destruction haste created. This art, this patience, that I lacked -- it was the damage of haste. Walking away from the spot where I was standing to take pictures, I felt partly saddened because it was an opportunity, a moment, that I'd lost, let slip away, because I was too hasty, because I wanted to capture the moment before it was gone. By doing that, I'd lost it before it ever happened.

three hearts

Thanks to the little bits of trivia printed on La Vache Qui Ris cheeses, I learned that cephalopods (squids, octopuses, cuttlefish, nautiluses) have three hearts. Two hearts feed the gills and the third, larger heart pumps blood throughout the body. I've already been fascinated with their abilities to change shape, size, color, and texture. So finding out they have three hearts was quite an awe-inpsiring surprise. Given everything that our one human can do, imagine the possibilities with three hearts. Then again, though, cephalopods may have three hearts but they have no skeletal systems -- all heart, no backbones.

hoa 3

tieng Viet con, nguoi Viet con...

Tieng Viet con, nguoi Viet con.

Nguoi Viet con, tieng Viet con.

Hom qua, minh xem lai cuon bang video Mua He Ruc Ro cua Asia. Co hai nguoi nhac den cau cham ngon nay, nhung moi nguoi lai noi mot cach khac. Mot nguoi thi nhac den tieng Viet, con nguoi kia thi nhan manh con nguoi Vietnam. That ra, chinh minh cung kg biet that su cai phan nao di truoc, cai nao di sau. Minh cung chang biet nguon goc cua cau cham ngon nay tu dau ma ra. Co le neu minh hieu them ve cai context cua cham ngon nay thi minh se hieu ro hon ve y nghia cua no, va se biet them ve y chinh cua nguoi da dat ra no.

Cai phan nao di truoc? "Tieng Viet con" di truoc? "Nguoi Viet con" di truoc? Tai sao lai quan trong? Muon biet tai sao no quan trong thi minh phai giai thich cau nay banh cach phan tich cai If/Then formula nay.

Neu tieng Viet con ton tai, thi nguoi con nguoi Viet nam van con ton tai.

Trai lai, neu nguoi Viet con ton tai, thi tieng Viet con ton tai.

Hinh nhu cau nay giong giong nhu cau hoi cua nguoi My: "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Neu khong co con ga, thi cai gi de trung ga? Nhung neu khong co trung ga, thi lam sao no thanh ga con de sau nay de trung ga?

Cung theo ly luan do, minh co the hoi, neu khong co nguoi Viet nam, thi o dau ma ra tieng cua nguoi Viet? Vi minh nghi coi: neu khong co mot dan toc, thi lam sao co duoc ngon ngu cua dan toc do? Khong co dan Viet, thi con ai de noi tieng Viet, de truyen dat lai tieng noi, cach phat am, cach communications, cua dan Viet?

Trai lai, neu khong co tieng Viet, hoac, neu khong co mot cach uniform va systemized way de communicate voi nhau, thi lam sao mot dan toc co the tu identify minh la cung mot dan toc? Neu khong co tieng Viet, thi lam sao co duoc su hieu biet chung? Dung cach nao de tao ra mot tam long Viet nam, lam sao gay dung cai tinh thuong cho dan toc?

Phan tich bao nhieu cung duoc, minh chi co the ket luan la, tieng noi, cai voice cua mot dan toc rat quan trong. Mot trong characteristics de Identify mot nguoi Viet la tieng Viet. Biet noi tieng Viet, thi cung mang mot chut chut cai net "Viet nam" (complex as it is, co the chia moi nguoi mot it!). Sanh vao xac dan Viet, thi cung biet den (mac du co the kg biet noi, hoac quen cach noi) tieng Viet la hoi tho cua nguoi Viet. Ca hai duoc hoa nhap va khong the bi tach ra duoc. Cung nhu trung ga va ga con. Su hieu biet cua con nguoi minh khong the nao phan tach no ra lam hai...

hoa 2

am i smoking my laserjet printer?

Hom nay, dang ngoi o trong van phong, thi co mot nguoi ban dong nghiep dem den mot bai bao tu SF Chronicle. Bai bao dang thong tin ve nhung may in laserject cua nam hang lon nhat trong thi truong office supplies (trong do co Hewlett Packard, la loai may in ma minh dang su dung). Thi ra, co mot bai nghien cuu duoc moi duoc in ra trong bao chi noi rang nhung may in laserject rat nguy hiem cho suc khoe cua minh, vi nhung laserjet printer toat ra cai chat "toner" rat, rat "fine" de khi minh hit vao thi no se bay vao lo mui va mieng, va bam vao lach phoi. Va neu minh tho khong khi co nhieu chat particles nay thi ket qua la la phoi minh se giong nhu minh da hut thuoc la rat nhieu.

To bao da dang len mot danh sach that dai, liet ke ra ten, so, va ten hang cua nhung may in, va minh cung to mo den va do danh so. O gan phia tren cua danh sach la dung cai ten cua may in cua minh! Buon 5 phut. Bay gio minh moi biet. Ke tu ngay minh bat dau viec lam tai cho nay, minh da co mot may laserjet printer ngoi ke ke ben minh. Moi ngay thieu deu muon om no vao long luon vi luc nao cung su dung no. Tin ra, minh da "hut" vao phao rat rat nhieu chat toner.

Vay thi lam sao day? Khong le minh di bac si? Bac si hoi benh gi. Minh tra loi lam sao?

"Da, em hut may laserjet cua em da duoc 2 nam roi, bac si oi. Em muon tu bo no, nhung em quit khong duoc."

Messiah (Christmas Portions)

If art’s
acceptable evidence,
mustn’t what lies
behind the world be at least
as beautiful as the human voice?

Messiah (Christmas Portions)
By Mark Doty


A little heat caught
in gleaming rags,
in shrouds of veil,
torn and sun-shot swaddlings:

over the Methodist roof,
two clouds propose a Zion
of their own, blazing
(colors of tarnish on copper)

against the steely close
of a coastal afternoon, December,
while under the steeple
the Choral Society

prepares to perform
Messiah, pouring, in their best
blacks and whites, onto the raked stage.
Not steep, really,

but from here,
the first pew, they’re a looming
cloudbank of familiar angels:
that neighbor who

fights operatically
with her girlfriend, for one,
and the friendly bearded clerk
from the post office

—tenor trapped
in the body of a baritone? Altos
from the A&P, soprano
from the T-shirt shop:

today they’re all poise,
costume and purpose
conveying the right note
of distance and formality.

Silence in the hall,
anticipatory, as if we’re all
about to open a gift we’re not sure
we’ll like;

how could they
compete with sunset’s burnished
oratorio? Thoughts which vanish,
when the violins begin.

Who’d have thought
they’d be so good? Every valley,
proclaims the solo tenor,
(a sleek blonde

I’ve seen somewhere before
—the liquor store?) shall be exalted,
and in his handsome mouth the word
is lifted and opened

into more syllables
than we could count, central ah
dilated in a baroque melisma,
liquefied; the pour

of voice seems
to make the unplaned landscape
the text predicts the Lord
will heighten and tame.

This music
demonstrates what it claims:
glory shall be revealed. If art’s
acceptable evidence,

mustn’t what lies
behind the world be at least
as beautiful as the human voice?
The tenors lack confidence,

and the soloists,
half of them anyway, don’t
have the strength to found
the mighty kingdoms

these passages propose
—but the chorus, all together,
equals my burning clouds,
and seems itself to burn,

commingled powers
deeded to a larger, centering claim.
These aren’t anyone we know;
choiring dissolves

familiarity in an up-
pouring rush which will not
rest, will not, for a moment,
be still.

Aren’t we enlarged
by the scale of what we’re able
to desire? Everything,
the choir insists,

might flame;
inside these wrappings
burns another, brighter life,
quickened, now,

by song: hear how
it cascades, in overlapping,
lapidary waves of praise? Still time.
Still time to change.

- Mark Doty, "Messiah (Christmas Portions)", Sweet Machine: Poems, 1998

Harry Potter in Vietnamese??

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows reaches even in Vietnam -- don't you doubt it.

I forget that one of the natural things to occur with the recent publication of Book 7 is that it would be translated into different languages. When Book 6 came out, I was in Saigon, and I too pre-ordered a book and promptly read it in one night, but that's because I paid a hefty sum to pre-order an English version, hardcover edition, in Viet Nam. It was very, very expensive for my pocket at that time (but what could I do! It was HP!). Twice as much, I think. Anyway, I was able to read it straight through b/c it was in English. I asked about the Vietnamese translation, but they said it would take months if not at least half a year before a copy was ready for purchase. So I didn't think more of it -- and I so wish I did! Because imagine the thrill it would be to read HP in a different language! How the heck do you translate the spells? The names? The curses? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? How do you translate the whole Tom Riddle anagram thing? And parseltongue?

I missed the chance to read it in Vietnamese -- and now I itch to find out. I recently browsed a few websites w/ personal commentaries about HP7 in Vietnamese, and it took me a while to figure out some of the names and references. Very interesting, actually. If I were to read HP in my birth tongue, it would take oh, maybe 3 months, b/c I'll be flipping from English to Viet to English and back again probably several times each page, just to see how they translated it.

I would love to get my hands on a Vietnamese copy of Deathly Hallows... recommendations anyone?

hoa : series

There is great beauty in the world, and I see it in the flowers and plant life that grow around where I live. For the month of August, I will post photos of various florae so that folks from the other side of the globe can see what is growing in my backyard (and you'll be pleased to know much of the florae can be seen growing in your parts of the world, too). Let me know which one catches your fancy. Or, post a pic of your favorite flora... I start the series off with this one: