Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Para penonton fellem "Kes".


kes attendees
Originally uploaded by yasmin the storyteller.
Si Adam bukan main posing lagi. Si Habri bukan main hensem, rasa macam nak ciiiiiiiiiium pipi dia.

Si Kekure bukan main masam muka dia. Yang si Jian tu kejam mata apa hal?

And da so-called boss punya muka tembam semacam!

For those of you who didn't turn up, eat your hearts out. The film was outstanding, and the nasi ayam was worthy of a Fipresci award.

And for those who did turn up, wasn't it just so lovely to see Keigo's sweet face again?

Friday, June 24, 2005

So what did we think of this? (Caution: Spoilers ahead!)


kes
Originally uploaded by yasmin the storyteller.
Last night, we watched my personal favourite film of all time.

(Or rather, some of The Storytellers Club members watched it, while I typed away furiously the rest of "Gubra" in my office.)

So, members. I'd like to hear your take on the film, in as much detail as possible.

kes by steps

As for me, four scenes in this film moved me the most - Billy explaining to the class how he tamed the kestrel, the little boy who was forced to keep his friends' cigarettes in his pocket and subsequently got caned, the girl reading that psalm about shepherds and lost sheep at morning school assembly, and Billy's response to the teacher asking him why he felt the other kids liked to pick on him.

These scenes broke my heart, mended it, and made me cry.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

"Writing" by Octavio Paz


writing
Originally uploaded by yasmin the storyteller.
"I draw these letters
as the day draws its images
and blows over them
and does not return"





I have my take on what this means, but I'd like to hear what yours are. Any takers? Jason? Kekure? Mute?

Thursday, June 16, 2005

"Eleh!" (the only Melayu poem I've ever written)


kiss me
Originally uploaded by yasmin the storyteller.

Eleh!
You tu memang gitu.
Kejap nak,
kejap tak nak.
Takut I sentuh,
takut I tak sentuh.
Bila I chakap hello,
you mengeluh.
Bila I chakap bye-bye,
you berserabai.

Sudahlah.
I dah malas.
Tak de masa.
Banyak kerja lain.
Banyak mata lain
yang gian nak
ber-tango
dengan mata I.
Banyak lidah lain
yang hauskan
bibir I.

Bibir I yang tebal tak tebal,
nipis tak nipis.
Senyum atau chemik,
sentiasa manis.
Bibir yang basah
berginchu merah,
cherah secherah-cherahnya.

Bayangkan,
seperti yang you pernah bayangkan.
Bibir I, di bibir you.
Bibir I, di telinga you.
Di leher you.
Di dada you.
Di perut you.
Di pusat you.
Di peha you.
Di sana you
dan di situ you.

Bayangkanlah.
Jangan malu-malu.
Bukan I tak tahu.
Memang you pernah bayangkan dulu.

Eleh!
You tu memang gitu.
Dah tahu
buat tak tahu.


One by Latif Mohideen, my favourite Malaysian poet, translated into English by me.


Flecks of light.

For example... the flecks of light in the rays of the sun.
The flecks that seep through the crack in the roof.
The ever moving flecks - sparkling, bright, transparent.
The flecks that are warm; soothing to the touch.

Perhaps the child was touched by those flecks
who crawled across the floor in the middle of the house.
Perhaps just one fleck was spotted first, then two, then four
and soon, a spray, darting wildly, shimmering, here, there...

At times excited and keen to play, he moves;
attempts to chase the flecks, corner them,
tries to catch those tiny balls of light
but catches nothing.


Wednesday, June 15, 2005

One from William Blake.

"Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"



Can someone tell me why this poem is good? Or if in fact it IS at all good?

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

"Dad" by Shuntaro Tanikawa


the men in my life
Originally uploaded by yasmin the storyteller.
Dad's eating,
staring
straight ahead,
looking at
no one.
My younger brother tells him
his glasses are all
steamed up
from the rice.
He says
yes
and wipes them
on his sleeve.
I'm not sure
what's on his mind
but I'm pretty sure
it's not me,
or my brother
or mother, either.
If I ask him
what he's thinking
he'll just say,
"Nothing special."
Once I saw
a photo
of Dad as a boy.
He was standing
in the middle of a
big field
squinting hard
from the sun.
He still has that expression
sometimes.
He holds on to a bite of yam
with his
chopsticks.
A gold tooth shows
when he opens his mouth.
Dad,
I hope you live a long time.

Monday, June 06, 2005

"Morning Relay" by Shuntaro Tanikawa


imran in flight
Originally uploaded by yasmin the storyteller.
When a young man
in Kamchatka
dreams
of a giraffe,
a young girl
in Mexico
waits
for the bus
in the morning haze.

When a little girl
in New York
rolls over
in her bed
with a smile,
a little boy
in Rome
winks
at the morning sun
that colours
the columned capital.

On this earth,
always,
somewhere,
morning is starting.
We are relaying morning,
from longitude
to longitude,
taking turns,
protecting earth,
as it were.

Prick up your ears
a while
before you go to sleep,
and somewhere,
far away,
you will hear
an alarm clock
ringing,
as proof that
someone
has firmly caught
the morning
you've
passed on.