Scandinavians turn Kunming into the city of eternal poetry
Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer first visited the Sino-Scandinavian cultural centre that bore his name in Kunming in the spring of 2001. The Transtromer Cafe/Gallery was one of the hippest spots for students, local artists, musicians and poets. He was impressed with the vibrancy of the poetry scene. Word soon got around back home that the capital of Yunnan had more to offer than great cuisine.
From the visit came an idea, and in April 2002, a Scandinavian cultural week was arranged at the gallery's new, more spacious digs (TC/G Nordica), in Kunming's Loft Artist district. This week, Kunming's arts community is hosting China's first week-long international poetry event.
Dubbed the 2004 Nordic Poetry Week, the event coincides with today's World Poetry Day. It has brought together 15 Chinese and Scandinavian poets, from last Wednesday until Tuesday. Among them are Niu Han, Xu Jiang (the founder of poetry journal Kui) and Yu Jian (author of the collections 60 poems and Notes on Brown Paper). From the Nordic side, there is Danish novelist and poet Pia Tafdrup, Finnish/Swedish poet Catharina Gripenberg, and Icelandic poet and playwright Linda Vilhjalmsdottir.
Spanning the linguistic chasm is Li Li, one of the few immigrant poets to have made a name in the Nordic-language community. A Shanghai native, he moved to Stockholm as an exchange student, and now has five Swedish poetry books to his credit.
Although the concept may seem obscure, the event builds on a visit by Chinese poets Yu, Lichuan, Yang Xuheng and Yisha to Sweden's Nassjo Poetry Festival in 2002. The joint project by TC/G Nordica and the Nassjo Poetry Festival is sponsored by the Nordic Cultural Fund, the Swedish Institute and the City of Kunming.
The poets read their work in their mother tongues, but all are translated. Most admit to feeling some trepidation about having their work translated.
'Poetry is not a universal language,' says Vilhjalmsdottir. 'You can translate a poem beautifully into another language, and get all the words and sounds right. Yet that part that is unique to the structure of every language, this cannot be translated, or truly shared.'
How well can Swedish poetry translate into Putonghua? And can the meaning of stanzas written in Chinese characters really come through in spoken Norwegian?
'In translating poetry,' says Xu, 'especially between languages that are essentially dissimilar, maintaining purity of structure and content is virtually impossible. For example, I recall reading an English translation of Su Dong Po that had been done by Ezra Pound. Familiar with the work of both poets, I could see that the work was a hybrid: Su Dong Po through the filter of Pound. The result may not match the artists' intention 100 per cent, but it can still be efficacious.'
Tafdrup says: 'A translated poem is always another poem - different from the original.'
Despite these difficulties, all involved agree that the event has been a success.
'I am just happy to hear my work translated into this very different language' says Gripenberg, author of On the Slide Picture the Head is Crammed with Happiness. 'It's certainly an exercise in trusting [the translator]. Watching the audience react to my work has made the long trip worth it.'
So, will the city of eternal spring also become known as the city of poetry? 'Naturally, Kunming should be known as a city of eternal poetry,' says Yu, one of the city's best-known poets. 'During the war, many of China's finest poets came here from cities that had fallen to the Japanese. They met, mingled, taught and exchanged ideas. Kunming is fertile ground indeed.'
