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Susan Ye Laird, poetry magazine, poetry translations
     with S. Ye Laird

 June's main theme turns out to be poetic justice with tangent metaphysical tragedy, a reflection of frenzy mainstream media's outbreak on too many laughing matters and un-constitutional here-say of POTUS's first 121 days in office.  My intent is for this translation page to bring about fresh and critical look on how to dispense our collective emotional intelligence and suspend our own fixation or planning but leave room for holy ghost to come to our aid at variable trying times.



管仲  约公元前723或前716-公元前645)


Here's my heretical-interpretation in English: 

Whence SHIT comes from one hole, all is saved. 
Whence SHIT comes from one hole and one mouth,

                hands are still good. 
Whence SHIT comes from one hole, one mouth and two hands,

                one can still run away with his feet. 
Whence SHIT comes from one hole, one mouth, two hands

                and three legs,  all is doomed.

This was inspired by a 'new' definition I learned from a supervisor with my former employer: S.H.I.T was a shorthand for 'shipping high in transit'.  In a rather strange twist, 'prayer' is like that too ,  yes? 

For a somewhat orthodox interpretation of Chinese ancient texts, consult this link.  One more  critics written in Chinese.

盧梅坡〈雪梅〉:「梅雪爭春未肯降,騷人擱筆費評章。梅須遜雪三分白, 雪卻輸梅一段香。」這首詩從雪與梅之異同處出發,指出物各有其特色。 冬天的梅與雪,在春天隱而不見,因此引起了騷人墨客的歎惋。然也因此, 顯出梅的精神、雪的特殊。梅與雪同是冬景之一,然不同處則是梅有暗香, 雪有皚皚的白,各有各的特色,難以分出高下。這就如同每個人各有特色, 他人是替代不得的。 


My rendition in English: 


Ume blossoms on snow covered branches 
yearn to be favored by the coming and going season 
Idling scholars put away their pens 
meditating on the life and death of winter blossoms 


Ume ought not to subject itself to harsh winter snow 
Yet snow is totally crushed by Ume's fleeting scent.

(L to R).. a friend, John Nash (standing), Alicia Nash, Felix Browder, Eva Browder, in 1950 at Berkeley, California.

Acquiescent right to the photocopy was made by surviving member of the late Felix Browder ( 1927 – 12.10. 2016) of Princeton, originally appeared in Sylvia Nasar’s book “A beautiful mind”.






Lover in a metaphysical dream


A copy of your body, my dream wife
A copy of your temperament, my dream lover
In your womb is my child
On your tomb engraves my writing.


Your death is but a metaphor
My survival is the true questionable.
you hanged yourself with your long hair
unconsolable sobs in thy womb.

Remembering Nash and his un-calculated inculpable παράκλητος

--  Who? Whom? Whose? faulty line ?


Holy ghost called but Nash no longer hears voices. Hence a beautiful mind
was ejected and pronounced dead on the scene. I wonder if it was Abel who
lost his cool at the waiting game or is it that some other Paraclete made a
miscalculation on the timing belt.


Our bodily vessel is but placeholder for all the mysteries and their
passing and going unto God’s work done or left undone since timely departures of  all saints after Christ walking on this earth. So chime in if you still believe in παράκλητος …  


If not,  the sun never shine in Californification…


What is the best math poem you know?

Answer by:

Senia Sheydvasser, PhD student in Mathematics at Yale

"Four circles to the kissing come.
The smaller are the benter.
The bend is just the inverse of
The distance from the center.
Though their intrigue left Euclid dumb
There's now no need for rule of thumb.
Since zero bend's a dead straight line
And concave bends have minus sign,
The sum of the squares of all four bends
Is half the square of their sum."

-excerpt from "The Kiss Precise" by Frederick Soddy (published in Nature, June 1936)


Soddy was writing about a problem of Apollonius: if there are three mutually tangent circles, how can we draw another circle that is tangent to the three existing ones?


Graphically, it is easy to see that there should be two. (It's easy to prove as well, if you are familiar with Mobius transformations)

For more best math poems, check out Quora 's nominations among many readers

I learned to go alone  -  by Jennifer Yih

I suppose the moral of the story is, you came into this world alone and you're going to leave alone. You're not entitled to anything, you're just a visitor here. No one owes you anything - money, love, fame, or happiness - you have to earn it, work for it, protect it, and give it. I wish more people would spend time becoming friends with themselves, and I understand that not everyone can but if you're reading this, I wish it for you.

-  an excerpt from Jennifer's fabulous travel log

One notable news  on translation that caught this editor's attention: 

The debut novel of mathematician, author, and Oulipo member Michèle Audin, One Hundred Twenty-One Days retraces the lives of French mathematicians over several generations during World Wars I and II. The narrative oscillates stylistically from chapter to chapter, sometimes resembling a novel, at others a fable, historical research, or a diary, locking and unlocking codes, culminating in a captivating, original reading experience.

One Hundred Twenty-One Days is her first novel and was published to universal acclaim in 2014 by the prestigious Gallimard publishing house in France.  Translator: Christina Hills. 


"  On January 1, 2009, she refused to receive the Legion of Honor, on the grounds that the President of France, Nicolas Sarkozy, had refused to respond to a letter asking for information on her father, the possible whereabouts of his body, and for recognition of the French government’s role in his disappearance.

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