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| 尧西达孜：尊者达赖喇嘛家族在拉萨的府邸，今已废墟化。（唯色拍摄于2013年夏天） |
尧西达孜的蜘蛛
唯色
那天下午阳光猛烈
照耀在一张张平凡的脸上
脸是金色的，如被点石成金，变得异常宝贵
走过江苏路。是的，拉萨南面的江苏路
这违和感十足的命名，本不属于这里，你懂的
我比他俩年长，是个头矮小的阿佳[1]
我们说藏语。兼说汉语和英语，但我只会汉语和藏语
身后有人尾随。几个人？
就像甩不掉的尾巴，拐角处的獐头鼠目
被吞噬了小心肝的可怜虫
路边树荫下，散坐着开店的外地人，脸上无光
所谈论的，与生意有关，便添了几分焦躁
走过北京中路，这座圣城早已嵌满类似命名
就像一个个占领，谁都不足为奇，习以为常
阳光啊金色的阳光，将身影长长地投射在地面的花砖上
将挂在高处的、各处的摄像头，投射在我们的身上、
所有人的身上……似乎脊背发凉，但管他呢
我不愿回头张望，或停止不前
大步走着，咧嘴笑着，我们都很帅
珍惜这貌似自由的时刻，争相叹道：“好幸福！”
径直右拐：这是第几回看见尧西达孜[2]？
依尊者家族冠名的府邸，六十多年前建成，一半已成废墟
不过我不想复述历史：最初的欢聚，迅速降至的无常
包括被迫弃之，饮泣而走，被外人霸占：穿绿衣的、
穿蓝衣的，各色人等乃饿鬼投胎，寄居蟹的化身
如今，旧时的林苑，成了停车场、川菜馆、大商场
主楼与外院多处坍塌，几乎没有完好的窗户
有一次，我们站在商场顶层，居高临下
惊讶于它像无法愈合的伤疤
惊讶于它原来离颇章布达拉[3]，这么近，这么近
含泪自责：无能为力的废物啊
步入空旷的外院：一半杂草、野花
一半停放自行车、摩托车，就像一个用处不大的仓库
一对像是打工者的男女提着塑料袋擦身而过
四五头漆黑而高大的獒犬，锁在楼下的角落
仅能露出锋利的牙齿、绝望的眼神，仅能发出无用的狂吠
它们属于附近开饭馆的四川老板，是他待价而沽的商品
数日后再次潜入，碰到他来喂食
摆出主人架势，但虚张声势的驱逐并未生效
就叫来穿保安制服的男子，是藏人
我便用藏语反问：“谁才是这里真正的主人？”
令他无措，呐呐不成句
从遍地垃圾的底层上楼
屏息穿过裂缝交错的回廊
几排当年购自印度的铁栏杆虽已生锈却还结实
连串的花纹与阳光下的倒影构成虚实不明的异域迷宫
凭栏环视，原本的白墙斑驳，黑色的窗框开裂
雕绘了神兽、祥云与莲花的檐头，竭力支撑着架构房屋的朽木
而在十几根柱子依次排列的阴暗大厅，乱扔着几件劣质桌椅
应是被最后的搬迁者废弃。几束光线
自一排天窗斜射而入，尘埃飞舞，幻影幢幢
如昔日头戴面具的僧侣缓缓跳起羌姆[4]
我注意到靠近西北面的窗户，由缺口如刀刃的玻璃
恰好望见颇章布达拉，似乎也能望见，忧虑中有担当的尊贵青年
一转身，却被柱子上悬挂的一面残破镜子所惊
那里面，有一个无依无靠的自己，带着渴望隐遁的神情
我不敢靠近，怕瞥见1959年深夜一个个仓惶离去的身影
怕听见已在异国度过许多岁月的尊者低语：
“你的家、你的朋友和你的祖国倏忽全失……”[5]
会不会，我的前世恰在此处生息，经受了所有诀别？
会不会，曾经痛不欲生，却又为苟活费尽心机？
陡然升起逃离的愿望，但仍徘徊于布满某种痕迹的房间：
有的墙上贴着旧日当红的香港明星头像
二十多年前的《西藏日报》有中共十四大的消息
一幅临摹布达拉宫的印刷品破烂不堪
有的门上贴着中文写的“福”和“新年大发”
长髯飘飘的中国门神右手持宝塔左手举铁锤
有的门已重换，用红漆刷了两个很大的中文：“办 公”
有的门上贴着一张惨白封条，上书“二00五年元月七日封”……
某个角落，一具骷髅状的羊头有一对空洞无物的眼眶
一对烧焦的羊角弯曲伸延着，像是曾经拼命呼救
某个角落，原本用阿嘎[6]夯打的地面不复存在
却从泥土的地表长出一株小草，居然生机勃勃
另一处，扔着巴掌大的木块，应从往昔华丽的柱头脱落而坠
彩绘犹存，雕刻亦在，像老屋的缩影，我悄悄地放入背包
以系在胸前的一粒绿松石[7]为隐秘的指引
最终我命定般地遇见了它：特嗡母[8]！
高悬在一扇倾颓的窗户外那危险的半空中飘荡着
受困于自己吐丝织成却几乎看不见的网上飘荡着
它已成一具干尸，如临深渊：这一片的塌陷尤其惨烈
它是这里唯一死亡的生命吗？
它是这里唯一存在的守护者吗？
它不自量力的布局，是想捕捉不邀而至的恶魔吗？
它像另一面镜子，垂挂在我的眼前，逆光中骨骸漆黑
以某种挣扎的形状，变成一个隐喻，我不敢触碰，怕它瞬时消失
想当年，在此相伴共生的动物一定不只它一种
以某种挣扎的形状，变成一个隐喻，我不敢触碰，怕它瞬时消失
想当年，在此相伴共生的动物一定不只它一种
一定有猫，也有老鼠
一定有狗，那是拉萨特有的阿布索[9]，主人的宠物
在佛堂、客厅和睡房跑来跑去或安然入眠
而大狗，我指的是从牧场带来的獒犬，与看门人呆在一起
在院子里，在大门口，忠心耿耿，不容侵犯……
特嗡母，这是蜘蛛的藏语发音，“母”为轻声，几近于无
特嗡母哒，这是蜘蛛网的藏语发音，“母”仍细微，如被吞咽
虽比其他众生的生命力更顽强，更容易藏身他处而幸存
但也更容易孤独无告地死于非命
毕生编织着“天生就像一座监禁宿敌的城堡”[10]之世间网
却被自缚，难以自拔，恰似我们啊我们莫测的命运……
2017-7-31至9-19，北京
注释：
[1]阿佳：ཨ་ཅག藏语，姐姐。
[2]尧西达孜：ཡབ་གཞིས་སྟག་འཚེར།藏语，十四世达赖喇嘛的家族之名。依传统也是房名。尊者家族从安多迁至拉萨之后盖的府邸，也冠此名，位于拉萨城中心，距离布达拉宫很近。
[3]颇章布达拉：ཕོ་བྲང་པོ་ཏཱ་ལ།藏语，布达拉宫。
[4]羌姆：འཆམ།藏语，金刚法舞，由僧侣演示。
[5]这句话引自《雪域境外流亡记》第75页，尊者达赖喇嘛语，约翰.F.艾夫唐著，台湾慧炬出版社出版。
[6]阿嘎：ཨར་དཀར།藏语，白色物质。藏地特有的一种建筑材料，风化的石灰岩或沙粘质岩类被捣成的粉未，一般用于建筑物的房顶及地面。施工时，将其掺水砸实、磨光，建成后平整、光滑、坚实，不渗水，有如水泥。有民歌：“阿嘎不是石头，阿噶不是泥土，阿嘎是深山里的莲花大地的精华。 ”
[7]绿松石：གཡུ།藏语，在藏地民间又称“魂石”，曲杰·南喀诺布先生写道：“根据藏族传统，灵魂可指一个依处或被拟人化为一件东西，如一块宝石、一座山、一个湖泊等。”绿松石即“一块充任具誓神灵‘依处’的魂石。”出处见注释10。
[8]特嗡母：སྡོམ།藏语，蜘蛛。蜘蛛网，སྡོམ་གྱི་དྲ་བ།།藏语，特嗡母哒。
[9]阿布索：ལྷ་ས་ཨབ་སོབ།藏语，Lhasa Apso，拉萨狮子犬。
[10]这句话引自《苯教与西藏神话的起源——“仲”、“德乌”和“苯”》，第19页。曲杰·南喀诺布著，向红茄、才让太译，中国藏学出版社，2014年。
“The Spider of Yabzhi Taktser”
By Woeser
Translation by Ian Boyden
That afternoon the savage light
fell on ordinary, worldly faces,
the faces golden
as if stone were turned to gold,
transformed into unusual treasure.
fell on ordinary, worldly faces,
the faces golden
as if stone were turned to gold,
transformed into unusual treasure.
We walked Jiangsu Road [1]. Yes,
the Jiangsu Road in the southern part of Lhasa.
The road’s name is a violation that does not belong here—
you understand?
Although I am older than my two friends,
I’m an acha [2] who’s a full head shorter.
We spoke Tibetan, Chinese, and English,
although I only speak Chinese and Tibetan.
We were followed, I don’t know by who or how many.
They were like tails we couldn’t shake loose.
They stood there on the corners,
their eyes like cunning rats,
with their tiny swallowed hearts,
such trembling, wretched obsequious worms.
And there in the shadows of the roadside trees
people milled about outside of shops
their faces void of light
discussing business
riddled with anxiety.
the Jiangsu Road in the southern part of Lhasa.
The road’s name is a violation that does not belong here—
you understand?
Although I am older than my two friends,
I’m an acha [2] who’s a full head shorter.
We spoke Tibetan, Chinese, and English,
although I only speak Chinese and Tibetan.
We were followed, I don’t know by who or how many.
They were like tails we couldn’t shake loose.
They stood there on the corners,
their eyes like cunning rats,
with their tiny swallowed hearts,
such trembling, wretched obsequious worms.
And there in the shadows of the roadside trees
people milled about outside of shops
their faces void of light
discussing business
riddled with anxiety.
We walked through Central Beijing Road [3],
this holy city so long ago embedded with foreign names.
Each name is like its own occupation—one after another,
everyone’s grown so accustomed to them,
no one knows to think the names are strange.
Sunshine, ah, golden sunshine,
our warm shadows fell long across the colorful floor tiles.
Surveillance cameras everywhere [4]
hung in the high places
their eyes fell upon our bodies
on everyone’s bodies—
it seemed our backs grew cold.
Even so, I didn’t want to turn my head to look.
I didn’t want to stop,
I just wanted to keep going forward
and so we walked with long strides.
We grinned and laughed—
we were so handsome
cherishing this moment of apparent freedom
and together we sighed the slogan of the oppressor
“So Happy and Blessed!” [5]
this holy city so long ago embedded with foreign names.
Each name is like its own occupation—one after another,
everyone’s grown so accustomed to them,
no one knows to think the names are strange.
Sunshine, ah, golden sunshine,
our warm shadows fell long across the colorful floor tiles.
Surveillance cameras everywhere [4]
hung in the high places
their eyes fell upon our bodies
on everyone’s bodies—
it seemed our backs grew cold.
Even so, I didn’t want to turn my head to look.
I didn’t want to stop,
I just wanted to keep going forward
and so we walked with long strides.
We grinned and laughed—
we were so handsome
cherishing this moment of apparent freedom
and together we sighed the slogan of the oppressor
“So Happy and Blessed!” [5]
Go straight, then turn right—
how many times have I returned to visit Yabzhi Takster?[6]
This mansion which carries the family name of His Holiness [7]
was built more than sixty years ago, half of it already in ruins.
However, I don’t want to retell history—
the earliest happy gathering,
the rapid tumble to impermanence
after being forced to abandon it,
the tears they shed while leaving.
Those who occupied it were outsiders
who wore green clothes, blue clothes,
outsiders reincarnated as hungry ghosts,
reincarnated as hermit crabs occupying the shell of another.
Today, the ancient orchards and gardens
have become a parking lot
a Sichuan restaurant
a shopping mall.
Many parts of the main building
and the outer courtyards have collapsed,
almost no windows still intact.
how many times have I returned to visit Yabzhi Takster?[6]
This mansion which carries the family name of His Holiness [7]
was built more than sixty years ago, half of it already in ruins.
However, I don’t want to retell history—
the earliest happy gathering,
the rapid tumble to impermanence
after being forced to abandon it,
the tears they shed while leaving.
Those who occupied it were outsiders
who wore green clothes, blue clothes,
outsiders reincarnated as hungry ghosts,
reincarnated as hermit crabs occupying the shell of another.
Today, the ancient orchards and gardens
have become a parking lot
a Sichuan restaurant
a shopping mall.
Many parts of the main building
and the outer courtyards have collapsed,
almost no windows still intact.
We stood on the roof of a nearby market
and looked down.
I was astonished at this huge wound that cannot be healed
astonished to see the mansion was so close to the Phodrang Potala [8]
—so close, so close.
and looked down.
I was astonished at this huge wound that cannot be healed
astonished to see the mansion was so close to the Phodrang Potala [8]
—so close, so close.
I harbored tears filled with self-criticism:
I’m an incapable, powerless waste.
I’m an incapable, powerless waste.
We walked into the empty wilderness of the outer courtyard
half-filled with weeds and wildflowers,
half-filled with bicycles and motorcycles.
A senseless warehouse.
A man and woman who seemed like workers
passed by carrying plastic bags.
Four or five tall, lacquer-black mastiffs [9]
were chained in a corner downstairs
their eyes of desperation.
They could only show their sharp teeth,
could only utter futile barks.
They belonged to the owner of a nearby Sichuan restaurant
who was waiting to sell them at a good price.
A few days later when we snuck in again
we ran into him as he came to feed them.
He assumed the posture of the owner
but his bluff to expel us had no effect.
He called a man wearing a security uniform—a Tibetan—
to rid the place of us.
But I asked him in Tibetan, “Who is the real owner of this place?”
My question rendered him helpless,
na, na, unable to form a sentence.
half-filled with weeds and wildflowers,
half-filled with bicycles and motorcycles.
A senseless warehouse.
A man and woman who seemed like workers
passed by carrying plastic bags.
Four or five tall, lacquer-black mastiffs [9]
were chained in a corner downstairs
their eyes of desperation.
They could only show their sharp teeth,
could only utter futile barks.
They belonged to the owner of a nearby Sichuan restaurant
who was waiting to sell them at a good price.
A few days later when we snuck in again
we ran into him as he came to feed them.
He assumed the posture of the owner
but his bluff to expel us had no effect.
He called a man wearing a security uniform—a Tibetan—
to rid the place of us.
But I asked him in Tibetan, “Who is the real owner of this place?”
My question rendered him helpless,
na, na, unable to form a sentence.
Walking up the stairs from the garbage-strewn ground floor
we held our breath as we passed
through a winding corridor crosshatched with cracks.
A few rows of iron railings purchased from India
had bloomed rust but were still sturdy,
their consecutive patterns of sunlight and shadow
framing an unknowable maze like a foreign country.
We leaned on a railing and looked around.
The original white walls were mottled,
the black window frames had split apart,
the ends of the eaves were carved
with sacred animals, magic clouds, and lotus flowers.
Rotten wood strained
to support the structure of the mansion
and in a dark hall lined with ten or so columns
several shabby tables and chairs were scattered about,
discarded by the last people who left.
A few beams of light
fell obliquely from a clear story
through flying dust, flickering phantoms
as if they were monks wearing masks slowly performing Cham [10]
I noticed a window to the northwest
through this opening lined with blades of glass
I could perfectly see the Phodrang Potala
and it seemed like I was looking into the past,
and saw, within all the worry and grief
of the first years of the occupation,
the commitment of the Venerable Youth [11].
I turned from this only to be shocked again
by a broken mirror hanging from a pillar.
I hung there, reflected as a helpless Self
carrying an expression
of the desire to hide from the world.
I didn’t dare get closer,
I was scared I might catch a glimpse of a singular shadow
fleeing in a panic in the middle of the night,
1959.
I was scared I might hear His Holiness
who has passed most of his life in foreign countries,
might hear him whisper:
“Your home, your friends, your country—suddenly lost…” [12]
we held our breath as we passed
through a winding corridor crosshatched with cracks.
A few rows of iron railings purchased from India
had bloomed rust but were still sturdy,
their consecutive patterns of sunlight and shadow
framing an unknowable maze like a foreign country.
We leaned on a railing and looked around.
The original white walls were mottled,
the black window frames had split apart,
the ends of the eaves were carved
with sacred animals, magic clouds, and lotus flowers.
Rotten wood strained
to support the structure of the mansion
and in a dark hall lined with ten or so columns
several shabby tables and chairs were scattered about,
discarded by the last people who left.
A few beams of light
fell obliquely from a clear story
through flying dust, flickering phantoms
as if they were monks wearing masks slowly performing Cham [10]
I noticed a window to the northwest
through this opening lined with blades of glass
I could perfectly see the Phodrang Potala
and it seemed like I was looking into the past,
and saw, within all the worry and grief
of the first years of the occupation,
the commitment of the Venerable Youth [11].
I turned from this only to be shocked again
by a broken mirror hanging from a pillar.
I hung there, reflected as a helpless Self
carrying an expression
of the desire to hide from the world.
I didn’t dare get closer,
I was scared I might catch a glimpse of a singular shadow
fleeing in a panic in the middle of the night,
1959.
I was scared I might hear His Holiness
who has passed most of his life in foreign countries,
might hear him whisper:
“Your home, your friends, your country—suddenly lost…” [12]
Is it possible
I lived here in a previous life?
That I endured all the parting?
Is it possible
in the past I was in so much pain
I did not want to live,
yet exhausted my mind just to survive?
Unexpectedly there rose the desire to escape
but still I lingered in this room filled with vestigial traces:
the walls covered with old portraits of popular Hong Kong stars,
a front page of Tibet Daily from over twenty years ago
covering news of the 14th National Congress of the Chinese Communist Party,
a completely shredded print of the Potala Palace,
Chinese characters pasted to some of the doors
reading “Blessing” and “Great Prosperity in the New Year.”
Another door carried the Chinese word “Office” written in red lacquer
and pasted to yet another door, a deathly pale seal:
Petition presented on January 5, 2005…
And a long-bearded Chinese door god,
his right hand holding a pagoda,
his left hand lifting an iron hammer.
In one nook there was a goat skull with a pair of empty eyes
its two burned horns curling out
as if in the past it were desperate for help.
In another nook, the original arkar [13] floor was gone
and from the cracks there grew small blades of grass
full of life.
In another spot, a chunk of wood the size of your hand—
which must have been a gorgeous column cap that fell long ago:
the paint still there
the carving still there.
It was the essence of this ancient house—
I quietly slipped it into my backpack.
I lived here in a previous life?
That I endured all the parting?
Is it possible
in the past I was in so much pain
I did not want to live,
yet exhausted my mind just to survive?
Unexpectedly there rose the desire to escape
but still I lingered in this room filled with vestigial traces:
the walls covered with old portraits of popular Hong Kong stars,
a front page of Tibet Daily from over twenty years ago
covering news of the 14th National Congress of the Chinese Communist Party,
a completely shredded print of the Potala Palace,
Chinese characters pasted to some of the doors
reading “Blessing” and “Great Prosperity in the New Year.”
Another door carried the Chinese word “Office” written in red lacquer
and pasted to yet another door, a deathly pale seal:
Petition presented on January 5, 2005…
And a long-bearded Chinese door god,
his right hand holding a pagoda,
his left hand lifting an iron hammer.
In one nook there was a goat skull with a pair of empty eyes
its two burned horns curling out
as if in the past it were desperate for help.
In another nook, the original arkar [13] floor was gone
and from the cracks there grew small blades of grass
full of life.
In another spot, a chunk of wood the size of your hand—
which must have been a gorgeous column cap that fell long ago:
the paint still there
the carving still there.
It was the essence of this ancient house—
I quietly slipped it into my backpack.
A single piece of turquoise [14] hangs from my neck
it is my secret guide
that led me to the destiny of my next encounter:
it is my secret guide
that led me to the destiny of my next encounter:
Dom! [15]
Hanging outside a broken window
and floating dangerously in midair,
dom, a spider trapped in threads it spit out itself,
floated on a web so thin it could almost not be seen.
It had already become a mummy
looking into the abyss,
into a section of tragic collapse.
Was it the only dead bit of life here?
Was it the only existing guardian here?
Had it overestimated its own position?
Had it wanted to capture these invincible demons?
and floating dangerously in midair,
dom, a spider trapped in threads it spit out itself,
floated on a web so thin it could almost not be seen.
It had already become a mummy
looking into the abyss,
into a section of tragic collapse.
Was it the only dead bit of life here?
Was it the only existing guardian here?
Had it overestimated its own position?
Had it wanted to capture these invincible demons?
Hanging in front of my eyes, the spider was another mirror,
its lacquer-black carapace glimmering in the traitorous light.
Through some kind of struggle, it had become a metaphor.
I dared not touch it, afraid that in that instant
it might disappear.
its lacquer-black carapace glimmering in the traitorous light.
Through some kind of struggle, it had become a metaphor.
I dared not touch it, afraid that in that instant
it might disappear.
I think back to those years.
This symbolic animal must not have been the only one of its kind,
and there must have been the host’s house pets too—
there must have been cats and mice
and dogs, the special Lhasa apso, running back and forth
from the Buddha hall to the living room and the bedrooms
perhaps peacefully falling asleep.
And surely a big dog too?
I mean a mastiff from the grasslands.
He would have stayed in the yard with the gatekeeper,
stood at the entrance of the main gate—loyal, devoted, invincible.
This symbolic animal must not have been the only one of its kind,
and there must have been the host’s house pets too—
there must have been cats and mice
and dogs, the special Lhasa apso, running back and forth
from the Buddha hall to the living room and the bedrooms
perhaps peacefully falling asleep.
And surely a big dog too?
I mean a mastiff from the grasslands.
He would have stayed in the yard with the gatekeeper,
stood at the entrance of the main gate—loyal, devoted, invincible.
Dom—this is how one says “spider” in Tibetan
the m soft, almost non-existent.
the m soft, almost non-existent.
Domthag—this is how one says “spider web”
the m subtle as if it were being swallowed.[16]
the m subtle as if it were being swallowed.[16]
Compared with other lifeforms
the spider’s vitality is perhaps more tenacious:
it is easier for it to hide itself in another place and survive.
And yet it is also easier for the spider to die alone
in a violent, unnatural death that goes unreported.
the spider’s vitality is perhaps more tenacious:
it is easier for it to hide itself in another place and survive.
And yet it is also easier for the spider to die alone
in a violent, unnatural death that goes unreported.
This spider, “born like a fortress to imprison enemies,” [17]
wove the world into a lifetime of web,
bound by and to itself,
unable to extricate itself from its own threads—
wove the world into a lifetime of web,
bound by and to itself,
unable to extricate itself from its own threads—
just like us
and our unfathomable fate.
and our unfathomable fate.
Woeser
Beijing
July 31 – August 3, 2017
Beijing
July 31 – August 3, 2017
Translated by Ian Boyden
San Juan Island
September 19, 2017
San Juan Island
September 19, 2017
Translator’s note: This is poem of extraordinary scale and complexity. I called on many of my friends to help me figure out how to render it into English. My deepest thanks to Rong Sun, Dechen Pemba, Jim Canary, Jennifer Boyden, and Sam Hamill for their insights and suggestions. And my great gratitude to Woeser for her patience with my many questions as I worked to understand the poem as completely as I possibly could.
[1] Jiangsu Road. Almost all the endnotes to this poem have to do with names and language, and how they constitute one of the primary means by which we form cultural identity. After the Chinese occupied Tibet in the 1950s, they quickly started to attack the Tibetan language. They renamed the streets, buildings, and cultural landmarks with Chinese names, even changing the names of mountains and rivers. Chinese was declared the state language, children were forced to attend Chinese schools, official documents were written in Chinese, and so forth. These foreign names are much more than symbolic, they are like weapons of the occupier, slowly erasing the cultural memory of Lhasa and Tibet as a whole. If you look at Tibet today on Google Maps, you will see this erasure in action, you will see a landscape of Chinese names. In the case of Jiangsu Road, Jiangsu is a province in eastern China, a part of historical Han China. Jiangsu has nothing to do with historical Tibet. The road was given this name on August 27, 1997 in “honor” of Jiangsu province funding the Chinese “modernization” of this part of Lhasa. What was Jiangsu Road before it was Jiangsu Road? It was a road called Golden Pearl Road built by the People’s Liberation Army shortly after they occupied the city in 1959. Before that, there was no road at all—it was a giant stretch of forested parks, foot paths, and little streams. When the PLA entered Lhasa they cut down this area and turned it into a military barracks, which were then linked by this new road. ↩
[2] Acha (ཨ་ཅག་): Tibetan meaning “older sister.” Woeser is originally from Lhasa and speaks both Tibetan and Chinese. However, she writes almost exclusively in Chinese. In this poem, she utilizes many Tibetan words transliterated into Chinese, consciously choosing to not use existing Chinese words. She could have chosen the Chinese word for older sister, but her conscious choice of acha indicates that her relationship with her friends continues to be defined by Tibetan culture. The choice forces her Chinese readers to stumble into the unfamiliar. I have chosen to italicize these Tibetan words as they appear in the translation with footnotes showing the original word in Tibetan and their meaning. The transliterations are roughly based on the Wylie transliteration system, but have been modified to reflect how the words are pronounced in Lhasa, where Woeser is from and where the poem takes place. ↩
[3] Central Beijing Road. Like the name Jiangsu Road discussed in note 1, Beijing has nothing to do with historical Tibet. The original Tibetan name of Beijing Road was Dekyi Namgang (བདེ་སྐྱིད་གནམ་གང་།), which means ‘Happiness Road.’ After the Chinese occupation, the road was expanded, cutting through numerous parks and wild lands to form the continuum of East Beijing Road, Central Beijing Road, and West Beijing Road, one of the main arteries of the city. In her essay “The New Face of Lhasa,” Woeser writes, “Lhasa is submerged in a pile of new names that have nothing to do with its history, tradition, or culture. The outsider “liberators,” came and took over the old city of Tibet that had nothing to do with them, and have constructed a logic for reassigning revolutionary names that is unoriginal and completely domineering.” ↩
[4] Today, Lhasa is covered in security cameras. They surround all of the major monuments and civic buildings. Chinese snipers are positioned on the top of many buildings, keeping watch for any individual or group protest that might break out. Han Chinese are more free to wander the streets of Lhasa than the native Tibetans. ↩
[5] Woeser told me that as she and her friends walked along the streets that day, they tried to imagine they were Han Chinese, but that everything became imbued with irony. “So Happy and Blessed!” is a common phrase used in Chinese propaganda regarding Tibet. Tibetans are presented as an idyllic people, “so happy and blessed,” who were saved by Chinese liberation. In 2012, there was a large sculpture placed in the center of Lhasa that reads “The Happy and Blessed City.” It was meant to look like an abstract Tibetan style cloud, but the Tibetans laughed saying it looked like a giant pile of shit. ↩
[6] Yabzhi Taktser (ཡབ་གཞིས་སྟག་འཚེར་) is the family name of the 14th Dalai Lama. According to tradition this is also the name of this mansion. After the family of the Dalai Lama moved from Amdo to Lhasa, they built this mansion and gave it this name. It is located in the center of Lhasa, close to the Potala Palace. For more detail see her essay “The Ruins of Yabzhi Taktser.” ↩
[7] His Holiness. Tibetans have a multitude of names for the Dalai Lama including Yeshe Norbu, Gongsachog, Chenrezig, Gyalwa Rinpoche, and Kundun. In fact, most Tibetans usually do not refer to him by the name Dalai Lama. The reason is that ‘Dalai Lama,’ meaning ‘Ocean of Wisdom,’ is actually a Mongolian name given to his lineage by the Mongolian King Altan Khan in the 16th century. ‘Dalai’ is a Mongolian word meaning ‘Ocean’ combined with the Tibetan word ‘Lama’ meaning ‘Wisdom.’ In this poem, Woeser refers to him as 尊者, meaning ‘Venerable One,” and which corresponds to the English appellation ‘His Holiness.’ It is interesting to note that the terms ‘His Holiness’ and ‘尊者’ are not translations of a specific Tibetan term, but are rather terms that originated within the Tibetan exile communities post 1959. As a major theme of this poem has to do with names and how they shape our consciousness, it is important to point out how Woeser refers to the most important spiritual leader of the Tibetan tradition. ↩
[8] Phodrang Potala (ཕོ་བྲང་པོ་ཏ་ལ་) is the Tibetan name for the Potala Palace. The Potala Palace is the most famous building in Tibet. It was the residence of the Dalai Lama until 1959 as well as the seat of the Tibetan government. ↩
[9] Tibetan Mastiff, dokyi (འདོགས་ཁྱི). In her essay “The Tibetan Mastiff as a Metaphor,” Woeser describes how in recent years the Tibetan mastiff has become the favorite pet of Chinese tycoons. The thirst for these dogs has lead to these dogs being stolen from Tibetans across the Tibet and sold at incredible prices in China. But then the market for these dogs collapsed and they were no longer cherished and were then sold to be eaten in hotpot restaurants. She see this as a metaphor for the relationship of Han Chinese to Tibetans. The Han Chinese treat Tibetans the same way they treat their pets. ↩
[10] Cham (འཆམ་): A form of Tibetan religious dance performed by monks. ↩
[11] Venerable Youth, a reference to the young Dalai Lama. ↩
[12] This quotation is from In Exile from the Land of Snows: The Definitive Account of the Dalai Lama and Tibet Since the Chinese Conquest by John Avedon (Harper Perennial, 1997).↩
[13] Arkar (ཨར་དཀར་): Tibetan word meaning “white material.” It is used in Tibetan buildings, made from weathered limestone or sandstone pounded into powder. It is generally used for the floors and roofs of buildings. During construction it is mixed with water, applied to the surface, and polished. After construction it is smooth, solid, and impermeable, like cement. There is a folk song: “Arkar is not a stone, Arkar is not the soil, Arkar is the essence of the essence of the lotus land from deep within the mountains.” ↩
[14] Turquoise, gyu (གཡུ་): Among Tibetan people turquoise is also known as a bla stone or ‘soul stone.’ Namkhai Norbu writes: “According to Tibetan tradition, the bla can have a support or be personified by an object, like a precious stone, a mountain, a lake etc.” (pg. 225). Turquoise “is a bla stone to attract the oath-bound deities” (pg. 5). Namkhai Norbu, Drung, Deu and Bon: Narrations, Symbolic Languages and the Bon Tradition on Ancient Tibet, translated from Tibetan into Italian, edited, and annotated by Adriano Clemente; translated from Italian into English by Andrew Lukianowicz (Dharamsala: Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, 1995). See note 14 below. ↩
[15] Dom (སྡོམ): Tibetan, meaning “spider.” Because Chinese is not written with an alphabet, it is very inhospitable to transliterating words from other languages. Foreign words are rendered using a combination of Chinese characters that approximate the sounds, which invariably sound very awkward and a far cry from the original. And while the Chinese characters used are selected for sound, nevertheless, they also have their own Chinese meaning, which sometimes adds a new layer of potential meaning to the transliterated word. As there is no standard stystem for transliterating Tibetan words into Chinese, Woeser often makes them up herself, which means she has the chance of selecting Chinese characters not just for sound but also for meaning. Dom presents a delightful example. She originally chose the characters 董木, (dǒngmù). At one point in our correspondence regarding the translation of this poem, I wrote, “I love that the word dom, as transliterated into English contains the fundamental Sanskrit seed syllable Om—the cosmic, immutable sound, which forms a fundamental part of Buddhist chants such as Oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ. Your entire poem is like a spider web revolving around this single word dom, it is the seed syllable of the poem. If I were to transliterate it into Chinese I would utilize the character 嗡, which means both Om and the buzzing of insects. Both predator and prey, a poem within the poem, like a secret sword.” To my delight Woeser accepted this proposal, and changed the transliteration to 特嗡母 (tèwēngmǔ), meaning ‘mother of the extraordinary Om.’↩
[16] Domthag (སྡོམ་ཐག་): Tibetan, meaning “spider web.” ↩
[17] This phrase is from the Epic of King Gesar in a passage about the extraordinary beauty of Gesar’s stepbrother Gyatsa Shelkar, translated in Namkhai Norbu’s Drung, Deu and Bon, page 5 (see note 10 above). By incorporating this quote, Woeser allies her poem with the Epic of King Gesar and the ancient Tibetan narratives known as drung, which record history, customs, and habits of the Tibetans and are often enriched with allegorical and poetic details. She said she was not forging a direct a direct relationship between Shelkar and the spider, rather she wanted to invoke the beauty of the language in that passage. ↩
