Through the Dragon Gate: The Ebook!

Amid the grumblings in front of my computer as I chip away at my thesis, and the latest poetry events in Hangzhou, and the slow realization that January is already over its halfway mark, I have put together a treat: a kindle collection of some of my favorite writings from my China trips! (Link here).

What’s inside? Essays on places I’ve been and people I’ve talked to, and of course, YOU the reader! (Okay, I promise I’ll dial back the cheesiness).

This blog started way back in 2012, and a lot of crazy stuff has gone into it: hitchhiking, jeep-riding in the desert, volunteering at a beach hostel. And now it’s time to celebrate having made it to all provinces!

Thank you for following me and for coming along on my trips. Hope to see you in China someday!

-Hannah

 

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My Wings

A while back, one of the cats ripped a hole in my down jacket. I went to seamstresses, and they all said the same thing: You can’t just sew it closed; you’ll need a patch. And for months I didn’t do anything about it, until last month when I went to the dry-cleaner down the street, asked her about patchwork, and ended up picking through her small pile of patches.

“No no, don’t choose a small one,” she said. “It will be too obvious that it’s covering a mistake. Choose a big one. Make it look like it was intentional all along, perhaps even part of the design.”

I did as she suggested, picking out a wide-winged butterfly:

Jacket wings

As 2017 came to a close, and as I now step into 2018, I think a lot about this butterfly, not just because it’s proof that I finally fixed my jacket, but because it’s something I’ve chased after for a long time: wings. Not too long ago, I wasn’t sure where I was going (and let’s be honest, sometimes I’m still not), when I saw this crooked path, all I could think was “I want to fly,” by which I meant really move in the direction I wanted to go and reach new heights. I wasn’t sure what that even meant at the time. I imagined it being that moment in which everything came together in one glorious gesture, when someone might announce “My god, you’ve arrived.”

As it turns out, that’s not how it works. There have been random asides along the way and definitely bumps in the road. I’ve gotten good advice, I’ve gotten weird advice, but never has anyone (or really will anyone) turn to me and say “My god, you did it.” In fact, more often than not, people are eager to point out defects or compare what you’re doing to someone else who did it, or perhaps did it better.

After all this time, I can say that I have my wings. Have I arrived? My god, have I done it? I still don’t know what that means, and still lean towards “not yet, if ever.” But I have my wings, and you know what? I had to pick them out myself and I had to make them big enough to cover up rips and tears below.

I think for many people (myself included) fulfilling goals is daunting, because we want someone to show us the way. This is what I’ve wanted for a long time, for someone to sort of give me a “How To” on moving forward. In some cases, this is exactly right, and it’s time to find a mentor. But as my experiences have taught me, we often have to stitch the wings ourselves, connect them to our backs, and wait until the next gust of wind to make another glorious leap. And more often than not, they’re leaps in spite of rips and tears underneath.

2017 wasn’t a great year for many, and I can understand why, but for me it was a towering one. This was the year I got involved with the Shanghai Literary Review and learned so much about what it means to publish something I’m proud of (which I’d always thought of as a faraway goal), and the importance of putting my work out there, even if it’s hard. This was the year in which I made it to the remaining Chinese provinces, so that I can say I’ve been to them all. This was the year in which I stopped feeling awkward when I introduced myself as a writer/translator, and this was the year in which Katie and I not only made a website for our poetry group, but also published an anthology of some poems and learned how gratifying it can be for people to value something you’ve worked hard on.

All throughout 2017, I was stitching my own wings. I learned to stop waiting for someone to tell me where to find them, or how to start. I learned that sometimes it’s the power of just trying something, actually leaping, and seeing if you actually take off from the ground. And when I look ahead to 2018, I can only think of making more leaps, and hoping to catch the wind, my momentum, and follow it into the sky. Perhaps this time next year, I will be soaring, perhaps I’ll still be hovering above the ground.

To anyone reading this, I hope we all find our wings. I hope that we let ourselves take risks and make spectacular mistakes, if only because they make for the best art in the end. I hope we can feel the wind in our faces as we fly, even if only for the few moments we dared to leap. I hope that this time next year, we can all look back and see how far we’ve come, not how far we have yet to go.

Happy 2018!

Howling at the Moon

Katie and I put together an anthology for our poetry group in Hangzhou! Here’s more information about it, plus a link to our ebook version, should you be interested in checking it out.

Hangzhou Writers Association Intl

written by Katie Sill

WeChat Image_20171128195107

On December 15, the Hangzhou Writer’s Association Intl (that’s us, by the way) launched its first ever poetry anthology! Here’s a little background information, in case you were wondering:

In August, the HZWA Intl editorial team issued a poem-a-day challenge to the members. To participate, members were required to write a new poem a day for 30 days straight. Anyone who completed the challenge would receive a congratulatory prize. Only eight of our writers were able to complete the challenge successfully: Elena Claydon, Hasina Rajaonarivelo, Kyle W. Porter, Brine “Taz” Mukombachoto, Unica Suanque, Hannah Lund, Tich Sagonda, and Jude Ajaegbu. Click the links to see the writers’ work online! We (the editors) then asked them to choose their five favorite poems from the challenge to include in an anthology. Thus “Howling at the Moon” was born!

This was…

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Tich Interviews: Hannah Lund

Our poetry group is going to do a new interviewing series. We’re starting off with…me! Here are some of my thoughts about China, poetry, and writing.

Hangzhou Writers Association Intl

This is the first of a series of interviews. This month, the interview focuses on one of the founders of the HZWA Intl.: Hannah Lund!

Interviewer: Tich Sagonda

1787400306Can you give us a brief self introduction?

Of course! I’m a graduate student in Comparative Literature and World Literature at Zhejiang University. If you’re not sure what that means, you wouldn’t be alone. I’ve been in China on and off for five years now, first as a university teacher, now as a student. I’ve been obsessed with China for a long time. I mean, all of my journals in middle school and on were China-themed, which is pretty wild. I went back home one year and found one, only to see that I could actually read the characters on the cover. Luckily it said “Imagination” and not “Fried rice” or something like that. I also do a ton of travel, and…

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Hannah in the Attic: The Sequel

The last time I wrote in this blog, I mentioned that before starting my thesis, I’d be 1) going to Shanghai for the Battle of the Bards competition, 2) figuring out how to print a Hangzhou poetry anthology, 3) celebrating my birthday, and then you know, 4) starting my thesis. Since then, I’ve been to Shanghai and back (twice) having met new artists and friends and literary connections interested in collaborating with Hangzhou’s writers, I’ve already picked up the printed anthologies and put them in my closet away from the cats and their wandering claws, have celebrated not only my birthday but also Thanksgiving AND have put up Christmas decorations, and have, you know, actually started my thesis.

Things move fast in the world of Hannah.

But this past weekend, I let things move slow as I joined other writers in an Air BnB meant just for art retreats to get away from the bustle, learn about some writing tactics, and then of course write.

The last time I went on a retreat, it was this October with some people I’d met through the Shanghai Literary Review. It was relaxing in its own right, but was more of a working retreat in which we disappeared to write for hours on end, and then resurfaced in the evenings over hotpot to dish about how it went. This retreat was very much focused on writing, and everything we did was to inspire more writing and give us new angles and ways to approach our projects.

But of course, like the last time I went on a retreat, I gravitated once more to the attic, where I would fall asleep to the slanted roof. There’s something about being the shuffling ghost overhead. Perhaps not something good, but something nonetheless.

At this retreat, we did games that seemed silly, like making up a song using random words to describe the day, to more intriguing poetic exercises such as writing a madrigal and setting out to write 30 haikus throughout the weekend. We huddled around candles in the evenings, passing around wine bottles and Irish cream whiskey, as ideas ricocheted off the walls and into our heads. We gave each other Tarot card readings (with cards based off of Native American animals) and when we invited to cook to stay for dinner with us, I gave him his reading in Chinese. (Side note: he was the fox, while his wife was the inverted wolf). I met someone who had just finished translating the script for the staged version of “The Three Body Problem” which I’ve been reading (and when she saw the book on the table, she just moaned “I just can’t escape work!”), and I met some other grad students, as well as a meditation instructor who gave us guided meditations every morning.

And yes, we wrote. For long, quiet stretches, curling toward sources of heat like cats in the winter. I came to the retreat with a specific writing problem I wanted to face, and by the end of the first day, found myself feeling more confident about it and where I was headed.

With December well under way and the end of the year approaching, I guess it’s just about time to think about my resolution for this past year. I kept it simple: “Do better,” because there was no denying that I already knew what I needed to improve.

And you know what? With the retreat still humming in my ears and my pen on the move once more, I really think I did better this year. Lumbering in the attic and all.

Batten Down the Hatches: The Thesis Saga

The date has been set. The time has come. After all of the preparation and all of the hours at work, I’m ready.

I’m actually going to start writing my thesis.

Well, at least I will on Tuesday. First, I’m going to go to Shanghai for a “Battle of the Bards” poetry competition and a translation master class, and then I’m going to figure out how to publish a booklet of poetry for the HZ Writer’s Association, and then I’m going to veg all day because it’ll be my birthday on Monday…and then I’ll start. So, I’ll get there eventually, right?

Right.

“Eventually” has taken a long time up until now, though. Just last year, I was doing my thesis proposal, quickly realizing that since I hadn’t been able to read all of the materials in time, I was in no shape to spit out a paper. Since I’m on a 3-year scholarship, though, I didn’t have to just yet, and so for the past YEAR I have been re-collecting and actually reading the materials in greater detail.

And then, right when I was at the brink of insanity (actually laughing out loud at how some scholars can take a simple idea and make it pedantic beyond comprehension…seriously, I’m reading a science fiction book IN CHINESE and can understand it better than some English scholarly articles and their muscle-flexing thesaurus skills) I thought “enough of this” and made a comprehensive outline, slapping my sources into categories and said “I’m coming for you.”

On Tuesday, that is.

You want to know what my thesis is about? No you don’t. It’s complex. It involves translating E. E. Cummings’ visual poetry. I’ve read about oracle bone Chinese script. I’ve discovered that celebrated poet Ezra Pound sometimes signed letters as “Ez’ Po”. I’ve discovered some genuinely hilarious scholars low-key sassing each other in their “he said this but I disagree” sections, and I found a scholar who called Cummings’ letter-writing skills “linguistic jabberwocky.”

All you really need to know is that I’ve got my thesis cornered now, and am ready to batten down the hatches for the next round. What is that, you (maybe didn’t) ask?

Actually writing it in Chinese.

We’re gonna need a bigger boat.

Begin at the End

“You know, I don’t think it’s actually the end of the Great Wall,” my couchsurfing host in Changchun said when I told her my next stop during my trip. “It’s the beginning. “Longtou” means “dragon head,” which would be the beginning, right? It’s not the tail.”

I had to pause to take it all in.

I had planned for my last stop on this final backpacking trip to be at Shanhaiguan’s Laolongtou (老龙头) Great Wall portion. It seemed metaphorically correct: to end at the end of the Great Wall, where it met the sea, and where I would at last have accomplished visiting all of China’s Provinces. It seemed backwards in a way, for me to have traveled all these five years to only end up at the beginning, like a lost child who ran toward an exit, only to crash into the entrance instead.

But then, since I find meaning in dust motes and can poeticize anything, I thought “isn’t it fitting, to have an end be yet another beginning?”

I walked along the stone crenelations days later, having reached this end of the Great Wall. I once looked out at the other end, which faced a vast and harsh desert that was part of the Silk Road. I had tried to put myself in the boots of those sentinels who watched that gaping desert, watching the sand swirl into the sky. Since the time I went to Jiayuguan and the time I stood here at Shanhaiguan, I’d seen a lot in between. But now, I was at the end, listening to the waves roll along the shore and crash against the stone wall jutting into the sea. It was as different a scene as I could possibly find from the other side of the Wall all those years ago. And yet, looking out into the vast expanse of seawater, I took in the horizon like a blank page.

Yes, I had reached the end of something grand, and every inch of it along the way had been exhilarating. Yes, things would be different after this, as I would no longer be scheduling in as many China backpacking trips as I once had before. Yes, I would walk in a different direction now, with new boots and a smile.

But no, I don’t think things at are an end. Why, I’ve only begun.