Trần Minh Hiền Orlando ngày 29 tháng 4 năm 2016
Emma Andijewska sinh ngày 19 tháng 3 năm 1931 là một nhà văn nữ, nhà thơ, hoạ sĩ,  xướng ngôn viên đài phát thanh người Ukraine. Sinh ra ở Ukraine nhưng sang Đức sống từ đệ nhị thế chiến, tốt nghiệp Đại Học Munich nhưng sau đó bà trở về Ukraine. Thơ của bà nói về nỗi khắc khoải của người Ukraine. Và truyện của Emma Andijewska viết về chiến tranh, về xã hội và con người giữa những xung đột của tư tưởng, chính trị, tôn giáo…
Bà đoạt nhiều giải thưởng văn chương:
Antonovych prize (1983)
Order for Intellectual courage (2002)
International literary prize “Triumph” (2003)
Hlodoskyi skarb (2009)
Hãy đọc một đoạn được dịch sang tiếng Anh từ Jalapita:
“It only takes the shadow of a knife to kill me,” said Jalapita. “And yet you want to lunge at me with a knife.”
Jalapita feeds on clouds, and his paws are clouds, and his hands are clouds. And that is why each time Jalapita has a different name.
Jalapita is universal. He is every living object and person, but he is none of them, he is Jalapita. When two thousand years ago an attempt was made to write down Jalapita’s biography, it was abandoned because Jalapita could not be contained in words. He poured out of the word like rising dough, and people kept running around, looking for him in the sky and on the earth. It is impossible to describe Jalapita.
Jalapita’s name changes depending on mood, the weather, and also depending on his proximity to water.
Jalapita took an elevator to the top of the Tower of Babel and looked down. In the dust of one of the downtown streets there sat a chubby child, picking his nose. “This child can be my student,” thought Jalapita, “for the secret of life is open to him like a fresh seashell.” Jalapita dangled his spare leg from the tower to street and sat beside the child. “To be your student?” asked the child and stopped picking his nose. “No,” thought Jalapita, “this child is not consistent. No way will he be my student.”
Jalapita can be eaten. Jalapita can be walked on; he is the landscape.
Jalapita went to the races and sat in the first row. An old woman, who sat next to him and whose eyesight had begun to fail a little, raised a cry because she took Jalapita for a horse. Her attention was drawn to Jalapita because she left her glasses at home and wasn’t able to follow the race. All she could really see was Jalapita. Her scream went unnoticed because everyone was preoccupied with the horses. Jalapita meanwhile shut himself off from her behind his left hand and plunged deep into thought. He was thinking that horses run separately and that speed runs separately.
Jalapita wandered around the whole night and eventually fell asleep in a boiler room. A lazy Puerto Rican stoker, who was too indolent to fetch coal and firewood, noticed Jalapita and stoked the furnace with him. Jalapita became very surprised when his body started traveling throughout the skyscraper’s radiators. At first he was amused walking in the company of steam. But he soon got bored, so he broke the pipes and left. When the fire brigade and the emergency response crew arrived and surrounded the skyscraper with ladders, Jalapita, who by then had gathered his body from the pipes, pronounced: “Heating skyscrapers with Jalapita is dangerous.”
Jalapita trusted the word. And all of a sudden the word broke all of Jalapita’s bones and crushed his entire soul. The word threw Jalapita in a mortar and mixed him with cement and dirt. Poor Jalapita is lying torn to pieces; and the unfaithful word walks around, singing to itself: “Jalapita is imprudent: how can one trust the word?”
They forced Jalapita to carry water. He went and picked up the river in his hands and then placed the entire river on the table because he was sorry to tear bits of water from it. Then he was ordered to bring the river back, which Jalapita obediently did by putting the river back into the riverbed. For a long time he stood still and was sad that others were displeased with him. Jalapita was very good.
Jalapita went to the park and took a seat on the first bench. He desperately wanted to cry the way thirsty people want a sip of water, but he didn’t know how. With his arms and paws touching the earth, he sat there so sad and clumsy that children gathered around him and started throwing sand at him. “It would be nice to be dead for at least a day,” thought Jalapita while a sand moustache began to appear above his lip, and children were crawling all over him. With their brisk wet hands, they were striking Jalapita’s green eyelashes, which broke off like lizards and disappeared in the grass.
Jalapita went to the park to think so often that he conceived entire spaces in the air. They hung in the park like gigantic mushrooms, and passersby plucked a handful of Jalapita’s thoughts.
Jalapita invented a water telegraph. You just had to put your face in the water and project your thoughts to have them transmitted to the other side of the terrestrial globe. To receive a water telegram, you just needed to open a faucet.
Jalapita went to a sauna for a steam bath, crawling up to the highest bench. The bathhouse operator wanted to please Jalapita so much that he steamed off one of his legs. The leg fell from the top bench onto a Methodist who was washing his hair in a basin and killed him. For a very long time Jalapita agonized that a man died because of his carelessness.
Jalapita was roaming on the shore and thinking about the fluid nature of things when a girl approached him and put a bridle on him made from a word. Jalapita began to waste away because the word incinerated all thoughts in his head. The girl didn’t know what she had done. Jalapita lay on the shore, and the waves were rolling over him. “Oh, it’s so hard,” Jalapita complained, but the waves were too light to wash away the word that was eviscerating his body and soul every which way. Jalapita kept suffering, gnawing at the sand. He asked himself, “Why is Jalapita Jalapita?” It only takes one careless thought to kill Jalapita.
When Jalapita grew tired, he sat down on the ground and reshuffled the landscapes around him. Then he played solitaire with the scenes, and this calmed him down.
When Jalapita embarked on a trip, he always took along an extra landscape in his pocket.
Jalapita invented a glue that could prolong pleasant moments for entire years or reduce unpleasant ones, even entire centuries and eras, to a flash or a millimeter.
Jalapita was walking on the street and noticed an old woman carrying a heavy suitcase. He offered to help, but when he turned around he realized that even the woman’s shadow was nowhere to be seen. Jalapita was surprised, but upon second thought, he remembered that human beings cannot walk the way he can. The woman barely took a step while Jalapita had already reached the city suburbs. There was nothing left to do but go back and look for the woman he lost. He found her before she even noticed that Jalapita had disappeared with her suitcase.
Jalapita went to a concert. The music turned his whole body into little specks of dust, and it took him a year to reassemble himself, atom by atom, from the cosmos.
Two lovebirds came to Jalapita for help. “We can’t find a place for ourselves. There are cars, houses, and streets everywhere.” Jalapita looked at them and could not rebuff the couple. He lay down on the cobblestones, and his body expanded, turning into trees and bushes. All the cars in that neighborhood had to take a detour around the newly created park.
One sleepless night, when Jalapita became melancholic as a result of getting too close to people, he invented rain that could heal all diseases, even love. People tormented Jalapita, but he was so good that he wouldn’t even act to protect himself.
Jalapita was walking along the street, wondering why people move their hands when they walk and came to this conclusion: people wave their hands in order to measure space, maintain their balance, and aerate the cosmos.
When a feeling of worthlessness overwhelmed Jalapita, he started a business renting out heavenly valleys, cloud wells, and folding clouds that came with or without thunderstorms. For the unemployed the rent was free while for those who were better off the rate depended on their salaries and ranged from five cents to one thousand dollars. Jalapita’s business also sold landscapes made of memories.
Jalapita built a bridge across the ocean and planted trees along the sides so that anyone who was afraid of heights would not fall off while crossing it. But the bridge turned out to be a little watery because Jalapita built it by using the ocean; and only the three drunks dared to cross it because they couldn’t give a damn.
Jalapita was lying in the water, looking at the sun when court officials approached and invited him to a dispute. “What is justice?” the judges asked Jalapita as he was wringing out his body so as not to drip all over their robes. “Justice is goodness measured in millimeters,” Jalapita replied and noticed that there was nobody in the hearing room. He didn’t notice that the judges had been swept away by the water he wrung from his body. They ended up in a river and were picked up, barely alive, by a cruise ship carrying English tourists.
Jalapita can be used as a tool to measure temperature and precipitation.
A man brought a cockroach on a leash to Jalapita and asked him to arbitrate their differences. “He is making my life unbearable,” complained the man. “Good,” said Jalapita and had the man and the cockroach exchange bodies. A few days later the cockroach brought the man on a leash to Jalapita and said that he could not take it any longer because he had never met such a tyrant before. Once Jalapita put the two back into their own bodies, they walked off in opposite directions. But for a long time both kept glancing back at each other.
Jalapita decided to take a break from earthly things and descended into the lowest periphery of the universe. He let his legs dangle into nothingness and began to listen to how his head was spreading out throughout the sky. But at that moment somebody tickled his belly. Jalapita looked down and sighed. He remembered that he had promised one man to be his child’s godfather and now the father, standing on the earth and tickling Jalapita with a stalk, tried to remind him of the christening. Jalapita wanted to break the stalk but then he took pity because this stalk was all the man had, and Jalapita’s goodness was boundless. Jalapita scrabbled for bits of his head, dispersed throughout the cosmos, and mixed them with air as he had no time to wait for it to take its regular shape. He tried to spruce it up by patting it with his paws just to make sure it was not blown asunder on the way. Rumor has it that Jalapita the godfather behaved fairly recklessly that evening. He drank liquor, danced, and told indecent jokes, which later became dogmas in some African religions.
Jalapita was sold into servitude and forced to polish the parquet floor. Jalapita polished it so well that guests couldn’t stay on their feet and slipped out of windows and doors.
On a scorching hot day, Jalapita got inside a watermelon to cool off. He didn’t notice that the watermelon was cut from the plantation and taken to the market. He came around only when the watermelon was being sliced on the table and Jalapita had already lost one of his paws. Jalapita lifted his shoulders from the juice and stretched himself. Petrified, the guests dropped utensils and tipped over their chairs. Rushing to escape, they stabbed each other with the forks and knifes with which they were about to eat the watermelon. When Jalapita saw such calamity, he took the knives and forks out of their bodies and put them back on the buffet. He then spat on their wounds to heal them and went to get some water from a fountain, where the sparrows were laving. At the fountain he uttered the words that revolutionized industry and life. Namely, he said that watermelon can be eaten without fork and knife.
“I cannot live without you,” said the drop to Jalapita. “I know that you are great and that you are Jalapita, while I am only a drop. But it doesn’t matter to me because I cannot live without you.” Jalapita was so surprised that he stood for three days at the same spot, unable to move because of astonishment. On the fourth day Jalapita replied. “If you can’t live without me, then live with me,” he said and sat the drop down behind his ear. The whole world was roaring with laughter that Jalapita made a big deal out of a drop and carried it with him. “Can you imagine?” said the baboons to one another, rolling with laughter, “he carries it behind his ear.” “But it gets even better,” the baboons said, “when they walk side by side, it’s their height! Having seen them together, the holy cow laughed so hard it died.” Then Jalapita asked animals and people what was so funny, and they pointed their fingers at the drop: “It is small and worthless, you should be ashamed, Jalapita.” “The small and worthless doesn’t exist,” said Jalapita and showed them the drop on his palm. Everyone was horrified and started running away in all directions after seeing their distorted faces in the drop. For the drop was looming as large as the sun in front of them, and everyone was like sand in front of it because such was Jalapita’s will.
“Are you bright?” Jalapita was asked by two street lamps that were taking a walk on the street. “I am transient,” responded Jalapita, after which all of them went to the pub to drink to their meeting.
“Sorrow has stemmed from water,” said Jalapita.
“What is wind?” Jalapita was asked by a child who was sitting in the sand and rubbing her eyes with her fists. “Wind is abstract water,” responded Jalapita.
“Why do people smoke?” asked Jalapita in bewilderment and instantaneously came to realize: “People smoke from despair that nobody burns incense in their honor, and so they must do it to honor their own selves.”
Jalapita was asked to share his opinion about the greatest objective of technology. “It is to enable people to lift themselves up by their own hair,” answered Jalapita. The reporters, however, failed to record his answer as they thought it bordered on metaphysics.
Jalapita was sleeping on the quay when two pranksters cast their fishing rods into his heart and started fishing. Jalapita awoke when one of those punks pulled a carp from his heart. But Jalapita didn’t feel like getting up. He looked at the pranksters, hit the quay gently with his big toe so that the pranksters wouldn’t fall down and bruise their noses; and the quay split off right under their feet and floated with Jalapita into the ocean.
Swimmers came to complain to Jalapita. “The fat people prevent us from swimming here because they push out all the water from the river,” said the thin people. “The thin people prevent us from swimming here because they make water geometrical and you can’t swim in shallow water,” said the fat people. Jalapita looked at them, then he looked at the sand in which the swimmers were standing and created two-tiered water for them: water in which only the thin people could swim and water in which only the fat people could swim.
“Jalapita makes the world fluid,” the academics said once and decided to tame Jalapita by imposing a grammar on him. They announced that Jalapita is not Jalapita at all, that his genealogy is suspicious, and that he, quite possibly, originated from a distortion of two Sanskrit words “jali pitar,” which means “the father of water,” and “jali cara,” which stands for “the one who lives in the water.” When one begins to decline “Jalapita,” the academics suggested, everything in the world will fall into its proper place, the reason being that Sanskrit is a dead language, and, thus, so is also Jalapita, they said and opened their books. But while they were declining his name and discussing the etymology of the word “Jalapita,” Jalapita’s name, which had just been recorded in the grammar handbook, blossomed out into the tenderest lettuce. Forgetting what they were on to, the academics took their glasses off and marveled at how the water sounded, playing in Jalapita, and how the birds were singing inside him.
Jalapita lay in the drainpipe and listened to how the rain assured the iron that it was the sun. The iron would buy it if the rain’s language didn’t have so many vowels, thought Jalapita.
“Move over a tiny bit,” a little bird asked Jalapita, who was sleeping amidst the tree branches. Jalapita moved and broke off half of the universe. The bird chirped, and Jalapita said: “The small can destroy the great.”
When one morning Jalapita was forced to do his exercises and felt uncomfortable refusing, he caused a solar eclipse so that no one else would have to blush because of their tactlessness.
Jalapita scratched his foot against the wave and started playing chess with the wind. “Checkmate, buddy,” said the wind. Jalapita took a long time to think about his next move. “Doublecheck, mate,” Jalapita finally responded and won the game.
Jalapita once pondered over why people drown, for he knows water: water is long, and it is impossible to drown in. Jalapita concluded that there must be holes in the water through which people simply fall and die. If these holes could be corked up with pillows, people would then stop drowning.

Once in the summer time, when Jalapita was passing by the state library, he was tempted by its coolness and quietness. Allowing his body through the insect screen on the window, he fell asleep among the shelves and slept so soundly that he didn’t notice his arm and part of his shoulder were almost entirely stacked with books. He woke up because the librarian was trying to lodge in his stomach a particularly heavy metal-clasped incunabulum, which clung to Jalapita’s ribs and abdomen, and wouldn’t fit. Jalapita found such treatment of his guts, especially on an empty stomach, very unpleasant. But he was afraid that if he appeared to the old librarian, the poor guy who, Jalapita knew, was superstitious and had a spiteful wife, would be frightened to death. So Jalapita sighed and in order to make room for the folio sucked his stomach up into his neck. Then over the next couple of weeks he was busy ironing his intestines to remove the imprints.
“Whoever has seen my face,” said Jalapita, “will always look at water.”
Jalapita was invited to a convention of mathematicians so that he could participate in the calculation of the laws of celestial curvature. Jalapita listened to all the proposed theories. Then he uncorked his youngest pinkie, pulled a flower from it, and demonstrated the result to the mathematicians. They were so impressed by the revelation that they threw over their chairs and, losing their glasses on the way, ran to the meadows to catch butterflies.
Jalapita went into the plants and ended up travelling within them for two hundred years. ”
Trần Minh Hiền Orlando ngày 29 tháng 4 năm 2016

THUYẾT DUNG HÒA http://hientran1970.blogspot.com/2014/01/thuyet-dung-hoa.html
THUYẾT DUNG HÒA https://hientrankhanhdo.wordpress.com/2014/01/15/thuyet-dung-hoa/
TƯƠNG LAI VIỆT NAM http://hientran1970.blogspot.com/2014/01/tuong-lai-viet-nam.html
TƯƠNG LAI VIỆT NAM https://hientrankhanhdo.wordpress.com/2014/01/15/tuong-lai-viet-nam/
SÁCH DẠY CON THẾ KỶ 21 http://hientran1970.blogspot.com/2015/09/sach-day-con-ky-21.html
SÁCH DẠY CON THẾ KỶ 21 https://hientrankhanhdo.wordpress.com/2015/09/03/sach-day-con-the-ky-21/


About hientrankhanhdo

writer, teacher
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