April 2010
18 posts
2 tags
2010: The unnamed writer by Elise Valmorbida
Here is a mind caught in the elision between personal, political.
Here is a nib charged with invisible ink that under iron heat turns blood-brown.
Here is a silence.
(Death happens in brackets) but still you can hear the bell of the voice, chiming, tolling, the scratching of the pen.
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1991: Ragip Zarakolu by Stephen Bateman
The die is cast. Brick by brick the walls are built, for a sentence that makes no sense. You’re out of sight, but out of mind? No. With every sinew straining, your thoughts and words break free, calling out. Laying waste to ignorance and fear. Turning their bricks to dust.
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1979: Václav Havel by Elaine Gibb
“They are crushing us all,” cried the actor. In the darkness, people listened. The writer stepped into the light.
The prisoner could say nothing. But he dreamed.
The velvet curtain fell.
“Now we have hope in our country,” said the President. And his words still flow, his dreams still fly. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1969: Yannis Ritsos by Chas Walton
On Samos you coughed. Tubercular words choking the lungs of generals, breathing life into patriot songs. Freedom first, death second, you said. And so it happened. You survived the concentration camps, the book burnings, the personal tragedies, the resistance, the tuberculosis. Your legacy, a modern Greek epic, 117 volumes long. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2003: Thich Huyen Quang by Ela Kosmaczewska
You build my cage,
I smell your fear.
You bring your guns,
I’m not alone here.
You force me down,
I rise back up.
You drown my song,
I refuse to give up.
You take my freedom,
I beat my wings more.
This frail man sings louder than ever before. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1992: Pramoedya Ananta Toer by Roger Horberry
Buru Island. Suharto’s Gulag, a tropical Siberia. There they took his tools, and hoped to take his hope. Big mistake. Afraid of paper, they should have feared his thoughts. So he wrote in his head and each evening told his tales – daily testaments that made a mockery of the walls. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1997: Faraj Sarkoohi by Nick Parker
We do not like the words you choose. So, we have chosen some for you:
I flew to Germany. I stayed for a month. I contacted no-one. You are mistaken. Everything is normal. I am fine. I am fine.
Isn’t that how you tell a story? Now. Come with us. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2002: Dawit Isaak by Nick Asbury
PRESS RELEASE
Embargoed until who knows when, the livid ink inside the pen anticipates the click, release: the settled score of nib on sheet –
waits then for the clack of keys, the punch of print upon the page. Now put the word out on the streets. Dawit Isaak is away. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1986: Adam Michnik by Tamara O’Brien
Like you, I never believed in an ideal state. Just messy, domestic democracy.
Our history’s a digging out from under, Our politics simple: the ousting of tyrants. I was schooled, like you, at Adam Mickiewicz.
At seventy, grant me the grace Of that grin they couldn’t wipe from your face.
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1976: Kim Chi Ha by Martin Lee
Imprisoned for your belief in the Word made flesh, You were to discover, more than most, That words have implications for the flesh.
But your captors, like so many others before and since, Were to discover, yet deny more than most, That jailing the flesh will not jail the words. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2000: Yehude Simon Munaro by Anna Goswell
Just five minutes: a man sentenced to twenty years. Convicted for what he did not say. The belief in dialogue holds true. He started a library. He crafted his words to share, to teach, to learn. In freedom or when silenced, his words give a voice to the imprisoned innocent. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1984: Martha Kuwee Kumsa by Rishi Dastidar
The most powerful.
The beige of their suits? The black of your blindfold? The grey of the corridor? The white of your gag? The red of your gag? The brown of your meals? The purple of your welts?
No.
The blue of the sky. Blue is the colour of hope. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2005: Lydia Cacho by Richard Owsley
You took the envelope to the governor?
Bueno. Here’s your cut.
And what’s this you’ve brought me now?
A beautiful, innocent child. Wide eyes, soft skin, flowing locks.
Good work. I know a fat, rich chingón who will pay a lot of money.
Unless that bitch Lydia Cacho gets involved. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1985: Irina Ratushinskaya by Paula Gil
Once, on the way to свобода, I fell. So deep my feet never reached the end So dark my eyes disappeared. I floated away from I. A sudden breeze reminds me of me. So I gather my scattered legs and with painful fingers hold on to me. свобода. I survive. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1998: Pius Njawe by Jo Matthews
The Heart of the matter. You know whose. Every choice is paid for. Acrid blood - sugar and tears. Acid tears - flesh and blood. Abridge. Arrest. Abuse. Again. Flashlight flows as Inky truth slips Fifteen slaughterer’s bars and Stubborn sentences shell my skin. And the Messenger is shot. Again. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1999: Mamadali Makhmudov by Rowena Forbes
We are not free. This Distorted shattered mirror Does not reflect truth.
Its shards shred my skin, My flesh torn by my brothers In freedom, enslaved.
My body sickens, Riddled with rank corruption – For this, my words fought?
Raped by rhetoric Eternal mountains haunt me Still, and still, I write. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1964: Wolfgang Harich by James Hodson
Roll up! Roll up! To the greatest show on earth A trial A spectacle A parade of monstrous falsehoods
GASP at the fire-walk over the embers of Stalinism WATCH the truth twist in the winds of change CRY for ten years lost to principle
And 23 more until redemption came To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2008: Sayed Parvez Kambakhsh by Stuart Delves
Sayed, young sir, assure me…your feet cannot be totally dissimilar to mine: larger, smaller, a little more acquainted with sand maybe. Yet I cannot even attempt your shoes. Sentenced to death for downloading a critique on scripture? Now you pace the linoleum of displaced asylum: nearer home, still worlds apart. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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March 2010
31 posts
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1965: Wole Soyinka by Ken Munn
Drama’s mask. A smile. A cry. Like your life.
A smile when, armed, you seized that radio mic? When you were Africa’s first Nobel?
The other mask behind Nigeria’s iron bars? When a state saw words as weapons, peace as war?
Long ago. Does rage burn still, or faintly glow? To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1972: Xosé Luís Méndez Ferrín by Jamie Jauncey
You and the general Shared a birthright That awkward bastard Mouthful of splinters Your native tongue But when he placed His boot upon it He forgot that hobnails In the prison diet Hone resistance Whet contempt While truth Like blood or spittle Finds its way When even tongues are tied To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2004: Ali Lmrabet by Ryan Dixon
The roar of the Barbary lion echoes, Its volatile bite shrouded in gold. For a brave man it can only be to place a single foot across its path and breach its closely guarded boundaries. Blow by blow; One devastating strike after another. For no man can tame this lion. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1968: Rajat Neogy by Gary McKeone
San Francisco, city by the bay in the land of the free. Did you fill your lungs with air, standing at the edge of the world? Did you forget even for a moment the tremor in your soul that reeled you back mercilessly across continents to a Ugandan prison cell? To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1977: Alicia Partnoy by Tim Rich
They disappeared you. Taught you a lesson in The Little School. Tortured your family with doubt. But here you are, Still fermenting words, Naming new wrongs, Untying your reader’s blindfold. Fear shuts our eyes, Keeps brutal facts from sight. Your writing dares give them form, Drawing dark truths into light. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1967: Angel Cuadra by Sue Evans
It was the summer of love, but not for our poet. Gentle people were nowhere in the Combinado del Este as the door closed on the world. Cerrado.
From the City of the Angels we were heading North with flowers in our hair. People in motion. La gente en movimiento. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1981: Nawal El Saadawi by Monika Lehner
refining the explicit illuminating the concealed relating the unspeakable a voice that never failed to inspire offense amongst the unforgiving yet always resolved to continue writing for the sake of sanity to save the body so as not to lose the mind and to rescue imagination from death by silence To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1980: Alaide Foppa by Fraser Southey
comes from the Latin Alida meaning small winged one fitting name for a lyrical poet feminist broadcaster protestor
disappeared Guatemala December 19 1980 aged 66 presumed murdered not flown away
the day before my 20th birthday spent getting pissed with other radicalized Sussex University students
some act others only play To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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3 tags
1966: Andrei Sinyavsky & Yuli Daniel by Betti...
Two writers whose lives encapsulate the tragedy that was the Soviet Union – and the indomitable force of creativity. Sentenced to hard labour for writing satire.
And still they carried on writing, defying all attempts to break their spirit. Driven by a creative imperative that gave them the strength to persevere. To find out more about these PEN writers, please click here and here
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1987: Jack Mapanje by Mike Exon
“Jack… Jack…” Someone calling out for him, Lost in the night. Another bad dream.
Morning used to break here, full of the song of the birds. “Jack… Jack…” They came for him. Singing
Without charge, They get the man but not the name. His is with the birds ‘Jack… Jack…’
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1996: Taslima Nasrin by Mike Reed
So which idea is strongest? That in ink, Set naked on the page, and unafraid? Or that which howls at people not to think, And for its proof shows gun and stone and blade?
Taslima – cursed, God’s warrant on her head – Lives out the answer; says what must be said. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1961: Henri Alleg by Craig Tembirth
Only he controls his words. Neither torture nor truth serum ever forced his flow. Simulated drowning merely stimulated silence while his choice to voice came forth when captive – exposed sentences from imposed sentence. La Question for me, questions humanity. ‘No civilised country should allow it’. In 2010 his story echoes. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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2001: Sihem Bensedrine by Rob Williams
BEN-ZE-DRINE: Popular throughout Western Europe as a purveyor of stimulation and means of increased alertness. Particularly valuable to those who have difficulty waking up and to others who may be prone to lapsing in to sudden sleep. Proven effectiveness has resulted in abuse and unnecessary control.
Not available in Tunisia. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1990: Aung San Suu Kyi by Matt Turner
Volunteer opportunity: beautiful but oppressed country requires courageous figurehead to stand against murderous military despot. An inspirational motivator, your key responsibilities include: lifelong self-sacrifice, promoting democracy, and non-violent resistance (despite intense provocation). Must be willing to work long hours (mainly from home). No holiday entitlement. Positive outlook...
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1978: Georgi Markov by Margaret Oscar
Markov’s acute sense of social injustice creates intimate portrayals of life as a Bulgarian writer in the 50s and 60s – a life-threatening dilemma between conforming to communism’s artistic demands or retaining some semblance of integrity and self-expression. Today’s true injustice is that the nature of his death overshadows his work. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1974: Shahrnush Parsipur by Jim Davies
In exile she can wear red, If she chooses.
At home all is black. Black veils; Black lines that strike out her words; The abysmal black terror of another cell.
But still she writes in colour; Bright, burning colour that knows no bounds Free to fly wherever fancy takes it.
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1988: Faraj Bayrakdar by Ruth Clarke
A writer without words Trapped, breathless But this is no metaphor Back arched to breaking point 15 years The time between life and death
In a dark nightmare The dream of freedom The freedom of dreams The memory of others In ink from onion leaves Poetry is his defence Unbreakable
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1963: Josef Brodsky by Gillian Colhoun
Lent’s soulful question swiftly followed your arrival. More seductive than sugar, more toxic than wine How beguiling the path of the crowd must be. The compulsion to silently acquiesce - surely that’s The most malignant, most corruptive temptation?
Your answer was to stand up, not to give up. Thank you, Iosip.
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1975: Breyten Breytenbach by Gordon Kerr
Die Afwesigheid van Dinge
We acknowledge the absence of things Moon, sun, stars, sky and time itself Tiptoed on sagging mattresses Heads raised in anticipation Inviting the moon to part our hair.
Such things as make a man Apply even more here As does the enduring dream of hope, Unshackled. To find out more about this PEN writer, please click here
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1983: Mansur Rajih by Heidi Williamson
I do not understand, but recognise the beauty of your script suspended on the page, awaiting its release.
As the waiting woman – strong at least as you can imagine – resists the constant flare of injured dreams.
And all your bound pain, your silenced years, your potency hangs on a word.
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1982: Nguigi wa Thiong’o by Olivia Sprinkel
The detained person shall be detained
Meciria maku maiyuire nyoni, cii na njoya cia marangi matheru magemu matoikaine tomboini uyu. Ugacirekereria imwe kwa imwe nikio ciingire thiini wa handu hanini muno haria ungihota gucihe. Handu hau riu ni hanene o ta matu iguru ma bururi wa Kenya. Mathagu maku nimatambararu.
(Translated by Wambui Muringo Wa-Ngatho)
——
The detained person shall...
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1971: Nguyen Chi Thien by Ed Sowerby
It took me eight minutes to learn fifty words by heart last night.
You didn’t remember fifty, you remembered five hundred.
And not words, whole poems. Paperless poems.
Stories from the Steel Trap.
Forty years later it’s others who memorise them.
Shows it’s not the ink that makes a writer.
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1994: Maria Elena Cruz Varela by Angus Grundy
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1973: Nien Cheng by Neil Taylor
Her crime: Working for a British company in China. (Spying, they said.)
Her imprisonment: No. 1 Detention House; prisoner 1806.
Her refrain: “I’ve nothing to confess.”
Her torturers: Cruel, ridiculous, children.
Her daughter: Murdered.
Her writing: Calm, clever, devastating.
Her answer: “The human spirit is resilient, and I was optimistic.”
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2006: Anna Politkovskaya by Lisa Desforges
Enraged by truth This loaded gun Will seek no truce; She pardons none.
A rifle – aimed With nimrod skill And dogged rage – Intends to kill.
Resounding shot – But all too near. Her bullet was Too loud, too clear.
Defender thus Is turned to foe. Our hunter has Become our doe.
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1995: Ken Saro-Wiwa by Kirsty Knaggs
Brave warrior of words, your voice
inspired, empowered, inflamed.
‘Rise up in peaceful protest till
Ogoni is restored.’
Incarceration couldn’t crush
you – execution tried.
Ideas cannot be put to death
though; words cannot be chained.
Ken Saro-Wiwa’s legacy:
advancement of the cause –
Ogoni’s song now resonates
across the watching world.
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2009: Liu Xiaobo by Ross Hunter
the fountain pen held, an eleven-year sentence walled inside a walled nation.
born an elegant, timid goat, your poetic quest for freedom, democracy and human rights yoked in the ox’s year.
your Charter for reform may not see your time but its voice will echo on until your dream reveals.
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1962: Mochtar Lubis by John Simmons
I imagine you
an Indonesian dragon:
your words the dragon’s
teeth that sprang fully
armed from the writer’s
mouth.
Your dragon’s eye
saw things your keepers
preferred to keep
hidden.
They blinked first but
dragons don’t blink:
you spat words, like
teeth, through prison
bars.
The cage kept springing
open.
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2007: Hrant Dink by Frances Booth
Silenced on the way to his newspaper. Charged under article 301 for “insulting Turkishness”. Threatened, skittish, “like a dove”. An editor, an Armenian voice in Turkey, a husband and father. “I would never belittle Turkishness or Armenianness. I wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it, either.” Hounded for his words.
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1989: Salman Rushdie by Vicki Jung
F ree the word, let it be heard: A s he sheltered from a dark storm of fundamentalist outrage T he writer conjured up a ‘sea of stories’ to illuminate the page. W hen story streams flow unimpaired, hope triumphs over despair A nd this truth is underscored – the pen is mightier than the sword.
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1970: José Revueltas by Kate Elliott
Ink and voice united to break the bounds of conformity
But the spark of conflict that creates and inspires can also destroy
Restrained by exclusion, the passion undeterred for people and purpose
Not will or mind or pen confined, the room in which to rouse
Conviction; the penalty and muse
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February 2010
3 posts
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1993: Tahar Djaout by Rob Self-Pierson
The Bullet questions you. It tears and corrupts your flesh. It steals your defence and lays you to eternal rest. You become the severed head, the voice with no body. But in rest your words are heard. In words your voice echoes. The Bullet awakens a whisper that can’t die.
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