Politial protest in Hong Kong against the detention of Liu Xiaobo, Photo courtesy of Pederez under CC BY-SA 2.0 license
The death of Liu Xiaobo will forever mar China’s reputation under international law and global human rights standards, PEN America said today and called on China to Release Late Literary Icon’s Wife, Liu Xia
Liu Xiaobo, a brilliant writer, literary critic, and pro-democracy activist, was a founding member and former president of the Independent Chinese PEN Center. After his arrest, PEN America honored Liu with the 2009 PEN/Barbara Goldsmith Freedom to Write Award, kicking off an international campaign for his freedom that culminated in his receipt—in absentia—of the 2010 Nobel Peace Prize.
PEN America held a candlelight vigil earlier this evening at the Permanent Mission of the People’s Republic of China to the U.N. to honor Liu Xiaobo’s legacy and protest continued human rights abuses in China, where more than forty writers are currently in jail. This free, public event featured readings from the work of Liu and his wife, Liu Xia, who remains under house arrest in China without charge since her husband’s receipt of the Nobel Prize.
PEN America Executive Director Suzanne Nossel released the following statement today in response to news of Liu Xiaobo’s death today:
“The death of Liu Xiaobo today from a virulent cancer contracted while serving an 11-year prison sentence will forever be a black mark marring China’s reputation under international law and global human rights standards.
“As President of the Independent Chinese PEN Center, Liu Xiaobo was a friend and compatriot for writers all over the world who struggle against tyranny using words as their sole weapon. Liu Xiaobo’s purported crime was no crime at all, but rather a visionary exposition on the potential future of a country he loved.
“For the act of penning seven sentences, China punished Liu Xiaobo with a long prison term, limiting his access to state-of-the-art medical care that might have prevented his illness or improved his prognosis. China’s refusal to honor Liu Xiaobo’s last wish to travel overseas for treatment and its decision to hold him incommunicado during his dying days are a cruel epitaph in the tale of a powerful regime’s determination to crush a brave man who dared challenge a government that sustains its rule through suppression and fear. Liu Xiaobo was not afraid. His courage in life and in death is an inspiration to those who stand for freedom in China and everywhere.
“Our thoughts are with Liu Xiaobo’s family and friends, especially his beloved wife, the poet Liu Xia, who has been kept under house arrest, harassed, and hounded for years without charge. The only thing the Chinese government can do now to expiate its complicity in the death of Liu Xiaobo is to grant his wife, Liu Xia, the freedoms in life that her husband gained only in death. PEN America calls on China to immediately grant Liu Xia freedom of movement, expression, and travel lest their crimes against Liu Xiaobo claim a second victim.”
PEN America stands at the intersection of literature and human rights to protect open expression in the United States and worldwide. The organization champions the freedom to write, recognizing the power of the word to transform the world. Its mission is to unite writers and their allies to celebrate creative expression and defend the liberties that make it possible.
Thank you for sharing your love of words. Comments will appear after moderation.
never saw my father’s living room,
but i imaged it, cut kitty-corner,
end to end, into triangles, like
mom’s grilled-cheese sandwiches,
hope dying on the one side
despair thriving on the other
“There’s only one great evil in the world today. Despair.” Evelyn Waugh, Vile Bodies
A screenshot for “Duck and Cover” (1952), early cold war era propaganda film for children (U.S. Public Domain)
If you weren’t there
you can hardly imagine the beauty,
the exquisite peace of those hot summers
Sun as bright as a child’s heart
Trees thickly leaved and old as God
Heat rising off the nubby concrete
in mighty rainbow waves and life
moving in time to the music of paradise
Or, so it seemed to preschoolers at play
At the dead of noon
a stillness
Even the child sensed it
that transcendent moment,
nature in quiet meditation
no breeze
no sighs
no butterflies winging
children stopped playing
grown-ups stopped working
the Hudson Bay stilled its roiling
when suddenly
the beloved city choked on the swell of an air-raid siren ….
…. testing
just testing
just blowing a chill wind into
languid days of childhood dreaming
toddlers crying for toddler reasons
well-trained grade-school children
diving under oak desks for the required
The cold war: there was so much revealed by the singularity of that time. What crazy quirks do you remember or have you heard about from those you know who lived through it?
If you are comfortable, leave your work or a link to it in the comments section below. All shared pieces will be published on this site next Tuesday.
The last Wednesday Writing Prompt (June 5, 2017) was about autumn and its promises. “How does the wind and the promise of rain and crunchy leaves underfoot make you feel?” Here are poems in response to the prompt. Read on and enjoy …
Goose Summer
When a plump late November goose
down day, warm and dry,
brought for the winter
down from Summer’s high warmth.
Abundance stored as welcome wealth
rests ready for the darkening.
Brought from hedgerows,
woods an abundance of wild damsons,
sloes, rosehips, elderberries,
blackberries, hawthorn berries.
Fruit is the seed carrier.
What is this ghost of a leaf?
Where is the pattern it makes?
How does the pattern of a leaf
become a ghost of its tree?
It is the season of the open door.
It is the reason of half day of light.
It is the reason of half day of dark .
We stand between days, colder,
on that eve of halves
when we go disguised
from old ghosts, new ghosts
cold door to warm door
in hope of gifts and a smile.
The Bearded Nut In A Hat
Soon the wise bearded ones with hats
and saw-toothed hands will fall
for us to collect their wisdom
in woven baskets.
Filbert or cobnut,
crack the hard exterior,
strip the paper thin skin,
nosh on the rich, sweet
nutmeat of wisdom,
that is head, heart
and baby inside the womb.
songs come via friends,
the books we read,
the place we breathe,
songs of the fading,of life
**
the words hit our hearts,
and sink in to stay, to pledge
another stage set,
small life
**
driving the land, the songs,
carry us along, to our place,
the constant places,
we think don’t change,
**
the song of love, spinning,
dizzying, head and mind,
words of the books,
black and white
**
so the falling days,
end today, winter waits,
and the songs, and words,
tunes are all to warm us,
and hold us safe
When the air turns crisp and
harbors promises of cold nights
requiring the layering of clothes
to provide warmth the chill of
autumn dresses for the season
with leafy boughs that become
a finery of golds, yellows, reds
lining the street a fall runway
they bend ever so slightly to see
through the glass eyes of homes
where pumpkin pies are baking
and hot cider is brewing
And here to cloase is a belated response to the prompt fro Wednesday Writing Prompt June 28, “tell us about your morning coffee …. or tea.”
ALL IN A DAY’S WORK (as shared over coffee)
I was late for work on Tuesday
And I took off in a flash,
Unfortunately my coffee cup tipped over
And drenched me with a splash,
My white shirt caught every brown drop.
Front and center of the shirt were splattered
I should have found the time to stop.
Those coffee spots looked like politicians twisted in a spiral,
How was I supposed to know that psychiatrists
Were waiting for the picture to go viral?
I was already marked as a careless man.
Women avoided me, I didn’t understand.
As a result I didn’t notice the hot dog vendor
Who was counting out his cash,
I’ve been told the noise of the impact,
Drew first responders and lawyers quickly to the crash.
The ketchup from the hot dogs added color, just a dash.
It was the brown shirt that made people turn and look at me,
All the attention, the crowds, even the President came to see.
I’m not saying that I’m famous because of my brown speckled shirt,
Neither did I gain some fame when I didn’t show for work.
It could have been those dirt splotches and the things people saw,
Or it could have been my imagination when I fell and hurt my jaw.
But I opened a coffee shop over on Fifth and Main,
And every day from dawn to dusk cars are there sure as rain.
I’m happy that I’m helping others, or maybe it’s just fate,
It seems If I’m kind to others, it won’t matter if I’m late.
The geese are flying south again, coffee prices are on the rise,
Meet me for a special exotic blend called MY CLUMSY SUNRISE.
It’s the one that got me started, and I don’t know if it will end,
Come and join our poetry group, the ones we call our friends.
Write about anything until you squeeze the last words out.
We encourage all who share, and those with fears and doubts,
Drink my coffee and let the words splash straight from your heart,
The end result is less important than the journey we all make,
We strive to improve the world, one coffee, or a story,
It’s a step we all take.
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 