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South Korean schools to open with online classes   

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Seoul, Mar 31 (efe-epa).- South Korea announced Tuesday that the new school year will begin on Apr. 9 after a five-week delay due to the coronavirus pandemic, but that classes will be conducted over the internet to prevent a recurrence of the outbreak. Prime Minister Chung Sye-kyun, who is heading the unit responsible for coordinating …
          

South Koreans in Egypt mull leasing aircraft to return home   

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CAIRO/SEOUL, March 29 (MENA) - The South Korean community in Egypt began to list the names of nationals wishing to return home amid coronavirus fears.

Based on the listed number, the community will take a decision to lease an aircraft to send them home, the community said through social networking websites.

There are 700 South Koreans living in Egypt.

Egypt suspended all flights as a precautionary measure against coronavirus outbreak but allows some limited flights to bring home nationals stranded in some world countries.
          

Song Hye Kyo 송혜교   

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Gossip Korea Song Hye Kyo's biography for actress, actress Song Hye Kyo, is younger than the age 31 March 2020 - 15:12 hrs. Song Hye Kyo, one of South Korea's most popular and famous actresses Have to give to Song Hye Kyo ( Song Hye Kyo ) who must say that aside from acting ability The beauty is impeccable until it is nicknamed the female protagonist's younger than the actual age. History Song Hye Kyo Song Hye Kyo Song Hye Kyo was born on November 22, 2524 in Daegu, South Korea. During her birth She is sick of unknown reasons. Doctors and parents think that she has very little chance of surviving. Months passed and she recovered from the illness. Her father and mother then registered the birth of a child on February 26, 1982 (instead of the actual birthday on November 22, 1981). She is now 38 years old! Education - She is a figure skater or figure skater. While studying at Dado Seoul Elementary School But she decided to resign while in 8th grade - high school. She graduated from Eunkwang Girls High School in 1996. Song participated in the Talent Manitem model contest. Kon Testest Until receiving the first prize Song first appeared as a model for the SK Group company that produced school uniforms. In the same year, she played a small role in the first Korean television drama, which is First love The last love cannot be forgotten. - Study in higher education at Sejong University Film Arts Department Currently, her work in the entertainment industry is numerous. Can say that if you come back to perform in a series That matter must get ratings immediately. But even though many works Did not make her little rest affect the health and face Even now, 38 years old, still looks like no more than 30 years old. If already mentioned, still do not believe Must see with your own eyes! Song Hye Kyo is the younger female protagonist. source credit @https://God.blue/forward.php?url=https://www.springnews.co.th/tag/บังเทิงเกาหลี
          

Seluruh Sekolah di Korsel Terapkan Kelas Online karena Corona COVID-19   

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Liputan6.com, Seoul - Korea Selatan akan memulai tahun ajaran baru setelah berminggu-minggu menunda pembukaan sekolah karena penyebaran Virus Corona COVID-19. Aturan ini disertai catatan bahwa sistem sekolah kini memakai sistem kelas online.

Dilaporkan Yonhap, Selasa (31/3/2020), sistem kelas online ini akan dimulai pada 9 April mendatang. Sistem ini akan diterapkan secara step by step oleh sekolah.

"Pemerintah menilai hal ini cukup masuk akal untuk memulai tahun ajaran baru dengan step by step pada 9 April dengan memperhatikan situasi persiapan dan membantu murid-murid beradaptasi (kepada kelas online)," ujar Perdana Menteri Korsel Chung Sye-kyun.

Sekolah-sekolah di Korsel menunda tahun ajaran baru yang harusnya mulai di awal Maret. Penundaan terjadi akibat merebaknya Virus Corona.

PM Chung tak memberi penjelasan detail terkait pengumuman ini. Ia hanya meminta semua murid harus diberikan akses komputer dan internet.

Pengumuman penting lain adalah penundaan tes masuk kuliah. Tes ini merupakan proses signifikan bagi para murid sekolah di Korsel dan berpotensi ditunda dari jadwal 19 November.

Kasus Virus Corona di Korsel telah mencapai 9.786 kasus. Penangangan Virus Corona di Korsel mendapat pujian internasional karena Korsel berhasil menahan laju penyebaran dan pemerintah sangat transparan menyajikan data.

 

 

**Ayo berdonasi untuk perlengkapan medis tenaga kesehatan melawan Virus Corona COVID-19 dengan klik tautan ini.

Manajer Tiffany SNSD Didiagnosis Terinfeksi Virus Corona

Tiffany Young tampil beda di MV terbarunya, Born Again. (Popcrush)
Tiffany Young tampil beda di MV terbarunya, Born Again. (Popcrush)

Kabar terbaru, ada sosok dekat dari seleb K-Pop internasional Tiffany Young yang kena Virus Corona. Tiffany merupakan anggota grup SNSD yang keluar dari manajemen SM Entertainment pada 2017.

Salah satu manajer Tiffany Young, Tara Anne didiagnosa terinfeksi virus Corona. Kabar ini diketahui dari halaman situs penggalangan dana GoFoundMe.

"Teman kami, Tara, baru-baru ini dinyatakan menderita kasus Covid-19 yang disebabkan oleh strain Coronavirus. Hal ini juga membuatnya mengalami pneumonia," kata perwakilan GoFoundme, dilansir dari Allkpop

GoFoundMe juga telah berupaya membantu manajer Tiffany Young untuk menutupi tagihan medis dan biaya lainnya selama masa pengobatan melawan virus Corona. 

"Ini merupakan kesulitan tak terduga untuk dihadapi baik secara fisik dan finansial, jadi dia pasti memerlukan dukungan dana untuk melewatinya," tuturnya.

"Donasi ini akan sangat membantu Tara yang saat ini tidak dapat bekerja karena fokus pada pemulihan. Donasi ini juga dapat menutup biaya tak terduga selama menjalani perawatan," sambungnya. 

 

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AlphaGo - The Movie | Full Documentary   

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With more board configurations than there are atoms in the universe, the ancient Chinese game of Go has long been considered a grand challenge for artificial intelligence. On March 9, 2016, the worlds of Go and artificial intelligence collided in South Korea for an extraordinary best-of-five-game competition, coined The DeepMind Challenge Match. Hundreds of millions of people around the world watched as a legendary Go master took on an unproven AI challenger for the first time in history.

Directed by Greg Kohs with an original score by Academy Award nominee, Hauschka, AlphaGo chronicles a journey from the halls of Oxford, through the backstreets of Bordeaux, past the coding terminals of DeepMind in London, and ultimately, to the seven-day tournament in Seoul. As the drama unfolds, more questions emerge: What can artificial intelligence reveal about a 3000-year-old game? What can it teach us about humanity?


          

North Korea says it conducted successful test of multiple rocket launchers   

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SEOUL: North Korea's latest test of super-large multiple rocket launchers a day earlier was a s..

The post North Korea says it conducted successful test of multiple rocket launchers appeared first on japan daily sun.


          

Asia-Pacific in negativo. Nikkei 225 in flessione dell'1,57%   

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30/03/2020 08:20:28

Dopo una chiusura d'ottava in netto declino per Wall Street (peggiore dei tre principali indici newyorkesi il Dow Jones Industrial Average, crollato del 4,06% venerdì), la nuova settimana inizia con il freno tirato anche per l'Asia su timori per una serrata lunga mesi dell'economia globale a causa dell'epidemia di coronavirus. Timori che sembrano non essere allontanati dai pure significativi interventi delle banche centrali. Gli economisti di Jp Morgan prevedono un crollo del 10,5% annuo nel primo semestre per il Pil globale. E il risultato è stata una perdita intorno all'1% per l'indice Msci Asia-Pacific, Giappone escluso, che pure ha recuperato in parte rispetto all'avvio della sessione.

Sul fronte valutario il Bloomberg Dollar Spot Index, paniere che monitora la divisa americana nei confronti delle altre dieci principali monete, è in moderato recupero dopo avere registrato la performance più negativa in oltre un decennio settimana scorsa. Il parallelo apprezzamento dello yen sul biglietto verde contribuisce alla performance in negativo di Tokyo: il Nikkei 225 perde infatti l'1,57% (andamento simile per l'indice più ampio Topix, in flessione dell'1,64%). Tra i singoli titoli, da segnalare il rally del 7% sfiorato in intraday da Fujifilm Holdings, sul numero sempre maggiore di Paesi pronti a testare il suo Avigan per curare i contagiati da Covid-19.

La People's Bank of China (PboC) ha tagliato a sorpresa di 20 punti base dal 2,40% al 2,20% il tasso sui reverse repo a sette giorni. A inizio giornata l'istituto centrale aveva iniettato 50 miliardi di yuan (6,36 miliardi di euro) nel sistema finanziario, interrompendo una striscia di 29 giorni senza interventi in tale direzione. A meno di un'ora dal termine degli scambi Shanghai Composite e Shanghai Shenzhen Csi 300 sono in flessione di circa lo 0,80% e lo 0,90% rispettivamente, contro la perdita di quasi il 2% dello Shenzhen Composite. In negativo anche Hong Kong: l'Hang Seng è infatti in ribasso di circa lo 0,60% (fa meglio l'Hang Seng China Enterprises Index, sottoindice di riferimento nell'ex colonia britannica per la Corporate China, con un calo intorno allo 0,20%). A Seoul il Kospi guadagna invece circa lo 0,60% mentre a Sydney l'S&P/ASX 200 chiude in rally del 7,00% su promesse di nuovi interventi di stimolo da parte del governo australiano.

RR - www.ftaonline.com

          

ON #CORONAVIRUS AGE #NORTHKOREA AND THE MADNESS OF THE LEADERSHIP ON EVERLASTING #WAR WAITING   

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Pyongyang has confirmed it conducted yet another test of a new “super-large multiple rocket launcher” a day after Seoul reported that #NorthKorea had fired two short-range missiles towards the Sea of #Japan amid ongoing drills.



The launch, carried out early on Sunday morning, went off without a hitch, North Korean state media reported, saying that it was conducted to “verify strategic and technical characteristics” of the novel launcher, which has featured in a series of recent tests by the reclusive country.

It’s unclear whether North Korean leader #KimJong-un attended the drill to oversee the launch in person.

Two short-range missiles blasted off from a launch site in the city of Wonsan, on the country’s eastern coast, at 6.10am local time, according to the South Korean military.

The missiles flew some 230km (143 miles), reaching an altitude of 30km (18.6 miles) before splashing into the Sea of Japan outside of Tokyo’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ).



While still abiding by the self-imposed moratorium on long-range ballistic missile and nuclear tests, Pyongyang has recently taken its missile activity up a notch, with Sunday's test becoming the country’s fourth in a month.

North Korea took a three-month respite from testing – from late November to early March – before eventually resuming launches. It came after Washington refused to change its approach to the stalled de-nuclearization talks as demanded by Pyongyang, seeking a partial lifting of economic sanctions in return for nuclear disarmament. 




Washington insists North Korea should first dismantle its nuclear capacities completely before any relief is considered.

          

한국에서 서식하는 가장 위험한 독버섯   

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190906 오마이걸 비니 직캠 4K '불꽃놀이 (Remember Me)' OH MY GIRL Binnie fancam @ 스타트업 서울 by Spinel   

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러블리즈 케람쥐 김지연   

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Coronavirus cluster emerges at another South Korean church, as others press ahead with Sunday services   

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Another controversial religious sect in South Korea has come under public scrutiny with a cluster of at least 22 coronavirus cases, as some protestant churches went ahead with worship services on Sunday despite a government order for social distancing.Health authorities have been tracing close contacts of at least 200 church-goers after a member of the Manmin Central Church in Seoul’s western district of Guro tested positive for Covid-19 on Wednesday.As of Sunday afternoon, 22 people linked to…
          

Coronavirus: as quarantine measures bite in South Korea, working class takes hardest hit   

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Jung Mi-kyeong, 52, stands by the counter inside her sporting goods store drinking coffee. This past week was supposed to be one of the busiest of the year for her store, which specialises in hiking and camping equipment, as South Koreans geared up for spring outings. But on this day, like so many others during the past month, the only sound coming out of her store was music from her playlist. In her 25 years of selling clothes in the city of Paju, northwest of Seoul, she has never faced a…
          

Cathy Park Hong by Ken Chen   

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Minor Feelings Mockup

Cathy Park Hong

by Ken Chen

The poet’s new collection of essays, Minor Feelings, threads intense friendships, “bad” English, and standup comedy into a meditation on the Asian-American experience.

When I first read Cathy Park Hong’s Dance Dance Revolution (W. W. Norton, 2007), I was blown away. The poetry collection is premised on an imagined cyberpunk version of Seoul, set in a future so polyglot and globalized even the language of the poems reads as a mix of pidgin, Korean, and future noises. The book seemed to open a new horizon on speculative or science fiction as an expansive, generative way to talk about race: to invent rather than react.

Cathy’s two other poetry collections similarly created a framework to explore a project of the Asian or Asian American imaginary: Her prior book, Translating Mo’um (Hanging Loose Press, 2002), followed the testimonies of people who had become racial symbols (e.g., Chang and Eng Bunker, Tono Maria, and Saartjie Baartman, the so-called Hottentot Venus) and “translated” them in a broken English reminiscent of that of Myung Mi Kim. And her third poetry book, Engine Empire (W. W. Norton, 2012), consisted of a triptych of three frontiers—the nineteenth-century American West, the industrial capitalism of contemporary China, and a melancholic, computer-aided cyborg future yet to come. While these books refracted Cathy’s investigations of race into conceptual structures of her own invention, her new essay collection Minor Feelings (One World, February 2020) confronts Asian American identity in a more autobiographical, overtly emotional way. Influenced by the work of Sianne Ngai, the book explores the Asian American psychic state. While one typically imagines the reaction to racial prejudice as anger or despair, Cathy’s fragmented essays portray Asian American identity as a kind of sadomasochism: identity as the stuff of shame and internalized self-hatred, neuroses and overwhelming anxiety—all the lovely stuff we discussed one afternoon at the Cullman Center at the main branch of the New York Public Library.

—Ken Chen

Ken Chen In Minor Feelings, you have these fragments of what would be the idealized or conventional Asian American novel form: an autobiographical family novel. But instead of writing that novel, you take the germs of what those scenes would be and paper over them with essay, philosophy, and personal reflections.

Cathy Park Hong As a writer I’ve always avoided subjects that I as an Asian American am supposed to write about. This inhibition might be particular to our generation, but I was definitely inhibited from pursuing Asian Americanness as a monolith. Before I started writing the book, I thought I was over it, but I still felt really defensive—like what I was writing about was trivial, predictable, a little embarrassing. The subject seemed tepid. But rather than take that at face value, I kept thinking, What’s underneath that? I used to make these dismissive remarks like, Well, because of the way Asian American narratives have been recycled, they feel inauthentic, and that’s why I’m not interested in writing them. But then I thought, Isn’t that some kind of defense mechanism, since it’s not true?

It took a lot of painful reexamination to pry out what might be throbbing beneath my prejudices. Minor Feelings is a self-reflexive book; as much as I was writing about language, family, and friendship, I was also wrestling with what it means to write this kind of book. I was partly inspired by Young Jean Lee and what prompts her plays. She asks herself, What’s the worst thing I could possibly write about? And then she sets out to write that play. Like her, I wanted to sit in that same extreme discomfort and see where it led. Part of this discomfort is in the way people disparage identity politics.

KC We’re in this weird moment. Asian Americans and other writers of color who are Gen X or older grew up in a hierarchy when it came to writing about race in politics. On the one hand, we grew up under a tacit system of racial censorship, where you’re not supposed to talk about race or politics if you’re writing high or experimental literature, which supposedly followed a modernist notion of purity of form. But on the other, there is the invention of Asian American literature as market category after The Joy Luck Club, where ethnic literature is specifically marked as commercial fiction with an autobiographical subtext. So it’s this two-tier system, where to write about race is ghettoization. Writers over forty don’t want to be labeled as Asian American. But now we’re in a moment where you get more cultural capital by writing about your identity. It’s been interesting to see Gen X writers adapt to this and find their comfort level.

To bring it back to your book, one form you explored for talking about race and cultural taboos was stand-up comedy. What you’re saying about forcing yourself to talk about the worst subject possible—that’s often the subject of stand-up.

CPH I was always interested in writing about race but preferred doing so in a roundabout way. I didn’t feel I had a way into the personal stories through poetry or prose. But then in 2011, I watched Richard Pryor’s Live in Concert (1979). It was a revelation. I was depressed and my mind lit up. Probably because my natural mode as a writer is tragicomedy.

KC Gallows humor.

CPH Yes. I was interested in how Pryor used humor as a trapdoor to engaging difficult subjects. He’s more honest about race, about racial self-hatred, than many literary writers. Not many writers pursue interracial lust in the frank way that Pryor does. Ronaldo Wilson does it; Saeed Jones too. But Pryor really spelled it out. I was inspired by him, and what attracted me most to stand-up was the sadomasochism. At any second you could fall flat on your face. The shame and humiliation was attractive. (laughter) Those were my main feelings associated with my identity or the Asian American condition, not grief and rage.

So how could I turn this into a literary mode? I hated doing poetry readings, so I started doing stand-up instead of reading my poetry up there.

KC I remember when you were doing these comedy events. What were they like?

CPH They were really bad! I don’t want to repeat the jokes, as they would offend people. They were off-color.

I also tried to write absurdist poems, and that didn’t work. I tried the same ideas as a novel, which also didn’t work. Eventually the project became this essay collection. The book is made up of reinvented passages from that failed novel and failed poems. I found essays to be liberating because they can absorb so many different forms. You can jump around from the personal to the philosophical to the psychoanalytic to the historical, then back to the personal.

KC I didn’t expect Minor Feelings to be about your father. Or your grandparents. There’s a funny thing about Asian American authors’ relationships with our parents—the dysfunctional family relationship drives us to write because we’re wounded, and we have to sublimate it. And our parents are in this weird position as these status- and acquisition-oriented tiger parents, who inadvertently foster the elite education that leads us to become a cultural people. And what could be worse than being an artist? My dad wanted me to autograph all these books, so he could give them to his friends, for bragging rights. I was like, “I’m sorry if there are parts of the book that offend you.” He just laughed, saying, “It’s okay. I’ll never read it anyway!”

CPH We’ve committed the biggest betrayal, right? Our parents say their reason for moving to the US was to give us an elite education. I think some of this is bullshit. It’s what they like to say, but another reason was to get away from their families. They were rebellious twentysomethings, wanting to have adventures and escape their toxic parents. And then they say, “We did it for you.”

KC So what do your parents think of you being a poet?

CPH Oh, they’re actually much more relaxed. My dad used to want to be a poet, then a novelist, so there is some writerly gene in play. He’s very proud of me, but he can’t read the kind of English I used in my poetry which is all in this invented pidgin. He tried reading the poetry book and said, “I’m sorry, my English isn’t good enough.” I said, “Even a native speaker might run into problems.”

I’ve also written some journalism in the past, like one short piece for the New York Times Magazine about a luxury condo in Korea that was the first wireless “smart” building, where you could turn on the oven with your phone and so on. At first, I couldn’t get access, but my dad had a friend of a friend who got me in. I wrote about the irony of this building—that because only the wealthy could afford to live there, the residents were over fifty years old and had no clue how to use the technology. When the magazine came out, my dad bought ten copies from a newsstand to send to friends in Korea, but when he opened one up and started reading, he closed it and said, “I can’t send this.” That was the first piece of my writing he could really understand.

KC There’s this book that just came out by Shinhee Han and David Eng: Racial Melancholia, Racial Dissociation: On the Social and Psychic Lives of Asian Americans. It’s about Asian American mental illness, about parents having their dreams dashed and all of their desires being displaced in the child, in a debt that can never be repaid.

CPH It’s psychologically not fun to be the living embodiment of your parent’s ego. Being a mom now, I think about how destructive it is to have that mentality. My ego is tied to my books, which is why writing’s such a tortuous experience. But so many Asian parents treat their kids as an investment opportunity where everything their child does is filed as either failure or success, as a reflection of who the parents are as human beings. It really screws you up, and I don’t think mental illness in the Asian American community is talked about enough. It’s a chronic problem that’s not mentioned in families or in the media. Not just Asian Americans but all children of immigrants can feel gaslit
by their parents. They think that if they write about what their family is truly like, then they will bring shame upon them. I’ve felt that. I can’t write everything; I don’t even know how to write truthfully, not in a chronological way at least. I can only give glimpses.

KC It’s interesting to think about that in the context of poetry, where the dominant mode is the confessional, baring everything. I remember talking with someone about how Language poetry was really just fear of writing about oneself, because it would be too embarrassing or vulnerable. I remember driving with my mom and playing these CDs I had burned, with PennSound audio files on them—it was Lynn Hejinian reading her work. You hear this line about how people describe postmodern writing—dislocated, no self, jargon. My mom was like, “Is this considered poetry? I feel like poetry should be about looking at flowers. This is so fragmented.” She was in some sense describing Language poetry correctly, from the point of view of a lyric person.

I’ve also wondered why so many Asian American writers are funneled through modernism and become categorized as experimental. One reason could be the idea of the self being filtered through fragmentation, traditional collage as a way to escape the self. At first I also thought it had something to do with how modernism arrived filtered through the imaginary of Asia, most obviously with Ezra Pound. But one thing I’m thinking of writing about is the idea that modernism is a meritocracy, where it’s all form, as if it’s something you can master through schoolwork and a scholastic reading of canonical texts. Then you apply the correct technologies, like quotation, conceptual practices, etcetera... But maybe there’s a second subtext too, like you’re saying—modernism as a place where you don’t have to write about yourself. (Though I should state that I don’t think the willingness to write about oneself is necessarily better than the decision not to!)

CPH So interesting. I wonder if I agree with you though, about how so many Asian American writers get filtered through those categories. Certainly with Gen X, or whatever you want to call it. There are more poets in the younger generation who are definitely writing in the confessional mode, though. But I don’t know, I wonder if part of that has to do with access to education.

KC Yeah, it’s a class index.

CPH Definitely. Access to undergraduate and graduate courses that enabled study of Pound, Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, and all those poets that were the trend back in my time. When I was coming of age as a poet, a lot of MFA programs encouraged you to write in this fragmented way, in the modernist tradition, and wanting to please, I really embraced that. As much as it’s about fragmentation, you could also say there’s something virtuosic to a lot of the forms; so it was a way to flex your technical muscle as a poet, like the way a pianist might play a Bach piece. There’s something to that experimental mode, where the “I” is almost discouraged, and you don’t have to dig in and face your vulnerabilities. It’s also very gendered, so masculine. Any vulnerability is considered weak.

KC Domesticated.

CPH Or anti-intellectual. At least when I was in grad school, all the poems people turned in were quite guarded. Anything autobiographical was looked down upon. And I think many of the poems written there, my own included, weren’t very good because of this. I wish there was a mode in between. People talk about confessional or Language poetry as the two poles—writing about your life or avoiding doing so.

KC That’s our generational box. And what was liberating about your first poetry books, as well as those of LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs and Bhanu Kapil, was the way they took some of the technical, post-structural elements of experimental writing and mixed them with—

CPH —actual content?

KC Yeah, having the world in there, with all its social relations and politics. Minor Feelings speaks to this. In “Bad English,” you talk about how traditional experimentalism fractures language because it’s cool to do so, but then your parents are fracturing language all the time because they’re immigrants. You write about not knowing English as a kid. That’s something I relate to. When I first went to school I was so frustrated that I couldn’t talk to anyone, but because I was very expressive, I ran away on the first day—my first moment of punk rebellion. And they kicked me out of the school!

CPH What? But you were like five!

KC We talk about our parents not really getting or understanding the work, even as the work is really like a recovery project of their linguistic condition.

CPH That’s exactly it. And I think that’s why I was so drawn to experimental poetry. When I read it, I thought, This isn’t revolutionary; this is how I used to speak! A lot of the avant-garde practitioners, like Gertrude Stein or William Carlos Williams, came from immigrant families. They were already estranged from English, so it was natural and intuitive for them to break up syntax. It was the same for me. I was alienated from English growing up, so I found it really freeing to find that there was this whole school of thought where I could just write in that way. It’s ironic that my parents don’t understand, since I’m going back and writing in the way that they speak English.

KC I feel like, in a way, bad English is the aesthetic equivalent of how you talk about emotions in the book. Writing bad English is not necessarily against English, but it’s kind of messy, illegible sabotage. On the other side, you talk about emotions and pain. The book is about intergenerational trauma, which is what every book seems to be about now—but I don’t think it’s immediately obvious in this case. Trauma usually becomes a commodity, an inverted hierarchy—as in, pain is bad, but it’s good you have it, but your treatment of feelings is less legible concerning a vocabulary of pain in terms of negative, minor, nonheroic emotions. It’s not I’m traumatized but I’m neurotic or sadistic or anxious or masochistic.

CPH Underpleasant, shall we say.

KC Well, it’s relatable, but different from saying, “I’m in pain.” You’re asking, Is it good to feel embarrassed or sadistic?

CPH You don’t see these nonheroic, non-cathartic emotions in Hollywood films or bestsellers or even certain modes of confessional poetry, where pain is put on a pedestal. There are minor feelings in Sylvia Plath’s poetry, but I’m more in conversation with Sianne Ngai’s Ugly Feelings, where she talks about the feelings you get from late capitalism and growing up as a racialized other, where you have these muddled, negative feelings that sit in you and cannot be verbalized. If you do verbalize them, they are belittled. Ngai talks about envy and jealousy as a really genuine expression of social inequity. A lot of times when a person of color or someone who is in a marginalized position expresses some kind of grievance, the dominant culture will just say, “You’re jealous.” Instead of acknowledging the legitimacy of your feelings.

KC They’re depoliticizing the feeling, so it becomes personal.

CPH Speaking of all these minor emotions, I was thinking on the way over here about social media. On Twitter and Instagram, you have such a limited range of emotion to express yourself. It’s either bragging about something or total outrage.

KC We can only exist on social media as a totem for the viewer to identify or disidentify with. Like: I agree, or I hate you.

CPH But when you peel yourself away from the screen after three hours, you have these residual emotions from social media withdrawal: anxiety, stress, melancholy, envy. And those are subtler feelings that come after getting away from the Internet where the self is commodified. I’m interested in what happens when you’re surrounded by an environment where you’re constantly competing and there is a value measured by “likes.” I guess this is just the condition of living in the late capitalist era.

KC I’m interested in how emotions are impersonal. What we call feelings are very much created by a given time, its economic and political conditions. In her scholarship on racial melancholia, Anne A. Cheng does this flip, where the feelings of alienation or melancholy that come from oppression are what invent race in her account.

Or I was recently looking at this document created by this weird, anarchist collective whose name I can’t remember. It was saying that the paradigmatic emotion of the baby boomers is boredom because they’re affluent and feel alienated by having too much time on their hands—and this sense of alienation politicizes them. For those after the boomers, it’s anxiety because economic failure is around the corner.

I once held this event with Minsoo Kang that blew my mind. He was talking about han, which is the sort of anger that is taken to be part of the Korean essence. Minsoo says that han is clearly a part of Korean culture, but it wasn’t always the central emotion. During the Japanese invasion of Korea, han was actually reinvented and weaponized by the Japanese in response to Korean anti-colonialism. The Japanese would say, “It’s not like we’re oppressing you. This is just what you are like—angry!” So rather than being the Korean national essence, it was an ideological technology used by the Japanese to depoliticize Korean anger. You go back before colonialization, and there was this other emotion, which was joy in balance with han. I also wonder if han was perceived differently in different contexts, like in the Korean diaspora versus Seoul versus North Korea versus Koreans in the former Soviet Union.

CPH I’m sure it is. I said something about han to my mother and she scoffed and said, “You don’t feel han.” But let me first explain what han is: han’s a Korean national affect that’s a combination of melancholy, bitterness, rage, hopelessness, and nostalgia. It’s a feeling of resentment thought, or ressentiment, generated from years of Japanese colonialism, the Korean War, and various dictatorships.

KC It’s almost operatic.

CPH I would say ignoble. It’s considered the national emotion. To be Korean is to feel han, and you know it when you feel it. Perhaps it’s national, like duende for Spain. A lot of Korean film and literature makes use of this feeling as a baseline. I agree that han doesn’t seem so pronounced in preindustrial Korea, but I think after Korea was split in two it really took off. Still, I’m not always so sure I have a grasp on it. I met with this queer Korean student, and she didn’t think Korean Americans have a handle on han at all: “You think it’s a tragic emotion born of conflict and violence, but it’s different for us—more like annoyance, irritation.”

KC Oh, like, “I feel han because the Wi-Fi is out.” (laughter)

CPH I was reading a lot of affect theory as I wrote Minor Feelings, but really I was thinking about han. About emotions I don’t see represented in Asian American films or literature or in American culture overall. I don’t think han is exclusive to Koreans. Any group that’s been persecuted has something like this. Perhaps it’s unwise to do so, but that’s why I see an identification with the despair among African Americans. I’m not collapsing our socio-economic positions in any way, but we could say there’s some connective tissue there, which is a structural feeling that people of color can identify with, even from very different backgrounds.

KC You once told me that when you were young, you wished you could be part of an art collective. That was your romantic dream. The essay, “An Education” is about your college relationship with two friends, both Asian American artists. You decide they are good at visual art, not you, and you’re going to do poetry instead—so your whole pursuit of poetry comes from feeling minor. And at the same time, they are dealing with their own traumas. It seems like the value of art for traumatized Asian Americans is as a way to sublimate their baggage into a creative, productive release. But your poetry books are like art practice: one can look at your books like Dance Dance Revolution as installation, or like a conceptual world-building project.

CPH That’s really why I started writing, as a way of building worlds that I couldn’t make as a failed artist. In the book, I say that all my poems at that time were sort of these ekphrastic exercises involving artworks I had in my mind but couldn’t realize as objects. When I started writing, it didn’t come from autobiography; it came from fantasy maybe, or conceptualism. Playing guitar since I was thirteen and wanting to be in a punk band—that idea translated to wanting to be in an art collective, which in my mind was something like the New York school, the Surrealists, or the Bauhaus, Dada. American and European schools of art. You know, the bro gangs.

I did have this community in college, but I couldn’t see it. Perhaps because it was so painful. An art collective is a group of friends who are very close and parry ideas back and forth and make things. That’s what my friends and I did, though I didn’t see it as such. When I was in high school, I thought the default makeup of such a group would be white, and my friends were not. My model of an art collective was also more cerebral or filled with mindless partying. Whereas my friendships were very deep in a way I didn’t want. One friend was unstable, and it was hard for me to be her caretaker. I never thought I would write about a college relationship, but I was journaling and all these memories came up—this very flawed, maybe traumatic, but informative friendship. I don’t read about this type of friendship anywhere—maybe between men, but never between women of color. It’s a friendship that passes the Bechdel test: not based around a man or even around a family. All that’s subtext, background. I wanted to foreground artmaking and the creative imagination. What’s different about this, as opposed to the bro gangs, is that you can’t separate the creative imagination from all the messy, personal entanglements. It’s all enmeshed.


          

Looking Back: BOMB on the Past Decade in Literature by    

Cache   
51P4 1

From Leah Dieterich's Thxthxthx (Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2011).

Looking Back: BOMB on the Past Decade in Literature

by

With contributions from Ottessa Moshfegh, Carl Phillips, Lidia Yuknavitch, Kali Fajardo-Anstine, and more.

Ottessa Moshfegh

At twenty-eight, I wrote in relative obscurity, both from the public and from my own judgment. I didn’t really understand what I wrote except as an expression of the spirit within me. I felt so full of joy and curiosity when I was writing; I felt free. No cruel intelligence was forcing my hand into coherency. What often resulted were prose poems and fragmented stories, such as the piece that follows, which I unearthed last week, ten years later.


"Let Me See Your Face"

I’d been trying out a belief in prophecy—paying mind to what people said was true, biding everyone’s warnings. On the fifth of July, a woman at work—her name was impossible to pronounce—brought in a homemade meal and insisted—pushing us up out of our chairs with a light hand on our shoulders—that we sit in the conference room and eat—she said this—as a family. She spoke about the crushing realities of war, the guilt in survival, the meaning of success, and explained that in her country there was only one way to heal. She didn’t say exactly what that way was, but I knew it had something to do with the food we were eating. 

“Independence is a responsibility. You need energy to fight for it,” she said. “Now eat.” 

We forked up her dumplings, her smooth boiled ham. On the walk home, I drew a wrinkly gash in the back of my left hand with my keys. I stopped to watch kids shooting basketball under some old yellow lamplight. I cried, believing I would soon be under siege.

A few days later a pamphlet was left in the lobby of my building. It warned against the high success rate of senior suicide. The picture on the front fold was of an old man, eyes perturbed, distinguished and trapped. I took the pamphlet to bed with me and read every word. One of several key points made in the literature was that none of us should allow the elderly access to firearms. Under no circumstance, even if they’re begging, pleading, offering you money, all they have to give, do not give them any guns.

I got out a pen and paper and wrote my note. After a few false starts I reread the pamphlet and started again like this: 

One day, someone told God, “Let me see your face.” 

All this time, my bedspread had been dissecting itself into shifting gray and blue squares. When I reached my hand out, the cloth turned into a body of water—waves and eddies frothing and sweeping up and away. It was like every unnamed fear of mine was churning up in this ocean. I just stood there in the craggy rock of my body and watched the water. It was like looking in on a party I was not invited to. A seagull landed on my shoulder and dove back down again. When I jumped in, my own hand grabbed me and pulled me out.

Ottessa Moshfegh was interviewed by Benjamin Nugent for BOMB.

Kubrick 2001

Production still from Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Courtesy of Remko Tanis and the Seoul Museum of Art.

Lincoln Michel

Over the course of the decade, the wall between “genre” and “literary” fiction—already damaged by the “genre-bending” authors of the aughts—finally crumbled. Ghosts, goblins, and distant galaxies have flooded into the realm of literary fiction. Some high school English teachers may tut-tut, yet the (space)ship has sailed. Today, genre-infused books regularly compete for literary awards and best-of lists (e.g., The Underground RailroadHer Body and Other PartiesStation Eleven, etc.) and young writers are increasingly genre omnivorous in their reading and writing. I like this term, “genre omnivore,” better than “genre-bending.” Bending implies distorting forms, twisting them into new shapes. I’m more interested in writers who fully embrace different genres, applying their most serious craft to each. The idea that one couldn’t do this feels somewhat unique to books (few argue that, say, Stanley Kubrick was “not cinema” for making The Shining and 2001), and, as the decade ends, I’m excited to see writers increasingly free to work in whatever genres and forms interest them. Omnivore implies wanting to try it all. I want that. To write a science fiction novel, a horror novel, a noir, and an epic fantasy. Why not? Why can’t we have it all, in literature if nowhere else?  

Lincoln Michel and Alexandra Kleeman interviewed each other for BOMB.


Courtney Maum

There is a stellar scene in season five of Broad City in which Ilana and Lincoln go out to dinner and do a performance review of their relationship. Which of their needs have been met and which have been neglected? Can Ilana get a hall pass to make out with some new bodies in the coming year? This scene was hysterical of course, but it also manifested a truth that we don’t like to acknowledge: people yearn to be checked in with. I’ve always been a fan of the year-end performance review for this very reason: I like sitting down with someone who has worked with me in a professional capacity to discuss what I have done well and … less well.  

Such check-ins give me insight into my successes and failures, and help me set new goals. But once I left my corporate job at an advertising agency for a self-employed roller-coaster ride in book writing, these reviews came to an end. How I mourn them! If there is one thing I want for the new year, it’s for publishers to realize that authors are still tender, creative, yearning human beings once their books are out; check in with them, dear publishers! Three months after publication, ask your authors how they’re doing. What do they think went well? What could have gone better? Weigh in—gently—with your thoughts. Debrief your published authors, lest they decide to go off and make out with someone else. 

Courtney Maum was interviewed by Katharine Coldiron for BOMB.

Scruff Logo

The SCRUFF "Gay Dating & Chat App."

Carl Phillips

Unlikely, perhaps, but the cultural event that has most changed my life in the past decade is the SCRUFF app, which launched in 2010. I learned about personal branding (ugh). Also, that being over thirty-seven means you’re past being sexually “hot,” for many guys. But also, that while it seemed to mostly get used as a hookup site, there were plenty of guys who just wanted to talk on SCRUFF. I had read that there’s a dramatic increase in loneliness among people under about thirty-five (another cultural shift), and indeed that seemed to be the case. When sex is at least believed to be off the table (since it did sometimes lead to that, anyway—fussiness about age isn’t that tough a match for sexual urgency, after all), it’s amazing how much more depth guys can have. Who knew? One of the best conversations, sustained over four months, was with a guy I had zero interest in, in terms of sex or dating, because he was thirty-two—a child! (Yeah, so I had my own assumptions.) He convinced me to go to dinner one night, and we talked until the place shut down. Reader, I’ve not left his side since.

Carl Phillips was interviewed by Nick Flynn for BOMB.


Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

The past decade has seen the female narrator assert identities that defy conventional notions of resolution. This woman is at home in Elena Ferrante’s cramped Naples; in Jenny Offill’s perimeter-drawn Brooklyn apartment; in Mariana Dimópulos’s Patagonian berry farm; in Hiromi Kawakami’s sake bars; in Dorthe Nors’s Jutlandic farm country; in Yiyun Li’s locus of language, “a world made up by words and words only”; in Carmen Maria Machado’s isolated lakesides and parking lots; in Ottessa Moshfegh’s blind-drawn bedrooms.

This woman has been written into being during a century that, day by day, feels less certain, more pending and unresolved. She is alone but not lonely, solitary but not sorrowful. She is disarming and searching, a methodical witness, not offering insights so much as recording impressions, fragmentary evocations with no template. In my own fiction writing, the female narrator has become less penetrable, more associative, making splintered, electric connections; her mind and its implicit particularities are pattern enough.

Sarah Blakley-Cartwright interviewed Mariana Dimópulos for BOMB.


Lidia Yuknavitch

Heartsplit. All the lifedeath smooshed together with a speed I don’t remember. Is it my age or my body, your body, the body of the earth and all meanings collapsing and reinventing with a screamsong that won’t shut up? A pulse promise of new bodies, voices, stories shattering and dispersing the center. These rooms where a writer sits down and words come, and next to her someone who has never dared shivers with maybe. 

Next to that writer, a published one; and next to her, someone whose body has gone inside-out; and next to them, someone just released from rehab or incarceration or maybe just released; and next to her, a poet busy saving us. They write about death, about desire, about the planet. About war, about fear, about borders, and nations and vomit and rage. They write about broken hearts or bodies, about dreams and ghosts, about grief and dogs. About power, about poverty, about what has been taken from them, about wanting to give up or bite something open. They write about fathers, mothers, children, marriages, divorces, also genders and sexualities and bees. 

Who is to say this is not a storyletting? 

Lidia Yuknavitch was interviewed by Porochista Khakpour for BOMB.


Aimee Herman

In this decade I have written two books of poetry and a novel, more love notes than I can count, a couple of suicide notes that shelved themselves between my thighs and against my hips, half a recipe, some songs, and a cut-up of rejection notes. I've taught the most incredible, heart-warming students in the Bronx, and I have stopped to listen more. I pasted this prompt and started to respond, but with each letter and attempted sentence I was trying to write, my tongue grew dry and any sort of dictionary inside of me grew blank. Lately, I don't know what my relationship to writing is because I am not doing it. To me, writing is always like walking up a flight of stairs with giant gaps in between. I lose my breath, my limbs start to shake, I worry I am going to fall and awaken in a chalk outline of my mistakes. 

For me, writing is quiet and lonely, but can sometimes make me feel like I have found a new room inside myself, shelter, a delicious warm meal, my favorite song that I hadn't heard in years and forgot the title of. For me, writing is sometimes just a sentence. Or three lines of a poem. Or a feeling. I want to be Kathy Acker, pierce my page with screams and maps. I want to be Lidia Yuknavitch, butterfly-stroke across the page and create room to misfit my fear and hesitations. I've still got to find who I am, what I want to be. But for now, I crawl. I take a lot of naps. I cry. I gather all the STOP signs stopping me from being. And I read. I read the writers who made me want to write in the first place.

Aimee Herman was interviewed by Christina Quintana (CQ) for BOMB.


Kali Fajardo-Anstine

This was the year my dreams came true. But the thing about dreams is they’re shadowy, often illogical, sometimes vivid but more often vague. I published my first short story, “Remedies,” in 2010 in Bellevue Literary Review. One of my five sisters took a photo of me. I am on a patio in downtown Denver drinking tequila and holding my story proudly like a young mother, my babyface still intact. I wouldn’t have another publication for several years. This was the beginning of a long journey of self-discovery and healing, a journey to reject self-destruction. When I found out that Sabrina & Corina had been named a Finalist for the National Book Award, I wanted to tell my ancestors, and I wished my younger self could have seen this coming. 

I spent much of this decade hearing “no.” No from editors, journals, MFA programs, fellowships. I was told countless times that short story collections don’t sell, that mixed Chicana characters and stories like mine weren’t viable in the market. Toward the end of this decade, however, I also began to hear “yes.” Yes, from the right editor, the right agent, the right publishing house. I saw a rise in the short story form. I saw publishing make steps toward inclusivity, I saw my first book be born into the world, a world where readers were waiting for me. I wish I could take away some of my earlier sadness and embrace my younger self, letting her know that it would be okay. But since I can’t do that, I look forward to embracing the next generation of writers of color. I don’t know if it will all be okay, but I hope together we can make this place a little more inclusive, a little more willing to take a chance on often overlooked stories.  

Kali Fajardo-Anstine and Tommy Pico interviewed each other for BOMB.

Carson Diary 15

Anne Carson's Nox (New Directions, 2010).

Emmalea Russo 

In the early 2010s, I often dreamt that I was driving into a forest fire, transfixed-terrified by flames’ voracity. The decade opened in California. Then: Pennsylvania, Louisiana, Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey. I began the decade with Anne Carson’s Nox, which gave me the bodily relief of a very heavy book written by a woman after years of being instructed to read big books by dudes. Within its clamshell box lies one long page of unwieldy accordion-folded narrative of nox (night), loss, and remembrance. It’s the tenor of my decade, and guards the haunted entrance, splayed like a paper carpet, noctilucent and freaky. I let Nox unfurl along a set of railroad tracks in Baton Rouge, because there was room—something to do with being able to know the guts of an art through its container. 

Then: Hélène Cixous, French symbolists, everything Ugly Duckling Presse made, Sarah Rose Etter, Terrance Hayes, Mary Reufle—seismic shifts of the 2010s making poetry a necessary medicine. Recently, I read Malina by Ingeborg Bachmann on a flight during a California wildfire. I spent the last few years writing a book that contains within it the feeling of my decade’s beginning, and so time is a circle, and we’re all psychopomps moving between worlds. Poets most of all. The 2010s feel like those opening lines of Daphne du Maurier’s (who saw a major 2010s revival) Rebecca: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” 

Emmalea Russo was interviewed by Ariel Yelen for BOMB.


Rion Amilcar Scott 

I went to add Eduardo Galeano's Mirrors to a best-of-the-decade list I was creating, only to find out it came out in 2008, but I discovered it in late 2009 when it was translated into English, and it was in 2010 (and beyond) that it taught me to write tiny narratives with the resonance of epics. At the time, my stories were long and unwieldy, and I had just started getting into flash fiction that was published in online literary journals. Mirrors and flash fiction—which evolved significantly over the decade in online spots such as Wigleaf and SmokeLong—are two things that allowed me to figure out how to write as myself.

Rion Amilcar Scott was interviewed by Lincoln Michel for BOMB.


Amanda Lee Koe

These are fragments from my Notes app, scraps of half-formed feelings in no particular order, almost all of which I don't recall writing over the past decade:

suddenly today i missed having milk teeth

work that doesn’t anticipate anything 

if you need to hide, consider doing so in inanimate objects 

HOUSE OR JUNGLE 

emotional punctuation

trying not to cry on bus wish i had headphones 

"我看着别人拿着菜刀对着老公,就觉得这样是还有感情。" 

a girl ago

her humanity rather than her magic

I know this place was not made for me, but i’m never going to apologize for being here 

“when she told me about chasing her husband around the house with a vegetable knife, all i could think of was: there's still love in that."

Amanda Lee Koe was interviewed by Leah Dworkin for BOMB.


Leah Dieterich

In 2011, I published a collection of handwritten thank-you notes addressed to the objects of my gratitude. I wanted my next project to have more of a conventional narrative but didn’t know how to sustain a story for more than a page or a paragraph. I found my answer in prose written by poets—in the work of Garth Greenwell, Ben Lerner, Maggie Nelson, and Sarah Manguso among others. In hindsight, their books were also the antidote to my growing social media addiction--to the flighty, ungrounded feeling it gives me. These slim volumes of lyrical prose from very smart people (many of whom, now that I think about it, are not on social media) grounded me. I read them quickly and returned to them again and again. They provided the kind of repetition that nurtured my creativity. They did not deplete or dull or worry me like the repetitive action of jabbing at the glass on my phone’s screen. These little books, often no bigger than a tablet, opened me as I opened them. 

Leah Dieterich and Meg Whiteford interviewed each other for BOMB.

Shimazaki Toson Ca1900

Japanese "I" novelist Shimazaki Toson, ca. 1900.

Kate Zambreno

A decade ago Danielle Dutton and Martin Riker began their Dorothy publishing project, putting out two books by mostly contemporary women writers each fall, a list that has become its own canon, challenging and upending the potentialities of fiction in this current landscape. The books are exquisite—exquisitely designed by Dutton herself—strange experiments of writing and thinking, a new écriture that Dutton has called “near-fiction” that also has as its progenitors New Narrative, European autofiction, the Japanese “I” novel, and other traditions of the American short story as it connects with the avant-garde (as well as Dutton’s own kaleidoscopic, intellectually rigorous, language-based novels and stories). Rumor is that the press began in order to publish Renee Gladman’s speculative and philosophical Ravickian series, beginning with the yellow-inflected Event Factory and hopefully continuing on. 

Dorothy riskily published the stories and novels of (this is an abbreviated list) Amina Cain, Suzanne Scanlon, Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi, Joanna Walsh, Sabrina Orah Mark, and Nell Zink, all writers’ writers, prose stylists the writers I admire want to read and emulate. The project reads as its own work of literature—certain to be remembered alongside the Serpent’s Tail High Risk Books, Semiotext(e)’s original Native Agents series, Eugene and Maria Jolas’s transition, and Keith and Rosmarie Waldrop’s Burning Deck Press. To complete this circle, this fall Dorothy reissued Waldrop’s poetic first novel, The Hanky of Pippin’s Daughter, and a translated collection of Marguerite Duras’s nonfiction, including her deliciously bonkers first-person serial experiment “Summer 80.” Dorothy’s commitment to translations highlights a tradition that includes Nathalie Léger’s extraordinary meditation on the filmmaker-actress Barbara Loden, Cristina Rivera Garza’s The Taiga Syndrome, and Leonora Carrington’s collected stories.

Kate Zambreno and S. D. Chrostowska interviewed each other for BOMB.


Sally Wen Mao

This decade, I never stayed in a place for very long, and the rootlessness inspired both wonder and sorrow in me, thus impacting me as a writer. Here are some of the places I’ve documented where I wrote or visited or lived:

  1. Ithaca: the haunted house on Stewart Avenue, where I had mad delusions of a spartan Walden-esque writer existence.
  2. Ithaca: the tiny one-bedroom apartment on Linn Street, where I wrote most of Mad Honey Symposium. Once Ocean Vuong came to visit, and we stayed up late talking about poems, and our lives, drinking tea.
  3. Brooklyn: the Bed-Stuy apartment on Quincy Street, where I slept on a red sofa bed.
  4. Ithaca: the poet’s room at Saltonstall, where I began my second book, Oculus.
  5. Brooklyn: the Ocean Hill apartment on Chauncey Street, where I wrote most of Oculus.
  6. Singapore: the faculty apartment in the dormitory building at NUS, Cinnamon Hall, where I wrote many poems I would later throw away, where I hosted poet Cathy Linh Che, and where we read together at the Singapore Arts House.
  7. Langley: the Meadow House at Hedgebrook, where I found the notes of Ruth Ozeki and Gloria Steinem, and started a novel I would later discard.
  8. Brooklyn: the Prospect Lefferts Gardens apartment on Parkside Avenue, where I housed many poets and hung out on the fire escape.
  9. New York: the New York Public Library on 42nd Street, where I wrote in my office at the Cullman Center, and sometimes when the library was closed to the public, I would sneak up to the Rose Reading Room and dance.
  10. Washington, DC: the Lenthall House on the campus of George Washington University, where I would make myself breakfast and then protest because the White House was a ten-minute walk away.
  11. Shanghai: the Swatch Art Peace Hotel on the Bund, where I met many artists and filmmakers and wandered around the Bund in the mornings and evenings when it was all lit up, the crowds streaming on next to the Huangpu River like something magical.
  12. Redwing: the Anderson Center at Red Wing, Minnesota, where I climbed into a water tower and wrote four new drafts.
  13. Marfa: the Lannan House on Washington and Plateau, where I drove to an observatory, and then Big Bend, and then a river where I swam like a true Piscean poet. 

Sally Wen Mao was interviewed by Anne Anlin Cheng for BOMB.


Vi Khi Nao

For the last decade or so, each time I fly into Sin City to recuperate after an intense book tour, my mother is convinced that she must take me to a strip club. It will be so much fun and it will get you out of the house, she imparts. Strip clubs, like bars, are emotionally un-sustaining and quite frankly boring. All the booze and glitter hypnotize me into a deep sleep. But my mother, who will be sixty years old next year, is excited about the nightlife. She likes to dress in black stilettos with a red halter and halts anyone who dares to glance inconspicuously at her. Beneath her glamorous exterior she also wears a sexy, summery bikini. My mother, the straightest woman I know, loves to watch women dance on the pole and catwalk on bars while tossing their long, sexy, athletic form across the room. I think she loves it because she wants to dance too. When she runs out of ways to convince me to go with her, she and her dry-cleaning client (who is a pimp) tag team me about it. Unsuccessfully.

After a decade of trying, my mother’s wish unexpectedly came true. While my sister and her husband were visiting from Iowa, we were all driving home from a long day of shopping when my mother saw a Blue Diamond Road sign and told us there was an awesome strip club in the vicinity. After a brief coaxing, my sister (being the ideal dutiful daughter that she is) switched lanes and soon we were dumped in front of the inevitable. My mother was egregiously excited because finally I was forced to abandon my writing and books for one evening. I have never seen my mother so happy. Her eyes sparkled when the stripper told my presenescent mother that she could caress her pointy boobs. When she guided my mother’s hand, my mother grasped in awe and amazement like she discovered for the first time the insta-pot of sultriness. Whenever my mother goes to a club without me, I finish writing a book or start a new one. I like to pay tribute to my mother for all the glamour that exists in my writing. Also for indirectly teaching me the art of grit; she shapes and defines the entire discourse of my writing life. The strippers were very boring (because as Roland Barthes so candidly and shrewdly observes: they hide their vulnerability, their true self, behind the garment of sexiness), but watching my mother in pure excitement was not. 

Vi Khi Nao's short story, "The Bald Sparrow," was published in BOMB's First Proof section.


          

국내 코로나19 전국 주요 시도별 발생 현황은?…3월 30일 신규 확진자 78명, 총 9,661명   

Cache   

국내 코로나바이러스감염증-19 격리해제가 격리중인 환자보다 많은 가운데 여전히 주요 시도별로 신규 확진자가 확인됐다.
질병관리본부 중앙방역대책본부(본부장 정은경)에 따르면 3월 29일 0시부터 3월 30일 0시까지 코로나19 추가 확진자는 78명, 총 누적 확진자수는 9,661명이다.
현재 격리중인 환자는 전일 123명이 줄어 4,275명, 격리해제는 전일대비 195명이 늘어난 5,228명으로 보고됐다.
사망자는 6명이 추가돼 총 158명, 검사결과 37만 2,002명이 음성, 1만 3,531명은 검사가 진행중이다.    

신규로 확진된 78명의 각 지역별 현황은 서울이 16명으로 가장 많았고, 뒤이어 경기(15명), 대구(14명), 경북(11명), 충북(3명), 강원(2명), 부산·전북·경남·제주(각1명)이었다. 검역에서는 신규로 13명이 추가됐다.
이외에 인천, 광주, 대전, 울산, 세종, 충남, 전남에서는 추가 확진자가 없는 것으로 보고됐다.


현재 중앙방역대책본부 발표와 각 지역별 발표는 일부 차이가 있는 경우도 있다. 이에 따른 국내 각 지역별 발생현황 및 역학조사 결과, 각 자치구별 현황 등은 다음과 같다.
◆서울지역…확진자 434명(퇴원 92명), 4,429명 검사 중
3월 30일 오전 10시 기준 서울지역의 경우 확진자 434명(퇴원 92명), 4,429명에 대한 검사가 진행중이다.
확진자 434명의 각 지역구별 현황은(강남38, 강동9, 강북5, 강서22, 관악24, 광진5, 구로31, 금천12, 노원20, 도봉6, 동대문26, 동작21, 마포15, 서대문13, 서초21, 성동6, 성북15, 송파24, 양천17, 영등포19, 용산8, 은평21, 종로13, 중구3, 중랑13, 기타27)이며, 퇴원자는 92명이다.
이외 서울지역 확진자에 대한 동선 및 역학조사 결과 등은 서울시 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆부산지역…확진자 115명(완치자 83명), 29명 치료중
부산지역의 경우 3월 30일 오전 10시 기준 확진환자 115명(완치자 83명), 사망자 3명, 29명은 치료중이다.
부산지역 확진자에 대한 동선 및 역학조사 결과 등은 부산광역시 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆대구지역…확진자 6,624명, 2,682명 치료중
3월 30일 0시 기준 대구지역의 경우 확진자는 6,624명(완치자 3,906명, 사망자 107명), 2,682명은 치료중이다.
이외 공적마스크 구입절차 및 구입한도, 팩트체크, 경제지원, 정례브리핑 등은 대구광역시 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆경기도지역…466명(퇴원 157명)
경기도지역의 경우 3월 30일 0시 기준 확진자 466명(퇴원 157명), 입원환자 304명, 사망자 5명으로 조사됐다.
경기도지역(고양, 과천, 광명, 광주, 구리, 군포, 김포, 남양주, 부천, 성남, 수원, 시흥, 안산, 안성, 안양, 오산, 용인, 의왕, 의정부, 이천, 파주, 평택, 포천, 화성, 하남), (현재까지 확진자가 없는 시군 : 연천, 동두천, 양주, 가평, 양평, 여주) 확진자에 대한 동선 및 역학조사 결과 등은 경기도 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆강원도지역…확진자 36명, 384명 검사 중
3월 30일 0시 기준 강원도 지역의 경우 확진자는 36명(춘천5명, 원주 17명, 강릉 6명, 속초 3명, 서울 2명, 삼척·태백·인제 각 1명씩), 퇴원자 21명, 384명에 대한 검사가 진행중이다.
이외에 각 시군별(춘천, 원주, 강릉, 속초, 삼척, 인제, 태백), (현재까지 확진자가 없는 시군 : 철원, 화천, 양구, 고성, 양양, 홍천, 횡성, 평창, 정선, 동해, 영월) 확진자 현황 및 이동경로는 강원도청 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆충북지역…확진자 44명(퇴원 21명), 98명 검사중
충북지역의 경우 3월 30일 오전 9시 기준 확진자 44명(퇴원 21명), 98명은 검사중이다.
각 시군별(음성군, 청주시, 충주시, 증평군, 괴산군, 단양군, 진천군), (현재까지 확진자가 없는 시군 : 영동군, 옥천군, 보은군, 제천시) 확진자 현황 등은 충청북도 도청 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆전북지역…확진자 13명, 6명 격리중
전라북도에 따르면 3월 30일 오전 9시 기준 확진자 13명(완치 7명), 6명은 격리중이다.
전라북도 지역(익산, 군산, 완주, 진안, 무주, 장수, 남원, 임실, 전주, 김제, 정읍, 순창, 고창, 부안)확진자에 대한 동선 및 역학조사 결과 등은 전라북도 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆경북지역…확진자 1,243명, 475명 검사중
경북지역의 경우 3월 30일 오전 8시 기준 확진자 1,243명, 475명은 검사중이다.
각 시군별(상주, 구미, 김천, 칠곡, 성주, 고령, 군위, 의성, 안동, 예천, 문경, 영주, 영천, 경산, 청도, 봉화, 영양, 포항, 경주, 영덕, 포항, 울진), (현재까지 확진자가 없는 시군 : 울릉도, 독도) 확진자 현황 등은 경상북도 도청 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.
특히 그동안 코로나19 청정지역이던 울진군의 경우 지난 3월 29일 해외입국자 1명이 코로나19확진자로 확인됐다.

◆경남지역…확진자 92명(완치 63명), 158명 검사중
경남지역의 경우 3월 30일 오전 10시 기준 확진자 92명(완치 63명), 29명은 입원중, 158명은 검사중이다.
각 시군별(창원, 진주, 김해, 밀양, 거제, 양산, 창녕, 고성, 남해, 함양, 거창, 합천, 함안), (현재까지 확진자가 없는 시군 : 통영, 사천, 의령, 하동, 산청) 확진자 현황 등은 경상남도 도청 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆제주지역…9명 확진, 83명 검사 중 
3월 30일 0시 기준 제주특별자치도는 확진자 9명, 4명은 격리해제, 83명은 검사가 진행중이고, 150명은 자가격리중으로 나타났다. 
이외에도 제주방문 미 유학생 확진자 모녀의 동선 및 확진자 상세정보 등은 제주특별자치도 홈페이지를 참고하면 된다.

◆검역…누적 확진자 202명
검역의 경우 13명이 추가 확진돼 총 202명으로 조사됐다.
[메디컬월드뉴스 김영신 기자]



          

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