ေနလုံး၀ါ၀ါရဲ႕တစ္၀က္ နယူးေယာ့ကားက ေလးဆယ္ေအာက္ စာေရးဆရာ ၂၀ ရဲ႕ လက္ရာျပပြဲသေဘာမ်ိဳးလုပ္ပါတယ္။ ပါတဲ့စာေရးဆရာေတြကိုလည္း ဗ်ဴးပါတယ္။ အဲဒီထဲမွာ အာဖရိကစာေရးဆရာမ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie လည္းပါပါတယ္။ Adichie ရဲ႕ ပထမဆုံး Purple Hibiscus ဟာ ဓနသာဟာယစာေပဆုရပါတယ္။ ဒုတိယအုပ္ Half of a Yellow Sun ဟာ Orange Prize ရပါတယ္။ ေနာက္ဆုံးအေနနဲ႔ The Thing Around Your Neck ဆုိတဲ့ အတုိေပါင္းခ်ဳပ္ ထုတ္ထားပါတယ္။ ဘယ္တုံးက ေမြးပါသလဲ ၁၉၇၇ စက္တင္ဘာ ၁၅ ဘယ္မွာ ေမြးပါသလဲ ႏုိင္ဂ်ီရီယားႏုိင္ငံ၊ အီႏူဂူမွာပါ အခုဘယ္မွာ ေနသလဲ အေမရိကန္ျပည္ေထာင္စု ကုိလံဘီယာနဲ႔ ႏုိင္ဂ်ီရီးယားက လားဂုိ႔စ္တို႔မွာ တလွည့္စီေနပါတယ္ ဆရာမအေပၚ သက္ေရာက္မႈရွိခဲ့တဲ့ ပထမဆုံး ၀တၳဳကုိ ေျပာျပပါ Camara Laye’s “The Dark Child.” ပထမဆုံးစာအုပ္ေရးဖို႔ ဘယ္ေလာက္ၾကာခဲ့သလဲ တစ္ႏွစ္ခြဲ စာေရးဆရာျဖစ္မလာေတာ့ဘူးလုိ႔ ထင္မိခဲ့တဲ့အခ်ိန္ရွိလား စာလုံးေပါင္းတတ္ကတည္းက စာေရးလာတာေလ။ စာမေရးဘူးလုိ႔ေတာ့ တခါမွ မစဥ္းစားဘူးဘူး ၀တၳဳတပုဒ္ျဖစ္လာဖို႔ ဘာကဖန္တီးေပးတယ္လို႔ ထင္သလဲ အီမိုးရွင္းေပါ့။ က်မကုိ ခံစားမိေစတဲ့ တခုခုေပါ့။ တနည္းနည္းနဲ႔ က်မကို တြန္းေရႊ႕လုိက္တဲ့ဟာမ်ိဳး။ သတင္းစာေဆာင္းပါး ဖတ္ရုံေလာက္နဲ႔ေတာ့ ဘာမွမျဖစ္တဲ့ ကၽြန္မရဲ႕ အတြင္းစိတ္ကို ထိေတြ႕မိတဲ့ဟာမ်ိဳး။ Birdsong ကုိ ဘယ္လုိေရးျဖစ္ခဲ့လဲ လားဂုိ႔စ္ကုိ ဇာတ္ေကာင္ထားၿပီး ၀တၳဳတစ္ပုဒ္ေရးခ်င္ခဲ့တယ္။ တျခားအေၾကာင္းေတြလဲပါတယ္။ က်မသူငယ္ခ်င္း ရီ၀န္ဒီရဲ႕ မယုံႏုိင္စရာ အစိမ္းေရာင္ျခံ၀င္း၊ လားဂုိ႔စ္က အမ်ိဳးသမီးေတြ၊ ေနာက္ၿပီး က်မရဲ႕ အေတြ႕အၾကံဳတခ်ိဳ႕။ အခုဘာလုပ္ေနလဲ ေနာ္ဗယ္ေရးေနပါတယ္ ေလးဆယ္ေက်ာ္ေတြထဲက ဘယ္စာေရးဆရာေတြကို ႀကိဳက္လဲ Jamaica Kincaid, Chinua Achebe, Ian McEwan, Ama Ata Aidoo, Toni Morrison, Philip Roth, José Eduardo Agualusa, Mary Gaitskill. ဆရာ့ရဲ႕ မိုးကိုေတြ႕ေတာ့ ကၽြန္ေတာ့္ရဲ႕ မိုးကုိ သိမ္းထားလုိက္တယ္ မုိးဆုိတာ ဆယ္တန္းတုံးက ႀကိဳက္ခဲ့တဲ့ေကာင္မေလးေပါ့ ေျခသလုံးျဖဴျဖဴအား ဗြက္စဥ္သြားသည္ကုိ ၾကည့္ေနမိသည္ ျမင္ရုံႏွင့္ အိမယ္လုိ႔သိတာ ဘာေၾကာင့္လဲ မုိးရြာရင္ဘ၀ဟာ ပုိ/ျပန္ေကာင္းလာမယ္ Old Bananas No longer yellow Corners more significant Wrapped in recycle plastic ေနာက္ၿမီးေပၚ ပတပ္ရပ္ မယုံႏုိင္ဘူး နင္ငါ့ကုိစြန္႔ခဲ့တဲ့ေန႔ကုိ၁ ဘာအတြက္မုိ႔ ဘာလုပ္ရတယ္ အေၾကာင္းျပခ်က္ရွိေနတဲ့ နင္ဟာ လမ္းေပၚေလွ်ာက္ေနတဲ့ငါ့ကုိ ေသနတ္နဲ႔ပစ္မွာ ၁-အငဲ To Read About Foam by Caroline Bergvall A paradoxical pleasure is both solid nor liquid that can be wet, dry, hard, soft, expansive, changeable. An intricate and hollow polymer network is energy transport at its finest, a compound structure of gas nor bubbles nor fans. Once hardened it can be tough to break. What binds. A gel for instance can envelop like an elastic skin. It can be prodded distorted pushed about, yet will bounce back and hold its shape. Under greater surface tension, it breaks into liquid starts to flow. A resilient responsive substance is mysterious, swift to morph, ever present in all that is cellular and delivers a shake-up. It supports the many invisible synthetic demands of industry-dependent living from insulants to binding agents. It has naturally assisted in the solidification of soap, the rising of bread, egg whites, and soufflés since the 17th century. The old ponce pumice stone works on hard callouses. Once exploded it can be hard as ash. The skeletal containers of dead sponges were used by Romans for brushes and combs, and for cups. Proust’s memory work is foamic in a foam-lined room. A sudden foaming from the mouth for instance is the warning of miles of a thick sluggish matter heaped along coastlines, or bubbling up, obstructing the flow of vast industrial evacuation conduits. Matter turns unwelcoming, seemingly unregonisable. A persistent reactivity to events in its surroundings acts on a profound imbalance, the sign of a system being worked beyond capacity. Foams everywhere like the letter e, down to the alveolar structure. Cat in the Throat by Caroline Bergvall A lingual event is taking place, not in the voice but in the clearing of the throat. Spitting out the most intimate and most irretrievable, the most naturalised source language, so-called mother tongue, is a dare, it is dangerous. It starts a whole process of re-embodying one’s language’s spaces. The spittle can be resistant, unpleasant, potentially as well-aimed as a thrown shoe. Beckett’s traffic from English to French is an expectoration of the English language’s occupation on the colonised Irish body. His leitmotifs of speech loss, language stutter, assisted memory, gestural language all point to his fighting off one language with another language, transforming in the process both the spat-out source language and the adoptive language. In French, to clear one’s throat is to have a cat in the throat, avoir un chat dans la gorge. One needs to spit out a cat to clear one’s throat. Literally, ‘un crachat’ is a spittle. One could also clear one’s throat and realise that one has spat out French slang, une chatte, a pussy. This adds and maintains a crucial libidinal and erotic bond with one’s pussycat. As I become aware that I’m trying to speak, my body morphs, my cat appears. Cat is the tone in my speech, its accentedness, its autography. Cat is my speech’s subjective accent, the intonation of my verbal patterns, the stutter of my silencings, an all-round explicit accentedness. So what if I were to decide to speak with a cat in the throat? English-speakers don’t so much struggle with cats as with frogs. It’s a croaking frog that one would need to spit out in English. Given the dubious and long-standing historical traffic of culinary jokes and insults between the French (‘frogs’) and the English (‘rosbif’) and bearing in mind the old wars of invasion and occupation between the two countries, one could here speculate that ‘having a frog in the throat’ resonates more with military and political history, and the known influence of French on the development of English vocabulary, than with strictly contemporary matters. Not so, if one believes John Ashbery’s line: “I hear the toad crooning.” As many of us are finding ourselves with much increased frequency living in countries in which we were not born, or where we are first or second generation citizens, or long-standing residents, or new arrivants, there is an interrupted experience of the past and of the living locale, whether we do or don’t experience ourselves as diasporic. Whoever needs to create an allegiance or a correspondence, sometimes seemingly from scratch, or from access-points hidden from view, to a mixed cultural background, to a complex living jigsaw of multiple markers and untranslated biographical circumstances, will also often question what linguistic belonging means, what fluency entails. To seek this out in the fullness of language, in the connective and lubricated tissues of language, and around language, is to speak and work with a cat in the throat. So there is this friction inside the speaker’s mouth. This friction on the throat. Friction brings awareness of connection and of obstruction. The intake of breath, the raspy sound as one clears one’s throat, the spit that wells up, the sounds that follow, the words that form. from”A Hemingway Reader”: The Sun Also Also Rises by Robert Fitterman To look and to listen requires the work of attention, selection, reappropriation, a way of making one’s own film, one’s own text, one’s own installation out of what the artist has presented. —Jacques Rancière Book I Chapter I I am very much impressed by that. I never met any one of his class who remembered him. I mistrust all frank and simple people. I always had a suspicion. I finally had somebody verify the story. I was his tennis friend. I do not believe that. I first became aware of his lady’s attitude toward him one night after the three of us had dined together. I suggested we fly to Strasbourg. I thought it was accidental. I was kicked again under the table. I was not kicked again. I said good-night and went out. I watched him walk back to the café. I rather liked him. Chapter II I am sure he had never been in love in his life. I did not realize the extent to which it set him off until one day he came into my office. I never wanted to go. I had a boat train to catch. I like this town. I can’t stand it to think my life is going so fast and I’m not really living it. I’m not interested. I’m sick of Paris. I walked alone all one night and nothing happened. I was sorry for him but it was not a thing you could do anything about. I sorted out the carbons, stamped on a by-line, put the stuff in a couple of big manila envelopes and rang for a boy to take them to the Gare St. Lazare. I went into the other room. I wanted to lock the office and shove off. I put my hand on his shoulder. I can’t do it. I didn’t sleep all last night. I could picture it. I have a rotten habit of picturing the bedroom scenes of my friends. Chapter III I sat at a table on the terrace of the Napolitain. I watched a good-looking girl walk past the table and watched her go up the street and lost sight of her. I caught her eye. I saw why she made a point of not laughing. I paid for the saucers. I hailed a horse-cab. I put my arm around her. I put her hand away. I called to the cocher to stop. I had picked her up because of a vague sentimental idea that it would be nice to eat with some one. I had forgotten how dull it could be. I got hurt in the war. I was bored enough. I went back to the small room. I went over to the bar. I drank a beer. I could see their hands and newly washed, wavy hair in the light from the door. I was very angry. I know they are supposed to be amusing. I walked down the street and had a beer at the bar. I knew then that they would all dance with her. I sat down at a table. I asked him to have a drink. I was a little drunk. I got up and walked over to the dancing-floor. I took my coat off a hanger on the wall and out it on. I stopped at the bar and asked them for an envelope. I took a fiftyfranc note from my pocket. Chapter IV I saw her face in the lights from the open shops. I saw her face clearly. I kissed her. I was pretty well through with the subject. I went out onto the sidewalk. I did not see who it was. I wanted to get home. I stopped and read the inscription. I knocked on the door and she gave me my mail. I wished her good night and went upstairs. I looked at them under the gaslight. I got out my check-book. I felt sure I could remember anybody. I lit the lamp beside the bed. I sat with the windows open and undressed by the bed. I looked at myself in the mirror of the big armoire beside the bed. I put on my pajamas and got into bed. I had the two bull-fight papers, and I took their wrappers off. I read it all the way through. I blew out the lamp. I wonder what became of the others. I was all bandaged up. I never used to realize it. I lay awake thinking and my mind jumping around. I couldn’t keep away from it. I started to cry. I woke up. I listened. I thought I recognized a voice. I put on a dressing-gown. I heard my name called down the stairs. I looked at the clock. I was getting brandy and soda and glasses. I went back upstairs. I took them both to the kitchen. I turned off the gas in the dining-room. I had felt like crying. I thought of her walking up the street. I felt like hell again. Chapter V I walked down the Boulevard. I read the papers with the coffee and then smoked a cigarette. I passed the man with the jumping frogs. I stepped aside. I read the French morning papers. I shared a taxi. I banged on the glass. I went to the office in the elevator. I was looking over my desk. I held him off. I left him to come to the office. Chapter VI I sat down and wrote some letters. I went down to the bar. I looked for her upstairs on my way out. I saw a string of barges being towed empty down the current. I suppose it is. I walked past the sad tables. I watched him crossing the street through the taxis. I never heard him make one remark. I do not believe he thought about his clothes much. I don’t know how people could say such terrible things. I don’t even feel an impulse to try to stop it. I stood against the bar looking out. I did not want anything to drink and went out through the side door. I looked back. I went down a side street. I got in and gave the driver the address to my flat. Chapter VII I went up to the flat. I put the mail on the table. I heard the door-bell pull. I put on a bathrobe and slippers. I filled the big earthenware jug with water. I dressed slowly. I felt tired and pretty rotten. I took up the brandy bottle. I went to the door. I found some ash-trays and spread them around. I looked at the count. I had that feeling of going through something that has already happened before. I had the feeling as in a nightmare of it all being something repeated, something I had been through and that now I must go through again. I took a note out of my pocket. I looked back and there were three girls at his table. I gave him twenty francs and he touched his cap. I went upstairs and went to bed. Note from the author: “When I was 13, my brother gave me a copy of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. It was my first foray into real Literature and I hated it. Even with little or no way to enter the novel, I dutifully slugged through it (I mean, what is cog-nak anyway?) Years later, I have returned to revisit the relationship. In this version, I have erased my way through Hemingway’s original text, leaving behind only the phrases that begin with the pronoun ‘I’.” Sunday, May 22, 2011 Time Home Away Venue 15:00 GMT Aston Villa v Liverpool Villa Park 15:00 GMT Bolton Wanderers v Manchester City Reebok Stadium 15:00 GMT Everton v Chelsea Goodison Park 15:00 GMT Fulham v Arsenal Craven Cottage 15:00 GMT Manchester United v Blackpool Old Trafford 15:00 GMT Newcastle United v West Bromwich Albion St James’ Park 15:00 GMT Stoke City v Wigan Athletic Britannia Stadium 15:00 GMT Tottenham Hotspur v Birmingham White Hart Lane 15:00 GMT West Ham United v Sunderland Upton Park 15:00 GMT Wolverhampton Wanderers v Blackburn Rovers Molineux Stadium မdk; မိုးစက္မ်ားက်လာသည္။ မုိးက သည္းသထက္သည္းလာသည္။ ပါလာေသာ ထီးကုိ စားပြဲမွာ ေထာင္လုိက္သည္။ ျဖတ္သြားေသာ ေကာင္မေလး၏ ေျခသလုံးသုိ႔ ရႊံ႕ဗြက္အစအနမ်ား စင္သြားသည္ကုိ လုိက္ၾကည့္ေနမိသည္။ ဂ်ဴးကေတာ့..ဟုိစာအုပ္ကြာ..စူပါ၀မ္းျဖတ္ပုိင္းေလး ထည့္ထားတဲ့စာအုပ္..ေအး..အဲဒီထဲက မဖတ္ေတာ့တာ။ အင္တာနက္ဆုိင္ထဲက ထြက္လာေတာ့ မုိးက သည္းသည္းမည္းရြာေနၿပီျဖစ္သည္။ မအူပင္လမ္းထိပ္ထိသြားဖို႔ အစီအစဥ္ကုိ ဖ်က္လုိက္ရသည္။ ပုသိမ္လမ္းထိပ္က အိစိမ့္မွာပဲ ထုိင္ေတာ့မည္။ သူ႕အား အလုပ္ေခၚစာလာၿပီဟု အီးေမးစစ္ေနရင္း သူငယ္ခ်င္းက လွမ္းေျပာသည္။ ေအး..Midnight’s Children ဖတ္ၿပီးေတာ့ အရင္အိႏၵိယေနာက္ခံ ၀တၳဳေတြ ဖတ္ခဲ့တာေတာင္ ေနာင္တရသလုိျဖစ္သြားတယ္။ ႏုိင္ေပါလည္းနားေပေတာ့ပဲ။ Inheritance of Loss ေတာင္ ေတာ္ေတာ္ၾကိဳက္လုိက္ေသးတာ။ သိတယ္သိတယ္..အရင္ ခ်င္းတြင္းမွာေရးေနတာ။ ဟ..မဆုိးဘူး..ေျပာလုိ႔မွ မၾကာေသးဘူး..ထြက္္သြားတာပဲ။ ေအး..လုိင္းသိပ္မမိဘူးျဖစ္ေနတယ္။ ျပန္ေခၚလုိက္မယ္။ ေအး..ဆင္ေရတြင္း အရင္ၾကည့္မယ္ကြာ။ ၿပီးမွာ..ဘူတာရုံလမ္းဘက္ လမ္းေလွ်ာက္တာေပါ့။ ကြမ္းယာဆုိင္ေမးရင္ ရပါတယ္။ ဟုတ္..ရွစ္ေသာင္းေလာက္ေပါ့။ အင္း..ဖုန္းနံပါတ္ယူထားၿပီး ျပန္ဆက္ခုိင္းလုိ႔မ်ားရမလား။ ေအာ္..ေရႊဗန္ဒါေဘးကပ္ရက္..သိတယ္ေလ..ေရႊဗန္ဒါ။ ငါလည္း အဲလုိမွတ္ထားတာ။ ရွိခ်င္မွ ရွိေတာ့မွာ။ တခါလည္း ကၽြန္းေတာလမ္းထဲမွာ..ေအးငါနဲ႔သိတာ..ငါက သူ႕လုံးခ်င္အိမ္ေလးမွတ္ထားတာ။ ေအးခုေတာ့ အဲဒီနား ဘာလုံးခ်င္းမွ မရွိေတာ့ဘူး။ ေဘးခုံက ေကာင္မေလးက အညိဳေရာင္စကတ္ႏွင့္ အျဖဴေလး..သူ႕ပုံႏွင့္သူေတာ့ မဆုိးလွ။ ေအး..ပုိက္ဆံေပးလုိက္ဦးေလ။ အင္း..အျပန္ငါ၀ယ္ခဲ့မယ္။ ကားေပၚကဆင္းမွ ထပ္ေခၚၾကည့္ရမယ္။ ဒီမၾကည္ျပံဳးဖုန္းနံပါတ္ကလည္း ဖ်က္ပစ္မွပါ။ ငါက ေလးနဲ႔စေတာ့ ေနျပည္ေတာ္ဖုန္းထင္ပီး သိမ္းထားတာ။ အင္း..မုိးကေအးေအးနဲ႔ဆုိေတာ့ မာလာဟင္းေကာင္းမယ္။ အမဲအူစုံကေတာ့ မိန္းမၾကိဳက္ပါ့မလား မေသခ်ာဘူး။ သူတို႔က လူနဲ႔စာကုိ တြဲထားတာ။ ေအး..အဲဒါ စာေပလက္ရာကို အျပည့္အ၀ အရသာမခံႏိုင္လုိ႔ေပါ့။ စာခ်ည္းသက္သက္ တန္ဘုိးမျဖတ္ႏုိင္ေတာ့ လူနဲ႔တြဲျဖတ္ရတာ။ လန္းတယ္..တစ္ရက္ကေတြ႕လုိက္ေသးတယ္။ ျမန္မာ၀တၳဳေတြထဲမွာေတာ့ သိန္းေဖျမင့္နဲ႔ ႏုိင္၀င္းေဆြေဆြ..။ မိုးေရစုိသြားေသာသိုင္း၀တၳဳမ်ား ၁။ လူတစ္ေယာက္ဟာ အျဖစ္အပ်က္တစ္ခု အေတြ႕အၾကံဳတစ္ခုကုိ အမွတ္ရေနတယ္ဆုိရင္ အဲဒီအခ်ိန္တုံးက သူေပ်ာ္ေနခဲ့လုိပဲ။ ၂။ အဲဒီေန႔က ကၽြန္ေတာ့္ေဘးနားမွာ ထိုင္တဲ့ေကာင္က အစိမ္းေရာင္ေအာက္ခံမွာ အမည္းေရာင္အပြင့္ေတြပါတဲ့ အက်ီလက္ရွည္၀တ္ထားတယ္။ ဒီေကာင္က ကၽြန္ေတာ့္လက္ဖ်ံကုိ ခဲတံခၽြန္တဲ့ဓားနဲ႔ လွီးလုိက္တယ္။ ကၽြန္ေတာ္ကလည္း သူ႔ေခါင္းကုိ ေက်ာက္သင္ပုန္းေစာင္းနဲ႔ ခုတ္လုိက္တယ္။ ၃။ ကၽြန္ေတာ္တို႔ စိမ္ေျပးတမ္းကစားၿပီးလုိ႔ လူစုခြဲသြားေတာ့ ေရဒီယုိမွာ ဦးေလးဦးေဖသန္းရဲ႕ ေမးပါမ်ား စကားရအစီအစဥ္လာေနတယ္။ အိမ္သာထဲမွာ မတ္တပ္ေသးေပါက္ရင္း အေပၚဘက္လြတ္တဲ့ေနရာကေန ျပန္သြားတဲ့ ေပါက္ေပါက္ရဲ႕ ေက်ာျပင္ကုိ ေငးၾကည့္ေနမိတယ္။ ၄။ ဆရာက စာသင္ခန္းကို စိန္ပန္းပင္ေတြေအာက္ကုိ ေရႊ႕လုိက္တယ္။ သူငယ္ခ်င္းက သူ႕ေဘာင္းဘီအိတ္ထဲကေန သူ႕ရဲ႕ သြားရည္စာကုိ ထုတ္ေပးတယ္။ အဲဒါက ဂ်င္းတစ္တုံးပါ။ ၅။ ေလး၀င္းနဲ႔ တုိးတုိး၀င္းတုိ႔ ရန္ျဖစ္ၾကတယ္။ ႏွစ္ေယာက္သား လုံးရင္းနဲ႔ လဲက်သြားၿပီး တိုးတုိး၀င္းက အေပၚက ဖိထုိးတယ္။ ေလး၀င္းက သူ႔မ်က္ႏွာကုိ လက္နဲ႔ကာထားတယ္။ တခ်က္ေတာ့ ေလး၀င္းရဲ႕ လက္တစ္ဘက္ရုတ္တရက္ထြက္လာၿပီး တုိးတုိး၀င္းရဲ႕ မ်က္ႏွာကုိ ကုတ္ဆြဲလုိက္တယ္။ ေသြးေတြ ရဲခနဲ ထြက္လာတယ္။ ေတာ္ေတာ္ၾကာတဲ့အထိ တုိးတိုး၀င္းမ်က္ႏွာမွာ အမာရြတ္ေတြ ေတြ႕ေနရတုံးပဲ။ (သူတို႔ႏွစ္ေယာက္ရန္ပြဲမွာ ဘယ္သူႏိုင္ခဲ့သလဲဆုိတဲ့ ေမးခြန္းကုိ အခုထိ ကၽြန္ေတာ္သယ္ေဆာင္ထားဆဲပဲ။) ၆။ ဆရာက ေက်ာက္သင္ပုန္းေပၚမွာ The Three Seasons ဆိုတဲ့ စာတန္းကို ေရးေနတုံးမွာပဲ ဆရာမတစ္ေယာက္က ေနာက္ကေန သူ႕ကုိလွမ္းေခၚတယ္။ ခဏေနေတာ့ ဆရာက သူ႔ရဲ႕ နီက်င္က်င္မ်က္လုံးေတြကုိ ကၽြန္ေတာ္တို႔ဘက္ လွည့္လိုက္တယ္။ ေက်ာင္းပိတ္လုိက္ၿပီတဲ့။ အိမ္ကို ေပ်ာ္ေပ်ာ္ၾကီးျပန္ခဲ့တယ္။ ၇။ ၀က္ျခံေတြေပါက္လုိ႔ သနပ္ခါးထူထူလိမ္းထားရတယ္။ ဘယ္သူနဲ႔မွ မဆုံခ်င္ပါဘူးဆုိၿပီး ရြာအေရွ႕ဘက္ ဘုန္းၾကီးေက်ာင္းေတြဘက္က ျဖတ္ၿပီးနင္းကာမွ ျငိမ္းျငိမ္းမုိးတို႔ အမနဲ႔ သြားေတြ႕တယ္။ ၈။ နင့္အသားေတြမဲသြားတယ္ေနာ္။ ေအး..ေႏြဘက္ေတြ ၾကက္သြန္ခင္းေရေလာင္းရတယ္ေလ။ ၉။ ၀တၳဳထဲက ဇာတ္လုိက္သိုင္းသမားက မ်က္ေစ့မျမင္ဘူး။ ေနာက္ဆုံးေတာ့ လူဆုိးေတြက တုိက္ပြဲျဖစ္တဲ့ေနရာမွာ ေခါင္းေလာင္းေတြတီးၿပီး သူ႕ကုိ အႏိုင္ယူလုိက္တယ္။ ၁၀။ ဒီေန႔ ကုလားနဲ႔နွစ္ေယာက္သား ခက္ခက္ေအာင္ကုိ ရည္းစားစကားလုိက္ေျပာတယ္။ ျပန္လာေတာ့ ကုလားကေျပာတယ္။ “မင္းကလည္း ဘာေတြေျပာမွန္းလည္း မသိဘူး”။ “ေအး..ဟုိေန႔က သူလည္း သီသီေမာ္နဲ႔ ႏွစ္ေယာက္သား ငါ့ကုိ ရည္းစားစကားလုိက္ေျပာတယ္”။ ဘာပဲျဖစ္ျဖစ္ ခက္ခက္ေအာင္ စီးကရက္ေသာက္တတ္တာ သေဘာက်တယ္။ ၁၁။ အဲဒီေန႔က ကန္ေဘာင္မွာ ထုိင္ၿပီးနႏၵေက်ာ္သူတစ္အုပ္ ဖတ္ေနတုံး မမေအးနဲ႔ေတြ႕တာပဲ။ ၁၂။ ဆရာမကေဒၚျမျမက ဆရာမေဒၚေ၀ေ၀ရဲ႕ဖင္ေတြကိုလုိက္ၾကည့္ေနတာ သူငယ္ခ်င္းတစ္ေယာက္က ေခၚျပလို႔ သူတို႔အားလုံး ေတြ႕လိုက္ရသည္။ ၁၃။ သူတို႔ေတြက ကၽြန္ေတာ့္ထက္ စက္ဘီးစီးကၽြမး္ၾကတယ္။ ေမမီဟန္ကို အလယ္ကထားၿပီး သုံးေယာက္ရင္ေဘာင္တန္းစီးသြားၾကတာ။ လမ္းဆုိးလည္း အတန္းက ပ်က္မသြားဘူး။ ရည္းစားစကားေျပာခ်င္ရင္ သူတို႔ သုံးေယာက္တန္းေနာက္ကလုိက္နင္းၿပီး ေအာ္ေျပာရုံသာ ရွိတာပဲ။ အင္း..နင္တုိ႔ေတြ စက္ဘီးစီးရင္း အပ်ိဳရည္ပ်က္မွာလုိ႔ စိတ္ထဲကပဲ ေရရြတ္ၿပီး ျပန္လာရတယ္။ ၁၄။ ရုိက္တာကေတာ့ ကၽြန္ေတာ့္ကို ရိုက္တာပဲ။ ကၽြန္ေတာ္က ငုံ႔လိုက္ေတာ့ အေရွ႕က ဖုိးေခြးကုိ ထိေတာ့တာပဲ။ ၁၅။ ေက်ာ္ေဇာနဲ႔ ကၽြန္ေတာ္ ေက်ာင္းေျပးၿပီး ေဘာပြဲသြားၾကည့္ၾကတယ္။ ပထမတန္းမွာ ကန္ေနတဲ့ ေဘာသမားတစ္ေယာက္ပါတယ္ဆုိလုိ႔။ ၿပီးေတာ့ ေက်ာင္းးထဲ ခပ္တည္တည္ျပန္၀င္လာတယ္။ ဘယ္သူကလက္တုိ႔လုိက္လဲေတာ့ မသိဘူး။ အတန္းထဲလဲ၀င္ေရာ မ်က္လုံးျပဴးၿပီးၾကည့္ေနတဲ့ အတန္းပုိင္ဆရာမ မႏြဲ႕ရီနဲ႔ ေတြ႕ရေတာ့တာပဲ။ ၁၆။ ေက်ာင္းတက္ဖုိ႔ စက္ဘီးနင္းလာရင္း စီတီဇင္နာရီေလး ႀကိဳးျပတ္ၿပီး လမ္းေပၚက်သြားတယ္။ အဲဒီကတည္းက ေနာက္ထပ္ နာရီမပတ္ျဖစ္ေတာ့ဘူး။ ၁၇။ နယ္လွည့္ျပည္သူ႔ဆက္ဆံေရးတပ္ေတြ ေက်ာင္း၀င္းထဲမွာ တည္းတယ္။ ကုလားတုိ႔က ေဂြးပင္ေပၚတက္ၿပီး မင္းသမီးေတြေရခ်ိဳးတာၾကည့္ၾကတယ္။ သူကေတာ့ သစ္ပင္မတက္တတ္လုိ႔ မၾကည့္လုိက္ရ။ ျခံစည္ရုိးေက်ာ္ရင္း သံဆူးႀကိဳးညိသြားလုိ႔ ၀က္၀ံလုံခ်ည္တစ္ထည္ဆုံးတာပဲ အဖတ္တင္တယ္။ ၁၈။ ေဇယ်ာက ေျပာတယ္။ ေနာက္ႏွစ္သူေက်ာင္းမတက္ေတာ့ဘူးတဲ့။ ၁၉။ အဲဒီေန႔က ႏွင္းေတြပိတ္ေနလုိ႔ သေဘၤာက ေစ်းႀကီးဘက္ထိ ေမာင္းလုိ႔မရဘူး။ ေရတပ္စခန္းနားက ဆိပ္တစ္ခုမွာပဲ ကပ္တယ္။ ၿမိဳ႕ထဲေရာက္တဲ့အထိ စက္ဘီးကုိ အၾကာၾကီးနင္းခဲ့ရတယ္။ ၂၀။ စေနတနဂၤေႏြဆုိ ေလးေယာက္သား သစ္စက္၀င္းထဲက လက္ဘက္ရည္ဆုိင္မွာ ပူရီနဲ႔ လက္ဘက္ရည္ေသာက္ၾကတယ္။ ေနာက္ၿပီးကမ္းနားလမ္းအတုိင္းဘီးကုိယ္စီနင္းၿပီး ဆရာဦးသန္းျမင့္က်ဴရွင္သြားတာပဲ။ ၂၁။ ေနကပူလြန္းတယ္။ တခါတေလေတာ့ တိပ္တစ္အုပ္တစ္ေလ တက္လာတတ္တယ္။ ပန္းျခံထဲမွာ အျမဲတမ္း တိတ္ဆိတ္ေျခာက္ကပ္ေနတာပဲ။ “သစ္ကုိင္းေျခာက္ေတြက ေကာင္းကင္ကုိ ကုတ္ျခစ္ေနတယ္”အဲဒီလုိ ေရးခဲ့မိတယ္။ ၂၂။ သေဘၤာဆိပ္မွာ ယင္ေကာင္ေတြ ပ်ံေနတယ္။ ေစ်းရုံရဲ႕ အမိုးစြန္းေလးကို ကပ္ရပ္ဖြင့္ထားတဲ့ အေအးဆုိင္ကေလးထဲကုိ သူေရာက္ေနတယ္။ လင္းထုိက္ဦးက “ငါေတာ့ သံပုရာသီး ခ်မယ္ကြာ”လုိ႔ ေျပာလုိက္တယ္။ အဲဒီေန႔က ကန္ေဘာင္မွာ ထုိင္ၿပီးနႏၵေက်ာ္သူတစ္အုပ္ ဖတ္ေနတုံး မမေအးနဲ႔ေတြ႕တာပဲ။ မမေအးက ဖီးဆင့္ဘီး အစိမ္းေရာင္ကုိ တြန္းလာသည္။ မမေအး လာတာေတြ႕ေတာ့ ရုတ္တရက္ သူအံ့အားသင့္သလုိေတာင္ ျဖစ္သြားသည္။ ကန္ေဘာင္ရဲ႕ ဒီဘက္လမ္းၾကားက လူသြားလူလာနည္းသည္။ လမ္းရဲ႕အဆုံးထိေလွ်ာက္သြားလွ်င္ ၿမိဳ႕ကေလးရဲ႕ သခ်ၤိဳင္းဆီသို႔ ေရာက္သြားမည္ျဖစ္သည္။ သူေတာင္မွ ဒီလမ္းက သခ်ၤိဳင္းဆီသုိ႔ ေရာက္သည္ဆုိတာ ၿမိဳ႕ကေလးသုိ႔ေရာက္ၿပီး ႏွစ္ႏွစ္ခန္႔ေနမွ သိခဲ့ရျခင္းျဖစ္သည္။ ဆရာမေမေမ၀င္းတုိ႔ အေဖဆုံးစဥ္က အသုဘလုိက္ပုိ႔ၾကၿပီးအျပန္ ကုိေက်ာ္ေႏြးရယ္ ကုလားရယ္ သူရယ္ သုံးေယာက္သား ဒီလမ္းက ျပန္လာျဖစ္ခဲ့ၾကတာျဖစ္သည္။ ကုိေက်ာ္ေႏြးက တားဆီးလုိ႔မရႏုိင္တာအခ်စ္သီခ်င္းကုိ ေအာ္ဆုိလာတာေတာင္ သူမွတ္မိေနေသးသည္။ ဘာပဲျဖစ္ျဖစ္ အသုဘကအျပန္ လူအုပ္အမ်ားၾကီးႏွင့္ ေရာေႏွာ၍မျပန္ရသျဖင့္ သူအေတာ္သေဘာက်သြားသည္။ မမေအးက သူ႔ကုိ ျမင္ေတာ့ ျပံဳးျပသည္။ ၿပီးေတာ့ သူနံေဘးတြင္ကပ္လ်က္ ကန္ေဘာင္ကုိ ကာထားေသာ ပိုက္လုံးေပၚတြင္ ထုိင္လိုက္သည္။ တကယ္က မမေအးဆုိတာ သူ႕စိတ္ထဲကအေခၚအေ၀ၚသာျဖစ္သည္။ ႏႈတ္ကေတာ့ “အန္တီေအး..ထူးထူးဆန္းဆန္း”ဟုသာ ႏႈတ္ဆက္လုိက္သည္။ မမေအးလို႔ သူေရာ ကုိေက်ာ္ေႏြးေရာ တျခားသူငယ္ခ်င္းေတြပါ ေခၚၾကသည့္ ေဒၚတင္မမေအးသည္ သူႏွင့္တတန္းတည္းေန ႏွင္းေအးျဖဴရဲ႕အေမျဖစ္သည္။ မမေအးက အတန္ၾကာသည္အထိ တိတ္ဆိတ္ေနသျဖင့္ “ႏွင္းေအးျဖဴေကာ..ဘာေတြလုပ္ေနလဲ”ဟု ပဋိသႏၶာရအားျဖင့္ ေမးလုိက္ရသည္။ တကယ္ေတာ့ ႏွင္းေအးျဖဴအေၾကာင္းေမးရတာ သူ႕အတြက္ ခြတီးခြက်ေတာ့ႏုိင္သည္။ ဒါေပမယ့္ ႏွင္းေအးျဖဴအေၾကာင္းကလြဲလုိ႔ သူနဲ႔မမေအးၾကားမွာ တျခားဆက္စပ္မႈလည္းမရွိ။ တကယ္ေတာ့ ႏွင္းေအးျဖဴကသူႏွင့္တတန္းတည္းေက်ာင္းေနဘက္သာမက သမီးရည္းစားလည္းျဖစ္သည္။ ျဖစ္ခဲ့ဘူးသည္လုိ႔ ေျပာရင္လည္းရသည္။ မမေအးက သူ႕အေမးကို ျပန္မေျဖ။ “ငါဒီႏွစ္ႏွင္းေအးျဖဴကို ရန္ကုန္ပို႔မလုိ႔”။ ခဏဆုိင္းေနသည္။ “နင္လည္းသိတဲ့အတိုင္းပဲ။ ဒီမွာထားရင္ ညီခန္႔ေဇာ္လုိေကာင္မ်ိဳးနဲ႔ ရသြားလိမ့္မယ္”။ ဘုရား..သူ႕နာမည္ကို ဥပမာအေနနဲ႔ မသုံးတာပဲ ေက်းဇူးတင္ရမည္။ သူကေတာ့ စိတ္ထဲကေန ရန္ကုန္မွာေတာ့ ညီခန႔္ေဇာ္ေတြေရာ၊ ကုိခန္႔ေဇာ္ေတြပါ ေတြ႕ႏုိင္တာပဲလုိ႔ ျပန္ေျပာေနမိသည္။ ပါးစပ္ကေတာ့ “ေအာ္..ဒါေၾကာင့္ ဆရာမိုးက်ဴရွင္လာတာမေတြ႕တာကုိး”ဟုသာ ျပန္ေျပာလုိက္သည္။ စုိးေပက နႏၵေက်ာ္သူတစ္အုပ္ရခဲ့တယ္။ ခက္ခက္ကုိ ရည္းစားစကားေျပာခဲ့တယ္။ အလင္းေရာင္ကေဖးမွာ ထုိင္ခဲ့တယ္။ ပလာတာကုိ ငရုတ္ဆီနဲ႔တုိ႔စားခဲ့တယ္။ သုခိတာသုံးလိပ္ေသာက္ခဲ့တယ္။ မနက္မုိးလင္းလာရင္ ကုိတင္ဟန္ေက်ာ္တစ္ေယာက္ အုတ္ခဲေတြမေနတာေတြ႕ရတာပဲ။ ရြာလယ္ေျမလမ္းေလးအတုိင္းေလွ်ာက္ နႏြင္းမႈန္႔ကဲတဲ့ မုန္႔ဟင္းခါစား၊ ႏြားႏုိ႔ပါတဲ့ လက္ဘက္ရည္ေသာက္။ ျပန္လာအိမ္သာတက္။ ကုိျပည္စုိးက သူလည္းလိုက္ခ်င္ပုံရတယ္။ ညေနဆုိ စမ္းေခ်ာင္းလမ္းေလးအတုိင္း သူတို႔စီးဆင္းစျမဲ။ တခါတေလ တိုက္ဂါးစည္ဆုိင္မွာ..။ တခါတေလ ၀င္းမွာ။ လက္ဘက္ရည္မေကာင္းလည္း ေသာက္ရမွာပဲ။ ဒီတဆုိင္ပဲရွိတာကုိး။ တရုံးလုံးမွာ အၾကိမ္ေရအမ်ားဆုံးနဲ႔ အၾကာဆုံးထုိင္တာ သူတို႔ဌာနကပဲ ျဖစ္လိမ့္မယ္။ ဓာတ္ပုံဆရာ၊ စာေရးဆရာ၊ စာေရးဆရာတျဖစ္လဲ အုိင္တီဆရာ။ ပထမေတာ့ လက္ဘက္ရည္ဆုိင္ေနာက္ေက်ာဘက္မွာ အႏွိပ္ခန္းတစ္ခုဖြင့္ထားတယ္။ ေနာက္ေတာ့ ဘာျဖစ္လုိ႔လဲမသိဘူး။ ပိတ္သြားတယ္။ ဟုိဘက္ဂရိတ္ေ၀ါ တိုက္က ေဆာ္ေတြကုိပဲ ၾကည့္ၾကည့္ေနရတယ္။ ဂရိတ္ေ၀ၚသေဌးကလည္း ဘယ္လုိစံနဲ႔ ေရြးထားသလဲေတာ့မသိဘူး။ ေဆာ္ေတြအားလုံး ဖင္တုံးေတြတရားလြန္ၾကီးၾကတယ္။ The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759) by Laurence Sterne The Master and Margarita (1940) by Mikhail Bulgakov The Cannibal (1949) by John Hawkes Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov The Recognitions (1955) by William Gaddis Naked Lunch (1959) by William Burroughs The Sot-Weed Factor (1960) by John Barth Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller The Lime Twig (1961) by John Hawkes Mother Night (1961) by Kurt Vonnegut Pale Fire (1962) by Vladimir Nabokov The Man in the High Castle (1962) by Philip K. Dick V. (1963) by Thomas Pynchon Hopscotch (1963) by Julio Cortázar The Crying of Lot 49 (1966) by Thomas Pynchon Lost in the Funhouse (1968) by John Barth Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle (1969) by Vladimir Nabokov The Atrocity Exhibition (1970) by J. G. Ballard Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1971) by Hunter S. Thompson Invisible Cities (1972) by Italo Calvino Chimera (1972) by John Barth Gravity’s Rainbow (1973) by Thomas Pynchon Crash (1973) by J. G. Ballard Breakfast of Champions (1973) by Kurt Vonnegut J R (1975) by William Gaddis The Illuminatus! Trilogy (1975) by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson The Dead Father (1975) by Donald Barthelme Dhalgren (1975) by Samuel R. Delany Options (1975) by Robert Sheckley It’s Me, Eddie (1976) by Eduard Limonov Life: A User’s Manual (1978) by Georges Perec If on a winter’s night a traveler (1979) by Italo Calvino Mulligan Stew (1979) by Gilbert Sorrentino How German Is It (1980) by Walter Abish Sixty Stories (1981) by Donald Barthelme The Transmigration of Timothy Archer (1982) by Philip K. Dick The New York Trilogy (1985-86) by Paul Auster White Noise (1985) by Don DeLillo A Maggot (1985) by John Fowles Women and Men (1987) by Joseph McElroy The Mezzanine (1988) by Nicholson Baker Foucault’s Pendulum (1988) by Umberto Eco Wittgenstein’s Mistress (1988) by David Markson American Psycho (1991) by Bret Easton Ellis Omon Ra (1991) by Victor Pelevin What a Carve Up! (1991) by Jonathan Coe Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture (1991) by Douglas Coupland Vurt (1993) by Jeff Noon A Frolic of His Own (1994) by William Gaddis The Tunnel (1995) by William Gass Infinite Jest (1996) by David Foster Wallace Underworld (1997) by Don DeLillo The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1997) by Haruki Murakami Tomcat in Love (1998) by Tim O’Brien Generation “П” (1999) by Victor Pelevin The Rings of Saturn (1999) by W. G. Sebald Blue Salo (1999) by Vladimir Sorokin House of Leaves (2000) by Mark Danielewski This is Not a Novel (2001) by David Markson Austerlitz (2001) by W. G. Sebald Everything Is Illuminated (2002) by Jonathan Safran Foer 2666 (2004) by Roberto Bolaño Lunar Park (2005) by Bret Easton Ellis Remainder (2007) by Tom McCarthy The Last Novel (2007) by David Markson Generation A (2009) by Douglas Coupland C (2010) by Tom McCarthy
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