the crooked line

The young Karen boy watches his grandmother pound the husks from the rice. She tells him the story of an old hta.

“We can only dream this,” she says. “But in your time I think it will happen. A centipede will swallow all the human beings on the earth.”

The Karen hta fascinates me. It is a form of oral poetry, only it is much more than this. For many generations it was the way in which the Karen communicated; an educational medium in fact. A way in which the older generation passed on knowledge to the younger generation. Given that contemporary Karen written communication only occurred in the 1800s you can see the importance or oral communication to Karen history. Continue reading ‘When the centipede swallows the human’

This is long and I apologise for it. It was written after a recent visit to Rangoon and I put it here because I think Moe and his art deserves being talked about.

There is a tiredness about Rangoon.
It’s a city that seems to exist under a layer of dirt, an obscuring and faded picture.
There are the old colonial buildings, grandiose during the era of the British but neglected since. They are facades, stained, decaying, beautiful, lonely – well-trodden boardwalks and stories aplenty.
Moss grows in clumps where water has trickled down their sides. All manner of plants grown around, through and into their orifices.
Beautiful wooden shutters and colours of pale green, blue and cream. They are the most visible example of Burma’s decaying existence. In these buildings you see mirrored the faces of those on the street. Tired, dirty, neglected, but with undeniable beauty.

Continue reading ‘decayed facades and bold picasso’s’