ក្រសាំង និងទឹកត្រី

ខ្ញុំនឹកឡើងចង់់ថ្លែងអំណរគុណដល់គ្រប់សភាវៈនៅជុំវិញខ្ញុំ!

ខ្ញុំលើកដៃឡើង! សំពះ! អរគុណ! ជង្គង់ខ្ញុំក៏ស៊ឹងតែលុតទៅទៀត!

អរគុណ! នែ…ខ្យល់…នែ…នែ…សម្រាប់ដំណកដង្ហើម!

អរគុណ! នែ…ទឹក…នែ…នែ…សម្រាប់ជីវិត!

អរគុណ! នែ…ព្រះអាទិត្យ…នែ…នែ…ដែលផ្តល់ពន្លឺ

អរគុណ! នែ…អង្ករ…បាយ…នែ…នែ…ដែលផ្តល់ជីវជាតិដល់រាងកាយខ្ញុំ!

គិតទៅ…ខ្ញុំត្រឹមត្រូវណាស់ ដែលដឹងគុណនូវអ្វីគ្រប់យ៉ាង!

ខ្ញុំទន្ទេញវារាល់ថ្ងៃ!

ដេក

ដើរ

អង្គុយ

សូម្បីតែពេលដេកមមើ ក៏ខ្ញុំនៅតែរវើរវាយនិយាយថា «អរគុណ! អរគុណ…»

នៅតាមផ្លូវទៅផ្ទះ ខ្ញុំក៏ឃើញអ្នកភូមិលើកដៃព្រោងព្រៀត ពោលពាក្យ «អរគុណៗៗៗ»

ខ្ញុំញញឹមភ្លេចអស់អ្វីៗ ត្រេកអរនឹងការដឹងគុណនេះ!

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នៅផ្ទះបាយខ្ញុំ ខ្ញុំឃើញឪពុកខ្ញុំកំពុងតែកាប់ក្រសាំងប៉ាំងៗ!

នៅក្បែរនោះមានទឹកត្រីមួយចានចង្កឹះ!

Krasaing fruits and A Bowl of Fish Sauce

I wish to give thanks to everything around me!

I lift my hands up! Sampeah! giving thanks! My knees almost kneel

Thank you…the air…for the breathing

Thank you…water…for life

Thank you…the sun…for giving light

I have thought ‘I’m right that I’m thankful for everything.

I chant it everyday.

Sleeping

Walking

Sitting

Even when I sleep talking, I say ‘thank you…thank you…’

On my way home, I see my villagers repeatedly say ‘thank you!!!’ with their graceful hands

I smiled as I witness this ‘thankfulness’ every where.

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At the kitchen, I see my father​ cutting open a Krasaing fruit

Next to him, there is a bowl of fish sauce.

The Yellow Shirt and My Poetry

Last Saturday in Siem Reap, I wore a yellow shirt. Tight, a little too tight. It is older than me. This blog post, I write about her, the yellow shirt, and my poetry and the performance.

Photo credit: YENG Chheangly

After three days of cultural leadership with Cambodian Living Arts at Batia Sarem Gallery, I thought to give myself a leisure​ time after hard work. The event was organised by poet YENG Chheangly, my co-founder of Slap Paka Khmer (Collaborative Khmer Writers) and the Mirage Contemporary Arts Space.

Sokhoeun, me, and JB: featured readers (Photo Credit: Pheak Keo)

I chose to read four poems. All are in Khmer. I didn’t really have time to translate them into English. I will try to write a little bit about it here and also will share the story of the yellow shirt.

The first poem is about me who sees myself travelling from Phnom Penh to a province. In the car and along the way, I witness people buying and paying for threads happily. They were singing, dancing, and telling jokes. Lives go on with the thread on their every mouth including mine.

The second one is about someone whose soft hand guiding me toward a direction. I was scared but I could not escape because when I tried the hand turns from soft to rough and scary. The third is about learning to love my self. Growing up, I witnessed two burned scars on my stomach. I felt so embarrassed and disappointed with myself. I explored this with my parents and learned that the scars were a result of life, death, and love. The fourth one was a simple romance poem.

Photo Credit: Yeng Chheangly

I kept thinking about choosing what to wear for the reading and of course how to read. I read my poems many times and try to find a theme. One of the poems especially the third one is about my mother. To save me from death, she brought me to a Kruu Khmer (traditional healer). And I have been in love with one of her traditional shirt. It is yellow. Old. Out of fashion. It is something many girls would not wear out of shame. However, I love it and I want to bring it to life again.

(Photo credit: YENG Chheangly)

I was reading a translation text in English for the award-winning poet Chin Meas. I called him the Fried Noodle Poet since he sells noodles every night in Siem Reap to make a living. Being a poet is tough.

All readers in one shot (Photo credit: Sinath)
Chheangly introduces the event and feature readers! Great job.
One of Sokhoeun’s readings is a letter he wrote to an ex-girlfriend in 2001. (Photo credit: Yeng Chheangly)

When I decided to wear it, I had to face another challenge: self-doubt. I grew unwanted fat on my body. With this, women would hide it because we believe it does not look good and it is not a beauty standard. After thinking for a while and talked to a friend, I made a final decision to wear it. Of course, I was so much conscious about my body. I was afraid that it shows my belly or it does not suit with my age. Turned 41 last week, I believe women are repeatedly told to wear clothes their age. I was all about shy and nervous. However, there is one thing I needed to be clear with myself. As a feminist, should I worry this much? I asked myself. If I don’t love my self, who would? If I don’t embrace my body, who would do? Since I am one of the people who promote body-positive, should I be worried and nervous about my body? I should not. So I wore it and I was completely happy that I did.

Photo credit: Milya

The yellow shirt belongs to my mum. I initially thought that it might be around the 80s because I used to see her wear it when I was a child. However, she told me that it was since 1974. She wore it a few time before the Khmer Rouge time. Since she loves it so much, she carried and hid it with her during the civil war and the genocide. I asked her if she was afraid that she would get caught she said at her village, it is not an issue as long as she does not wear it. I don’t remember since when I started to love the yellow top. I remember that I wore it to a film festival but I was really shy that I wrapped it with a shawl. Not this time. The only thing I felt a little uncomfortable is it is too tight. lol.

Generally, it was a great event. I was glad to hear that the audience loved the readings a lot. Most said it was not their expectation. They expected to hear just the readings but in fact it was a lot more than readings.

Please enjoy a few more photos below. Any familiar faces?

The artworks you have seen on the wall are of a unique artist Khchao Touch currently exhibited at Mirage Gallery, Siem Reap.

She left, My Guilt Stays

i was raised to hate you

since before you were born

two different personalities

water and oil

never went along

the trees of our old home noticed

the cottage I built with my friend scolded me

the bike I ride to school also implored me

i was repeatedly raised to hate you!

the river i took public bath cited a poem

about how i dislike you

i ignored it because i didn’t think that hating you was a problem. I believed

leaving home for Phnom Penh reduced the hate

that I had even before you were born

but it had stayed. It had never left a second

until you left

your LETTER didn’t mention my name

everyday, I breath with guilt

A Little Voice~!

សូមមានជីវិតជីវ៉ា និងសុខភាពស្រស់ថ្លា

យើងនឹងជួបគ្នាម្តងទៀត

ក្លែមរសជាតិល្វីងនៃកាហ្វេ ឬតែ!

ពេលនោះយើងនឹងមិនជជែកពីអ្វីទាំងអស់ ក្រៅពី

រឿងយើងទាំងពីរនាក់។​

ទោះជាដើមឈើជុំវិញស្តាប់យើងក៏ដោយ ឲ្យពួកគេស្តាប់ទៅចុះ

ទោះជាផ្លូវក្បែរហាងកាហ្វេនោះលួចមើលយើងក៏ដោយ ឲ្យគេមើលចុះ

ទោះជាពែងកាហ្វេនោះបន្លំខ្លួនជាភ្នាក់ងារស៊ើបអង្កេតក៏ដោយ ឲ្យគេធ្វើចុះ

តោះ! យើងនិយាយគ្នា តែរឿងជីវិតយើងពីរនាក់បានហើយ។

ជីវិតមានភាពចម្លែកណាស់

វាប្រែប្រួលលឿនណាស់ ផ្លាស់ប្តូរមួយរំពេច

ទោះជាគម្លាតមិនបានបំបែកយើងទាំងពីរក៏ដោយ ក៏

ជីវិតយើងនៅតែបន្ត

អ្នកក៏ដឹងដែរមែនទេ?

Be alive and strive
we shall meet again
over a cup of coffee
or tea

then we shall talk
about nothing but our lives

let the trees listen
let the streets watch
let the cups pretend as spies
let’s talk about nothing but lives

life is strange

quick turn, it changes

distance won’t separate us, but

life goes on

you know?

A Nostalgia

The rain came when we were eating inside a restaurant near Phsar Tapang. Unexpectedly, my friend said ‘Let’s go!’. I then asked eagerly ‘Where to?’.

My question was simple. I naturally wondered where on earth did she want to go in the rain? She replied ‘Driving under the rain is fun, let’s go!’. I had to go with her although I didn’t fully agree with her.

We were on my little motorbike. People called it Moto Charlie. It had been very popular for especially girls to drive to school. It is small and cute and easy to manage. Along the Norodom Boulevard, we were driving and laughing at many silly stories which I don’t remember. The drops of the rain was heavy and pure. There were not many cars at that time so we drove care free. We were having great fun but then…

in the rain…

in the rain…

in the rain, a policeman came…

in the rain, he claimed ‘No motorbike allowed on Norodom!’.

Normally when police stopped you on a ‘Motorbike Not Allowed Boulevard’, it means that he was going to give you a fine. Most often without a receipt!’. The amount of the fine depended on his mouth too! I was numbed and shamed. My happiness early totally disappeared. What my friend did next amazed me till today.

She pretended that she didn’t hear what he said. She told him ‘We’ve lost our way! Can you please tell me where the Independent Monument is?’ The policeman who came in the rain to stop us pointed his right arm to the direction of the monument. My friend said ‘thank you’ and off we go!

the policeman

who came in the rain

let us go

in the rain

កំណាព្យឆ្លើយឆ្លង

កាលពីថ្ងៃទី ២៣ មេសា ឈាងលីបានសរសេរកំណាព្យនេះ។

គយគន់

គយគន់វត្តភ្នំ
ឃើញយាយពេញយំ
អាណិតកម្មករ
គយគន់ស្ពាននាគ
ស្ពានងាកអង្វរ
ឱ្យទ្រាំបន្ត
គ្រាក្រកម្សត់។

គយគន់មុខវាំង
ឮព្រាបយំគាំង
កៀនផ្លូវបែកបត់
បាត់បង់ចំណូល
ចំណាយសង្គត់
ការងារផ្តើមអត់
ព្រាបយំបន្ត។

គយគន់កោះកៀន
ឯករាជ្យវិមាន
ស្ងាត់អ្នកបើកបរ
គយគន់ដល់សួន
នឹមនួននៅល្អ
តែស្ងាត់អ្នកស្រ
មកលោមពិសី។

គយគន់ក្តាន់ពីរ
ក្តាន់ឥតអ្វីស៊ី
ដេកមើលសួនថ្មី
គន់ជ្រោយចង្វារ
គន់ផ្សារធំថ្មី
ផ្សារអូឫស្សី
ឃើញមើលតែមេឃ។

គយគន់ចុះឡើង
ខ្លួនស្រាលសឹងប៉ើង
ហេវហត់ស្លក់ស្លេក
កូវីដដប់ប្រាំបួន
អង្រួនឥតដេក
ផ្សារអង្វរមេឃ
តែមេឃនៅស្ងៀម៕

ភ្នំពេញ ថ្ងៃទី២៣ ខែមីនា ឆ្នាំ២០២០
ម៉ោង ៧៖ ១៥ នាទី

បន្ទាប់មកគាត់បានដាក់ឲ្យខ្ញុំសរសេរកំណាព្យដែរ។ ខាងក្រោម ជាកំណាព្យរបស់ខ្ញុំ ឆ្លើយតបនឹងការបណ្តុះចិត្តពី Yeng Chheangly!

ឃើញគោមួយជុង
គោគេដាក់ទ្រុង
ទៅសត្តឃាដ
រូបភាពរំឮក
កម្មករព្រោងព្រៀត
តោងឡានប្រញ្ជៀត
ចេញចូលធ្វើការ។

សង្វេគក្នុងចិត្ត
សត្វមនុស្សពិត
ដូចគ្នាវាសនា
រណេងរណោង
តោងគ្នីម្នីម្នា
សង្វាតការងារ
កម្មករស្រីប្រុស។

ខ្ញុំគិតថាទូល
ទេវតាបណ្តូល
ព្រះព្រហ្មចម្រុះ
សូមជួយដឹងឮ
ញាតិយើងផងចុះ
សម្រួលសម្រុះ
សុខមាលភាព។

គេស្តីបន្ទោស
ថាល្ងង់ថាថោក
ល្មើសច្បាប់ប្រញ្រ្ជៀត
មូលមីរផ្តែផ្តុំ
ឆ្លងព្រោះចង្អៀត
ម្តេចមិនគិតញាតិ
ប្រាប់ហើយមិនតាម។

បើគ្នាមានសព្វ
ម៉្លេះមិនចំប្រប់
បំពានពាក្យហាម
បើមានវិធាន
ល្អហើយសមបាន
ជួយគ្នាសុខសាន្ត
តាមហើយរីករាយ។

បានត្រឹមតែហាម
ហើយពោលដៀមដាម
បន្ទោសឡើងពាយ
ក្រហើយឈឺទៀត
ប្រឈមឈឺកាយ
តូចចិត្តតែស្តាយ
កម្រៃជីវិត។

ទេវតាប្រជុំ
គ្មានពេលស្តាប់ខ្ញុំ
លោកជ្រាបខ្ញុំពិត
ព្រះឥន្ទ្រទ្រង់ផ្ទុំ
ព្រះព្រហ្មស្ងាត់ជ្រាប
តើខ្ញុំពឹងលាភ
ឬពឹងសំណាង។

រកព្រះអស់ចិត្ត
ក៏បែកគំនិត
ពឹងដើមខ្ពស់រាង
ដើមនោះដើមគ
ធ្មឹងឈរជង្គ្រាង
ខ្ញុំលើកដៃផ្ទៀង
ថ្លាថ្លែងសេចក្តី។

តែក្រោយក៏ស្តាយ
សែនអាណិតកាយ
ដើមគបានអ្វី
គ្រាន់តែលំអ
ភូមិស្រុកដែនដី
មានមាត់មិនស្តី
ពឹងថ្វីដើមគ។

២៥ មេសា ២០២០

រូបថត៖ យ៉េង ឈាងលី

មនុស្សឈ្មោះប្រកែក ‘Rejection is Someone’s Name’

គាត់ឈ្មោះប្រកែក
ពូកែខាងបែក
ប្រកែកមិនព្រម
វែករកការពិត
ពិនិត្យឲ្យល្មម
ប្រកែកមិនតម
ទទួលការពិត។

ស្អីក៏គេល្អ
កុំហ៊ានមាត់ក
រកកាករកល្អិត
ថាខ្យល់ក្រខ្វក់
ប៉ះសុខភាពស្និទ្ធ
តាមក្រសួងគិត
ខ្យល់ឥតជាតិពុល។

គាត់ឈ្មោះប្រកែក
គាត់នៅតែស្រែក
ឆ្កែនៅតែព្រុស
ស្រែកកោកស្រែកកាក
កាត់ក្បាលប្តូរឈ្មោះ
ឆ្កែនៅតែជុះ
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