S.E.A Write &
Contemporary Literatures

he had to tell someone about what had happened in the night. It’s beauty was too wondrous to be kept to himself alone.

Looking like the curved end of a sword, the raised bow-stem slides forward with speed as the keel cuts the water into showering arcs.

Yes, I'm an ordinary run-of-the-mill rural municipal-school teacher. It's the status of headmaster --Or "kru yai"

she walks by - completely naked. An artificial product of great beauty from the factory of a dirty-minded scientist

Grandma opened the song with, "Oei ..the old kaew tree, your branches're heavy with blossoms so white…” and stopped,

He thought that there was something lacking... something still missing. Something that would make it a complete whole

“Let’s hope it won’t be like the last time. Whatever will happen, let it be better than the last time,”

The man was sharply conscious of the poignancy of the sadness and loneliness of man’s individual destiny.

"Are you singing, Mother?'' My eyelids are so heavy that I have to force them open to ask my mother.

''We won't be as poor as at home. Got to be brave. There are a lot of jobs in the city. We will find something.

“I know. But, with me, everything is up to my master. We are the same, Nak. It’s duty first,” Hern said tersely. “So, how shall we do it?”

She knew that her man would be shot down like an animal the moment he came within their rifle range.

Not a drop of rain has fallen and the fields are parched but Mother's once barren heart blooms with hope

A breath of cold wind made the woman shiver. The old man held her in a shaky embrace, saying: ''What's gone is gone.''

Its eyes are opened wide -- empty and staring, like the eyes of a sinful, aimless, unhappy human being.

เดินผ่านข้าพเจ้า-ทอดเงาเปลี่ยว โดดเดี่ยวเหลือเกินที่เดินดุ่ม Passing me – casting lonely shadow So forlornly walks that walker

ณ จุดบรรจบ at the fusion line, คืน - วัน night - day ฝัน - จริง dream - reality

เหงาดังว่าน้ำหยดจนหมดใจ Deep loneliness reigns as though the heart is utterly drained. เหลือสิ่งใดไว้บ้างระหว่างชีวิต

…So, I sit reading words of a poet ฉันนั่งอยู่อย่างนี้ อ่านกวี-คำประพันธ์

Come, people, come มนุษย์เอย Take the rein of your horse of life จงขี่ม้าแห่งชีวิตของตนเอง

สุริยะวรมันจะกันแสง Suriyavaraman will weep ศิลาแลงทุกก้อนก็กร่อนไหว Each massive laterite block will shudder

เดี๋ยวนี้มือใส่ถึงมือจับมือกัน Today , gloved hands touch gloved hands เปลี่ยนมือเปลี่ยนถุงพลันไม่ซ้ำถุง Hands change gloves change,

สูงขึ้นสูงขึ้นไปถึงฟ้า Higher and higher, they’re touching the sky จนถึงเมฆแล้วเจ้าเด็กล้างจาน Now they have reached the clouds

จ้องอ่านผ่านวูบเธอเหลียวหลัง Stare, read, rush past, look back แล้วบอกเสียงดังว่าพ่อจ๋า In loud voice she cries, father dear,

ก้อนดินก็ระเบิดได้ A Clod of earth can burst ขว้างไปแตกเปรี้ยงเสียงก้อง Flung in thunderous explosion

นกกระดาษตระหนกพร่านบินร่านร่อน ว่ายว่อนเวิ้งฟ้าน้ำตาเจิ่ง Paper birds panicked into flight Reeling in vast tear-filled skies

I discovered boxes filled with photographs I took in Asia in the early seventies. What have become all those faces?

This radiance flooding my heart when I look at you, is it not a spark from the life-thirsting light that was created

ใครจะอาจซื้อขายฟ้ามหาสมุทร แสนวิสุทธิ์โลกนี้ที่พระสร้าง Who would dare trade skies and oceans? Wondrous creation is this world of ours.

Don’t ripple the water อย่าทำน้ำไหว I want to see its infinite clarity ฉันอยากเห็นความใสไม่สุดสิ้น

Cold mountain ภูหนาว always swaddled in white ห่มผ้าสีขาวอยู่เสมอ

The sensitivity and compassion in these works appeal to me. Ussiri's prose often verges on poetry because of these qualities.