Spaces
Sunlight illuminates an empty room,
peopleless and quiet.
Beams of gold creep,
silently over here -
happy times put to rest,
heavy books bound to dust.
The door creaks open,
to a corridor of echoes,
where memories stir,
hauntingly relentlessly,
like ghosts of yesterdays.
Shadows dart into the books,
the playing cards and worn out couch.
It will be peopled again,
where new experiences are put to rest,
and by night the shadows return,
specters of yesterdays.
Vivian Sky Lee
Showing posts with label Local Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Local Literature. Show all posts
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
“Merlign” (from City of Rain)
“Merlign” (from City of Rain)
Even though there are more
websites on you than verses;
even though you evoke
cameras more than pride,
postcards more than praise;
even though your titan child
is now terrorising history and
small children on Sentosa:
Still you seem to have a face poets love
to woo. There was the old gentleman,
windswept, seablown, wandering home
with a suitcase of dreams, who
treated you like a queen, hoping
to press you for secrets.
And then the lady with thick glasses,
who thought she saw Ezekiel’s cherubim,
the sign episteme of higher forces
forever barring the way to paradise.
And that young man, himself half lion,
with barbed tale raised, words coiled
like a fist. Eyes louder than silence.
Still others, perplexed
as much by your blank stare
as their maddening need to know,
burden you with the fret
of lost causes and years of waiting
Become now the need
to apostrophise what is rock,
to make it bear weight.
How we wallow in metaphors!
As a child I walked through a garden
to gawk at you, a giant too tall
for a child’s mind to wrap around.
Risking the simplest of pleasures:
a closer glance, a furtive stroke,
Reaching for scale and contact;
And now, as a man, forever measuring shadows.
No need to go on with this pretence,
these riddles and voices. This is a heap
of fashioned stone, too light to carry souls.
Rough beast, you are neither idol nor ideal.
Your heart is hollow, cold, and open
for admission, but we have nowhere else
to hide our dreams. Take what names
we have to give, and hold our secrets well.
Keep what matters and what counts;
Th e rest you can spit as spray.
Poet’s Note:
By night, The Merlion awakens during a spectacular light, sound and water show extravaganza. The ‘Rise of the Merlion’ will be staged three times a night. Colour lasers will shoot from the eyes of the Merlion and from the Musical Fountain in synchronisation with the symphony of dancing water fountains in a 15-minute show designed to be a crowd-pleaser.
– The Sentosa Homepage, circa 1888.
‘Perhaps having dealt in things, / Surfeited on them, / Their spirits yearn again for images’
– ‘Ulysses by the Merlion’, Edwin Thumboo.
‘… O feckless wanderer / remember to respect my creators.’
– ‘The Merlion to Ulysses’, Lee Tzu Pheng.
‘I still do wish it had paws.’
– ‘The Merlion’, Alfian Sa’at.
From Writing Singapore: An Historical Anthology of Singapore Literature, Angelia Poon, Philip Holden and Shirley Geok-lin Lim, eds. Singapore: NUS Press, 2009. (608-609).
Even though there are more
websites on you than verses;
even though you evoke
cameras more than pride,
postcards more than praise;
even though your titan child
is now terrorising history and
small children on Sentosa:
Still you seem to have a face poets love
to woo. There was the old gentleman,
windswept, seablown, wandering home
with a suitcase of dreams, who
treated you like a queen, hoping
to press you for secrets.
And then the lady with thick glasses,
who thought she saw Ezekiel’s cherubim,
the sign episteme of higher forces
forever barring the way to paradise.
And that young man, himself half lion,
with barbed tale raised, words coiled
like a fist. Eyes louder than silence.
Still others, perplexed
as much by your blank stare
as their maddening need to know,
burden you with the fret
of lost causes and years of waiting
Become now the need
to apostrophise what is rock,
to make it bear weight.
How we wallow in metaphors!
As a child I walked through a garden
to gawk at you, a giant too tall
for a child’s mind to wrap around.
Risking the simplest of pleasures:
a closer glance, a furtive stroke,
Reaching for scale and contact;
And now, as a man, forever measuring shadows.
No need to go on with this pretence,
these riddles and voices. This is a heap
of fashioned stone, too light to carry souls.
Rough beast, you are neither idol nor ideal.
Your heart is hollow, cold, and open
for admission, but we have nowhere else
to hide our dreams. Take what names
we have to give, and hold our secrets well.
Keep what matters and what counts;
Th e rest you can spit as spray.
Poet’s Note:
By night, The Merlion awakens during a spectacular light, sound and water show extravaganza. The ‘Rise of the Merlion’ will be staged three times a night. Colour lasers will shoot from the eyes of the Merlion and from the Musical Fountain in synchronisation with the symphony of dancing water fountains in a 15-minute show designed to be a crowd-pleaser.
– The Sentosa Homepage, circa 1888.
‘Perhaps having dealt in things, / Surfeited on them, / Their spirits yearn again for images’
– ‘Ulysses by the Merlion’, Edwin Thumboo.
‘… O feckless wanderer / remember to respect my creators.’
– ‘The Merlion to Ulysses’, Lee Tzu Pheng.
‘I still do wish it had paws.’
– ‘The Merlion’, Alfian Sa’at.
From Writing Singapore: An Historical Anthology of Singapore Literature, Angelia Poon, Philip Holden and Shirley Geok-lin Lim, eds. Singapore: NUS Press, 2009. (608-609).
Speaking in Tongues - Singapore Style
Goh Sin Tub (2000)
In days of yore Grandpa laid down the law,
Speak mother tongue he used to say:
“Hokkien lang kong Hokkien way.”
Though Grandma from Java spoke only Bahasa,
She followed Grandpa’s rule to kong Hokkien way,
And she saw to it we grew up kong-ing Hokkien way.
Then we moved from Chinatown to Emerald Hill
Our friends now Muthu, Dollah, Bongsu,
So (boh pien lah!) we also chakap Melayu.
At school, Sir insisted: “Speak English!”
So, apa lagi, we anyhow speak English too,
Chin-chye, Chap-chye, choba kind also can do.
Then Japanese came and we benkyo Nippon-go;
Their ABC kata-kana: Ah, ee, oo, eh, oh,
No problem, we just champor: Kaki lu bengko’.
And now (kao peh!) Speak Mandarin campaign!
Must jiang hua yu, Hokkien way no can do.
Kena again: t’ak ch’e, belajar, benkyo, study, du shu.
At first we may swear at those campaign mandarins:
“Dammit, sial only, so suay one!”
But being kiasu, soon it’s Xian Sheng zao an!
- I really like reading local lit just because its very accessible and my students can probably relate better to it. (Of course you occasionally come across the ones filled with bombastic language being forced into an awkward metre - just ignore those.) It can spark conversations about why people write poetry (as a record of culture?) and why Singaporean poets are so defensive. I chose this one because its less easy to locate online and also because its a little more light-hearted, but I'm quite happy to exchange more interesting (not necessarily 'good') local poetry with you if you're interested! I also recommend Alfian Sa'at's 'The Merlion' (1998) and Lee Tzu Pheng's 'My Country, My People' (1980) as really important poems to consider. Lee's poem is, in my opinion, one of the canonical poems of Singaporean poetry! But I haven't posted it here because I have other poems I love too much to leave out.
I also recommend reading an anthology called Rhythms (2000) which has Singapore poems in all 4 languages. It may be helpful for the kids to read the poem in their own language! And there are always occasional gems along the way to make it worthwhile.
In days of yore Grandpa laid down the law,
Speak mother tongue he used to say:
“Hokkien lang kong Hokkien way.”
Though Grandma from Java spoke only Bahasa,
She followed Grandpa’s rule to kong Hokkien way,
And she saw to it we grew up kong-ing Hokkien way.
Then we moved from Chinatown to Emerald Hill
Our friends now Muthu, Dollah, Bongsu,
So (boh pien lah!) we also chakap Melayu.
At school, Sir insisted: “Speak English!”
So, apa lagi, we anyhow speak English too,
Chin-chye, Chap-chye, choba kind also can do.
Then Japanese came and we benkyo Nippon-go;
Their ABC kata-kana: Ah, ee, oo, eh, oh,
No problem, we just champor: Kaki lu bengko’.
And now (kao peh!) Speak Mandarin campaign!
Must jiang hua yu, Hokkien way no can do.
Kena again: t’ak ch’e, belajar, benkyo, study, du shu.
At first we may swear at those campaign mandarins:
“Dammit, sial only, so suay one!”
But being kiasu, soon it’s Xian Sheng zao an!
- I really like reading local lit just because its very accessible and my students can probably relate better to it. (Of course you occasionally come across the ones filled with bombastic language being forced into an awkward metre - just ignore those.) It can spark conversations about why people write poetry (as a record of culture?) and why Singaporean poets are so defensive. I chose this one because its less easy to locate online and also because its a little more light-hearted, but I'm quite happy to exchange more interesting (not necessarily 'good') local poetry with you if you're interested! I also recommend Alfian Sa'at's 'The Merlion' (1998) and Lee Tzu Pheng's 'My Country, My People' (1980) as really important poems to consider. Lee's poem is, in my opinion, one of the canonical poems of Singaporean poetry! But I haven't posted it here because I have other poems I love too much to leave out.
I also recommend reading an anthology called Rhythms (2000) which has Singapore poems in all 4 languages. It may be helpful for the kids to read the poem in their own language! And there are always occasional gems along the way to make it worthwhile.
A Poem not too Obiang
Jason Leow (1993)
From fiddlesticks and By Jove
I pick my words to find
Alamak
stirring spicily on my tongue
like the first bite
of green chillies that sends
tentative excitement
popping out of their seeds
Why should I not drink
teh tarik and discuss
Lee Tzu Pheng
(without putting them in italics)
among friends who read but
Tread on the trappings of blind
Miltonic and Shakespearean worship?
Like the prata man's
flips and flaps of the dough
taking shape with each dose
of local flavour,
I look for my place
in a Singaporean life.
My place in the sun
is certainly not too LC
for some others' meringue pies
and afternoon tea.
- I really like this one, despite its occasional pretentiousness, because it at least makes an attempt to be proud of its local imagery and makes no apology for its opaqueness. Singaporean lit for Singaporean consumption!
From fiddlesticks and By Jove
I pick my words to find
Alamak
stirring spicily on my tongue
like the first bite
of green chillies that sends
tentative excitement
popping out of their seeds
Why should I not drink
teh tarik and discuss
Lee Tzu Pheng
(without putting them in italics)
among friends who read but
Tread on the trappings of blind
Miltonic and Shakespearean worship?
Like the prata man's
flips and flaps of the dough
taking shape with each dose
of local flavour,
I look for my place
in a Singaporean life.
My place in the sun
is certainly not too LC
for some others' meringue pies
and afternoon tea.
- I really like this one, despite its occasional pretentiousness, because it at least makes an attempt to be proud of its local imagery and makes no apology for its opaqueness. Singaporean lit for Singaporean consumption!
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