Hot from the Press
Here it is! I feel I should be giving out cigars/red eggs for the occasion.
Poetry Meme Day #3
Today I'm thinking about the people crossing the Mediterranean and the Bay of Bengal in battered, nothing boats. It reminds me of the fact that three of my grandparents spent weeks at sea before finally arriving on the shores of Singapore.
Today I'm thinking about the people crossing the Mediterranean and the Bay of Bengal in battered, nothing boats. It reminds me of the fact that three of my grandparents spent weeks at sea before finally arriving on the shores of Singapore. My family is not unique; so many have done this, packed their lives into little leather and cloth bundles and waited and waited and hoped. "After Swim" can be found in my forthcoming collection, AND OTHER RIVERS (Math Paper Press).
AFTER SWIM
We swam,
growing webbed feet and gills
as we crossed the sea.
All of us
who docked to taste the chill up north
or took our first sea-legged steps
swaying with the coconut trees.
All of us from different boats
now point and say, You.
You are made from lesser stock.
You with darker skin, poorer eyes.
That one tooth of mine
sharper than yours.
Poetry Meme Day #2
I sometimes work by drawing inspiration from museum exhibits, paintings and sculptures and photos, so it seemed a great idea when Ioanna Mavrou and Thodoris Tzalavras suggested I write poems for Thodoris’ new book. "How It Goes" was written in response to his photo here.
from Spirits of the River
HOW IT GOES
catch the light
tipping through the leaves
and you’ll see a quivering.
the trees leaning in,
the air quickened and holding its breath,
a sweep of white
winging over brackish pools.
Catch the light, walk into it.
The way a swimmer makes for water,
the way water takes light.
Poetry Meme Day #1
I was tagged in a 5-poems-over-5-days meme on Facebook, so I thought I would reproduce the posts here, complete with the intended line indents and breaks.
On Day #1, I pick “Huang He” from my [forthcoming] collection, AND OTHER RIVERS. Because it's one of the first poems (definitely first five, appropriate in this 5 day challenge) I wrote. I like it for how raw it sounds in my ear.
HUANG HE
We learned about the river today.
Huang He, how it carves a long, fluid line
through the earth.
While I waited,
I practised telling you
how the river flowed past its banks
sometimes. Too many times.
How they lined it with stone
after too many got lost. Led away
by the river’s cold hands.
I would tell you how the water
whipped through man-made forts.
How villagers fed it incense, live cattle,
their daughters.
One each year.
Sent out in a raft of silk.
Gold-chained.
Red-veiled. Dowry slippers
at their feet. I wanted to ask,
Would you?
So while you bathed,
I waited
for you to step out
smelling of something sweet,
a flower I didn’t know the name of.
I sat, listening to the tap run.
The steady tick of
water
drumming the floor.
Sylvia Plath's marginalia in The Great Gatsby
"'All right,' I said, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool--that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool."
[via lost.net.au]
Ya’aburnee
يقبرني
[Ya-ah-boor-nay]
Translated directly from the Arabic, “You bury me,” a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person because of how difficult it would be to live without them.
Bits & Pieces from Singapore
Bits and pieces from Singapore
Laksa with everything/coconut-filled tutu kueh/homemade five-course dinner/found photo/lunch on a hill/a reading/gifts of food are the very best gifts/pancake brunch with somebody who couldn't wait/loot from BooksActually/Did You Leave Something Behind?
from A Tale for the Time Being
“For the time being
Words scatter
Are they fallen leaves?”
From "A Tale for the Time Being" by Ruth Ozeki
I'm still a little heartbroken that they didn't go for the first cover that designer Jim Tierney came up with. Red, clothbound, startling:
Read more about his design process here.
[Link via Ioanna Mavrou of travelsanddaysdreams.com]
from The Goldfinch
“— if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don’t think, ‘oh, I love this picture because it’s universal.’ ‘I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.’ That’s not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It’s a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you.” Fingertip gliding over the faded-out photo – the conservator’s touch, a touch-without-touching, a communion wafer’s space between the surface and his forefinger. “An individual heart-shock.”
-From "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tart
"A secret whisper from an alleyway." "Heart-shock" Applies to reading a really good book as well, no?
And Other Rivers
And Other Rivers, Flight, cover
A taste...
Flight
There are many ways to tame a bird
without first killing it.
Wing clipping, an old favourite. Leather ropes, coiled
around the reptilian ankle. Then there are leg-irons
the size of women’s rings Or, to go back to basics, twine.
The type they take birds to market with at the back of a scooter.
Strung feet up, eyes wide, wing bones sinking to the earth.
And from elsewhere, Samsui and After Word.
This is happening
On June 7, I'll be reading at VERSO's final event of the season with the beautiful folks from Versal. Details here!
Coming and Going
I started to miss Singapore even while I was there. I know I should live more in the present but I missed the trees, the various bird calls (the rambunctious sparrows, the mynahs, the odd rooster in a neighbour's backyard), the heat, the food.
It must be the time away. Being away for seven years brings everything into focus. Thorn-sharp.
The bad (crowds, the afternoon heat, the crowds) becomes unbearable.
The good (hawker food, Malay makciks, Tiong Bahru) sublime.