amblings

odd stone out
after reading Leung Ping-Kwan’s amblings

1

a thousand years and this
mirror pond takes emptiness
in, empty mountain no one
there in an ocean of dry
where anyone
can see all
save one
anywhere

garden changes
every time a leaf falls
every time light falls there

still
waterflow
comforts all
who do not know

human voices echo
sorrow passing
passing joy

2

uncontained, this world city is
a museum all surface, no
symbol

3

no speech is
ordinary

4

everything is
different

5

trying to be
strong as a rock
the odd stone out

6

then she
would write

the things
that have fallen

it’s the rain

7

people come to the walls
stop. the sound of water flowing

8

it’s with our walls we get past the wall

9

strangers in this museum,
never stray from ordinary things

no speech is
ordinary

we both look for clear lines

10

and there you are, missing
the children in that
house of clear
lines

I passed
this morning
walking — still

no idea how
to spend a fickle winter.

we can only die to be alive

reviewed by Steven Schroeder, Chicago

Leung Ping-Kwan. Amblings. Translated by Kit Kelen, Song Zijiang, Debby Sou Vai Keng, and Iris Fan Xing. Association of Stories in Macao, 2010. ISBN 978-99965-42-20-6.

boki

from the dying room
reading Nitoo Das
Kit Kelen

there is the smell
of strangers on trains
ghosts they might be
ghosts they’ll become

not even child ghosts
can be bought with lollies
but
a bribe of stories
tinselled in rhyme?

today a viola, tomorrow a cello –
who can measure the green of breeze?

a huddle in rag puddles
Houdini hands and handcuffs and
run out of resurrections

good god lie down
and rust with your feathers

have that much decency
once in this while

*

in the cow-dung steeping
light of dawn

Buddha waking
the steamy forest of dreams

innocent eyes –
all that wishing yet to scale off –

party
and then annihilation

*

in the dying room
midnight bursts
like the ochre ripening of breasts

this body I will become

like that perfect lover
in silence abiding
beyond words
or colours

worm to worm
a tête-à-tête

trees just as wise
as each other

*

the ripeness of sight
and the smell of your distance

some bower bird
makes the poem like this
out of anyone’s lines
and everyone’s lines
and just as long
as they’re blue

Kit Kelen, Macao

Nitoo Das. Boki. Virtual Artists Collective, 2008. ISBN 978-0-9798825-4-8.