A Shanghai Poetry Zine-Issue Eight

IMG_3147Hi All

The eighth printed issue of A Shanghai Poetry Zine will be launch this Saturday, 15th December 2018 at Cafe Sambal.

Two of my poems are included in this issue, themed Legacy.

One original poem, The Bridge,

One translation, Whispers Of Nanny

If you are in Shanghai, come and listen to me reading my poems.

Time:19:30pm, 15th, December 2018

Place: Cafe Sambal, Block A, No.37, 259 Jiashan road.

Cheers.

A.H

Tonight

It must have been too much alcohol,

even your look becomes suddenly 

                                            so tender

and full of the promise 

                             of a summer’s night.

I’m longing to have you, 

                                   here and now

before the harsh daylight steals you away

and I might never see you again.

                                  Anyway that’s the game,

a sweet but ruthless encounter 

 

                                   with no tomorrow

for queers like us in this all-embracing land.

But I like you tonight – 

that’s why this empty bar

does call for something more intimate 

                                     between us.

your face— 

your half-open shirt—

Your creamy chest— 

O the rushing sound 

                           deep inside my veins!

It’s been too good a night to let you flee,

                           just stay a while longer—

If you desire admiration,

                           or compliments 

from all men before and after me,

I have nothing better now

                          than my loneliness 

in a promiscuous life,

and tonight,

                            I’ve given it to you.

 

Published on The New English Review

Whispers Of Nanny, A Translation by A.H

呢喃曲

written by Clock Li

吟吟碎,纤云醉,

南国秋夜迷人睡。

哝哝诲,岚风退,

一年一期,几世前生;

还罪。

呤呤念,水帘倩;

夏雨风卷离人涟。

咿咿羡,檐瓦见,

一世蝉鸣,一日觅欢;

生怨。

Whispers Of Nanny

Translated by Aiden Heung

Your whispers 

                      broken;

Drunk

                     the tender cloud above;

This southern land,

                      This autumn,  for us, 

inebriating, 

                       soporific.

Now the mountain haze retreats

                       and abate 

your whispers. 

Our rendezvous

                                once in a lifetime,

exhaustion of all felicity 

                              of my previous lives.

Or my remission.

 

Broken whispers,

                          from the curtain 

of falling water;

Comes the summer rain, 

                               or the wind

 that ripples the lake— 

Your departing face 

                          and lost!

Under the eaves, 

                         a cicada moans 

a lifelong time

and yearns 

                        for the pleasure of a day.

 

The sorrow of life…
* As required by A Shanghai Poetry Zine to translate one of their received Chinese poems,  written by a local Shanghainese poet Clock Li.

*I do not have the right to the Chinese poem, should any objection arise for publishing in my personal blog, I would delete it accordingly.

*I reserve my right to the translation.

National Business

The architect draws from his file 

a map, on which 

a tiny spot is red-circled.

Here, he says,

six billion investment;

His eyes glisten like coins

and his black tie dangles like a sword 

above the blueprint of a tower,

cadaverous, awe-provoking, 

the color of champagne gold.

 

I know the block of the street, where 

rosy clouds flew over

houses with mortared walls, 

though moss-eaten, 

home to eaves-seeking swifts,

rattled now, 

by excavator tires.