El Nido ( Poem II of Versos Del Nido)

And the wind 

                    in the woods, 

No burgeoning red 

of a late autumn.

but green like the fern, 

                   almost eternal.

The sun

                   showering sparks;

A white egret 

on a low-hanging sky.

 

In the embracing waves

of the sea, 

Blue El Nido,

A hundred boats adrift,

A hundred swarthy faces, 

A hundred commercial boards 

exotic

on a street speaking little English. 

A hundred coconut trees,

A hundred shapes of seashells,

A hundred still blooming flowers

quiet

on the sand soft as milk.

 

I’m one of many

                  unworthy tourists 

walking into a tropical 

bliss, 

           lotophagi, 

黃泉,

no time and space

saved

when a boy comes running, 

his voice 

               grey 

in a land of many colors;

his words, 

in Tagalog, 

               meaning home. 

 

*published on Anak Sastra, where you can read the full poem about El Nido

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

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.

A Notebook From 1967

Leather-bound messages,

              traveled from hands to hands 

and arrived here,

              in an antique store;

a display of a turbulent past,

unclear now

on yellow pages, where

a downpour of thoughts had fallen

and a roar of raging words—

                      silenced,

after almost fifty years, 

by a red price tag.