（黃懷琰）
2009/1/30
零九‧二月詩會‧一起和廖偉棠說詩
時間 Time：2009/2/22 (Sun) 5:00pm-6:00pm
地點 Venue：油麻地 Kubrick
主持 Moderators：Florence Ng、Polly Ho、Wong Wai Yim
詩人來賓 Guest Poet： 廖偉棠
廖偉棠給人的印象是同時俱備創造力和組織力的作家，是詩人，又是攝影師和雜誌編輯，文學獎項多不勝數，遍及香港､台灣和馬來西亞。 曾出版詩集《永夜》﹑《隨著魚們下沉》﹑《花園的角落，或角落的花園》、《手風琴裏的浪遊》、《波希米亞行路謠》、《苦天使》、《少年游》、《黑雨將至》，最新詩集《和幽靈一起的香港漫遊》在2009年1月出版。
《和幽靈一起的香港漫遊》是廖偉棠最新的一本在香港出版的詩集，也是他第一本完全以香港為書寫對象的詩集。第一輯「幽靈的地志學」中，詩人和香港近現代歷史上一些著名或無名的幽靈一起，遊走在香港的大街小巷中，或感懷舊事、或憤慨當下、或喃喃虛構那些逼真的未來。第二輯「不失者的街道圖」，全部立足香港現實的人和事，文字或慰籍或勉勵，甚至是戰鬥的檄文，支持著「另一個香港」的掙扎者的存在。第三輯「未隱士的島嶼記」則漂離於香港的「離島」上，找尋生活的另類可能。
為什麼廖偉棠有如此豐富的創造力？為什麼他能把生活所感､音樂､社會問題通通都寫進詩句中？他是否在挑戰詩的包容性？二月詩會我們一起和廖偉棠說詩。
Michael Holland's collection of poems
Thread Golden
In the fabric of the night
A golden thread grew fearsome bright
A blazing thread whose needle true
Touched my heart by passing through,
An unseen hand allows it flight
To pass again into the night
I cannot see, I do not know
Where the hand and she will go
Passport
I look but do not see
The little book
That is me,
I look but do not find
The list that I have lost
And I am here alone
For those I love have gone
Alone I count the cost
護照 (Chinese translation by Polly Ho)
我望但沒看
那本小書
那是我，
我望但找不到
我遺失的那張名單
我獨個兒在這裡
因為我所愛的都已離去
我獨個兒計算那代價
Yang and Yin
In our home there’s too much Yang
Which springs up from its morning bed
And in out home there’s too much Yin
Not that you would ever know
陽和陰
在我們家中有太多的陽
由早晨的床躍起
以及在我們家中有太多的陰
你永不會知道
Elements
What is it with a woman
When her body turns to flame,
And how to catch that fire
In the coolness of a name?
Ah, to be Zheng, words like water!
Lips, liquescent, laughter
And those shimmering wings
‘Folded in a loose shirt’.
My black-eared kite
Cannot fall from grace
For she doesn’t know her airy loft
Or her point in space.
Perhaps I am content
To fall upon design:
We both make what we can and will
While we have the time
**The quoted line is from the poem “Wings of Summer” by Zheng Danyi
Left to Write
The night is but a tympanum
My toes are mallets and
I might as well be Sousa
When he’s striking up the band
I had wanted pen and paper
For that quick trip in the night
To find some light to think by
And a nook in which to write
But my timid tipping toe
Just met that wooden tile
Whose fragile back chose to crack
And echo for a mile
And the glass my fingers tickled
On that table in the gloom
Has met its fate and shall await
Its meeting with the broom
And my wife pretends she is asleep
And I pretend it too
For to wake her in this manner
Is a terrible thing to do
So finally with pen in hand
And sanctuary and light
Comes the moment I discover
I have nothing left to write
Archangel
The lady in the lift,
When I gingerly inquired,
Said she hadn’t been herself for days
And that she has been tired
The taxi driver, too,
With his pedal to the floor,
Had drifted off in Cantonese
Then began to snore
And the people of the city
Were caught or so it seems
In the fullness of their coffee
And the steam of morning dreams
But the lady in the corner shop
Began to speak to me
Of Han and Qin and early Wei
Of Zhou and Shang and Qi
And in the canter of her voice
A Tang horse made of clay
Hung in dust of Tang kilns fired
In breath of yesterday
Now we keep a darkware vase,
A Ming whose mirror glaze
Reflects on what we are today
And were in ancient days
And when I say we ‘keep’ it
Really it keeps us
As stewards of moments
From which we quickly pass
A Good Time Had by All
Last night I got quite blithered,
Though I think I can’t be sure,
But the words I spouted roughly
Loosely splashed about the floor
And at 2 o’clock I think it was
I spat them out again
As I rattled packet reason
In the railing of the wind
Then all the words I’d ever known
Marched steadfast out the door
To disown their spattered utterer
And leave him feeling sore
And the thoughts that did attend them
With their noses in the air
Left the scene quite smartly
Leaving all the stools quite spare
And the fool who’s spoken most
And almost kissed the very floor
Was the fool whose very drinking
Left his head so bloody sore
And the fool that uttered words
That he has uttered all the time
Was the one who drained the dregs
From the glass that I call mine.
Rhyme Comes Before Words
(Polly Ho)
Despite the fact that it is the eve of Chinese New Year, almost the same number of regular audience came to the Kubrick Poetry. My worry soothed away when I saw the old and new faces.
Our guest poet, Michael Holland, came from Australia and has been living in Hong Kong for 10 years with his family. Metaflora is his first published collection of poems. He also authored other books, such as the Art of English, Craft of English, etc. He is the editor of the Heinemann Australian dictionary. Metaflora is a written over the eight years he lived in Hong Kong and the theme centre memory, identity and language.
Before the Kubrick poetry event, Michael wrote in response to Victor’s comment on the website that he writes his poems in iambic form. “Iambic poems often have variations in which the trochee and other stress patterns occur.The poems are different: you can see iambic feet used in the poem ‘Inside’.” I asked Michael to explain how he applies the iambic form in his poem writing to the audience. He then read the poem “Recession” and explained that “Recession” uses trochees to begin the most lines. The initial stress is to excite and surprise the readers.
/Mo-ments scud in the blueness
/None can be creased or folded away
For /thought-ful use another day
...
/Speckled pearl and cinnamon
/Caught as the sun catches things
...
“Rhyme comes before words.” Michael further said. He does not intend to make his poem rhythm, instead the music of the words comes to his mind before any word is written down. Victor amazingly exclaimed that Michael’s idea of rhyme is in accord with TS Eliot’s theory.
The poem “Thread Golden” is written for his dear daughter Amelia and Amelia read the poem herself in the presence of all the audience with her pure voice.
Thread Golden
In the fabric of the night
A golden thread grew fearsome bright
A blazing thread whose needle true
Touched my heart by passing through,
An unseen hand allows it flight
To pass again into the night
I cannot see, I do not know
Where the hand and she will go
Madeleine read the Cento that she did for Michael’s book launch in December in Fringe Club. She picked the favourite line of every poem in his book. There are altogether 26 poems, thus, 26 lines. Needless to rearrange the order, the lines already make another meaningful poem.
I translated two short poems into Chinese for our Chinese readers. This is my first attempt to do poetry translation. I must thank the literary translator Mr Huang Canran for correcting my mistake.
Passport
I look but do not see
The little book
That is me,
I look but do not find
The list that I have lost
And I am here alone
For those I love have gone
Alone I count the cost
護照
我望但沒看
那本小書
那是我，
我望但找不到
我遺失的那張名單
我獨個兒在這裡
因為我所愛的都已離去
我獨個兒計算那代價
Yang and Yin
In our home there’s too much Yang
Which springs up from its morning bed
And in out home there’s too much Yin
Not that you would ever know
陽和陰
在我們家中有太多的陽
由早晨的床躍起
以及在我們家中有太多的陰
你永不會知道
Michael’s poetry gathered us together on the eve of the Chinese New Year before we went home for the traditional dinner that every Chinese valued. Warmth filled the air and rhythm vibrated in the heart of the audience when the Kubrick poetry ended.
(photos by Paul Wan)
2009/1/15
從2008攀上2009
(Florence Ng)
我們向上走往
倒數的區域
我們看著箭頭的方向
在拐角處審視推敲
我們觀察人羣的取向
結果只是為了能夠往上走
我們終於到達了
卻只是見到由金色紙條
粗糙地拼湊的四個數字
啊，純粹的數字──
既不挑釁
也不賜予
------
人群都高舉照相機
我也舉起照相機
人群都向上望
我也向上望
隔一會兒，人群會在喉頭蘊發一陣騷動
而我，我也跟著
我們都高度興奮
如同疤痕歌頌斷肢
影取悅風
09年1月7日
我們向上走往
倒數的區域
我們看著箭頭的方向
在拐角處審視推敲
我們觀察人羣的取向
結果只是為了能夠往上走
我們終於到達了
卻只是見到由金色紙條
粗糙地拼湊的四個數字
啊，純粹的數字──
既不挑釁
也不賜予
------
人群都高舉照相機
我也舉起照相機
人群都向上望
我也向上望
隔一會兒，人群會在喉頭蘊發一陣騷動
而我，我也跟著
我們都高度興奮
如同疤痕歌頌斷肢
影取悅風
09年1月7日
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