Contrast

We speak of memory
and photography. She is
calling me from a
laughter-deafened winebar. I
am sitting on the toilet.

11 June 2008

I managed to cut this down to a tanka, by saying that "memory" is two syllables. Pat and I had been texting back and forth about a new Chinese restaurant she'd just tried, and I was just stepping into the loo, when William came rushing up with my mobile, saying "Do you want to speak to my mum?" to the person at the other end. It became obvious after a while, that it was Pat, trying to engage him in some polite conversation, before speaking to me. I said I cldn't chat for long, as I was desperate for the loo, she said she didn't mind if I talked to her on the loo, as other friends did so all the time. She said she'd got bored texting, and wanted to talk to me. From the background noise, I guessed she was at Grape Street, and was bellowing at her to try to be heard over the ruckus, but she told me she cld hear me better if I spoke normally, which felt very strange. I have no idea how we got on to the esoteric subject of photography: we covered whether a good photographer can still take good photos with a bad camera (yes, certainly good compositions, but exposure and lighting might still be a problem...); how important post-production is; whether one shld actually take photos to capture memories at all (she mentioned a short story by Calvino (?) about taking photos on a beach, which she felt was relevant here); is sight the most important sense in memories (smell was important to both of us); the link between my poetry and photography (see my profile!), etc etc. I was, of course, struck by the ludicrous contrast between our respective locations (mine in particular!) and the elevated subject matter...

I don't really like the title, but that's the best I can come up with right now.

Picnic in Knole Park: the pictures 2...

The picnic from another angle. You can see the ham in this one! Unfortunately, this was the best that I cld do with my point-and-shoot camera, and the tablecloth and food are over-exposed in both the photos!

Picnic in Knole Park: the pictures...

Gilly and Lynny holding the Prosecco mentioned in the poem I posted on 6 June. I think you can see the asparagus, and the strawberries, but it doesn't look like the ham had been put out yet!

BTW, the labelled bottle in the middle is in fact, my home-made, elderflower cordial, mentioned in poems of 23 April and 1 June!

No More Heroes

A Spiderman soft
Toy lies discarded by a
Garden wall – useless.

8 June 2008

A few days ago, when I was walking to the shops, I saw a virtually life-sized doll or soft toy of Spiderman, lying in a tangled heap on the pavement. I found it unbearably sad. I wrote two slightly different versions, as I wasn't sure if the one below made it clear enough it is a toy, but at the same time, it feels more poignant?

Spiderman’s soft and
Twisted limbs, lie discarded
By a garden wall.

Found in Translation

The Chinese poets recite in Mandarin,
Before their words are translated into English.
Through the forty-year fog
Hazing my bilingual childhood,
I clearly glimpse
“Grandma”, “I like”, “500”, “the sun and moon”, “now”, “children”.
The rising-falling voices
Peel away the layers of growing up
To uncover the little girl
Who did not dream in her mother tongue.

7 June 2008

I won free tickets via The Poetry Society to a reading at the South Bank Centre of Chinese poetry in translation. It did not say in the publicity, whether the poems wld be read in Chinese first, and the man at the desk had no idea either. I was really pleased that they were, because how a poem sounds is also very important to me. I was struck by the fact that I was actually much more affected by the poems in Mandarin, even though I cld only understand the odd word here and there, than the English translations. I get the same feeling when I watch Chinese films with subtitles. It's something about the combination of familiarity and distance, I think... I don't really expect this poem to mean anything to most people (a bit like the Knole Park one I've also just posted), but it was an important moment for me... I was very unsure about a lot of the word choices, my first draft was:

The Chinese poets read in Mandarin,
Before their words are translated into English.
Through the forty-year fog
Clouding/hiding/hazing/veiling/wrapping my bilingual childhood,
I clearly glimpse
“Grandma”, “I like”, “500”, “the sun and moon”, “now”, “children”.
The rising-falling voices
Peel back/away the layers/skin of adulthood/growing up
To reveal/uncover the/a little girl
Who did not dream in her mother tongue.

So any comments wld be welcome!

Picnic in Knole Park

The white damask was spread over the tree-stump;
The orange and gold china plates contrasted with the asparagus;
The home-cooked, clove-spiked ham was finely sliced.
We toasted two birthdays
With Prosecco,
Then it rained.

We scooped up the food,
And swooped beneath
The most densely canopied linden tree.
Wrapped for warmth
In checked table-cloths,
We fed strawberries to the deer.

6 June 2008

Four of us: Lynny, Pat, Clare and myself, (who had all been to boarding school together in Sevenoaks, where Knole Park is situated), plus Lynny's partner, Gilly, celebrated Gilly's 44th, and Lynny's 50th birthdays, by having a picnic in the park. Clare had organised the whole thing, and drove us all there. We all had to provide different parts of the meal, and Clare had also brought along all the plates etc. I'd had no idea it was going to be so posh! It was already looking a bit threatening weather-wise, when we arrived, and we had barely laid everything out, before the first drops of rain fell. Luckily, we were able to find shelter under some nearby trees, as it quickly became torrential, and continued to pour for the rest of the picnic. We did of course, get soaked taking everything back to the car, but we all agreed that it was a much more memorable occasion than if it had just been a lovely, sunny day... This isn't really a poem of relevance to anyone who wasn't there, but I'm putting it up anyway!

Prey

Behind my sunglass
Mirrors, I watch the wolf men
Watch me as I pass.

5 June 2008

Maybe it's because I'm wearing summer dresses or something, but I've suddenly become aware that I'm being "ogled" rather a lot. The title has a double meaning, I suppose, as I am also catching them at it!