I’ve made these open edition prints from my poetry and street photography collection Dreaming Cities, using archival-quality paper and pigment ink and hand-signed on the back with acid-free ink. They’re in A4 size for fuss-free framing.
I’ve placed them in acid-free sleeves each with a printout of the accompanying poem.
Am selling them at various readings, along with my books. Happy to say they’re doing well. 🙂
how hong kong works
This photograph was taken on top of a double-decker bus along Nathan Road at Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong. I saw him and pulled out my camera. The grungy hairstyle coupled with the meditative pose inspired the poem.
how hong kong works
how hong kong works, no one knows,
though everyone says mm goi, mm goi,
thank you, small favour, another name
for waiter, excuse me, help.
it’s excessive when one says mm goi sai
at a pedestrian crossing – we simply turn and go.
how at the end of the day it’s the numbers
that meet, a shiny car going too fast,
the bottom line, a business suit,
a kind of bright easy love making
sense between tony leung and maggie cheung.
tony leung and maggie cheung,
we ready our mouths for the vowels,
those easy rhymes between money,
cha chaan teng, fame, a coach handbag,
happiness in a teacup.
hi in Cantonese is a vulgarity,
lei ho a politeness among colleagues,
ni hao these days is an estate agent greeting
a mainland buyer.
wai over the phone
pre-empts that unsolicited sales call.
(why, why do you call me.)
how hong kong works, no one knows,
though everyone says mm goi, mm goi,
thank you, small favour, another name
for waiter, excuse me, help.
it’s excessive when one says mm goi sai
at a pedestrian crossing – we simply turn and go.
how at the end of the day
we all wait to enter a building –
the locked door to the corner office opens
and we will hear well done, come in,
good good, thank you, hello, goodbye.
two cities in which i love you
This tree managed to be idiosyncratic, despite being planted in a regulated plot of land against the backdrop of a HDB flat in Singapore, signifying the theme of individuality vs social conformity.
two cities in which i love you
two cities in which i love you –
schoolboys in shorts run in summer
and we work through ringing phones,
alarm bells, discarded sweet wrappers
we are used to our feet aching
on pavements, pedestrian crossings,
tarmac with puddles and heat
we live like lampposts
sometimes our lives separate,
one calculates among tall towers
with office cleaners who do not speak,
in a cubicle of quiet desperation
the other dreams of a plumbing of language,
waking to a nightmare of commuters
swaying in an air-conditioned bus
we live like lampposts
two cities in which I love you –
rain lashes when it comes
and we ask why, why,
why are our feet cemented to the city
to shops selling smelly tofu, film camera stalls
at rude street markets, clean hawker centres,
refurbished hdb flats, promises of governments,
stately merlions, gungho star ferries
we are amputated trees
bathed in idiomatic sunlight
waiting for fresh water
to emerge from underground caverns
city
A homely scene – there’s harmony in the juxtaposition between the tree and laundry hanging from bamboo poles.
city
the city is in the ceiling
in my curtains
outside the kitchen window
at my door
in hard water i wash in
dust i taste
it is in my porridge
in cupcakes i hold
the city sleeps on my pillow
and i go to the couch
it sleeps on my couch
i lie on the floor
it sleeps on the floor
i look at the tv
it winks at me from my tv
i look at my feet
the city is in my son’s violin
in family photographs
in my wife
and my bicycle
on the pavement
in the playground
grass and trees i breathe
in the butterfly
in rain
soft as petals
in a flag
tough as nails
modern concrete
This is under a famous bridge (guess which one) in Singapore. The grey concrete structures are beautifully textured in the actual print. Yet they are confining. There’s light indicated by the flare on the right, indicate a possible escape route.
modern concrete
i try for colour
but the city’s concrete does not allow me
concrete is modern as airports
bridges pavements and the river still
a river and functional
the cars gleam silver like fishes
i try for colour
but the city’s concrete does not allow me
the new hermit
a snail of a shell is modern and not seen
like wi fi
he lives within a mountain
of pigeon flats
holes in an economy of a few million snails
by the bank of pale water
the cars gleam silver like fishes
i try for colour
but the city’s concrete does not allow me
so here’s the housing project in chunks
with mended words
the cars gleam silver like fishes
o every day is my national day
A pensive mood, amidst a recognizable Singaporean landscape.
o every day is my national day
o every day is my national day with the feel of pulleys,
my people neither here nor there and all that
looking neat, a man-made river, tuxedo and wine,
our children are fresh merlions in a service industry
paradise is my country:
trucks throbbing engines, the dance
of container ports, cranes, gears making sense
of crude oil, regional furniture of friction-free tonnage,
taking pride in making the most of workers
pumps making the most of themselves,
the feel of knowledge water economy is singapore river,
bumboats and tourists, cranes building up the skyline
holding us accountable for the worlds we live in
paradise is my country:
o surprising singapore, this lion of the sea,
this image of themselves, accounts receivable country,
we are no longer coolies, no longer a colony,
we are a country of obedient trees
Hong Kong Lucida 