untied
Borrowed a copy of Lee Tzu Pheng's Prospect of a Drowning from S, who's been writing a 10-part series on Singapore literature. I actually like it very much. She's not brilliantly obscure or intellectually difficult, like Ted Hughes or Tom Stoppard, I will feel no glare nor meet no Mr Evans' smile of sardonic contempt for my shallow understanding, but it has a quality I tend to like in poetry, which is that of precision. I understand what she's trying to say, what she's writing about, the sentiment she's trying to express, and I find that on the whole she expresses it neatly, and cleverly. And I like her sentiments and themes -- a lot to do with the passage of time and its works on a city, or a house, or a person or people, I think. And also about solitude, or her belated reactions to remembered things.
I like this one (not really in particular):
You're So Quiet:
you're so quiet
my resolution wavers,
lingering, afraid to
raise your gaze
from the silence.
sprawled in that chair
evening dropped you in
like a toy forgotten after play,
what are you thinking,
what seeing in the middle distance?
you seem to have found
the equilibrium point,
the fulcrum of life,
now night can return you
to this complete unresistance.
some there are
who whistle in solitude
when their own heartbeats
pursue them like footfalls,
and they are too lonely, alone.
but you are so still.
the silence contains itself
sufficient from all else,
that bent head, supine gesture
of permanence, defying.
dare I speak, or move this one shadow
and disturb the half-light?
dare I claim you back to life
with my human love?
you're so quiet
I am afraid
to tie you to time.
please look up,
when you're tired of eternity.
Incidentally I think the only time I can read poetry is really early in the morning or really late at night, when I have nothing else to do, am waiting for nothing to happen, am undistracted by activities other than sitting down. I just don't really seem to have the patience for it otherwise.
I like this one (not really in particular):
You're So Quiet:
you're so quiet
my resolution wavers,
lingering, afraid to
raise your gaze
from the silence.
sprawled in that chair
evening dropped you in
like a toy forgotten after play,
what are you thinking,
what seeing in the middle distance?
you seem to have found
the equilibrium point,
the fulcrum of life,
now night can return you
to this complete unresistance.
some there are
who whistle in solitude
when their own heartbeats
pursue them like footfalls,
and they are too lonely, alone.
but you are so still.
the silence contains itself
sufficient from all else,
that bent head, supine gesture
of permanence, defying.
dare I speak, or move this one shadow
and disturb the half-light?
dare I claim you back to life
with my human love?
you're so quiet
I am afraid
to tie you to time.
please look up,
when you're tired of eternity.
Incidentally I think the only time I can read poetry is really early in the morning or really late at night, when I have nothing else to do, am waiting for nothing to happen, am undistracted by activities other than sitting down. I just don't really seem to have the patience for it otherwise.