macau poetics

19/02/2016

macau poetics

 

___________


at a portuguese restaurant in macau

19/02/2016

at a portuguese restaurant in macau
papa osmubal

________


first dusting

17/11/2015
remnants of Eden©papa osmubal

yonder©papa osmubal

first dusting
kit kelen

you see it when the mist steps back
sea and beyond, on the mountains
light dusting a world past glass

when snow does the peaks
you feel the sky’s touch
see the separation of powers

close to the snow the rain’s arrival
slanted pale against
leaves remaining

it’s on a day of not going out
steady precipitation day – nothing to mitten grip
the poem comes direct from the keys

the sun comes into it
now and then
nothing to depend on

rain sets the pace
but upstairs there’s another idea
you can see a light dusting

these words the screen collects
might not mean much
they’re just what’s happening

here today
they collect on the screen
as light dusting

_________


postscript to the norway drafts

17/11/2015
after the rain©papa osmubal

after the rain©papa osmubal

postscript to the norway drafts
(from the tiny cypriot village of mesana)
kit kelen

leaving

winter is a comin’ in
water sits
rock drips
thunder sky and blow

pack up ports
think tropic thoughts
head for
latitudes below

___________


17/11/2015
a bum’s demise*
slumber©papa osmubal

slumber©papa osmubal

a bum’s demise*
papa osmubal

He is dead: his liver turned
Hard and bone-dry like a stone.

He left in mysterious and unexpected
fashion, leaving us all asking

And wondering as though his demise
was a riddle that needed answering.

The night before we were all late
for the usual overnight binge.

After weeks in a public infirmary, he showed up
much earlier than us all, reading Verlaine, reading

Poetry in his favourite corner, silently filling
his lungs with Havana cigar smoke.

This man, one can say, did not know how
to live, but he sure was darn good at dying.

“Don’t give me girls tonight,” he blurted.
“I don’t want to be a father again!”

He poured his glass with a generous whiskey,
slammed a box of cigar on the table.

“Man lives once, and dies once,” he said,
guffawing like he was mocking us all.

As usual it was almost sunup when the gang
felt they had had more than enough.

He did not go the usual way, he went
towards where the sun was rising.

_________
* This poem first appeared in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal in February 2010.

_________


about dreams

26/03/2012
about dreams©papa osmubal

about dreams©papa osmubal

 

about dreams
fong keng seng

i
night is a unicorn of Mesopotamia
every night swallows a beautiful dream

ii
close the eye of the sun
night opens its lips
kisses my thoughts
I get pregnant
Giving birth to a dream

iii
starless night
I lie in the arms of night
a dream lies in my arms
the dream I hold takes up a string of memory
that I held in the arms of night picks up the
line of a poem

because of dreaming
there is night

I am a point outside your circle
never can I go your way
that’s why you are forever perfect
perfect as
the first dew
hatched of dawn

the dream I hold takes up a string of memory
that I held in the arms of night picks up the
line of a poem


trans. Athena Kong and Christopher ‘Kit’ Kelen


i have something to say

26/03/2012
who?©papa osmubal

who?©papa osmubal

i have something to say
che sio peng

the first worship

comes from the infinite conversation to dawn
previous lives are a well of dead water
smoke of spirit
floats over the chaos

words are too hastily written
they can be song
but not poem
so
stars in chaos
their thin silver basin
look at each other, a habit
waiting for a great work
to hasten, to finish
for ages to come

time has aged
we surely are
A B C D
on stage for a moment
night off
dawn allows
the crows to continue the song
time has aged
we surely are
A B C D
On stage for a moment
night off
dawn allows
the crows to continue the song


trans. Athena Kong Sut Ieng and Christopher Kelen

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