Lotus Leaves, by Leung Ping Kwan (contents and part 1)

CONTENTS

v | Series Editor’s Preface xi | Acknowledgements xix | Introduction

I Lotus Leaves | 蓮葉 5 | Leaf Connection | 連葉 7 | Leaves of Love | 戀葉 9 | Leaf Crown | 冕葉 11 | Leaf Letter from West Lake | 箋葉 13 | Leaf Margin | 邊葉 14 | Leaf Compassion | 憐葉 15 | Leaf Distinctions | 辨葉 16 | Leaf Remembrance | 緬葉 18 | Leaf Alchemy | 煉葉 20 | Leaf Stain | 染葉 22 | Leaf Passage | 渡葉 24 | Leaf Ripples | 漣葉 26 | Leaf Neighbour: Macao | 鄰葉 28 | Tranquil Leaves: Lotus Convent at Diamond Hill | 淨葉 30 | Leaves Gazing | 望葉 32 | New Year Leaves: A Recent New Year Painting by Donna Lok | 年葉

II Hong Kong | 香港 38 | An Old Colonial Building | 老殖民地建築 41 | Images of Hong Kong | 形象香港 43 | Postcards of Old Hong Kong | 香港歷史明信片 45 | Thunder and Cicada Song — Cheung Chau Island | 雷聲與蟬鳴 48 | Midday, Quarry Bay | 中午在鰂魚涌 51 | North Point Car Ferry | 北角汽車渡海碼頭 53 | Clogs in Ladder Street | 樓梯街 55 | Cloth Alley | 花布街 57 | Ap-liu Street | 鴨寮街 60 | Central | 中環 61 | Wanchai | 灣仔 62 | Hong Kong 1925: A Poem by Cecil Clementi,

Governor of Hong Kong 64 | P K. Leung: In Response to Cecil Clementi, 1997 | 悼逝去的 —和金文泰香港詩 66 | At the Grave of Cai Yuanpei in Aberdeen Cemetery, Hong Kong | 蔡孑民先生墓前

III Macao | 澳門 75 | Cityscape | 城市風景 76 | A Night at the Bela Vista | 風景酒店的一夜 79 | Wu Li Paints a Picture by the Bay | 吳歷在灣畔作畫 81 | A Tapestry Wall-hanging Presented by the King of Portugal

to the Emperor of China | 葡萄牙皇帝送給中國皇帝的一幅掛毯 85 | George Chinnery Painting a Fisherwoman of Macao | 錢納利繪畫濠江漁女

87 | The Ruins of São Paulo | 大三巴牌坊 89 | Calçada de Santo Agostinho | 巴掌圍斜巷 90 | A Rosary of Tears: The Poet Camilo Pessanha Curled Up on a Bed

in Macao, Asleep | 詩人庇山耶蜷睡在一張澳門的床上

IV Foodscape | 食事風景 97 | Eggplant | 茄子 99 | Salad Greens | 青菜沙律 102 | Basin Feast (Hong Kong Pun Choi) | 盆菜 104 | Two Pears | 雙梨 106 | Secret Family Recipes from Macao | 家傳食譜秘方 109 | A Treatise on Pork | 豬肉的論述 111 | Tea-coffee | 鴛鴦 112 | Tea | 茶 113 | Wine Tasting — Dégustation | 試酒 115 | A Taste of Asia | 亞洲的滋味 116 | Sushi for Two | 二人壽司 118 | Onion | 洋蔥 119 | Yellow Chilli | 黃色的辣椒 121 | Picking Plums | 執個橙 123 | Dried Pak Choi | 菜乾

V After the Book of Songs | 詩經練習 128 | Marsh Mulberry | 隰桑 129 | Sun in the East | 東方之日 130 | Picking Cress | 採綠

VI Places and Friends | 問候 138 | House in the Valley | 山谷裡的房子 140 | Thinking of John at Year’s End | 歲暮懷閔福德 142 | Border: Limes | 邊界 144 | A Communication on the Subject of Translation | 有關翻譯的通信 146 | Haunted House in Berlin | 柏林的鬼屋 148 | Europe after the Rain | 雨後的歐洲

VII Strange Tales: After Pu Songling | 誌異 154 | The Painted Skin | 畫皮 156 | The Painted Wall | 畫壁 158 | The Green Hornet | 綠蜂

VIII Clothink | 衣思 165 | Alice Falling Down | 掉下去的愛麗絲 167 | Birth of the New Aesthetic: A Variation on Alice | 新美學的誕生——愛麗絲的變奏 169 | The Goddess of Fashion | 潮流女神 171 | Monster City | 妖獸都市 173 | Irma Vep 176 | Barbie Doll | 芭比娃娃

IX Museum Pieces | 博物館 184 | Cauldron | 周鼎 187 | Pottery Figures | 陶俑 190 | Bronze Mirror | 銅鏡 195 | Terracotta Warriors on the Rhine | 萊茵河畔的兵馬俑

X Bitter-Melon and Other Poems | 苦瓜 204 | Bitter-Melon | 給苦瓜的頌詩 206 | Travelling with a Bitter-Melon | 帶一枚苦瓜旅行 209 | Boat Cabin in Winter | 冬日船艙 211 | Potted Plants | 盆栽 215 | Snow in the Botanical Garden of a Myriad Leaves | 萬葉植物園遇雪 216 | Early Spring I: Side Street | 初春二題 之一 218 | Early Spring II: Bird-watching in the Botanical Gardens | 初春二題 之二 219 | On the Road to Leshan Mountain | 往樂山的路 221 | Wine Valley | 釀酒的山谷 223 | The Moon of La Jolla | 樂海崖的月亮 230 | Ode to the Taoist of Del Mar | 大馬鎮的頌詩 235 | Opening Sea Urchins | 剝海膽 237 | Seaweed | 浮藻 240 | Halfway | 半途 242 | The Night Revels of Han Xizai | 韓熙載夜宴圖 247 | Could I Be a Cultivated Man of Letters of the Ming Dynasty? | 我可是個明代的文人雅士？

I

Lotus Leaves

I LOTUS LEAVES

Of all the flowers and shrubs on land and water, many are worthy of love and admiration. The poet Tao Yuanming of the Jin Dynasty was especially fond of the chrysanthemum. Ever since the Tang Dynasty, the Chinese have loved the peony. As for me, I am especially fond of the lotus, which rises from the mud unsullied, washed in clear water but never vain, hollow within and straight without, neither clambering nor branching. Its fragrance spreads far and strong, yet it stands still and firm. It may be admired from afar, but one can never get close to it or taint it. I consider the chrysanthemum the recluse among flowers, and the peony the flower of prosperity and fortune; but the lotus is the true gentleman. Alas! The chrysanthemum has been out of fashion since the days of Tao Yuanming. As for lotus-lovers, besides me how many are there? But everyone loves peonies!

—On the Love of the Lotus, Zhou Dunyi (1017–1073) These poems of mine are variations on a classical theme, playing loosely on the traditional and popular motif of the lotus. But of course they do actually ask a lot of questions. The movement of thoughts, the process of transformation, and the possibilities of figures, are important to me. I wanted to explore various traditional values in contemporary contexts . . . I returned to Hong Kong in 1983, and during the summer I went with artist Leung Kui Ting

to the Green Pine Taoist Temple to look at lotus flowers. I found the dusty lotuses at the edge of the city so very different from the lotuses in classical Chinese poetry and painting despite certain similarities . . . At that time I was experiencing some upheavals in my own life. This was not just because I had returned to the East from the West; I seemed to have entered another stage of being. I tried to look for another form to settle in amidst all the turmoil . . . a new form to orchestrate my thoughts on art, on culture and history, my emotions.

—PK This series was written between 1983, before the Sino-British Joint Declaration, and 1999–2000, after the Macao Handover.

They are about voices on the margins, prejudices between cultures, struggles of the colonized language, communications and doubts in human relationships, and a simple father’s fatigue. But mostly, they are about a protest against authority.

—Leung Ping-kwan(1949–2013): A Retrospective, 2014

Seven of these poems appeared in 2018 as a separate bilingual booklet, the first occasional publication of the Wairarapa Academy, accompanied by the superb black-and-white lotus images of New York photographer Lois Conner. As a sequence they are dense and intense, often puzzling, always demanding for reader and translator alike. If the poems in the later section of this anthology entitled ‘Clothink’ present the poet at his most light-hearted and playful, here he is at his most riddling and serious.

Lotus Leaves: Selected Poems of Leung Ping-kwan

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Leaf Connection

By chance we come to this lotus-field

Walking an old wooden plank into the thick of leaves; Silence rubbing silence utters sound.

This is a wonder, green

Answering green, an encounter in this morning of a world.

There the wind blows open closed faces, Here it stirs my cusped leaf-edge.

We make contact,

Begin clumsy explanations;

The leaf-veins which language illuminates Are the only world we have.

The fresh dews of morning which gradually become round Cause me to grow still, my silence

Touching another leaf, each bearing alike The weight of an insect at rest.

In a chance encounter in this world, side by side, With no intentional prosody,

We utter the same sounds, then drift apart

Rather than explore each other in the wind.

We raise our heads naturally,

Meaning rises slowly to the surface.

The frosted snow on all the leaves still weighs upon me; Growing from the same shallow water.

We strive to stand erect on hollow green stems, Reaching toward a truer space.

I know we can never depart from the language of this world,

I. Lotus Leaves

5

But neither need we conform to it.

When we are silent, there will still be noise; Each of us abiding the seasons’ dust,

We listen attentively, and as we unfurl

We sense the colours of distant waters.

Summer 1983

Lotus Leaves: Selected Poems of Leung Ping-kwan

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Leaves of Love

At this limpid pool in early morning

As she bows her head to quench the desire of her thirst, Another desire is born in her heart,

Like the swaying of seaweed, like a fish opening and closing its gills.

This is not a shoulder partially glimpsed amid trees, Not a fragmented view of eyes, but A complete human form,

The image she likes to see,

The image she sees seeing her.

Between us, she says, lies only a thin film of water.

Her eyes glisten with a strange lustre, her face Flushes, her voice grows more tender.

As though drunk with wine, she makes strange movements.

For reasons unknown, she turns her body, raises her hand, Strokes her willowy hair, sways her head

Like a falling leaf; or weaving her waist gracefully, stretches, Watches the water like a mirror watching her stretch, Reads an oncoming hand, like an intimate sign.

She reaches out to unfurl the hand, but the sudden contact Shatters the image; shock after shock, seen, Then unseen; thunder and lightning, The agonized uprooting of the gale,

Union, then separation; roots snapped, fibres still

Entwined. During the long patient awaiting, ripples settle Into circles. Can anything ever be added to the mirror,

Can anything ever be subtracted? Gradually she grows calmer,

I. Lotus Leaves

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Steadies, a secret heaviness transmuted into Gravid fruits,

An invisible heaviness and opulence; she opens her face,

And between the gaze of desire and the depths of the water The wind blows ripples of words.

1986

Lotus Leaves: Selected Poems of Leung Ping-kwan

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Leaf Crown

The word lotus is itself somehow archaic.

As if we cannot find seeds,

Cultivate new flowers of our own.

Pointing to this trembling pink apex, you give it names, Nenuphar, nymphaea, Fuqu, handan,

Many fine names,

Beautiful, splendid names.

But they’ve got nothing to do with me. What significance Do their beauty and splendour possess?

I wait in faith, to hear at length

The sepal breath, I am heavy and clumsy,

Thwarted by mud. You drift lightly across the water

Shedding the petals of yesterday, your face fresh and clean again, In an open world, amidst the disseminations of men.

My leaves and stalks are loaded with human clamour too, But muddy,

Sluggish, caught in private nightmares,

In perilous deluges of dawn; my roots tangled In silt, can never be articulate . . . .

Before I can finish, you turn impatiently towards

The attentive gaze of others, the habitual, recognized rhetoric.

I fear my words will eventually prove futile, will fail to make you Abandon the old demarcations, fail to make you feel true cold or warmth.

I. Lotus Leaves

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If you are for grandeur

Inevitably you will find my lack of embellishment shabby.

Finally I fall silent, look to the distant hills,

Watch the pale blues and grey greens one after the other Come surging onwards, breaking the symmetry.

Summer 1983

Lotus Leaves: Selected Poems of Leung Ping-kwan

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