Chow Teck Seng

Singapore-born Chow Teck Seng writes poetry primarily in Chinese. Frequently contributing to literary journals, anthologies and the Chinese press in Singapore and abroad, he has won awards such as the Singapore Literature Prize (2014) and Golden Point Award (2009). His poems in English translation are found in & Words: Poems Singapore and Beyond (2010), Union: 15 Years of Drunken Boat, 50 Years of Writing from Singapore (2015), SG Poems 2015–2016 and the online journal, Poetry at Sangum. They have also been adapted as short films by students of Lasalle College of the Arts in 2017. A former lecturer (in Chinese-language literature) at the National University of Singapore and National Institute of Education, he is currently pursuing a PhD at Cambridge University.

The following poems were previously published, without the English translation, in Chow Teck Seng’s Poetry of You and Me (Lingzi Media, 2012). 

 

轮回

 

时间是一条狗

一张   大口

即咬去   月的肚腩

于是每个晚

都注定是个新的缺口

 

还好，就十五天

月又养得白白胖胖

 

我们好象月

全身有被狗咬的伤口

 

  

Recycle

 

Time is a mongrel,

its wide-open mouth

gnawing at the belly of the moon.

So every night is

predestined for a new gaping hole.

 

But all’s well, just 15 days

the moon is fair and fattened again.

 

We are like the moon,

wounded by dog-bites all over.

 

(Translation by Yong Shu Hoong)

 

~

 

饮食山水

 

三碗两碗

左手  一下撑起

雪山雪山

饭粒竟成雪屑飘飞

遇嘴而化

右手  则两下闪电

抓起满口饭

半个冰山劈开

 

偶然一匙汤水

自花瓷大碗

江海江海

油光涟滟，肉岩顿成天堑

泄流山腰逶迤而入

谁以春夏秋冬四法烹煮

则三两碟小菜   挥洒间

像蝶飞花丛

豆骸残肢斜斜飞出

花红叶绿一下被席卷而去

 

你意犹未尽

晴空打了个闷雷

手搓搓鼻梁

谈笑间   汤水成骤雨

山山水水

花花草草

一切尽在虚无飘渺间

 

 

Eat Drink Mountain River

 

Three or two bowls

are hoisted by left hand in one move.

Snowy mountain, snowy mountain –

the rice grains waft like snow flakes

dissolving in mouth.

Right hand, in two claps of lightning,

claws up a mouthful of rice,

splitting apart the mountain of ice.

 

The occasional spoonful of soup

is extracted from a large porcelain bowl.

The river, the river

ripples with an oily sheen; meat boulders as moats

the water wades past mountain-slopes to gush in.

Who would use the four seasonal styles of gastronomy

on two or three appetisers? Wavering

like butterflies among flowers,

broken husks scatter, only to be

whisked away with red petals and leaves.

 

Your cravings not yet fulfilled,

thunder reverberates from the blue.

A hand rubs the bridge of a nose.

As casual conversation ensues, soup becomes sudden storm:

Mountain, river,

flower, grass…

Everything fades into nothingness.

 

(Translation by Yong Shu Hoong)

Continue reading

Yong Shu Hoong has authored one poetry chapbook, Right of the Soil (2016), as well as five poetry collections, including Frottage (2005) and The Viewing Party (2013), which won the Singapore Literature Prize in 2006 and 2014 respectively. His poems and short stories have been published in literary journals like Quarterly Literary Review Singapore and Asia Literary Review (Hong Kong), and anthologies like Language for a New Century (W.W. Norton, 2008). He is the editor of anthologies like Passages: Stories of Unspoken Journeys (2013), as well as Here Now There After (2017), which was part of The Commuting Reader series commissioned for the #BuySingLit movement. He is one of the four co-authors of The Adopted: Stories from Angkor (2015) and Lost Bodies: Poems Between Portugal and Home (2016).

 

Negation

I’m not a vegetarian
but I go meatless
on occasions for
the best intentions.
Eating too fast is
another sin. When I
bite my lip and blood
corrupts my vegetables
I’m no longer even
a vegetarian for a day.

 

非

 

我非素食主义者
但因缘际会，总有些时候
为一些美好的诉求

戒肉
自然，吃太快
也是罪。当我
咬到唇 血
染口边蔬菜时
那日 我已断非
一清白的素食者

 

(Translation by Chow Teck Seng)

 

~

 

Meat Joy, 2014*

 

 To put it blandly, it is

just lunch.

 

But armed with a pinch

of salt, I can certainly try

to unlock all the flavours

and serve a fresh perspective.

 

Take for example, a wedge

of New York City, stuck

in a mall in Hillview where a few

HDB blocks used to stand,

before the entire estate

was roundly erased. After dust

settles, the new sign proclaims:

Dean & DeLuca. A chain of

upscale grocery stores, first

started in SoHo in 1977.

 

This is 2014, 11.30am.

 

I’m having my $18 burger.

The beef is so thick that

well-doneness doesn’t seep into

the patty’s core. I survey

the large plate, and consider how

best to devour the grub.

 

My mouth isn’t wide enough.

 

So I pick up the knife

to draw blood by carving

through the meat, reflecting:

 

How well this red sap

must look, when splattered 

across the floor space

of gleaming white marble!

 

I feel like having a brawl

 

 

With the taste of violence

upon the wingtip of my tongue.

But there’s no worthy opponent

here – only nerdy schoolgirls

fretting over homework, and

straight-laced office workers

celebrating Happy Birthday

with a silly cupcake bearing

a desolate candle.

 

I want to get up

and blow out that flame

wavering for way too long

under someone else’s nose,

but I’m too filled to move.

 

I do not dare to request

for more hot water to douse

my half-spent teabag.

 

Lunchtime is officially over

 

If not for the haze, lapping

menacingly against full-length window.

 

* This poem appeared on the website Kitaab and in Yong Shu Hoong’s chapbook, Right of the Soil (Nanyang Technological University & Ethos Books, 2016), but without the Chinese translation.

 

无肉不欢，2014

 

说白点， 这
不过就是午餐

别太较真  就如一把
盐巴， 我会尝试
从新鲜的视角  去品
出最丰富的味道

举例来说，纽约市的斧头
餐馆，已深入
本地山景区的商场腹地
当然原本挺拔的几座组屋
已连根拔起 整个住宅区
也完满删除。尘埃落定处
竖起招牌宣称：
Dean & DeLuca
高大上的食品连锁广场
品牌1977创建于SOHO

现在是2014年，上午11点30分

我正啃食18元的汉堡
过厚的牛肉，肉饼内部
未能熟透。我眼观巨盘
的四周，思考 如何让口
绕道避开令人为难的血腥

唯我嘴断非血盆大口

于是动刀
雕刻肉身
划出血痕
引血反思：

当血水溅洒
雪白晶莹的
大理石地板
上，红将会
何等娇艳？

我但觉经历一场厮杀

舌尖遂尝
暴力的滋味
一一竟是所向披靡
此处，仅有乖乖牌学生妹数名
纠缠在功课里
一些一本正经的
公司职员在庆生：
为可怜兮兮的杯型小蛋糕
插上孤单的小烛影

我想站起
把窝在人鼻息下
摇摆不定 太久
的火焰 一口气给灭了
唯自己 实腹饱难动

我也不敢
要多点沸水
让未泡尽的茶袋 再来个水浸灭顶

午休已尽。该落下庄严的帷幕？

唯全景玻璃窗外
尚有雾霾，正肆虐着 掩埋天地如幕

 

(Translation by Chow Teck Seng)

 

Continue reading