Sunday Contest (Sha Tin 沙田)

Pai Tau Sha Tin_JUN 2018

Above the satellite city
crawling with vertical architecture, mountain monkeys
defy the knock-out blow.
The emerald valley,
with Summer’s profligate monsoon storms
hypnotically tracks
second by second the awesome inaudible sound of this world’s growth
through the flawless organic drone
of chanting monks.
Blue dragonflies
over rusted drainpipes
and crystalloid streams of rock-filtered rain
perfect their glint
against a hundred hundred hundred million years
while, in a thin courtyard,
a wife and husband in training —
the two of them sporting
boxing gloves polished to a winner’s champion sheen —
trade amorous, well-aimed punches
through the air.

Plaything or Playnothing?

Beach_Tung Ping Chau_2016

The burnished shell they sell
by the sea — Beginning
that makes no bones
of itself — what on Earth
can it mean to the likes of me? Breather;
heartbeater; pulser; digester
of questions that blister
and cold-stone truths; shower;
teller; clumsy incenser of all things
half-way sweet or sincere; PRESENTer;
PASTer; fabulous FUTUREr;
fly on the wall in this singular
plural world: I weigh your rest
on the flat of my hand. You weigh me back
with the glint of its gloss;
with the hush of its cone;
with the spiral-finesse of its empty — beautifuller — form.

Now what will I make with the rest of my life of my own anxious skeleton?


Blind Choir (Nam Shan Estate 南山邨)

Nam Shan Tsuen

Between the concrete wall of a block of flats
and — flightless — concrete stairs
this was no place on Earth we’d ever expect
a Christmas choir. I was caught
as I think I always am
when the once-in-a-lifetime moment comes
in two minds twice unequal to the task.
By the way they looked crookedly through their song
I could tell they all sang blindly by ear
and I realized then how my thin sightseeing power
was stone-deaf to the sonic invisible.
The harmony of so many separate shared voices
none of which carried the main body of music
across the arid hubbub of human noise
braked my heart:
this was the concert of the fragment,
soaringly restored to charismatic wholeness,
rock-solidarity made possible by breath.


《蛙文》/ Frogscript 8 • 郭少鳳 Evette Kwok

Japanese Frog for Frogscript_Thumbnail_2 FEB 2018

Please scroll down for the English translation!




事緣係咁嘅:喺英國生活嗰幾年,可能英國小城鎮嘅生活比較悠閒和簡樸,多咗啲時間同空間走入大自然散步。英國東南部有一條小村落,叫 Chilham,鄰近有一個湖泊,當日就係喺旁邊嘅英國樹林郊遊散步。沿路上有一條又長又直嘅河流,因為曾經見過一條銀色嘅魚跳出水面,在零散嘅光線折射下,零舍美麗,所以我仲記得我哋係好專注咁望著水面,期望再一次遇上佢。




好啦,開始搵雀仔,參加呢一類嘅工作坊,最希望係可以見多啲唔同嘅物種,當大家在辯認呢隻係小白鷺定大白鷺時,我見到一隻似曾相識嘅雀仔,佢嘅飛行姿勢同喺英國見到嘅十分相似,係藍色同橙黃色,於是同同行嘅友人講,我好似見到翠鳥。朋友有點懷疑,真的嗎?我呢個觀鳥初哥當然唔肯定,只覺得佢嘅飛行姿勢太似英國見到嘅 Kingfisher,但顏色就似圖鑒中嘅翠鳥。

過咗一陣,聽到其他參加者話見到翠鳥,導師就開始講解翠鳥:翠鳥俗稱魚狗,原來同捕魚有著深厚嘅關係,佢哋嘅主要食糧係魚仔。魚狗好多時會企定定,喺清澈嘅淺水區上,先睇準目標,然後會以飛快嘅突襲方式出擊,捕足獵物,真真正正係捕魚高手。聽完導師解釋,我終於知道原來 Kingfisher,就係翠鳥。

最近一次見到翠鳥就喺係林村嘅一條小村莊寨乪,我相信好多香港人都唔識個「乪」字點讀同點解。如果我唔係日日搭巴士經過呢個村莊嘅巴士站,聽過巴士嘅廣播,都冇可能識得讀呢個「乪」字。後來從澳洲文學家朋友(佢亦係中文專家),得知「乪」嘅「乙」代表彎彎嘅河流,而「田」就係土地、田地,所以「乪」字就代表彎曲嘅河流包圍田地,真係好有意思!同魚狗和Kingfisher 嘅命名一樣咁有趣!


Common Kingfisher_HKBWS_JUN 2018

Common Kingfisher, Sha Tau Kok. Photo by HKBWS

Continue reading “《蛙文》/ Frogscript 8 • 郭少鳳 Evette Kwok”

Stella, Streetwise

Beach_Tung Ping Chau_2016

She took a full step, then a full stop.
Her attention? It had suddenly taken root — no,
not in retail but some tiny aspect in the footpath.
There they were, in a meandering crack
outside the Urban Grind café,
three miniature stars
forming the glittering crossbar
of Orion’s belt. Inwardly,
she joked to herself: Seeing stars again,
are we? For someone deep in the pockets
of Western sadness, the half-smile
in the tight corners of her face
was worth a whole kilometre of Brisbane frangipanis.
Rising, setting, orbit: her moods too
were celestial bodies: to spend a day
on some of them lasted enormous Earth years —
dust thick on the floors of craters.
How I wonder what you are! she sang to herself
inside a buoyant thought balloon, this
umbilical lullaby bedding her deeper in detail,
star-craving mad:
Down below the world so low,
like three diamonds in a row . . . No,
not diamonds, the sparkle of plate-glass windows,
impassive as an armed guard;
more like beacons pointing, absurdly, to some human interest
in a place where naturally (cigarette butts, saliva,
chewing gum, blood-stains) it was last
and least expected. She laughed out loud
at her down-mood then, told it to get lost for a while
and fast: Go pick on someone, your own sighs!
And the bougainvillea regalia twined in industrial fencing
over the road behind the bus-stop
just had to laugh through its pink flowers with her. Yes!
Good on you!