Early Light
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When Pete Dolack invited me to read at the 26th Annual Alternative NYD Spoken-Word/ Performance Extravaganza, I jumped at the chance to see and hear some of my downtown poet friends again. What better way to start the year than with poetry? As expected, the gathering at St. John's Evangelical Lutheran Church in the Village was vastly and variously entertaining. A woman dedicated her three-minute reading to the animals killed by the Australian fires. A man punished his hand drum as he read in a monotone. Another read from behind a dwarf fir tree that she carried in above her head.
Many poems read that afternoon could be charged with the lack of artfulness, but in their earnestness, their directness, their presence, they were more enjoyable than any verbal tricksiness of more accomplished readings. Against the frenzy of new year resolutions, which by definition looked to the future, the afternoon focused on itself and thereby lengthened with the shadows in the church. Or, as one reader hammered home: "Be here now. Now. Here. Be." There were many terrific poems too, a surreal half-life of a narrative by the ex-Londoner Jane Ormerod, and a short but finely turned verse by a stranger.
I give you the poem I read at the gathering of poetry aptly themed "Early Light":
Litany
"What is the promise of the infant year"
—Charlotte Smith, “The Emigrants: A Poem [Disillusion with the French Revolution]”
Let this year be a year better than the last,
the months twelve disciples at supper, one a traitor and accomplice of the Lord,
the weeks a triumph of life, met by love, crowned by rest,
the days awarded each day with a watermelon and a word.
Let the sky be a glass of water, and the sea a plate of fried fish.
Let the man thin with thought drink and eat,
and, if it’s her wish,
let the woman plump with worries diet.
In our travels, let the train arrive on time, and, if that’s impossible, let the train
not trip over the track.
In our work, let the ropes hold tight, and, when the tower rises again,
let the ropes go slack.
Let our love be as our travel and our work,
earning a common currency here on Earth.
Let passion be the night dreams of a small-town clerk.
Let young love be full of eyes, and let old love be full of teeth.
A year is too brief to empty prison camps, so let a few go free.
A year is long enough for a change of heart.
Let hearts recover liberty.
Let camps be broken by candlelight.
Let the soul learn it is nothing without the body,
and the body learn it is not alone
among the rousing rose, oratorical orchid and lilting lily
the world grows in its spiral garden.
Let this year not be a decade better, for that hope would not be serious,
not a day better, for that would be too much like the past,
and not a year worse, for that would be to go in reverse,
but let this year be a year better than the last.
*
Our heartfelt gratitude to all 49 donors to our Year-End Appeal. Together we raised $7,492. This amount is in addition to $8,003.83 donated in the course of 2019. A big thank you to all our donors. All the monies go to financing the creation and presentation of the work of writers and artists. If you missed our Year-End Appeal, it's still not too late to give to Singapore Unbound in support of all that we do for literature and human rights.
Jee Leong Koh
January 2, 2020
When Pete Dolack invited me to read at the 26th Annual Alternative NYD Spoken-Word/ Performance Extravaganza, I jumped at the chance to see and hear some of my downtown poet friends again. What better way to start the year than with poetry? As expected, the gathering at St. John's Evangelical Lutheran Church in the Village was vastly and variously entertaining. A woman dedicated her three-minute reading to the animals killed by the Australian fires. A man punished his hand drum as he read in a monotone. Another read from behind a dwarf fir tree that she carried in above her head.
Many poems read that afternoon could be charged with the lack of artfulness, but in their earnestness, their directness, their presence, they were more enjoyable than any verbal tricksiness of more accomplished readings. Against the frenzy of new year resolutions, which by definition looked to the future, the afternoon focused on itself and thereby lengthened with the shadows in the church. Or, as one reader hammered home: "Be here now. Now. Here. Be." There were many terrific poems too, a surreal half-life of a narrative by the ex-Londoner Jane Ormerod, and a short but finely turned verse by a stranger.
I give you the poem I read at the gathering of poetry aptly themed "Early Light":
Litany
"What is the promise of the infant year"
—Charlotte Smith, “The Emigrants: A Poem [Disillusion with the French Revolution]”
Let this year be a year better than the last,
the months twelve disciples at supper, one a traitor and accomplice of the Lord,
the weeks a triumph of life, met by love, crowned by rest,
the days awarded each day with a watermelon and a word.
Let the sky be a glass of water, and the sea a plate of fried fish.
Let the man thin with thought drink and eat,
and, if it’s her wish,
let the woman plump with worries diet.
In our travels, let the train arrive on time, and, if that’s impossible, let the train
not trip over the track.
In our work, let the ropes hold tight, and, when the tower rises again,
let the ropes go slack.
Let our love be as our travel and our work,
earning a common currency here on Earth.
Let passion be the night dreams of a small-town clerk.
Let young love be full of eyes, and let old love be full of teeth.
A year is too brief to empty prison camps, so let a few go free.
A year is long enough for a change of heart.
Let hearts recover liberty.
Let camps be broken by candlelight.
Let the soul learn it is nothing without the body,
and the body learn it is not alone
among the rousing rose, oratorical orchid and lilting lily
the world grows in its spiral garden.
Let this year not be a decade better, for that hope would not be serious,
not a day better, for that would be too much like the past,
and not a year worse, for that would be to go in reverse,
but let this year be a year better than the last.
*
Our heartfelt gratitude to all 49 donors to our Year-End Appeal. Together we raised $7,492. This amount is in addition to $8,003.83 donated in the course of 2019. A big thank you to all our donors. All the monies go to financing the creation and presentation of the work of writers and artists. If you missed our Year-End Appeal, it's still not too late to give to Singapore Unbound in support of all that we do for literature and human rights.
Jee Leong Koh
January 2, 2020
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