From Changing
(13)
(Tongren)
同人
Gathering, Togethering
(13)
(Tongren)
同人
Gathering, Togethering
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fire under heaven
To a next-door-neighbour
This tide of summer perfume
neither respects nor knows
any silly boundaries
of private property.
Look how the honeysuckle you
planted below our fence
has crept through cracks
and stretched, clutched, wound,
inflected and inflicted
its thousands of spiralling
tendrils around everything
it has encountered – all
apparently, to invade
my back garden in full-frontal
assault – from where its limbs
go on exploring in tangled
waves, tossing out flowers,
combing sweetnesses.
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shared mind and heart action steel-sharp, words of jasmine
1. Broken blur, crimsoned
A woman knocks at my
door. Light behind her unfolds.
It streaks through my
half-sleep. I don’t want to
wake but do. I open my eyes
and am blinded. She is all
broken blur, crimsoned,
ripples on a lake. This is
the one to whom you
have been assigned. With
both forefingers I rub my eyes.
Thank you, I reply. And hear
my voice hollow, crusted –
as if not mine. But she is
still flickering, pellucid.
A blood-vessel in my
head bursts. A black sun
breaks like an egg.
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togethering outside the door
2. Ventura Street
On the posh side
of Ventura Street, media
creatures, wannabees,
mediocrities, celebs
fix things up, splash
everywhere lies
conducive to their
own advancement. They
twang the networks.
Clinging together
woolly, they climb
the agencies,
promote one another
baa-baa-ing, supportive,
how original we are.
The top ones have
clambered over various
others’ corpses.
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together in a common clan degrading
3. My neighbour my comrade
Now I shall be a good
deal more attentive to your
quiet voice and the work
you are still doing in
and for and around time
as you go walking
around my dream as
if you knew all the ways
through and out of it
and into and around
my house and my life
and I shall also be far
more appreciative of
your visits regardless
of how you choose
to arrive and disappear
my neighbour my comrade
my dear dead friend.
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hiding fighters in the bushes
4. Good morning my dears
Good morning, my dears. Is that
you still standing outside, blocking
my rattling door? The dead
who call in the small hours
shortly before each dawn chorus
have a good deal more to say
than this limping man, this
boy with knife-slashed face, this
girl whose invisible bruises
still hurt and terrify her. Friends,
do you go the same way? I suspect
so in your eyes each time you
turn and look back – your bravery,
your bravura – comrades, companions,
strangers. All answers fall short,
people around here don’t know
anything, suffering has no end.
What’s the point of enemies?
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mounting city walls, unable to attack so don’t try
5. Togethering
When our team got together,
we watched our own backs. We
complained to one another
about one another. We all
gossiped. We all denied we gossiped.
Our training? Tough.
First, they tested us in practice
on home terrain. Some couldn’t
compete or complete. Fell out,
got sent home. Then no more
trials. Only combat, the real thing.
Now we know who our brothers
and sisters are. Our line is so
strong it can’t be breached. Our
hearts and minds together
cut steel. Our mutual
words, though clipped, are
jasmine, honeysuckle.
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first howling and wailing later, laughter
6. Recluse
Why have you come to live in this
shack? To listen to wild geese, wind,
and swish and wash of waters
under this cloud-capped peak?
Commune with seasons, sparrows,
and hordes of croaking toads?
Live off berries, fishes, and milk
from two lean goats? Commendable,
to quell mind, calm spirit, here,
but who is there to talk to?
Battles to be fought and friendships
to be won must be taken on
with people, in the city. Your
task is only half-done and you need
to return now. Unless of course
I’m mistaken and you aren’t
the one I’ve been sent to find
to guide and lead our army.
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harmonising with nature task incomplete
