Art Collection

TO EACH A DIFFERENT DREAM

(in memory of Father)
You braved the hungry seas
Sixteen
in rags
a little learning
Found a new livelihood
Practised an alien alphabet.
When war clouds threatened death,
You survived troubled seasons
Of gruel
tapioca
wild roots.
The family grew to new demands,
You forged new skills in testing times
Built shelves
cabinets for growing needs
Lavished fountain pens
stationery
books for birthday gifts
not toys;
Taught us to value essentials
Tailor meagre means to proper ends
Let our words be our bond
Work hard
preserve the rites.

I well remember those earnest words,
Spun under candle light
in my childhood
Recall how you stood
Sustained my tribulations;
Remember too
the rainbow of your love.
….Chinese New Year, 1990
This year of the Horse
Ushers in a new decade
Once again
we gather
to offer obeisance
honour your memory.
These offerings
joss and incense
This New Year repast
We share with you each year
Since you departed six years ago.
One goblet of wine
twelve cups
Ivory chopsticks
twelve bowls of rice
Three pairs of fish
broiled pork and chicken
Six oranges

We dedicate these to you
With silent homage
Recalled our collective journeys.
How many more years
Can we foregather
To share this yearly assembly?

LOVE’S TRAVELOGUE

(for Rose)

( I ) LONDON
I remember
The first time I met you -
Brown overcoat, pink cheeks
The cold winds against your face
At Earl’s Court
In the London winter
Mrs Price, the housekeeper
Flustered, dishevelled
Diminished by your radiance,
Scampered hurriedly up the stairs,
Showing you the apartment
While I retreated to my room
I was drawn, reluctantly
Into your brood:
Picnics in the parks,
Packed sandwiches, noodles
Tea in the flasks
And culinary bouts on week-ends
At Lee Ho Fook;
Till one by one the brood dispersed
As all things must

Slowly, less reluctantly
You moved into my crowd:
Boisterous curry week-ends,
Agitated debates;
How gradually you learnt to unravel,
The strange twang of my concerns.
I remember especially
The quiet nights by the fireside,
The gentle chats, brewed coffee,
The gentle purr of your voice,
The evening strolls at Chelsea,
Trips to Brighton, Bath, Cambridge;
The petty tiffs we had
How gradually
This familiar proximity grew and enlarged
Into an accommodated love.
Through long, summer days
And cold winter nights
Your wild exuberance mellowed
My hesitation dissipated
More than all this
I remember the separation,
My lonely sojourn in Paris:
The daily notes
Of breezy greetings and love,
The emotional tears of our embrace
The gentle walks along the Seine,
The moon over Sacré Coeur
When for me,
Love was consummated.

( II ) LONDON – INDIA OVERLAND
Leaving London in June,
Drizzling as usual --
No tearful farewell this;
Several friends dropped by
Some phoned to say goodbye
The coach headed south for Dover
Crossed the channel to Calais
Then away to Brussels, Paris;
Summer followed us on most occasions,
Sudden showers over Salzburg.
We gasped at the majesty of the Alps,
Journeyed through Yugoslavia to the Mediterranean
Before arriving at fabled Istanbul;
We cruised the Bosphorus, took a respite,
Endured rising dusts, miles of sand dunes,
Through Teheran, Esfahan, Kabul, Srinagar -
Until our aching limbs prostrated
Before the towering Himalayas
And yearned for home.

( III ) KATHMANDU
Twenty five years hence,
We returned once again to Kathmandu,
On the anniversary of our love;
Restless, I touched
The gentle rise and ebb,
Of your inhalation;
Drowsily oblivious,
You dreamt perhaps of home -
May, Jake and Boon.
The morning light leaned softly
On your silken hair,
And straying strands of grey.
Where are the growing Kumaris now ?
˜
Kumaris, or Child Goddesses, are worshipped in Nepal. Following selection, she is taken
away from her parents, specially looked after and cared for, and then paraded and worshipped
during the Festival of the Goddess held annually; however, her tenure is very short, and
terminates as soon as she attains puberty, after which she is returned to her original home and
lives her life as a normal girl.

JOURNEY’S END

(for Mother, 31 October 1998)
To none is life given in freehold;
to all on lease - Lucretius

( I )
Must the end come
Always with pain?
The years shall exact their toll:
Age ravages
Cruel in its insidious demands
Sapping the ebbing qi
Occluding the channels to life
Until the last breath is expelled.
Must life be reduced
To this drag of bones?
Tired flesh, panted breath;
Till the qi which courses the veins
Drives the limbs, gives speech
Is stalled, impeded;
Till the last exhalation is stilled
The candle slowly dies.
Qi, or chi, means life force, which sustains life, flows through the meridian lines, in the
Chinese medical lexicon.

( II )
In the long, lonely corridor
We kept vigil -
Weary lids laboured to tame anxious hours
In this ward of incipient despair;
Curtained partitions separate communal agonies
Busy MOs and stressed nurses avoided our eyes
For other equal claims.
Words intrude, only silence endures
Only misty eyes glow
From heart to heart.
Coming home to familiar sounds,
You listened, but could not speak;
We grew into a new routine
Knowing the lease would soon expire.
You were torn
Between staying and departing
Between an earthly warmth
And an uncertain journey;
You could not pull away
Even as you dreamt of a cosmic reunion:
Paper mansions, Cadillacs -
worldly possessions you hoarded in flames
During Qing Ming
Year after year.
Abbreviation for Medical Officer
Festival of souls; in memory of departed ancestors, paper symbols of worldly possessions are
burned as offerings.

( III )
Every generation rediscovers Gautama’s flight
Every age conjures primeval doubts to bargain longevity;
Man dies alone -
Trapped in tired frames, amidst faint shadows.
All roads lead to a cul de sac -
Man dies alone
The flesh is mortal.
As we draw down the blinds,
The surviving continue on the journey:
Life need not be a fraud
We seek no barter for perpetuity -
Simple truths are eternal
We construct our own destiny
Sustain a human immortality
Even as the flesh decays and dies.
( IV )
Our final farewell --
A bordered obituary
A smiling image
Mandatory listing to inform the world -
A confucian obeisance of joss and incense;
We shall bear your ashes
To your reunion
Beyond the ken.

Mother, now that you are gone
Our world shall grow and change -
In separate beginnings
No longer bonded by your simple love.

WITH HAO-YUAN AT THE BOTANICAL GARDENS

Amidst this wooded serenity
In the heart of Tanglin
The lush leaves glow with dew
The trees stand tall, regal
The crickets sing to the morning sun
Youthful, earnest teachers with their charges
Tittering, hand in hand, so orderly
Swinging in a straight line towards some designated spot
The qigong ladies had just departed
Some stragglers linger
Outside the orchid enclosure
A gaggle of Japanese tourists hang out
With sun hats and cameras
In lilting animation, oblivious to our passing
Hao-Yuan is thirteen months today
Standing tall, smiling
Light sunny thin strands of hair
A laughing child, wonder eyes
As tall as the fire hydrant
Toddling happily along
Down Palm valley
We feed the fishes
In the cloudy waters
The sparrows scamper for a meal
The Amphitheatre sprang out
Like a giant frog on a pond
Six Caucasian mums push their prams
Up the slope towards the pavilion

In these sylvan shades
The trees never grow old
Only more lushly green
The lawns more immaculate
The flowers blossom in controlled profusion
14 June 2001

TO MAY

Gently you came
in November
like a beautiful cloud
on a clear night
into my life
without a fuss
I thought
I heard you cry
though it could have been
someone else
gently you came
weaving new colours
into my mornings
filling my evenings
with your joys
gently
imperceptibly
you grow into
my days and nights
someday
should you read
these lines
know that
they grow from love.
1972

Introduction (To Love's Travelogue)

Ever since I was old enough to flip a page, I have heard one
particular poem read to me often - simply titled “To May”, my
Dad penned it on the arrival of his first child. It was published in
the 1971 edition of an NUS publication, a copy of which has been
clipped in my Baby Book along with all my baby memoirs.
Twenty-some years later, in a new millennium, my son, Hao-Yuan
(Joshua) would share this same privilege of being the subject of
Kong-Kong’s poetry. “With Hao-Yuan at the Botanical Gardens”
was written when he turned 13 months old, on our visit back to
Singapore from the U.S. It was later published in the July 2003
issue of Prestige Magazine.
As I grew older, I discovered that my Dad has a unique gift of
expressing himself in poetry and prose. His poems have a flair of
sensitivity and readability, portraying simple life in poignant
perspectives. They read like a flowing story, the imagery he paints
often brings the reader to the “ahah!” of identifying exactly with
what he depicts, with a visual picture in mind. Dad’s poems are
not pretentious. They give a glimpse of his sentimental nature, and
display the pillars of his beliefs – that home is truly the anchor of
the family. He applauds the strength of the family structure, as can
be seen from his fitting tributes to my Grandfather and
Grandmother.
For me, it was a joy to edit and compile this collection, and I invite
you to take a journey into our home, our hearth, and the windows
of his soul. - May