David Mckirdy
Escocia-Hong Kong
Nació en Escocia en 1956, pero se crió y se educó en Hong Kong,
donde hoy día es uno de los más reconocidos poetas y uno de los
organizadores del Festival Literario Internacional de Hong Kong.
Después de realizar estudios de Artes y Humanidades (Historia y
Filosofía) en la Universidad Abierta de Hong Kong, se inició en la
escritura creadora.
Como parte del programa Poesía en vivo ha leído su poesía y ha
dictado talleres literarios en numerosas escuelas. Ha leído su obra
en el 2004 en China, Singapur, Estados Unidos y Egipto. Su último
libro, Occidental accidental, que había recibido una beca por parte del
Consejo para el Desarrollo de las Artes de Hong Kong, fue premiado
por el Club Harvard de Hong Kong.
La mayor parte de Occidental accidental podría tocar lo personal en
lugar de lo político, la añoranza de los amigos fallecidos, la obsesión
de McKirdy por las motocicletas, pero lo que más destaca es la
evaluación crítica del poeta del legado colonial en Hong Kong
Orar a los ancestros
Tengo la sangre de China en mis venas
no por padre, madre o antecesor lejano
sino trasladada desde la línea antigua de alguien más.
Cuatro litros pasados por el ojo de una aguja
el regalo anónimo de la vida
¡para un hijo bastardo, un espanto blanco!
Me siento diferente
ahora que miro la vida
por ojos más amplios
y menos ictéricos.
Nosotros los chinos valoramos nuestras tradiciones
pero a los ancestros de quién les rezo ahora
¿a los míos o a los suyos?
Quizás simplemente daré las gracias
Le haré un homenaje a una Madre eterna
y al Padre universal.
Ancestral Worship
I’ve got the blood of China in my veins
not through father, mother or distant forebears
but passed on from another’s ancient line.
Seven pints passed through the eye of a needle
the anonymous gift of life
for a bastard son, a white ghost!
I feel different
as I look at life
through my wider
less jaundiced eyes.
We Chinese treasure our traditions
but whose ancestors should I worship now
mine, or his?
Maybe I’ll just give thanks
pay homage to an eternal Mother
and the universal Father.
Nosotros los chinos
En Estrasburgo, tres Chinos pedían direcciones—
en francés
Yo respondí en cantonés
Sorprendidos—
intentaron en alemán.
Finalmente
expresamos nuestro placer
al encontrar otros chinos en el exterior—
en inglés.
Mong fu shek, la roca de amah
Por innumerables festivales y mareas
He observado y esperado
el regreso de mi esposo.
Ahora al mirar a través del valle
un cambio le ha sucedido a nuestra tierra
el pueblo y la playa desaparecidos en un revolcón malévolo
agua convertida en tierra.
Formas oscuras se levantan hasta donde ve el ojo
como buques inmensos sembrados en el suelo
cubiertas en cobijas como redes.
La luz del cielo negro habita estas redes
iluminadas como para una pesca nocturna
por un demonio poderoso
que rastrea almas.
Quizás al habernos robado las perlas
de la serpiente gigante de mar
hemos quebrado nuestro pacto con el mar.
Diosa de gracia, Tin Hau
que me convirtió y convirtió a tu hijo
en piedra
por amor y lealtad
nos ha abandonado.
Ruido, humo y lluvias ardientes cruzan aquí
como bárbaros apuestan en las carreras
de los dragones sagrados
sobre los restos del puerto.
Soy testigo de los cambios
y oro que tú mi amor
nunca tengas las redes llenas y un viento suave
y que nunca vuelvas a este sitio.
De partida
Aníbal cruzó los Alpes
en busca de conquista y gloria.
Nosotros, aventureros de otra estirpe
cruzamos el mar
destino a Hong Kong
en el crucero de la P y la O
el S.S. Cartago
construido por escoceses como nosotros,
botado al agua en nuestro propio Río Clyde.
Por la plancha subimos de la mano
gente obrera con aspiraciones de subir en el mundo
a cabinas
de segunda clase
el apartheid de la casta imperial.
No eran para nosotros las cabinas frescas de ida y vuelta
de los que pagaban más,
Ubicados donde fuera
Nosotros salíamos y no íbamos a volver
A diferencia de ese general de la antigüedad
Nunca volveríamos a la decepción y la traición.
Mientras nos despedimos y se aparta el buque
las cintas de nuestras ataduras al pasado se rompen
dejan recuerdos monocromáticos y los cincuenta en nuestra estela
por Puerto Said, Suez, Aden y más allá
una Inglaterra en blanco y negro remplazada, tapada
olvidada por los sentidos ya sacudidos por
impactantes, acres, chirriantes
colores, olores y sonidos
los vamos conociendo a medida que seguimos hacia el Oriente
Cálido y húmedo como un retorno al útero.
Quizá permaneceré aquí un tiempo.
Poems from Ancestral Worship
by David McKirdy
Shining
Mr. Lee the shoe-shine boy
is a proud man
still working at
still paying his way.
He'll shine my shoes for free
because I give him 'face'
calling him 'Uncle'
conversing, showing respect.
We're both immigrants
he from Indonesia
me from Scotland.
His generation made Hong Kong
today his clients read a paper
send a text
or gaze mutely at the top of his head.
He says I see into his heart
"Sir, what's your name?" he asks
"Chiu Chow Gum" I reply.
This is a euphemism for
crater-faced son of a bitch!
"That's a fine name" he says,
"No one will forget you."
I accept the gift of shiny shoes
and reciprocate with tea-money.
He claims to be the finest shiner in Hong Kong
he's certainly the best psychologist
I pay fifty bucks over the odds
and leave a happy man.
Ambushed
An elderly man approached
asking about a toilet for his wife
such a lovely old lady
how could I leave her in distress?
“Come Auntie
you’re welcome to use my home.”
As I turned, one became two
Two became five and finally nine
all queued up and smiling
with me handing out soap and towels
like a washroom attendant in a massage parlour
then the questioning began.
No one expects the Chinese inquisition!
Forget name, rank and serial number
these are no mere amateurs
Cantonese aunties are better
than The KGB at getting results.
Name
age, place of birth
do I own, or rent
how much per month
married, how many children?
I could have stood a beating
but they were much too subtle for that
calling me by name and talking in turn.
I managed to hang on to my one testicle
and annual salary
but only because their bus was leaving.
But they know where I live
and they’ll be back!
In Hong Kong, Dreaming of Cairo
2005
We came to Cairo to see her treasures
and saw the people.
Forget the pyramids
the real jewels are among those
whose forbears built them.
Encountering beggars cheats and robbers
we felt right at home
having contributed an additional
eleven Bohemian rogues to their numbers.
In the chaos of Cairo’s
persistent perpetual anarchy
a few prodigal poems -
my offspring -
escaped in a lady’s bag.
I hope they find their way
to safety
to the heart of the city
to be adopted and absorbed
like so many through time
from Nubia, Greece, Rome
Arabia, Turkey, France
now Hong Kong.
Louche decadent Cairo
nobody gets out of here untouched
and the echo of the muezzin’s call
will forever draw me back
pulling like a persistent child
OUTWARD BOUND
Hannibal crossed The Alps,
for conquest and glory.
We, adventurers of a different stripe,
crossed the sea,
destination Hong Kong
on the P & O liner
S.S. Carthage.
Built by fellow Scots, launched on our own River Clyde.
Up the gangway hand in hand we boarded,
working class folk with boot-strap aspirations,
to cabins
second class,
the apartheid of imperial caste.
no P.O.S.H. travel for us but S.O.S.O.:
'Starboard out, staying out'
unlike that great general,
never coming home,
to disappointment and betrayal.
As we waved goodbye streamers severed our links
leaving monochrome memories and the 1950s in our wake
through Port Said, Suez, Aden and beyond
black-and-white Britain displaced, obscured
forgotten by senses now shaken by
shocking, pungent, grating
colours, odours and sounds,
familiarity growing as we travel ever Eastward
Warm and wet like a return to the womb.
Perhaps I'll linger here a while.
CITIZEN SHIP
for Leung Ping Kwan
We arrived on the same day,
you in the hold of a fishing junk,
me on the P & O liner.
Settling into a three-storey house
the shipping crates were delivered by noon,
discarded they made a hut for you on the hill.
We lived on either side of the same street.
kept apart by the wall between
a physical and symbolic construct
to prevent dis-ease, or going native.
We tried to connect
but concrete and closed minds are tough to conquer,
a catchment for inhibitions carelessly thrown,
not so for hurled rocks and insults.
We flew kites across the top
swooping and dancing as one,
the caress
then the cut of the string.
We learned each other's tongue;
through jagged gaps
"Good morning", "Jo San"
"How are you?", "Nei ho ma?"
"What is your name?", "Nei Gieu mut yeh meng?"
"Well fuck your mother!", "Dieu nei lo mo!"
We left home together for school,
you on foot,
me on the bus,
attending classes at either end of another street,
both burdened by the hopes and expectations
of another generation.
We arrived on the same day,
grew up together - apart.
One colony - two systems.
Two people - one future.
THE WRITE STUFF
Chinese gentlemen in traditional robes
inhabit the streets of my youth,
scribes with folding tables and chairs
inkstone and brushes.
Gaunt classical scholars
performing exquisite caligraphy - for utility
in the service of
illiterate labourers.
The highest expression of the literary arts
reduced to mere communication.
Letters home to be read and narrated
by others, in other streets in other cities.
Part fortune teller, psychologist, agony uncle,
bad news censored, rendered palatable,
with subtlety and nuance,
good tidings enhanced.
In another place, another time
they would be
court officials, magistrates,
rather than abroad in-significance
at the sharp end of the historical narrative,
the collective amanuensis of a country in chaos.
AMAH
Nanny, Auntie, Sister, Servant:
A simple woman in black and white
not young, no threat.
A mouth full of gold;
a gilt edged hedge against
famine, war and pestilence.
Poor and illiterate, ideal for scrubbing,
but entrusted with a stranger's child.
A necessity or a convenience for those
too busy, too ill, too worldly.
Trusting eternal motherly love,
of any woman, for any child.
Leaving her own family deprived
of appropriate maternal attention.
Myths of hungry ghosts
one-armed swordsmen
culinary treats and Chinese opera,
we absorb, acquire, adopt
an alien culture
and another mother tongue
these bonds can never be broken -
love is thicker than blood,
Ah May, Amah, Mama,
fifty years on
the shadow of your presence remains
as the wax from the candle I light for you
rolls down
like tears.
AMAH ROCK - Mong Fu Shek
For countless festivals and tides
I have watched and waited
for my husband's return.
Now as I gaze down the valley,
a change has come over our land.
The village and shoreline swamped by an evil upheaval,
water turned to land.
Structures abound as far as the eye can see,
like great ships upended in the earth,
draped in covers like nets.
The light of the black sky inhabits these nets,
lit as for night-fishing
by a mighty demon
trawling for souls.
Perhaps by stealing the giant sea-serpent's pearls
we have broken our pact with the sea.
The gracious Goddess Tin Hau,
who turned me and your son
to stone,
for love and loyalty,
she has forsaken us.
As barbarians race the sacred dragons
on the remains of the river,
noise, smoke and burning rain prevails.
I stand witness to the changes
and pray that you my love
may ever have full nets and a gentle wind
and never return to this place.
RETURN OF THE QUEEN
The QE2 came home to The Clyde
like a salmon returning to spawn.
She berthed at Greenock
to a festive expression of pride
that Scotland's finest,
in steam and ships and men,
had departed from this place.
Tied fast she strained at the leash
with standards festooned from stern to bow
from ship to shore and beyond
wind-blown like Tibetan prayer flags.
I too returned this year, a prodigal pilgrimage,
no one lined the quay for my arrival,
but my shadow paced the well worn path.
I could have been a riveter or welder;
shipbuilders, the Brahmins of the industrial age.
I would have had a hand in the making,
read the obituary at the end.
But another destiny awaited me;
We also departed, running,
unclear if it was towards or from something
perhaps both
a Hajj and Hejira combined.
Now like the big ships
I'm all at sea in my native land
constantly drawn to that foreign field,
made home.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario