One day in Wuhan (武汉)

Yellow Crane Tower, Wuhan

I've been struggling a bit with this post.  Just over a month after I had visited the city, news started emerging of a number of unusual pneumonia cases emerging.  Yes, I visited China and went to Wuhan in mid-November, as the start of my cruise through the magnificent Three Gorges of China.    And at end December, China would officially report the news that a new disease, what would become known as COVID-19, had struck the city.

In the end, I've decided to proceed.  I'm not trivialising the seriousness of the disease which has (to date) struck tens of thousands, and killed significant numbers as well, both in China and around the world.  But I think that others deserve to know that this is still a lovely city visit, particularly in November, and that the area has indeed so much to offer tourists. And so, I will proceed to recount my visit there.

Mine was not a long visit - just around a week.  After arriving late the previous night, we spent a full day in Wuhan, then took the train to Yichang the next morning where we boarded the Century Legend which took us down the Yangtze River, to Chongqing City. So, if you ever want a one-day leisurely itinerary for Wuhan, do read on.  But if you have a longer stay, you may want to read more here.

One aspect of life in China which we wanted to experience was its "cashless society", where all the hawkers had their own QR code for WeChat Pay or AliPay.  Just a few weeks before our departure, these two ubiquitous payment apps had extended their services to foreign tourists.  In the event, it was not possible to use WeChat Pay but fortunately the AliPay payment service was quite easy to figure out and we could use it to also pay taxi drivers, and to link up AliPay to DiDi (the Uber of China), so we could also hail and pay our taxi drivers via DiDi.

Re Gan Mian and Lotus Root Soup

We used DiDi for the first time when taking the taxi for our breakfast in Hubu Alley, the famed street food alley of Wuhan.  I have to admit though, that by the time we made it there, it was really more like our brunch.  We had a bowl each of Re Gan Mian (热干面), which literally translates into spicy dry noodle dish.  The sauce is served on top of the noodles, with a sprinkling of spring onions on top.  I also got some minced pork with mine.  We had this with lotus root and pork bone soup, and a serving of "Dou Pi" which came a little later.  Dou Pi is essentially rice wrapped in layers of egg, with diced beancurd and I think more minced pork within.  It was all quite tasty but the next day we walked around the corner from our hotel and found a number of little eating stalls and what we in Singapore would call coffee shops, all full of Wuhan residents eating their breakfast before going to work.  We had quite a quick, tasty meal of chee cheong fun, a prata-like dough pancake and some dumplings, washed down with soya milk.  Much better value for money and much more convenient.

The immortal and the crane over the tower

After our brunch, we made our way to the the Yellow Crane Tower (黄鹤楼), a very famous historical site here in Wuhan.   It's one of the "Four Famous Towers" of China, originally built for military use on the top of a hill where it has a commanding view of the region and the river running through the city.    The building is not the original tower; it has actually been rebuilt a few times but apparently a tower has been on this site ever since around 220AD. 

Entering the tower, we admired this large wall mural just inside.  It tells the story of how the tower originally came to be built.  Briefly, a wine merchant, Xin, gave shelter (and wine) to a visiting monk.  Some tales indicate that the monk was actually an immortal come to earth in disguise!  Anyway, the monk visited repeatedly and every time Xin gave him food and shelter.  To show his gratitude, the monk painted a crane on the merchant's wall.  The painting was animated to show the crane dancing, bringing lots of visitors to the shop.  So Xin grew rich, and as a sign in turn of his gratitude built the tower.  The tower is also immortalised in the classic poetry of China, with the poets Cui Hao and Li Bai both writing about it.  Indeed, Cui Hao's poem is probably particularly apt - it tells how the crane has departed, leaving a city bereft, and the poet left far from his homeland.  I reproduce it here.

The pond in the compound of the Yellow Crane Tower

昔人已乘黄鹤去，此地空余黄鹤楼。
黄鹤一去不复返，白云千载空悠悠。
晴川历历汉阳树，芳草萋萋鹦鹉洲。
日暮乡关何处是？烟波江上使人愁。

After climbing all the way to the top of the tower and admiring the view, we made our way through the compound to the peaceful, scenic Chinese Garden adjacent to it.  The centrepiece of the garden is a large pond, surrounded by weeping willows.   A few fountains gush quietly in the centre.  To one side, a low wall is covered with the carved forms of cranes - flying, walking, and doing all sorts of things.  Following the example of the famous Tang poets, there is also a poetry gallery here, featuring two poems by Chairman Mao, housed in their own pavilion!

A double-sided embroidery screen

We spent quite some time in the Yellow Crane Tower and its surrounding compound, but we had one more stop to make on our 24-hour stopover in Wuhan, in Tan Hua Lin. 

Tan Hua Lin is also part of old Wuhan, but of a much more recent date.  It's like the "western quarter", where all the Europeans stayed.  Here there are a few churches, including a former Canossian convent, and western houses where the various European merchants and traders stayed.

Today, it is full of souvenir shops, art galleries, and embroidery shops.  Wuhan is one of the well known "schools" of embroidery in China (another one is Suzhou, for example).  The embroidery shops show beautiful exemplars of Wuhan embroidery.  These include huge framed pieces - either to hang on the wall or the beautiful double-sided screen which I have shown in the photo on the left.  Each stitch is like a brush stroke, so delicate and precise.  You can also buy small little embroidered bags or table screens.  Embroidery equipment is also on sale - my friend bought herself an embroidery frame, which she dismantled and carried around on her shoulder.  Myself, I was just glad to see that this area also had a few cat cafes!  Sadly we did not have time to make a longer stay in one of them.

We ended the day off with dinner, close to the hotel.  The next day, we would spend travelling - by train to Yichang, where we would then take a coach to the cruise ship which would take us to the next part of our journey, down the Yangtze River, and through the heart of China.

My Three Gorges Flickr album is here.

Poetry Exercise No. 18: Haiku

A rather late revert to my attempt to complete the poetry exercises in "The Ode Less Travelled" by Stephen Fry.  Inspired by my visit to Japan.

According to what I learnt reading "Miss Happiness and Miss Flower" as a child, haikus have 17 syllables

On Mount Yoshino

altogether, and are arranged in three lines, of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively.  However, according to Stephen Fry, it appears that this strict adherence to the Japanese syllabic form is not quite right.  Obviously Japanese words have fewer syllables than English words.  They say more with these 17 syllables then English speakers.  Rather the haiku is supposed to be the distillation of a moment of inspiration or imagination, the "haiku moment".  Stephen Fry also instructs that there must be a "seasonal word", or "kigo" in each haiku, to tell the reader what season this haiku is meant for, and should preferrably refer to the natural world.

The poetry exercise requires us to write four haiku, one for each season of the year.  But I don't really want to as my photos are all of spring and cherry blossoms.  So, I will just write three haiku, to celebrate the beautiful sakura flower.

Grounds of the Imperial Palace, Kyoto

Dreaming of the spring
Cherry trees begin to bloom
Buds await their turn

Sitting by the tree 

Pale pink petals float and sway

Blossoms on the wind

Silver on the ground

Above, fresh green leaves unfurl

Life begins anew

Lessons from the Hotel New World Disaster

On 15 March 1986, the Lian Yak Building at the junction of Serangoon Road and Owen Road, more commonly known as Hotel New World, collapsed in a less than a minute, burying numerous people amidst the rubble.

 Immediately after the collapse, the rescue teams were at the site, trying to pull people out of the rubble.  The teams worked day and night and eventually managed to rescue 17 people.  But 33 people lost their lives.  To   mark the event, MHA together with the National Library has put together an exhibition and run a series of talks.  I attended the talk on 8 July 2012, by Dr Edward Pang, on "Disaster Preparedness: A Medical Perspective".  In his talk, Dr Pang drew inspiration from the Boy Scout motto: "Be Prepared".  He highlighted not only what the country and community needs to do in preparation but what we as individuals can contribute.  For example, training in first aid and CPR, ensuring that we have some basic supplies at home in case of an emergency, and so on.  

Dr Pang also drew many important lessons which can be applied outside the disaster zone: the importance of innovation, and common sense.  He told simple examples to prove his point: using broken furniture and/or doors to improvise splints, and the use of perfume to disguise the smells under the rubble and thus make it easier and more tolerable for the rescue team to do their work.  I asked Dr Pang what he felt was the key factors for successfully tackling  a disaster: his response - discipline, clear-thinking and presence of mind.  Preparation, and practice, are key to ensuring that we keep our cool and respond when disaster strikes.  He gave the example of how years of practice setting drips served him well, when he had to set up a drip whilst lying on his stomach, in a dark and cramped environment.  (The victim's leg was pinned down by rubble.  Medical intervention helped save her leg, and ensured that her other functions, including kidney function, continued to work well.)

Preparation.  Practice. Presence of mind.  Indeed, critical requirements to meet disasters, both great or small.

Dr Pang ended his talk with a short tribute to his late colleague, Dr Hanif Singh, who had died a few years ago. At the time of the Hotel New World Disaster, Dr Singh was a young Medical Officer.  Bravely, he volunteered to go into the tunnels to provide medical care to those beneath.  Dr Pang tried to discourage Dr Hanif, but Dr Hanif in his turn reminded Dr Pang that he was a family man.  Dr Hanif continued, "If I die, I am alone.  My family will not suffer."  In the event, both doctors went through the tunnels (together with the SAF doctors).  It was this indomitable spirit of self-sacrifice which drove the Hotel New World rescue team, much honour and praise to them.

After the talk, I walked around the exhibition area.  This covered the background to the collapse, and the results of the enquiry into its causes.  The shocking news was that apparently the building owner was so stingy, that he did not want to spend money on a proper architect to draw up the building plans, and cut corners on a lot of the building requirements.  Whilst he lost his life in the ensuing disaster, unfortunately his negligence cost many others their lives as well.  For more information, check here.

It has been a long time since I have posted a poem on this blog, but somehow in writing this post, I was reminded of Rudyard Kipling's inspiring poem, "If", on a father's lessons on life to his son.  So I thought I'd reproduce it here.


"If -"


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and  Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much.
If youcan fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is  more, you'll be a Man, my son!

Christmas

Inspirational Christmas Poem

By Oren Arnold

Christmas gift suggestions:
To your enemy, forgiveness.
To an opponent, tolerance.
To a friend, your heart.
To a customer, service.
To all, charity.
To every child, a good example.
To yourself, respect.


My own effort

Christmas eve with the family
Grace said as dinner starts
Smoked ham, roast vegetables, turkey
Sugee cake, pineapple tarts

Children and a Christmas play
Here we come a carolling 
To the Lord above we pray
For tomorrow is Christmas day!

Blessed Christmas, everyone!

Intrepid Hunters

The cats found a cockroach in the kitchen yesterday. I entered the room, saw Winky, Dinky and Orlando sitting comfortably on the floor, and next spotted the cockroach in the corner. It was utterly still so I thought it was dead, and judging by their lack of interest, it seemed that the cats thought so too.


I walked a little nearer, and then the cockroach started moving and (before a whisker could shake) squirmed beneath a cabinet door into one of the cabinets. I opened the door and tried to spot the cockroach - ended up half-emptying the cabinet before catching a glimpse of the cockroach scuttling into a far corner. Put Winky in - but something spooked him and he ran away. Put Orlando in next and (after some sniffing in the wrong spots) he emerged with the cockroach in his mouth! He dropped the cockroach on the floor, the cats surrounded it and after some initial tapping of the cockroach, they lay down around it again and did nothing further! In the end, we had to administer the killing blow and disposed of the cockroach. This is what happened when house cats get soft and lose that instinct to pursue the hunt right to the death.


Anyway, the incident inspired this poem:

Three intrepid hunters
Go stalking through the house
Searching high and low for
A cockroach or a mouse

A cockroach! They spy one!
Who will get there faster?
One lad streaks ahead and
Traps it in a corner.

One hard tap is needed to
Dispatch this wriggling prey
But once he lifts his paw
The cockroach gets away!

Foiled again! The hunters
Look for another trail
Excitement mounts - they spot
Long whiskers and a tail!

One pounce - the mouse is caught!
No need to jump for joy
Just take a closer look -
It's only a soft toy!

Poetry Exercise No. 16 : Triolet

Back to the poetry writing, after a very long rest period.

A cousin of the Rondeau, i.e. characterised by repeating lines/rhymes. Eight lines in total, with the first and second lines repeated in the seventh and eighth lines, and the first line echoed in the fourth line. Rhyme scheme - ABaAbbAB. So here is my triolet, on Casey:

I love my little Casey cat
I wish she loved me just a bit
Her pretty head I gently pat
I love my little Casey cat
But in return she throws a fit
At my touch she will snarl and spit
I love my little Casey cat
I wish she loved me just a bit

Poetry Exercise No. 13: Heroic Verse

Heroic verse is pretty straightforward. Rhyming couplets aabbccdd in good old iambic pentameter. I'd skipped this particular exercise earlier as I wasn't particularly inspired. We were supposed to write about a chap trying to explain away possession of cannabis but it didn't interest me. But now the alternative is to write a sestina, which is a pretty formidable prospect. And so, back to the heroic verse. The inspiration, however, comes from the story of St Benezet, the guy who built a bridge in a little town called Avignon...

Pleased to meet you. They call me Benezet.
Just a shepherd, no one special you’d say.
I was watching my sheep by Avignon
(the town to be made famous through a song)
When I heard God’s voice speak to me, “Go down”,
He said, “And tell the people of that town
Build a bridge across that river, so a
Traveller can safely cross that river
To rest his head within the town”, and then
He added, “I’m right behind you, dear Ben.”
So I picked up my crook, and found someone
To care for my sheep till my task was done.
Then down I walked to Avignon to see
How I could complete my task. Just to be
In this great town was indeed a delight
A change from looking after sheep all night
But I knew I could not forget my task
So I went down to the bishop to ask
If he could build a bridge 'cross the river
For God wanted it done, that much was clear
But he and the townspeople laughed at me
(They all thought that I was being funny)
But I was determined, and persisted
"Build God that bridge!" I firmly insisted.
They didn't believe me (which was quite rude)
And so they asked me, "Young man, if you could
Carry that little stone just a short way
We'll build that bridge for you, starting today!"
So I looked at the stone and had a shock
Their little stone was a mighty great rock!
So I called on God, and asked for his aid
"You said you'd help me out, dear Lord" I prayed
Then I gave that big rock a shove and heave
Those townpeople didn't know what to believe
For God heard my prayer and lent me a hand
With his help I carried that rock to the
River and threw it in. I said, "Look here"
To the townspeople, "Fulfil your promise."
They looked at each other and mumbled "Yes".
So a bridge now spans that river, and hey!
Guess what - they now call me, "St Benezet".

Poetry Exercise No. 14: Villanelle

Ok, I personally think this is a terrible attempt. But I have stopped writing for some time, so am pushing this out just to get started again. The assignment is a villanelle. I've actually explained the villanelle form in an earlier post so all that's left now is the exercise. Since the villanelle is a French form, I sought inspiration from my recent trip to France (for more, read here). Here goes:

The Chateau of Chenonceau

Through my galleries people come and go
They live, dream, laugh and cry, whilst all the while
Beneath my bridges does the river flow

Thomas Bohier first built the chateau
Katherine his wife furnished it with style
Through my galleries people come and go

Henry Second the castle did bestow
On lovely Diane just to see her smile
Beneath my bridges does the river flow

Henry died and Catherine his widow
Seized Chenonceau for her very own pile
Through my galleries people come and go

Catherine built a hall for the chateau
Festivals were held, dances in the aisle
Beneath this hall does the river flow

Now, tourists walk the halls of Chenonceau
For the camera their faces do smile
Through my galleries people come and go
Beneath my bridges watch the river flow

Photo shows the great hall at Chenonceau, built over the river. Note that there is a certain poetic licence taken in one verse.

P.S. For villanelles, the middle line must rhyme throughout, just as the first line of each verse must rhyme with the last. A rhyming dictionary is pretty useful here.

P.P.S I had to amend the poem. Forgot that villanelles are supposed to have only 6 stanzas of 3 lines each. Anyway, don't think the junked verses were much loss.

Closed forms: Villanelles, Sestinas, et al

Ok, I've been reading ahead and not doing poetry exercises. Into closed forms now, which are defined by their strict structures and rules.

The villanelle, for example, is a 3-line stanza verse form in which the first line of the first stanza concludes the stanzas of even numbered stanzas and the third line concludes the stanzas of odd-numbered stanzas; the first and third lines then form a couplet at the end. Stephen Fry credits a famous villanelle, Dylan Thomas' "Do not go gentle" as being the inspiration for him to write Ode, or rather his friend's contemptuous disbelief that a modern poet could be using archaic closed forms. Here's the poem and an analysis.

Another closed form is the sestina. Sestinas have six stanzas of six lines each. They end with a 3-line stanza. What is unique is that the last word of each line of the first verse must also be used as the last words of the lines of successive verses, except that the order shifts with each verse. For example, the last word of the last line of the first verse then becomes the last word of the first line of the second verse. Confused yet? The example below does illustrate.

Which brings me to the example. What prompted me to write this post rather than just pretend I was taking a long time on my poetry exercise was the serendipitous turning of the pages of Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors where I found that Gaiman had written a sestina. For those who do not know his work, Gaiman started off writing graphic novels with the most famous being The Sandman series. He then moved into fiction, collaborating with Terry Pratchett and also writing on his own, works such as Stardust (illustrated by Charles Vess and now made into a movie), American Gods and Anansi Boys. Smoke and Mirrors is a collection of short stories and other writings, including of course... a sestina.

Vampire Sestina
by Neil Gaiman

I wait here at the boundaries of dream,
all shadow-wrapped. The dark air tastes of night,
so cold and crisp, and I wait for my love.
The moon has bleached the colour from her stone.
She'll come, and then we'll stalk this pretty world
alive to darkness and the tang of blood.

It's a lonely game, the quest for blood,
but still, a body's got the right to dream
and I'd not give it up for all the world.
The moon has leeched the darkness from the night.
I stand in the shadows, staring at her stone:
Undead my lover... O, undead my love?

I dreamt you while I slept today and love
meant more to me than life--meant more than blood.
The sunlight sought me, deep beneath my stone,
more dead than any corpse but still a-dream
until I woke as vapour into night
and sunset forced me out into the world.

For many centuries I've walked the world
dispensing something that resembled love--
a stolen kiss, then back into the night
contented by the life and by the blood.
And come the morning I was just a dream,
cold body chilling underneath a stone.

I said I would not hurt you. Am I stone
to leave you prey to time and to the world?
I offered you a truth beyond your dreams
while all you had to offer was your love.
I told you not to worry, and that blood
tastes sweeter on the wing and late at night.

Sometimes my lovers rise to walk the night...
Sometimes they lie, cold corpse beneath a stone,
and never know the joys of bed and blood,
of walking through the shadows of the world;
instead they rot to maggots. O my love
they whispered you had risen, in my dream.

I've waited by your stone for half the night
but you won't leave your dream to hunt for blood.
Goodnight, my love. I offered you the world.

p.s. Gaiman also has a few other poems in this collection. Including another closed form, the Rondel (that comes in the next chapter of Ode).

Inspiring

It's been a while since I've worked on a poetry exercise. It's been a busy few weeks and let's admit it here, the exercises are getting tougher.

My mother suggested that I write something inspiring. Inspiring! My little talent does not aspire to such heights. When I read these lines from Blake, I know nothing I can do can compare:

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Not exactly a wild flower (this plant is in my back yard) but the promise of the bud about to bloom seems to capture the meaning of these lines for me - the glory of creation, the miracle of life and the potential in every living thing.

Odes to Ode

Today I had dinner with the blogger behind Not by Bread Alone and as a result started trying to find out how I would fare on a google search of "Stephen Fry poetry exercise". The answer is: quite poorly, I'm afraid. Definitely not on any of the first 5 pages and so I gave up. What I did find along the way, were reviews of The Ode Less Travelled in the New York Times, the Telegraph and the Observer. Actually I would consider only the NYT as a proper review - the Telegraph appears to be more a profile piece and the Observer merely describes the contents of the book. Also, quite a few other people have also put their poetry exercise products on-line. Just google: Stephen Fry poetry exercise and you will see them popping up.

Anyway, I have decided to come back to the next poetry exercise in the book which is on heroic verse. Instead, I'm at the section on "The Ode" where there are no exercises!! A break at last !!

In this section, Fry talks about the various "types" of odes : the Sapphic Ode (the originator was Sappho, in case anyone is not clear about the rather obvious origins of the name), the Pindaric Ode and the Horatian Ode, which are the classical odes, the Lyric Ode beloved of Keats, Shelley etc, and the anacreontic which essentially celebrates life and living.

I thought I would go round looking for exemplars of the Sapphic Ode (I don't think that there are many examples of the Pindaric or Horatian wandering around). Fry quotes Alexander Pope's Ode to Solitude as an example, as I liked the poem I reproduce it here:

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire;
Whose trees in summer yield shade,
In winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mixed; sweet recreation,
And innocence, which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

This poem paints a very attractive picture of the simple life, a quiet home away from the busyness of the wide world outside. Alas, the world has a habit of intruding upon such tranquil retreats.

I also found "Virtue" by George Herbert - a cheerful poem reminding us of the transience of the mortal world. As can be seen, the English form of the Sapphic Ode is 3 lines in iambic tetrameter followed by one line of two imabic feet. The rhyme scheme in these examples is ABAB, but I imagine that this can be varied somewhat.

I did find an example of a Pindaric Ode as well, but it did not appeal to me. What did appeal were Keats' Odes: to Autumn, especially. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness indeed, of promises fulfilled and harvests reaped.



Ok - got to get back to the heroic verse now.

Poetry Exercise No. 12: The Ballad

We are now on to ballads. 4-beat and 3-beat lines alternating. It is a fairly loose form - with either 4 or 6 lines per verse, ABAB or ABCB rhyming pattern. Doesn't need to be strict tetra/trimeter, as long as the rhythm holds.

Apparently ballads have rather "low", folk origins. Fry describes it as " pub poetry... it can be macabre, brutal, sinister, preachy, ghostly, doom-laden, lurid, erotic, mock-solemn, facetious, pious or obscene....". I was reading my copy of "Everyman's Book of Evergreen Verse" to find some examples and certainly W.S. Gilbert's "The Yarn of the Nancy Bell" fits the bill. Its main feature is the refrain:

O, I am a cook and a captain bold
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite
And the crew of the captain's gig.

And for those who do not know this poem, all that needs to be said is that it is a tale about cannibalism on the high seas. The whole poem can be found here (not copying it in here as this is already going to be a long post as it is). It is a fun, rollicking poem and has got a great rhythm and swing to it. Guess that is what a ballad is all about.


Ok, now for the confession. There is an exercise. We're meant to complete a ballad with the first two verses as composed by Fry:

Now gather round and let me tell
The tale of Danny Wise;
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did suck out both his eyes.

And if I tell the story true
And if I tell it clear
There's not a mortal one of you
Won't shriek in mortal fear.

What can I say? I must admit that this little attempt does not spark off anything in me. It is difficult enough as it is to think of a story as to why a wife would suck out her husband's eyes (beyond the obvious). I did think of an allusion to Neil Gaiman's Corinthian (a nightmare with an eye fetish) but discarded that as I felt Annabelle deserved something better. In the end I was inspired by the latest season of "Heroes" although I have tried to vary the talent in this case.

And so the poem continues:

Now Danny ever as a lad
Had eyes so sharp and bright,
That they could spot the tiniest speck
And pierce the darkest night.

One day Danny went to the fair
Some fake CDs to sell,
And who should he see standing there
But our sweet Annabelle.

Danny took one look at her and
Completely lost his heart;
And Annabelle she glanced at Dan
- And loved him from the start.

So they married, our happy pair
And built a happy home.
But that's not all, else there would be
An end to this bad poem.

For Danny's sight grew sharper still
Super vision then had he!
Eyes which could burn through wood and stone
And all that he could see.

For Danny couldn't control his gift
In fact it was a curse;
All that he saw he set aflame
And it was getting worse.

At last he asked sweet Annabelle
To save him from his pain;
To find a way for him to lose
The gift that was his bane.

Annabelle tried all that she could -
Toiling night and day
But everything that she tried failed
Until t'was one last way

So now I've come to the end of
The tale of Danny Wise;
And how his sweet wife Annabelle
Did suck out both his eyes.

I know. It stinks. But what to do. Remember - it's just an exercise!

Poetry Exercise No. 11: Ottava Rima

Ottava Rima: Iambic pentameter, 8 lines worth. Rhyme scheme: ABABABCC.

My Orlando poem:

One day an orphan came to our front door

Bedraggled; hungry; a sad, sorry cat.

Big eyes and ears; a small warm orange paw;

Just looking for a home, a meal, a pat.

So- now Orlando is alone no more,

His fur is thick; his tummy round and fat.

This mischief maker in our hearts has grown

We're happy in our house he has his home.

Maybe a little overly alliterated in the last two lines but it just came out like that.

The last assignment was the Spencerian Stanza, eight lines worth of iambic pentameter with a nineth line of iambic heptameter (or an alexandrine)! I have to say that I don't think iambic pentameter is quite my thing. I find the lines a little long to construct. Give me the tetrameter anytime. Anyway, I have decided to cheat a little by varying the above verse. The rhyme scheme is ABABBCBCC. So here goes:

One day an orphan came to our front door
Bedraggled; hungry; a sad, sorry cat.
Big eyes and ears; a small warm orange paw;
Just looking for a home, a meal, a pat.
But now Orlando's getting round and fat
With lots of company; he's not alone,

(In fact sometimes he's quite the little brat)
Oh mischief maker, in our hearts you've grown,
We are so glad that its with us that you have made your home.

Thank heavens! Now I can move on to the next exercise.

Poetry Exercise No. 11: Rhyme Royal

Rhyme Royal is a seven-line verse in iambic pentameter, with a rhyming scheme ABABBCC. Surprisingly, I found this rather difficult. Perhaps because after the last few exercises, I’m no longer used to the rhythm of iambic feet. I started off writing something about Orlando jumping around in the house, but it kept on coming out in anapaestic feet instead. In the end, I had to change tack. So after many false starts, here is my verse:

The garden plants grow greenly in the sun
The smell of coffee fills the morning air
No work to do or errands he must run
A cat sits on the cushion on the chair
He sits and thinks, “Ah yes! The day is fair!”
With nothing else to do but sit and chat,
Life is so easy when you are a cat!

After spending so much time on this, I've decided to leave Ottava Rima to another day.

Poetry Exercise No. 11: Open Forms

We have moved on from rhyme, to stanzaic forms. There are different types of forms – open forms, where the overall length is left to the poet, and closed forms which follow a set pattern and length.

The assignment does not hold much interest (at least to me). For each open form, we are supposed to write a poem which describes the form. I think I prefer writing about my dear little cats who are, after all, an endless source of interest and inspiration.

So here we go with the first open form :

Terza Rima :
Tercets are 3-line stanzas. Terza Rima can be any length but the rhyme scheme is ABA, BCB, CDC, and so on till the last stanza which is four lines long, in the format DEDE. My attempt, called "Feeding Time":

When evening comes, it's time to eat
We walk out with a jar of food
The cats rush back in, from the street.

Wait politely - I wish they would -
But urgently they beg and plead,
And push each other - oh, so rude!

Finally, they begin to feed
Heads all down, they keep munching on
Heaven knows, it's really just greed -
In five minutes, it has all gone!

Quatrains :
4-line stanzas. Can be cross-rhymed, or ABAB; envelope-rhymed, or ABBA. The Rubai is a quatrain form from Persia, with a rhyme scheme of AABA. I did not know that this famous verse was from the Ruba'yat of Omar Khayyam (translated by Edward Fitzgerald, in iambic pentameter to boot):

The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Alas, my own effort cannot compare:

Our Casey cat often treats us with hauteur
We ask her to sit, to come and drink water
But unless she gets her favourite treats
She only obeys should it be her pleasure.

(Note: use of weak endings. Also, pleasure is not a perfect rhyme - assonance?)

Poetry Exercise No. 11 will be continued in my next post. There is still Rhyme Royal, and Ottava Rima to go! Plus the Spencerian Stanza!

Poetry Exercise No. 8: Syllabic Verse

Instead of counting beats or feet, count syllables only. Examples of syllabic verse include the Haiku.

The exercise:

Part 1: Alternate lines of seven and five syllables, two quatrains worth.

Torrential tropical rain
Against my window
I feel a chill in the air
And miss my warm bed

In the afternoon it slows
To a light drizzle
The umbrellas still stay out
The dark clouds remain

Part 2: Two stanzas of verse with the following number of syllables in the successive lines - 3, 6, 1, 4, 8, 4, 1, 6, 3

On my bed
I find short coarse white fur
Cats
Can’t keep them off
Who knows what they trek on my sheets
From the garden
Or
From the wide world outside
What to do…

They do say
Cats are clean animals
And
These born hunters
Keep the roaches and the lizards down
And so I brush
Off
The fur from my sheets and
Pat their heads

This is the last poetry-writing exercise on metre. Moving on to rhyme!

p.s. Due to popular demand please find below one photo of cats on my bed.

Poetry Exercise No. 7 : Accentual-Alliterative Verse

Ok, so what is that? Iambic pentameter (and its friends) represent the world of "accentual-syllabic" verse. "Accentual-alliterative" verse is from ye olde Anglo-Saxon poetry tradition, where the accents fall on alliterated words, save for the last. Fry calls this "Bang Bang Bang Crash". The exercise is to write about 18-20 lines (I ended up with 16) on the subject of what you want to eat/don't want to eat, right this minute. I had just finished dinner when I started on this, so the poem is really about the happy days in the Residence Inn dining area eating uncooked veggies and salsa and tacos for dinner.

Of my favourite foods I fantasise when overseas
Of chilli crab, and chicken rice I dream
Memories of mee siam cause me to drool
And longing for laksa leaves me weak.

Of nonya nosh I’ll never get too much of
A bit of sambal belacan on the side
I’d love to have loads of lemak gravy too
The rich rempah in it really is a treat.

No boiled brussel sprouts or broccoli for dinner
No burnt bacon, cold bangers, or mash
No undercooked hor d’ouevres which don’t excite me
And throw out the tough and stringy meat

Oh, when I want a wantan or roti prata
Or pine for prawn paste chicken (har cheong kai)
I find these delicious dishes don’t come by easy
Outside the sunny shores of Singapore.

The Road Not Taken

Into the Woods
Originally uploaded by Taking5

"The Ode Less Travelled" is, of course, an allusion to this famous poem by Robert Frost. Given my current interests in poetry, I looked up the poem:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Obviously, I am far more familiar with the end of the poem than any other part of it. And of course, the impression one gets from the last two lines is that the writer has been rewarded by striking out on his own, rather than by following the crowd. So it was quite revealing to re-read the whole and realise that (as this analysis states) that it is not evident that the second road was really less travelled and secondly, that the writer may not have benefited from his choice! Indeed, it would seem that the poem is about the "might-have-beens" which arise from the different choices which we make in life rather than an ode to individualism.

Poetry Exercise No. 6

This time the exercise is on the use of ternary feet (ie, three beats instead of two to a foot - eg ditty-dum, dum-ditty and the like.)

The exercise is in two parts. First, to write directions (to your home) using some anapestic hexameters (anapaests go 3 beats to a foot, stress on the 3rd beat i.e. ditty-dum, hexameters indicate a total of 6 feet/stresses per line).

However I do not intend to give directions to my house on-line! So I will give directions to Raffles Hotel instead (from the east coast) :-)

It's a drive down the ECP exit at Rochor Road, filtering left
Watch the hot air balloon as it makes its ascent; then turn left once again.
You're on North Bridge Road, driving past Liang Seah and Purvis Streets; stop at the lights!
With a turn into Seah street you're there and so welcome to Raffles Hotel.
(If you find these directions just cannot compare with a map then click here)

The second part of the exercise is to write some dactylic pentameter (dactyls go dum-ditty i.e. stress is on the first of three beats) on the subject of cows. The first four dactyls should be followed by a spondee, i.e. two stressed accents.

Once there were two lads named Jerry and Ben who made ice cream!
Black and white cows can be seen on each pint of their product,
Free from recombinant growth hormone cows gave such fresh milk,
It's no surprise that these guys made a pile from their dessert!

Now that's making me hungry for ice cream!

Poetry Exercise No. 5

Here we take a break from iambic pentameter and move instead into iambic tetrameter!

This exercise has three parts. The subject - television.

Part 1: Write two quatrains of iambic tetrameter (four beats per line)

Domestic Goddesshood awaits
For those who take a careful note
Of how Nigella brews and bakes
And cuts her fruit and fries her steaks.

The story of these interns five
To be a surgeon they aspire
Such mixed up lives and loves they lead
Whilst struggling to save life and limb

Part 2: Two quatrains of alternating iambic tetrameter and trimeter (three beats per line)

"The Making of the Leap Years" show
Who really gives a damn
Ad nauseum plays the trailers too
Far more than for the film.

Let Seetoh guide you to the best
Of food in Singapore
Three chopsticks means "die die must try"
In Makansutra Raw.

Part 3: 2 quatrains in "trochaic tetrameter", the first with eight syllables per line and the second with the last syllable dropped every second line.

First they sing with heart and soul then
Stand to hear the judges' comments
Idol fame and fortune waits for
He who wins the viewers over.

Down with syndicates exploiting
Fans of English Premier League
Broadcast charges they keep raising
It's a deadly sin, is greed.