congee
who lights the stove before the sun
warms my belly best
with medley of uneven heat, cool
of intimacy, strangeness –
comes in fire and steam
earthly sufferings without cease
faces smiling trip you up –
the ill-fated caught in a bitter rip
to surge just as it drags them down
after a sleepless night, who’d bring
a bowl of warmth to your bitter chest?
whose hands have skill to pick apart
the thousand knots of a heart?
it’s wearying to toast desire
why still cling to vinegar and salt?
let me peer into the empty whirl instead
and see what you’ve invested –
thousand-year eggs and lean pork
calm the fires in your heart
dried stockfish and peanuts
round off a sweet night’s writhing rice
paddling boats groan to the moon
and to the wind above the shore
only the fish eye of dawn calls for you
dried bean-curd sheet, ginkgo,
pork bones, dace paste
each distinguishes dissolves
you and I – we’re ups and downs in hot rice soup
some people talk it up with abalone and with scallop
let’s taste the everyday bitter-sweet
in the bowl of all folks’ congee
by Leung Ping-kwan
Translated by Christopher Kelen and Chris Song Zijiang |
