'Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creep in this petty pace
from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time' (Shakespeare)
Tonight, I have had too much, too much,
a European man with too soft a touch,
swaying in the breeze, a taut bamboo kite,
flaying in the air, a raw tiger fight,
praying in the rain, a cool monsoon night,
yes, I have had too much tonight.
Why do you put up with it?
Tomorrow, wake up and feel what you think tonight;
tomorrow, break up the reflection of the bamboo kite;
tomorrow, take up the injection of the tiger’s fight;
tomorrow, rake up the inflection of the anchor’s might;
everyday, there’s non stop moaning;
everyday, there’s non stop groaning;
everyday, there’s non stop phoning;
Why do you put up with the constant pitching?
Why do you put up with the constant bitching?
Why do you put up with the constant itching?
2nd movement Romance for rice and string quartet
‘it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing’ (Shakespeare)
Think of tonight …
in the rice cooker, you warm up the soup,
the half eaten fish and rice from midday,
waiting for her to return to the coop,
when evening’s aromas come into play.
Think of tonight…
you reheat the rice, the soup and the fish,
just as if the plates and bowls are cooking;
you arrange the fruit on the bamboo dish,
to make sure the table is good looking.
Think of tonight …
you bring the soup but spill a drop or two
on the clean cooker by the main gas ring,
enough for her to have a go at you,
a flambé of senseless admonishing.
3rd movement Rumba for telephone and hit-man
What do you get?
Why don’t you try to stop buffing the glaze,
and let people see the depth of the graze?
What do you get?
Why don‘t you try to get out of your haze,
and upon yourself enforce a new phase?
What do you get?
Why don’t you try to completely rephrase
your life, a divorce, get out of this maze?
don’t look back,
along the track, and the sadness you go through,
little thinking this would ensue
The phone rings yet again
How many times?
The most inconsequential thing you slate, reprimand, censure, rebuke, and berate
Quintet for two children, mother, father and forest
The Song of Sekayu
1st movement the children with the father
buy cling-film rolls, pizza, Malay bakery
hear foliage moan and the lake’s HEP
admire front seat mother eat curry on knee
look at old photographs that tell history
career in the stream below rich canopy
use fingers to scoop up their fish and rice tea
watch acrobat monkey show off his skills, free
inhale stinking rubber, bouquet factory
2nd movement the children in the car
rubber row, oil palm,
flowers grow, research farm
flowing bridge, stalls with fruit
forest ridge, cow dung route
high noon lake, raining gust
photo take, pylon thrust
cable hum, turbine whirr
high heel Mum, engine purr
hit the brake, go more slow
miss the snake, buffalo
3rd movement the children in the forest
forest soar, monkey grip
torrents pour, insects nip
bamboo height, amber flit
bird in flight, bank track grit
children tramp, ochre path,
grey flat camp, rapids bath
algae rocks, children stream
take of socks, small fish teem
4th movement the mother in the forest
come so far, sleepy now
in the car, swaying bough
jungle hues, tinge the air
take off shoes, feet are bare
raise your skirt, split in half
watch the dirt, bare your calf
water’s rim, crouching there
rear trim, low back bare
ruby bright, burgundy
hugging tight, lingerie
5th movement the forest children
The interior Hulu children play,
they know this plant and that one, and its name,
they don’t watch cartoon programmes all the day,
or play a mindless dull computer game,
the future of these rural parts learn to
socialise around their decrepit house,
by banana trees when their school is through;
pink ears, long tail is their only mouse;
they wait patient around their squatting stalls,
to sell cut price fruit to get some money,
guava, papaya, whatever else falls,
homemade soft drinks, self collected honey
pecuniary impropriety,
governmental negligence, a question of sobriety.
Fiscally, of course, they re not rich,
but one can argue that if you were to compare
them to the plump offspring of some urban bitch,
the Hulu child’s a millionaire …
Duet for man and woman
1st movement
'I only know two pieces of music; one is
Yankee Doodle, the other isn’t.' (Ulysses Grant)
A husband from here, of your people's race
would make it quite clear that you d know your place,
and you would have known long, long ago
that your manners and mouth would be kept in tow.
A small shop husband from this small time town
would make sure it were he that wore the crown;
for you would have known long, long ago
that it s you who follow where he wants to go.
A full time husband from this part time port
would tolerate from you no smart retort;
you would have found out long, long ago
that any wrong remark would land you a blow.
And with a spouse from your community,
you d not have let you run so free;
you would have known long, long ago
that late restaurant nights out would end in woe.
A local bred boy wouldn’t take you along,
they smoke and drink coffee, play Mah Jong;
you would have known long, long ago
where some of the profits frequently go.
With a husband obsessed with small shop sales,
you wouldn’t have known London, Paris, or Wales;
you would have known well so long, long ago,
that journeys abroad weren’t part of the show.
With a husband from here, ask yourself why
just once in three years, it s maybe Hatyai;
and in your heart, you d have known you’d not go
to Bangkok and Chiang Mai, long, long ago.
With some man who came from these rural parts,
there d be no half chance to be Queen of Hearts;
you would have known well that he is the King,
and long, long ago you play second string.
2nd movement
I used to teach this one s and that one's wife,
they to me something of their life
One, lay in bed till the 10 am glow,
she opened the shop though, long, long ago;
two, Friday morning, happily dozing,
she’s in the market, transactions closing;
three, left his wife to look after the shop;
he caught a flight to where kangaroos hop
that one’s oil husband is out all the day;
mornings, she goes to the golf club to play,
she finds her lonely midday lunch dreary,
life here is humdrum, tiresome, weary.
There’s this one. ‘It’s boring, nothing to do.’
‘But your amah does all the housework for you.’
3rd movement
But it’s not just the children putting me
into a labyrinthine quandary
‘I shall tell this hence with a sigh’
for there is more to this than meets the eye,
for at the start of my residency
in your east coast town, you invited me,
when you had no idea who I were,
to your mother ‘s house for Chinese New Year;
cheap mock cherry blossom, old wooden door,
tiles that let rainfall drip to the floor,
chipped bowls, chopsticks, and mismatched plates unchaste,
but checkmate cuisine, a spectrum of taste;
you apologised for the ‘simple’ fare,
but at that time I was not aware
of any fastidious gastronome
who would not have wished to eat in your home;
by the open window, chimes softly rang,
outside, nocturnal insects coolly sang;
then, I thought that it was most kind of you
to bring home a man whom you barely knew…
although I’m quite happy being alone,
it was nice, then, to be not on my own.
Solo piece for a man
1st movement
Far Away and Long Ago (W H Hudson)
when I go on, and we break apart,
there s always the memories in my heart
of then. And I know I will be able
to picture that gourmet New Year’s table
and the times I spent in the car with you,
to Kuantan, Penang, and Kota Bahru;
bird park in Jurong, old town Singapore,
the Customs searching the car in Johor,
the Cwmann hill road when the snow closed in,
that bitter cold winter in Ael y Bryn;
I can picture too a warm Swansea spring,
the street where I bought you your wedding ring,
nice telephone bar, Catalunya, Spain,
but I couldn’t wait to see you again;
maternity clothes making their debut,
Dr Chong, obstetrician, taking out our two,
wooden house, coconut tree with its bomb
that hit by the Volvo with such aplomb;
the Batu Rakit years when time just flew,
commuting weekends with the three of you.
But I have had too much, too much tonight;
how long now before the whispering kite
turns into a ferocious tiger fight?
2nd movement
Finale ‘Ciao, ciao, bambina’
Tonight, I have just had too much, too much,
white man with much too soft a touch.
The phone rings again. How many times?
The phone rings again.
Bila lemah lembut wau tukar menjadi harimau?
That is the question. I know you don’t know;
but think of what happened, long, long ago …
and then again, recall how things were
in Sekayu forest, this Chinese New Year.
