Red Letter Poem #88

 Red Letter Poem #88

 

 

Like many Americans, my experience of the world is, regrettably, a narrow one.  Situated on this huge and resource-rich continent – and bracketed by two oceans – our nation’s isolation has been both a blessing (offering a measure of protection) as well as a curse (allowing us the false impression that all we needed to survive might be found within our borders.)   Granted, I’ve learned a fair amount about the few other countries I’ve actually visited; and friends from foreign lands have opened my eyes to ways the world works that are nothing like my own.  Still, when another poet suggested I send some of my work to QLRS (Quarterly Literary Review Singapore), I realized that I only possessed two impressions about that island-republic: it was an extremely wealthy society; and one governed by a strict (some might say harshly-enforced) network of rules.  So I set out to learn more.

 

Of all the things I’ve since come to understand, these two are the facts that impressed me the most: first, almost-entirely lacking in rich natural resources, Singapore somehow became one of the original Asian Tigers by mastering the art of trade and international affairs, earning it one of the highest per capita GDPs in the world.  And, since it also possessed the second greatest population density on the planet, it enshrined multiracialism and multiculturalism in its constitution, recognizing how interdependent their society needed to be.  Singapore boasts four official languages; how many others can claim that?  Since my own country these days seems to be experiencing a never-ending cascade of sectarian battles, I enjoyed the reminder that getting along (as a survival skill) brings with it a host of rewards.  But then I’d think about the inflexibility of those rules. . .

 

Maybe that’s where poetry comes in – its irrepressible need to break free of restraints, to reinvent the ways an individual’s imagination can shape his or her own experience.  And, as it turns out, I had a very good guide in the person of Toh Hsien Min, a marvelously accomplished poet and the founding editor of QLRS.  He received his literature education at Oxford and ended up as president of the University Poetry Society there.  In 2010, he won the Young Artist Award from the National Arts Council of Singapore.  Poems from his four collections have been translated into five European and Scandinavian languages, bolstering his credentials as one of poetry’s global citizens.  But in our correspondence, I encountered an agile and inquisitive mind eager to keep stretching his boundaries.  Quite an adept formalist, you’ll see in Hsien Min’s new poem how his modernist sensibility has refashioned an element of the national character into something more, shall we say, unbridled.  Singapore is a small island archipelago – but as we’ve learned from images of Earth taken from outer space, our whole planet is a small blue-green island afloat in darkness.  It seems to me that we’d all better come to a clearer understanding about which rules actually safeguard our survival and which seem to be only used to batter each other into submission.  “Go where your courage fails you” – one of Hsien Min’s rules; that’s one I will endeavor to follow. 

 

 

 

The Rules

 

 

 

Zest lemons.  Set your alarm early for the pleasure of hitting the snooze button.

Walk off the map.  Find your own secluded beach.  Slip out of your shoes.

Smile for no reason.  Cross at the lights, just not always when they are green.

Bake fresh cookies.  Turn on a dime when you have a dime to turn around.

Pretend to be serious.  Assume other people have different points of view.

Take the other road, it really is shorter.  Do favours for those you don't like.

Dress like you mean it.  Amble in the rain without opening your umbrella.

Taste every wild berry you find.  Lift your hands off the handlebars.

Run through the pigeons.  Wear French cuffs with a button-down collar.

Turn off your mobile phone.  Make no promises your heart can't keep.

Refuse the second cigar.  Gaze out the porthole during the safety film.

Shave only when you want to.  Shop in a foreign supermarket.

Laugh out loud in the library.  Know that you know that you don't know.

Eat the fat off a suckling pig.  Live next to birdsong, not to crickets.

Talk with the man next to you.  Have a spin on the merry-go-round.

Go where your courage fails you.  Yawn in public but sneeze in private.

Pretend to pretend to be serious.  Summon snow angels in your best suit.

Let the sun wake you.  Give up falling in love the instant you catch her eye.

 

 

­­                                                       –– Toh Hsien Min

 

                                                           

The Red Letters 3.0: A New Beginning (Perhaps)   

At the outset of the Covid pandemic, when fear was at its highest, the Red Letter Project was intended to remind us of community: that, even isolated in our homes, we could still face this challenge together.  As Arlington’s Poet Laureate, I began sending out a poem of comfort each Friday, featuring the fine talents from our town and its neighbors.  Because I enlisted the partnership of seven local arts and community organizations, distribution of the poems spread quickly – and, with subscribers sharing and re-posting the installments, soon we had readers, not only throughout the Commonwealth, but across the country.  And I delighted in the weekly e-mails I’d receive with praise for the poets; as one reader recently commented: “You give me the gift of a quiet, contemplative break—with something to take away and reflect on.”

 

Then our circumstance changed dramatically again: following the murder of George Floyd, the massive social and political unrest, and the national economic catastrophe, the distress of the pandemic was magnified.  Red Letter 2.0 announced that I would seek out as diverse a set of voices as I could find – from Massachusetts and beyond – so that their poems might inspire, challenge, deepen the conversation we were, by necessity, engaged in.

 

Now, with widespread vaccination, an economic rebound, and a shift in the political landscape, I intend to help this forum continue to evolve – Red Letter 3.0.  For the last 15 months, I’ve heard one question again and again: when will we get back our old lives?  It may pain us to admit it, but that is little more than a fantasy.  Our lives have been altered irrevocably – not only our understanding of how thoroughly interdependent we are, both locally and globally, but how fragile and utterly precious is all that we love.  Weren’t you bowled over recently by how good it felt just to hug a friend or family member?  Or to walk unmasked through a grocery, noticing all the faces?  So I think the question we must wrestle with is this: knowing what we know, how will we begin shaping our new life?  Will we quickly forget how grateful we felt that strangers put themselves at risk, every day, so that we might purchase milk and bread, ride the bus to work, or be cared for by a doctor or nurse?  Will we slip back into our old drowse and look away from the pain so many are forced to endure – in this, the wealthiest nation on the planet?  Will we stop noticing those simple beauties all around us?  The poet Mary Oliver said it plainly: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”  I will continue to offer RLP readers the work of poets who are engaged in these questions, hoping their voices will fortify all of ours.

 

Two of our partner sites will continue re-posting each Red Letter weekly: the YourArlington news blog (https://www.yourarlington.com/easyblog/entry/28-poetry/3070-redletter-111121), and the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene (http://dougholder.blogspot.com).  If you would like to receive these poems every Friday in your own in-box – or would like to write in with comments or submissions – send correspondence to: steven.arlingtonlaureate@gmail.com.