Champion Tang Naomi West Island School Theme: Culture
Chungking Mansions
As a child, Chungking Mansions was a labyrinth of stalls And lifts that creeeeaakkked with fatigue and age.
At times, a little cultural haven enclosed in four walls Of latticed stonework and iron resembling a cage.
All year hung the stench of sweltering bodies, Of festering fruit like a haze of taste and touch.
I loved Mr. Kapoor’s pungent masala, his bizarre stories
Brought notions of swirling India drowning in thick muggy mulch.
One floor housed venerable Mrs. Chen, her vivid baritone
Soared above all else: a loud luscious sea composed of peaceful green.
I wandered in the char siu, the Tsingtao, the Xiaomi phones Until reaching an oozing moat of pulpy polystyrene.
I would wait some mornings beside Aloki and Mahavir’s deli Prying, prodding, pleading, pressing and poking
To gape, dog droopy-eyed, at the Nepalese candied jalebi.
Aloki would pass me one: deep-fried, pretzel-gold, saffron-dipped, still smoking…
Now, I stand, surrounded by the babble of a curious polyglot to stall-owner, The hassle of predawn business between hearty companions,
The cultural exchange of opinion in shops threadbare and ochre, It is Hong Kong’s most precious resource: Chungking Mansions.
Adjudicators’ comments
A refreshingly personal and individual take on a part of Hong Kong that features in all the lives of Hong Kongers.
Smart. Reflective. Excellent word choices. Truly evokes the richness of the Chungking experience, one vital to Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon and to Hong Kong more generally.
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First Runner-up Yip Grace
West Island School Theme: Culture Untitled
A trip to Hong Kong was all I knew
Nothing about the culture, festivals, nor its brilliance To the city on a plane I flew
Stained in my mind is that unique experience A complex cake resembles a festival
Inside is an un-glowing moon But the one in the sky is a spectacle
Standing hoping this night won’t pass too soon Sitting on an icy stone bench
Trees letting their leaves bristle The cold making my jaw clench Nights never mixed with bird whistles A boat shaped like a dragon
Holds much more than just what’s visible A story about someone’s passion
How far he went to show he was miserable Ear-deafening sounds fill the air
Red confetti floating, not aligned As if the occasion needed any more flair Two lions appear, so carefully designed People holding out delicate red packets Smiling and returning the favour Little kids wearing intricate jackets
Gave you a taste of their culture, sweet is the flavour A festival dedicated especially to the dead
A carving on a stone that marks a person’s lifetime Tears drop to the ground after they are shed The cemetery so crowded during daytime The beautiful city so close yet so far Grasping hold while I’m in the middle of it As if it was from another star
But right there in the centre of it I sit
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 79
Adjudicators’ comments
Quite well crafted indeed, and the rhythm is generally also well-managed.
A few sharp observations—‘un-glowing moon’, clenched jaw, no ‘bird whistles’ at night. But the poem is slightly marred by its focus on the rhyme scheme. Still, an interesting poem worthy of praise.
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Second Runner-up Messervy Eve West Island School Theme: Connectedness Upload a Life
I know this guy, his First name’s Tech and Last name Nology
And he owes the world a repentant apology, For
Hypnotising, Mesmerising,
In a way lobotomising, The whole entire world.
He takes gigabytes of citizens Like a platter of fresh meat, And makes kilobytes of netizens In a glitch
Of a heart beat!
He puts a magnet in the screen So you cannot get away, From the pixels and the glow That you gaze at every day!
Our lives are in a chip now.
Then fed through a wire.
It’s how many likes!
How many hits!
How many followers do I admire?
I have so many tweets I need to check, And so many messages I need to send, I hate the sound of that synthesized buzz But I check the update just BECAUSE!
I can.
Double click to download a photo Left click to upload a life
Adjudicators’ comments
Very clever puns and language play. The thoughts are clear and telling. Some language awkwardness therein; but this may be an original intention of the poet, themselves too being inescapably lobotomized by nefarious technology.
I do appreciate the sincerity of the poem. The rhythm is well-executed.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 81
Second Runner-up Yeung Vanessa
Holy Family Canossian College Theme: Nostalgia
Grandpa, Goodbye…
A queer creature standing on the balcony, With four skinny legs and a giant square head – I saw an eyeball in its jaws!
But then Grandpa told me it was called a turntable.
Shining black circles were everywhere.
The “Big Banana” was catchy – Oh! Inedible
“Why are they called The Doors when there are no doors at all?”
His giggle was beyond my comprehension.
Turning, turning and turning One, two, three. Three two one.
Spinning, spinning and spinning
Then we found ourselves dancing merrily across the floor.
Sometimes he was the accompanist,
Inviting his companions to add extra delight to the melody.
Mellow impromptu chords melting into my ears – They are now dissolved in tears.
No music is being played but adults’ sob.
The telephone call is like a vinyl scratch.
Realizing the stylus has been worn out.
Happiness is robbed.
Both melody and lyrics fade and descend, Slowly becoming wordless crackles.
The vinyl finally Stops spinning, Static and Still.
There is no music to dance, no one to dance with.
Throwing the records away is the adults’ intention.
Do they know about those summer afternoons?
In vain, in pain…
I see the two blurred dancing figures again.
Adjudicators’ comments
A moving tribute to a music-loving grandfather who shared his passion with the persona. The memories are beautiful and at times heartbreakingly portrayed through the use of repetition and images which reflect the movement of the turntable.
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Feelings expressed are somewhat trite BUT the poem’s development rescues them and gives them some depth. The focus on the status of the turntable and vinyl music with the grandfather and the loss of that technology with grandfather’s passing is credible and moving.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 83
Merit Borger Ria
West Island School Theme: Connectedness Memorable Days I Cherish
“You’re my favourite” he always said Lots to tell, where should I start?
From stories that aren't even in my head to memories I will always keep in my heart My mom carefully passing me to him His smiley eyes looking at me
From the comfy blanky looking back at him Holding me with the smile of glee
Sitting on his lap as soft as a cloud Hearing him as I start to doze His voice so tender and proud
He read me a story till my eyes were closed Listen to the beautiful grass whistle
As he holds the leaf with his wrinkly hand The trees making a small bristle
By the wind my hair got fanned Tried grass whistling myself Not working out very well Asking him how he did it himself Getting a leaf, he starts to tell The amazing sushi place in town We often went there together The magical Karaoke place in town We sang at, together
Moving to a new city
Our distance becomes further Not seeing each other is a pity but still our hearts are close together Feeling empty not having him around The loss I have to bear
Heartfelt memories abound
What special moments we will always share
Adjudicators’ comments
This is a tough theme to work with as it’s very hard to say something fresh. There are a number of awkward inversions (‘special moments we will always share’ rather
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than ‘we will always share special moments’) for the sake of the rhymes. Nonetheless, this is very heartfelt and sincere.
Moving. And somehow uplifting, notwithstanding the aura of loss—which is a wonderful marriage of opposites.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 85
Merit
Cheung Hay Ching Eleanor Marymount Primary School Theme: Local Myth and History
A Conversation with the Terracotta Warrior
Warrior, warrior, impart to me why you are here to dwell?
To guard against a vast mausoleum that is no emperors’ parallel.
Warrior, warrior, how big is this mausoleum that surprised the world?
Twenty hectares is this underworld,
Thousand meters high with evergreen trees, Four decades to build at his decree.
Seventy thousand workers toiled day and night,
To satisfy the ambition of a man, never to mention human rights.
Warrior, warrior, unfold to me what’s inside the tomb?
The China landscape microcosm here resume.
Rivers and streams made with mercury flowing, Vales and mounts made with bronze standing.
Precious stones sparkled in the ceilings as celestials, Extravagant palaces are the Emperor’s collections.
Warrior, warrior, why do I hear sweet music flowing by?
The Emperor is fond of music and glorifies.
Clay dancers, musicians and acrobats amuse him to pleasure, Fine vessels, precious stones and rarities are his treasures.
Life-after-death is as merry as life on earth,
Armies, concubines, and servants are here to serve.
Warrior, warrior, how has the tomb been kept safe in the last two thousand years?
The Emperor prevented invasion by precautions.
Arrows automatically ejected to stop raiders,
Poisonous mercury and booby traps equipped to kill robbers.
Archers, chariots and horses in full flight, Swords and spears are ready to fight.
Eight thousand soldiers devoted to protect the Emperor, To ensure in his afterlife he is still in power.
Warrior, warrior, do you think the Emperor was great?
Unified China,
Standardised characters, coins, weights and measures, Connected the Great Wall,
No emperors are comparable to him.
Burnt books,
Buried scholars alive, Ruthless and savage,
No civilian is comparable to he.
His impact on the world is still seen,
UNESCO named the mausoleum and the Great Wall a World Heritage Site.
His legacy and pride to all our history.
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Adjudicator’s comments
This poem has a lot of potential, with good sound quality and conceptual framing, but the poor grammar and occasional forced end-rhyme don’t help, and the poem tended to inform rather than show a little bit too much. The overall message also seems confusing, especially regarding the Emperor’s very ambivalent legacy. The poet suggestively lets readers decide the meaning and merit of legacy and posterity for themselves.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 87
Merit Kim Minjun West Island School Theme: Nostalgia
A Picture Full of Memories I walk along the sidewalk, Of the noiseless Memory Lane, The embodiment of who I am,
The treasure chest of my deepest secrets.
My feet patter against the cobble pavement,
The sounds echoing throughout the tranquil avenue.
I walk, And walk, And walk.
Until I step on a picture lying on the ground.
I pick it up, and take a look.
Icy chills, and bittersweet memories, Flood my body,
Numbing me,
Bringing tears to my eyes.
A face of an old friend, Squinted eyes,
And a cheerful smile,
One that could lift the weights of exhaustion, And sadness from my shoulders.
I can still remember…
Running around in a field of grass,
Aimlessly running, yet smiles never faltering, Burning with happiness,
Brimming with energy,
Filled with the purest form of true ecstasy.
I can still remember…
Sitting on the scorching floor of a sports track, Commotion and glee spreading like a wildfire, Across the bleachers.
He covers me with his cloak, Saving me from the blistering sun.
I can still remember…
This day was especially cold, The clouds gathered together,
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Cloaking the sun from our view.
He smiled. Again.
But something was off.
His smile was bittersweet, Sad,
As if all his happiness was gone,
And he was only smiling for one last time.
He walked away.
His footsteps, getting softer and softer, Faded into oblivion.
Dread seeped into my heart,
Knowing that I had lost someone dear to me.
I dropped the picture, And I continued to walk.
They say a picture speaks a thousand words.
But to me, that picture speaks a million memories.
Adjudicator’s comments
A lot of interesting language, which tends towards formulaic descriptions at times.
I’d like to see something more specific to the author, but the form itself is innovative, and the repetition refreshing. A good tension between the clichéd and the personal.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 89
Merit
Reyes Bianca West Island School Theme: Nostalgia Untitled
Beautiful melodies, magnificent symphonies or whatever they used to be
are now only just empty, ringing noises to me.
I used to see the notes glide from his tongue, swirl across the room in a ballroom dance.
As they melt people’s hearts as if they belong, in an erupting volcano’s last stance.
I used to hear my mother’s heart leap, the moment he strummed his guitar
But in his deafening absence I can only see, In her heart, a crevice, a scar.
I can still remember his single guitar pick, how he smiled when he felt it’s silver edges.
He would never stop twirling those navy drumsticks And the vintage vinyls on his ledges.
I can still recall when we sang in his room, together; our favourite song.
I would do anything to rewind and resume to the microphone. Where he belongs.
And even after mother’s shrieks No argument would hold him down.
A storm was building, bright white streaks For his debut tour, he left town.
Then the hour of his return; a building crescendo awaits.
The door opens.
But instead of harmony, a screech of broken
record plates.
The music stopped. Desolation of sound.
Black and white. No more songs around.
After the incident. Broken and plain.
Sobs instead of tunes. Staccato instead of legato. Crying and pain.
Instead of his serenading, my mourning.
Instead of his song, my grief.
Instead of his return, my loss.
Instead of celebration, consolidation.
Instead of my brother, there were strangers.
I can still remember his final goodbye.
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I wish we denied his persistent protests.
He wore a blood orange bruise, suit and tie.
His one-week holiday, now an eighth day’s rest.
They say the first thing you lose when a loved one dies, is the way they pronounced their words.
To those who said I would surely forget, this grief is not my choice
If there is only one thing I could ever remember…
It is the memory of his voice.
Beautiful melodies, magnificent symphonies or whatever they used to be
are now only just empty, ringing noises to me.
Adjudicators’ comments
The poem tells a clear story, expresses strong feelings, and has some clever diction play. At times, however, it is a little too prosy and suffers from some familiar images although likewise it contains some wonderfully original formulations.
A beautiful and mature poem about grief and loss. The poet’s use of images reflects the workings of memory and how we remember specific details but also forget others.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 91
Merit Saw Y Hern West Island School
Theme: Money and Power Untitled
Money is the basic need, Power creates greed.
However if given to many, The result may vary.
If given to elderly, They are not greedy.
How they gift their wealth to their heir, As they don’t have much air.
If given to a young man, They’ve yet to buy many.
A good house by the cliff of the sea, As they can be plain free.
If given to a peasant, They save at present.
As they go by their own saying, Save for the rainy days.
If given to a ruler,
They become like the Führer.
Corruption, suppression, death will follow.
Death is what he swallows.
If given to optimists, They won’t but insist,
Corruption, suppression, death will end, Perfect worlds shall descend.
However, if given to you, What would you do?
With all the money and power…
Adjudicators’ comments
An interesting exploration of money. I would love to know what the poet would do with money, but this, of course, is not the poet’s intention. The poet educates their audience for the final question.
The message contained in the poem is straightforward enough, but the expression is hampered by some puzzling choice of imagery and trite use of end-rhyme. Some grammatical errors affect the fluency of the piece, which has an important message overall.
92
Merit Sure Sai
West Island School
Theme: Local Myth and History SARS
Coughing, shivering, gasping for air, For a thousand others, it’s the same.
Doctors caring for our welfare, like a mother to its child.
Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome.
Antibiotics, Antivirals all analysing me, my entire family sobbing with grief.
The fear and anxiety completely filling me, I am at the end of my road.
Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome.
The fear, anxiety and the terror, will this be the end?
For this is an error, in my life
Goodbye world, for I am gone.
Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome.
Adjudicators’ comments
Interesting to read a poem so particular to the Hong Kong experience. Nice attention to alliteration.
This is a heartfelt poem, though I felt more could have been done in terms of the imagery, especially one so personal—‘for I am gone’.
Hong Kong Budding Poets (English) Award 2015/16 93
Commendation Lee Dorothy West Island School
Theme: Money and Power Untitled
The power-hungry money, and money-hungry power.
They are so similar.
Ancient, a figment of their dreams, replacement for power
They are more than what you think it is.
Have we gone that much crazy for money?
Do we really believe money and power is God?
Money may be considered essential But it should not be a tool in our life.
Money is playing a dominant role
The question is whether we should have it or not.
No one can last without its use.
Do we really believe money and power is God?
Money may be considered essential But it should not be a tool in our life.
Some might say that money is power, yet the answer is blurred
but I know that power isn’t something you own.
There aren’t such things as power anymore There are many poor,
but we are like a door.
We may have different looks, shapes and abilities But the way out of this path, there must be a key.
Hong Kong faces the same path, but can we find the way out?
Think of the poor, Sitting in the cold.
If we could just stop, we could help.
Do we still believe that money and power are special?
Change your thoughts and find the way.
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Adjudicators’ comments
The poem has a very promising start, but it slowly becomes more and more didactic and loses its imaginative power, which is perhaps a cynical presentation of inevitable uncertainty or even conformity.
I like the way this begins, with neatly contrasting lines. The rest of the poem struggles to find a conclusion—that’s not a bad thing, because the poem is about uncertainty—and I think it might have been stronger if the poet had made the poem shorter. I also like the way the poet begins generally, goes on to mention Hong Kong as a specific place where the problems of money and power are evident, and then appeals to the reader’s generosity of spirit to look after the weak. ‘Think of the poor,/sitting in the cold’ is the strongest image in the poem, because it makes the reader SEE something specific that acts as an example of the ideas the poet is writing about. Readers always react more strongly to concrete (real-life images) pictures than to abstract (intangible ideas) writing. When the poet writes their next poems, I hope they try to make the language and images memorable, and be careful with both word choice and the music of the poem.