urban renewal
double it or nothing, you and your hybridism
your face needs to be lifted, the sprawl beyond
your subconscious needs to be gentrified, wasteyard
shall be renamed goldengarbageland, dig tunnels for
an extensive sub way network for your pigeon
commuters, the public transport in your brain should
be integrated, a fence for hate padlocks right in front
of the white wedding chapel, graffiti shall be encouraged
on the inner walls of your empty chest, dog parks for dogs
amusement parks for amusements, child-friendly facilities
for the parents of the children who may never grow up
bingo halls for all ages and sexual preferences, clear the
woods on the city’s fringes for nine-hole golf courses
logging shall be licensed to make way for streamlined
taxiways for international arrivals, plant garden plants
in every department stores, to age is to get less serious
about life, to die is to be incinerated to be reincarnated
a multi-purpose stadium for metal concerts and the
virpassana for the masses, two ivory chopsticks shall
be contracted to conduct the people’s symphony orchestra
a brand new opera house to be modelled after a durian
it shall be named after our own houseman, a nine-lane
boulevard of broken bones shall be the city’s artery
hot-beds will be moved to the out-skirts, council houses
will be patched up with thatches, aquatic centres for those
who will learn to splash, splash and splash, waves of all sizes
shall be regenerated and recycled, the monument of doubt
in the plaza shall be torn down, in its place the leaning tower
of certainty will be erected, crocodiles shall be released in
the moat of the pentagonean presidential palace
all administrative quarters of your soul shall be made
sound-proof to prevent the intrusion of street noises
malling, walling, enthralling and everything else
that will make your cosmopolis
your oober-capital
The poem is set in the context of the 2005 opening of the new administrative capital of Myanmar, Naypyidaw, 200 miles north of Rangoon, the previous capital.
the boomtown
a bottle spins
a rat for protein
a snake rattles
pots and pans for pawnshop
lunar face for the thoroughfare
rickshaw for the landing vehicle
a tadpole morphs into a mermaid
isn’t she just another entry into the census
you don’t want to be weighed down
by the food chain, lectures the dean,
hanging loose between two branches
no soup in a crystal of salt
no lamp oil in a grain of sand
no sum makes her night
no catch cools her day
no rain fills her ocean stomach
no holds barred for her banquet
no one no longer knows what side they are on
in her flesh and faith and toes
no exasperation unbearable
no exile is banishment
a nip at the wrong ear, game over
a turn into the wrong lane, you are dead
mahogany doesn’t live in tundra
ghost orchid doesn’t grow in desert
between winter and summer
spring is the suspender belt
neon trenches for canonical gospels, trains
loaded with last holdouts leave every second
transmigration passes available for non-nationals
how would you like to be wrapped
vicuña wool for your majesty
foliage for the naked
chaos clock
the city’s streets are ideal
for both trishaws and sport utility vehicles
motorcycles have been banned
but you can still boss around the town in a helmet
art is cheap, but not available to everyone
the old leafy tree on the campus, who has
endured more than a powerful cyclone
has lived up to her name —
she’s really rotten
no one escapes from the panopticon, no one really cares
don’t you worry about yourself
our clinics supply the intolerably rich with
aphrodisiacs and antihypertensives
our pharmacies provide betel and beedies to the filthy poor
you can buy everything, including your health
generators in the alleys are busiest
street vendors who used to sell falafels or rice noodles find
bootlegging tasty dvd films more profitable
teenage couples who used to date on the breezy banks
of the city’s lakes have checked into the new hotels
the lion sejant in the shades of white and green
will remind you of a sub-saharan political sunset
erstwhile colonial buildings have been colonized
by neo-colonial cash cows
thatched tents have been upgraded to residential flats
the monsoon has flushed away the stray cats
the muddy serpentine river that once swallowed
‘the progressive peace’ whole, overloaded with
two thousand crabby commuters sludges on
as if nothing had happened
in times like these
the associational life is quite beneficial
for a flock of seagulls, the flying rats
just beyond the nightfall
beside the golden sheldrake on the royal lake
the most exotic mammals come under the hammer of animalism
at the starting price of u.s. dollar twenty-five hundred
as the power light is cast on the display cabinet
the sale items, who have dressed their poverty in their virgin virtue
vie for the highest bidder to make the best of their three-month contract
massage parlours are new age churches where
you go to confess your venial sins, and commit them all over again
soon you will be forgiven and, forgotten
‘smile, i’ll smile back’
a broken mirror in a karaoke saloon
in the shadow of a pagoda says
as the three wit-crackers find themselves at their wit’s end
and begin groping for fresh gags below their waistline
‘don’t you get lost in the labyrinth of lust’
warns the petite dancer from the lime light, to no effect
‘cockfights used to be quite popular here
the blood sport is very barbaric
people now have many other options
score casting is not a zero-sum game
investment is pouring in
business is good these days,’ a scavenger says
‘there is no ‘municipal’ to collect your moral trash
every cup of tea in town is getting bitterer each day
of course you can sweeten your life with ajinomoto.’ he hastens to add
you can get your visa on arrival
people are welcome, problems are not
living is expensive but dying doesn’t cost a dime
where else in the world can you enjoy a free funeral
next thursday isn’t auspicious
the dragon’s tail is pointing towards your head
would you like to reschedule your appointment
take a look, sir
it’s amazing how this victorian clock keeps her movement.
her minute hand and her hour hand are stuck neck and neck
the roman numbers on her face have long faded
did you say it’s not working
how much would you pay
wait a moment, can you hear it……..
tick------tack, tick-----tack, tick---tack
at a cantonese restaurant
a toothpick who knows
the ingress and egress of the city very well muses
‘billionaires in other places are full of debt
here we only save gold bullions and hard cash’
business as usual
everyone is smiling
everything looks just fine
since when the strife has ended
‘End of Strife’ is an English rendering of Yangon (Rangoon), the former capital of Myanmar (Burma). ‘Power Light’ is the name of an upmarket Rangoon restaurant on the bank of Kandawgyi (the royal lake), where young ladies, on a three-month job contract, are literally auctioned off to powerful local customers, expatriates and tourists.
phantasmagoria
beyond
the thickest mist of the southern shan mountain ranges
flashbacks are always there
‘welcome to the fort town of ba htoo.’
greets the heavily armed checkpoint
colonel ba htoo died fighting the japanese in the last world war
the town that honours the anti-fascist hero is a purpose-
built breeding ground for the ultra-nationalist myanmar army
where can you find a better irony
the ‘basic training’ is where boys my age get dehumanized
‘you’re in the myanmar tatmadaw now. leave all your sense of self, pride and shame outside. run faster, you, mother doers. don’t you know which leg of yours is right?
are you a girl? go wear a htamein.’
‘attention! why are you here?’ ‘for the people, sir, for the people, sir.’
‘what kind of spirit do you have?’ ‘steel spirit, sir, steel spirit, sir.’
even steel spirits melt under pressure
my martyr of the day still harrows me
private san aung had made a suicide pact with his girlfriend
too bad he shot himself first
his chest was sewn up like a gunny sack after the autopsy
went along with him down ‘the pagan road’ to the cemetery,
flowers, tears , empathy and hypocrisy
for he had fallen in love, not in war,
the poor private didn’t get military rites
near ba htoo, ‘the river wizard’ is being dammed
it’s amusing to see the ungainly caucasian engineers
climbing up the pylons, inspecting their cables and wires
near ba htoo, children play their war games, their hide-and-seeks and fly their kites on a vast plain amongst thousands of felled trees awaiting departures
in ba htoo, the pop-pops of daily shooting practices compete with the death calls of cicadas, spent mortar shells are reborn as vases for buddhist shrines and pagodas, in ba htoo, the deafening ‘charge!’ of mock battles are taken for granted; they no longer induce hysteria, in ba htoo, rationed ‘army rum’ is always scarce, as it’s deemed good
for malaria, in ba htoo, women and cattle are often sacrificed in the fierce waves of ‘the pain creek’ in the monsoons, the steep, lengthy and narrow pain dries up in the scorching summers
in ba htoo, everyone is suffering from adjustment disorder
no resident is permanent, early retirement is not possible
quitters are to be shot, life, for most, is simply horrible
next to ba htoo lies lawksawk,
the quaint quiet little town, that has been there too long,
far too long to remember how she got her name
lawkswak had seen better days, she used to have her own chieftains, the sawbwas
now she is ruled by the strangers, this is the town of the enchantresses,
who are known for their witchcrafts, the novelist-poet thein than htun lives here
shan, bama, danu, innthar, the tribal populaces mix and live here
chaw su htway lives here
lawksawk is the yin if ba htoo is the yang
lawksawk is the society of much less agony and muddy red lanes
you never get lost in lawksawk
this is the town of bicycle and watch repairers
this is the town of lesser-known pensioners
this is the town of cheap and cheerful restaurants and affordable tailors
at weekends, the tatmadaw cadets, the freshly powdered souls
in exorbitantly pressed uniforms and excessively polished shoes, in posse of three to five, haunt lawksawk
they walk in formation, they talk in formation,
they even woo lawksawk girls in formation,
call it ‘command recreation,’ if you like
the teashops along the thoroughfare are better
you go there for a piece of yangon, a taste of mandalay,
an imitation taung gyi, or even a mini mawlamine
yet nothing beats lawksawk’s own character
steaming hot tofu at the ‘three shan sisters’ is super
every single significant building sits on a hillock in lawksawk
the ‘spiral ladder’ temple, the monastery, the mosque, the state high school,
the court and the houses of the belles, etcetera…etcetera…
at dawn on market days
pa laung, danu and pa-o peasants from the mountain villages,
their shoulders yoked with loads of produce, come together in lawksawk to
turn themselves into the day’s traders, a common sight is uppity army officers’ wives,
dressed in indonesian batik, draped in gold, rubies or jades, arriving at
the market in chauffeur-driven willys, bargaining with the ethnic farmers
forest fires fascinate me
when the shan mountains burn in a distance, i see a fire dragon dance
the lengthy monster of many a mile moves for days and nights
until it wears itself out or is subdued by a shower
the annual phayagyi festival is fun
it happens when the stupa gets floodlit by a diesel tarbota
as soon as the loudspeakers begin blaring in the evenings
the whole town comes out like a swarm of bees poked from a hive
kids want to ride ferris wheels, motored by the monkey men
and cry for candy floss, conjured up by the magicians
adults want to shop, compare notes and check out on one another
‘don’t you tease that girl, she’s my sister!’
‘novices! don’t hold back, hedge your bets on the casino mat.
be warned, the abbot will flog you if he knows you are here.’
‘have you reserved your place in front of the stage for the outdoor burmese theatre?’
‘take with you a thick blanket, or you wouldn’t last all night there.’
ounch!
my left wrist is broken? did you say both radius and ulna?
how did it happen? it hurts like hell!
can you straighten it again, more morphine please, doctor…
wildlife is treasure
a tiger skin equals a pickup toyota, a scooter for a bear,
would you like a quartz for a tortoise shell
even porcupine spikes adorn your hair
every three years or so
the bitter fog comes down from the high heavens to kill our agriculture
water is frozen on the surface in the bone-chilling winter
help…ma…help!
i’ve burned my socks! it’s not my fault
i was just warming my feet at the wood fire
is it that cold outside?
why am i sweating all over?
i can’t breath…
let me rest, let me be, leave me alone,
phantasmagoria!
This semi-autobiographical cerebral-malarial delirium is about the twin towns, Lawksawk and Ba Htoo, in Southern Shan State of Burma, where the author grew up as a teenager in the 1980s.
ko ko thett grew up in Burma, performing poems at school competitions and in town halls. By the early 1990s, he was thoroughly poeticized and politicized at Rangoon Institute of Technology. In 1996 he published and clandestinely distributed two uncensored chapbooks on the campus, The Rugged Gold and The Funeral of the Rugged Gold. He left the country in 1997 following a four-month detention for his role in the December 1996 student uprising in Rangoon. His poems and translations have appeared in major literary journals, from Modern Poetry in Translation to World Literature Today. With James Byrne he is the co-editor and translator of Bones will Crow: 15 Contemporary Burmese Poets (ARC, UK 2012, English PEN Translation Award 2012). His first collection in English, 'the burden of being burmese', is in the making. ko ko thett studies and works at the Department of Development Studies, University of Vienna. The four poems above offer a picture of urban life, the paradox of the chaos of the street and the regimentation of the consciousness.