L.I.P

Blue car
Originally uploaded by tearoom.

From Singapore with Love

Road Trip

We did not get a red car as promised
but it is fine, blue is our favorite color.
Navy blue, the color that children like
for stormy seas or heavy rain.
It is a good sign, you said. This day
everything is good. I do not
have to pretend to smile. You do not
have to pretend to be kind.

You turn the key, igniting the fuel for our escape;
I am in the passenger seat, sawing off chains
that bind me to a life across some great sea.

We burn the roads like the sun had burnt
our backs, breaking tarmac like the desert heat
that had crinkled our faces and cracked our lips.

If only our road trip can last forever;
just you in the driver’s seat, and me,
enjoying the breeze, watching
the storm clouds close over the skies
as the last sun beams reach down
before they drown.

Her blog like desert yet how magnificent it is, it is still remaining unknown, so virgin unexplored. Its with great honor to be able to get up-close look into the walls of liz and a moment to explore her blog ~Blue Sky Tavern~.

Her poetry comes from Singapore? Who is Liz and what is her background?

My working background is science, specifically molecular biology. I am a research officer working in a medical research lab.

singapore 1985
Originally uploaded by Adine.

I started writing poetry regularly only about six or seven years ago. The first few poems I wrote were some angsy rants and woe-be-gones on a computer game forum, which was rather well received. I know most people will say that that's not significant, but to me, it was that encouragement that eventually consider developing this craft seriously. I didn't get really serious about poetry writing until just a few years ago. I think it shows whenever I critique another’s poem or enter into discussions about poetry, that I haven't any formal education in English literature. The stuff that I currently know about poetry I learned from reading poetry, poetry books and online poetry sites such as Poetry Free-For-All.

(Poetry Free-For-All )

Do you write only English poetry or do you write also in another language?

I write only English poetry.

Singapore is one of the fast moving countries in far east, where does poetry stand in this fast moving place?

raffles
Originally uploaded by Adine.

It stands by the side as crowd moves by! In general, things to do with the arts is very far from most people's minds here. I think a very small population of people read and appreciate poetry in this country. The reasons for people's attitudes are far too much to get into here. We do have a few good poets like Cyril Wong, Gilbert Koh, Alfian bin Saat, but these names are most probably unknown to the general public although they have published book and in reputable literary journals. Anyone who wants a flavor of Singaporean poetry can check out my blogroll which contains quite a number of their poetry blogs.

Decomposition

I remember little of the moment death touched;
I can recall only the deep-throat rumble
and the smell of burning hair. Overhead,
the sun winked goodbye as ash clouds
devoured her face, her light.

Then I was aware, seeing all around at once;
I saw my form lying heavy on its side, my face,
shrunken in; my eyes, shut. I sat on a rock,
weighing choices: to stay or to leave.
I decided it’s best to stay by the body.

Time passed, marked by sun and fade;
visitations by mud-caked mongrels, flies
pregnant with eggs and scavenging ants;
then came the servants of dismemberment:
single-celled masses undid my body inside
out, outside in.

They distributed my flesh without permission
until bones lie naked, exposed to rain,
wind and ice. Still I linger,
I must stay by what’s left here of me.
I have forgotten what else there is.

Your blog as per rated by LIP is unique, where the idea of your blog comes from? What are were you aiming by the way your structured your poetry blog?

1) I wanted to blog about the progress of my fantasy novel project. Of course, that one got dropped when I decided to focus all my creativity on poetry writing.
2) I wanted to blog how my poems evolve as I edit them.
3) I want to get honest feedback. Somehow this doesn’t always happen on a blog, so sometimes I re-post my poems on forums where one is likely to get more responses.
4) I want to share links and articles.
5) I want to share reading lists.
6) It was a way for some of my close online friends to keep track of what I’m up to.

I have to say also that this blog has brought me more than I could ever hope for. I’ve made a lot of new friends with this blog. I’ve been a regular in several online communities, blogging at blogger certainly counts as one of the online places where I’ve made what I consider to be real life friends.

Where do you feel your poetry falls in midst of new poetic race?

My poems would probably be categorized as free form, though usually without public indication, I'm trying to create a sort of structure unique to my own style and approach, in terms of strophes and lines breaks. I’m learning to hear the sounds, and apply word sound effects effectively.

Scab

Fingers and nails, trace along the sides
of a scab in idle pleasure --
something about the hardness
and roughness that is your own, yet
not your own, a dry hairless desert
on the smooth plains of skin.

You dig your nails under
the edge of it, lifting it
a little. The skin peeping from under
is pink and thin, rippling
like a plastic sheet as you test
its tenacity.

Your fingernails intrude
deeper; the scab threatens
to tear the virgin skin off
with it if you insist.

But no, you think. You think
if you do it slowly, you can just
pull that scab clean off.
The wound bleeds again; a new scab
will form and this time,
it will leave a scar.

You have participated in a lot of competitions, what are the lessons and the gains of such participation?

I haven't participated in a lot of competitions, but I suppose trying to submit poems to a poetry journal for publication is sort of like a competition with so many other writers who are doing the same thing. Gains are in the lessons learnt, so I’ll just treat the two as one.
Lessons:

Primarily two things I’ve learnt to accept.

One learns how to let go of the work. Once you’ve sent it or post it, it’s really is out of your hands. That caused quite a bit of hesitation on pressing the ‘send’ button at first. I still get nervous when I’m about to send things out, but it’s not as bad as the first time I did it.

Getting published is not everything. It’s only one way of getting it out there for people to read. Getting published or not, is not an indication of whether or not you are a good poet.

The word Rejection how do you look at it and what is your experience in it with poetry?

There's two mains ways to face rejection:

1) You've sent the poem to the wrong journal or competition; it is not the kind of poem they are looking for, so it is rejected.

2) It is not good enough. Time to rethink.

merlion
Originally uploaded by Adine.

For me, I think most of the time, it's no. 2. I'm not going to say rejection doesn't get me down. It does. It's not the end of the world, but no one likes getting rejected. But you just have to look over your work again or try another journal or both.

I haven’t got a bad letter of rejection as yet and at least no one anywhere has told me that my poems are rubbish at least.

Where do you see yourself with your poetry? Where you want to reach with your poetry?

I really consider myself a struggling beginner still. I know I have a knack for writing poetry, but it’s like I have reach the core of where that gift lies. Presently, it’s a bit of hit and miss in terms of how well a piece of poem I write gets across to people. I would like my poems to be able to communicate interesting and hopefully insightful images of experience to my readers. I hope that my poems come out as real and honest.

Why poetry to you feels like work? And Does it mean one day you will retire?

It's like work sometimes, only because one wants to do well. You can get by having fun, but if you want to be good at something, you have to work at it. Study the work of others, analyze poems of all sorts, read a lot of articles about poetry writing and experiment with these things that you have learn, try to see if it works for you and what doesn’t. That’s no different to what I do in the lab really – read scientific papers, design experiments, try different techniques and then see what happens.

I don't think anyone ever retires from something that they like. Poetry will be a lifetime of learning for me.

TOo hot even for the birds
Originally uploaded by Adine.

Grandpa

Like a statue propped up
in a rocking chair,
the old man stares, cloudy-eyed
at the numberless wall clock.
“What time is it?”
he asks and rubs his wrist,
touching the pale shadow
of an absent watch;
not lost,
but broken
when he slipped in the rain.
His eyes turn salty; the clock
face becomes a blur.

Loss and grieving at times brings are most heartfelt writing. Do you find it hard to write based on yourself? How much of your family maybe even support or lack of it have brought the poet in you?

It's not hard to write based on myself, but I do fear it gets overbearing on those who read it. I tend to have a realist view of things and that’s taken as negativity sometimes. There’s also the frustration that easily comes when someone doesn’t get the whole idea of it because it’s personal when you write about yourself. I’ve learnt recently to create fictional characters that show the facet of myself I want to write about, rather than write a full first person “I” poem.

I pretty much developed an interest in poetry on my own. So I have to say my family has not much influence on what and why I write. I’ve written about my father in poems only because it is a way for me to get past some of the nasty childhood memories of him. Please don’t get the idea that he did something criminal when I say that. It’s nothing along those lines.

Your achievements with poetry you feel they are……

I’m really stumped by this question.

I think I’ve improve in the past year since I started this blog. I think my poems are more accessible now than before, and I’m happy that most people can understand what I’m getting at. I’ve still got a long way to go in mastering the craft.

Distractions

The wind that wears the dust
of the road, brushes his coat
in the living room, leaving behind
the ashes from someone’s prayers
beneath an open window.
A sparrow competing with Mozart’s
piano, risks drowning alone
in digital sound while a mynah
searching for eatables, ruffles
through a waste bin filled
with yesterday’s ideas. Books
on the shelves, cast their shadows
over an ink starved page; the pen
transforms into a pillar of salt
in the embrace of a sweaty hand.