Hong Kong

From far out at sea at night you can see the fierce red glow
Of that open furnace, that phoenix nest,
The drragon’s mouth,wheecne fierry energy
Flows out from the backbone along the mountaijns
Of the Middle Kingdom,only to be absorbed
By the waters of the South China Sea.
As the morning mist lifts, the hunchbacked island
Stands revealed, fanfare of gleaming citadels,
Great harbour packed with bustling ships,
Humped in the hot haze, the sea’s green dazzle,
Bedlam of voices, faces, streets, skyscrapers, ships,
Huge shimmering hulks in majestic procession,
Junks and sampans loitering and weaving between.

In the temple people shake wooden cylinders
Full of forty bamboo sticks,yin and yang,
Till one stick falls to the ground,
To be decoded.

This pirate swarm are demons of bold enterprise,
Making fortunes hand over fist,
Celebrating their own ingenuity with voracious brio,
Buying and selling with crazy intoxicated speed.

Young men fresh out of England made fortunes here,
Their emperors the taipans on their golden thrones,
whose jewelled hands commanded armadas, their eyes
The steel vaults of banks shut to the world.
White coolies in high collars and thick suits,
They toiled to exhaustion on chain gangs of gold,
Living on a spree, larking with schoolboy spirits,
Doing handstands on the billiard table,
Laying frenzied bets at the racecourse,
Raising champagne glasses to the future,
Flouting any petty rules that hampered success,
Their only ambition to get rich and go home.

In stately hillside villas the British sipped tea
And looked down in fear and suspicion on the alien horde
Swarming below in the dirty uncivilised streets,
That maelstrom where the gentleman went armed
With an elegant cane as his sceptre and weapon,
Lashing out with casual anger at any wretched coolie
Who failed to show the proper awe and respect.
Picnics, balls and regattas, the pomp of military bands,
The starched whites of cricket and tennis,
The intrepid duckshoots, the amateur dramatics;
The colonists could make believe that this was home,
As Pax Britannica set the heathen world to rights.
Cathedrals and warehouses, barracks and esplanades,
Proved their dominion with confident display,
As soignée ladies from the Home Counties mounted
Their sedan chairs, propelled on coolies’ shoulders,
Or promenaded at the races, twirling their parasols.
The Governor went about Her Majesty’s affairs,
In pantomime uniform and jaunty cockatoo hat.
Boarding his ceremonial barge with elegant step,
He sailed out to assert dominion over the unruly waves.

Merry chirp of Cantonese, electric free-for-all
Of bodies in motion, feasting on the world with abandon,
Dragon-dancers at the endless festival of days;
They thrive on commotion, mayhem and adventure,
Breathing air spiced with villainy and intrigue.
The geomancer studies every angle and aspect,
Operating Lo Pan compass and Lo Shu square,
Placating the spirits with ingenious devices,
Keeping the balance between man and nature,
To let the Dragon’s energy flow unimpeded.

Avaricious appetite seethes in the swirl,
Delicious as the tang of crime and sex;
Gamblers and killers bred on corruption
Fight in the eye of the typhoon.
The nubile mistress slides out of her dress;
The loaded dice skitter across the table.

Strolling round Victoria Peak in the early morning,
Through bowers of jasmine, rhododendrons and wild indigo,
While butterflies waver across the secluded path,
And kites and magpies swoop among the trees,
You gaze out over the island-studded green-blue sea,
The hills of Guangdong blue in the distance,
The sea filled with stately ships coming and going,
And, up here, scores of old men and women
Practising tai chi chuan with slow silent grace,
Moving like ghosts, with serene concentration,
Encompassing the whole universe in their circle.