Silent Revolutions
Poetry
Article voiceover
SILENT REVOLUTIONS
From the Rooftop—(Christmas in Saigon)— The indifferent hum rises from the tangled streets, motorbikes weaving rivers of exhaust. Morning: too still for cheer or anything holy— No ghost of snow, only the dim outline of remembrance. Flickering visions, monochrome specters— The echoes of history burst in sparks of static, names and faces dissolve like smoke, Boys sent forth, swallowed into the electric ether. Now, half-man, half-shadow, Bound to the city's tide of endless transport, all means— A cog in the insatiable machine. Lost in the grinding of steel, the neon's glare, Invisible, unknown—consumed by the static. Above it all, the rooftops tremble with offerings, incense curling into a sunless sky, while a life unspools in the clatter and hum— new beginnings born in silent revolutions. But in this ceaseless rhythm, another is unmade.
Vietnam is everything at once. It strips you bare and then gives you back something new. It’s never still, always shedding its skin, always strange. Seven years on, it’s still my home, my spirit house. I keep thinking I’ll figure it out, that I’ll get there one day, but the closer I get, the more elusive it becomes. And that’s what keeps me here. It’s what makes it so beautiful.
I so enjoy listening to poetry being read by the poet, it gives me a further insight into how they intended it be heard.
The words say so much more than their first meaning, and speak to me in strange ways. I spent some time in Tokyo for work many years ago and it reminded me of that time, but also where I am now, in Wales, where I don’t yet have full command of Welsh, and don’t yet comprehend all the cultural nuances. I’ll get there, for I am staying. Wales has captivated me, in all its glory.
Very nice combination of poetry, photography, and prose!