I: Mountains Finally Make Themselves Felt (Sha Tin) The Mountains—grow unnoticed— —Emily Dickinson It’s eerie to see how here mountains once were. Where the head hits unexpected angles they loom, unbuilding backbone highrise with natural incongruity while displacing a moment monumental displacement in me. Where had my eyes been all this time? I—now resighted— wonder. What fixes them so religiously to that precinct of the geometric-human? Meanwhile, from the thirtieth floor, trees grow real sky, disturbing sheer wall, unnerving unmathematically the rigorous town-planning of ‘home’. II: The Ten Thousand Buddhas Temple Hardly a temple: it’s more like a zoo of enlightened beings. They watch me mount the concrete stairs, sculpted slightly larger than life and painted mock-gild gold. They’re no match (of course) for the jungle butterflies vivid in Summer air. Here’s one now, sunning itself on the merciful, all-compassionate tip of Kwan Yin’s nose. III: Blind Choir (Nam Shan Estate) Between the concrete wall of a block of flats and—flightless—concrete stairs this was no place on Earth we’d ever expect a Christmas choir. I was caught as I think I always am when the once-in-a-lifetime moment comes in two minds twice unequal to the task. By the way they looked crookedly through their song I could tell they all sang blindly by ear and I realized how my thin sightseeing power was stone-deaf here to the sonic invisible. The harmony of so many separate shared voices none of which carried the main body of music across the arid hubbub of human noise braked my heart: this was the concert of the fragment, soaringly restored to charismatic wholeness, rock-solidarity made possible by breath.
King Hong Kong