Remembering 4th une 1989
/Louise Ho/
Yes, I remember Marvell, Dryden,
Yeats, men who had taken up the pen
While others the sword,
That would have vanished
Were it not for the words
That shaped them and keep them
The shadows of June the fourth
Are the shadows of a gesture,
They say, but how shall you and I
Name them, one by one?
There were so many,
Crushed, shot, taken, all overwhelmed,
Then, this compact commercial enclave,
First time, ever, rose up as one.
Before we went our separate ways again,
We thought as one,
We spoke as one,
Cut down without a finished thought or cry. We too have changed, if not ‘utterly’,
Presumably, that night, or was it dawn, As we near the end of an era
The moon shone pure, We have at last
As on the ground below Become ourselves.
Flowed the blood of men, women and children. The catalyst
The stunned world responded, and Was our neighbor’s blood.
And something beautiful was born.
Pointing an accusing finger, felt cheated.
But think, my friend, think: China never Whoever would not
Promised a tea party, or cakes For a carefree moment
For the masses. It is we, Rejoice at a return
Who, riding on the crest of a long hope, To the Motherland?
Became euphoric, and forgot But, rather pick ears of corn
The rock bottom of a totalitarian state. In a foreign field
Than plough the home ground
Under an oppressive yoke.
Ours is a unique genius,
Learning how to side-step all odds
Or to survive them.
We have lived
By understanding
Each in his own way
The tautness of the rope
Originally published in Incense Tree: Collected Poems
Louise Ho
Copyright 2009 by Hong Kong University Press
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八九民運特刊
Underfoot.