I am sharing another piece of verse emerging from my recent travel adventure in Vietnam. We were fortunate enough to spend a week in Hoi An, a UNESCO heritage city. It was our third visit to Hoi An. It is a city with an intoxicating charm.
This special place also has much to motivate the writer within me. The daily produce market adjacent to the historic quarter of the city is a bustling space, rich with poetic potential. The market visitor needs to perfect the essential art of looking without betraying their potential retail intentions. Not an easy thing to do among such practiced observers.
On several mornings, I strolled through the market, prior to breakfast. My early morning walks provided valuable research for the words that emerged...
Hoi An Market 7.00 AM
In the steaminess
Surrounding Hoi An’s market
The palpable energy of local traders
Competing for buyers attention
Courses daily through this busy corner
Of the ancient city
Pungent aromas swirl about
Amid a rambling weave of voices
This uncoordinated orchestra
Urges every passer-by to buy, buy, buy.
In every direction,
Masses of merchandise and morning glory
Product overload
Seafood wriggling, jiggling
Uncomfortable cuts of meat
And sacrificial chickens
Juxtaposed with trinkets, trash and t-shirts
Baubles, beads and a bevy of bangles.
The marinating food offerings
Of hawkers moving through the market in conical hats
And sun sensitive attire
Trail lingering aromas of edible delights
Lugged through the long day.
A plethora of fresh fruit, ripe and ready
Vegetables various, and in profusion
Smelling, selling, cooking in woks and pots
And all the time the milling crowd wends it ways through this shared space
Eyes ever alert
Negotiating the constant intrusion of motorbikes, handcarts and bicycle riders
Looming up like suddenly like hazards in a stream
A realization dawns that this space holds for many
Fragile hopes and dreams
Survival and struggle cry out in every direction
The sun climbs by the hour
The air thickens and presses down like a yolk
on the passage of this bake earth day.
In baskets and bowls
Morning glory begins to wilt
And the pleas of tired traders
Grows a little louder
Inching closer to desperation
As the sun moves across the day.
Alan j Wright
It is once more -Poetry Friday!
This week our generous host for all things poetic is Rose Capelli at Imagine The Possibilities . Rose shares a special birthday poem and presents possibilities for marking shared events and celebrations. Visit Rose for more insights and a chance to visit a myriad of poets from various parts of the world.
I read your post with great interest. My brother was a soldier in Vietnam. What a hard time for that entire country and I would love to go there and see it, long past all that. Your photos and poem reminded me of a market I saw in China twenty years ago on a brief trip. Unusual offerings. The crowds. Thanks for sharing this!
ReplyDeleteVietnam is a country that conjures up a range of memories, no doubt about it. The present day Vietnam presents as a fascinating mix of culture, history, cuisine and geography. The people are most welcoming. I hope you get the chance to see it for yourself. I hope to return again next year to further explore its offerings and chip away at my ignorance. Glad you enjoyed my post.
DeleteWhile it's lovely to read of all that you saw, bringing in the poignancy of desperation toward day's end makes a startling impact, Alan. Markets here are less noisy in the calls to buy but I was with students once in a poorer area of my state & I saw the eagerness of the vendors as the students roamed. "he pleas of tired traders
ReplyDeleteGrows a little louder" says so much. I hope your trip was full of poetry everywhere!
Thank you for your incisive comments Linda. Your observations are most welcome. As you say, my trip was very much informed by poetry. It is always something for which I remain most grateful.
DeleteThank you for this glimpse into the sights and sounds and smells of the busy market. What a special trip!
ReplyDeleteIt was indeed a very special trip, Rose. My third trip to this intriguing place. I am most fortunate to have these mind broadening experiences. I'm glad you enjoyed the sensory elements of my poem.
DeleteAlan, the crowd, the noise, the sights and smells are palpable in your poem as is the rising tension you have scripted. So many great phrases, but my favorite is "uncomfortable cuts of meat" - it both delights and disgusts. -lol
ReplyDeletePatricia, you have reminded me of the broad canvas my poem was attempting to capture. The market is such an eclectic mix of sensory elements. I'm pleased you were able capture some of those elements from your reading of the poem. The sight of the meat presented in this way gave me a similar mix of feelings- hence the 'uncomfortable' terminology I suppose.
DeleteThat last stanza...like a curve in the market path...brings me to a more complete picture...not quite in love with the market. But, I can't look away, either.
ReplyDeleteSometimes what we are looking at is both confronting and compelling, Linda. I agree with you.
DeleteI encounter this kind of variety of scents as well as the desperation of the vendor in Africa. So different from our own experiences. Your poem weaves us into this experience and helps us see, hear, and smell what you did. What an amazing opportunity to travel and share!
ReplyDeleteOften it is this difference that intrigues us, Margaret. Our senses aroused we embrace this new experience. As you write, these are our amazing opportunities. We must embrace them.
DeleteYes, yes, yes to all the comments above. So much to take in in this poem and that last stanza - wow.
ReplyDeleteThank you Marcia. Appreciate your enthusiastic response. The last stanza is my attempt to tie up the loose ends, so I'm glad you noticed it.
DeleteAlan, you captured for me the sights and sounds of a busy marketplace, as well as fragility and discomfort on an earth-baked day. I was taken midstream by your line, "Survival and struggle cry out in every direction". I would be fascinated by the goings on at the marketplace because I am voyeur of life. Thanks for the virtual trip to Vietnam.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your considered response Carol. Like you, I believe our poetry requires us to be voyeurs of life- I really like your term. It pleases me to think of you as a reader feeling a sense of virtual reality when reading my poem.
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