this head says

This head lives at the end of a driveway. 
Nearby, sea, wind, salt, mountain, valley.
I wonder what this head says.
Photo: Owhiro Bay, New Zealand

I am thinking of Hong Kong

A leader has just died, and some of the people who have respected him are unable to come and mourn him. His name is Szeto Wah.
I am thinking of him. I am thinking of Hong Kong, a society I have respected for its courage.
Photo: The view from a friend's home, Tsimshatsui, Hong Kong

mother of the world

Today, I am thinking of Egyptians and what they want, need, from their government, and in their lives. 
When I was in the country a few years ago, people told me they see Cairo as mother of the world, the confluence of Asia and Africa, Africa and Europe, of life and afterlife.
Photo: Cairo skyline

to hold more worlds

Your bronze body in folds of bronze robes 
beathes mind and memory from seven hundred years,
but you still want to hold more worlds. 
Huge hands join together in a kind of holy greed, 
your waiting smile starts and starts, 
and towards me, you lean a little.
Photo: Buddha in bronze, Kamakura, Japan

Text: Excerpt from my poem 'Being with Buddha' 

from 'Round - Poems and Photographs of Asia'

I met him one morning

I met him one morning on a beach. Early.
Before the sunbathers arrived. Three children were walking
to their school a few beaches away. When I asked to take
his picture, he put the blade of his coconut-cutter knife
across his warm chest. Skin, metal, shadow.
Photo: Coconut cutter, Gamboa, Brasil

leather wings

He wears leather wings on his legs
called chaps. Boots, jeans, belt, hat.
Photo: Horse trainer, Martinborough, New Zealand

the first sound in The Middle East

 The first sound in The Middle East is the robes of two men at the transit airport: very starched, very white, and rustling, like oversized wings, or crisp sails being shaken.

I learn how to say Bahrain: Bach, and rain, where it’s all balm and smells of green sea and women dance their bellies to a crowd of three at the Supernightclub. A sheesha rests against stucco. No ripples in the pool.

Flying on to Egypt, sky merges with haze, haze with horizon, then the sand monologue: banks, drifts, dunes, and for a while, a weird geometry appears: full- and semi-circles of rice farms.
Photo: A rice farm in the desert,
somewhere between Bahrain and Egypt
Text: An excerpt of 'A Cairo Song'
For the whole text, visit:
http://www.arabicnadwah.com/articles/cairosong.htm

valley

Nothing like a valley for a rest from summer sun. 

I remember as a girl I would go to a little one 

that was cool and green and deep, complete 

with lily of the valley.

Photo: Martinborough, New Zealand

let us count

the search wants to end with a fifty-year-old hand living
    on a woman's thigh         let us count their loved years

and let us count the dust on a construction man's surrendered shoulders, on his mouth open in shock, his red eyes,
blacker eyelashes: he is dying, dying tonight, while the Wednesday horses cover his newsprint with prayer and fate
                                                win, this moment, win

Photo: Construction site, Hong Kong
Text: The end of the poem 'Subway Searching' published in 'Delicate Access'
(Wednesday is a horse racing, and betting, day in Hong Kong)

walking a city

We turned a corner and all was quiet.
Photo: A lane in Cairo

thank you

 

Every day, we say 'thank you'.

Photo: Kaitoke, New Zealand

it is the transparency

Of the household chores, it is hanging up

our clothes that I love most.

Photo: Clothesline in a friend's backyard, Nashville

what is necessary

A few months ago, I sat here, in an open square,
with a dear friend. We talked of hope and courage, 

clarity and joy. Were the fireworks necessary?

Photo: Taipei City, Taiwan

what I remember

Mud. Mangrove. A wooden boardwalk.

Corrugated metal homes. This hide.  
The friends with me. I do not remember 
any of the birds that whitened a tree.

Photo: A bird hide, Mai Po, Hong Kong

running, waving, scaffolding

This fence runs through the backyard, 
with two cows, twenty-six sheep, six creeks,
three people... Sometimes I see a scaffolding net.   
Photo: Near RD1, North Carterton, New Zealand

guardian

What is a photographer but a guardian.
Photo: Hydrant, Peng Chau, Hong Kong

is it a dream?

Sky, corrugated mirror, shadow. 
One horizon, two.

Photo: Shipyard, Macau

eye, sky

I remember this odd sky, this hot afternoon. 

My back was flat on the ground

when I took this picture.

Photo: Aceh, Indonesia

surprise

Surprise. Netted egg ovals, six chili hellos.

Photo: Hanoi sidewalk fare, Vietnam

oneness, twoness, fiveness, moreness

I was with a horse trainer yesterday. At once,

he and horse were one. And two. 

How they danced in the dirt corral.

Photo: Dogs in a favela lane, Salvador, Brazil

presence

Nothing lives alone.

Photo: Lichen and fence, Karori, New Zealand

creek two

A friend calls this 'Creek Two' 
as toes smile in summer water. 
Photo: North Carterton, New Zealand

wet red

At dusk, things seem to seep.
Photo: Tomatoes, Suzhou, China

eye, body, all

Rainlit, sunlit.
Eyelit, bodylit.
Photo: Promenade, Tai O , Lantau Island, Hong Kong

sea, sky, glass

Morning collage, mosaic, Mondrian.

Photo: Out the kitchen, Norfolk Road, New Zealand

arc

She is making a big roundness that runs and runs 
like a song she sings when she meets the wind on a swing set which pumps out of the ground like sex that scares so sweet and the little death of it turns everything into something seen and something softly caught and yes, 
she can live whenever she wants to.
Photo: An artist's leaf frottage, Cemetery, New Orleans, Louisiana
Text: Poem 'arc' from the book, Delicate Access, page 68-69

lit

There's wind tonight. More than one girl undresses.
Photo: Victoria Park, Hong Kong
Text: Poem from 'delicate access'

and above all, kind

'Quick and quiet, definite and gentle.

And above all, kind.'

Photo: Train, Mongolia

Text: The end of a letter to Harvey McQueen (1934-2010) from Anne Else. It is
posted on Harvey's lovely blog: http://stoatspring.blogspot.com/2011/01/last-post.html
Harvey died on Christmas Day. I offer my kindness to his family and friends.

joy is joy

Happiness does not reside alone.

Photo: Boy, Vietnam

soft is the bay

I brushed my first mane, hoof, chestnut, temple, shin, loin... yesterday.
Photo: A friend's bay pony, New Zealand

begin, begin

If words are earth, 

where does the sky begin?

Photo: Out on the Wairarapa, New Zealand
Text: The opening lines of a poem with Yuen Che-hung