Burning Brightly

Very pleased to see an appreciative article in The Sunday Times this morning regarding Alfian Sa'at's fine first collection of poetry One Fierce Hour published back in 1998. (And quite a shock to realise that it's a whole ten years since I first came across his work.) It was quite rightly recognised as a landmark in local writing - prophetically enough being published by Landmark Books.

Quite a bit of the article was devoted to the somewhat outspoken nature of many of the poems, understandably, I think, since the vibrantly anti-establishment voice of the poet was something quite new (at least to me) and extremely striking in the writing of that period. It seems the writer now regards his early work as rather immature, not surprisingly. There is something a bit callow about the general tone, but thrillingly, rightfully so in a young writer. I know that sounds patronising, but it's really not meant to be. Sometimes a lack of balance can be a strength and in certain circumstances can seem a necessity.

But I think that the attention devoted to Alfian's criticisms of society tends to obscure his real gifts as a poet. Having said that there's some judicious quoting in this morning's article that shows a warm response to those remarkable gifts. I think the first poem of his I read was The Marooned Island, which I came across in a kind of anthology of Singapore poetry distributed by the Ministry of Education for use in schools before I bought the collection itself. I thought it was a stunning poem with an almost hallucinatory power, utterly unlike anything else I had read by either Singaporean or Malaysian writers. I read it again this morning, and still think so. Its images have a direct raw power, yet evade a simple reading as the outpourings of an angry young man. Maybe angry, yes, but seeing things in that anger that perhaps lie beyond ordinary vision.

It's the same with Singapore You Are Not My Country, probably the most obviously 'political' poem in the volume. It's the rich unexpectedness of the connections made in what is explicitly, gloriously an unreasonable rant that give the poem its power. The controversial content comes second, for this reader at least, to the manic rhythms of a voice at one imitating Ginsberg (I'm thinking Howl) yet still sounding genuine and individual - indeed, Singaporean.

I don't think there were all that many copies of One Fierce Hour printed - I came across mine by a very fortunate accident - but I'd advise anyone who's not come across it, and has an interest in writers from Singapore, or just good writing in general, to try and get hold of it. Stirring stuff