Join poet Marilyn Chin, memoirist Maxine Hong Kingston, investor Randy Komisar, and Bay Area residents to discuss Chin’s love poem to San Francisco.
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by Marilyn Chin
1)
Condominium, stiff bamboo,
refuses to bend in the wind,
squats in the sinking earth
like a thin-hipped dowager.
You arrange the amenities
and we pay the rent. So, please,
don’t fall as civilizations fall
in the comfort of night.
2)
Gingko, vomit-eater of the metropolis,
city’s oxygen, small men’s shadow,
your gentle bark can’t protect you now.
One pellicle, another, falls
on the land of your displacement.
Where is the Yellow Emperor who nurtured you?
Where is your birthplace,
the Yangtze, the Pearl?
3)
Hong Kong, San Francisco, San Jose,
the path through the “Golden Mountains”
is a three-tiered freeway. Look up:
it suspends where no prophet can touch.
A quick fix in your veins; a white rush in my mind—
you cry, “Mei Ling, Mei Ling, once
we could’ve had everything:
the talent, the courage, the wherewithal.”
4)
Oh, the small delectables of day:
persimmons from Chinatown,
a stroll through the Tenderloin
with the man I love.
My darling, please, don’t be sad.
I’ve parked my horse
in this gray, gray sunrise
to gather sweet crocuses and jonquils
for you.
1)
Condominium, stiff bamboo,
refuses to bend in the wind,
squats in the sinking earth
like a thin-hipped dowager.
You arrange the amenities
and we pay the rent. So, please,
don’t fall as civilizations fall
in the comfort of night.
2)
Gingko, vomit-eater of the metropolis,
city’s oxygen, small men’s shadow,
your gentle bark can’t protect you now.
One pellicle, another, falls
on the land of your displacement.
Where is the Yellow Emperor who nurtured you?
Where is your birthplace,
the Yangtze, the Pearl?
3)
Hong Kong, San Francisco, San Jose,
the path through the “Golden Mountains”
is a three-tiered freeway. Look up:
it suspends where no prophet can touch.
A quick fix in your veins; a white rush in my mind—
you cry, “Mei Ling, Mei Ling, once
we could’ve had everything:
the talent, the courage, the wherewithal.”
4)
Oh, the small delectables of day:
persimmons from Chinatown,
a stroll through the Tenderloin
with the man I love.
My darling, please, don’t be sad.
I’ve parked my horse
in this gray, gray sunrise
to gather sweet crocuses and jonquils
for you.
“Urban Love Poem” from The Phoenix Gone, The Terrace Empty by Marilyn Chin (Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions, 2009.) Copyright © 2009 by Marilyn Chin. Reprinted with permission from Milkweed Editions. Milkweed.org
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Photographer and Filmmaker
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The heart of San Francisco’s Chinatown, in 1929. Courtesy of the Library of Congress
San Francisco's streets are ablaze with colorful murals, including this one by episode guests Elaine Chu and Marina Perez-Wong. (Photo Credit: www.twinwallsmuralcompany.com)
Two children in San Francisco’s Chinatown, at the turn of the 20th century. Courtesy of the Library of Congress
The gingko tree is a prominent symbol in the poem. "We're very resilient people and we all are very resilient. We're migrants. It is really a self portrait. I am the gingko tree. I came from this long lineage of peasants that survive drought, communism, Japanese takeover, survived this horrific history of suffering."- Marilyn Chin (Photo Credit: Pixabay, rycky21 / 1110 images)
Chinese immigrants helped build the American railroad system. As guest Maxine Hong Kingston states, "And then the next rush would be the building of the railroads. The path through the gold mountains was the tunneling through the Sierras." Courtesy of the Library of Congress
