sonnets from the singlish is a collection of 44 poems on love, language and the pursuit of laughter. the poems are loosely translated from the english-based creole language colloquially spoken in singapore, widely known as singlish.
the poems were originally composed in the sonnet form, an archaic italian fourteen-line rhyming verse form that follows the rhythmic rules of iambic pentameter. people still write like this primarily for ease of formatting. they are most tolerable when read out loudly in a singaporean accent.
I am fond of the sonnet, and Joshua Ip plays with it to great satisfaction. Occasionally there are lyric bursts of longing, perhaps even nostalgia, but these are balanced out with what I would call a clearheaded look at the state of the Singlish -- present language (language shapes thought) and how it relates to heritage. The ode to the karang guni man is a case in point: startlingly ecocritical, general and abstract, it narrows down to an unmistakably specific and concrete part of Singapore culture. Possibly, then, these sonnets-as-identity do most of their work in the volta; in the change from past to present, from disparate traditions to something new.
another local poet nails it with his observations of life on our tiny isle.
lamenting the lack of private spaces in our country . . . we humbly bid the government erect more libraries, since all books lead to sex, the inevitable best place to shag is up against the shelves or on the stacks -- and there, we'll find our private cul-de-sacs to make the beast with many paperbacks
the old builder complains to the new town planner . . . we were building a home, not finding faster ways to get them to their homes. what common ground do they share beyond void decks? tell me why they'd stand together without lifts? you wan to build community? a modern shiny building? pffft
I like poetry and I'm in the midst of learning how to appreciate a wide variety of it. I'm just starting to understand poetry and the way it flows and mingles and make sense in my head. I love how local the whole thing is. I know that's the point but knowing something and actually experiencing it is two very different things. I enjoyed most of the poems but some just left me confused and I couldn't see how it was to be appreciated. Overall I thought it was a good and fast read.
The sonnets do not really follow the iambic pentameter that it claims to and neither can all of them be read consistently in a Singlish accent. It was little bland and just okay.
My favourites would be: 'monkey learns to jump' (I enjoyed the satirical aspect of it), 'rag and bone' (what an avid and bold description of Singaporeans as a privileged city of waste that only trudges towards its end), 'bukit timah, singapore' (really liked the front few stanzas that outline a living and breathing state of the place) and 'conversaytion' (I smiled because it reminds me so much of the Singlish conversations I hear).
A few of the poems seem clumsily written, but the last few poems were probably the best in this maiden collection. Fun and quite thought-provoking in its own way.
I received this book as a gift, and I'm so happy that I did, because I'm sure I would otherwise never have stumbled upon it. Ip's poems are clever, crisp, and delightful all the way through. He brings an inventiveness and freshness to the sonnet form, playing with enjambment and really just seeming to have a great time. His poems range from fun and bitingly funny to thoughtful and moving in well-constructed, flowing, concise packages. For non-Singaporean readers like myself, there are extremely helpful notes at the end to explain some references and non-English phrases.