Rangoon, 1927
I came late to Rangoon.
Everything was already there --
a city
of blood,
dreams and gold,
a river that flowed
from the savage jungle
into the stifling city
and its leprous streets,
and a white hotel for whites,
and a golden pagoda for the golden
people.
That's what
went on
and didn't go on.
Rangoon, steps stained
by the spitters
of betel juice.
Translated by Alistair Reid
