"Dressmaker Rangoon" by Maung Chaw Nwe

Illustration by Kenneth Wong

I cannot read "Dressmaker Rangoon" by Maung Chaw Nwe (1949-2002) without feeling a little homesick. His poetic portrait of my hometown is an impressionistic panorama. In it, he skillfully captures the frantic energy of the city in fast-moving fragments, mimicking the pace of life in this Southeast Asian Babylon. 

The poem is more cinematic than literary, especially if you've personally experienced Rangoon before. His free verses invite you to take a ride through the sights and sounds from the city's sun-soaked streets, sweltering teashops, lively fish markets, and busy dockyards. But they never linger in one place long enough to let you get too philosophical.

While translating the long poem, I choked on Chaw Nwe's reference to an A & T cake. (The phrase was all the more perplexing because it was spelled out in Burmese alphabets.) I'm grateful to my friends Aung Myin Tun and Jasmine Aye (both fellow-English Major alumni from Rangoon University during the mid-80s), who reminded me about the famous A & T cake shop frequented by those with a fondness for delicious bakery. (The confectioner still operates today, listed in the Burmese Yellow Pages at a location somewhere in Bahan Township.) The Good Morning cake referenced elsewhere in the poem may be a reference to a fruity, prepackaged cake, as seen in this TV commercial.

—Kenneth Wong

For the Burmese text of the poem, visit this blog post by Moe Hlaing Nya, or this Facebook page devoted to Chaw Nwe's poetry.

 
"Dressmaker Rangoon" by Maung Chaw Nwe (English translation)

At daybreak people arrived,
with their livelihoods and miseries
cradled on their hips,
or stuffed in head-mounted baskets.
Look! A live fish fell out of a basket
onto a car.
A hip-hugging child cried,
girls jumped out of the way,
and men laughed.
Perhaps the fish
wanted to get off at 50th Street.

They came from Gorky Township,
could be from East London too.
“When I’ve washed my face in the morning,
I drink a can of Coca Cola
to give me lotus-scented breath.”
“Then you eat a Good Morning cake.”
“It’s not for me; it’s for the world’s own good.”

Ha ha ha …
this pair
adds to the city’s vibrancy.
The flowers are happy, of course;
soon they’ll be with their mistress,
soon to pay homage to God.
… am jolly too,
give me your address,
let’s meet again.
Whispered phrases
making small talks,
seem so happy.

Struggling to get on, struggling to get ahead,
struggling office clerks
must struggle on,
struggling office clerks aboard!

That’s Rangoon,
metropolitan Rangoon;
cafes are opening,
so Rangoon the dressmaker
uncovers his sewing machine
to take a stab at yesterday’s order;
how to cut and stitch,
how to trim and bead,
how to line the edges with laces;
the dressmaker,
considers his options
as if others are doing the thinking for him;
he thinks and rethinks,
till he conjures up a pattern
to wrap his heart in joy.
He takes a sip of his Nescafe,
a drag of his London cigarette,
and gazes at the girls strolling past his storefront,
the children of a new era.
Suddenly his eyes widened
to the sound of the waiter from a nearby teashop.
“Yo, three cups of tea!”
Ah,
time to cater to the city!

All the colors, creeds, breeds, and voices
become Rangoon;
Rangoon was born in Rangoon,
Rangoon was raised in Rangoon,
Rangoon stood on par with
other cities around the world.
Proud Rangoon,
the son of an urban city:
yellow lights,
blue lights,
white lights,
red lights—
Rangoon treats them as people.
They burn day and night,
to his delight.
Rangoon is glad to have a heart
lit by humanity’s glow,
happy, giddy,
bouncy,
shaking off the raindrops.

Rangoon’s monsoon
is as soothing as Rangoon;
there’s no winter in Rangoon,
no summer either,
only rain;
rain in Rangoon,
summer in Mandalay,
winter in Pyay, as they say.
But Rangoon’s rain
is full of deception;
when it pours, it soaks you in
red, black, blue, and yellow stratagems,
but it’s definitely rain—
rain is the taste of Rangoon.

Rangoon is in the know,
in steps with the times;
splendid outfits with fat belly folds
step into fashion stores—
so many colors!
People dine on roast duck and lamb stew,
fill their lunchboxes too;
school kids are leaping and bouncing:
“Mom, we must get some for the teacher too!”
“Yes, yes, dear!” …
“One Good Morning cake
will do just fine.”
If not, then get an A & T cake,
must be one or the other.
“Yes, I’ve got it, son,” she said
in a triumphant tone,
as Rangoon opens its gates:
Jing jing … jing jing
Jong jong jong jong.

The signal sound from a train
pulls into the city;
trains have bought the city
and brought the sound of trains from places faraway;
companies are opening their doors;
markets, shops everywhere;
buyers, sellers everywhere;
flocks of birds, herds of elephants,
stampede followed by stampede.
In Japanese slippers with torn backs,
frantic porters ran around,
municipal sweepers broom around—
shirts and ties,
dresses and boots,
sheets of velvet, forks, and spoons,
plates and fabrics—
voices and shades
are moving faster;
fame grows even faster:
will depart from Aung Zeya,
will arrive in Bandoola,
people rushing around
Pansoedan dockyard;
they march,
they flee;
a prayer here,
a contest there;
some ocean liners are anchored,
some sail along,
some stay still.

Dressmaker Rangoon,
bending over his sewing machine,
pedaling away the whole day.
Alas, it’s now nightfall!
Mercury lights are glowing,
car headlights are flowing,
bars are crooning,
clubs are blooming.
Well,
City Boy Rangoon,
it’s time to stitch up the evening with beads
Or
the night will drink you up.
Ah,
must get back to Shwe Paukkan,
must elbow his way into the bus,
must be cozy in the car's warmth—
so long … Rangoon!

(Translated by Kenneth Wong)

The illustration above was digitally painted in Autodesk SketchBook Pro for iPad by Kenneth Wong.

Ko Ko Thett's biography of Maung Chaw Nwe at Poetry International's site.
Facebook fan page dedicated to Maung Chaw Nwe.

Facebook fan page dubbed "Maung Chaw Nwe is the Greatest Burmese Poet of the 20th Century."
YouTube clip of Burmese poet Zeyar Lynn reciting "An Unpopular Chap" by Maung Chaw Nwe.