By Casey Ang

Cyril Wong is often described as a confessional poet, who explores the self and identity through personal narratives. Readers feel an intimacy with the poet, even if it seems difficult to point on why. In this collection he looks back on his past, using literary devices like becoming a ghost who looks back at his life, or flitting among surrealistic dreams. Despite writing the hurts – his uncertain boyhood, distant father, unaware mother – Wong’s poetry is remarkably even-tempered, clean and flowing, light and full of ease. The passion in this collection (and others perhaps) is delivered with a coolness highlighting the poetry’s control and restrain. It does not boil over and jar one’s senses. His poetry is almost pictorial, as if he stands quite far from himself with enough distance, assembling his thoughts and feelings into clean frames. There are fine shades rather than dramatic contrasts or outbursts, even as the poems are highly emotional.

Unmarked Treasure charts the persona’s dwellings on the past, ranging in themes from love to death, to family. A particular string of poems littered throughout the collection starts with “Invisible Snapshot”, an imagined sketch of death and suicide (The poem’s “For Leslie Cheung”). Variations follow on this title. It sets an ominous tone. Flirtations with suicide such as “notes to a suicide” are also present.

One wonders then what the deal is with these poems. They are balanced in the collection by poems like “flight dreams”, the persona exploring an imposed identity, breaking away from said impositions. Parent issues appear in “the affair” or “mother doesn’t get it”, suggestive of dissatisfactions in familial relationships. “religion”, despite its title, is an argument for faith as love, likened to music, at once decipherable and indecipherable. Love becomes more explicit with “heavy silence” or “promiscuity”.

These themes are disparate and fragmented within the collection and the reader will be tempted to ask: how do they come together? It seems that what pulls these poems together are not the themes themselves, but the persona who writes them (or poet). With multiple themes at play, and without strong or deliberate connections among them, it’s conceivable to put the persona at the centre instead, and be satisfied with it. Wong’s language as mentioned, is even, clean and light. From the first to the last, he maintains this style, offering a consistency that can work at pulling the poems together.

Or one may detect that the poems on death and suicide and their variations are strategically placed in the collection such that they continue to haunt the reader till the end. The curious thing is that death is not viewed with conventional fears, but the poet is rather nonchalant about it – almost celebratory with the very first poem, “end song”. The first line: “So I am finally dead. I sang a song…” The second stanza continues with “I hope to sing again after my coffin / closes like a mouth…

The merits in this collection are perhaps that Wong takes heavy themes and writes them with the lightness already noted above, resulting in the effect that they can be easy to ‘digest’. The even and smooth style allows for a more reflective reading, and hopefully, a more critical one. On the flipside, readers might prefer more impassioned poetry; who knows? The calm and easy tone with death can be unnerving.

Unmarked Treasure offers explorations on themes that are relevant to readers. Coupled with Wong’s poetic style, it makes for a highly accessible and pleasurable read. Wong’s poetry contrasts greatly with other poets like Edwin Thumboo or Arthur Yap, with his concentration on the personal, commitment to examining one’s thoughts and feelings. His output comes at a time when Singapore society undergoes significant changes, and the freshness of such content is highly appealing.