A nation like me

[just mercedes]

This is my story,
a make-up-artist's tale.
I place final decorations on those
whose lives have ended.

My Russian uncle took care of me
when my parents made The Great Leap.
I do not worry about survival.
I never have to rely.

Uncle passed his skills on. I have become
a continuation of him.
When I show you my work
it makes you sick. ‘What a job’,

you say, ‘making the faces of 
dead people. My God!’
Before I begin, I pray for them. 
Then a formaldehyde injection.

Next, a face cleansing
with fine cotton swabs.
I refine beauty, fixed momentarily
in the world of memory.

No matter who, rich or poor, high
or low, I am their final consolation.
I make them seem happy. Even
this couple; a love-inspired suicide pact.

I refuse to work on those who
stubbornly won’t resign to fate.
‘Here’ you say ‘these blooms are for you.’
You knew they stand for eternal loss.

A nation like me is unsuitable
for any man’s love. 
‘What sort of job do you have?’
I am a master of disguises.

I hide corruption, control
time, rewrite the stories.
I perfect lies. I am 
a make-up artist.









a response to XiXi's 1982 story A Woman Like Me, referencing contemporary Hong Kong

[dukealien]

Without reading the XiXi, mention of Russia directed my thoughts to Lenin's tomb and cadaver.  In Orwell's formulation, he who controls the present (the makeup artist) controls the past, and therefore the future.  Every nation constantly edits its founding and procedural myths - what was Roman mythology like (or Etruscan, for that matter) before being adjusted to the Homeric standard? (Etruscan Mnerva couldn't have been much like Athena, that far from Athens!)

Today we in the US are being hectored to see (for example) Jefferson's formerly wistful, polymath smile repainted as a leer of slaveholder's lust, Robert E. Lee's strength of character in tragic circumstances as nothing more than racism... as if that word even had meaning during his lifetime, a color no painter had yet invented.

[just mercedes]

Without reading the XiXi, mention of Russia directed my thoughts to Lenin's tomb and cadaver.  In Orwell's formulation, he who controls the present (the makeup artist) controls the past, and therefore the future.  Every nation constantly edits its founding and procedural myths - what was Roman mythology like (or Etruscan, for that matter) before being adjusted to the Homeric standard? (Etruscan Mnerva couldn't have been much like Athena, that far from Athens!)

Today we in the US are being hectored to see (for example) Jefferson's formerly wistful, polymath smile repainted as a leer of slaveholder's lust, Robert E. Lee's strength of character in tragic circumstances as nothing more than racism... as if that word even had meaning during his lifetime, a color no painter had yet invented.

Thanks Duke - I anthropomorphized Hong Kong as the make-up artist so you were spot on, with the Russian uncle and his effects on Chinese communism. When the Brits handed Hong Kong back to China, very recently, the HK people were promised they would have democratic elections, which haven't happened - and dissidents are still disappearing.

XiXi was a dissident in 1982. This is the vid I watched, from her short story/poem, A Woman Like Me. For some reason it affected me greatly. She was a lot more subtle in her allusions though, than I have been.

[Leanne]

There is immense power in this personification; however, I feel that the shift is somewhat abrupt and the poem would benefit from a few more oblique comparisons of corruption of flesh/society in the earlier stanzas.  

This is my story,
a make-up-artist's tale.
I place final decorations on those
whose lives have ended.

My Russian uncle took care of me
when my parents made The Great Leap.
I do not worry about survival.
I never have to rely.

Uncle passed his skills on. I have become
a continuation of him.
When I show you my work
it makes you sick. ‘What a job’,

you say, ‘making the faces of 
dead people. My God!’
Before I begin, I pray for them. 
Then a formaldehyde injection. -- perhaps "Then inject formaldehyde" to make it more immediate and active.

Next, a face cleansing
with fine cotton swabs.
I refine beauty, fixed momentarily
in the world of memory.

No matter who, rich or poor, high
or low, I am their final consolation.
I make them seem happy. Even
this couple; a love-inspired suicide pact. -- great line for analogy

I refuse to work on those who
stubbornly won’t resign to fate.
‘Here’ you say ‘these blooms are for you.’
You knew they stand for eternal loss.

A nation like me is unsuitable
for any man’s love. 
‘What sort of job do you have?’
I am a master of disguises. -- For some reason I want this to be more adamant: "I am the master of disguise" or even just "a master".

I hide corruption, control
time, rewrite the stories.
I perfect lies. I am 
a make-up artist. -- I love this strophe









a response to XiXi's 1982 story A Woman Like Me, referencing contemporary Hong Kong

[just mercedes]

Thanks Leanne - 'then inject' is perfect. I will think about trying to push harder in the earlier stanzas band get back to it.