by Gwee Li Sui
***
闲暇时喜欢走街，就这样悠游自得地把闲散的步伐随性地拓印在城市的不同角落里。我不爱逛乌节路，倒是喜欢把一个下午的时间全耗在以政府大厦为中心的方圆一公里的城市走道上。岛国所有的博物馆都几乎集中在这里了。此外，国家图书馆、书店、剧院、表演厅等。这几年管理大学也在此处落了脚，为整个市区增添了几许书卷味。
岛国阳光猛烈，一般不太适合走街。好不容易盼来一个阳光和煦的下午，从书城开始探索寻找岛国的意象。沿着桥北路，走向白色的赞美广场。走向十字路口的方向，左边是莱佛士酒店，左前方则是瑞士新加坡史丹福酒店。我喜欢把自己装扮成一个游客，着上热带岛国适合穿的T恤和百慕达短裤，想象自己在一个异地旅游般，用一种全新的眼光去认识这个我其实非常熟悉却隐隐约约有一股陌生的城市。两座十九世纪建成的历史悠久的白色建筑——赞美广场和莱佛士酒店在十字路口的两端遥遥对望，中间隔着鹤立鸡群般的瑞士新加坡史丹福酒店。历史和现代就仿佛巧妙地汇集在了这个十字路口。赞美广场这个名字不知道是谁的杰作，翻译得太好了。广场里面酒吧、咖啡馆、餐厅林立，洋溢着一种暖洋洋的欧陆风情。广场里有一处我非常喜欢的景观，我甚至认为如果要入选新加坡十大照相取景之处这里肯定榜上有名，就是站在哥德式的教堂的背面靠右的位置对着教堂建筑连着通往地下层的宽宽的阶梯看过去。这个景致实在太美了，特别是到了夜晚时分结合着周围的灯光。我记得很多年前当我第一次来到这里的时候，也是一次无心的旅程中无意的邂逅，我很难相信这样的景致竟会出现在四季如夏的岛国。我更难想象这里以前是一所学校。有这样美丽的校园，当时的学生的确是太幸福了。
本着支持环保绿化和提倡有氧运动，在城市里设立越来越多的步行街可说是全世界各国的一个趋势。因为如此，虽然阳光依旧猛烈，感觉上岛国的市区也越来越适合步行了。其实就这样找一个慵懒的下午随处走动和阳光作伴也是一种享受。在市区，我总喜欢坐在管理大学的楼层里，在看着来来往往的行人时回想自己的大学生活。在参加的许许多多的作家节或电影节的时段里，我常常就喜欢随身携带一本书，然后窝在李嘉诚图书馆楼下的木桌椅上看着，以填满我活动与活动之间的空挡。这段时间，我仿佛感觉自己就好像是这里的学生一样，呼吸着城市大学的空气。把大学城市化，把城市大学化，真亏我们想得出来，在我来看，也真是一种创举。在这里，你已经分不清楚自己是身处在大学还是身处在城市了。从这里，你要步行到国家博物馆或美术馆都很方便。而且，不说你可能没有留意到，这里的咖啡馆不知道从什么时候开始也越开越多了。管理大学四周围的林荫也自然而然地把这座不大的城市大学给绿化了，说到这里，我仿佛想起刘禹锡《陋室铭》中“苔痕上阶绿，草色入帘青”之姿，大抵也差不多是这样的景致吧。
如果要登高望远，那一定要上维多利亚街的国家图书馆大厦。十六层楼的现代化建筑在这一带可算是个庞然大物，虽然看上去和传统的图书馆的概念格格不入，她却仿佛在提醒我们现代的图书馆已经是高科技的产品，就好像其建筑外形一样。她的存在总让我不由自主地想起那座曾经矗立在史丹福路的旧国家图书馆，这是很多国人美好回忆的象征和地标，她几乎已成为了很多人成长过程中的意象。红色的砖块覆盖了整座四层楼的建筑，是如此的朴实温暖人心。随着几层阶梯拾级而上就是馆的前厅和大门。一点也不跋扈的建筑让人感觉亲近，完全没有距离感。从四层楼到十六层楼，我仿佛看到知识在攀越，在数据时代，知识逐渐爬上云霄了，和我们的距离反而好像愈来愈遥远。也的确，正是在十六层楼的观景台，我们可以鸟瞰整个市区，也是在这里，我们迎来了高行健，我从来没有想过这一生竟能有机会和一个诺贝尔文学奖的得奖者有如此近距离的接触。在听完他的演讲后，我们乘搭了同一趟的电梯。他一行人就在我们进了电梯后也走进来了，转过身后，他就在我身前不到十公分触手可及的距离。
就好像怀念旧的国家图书馆一样，我其实是个念旧之人。因此，你可以想象，当维多利亚剧院和维多利亚音乐厅经历了好多年终于翻新完毕之后，我马上重新把她们当作我城市步行的重要一站。旁边就是亚洲文明博物馆，后面就是现作为艺术之家的旧国会大厦。我每次经过这里或者新加坡河时都要驻足围观正在翻新的剧院和音乐厅，以及将两座建筑接连起来的高高矗立的钟楼。像这样的钟楼现在已经不多见了，她可以说是历史的见证。我们以前学校演出都在这里进行。虽然有了滨海艺术中心，然而对着两座灰白相间的维多利亚式建筑还是充满着怀念。两座建筑都见证了岛国表演艺术发展的历史。这座城市的表演厅和剧院原本就不多，两座建筑于是便愈发显得珍贵。
剧院和表演厅隔一条小马路是宏伟的政府大厦和旧最高法院。这两座具代表性的建筑都是岛国历史变迁的见证。从每年有许多大学毕业生都喜欢穿着毕业袍来这里拍照留念可以看出其建筑风格之特别和雅致。两座建筑都有浓厚的古典主义的风格，因为是政府机关，因此皆予人严肃庄重之感。旧最高法院已在大约十年前搬去了新的建筑物，就在旧楼后面的一座现代化大楼。而一提起政府大厦就会联想到她前面隔着圣安德烈路的大草场，这里是过去许多年国庆日检阅典礼进行的地点，虽然因为不喜欢人太多的地方，我一次也没现场看过。两座建筑目前正在重新翻新成为新的国家美术院，听说即将完工。非常期待翻新后的样子。
沿着新加坡河两岸走下去，几乎是在追溯着岛国发展的历史。无论是在克拉码头这一头，或是船坞码头那一头。十年清河方有今天清洁的河道，让游客们能尽情地在河边享受着啤酒和美食，也让游览船只在河中自由来去。每一条城市的河都有她说不完的故事。我每一次如果有机会招待远道而来的客人总会带他们到这里沿着河道走，无论是从上游走到下游，或者是从下游走到上游，在步行的过程中，总能让他们感觉到岛国的蜕变。这里一忽而浮尔顿大厦变成了浮尔顿酒店，那里一忽儿附近的红灯码头和老巴刹也翻新了，周围还多了许多不知名的商业建筑和摩天楼。城市的变化可以在转瞬之间。对于那些不在市区工作的人例如我来说，变化以后的市景总是会有既熟悉又陌生的感觉。
在每一座城市的角落，都会有一些你不小心会忽略的事物。我指的是福康宁山。这是一座我们常常经过，却又常常不经意地忽略的地方，因为她就仿佛躲在城市的角落边缘。我们最习惯的就是把焦点都给了山脚下的城市或建筑，然后很习惯地忘记在城市或建筑的周围有一座保护她的堡垒。每一座城市都有一座山，每一座城市也有一条河。城市大都背山面水。如果说城市的河是孕育她的母亲的乳水，那城市的山就是有如父亲般的厚实的臂膀。福康宁山俗称皇家山。这里是岛国历史的地标。殖民与二战的历史在这里都能找到见证。在穿梭于城市的繁华和热闹之际，应该懂得闹中取静吧。那不妨登山吧。沿着山坡的阶梯拾级而上。那可是城市中少有的绿荫。
***
说到这里，我仿佛又回到了我的画室。画室外的天空依然万里无云，我今天就要把这个岛国的城市图景移植到画布上去了。我在思考的是要如何以最自然的方式突显岛国的神态。从隐秘的丛林走出来以后，日光的显现提醒我城市的足迹正在前方向我招手。我于是拾起画笔，开始在画布上细细地描摹，最后大力地泼墨，希望借用我最深情的一笔为岛国的青春添上最美丽的色彩。
Images of the Island Nation
&
nbsp; BY HENRY LOW SWEE KIM
Translated by Jeremy Tiang
Picking up my paintbrush again is like walking back into a forest of loneliness.
This forest nestles quietly in the midst of the tropics, covered with a dense shroud of leaves. As if separated from the rest of the planet, as if there were no clear path back to the outside world. Perhaps you might catch a glimpse of scars in the ground, suggesting tracks left behind by our ancestors, but these blurry marks were clearly not made deliberately.
Dipping the brush into different-coloured pigments and touching it to the white canvas, there is a sense of being caught out of time, as if preparing for a vivid fairy-tale narration to begin. But it’s hard to say where to start this kind of story, which year or which month. While meditating on possibilities, a chaotic tangle of thoughts churns in mid-air, finally tumbling down into a place the eye cannot see.
I have no way of capturing the image from my dream on this piece of canvas, just as I’m unable to turn the landscape of my mind into verse. Poems can be streams of consciousness, and pictures impressionistic, but neither has the power to truly reflect the scenes and ideas that live in the brain, in dreams.
Dreamscapes are beautiful. I often awaken from one, only to discover with frustration that, in the instant of rousing myself, the dream has vanished so completely as to leave no trace behind. Yet, every part of my body constantly seems to be reminding me that I am living in the real world. I am lying in my familiar bedroom, the texture of the dark brown wallpaper as pronounced as always even to the eye alone. The wind chimes on the balcony continue to produce clear, delicate sounds as the breeze sways them.
***
After assembling my easel, I begin to conceive a landscape of the Island Nation. Very long ago, I started considering the imagery of this country, the totems that represent Nanyang, the South Seas, as beautiful as their name. From the ancient past, we have respected and worshipped such totems. Naturally, I have no desire to transform these images into picture postcards or similarly rigid landscapes. This island was once a forest of loneliness. Our ancestors were lost for a long time and endured much suffering and many reversals before they found their path out of the jungle. During this process, they were able to see the noontime sunlight pouring down through the dense canopy of leaves.
Sunlight is good. I gaze in the direction of these rays, and stone slabs that have lain there for centuries begin revealing irregular footprints. I am startled that I hadn’t seen these before. They are obviously not the marks of my own feet. I realise that, before I was here, many people might already have come this way, walking out of the fog.
What colour should I use as my background? White would be simplest and use the least paint, but simplicity can also be dull. I often find a flash of inspiration bursting into my thoughts, an unruly, unrestrained image or a disturbing line of verse. These thoughts or ideas leap and spin in my soul. I think about falling leaves in the northern hemisphere’s winter or cherry blossoms drifting through the air and how I grab my camera as the leaves or flowers start flying, but, when I press the shutter button, the resulting photograph only shows them scattered on the ground.
Heaps of yellow flowers on the ground. Not just yellow flowers, but also fallen leaves and beautiful dreamscapes.
That day, a gentle wind blows, and soft clouds drift across the sky.
Next, I try mixing all the colours, seeing if I can produce a shade I have never imagined before. What emotion is this thickness of paint suited to capture? Can I capture this sunlight on my canvas before the sky turns dark? As the sun pours into the jungle or my studio, I seem to see the reflection of a haloed sun in the window.
Gently, I allow my feet to stir, walking down the mountain road made of hardened earth. The tropical forest exudes a sort of habitual melancholy. Now and then, I encounter a clump of shy flowers, a lone patch of splendour in the vast green jungle. The deluge of sunlight through the canopy of leaves spills onto the brown earth. I try to think how to daub this scene onto my prepared canvas.
What kind of images makes up this Island Nation after all? The impression of a metropolis made up of steel and concrete? The city’s skyscrapers stand shoulder to shoulder, competing to grow taller till they reach the clouds, and the south coast’s expressway stretches from the horizon, disappearing into the depths of the sea. The attractive Sports Hub spreads its branches, delicately swaying, ready for battle, exuding a sense of well-being towards the lovely coast, the beguiling depths of Kallang Basin. Though of an age advanced enough to have gained wisdom, it still retains the exuberance of youth.
***
In my leisure, I enjoy strolling around, my carefree footsteps impressing themselves on various corners of the city. I’m not fond of Orchard Road, preferring instead to spend an entire afternoon in the one-kilometre circle with City Hall at its centre. The Island Nation’s museums are all collected here as well as the National Library, bookshops, theatres, performance centres, and so on. For a few years now, the Management University has also planted itself here, bringing the whiff of book-learning to the city centre.
This harsh sunlight of this island usually makes it unsuitable for strolling. With difficulty, I wait for an afternoon of milder sunshine and begin to search for the country’s imagery, starting at Bras Basah Complex. Walking along North Bridge Road, I approach the white facade of CHIJMES. In front of me is a crossroads with Raffles Hotel to the left and Swissôtel The Stamford is diagonally ahead. I like dressing up as a tourist in T-shirt and bermudas perfect for this weather, imagining that I am wandering through a foreign land, looking with new eyes at the city I am thoroughly familiar with, which is also sometimes strange to me. Two historical white buildings dating back to the nineteenth century – CHIJMES and Raffles Hotel – eye each other from opposite sides of the junction. The Swissôtel looms between them, a crane standing amongst chickens. The past and present have miraculously congregated at this crossroads. I don’t know who came up with the Chinese name for CHIJMES – zanmei, meaning praise – but it is a wonderful translation. This complex is thronged with bars, coffee shops, and restaurants, exuding a cosily European atmosphere. There is a vista here that I love and would happily put on a top-ten list of the most photogenic spots in Singapore: standing behind the Gothic cathedral, a little to the right, looking towards the wide staircase that links the church building to the lower levels. This is a lovely view, especially when the lights come on after dusk. I remember the first time I came here, many years ago, a chance encounter on yet another aimless walk. It’s hard to believe that such scenery could exist on an island where it is always summer and even more so to think that this was once a school. How fortunate its students were to study in such a pretty campus!
With the aim of protecting the environment and promoting aerobic exercise, many countries in the world are building more pedestrian streets in their cities. As a result, while the sun might be as fierce as ever, the Island Nation’s city centre now feels more and more like a place suitable for walking. In fact, it can be a form of enjoyment, strolling on a lazy afternoon with the sun as your companion. When downtown, I like sitting within the SMU buildings, watching people go by and reminiscing about my own undergraduate years. While taking part in all manner of literary or film festivals, I often bring a book with me, nesting on a wooden bench downstairs from the Lee Kong Chian library and reading to fill the gaps between my various activities. While doing this, I feel like a student there, breathing in the air of a city university. Making the university more urbanised, making the city more collegiate – how fortunate that we have thought to do this. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a kind of pioneering work. In this place, you already cannot tell whether you’re in the university or in the city. It’s convenient to walk to the National History Museum or Singapore Art Museum. And – you may not notice if I don’t point it out – I’m not sure when it started, but the number of coffee shops in the area has been steadily increasing. The shady groves around SMU have natural
ly made this small urban university greener – which reminds me of Liu Yuxi’s poem “Inscription on a Crude Dwelling”, in which he describes “moss marking a staircase with green, the colour of grass seeping through a window” – a scene that, no doubt, resembles this one.
If you wish to look out at the vista from a high vantage point, the place to go is the National Library building on Victoria Street. In these surroundings, this sixteen-storey modern building can be considered a behemoth although, at first sight, it doesn’t have much in common with the traditional idea of a library – as if to remind us that we have reached an era in which libraries, too, are high-tech artefacts like the facade of this building. Its existence inevitably causes me to involuntarily recall the old library at Stamford Road, a symbol and landmark that many Singaporeans have fond memories of, an image many of us grew up with. Red bricks covered the entire four-storey structure, heart-warming, and down-to-earth. Up a few flights of stairs was the front porch and main entrance. This was a building that did not seek to dominate, instead inviting closeness, without any sense of distance at all. From four floors to sixteen, I see the upward climb of knowledge – in the digital age, this has gradually crept up to the skies, seemingly ever more distant from us. It’s also true that, from the viewing gallery on the sixteenth floor, we have a bird’s eye view of the entire city centre, and it’s also here that we welcomed Gao Xingjian – I’d never imagined that, in my lifetime, I would have the opportunity to be this close to a Nobel Prize winner. After his speech, I found myself sharing a lift with him. He walked in after us with his party and turned around, at which point he was no more than ten centimetres away from me, easily within reach.
Just as with the nostalgia for the old National Library building, I am a person who is fond of the past. As a result, you can imagine how quickly the Victoria Theatre and Victoria Concert Hall became important stops on my city strolls when they reopened after many years of restoration work. Next to them is the Asian Civilisations Museum and, to the rear, the former Parliament House now called The Arts House. While work on the Victoria buildings was going on, I had to pause and gaze at them, and the tall clock tower in between, every time I walked past or strolled along the Singapore River. There aren’t many clock towers like this any more – you could say that it’s a witness to history. Our school concerts always took place here. Now there is the Esplanade Arts Centre, but I still feel a nostalgic connection to this pair of greyish-white Victorian buildings. Both have watched the development of this Island Nation’s performing arts culture. In a city with few theatres and performance spaces, these two buildings are all the more precious.
