Unfamiliarity Within the Familiar: Hong Kong Poets Write About Tokyo

As Tokyo-based poets, we are blessed with being able to feast on this city's views, smells, sounds and sensations 24/7, but how does it feel for poets from abroad to come and visit us? What do they take back with them? What textures stay on the tips of their fingers as they start typing out their memories of Tokyo on a page?

“Tokyo-verses-Hong Kong,” an event that will welcome four acclaimed Hong Kong poets with ties to Japan, and four local poets — Kei Okamoto, Hiromitsu Koiso, Motonori Sato and Aleksandra Priimak, is one such showcase of poetic expression in relation to a city.

The event takes place July 25, at UltraSuperNew Kura, 4F.

In the run-up to the event, one of our editor and lead organizer of the event, Aleksandra Priimak, had a chat with the guest poets from Hong Kong – Jacky Man-leuk Yuen, Winson Wing-chung Tsang, Lorraine Chun-yu Lo, and Morrie Hon-yam Yim – to find out what draws them to Tokyo, what their relationship with Japanese poetry is, and what their dream interaction with the city looks like. 

1. What is your relationship with the literary scene in Japan?

Jacky Man-leuk Yuen:

I have loved Japanese manga and cinema since I was young. Because these media often integrate literary elements, they formed my very first impression of Japanese literature.

Now, having the opportunity to collaborate with Japanese writers, I realize that while we share a similar Eastern cultural foundation, we differ significantly in our nuances and narrative perspectives. This divergence opens up a massive space for imagination and possibility – a space I am eager to dive into. It is not just about choosing both cultures, but exploring the fertile ground that lies directly in between.

Lorraine Lo Chun Yu:

Literarily speaking, we have organized "literary walks" in Tokyo, as well as in Osaka and Kyoto. After the pandemic, a few of us traveled to Tokyo to host the "Hong Kong-Tokyo Poetry Night". 

On a personal level, because my younger brother studies and works in Japan, I visit very frequently. Since I fly there so often, many of my works were actually written while I was in Japan. I've discovered that Japan has many memorial halls dedicated to poets and literary writers. For example, I once accompanied a friend to the Murou Saisei Memorial Museum; seeing his works there was a very inspiring and educational experience for me.

Tsang Wing Chung:

I have always had a deep love for Japanese literature. I grew up reading Japanese novels, and as I got older, I began diving into their poetry. In terms of tangible connections, it all started a few years ago in Okubo, where I met Yasuhiro Yotsumoto and Kei Okamoto. We read and shared poetry together. Later on, I brought my students back to Tokyo to collaborate with several poet friends, fostering a meaningful cross-border dialogue through poetry exchange.

Morrie Hon-yam Yim:

In 2023, I set foot in Japan for the very first time. Before that, my understanding of the country came only from fragments of novels and films – hazy and one-sided. That year, I was invited to participate in the Ōkubo Poetry Gathering, travelling to Tokyo with Man-leuk Yuen Jacky, Wing-chung Tsang Winson,Lo Chun-yu Lorraine, and Woo Sai-Nga Ann. At the gathering, I had the privilege of exchanging ideas with Japanese poets such as Mr. Yasuhiro Yotsumoto and Mr. Okamoto Kei, and through this fortunate encounter, I also came to know Mr. Sato Motonori and Ms. I-chun Chen. That was my first time experiencing Japan — not as a reader or spectator, but as a participant.

In 2024, I returned to Tokyo once again. This time, I travelled with fellow Hong Kong novelists Yan Pui-kei Kevin and Chiang Hiu-mei – both colleagues of mine at the same secondary school – to lead our students on a study tour. As a teacher, this journey allowed me to view Japan from a different perspective. We strolled through the Jimbocho Book Town. We visited the Natsume Sōseki Memorial Museum, and we made our way to the Haruki Murakami Library at the International House of Literature. My feelings toward Japan have gradually shifted from imagination to reality.

At Enoshima

by Jacky Man-leuk Yuen

A delayed itinerary means missing a meeting;

the feeling is no worse than having missed an entire era.

It is a journey all the same—

one of life, of identity,

and of so many more inexplicable,

divergent paths belonging to countless people.

Today's sea

is just as brilliantly shimmering as it was back then,

the sun is just as blinding.

I strain my eyes southward, trying to identify the void,

and tell my child:

Out there, far away, is Papua New Guinea.

The Southern Hemisphere lies beneath the great ocean,

and beneath the great ocean, there is only more sea.

Beneath the eyes, are there still eyes?

If so, what hangs upside down

might not necessarily be the earth,

or war, or peace.

What if all of this is purely

the grand dream of a legendary giant fish?

Go on, then, and imagine:

on that high school basketball court,

there truly was someone like Sakuragi Hanamichi,

the basketball he shot forever spinning in mid-air.

When I aim my gaze toward the net in the afterglow,

in that exact direction,

all the railroad crossings in the city

are still open to cross.

2. Do you find Japanese poetry to be similar to Hong Kong poetry? If not, what are key differences in your opinion?

Jacky: To be honest, it is difficult for me to summarize a definitive 'Hong Kong poetry style'. Even my own work is often considered 'atypical' for Hong Kong, though I don't entirely know why, nor can I tell if people mean that as a compliment or a criticism.

Consequently, I find this question equally challenging to answer, as any generalization would inevitably oversimplify both Japanese and Hong Kong poetry.

Lorraine: The lyricism in Hong Kong poetry tends to lean either towards narrative – highlighting specific events — or strongly towards imagery; both directions are very prominent. In contrast, Japanese poetry sometimes focuses on the charm or aesthetic derived from minute discoveries in everyday life. 

Winson: Poetry from any region shares both similarities and differences. While our focus or angles might seem distinct, both traditions are deeply rooted in daily life, observation, and personal reflection. Hong Kong poetry tends to favor the strategic use of imagery, building towards a complete structure. In contrast, many Japanese works lean into pure imagination, which operates slightly differently from structured metaphors or symbolism.

Morrie: I believe there is still a considerable difference between Japanese poetry and Hong Kong poetry. Hong Kong poetry tends toward narrative, excelling at highlighting specific events and often distilling poetic moments from the crevices of everyday life. Its content frequently reflects the individual's feelings and circumstances within the urban environment. 

Japanese poetry, based on my limited reading experience, is deeply influenced by the traditions of haiku and waka, emphasizing the capture of fleeting moments and instantaneous sensations, while its emotional expression tends to be more restrained and understated. A few years ago, I bought several poetry collections at a bookstore in Tokyo, including Tatsuya Kinoshita’s ”Collection of tanka poems for you”, Ozawa Minoru’s "Rubble Collection"、Saitō Mitsugu’s “Distant Spring”, Wada Masako‘s “A story in progress”. Though I read them with the help of translations and cannot claim to have grasped them fully, I could still distinctly feel this very quality. Such qualities remain relatively rare in Hong Kong poetry.

At HALO_86

by Lorraine Chun-yu Lo

In the bar

A small house

The dim lights of Shinjuku. Only two people didn't light up

So bending the spine, sitting on the flat, small

Back of the chair to the side. Swaying left and right, like wind, while alcohol

Hesitates... They stand in the bottles

Looking left and right at the foreign market outside the street, every

Turn of a face, unmarked by a price tag

Not because but because

A flimsy bar

Named after books. K says nothing, N turns her smile into a daydream

Miracle is an air-dried, half-open poetry collection

(K and I reciting the Heart Sutra together in the bar)

And putting our lower backs, left outside the door,

Fermenting. And accompanying the new day

The rain that takes a long time to arrive

Brushing away the cruelty accumulated in all the gloom

We will lose tonight's dream

Tomorrow's bookstore

At the center swims the discounted Don Quixote

3. What do you find particularly inspiring about Tokyo as a city?

Jacky: Before I visited Tokyo for the first time in 2023, the city had already lived in my imagination for years through manga and television dramas. Walking down Tokyo’s streets for the first time felt surreal; everything was incredibly familiar, yet suddenly materializing right in front of my eyes. It felt like finally meeting a lifelong pen pal in person.

I have written several poems inspired by my travels in Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka. I write from the perspective of a traveler, though I may not call them travelogues. I find this outsider angle appropriate because I don’t claim to possess the insider knowledge required to write as a local, yet a conventional travel diary isn't how I want to process or imagine a city. I am always drawn to observing the people who inhabit a space, and how the past has shaped the environment they live in today. Tokyo, with its layers of history beneath the ultra-modern surface, naturally captivates me.

Lorraine: Tokyo is a highly inclusive city, yet it firmly holds onto its own traditions. It is a clean and fascinating place. Over the past two years, I’ve started seeing many foreigners here, but they tend to speak Japanese/English. In contrast, in Hong Kong, when we see faces of different ethnicities, they sometimes insist on speaking their own native languages rather than Cantonese.

Winson: To some extent, Tokyo and Hong Kong share a similar vibe: they are busy, diverse, slightly indifferent, and filled with a suffocating summer heat that can almost drive a person mad. A few years ago while in Japan, I wrote a poem imagining myself being born and raised there, earning a living by selling unclaimed poetry collections. This sense of unfamiliarity within the familiar – this slight detachment – always allows me to step back and find inspiration.

Morrie: Tokyo, as a bustling and overwhelming metropolis, shares many similarities with other developed cities in East Asia: well-established infrastructure, diverse populations, efficient rhythms, and constant cultural collisions – these are its shining strengths. Yet, precisely because of this, the sheer frequency of cultural stimuli often ends up obscuring the city's original character: the high-density living environment can be distressing, the estranged interpersonal relationships breed loneliness, and the relentless pace makes one feel suffocated. When I come to Tokyo, what inspires me most is precisely this mirror-like reflection – as if, through a city so strikingly similar to Hong Kong, yet one where I do not speak the language, I am able to look back and examine my own situation from a reverse perspective.

Kamogawa

by Morrie Hon-yam Yim

A dead fish drifts on

the water of a foreign land. Its ineffable death

lets us cross beyond imagination

and finally see the ancient capital's river.

August—merchants gather along the banks,

while some heat-weary travellers scatter here

to cool off, to rest, becoming each other's riverbed verandas.

Before the unadorned ripples,

we fall silent, summing up another kind

of flow and dissolution waiting to be seen through.

Let strange waterweeds

and, not far off, the incense burning at the shrine

exchange their silent prayers.

And on Shijō Bridge, the sky is as clear

as a lie yet to be woven—

a silver-white car glides slowly past,

a time difference too small to measure.

I am like that woman who crossed mountains and waters to enter the city,

with no wish to disturb her own twin reflection.

Just as the footstep that pauses on this shore

carries a hesitation and tenderness

that no stone-stepping traveller possesses.

And that self, leaping lightly

through the fine mesh of language—

long ago, in imagination, it tiptoed to the far bank,

turned back, and bid me farewell—さようなら

A sudden flash of lightning cuts across

Kyoto's afternoon—the weather, too,

is weather beyond description.

Waterbirds, wind-chime lanterns, eaves flickering in and out of light—

all now are quietly,

quietly thinking through origins and endings for me.

How I fear that this very self,

by answering, might disappear.

4. Imagine you have one evening with any Japanese poet in history. Who are you meeting, and where in Tokyo would you like to go with them? 

Jacky: If the sky is the limit, why not Sugawara no Michizane? It would be fascinating to show him how Japan has transformed over the last eleven hundred years. Is the world truly different from centuries ago? What has been preserved, and what is gone forever? To find out, he would have to walk the contemporary streets, talk with everyday people, visit restaurants, and read the local news. I hope he will be willing to spend some days studying the modern world with me.

Lorraine: I would choose Kenji Miyazawa. I would tell him stories about Hong Kong and thank him for writing the poem *"Strong in the Rain", as many of Hong Kong poets own works have been inspired by him. I would like to take him to the 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT museum. I feel the design of this museum is very elegant; it possesses a delicate yet resilient strength.

Winson: Misuzu Kaneko. Reading her work, I always sense a delicate tug-of-war between Buddhist philosophy and a childlike innocence. She observed the world through the eyes of a child – a world that felt despairing, yet she possessed a unique charm that held her back from completely exposing that bleakness. I’ve always been curious to know what she was like in person, and I believe, above all, she simply needed a devoted listener.

Morrie: Ishikawa Takuboku. I would like to go to Tokyo Disneyland with him – I think it would be a truly fascinating experience. And yes, Disneyland at night.

Minamimorimachi

by Winson Wing-chung Tsang

How did I end up in this place?

A sentence has sunk into the streets

Like a sailor casting an anchor, overcoming the tilt

Ironing flat the continuous lines left by the sky

The height of summer deletes pedestrians and sighs

Behind every pane of glass stands a person of leisure

I dare not ask for directions across such a distance

To stop, or to walk in haste,

Both seem to constitute a form of disruption

Like peeling open hands pressed together in humility

To walk through this place, one must harbor reverence

The birds here do not care to speak, yet they read minds well

Falling into their eyes—

Under the scorching sun, we walk anxiously

Unpacking words, chewing them from the main street to the end of the alley

I seem to hear the world running laps around the universe

The other planets remain silent

Devoutly guarding a stillness where only the self is left.

----------