Yong Shu Hoong extracts metaphors and meanings from the visual and audio manifestations of waves in his seventh collection of poems. Dissecting the composition of a waveform, he oscillates between the looming waves of a pandemic and happier memories driven by 1980s pop music and other soundtracks that marked his youth. The book starts with the section ‘Old Wave’, inspired by the striking image of the Great Wave as envisioned by Japanese artist Hokusai. Poetry and memoir coalesce in the middle section, before the book ends with ‘Mixtape 1980–1985: Thirty-six Fragments’ – a subtle modern-day reference to Hokusai’s print series, Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji.

Excerpt - "Fan Fiction"

Now, go west – towards Clementi – a friend’s home

in Pandan Valley: a turning vinyl thrums. Quickly

 

The beat picks up: “Sometimes you’re better off

dead…” But jolted lively by the drums, quickly

 

We find our groove. Out of uni, out of quarter-

life crisis, hurtling out of doldrums quickly

 

To grandly enter the dawn of the 90s with this

coolest duo on the scene. Love comes quickly

 

As the string of hits pile up. My friend snaps

up every single. I collect albums. Quickly

 

We spend our pocket money, then our starting

pay. He DJs part-time in a club, charms quickly

 

Around the circuit, while I build up my cred

as a music reviewer who succumbs quickly

 

To other hipper genres. He gets married. I

date a bit. Then the millennium comes. Quickly

 

Pop changes its mind; dance music mutates. We

drift apart. And I no longer wave my arms quickly.