The Compass comes home

Last year I wrote of seeing an article on CNNGO, out of Hong Kong, about someone finding a compass and inside was a copy of my poem "The Compass". This was news to me! I suppose whoever copied my poem found it on my website, www.stephenmorrissey.ca.

Last January I received an email from French author Ann Scott. A friend of hers had returned several years ago from a trip to Bangladesh and, as a present, given her a compass, the same one with my poem in it. This compass was purchased in Bangladesh! Ann wanted to know if I was the poet and, if so, did I want the actual compass? Immediately, I said I wanted the compass. A few weeks later I received a parcel in the mail containing the compass. Thank you, Ann!! I appreciate it!!

Someone (it was Richard Olafson of Ekstasis Editions) mentioned to me that poetry has a life of its own, and it does. Perhaps there are many copies of the compass out there, decorated strangely with a picture of St. Thomas More on the lid, with my sexy poem inside. A strange combination, indeed.

How a poem travels. From Montreal to Hong Kong, to Bangladesh and then to Paris, and then back home to Montreal. Around the world in several years time.

Welcome home, compass. Any more compass sightings out there?

The Compass

Here's the poem referred to at CNNGO. 

 ________________________________________ 

The Compass 

On the four corners of the bed 

the body becomes a compass 

describing the direction of passion. 

Months of desire arrive at this destination, 

rocking on a single almost silent wave 

we are sheltered by darkness. 

The body is a compass needle; 

you turned me from east to west 

awoke a sleeping giant that moves 

between your mouth and breasts and legs; 

the room illuminated by static electricity 

thrown off by our bodies. 

How many decades did I sleep 

waiting only for you; 

I lust after you in all 

the directions of space. 

Meeting at the airport 

your foot touching my leg 

beneath the restaurant table, 

we secretly entered an empty 

banquet hall where the caterers 

chattered and poured drinks behind 

a wall partition then quickly leaving 

we found a deserted hallway of open 

office doors where we embraced. 

All the others in my life fell away, 

I was ready to abandon my old life 

for you, for the touch of your hand and mouth, 

the apple red and delicious cut in half that I eat. 

Tied to the four corners of love 

as to a bed which becomes a compass, 

I find you on your stomach, on your back, 

in the morning lying pressed against me. 

It is not possible to return to sleep now, 

it is not possible to forsake your touch 

and love, black lace, fingers, wetness, 

your mouth, words. The compass needle 

turns finding north switched to east 

and west to south, night becomes morning; 

nothing remains as it was. You pointed my life 

in a new direction, towards a corner of the world 

only dreamt of before. Outside the sun is red 

descending behind a row of trees, 

shadows fade into the other unexplored 

regions of night. 

 (Published in The Compass, Empyreal Press, Montreal, 1993)

The Compass in Hong Kong

You never know where your work will show up in our still "new" internet age. Someone in Hong Kong found my poem, "The Compass," the title poem of my book The Compass (1993) and inscribed it on a real compass. Someone else wrote this article on finding a compass with my compass poem on it, and this article was published by CNNGO, located Hong Kong, an affiliate of CNN News. The complete article is below:

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An unlikely object of desire found at the Cat Street Market

An engraving on an antique compass spawns a search for answers. Thankfully, a reader comes to the rescue

We saw a beautiful antique compass at the Cat Street Market, which we got for HK$19, thinking it would make a great Christmas gift for a relative. However when we looked inside the cover of the compass and read the long engraving, we thought otherwise.

We've typed out part of the engraving here as we thought you might enjoy it:

“On the four corners of the bed the body becomes a compass describing the direction of passion. Months of desire arrive at this destination, rocking on a single almost silent wave we are sheltered by darkness.

"The body is a compass needle; you turned me from east to west awoke a sleeping giant that moves between your mouth and breasts and legs; the room illuminated by static electricity thrown off by our bodies.

How many decades did I sleep waiting only for you; I lust after you in all the directions of space. Meeting at the airport your foot touching my leg beneath the restaurant table, we secretly entered an empty banquet hall where the caterers chattered and poured drinks behind a wall partition then quickly leaving we found a deserted hallway of open office doors where we embraced. All the others in my life fell away."

We were left wondering. How on earth could this have ended up on Cat Street and what kind of romantic souls with a penchant for bondage play could have possibly owned it? A pair of star-crossed lovers forced to live in separate continents, perhaps? Or an epic extra-marital affair between a poet and his muse? Something mundane like a member of the Cathay Pacific mile high club and a mistress from Lockhart Road.

Thankfully, CNNGo reader rgucci came to the rescue, pointing out to us that the engraving is actually from a poem by Stephen Morrissey, aptly titled "The Compass." We feel a wee bit silly that our literary knowledge didn't extend that far. If you want to read the full poem, or any other of Morrissey's works, click here.

We wonder now whether the author is happy his poem has made it to the new antiques of Hong Kong's Cat Street.

The eclectic market sells everything from Mao memorabilia to sex compasses. The Cat Street Market is located on Upper Lascar Row in Sheung Wan. It is between Lok Ku Road and Hollywood Road.

The street is also called 'mo lo gaai' (with 'gaai' pronounced as 'guy') in Cantonese by residents in the neighborhood and is how it should be referred to when asking for directions to the market.