From the years I've known Crispin - he's an affable, humorous, extremely learned man. I'm often awed and humbled by his panoramic perspectives and knowledge on different subject matters in life. Pantomime, his maiden collection, is no less a timeless tribute spanning many topics endeared to him. From social to identity issues, anecdotes from his days as a teacher in the classroom and the timeless tributes of love, Crispin has proven himself time and again on his ability to tackle various issues with a fresh perspective.
"An INFJ Learns About Art" sparks a quiet beginning of a pained response to the myriad reasons why we write. Writing, it seems, is not so much of unearthing a reason for it as simply immersing in the act - of healing. His imagery of grafting and staples evoke a sharp pain in me simply because I'd written from those places. Moving on, the collection takes us through a litany of landscapes - personal ones and distant ones; "Father to Son" anguishes about the old rigid mindsets passed across generations, that corporate success and serving the nation are two mantras deeply ingrained in the psyche of many. The ending about poetry being answered as a graded question gripped me.
"This Poem Is Meant to Be Stepped On" is a generous rendition of the state of flow that poetry gives, how it revolves round to gift life to many things and finally back to the giver of verses. In my humble opinion, this poem does transcend itself across the borders of "Good" into the remote outskirts of "Great". "Racial Quota" whispers of the hidden pain of the ethnic dichotomy still present in modern Singapore; Crispin here paints his own anguished, and brilliant response to the racial issue in "Do I deserve my race/as a brand to my face, marked/like a slave waiting for inspection? The ending lines "Call me Ishmael, or Hisham,/or Ah Huat, there will always be questions" resonate simply because it is true that humans will always turn a curious eye to those who are not of their own skins - regardless of his skin color.
Other poems leap out: "When a Student First Discovers Sparknotes", a palpable recount of how a student tries to glean better answers and "be a Prometheus to mankind", only to be "caught red-handed" and becomes "an indelible mark on his record".
"She Tries to Be Peranakan" depicts memories of Crispin's Peranakan heritage, with the "She" here, as I infer, a nuanced reference to a special someone gone by. Edwin Thumboo is briefly referenced in passing; the not-so-open procedures of busking in Orchard are unveiled in "Busking in Orchard", and "Pasar Malam" is a nostalgic journey through - a Pasar Malam. I never took my eyes off the book here.
Perhaps Crispin, being the older-fashioned romantic yet child-at-heart I have found him to be, quietly moves us with the small bundle of love poems found toward the end of his book. "Fidelity" surprises me in the turn of phrase which I shall not give away, "He Always Knew How to Startle" speaks of two lovers' trysts in bed, and finally, "The Weight" is a quietly-moving recount of how the weight of one lover feels against the next.
In "The Weight", Crispin opens up intimately with the question "What is the weight of the world/the feeling of one breast against the next" making me read on right to the end in a single hushed breath. His answer of "gravity" delivered me a punch to the gut, rooted right there in my seat - such is the depth of memories, of how lovers feel in absence. As Pablo Neruda confides, "Love is short, forgetting is long". "The Weight" fully exemplifies the palpable length of this longing, this wait. It is also one of the most endeared poems to me in Pantomime.
Where there are good (and occasionally, great) poems in any collection, I will desist to bore with those that fall short above sea level (my sea level). Rather than drowning them in the ocean of my memory, I will thus confess my woeful understanding of matters as compared to Crispin's vaster perspectives, and re-read those poems when I have more of mood and a penchance for comprehension.
My bad for the long review, for much remains desired to be said. This is a book worthy of your purchase and enjoyment over a quiet supper, or bedtime.