Sikfan Glaschu : Food , Language , And Migration In Glasgow
Luca Reale reviews a mouth-watering book of poetry that finds links between identity , food and resilience in the midst of a pandemic .
“ Sikfan ” is a Cantonese word meaning “ food is ready ,” a call to dinner . To Glasgowbased poet Sean Wai Keung , it was “ one of the first words I ever learnt to respond to .” He recalls fondly the phrase echoing through his house , summoning his family together to share in their dinner .
Wai Keung ’ s debut full-length poetry collection Sikfan Glaschu ( Glaschu being the Gaelic word for Glasgow ) channels his joyful nostalgia for food and culture . Many of the poems are named after various eateries in Glasgow , forming vignettes of human connection , culture , history , and sometimes just really good food . As a descendant of Chinese migrants , he draws on his experience of liminal identity and the way languages and foods combine to create something new . Sikfan Glaschu is one of those new things , wearing its culinary and linguistic influences on its sleeve .
Part diary , part collage , part review , the book serves as a sweet , funny , and sometimes sad framing of diaspora experiences .
As Wai Keung penned his poems , the UK was locking down in the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic . Issues of race , immigration , and food were all about to become unexpectedly aggravated . In America , the killing of George Floyd by a white police officer sparked global outrage . Thousands took to the streets across England to oppose racial profiling and police brutality .
Meanwhile , the UK ’ s Asian population experienced a three-fold increase in hate crimes , spurred on by fear-mongering about the “ Chinese virus .” It was also an issue of food . Chinese restaurants received hate messages , with one reporting regular phone calls asking if they served bats .
“...[ D ] ont think that we can ’ t fight back / dont [ sic ] take our silence as a muteness ”, he writes in loon fung . “ Even / if you beat us down in the street / shout profanities at us when we sneeze / blame pandemics on us and our eyes .” The influence of the times is ever-present , there are poems about racist facebook comments sections , about the murmurings overheard in the first days of socially distanced queues outside supermarkets , about paranoia , depression , isolation . Coming out of a challenging year where art has been defined by its non-fungible nature , a distant and weak imitation like porn or methadone , it ’ s refreshing and affirming to hold a physical copy of this book . To have the shit-show and the frustration stored in a tangible way .
But in spite of the occasionally heavy subject matter , the poems are more savoury than vitriolic . This book is not a manifesto , though it can be defiant . Rather it is a celebration of the beauty that occurs when we find common ground .
Inspiration for the book came from Wai Keung ’ s maternal grandfather , a migrant from Hong Kong who ran takeaways across Britain . When he died , Wai Keung struggled to write about the “ distant ” yet “ large patriarchal figure ” in his life in a way that encapsulated his experiences in life and in bereavement .
“ I had this thought that maybe I should write about meals I had with him .” From there he began to realise , through writing and conversations with others , how much could be said about the experiences of migrants and diaspora through food .
38 SLEUTH ISSUE 4