POEM: Matsushima

Posted 26 January, 2011 in Audio Poems, Japan, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above.

A poem about one of the most beautiful places on the planet. I’ve spent quite a bit of time there over the years. I’m translating this one into Japanese, but it’s a difficult process for me.

Matsushima

we sat at the stern of the boat
tossing shrimp-flavored snacks
to the trailing gulls

in the picture, I am smiling

hundreds of tiny islands, each
with its own pine tree
like a flag planted by Mother Earth

“I claim this island in my own name”

Basho, tongue tied, brush quivering
could write nothing but the name
of the place and an exclamation

“ah!”

after, we made tea in a cast-iron pot
suspended from the roof beams
over the coals of the fire

in this picture, too, I am smiling

stone #10

Posted 10 January, 2011 in Albany, aros, Audio Poems, Food, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Stones

Listen using the player above.

/ / /

first my teeth pierce the soft nori skin
then move through the rice into the rich
avocado in the center

the mug of sencha fits perfectly in my hand
and there’s just enough room at the table
for these friends who will miss me when I go

/ / /

part of a river of stones

POEM: Ah, Basho, who were you really?

Posted 12 December, 2010 in Audio Poems, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Travel

Listen to this poem using the player above.

I first lived in Japan from 1991-92. During that time I picked up a Penguin edition of Japanese haiku master Matsuo Basho’s book Narrow Road To The Deep North. I’ve loved him ever since. Not just his work, but the very idea of him.

Ah, Basho, who were you really?

My friend the Japanese literature scholar –
by which I mean to say he is a scholar
of Japanese literature and a literature scholar
who is Japanese — thinks you were a ninja.
Or a famous warrior of some sort.
I can’t quite remember. But his point
is that no mere poet could have passed through
all those military checkpoints.
And no old-man poet could have covered
all that ground as fast as you say you did.
Were you lying? Is all poetry fiction?

Perhaps you started out from Tokyo –
they called it Edo then –
with every intention of completing the journey
along that famous narrow road.
Perhaps you packed your paper and brushes
to write those glorious verses.
Perhaps you set out upon the path,
made it as far as the first resting place
before your old bones got the better
of your young heart.
Poets invent whole worlds –
all you needed to do was describe
the world that already existed. Even a mortal
could do that.

Me, I like the ninja idea.
Poets are thought of as many things –
deadly is rarely one of them.
We need more poet ninjas, creeping about
on moonless nights, stealing
into the rooms of young lovers, leaving
a verse or two on the pillow.
Gone as silently as the break
in this line.

Then again, maybe I’d rather
you were just a poet.
Not a liar. Not a ninja.
Not a warrior traveling in disguise.
Just a man who wished to see the mountains
of Japan’s interior with his own eyes.
A man who used his paper and his brushes
to let us see those same mountains,
thousands of miles away,
all these many years later.

POEM: in any given set

Posted 10 July, 2010 in Audio Poems, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Travel

Listen to this poem using the player above.

in any given set

we walked around it all day
that little Japanese tea cup
sitting on what had been the dining room floor

it said Sanriku on the side
in bold yellow kanji
evoking memories of contented nights at the restaurant

when I arrived in Japan
my host mother could only say
“Are you Jay?” — still three more words than I

could say to her
ignorant as I was
of foreign tongues and other people’s customs

nineteen years gone
and I know more words
but I still wonder whether I understand

most of what you say
or what I am supposed to do
in any given set of circumstances

the little tea cup
occupies its fixed place
on the floor, forces us, unknowing, to give it room

POEM: Eating Godzilla

Posted 4 March, 2010 in Audio Poems, Japan, Movies, My poems, Poetry

Listen to this poem using the player above. The music is “Crude Friendly” by Kevin Baird. The laughter is by Bernie and John.

Eating Godzilla

for some reason, we started with the tail
you’d think that would be the toughest part
but after we’d sliced away the scales
the flesh was surprisingly tender
and no, it didn’t like taste like chicken
well, maybe a little
but it also had that metallic
just-out-of-the-microwave aftertaste
probably from the lingering effects of the radiation
Kazuhiro had insisted on serving side dishes
despite our obvious inability to finish
the great green lizard in one sitting
so we’d sautéed Mothra in a sesame sauce
and served him (her? it?) in lovely
sculpted bowls that fit perfectly in the hand
I’d suggested also eating Raymond Burr
just for old times’ sake
but by this time he was more fat than meat
and who can be bothered to pare all that away
just for a few grizzled bits of TV lawyer?
anyway, after the tail was finished we
cracked open Godzilla’s skull to get at
what we thought would be
the salty brain encased within
imagine our surprise, then, when
the skull turned out to contain
thousands of Pez candies
in a variety of fruity colors
Iwai-kun suggested handing them out to the children
who’d naturally gathered ’round us
for a look at the sundered source
of their nightmares
you should have seen the smiles
on their faces as he
reached his hands into the skull
and drew forth the rainbow
of sugary delights
he tossed the Pez out like Mardi Gras beads
and the kids scrummaged for them, squealing

POEM: Tea Ceremony Hurts Yours Legs

Posted 3 March, 2010 in Audio Poems, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Travel

Listen to this poem using the player above.

Tea Ceremony Hurts Yours Legs

at 17, I studied the ancient art of tea ceremony
with my final host-mother
and a teacher who seemed middle-aged
but may have been just slightly older than I am now
I’m not sure about the sensei,
but one thing I do know is
tea ceremony hurts your legs
the insidious thing is that you
don’t even notice it at first
you’re too focused on
placing the bowl just so
the ladle along the crook
between your thumb and index finger
the sugary snacks on a piece
of pristine rice paper
floating above the tatami floor
after a while, it feels like
you yourself are suspended
above the floor, just slightly
is this enlightenment?
did I, at 17, achieve satori?
wait till my parents hear about this!
and it’s then, as you leap up
to spread the word
that you realize your mistake
and pitch face-down onto the mat
spilling your carefully whipped green foam
and crushing the delicate wooden ladle

« Previous Next »