POEM: Tea Ceremony Hurts Yours Legs (4)
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
POEM: Aomori (0)
Posted 1 March, 2010 in Audio Poems, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Travel
Listen to this poem using the player above.
Aomori
standing on the cliffs of Aomori
is like standing at the end of the world
one more step and you can take
a refreshing swim in the bay
if you survive the drop, that is
squint your eyes and it feels like flying
pine trees level with the top of your head
and the waves continuing their
thousand-year attack on the rocks below
I kept better notes than this
but they were lost in a flood
nothing so grand as the sea
winning that final victory
it was just that our washing machine
overflowed and submerged the basement
who would have thought
after a thousand years
it would be a load of laundry
that would finally conquer
the cliffs of Aomori?
POEM: Tsurumigawa (0)
Posted 27 February, 2010 in Audio Poems, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Travel
Listen to this poem using the player above.
Tsurumigawa photo by Ivan Kurniawan
Tsurumigawa
ironically, we lived along the See Crane River
it sliced through the rice fields
that were just steps from the busy road
Tokyo and Yokohama and Kawasaki
are joined like an urban Cerberus
between them, hidden bits of unexpected farmland
bent old women in worn rubber boots
knotted bandanas around their heads
slop through the wet paddies
reaching crumpled fingers into waving rice
and plucking out the o-kome
the flesh of their people
in Ichigao, our town,
the women could have walked
a mile along the river
and treated themselves
to McDonald’s french fries
or the Colonel’s secret recipe
of herbs and spices
a bloodless invasion
leaving no cloud in its wake
I don’t think we ever actually
saw a crane on the river
that bore the bird’s name
like Oak Glen or Forest Heights
the name is simply a reminder
of what’s been taken away
gold flecks in green tea
gold plastic across the street
from the train station
and the Colonel standing there
arms outstretched, smiling
beckoning the cranes to fly to him
POEM: Miso Soup (4)
Posted 24 February, 2010 in Audio Poems, Family, Japan, My poems, Poetry, Travel
Listen to this poem by pressing the play button above.
Miso Soup
(for Jennifer)
the only thing better than the taste of the sushi
is the lingering aftertaste
mixed with miso shiru and warm ocha
a sensation so rich
it’s almost another meal in itself
I always order one extra piece of unagi
and remember walking into Meiji Jingu
holding your hand
you gave me a book on Zen –
I was into that then –
and I gave you an atlas of our world
so we could choose the next destination
we sat in the kaitenzushi-ya in Shibuya
and watched the endless parade
of plates, daring us
in Nikko, we took a photo in an unexpected
tram car that was right there on the sidewalk
then climbed up all those stairs
to see the sanzaru
there were many little tremors and
the one big one
that had us scurrying for the doorjamb
just as the shaking stopped
and yes, there were cherry blossoms –
there always are –
right outside our bedroom window
and the cleaning man came by each week
and always seemed surprised to see us
we gave him our maple tree
(and you gave me its cousin years later)
I savor these moments and roll them around
on my tongue, heavy with the dusky taste
of shoyu and the tang of vinegar in the rice
POEM: Maple Leaf (0)
Posted 8 February, 2010 in Audio Poems, My poems, Poetry, Travel
Listen to this poem by pressing the play button above.
I wrote this over the weekend on the train from Albany, NY, to Rochester, NY.
Photo (c) 2008, Brian Cameron
Maple Leaf
ice flows on the canal
and I flow the opposite way,
bound west on two steel lines
toward my old not-home
now the water is a river
filled with half-wild islands
and on each piece of snowy ground,
a flock of waiting birds
Amsterdam, Utica, Syracuse —
ancient and exotic names
they have turned their backs
on the water and rails
further on now through fields
where sparse grasses and weeds
poke up through the snow
like drowning men’s fingertips
blowing snow, fog-like
makes of the rail line a dream sequence
empty nests wedged in tree limbs
empty factories with no hope of spring
for an instant, beside the tracks,
two men with rifles search the trees for prey
while nearby an empty backyard
where an empty swing set sways
A Native Thanksgiving at Thacher State Park (0)
Posted 26 November, 2008 in Albany, Family, Travel
The fine folks at Thacher State Park in Voorheesville, NY, had a Native Thanksgiving celebration this weekend. Here are a few photos from our time there:
A visit to Robert Frost’s Stone House (0)
Posted 19 October, 2008 in Poetry, Travel
I drove to Shaftsbury, VT, today to visit one of the houses in which poet Robert Frost lived. It was in this house — known as the Stone House — that he wrote “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening.” Just as most of the classic Xmas albums were recorded in the summer, this quintessential winter poem was written in July.
San Francisco (0)
Posted 17 October, 2008 in Literature, Poetry, Travel
Jen and I just got back from five days in San Francisco:
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