AFTER THE LAUNDRY
I eat pig ears in Cebu. Its skin oil
drops in the ember fire
and there is a girl who brings me a plastic
plate. She has a leprous father
and they live in the village
by the swamp. Every morning
before I teach her at school,
she ladles the water and washes clothes.
In her mind she knows
she cannot leave from here
even though she has a one-way
train ticket. This particular
girl is only six years old.
She uses a wooden washboard
and there are never
bubbles in the basin.
After the laundry,
she likes to collect plastic pieces
and make an imaginary
rainbow. I collect them with her
without soaking my fingertips.
The swamp reflects
algae and rubble
by nightfall and daybreak.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
UNATURAL CAUSE -- Poem
UNATURAL CAUSE
I eat soda ice-candy with my sister and see a dog
following the neighbor woman. The dog has a long
tail and we always want to feel it. My grandfather hates
the dog because it is a yapping disaster.
When the dog chases us to my grandfather’s house,
my grandfather grabs a fishing net
and follows it into the corner of a bathtub
because he wants to drown it.
And we are just after him to see
how he catches it and turns on the spigot.
The water is like an antediluvian wave,
it overflows the basin first, then splashes into the tub.
And my sister said, “Stop,” and I said, “Carry on!”
I picture the body returning to the neighbor. A crumb
of soaking fur is in front of a family Buddist
altar. The drops wet a tatami-mattress and socks.
I eat soda ice-candy with my sister and see a dog
following the neighbor woman. The dog has a long
tail and we always want to feel it. My grandfather hates
the dog because it is a yapping disaster.
When the dog chases us to my grandfather’s house,
my grandfather grabs a fishing net
and follows it into the corner of a bathtub
because he wants to drown it.
And we are just after him to see
how he catches it and turns on the spigot.
The water is like an antediluvian wave,
it overflows the basin first, then splashes into the tub.
And my sister said, “Stop,” and I said, “Carry on!”
I picture the body returning to the neighbor. A crumb
of soaking fur is in front of a family Buddist
altar. The drops wet a tatami-mattress and socks.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Japan Earthquake Anniversary 3.11.2011
Huffington Post has very good articles about that Japan makes one-year anniversary of tsunami.
***
And happy birthday, my father.
***
And happy birthday, my father.
Monday, March 5, 2012
CARRYING MY 237LBS IN A DANCE STUDIO -- Poem
CARRYING MY 237LBS IN A DANCE STUDIO
Yes, I eat three
gallons of clam chowder with French
pink sponges. Though
I have a baguette in a basket, it will never
fill me. My dance teacher asks,
How do you express love in front of the waterfall?
I spread my arms and thighs to make
a circle. My eyes are sunk
into floppy cheeks. My legs
trip and I fall into the water. A catfish
blows bubbles by my ears. The trouble
is my purple leotard. It is tight
around my neck to remind me I am not loved.
When my body drifts to the beach, seagulls scatter.
You are under a warm sheet with an anonymous woman, hearing nothing.
Yes, I eat three
gallons of clam chowder with French
pink sponges. Though
I have a baguette in a basket, it will never
fill me. My dance teacher asks,
How do you express love in front of the waterfall?
I spread my arms and thighs to make
a circle. My eyes are sunk
into floppy cheeks. My legs
trip and I fall into the water. A catfish
blows bubbles by my ears. The trouble
is my purple leotard. It is tight
around my neck to remind me I am not loved.
When my body drifts to the beach, seagulls scatter.
You are under a warm sheet with an anonymous woman, hearing nothing.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
ELECTRIC BILLS -- Poem
ELECTRIC BILLS
after the tsunami on 3/11/2011
You are part of a white
field under wet sweaters. A tin
box is tangled in your hair. In the box,
there are electric
bills that say, Have a bright day! If
it is your spiritual
message, I want to turn off the light. I need
a chair that my body
drops into so I can dream about your
bodily smell.
Somebody yells, Is anyone alive?
…no, it snows here and it is difficult to close my eyes.
after the tsunami on 3/11/2011
You are part of a white
field under wet sweaters. A tin
box is tangled in your hair. In the box,
there are electric
bills that say, Have a bright day! If
it is your spiritual
message, I want to turn off the light. I need
a chair that my body
drops into so I can dream about your
bodily smell.
Somebody yells, Is anyone alive?
…no, it snows here and it is difficult to close my eyes.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Current Favorite Poet --Naomi Shihab Nye
The Words Under the Words
By Naomi Shihab Nye
for Sitti Khadra, north of Jerusalem
My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes,
the damp shine of a goat’s new skin.
When I was sick they followed me,
I woke from the long fever to find them
covering my head like cool prayers.
My grandmother’s days are made of bread,
a round pat-pat and the slow baking.
She waits by the oven watching a strange car
circle the streets. Maybe it holds her son,
lost to America. More often, tourists,
who kneel and weep at mysterious shrines.
She knows how often mail arrives,
how rarely there is a letter.
When one comes, she announces it, a miracle,
listening to it read again and again
in the dim evening light.
My grandmother’s voice says nothing can surprise her.
Take her the shotgun wound and the crippled baby.
She knows the spaces we travel through,
the messages we cannot send—our voices are short
and would get lost on the journey.
Farewell to the husband’s coat,
the ones she has loved and nourished,
who fly from her like seeds into a deep sky.
They will plant themselves. We will all die.
My grandmother’s eyes say Allah is everywhere, even in death.
When she talks of the orchard and the new olive press,
when she tells the stories of Joha and his foolish wisdoms,
He is her first thought, what she really thinks of is His name.
“Answer, if you hear the words under the words—
otherwise it is just a world with a lot of rough edges,
difficult to get through, and our pockets full of stones.”
By Naomi Shihab Nye
for Sitti Khadra, north of Jerusalem
My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes,
the damp shine of a goat’s new skin.
When I was sick they followed me,
I woke from the long fever to find them
covering my head like cool prayers.
My grandmother’s days are made of bread,
a round pat-pat and the slow baking.
She waits by the oven watching a strange car
circle the streets. Maybe it holds her son,
lost to America. More often, tourists,
who kneel and weep at mysterious shrines.
She knows how often mail arrives,
how rarely there is a letter.
When one comes, she announces it, a miracle,
listening to it read again and again
in the dim evening light.
My grandmother’s voice says nothing can surprise her.
Take her the shotgun wound and the crippled baby.
She knows the spaces we travel through,
the messages we cannot send—our voices are short
and would get lost on the journey.
Farewell to the husband’s coat,
the ones she has loved and nourished,
who fly from her like seeds into a deep sky.
They will plant themselves. We will all die.
My grandmother’s eyes say Allah is everywhere, even in death.
When she talks of the orchard and the new olive press,
when she tells the stories of Joha and his foolish wisdoms,
He is her first thought, what she really thinks of is His name.
“Answer, if you hear the words under the words—
otherwise it is just a world with a lot of rough edges,
difficult to get through, and our pockets full of stones.”
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
The Porcupine Leaving the Party
Why is the porcupine leaving the party? Maybe the corny birthday card lyric scared it off...
B-card from my death-metal hubby with orchid.
B-card from my death-metal hubby with orchid.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Happy 29th Birthday!
My father was the first person to wish me happy birthday.
(It is already 21st in Japan.)
Thank you for being my papa.
(It is already 21st in Japan.)
Thank you for being my papa.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Chicago School of Poetics
I am going to take a poetry workshop at Chicago School of Poetics! I am really looking forward to meeting something exciting!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Charmi Keranen’s Poetry Art Exhibition
My friend, Charmi, is a talented poet from the Midwest and she just published her first book, “The Afterlife is a Dry County” by Big Wonderful Press.
Currently I am organizing her poetry exhibition with domestic and international artists. We are booking an art gallery in South Bend, IN. The schedule is pending. However, we would like to have the exhibition by late this summer. It is going to be something contemporary, beautiful, and crazy!
So far, I have five excellent artists on board:
Ashley Biggs: Cover photographer at IU South Bend Literary Journal.
Alex Zaideman: Calendar photographer at the Indiana Dunes.
Brad Schmidt: Charcoal artist from Colombia College.
Chelle Costello: Artist, musician, and professor at IU South Bend.
Mitoka Yamada: Painter and performer in Tokyo, Japan.
If you introduce me to your artist friends who may be interested in joining this exhibition, please contact me. I am always happy to meet new artists.
Currently I am organizing her poetry exhibition with domestic and international artists. We are booking an art gallery in South Bend, IN. The schedule is pending. However, we would like to have the exhibition by late this summer. It is going to be something contemporary, beautiful, and crazy!
So far, I have five excellent artists on board:
Ashley Biggs: Cover photographer at IU South Bend Literary Journal.
Alex Zaideman: Calendar photographer at the Indiana Dunes.
Brad Schmidt: Charcoal artist from Colombia College.
Chelle Costello: Artist, musician, and professor at IU South Bend.
Mitoka Yamada: Painter and performer in Tokyo, Japan.
If you introduce me to your artist friends who may be interested in joining this exhibition, please contact me. I am always happy to meet new artists.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Anti-Poetry -- Accepted!
"My Father's Ivory Die" was accepted by Anti-Poetry.
***
MY FATHER’S IVORY DIE
***
MY FATHER’S IVORY DIE
#3: additional seizures after his brain surgery, #5: broken front teeth from diabetes… My father throws his ivory die on the floor. I say, “You may die within three years, you know?” He flaps yesterday’s newspaper because his tears blur out an article about a comet—Even after a star dies, it may linger as a white dwarf— I hear the clatter of dishes and silverware. I push his wheelchair. The die rolls into a corner of the dining room. Silken layers of stardust cover it. He scoops egg-drop soup into his mouth.
Monday, January 30, 2012
The Collegehood of the Traveling Wedding Card
"Because we were so lucky to meet you at Nantan, we could create our lifetime...friendship!" Congratulations, Natsuko!
The greeting card was traveled through Chicago>> Osaka>> Nagoya>> and Higashi-ku, and then my college friends added comments in each city. Thank you very much for making it possible, Momo, Mizuho, & Amannochi! I miss you very much.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Portland Community College- 2/16
At Portland Community College, Dr. Michael McDowell will teach my poem, "7:30PM, Rhapsody" on February 16, 2012. How amazing is that? In his course, he also teaches a poem by the respected (one of my favorite poets) Li-Young Lee!
Today, my death-metal hubby and I went to the China town in Chicago to celebrate Chinese New Year. We thought about Li-Young Lee because he lived in Chicago. The dragons and high school marching bands in the parade were so exciting. And we inhaled a cloud of burning crackers.
The restaurant, Dragon Court, was excellent. We ordered six different types of dim-sum and seafood noodles. We ordered extra to take home for lunch the next day, but ate everything before we left (and THEN got Garrett's popcorn on the way back).
Today, my death-metal hubby and I went to the China town in Chicago to celebrate Chinese New Year. We thought about Li-Young Lee because he lived in Chicago. The dragons and high school marching bands in the parade were so exciting. And we inhaled a cloud of burning crackers.
The restaurant, Dragon Court, was excellent. We ordered six different types of dim-sum and seafood noodles. We ordered extra to take home for lunch the next day, but ate everything before we left (and THEN got Garrett's popcorn on the way back).
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Hotel Amerika is Out!
Hotel Amerika is out. Enjoy reading "As of Late" with other wonderful poets!
AS OF LATE
1.
.....Some of the work confronting us
.....will not be completed during my presidency...
I told you during the speech,
I am five days late.
.....Some, like the elimination of nuclear weapons,
.....may not be completed in my lifetime…
I can no longer remember that I wanted to bear a child.
2.
My grandfather met a pregnant woman, summer 1945.
She held an empty bottle and a little red kimono
.....and she sat down by the gray wall.
He gave her water
.....and kept walking to the hill near Hiroshima
.....and then bullets rained
.....and the atomic bomb...
3.
He found the woman again
with a shred of the red cloth.
Her bowels
.....and placenta were spread
under the wall; in the ditch.
He did not find her unborn child but he smelled it.
4.
After rain and rain, the moon
threw down a little blue light.
.....How beautiful the spring of 1946 was;
dandelions and clovers covered the wall
.....and nobody could remember
there were the two corpses underneath it.
5.
While I am listening to the speech,
millions of cells are dividing
in bubbles of amniotic fluid;
a little heart pumps in my womb.
.....And you ask,
“Do we give it a Japanese or American name?”
I don’t know…
but I will stroke its forehead every night
humming an old lullaby.
AS OF LATE
1.
.....Some of the work confronting us
.....will not be completed during my presidency...
I told you during the speech,
I am five days late.
.....Some, like the elimination of nuclear weapons,
.....may not be completed in my lifetime…
I can no longer remember that I wanted to bear a child.
2.
My grandfather met a pregnant woman, summer 1945.
She held an empty bottle and a little red kimono
.....and she sat down by the gray wall.
He gave her water
.....and kept walking to the hill near Hiroshima
.....and then bullets rained
.....and the atomic bomb...
3.
He found the woman again
with a shred of the red cloth.
Her bowels
.....and placenta were spread
under the wall; in the ditch.
He did not find her unborn child but he smelled it.
4.
After rain and rain, the moon
threw down a little blue light.
.....How beautiful the spring of 1946 was;
dandelions and clovers covered the wall
.....and nobody could remember
there were the two corpses underneath it.
5.
While I am listening to the speech,
millions of cells are dividing
in bubbles of amniotic fluid;
a little heart pumps in my womb.
.....And you ask,
“Do we give it a Japanese or American name?”
I don’t know…
but I will stroke its forehead every night
humming an old lullaby.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Radio Tower-- Poem
RADIO TOWER
after 3/11/2011 in Japan
“Run up to the hill,”
I repeated it from the radio tower.
Tsunami slithers through the seaweed garden.
A child was held in its mother’s arms on the bridge.
They were almost..........at the hill.
The microphone slipped from my hand.
Like a hundred other ambiguous bodies,
clay envelops my face.
..........Clovers grow. Their dewdrops
glitter under the stardust. Can I be promised
to return to the earth like everyone else,
like a beautiful mermaid, like
my grandmother?
after 3/11/2011 in Japan
“Run up to the hill,”
I repeated it from the radio tower.
Tsunami slithers through the seaweed garden.
A child was held in its mother’s arms on the bridge.
They were almost..........at the hill.
The microphone slipped from my hand.
Like a hundred other ambiguous bodies,
clay envelops my face.
..........Clovers grow. Their dewdrops
glitter under the stardust. Can I be promised
to return to the earth like everyone else,
like a beautiful mermaid, like
my grandmother?
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Marina Veiler's Piano Recital
Marina Veiler's Piano Recital
Sunday, January 8 at 3:00pm at New Music School in Downtown, Chicago.
It is a free event!
She was once my roommate and she survived living with me. It is rare.
Sunday, January 8 at 3:00pm at New Music School in Downtown, Chicago.
It is a free event!
She was once my roommate and she survived living with me. It is rare.
Monday, January 2, 2012
JANUARY 1, 2012-- Prose Poem
JANUARY 1, 2012
I explain to my father the random chance of his death. Just like an ivory die that he throws on the floor; #3 is for additional seizures after his brain surgery, #5 is for broken front teeth from diabetes… I said, “You may die within three years, you know?” He keeps flapping yesterday’s newspaper because his tears blur out an article about a comet—Even after a star dies, it may linger as a white dwarf— I hear the clatter of dishes and silverware. I push his wheelchair into the dining room. The die rolls into a corner of the room. Silken layers of stardust cover it. He scoops egg-drop soup into his mouth.
I explain to my father the random chance of his death. Just like an ivory die that he throws on the floor; #3 is for additional seizures after his brain surgery, #5 is for broken front teeth from diabetes… I said, “You may die within three years, you know?” He keeps flapping yesterday’s newspaper because his tears blur out an article about a comet—Even after a star dies, it may linger as a white dwarf— I hear the clatter of dishes and silverware. I push his wheelchair into the dining room. The die rolls into a corner of the room. Silken layers of stardust cover it. He scoops egg-drop soup into his mouth.
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