Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Anti-Poetry -- Accepted!

"My Father's Ivory Die" was accepted by Anti-Poetry.

***
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).

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.

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?

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.

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.