camellia

it’s cold

sitting here rain etching

its rhythm in

to my skin i hear

across town they

restored my cabin say

it’s historic

i know

a few things

but like that guy over there no one

wants to listen

maybe tomorrow

is sunny children

climb my back sit

in my lap maybe ask

me to tell

my stories

Miyazawa Kenji

Here's a translation of a poem by a 20th century Japanese writer. The poem is well known in Japan. I think it gives a good insight into the character of the Japanese people that has so impressed the world at this time of struggle in their country.

November 3^rd

Neither yielding to rain

nor yielding to wind

yielding neither to

snow nor summer heat

with a stout body

like that

without greed

never getting angry

always smiling quiet-

ly

eating one and a half pints of brown rice

and bean paste and a bit of

vegetables a day

in everything

not taking oneself

into account

looking listening understanding well

and not forgetting

living in the shadow of pine trees in a field

in a small

hut thatched with miscanthus

if in the east there’s a

sick child

going and nursing

him

if in the west there’s a tired mother

going and carrying

for her

bundles of rice

if in the south

there’s someone

dying

going

and saying

you don’t have to be

afraid

if in the north

theres a quarrel

or a lawsuit

saying it’s not worth it

stop it

in a drought

shedding tears

in a cold summer

pacing back and forth lost

called

a good-for-nothing

by everyone

neither praised

nor thought a pain

someone

like that

is what I want

to be

- Miyazawa Kenji (translated by Hiroaki Sato & published by

North Point Press)

awash

Rain rain go away. Come again another day. But today the rain roars every hour or so followed by intense breaks of blinding light, every building, brick, street a sheet of light. I have to close my eyes, & still the light is so intense my head hurts. I want to curl inside a stone and pull the blinds down. I think if I just turn my back, but I want to see (literally) what I can't stand to look at. An earthquake, a tsunami, a meltdown, another war. The moon so big tonight, I can't find it in the rain.

beautiful sorrow

Bamboo represents strength, flexibilty, life, and beauty. The beautiful expression of sorrow is at the heart of Japanese aesthetics. The music of the bamboo flute is its sound.

radiation

Let the wind take it .

We have enough of Nature's relentless sorrow.

Let the sea that's buried our love

that's crushed the ten thousand back

into the one receive the boiling death seeds.

Let fire & water embrace so we may rest

& weep a cleansing rain.

bball & earthquake

Last night at fish & chips joint waiting to pick up an order, ask a former coworker how she's doing. "not well with the state of the world." I'm thinking Libya; she thinking earthquake. Go home & watch the beginnings of March Madness. After, read Saramago's The Stone Raft. The Iberian peninsula sails into the Atlantic. Four characters ponder the why, follow a dog on a pilgrimage through the floating land. Nuclear plant melting down near Sendai. Libyan mercenaries shooting civilians in the streets. Young Isaiah Thomas crosses over, breaks Momo's ankles. The shrimp & slaw is tasty. Drink some wine, watch the world quake.The woman who draws the unerasable line in the dirt makes love with the school teacher who's followed by a flock of a thousand starlings. Thomas hits a trey with 30 secs left, 1 point game. 6.9 aftershock. 4 point game. All of Europe declares they are Iberians. A three. one point game. 14 seconds. 900 people buried under mud. Another trey. Tied game. Another tsnami? Overtime.

enui mais oui weewee we the peepill peephole you see through the cabana knothole my father & his boyhood friends peeked as big sisters changed in

to objets de desir french fries hot dogs & a coke.