Three Poems
THE MOUNTAIN BROW
—from The Love Song of Crito di Volta
After electrical parties I stroll solo to the snowy Brow
where teenagers blow smoke rings through the Dis-
black sunroof in the balmy dawn, and without my goal
in mind my soul quickens. For a while I’ll forget
my supposed fate, and sing to early
Weezer at the waterfall, where I cannot hear the teens
and the teens cannot hear me. I can hear the ice-
weighed sumac boughs screeching in the wind.
I strike the sumac seven times with my walking stick
and shatter the maiming
ice-coats without breaking any wood.
After electrical parties
I sit here and search myself for the stoic loneliness
of sunless cliffs.
THE OVERPOET
—from The Love Song of Crito di Volta
“I’ll split your brain in half with my tongue
if I must, but trust I wish for peace the most.
I do not sing my verse so I’ll be sung
louder than the poets who can only recite,
but sing to draw the youth who forever might
not care for unsung verse, who, rather, tell
their friends of the poet who sings so well.”
The overpoet, an onus-hoarder, stalks
responsibilities with the ardour of Lord Byron
and the vision of Rimbaud, and balks
at nothing, not nothingness nor treachery,
nor assassins, nor Sheol,
and gives us his life as well as his verse
to pay the people the poet’s ancient toll.
HAIKU TRANSLATIONS
Shira-shira/ to/ hito/ fumade/ kururu/ rakka/ kana
—Kijo
though darkening, no one trampling
the fallen white flowers
Maimai/ ya/ ugo-no-enko-torimodoshi
—Bosha
after the rain
a waterspider regains
the halo
Noki/ ochishi/ yuki/ kyuko/o / fusagi-keri
—Hekigodo
eaves-fallen snow blocks slum street
Mizubana/ ya/ hana-no/ saki/ dake/ kure-nokoru
—Ryunosuke
Sniffling, only my nose-tip is shining tonight
Urado/ yori/ karu/ beki/ ie-no/ kiku/ o/ mitsu
—Takahama Kyoshi
from the backdoor of my soon-to-be house
Chrysanthemums have been seen
mihotoke-no/ okao-no/ shimi/ ya/ aki-no/ am
—Murakami Kijo
on Buddha's august face
pocks—
autumn rain
ara/ nani/ tomo/ na/ ya/ kino/ wa/ sugite/ fukutojiru
—Basho
All is non-existent—I’ve survived
yesterday’s passing—fugu soup
