The weather began to turn around the beginning of November. I dreamed of fire, sparks flying in the night across the wooden houses. We were jammed against the cemetery, bad luck in any season; Hokusai's ghosts spoke across hideous red lanterns, their teeth waiting for the skin to fall. Fukuoka was ruptured by uneasy presences; the foreign community talked and talked, waiting for something to happen. Rumblings from Eastern City penetrated Nine-States Island. These were the States at that juncture: State-of-Hand-Joined-to-the-Body State-of-Being-Perfectly-Not-Here State-of-Disconsolate-Thought-of-Wings State-of-Hand-Not-Joined-to-the-Body State-of-Beauty-Futon-Winter-Comfort Electric-State-of-Coming-Wonders State-of-Seeing-You-Around-About Eighth-State-of-Fukuoka-City State-of-Siege-of-Hardly-Kanji Eastern City was in State-of-This-Main-Origin-of-Book, still spring, I would say still April, the murmur of brook-larks heard high in Shinto trees. For truth, I did not recognize talons where hands were joined, words wired to electrical wonders not yet evidenced on the way from Kyoto to Fuji, by way of Wheat-Rice-Island. Thinking of wings, I flew, these were my thoughts: Winged Thoughts, Iron Thoughts, Fire Thoughts, Singed Thoughts, River- Water Thoughts, Electric-Coming-Wonder-Thoughts. There were seven flowers, six elements, perfect nights. In Northern- Nine-State-City, it was autumn, late-blooming chrysanthemum engraved on lacquer-bone poet-box, crane-flight, swimming-turtle careful gold design. I would write wonder-haiku, one two sorrow five six mountain eight pine ten e- x leven twelve autumn four- x ox oo and win honor at go-moku, xxxxx o in summer-Kurume, waiting near Wide Island, very many tower down to Nagasaki. For to be sure, I was fast disappearing. I dreamed of fire, sparks flying in the night. I dreamed of wooden houses. I dreamed of shogi sets, the sound of game pieces scraped across the wooden boards. I dreamed of the fluttering of go boards, the sound of stone-and-shell game pieces scraped across the hollow tables. I dreamed of mother-of- pearl orderings from Eastern City, dreamed of the Origin of All Things, dreamed of State-of-Siege.
|The East Village Poetry Web
Alan Myouka Sondheim