water

This week the days rolled on through their cycle of small events. I'm ready for the reprieve of the weekend. We hope to soak in the soaking pool again, and so I'll leave you with a love poem about water. Stay warm and enjoy the whisper of the fallen leaves drifting in the wind.  I'll be reading your poetry.

The certainty of water
is that it slips through the fingers

so

let us hold each other loosely
as we drink.

Miriam Wei Wei Lo
"Three Love Poems: Water"

Image by Wai Lin Tse via Feaverish Photography

at the bathhouse

Tomorrow morning we are going to start the weekend by soaking together in a soaking pool. It's public, located outside, tiled, heated, and filled with soothing salt water. While we soak under the grey autumn sky, I hope that we can enjoy the freedom of being unembodied of all the things that we carry around with us during the week. I want our worries to be disregarded and soaped in the hot water like the yen coins in Ishigaki Rin's "At the Bathhouse."

In Tokyo
At the public bathhouse the price went up to 19 yen and so
When you pay 20 yen at the counter
You get one yen change.

Women have no leeway in their lives
To be able to say that
They don’t need one yen
And so though they certainly accept the change
They have no place to put it
And drop it in between their washing things.

Thanks to that
The happy aluminum coins
Soak to their fill in hot water
And are splashed with soap.

One yen coins have the status of chess pawns
So worthless that they’re likely to bob up even now
In the hot water.

What a blessing to be of no value
In monetary terms.

A one yen coin
Does not distress people in the way a 1,000 yen note does
Is not as sinful as a 10,000 yen note
The one yen coin in the bath
With healthy naked women.

Image by Wai Lin Tse via Feaverish Photography

Ah, the value of being worthless. I hope that you also find a way to set aside your worries this weekend, blog friends. I'll be reading your poetry.

stones in the marshland

We spent Sunday morning wandering through a marshland located along the east bank of a river. Hawks, quail, pintails, mallards, and kestrels whirled above and beside us in the autumn winds. Great Blue Herons flocked from a rookery on a nearby island.

As we walked through the marsh, Tadzio spotted a simple stone sculpture and called us over to admire it. We glimpsed a second identical sculpture carefully placed in the distance ahead. Both sculptures were large boulders with rough, natural surfaces. Closer inspection revealed carefully placed bands of glass ringing the circumference of each stone.

I can't tell you exactly what the stones meant, but they gave the day noble accents and caused a subtle change in our moods.

This morning while on the phone with Przemek, shortly before a stressful  meeting, I was surprised to find myself staring at photos of  these very same stone sculptures. They were hanging on the wall of a downtown gallery. Moments like these always give me pause. It's a little like the universe is offering me something, but I'm not quite sure what it might be.


Image via We Heart It

they came like swallows

They came like swallows and like swallows went,
And yet a woman's powerful character
Could keep a Swallow to its first intent;
And half a dozen in formation there,
That seemed to whirl upon a compass-point,
Found certainty upon the dreaming air,
The intellectual sweetness of those lines
That cut through time or cross it withershins.

William Butler Yeats
Coole Park

I was reminded of this beautiful poem last night as I was reflecting on the role of wife and mother and the complexity of family relationships. All of it so exhausting. Yet it is fulfilling to realize that you are a vital part of something larger than yourself.

Image via We Heart It

my blossoms and books

"You kindly ask for my Blossoms and Books - I have read but a little recently - Existence has overpowered Books. Today, I slew a Mushroom - "

Emily Dickinson in a letter to Higginson

Image via We Heart It

I will eat them all when day breaks

This was my thought about a few particularly difficult coworkers today.

No, really, all joking and employment aside, I do love this line from Ishigaki Rin's poem "shellfish." I love all of her poems about cooking and food. I can sense that here is the voice of another woman who gives a lot of thought to her work in the kitchen and its implications in her life.

I wake at midnight.
The little shellfish I bought last evening
are alive with their mouths slightly open.

I will eat them all when day breaks.

I laugh a hag's laugh.
Afterwards there is nothing left of the night,
except to sleep with my mouth slightly open.

Shellfish by Ishigaki Rin

Image via We Heart It

getting my poem on

Sorry, I just couldn't resist that title. Somewhat hesitantly, I've signed up for an afternoon poetry class. We meet for four hours in the local art museum and compose poems to the paintings and sculpture. Maybe I'll find my muse somewhere in the museum. I'm desperately hoping that we won't have to share our poems in class. Oh, please no! I'm already blushing just at the thought of it.

Image via We Heart It.

the unwavering horizontal join

I know, it's autumn and my thoughts should be heading inland. But today I am thirsty for the sea, for the unwavering horizontal join, blue against blue.

I think that's all.

Take good care of yourself this weekend, I'll be reading your poetry.

Oceanic image found here

Mei-mei

Mei-mei,what follows is autumn
Sleep with closed lips, and tenderness

Tender is your scarf, to and fro, in the breeze
What follows is
The palm of my hand - warm and full of memory

Not you, it's a garden that I am watering
Mei-mei, a safe place is spacious
On those delicate petals, what follows is
A silent, fleeting message

Moon, weather, windows lightly open
Clear bright lake
Close your eyes, Mei-mei
What follows is
A gentle rainfall
And my feelings hurt suddenly by the leaves

-Zheng Danyi
translated by Luo Hui

You'll have to forgive me, dear reader, I've been surviving on poetry this week. I'll write something more personal and creative soon. Usually my choice of poems is a personal thing, but I'm not sure that really counts as creativity. I should mention that today is Thursday, and that means its time to get your poem on over at Read Write Poem.

Image found here

You In The Shade of a Tree

For some time now I have been aware

of your eyes fixed on me from the shade of a tree.
You, so fondly treasured by your husband,
are radiant with a fair glow like a Renoir
or a Titian.
I have been tempered by toilsome sparks of fires
all by myself, gasping for air.
Now I stand tall on my ground
managing to speak with your husband.
I am no longer embarrassed
I behave simply as a wholesome human being –
Yet I am aware.
Your eyes, so blue they look dewy, glisten
with worries and apprehensions.
My proud heart grows tender
deeply moved by women’s frailty
I slowly hang down my head.


Your husband is truly exceptional;
It is a small joy for me to stand before him,
as your keen insight tells you.
You see clearly
my tempered skin glowing gold.
Beyond that, you know that I came
in a blouse with many frills like clouds.
Also you know I am wearing a brand-new hat.
You are intent on seeing through everything.
A wistful tide surges inside me.
Honestly I am not trying to take anything from you.
I am simply pleased to be able to speak to him
as a self-reliant person,
ah, not disturbed by anything malicious –

My heart slowly gradually wilts
To think, ah why is it, how frail we are, we women –


-Kiyoko Nagase
Translation: 2009, Takako Lento


Image found here

May I be a great big tree

so big I can’t see those taking shelter under me,
a deep green conical figure wrapped in serenity
Just as I dangle my bare feet in the water
may my roots joyfully draw
from an unknown subterranean current

May I be such a great big tree
that those who look at me
will naturally feel peace and repose

Yet may my luxuriating branches and leaves
whisper to a breeze like stray hair
May they awaken before anyone else in the rosy glow of morning
May their blue shadows be cast on earth
spreading like a trailing lace skirt
May my thoughts be kind
May my thoughts be refreshing
The tree will not move
The tree will not speak
yet may it be a ladder heavenly children ascend and descend

If someone comes and rests by me at the height of day
I will provide deep shadow and infinite comfort

On a stormy day
I will be even greater, more stalwart
I will firmly anchor my roots in the great earth and will not sway
Yet my sap will flow smoothly
even my incised wounds will issue forth a refreshing scent
Soon I will whisper a smiling song
When night arrives I will dissolve into darkness
unbeknownst to people
may the song alone become invisible ripples

Kiyoko Nagase

Translation: 2009, Takako Lento

This is such a beautiful poem. Kiyoko Nagase is very close to my heart with her cosmic, sensual voice. Take good care of yourself in the chilly autumn air. I'll be reading your poetry.

Image via We Heart It

three things

He loved three things in this world:

White peacocks, evensong

And faded maps of America.

He hated it when children cried.

He hated tea with raspberry jam, and

Any female hysteria in his life.

Now imagine it: I was his wife.

- Anna Akhmatova on her marriage to Gumilyov

Image via We Heart It

l'heure bleue

I'm sitting here in the left office very late at night. I'm distracted, as I've perfumed myself with  L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain. As its scent spreads, I am haunted by the sensation that another woman is in the office with me. It smells so unlike my usual smell of soap. I breathe in, "How divine!" then later "How nauseating!" This old perfume has such a sovereign if funerary scent. It makes me think of candle wax, old churches, and the colors blue, purple, and mauve. I can never make up my mind whether its scent is rather nice or perfectly horrid. Nevertheless, tonight I have an interesting woman to sit next to while I work.

Image via We Heart It