My poem “My Mother’s Ghost Scrubs the Floor at 2 a.m.” is featured today at Only Poems Daily.
Many thanks to Svetlana Litvinchuk and the Only Poems Team for featuring this poem!
“My Mother’s Ghost Scrubs the Floor at 2 a.m.” first appeared in The Indianapolis Review, was subsequently nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and is included in my debut full-length collection, Our Loveliest Bruises (3: A Taos Press, 2025).
I am thrilled to announce that my second full-length book is now available directly from Broadstone Books at a 20% discount. Just use the code POETS24 when you check out.
https://www.broadstonebooks.com/shop/p/his-windblown-self-poetry-by-robert-okaji
After I expressed concern that I might not live long enough to see or experience the book’s publication, publisher Larry W. Moore prioritized its production, and here it is! Thank you, Larry! Lest you worry, I am feeling pretty good, and have no plans to give up the ghost anytime soon.
The cover art is a painting by my favorite artist, Ron Throop, titled “Sentiment for Bob While Listening to ‘Common One, Bonus Track Addition’ by Van Morrison, Over and Over Again” 2024 Oil on canvas, 20″ x 24″. Ron actually drove some 1,300 miles round-trip to deliver the framed painting and break bread with us, a memorable evening that I’ll cherish forever.
I am thrilled to announce that my first full-length collection, Our Loveliest Bruises, is now available at 3: A Taos Press. Many thanks to publisher Andrea Watson for taking this book and seeing it through, and to Veronica Golos, whose wisdom and encouragement helped make a nebulous dream come true. I am also deeply grateful for the thoughtful and generous blurbs provided by Veronica, David Wevill, Anna Marie Sewell and Michael Simms. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
3
I have always loved books, their smell and heft, bindings, illustrations, and of course, the stories within. But I don’t recall the title of the first book I personally checked out of the library. I was five-years old, in first grade. It was a Friday, the book was replete with color illustrations, and the story was, perhaps, about a little bear. So long ago. But I read and reread that book all weekend, and I felt (and still feel!) the awe and wonder, mystery and power of that glorious artifact.
Nearly sixty years later, that awe has never diminished. The books behind my desk’s glass doors offer glimpses at rare beauty and yes, secrets. In front of me sits a U.S. first edition of Remy de Gourmont’s A Night in the Luxembourg (Boston, 1919), which may be an interesting relic in and of itself, but this particular volume bears the bookplate of Jun Fujita, historical figure, poet and photographer extraordinaire. Alongside it rests a much thumbed copy of The Book of Symbols, a source of great contemplation, insight and forehead slapping.
On the shelf above that a volume titled The Anthropology of Numbers, also a treasured resource, nestles just to the left of Kaleidoscope: Poems by American Negro Poets, a landmark 1967 anthology edited by Robert Hayden, the Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1976 to 1978. Should your eyes wander down this shelf, you’ll also discover an inscribed copy of David Wevill’s Other Names for the Heart: New and Selected Poems 1964-1984, Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts, and Kenkō’s Essays in Idleness, translated by Donald Keene.
Why are these books here? How have they come to be gathered in this house in Indiana, on these particular jumbled shelves? Who are the authors? What is their significance? Who knows them, feels them, understands them? What wisdoms have they endured?
Share with me your favorite books—from the volumes you’ve read time and again, to the ones you own simply because you were compelled to possess them, and those that have great significance to you, even if you’ve not read them and never will.
Bamboo Flute
I am studying simplicity
in the way a rattlesnake
watches a field mouse,
which means of course
that I am doing it all wrong
and making this much more
difficult. Today’s lesson
is humility: I achieve no
tone from this damn bamboo
flute, no matter how I adjust
my mouth and wind. Go
watch football, the voices
say. Instead I go to the grocery,
buy my wife’s favorite
wine, and later pour her
a glass and offer Irish cheddar
with rice crackers and a few
grapes. I sip beer, pick up
the flute, and sound a
wavering D followed by a goose
fart and spitting hamsters.
Progress, at last! Now
back to the lesson. Relax.
I’m nailing this simplicity thing.
* * *
“Bamboo Flute” first appeared in The Larger Geometry: poems for peace, available at Amazon. This anthology of poems that “uplift, encourage and inspire,” features poets from five countries and three continents. Published by the interfaith peaceCENTER of San Antonio, Texas, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. All proceeds from the sale of this anthology go to benefit the peaceCENTER.
I’m pleased to have had a small role in selecting the poems.
Contributing poets include Lynne Burnett, Charlotte Hamrick, Daryl Muranaka, Stephanie L. Harper, Sudhanshu Chopra, Texas Poet Laureate Carol Coffee Reposa, Michael Vecchio, Rebecca Raphael and others.
(Originally appeared in December 2013)
Christina Davis’s Forth a Raven offers stark, textured, intelligent and lyrical pieces in a stripped-down yet ultimately complex, reflective language. Encompassing the tension of different realms – the spiritual and the secular, the extraordinary and the mundane, her work, quite simply, astounds. Read this book. Seek out her work. It’s sublime.
Wherein the Book Implies Source
And words form the vessel by which we traverse centuries, the river
stitched across the valley’s floor, easing access.
Accession by choice. Inorganic memory.
Vellum conveys its origin: of a calf.
How like an entrance it appears, a doorway to a lighted space.
Closed, it resembles a block of beech wood.
To serve as conveyance, to impart without reciprocity.
Framing the conversation in space, immediacy fades.
The average calfskin may provide three and a half sheets of writing material.
Confined by spatial limitation, we consider scale in terms of the absolute.
The antithesis of scroll; random entry; codex.
A quaternion equalled four folded sheets, or eight leaves: sixteen sides.
Reader and read: each endures the other’s role.
Pippins prevented tearing during the drying and scraping process.
Text first, then illumination.
Once opened, the memory palace diminished.
* * *
This originally appeared in April 2014 as part of Boston Review’s National Poetry Month Celebration, and is included in The Circumference of Other, my offering in the Silver Birch Press chapbook collection, IDES, published in 2015.
The Resonance of No
Yes, yes, we’ve heard. The dishwasher wastes less
and cleans better. But Kenkō believed in the beauty
of leisure, and how better to make nothing
while standing with hands in soapy water, thoughts
skipping from Miles Davis’s languid notes to the spider
ascending to safe shelter under the sill (after I blow
on her to amuse myself), washing my favorite knife
and wondering if I should hone it, not to mention
my skills on the six-string or the potato peeler.
And if I linger at the plates, even the chipped one,
admiring their gleam after hot water rinses away
the soap residue, who could question the quick gulp
of ale or the shuffle of an almost-but-not-quite
dance step-or-stumble while arranging them on the
ribbed rack, back-to-back, in time to Coltrane’s
solo. Then the forgotten food processor’s blade
bites my palm, and I remember that I’ve outgrown
the dark suit, the cut branches still need bundling
and none of the words I’ve conjured and shaped
over decades and miles will extend their comfort
when I stand at my father’s grave this week or next.
“The Resonance of No,” was published in December 2016 in Gravel, and is included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second.
Daniel Schnee wrote about this poem here.
Music Credit: Cool Vibes Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
A few days ago I received a notice from Amazon that I might be interested in this book. Well, yeah. Maybe. I wrote the damned thing. I clicked on the link and discovered that it’s on sale for $3.98 (a 60% discount). I have no idea why it’s on sale, but if you have any interest in reading it, now’s a good time to order. Or just use it as a coaster. It’s paper — it absorbs water!
Years ago, I worked in a library…
Incongruities
so little depends
upon
the half-Japanese
bookman
reading Italian
haiku
in the Texas
library.
Once again, my apologies to William Carlos Williams, whose poetry inspires and therefore often bears the brunt of my little diversions into whimsy. “Incongruities” first appeared here in October 2015. The original WCW poem can be found here.
O at the Edges 