In Praise of Rain
Which is not to say lightning or hail.
Sometimes I forget to open the umbrella
until my glasses remind me: Wake up, you’re
wet! If scarcity breeds
value, what is a thunderhead worth
in July? A light shower in August?
Even spreadsheets can’t tell us.
Autumn Winds (after Li Po)
Clear autumn winds swirl
below the moon’s glow,
scattering the gathered leaves.
The startled crows return.
When will we see each other again?
This hour, this lonely night, my feelings grow brittle.
The transliteration on Chinese-poems.com reads:
Autumn wind clear
Autumn moon bright
Fall leaves gather and scatter
Jackdaw perch again startle
Each think each see know what day
This hour this night hard be feeling
I started this adaptation in the heart of summer, hoping that it would offer a respite from the unrelenting Texas heat…
As always, I approach these adaptations slowly. This may need a few tweaks, but it’s close.
Greeting the Moon (after Li Po)
Wine conceals the night’s approach,
while blossoms blanket my clothing.
Drunk, I stumble to the stream and greet the moon,
thinking of birds, so distant, and people, so few.
The transliteration on Chinese-Poems.com reads:
Amusing Myself
Face wine not aware get dark
Fall flower fill my clothes
Drunk stand step stream moon
Bird far person also few
In Praise of Darkness
Night falls, but day
breaks. A raw deal,
no doubt, but fairness
applies itself unevenly. Who
chooses weeds over
lies, flowers over truth?
Last night’s rain fell, too,
but didn’t crack the drought.
Again, we think injustice!
Again, we consider falls.
Earth’s Damp Mound
for P.M.
I. February 1998.
That week it rained white petals
and loss completed its
turn, the words finding themselves
alone, without measure,
without force, and no body to compare.
Though strangers spoke I could not.
Is this destiny, an unopened
mouth filled with
pebbles, a pear tree
deflowered by the wind? The earth’s
damp mound settles among your bones.
II. Count the Almonds
What bitterness
preserves your sleep,
reflects the eye’s
task along the inward thread?
Not the unspoken, but the unsayable.
Curious path, curious seed.
A shadow separates
to join another, and in the darker
frame carries the uncertain
further, past silence, past touch,
leaving its hunger alert and unfed,
allowing us our own protections.
III. The Bowl of Flowering Shadows
Reconciled, and of particular
grace, they lean, placing emphasis on balance,
on layer and focus, on depth of angle
absorbing the elegant darkness,
a lip, an upturned glance, the mirror.
What light caresses, it may destroy.
Even the frailest may alter intent.
So which, of all those you might recall,
if your matter could reform
and place you back into yourself,
would you choose? Forgive me
my selfishness, but I must know.
IV. Requiem
Then, you said, the art of nothingness
requires nothing more
than your greatest effort.
And how, seeing yours, could we,
the remaining, reclaim our
space without encroaching on what
you’ve left? One eye closes, then
the other. One mouth moves and another
speaks. One hears, one listens, the eternal
continuation. Rest, my friend. After.
Prentiss Moore influenced my reading and writing more than he ever realized. We spent many hours talking, eating, arguing, drinking, laughing. Always laughing – he had one of those all-encompassing laughs that invited the world to join in. And it frequently did. Through Prentiss I met in person one of my literary heroes, Gustaf Sobin, whose work Prentiss had of course introduced me to. Those few hours spent with the two of them driving around in my pickup truck, discussing poetry, the Texas landscape, horticulture and the vagaries of the publishing world, are hours I’ll always hold close.
Earth’s Damp Mound first appeared in the anthology Terra Firma.
Ah, simplicity! When I was a child my mother would occasionally serve rice balls in which a single tart umeboshi rested at the center. These have long been a favorite, but I admit that umeboshi might be an acquired taste. Commonly called “pickled plums,” ume aren’t really plums but are more closely related to apricots. Whatever they are, I cherish them.
Self-Portrait with Umeboshi, poem by Robert Okaji (Self-Portrait Poetry Series)
I am thrilled that Silver Birch Press is featuring another of my poems in their Self-Portrait Series:
Self-Portrait with Blue, poem by Robert Okaji (Self-Portrait Poetry Series)
I think this calls for a small snack…
“Ashes” appeared in Extract(s) in March of 2013, months before I ever considered blogging. It marked my return to publication, after a decade’s absence:
http://dailydoseoflit.com/2013/03/12/poem-robert-okaji-2/
The poem is also available in the print anthology, Extract(s) Volume 2:
http://www.easternpointlithouse.com/#!extracts-daily-dose-of-lit/c19nk
Yet another adaptation.
Traveling (after Tu Fu)
I remember this temple,
this bridge, as I cross again
the patient river and mountain
selfless flowers and willows
brilliant even in the light mist
the late sun drifting in the sand
where every traveler’s sorrow fades
I’ll stay here again
The transliteration on Chinese-poems.com reads:
Traveling Again – Tu Fu
Temple remember once travel place
Bridge remember again cross time
River mountain like waiting
Flower willow become selfless
Country vivid mist shine thin
Sand soft sun colour late
Traveller sorrow all become decrease
Stay here again what this
My poem “Self-Portrait with W” is featured today in the Silver Birch Press Self-Poetry Series:
Self-Portrait with W, poem by Robert Okaji (Self-Portrait Poetry Series)
O at the Edges 