My AP Stories for 2021 are below. Please click on the highlighted links to read my AP Stories, and to go to My AP Stories for 2020, and My AP Stories for 2019 and 2018.
My AP Photo and My AP Story March 5, 2021 and AP Interview with the chief defense lawyer for Greg Kelly on trial in Japan on charges related to Carlos Ghosn’s compensation.
My AP Story March 2, 2021 explaining what might be ahead for the American father and son being extradited to Japan on suspicion of helping Carlos Ghosn skip bail and escape to Lebanon.
My AP Story March 1, 2021 on the prime minister’s PR chief resigning after lavish meal tied to broadcaster.
My AP Story Feb. 26, 2021 on Japan partially ending the state of emergency, while keeping it for the Tokyo area.
I’m a contributor to this AP Story Feb. 12, 2021, the day Mori is expected to officially resign.
I’m a contributor to this AP Story Feb. 4, 2021 about a Japanese Olympic official facing calls for resignation after a remark apparently belittling women.
My AP Story Jan. 4, 2021, a co-byline with our AP Sports Writer, on pandemic worries looming as the countdown clock for the postponed Tokyo Olympics hits 200 days to go.
“Your film brought us enormous pleasure and exhibits excellence in artistry and craftsmanship in noteworthy fashions.” _ Hans Krause, New Wave Short Film Festival.
“Brilliant concept and excellent execution. The structure works well.” ＿ Nami, Roy and the Los Angeles Film Awards team
A birthday is very special for any little boy. And a little boy is very special for any parent.
This is an everyday but very special story about the trials and joys of growing up in an imperfect world.
A story that’s a bit sentimental but honorable and true, written for all the children in the world. May they stay safe, may they enjoy peace, may they find love and may they know who they really are.
Music by Kouzan Kikuchi, Hiroshi Tokieda, Ryan Carter and Isaku Kageyama.
Copyright All Rights Reserved by the Artists. August 2019.
“All my works deal with the theme of love, and I put a lot of love in my work. As soon as I saw Yuri’s THE VERY SPECIAL DAY, I felt the same kind of love in the story and knew at once it should be made with my stop motion. Stop motion requires arduous time: Each item is made by hand and moved a little bit at a time to create movement on film. A minimum of eight frames is needed per second. The number of handmade parts is considerable. I make everything myself_ alone but with love. Although, or perhaps because, it requires so much work, time and love, stop motion relays a nostalgic sense of warmth and frailty. When finally completed, it fills me with an emotion that makes me forget all the hard work that went into it. People will likely react in different ways to THE VERY SPECIAL DAY, but I can say it is filled with love. After all, everyone has his or her own “special,” and everyone realizes that what makes for this special ultimately is love, the greatest amorphous theme for humanity. I hope my work will help people around the world rediscover the meaning of love.” _ Hayatto
GRAND FESTIVAL AWARD – CINE DANCE POEM and WORLD PREMIERE at the Berkeley Video & Film Festival SAT Nov. 2, 2019, 6 p.m. East Bay Media Center Performance Space
Screened online at the Brazil International Monthly Independent Film Festival Dec. 9, 2020 through Dec. 15, 2020.
NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA Meditation on an Under-Reported Catastrophe by a Poet Written by Yuri Kageyama | Directed by Carla Blank
Film directed by Yoshiaki Tago with camera work by Tago and Kate McKinley. Editing by Eri Muraki.
“Yuri, you did a great job. Stay hard and blunt and don’t mince words. Yours was a powerful reflection on the corruption and greed of men and their indifference to human life.” _ Ishmael Reed.
Photo by Tennessee Reed
Photo by Tennessee Reed
Photo by Tennessee Reed
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dofrman
For the San Francisco performance, we had genuine Bon Daiko drum music performed by Isaku Kageyama with shakuhachi and fue by Kouzan Kikuchi, joined by Joe Small (taiko/percussion) and Stomu Takeishi (bass), delivering mesmerizing renditions of Bon and minyo from Fukushima, as well as other Japanese tunes. The Bon idea of the dead’s homecoming and the abstracted repetitive dancing in a circle serve as a symbol of the piece’s message of death, yearning for family and future generations, and gratitude for the harvest and peaceful everyday life. Juxtaposed with the experimental choreography by the director Carla Blank, incorporating collaborations with the performers, Takemi Kitamura, Monisha Shiva and Shigeko Sara Suga, Bon dance was transformed on the American stage, and presented as a dignified and artistic motif of modern movement. Bon Odori continues to bring people together in the Japanese American community _ and communities all over Japan.
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Tennessee Reed
From the director This performance is a collaboration among all its participants, some who have worked together since 2015, and some who in 2017 helped create this new development of the piece. Through email conversations and intensive rehearsals we arrived at our choices of the particular dramatic scenes, music, video, dances and other action you will see. The Bon Odori dances and music, which provide transitions between the scenes, are based on traditional celebrations that occur throughout Japan during the late summer to honor the ancestors: Soma Bon Uta and Aizu Bandaisan from Fukushima, Yagi Bushi from Tochigi and Gunma near Tokyo, and Tanko Bushi from Fukuoka, besides Tokyo Ondo, which continues throughout Bon Odori (The Death Dance). Great thanks to Takemi Kitamura, who taught us the four dances you will see and who also created the movement for the Prologue solo and Epilogue trio, inspired by a line dance from Aizu, the westernmost region of Fukushima, where annually it is offered in remembrance of 19 of the over 300 Byakkotai warriors , teen-age sons of samurai in the White Tiger Battalion who in 1868, during the Boshin Civil War, committed ritual disembowelment (seppuku or hara-kiri) because they mistakenly believed a fire had consumed their lord’s castle, which would mean their city had been captured and their families killed. For me, this dance particularly resonates because of where it comes from, how contemporary its formal choices appear, and how as the strokes of the blades go every which direction, it becomes a metaphor for the ways life can slice us also. It has been my great pleasure to realize Yuri Kageyama’s work with all these wonderful, dedicated performers.
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
Photo by Tennessee Reed
Photo by Tennessee Reed
Ishmael Reed came up with the title for my performance piece: “NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA: Meditation on an Under-Reported Catastrophe by a Poet.” As that suggests, the piece is about my vision as a poet. My spoken word pieces, delivered to accompaniment of various kinds of music, address racism, stereotyping, sexism and the search for love. They seek to address what society sees as “bigger” issues, such as the Fukushima accident, the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and the journalistic mission. For me, they are all connected.
Photo by Tennessee Reed
Photo by Tennessee Reed
All those themes provide the driving force in my storytelling that has over the years always sought to bring closer to home the perennial repetition of people’s betrayal, selfishness and smallness. The Fukushima disaster is the biggest story of my life _ both as poet and journalist, those sides of my writing identity which have in the past remained so painfully separate. They have now come together. We have all come together in this effort _ all of us, of different backgrounds, cultures and disciplines. We have become one. It is clear we have each done our best to share our talent, our passion and our lives, to raise questions, to connect _ and to bring hope.
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
What people are saying about NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA: MEDITATION ON AN UNDER-REPORTED CATASTROPHE BY A POET.
Yuri Kageyama, with her epic poem, has earned a place among the leading world poets. This work proves that the poet as a journalist can expose conditions that are ignored by the media. _ Ishmael Reed poet, essayist, playwright, publisher, lyricist, author of MUMBO JUMBO, THE LAST DAYS OF LOUISIANA RED and THE COMPLETE MUHAMMAD ALI, MacArthur Fellowship, professor at the University of California Berkeley, San Francisco Jazz Poet Laureate (2012-2016).
NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA is a commentary on what it means to be human in the 21st Century. While we are divided by race, ethnicity, language, geography and culture, the essence of our humanity remains constant. In NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA, the cast, director and playwright all come together to create a montage of courage, uncertainty and hope in the face of disaster. _ Basir Mchawiproducer, community organizer and radio show host at WBAI Radio in New York, who has taught at the City University of New York, public schools and independent Black schools.
Awesome music and dancing! The haunting drumming, dazzling satire and the golden heart of a poet in protest. Nothing is under control when the environment is under siege. Aluta! _ Sandile Ngidipoet, Zulu/English translator, journalist and critic.
Her collage-like piece weaves together lyrical monologues, sword dance, film and live music that blends jazz, taiko drumming and minyo folks songs. In the Fukushima of 2017, goes one line late in the play, “the authorities say they are playing it safe, when no one really feels safe.” _ Lily Janiakwriter for The San Francisco Chronicle.
A vital story of our times. Spoken word and music from a talented multicultural ensemble. A beacon of light in a darkening world. _ Paul Armstrong artistic director at International Arts Initiatives, a Vancouver-based nonprofit for cultural advancement through the arts and education.
I welcomed NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA _ into my consciousness, with deep gratitude, seeing it twice, two days in succession _ all the while marveling at the tough yet faithful production and its dedication to truth-telling. _ David Hendersonpoet, co-founder of Umbra and the Black Arts Movement, author of ‘SCUSE ME WHILE I KISS THE SKY. JIMI HENDRIX: VOODOO CHILD.
NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA echoes the mourning of Bon Odori dance to warn us again and again that the nuclear age of post-World War II Japan has never ended. _ Hisami Kuroiwamovie producer and executive for “The Shell Collector,” “”Lafcadio Hearn: His Journey to Ithaca,” “Sunday,” “Bent” and the Silver Bear-winning “Smoke.”
Strong threads of a woman’s point of view …. Excellent ….The issue of motherhood in looking at Fukushima is well done. And the candid shots of Obon in Japan are fantastic in the background. As are the shots of rows and rows of radioactive materials in plastic bags, just left in rows upon rows in Fukushima. I thought the production was very good, technically excellent, and very illustrative of a Japan we don’t hear about after the 2011 triple disaster. Go see it. _ Peter Kenichi Yamamotopoet in San Francisco and coordinator at the National Japanese American Historical Society.
NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA is a memorable performance with well-researched narratives that throws you into a quest for humanity. _ Midori NishimuraStanford University professor and medical doctor.
A powerful message not to forget: Fukushima. _ David UshijimaSan Francisco business professional in retail, mobile, sensor-based and connected devices, Internet of Things.
It’s the kind of piece that keeps this from being forgotten. With all the other things going on in this world, we can forget about this, and we have a distance from them. But this kind of piece can remind us to return to it and continually reconsider the choices we make in our society. _ Adam Hartzellwriter atkoreanfilm.org
Great music …. It left such an impression. A splendid performance. _ Seiko Takadamusician, “Kaizoku” vocalist/guitarist.
NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA is a powerful artistic response to disaster, informing us and inspiring us to compassion. _ Ravi ChandraSan Francisco-Bay Area poet, writer and psychiatrist.
A truly emotional experience. _ Liliana Perezchild psychologist and Ph.D.
Fukushima: Excellent musical accompaniment to poignant poetry, with minimal yet imaginative staging and choreography. _ Nana pianist and New Yorker.
What a delight …. See this show and be transported magically. _ George Ferenczco-founder of the Impossible Ragtime Theater, resident director at La MaMa (1982-2008), who has also directed at the Actors’ Theater of Louisville, Berkeley Rep and Cleveland Playhouse.
News that enraptures and engages through Sound. A Poet sings of the unreported calamity at Fukushima. _ Katsumia Japanese living in New York.
The arc of history in every nation has its sadly forgotten men, women and children. Hauntingly powerful, NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA draws our eyes and hearts back to an ongoing, under-reported tragedy. _ Curtis ChinMilken Institute fellow and former U.S. Ambassador.
Everyone who took part in this performance, and those who came to see it, although of different races and thinking, all felt clearly the existence of what we know is so important …. I have lived to see many people who hurt others out of selfishness, betrayed others without qualms, and then went on to hide what they had done. But in the end, what is desired is not achieved, leaving only hunger, and, because of that, the cycle gets repeated …. I pray more people will be able to feel love through seeing this performance. _ Toshinori “Toshichael Jackson” Tani dancer, member of TL Brothers and instructor.
Bios of the artists in NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA Meditation on an Under-Reported Catastrophe by a Poet
Cast, crew, filmmakers, director and writer of NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dofrman
THE PLAYWRIGHT YURI KAGEYAMA is a poet, songwriter, filmmaker, journalist and author of “The New and Selected Yuri” and “The Very Special Day.” Her spoken-word band the Yuricane features Melvin Gibbs, Eric Kamau Gravatt, Morgan Fisher, Pheeroan akLaff and Winchester Nii Tete. She is published in ”Breaking Silence,” “On a Bed of Rice,” “Pow Wow,” Cultural Weekly, Y’Bird, Konch and Public Poetry Series. http://yurikageyama.com/
Carla Blank
THE DIRECTOR CARLA BLANK is a writer, editor, director, dramaturge and a teacher and performer of dance and theater for more than 50 years. She worked with Robert Wilson to create “KOOL _Dancing in My Mind,” inspired by Japanese choreographer Suzushi Hanayagi. She directed Wajahat Ali’s “The Domestic Crusaders” from a restaurant reading in Newark, California, to Off Broadway and the Kennedy Center. http://www.carlablank.com/bio.htm
THE ACTORS
Photo by Tennessee Reed
TAKEMI KITAMURA, choreographer, dancer, puppeteer, Japanese sword fighter and actor, appeared in “The Oldest Boy” at Lincoln Center, “The Indian Queen” directed by Peter Sellars; “Shank’s Mare” by Tom Lee and Koryu Nishikawa V; “Demolishing Everything with Amazing Speed” by Dan Hurlin and “Memory Rings” by Phantom Limb Co. She has worked with Nami Yamamoto, Sondra Loring and Sally Silvers. http://takemikitamura.com/
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
MONISHA SHIVA is an actor, dancer, choreographer and painter, appearing in “The Domestic Crusaders” and “The Rats,” for theater, and independent films such as “Small Delights,” “Carroll Park,” “Echoes” and “Ukkiya Jeevan.” A native New Yorker, she has studied classical Indian dance and Bollywood, jazz and samba dancing, and acting at William Esper Studios and Studio 5. http://www.monishashiva.com/Monisha/home.html
Shigeko Suga Sara. Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
SHIGEKO SARA SUGA, actress, director, artistic associate at La MaMa Experimental Theatre Club, and Flamenco and Butoh dancer, has performed in 150 productions, including Pan Asian Rep.’s “Shogun Macbeth” and “No No Boy.” She dedicates her performance to her nephew Ryoei Suga, who volunteered in Kesennuma after the 2011 tsunami and now devotes his life there as a fisherman and monk. www.shigekosuga.com
THE MUSICIANS STOMU TAKEISHI is a master of the fretless electric bass and has played and recorded in a variety of jazz settings with artists such as Henry Threadgill, Brandon Ross, Myra Melford, Don Cherry, Randy Brecker, Satoko Fujii, Dave Liebman, Cuong Vu, Paul Motian and Pat Metheny. He tours worldwide and performs at various international jazz festivals.
Kouzan Kikuchi (L) and Stomu Takeishi. Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
KOUZAN KIKUCHI, shakuhachi player from Fukushima, studied minyo shamisen with his mother. A graduate of the Tokyo University of the Arts, he studied with National Treasure Houzan Yamamoto. He has worked with Ebizo Ichikawa, Shinobu Terajima and Motoko Ishii. In 2011, he became Tozanryu Shakuhachi Foundation “shihan” with highest honors.
Joe Small (L) and Isaku Kageyama. Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman
ISAKU KAGEYAMA is a taiko drummer and percussionist, working with Asano Taiko UnitOne in Los Angeles, film-scoring extravaganza “The Masterpiece Experience” and Tokyo ensemble Amanojaku. A magna cum laude Berklee College of Music graduate, he teaches at Wellesley, University of Connecticut and Brown. http://isakukageyama.com/
JOE SMALL is a taiko artist, who is a member of Eitetsu Hayashi’s Fu-un no Kai and creator of the original concert, “Spall Fragments.” He has apprenticed for two years with Kodo, researched Japanese music as a Fulbright Fellow and holds an MFA in Dance from UCLA. He teaches at Swwarthmore College. www.joesmalltaiko.com
THE LIGHTING DESIGNER BLU lived in New York for 20 years and was resident designer at the Cubiculo and La MaMa Experimental Theatre Club. A Bessie Award winner, he was lighting designer for renowned dance theater artists such as Sally Gross, Eiko and Koma, Ping Chong, Donald Byrd, Nancy Meehan and Paula Josa Jones.
THE FILMMAKER YOSHIAKI TAGO, whose video was part of the live performance, has made NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA into a film. Tago also directed “A.F.O.,” “Believer,” “Worst Contact,” “Meido in Akihabara.” His short “The Song of a Tube Manufacturer” won the runner-up prize at the Yasujiro Ozu Memorial Film Festival in 2013. He served as film adviser for Takashi Murakami, and has worked with Nobuhiko Obayashi, Takashi Miike and Macoto Tezuka. He is a graduate of the prestigious Tokyo film school founded by Shohei Imamura.
YOSHIAKI TAGO
From the playwright
The two sides of who I am _ poet and journalist _ have long been separate. I am a poet, first and foremost, I felt, and reporting is what I do for my job. But the 2011 Fukushima disaster brought those two sides together in a way that was undeniable, imperative and honest. I am filled with gratitude toward my collaborators, who have turned my words and ideas into a moving, convincing and honorable piece of theater. In this work, we defy the boundaries of cultures, race, generations and genres to tell the story about how our world has created a catastrophe. We don’t pretend to have all the answers. But it’s an important story.
Acknowledgements Thanks to Akiyoshi Imazeki for photographs of Fukushima for video by Yoshiaki Tago for “Decontamination Ghosts;” Z Space, especially Drew Yerys, Minerva Ramirez, Wolfgang Wachaolovsky, Jim Garcia, Julie Schuchard and Andrew Burmester; Alex Maynard and Adam Hatch for the use of Starline Social Club for rehearsals; Mark Ong of Side by Side Studios for the poster design; Annette Borromeo Dorfman for program design and photographing the performance; Sally Gross, Ping Chong and Meredith Monk for help finding our cast; Ishmael Reed for ongoing support and Tennessee Reed for photography; Hisami Kuroiwa for her wise counsel, filmmaker Kate McKinley; LaMaMa Experiemental Theatre for showing the work in New York in 2015; Melvin Gibbs, Sumie Kaneko, Hirokazu Suyama and Kaoru Watanabe for the music at La MaMa; Bob Holman for presenting an initial reading at Bowery Poetry Club with Yuki Kawahisa, Pheeroan akLaff and Tecla Esposito; Makoto Horiuchi; Yoichi Watanabe and Hiromi Ogawa of Amanojaku taiko in Tokyo; all the members of the Yuricane spoken word band who inspired the poems and stories that developed into this work, and, last but not least, the people of Fukushima.
Yuri Kageyama reports from the no-go zone in Fukushima. Photo by Kazuhiro Onuki.
A World Premiere screening at the Berkeley Video and Film Festival Nov. 2, 2019. From left to right: Festival founder and organizer Mel Vapour, director Carla Blank, writer/poet Yuri Kageyama and camera-person Kate McKinley. Photo by Tennessee Reed.
Accepting the award at the Berkeley Video and Film Festival Nov. 2, 2019. From left to right: Camera-person Kate McKinley, director Carla Blank, festival founder and organizer Mel Vapour and writer/poet Yuri Kageyama. Photo by Tennessee Reed.
With director Yoshiaki Tago at the red carpet event.
In Amsterdam in September 2019 for the New Vision International Film Festival, where News From Fukushima was a Finalist Best Asian Feature Film.
more gala shots
News From Fukushima an Official Selection at the ARTS X SDGS festival
I talked about our film and all my great collaborators at the Silent River Film Festival, which screened NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA August, 2020.
Magic 50 of COVID-19 Poems by Sandile Ngidi and Yuri Kageyama(From Aug. 31, 2020 ~April 5, 2021. All rights reserved by the artists.)
1 (S)
Poetry kins
us to these basal stems.
Moisture is
life.
Gardens
petals fresh & resilient.
Mother
breathes songs of roots strong.
Words curate
a healthy leaf mass, fruits defying leaf scorch defining these heavy seasons.
Plumes as
words dancing in the winds.
2 (Y)
Dragonflies
flutter by the slowly swelling river.
Moisture is
life.
Blue-green
of their wings play in the light.
Mother cries
songs of currents deep.
Leaves of
Grass bend soft with the seasons, shining dew recalling these tears of birth.
Plumes as
words dancing in the winds.
3 (S)
Far in the
somewhere of dazzling seas,
nothing
stops the seasons of fruitful friendships.
Dancing
field to field feeding the imagination,
it’s the
spring of delights, radished words.
Grass
gesturing towards well-shaped flower leaves, moistured mosaics of words.
Life.
4 (Y)
Plumes as
words dancing in the winds,
Tiny
sparrows warble, not in fun but fear,
Scattering
like debris, dirt, weeds and words,
Over oceans
and deserts, swamps and streams,
The now of
Dreams connect the All of history, the eternity of Forgotten nightmares.
Yes,
Life.
5 (S)
Across seas
the rooster is red,
Crowing in
the weeds.
Greek sea
edge sinking Black lives.
The wind is
nightmarish.
In drying
Eldorado Park, slain Nathaniel Julies is rising.
Fresh
gardens strut their stuff,
A poetry
skyline in full sun,
greening the
eversick landscape. Life.
6 (Y)
Poetry
whispers in tanka and haiku,
Across
oceans, red, blue, yellow and black,
Repeating of
pain, repeating of life,
Repeating of
love? Repeating,
Iwao
Hakamada just smiles and believes
In God.
7 (S)
After the
soft rains,
Blooms
fresh.
My epistle
is no flower.
Naked, Black
and pregnant,
Woman shot
beast-like on a darkened Mozambique road –
Drowning
soldier-savagery
Shamed
seasons.
Lizalis’idinga
lakho,
God of Black
women now rise,
in
tanka-maskandi cries.
Poppies.
8 (Y)
She is duped
and gets easily used;
She is
defiant and easily explodes;
She is vain,
obsessed with appearance;
She let
herself go, looks fat and shabby;
She is too
quiet and can’t speak up;
She is
psychotic and can’t shut up;
She is all these things, all at once,
Deranged.
9 (s)
Would you dance naked on your veranda
seeing madigras brass band
mad boots on grass,
killing your soul’s shongololo?
Beyond the gleam of your silverware, the sun still shines.
Shun the sun if drunk in the polemic of your vomit.
The palm tree is tall still,
yet peaceful.
10 (Y)
Her robe
translucent like briny waves
An ancient
pagoda zooming to a giant moon
She will
never come back
To an earth
that’s unjust, unequal, unfree;
She will
never look back
At those who
have sought to capture her
Her eternal
dance
Gagaku
11 (S)
We hello each other,
a morning ritual.
He walks into the dew,
whistling with the ancestors.
Mapholoba, a shepherd breathing poverty.
This dark mist, common as whites walking their dogs.
Seeing them pee with glee.
Peace.
His dogged legs a plea.
Ulaka lwabaphansi.
12 (Y)
Four an unlucky number,
sounding the same
as the word for “death,”
the 442 has two fours
and a two,
any even number unlucky,
divisible,
inevitable separation coming,
and Go For Broke they did,
from desert Camps,
to win what they never had,
the right to be American,
not an enemy.
13 (S)
Casting a warm eye on this land
my line to kiss her forehead
give her gladness sandwiches
water my mother’s spinach
add black pepper to the seasons
good taste into the bowl
a poetry pot firing the broil
simmering hope
the slow dawn of a brighter day.
14 (Y)
Taking a lazy walk next to this river
the gulls kiss the tips of the water
children laugh in floppy hats
I remember my father’s beatings
my mother’s Edamame
cooked in Salt, served with cold beer
a poetry pot firing the broil
simmering hope
the slow dawn of a brighter day.
15 (S)
Stratus clouds in the skies
Wishing blue skies smiled
Chuckled like Louis Armstrong
The air was friendly
Night undaunting
Unbanning lazy solitude strolls
Poets oets perching in trees
Chickening every silly sunset
Dazzled by darkness
Her seductive light.
16 (Y)
Skyscraper
windows
Unblinking light
Dot the aging
skies of night
With stories
each window tells
That age-old
face of every city,
Tokyo, LA,
Johannesburg,
Breathing
suicidal loneliness
With violence
smoothed only by time
His seductive weeps
Await that trickle of dawn
17 (S)
after a long trip is a place
where one returns
changes into fresh clothes
puts the heavy load down
drinks cold water
eats porridge and amasi
while the dog licks wounds back to health
where suicidal fantasies die
hopelessly lacking any poetic imagination.
18 (Y)
sighs of
exhaustion breathe through
the night, screams
of wind choked silent,
kissing pleats
on rain-filled waters,
river to
river, sea to sea, blood to blood,
is it dawn somewhere
else?
do the birds
care enough to remember
the messages from that somewhere else?
19 (S)
He says hi
inkabi back from jail
straw grass world
exhaustion
brute storms
leopard lonesome
blood-heavy yoke
motherless calf
can’t be licked for first milk.
He’s a local
no hate blues.
Do I offer my hand
to the killer-ox
talk weather
disgust Bushiri?
20 (S)
Body seducing sleep
Swinging on her axis
Tell the night be tight.
Behind the sun sleep is light.
In dreams lovers kiss the ground in flight
Saliva no dread on Covid lane.
Children dance the morning dew into song.
Laughter.
Phezu komkhono!
Bujitsu
21(Y)
That needed daily
fix of kimchee,
Granpa’s growling
snores
Rattles shoji screens,
Like gently shaking
maracas:
Where miso
soup cooking,
And cooking
and cooking
Wafts through
The peppermint
morning air.
22 (Y)
Memories repeat
Even in dementia
eyes:
A ring that
sparkles,
Gem of
yellow,
Rainbow and diamond,
Promising a love
eternal,
Fool-proof,
never betrayal,
Like the immeasurable,
Unfailing Worth
Of Truth and
Freedom.
23 (S)
In a deadly pandemic
blackened skies
hellish eyes
greed so pathetic
so trump-manic
muzzled jingle bells
Wakashio in Mauritius
shits oil
kills marine life
kills food
kills kanji
even after Fukushima
drills invade the Okavango
kill life
kill laughter
Pula.
24 (Y)
Death nudges closer
The pandemic world we share,
Skin cracked of disinfectant,
Sweat dripping on masks,
Prayer and hope,
Remembering music:
Winston Monwabisi “Mankunku” Ngozi
25 (S)
Pain pierces the heart like an assassin’s knife.
See the restless sea.
Shingled memories, the coffee blues.
Rumours of Christmas in the warming moist air.
Humming with the moon, its tears.
Pleading for the lost lotus flower seeds.
Impepho.
26 (Y)
one pandemic year
blurs
into the next,
those who hate
must hate
blinded to truth and fact
but we recognize
more than ever
what is important,
and who
27 (S)
America, poop fools climb walls in tantrums.
Haters copiously eat garlic.
Whiteness is no guesswork.
Hard stools on TV.
For COVID-19 deaths to be sweet & swift.
Trumps.
In my hood, the owl headlines death.
A cry for a strong midrip.
Palms.
28 (S)
The stubborn heaviness in our shoulders.
The bloodshot eyes, now we know,
our lives are being irrevocably torn apart.
Those who are ill, dying and dead, are familiar names.
Family.
Friends.
Beloved ones.
Death is no longer a metaphor.
The nightmare. The nightmare.
The nightmare.
29 (S)
Since we are already here.
Poetry of faith at the full.
Kindly keep these sandwiches, too.
To be shared at the golden hour
That poets dream of,
Even as it madly thunders.
30 (Y)
Our poem will end
When we overcome;
We will celebrate
For once,
An end
As we always do
With beginnings
31 (Y)
Laugh, belittle, ridicule,
Call me naive
Over-blown
Narcissistic,
Easily duped,
Those names,
Whatever is up
Entitled sleeves,
To silence stereotype enslave.
32 (S)
The dread of your dying wick.
A single lung blighting all joy.
Memories of your dead mother.
Your pus-filled body.
A cry for green stones of home. Hot springs.
Jail is sad.
Prisoners die at this cursed hour.
Now on my kneeling mat, milling the moon.
33 (S)
At the local dumpsite, I flinch
improvise a mind-soul spin.
Kids playing atop the site,
happy-hip outdoor crib with a view.
Good times rolling like Kamala Harris,
dogs fighting over smelly nappies.
Kids running away, stained condoms
popping up.
They are doing it.
34 (Y)
it used to be simple
getting on a plane
breathing without a mask
touching a doorknob
and not being afraid
it used to be simple
laughing on an elevator
just going out
hugging someone
you love
35 (S)
Ziyagiya ziqethuke.
Mqombothi plastic cups.
Lives dangling on the lion’s jaws.
Ease the storm beloved ancestors.
We miss the magic of hugging the clay pot.
The odd belch.
The tickling cold stir on lips.
The Khongisa spirit.
Songs against thunder and disease.
Rain.
(Section 35 was written by Sandile Ngidi on the day of the death of legendary South African vocalist, and his friend, Sibongile Khumalo, evoking the spirit of one her great songs, a prayer to the gods of Africa. Let us mourn in prayer this collective loss as we face a world torn by the pandemic.)
36 (Y)
Shivers of monster icebergs
Fevers of raging forest fires
Fuzzy spikes running amok
Vessels organs flesh and muscle
Dropping phlegm immunity bombs
More virus more virus more virus
Tentacles piercing nails red-blue
Hoping to wipe out Humanity
Weighing who gets to live
Which rich nations get vaccines first
37 (S)
The vaccine arrives in the rain,
I wave on TV,
frown lines of relief.
Puppy-happy, playing fetch
The bride is here, for
migrants too.
Waves crash onto shore,
a swash of stars
arresting the frozen hours.
Maize seedlings ready, hands to earth.
Fresh starts.
38 (Y)
Yurikamome float like lotus
Heaven on earth
This river of fruit and birth,
Tender Flowers,
A moment in this pandemic Hell
That enslaves, rapes, steals,
Infections of greed and envy
39 (S)
Humming leaves giving rhythm to the reticent day.
Fruits.
Mapholoba off to his cattle post.
Our morning ritual in flight.
Salutes to sunrise.
Laughter shared like bread.
A mbhubhudlo bond.
Songs.
The heaven of village handshakes.
Palm leaves.
40 (Y)
Hot pink buds are shaking dew,
Airplanes roar over clouds of spring
And the weeping of sirens,
Piercing the city smog;
We wonder if it’s COVID-19
Or some other emergency;
We pray for anshin anzen,
Safe and secure,
As elusive as those broken promises.
41 (S)
Sibiya’s laughs are boiled maize kernels we throw in the air,
Right into our mouths.
Sweet rain drops.
In the wasp-killing sun, we breathe dreams into the soil,
Muting the weeping sirens.
The soil’s ulnar verse spreads and breaks like seawaves.
We are silk songs.
42 (Y)
We wake up today to the Earth shuddering,
Rumbling in fear of human evil,
Magnitude 7.3 almost midnight.
We wake up today to water levels sinking
In reactors that sank 10 years ago
Meltdowns in Fukushima,
Half-cracked containers spewing,
No one gets close without dying;
Remembering human greed,
Evacuating in fear of radioactive imperfection.
43 (S)
You ntanga yethu, David Sibisi.
Walking talking with stoic grace.
Broomcorn strong.
Smile bristles giving the day her delayed radiance.
Some milk cows perished in the recent hellish rains.
But you braving the forest,
giving the village her health.
Brooms.
44 (S)
It’s a year since that freezing wind struck,
left its bloodied knife on the floor.
The winding path of pain, indefinite tracks on a hill.
The dead can’t smell the flowers, and play with their dogs anymore.
Yet memory drapes each day with protean seeds.
45 (Y)
Smell the soy sauce cooking
See the squints stab desert skies
Hear the heartbeat taiko vibration
Feel the texture of kimono silk
Taste the ocean sashimi brine
So Simple: Has it been a year?
We are alive we mourn filled with love
Can you remember how that love made you afraid?
46 (S)
Empty lands,
where brutal spiderworlds
silence women.
In the name of tradition,
the kikuyu loses her green heart.
Tribesmen betray justice.
Blowing their noses at a woman,
as she cries for justice.
When her speech is chilli hot,
her eyes a stubborn flame.
47 (Y)
Vagina warm and snug,
Dark and tight Slant Eyes,
Shot at a Massage Spa;
Skin as smooth as China Silk,
Straight Black Hair a Tightrope,
Shot at a Massage Spa;
Serve your addiction
But Not racially motivated,
Shot at a Massage Spa;
He just had a bad day,
The women are dead.
48 (S)
Sunny days are darkening at load-shedding speed.
Seasons of foul stench.
Skunks squealing with careless glee.
Children too happy to play outside.
Far from the smell of the political millipede.
To wink at the transient sunrise.
Holding on to its warm scarlet scarf.
49 (Y)
Oblivious to the pandemic,
Sakura buds fatten,
Burst in benevolent explosions,
Millions of screams
Crying out to Stop Hate,
Pink pompoms spilling Pink Periods
On a timeless Manuscript
Of pavement and dirt.
50 (S)
Bright skies and the sea full of grace, heroic balsamic kisses.
Hugh Masekela’s Homeric bloom.
Bliss.
It’s the season of the kindest sunlight.
Petunias strutting their lot in lilac, red –
And Hughey’s enduring love petals.
Hip grazing in the April grass.
“The canvas is big. Gets beautiful with every brush stroke. What matters to me is the possibility of the festival. We are still afloat.” _ SANDILE NGIDI
“I must answer to my brother poet’s challenge and spirit, our words weaving together as family, across oceans, skies and continents.” _ YURI KAGEYAMA
It was Dr. Martin Luther King, who said: “I have a dream,” those words that spoke of that powerful message and legacy of Black Lives Matter years ago. Why has our dream as Asians in America so often and so long been lost? Called foreign, invisible, docile, cheap, expressionless, model minorities, we have been silenced, sometimes turned willingly silent, out of fear and the desire to survive, in that American conversation between white and Black. Our story has yet to be fully told, explored or studied, even dreamed.
The world suddenly looks like a splendid and hopeful place when sakura starts to bloom, right about this time in Tokyo. It happens without fail every year. But it’s so dazzling it feels unexpected. This morning, an old man was gazing up at a tree, probably the first cherry blossom tree he saw on his walk. His eyes, behind the glasses, I knew had seen so much, and was seeing all of that, again, in the flowers.
3.11 ON OUR MINDS I’m going to share, if I may, some of my stories I did for The Associated Press, covering the tsunami, earthquake and nuclear disasters that slammed Japan in 2011, and my followup stories over subsequent years. I am grateful to all the sources who spoke with AP, to The AP for this experience that has shaped me, and to journalism. Here goes:
My AP Story May 23, 2013 on this: “Keeping the meltdown-stricken Fukushima nuclear plant in northeastern Japan in stable condition requires a cast of thousands. Increasingly the plant’s operator is struggling to find enough workers, a trend that many expect to worsen and hamper progress in the decades-long effort to safely decommission it.”
My AP Story March 10, 2010 on soy sauce’s miracle “comeback.” “RIKUZENTAKATA, Japan (AP) _ When the tsunami warning sounded, workers at the two-centuries-old soy sauce maker in northeastern Japan ran up a nearby hill to a shrine for safety, and watched in disbelief as towering waters swallowed their factory.”
