“Poetic Moments,” a poem that was part of my poetic series from a few years ago called “The River,” is now going to be a song, and I am going to try to learn how to sing it. Here are the words:
Let me create them Poetic moments A Ditch is a River Poetic moments The River is Vision Poetic moments Lost forever found Poetic moments Everywhere Poetic moments Nowhere Poetic moments Let me create them Poetic moments May I stay pure So I don’t miss them.
I’m trying to express how fleeting are those special moments in life _ those moments of sheer beauty or recognition, coming to an idea or feeling love with certainty, and knowing this will all come to an end. Those moments are special. But only those who deserve them get to experience them. That is what I believe. Being a poet is not a skill, gift or even an inspiration. It is about the kind of life you lead so that you become that kind of person who can be a true poet.
Photo taken in June 2026 by the Sumida River in Tokyo.
My AP Story July 1, 2026 in which I interview Eiko Kadono, the author of “Kiki’s Delivery Service.”
Korochan and Jiji. Reminders my AP Stories go all over the place with one being the toy a 9-year-old always has at her DJ gigs (story below) and the other that cat companion of Kiki the witch, a character created by a 91-year-old writer (story above).
Always an honor, even if you just did your very small part, to be part of the Best of AP Honorable Mention awarded in February 2026, for this AP Story about an explosion at U.S. Steel.
My AP Story Jan. 2, 2026 about the emperor and his family greeting well-wishers at the palace for New Year’s.
AP Photo by Fatima Shbair.
I usually start the New Year by covering a countdown event for our roundup story. I send a bunch of material but, by the end of the global day, it becomes one line, if even that. It’s a great way to start out the new year as a reporter, a humbling but comforting reminder that we just do our jobs. I am a Contributor to this AP Story Jan. 1, 2026.
My Ikebono Ikebana Aug. 5, 2026. Ikebana is sometimes found art, too. In this case, my teacher saw gardeners cutting the trees, and he asked if he could have some. The maple that is a tree trunk became the central piece for this arrangement.
This is before I joined The AP, but I had an opportunity as a young reporter to ask an aging Akira Kurosawa a question: What is filmmaking for you? 監督にとって映画とはなんですか？
I got to tell that exact story in my recent AP story when I interviewed Hirokazu Kore-eda. Kore-eda of course asked: What was Kurosawa’s answer? I pretended to be surprised: 監督それききます?! You would ask; wouldn’t you? Kore-eda said: Come on, the way we are talking now このながれでは that’s the inevitable question. So I told him how Kurosawa had replied with a childlike but faraway look on his face, as though he was talking to no one in particular, maybe himself: If you take movies away from me, I am left with nothing. 僕から映画をとったらなにものこらないから。And Kore-eda instantly remarked: すばらしい！before he gave his answer about how lucky he was that he has his beloved hobby for a job. That interaction and his answer close my AP story.
I asked the same question to Kiyoshi Kurosawa, too. And the funny thing was that he didn’t ask what Akira Kurosawa’s answer was _ the entire opposite of Kore-eda’s reaction. He gave his own answer, which is the top part of the story, about how movies are an eternal mystery, and that’s why he keeps making them. Then I asked him: Aren’t you going to ask what Akira Kurosawa said? And then Kiyoshi Kurosawa said: Well, can I ask? Is it OK? So I said: Of course, I was more surprised you didn’t ask. Which goes to show what a nice person he is. When I told him what Akira Kurosawa had said, he said: うまいこというな。Which translates to: Hey, what a clever answer. It’s telling how his answer was a bit different from how Kore-eda had said すばらしい which just means “Fantastic!”
I’m going to keep asking this same question every time I get to interview a great Japanese auteur. BTW Kiyoshi Kurosawa said he had fun being interviewed. たのしかった he said. I’ve lived life and played reporter long enough I get to have fun now and then. Coincidentally an online “memory” popped up about the Akira Kurosawa Question. That said I’d asked: Why do you keep making movies? 監督はなぜ映画をとり続けるのですか？ It’s asking the same thing, but maybe a better question for the stage he was in _ both his life and career as a director. So next time I interview a legendary Japanese director, I would have to ask both questions.
My poem FUKUSHIMA today with my Yuricane band. Toshiyuki Turner Tanahashi (bass), Hirokazu Jackson Suyama (drums) and Yuuichiro Ishii (guitar) at What The Dickens in Tokyo July 5, 2026. The last part of the poem is missing from this recording. The complete poem below. The link to a reading with bassist Darrell Craig Harris. Another version with visual artists in 2018, and an even earlier version with different instrumentation. And this is the 2014 “garage” version where we did it for the very first time (excuse all the mistakes). But I still do my poetry with the same musicians, and more. And that means a lot. The poem is one of the first pieces that I wrote for what later developed into my theater piece “NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA: Meditation on an Under-Reported Catastrophe.”
FUKUSHIMA by Yuri Kageyama
Y’all, it’s a Meltdown nation Since Three-Eleven Covered in the fear Of unseen radiation But don’t you expect Any revolution All you will find Is fear and contamination.
Here in Fukushima It rhymes with Hiroshima Instead of a holler Hear just a whimper They say it is safe The kids like Chernobyl Are coming down sick With Thyroid cancer.
Fukushima Fukushima Fukushima
Y’all, it’s no hallucination The refugees’ life No compensation No resolution Just nuclear explosions Get your dosimeter Cesium in the water Lost Imagination
Here in Fukushima It rhymes with Hiroshima The radiated Brothers Faces are hidden Goggles and masks Like an astronaut From head to toe The Invisible workers
Tsunami Demolition God’s DeCreation Genetic Devastation Our next Generation. Here in Fukushima It rhymes with Hiroshima No-go zones forever The World must remember.
Fukushima Fukushima Fukushima
The band and friends. We did good. When people ask if I have friends, or something to that effect, I tell them I have a band.
This haiku is about that everyday moment when you are waiting to cross a busy street, and you see a very old couple standing in front of you, and you happen to notice they are holding hands, clasping each other’s fingers, like they are holding on for life, or for eternal love. Like they’re on their first date, although they are old _ white hair, frail, pale skin, barely standing, leaning against each other. All you can feel is sheer envy: That they have whatever it is that they have, all the years together, and, most of all, they have each other.
Swimming or flying
Mourning alone will end soon
Love birds mate for life
If you are a bird watcher, even a casual amateurish one like me, you know many of them not only migrate in flocks, like a flight version of human society, but they are also almost always couples. If you ever see a bird alone, look around and find his/her partner nearby. I enjoy doing this. I find it consoling each time.
HOKUBEI MAINICHI the Japanese American newspaper where it all began
Amazing to chance upon the digital archives of Hokubei Mainichi, a true community newspaper, as all journalism should be, and found stories I did, notices about my poetry readings, the birth announcement of our son and a column the editor then Howard Imazeki gave me to muse on motherhood. And today I see that he continued to publish my stories sent as AP reports from Japan. That made me cry. Thanks to journalism.
My longtime poet friend Alan Ota found this poem of mine from some time back. He thinks it is moving and might use it in his next book. I didn’t even remember having written this poem. It sounds like something I would write. I still like this poem.
