My film NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA selected by the Silent River Film Festival

My film “NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA: Meditation on an Under-Reported Catastrophe by a Poet” has now been selected to be part of the Silent River Film Festival. It has moved online because of the pandemic and runs Aug. 7 ~16, 2020.

I am proud of what we have achieved with our film. Thanks to the film organizers for supporting independent filmmaking. And thanks to my many collaborators for the well-deserved honors we are getting.

The festival was founded by Indian American poet, writer and filmmaker Kalpna Singh-Chitris.

We are in good company.

THE YURICANE Back at The Pink Cow


We will be presenting excerpts from our performance piece set to open at La MaMa Experimental Theatre in New York, N.Y., September 2015.
We will be on toward the end of the evening, which goes on 7 p.m. – 11 p.m. SAT April 4, 2015.
Please take part in our poetic journey of everyday life, defying the borderlines of race, gender and cultures, to examine the Fukushima nuclear catastrophe and other cosmic and innermost issues of importance.
By poet Yuri Kageyama and The Yuricane band featuring Hirokazu Suyama (drums, percussions), Yuuichiro Ishii (guitar), Nobutaka Yamasaki (keyboards).
Great California-style food and drinks at The Pink Cow in Tokyo’s Roppongi, but you have to pay for those.

Hirokazu Suyama reads my poem “ode to the stroller”

Drummer Hirokazu Suyama reads my poem “ode to the stroller” and teaches me and moves me more than I knew I could have ever hoped for.
Thank you, Hiro, for your music, for believing in my poetry and for simply being so special.
Read at the Japan Writers’ Conference in Okinawa.
Nov. 2, 2013.
Film by Adam Lewis of Okinawa Vision.
We are really one.

ode to the stroller
a poem by Yuri Kageyama

we zip weightless like silent angels
up and down San Francisco hills
running on the mother of all energy
greener than solar
rolling rolling rolling
with laughter
cream acid rock ‘n’ rolling
lightning dazzling wheels
teethers jangling dangling dancing
going mad on strangle-free rubbery ribbons
up and down the Avenues
J-town, Clement Street
Golden Gate Park
Museum of Modern Art
we are singing:
“Ouma no oyako wa nakayoshi koyoshi
itsudemo issho ni pokkuri pokkuri aruku”
perfume wind in our hair
springing over potholes
not even stopping just for breast feeds
connected as one through this magical machine
me pushing
you riding
the Lamborghini of strollers
the Gundam of strollers
the little train that could of strollers
up up up into the joyous clouds
zooming wheeeeee
down slurping slopes
around swervacious curves
we are one
yes, we are one
tied in the past with our
umbilical cord
even in death
in our dreams

Congratulations to Ishmael Reed

(video by Evan Karp)
Ishmael Reed, who published my latest book “The New and Selected Yuri: Writing From Peeling Till Now,” received the Barbary Coast Award WED Oct. 12, 2011, at a gala ceremony at Z Space in San Francisco, a program packed with poets, musicians and performers, includng even me, who read “Litte YELLOW Slut” with the Broun Fellinis _ from left to right Kirk Peterson (bass), Kevin Carnas (drums), David Boyce (saxophone) _ Makoto Horiuchi (guitar), Ashwut Rodriguez (guitar) and the great Ishmael Reed (piano).

becky nao

becky nao
a poem by Yuri Kageyama

becky nao
kicked me so my shins turned purple
taunted me daily mimicking my voice
becky nao
believed there was only one slot
for an Asian girl in fourth grade class
becky nao
the white girls weren’t rivals
only me, the one other Oriental girl,
becky nao
slit eyes and black hair,
good grades, neat handwriting
becky nao
if i fell dead, gone, wiped out,
she could be that survivor yellow girl
becky nao
who’s going to tell us apart?
so there can be only one of us
becky nao
flicks her eyelashes at blond boys
flaunting a fetish, even at age 10
becky nao
fat face, fat calves
her fat belief as the solitary token
becky nao
hatred curled tight in a nasty gnarl
all for wishing to be that China doll
becky nao

Poem Breaking Silence

My poem “Disco Chinatown” is in “Breaking Silence,” an anthology of Asian American poetry (1983: Greenfield Review Press) featured in the latest edition of this online magazine “asiacana.”

Disco Chinatown
a poem by Yuri Kageyama

street blood throbbing
punk maggots of the slums with fake ID’s
smelling British sterling
cover the stink of sweat, car grease and dirt
and the blood from being cut up by a Jo
or is it W.C?
slant eye to slant eye talking
smooth talking or trying,
“hey, baby-
looking nice tonight”
spilling sunrises
bourbons with cherries
giddy easy striding to make it to my table
in your own eyes, a ghetto knight,
“wanna drink?”
in a flash and a flick, light my cigarette
the dance floor is dead tonight
linoleum cracked
the Filipino D.J. Berkeley Asian American Studies drop out is stoned
and even the lights look neon sleazy
you want me to move, a wax museum dancing doll, under your macho
or in your arms, rocking following your rocks,
layered black hair,
moustache, always, to tickle the quick kisses,
cheap shiny shirt, four buttons open,
a jade pendant swaying against yellow brown flesh,
darker brown leather and long long legs,
you want to take me home
and the grip on my shoulder tightens,
you driving a Camaro Z28?
an Olds 442?
a broken down Malibu?
a Caddy Eldorado?
you want to be rich someday
you want to enjoy life, you say,
cuz it’s so so short,
ALL girls want you for their old man,
“in bed, I have a good body,
opium makes me last
and last
I’m ten inches
and, “a smile,
“this thick”
you play the mind games with a too ridiculous seriousness
not another escape out just for kicks
your street male pride can’t take no scratches
you’ll kick my ass when the number I give you isn’t mine
you tell me not to dance with anyone else
when I just met you tonight
and isn’t your old lady waiting at your apartment?
hardened hard up
Ricksha stray tiger cat
your life view quite
touch mine
and being gang banged isn’t my type of thrill
disco steps don’t silence sirens
and the skyscraper lights don’t touch Grant Avenue on a Friday night
Golden Dragon massacred meat can’t ever be pieced back together again
black lights and hanging ferns or Remy sweetness can’t hide
spilled out alley fish guts
that tell you and tell you
there just ain’t no future
your hands grope
your eyes closed
your tongue dry
your penis limp
poor ChinaMAN-child