MY LYRICS FOR A SONG AND MY POEM IN KONCH MAGAZINE

HANDS OF A CLOCK is an R&B song for which I wrote the lyrics for music by Trupti aka Tea and Hiroshi Tokieda _ the same team for I WILL BLEED (featured in the previous post), as well as for “Oh My Buddha.”

HANDS OF A CLOCK is in the January 2016 issue of KONCH magazine, published by Ishmael Reed and edited by Tennessee Reed.

The January 2016 issue of KONCH also published my poem “A Crow’s Request.”

Hands of a Clock
Words by Trupti and Yuri Kageyama
Music by Trupti and Hiroshi Tokieda
Written to be sung by Sybil Thomas in her next album.

Verse 1

Hey, we’ve met before
You say the first night we meet
It feels like a life that’s come around before

Verse 2

Hey, shall we dance?
We’ve met many times in our dreams
I was sure I knew you at first glance

Pre-Chorus

Long before a thing has begun,
We’re tied in a destiny of time
Ticking together as one

Chorus

Like the hands of a clock
We are like the hands of a clock
The world keeps spinning
At every new beginning
We come back around
Like the hands of a clock

Verse 3

Hey, is this reality?
Will this last through the changing times?
‘Coz I am a true believer in eternity

Pre-Chorus

Long before a thing has begun,
We’re tied in a destiny of time
Ticking together as one

Chorus

Like the hands of a clock
We are like the hands of a clock
The world keeps spinning
At every new beginning
We come back around
Like the hands of a clock

Bridge

Seconds Minutes and Hours
Are just ways time stays in a groove
When love has stopped our inner clock
Toward timeless love we will move

THE YURICANE BACK AT THE PINK COW APRIL 4, 2015

THE YURICANE BACK AT THE PINK COW SAT APRIL 4, 2015 TOKYO JAPAN
PHOTOS BY EBA CHAN

The Yuricane

Hirokazu Suyama Jackson

Hirokazu Suyama Jackson

withyuuirhciropinkcow

yuuirhicoagain

pinkcow 2

hirofromfacebook

facebook2

Excerpts from “NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA: MEDITATION ON AN UNDER-REPORTED CATASTROPHE BY A POET” debutng at La MaMa Experimental Theatre in New York September 2015, directed by Carla Blank with dance and music.

Yuri Kageyama – spoken word
Hirokazu Suyama Jackson – drums
Yuuichiro Ishii – guitar
Nobutaka Yamasaki – keyboard

MYTHICAL MONSTER
A Poem by Yuri Kageyama

Catfish sleeps
Buried in the mud
Of meltdown metal
A black-light coastline
Fifty reactors
Tomari to Genkai
Catfish moves
And the Earth rumbles
Sways its tail
And skyscrapers crumble
Swishes a whisker
Bridges, roads shatter
Catfish grows
Bigger and bigger
Eight snake faces
Eight dragon tails
Volcanic eruption
Yamata no Orochi
Monster lives
Our daughters and sons
Every year, a sacrifice
Hundred eight brave samurai
They’re all dead,
Trying to kill it

My Poetry with Music at SFJAZZ CENTER in a tribute to ISHMAEL REED June 2014.

SFstage
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman.

Poetry written and read by Yuri Kageyama with the Yuricane band, featuring Hirokazu Suyama on drums and tablas, Hiroshi Tokieda on bass, Hide Asada on guitar and Trupti Pandkar on vocals.
“A Tribute for Ishmael Reed”
SFJAZZ CENTER in San Francisco SAT June 28, 2014.
All poetry written and read by Yuri Kageyama http://yurikageyama.com
5:40 “Loving Younger Men”
11:05 “Little YELLOW Slut”
17:25 “No Gift of the Magi”
23:55 “Ode to the Stroller”
30:00 “Fukushima” in homage to Questlove Jenkins and The Roots.
34:00 “Hiroshima”
40:10 Indian Improv Interlude
44:02 “I Will Bleed” Lyrics by Yuri Kageyama and Trupti Pandkar, Melody by Trupti Pandkar and Hiroshi Tokieda.

withbass
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman.

SFJAZZ with drums
Photo by Annette Borromeo Dorfman.

with trupti
Photo by Eba Chan.

ebaSF
Photo by Eba Chan.

STORY OF MIU by Yuri Kageyama, a reading with dance and music at the Bowery Poetry Club in New York (synopsis video)

STORY OF MIU a reading in New York _ synopsis video of a 40 minuted performance piece

Written by Yuri Kageyama. Directed by Carla Blank. Dance by Yuki Kawahisa.
Read by Yuri Kageyama and Yuki Kawahisa.
Music by Pheeroan akLaff and Tecla Esposito.
At the Bowery Poetry Club in New York, N.Y. April 1, 2012.
Film by Luis Silva.
Camera by Shiho Kataoka, Rebecca MacNiece and Khach Turabian.
A COLLAGE OF WORDS, SOUND AND MOVEMENT, A LATTER DAY NOH PLAY OF PAIN, LOVE AND SURVIVAL THAT DEFIES RACISM AND SEXISM OVER MOMENTS AND GENERATIONS.
A Tokyo Flower Children Production
“Story of Miu” was first published in “The New and Selected Yuri: Writing From Peeling Till Now” (Ishmael Reed Publishing Co., 2011).

blank spaces over generations _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

blank spaces over generations
a poem by Yuri Kageyama

my father was
slapped for
buying a
book of
poems
that his father
thought was
a rip-off _
so many
blank spaces
on
each
page

i was
a poet
long before i
became
anything else
so i didn’t
worry about
money or how i
was going
to make a living or
all the
blank
spaces

my son is
a drummer
he doesn’t yet
know the
blank spaces
of the world
are a gift
from that
grandfather
who was beaten for
a book
of
poems

TOKYO WOODSTOCK

Woodstock, Tokyo, Boston, Accra, the Primordial World of My Poetry _ Lots of Places and Spaces involved.
Come and Explore with us at What the Dickens.
A Multicultural Multiplatform event organized by Kev Gray.
My Yuricane Band featuring the Best and Brightest from the Berklee College of Music and from the Addy/Amo/Boye Master Musicians Family of Ghana:
Hirokazu Suyama (drums, percussion, musical direction), Hiroshi Tokieda (bass), Yuuichiro Ishii (guitar) and Winchester Nii Tete (kpanlogo drums).
We challenge boundaries with integrity.

Japanophile _ Part 3 A Story by Yuri Kageyama

At first, I thought he was just out with his friends, cavorting with a woman. He could be in his car. In her apartment. In a manga cafe. Anywhere, really. He was already an adult, having turned 23 last month, at least, technically an adult.
For years, I had never stayed up awake at night, waiting to hear the click of the door when he returned after being out late.
I was a liberal mother, and I remembered all too well how I had stayed out all night and hadn’t come home until the wee hours of the morning.
When he was nowhere to be seen by 11 a.m., I assmed he had gone straight to his daytime activity.
But to make sure, I called on his cell phone, not expecting him to pick up, but leavine a message and then a text message: Are you OK?
He usually replied, quick enough to put my worries to rest, sometimes in single letters like “Y” for “yes.”
Then I knew I could stop worrying.
But this time, there was no reply.
When there was no sign of him by 5 p.m., I began to think about going to the police.
I had already called and sent email to several of his closest friends.
One said he had seen him yesterday at a soba joint in Roppongi, maybe about 4 p.m., but he had not said exactly where he was going, except that he was off to see “someone important for a possible future business.”
He appeared calm, his usual jovial self, the friend said.
Nothing extraordinary, he said.
Had he been caught up in an accident, or was he a victim of a crime?
I was really beginning to get worried, panicked.
The police officers showed up at my door in a pair, just like in the movies, the good cop and the bad cop.
One asked what was he wearing? What had he said were his plans?
The bad cop did not seem happy when I told him I had no clue what he was wearing, and I had not asked about his plans.
But when the bad cop began to turn to me, almost interrogatively, the good cop intervened and told me they would let me know if they heard anything, acting as though our little conversation at our doorstep was some missing-person report.
The more I realized how useless this procedure was, my fear grew, a hotness welling up and choking my throat, about what had possibly happened to my son, who had suddenly vanished.
He could be out there, somewhere, kidnapped by yakuza or fallen over a crevice in his car, alone, hungry, in pain and utter terror, waiting for me to come find him.

Previous installments of this story:

Part 1

and

Part 2.

ode to the stroller _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

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
gara-gara-gara-gara
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
and
even in death
in our dreams

Haiku Speak _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

Haiku Speak
_ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

Waaaaaah! So much like Wow!
A Child. Fluttering Sakura.
Language. A Moment.

The Crooked Smile _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

The Crooked Smile
_ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

You smiled
Suddenly
In the silence after your first breath of a wail
So still and serious,
Testing the corner muscles of your mouth
Forgetting for a moment your instinct to suckle
Looking with your miracle almond eyes into my eyes,
Hello
Hello
Hello
Pleased to meet you.
A tiny crooked
But perfect
Smile.
They say:
Newborns don’t smile for weeks.
I decide
you are just a genius.