I’m reading my poetry with music at MZES in Akasaka, Tokyo FRI Feb. 27, 2026 7 p.m. Thanks to the kind invitation of Joshua Breakstone, who has this to say about the event:
We’ll be holding a very special and unique event, “Jazz and the Spoken Word”, for the first time in Tokyo. The most recent “Jazz and the Spoken Word” in Kyoto was held on January 9 to a sold-out house of 50 seated listeners plus 20 more standing at the back- it was packed, it was wild, and the audience was totally into it.
As in Kyoto, 4 readers- 2 in English and 2 in Japanese- will read their own work or the work of others, or talk about something they think would be of interest or significant to the audience, or improvise a story, or do whatever they like, all accompanied by live improvised jazz. No rehearsals, everything spontaneous and of the moment.
Music will be by me and the great pianist Phillip Strange with whom I’ve been performing in a duo setting for many years.
It’ll be a wonderful evening no doubt and, if we receive enough support from the Tokyo literary and jazz communities, it’s an event I hope to be able to continue into the future as a series, as we have been able to do in Kyoto (2x/year and 7 times to date).
I’ve attached very brief bios of each of the 4 readers as well as the poster for the event.
Your help in publicizing would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks for sending out info, forwarding this message, posting, contacting friends and colleagues…for any and all of it. If there’s anything else you might need from me, let me know.
Please mark down February 27 on your calendar. I hope you can attend!
BTW….I’ll also be playing that week at a few other venues:
Feb 25- Adirondack Cafe (Duo with pianist Phillip Strange) (Kanda)
Feb 26- Farout (Duo with pianist Phillip Strange) (Yokohama)
February 28- Sometime (Guitar trio with Okudaira Shingo on drums and Yasukagawa Daiki on bass) (Kichijoji)
_____________________
Ishii Shinji (いしいしんじ):
Shinji Ishii, who has authored more than 30 works of fiction and nonfiction, is a highly acclaimed novelist from Osaka currently residing in Kyoto. Since the publication of his debut novel Buranko-nori (Once Upon a Swing) in 2000 he has been nominated six times as a finalist for the Yukio Mishima Prize. In 2003, he won the Tsubota Joji Literary Award for Mugi-fumi Kutze (Kutze, Steppin’ on Wheat), in 2012 the Oda Sakunosuke Prize for Aru Hi (One Day), and in 2016 the Hayao Kawai Story Prize for “Akugoe” (Bad Voice). The film, “Crazy Man” (“Toritsukare Otoko”), based on Ishii-san’s novel of the same name, was released in the fall of 2025.
“Usually I write novels at home. On February 27, I will write an improvised novel on stage.”
______________________
Chris Mosdell:
British lyricist/poet Chris Mosdell has been awarded the Yuki Hayashi-Newkirk Poetry Prize, the Tokyo Music Festival’s Gold Prize, and the Grand Prize for Poetry at the Boulder, Colorado, Festival of Literature. In 2023 he was the recipient of Japan’s Classics Day Cultural Foundation Prize, an award “honouring individuals who have contributed to the dissemination and enlightenment of Japanese classical culture”––an award presided over by Princess Akiko of the Imperial Family. His lyrics have been recorded by Michael Jackson, Eric Clapton, Sarah Brightman, Boy George, Ryuichi Sakamoto, and Yellow Magic Orchestra, among others.
______________________
Yuri Kageyama:
Yuri Kageyama is a poet, filmmaker, storyteller and journalist. Her book, “The New and Selected Yuri: Writing From Peeling Till Now,” is out from Ishmael Reed Publishing Co. Her theater piece “NEWS FROM FUKUSHIMA: Meditation on an Under-Reported Catastrophe by a Poet,” directed by Carla Blank, was performed at Z Space in San Francisco in 2017, and debuted at La MaMa Experimental Theatre in New York in 2015. It was documented as a 2018 film by Yoshiaki Tago. She made a collaborative animation film “The Very Special Day” with stop motion artist Hayatto. She has read with Melvin Gibbs, Seamus Heaney, Shuntaro Tanikawa, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Winchester Nii Tete, Sachiko Yoshihara and many other artists.
_____________________
Taylor Mignon:
Taylor Mignon’s most recent book is Visual Poetry of Japan: 1684-2023, which came off the heels of VOU: Visual Poetry Tokio 1958-1978 (2022). Mignon discusses these in an article published in Genda shi techo, Modern poetry notebook (Summer 2025). He is founding editor of Tokyo Poetry Journal, having spearheaded the first six issues, including the book-sized issue, “Japan and the Beats.” New Directions are slated to publish his translations in an upcoming anthology of Japanese avant-garde poetry. He’s working on a collected book on the photography and poetry by modernist Tsuji Setsuko.
Mignon will be performing a few of his homage (not fromage) for Japanese poets he loves, in addition to one translation of a modernist poet. They will be presented bilingually.
I’m talking about my work, both my journalism _ and my poetry _ at this event in Tokyo. Rarely have the two sides of my writing met, but it will at Tokyo Humanities Cafe FRI March 6, 2026.
I was invited by some poets in Japan to join an online project where we write a poem every day. A theme is assigned for everyone for each day. Today’s was “reset.” I decided to write my first poem of 2026 as haiku. And so here goes:
HAIKU FOR RESET
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 1, 2026
Pain loss empty love
Every day moment breath
It’s still here live it
YOUR JACKET
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 2, 2026
Alone
I sit here,
And you have left your jacket
The blue jeans jacket
With the golden snap buttons _ and the one that is missing
_ with the zipper zipping up and down on the shoulders, the
pockets, the arms _
Then discover, caught in one, your hair _ black, black
and long _ a wavy dark thread
Too big, the sleeves hang limp over my hands;
I am in your jacket, in you _ almost _
Almost the way you feel so good against and inside of me
I’m covered
By the cast skin of your skin
Like the dry brown shells that
Yellow butterflies leave
behind
I smell your smell
They way a baby smiles
inside
The Mother’s arms _
thick and soft and
there
always, always _
I will sleep with your jacket _
cuddle it, feeling it under my palms, kiss it, tell it my dreams
I smell your smell, resting my cheek against a sleeve
I smell your smell
breathing deep
and deeper
I miss and wish it were
you
But your jacket has fallen asleep
quietly
Next to me.
This is a poem I wrote some time back so it is about young love. I decided I still like this poem and so I didn’t change a word. It’s wonderful this challenge made me remember the poem, all of a sudden. It took some rummaging through stacks of books and drawers that hadn’t been opened in ages, but I did find it, published in a literary magazine called Women Talking Women Listening, out of California. Now this poem is reborn, online. I am so happy. Today’s theme was “jacket.”
ZEN
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 3, 2026
Close your eyes
Forget
Those grudges
You will never forget
Even those
You’ve long forgotten
Like old cotton fog
Burn a single stick of incense
Preferably
The one that smells like lavender
But is deep orange in color
Take a deep breath
Wipe out those faces, those voices, those aches,
Slaps, kicks, abuse, ridicule, words and thoughts that hurt
Hurled not at others by you
But by others to you
And now forget about you
Or anyone else
Your children
Your grandchildren
Including those you never had
The love of your life
You had that
And let nothingness seep in
Like that old cotton fog
Except
Now
It’s clear
Invisible
And nothing matters
CHAOS
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 4, 2026
The House on Second Avenue
The shutters are always banging
A drum machine keeping time
Down the block from Eddie Moore’s house
Around the corner from Russel Baba’s house
^__<
The House on Second Avenue
Robert Kikuchi Yngojo from San Jose
And Duke Santos, a conga player who’s also a
Paramedic saving lives on the ambulance,
Live in the basement rooms
^__<
The House on Second Avenue
Rickety wooden stairs lead to our doorway,
We’re upstairs, you and me,
With Aileen, who plays the qin,
And Richard, who’s white and gay
^__<
The House on Second Avenue
We share the kitchen, bathrooms, our dreams,
Not a care in the world except for Truth,
Justice, John Coltrane;
Musicians, dancers, poets
^__<
The House on Second Avenue
We could walk to Golden Gate Park
Or down to Clement Street
We’d sit for hours over coffee and a croissant
And run into Randy Senzaki’s wife strolling their son
^__<
The House on Second Avenue
Birds taking flight in a buzzing hushed whirl
From that tree right outside our window
Doves, you’d call them,
Though I knew they’re just pigeons
^__<
The House on Second Avenue
Where magic brewed and ceilings shook,
In time to the downbeat during rehearsals
And to promises of forever at night,
All shrugged off like the breaths we took
BOOK
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 5, 2026
Let’s read a book together, Mommy
You would say in that sweet little child voice
Eric Carle, Dr. Seuss, Maurice Sendak
Margaret Wise Brown
That faraway smell of paper with ink
We breathe in together as we turn the pages
Your warm body snuggled next to mine
Bedtime story time
That daily ritual
Like the morning cereal with “mook”
Our adventures gliding on the stroller
We forget when it ended
Just the way I was never sure
When you’d fallen asleep
IMPOSTER
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 6, 2026
We laugh at the jokes
Ride the bus standing still
Show up at the office
Read emails
Take a lunch break
After the Zoom
A shadow
Lining the landscape
Never questioning
No matter how illiterate or inane
Devoted to being normal
Uncontested, conforming, proven
Making sure
That deadly darkness
Never shows
Except in poetry
Scribbled in secret
Like silent gems
CONVERSATION
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 7, 2026
My recent poem “What Do You Think” is perfect for today’s word, “Conversation.” And the perfect song below by Ryu Miho.
Years ago, I went to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. Today, I saw the works again in Tokyo. I once asked my partner if Van Gogh was happy having all these people gawking at his works, likely for the wrong reasons. And he assured me Van Gogh was happy.
Alien
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 9, 2026
Ching Chong Chinaman
Sitting on a fence
That sing-song taunt
That face in your face
Skin stretched way back
Till eyes are slanted slits
The freckled boy
Spits out that word
Laughing on the school bus
I had to come home and
Ask my father
What it meant: Jap
EMERGENCY
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 10, 2026
The ground shook and shook
On that day, March 11, 2011,
For a very long time
The earth was heaving madly
It felt like everything was ready to end
But that was just the beginning
Smoke spewed on the TV news
As reactors sank into meltdowns
In the worst nuclear disaster since Chernobyl
LULLABYE
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 11. 2026
Neeen nen Okohrori Okohroriyoooo
Booya wa Iiikoda Neeen ne Shi nah
You would always start crying
When I sang that old lullabye
Not crying sad
But just soooooo moved
Though you probably didn’t
Understand the words
It’s a feeling
Handed down generations
Over starry nights
From the Edo Era
No one remembers the writers
But all mothers sing
That mother of songs
So hushed you can barely hear it
You are so precious
You are a good boy
We have so much to do tomorrow
But let’s go to sleep now
CANDLE
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 12, 2026
Can’t have them lit
Around the house
Because Japan has
Earthquakes
So it’s not safe
Although their flickering flames
Wafting wax scent
Glimmering glow of soft orange
We all remember growing up
When the power went out
After the shakings
And we look at each other
Bright round faces
Gathered around fear
Staring together
At that one source of light
TRIBE
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 13, 2026
Mono no aware
To be or not to be
Things fall apart
A room of one’s own
The sound of water
One hundred years of solitude
So blessed we are
To be natives
Of this eternal tribe
7-ELEVEN
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 14, 2026
She’s punching the cash register
The name tag says “Pretty” in romaji,
Her mother chose that name
The newborn was so pretty
I don’t ask her where she is from
Maybe Vietnam, maybe China, I don’t ask
It’s enough that she is Pretty
I remember being in Pyongyang
For a reporting trip many years ago,
The young man assigned to guide us
Told me he knows a Japanese song
Then sang in perfect Japanese
Konnichiwa akachan
Hello, my little baby, hello
ELSEWHERE
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 15, 2026
This is the song that should be playing in the background for my poem.
It’s been months
But you are still here
Your guitar
A closet drawer filled with Hanes underwear
Joe Pass Chord Solos
The note you wrote to yourself
On a piece of recycled cardboard:
“What is depression if not life stripped of its illusions”
Like all your notes, words scribbled and sheet music,
The amp in that huge black case with wheels
You wanted to give away to Hide
You told me you can no longer play
But I wanted to keep it and still do
Just like I never will let you go
I will keep seeing you, feeling your touch
Talk to me, talk to yourself,
Whispering our son’s name again and again
Then the magic words: “My son”
Please stay
Close
Here
This whole challenge has made me write things I’d never had thought of writing. That’s because we almost always start with our own topics, whatever we have been thinking about. We take that for granted. Now we have to reach to places we wouldn’t have otherwise gone, like scratching that spot on your back. Or feeling something in your brain behind your ear give. It’s sometimes a painful experience. But you know it’s good for you, as a poet, as a person who is alive, and a part of humanity, as that is what this group reminds us there is.
FRAME
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 16, 2026
Many years ago,
I knew a violin player
Raymond Cheng
Really a genius
Known as The Wizard
Recorded with Lester Bowie
Wild glorious notes coming from nowhere
And then sinking deep in people’s souls
Skinny, soft-spoken,
Raymond once asked me at Jigoku’s, a J-town bar,
To watch his violin
And being so young and scattered
I didn’t pay much attention to his instrument
Which probably cost as much as a luxury car
I was told, wow, he really likes you,
Raymond asking you to watch his violin
As though that was very special
But it was no more special
Than the innocence of youth
The love songs we wrote to hum by the day
And the stars that became gems at night
CRYSTAL
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 17, 2026
The little crystal snowflake hanging from a branch
Flashes a mini rainbow on our apartment ceiling
Always glimmering clearly if you care to look
Though it has all these colors inside, ready to break out
It’s like how you just smile when I say the most horrid things
About your music, that it wasn’t yours at all,
But the geniuses you played with
You knew I was just angry
And I love you, and your music, so much
You, being wise to the crystal-clear fact
That it’s everybody’s music
OVERFLOW
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 18, 2026
Tears are stored in your system. They come out when the valve gets turned. Unfortunately, the valve is not in your control. At first, when the sorrow hits, it’s numb and doesn’t turn on at all. There are no tears. After about half a year, for some reason, the tears start coming, but there is still no control. It happens when you see objects that remind you of this happening, this person, this sorrow, the memories. Often in the morning. But sometimes at night, too. I am not sure what the experts say. If it’s good for your state of mind, soothing and healing and therapeutic. Or if it just makes things worse. And it’s better to try to forget. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t really have a choice. It goes on for years, I’m told. Because the love you feel is so much greater than all the tears combined.
TRACE
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 19. 2026
My son Isaku made a song using AI Sono from my poem. It’s really nice so please check it out from the SoundCloud link below:
This photo my friend saved from many years back just popped up on social media. That’s Columbo back when I was a student at Cornell. Isn’t he so perfectly gorgeous? I probably have photos of Pyonta somewhere, too.
MIRROR
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 26, 2026
I hate seeing my reflection in the mirror.
I always look away.
It’s not that I consider myself utterly ugly.
I’m just embarrassed.
The same way I can never smile in photos.
That person looking back, oddly visible.
When a face should be simply a window
Used to look out from what’s within.
SKELETON
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 27, 2026
My poet friend says
She is a top candidate
To be one of those people
In the news lately
Who’re found dead
Alone in their Apartments
Days, weeks, maybe months after;
No one cared to notice
Until a strange smell wafted
Through the door?
Kodokushi, it’s called in Japan,
Yes, there is a special term,
So common here,
Where the population is aging
And no one is getting married
Or having children;
One’s fate is to die alone
Some check into nursing homes ahead of time
Those less fortunate get found after the fact
LIES
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 28, 2026
You tell me I look nice
When I get my hair done
Or wear a new outfit
Never mind
I usually have to point out
I got my hair done or bought new clothes
It’s just to say: I love you
The same way I love you
And always have, from the day we met
So many many many many years ago
It’s not a lie; of course, not
Because nothing has changed
The absolute, never changing, total truth
POP
Sharing a poetry reading from seven years ago by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 29, 2026
A collaboration with artist Munenori Tamagawa, who considers himself the Basquiat of Japan, Radio the Artist, who live-painted with Munenori and did the video below, and Hirokazu Jackson Suyama on percussion. Our bit starts at 6:00 minutes, and it fits the word for today, “POP.”
SMILE
by Yuri Kageyama
Jan. 30, 2026
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
Today’s word was “Smile.” This is a poem I wrote some years ago but it seemed to fit the bill, although the original title was “The Crooked Smile,” but “Smile” is a better title. I remember like it was yesterday, that moment, and how happy he was _ the man, who’d just become a father. He carried the swaddled newborn around in the hospital like it was the most precious thing. The saxophone player who was his best friend laughed and said when his son was born a few years ago, he’d thrown him in the air. I hope that wasn’t moments after the birth. Birth is a wonderful moment. And welcoming this special person into this world is a big smile that we should remember forever. Stop crying. Smile.
A song about love with Words written by Yuri Kageyama and Music and song by Ryu Miho
what do you think?
it’s a trick question
what do you think?
with a right answer
what do you think?
not at all open-ended
what do you think?
as it might seem
what do you think?
it’s asking do you really love me?
do you truly understand?
what do you think?
the answer isn’t fixed
just a right answer, and a wrong
what do you think?
i love you so much
what do you think?
and long after we’re all gone
what do you think?
that big question is still there
what do you think?
what do you think?
Lovers are always asking each other: “What do you think?” and getting upset if their lover doesn’t quite get it, or answers he or she felt something about an artwork or a film they just saw together in a different way from what you’re feeling, or thought the feeling should be, or whatever. It’s really a fruitless game, but it’s one all lovers play, all the time, throughout history, wherever they are, any nation, any culture. Because ultimately you’re just asking: Do you love me? And there is no right answer or a wrong one. Just that moment you share, you are both here, alive but together on this little beautiful planet, lost in the cosmos, and we never know what to think anyway.
And this version as arranged and performed by Toshiyuki Turner Tanahashi.
The poem as sung by Miho Ryu with music arranged and performed by Toshiyuki Turner Tanahashi.
Love Simply
To be near hurts
To be far hurts, too
Love simply hurts
To live hurts
To die hurts
Love simply hurts
Watching you die
Hurts even more
Love simply hurts
To know you hurts
To have known you hurts
Love simply hurts
But to not know you,
Not hurt for you
Is simply not a choice
Love simply hurts
Love simply hurts
Love simply hurts
「愛はただ痛い」
a poem by Yuri Kageyama translated into Japanese by Ryu Miho
近くにいるのもまた辛い
遠くにいるのもまた辛い
愛はただ痛い
生きるのもまた辛い
死ぬのもまた辛い
愛はただ痛い
あなたが死ぬのを見るのは
もっと辛い
愛はただ痛い
あなたを知るのもまた辛い
あなたを知っていたのもまた辛い
愛はただ痛い
でも、あなたを知らないのは
あなたのために傷つかないのは
ただ選択できない
愛はただ痛い
愛はただ痛い
愛はただ痛い
A rendition by Teru Kawabata with his singing and guitar. August 2025.
This poem, now lyrics to a song, was written in 2023. It is still developing, but I feel it has come full circle. It still makes me cry. My love is still so very real and, I know, eternal, which means the pain will never go away. It is overwhelming and frightening. But I now know many people feel this way. It is a feeling that comes only with someone you truly love. The wonderful thing is that I was able to show him my poem. He just said, “I feel loved.” The look he had on his face was like a child, totally fulfilled and happy. And what else is a poem meant to do?
I read “Love Simply” with music by Jackson on drums and Teru singing and playing guitar of the music he wrote at an open-mic in Tokyo Oct. 5, 2025. Thanks for having us and being such a fun crowd.
I read my poem “Love Simply” with Teruyuki Kawabata on guitar and Osaki Haniya, fellow poet and co-writer of “Continuously Poetry,” at Bar Gari Gari in Ikenoue, Tokyo, Sept. 19, 2025. Thanks to the Drunk Poets for having us.
Besides the Book Party, I also earlier read “Love Simply” with Teru at Infinity Books, on Oct. 11, 2025. Before I read, I told the people at the jam session that the poem was about my partner of more than 40 years, who died in April. I don’t think I ever said that in public about my poem. I also told them that I showed him the poem before he died, and he told me he felt loved. You know how you feel a bit drained, depressed even, after reading your work. But one young man who was there to jam told me he liked my poem, then said: “Your husband is one helluva lucky man.” That made it all worth it. And I thanked him.
People say things have little meaning, and it’s just the person or the emotions that the thing reminds you of that have meaning. Sometimes they are one and the same thing because if you have something for more than 40 years, that certainly means something, and that thing has a meaning of its own. People leave, taking off from this world and going somewhere very far. But the thing stays. And it continues to tell us what that person means. Because that person never really leaves. He is always here, just like, or even more than, that thing. This is the fourth in a series that follows this third piece, which has a link that connects to the previous pieces.
