what do you think? a poem by Yuri Kageyama

what do you think?

a poem by Yuri Kageyama

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?

“CONTINUOUSLY POETRY” MY NEW BOOK OF POEMS

“CONTINUOUSLY POETRY” My new book of poems

“CONTINUOUSLY POETRY” My new book of poems, a collaboration with Osaki HANIYA. Out as a real paper book January 2025. Please stay tuned for a big book party _ you are all invited to come celebrate poetry that knows no borders. Some poems shared on this site earlier became a part of the book: Continuously Poetry, Part Two and KELOID. I am very proud of this book. Special thanks to Shinsuke, who volunteered his time and love to put the digital data together so we could get it all nicely printed. So please come to the book party, but I already said that. Details coming soon.

KELOID _ a Poem by Yuri Kageyama

Artwork by Hokusai

This poem is part of an upcoming book “Continuously Poetry,” co-written with Japanese poet Osaki HANIYA, and put together by designer Shinsuke Matsumoto. I like this poem, and I like this book.

KELOID _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama

A famous actor once told me

He wished he didn’t have a Face.

Oiwa in Yotsuya Kaidan asks:

Is this my Face?

Criminals feel free to do evil

Their Faces behind a mask.

I still remember I cringed in horror:   

Her Face was covered with Keloid

But instead of being a vengeful ghost,

Or criminally insane,

She is just gently worried

Not blaming

Not frail

Not vain

My Poem “My Mother Takes a Bath” in This

I chanced upon this speech by Monique Truong at the Library of Congress in 2019, “The Pleasures of Not Being Lonely.” Below is what she says about my poem, “My Mother Takes a Bath.” I still like this poem. I’m proud and happy Monique likes my poetry _ and thank her:

“I want to share with you a poem by Yuri Kageyama, whose photograph in the anthology was a canvas of pitch black, with only her face, the waves of her hair, and a standing mic emerging from the darkness; her eyes are cast downward, focused on the instrument that is amplifying her voice. Her biographical statement identifies her as a “performer” who was born in Japan; grew up in Tokyo, Maryland, and Alabama; and now calls San Francisco her home. This poem is entitled “My Mother Takes a Bath,” and the body is at its center. This is how it begins:

My mother

Sits

In the round uterine

rippling green water

hazy vapor-gray dampness

soapy smelling

in the air—a circle cloud—above 

the tub of a bath

the wet old wood

sending sweet stenches

sometimes piercing to her nose and sometimes

swimming in the hot, hot water

tingling numb at the toes and fingertips

when she moves too quickly but

lukewarm caught in the folds of her white white belly

Her face is brown-spottled

beautiful with dewdrop beads of sweat lined neatly where

her forehead joins her black wavy tired hair

and above her brown-pink lips

one drop lazily hangs, droops over,

sticking teasingly to her wrinkle

then pling! falls gently

playfully disappears into the water

She sighs

And touches her temple

high and naked

runs her fingers over the lines deep

Her hand

has stiff knuckles

enlarged joints crinkled and hardened

but her thick nails thaw in the water and

her hand is 

light

against her face

and gentle and knowing

and the palm

next to her bony thumb

is soft

Her breasts are blue-white clear

with soft brown nipples that dance

floating with the movements of the

waves of the little ocean tub

slowly, a step behind time, slowly

She sighs again . . .

For me, the pleasure of recognizing a kindred body, a family of kindred bodies, was followed in quick succession by the pleasure of recognizing the kindred spirit.”

It turns out that Keiko Beppu also referenced the poem “My Mother Takes a Bath” in her 1981 essay, “Women in Contemporary Anglo-American and Japanese Literature: Of Cherry Blossoms, and Weeds.”

This is what she says:

“Throughout history woman as the eternal nourisher of life has given herself freely because it has been decreed as her sole function in life _ to give. More than two decades ago Lindbergh posed the question: but is it purposeful living? In the poem quoted above, an old Japanese woman asks the same question, and answers in the affirmative. The old woman forgets the passing of time and ages, ‘As she sits alone/With the water/singing koto strings in her ears.’ This is a twilight world of serenity and pseudo-contentment.”

Gratitude _ a poem by Shuntaro Tanikawa Translated by Yuri Kageyama

My translation of Tanikawa’s final poem

I wake up
I see the foliage in my yard
I remember yesterday
I’m still alive

Today just needs to be more of yesterday
That’s how I think
I have no plans to do a thing

Nothing hurts
I’m not itchy either but I’m grateful
To whom in the world?

To God?
To the world? To outer space?
I don’t know but
A sense of gratitude stays

My AP Obit Nov. 19, 2024 on Shuntaro Tanikawa

RENSHI A poetic collaboration Part Two By Osaki Haniya and Yuri Kageyama

Our journey continues. Clich here for the first part of our journey. Below is where we pick up, from May through July 2024. The odd number installments are by Osaki Haniya and the even numbers are by yours truly. The theme is supposed to be “love,” although, as always, we go all over the place.

RENSHI

A poetic collaboration Part Two

By Osaki Haniya and Yuri Kageyama

連詩 第2弾

あなたと交わるのは

薄く大気が身動きする砂塵のあわい

雨と風と時が

廃墟の親和性を完成してくれる

そうだったね

徐々に思い出していくよ

倦んだ傷口と解剖メスの

刹那の痛み

白灰色の泥絵の具に

厚塗りの膠を重ねて

2

Native American Wisdom as Told by Urie Bronfenbrenner

A hip bone defect

Runs down family lines;

When they become warriors,

Some born

Can’t go riding

Can’t go hunting;

A brave white scientist

Maps out Blood

Lineage  

Crooks and crannies,

Buried in Genes;

No child will ever be born again

With a hobbled spine,

No such child will be born again

The brave white scientist is excited

“I have figured this all out,” he says;

“I know. I know.” 

But all the wise chief does

Is shake his head,

Deep pools of knowing  

Beneath the eagle feathers,

And he says these Words

That say it All: 

“We believe in Love.

We believe in Love.”

3

よく眠りなさいと言った母の声も届かない遠方に来て

無(なるもの)への郷愁など持ったこともなく

久しぶりに新古今和歌集を開いている

ーー草枕 旅寝の人は 心せよ

  有明の月も かたぶきにけり

辻を回ると養源院

異国の共犯者が作り上げた不在の輪郭に惹かれ

苦痛と憐れみと嫌悪感と

程よく煽られる感情の臭気と

あなたの所在を見失っても

迷うことはできないと知る退屈さと

4

(With introduction and music playing Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together)  

I, I’m so in love with you

Whatever you want to do

Is alright with me

Cause you make me feel so brand new

And I want to spend my life with you

I bury the body, bloated and sagging,

Fat fingers that no longer hold

あなたの身振りに習うなら

臨床的良心によって射ち、つらぬき

微細な歪みを調合しなおし

名付け

印を彫り

忘却の漆喰から奪い取るでしょう

on Friday night, May 31th CE714

北海を渡ってタイン川へ向かう船室に り戻

紅茶が運ばれてくるまで眠った

すべては襖 の黄金のなか絵

あなたのノックで、やがて

夜の salutation が始まる

6

Romeo and Juliet in Kabuki

Where there was a Balcony is a River divide

Star-crossed lovers flee in the dark

Clinging to each other like souls driven mad

Chikamatsu writes of Double Suicide

Puppets more human in frenzied destiny

And Shakespeare simply asks:

Wherefore art thou?

7

偏愛する友人たち

娘たちが眠りに就くころ

荒れた穂先を尖らせる

風に解けだす辰砂

ペルシャ赤

スペイン赤

答えを求めているわけではないけれど

私は信仰を持たないままです

8

The homeless guy in my neighborhood who is always reading just got a new cute tiger puppet he keeps perched on his cart.

It looks like he washed it recently. It looks so perky.

Today, he had a new wand with a pink pony on it.

You found these?

I wasn’t sure what to expect. Some homeless people aren’t very friendly.

But this guy just looked bewildered. Then he said: You can have it.

It broke my heart.

No, that’s yours.

He has nothing.

And he was going to give me his new toy.

9

白象図

展開部はアレグロ・アッサイ

白色の下塗りが

微かに足音を響かせ

次第に高まり

^

火や花々

産声を上げるディ・モルトを け抜

それから不意に行く手を遮った

^

耳の砂

砂の匂い

夥しいマティエールの間で脚を開き

ゆっくりと押し付けてくるあなたの舌

^

聞き取れない声で呼ぶ

強暴な、母の名

^

風が吹く

引っ掛けるのだ

呼びとめ

伝えてほしいって

^

心配しなくていいんだよって

何かを欲しがったことなど

一度だってないんだよって

^

黒みがかった灰色の

黒ほとんど黄金色の

白象図

^

あなたは描き

ねじり

吊り下げる

^

此処から向きを える

変どちらかといえば少し歪んでいるあなたの肩

そこから遠く海が眺められる

^

なんという静けさだろう

幾つになったのとか

あのとき言っただろうことの意味を考えていた

^

何度もあなたは立ち止まる

そこだけ積もった冷気を吐き出しながら

*俵屋宗達『白象図』

10

Today inside Tokyo’s pristine acoustics

Of Meguro Persimmon Hall

A Japanese cellist played 

Ryuichi Sakamoto’s score for

Bernado Bertolucci’s “The Sheltering Sky,”

Love-torn and blistered by the Morocco sand,

An Africa covered with flies, indigenous yelps,

Fevers that derange:  

If Sakamoto was inspired by Debussy

And Debussy was inspired by Asian music,

Has it all come back

Full circle?

Gone

Around this vast complicated War-ravaged ready-to-crack World

To settle quietly

As that tiny ache

Inside our chest?

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

FEARLESS AT 90 a poem by Yuri Kageyama

FEARLESS AT 90 a poem by Yuri Kageyama

I am fearless at 90

Wrinkles deep as the Nile

Hair translucent spiderwebs

Varicose veins throbbing blood

A map of fate on a carcass of skin

I am fearless at 90 

I rap poetry with my dentures

Jazz dance with my wobbly knees

I rock like Jimi Hendrix

We Boomers invented Revolution

I am fearless at 90

I’m so close to the pearly gates

I’m on speaking terms with the angels

I’m so near-sighted I read minds

My fungus breath slays dragons

I am fearless at 90

My wheelchair zips Ferrari-style

My voice resonates five octaves low

My cane duplicates as a samurai sword

My hearing aid just blocks out noise

I am fearless at 90  

I have no appointments to keep

No bosses to please

No dates to impress

No one can put me down

I am fearless at 90

I barely remember what’s up or down

Or who is where anymore;

Beyond gender, race, class,

Or even age

I am fearless at 90

My skin like washi paper

My fingers gnarled like a witch

I am neither man nor woman

White, black, brown or yellow.

I am just 90, and fearless:

Those days are long gone,

Not trusting anyone over 30,

I’ve given birth to a thousand children

And have a million grandchildren

I am fearless at 90

Although death is around the corner,

I’ve seen war and peace

Endured abuse to survive;

Don’t expect or need respect

I’m proud to be fearless at 90

^___<

Note from the poet:

I am not yet 90, but I feel this way and wrote this poem.

When I’m 90, I will write my real fearless at 90 poem.

The poem was published in the Winter 2024 issue of KONCH MAGAZINE.

More with Turner at this link.

CONTINUOUSLY POETRY a bilingual collaboration by Osaki HANIYA and Yuri Kageyama with Toshiyuki “Turner” Tanahashi on bass

At What the Dickens in Tokyo June 2, 2024. Haniya Osaki, Yuri Kageyama and Toshiyuki Turner Tanahashi. Photo by On Lim Wong.

CONTINUOUSLY POETRY a bilingual collaboration by Osaki HANIYA (all even entries) and Yuri Kageyama (odd entries) with Toshiyuki “Turner” Tanahashi (on bass). Tokyo. April 13, 2024.

1

Abortions, still births, defects at birth

Violent parents, cheating partners

Children who leave and never look back,

Cancer, dementia, the funeral wake.

Family of Errors

Betrayal, Psychosis:

If God created people perfect,  

We would just miss them too much,

When they die 

2

木漏れ日がさらさらと揺れて

靴の紐を固く締め上げる指先を撫で回す

1922年、T.S.Eliotは書いた

April is the cruelest  month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land

越冬用の木の実とともに今も

シマリスは瓦礫の下に横たわっている

3

ファミレスとはよくいったもんだ

愛おしい家族よ

ジョナサン、デニーズ

サイゼリア

虐待のスパゲティ

Sexual abuse ice cream

痣だらけのお子様ランチ

4

十字路を渡りかけて振り返ると

見知らぬ小さな人が 呟く

missing link

5

Searched for the names of 

Isaku’s Granpa and Granma; 

Made sure they were there: 

Their names, 

Years of birth 1923 and 1924,  

And Minidoka

Then shed a quiet tear. 

Ireizo-dot-com

125,179 Persons of Japanese Ancestry are known to have been incarcerated by the U.S. Government during WWII. 

We vow to remember them all. 

_ written Feb. 19, 2024

Remembering Executive Order 9066 on This Day.

6

山雪〈老梅〉の

四面の狂い

反対色

描きとどめ

回り続ける歳月の二針を

焼き付けても

ひと枝の花

金箔の首筋に熱

記憶というのは幾つくらいから始まるのだろう

白衣の老人が顔を寄せ合ってこちらを覗き込んでいる

見上げると茫洋とした灯りが

ゆっくりゆっくり旋回している

自転車に乗れるようになった頃

朝早くに母の使いで近くの寺へ行った帰り

停車中のトラックに自転車もろとも突っ込んだ

左膝にめり込んだ小石が私そっくりに笑っていた

剥落しているところがあるかもしれない

溢れた塩酸の夢

過度の奏上

エクスタシス排斥し

     * 狩野山雪〈老梅〉

7 (an English translation of sorts of 6)

 Sansetsu’s “Old Plum”

Madness across the surface,

Opposite colors 

He’s painted.  

Two switches from a spinning full moon 

Scalding

Sole flower on a branch

Turns to fever on a nape gilded with gold.

How old are we when memories begin?

Huddled old figures wearing white peer toward us; 

A vast light above

Slowly, so slowly, spinning.  

When I first learned how to ride a bicycle,

On my way back from the temple, running a morning errand for my mother, 

I slam into a parked truck, bicycle and all,

The pebble stuck in my left knee laughs, looking just like me. 

Maybe some parts have flaked off;

Overflowing acidic dreams

Excessive prayers

In exclusion of ecstasy

8

瓦礫の下で目を見開く2歳の私に

母の投身を描き終えた白昼の月に

欠損した踝から頭蓋へ

怒りの破裂を腑分けして

アイボリーブラック

ボーンブラック

1.82×1.225メートルの

ドロップブラック

始めましょう

展覧会

9

I know not where I am when I wake up

America or Japan

Hong Kong or Morocco

Heaven or Hell or Heaven on Earth

It groggily matters not whether Death

Or Life;

Purpose has Vanished

Never existed from the Start _

Not knowing, not mattering,

Like this poem That Is

At least Something,   

A wispy dream ending without sadness,

This last one from me

And one more from you.

10

別れの言葉

逡巡して

沈默を覆う渇いた唇

かつて私はヒトだった

もうヒトではない  

たくさん旅をした

国家

暴力

歪な科学が

じりじりと確実に腐生するなら

透層剤すべてが失われ

骨組み以外は何も残らず

わずかに装っていた善良さを

抹殺するだろう

MY POETRY IN ISHMAEL REED’S KONCH

My Poetry in Ishmael Reed’s KONCH

My poetry gets published in Ishmael Reed’s KONCH MAGAZINE.

“Fearless at 90” in KONCH magazine Winter 2024 issue.

What a thrill. And what company I keep.

My reading of the poem with bass by Toshiyuki “Turner” Tananashi. Tokyo 2024.

My Poetry and Essays in Ishmael Reed’s THE PLAGUE ISSUES OF KONCH 2023

My Poetry and Essays in Ishmael Reed‘s THE PLAGUE ISSUES OF KONCH 2023

Ishmael and Tennessee Reed collected 62 contributions from people in China, Japan, Europe, Africa and the U.S. to write about their COVID experiences. And one of them is yours truly. The online collection of works crisscrossing the world and spanning two issues of KONCH literary magazine is coming out as a real-life book publication in 2024. On the cover is a photo taken in Venice of the poet, playwright, novelist, essayist, thinker and my forever mentor Ishmael Reed, standing next to a plague doctor (who else?) I am so happy, excited and honored. I can’t wait to get a copy.