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

Loving Younger Men _ a poem by Yuri Kageyama in collaboration with Yui Shikakura on shamisen and song

“Loving Younger Men,” a poem written by Yuri Kageyama, read by Yuri Kageyama with Yui Shikakura on shamisen and singing at Bar Gari Gari in Tokyo at a Drunk Poets See God gathering Dec. 22, 2017. Her song is traditional Japanese “kudoki,” in which a woman talks about being abandoned by her lover, a genre that is sad but also an erotic celebration.
“Loving Younger Men” was first published in BEYOND RICE, A BROADSIDE SERIES, Mango Publications and NOLO Press, 1979.
Loving Younger Men
a poem by Yuri Kageyama
Only the bodies of young men aroused her; the pure innocence in their wide dark eyes, the wild still animal strength in their muscles, the smoothness of their skin, so shiny, stretched out over their boy-like shoulders, flat stomachs, abdominals rippling gently, their thick thighs that could thrust forever into the night, their soft moist lips, where their tonges, so delicious, dwelt, which darted against, into her vagina, making her moan with joy, forgetting everything, which felt so strong against her own tongue at one moment, yet another, seemed to melt like caramel in the back of her throat, their dry fingers, that touched her in the most unexpected and expecting spots, their penises, half-covered by their black curls, seemed smaller, less developed, less threatening, yet as their shoulders strangely widened when they held her, their penises filled her, pointed against her deepest uterine insides, hurting her with a pleasurable pain, as though she could sense with her hand, their movements from outside her belly. Her father beat her as a girl. She ran from him, crying, please don’t hit me! please don’t hit me! No, rather she stood defiant, silent, silent tears drunk down her chest, till he, in anger or fear, slapped her again and again, once so hard she was swung across the room, once on her left ear so that she could not hear for three weeks. She frequented bars, searching for young men who desired her. She sat alone drinking. She preferred the pretty effeminate types _ perfectly featured, a Michelangelo creation, island faces with coral eyes, faces of unknown tribal child-princes. To escape her family, she eloped at sixteen, with an alchoholic. who tortured her every night, binding her with ropes, sticking his penis into her mouth until she choked, hitting her face into bruises, kicking her in the stomach, aborting her child, his child. The young boys’ heads, she would hold, after orgasm, rocking them in her arms. She would kiss the side of their tanned necks, breathe in the ocean scent of their hair, lick their ear lobes and inside their ears. When they fell asleep, sprawled like a puppy upon her sheets, their mouths open, she would lie awake watching, watching, watching, admiring their bodies, how so aesthetically formed, balanced, textured. What she enjoyed the most was their fondling her breasts, suckling, massaging the flesh, flicking the tongue against the nipple, biting, sucking till her nipples were red-hot for days. She could come just by this, without penetration. When she is alone, she cries. In the dark, she reaches upwards, into the air, grabbing nothing.

Poet Yuri Kageyama, Drummer Pheeroan akLaff and Filmmaker Yoshiaki Tago

YURI KAGEYAMA, a poet of both worlds Japan and America, American drummer PHEEROAN AKLAFF and Japanese filmmaker YOSHIAKI TAGO come together to tell a pan-Pacific tale of pain, love and survival that defies racism and sexism over moments and generations.

Witness, celebrate and join in this exhilarating crossing of barriers of cultures and genres to debunk stereotypes and find free expression.

MON Aug. 6, 2012. 8 p.m. (door opens 7:30 p.m.)
at Live space plan-B (4-26-20 B1 Yayoicho Nakano-ku, TOKYO.
FREE ADMISSION (Donations welcome for plan-B).

Yuri Kageyama is the author of “The New and Selected Yuri: Writing From Peeling Till Now.” Her works, winning praise from literary giants like Ishmael Reed and Shuntaro Tanikawa, appear in “Y’Bird,” “Pow Wow,” “Breaking Silence,” “On a Bed of Rice,” “Konch” and “Phati’tude.” She has read with Eric Kamau Gravatt, Isaku Kageyama, Ashwut Rodriguez, Seamus Heaney, Shozu Ben, Victor Hernandez Cruz and the Broun Fellinis.
http://yurikageyama.com

Pheeroan AkLaff is a New York-based drummer and composer. He has played with Rashied Ali, Oliver Lake, Henry Threadgill, Cecil Taylor, Yosuke Yamashita and Andrew Hill. A headliner at many festivals including Moers and Nurnberg, he is in Japan on the “Dear Freedom Suite” tour with Jun Miyake and Toshiki Nagata. He has led an ensemble dedicated to John Coltrane’s music. He teaches at Wesleyan University.
http://pheeroanaklaff.com

Yoshiaki Tago directed “Worst Contact,” “Believer” and “Maid in Akihabara,” and served as assistant director on many Japanese feature films. A graduate of the prestigious Japan Academy of Moving Images, Tago frequently works on TV shows and promotional videos for pop artists, major companies and government projects. He is documenting Kageyama’s readings with music in a work-in-progress “Talking TAIKO.”

For more information, email yurikageyama@yahoo.com or 090-4594-2911

A TOKYO FLOWER CHILDREN production