Sabishi

Poems from Japan

David Hassler

• Editorial: The Kent State University Press
• Año: 1994
• ISBN:
  9781631011146
• Categoría: Literatur
• Categoría: Poesie

These poems are like yen the color and the size of dollars. They are American poems, they are English, but they almost seem like versions of the Japanese. The music is lovely and the form is graceful. They are a delight to read.-Gerald Stem

O-BON

In sweltering August, on the last night

of o-bon, the three-day festival for the dead,

I arrive in the village of Komagome.

Families sit out at night on their front porches,

drinking tea or sake and tasting sweets,

wearing those cotton robes they slip into

after bathing—bright, loose yukatas.

Doors are left wide: orange paper lanterns

flicker to light the way for the dead,

who are invited to return to their homes.

Tables are set with their favorite foods

and flowers, instruments and books laid out

that they might want to use again.

On the first day the families went to meet

the souls of the dead at the water’s edge,

and tonight they will accompany them back.

Everyone is gathered in a small park,

the ground neatly raked. Lanterns hang

from trees and around a small wooden stage,

where women in kimonos dance slowly in a circle

to the music of drum and flute.

One summer I danced the polka

with my mother on a bandstand downtown

at the corner of Main and Water. We galloped

and spun as I held her hand, feeling the back

of the nylon dress she had sewn, white

with a little red and blue somewhere in it.

Here, the women lift their arms, appearing

only slightly from sleeves, where

plum blossoms and cranes drop softly away.

They turn their hands like fans and dance alone.

If I could I would find my mother’s dress.

I would pick a bouquet of dandelions and place

the soft hearts of artichokes on clean,

shiny plates. I would put on the Mamas and the Papas

or Blood, Sweat and Tears; leave by the back door,

the house bright and open behind me,

and down to the river,

curving just beyond our yard,

to meet her at the ...