dedalus Posted December 10, 2009 Share Posted December 10, 2009 I sit rigidly upright, silent in my Japanese room: tatami mats the walls squared away the hanging scroll. Don't forget the garbage, the wife trills out and the door clicks shut: she is away to work. I pull out the shining sword and lay it upon my lap sharp as a bastard you could shave with this fucker. Breathe in, breathe out, become Japanese. I stare at the scroll trying to make out the Kanji this looks like "world" and "within" and then there's a load of squiggly pigeonshit and then the sirens kick in, the ambulances, dragging heartsore victims to clapped-out hospitals. I stare some more at the scroll. Stare long enough and you might learn something. I like this summer kimono it allows you to scratch your balls comfortably, no need for zips or retainers and the squirrels, they run about in the trees, beyond the window, they run about in the piece of the wood where we had to bury poor fuckin Paul. They haven't found him yet; chances are they never will. The good thing about this room is that it has no mirrors. I mean to say, you don't need to look at yourself. Ever. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
badger11 Posted December 10, 2009 Share Posted December 10, 2009 Earthy, eloquent. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lake Posted December 10, 2009 Share Posted December 10, 2009 This sounds like a typical Japanese man ( and a samurai?). What does he do while his wife is out at work? The whole poem reads very smoothly, no fat. I particularly like the mention of mirrors at the end. Thanks for the nice read. Lake Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dedalus Posted December 10, 2009 Author Share Posted December 10, 2009 Yeh, well, this is a Japanese poem. Everything seems calm on the surface but there is a maelstrom of hidden feelings underneath. In cruder terms, think of a duck: he seems to be moving placidly across the water but in reality, unseen, he's paddling like fuck. Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tonyv Posted December 12, 2009 Share Posted December 12, 2009 This poem makes me think of the movie "Mystic River" with Sean Penn -- same mannerisms, same somehow bleak scene, just a different setting. The poet's an Irishman, Paul's probably not Japanese -- there's definitely lots of paddling going on below the surface. Tony Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dedalus Posted December 12, 2009 Author Share Posted December 12, 2009 Spot on, Tony ... not much gets by you! It saves a lot on explanations. Bren Quote Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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