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Atlas Poetica 17
ATLAS POETICA A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka Number 17 Spring, 2014 M. Kei, editor Amora Johnson, technical director Yancy Carpentier, editorial assistant 2014 Keibooks, Perryville, Maryland, USA KEIBOOKS P O Box 516 Perryville, Maryland, USA 21903 AtlasPoetica.org [email protected] Atlas Poetica A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka Copyright © 2014 by Keibooks All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers and scholars who may quote brief passages. See our EDUCATIONAL USE NOTICE. Atlas Poetica : A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka, a triannual print and e-journal, is dedicated to publishing and promoting fine poetry of place in modern English tanka (including variant forms). Atlas Poetica is interested in both traditional and innovative verse of high quality and in all serious attempts to assimilate the best of the Japanese waka/tanka/kyoka/gogyoshi genres into a continuously developing English short verse tradition. In addition to verse, Atlas Poetica publishes articles, essays, reviews, interviews, letters to the editor, etc., related to tanka poetry of place. Tanka in translation from around the world are welcome in the journal. ISBN 978-0615913575 (Print) TABLE OF CONTENTS Editorial Educational Use Notice...............................4 Urban Tanka, M. Kei....................................5 Tanka in Sets and Sequences First Beledi, Deborah Kolodji & Genie Nakano.................................................7 La Cavaliere de Minuit / Midnight Ride / Jinete de la media noche, Genie Nakano.................8 ageing : a tight tanka string, Sanford Goldstein9 Through Delauney’s Windows, Alhama Garcia ................................................10 Futility 2.0, Grunge....................................11 Drying Dishes with Mom, Joan-Dianne Smith..................................................11 By the Railroad Tracks, Sergio Ortiz.............12 coup de grâce, Sergio Ortiz...........................12 refugees, Sergio Ortiz...................................13 Becoming Visible, Sergio Ortiz......................13 Things I Should Have Learnt By Now, Violette Rose-Jones..........................................13 Not in Your Name, Sonam Chhoki...............14 Rail Trail, Andrea J. Hargrove...................14 A True Story, Grunge...................................14 Breakfast crumbs, Terri L. French.................15 Gathering, Marilyn Humbert.......................15 The Opening, Gerry Jacobson......................16 The Red Baron, M. Kei................................17 Circular Tanka, Brendan Slater...................17 Hometown, Kath Abela Wilson & Brian Zimmer...............................................18 a home without walls, Seánan Forbes ............19 Corridors, Matsukaze...................................20 Dark Orrin, Matsukaze...............................20 Finding Myself: Who Am I?, Matsukaze........21 sanctuary, Joy McCall..................................22 martyrs, Joy McCall.....................................22 Black and Blue, Joy McCall.........................23 Saturday Night on Prince of Wales Road, Joy McCall................................................23 A Rose Design / Skica ruže, Kathabela Wilson................................................24 Blessed Be, Johannes S. H. Bjerg.................26 Nouvelle Orleans, Beau Boudroux.................26 Individual Tanka.......................................27 Articles Du tanka traduit, écrit, publié en français: survol 1871-2013, Janick Belleau...................66 Tanka in French: Translated, Written and Published: 1871–2013, An Overview, Janick Belleau.....................................77 Review: Journeys Near and Far : tanka roads, by Sanford Goldstein, Reviewed by M. Kei...........................................88 Review: Treewhispers : Tanka by Giselle Maya, Reviewed by Patricia Prime.................89 Review: Een keuze uit—A Selection from Atlas Poetica, Reviewed by Patricia Prime.....90 Review: Urban Tumbleweed, Notes from a Tanka Diary, by Harryette Mullen, Reviewed by M. Kei.................................................92 Announcements ........................................95 Biographies...............................................97 Educational Use Notice Keibooks of Perryville, Maryland, USA, publisher of the journal, Atlas Poetica : A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka, is dedicated to tanka education in schools and colleges, at every level. It is our intention and our policy to facilitate the use of Atlas Poetica and related materials to the maximum extent feasible by educators at every level of school and university studies. Educators, without individually seeking permission from the publisher, may use Atlas Poetica : A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka’s online digital editions and print editions as primary or ancillary teaching resources. Copyright law “Fair Use” guidelines and doctrine should be interpreted very liberally with respect to Atlas Poetica precisely on the basis of our explicitly stated intention herein. This statement may be cited as an effective permission to use Atlas Poetica as a text or resource for studies. Proper attribution of any excerpt to Atlas Poetica is required. This statement applies equally to digital resources and print copies of the journal. Individual copyrights of poets, authors, artists, etc., published in Atlas Poetica are their own property and are not meant to be compromised in any way by the journal’s liberal policy on “Fair Use.” Any educator seeking clarification of our policy for a particular use may email the Editor of Atlas Poetica at [email protected]. We welcome innovative uses of our resources for tanka education. Atlas Poetica Keibooks P O Box 516 Perryville, MD 21903 <http://AtlasPoetica.org> Urban Tanka You hold in your hands the new, expanded Atlas Poetica. When founded, ATPO was 72 pages, then grew to 84 pages without a price increase, and now, as it begins its sixth year, has grown to 104 pages. The growth is made possible by the ever increasing contributions of tanka, kyoka, gogyoshi, tanka prose, tanka sequences, shaped tanka, articles, book reviews, and announcements from around the world. This in turn requires a price increase, the first ever since we were founded. I had been considering increasing the size of the journal for some time, but when I received the overwhelming response to our urban tanka special feature, The Garage, Not the Garden : Tanka of Urban Life, it was clear that now was the time to do it. The many original tanka submitted to the special feature demonstrated the power of the topic. This issue was largely filled with submissions that were originally sent for the special feature, but also by some poets new to Atlas Poetica. For example, Alhama Garcia, a French tanka poet whose ‘Through Delauney’s Windows’ was a delightful surprise. His urban and urbane tanka prose was part of the inspiration to focus on both French tanka and urban tanka for the issue. Janick Belleau contributes an article about French tanka in both French and English, translated by Maxianne Berger. She traces the history of tanka translated, written, and published in French in France and Canada from the 19th century to the present day, as well as apprising us of new venues, such as Lyon Meeting for Japanese Tanka Poetry in Lyon, France, and the forthcoming Francophone web journal, Cirrus. The urban theme resonated with many tanka poets, both new and well-known. A number of our tanka poets are very well traveled, such as Kath Abela Wilson, who provides us with tanka snapshots of various cities around the world, and also a mathematical tanka sequence translated into Slovak, ‘A Rose Design / Skica ruže.’ Usually mathematics is thought inimical to poetry, but poetry is the music of words, and mathematics is the language of music. Also featured in this issue are two young poets: Grunge, a gay Indo-American tanka poet, and Matsukaze, an African American tanka poet. Both are intensely modern in their approach, yet steeped in the aesthetics of tanka. Grunge gives a bug’s level view of life in America for the bottom 1%, exploring themes of violence, poverty, racism, homophobia, ableism, abuse, and more. Matsukaze depicts everything from the life of working class African Americans to tanka poets of the Japanese court with equal facility. His portraits of human beings are highly realistic, yet colored with a lyricism bordering on the surreal. Also in this issue are Liz Moura and Richard St. Clair. The former presents us with the romance and realism of a Lesbian partnership, and the latter with the sorrow of an older man facing the loss of many things. Brendan Slater presents a tanka shaped as a circle, while Toki, new to these pages, also offers a shaped tanka. These are just a few of the immense possibilities offered by the fecundity of tanka. With the new expanded size, Atlas Poetica can publish many more poets from around the world, as well as in-depth articles, book reviews, and announcements. The geographic reach of the issue is immense—Israel, Ireland, Canada, Bhutan, New Zealand, Ethiopia, France, the United States, and more—and demonstrates why poetry of place has a special power for poets around the world. ~K~ M. Kei Editor, Atlas Poetica Lake Powell, Arizona-Utah, USA. Cover Image courtesy of Earth Observatory, NASA. <http://eoimages.gsfc.nasa.gov/images/imagerecords/ 51000/51692/powell_tm5_2011220_lrg.jpg> A t l a s Po e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • Pa g e 5 A t l a s Po e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • Pa g e 6 First Beledi* Deborah Kolodji & Genie Nakano my snake arms wooden as a marionette she teaches me to find my center warming to the arabic rhythms so long ago almost forgotten I step into a groove a singer moans to the zither crescendo of hips and my uncooperative belly jeweled ruby belly ring pulls in, pulls out a rhythmic core massage artificial dowery wrapped around her waist deep inside the start of something real a woman’s ancient call churning the earth conception to birth circle of mid-wives as morning glories start to bloom I roll up my shirt and bare the scar of a c-section in trance I don’t want to stop rising above my clicking hip I balance in Nataraj* ~California, USA red hibiscus in her garden two dogs bored with my dance movements *beledi: First rhythm learned in Middle Eastern Dance. *doumbek: Egyptian drum. *nataraj: Dancing Shiva. Indian god of dance. turn up the music the doumbek* player strikes a riff beledi shimmies the golden coins A t l a s Po e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • Pa g e 7 Midnight Ride / La Cavalière de Minuit Genie Nakano Josette Frankel, English-French Translator / Traductrice Anglais-Français je sais que tu me vois debout devant ta fenêtre sur ma bicyclette fusée bleue avec mes bas blancs dentelle, talons aiguilles et rien d’autre tu me connais et moi, je te connais nous deux seuls dans le noir alors, tordons toute lumière de ce noir n’aie pas peur je suis douce comme du velours sur la grande route . . . jamais les freins viens, viens prends cette course de minuit avec moi personne ne nous verra I know you see me standing outside your window with my blue rocket bike wearing lacy white stockings spiked heels and nothing else you know me and I know you just two people in the dark so let’s squeeze the lightness out of this darkness don’t be afraid I’m smooth as velvet on the open highway . . . rarely use the brakes come out, come out take that midnight ride with me no one will see us ~California, USA ~California, USA A t l a s Po e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • Pa g e 8 Jinete de la media noche ageing : a tight tanka string Genie Nakano Sanford Goldstein Flor de te, English-Spanish Translator / Traductora Inglés-Español sé que me ves parada afuera de tu ventana con mi azul motocicleta vestida con medias de encajes blancos tacones con clavos y más nada me conoces te conosco solo dos personas en la oscuridad exprimamos la claridad afuera de estas tinieblas no tengas miedo soy tan suave como el terciopelo en el autopista libre nunca uses los frenos ¡ven! ¡ven! toma ese paseo de la media noche conmigo nadie nos verá ~California, USA people keep telling me wonderful, wonderful about my nearing eighty-eight, I find no wonder in it at all, my life is filled with empty find myself climbing higher and higher on this rocky cliff, shall I finally make the jump? shall I wave goodbye to air? the Norwich woman tells me again and again to leave, leave the chaos of Japan, come to her historic place of wonder the small careful atomic energy plants being built in the States, will the sand on their grounds stop a future water fall? I want some closure for endings, I want out and out and still old age goes on the ancient Norwich mother lingers on, she says she wants God, she says she does not want to leave ~Japan A t l a s Po e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • Pa g e 9 Through Delauney’s Windows Alhama Garcia From that service room in the maiden floor, sixth and no elevator, between two books to read from the Sorbonne library, I used to watch the cars turning around under the winter rain and the melting snow and a dim light, all French cars of course, the light 2-HP, some black Tractions from the oldies, a lot of Dauphines and fragile Simcas and unexpendable Versailles and even some noisy Panhard and most of all the beautiful Patrick Jane’s DS with their smart lines, all of them turning and whispering behind the dark window panes, and the green buses with their double bell ring and the soft-caped ticket collector standing easy at the rear platform, a red roof line scratched and torn apart by this north wind since my teens I hate this headache cleanout I’ve been dreaming so long of that sixth floor room. Why, I just can’t figure it out. Not of the same room, not that room, in the same building, and with different people, but I knew it was all the same in many ways. Then the melting snow turned dirty under the black tires and cars keep turning on their invisible rail threads towards la Seine or Glacière subway station on Nestor Burma side or avenue des Gobelins; they couldn’t escape, just slip to the getaway to Jeanne d’Arc, to the east side, into the silence of the night while tires screamed sadly, with disappearing lives hidden in the run itself behind the car closed panes. Then I remember, in my real reality, I turned back to the narrow bed and lay by her warm side. crossing the Pont Neuf bridge lately I was wondering why was that man over the river leaning what was written on the water? Oh I remember well the old theaters with their red false velvet chairs and Macist and Ulysses and Hercules stories and Italian westerns and so many hours of despair and boredom spent with hundreds of people aside, so many blurred dreams and cruel laughs: all in all, a lousy destroying time factory. But so necessary to keep us asleep. I know, in remote times, for I’ve been walking there in a high slumber, a river was running down from there to the Seine, and Saint Médard church and its cemetery dug on the nearly meadows were certainly quiet and silent. I can easily dream of, closing my eyes very firmly, just a short jump to a dreamed Eleventh. Havoc of times and money. How disappointed when turning back to Toulon, my favorite theater had turned into a bank—a bank! Forsaken Queen of Lydia’s sad ghost must be still roaming and crying somewhere. and still through the Delauney Windows i keep watching a sign a shadow a sun reflection: is there any life shining? From here where I stand now red tiles keep clicking under the coldest wind of the year. Protected may be by the town roofline, but I can feel it freeeezing my spine down as real ice creeping to the heart through the suddenly painful chest. The roof ridge is high and sharp. That buster skipping on it, that I can see through these windows, is that me? A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 10 i don’t fear any armoured arachnid sting for its self-defense but the conceited angel pulling me to the hidden pit Then, slowly, I let my breath come back by itself. What else can I do? I drag it back. With a loud and noisy heartbeat, all the stuff inside seems to start anew. Nice old engine. Keep on walking, come on— would you watch again from that sixth floor window new cars turning round but the girl now must be gone ―is there still a roof on top? Drying Dishes with Mom Joan-Dianne Smith back in grade seven intrigued with afternoon off doing easy things sewing blue topstitched apron learning Canada’s Food Guide Mrs. Sigurdsson pitched a career idea why not I told Mom thrilled she counted this a promise one I could not ever break ~Paris, France drying dishes with Mom on my seventeenth birthday I broached changing plans study arts instead of home ec how dare I reconsider Grunge anthropology cool people called it anthro or psychology or English lit or Can lit I imagined those ideas a robot’s eternal struggle to reduce human emotion into 1s and 0s now crumbled in shame I’d pushed Mom over the edge selfish disloyal she’d counted on this life plan she cried and I recommitted a human’s eternal struggle to reduce his motives into good and bad ~Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada Futility 2.0 ~Florida, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 11 By the Railroad Tracks coup de grâce Sergio Ortiz Sergio Ortiz that I met him in a bar and we went home together to remember the texture of leaves through the moonlight what is a day but this unique way of breathing saturated with the texture of discarded skin that I saw him again when sparrows fell in the dark of night we memorized the hum of cicadas bursting into tomorrow, I turned all rage to rags . . . a subtle skin that I missed him, his ocean and its foam against the sky that there were sparks behind my eyes I took my skin to bed with him and it became his bed . . . in every corner of the room hidden from the light that the rain was driven, driven into the ground beside the broken barn by the railroad tracks next to the sea let us live near each other . . . secretly between the shadows and the soul ~Puerto Rico, USA ~Puerto Rico, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 12 refugees Things I Should Have Learnt By Now Sergio Ortiz Violette Rose-Jones these stories we never tell, words we never utter . . . reading a nod, a sound we cannot hear faith abides in the cycle of the moon, the heft in raising a body by the arms, the sorrow of old age to sit like a mute parrot, and stand like a diseased tree . . . patience grows dim in the heart In the pioneering days of the Bellinger Valley, a working dog that learned to enjoy the taste of eggs often met a short and brutal end at the hands of his owner. Eggs were very valuable but so was a working dog, the creature able to replace two men in the round up. A way to discourage them from the unfortunate habit was found. Local farmers took to blowing eggs and refilling them with a mixture made of the Cunjevoi plant (Alocasia brisbanensis). The dogs would steal the eggs and eat them. The mixture would cause them intense burning pain, swelling and numbness in their mouths. Most developed an aversion to eggs for life. A few died but it was either this or shoot them. ~Puerto Rico, USA exhausted I hide amongst the cunjevoi eating the red berries till I sicken for you I can never be enough Becoming Visible ~Australia Sergio Ortiz A touch of a jay about him, my husband— flying in and out of our bedroom. Always giving parties to cover the silence. Always a leaf quivering in the rush of air. What could I give him, but the threat of my extinction? go home slow-healing wounds like fog floating over the city, let me come apart in the wind ~Puerto Rico, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 13 Not in your name Rail Trail Sonam Chhoki Andrea J. Hargrove graffiti lines scrawl across the crumbling stone walls once erect buildings, proud of the valley and their role in the community; late night— the gate glistens tulip white without a creak no, I’m not keeping a watch for you defunct railway lines dead and severed on the ground thick grass grows over rotting ties and rusting rails interspersed with flowr’ing weeds; your wreath hangs withered in the persimmon grove not even crow fledglings in their faltering flight give it a second look the sun traverses a boneless blue sky to its summer peak orange blooms bend with scent I am not waiting anymore I will fill this speckled blue goblet with the swelling moon and drink it but not in your name ~Bhutan power lines murmur over the heads of hikers they run between poles, watching everything below as it changes through the years ~Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania, USA A True Story Grunge Once upon a time in Florida, this kid who looked like Mowgli from the Jungle Book cartoon went into an alligator pit and sat on one. He was ten. he is twenty-eight has all fingers and toes ~Florida, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 14 Breakfast crumbs Terri L. French he asks has it been seven years the sound of a butter knife scraping toast for each time he looks at his watch fresh strawberries stabbed with a fork all out of artificial sweetener perhaps just once real sugar will do a little chicory in her coffee but what to cut the bitterness of perfunctory kisses runny eggs scraped into the disposal she knows that its broken by the monotonous hum Gathering Marilyn Humbert Grey light filters through gums as outback sun falls behind the Macdonnell Ranges. And they emerge from twilight in twos and threes, gathering wood, making their way to the meeting place. They sit crossed legged around fires in ever swelling groups among giant river gums, in the dry white sand bed. flocking together in twos, and threes at dusk cockatoos return home to roost I hear distant voices, a language I don’t understand. Sometimes laughter, sometimes anger, shattering glass, fighting. Flickering flames toss shadows, caught in moonbeams and starlight. no more to roam plains and savannah caged by wire fences and settlers laws ~Todd River, Alice Springs, NT, Australia ~Alabama, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 15 The Opening Gerry Jacobson I walk up the steps of Old Parliament House into the brightly lit hall. A waiter offers white wine, canapés. The hall seems full of light chatter, politicians, diplomats in suits. The Theresienstadt Exhibition. I had asked for a ticket to the Opening, invited myself. I clutch my glass, glance at some exhibits on the side wall. I shiver! In this place I don’t need to circulate and make polite conversation. I belong here. It’s my concentration camp. It’s in my genes. It’s where he died. Theresienstadt was only a holding camp for the death trains. A camp for “privileged Jews” like army veterans, their murder postponed for a few months. We have an old photo of him, Louis H wearing his pickelhaube, in a Prussian artillery regiment. We have an army postcard sent to his wife, postmarked Osterod, East Prussia, 1914. Was he in the battle of Tannenburg that opened the Great War? What else is left of him? sounds of traffic fading into night beat of my heart dance of my breath A letter to my father dated 1937, welcoming him to the family: “Lieber Schwiegersohn . . . !” “Dear Son-in-Law . . . !” I think of him . . . August 1942. He was 69, arrested by the Gestapo, taken away from his home, transported by cattle train to the old barracks of Theresienstadt (Terezin). Crammed in with thousands of others. And dying four months later. Dying of cold, of malnutrition, of typhus. Dying of a broken heart. Dying in January, 1943, the grandfather I never knew. Caught in that dark vortex of history, dragged down, sucked under. surrounded . . . concave darkness presses in . . . clawed hands reach out wide eyes dribble tears A Red Cross postcard from behind enemy lines, dated June 1940: “Lieber Kinder . . . !” “Dear Children, we are well!” Oh! And in my genes a tendency to baldness. it’s dark inside . . . her rhythmic breath and heart beat . . . those songs unborn and overwhelming ~Canberra, Australia; Terezin, Czech Republic Later I meet a survivor. He tells me it was worse for the (German) army veterans, who often came into the camp wearing their medals. The beloved homeland that they had fought for, now incarcerated them. And little did they know that A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 16 The Red Baron M. Kei Manfred von Richthofen, “The Red Baron” (Le Diable Rouge, Der Rote Kampfflieger), was born 2 May 1892 and died in combat 21 April 1918. He is the world’s most famous flying ace, earning 80 victories during WWI to become a legend. Even formal portraits show him with what WWII soldiers dubbed “the thousand yard stare,” now generally accepted as a sign of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It was the policy of the German military to “fly until you die.” Not that it mattered much; the life expectancy of a WWI fighter pilot was 28 days. Even as Germany lionized him, Richthofen knew he would die. ghosts of the dead: Manfred von Richthofen saying goodbye, just goodbye, to some other pilots in an ancient film, Manfred von Richthofen says goodbye to his father and flies away to his fate the Jasta pilots joking and pranking with their dogs, the thin strap of the bandage under the Red Baron’s chin his eyes know he is mortal, the famous Red Baron petting his dog, the black bandage under his chin Circular Tanka Brendan Slater a silent film fitting for the silence in the Red Baron’s eyes he will fly until he becomes another man’s trophy later they called it the “thousand yard stare” but the Red Baron already has it in all his photographs ~Germany, WWI ~The Hayes, Stone, Staffs, England A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 17 Hometown Kath Abela Wilson & Brian Zimmer old times place meet me there I said he called out of the blue what else could I say to be sure always here in dream two youths entwined rising like bread steamy and sweet his kiss a poem pressed me against the wall my first love I count the ways you were like my dad “what happens in this house stays in this house” with his own fists the boy beats his body a father’s tongue has an address tenderness and strength a poet and a lover words— you showed me a door both surprised to find the key in my pocket a silver dollar spins toward me a 5th grade catch prize essay on why I’d enter a convent God Alone above the door once home recalling Trappist signs: Enclosure, Do Not Enter mother’s rush holding my sister’s cut-off thumb stuck in a spinning wheel symbol of the next break home like an empty church her house built of cake and candy grandma knew a child’s need for beauty and the grim upstairs a hideaway my mother’s mother “she’ll outlive me” my dad was right but not that way you hear it before you reach it the pine forest whispers in the glen everyone’s secret place inside the tree we are together our words carved on the inside tell the future tight this silence the bud dare not open and flower A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 18 agave blooms my spreading rosette thank goodness my adventitious shoots defy a one life stand slow rain feeds the sea all around us the moon swells the tide rising sun in the window of this room you wake me each day no matter where I am ~New Haven, Connecticut, USA ~Staten Island, New York / Kettering, Ohio, USA behind luffing sails the sunset we forget to watch our homeland slip away ~Boston, Massachusetts, USA after three moons crossing water the strangeness of land all of a piece swaying our feet ~Gloucester, Massachusetts, USA a home without walls Seánan Forbes over dinner at home we wordlessly share distant dreams the horizon pulls away ~New York City, New York, USA landlocked our dreams don watery habits we adjust our alarm clocks to match the tide waterfront pub we buy drinks with stories found at sea a home that has no walls ~Provincetown, Massachusetts, USA a pod of whales the only family behind us our passage vanishes ~London, UK ~Mystic, Connecticut, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 19 Corridors Dark Orrin Matsukaze Matsukaze moving quickly, quietly down train depot corridors cast in the glow of lights, red lights; nothing but red lights 6:17 am is it wrong that i see myself in Konoshima’s waka, that i see myself documenting the earthiness of this life? lone woman her weary, tired self moving down these corridors, cold; tightening her coat around her the ties that bind ancient and three-strand braided— we who are now write to keep in touch with our progenitors daughter of the night the scent of countless men staining your unaloud pores this year i am renewed moving down the hotel hallway this skin still houses hopes of the ancients face bruised, face full of premature age lines the click of unsure stilettos down the train depot’s hallway this morning arranging chairs around tables in the dining area i wonder what it would be like to be a Meiji man a long rain a bleak evening inky dark, swallowing someone’s bruised kid— a girl-cum-woman too soon we are Adam— dirt and breath mixed and now we populate this earth ~Lake Charles, Louisiana, USA ~Lake Charles, Louisiana, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 20 Finding Myself : Who am I? Matsukaze and the tanka mistress reads my blood flow she sees traces of *Akiko sleeping in these cells— and still someone more ancient *Akiko Yosano was the pen-name of a Japanese author, poet, pioneering feminist, pacifist, and social/tanka reformer, active in the late Meiji period as well as the Taishō and early Shōwa periods of Japan. Her name at birth was Shō Hō. male poet i am however i find myself identifying with female poets . . . am i passionate *Princess Shikishi? *Princess Shikishi was a Japanese classical waka poet, who lived during the late Heian and early Kamakura periods. She was the third daughter of Emperor GoShirakawa. In 1159, Shikishi, who did not marry, went into service at the Kamo Shrine as Priestess in Kyoto. in the lobby staring out of the floor length windows . . . in the pre-dawn darkness is that *Lady Murasaki in my face? somewhere around 3am while moving with vigor i wondered if my thoughts might be hiding *Ono no Komachi’s laughter how could i forget her unfortunately ‘my very eyes feel amorous’ is something i can agree with for a moment, a pause in breathing *Lady Izumi Shikibu looks at me *Lady Murasaki Shikibu was a Japanese novelist, poet and lady-in-waiting at the Imperial court during the Heian period. She is best known as the author of The Tale of Genji, written in Japanese between about 1000 and 1012. *Ono no Komachi was a Japanese waka poet, one of the Rokkasen—the Six best Waka poets of the early Heian period. She was renowned for her unusual beauty, and Komachi is today a synonym for feminine beauty in Japan. *Lady Izumi Shikibu was a mid Heian period Japanese waka poet. She is a member of the Thirty-six Medieval Poetry Immortals. She was the contemporary of Murasaki Shikibu and Akazome Emon at the court of empress Joto Mon’in. ~Lake Charles, Louisiana, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 21 sanctuary martyrs Joy McCall Joy McCall dusty shed the holy of holies back then safe hiding place dark corners noisy the great factory sprawls from the river’s edge to the railway sidings on tiptoes through the crack I’d see the man thin stick in hand beating time the machines throw off engine oil and cutting swarf exhaustion and despair dirt and disease it was years before I grew too tall to hide and he took me by the hair into the old house generations of Norfolk men lose fingers and hands and hope martyrs to the machine and dawn came and long dawns after and I watched from the high window a bird, nesting on the shed still they come as their fathers did till they are old fighting with the steel they lose, they die and oh I wanted to be small then and brown-winged and silently safe again and holy and far away in the colonies in the oceans where their engines turn no one knows their names, no one cares ~Lowestoft, Suffolk, UK ~Engine Factory, Suffolk, England A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 22 Black and Blue Saturday Night on Prince of Wales Road Joy McCall Joy McCall I wake hooked to machines I can’t move there is a dead boy in the next bed, staring the girl looked up from the gutter and took his hand they found her at dawn torn in the alley by my bed a dark muslim with closed eyes he is there every night praying aloud through the night the cathedral bells strike the hour in its dark shadow clubbers drink around the clock one long street named for the old Prince from rural Wales crawls now with misery twenty-four hour drinking my body is dark blue and there are bones visible I spend days watching blue turn to yellow white powder in all the washrooms on this strip the dealer makes a fortune on desolation road lights day and night I know the evening by voices— my man, my child and the muslim nurse Saturday night was a success if they got arrested, drunk, beaten up screwed against the wall metal rods like blades of grass spiking from my legs— I am in some alien field with poppies and bones ~Intensive Care Unit, Norwich, England, 2002 the dealer collects on Saturday night making rounds at Sunday Mass, a thick wad in the collection plate ~Norwich, England A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 23 A Rose Design / Skica ruže Kath Abela Wilson Tomáš Madaras, English-Slovakian Translator / prekladateľ z angličtiny Listening to a mathematical lecture at a conference in Bratislava, Slovakia, in honor of mathematician Alex Rosa, a poet takes the mathematical terms out into the rose garden. lexicon of roses inductively unfolding superimposed in their colorings Slovník ruží postupne rozbaľujúci čo je položené v ich farbeniach sequentially arrayed within their shadows climbing rose a space to dream to name rad-radom odeté v ich tieňoch popínavá ruža priestor na snívanie o mene balanced internal rose straight ahead cycles doubly covered one complete design its permutations vyvážená vnútorná ruža priamoidúce kružnice dvojmo pokryli jeden úplný náčrt jeho poradia outside a rose window rose clouds and a garden wait expectantly for an old and well neglected subject za ružicovým oknom oblaky ruží a záhrada v nádeji očakáva starú a hojne zanedbávanú tému dimension defined in amicable matrices with diagonal entries of multiplicity decomposed rozmer definovaný cez spriatelené matice s uhlopriečnymi prvkami rozloženej násobnosti matching subterranean involution of the incessant security of words v súlade so skrytou involúciou ustavičnej istoty slov A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 24 is it possible to construct then symmetrical cycles one by one path perfect je vari možné potom zostrojiť súmerné kruhy jeden po druhom cestne dokonalé whose multiplicity can be disentangled by asking the same question differently ktorých násobnosť možno rozuzliť rôznym položením tej istej otázky can we aim instead not so openly become collapsible into deep forests miesto toho sa môžeme snažiť nie príliš otvorene o to, môcť zložiť sa do lesov hlbokých rosy labeling up to the conjugation sufficient for something tactical značenie ruží až na spojenie dostatočné pre isté taktické decompositions and a coherent configuration tightly connected to itself rozklady a súdržnú konfiguráciu pevne spojenú so sebou we’re all so clumsy on the ground yet jetline in virtual air my všetci sme tak nemotorní na zemi predsa však ako stíhačky v pomyselnom ovzduší our hill-climbing time compaction let’s try a slight refining of the observation náš výstup na horu zhustenie času skúsme trochu zjemniť pozorovanie in the subspace where under the covering array one hope reveals designed embedded unique love’s essential rose v podpriestore kde pod zahaľujúcim šatom istá nádej odhalí náčrt vnorenej jedinečnej kľúčovej ruže lásky ~Bratislave, Slovakia A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 25 Blessed Be Nouvelle Orleans Johannes S. H. Bjerg Beau Boudreaux blessed be those who walk the streets talking to invisible friends— for they shall bear the anger of a merciless people the sculpture garden downtown glistens in wet rain freight trains sound their horns above autos flashing by the sun peeks through clearing sky blessed be those who serenade the houses for they shall remind us we’re safe behind walls fog burns off the lake wood door behind her closes she cycles the path to the winding marina her letters ready to send blessed be those who sleep with their demons for they shall remind us the night is long ferry boats call each other after midnight while the avenue lights oak trees clasp like heavy hands a dark tunnel for black cars glory befalls she who waits for the next bus for she will remind us to keep our seat warm streetcars roll downtown he reads the Times on a bench glancing at her as she passes with bright red bags from shopping sales for the fall blessed be he who dances on the train he will not catch this winter’s flu the boy shoots baskets against the backboard outside a jet flies above his mom drives the highway home for once the traffic gives way ~Nouvelle Orleans, Louisiana, USA blessed be he who walks his invisible dog he shall remind us to be thankful for small plastic bags ~Denmark A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 26 Jenny Ward Angyal Gerry Jacobson oh brother lying on a park bench head resting on your pack eyes closed to sunlight plastered on corrugated metal, this enormous eye I enter the city through its lake of light ~Canberra, Australia ~Brooklyn, New York, USA walking through those greyish streets— slightly gritty just a little grimy just a few graffiti bumping fists, two homeless men unfold their cardboard messages of need the lone poem in my pocket ~Greensboro, North Carolina, USA arrested for reading aloud after curfew the names of the dead how far their voices carry in the dark ~Vietnam Veterans Memorial, New York City, New York, USA the twin beams of the Tribute in Light go dark 10,000 lost birds find their way home Upper Street N 1— morning drizzles diluting vomit on the pavement wild joy in my heart ~London, UK heavy traffic in Valhallavägen it’s Thor’s day but where have all the vikings gone? ~Stockholm, Sweden ~World Trade Center site, New York City, New York, USA grey dawn drizzles King Street solitary sips of coffee in the Old Fish Shop café chill café breeze through open doors tattooed waitress traffic chokes King Street the chef smokes unshaven ~Sydney, Australia A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 27 Richard St. Clair in fluorescent light her pale skin even paler my age spots barely showing chest flutter still awaiting the result of my BP test the first yellow leaves of fall the bank clerk moves my decimal point to the far right for a moment I’m rich a fly lands on my phone and before I can get a swatter it has flown away the walls keep out the cold even so my throat can’t keep out the cold the fall leaves me bereft of your touch yet I love the fall leaves refuge at home in a steady cold rain puddles everywhere and the sky growing dark as if it knew my grieving after the hurricane a sunny day clouded by a dead sparrow in the fallen leaves the raspy cries of the circling crows seem to taunt me: I rake the fallen leaves covered with frost she’s still not home from her baby shower the time-change makes for an early dark sky what is more frightening? the cold closing in the sun closing out nightfrost a cold rain turns into raging streams along the road my hopes fade to dreams my dreams fade to nothing a wood fire burning through the night the full moon captures my dreams as the flame does the moth on the rocky coast the crashing surf sends sand spraying through the air in the fine mist a rainbow my sorrow at both ends ~Gloucester, Massachusetts, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 28 Brendan Slater hiding inside not answering to the junkie the critic the touch of the sun on my neck i cannot feel ~Flat #, ### Street, Shelton, Stoke-on-Trent, England ~Top Entrance to Hanley Park, Regent Road, Shelton, Stoke-on-Trent, England yes no slipping through stone forever cupped in my hand forever whatever that is ~Hanley Park, Stoke-on-Trent, England ~Footpath along the Trent & Mersey Canal, Between Longton Road and the Embankment, Trentham, Stoke-onTrent, England bile in the lift that I wish would rise forever ~Homeless Hostel, Hope Street, Stoke-on-Trent, England made up prefabricated grey— is this the last image my child has of me? ~Hanley Bus Station footbridge to the multi-storey carpark, Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent, England finally inside you I solve this maze of ever decreasing circles ~Homeless Hostel, Hope Street, Stoke-on-Trent, England I’ve made my last mistake and the sky has finally given in unaware until my lover likens my eyes to piss holes in the snow ~Shelton, Stoke-on-Trent, England ~Snowhill, Stoke-on-Trent, England Angel, she catches her tongue on the barbs of her soliloquy he pulled the blade on me and opened this wound that will not close ~The Bars, Waterloo Road, Cobridge, Stoke-on-Trent, England ~Early Hours, Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent, England A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 29 Matsukaze i live in an estranged family each of us in our own ordained rings of hell with eager eyes peering into the unknown i wonder what life in Houston will be like one evening seeing the red cigarette-glow of a customer before he steps in the hotel to check in the block this young-old woman blackened by drug use gives me a toothless grin: ‘hey handsome, wanna f^&k?’ these hands in mid-sleep reaching to scratch a bared thigh against cool sheets no peace in this bamboo home against walls a perverted silence even in the wood damp morning— edging quietly past the corner wall separating me from his unhealthy anger i am corrupted . . . seated before an open window— the men i sexed haunt me, accuse me . . . the fall i’ve been waiting for seems slow in coming— each tuft of grass and the people around me carry vexation drops of rain from aged cedars— i stretch out across a hotel bed listening, listening . . . tonight, on my knees by the bed my sister fixes her nails the scent of acrylic in the air empty bedroom: mint leaves, their husky odor all over the sheets— by window seeing nothing tonight i am thoughtful, evaluating my soul, alone, quietly under Mokichi’s red lights evening sky blurred, nearly obscure from my 3rd floor room darkness falls like petals, the leaves of dahlias seat 17F my seat-mates are a lively bunch, full of suntanned smiles, bright eyes and words for 3 hours my sister has tap-danced her wild, uneven blues on the carpet of my ears A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 30 in front of the vanity mirror tracing the age lines in my dusk-darkened face near the bed pair of men’s leopard print tennies a young star-in-the-making i pray he learns to walk before flying high would love waking up to a foreboding snowfall waking up to your thigh on mine for Brennen T. Johnson all i can think of is tanka— mastering tanka writing tanka . . . this life in tankatown the colored woman and i still sewing every other minute speaking of our own ordeals impersonal iron bars— in the old psych ward, a madman in white dying from advanced syphilis when they came for us i burned my waka burned each one in that broken field where we lost much of us in a living room a young man seated, writing tanka; the cool shadows brush against his skin over robust coffee the silent look of anger through the wall hearing the police arrive to take the Johnsons away by the futon a man’s black knapsack— a dusty ceiling fan with no movement in my 31st year of life discovering this ancient form waka . . . hope to make these forever emerging from a shaded grove sprigs of spruce caught on this day gown— i’ve promised him i’d ask for no kids another walk down this dark road down Belden street my thoughts as scattered as Louisiana palm leaves two women coming down the street loud and gruff conversation— in their hands a summer fear quiet living room a teak table full of deodorizers— a clutter of knick-knacks in this warm room before a mirror these young breasts this woman’s body unrecognizable A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 31 ➢ previous days— was reckless unafraid of any death even among yellowing grass ~Matsukaze, cont. on this narrow plane buckled in to the left a chatty young woman asks me my sexual preference in this mausoleum of a house: a detective and a councilman meet in the dank kitchen this silent house holding coolness even the venetian blinds give a cold shoulder to sunlight even today i’ve banished my mother to an exile of no sound, no talk like being in silent film days death— on 110th and Fairfield an aged woman’s fallen down subway steps her life mingled with booze on reading of Konoshima’s father, i think of the dead one; not many memories of the man who fathered me some corner downtown a young man nods in recognition i do the same; no words between former lovers in this upstairs flat meeting yet another faceless and indifferent man— someone outside calls a woman a bitch sat down this early afternoon over cool tea discussing policy plans with an insurance man still not asleep, oh; this post-graveyard insomnia i sit reading Mokichi reading, reading around this home faded finery beneath the smell of chrysanthemums, polishing another woman’s silver from the third floor window in the distance before the graveyard this young rain approaching quickly morning table in the foyer full of unread bills and one pizza coupon one evening i longed for a priest to absolve present and former sins the end of a 12 hour shift winding up— passing one brown hand across this weary face A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 32 they bustle in pre-morning activity while i sit behind this desk pondering my next verse this hotel evening met in the lobby nothing but a smile, glance, and a touch exchanged tightening the tallit around bony shoulders i follow him out into the Judean cool sleepless morning popped in a dvd Strauss’s ‘Salome’ but lost myself in a sleepy man’s mania what is this covenant made with unhealed leaves that often mock me? with an offering of mandrakes the God of Avraham opens Leah’s womb for conception tonight men and women move with precision through a misty rain walking their own stories paused in my cleaning of the front room this manic high wearing off the whisper of high grass cool New England night settles on the city frangipane scent thick during this indecent meeting of limbs against eggshell white walls photographs of my spring time adultery accumulate dust this cheap evening the actress, in inconspicuous garb; leaves the bar staggering down a cobblestone street leaving their bed a quiet visit to a city cemetery by their father’s grave i stand, a home-wrecker a young man fresh out of a drug clinic— the sun joins a crackhead snorting those blue curtains have seen every heavy-handed slap dad gave mom ~Lake Charles, Louisiana, USA this evening my mind a boxwood of dead branches, leaves, and silent waka of blood and pain A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 33 Kelly Belmonte Kath Abela Wilson the nose ring, the tattoo, and the haggis: somehow it all made sense at the time all night construction site in old Kyoto year of the cicadas as loud as any drill they lure us into the heart of sound the way turning forty-five made him afraid of turning fifty, how taking out the trash became symbolic ~Kyoto, Japan all night Shanghai work crew planting red blooms down the median after last night’s acrobat show the hardhat gardeners ~United States ~Shanghai, China Ernesto P. Santiago of city streets weaving in and out—I, without option, choose my community to enjoy the week-ends ~Busan, South Korea the glass skyscrapers so deeply comforting this old childhood town should definitely have the first sounds of sweet spring a crowded life, the scent of progress in the sunshine— the bleating of cows I surely do miss wireless power more people speaking different tongues— I feel better at home between races in the old fishing town broken steps to the beach would never pass code here rafts of sushi families as the surf washes campside blankets Hotel Poem Istanbul the real hotel city center each room a poem mine a “the sword” my pen is stronger than ~Istanbul, Turkey Persian nights at every restaurant poetry and music in the old tradition nothing veiled about this ~Tehran, Iran ~Philippines A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 34 in the city park a million tulips sent Holland to Ottawa thanks for the birth of a princess on international soil an apparition after billboard streets the leaning tower of almost three hundred spiral steps worn to pure white crescents ~Ottawa, Ontario, Canada ~Pisa, Italy painting roses and gingko leaves on city crosswalks Pasadena you’re everything I ever wanted Slovak hills then city center the small souvenir shop where a huge shepherd’s flute made by a local fits in oversize luggage ~Pasadena, California, USA ~Kosice, Slovakia Santa Barbara condo night sounds in the city train whistle through our dreams roar of ocean, creek frogs, lions from next door zoo ~Santa Barbara, California, USA Fiona Tsang my view of the Susquehanna Harrisburg my father’s hideout after he left years later the islands in the river still windswept ~Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, USA James Joyce at the harbor in Trieste his old haunt a bronze Ulysses looks at my tanka book even in the new city old moss grows through here and there the ruins an albino lizard scurries a Roman arch ~Trieste, Italy shrill cry of a child echoes through suburban streets is it meant in play? a sense of unease pervades behind brick & weatherboard plane flies overhead light blinking in the night sky like a wayward star guiding weary travellers towards the departure lounge pigeon on the roof only lets us know he’s there with his soft footfalls rasping gently on the tiles, then a fading rush of wings ~Australia A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 35 Magdalena Dale Vasile Moldovan Magdalena Dale, Romanian-English Translator / Traducătoră română-engleză Đ. V. Rožić, English-Croatian Translator / Engleska-Hrvatsko Prevoditeljica Umbre de toamnă între cer și pământ un pâlc de arbori . . . pe drumul șerpuitor îmi port singurătatea Autumn shadows between sky and earth a clump of trees . . . on the winding road my loneliness Jesenje sjene između neba i zemlje grupa stabala . . . na zavojitom putu moja usamljenost instead of a coin a compassionate lady looking at herself in the opaque glasses of the blind beggar at the last story of a skyscraper the geranium in the light-tight window is ready to bloom anew cicatrized wound inside of a oyster . . . a grain of sand surrounded by walls just like a fortress new graffiti on the walls of the fortress two blue hearts pierced without mercy by the Cupid’s red arrow ~Romania Vise de zi aroma ceaiului pe buzele tale această mireasmă de tei intre mine și tine Day dreaming the taste of the tea on your lips this fragrance of lime between you and me Sanjarim okus čaja na tvojim usnama ovaj miris lipe između tebe i mene Tess Driver dart board and sofa old fridge for beers— mates collect to chat solve problems of the world the shed is a man’s place ~Australia ~Romania / România A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 36 Eamonn O’Neill every young man should see Paris my Uncle said at night outside the hotel prostitutes I ask the way to Notre Dame late evening in the city I see shadows conspiring in which doorway can we sleep tonight ~Dublin, Ireland ~Paris, France a sea fog sweeps up the Liffey as Boardwalk junkies count the horsemen it gets late early here tonight that sea fog chilled some bones tonight in a world of his own a Boardwalk junkie convinced he is dead me unhealed wandering and wondering why do I need healing at my age surely I’m too old for that on a wall some two hundred years old a graffiti artist sprays who cares my grandson’s christening he has a gay godfather and a straight godmother I’m kinda proud you know more shootings last night this rush to die the habit that must be fed a dog pisses on a tree sniffs and moves on Claire Everett stale cologne a five-o’clock shadow and yesterday’s shirt . . . this brand new day selling itself at my door security guard/ handyman I keep his bed warm troubles beating down the door of our ramshackle life this new estate slick with winter rain walking their dog up and down my street all day the world and his wife as the band tunes up shop-doorway shadows stir something about a green hill outside a city wall ~England A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 37 Liz Moura her dark hair floats into the stars I despair of losing her this way all night long our dark hair blends tonight it doesn’t matter which of us is really gray a full moon rises behind her I see her eyes the swell of her breasts and that moon purple lilacs shooing away bees I cut two branches because she says she loves them making her coffee too much cream too much sugar she doesn’t care she kisses me who is this woman too young for me in every way yet my life belongs to her thunderstorm a heavy spring day climaxes getting drenched is a joy another full moon many shooting stars a planet or two without her an empty night the sun is too bright for such a confession I will wait for the soft glow of a new moon to tell her in the humid air flowers on the balcony opening, draping over touching the warm stones and her painted toes leaving the sunlight to the late spring flowers I go seeking shade the bright flower you plucked lies shriveling on the stones a hot late spring day with cherry-stained fingers she turns the pages reading about my love until she blushes slender white hands poised to pick a flower will they just touch it feel the soft petals then let go tonight you pointed at the moon, at the stars your slender finger balancing the lights in that dark heaven after all the rain a fresh breeze shakes out the trees and water drops fall on her glasses, on her cheeks on my lips as I kiss her we lay on the grass a pale hand rests on my arm beyond our bare feet an empty wine bottle entertains a bee A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 38 her slender finger runs over the table tracing while she talks we both watch her fingertip tell her story winter morning after making love two women pouring milk eating cookies summer sangria you blend it I cut up the fruit slipping a cherry between your lips humid weekend we sit for hours not speaking like we have done for many summers daylily two buds days away from finally bursting open out for coffee talking to her about the weather not a cloud in the sky wandering eye at my age feeling everything everywhere all over again one red blossom remains tall firm petals brightening the autumn dusk our balcony closing my eyes to the sun and you dozing nude a plover scoots away from waves but always returns washing your hair my fingers deep inside all the foam and the tangles you tell me every morning you read your horoscope each day I hope I will be in your stars carefully crossing the stream on stepping stones once so large now so small by the sea she shuts her eyes for a moment to dream just a little teasing her about her name she doesn’t know I say it to myself every night ~Massachusetts, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 39 Patricia Prime the body of a bird flying seawards in the sun is like a flame never to be extinguished but to go on forever in broad daylight from the top of Mt Kaiti mist creeps across the city below, each street a streak of grey-blue when she looks at me with that innocent face as artless as a full moon the teenager takes my heart completely by surprise ~Mt Kaiti, Gisborne, SI, NZ my shadow in the evening is so long it reaches out before me to the next streetlight when I felt feverish I took the cold moon and placed it on my hot pillow like a flannel on the cliff edge it’s hard not to lose one’s balance and topple out and down to the rocks below my heart began beating out of time like a broken tune so I took it out and threw it up among the stars ~Dover, England silently the birds float down to the mudflats their shapes dark against the ocean and the tangle of mangroves ~Te Atatu Peninsula, Auckland, NZ the sea so perfect out in the harbour where tankers sleep on the horizon before they enter the docks ~Waitemata Harbour, Auckland, NZ after the earthquake the cracks in the stairwell jagged and creaking— my daughter’s enforced holiday from work washed up on the sand a dead sea horse the child wants to take to school for ‘show and tell’ ~Wellington, NZ after we said goodbye I felt your presence for days among the detritus of books, clothes and scent you left behind beach wedding the guests wear informal attire of shorts and T-shirts— the couple in bare feet on the hot sand ~Muriwai, West Coast, NZ A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 40 Barbara A. Taylor I walk on the quay where the fishing boats are moored just to hear the slap and suck of the disturbed surface in the city center dwarfed by silver skyscrapers orange dots scale scaffolds from one floor to another like ants in a colony eight minutes since she was called to deliver a baby the intensive care paramedic arrives for the imminent birth every day’s the same . . . traveling through this smog I ask: why did we move here? when can I retire? ~New Zealand Roman Lyakhovetsky her lips moving too loud for a thought as she gives water to a wounded mariachi at ghost town square a song carries me back to my mind’s corner of dead dreams as driftwood turns to ashes this summer night winter downpour— the flickering scoreboard invites me to become part of this shabby hotel extended family window shopping dodging kids on cell phones skate boards and blades— why can’t they just stay home and quietly play scrabble? standing in line I read news headlines over her shoulder tallying the numbers of casualties huddled under cardboard an old street-dweller greets me with smiles at the office door ~Australia telling the shrink about my sleepwalking the other night I cannot get my mind off the boke on her photo ~Israel A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 41 Grunge eight legs are weaving, like the skinniest fingers, a home my tarantula, Rivet, in her dish she once shat, why the fuck would she do that? she only steals to nourish her children; but still I kill the motherly mosquito in the flood that destroyed my room the dead plant finally watered O Tantalus, it wasn’t until I lit the chocolate candle that I realised it was an instrument of torture the lucky man survived the bombing of Hiroshima his parting note read, “fled to Nagasaki” old janitor with bald head, clear eyes, on feathered wings takes to the skies electromagnetic grain of rice, RFID under my skin; my mark of the beast or unrelated to sin? powerless, all i can do is rip you to shreds with my eyes no matter how despised i feel, even we roaches can fly fantasizing i’m the artful dodger as i try to evade his blows the filthy punk’s taste might be questionable but I would never think to question the love in his coarse words seeing my words in print is such a relief sole proof that i ever existed the trash bag floats away on the wind, the human trash stares in longing he wants to see his name in lights but he’ll settle for this bathroom wall after several long minutes she realizes preparing her home for winter is futile: cardboard is just too flimsy A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 42 curled above the cab of the broken down rv a lock on my door i haven’t felt this safe in years she mentions the catcalling over dinner “it’s something all women endure,” mom says, “you’ll miss it when you’re older” the scars on his back a study in human sexuality poems can’t pay the bills and neither can i over 30 years on and touching students with AIDS still makes their caretaker feel diseased a drunken man lies in a pool of glass “he’s bleeding,” i say, and am taught the skill of human apathy my uncle’s house lies empty, gutted not even his body returned famine and war: two horsemen my ancestors sold themselves to escape aging, the two men looked into each other’s eyes “we are tattered now but just as beautiful” in solitary confinement time passing so slowly the young man lives endless, empty generations inside his own mind the most sumptuous of Renaissance paintings displayed on the computer of a girl with fine taste in a dismal broken room words like “mulatto” and “halfbreed,” my father’s racism colours my childhood identity dreaming his memories of unwanted touches and futile struggles; hating himself when he awakes, erect i want my poetry to be like a fuck from your true love against a bathroom stall she retreats further into sweatpants and hoodie at catcalls from too many slurred voices wanting to “tap that nice ass” science supply store a chinese man’s remains worth $5000 his wife’s skeleton goes for more ➢ A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 43 ~Grunge, cont. my mother she’ll trust me with her life but not with her mobile phone on the beach i pretend to find messages from mermaids but that bottle was only left by drunken bums we’ve found the land of milk and honey here in this mcdonald’s bin prepping for the apocalypse at the dollar store ~Florida, USA land mines took her leg her modeling career she took for herself Amelia Fielden city hotel: the scenery a weeping willow hard against a stained concrete wall guarding overhead train tracks ~Kyoto, Japan the house agent asks how far we want to live from garbage dumps and power stations—not how close to beach or forest gospel service: behind the trumpeter a candle flame sways to Swing Low and then The Old Rugged Cross earth hour: electricity switched off we look younger by candlelight recalling the way we once were ~Australia ~Cambodia a gaggle of laughing kids playing hide and seek behind the brothel where they work ~India A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 44 Susan Constable Britton Gildersleeve at the beep she replaces the battery in his hearing aid— if only it were as easy to restore his failing mind downtown homeless a look she never aimed for layers of clothing a plastic bag of what’s left from her suburban past ~Victoria, British Columbia, Canada night lifts a veil grotesque birds feed in snatches tearing bits of dream a woman fights wings & beaks while the city creeps closer puddles line the roadway two boys in boots and slickers kick pebbles through the clouds the week’s laundry in three separate piles my days coloured by joy, sorrow and a lot of in-betweens Mondays are trash days recycle bins form lines soldiers against waste green prophets in a red state where what we waste defines us the wind cuts sharp workers clutch coats huddle in tight packs like cattle in far fields like horses in tall grass a web of cards on my computer screen the black spider wending its way from ace to king I dream of bees even on this city lot hives and fat bodies the gold promise of honey the reminder of my roots windblown sleet beats against the window lantern light flickering across the page as a gun goes off last winter he died nameless man behind the bank just a homeless man no one special no one known just a guy freezing to death ~Nanoose Bay, British Columbia, Canada a hundred voices languages like coloured maps brown black white other the city’s polyglot song rising from the pavement ~Oklahoma, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 45 M. Kei in the evergreen silence before Christmas, a baby is swaddled in his mother’s coat, a cardboard box for a cradle she was a Pietà in a white tee shirt and cornrows, weeping over the body of the son she had loved the green cave of the woods with its warning sign: this lot zoned commercial she was made of black charred wood scorched by the fire of her son’s murder ~after the death of Trayvon Martin in the iron grip of winter, a few snowflakes from a leaden sky in the Newtown Cemetery in third grade, a very serious argument whether Santa Clause is real— unaware of the Grinch bearing an assault rifle if my heart must bleed let it hang pink fire a flower offering itself to concrete the mirror made no comment the night I appeared before it dressed in another man’s blood ~Newton, Connecticut, USA conquista el mundo the ad tells me, a pretty boy with a pretty woman around his neck my mother’s argument for gun control: “if I had a gun, there are times I would have shot every one of my kids” the white hand of fate laid down its print on this once verdant paradise ~Iowa, USA substitute teacher, a slow accumulation of gifts not intended for him on his desk she calls to me in Spanish— is she humoring my desire to learn, or recalling memories of her Caribbean home? A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 46 Ramesh Anand the shelter’s rules are reasonable: in by ten, up by seven, but this time, there is no sister to let me in when I am late taking my child through my memory lane of childhood awards I talk of the writings of my mother ~Maryland, USA barefoot in winter, the panhandler finds a way to pierce the indifference of passing shoppers ~Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA the vacant plot once the bamboo hut in the hamlet father talks and talks of his school crush in the street Miss Gay Massachusetts touts her show dressed in spangles from head to heels in the night my child cries waving her hand at our loud argument— thundering rain ~Provincetown, Massachusetts, USA holding the hip with her hands, my child eyes me and my wife involved in long kissing deep breaths everywhere at the rough bar the harbormaster warned us about, the barmaid gives us free tuna steaks ~New Bedford, Massachusetts, USA rush hour on the Delaware Bay freighter after freighter heading north father poses in his first suit of lifelong desire— lightness of being him in my wedding ~Bangalore, India ~Ship John Shoals, Delaware Bay, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 47 Paul Mercken Paul Mercken, Dutch-English-FrenchGerman Translator Paul Mercken, Vertaler Nederlands-EngelsFrans-Duits Paul Mercken, Traducteur Néerlandais– Anglais-Français-Allemand Paul Mercken, Überzetser NiederlandischEnglish-Französisch-Deutsch Santana de held van Woodstock nog steeds de meester op het North sea festival met zijn spetterende band ~Rotterdam, Nederland, 2013 Santana the hero of Woodstock still going strong at the North Sea festival with his stunning band ~Rotterdam, The Netherlands, 2013 door de nevel priemt een flauwe rode schijf: de rijzende zon— in de vallei dennenbossilhouetten Santana le héros de Woodstock domine toujours au Jazz de la Mer du Nord avec son groupe éclatant ~De Belgische Eifel nabij Sankt Vith, België through the mist a bland red disk pierces: the rising sun— in the valley pine tree wood outlines ~The Belgian Eifel near Sankt Vith, Belgium ~Rotterdam, Pays-Bas, 2013 arme Dracula hij begint oud te worden moet een nieuw gebit – zelfs in de onderwereld klikt het klokje door poor Dracula he starts showing his age needs a new denture— even in the underworld the clock goes on ticking à travers la brume un disque rouge fade perce: le soleil qui se lève— dans la vallée des contours de bois de pins ~L’Eifel Belge dans les environs de St.-Vith, Belgique ~Transylvania, Romania den Nebel zerrisst eine vage rote Scheibe: die steigende Sonne— im Tal Kiefer Wald Konturen ~Die Belgische Eifel in der Nähe von Sankt Vith, Belgien A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 48 Roary Williams when black men weren’t allowed in the front of this big black train that blew black soot into a coal night sky the black doll and the white doll say “I love you” in the same voice ~Detroit, Michigan, USA the word “negro” everyone in the market looks then turns away quickly downtown Detroit my manager tells me not to give applications to coloreds only white kid at the concert Count Basie sneers at me and walks away without giving me his autograph the white man who wouldn’t shake my hand after I helped an old black woman put on her coat ten years old the first time I touched black skin and checked my fingers to see if any came off smiling white cashier the old black man sneers and holds up the line to count his change twice two black kids laughing loudly in the candy aisle the owner keeps one hand on the baseball bat Carole Harrison screaming I am, I am grafitti— my need to be known the script of my soul towering over my market stall a gum tree— shaded protection for pickpocketing fingers the flash of a neon light— immune now to the early warnings of your angry outbursts at Randwick the grand new race stand made of glass— if only it were so easy to see into tomorrow ~Australia A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 49 Mel Goldberg Janet Lynn Davis omelets in a café at Lago de Chapala Spanish and English mix with the wafting odor tortillas and jalapeñas touring homes under construction— the freedom to step right inside our neighbors’ closets ~Lake Chapala, Mexico a death camp photo in fading black and white hands grip barbed wire they will always look hungry they will never grow old young ~Chicago Holocaust Museum, USA at the old gravesite my adult daughter hugs the ground puts her arms around the grassy area where my parents rest quietly ~Chicago, USA snowy New Year’s Eve a party invitation fireplace embers tell me to stay at home and read poems to my dog of all things, envious of a greenhouse: transparent clear through to its guts, that gleam of sun on its back three times the stray dog turns its head to look at me before disappearing dreamlike into the woods ~Grimes County, Texas, USA autumn gust— from all the earrings in the shop I pick out the pair resembling spring leaves ~outlet mall, Cypress, Texas, USA ~St. Paul, Minnesota, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 50 Marilyn Humbert Stacey Dye on the day Namatjira died branches of ghost gums withered and fell a candle quivers in the wind the leeward side blocks the gusts and your punches ~Hermannsburg, NT, Australia Namatjira: Australian indigenous painter of ghost gums. Ghost gums during times of stress, e.g. drought, drop branches. dipped red in outback dust I walk Yeperenye’s crawling trails ~West Macdonnell Ranges, NT, Australia Yeperenye: indigenous name of a furry caterpillar which travels single file, nose to tail in a line, and the indigenous name for the west Macdonnell ranges near Alice Springs. stars broken and bent drifting across the midnight sky wishes lost along the way a ghost, you emerge from my past not all things buried remain that way silence, your weapon of choice the battlefield full of sweet little nothings I wish you had thrown my way ~abusive home I escaped Frank Watson through a gateway I saw Constantinople ancient church through an ancient mosque the organ vibrates long after the church door closes ~Turkey I wonder who you would be sadness overtakes me a tinge of red on new fallen snow ~hospital in a nearby city twilight and fireflies I am a glimmer of light in the darkness ~summertime back yard in Southern Georgia, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 51 Ken Slaughter Sergio Ortiz a backpack with my life story inside the truth I twist and bend just to get it in watching the moon rise above us in autumn we lie together and sigh . . . bend like question marks why must she fret, this fragrant rose, is she not meant to know the essence of her own red bloom heaving into the dumpster a bag of things I should have done long shadows on the grass silence found a tongue to haunt me sweat between the breasts of sloe-eyed strippers ~Grafton, Massachusetts USA a pigeon outside the bar walking with a wobble I wonder what it means to be more evolved a certain kind of Eden holds me captive— your eyes are a green twine, the saddest of rope colleagues studying smart phones in the elevator I break the silence with a fart he touched my hand and for moment I was a woman his trembling lips whisper lies in the dark ~Marlborough, Massachusetts, USA running late I take the wrong exit and my grandson laughs he hasn’t yet learned how to panic ~Columbus, Ohio USA realizing you’ve been dead a third of my life— milkweed flung from the pods of my soul I burn in the dark fire of ambivalence . . . suffering is one very long moment A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 52 I manage terror by examining how things work, count my sins, and grip your rhythm to me in the perfect form of stillness I can wait longer than sadness standing for hours among the sweet narcissus in my garden ~Puerto Rico, USA Debbie Strange almost 60 still raiding my sister’s closet her hand-me-downs stitching the seams of body and soul together in the nursing home parchment skin cradles brittle bones a blue labyrinth inked on mother’s handscape time’s trembling calligraphy school cancelled after the blizzard Poseidon’s statue in the park wears a red toque a snowball in his hand Diana Teneva morning in the tram— I’m sick and dizzy with so many cell phone rings and conversations December the zookeeper walking two reindeer through our village practicing for the parade ~Manitoba, Canada skyscrapers mirroring the sundown nothing but last reflections in the beggar’s hat in line for the coffee vending machine I missed the bus there will be another chance for me summer in the town— no money for a honeymoon travel the neighbors making apartment repairs Toki night fall moonlit lake fall night ~United States ~Haskovo, Bulgaria A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 53 Bruce England off a temple wall the living face of a Mayan driving a car in San José growing up I learned home travels you can pack it up spread it out again in another house ~Kansas, Missouri, Louisiana, Texas, Florida, Michigan, Washington, California, USA the wonder— walking through a cold, soaking rain my shelter in a house and not a tree a woman walks into McDonald’s lifts her t-shirt to show some staring women she has shorts on sitting— looking around my living room outside my windows neat lawns and quiet streets is this where I want to be? there’s a nude lounging in my head no, not just in my head there’s a nude lounging in a poster above my head if her mask slips you see into her nothingness if it holds in place she has remarkable breasts and long, slim muscular legs two janitors sit at opposite ends of the break room working so long together they have heard and said it all in the garage being torn apart there is asbestos the Mexican workers are wearing bandannas ~San José, California, USA in a freeway jam I saw a helicopter lift and fly away creeping by, mangled cars were ready for towing ~680 Freeway, North of San José, California, USA getting old I passed my first kidney stone not-unbearable I now know there’s a passage from dull pain to sharp pain ~Santa Clara, California, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 54 Mary Hind Alexis Rotella the tapping of moths against the window tonight you’re probably flirting with someone on the ’net Only five crystal goblets as I set the table for six— the one time my mother-in-law came to visit her humiliation in having broken one. gnawed by rats the phone line suddenly dead I rather like the silence Tornado warnings she says to take cover— too tight the weatherwoman’s tight red sheath. ~United States the grey of an English winter in another life the scent of apples from her long red hair imagining your flesh and bone reduced to ash this handful of old love letters the orchid you gave me for my birthday has lost its flowers I wish I had known you better ~Melbourne, Australia Pravat Kumar Padhy the street dog with a bare bone the frail baby cries over the skinned breast under the shadow of neon light skyscrapers eclipsing each other I miss the calmness of the moon with layers of chaos and crowd I murmur some lines of rhyme the journey urges me to revisit memories of my village again ~India A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 55 Carole Johnston the fortune teller insists that I’m psychic reading my palm she charges me ten bucks to photograph her my city has one skyscraper blue glass reflects sunrise and clouds solitary blue heron kids busking bottle caps on their soles brass band plays on the corner every day a place called Desire old men loiter outside the liquor store crunching shards of broken whiskey bottles waving at kids on the street ~New Orleans, Louisiana, USA women in saris pass my front porch a caravansary of bags and babies turmeric and saffron ~Lexington, Kentucky, USA Violette Rose-Jones drug raid on the Philadelphia street cops and guns we watch from the window an old man stands guard wrapped together in these sheets your lips forever seeking mine the lavender dusk fruit bats swoop the river drinking deep the train trundles through ancient tunnels rich with graffiti art and philosophy Philly to New York ~Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA slipping between lomandra and casuarina the scent of the river: decades have passed by still you linger in me ~Australia back alley monday morning reeks of spoiled milk New Orleans trash truck its yawning hungry maw Casuarina and lomandra are typical riparian vegetation on the east coast of Australia. Lomandra is a rush plant but despite this, its blooms have an intense fragrance A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 56 Rodney Williams LeRoy Gorman southernmost tip of this island continent low as we could go those long late drives back home with our drunken father passing my house runners in training & casually walking the well-dressed man who drives a hearse ~Wilson’s Promontory, Victoria, Australia these shorter days at every checkout tabloids tell me how to live forever stop-work marchers turning the city-centre red— with a storm the power supply goes out in sympathy pretending it’s not a city cowboy hats in Calgary ~Melbourne, Victoria, Australia on this night train the blood-shot stranger swears they’re just the same— psych nurses with needles prison screws with batons my haircut a little shorter lasts a little longer the day my barber retires ~Frankston, Victoria, Australia when a food cart with chirping wheels rolls into palliative care do they hear spring peepers do they feel desire home safe after driving for hours no recall amber red or green from that last intersection ~Princes Highway, Victoria, Australia on steps of the church of my epiphany snowfall is telling me life is short skiing is good in the hills new electoral boundaries the government says there’s no election near & birds flying south say winter’s nowhere near ~Canada A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 57 Sylvia Forges-Ryan without skipping a beat we all hurry past the Viking outside Carnegie Hall the beggar-musician known as Moondog during rush hour in the packed subway car someone slips a hand between the buttons of my coat outside the theatre we spot the lead actress without makeup or costume looking no more special than we do like my mother before me coming to live in the city for the first time exhilarated by the rhythms and even the dangers ~New York City, New York, USA asking the cabbie with the strange accent where he’s from his answer takes me to a whole other landscape lost in thought as I pass by the homeless man in the soup kitchen line he stops me to ask what I think of him coming home after a hard day at work I search for my key while trannies on the stoop critique my dress rehearsing a Cole Porter song in the next apartment night and day the singer gets that one crucial word wrong every time Broadway babies never tiring of the moment just before the curtain goes up each of us reaches for the other’s hand Matthew Caretti corner bar a butterfly probes my single malt, nectar corrupted by human hands Times Square even the pigeons distracted from the skies between the lights when her shoes become a hobby, delusion is a custom-made closet where mine used to be ~Pennsylvania, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 58 Michelle Brock Margaret Owen Ruckert upright pilgrims congregate to pay homage to the lord of waste . . . bottles clank . . . wheelie bins go bottoms up at Nude Café we search the walls for pictures artistic, risqué wonder where the nudes are— baring our expectations old bearded dragon limps across the lawn— arthritis or lucky escape from my canine neighbour? footsteps fall in uneven treads along the street bare feet and stilettos all the way from Italy in a shopfront catching her reflection— surely that mannequin is wearing her designer figure brushing off a gypsy selling postcards to the wind— inside the church I light a candle for my sins ~Australia twilight Kyoto streets twirl into lanes silk flutters above the clatter of okobo on cobblestone ~Kyoto, Japan He brings me latte with a smile, full to the brim— I always take large. But is it really worth it? Is pleasure all in the Maths? latte in a mug so much milk, topped off with froth but how much is right I ask myself, spooning up more froth than in a romance past cappuccinos random cafés—Mother learnt teas were passé and now at ninety-three it’s cappuccino or nothing bubble, bubble big cakes and frothy coffee— the café lifestyle impassions the suburbs we drown in trouble and toil a cook I know works fifty-hour weeks Sunday lunches and still finds time to queue for yumcha on Sunday night ~Australia A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 59 Johannes S. H. Bjerg after being told off the homeless woman now shits in a pot after dark she empties it between parked cars after break-ups I go for a long run sweating my body won’t have water enough for tears ~Denmark six watches on each arm he tells his plastic bags to be quiet on the train by the wharf we refill the ocean stone by stone there’s fun to be had with crumbling houses the festive lights of the gas station drags in taxi drivers it’s Eid and every car stereo works at double overtime no visitors or long phone calls about pills n stuff if the thermos didn’t talk I couldn’t talk back I could do that take my bottled-up rage out on a dumpster . . . it’s early autumn and still earlier spring the usual rush of sirens and shouts on tv they count the warships off the coast of Syria Dawn Bruce across city park this late afternoon shadows darken walking our dogs we exchange confidences a pause in the dog’s barking we hear our neighbour’s argument snarl into the silence shadows of winter-bare trees criss cross the frosty sidewalk, lead me to my empty nest ~Sydney, Australia in ruined arches of a medieval castle ferns flourish above entwined initials of modern day lovers ~Winchester, England A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 60 Susan Burch you had to have it that 3,000 square foot house mini-McMansion if only I had known then the small box you’d put me in as he dumped me I looked down at my feet wishing I could take back my ‘fuck me’ boots ~Frederick, Maryland, USA the Cigar Locker across the highway beckons me the scent of my mistress he stole our identities yesterday while you watered the plants I fed the cat since I lost my job you’ve worked overtime to pay our bills you don’t see me anymore only red the washing machine whump Whump WHUMPS unbalanced again how I feel off my meds leaving my cell her click-clacking heels echo my thoughts 20 more years . . . from my cell I watch her train disappearing the scent of coconut on my collar interrupting dreams the wood chipper splinters the morning’s peace how the trees shriek pillow over head I roll away from the wall-banging still hearing the groans of the washer a mouthwash bottle now filled with soap and stinkbugs sits on the counter next to the sugar a floating cemetery working on Bananagrams I fill the book with pink eraser shavings ~Hagerstown, Maryland, USA watching Everybody Loves Raymond I wonder why no one loves me ~Ocean City, Maryland, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 61 Sanford Goldstein first afternoon crossing the huge Parisian boulevard, a man in a long coat tried selling me a packet of porn our first French meal, having to choose one item in each of three sets, a Frenchman at the next table suggests saussison aux frites how often our Polish maid was given my school bus pass, how terrified I was that we would have to show our passes some day our first French meal offered by my wife’s uncle, a tailor in France, how delicious and surprising the chateaubrian au poivre the chateaubrian had a flame surrounding the steak, and with the ice cream too later, France seemed a land of flames how aesthetic the French loaf of long white bread, outside we also eat the small portions of what we buy at a market ~Paris, France make sure, my mother tells me, to say “thin,” yes, slice the corned beef thin I say to the delicatessen man so much talk in neighborhood Jewish homes about “kosher, kosher,” still on Friday night in my family we all ate out at the Chinese restaurant how ridiculous my wife and I felt in surprise when our order came, it was, believe it or not, french fries with hotdogs the magnificence of the cathedrals in France as we enter, some believers kneeling in front of the confessional going to the Jewish delicatessen with a clean milk bottle, told by my mother to ask for twenty-five cents’ worth of chocolate soda how I longed to get on the downtown bus to the theatre with my sister, after the movie at the Palace, a car struck me when I ran across the street I took delight in that crushed brown hat on the library table, it said so much about the freedom of our Cleveland urban life groups of young men in front of several drugstores, cigarettes all lit, I envied what I thought was their manly behavior ~Cleveland, Ohio, USA A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 62 Bob Lucky the cleavage of these women at the bar if I were younger if I were . . . York Minster the choir warms up for evensong I know better but still covet the organist’s job turning down my lane late at night the eyes of a hyena cub ignorant of fear a plaque for the man who thought he could swim across the Ouse— I contemplate another pint before taking the plunge power outage we light left over Chanukah candles the talk gradually turns to latke recipes ~York, England seagulls gather at the fish and chips wagon lunch hour tourists don’t see the good luck in being shat upon ~Addis Ababa, Ethiopia ~Tobermory, Scotland Eid-al-Fitr all the shops near my house closed for the day through the mud puddles a crowd wends its way to the mosque 50-cent drafts at the local beer garden a friend and I watch sunbirds turn the light into poetry for the second time the waitress gives me too much change— this time I keep it to give to a beggar this morning the sun blinds me as I turn down the lane a pack of donkeys laden with baskets of coal Joanne Morcom coming home to a dark house I wish I lived next door where lights are on rabbits in the neighborhood seem friendly but just like people they run away neighbor dies was it suicide? if only I’d been kinder she might be alive ~Canada A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 63 Genie Nakano light rain everything smells good the ground, city streets I sniff my hands and arms yes, me we live on the streets feet hot and swollen at night our bones freeze tired of this home I like my small apartment two dogs and a husband fit perfect inside in this room mom and dad lock me inside I can’t go out because I’ll run away my clenched fists and jaw ~California, USA the summer sandals lined up in the front hallway waiting to go out waiting for the rain storm to pass into the next town a bright yellow blouse passing people on the street a young girl in smiles broadcasts to the entire world her inner happiness a silver keychain holding onto your house key for months after the divorce becomes final when you remove the TV newlyweds too poor for a vacation journey plan the trip online hotels and restaurants even which postcards to buy going to Jersey turning page after page in the travel guide photographs and shopping tips something is missing—us because the rain does not stop for wishes we walk hand in hand through grey fog and damp leaves Joann Grisetti the railway station dusty in the middle-day when I traveled into Philadelphia for new contact lenses alfalfa and hay in the bleak mid-winter barn among dairy cows, sour milk and manure, expectant calico cat a folding door a sliding latching door a bolted door and still I feel unsafe when hurricanes are swirling ~United States A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 64 Randy Brooks Hristina Pandjaridis up late with a computer screen rook takes pawn my queen waiting ever so patiently Diana Teneva, Bulgarian-English translator baby memorial a French horn fills the sanctuary ribs it is well with my soul she didn’t mean to pepper spray her boyfriend it was just a test nobody comes into my granddad’s old house guests this morning falling leaves hotel room a single bed a casement window a bird flying in with an apple tree branch ~Hristina Pandjaridis, Bulgaria train crossing we invite a cold bicycler into the van to wait for passing coal cars Peter Fiore not wanting to let go of her long hug in the dorm parking lot I do ~United States après l'achat d'une nouvelle voiture, nous savions que nous ne serions pas retourner à Paris tout moment bientôt after buying a new car we knew we wouldn’t be returning to Paris any time soon ~Paris, France A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 65 Du tanka traduit, écrit, publié en français: survol 1871-2013 Janick Belleau Cet article, en six chapitres, évoque quelques gens de lettres ayant traduit, écrit ou publié du tanka en français depuis 1871. Le survol historique est agencé, grosso modo, de façon chronologique. Je présente écrivainEs et poètes en notant leurs réalisations d’envergure en poésie d’inspiration japonaise. Parfois, je partage mes impressions quant à la lecture d’une œuvre. Je cite quelques tankas m’ayant touchée. Je termine en pensant au futur. 1. Du waka traduit: 1871-1928 Ce serait inconvenant de débuter cet article sans mentionner l’origine nippone du tanka contemporain et ses débuts en France. Dès 1898, sous l’impulsion du poète MASAOKA Shiki (1867-1902), on ne parlera plus au Japon de «ūta» ou de «waka» (né au VIIIe siècle) mais de tanka. En francophonie, la nouvelle appellation sera plus lente à être adoptée. Pour mémoire, rappelons l’importance de trois précurseurEs du tanka, fin du XIXe/début XXe siècle, en France. Ces gens de lettres l’ont fait découvrir en le traduisant/l’adaptant du japonais. 1.1 Léon de Rosny (Lille, FR., 1837-1914) est le premier à publier un ouvrage rassemblant des poèmes d’anciens recueils japonais dont Man’yōshū 1 et Hyakunin-isshū 2: Si.ka.zen.yō— Anthologie japonaise, poésies anciennes et modernes des I n s u l a i re s d u N i p p o n ( 1 8 7 1 ) . 3 D a n s s o n Introduction, le traducteur donne, entre autres, les règles qui régissent l’ «outa»4 ainsi que le waka/le tanka qu’il soit chanté ou psalmodié: les poèmes «doivent renfermer une idée complète en 31 syllabes formant deux vers: le premier de 17 syllabes (5-7-5), avec deux césures; le second de 14 syllabes (7-7), avec une seule césure.»5 Le premier vers «renferme une idée» et le second «fournit le dénouement ou la conclusion»6. Aussi rébarbatif qu’apparaît cet ouvrage, à première vue, force est de s’incliner devant l’érudition de M. de Rosny et de lui savoir gré d’avoir dispensé son savoir si généreusement. 1.2 Puis, vient Judith Gautier (Paris, FR., 1845-1917). C’est lors de l’Exposition universelle de Paris en 1878 que Judith rencontre le peintre Yamamoto Hōsui. Un peu plus tard, elle fait la connaissance de Kinmochi Saionzi, Conseiller d’État de S. M. l’Empereur du Japon, venu étudier les principes de la démocratie occidentale. D’une étroite collaboration des trois amiEs, est née l’anthologie Poëmes De la Libellule (1885)7: le Conseiller d’État a offert, à partir du japonais, une traduction littérale en français; l’écrivaine (J. G.) a adapté les textes sous forme de waka. Les 88 poèmes, empruntés au Kokin-wakashū, sont précédés d’un extrait de la célèbre préface de Ki no Tsurayuki8. Yamamoto les a illustrés. Pour avoir tenu entre mes mains et lu cet ouvrage, je puis affirmer qu’il s’agit d’une œuvre ultimement raffinée. La dédicace liminaire (signée, J. G.) de la compilatrice à Mitsouda Komiosi offre un aperçu de son propre style: Je t’offre ces fleurs De tes îles bien-aimées. Sous nos ciels en pleurs, Reconnais-tu leurs couleurs Et leurs âmes parfumées? 9 Si l’on tient compte de cette inscription, Judith Gautier est la première femme de lettres à avoir écrit un waka en français rimé et rythmé sur 31 syllabes (5-7-5-7-7). 1.3 La Franco-Nippone Kikou Yamata (Lyon, FR., 1897-1975) a commis deux œuvres reliées au tanka. Une première: Sur des lèvres japonaises (1924)10, anthologie confectionnée à partir de ses traductions de légendes, de contes et de poèmes courts (haïku et tanka dont sept de YOSANO Akiko) publiés depuis le VIIIe siècle. Le livre est précédé d’une lettre-préface du poète Paul Valéry. Une seconde: Le Roman de Genji (1928)11—il s’agit de sa traduction des neuf premiers chapitres du Genji monogatari de MURASAKI Shikibu. La romancière-traductrice A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 66 s’est inspirée de la version anglaise d’Arthur Waley12 et du texte original ancien. Fait à noter, c’est sur son initiative que l’Hexagone s’est intéressée à l’art de l’arrangement floral, l’ikebana, sa passion. 2. Du tanka écrit dans la décennie de 1920 C’est après la Première Grande Guerre qu’est né le tanka francophone. Jusqu’à récemment, Jean-Richard Bloch (Poitou, FR., 1884-1947) était considéré le précurseur avec haïkaïs & outas, écrits en 1920.13 En décembre de l’année suivante, il récidivait avec 16 poèmes courts appelés «tankas» et parus dans Les Cahiers idéalistes. Si la photo est manquée Qu’est-ce qu’il va rester De la tendre et chère figure? —Un trait sur le sable, Une image dans la mémoire.14 Pour l’essayiste, Dominique Chipot, c’est Émile Lutz, gagnant du concours «Poèmes asiatiques» organisé par le journal Comoedia15 en 1911, qui, le premier, a écrit un tanka francophone rimé et rythmé sur 31 syllabes16: Sous nos avirons Les ombres des fleurs, des branches Découpent des ronds ! Et voici qu’en lignes blanches Les traversent des hérons ! À mon humble avis, le tanka contemporain, qui se veut classique, s’astreint à la régularité de 31 syllabes (5-7-5-7-7); les poètes, préférant une certaine liberté, opteront pour la formule de vers courts-longs-courts-longs-longs. Dans tous les cas, les vers sont répartis sur cinq lignes. Deux vers peuvent avoir la coquetterie de rimer mais, en règle générale, il vaut mieux que les rimes soient en tête ou au milieu du vers; en français, on aimera aussi les assonances et les allitérations pour la sonorité dont elles enveloppent le poème. Celui-ci comporte peu de ponctuation et pas de majuscules sauf, peut-être, en français, la première lettre du premier mot. Le tanka nécessite deux parties: en général, la première offre une scène de la nature ou du quotidien; ce sont les sens qui sont sollicités. La deuxième partie transmet l’impression, l’intuition ou le sentiment que l’observation de cette scène évoque chez l’auteurE. Le cœur s’exprime idéalement sur des thèmes universels donnant ainsi l’occasion à la lectrice, au lecteur de partager l’émotion du poète ou, encore mieux, d’expérimenter la sienne propre. Au Canada francophone, un seul auteur s’est, dans les années 1920, intéressé à l’«outa»: Je a n - Au b e r t L o r a n g e r ( M o n t r é a l , Q C , 1896-1942). Le journaliste, conteur et poète est aussi considéré comme le premier poète «moderne» du Québec. Dans son deuxième recueil, intitulé Poëmes (1922)17, il propose 31 tankas dans la section Moments, «Sur le mode d’anciens poëmes chinois—Haikais et Outas», celle-ci contient des suites composées de deux ou trois poèmes. L’écrivain suit «de très près l’actualité littéraire de Paris» 18 . Nous savons qu’il «dédaignait les classiques et ne lisait que (Jules) Romains ou la N.R.F.»19. La Nouvelle Revue Française accueillait des poètes de l’avant-garde qui s’enthousiasmaient pour la poésie d’origine nippone. On peut supposer que Loranger, curieux des poètes modernes, ait pu lire d’autres revues et ouvrages récents avant la publication de son recueil. Dès lors, on pourrait penser à l’essai de Paul-Louis Couchoud, Sages et Poètes d’Asie.20 Ayant séjourné en France, dans la capitale et à l’Ile-d’Aix en Poitou-Charentes, du 13 avril au 18 décembre 1921,21 il a peut-être subi l’influence de Jean-Richard Bloch qu’il aurait pu rencontrer lors de son séjour à l’Ile-d’Aix car Bloch possédait une «maison en Poitou»22 L’averse tombe sur le toit : Ma chambre sonore s’emplit D’une rumeur d’applaudissement. Avec le jour qui diminue, La lampe grandit et m’atteint. 23 Je ne puis lire ce poème court de Loranger sans m’émouvoir du lien entre jeunesse et A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 67 tristesse. La forme du tanka n’est pas respectée mais l’esprit y est. Je soupçonne le poète d’avoir joué avec le nombre de syllabes requis . . . par anticonformisme ou pour se rapprocher des poèmes écrits par J.-R. Bloch. Notons brièvement que le contenu des tankas de Loranger laisse supposer qu’il écrit de la nuit à l’aube alors que le silence le porte à voyager entre deux mondes, l’ici et l’ailleurs, et à exprimer ses états d’âme. Minuit. La mesure est pleine. L’horloge rend compte Au temps de toutes les heures Qu’on lui a confiées. L’horloge sonne et fait sa caisse.24 Loranger pressent-il que sa vie sera brève? Que l’heure de rendre des comptes sonnera tôt pour lui? Que sa carrière de poète sera terminée après ce deuxième recueil? 3 . L’ e x c l u s i v e fi l i è r e f r a n ç a i s e : 1948-197225 Le partenariat de Jehanne Grandjean (Paris, 1880-1982), avec le Japonais, Hisayoshi Nagashima (Tokyo, 1896-Paris, 1973) a donné des ailes au tanka en France. En effet, le couple professionnel puis civil26 s’est consacré à la promotion de ce poème avec un dynamisme extraordinaire et une ferveur presque religieuse. En 1948, Nagashima fondait à Paris, l’École internationale du tanka; madame devenait son bras droit. En octobre 1953, naissait la Revue du tanka international; elle en assura la directiongénérale et la rédaction en chef . . . jusqu’à la cessation de la revue en 1972. Dans ses moments libres, la «créatrice du tanka régulier»27, c.-à-d. en 31 syllabes sur cinq lignes non rimées, a fait publier deux recueils personnels. Le premier, Sakura—jonchée de tankas28 (1954); le second, Shiragiku—jonchée de tanka29 (1964). Entre les deux livres, a paru son essai, L’Art du tanka: Méthode pour la composition du tanka, suivi de tankas inédits30 (1957). Pour Madame Grandjean, «le tanka repose sur une base solide: ( . . . ) rien n’est imaginé: il est l’instantané d’une impression ressentie; ( . . . ) de plus, rythmé par les battements du cœur, il lui communique toute l’émotion qu’il contient. ( . . . ) On dit au Japon que c’est avec son sang qu’on écrit le tanka: c’est-à-dire, que son expression doit venir des profondeurs de l’âme; et j’ajoute que c’est par l’observation continue et la contemplation des choses terrestres et célestes qu’on arrive à sa bonne composition.»31 En voici deux tirés de Sakura: La Bretonne chante En berçant son petit gars, Un fils de marin; Mais le bruit qui l’environne N’est pas celui de la mer . . . (p. 31) Des poètes de tanka contemporain boudent les textes de l’avocate du tanka régulier; on lui reproche son «observation continue et la contemplation des choses terrestres et célestes» nommément les oiseaux et les fleurs de sa cour privée ou des jardins publics. Pourtant, il y a parmi ses tankas des moments très intimes qu’elle partage avec nous: L’oreille aux aguets, Essayant de percevoir Le bruit de ses pas . . . Sans cesse, le cœur battant: Toujours mon espoir déçu . . . (p. 127) Sachant que Madame Grandjean est née en 1880 et que Sakura a été publié en 1954, on appréciera qu’un corps septuagénaire abrite le cœur d’une jouvencelle. Jehanne Grandjean est décédée à l’âge de 102 ans. Elle a vécu neuf ans après le décès du bien-aimé. Le couple Grandjean-Nagashima a fait, à la Société des Gens de Lettres, un don par testament. Ce legs permet à la Commission des aides sociales d’attribuer de l’aide financière aux auteurs en difficulté32. 4. Du tanka publié entre 1990-2009 4.1 André Duhaime Ce Québécois (Montréal, QC, 1948Gatineau) a toujours privilégié l’avant-gardisme en poésie. Dès 1985, il écrivait dans l’Avantpropos de Haïku, Anthologie canadienne (codirigée avec Dorothy Howard) bilingue que des poètes «respectent les règles traditionnelles, (. . . d’) A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 68 autres sont davantage moder nes et expérimentaux».33 Il récidivait en 2001 dans l’Avant-propos de son anthologie du haïku contemporain en français, Chevaucher la lune: des «spécialistes émettent régulièrement de sérieux doutes quant à la composition de haïkus en d’autres langues que le japonais, les poètes tentent l’exploration et l’expérimentation . . . »34 ; il est permis de supposer que ces paroles peuvent aussi s’appliquer au tanka. Encore aujourd’hui, il taille autrement les deux joyaux poétiques de l’archipel nippon—une promenade sur son site vous en convaincra.35 André Duhaime est le premier à avoir écrit un recueil complet de tanka. Il demeure, pour moi, l’incontestable premier promoteur du tanka au Canada français. Après avoir lu de TAWARA Machi (1962- ) sarada kinenbi en traduction anglaise (Salad Anniversary) 36, il commet son premier livre de tanka, Traces d’hier 37 (1990). L’auteur rompt avec la forme et la délicatesse de l’expression. Pour lui, il s’agit «de ne pas fuir dans la rêverie poétique, mais bien d’entrer dans le réel. Le beau et le vrai ne sont pas toujours jolis»38. Sur le plan de l’esprit, il est d’avis que le tanka est un poème lyrique composé d’un tercet et d’un distique, «cette deuxième partie venant comme réponse, ou relance, à la première. Le distique est généralement l’expression d’un sentiment (ou un commentaire) suscité par un objet concret ou l’ici/maintenant mentionné dans le tercet.»38b Ses poèmes, comme ceux de Machi dans sarada kinenbi (L’Anniversaire de la salade 39), sont aussi intimes et vrais que les wakas écrits à la Cour impériale de jadis—seuls les termes et le ton ont changé. Le thème qu’il traite, celui de la séparation conjugale, fait appel à l’intelligence du cœur. Certaines ruptures de forme peuvent, d’après moi, être permises en tanka, résolument contemporain, si l’esprit est respecté. d’un côté puis de l’autre oscille le ventilateur ai-je raté ma vie ai-je fait exprès (p. 42.1) boire de la bière et hurler plus fort que la rivière en crue les mains passent demeurent les souvenirs (p. 57.2) 4.2 Duhaime et autres C’est à l’aube du 21e siècle, que le tanka prend véritablement son envol en terre québécoise. Trois recueils personnels, composés d’un mélange de tanka et de haïku, sont publiés: Humeur/Sensibility /Alma par Janick Belleau (2003); À deux pas de moi par Patrick Simon (2006); et, Séjours par Duhaime (2009). 5. Deux lieux pour le tanka depuis 2007 5.1 Patrick Simon Le Franco-Québécois (Metz, FR., 1953Mascouche, QC) a certes aimé son expérience de ce poème car il fonde la Revue du Tanka francophone (RTF) en 2007. Une telle revue littéraire n’existait plus depuis la disparition en France de la Revue du tanka international en 1972. Au printemps 2014, la revue en est au 21e numéro. Publiée trois fois l’an, elle se veut «un espace de création et d’échanges autour du tanka»40. Outre l’éditorial, la RTF comprend quatre sections régulières: 1. Histoire et évolution du tanka; 2. Tanka de poètes contemporains (les tankas sont sélectionnés à l’aveugle par un jury mixte soit québécois et français); 3. Renga, tan-renga et tanka & prose poétique; 4. Présentation de livres d’auteurEs sous forme de recensions et de comptes-rendus. Inlassable amoureux du tanka, Patrick Simon crée, en 2008, les éditions du Tanka francophone. Il a publié à ce jour (novembre 2013) 18 titres—12 auteurEs en solo (dont trois femmes) et trois en duo d’auteurEs. Parmi les poètes en solo, quatre offrent leur recueil en deux langues dont trois en français et en anglais soit Belleau (mars 2010), Claudia Coutu Radmore (mai 2010) et Alhama Garcia (juin 2013). L’éditeur publie en format traditionnel (papier) mais aussi en formats e-pub (numérique) et PDF. Son catalogue inclut, entre autres, une Anthologie du Tanka francophone sur laquelle nous reviendrons plus bas. A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 69 Pour lui-même, Simon s’attache à la rythmique des chiffres impairs (5 et 7) en poésie; il préfère donc écrire, comme Jehanne Grandjean, du tanka régulier, compté sur 31 syllabes. En voici deux tirés de l’anthologie: Framboise à fleur d’eau franchir le pont de cette île tellement chantée à fleur de peau te sentir comme la soie sur ton corps (p. 90.1) Éclats orangés c’est le coucher du soleil sur la tour de verre le temps de me retourner je suis au crépuscule (p. 91.3) 5.2 Janick Belleau Étant l’auteure de ce survol historique, vous conviendrez avec moi que la modestie s’impose quant à mon apport à la poésie d’origine japonaise. Janick Belleau (Montréal, QC, 1946- ) s’intéresse au haïku et au tanka. En haïku, elle a dirigé trois collectifs dont Regards de femmes—haïkus francophones précédé d’un historique du haïku féminin et francophone 41 . En tanka, elle contribue régulièrement à la RTF, depuis sa création en 2007, des articles de fond et des poèmes. Elle a codirigé, sous la direction de M. Kei, Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Vol. 4 (2012)42. La même année, elle a dirigé un collectif pour la revue électronique de M. Kei Atlas Poetica, un Special Feature intitulé Chiaroscuro—25 LGBT Tanka.43 Elle a publié cinq recueils de poésie personnels dont D’âmes et d’ailes/of souls and wings (mars 2010).44 D’âmes et d’ailes/of souls and wings: pour la première fois, depuis près d’un demi-siècle, une femme poète de la francophonie (depuis Jehanne Grandjean) offre un recueil complet de tanka. Un plus, il est bilingue. «Avec sensibilité, tendresse et sincérité, l’auteure partage, en 91 poèmes courts, un chemin de vie semblable à celui de plusieurs contemporaines . . . (quatrième de couverture). Le recueil est précédé d’un historique du tanka féminin depuis le IXe siècle. L’ouvrage de Belleau s’est mérité le Prix littéraire Canada—Japon 2010.45 Ondée sur les feuilles le vent la balayant je ne dirais pas non à une saison éternelle le goût de toi sur mes lèvres (p. 71.1) 5.3 Du tanka francophone en anthologie Également en mars 2010, Patrick Simon ouvre le bal des ouvrages collectifs en dirigeant et publiant la première anthologie consacrée au tanka francophone contemporain. Son Introduction situe le début d’un intérêt en France pour le tanka vers la deuxième moitié du XIXe siècle. La chute du shōgunat, suivie de la Restauration de l’Empereur, permet au Japon de s’ouvrir à l’Occident. Dès lors, des objets d’art font leur apparition dans les Expositions dites universelles tant à Londres qu’à Paris. C’est beaucoup grâce à celles-ci que le japonisme s’est installé dans les salons fréquentés par les peintres impressionnistes, charmés par l’estampe nippone. L’influence du mouvement pictural s’est étendue à la littérature. Déjà Paul Verlaine dans ses Poèmes saturniens (1866) façonne des «poèmes rythmés de cinq ou sept syllabes»46 qui suggèrent des paysages, des impressions, des états d’âme; ce faisant, le poète effleure «l’esthétique de la poésie japonaise classique». Stéphane Mallarmé poursuit «les recherches des poètes, comme Verlaine et Rimbaud, autour du rythme, des vers impairs, et notamment les 5 et 7 syllabes que l’on retrouve» en tanka. Puis, l’anthologiste enchaîne avec des notes sur l’écrivaine/traductrice, Judith Gautier, sur des poètes dont Jean-Richard Bloch et Jean-Aubert Loranger et, sur la poétesse Jehanne Grandjean. Finalement, l’éditeur explique que le Comité de sélection a privilégié des «poèmes qui expriment les sentiments les plus intenses avec une musicalité, une légèreté et une retenue, tout en respectant la forme du tanka.» L’ouvrage compte 47 auteurEs, autant féminins que masculins, dont 21 viennent du Canada et 22 de A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 70 la France. Le Comité a retenu 207 tankas, inédits pour la plupart, sur 854 reçus. Tu me voles un baiser j’agrippe ton col et t’embrasse tout doucement deux papillons sur la branche se balancent dans la brise p. 94.2, Jessica Tremblay, Vancouver, C.-B. Un frêle sampan surgit des eaux boueuses Mékong oh ! Mékong le sourire édenté de la vendeuse de fruits p. 53.2, Patrick Faucher, FR Le temps d’un regard l’espace qui s’arrondit mi-soleil mi lune deux enfants à la marelle crayonnent le jour la nuit p. 40.1, Jean Dorval, Québec, QC Chassés par des loups sur les chemins de l’exode des gens par milliers. les lèvres de la fillette ont la couleur des myrtilles p. 52.1, Danièle Duteil, FR. La moto chromée dans son allure de cuir part à l’aventure deux sacoches pleines de vent . . . p. 102.3, Nanikooo Tsu, Cantley, QC Sans crainte d’être surpris seul dans la nuit noire la tête au vent mains ouvertes et bras tendus j’étreins la lune p. 110.1, André Vézina, Québec, QC 5.4 Dominique Chipot Pour continuer avec les ÉTF, l’une des parutions-phare de la maison est un ouvrage longtemps attendu, Le livre du Tanka francophone (décembre 2011). Dominique Chipot (France, 1958- ) trace l’histoire de ce poème en francophonie, du XIXe siècle à aujourd’hui. C’est un ouvrage extrêmement fouillé, les sources sont diversifiées, les notes de bas de page généreuses. L’auteur remonte le cours du temps avec minutie. Son amour de la recherche et du Japon émergent de page en page. Chipot découpe son étude en cinq parties: 1. Les premiers tankas francophones; 2. École et Revue du tanka international (suivies de deux portraits, l’un de la Française, Jehanne Grandjean et l’autre du Japonais, Hisayoshi Nagashima); 3. L’art du tanka francophone; 4. Du génie poétique, la rhétorique du waka; 5. Bibliographie. Arrêtons-nous un peu sur les instructives parties trois et quatre. Dans la partie trois, l’essayiste examine à la loupe le tanka en se basant sur les trois points formulés par Nagashima et endossés par Grandjean, «forme, fond et esprit»: la forme commande «rythme, concision et complétude»; le fond exige «simplicité, réalité et précision»; l’esprit réclame «sincérité, sensibilité et suggestivité».47 L’écrivain puise copieusement dans les articles de la Revue du tanka inter national (1953-1972) du couple Nagashima/Grandjean et dans L’art du tanka (1957) de Jehanne Grandjean. Sources, selon moi, tout à fait appropriées puisque c’est dans ces pages que le tanka francophone a véritablement pris racine. Dans la partie quatre, l’auteur rend «hommage au génie poétique japonais» en expliquant des techniques d’écriture «si spécifiques à la poésie»48 nippone. Il explique la fonction de certains mots en citant des poèmes japonais translitérés en alphabet latin et traduits en français, soit par Sumie Terada49, soit par Michel Vieillard-Baron50. Prenons l’exemple de l’une de ces techniques, le honka-dori: «par ce procédé, un poète emprunte des éléments à un poème ancien pour créer ‘un jeu de résonnance qui s’opère entre deux poèmes. [§] Pour ce faire, il est nécessaire que le poème qui sert de base soit clairement identifiable; tout emploi indistinct est considéré comme un vol’».51 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 71 Je me permets de reproduire un poème, lu dans un numéro de la RTF, d’un auteur ayant manié cette technique avec succès. Matin d’amour bien après la sonnerie du réveil caresses et baisers sans être lassé l’un de l’autre il a pourtant fallu se séparer Michel Betting, FR.52 Une recherche sur la Toile m’a permis de repérer le poème japonais ancien auquel sont empruntées les deux dernières lignes du tanka contemporain. Il s’agit d’un waka de Ki no Tsurayuki53: Musubuteno/Shizuku ni nigoru/Yama no i no/ Akademo hito ni/Wakare nurukana L’eau s’égouttant de mes mains/Trouble la clarté/Du puits de la montagne/Sans être lassé l’un de l’autre/Il a pourtant fallu se séparer 54 L’idée du honka-dori est facilement transposable dans une culture autre que nippone: unE auteurE d’aujourd’hui peut reprendre quelques mots d’une œuvre classique connue de ses compatriotes, et les insérer dans son propre poème. Pour que le lectorat comprenne qu’il s’agit d’un compliment et non d’un plagiat, l’auteurE doit, comme l’a fait Michel Betting, mettre le fragment d’emprunt (une seule ligne, de préférence) en italiques (ou dans une autre police) et indiquer, dans une note, le nom de l’écrivainE à l’honneur. 6. Du tanka publié extra-muros Il semble que la réussite des initiatives de Patrick Simon ait donné le goût à des poètes francophones, soit de voler de leurs propres ailes, soit de bâtir un nid sous d’autres cieux. On ne peut qu’encourager la multiplication des lieux favorisant l’essor du tanka. 6.1 Micheline Beaudry Dans l’univers du haïku, Micheline Beaudry (Montréal, QC, 1942- ) participait en 2003 à la fondation de l’Association francophone de haïku et parallèlement à la création de sa revue trimestrielle, Gong. En 2006, elle codirigeait, avec Belleau, l’ouvrage collectif L’Érotique poème court/ haïku, finaliste au Prix Gros Sel du Public de Belgique. 55 Dans le firmament du tanka, Micheline Beaudry a collaboré étroitement (articles de fond et sélection de poèmes à l’aveugle) à la RTF depuis sa naissance en 2007 jusqu’en 2011 inclusivement. En mai 2012, elle publie son premier recueil de tankas dans les deux langues officielles du pays, comme une étoile filante/like a shooting star. 56 Dans son Avant-propos, l’écrivaine cite, de façon chronologique, des poètes ayant écrit sur l’Amour, tant dans le Japon classique (les moines Saigyō et Ryōkan, la bonzesse Teishin) que moderne (YOSANO Akiko) et contemporain (TAWARA Machi et Mayu); puis, elle enchaîne avec des poètes du Québec (Loranger, Duhaime, Belleau) qui ont écrit ou écrivent sur ce thème indémodable. L’auteure évolue avec aisance dans la poétique du tanka qui, explique-t-elle, «appelle une écriture sensorielle et une grande maîtrise du non-dit» 57; ce faisant, elle permet au lectorat de se promener dans le pays de l’imaginaire, le sien propre et celui de la poète. la saulaie dans la solennité du jaune chartreux au crépuscule je sors de mon corps pour toucher l’autre vie (p. 72.1) La lectrice a l’impression que le recueil, contenant 77 tankas, est structuré selon les souvenirs de l’auteure: on dirait que la poétesse souhaite que l’œil lecteur vagabonde avec elle en entrouvrant la porte de son jardin secret. Est-on jamais seule sur les sentiers du rêve ou dans le parc des souvenirs? Échappe-t-on au regret de devoir quitter la vie? j’ai aperçu les grands arbres du Cimetière près du fleuve est-ce là l’ombre ultime et l’éternel bruissement? (p. 60.1) A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 72 6.2 La vogue des collectifs et des anthologies Un an après l’Anthologie du Tanka francophone de Patrick Simon, d’autres anthologistes prennent la relève. En avril 2011 donc, J’amour, ouvrage collectif réunissant 65 tankas de 32 auteurEs (dont 21 femmes) du Canada francophone et de la France faisait son apparition dans la capitale québécoise. Les deux responsables, Duhaime et Hélène Leclerc (née 1972), mentionnent dans la Préface qu’ils ont «cherché à donner une représentation actuelle de l’amour, plus particulièrement celui que peuvent connaître les jeunes. ( . . . Ceux-ci) y retrouveront leurs propres émotions, leurs questionnements, leurs doutes et y puiseront sûrement de l’inspiration.»58 je l’ai vue la blondee de mes rêves dans le corridor entourée de l’équipe de football p. 16.1, Mike Montreuil, Ottawa, ON Il se hâte Une rose à la main Vers une autre Son regard me traverse Sans me voir p. 25.2, Geneviève Rey, Québec, QC Trois jours que les feuilles du magnolia tombent— Trois jours que j’attends ton texto p. 40.1, Lydia Padellec, FR En avril 2012, une nouvelle petite maison d’édition, sise dans la capitale fédérale, publie une anthologie exclusivement canadienne, l’estuaire entre nos doutes—tankas de chez nous. Les responsables, Maxianne Berger (née 1949) et Mike Montreuil, (né 1958) abritent 25 poètes (dont 20 femmes) du Canada français offrant 40 tankas dont 75% sont inédits.59 Dans l’Avant-propos, Berger et Montreuil expliquent au lectorat leur vision du tanka: «Vous remarquerez que les ‘tankas de chez nous’ sont presque tous plus brefs que 31 syllabes ( . . . ). L’ajout d’autres syllabes impliquerait ( . . . ) le risque de trop dire. Notre but étant de mettre en valeur l’essence brève et allusive du tanka, nous avons choisi des poèmes qui laissent la parole à l’espace blanc qui les entoure. C’est aux lecteurs, maintenant, de faire parler le blanc.»60 les cercles parfaits de la toile d’araignée – la lumière blondee de l’automne se glisse dans mes souvenirs d’enfance p. 28, Monika Thoma-Petit, Montréal, QC septembre éclaté en silence profond ton regard prune je te prendrai doucement p. 27, Claude Drouin, Laval, QC un verre de brandy comme à chaque anniversaire sa lettre jaunie le souvenir d’une étreinte et le cri des oies sauvages p. 35, Angèle Lux, Val-des-Monts, QC En avril 2013, Berger et Montreuil récidivent en publiant une deuxième anthologie, nuages d’octobre.61 Cette fois-ci, 39 poètes, dont 28 femmes, ont été sélectionnés offrant 61 tankas dont près de 85% sont inédits. Notons deux faits: plusieurs noms sont nouveaux dans la communauté active du tanka francophone; près de la moitié des contributions, autres que francocanadiennes, vient de l’Europe notamment France, Belgique, Suisse, Roumanie. pour tous ces nuages mes deux épaules seront-elles assez solides? le vent retourne les corbeaux comme des ombres chinoises A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 73 p. 61, Monique Leroux Serres, FR. tout le jardin fleure les belles saisons d’autrefois quand tu étais là— près de ta photo j’arrange les roses les plus rouges p. 43, Frans Terryn, BEL. se croit-il aimé lui aussi? vieux chêne que visitent parfois les oiseaux avant de repartir p. 25, Vincent Hoarau, FR. sur mon zafu tout n’est qu’illusion dehors un marteau-piqueur me rappelle que j’existe p. 70, Louise Vachon, Rimouski, QC la violette rempotée dans mes mains le poids d’un nouveau départ p. 51, Huguette Ducharme, St-Pie, QC Du tanka: ici maintenant et demain Rappelons-nous qu’en 2010, la première anthologie du tanka francophone contenait 47 poètes. Dans les trois ouvrages collectifs et anthologies de 2011, 2012 et 2013, on compte 52 nouveaux noms. On se trouve donc, en octobre 2013, avec un total de 99 poètes (50-50 Canada/ Europe) écrivant du tanka en français. Peut-être ce nombre augmentera-t-il d’ici un ou deux ans. En effet, une revue électronique francophone, Cirrus, doit voir le jour en février 2014. Berger et Montreuil sont aux commandes. De son côté, Patrick Simon a lancé un appel à textes pour promouvoir la publication de sa deuxième anthologie (français/japonais); date prévue de parution: printemps 2015. Peut-être que toute cette activité autour du tanka suscitera-t-elle le désir de planifier un symposium qui pourrait se tenir à Montréal, berceau du tanka écrit en français au Canada. Si l’idée d’un symposium62 faisait son chemin, on pourrait tenter de définir le tanka hors du Japon. S’agit-il, pour la francophonie, d’un poème bref, d’un quintil, d’un tableautin? Combien de syllabes le tanka devrait-il contenir 31 ou osciller entre 21 et 31? Les cinq vers non rimés sont-ils conçus en phrases complètes ou en fragments formant un tout? Outre la vue, comment et pourquoi exploiter les autres sens? Quelle différence y a-t-il entre expliquer un évènement, décrire une situation et observer une scène? Le quotidien peut-il aspirer à l’universel? Comment transmettre une émotion sans être mélodramatique? L’art de la suggestion ou du non-dit s’apprend-il? La notion de la juxtaposition d’une scène de la nature à un sentiment profond est-elle surannée? La francophonie voudrait-elle convenir de balises m i n i m a l e s ; l e Ja p o n p o u r r a i t - i l s ’ e n accommoder? Récemment, des poètes de tanka semblent vouloir être lus et publiés en édition bilingue. Le jeu en vaut-il la chandelle; si oui, pour qui?63 Que de questions. Saurons-nous y répondre? © Janick Belleau, Canada, novembre 2013 Janick Belleau réside près de Montréal (Canada). À son actif: publication de cinq recueils personnels et codirection/direction de cinq ouvrages collectifs. Reliés au tanka et au haïku, et souvent bilingues, ses articles de fond (au Canada) et ses communications (en France, au Canada, au Japon) portent sur l’écriture de femmes poètes. Notes 1 Recueil de dix mille feuilles, le plus ancien recueil de poésies japonaises compilé au cours du VIIe siècle 2 Compilation des meilleurs poèmes écrits entre les VIIIe et XIIe siècles faite par l’homme de lettres, Fujiwara no Teika (1163-1241). De cent poètes un poème (traduction, René Sieffert, 1993); calligraphie de Sōryū Uésugi; Publications Orientalistes de France (POF), 2008. 3 Léon de Rosny. Paris, Maisonneuve et Cie éditeurs, 1871. Version numérique gratuite http:// b o o k s . g o o g l e . f r / b o o k s ? id=qHItAAAAYAAJ&pg=PR1&hl=fr&source=gbs_to c_r&cad=4#v=onepage&q&f=false A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 74 Notons l’épellation française qui se rapproche de la prononciation japonaise. 5 De Rosny, ibid., Introduction, p. XV 6 Ibid., p. XVII 7 Judith Gautier. Gravé et imprimé par Charles Gillot, Paris, 1885. Date de la publication non indiquée dans le livre; il faut se fier au catalogue de la Bibliothèque nationale de France 8 Recueil de poèmes anciens et modernes. Ki no Tsurayuki (872?-946?) a été l’âme de cette compilation; il a jeté les bases du waka dans sa longue préface de cette première anthologie impériale, compilée entre 905 et 913. Il est l’un des deux piliers du waka classique; le second fut Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), célèbre pour ses divers traités sur l’excellence en poésie. 9 Ponctuation et lettres majuscules originales respectées pour chacun des poèmes cités. 10 Kikou Yamata. Paris, Le Divan, septième ouvrage de la collection Les soirées du Divan, 1924. 158 pages. Les exemplaires sont numérotés. 11 Kikou Yamata. Paris, Plon, cinquième ouvrage de la collection Feux croisés—Âmes et terres étrangères, 1928. 317 pages. Les exemplaires sont numérotés. 12 Arthur Waley. The Tale of Genji en six tomes entre 1925 et 1933; les neuf premiers chapitres traduits par Kikou Yamata sont la somme totale du premier tome. 13 Le site http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/ bloch.html propose des poèmes et des articles de Bloch. 14 h t t p : / / t e r e b e s s. h u / e n g l i s h / h a i k u / lepampre.html (voir le no 41 de la bibliographie de René Maublanc et la section XIX pour lire 3 tankas de Bloch) 15 Parution dans le no 1506 en date du 14 n o v e m b r e 1 9 1 1 , h t t p : / / w w w. j o u r n a u x collection.com/fiche.php?id=443790 16 Dominique Chipot. Le Livre du tanka francophone, Mascouche, Du tanka francophone, 2011; p. 30 17 Jean-Aubert Loranger. Montréal, L. Ad. Morissette, 1922 18 Jean-Aubert Loranger, Les Atmosphères suivi de Poëmes. Textes choisis et Avant-propos par Gilles Marcotte, Montréal, HMH, 1970; p. 12 19 Ibid., p. 14 20 Paul-Louis Couchoud. Paris, Calmann-Lévy, 1916 21 Jean-Aubert Loranger. Les Atmosphères, Poëmes et autres textes, Textes choisis et présentés par Pierre Ouellet, Montréal, Orphée/La Différence, 1992; p. 14 22 http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/nrf.html 23 Loranger par Gilles Marcotte, p. 80 24 Ibid., p. 101 4 On me pardonnera de ne pas m’attarder aux trois recueils de Renée Gandolphe de Neuville, poétesse à la voix indépendante, contemporaine de Jehanne Grandjean: Pétales envolés—suite de haïkaï et de tanka; Hazan, Paris, 1938. Sur la natte de riz; Lucien Pinneberg, Arcachon, 1940. Et . . . un shamisen chantait . . . ; Lucien Pinneberg, Arcachon, 1942. Peu de renseignements sur son compte sont disponibles sur la Toile. Les coordonnées et les faits touchant à sa vie sont trop ténus ou contradictoires pour que j’en fasse état ici. 26 Chipot, ibid., p. 135 27 Jehanne Grandjean. Sakura—jonchée de tankas (Fleurs de cerisier), 1954. Inscription sous la photo de la poétesse 28 Ibid. La préface et les illustrations sont signées par Nagashima; la préface est suivie de «Notes de l’auteur». Le recueil contient 145 poèmes courts. Une édition en japonais paraît à Tokyo en 1959. 29 Jehanne Grandjean. (Chrysanthème blanc). La présentation et les illustrations sont de Nagashima. Le recueil contient 147 poèmes courts. 30 Source: département Littérature et Art de la Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF)—Sakura est publié aux Éditions Gerbert à Aurillac. Shiragiku (réédité en 1966; texte français et traduction japonaise en regard) et L’Art du tanka sont publiés par l’ÉIT, «éditeur scientifique». 31 Grandjean. Sakura. Extrait des «Notes de l’auteur» 32 Source: Société des Gens de Lettres de France (SGDL) à Paris. Échange de courriels en 2009. 33 André Duhaime & Dorothy Howard (codirection). Haïku Anthologie canadienne/Canadian Anthology. Hull, QC, Asticou, 1985; anthologie bilingue (français/anglais) et partiellement trilingue (pour les haïkus des poètes japonais). Précédée de deux préfaces bilingues: Historique du haïku en anglais en Amérique du Nord par Elizabeth Searle Lamb et Histoire du haïku en français: la France et le Québec par Bernadette Guilmette. p. 12 34 André Duhaime. Chevaucher la lune: anthologie du haïku contemporain en français; Ottawa, ON., 2001, p. 17 35 Site de Duhaime: http://pages.infinit.net/ haiku/ 36 Tawara Machi. Traduction par Jack Stamm. Kawade Bunko, 1988. Il existe aussi une deuxième traduction par Juliet Winters Carpenter. Japon, Kōdansha International, 1989. 37 André Duhaime. St-Lambert, QC, Du Noroît, 1990; illustrations de Réal Calder. Réédition sous le titre D’hier et de toujours. Ottawa, ON., David, 2003. Sur les deux titres, l’auteur a repris ses droits. On peut lire le recueil entier sur: http://pages.infinit.net/haiku/ 25 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 75 section Tanka; rubrique Autres tankas de André Duhaime. Les tankas cités sont tirés de ce recueil. 38 et 38b André Duhaime, sur son site: tiré de son article «Autour du haïku et du tanka—Pour découvrir certaines de nos racines en poésie» 39 Tawara Machi. Traduction du japonais par Yves-Marie Allioux. Arles, Picquier, 2008 40 Mention sur chaque quatrième couverture de la revue 41 Janick Belleau. Regards de femmes—haïkus francophones. Montréal, QC/Lyon, FR., 2008). Illustrations par différentes artistes dont la page couverture par Martine Séguy Bruxelles, BEL. L’auteure a repris ses droits sur ce titre. 42 M. Kei & co-directeurs, Perryville, Maryland, États-Unis, 2012 43 Janick Belleau. Lire sur le site http:// atlaspoetica.org/?page_id=599 44 Janick Belleau. D’âmes et d’ailes/of souls and wings. Initialement publié aux ÉTF, 2010. Traduction en anglais de l’historique: Maxianne Berger. Révision des tankas en anglais: Claudia Coutu Radmore. Illustrations: huit photos prises par l’auteure. Celle-ci a repris ses droits sur ce titre depuis novembre 2011. 45 Ces Prix «constituent une reconnaissance de l’excellence littéraire d’auteurs canadiens qui écrivent sur le Japon, sur des thèmes japonais ou sur des thèmes qui favorisent la compréhension mutuelle entre le Japon et le Canada. Les fonds de ces prix proviennent des revenus de placement de la portion du Fonds Japon-Canada réservée à la dotation, à perpétuité, d’un prix littéraire. Le montant de 20 000 $ était disponible pour les prix de cette année.» Le Conseil des arts du Canada administre ces Prix http://www.canadacouncil.ca/fr/writing-andpublishing/news-room/news/2010/canada-japanliterary-awards-(2010) 46 Patrick Simon (direction). Anthologie du Tanka francophone. Toutes citations de cette section viennent de l’Introduction. Les tankas de divers auteurEs sont aussi tirés de cet ouvrage. 47 Chipot, ibid., toutes citations de ce paragraphe viennent des pp. 155-156 48 Ibid., p. 228 49 Sumie Terada. Figures poétiques japonaises; Paris, Collège de France, 2004 50 Michel Vieillard-Baron, Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241) et la motion d’excellence en poésie; Paris, Collège de France, 2001 51 Chipot, ibid., pp. 235-236 citant Michel Vieillard-Baron 52 Revue du Tanka francophone, no 18, 2013, p. 53.3 53 Voir note 8 concernant Tsurayuki 54 Lire sur http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Ki_no_Tsurayuki Une recherche plus approfondie m’a permis de trouver dans quel ouvrage se trouve cette traduction. Il s’agit de mono no aware, le sentiment des choses de Jacques Roubaud, Gallimard, NRF., 1970, p. 232. Je remercie Carl Vanwelde de Bruxelles pour son aide inattendue. Lu sur son blogue http:// entrecafejournal.blogspot.ca/2012/05/sagesse-de-kino-tsurayuki.html 55 Micheline Beaudry & Janick Belleau (codirection). L’Érotique poème court/haïku; incluant 10 dessins fripons de Line Michaud; Bruxelles, Biliki, 2006. Les auteures ont repris leurs droits. 56 Micheline Beaudry. comme une étoile filante/like a shooting star; ON., Carleton Place, Bondi Studios, 2012. Traduction de l’avant-propos en anglais, Maxianne Berger; traduction des tankas en anglais, Mike Montreuil; photo de la page couverture, Lise Robert et autres illustrations, Line Michaud. 57 Ibid., p. i 58 André Duhaime & Hélène Leclerc, J’amour— Collectif de tankas, Québec, QC, Cornac, 2011; p. 12 et quatrième couverture. Dessins rigolos de Marie Leviel. 59 Maxianne Berger & Mike Montreuil, l’estuaire entre nos doutes—tankas de chez nous. Illustrations de Line Michaud. Ottawa, ON. Des petits nuages, 2012 60 Berger & Montreuil, ibid., p. 2 61 Maxianne Berger & Mike Montreuil, nuages d’octobre—anthologie de tankas. Quinze illustrations suibokuga (l’art du sumi-e) de Rebecca Cragg. Ottawa, ON., Des petits nuages, 2013 62 Notons déjà un premier évènement d’importance ayant eu lieu les 5 et 6 septembre 2013 de l’autre côté de l’Atlantique: Rencontre lyonnaise de la poésie japonaise ‘Tanka’ organisée par l’Association Lyon-Japon en collaboration avec l’Université Lyon III et le Bureau consulaire du Japon à Lyon. Au programme, deux ateliers (l’un en japonais et l’autre en français), cinq conférences et la 1ère édition d’un concours de tanka sur le thème de «la mer». Le jury francophone était composé des membres du Comité de rédaction des ÉTF. Janick Belleau s’est mérité le Deuxième Prix. Pour lire tous les tanka gagnants: h t t p : / / w w w. r ev u e - t a n k a - f r a n c o p h o n e. c o m / actualite.html#Lyon-2013 63 Pour Belleau, voir note 44 et Beaudry, voir note 56. Pour Claudia Coutu Radmore, voir http:// www.revue-tanka-francophone.com/editions/ edition_tanka_francophone.htm ; pour Terry Ann Carter, voir http://www.buschekbooks.com/ hallelujah.htm et pour Luminita Suse, voir http:// w w w . l u m i n i t a s u s e . c o m / ? page=event&lang=en&eid=202 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 76 Tanka in French: Translated, Written and Published: 1871–2013 An Overview Janick Belleau Maxianne Berger, French-English Translator This article, in six sections, deals with a few literary personalities who, since 1871, translated, wrote or published tanka in French. For clarity, the historical overview will approximate chronology. Writers and poets will be presented in terms of their noteworthy accomplishments in the realm of Japanese-inspired poetry, and I will on occasion provide my own impressions of their work. Also cited are tanka I find especially resonant. I will conclude with an eye to the future. 1. Waka in translation: 1871–1928 I could not begin this article without m e n t i o n i n g t h e Ja p a n e s e o r i g i n s o f contemporary tanka and its early days in France. As recommended by Masaoka Shiki (1867–1902), after 1898 the Japanese moved away from the eighth-century terms “ūta” and “waka” and instead began to say “tanka.” This new word caught on more slowly in the French-speaking world. For the record, in late-nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century France, there were three important forerunners of tanka. These literary personalities introduced the Japanese form through translations and adaptations. 1.1 Léon de Rosny (Lille, France, 1837– 1914) was the first to publish a book of poems gathered from ancient Japanese writings. His 1871 Si-ka-zen-yō—Anthologie japonaise, poésies anciennes et modernes des Insulaires du Nippon [selected japanese and sino-japanese verse—Japanese anthology, ancient and modern poems from the Japanese Islands], includes selections from such texts as the Man’yōshū (Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves, c. 759) and the Hyakunin Isshū (One hundred poets, one poem each).1 The translator’s Introduction provides the rules governing “outa” (French sp. of “uta”) as well as waka/tanka, whether sung or chanted. The poem “must contain a complete idea within the thirty-one syllables that make up its two lines: the first of seventeen syllables [5-7-5], with two caesuras; the second of fourteen syllables [7-7] with only one caesura” (p. xv). The first line, he writes, contains “an idea[,]” and the second “provides the dénouement or conclusion” (p. xvii). If at first glance his approach seems somewhat adamantine, one must admire de Rosny’s scholarship and appreciate his having so generously shared his knowledge. 1.2 Next comes Judith Gautier (Paris, France, 1845–1917). At the Exposition Universelle [Third Paris World’s Fair] of 1878, Gautier met the Japanese painter Yamamoto Hōsui. A little later, she was introduced to Kinmochi Saionji, member of the Japanese Emperor’s Privy Council, who had come to learn about principles of western democracy. Through the close The best poems written between the eighth and twelfth centuries, compiled by literary scholar Fujiwara no Teika (1163-1241). One of the two pillars of classical waka, he is celebrated for his various writings about excellence in poetry. René Sieffert, trans. (1993): De cent poètes un poème. Calligraphy, Sōryū Uésugi. Aurillac, Fr.: Publications Orientalistes de France, 2008. 1 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 77 collaboration of these three friends came the 1885 anthology Poëmes de la Libellule [Poems of the Dragonfly].2 The statesman rendered literal French translations, and the author, Gautier, adapted these into waka. The eighty-eight poems, from the Kokin-wakashū, are preceded by an excerpt from Ki no Tsurayuki’s famous preface.3 Yamamoto provided illustrations. I have held this book in my own hands and have read it: it is exquisite. The dedication (signed J.G.) from the compiler to Mitsouda Komiosi provides a glimpse of her own style. I give you flowers From your beloved islands. With our tearful skies Can you recognise their hues And the perfume of their souls?4 Based on this inscription, it can be said that Judith Gautier is the first female literary personality to have written a waka in French, in rhyme [TN: in French, abaab] and of 31 syllables (5-7-5-7-7). 1.3 Kikou Yamata, a French woman of Japanese heritage (Lyon, France, 1897–1975), produced two works involving tanka. The first, Sur des lèvres japonaises ([On Japanese Lips] 1924) anthologises her translations of texts dating from the eight century on: legends, tales and short poems (haiku and tanka, seven of these by Yosano Akiko). The book opens with a letterpreface by the poet Paul Valéry. Yamata’s second book is Le Roman de Genji (1928)—her translation of the first nine chapters of the Genji Monogatari [The Tale of Genji] by Murasaki Shikibu. The novelist-translator found inspiration in both the ancient original text and the English version by Arthur Waley (her nine chapters corresponding to his Vol. 1). Of note, flower arranging became popular in France because of her passion for ikebana. 2. Tanka written in the 1920s Tanka in France appeared after the Great War. Until recently, it was believed that JeanRichard Bloch (Poitou, France, 1884–1947) had written the first with his haï-kaïs & outas in 1920.5 In December, 1921, he followed with sixteen brief poems called «tankas» in Les Cahiers idéalistes [The Idealists’ Notebooks]. If the photo is a failure What will remain Of that sweet and dear countenance? —A line in the sand, An image in memory. (in Maublanc XIX) According to essayist Dominique Chipot (p. 30), the first French poet to publish a tanka is Émile Lutz, winner of the “Asian poems” contest sponsored in 1911 by the arts journal Comoedia.6 His winning poem follows the 31-syllable rhythm, and it rhymes [TN: in French, ababa]. Underneath our oars Shadow flowers and branches Scissor the circles! And here crossing into those With their white lines are herons! (in Chipot p. 30) From my humble perspective, would-be classical contemporary tanka confines itself to a 31-syllable regularity (5-7-5-7-7). Poets who prefer to write more freely choose the short-longshort-long-long formula for line length. In all cases, they compose in five lines. Two lines can flirt with end rhyme but, generally, it would be preferable to have rhymes at the beginning or the “1885,” not printed in the book, is taken on faith from the catalog of the Bliothèque nationale de France. “Collection of Japanese Poems of Ancient and Modern Times.” Ki no Tsurayuki (c.872–c. 945) was the soul of this compilation. The second pillar of classical waka, he set out its principles in his long preface to this first imperial anthology, compiled between 905 and 913. 4 All quoted poems retain original capitalization and punctuation. 5 Poems and articles by Jean-Richard Bloch can be found at http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/bloch.html 6Comoedia No 1506 (14 November, 1911). http://www.journaux-collection.com/fiche.php?id=443790 2 3 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 78 middle of a line. In French, assonance and alliteration, enveloping the poem with sound, are appreciated as well. In French there is minimal punctuation, and no capitals other than possibly the first letter of the first word. Tanka requires two parts. Usually the first shows a scene from nature or from the everyday, as perceived by the senses. The second part produces the poet’s impression, intuition or sentiment as evoked by the scene. Ideally, the heart will convey universal themes such that readers can share in the poet’s emotion, or even better, experience their own. In French Canada of the 1920s, the sole author interested in the “outa” was Jean-Aubert Loranger (Montréal, QC, 1896–1942). This journalist, storyteller and poet is also considered Québec’s first “modernist.” In his second collection, Poëmes (1922), the section called “Moments” contains thirty-one tanka “in the manner of the ancient Chinese poems—haikais and outa.” These are grouped in strings of two or three poems. The writer closely followed “the contemporary literary scene in Paris” (Marcotte p. 12). We know he “disliked the classics and read only [Jules] Romains or the N.R.F” (Marcotte p. 14). The New French Review attracted vanguard poets who were enthusiastic about Japanese forms. One can suppose that Loranger, curious about modern poets, would have read other periodicals and recent publications before producing his own collection. Of these, one might think of Paul-Louis Couchoud’s essay, Sages et Poètes d’Asie [Thinkers and Poets of Asia]. Loranger spent time in France, in the capital and on l’Ile-d’Aix in Poitou-Charentes, between April 13 and December 18, 1921 (Ouellet p. 14), and could have met and been influenced by Jean- Richard Bloch while in l’Ile-d’Aix, because Bloch owned a “house in Poitou.”7 Rain is falling on the roof: My acoustic chamber is filling With the sound of applause. As the day fades away, The lamp expands and reaches me. (Loranger in Marcotte p. 80) I cannot read this brief poem by Loranger without feeling the connection between youth and sadness. Form is not followed, but tanka spirit is. I suspect that the poet toyed with the required syllable count . . . whether through nonconformity or to approximate the poems of J.-R. Bloch. The topics in Loranger’s tanka suggest that he wrote from dusk to dawn, when silence set him to traveling between two worlds, here and elsewhere, and to expressing his moods. Midnight. The full measure reached. The clock tells All of time’s hours Entrusted to it. The clock strikes and counts its till. (in Marcotte p. 101) Could Loranger have sensed that his life would be short? That his hour of reckoning would strike early? That his career as a poet would end after this second book? 3. The lone French file: 1948–19728 Jehanne Grandjean (Paris, 1880–1982) and Hisayoshi Nagashima (Tokyo, 1896–Paris, 1973), whose partnership was both professional and marital (Chipot p. 135), gave French tanka its wings. In fact, the two devoted themselves to the Jean-Richard Bloch’s poem, “Maison en Poitou” [House in Poitou], can be read at http://terebess.hu/english/ haiku/nrf.html 8 I must be forgiven for not spending time on Renée Gandolphe de Neuville, the independently-minded poetess who was a contemporary of Jehanne Grandjean. Her three books are: Pétales envolés—suite de haïkaï et de tanka ([Flight of Petals]; Paris: Hazan, 1938); Sur la natte de riz ([On the Braid of Rice]; Arcachon: Lucien Pinneberg, 1940); and Et . . . un shamisen chantait . . . ([And . . . A Shamisen Was Singing . . .]; Arcachon: Lucien Pinneberg, 1942). There is not much information about her on the web. The details and events surrounding her life are too minimal or contradictory to be dealt with here. 7 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 79 poem with extraordinary energy and almost religious fervour. In 1948, Nagashima founded the École internationale du tanka [International School of Tanka] in Paris, with Grandjean as his right hand. October, 1953, saw the appearance of the Revue du tanka international [International Tanka Review]. Grandjean served as general manager and as editor-in-chief until the review’s final issue in 1972. In her spare time, the “creator of regular tanka”9 (i.e. 31 syllables on five unrhymed lines) produced two collections of her own: Sakura, jonchée de tankas [Cherry Blossoms, A Spray of Tanka] in 1954, and Shiragiku, jonchée de tanka [White Chrysanthemums, A Spray of Tanka] in 1964. Between these two books, 1957 saw the appearance of her L’Art du tanka: Méthode pour la composition du tanka, suivi de tankas inédits [The Art of Tanka: How to Compose Tanka; followed by previously unpublished tanka]. In her “author’s notes” to Sakura, Grandjean affirms that, “tanka rests on a solid base: [. . .] nothing is imagined: it is the snapshot of a sensory impression; [. . .] as well, following the rhythm of heartbeats, it conveys every emotion it carries. [. . .] In Japan they say that tanka is written in blood: that is, that its words must come from the depths of the soul; and I should add that proper composition is reached through continuous observation and contemplation of things earthly and the celestial.” The Breton woman Sings as she rocks her small boy, Son of a sailor; But the noise that surrounds her Is not the sound of the sea . . . (Sakura p. 31) Some contemporary tanka poets overlook the writings of this advocate of regular tanka. They reproach her for the “continuous observation and contemplation of things earthly and the celestial”—in particular the birds and flowers of her private courtyard or in public gardens. However in some tanka she does share intimate moments. On watch and all ears Trying to perceive the sounds Made by his footsteps . . . Without pause, my heart beating: Hopes ever disappointed . . . (Sakura p. 127) Given that Grandjean was born in 1880, and Sakura published in 1954, clearly a septuagenarian body sheltered a young woman’s heart. Jehanne Grandjean died at the age of 102, nine years after the death of her beloved. The Grandjean-Nagashima’s bequeathed funds to the Société des gens de lettres [French Learned Society] which would enable its social aid commission to provide financial help to authors in need.10 4. Tanka published 1990 and 2009 4.1 André Duhaime This resident of Gatineau, QC (b. Montréal 1948), has always been at the forefront in poetry. As early as 1985, in the bilingual Haïku Anthologie canadienne/Canadian Anthology (co-edited with Dorothy Howard), the Foreword states that some poets respect “traditional rules” and others are “more modern and experimental” (p. 11). And again, in 2001, what Duhaime states about haiku in his Foreword to Chevaucher la lune [Straddling the Moon], could apply to tanka: "experts regularly express serious doubts about haiku written in languages other than Japanese [as] poets try to explore and experiment . . .” (p. 17). Even today he has a different approach to faceting these two jewels from the Japanese archipelago—as would attest his web site.11 Duhaime, whom I clearly see as the original promoter of tanka in French Canada, is the first to have written a complete book of tanka. After Inscription under Grandjean’s photo in Sakura. Société des gens de lettres de France. Personal correspondence, 2009. See Belleau’s historical overview, “Tanka by women since the ninth century,” D’âmes et d’ailes /of souls and wings p. 34, and notes 38 and 39 p. 38. 11 http://pages.infinit.net/haiku/ 9 10 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 80 having read Tawara Machi’s (b. 1962) sarada kinenbi in English translation (Salad Anniversary), he produced his own first book in 1990, Traces d’hier [Traces of Yesterday]. The author breaks away from form and from delicate phraseology. For him, it’s a matter of “not escaping into poetic dreaminess, but rather to penetrate what is real. Beauty and truth are not always pretty” (“Autour” p. 2). As to the spirit of tanka, he agrees that it is a lyrical poem composed of a triplet and a couplet, “this second part being a reply, or a rejoinder to the first. [. . .] The couplet is usually the expression of an emotion (or a comment) evoked by something concrete (or by the here and now) stated in the triplet” (“Autour” p. 14). His poems, like those of Tawara in sarada kinenbi, are as intimate and as honest as waka composed in the Imperial Court of the past— only the vocabulary and the tone are different. The theme he explores, that of marital separation, speaks to the intelligence of the heart. Certain breaks in form, as I see it, can be permitted in tanka, decidedly contemporary, as long as the spirit is respected. first one side then the other the oscillations of the fan have I bungled my life did I do it on purpose (Traces d’hier p. 42) to drink beer and to shout more loudly than the swollen river hands move on memories remain (Traces d’hier p. 57) 4.2 Duhaime and others The first decade of the twenty-first century saw tanka take off in Québec. Three authors published books featuring a mix of tanka and haiku: Janick Belleau’s Humeur/Sensibility/Alma ([Mood/Sensibility/Soul]; 2003); Patrick Simon’s À deux pas de moi ([Two steps away from me]; 2006); and Duhaime’s Séjours ([Sojourns]; 2009). 5. Two homes for tanka since 2007 5.1 Patrick Simon This Franco-Québécois (b. Metz, France, 1953; now domiciled in Mascouche, QC) became so enamoured of this poem that in 2007 he founded the Revue du Tanka francophone [The French-language tanka review]. Such a literary journal had not existed since the France-based Revue de tanka international ceased publication in 1972. As of the spring of 2014, the RTF will have reached its twenty-first issue. Published three times a year, the back cover of every issue describes it as “a creative space for writing and discussing tanka.” Aside from the editorial, there are four regular sections: 1, History and evolution of tanka; 2, Tanka by poets today (selected blind by a jury of poets from both France and Québec); 3, Renga, tan-renga and tanka-prose; 4, Presentations of books and of authors, through book reviews and reports. Indefatigable lover of tanka, in 2008 Patrick Simon founded the éditions du Tanka francophone (ÉTF [the French-language tanka press]). As of November, 2013, eighteen books have appeared —twelve by a solo poet (of whom three women), and three by two authors. Of the one-poet books, four are dual-language editions, three of these being French-English—Belleau (March, 2010), Claudia Coutu Radmore (May, 2010) and Alhama Garcia (June, 2013). The press publishes both in print and in digital formats (e-pub and PDF). The press’s catalog includes the Anthologie du Tanka francophone [Anthology of Frenchlanguage tanka], discussed below. As to his own poems, Simon endorses the rhythms of five- and seven-syllable lines. He therefore prefers to compose regular tanka, as had Jehanne Grandjean, counting out thirty-one syllables. Here are two of his, taken from his anthology. from bridge to island raspberries graze the water so extolled in song sensitive to your presence like silk over your body (p. 90) A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 81 Orangey flashes it is the sun going down on the glass tower by the time I turn around I find myself at twilight (p. 91) 5.2 Janick Belleau As the author of this article on tanka in French, it behooves me to be modest about my own contributions to poetry of Japanese origin. Janick Belleau (b. Montréal, QC, 1946) is involved in both haiku and tanka. She has edited three haiku anthologies, including Regards de femmes—haïkus francophones [Women’s Views— French-Language haiku] which she opens with an overview of French haiku written by women. As for tanka, she has regularly contributed both feature articles and poems to the RTF since its founding in 2007. She was on M. Kei’s editorial team for Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Vol. 4 (2012). That same year, she edited a special feature, “Chiaroscuro—25 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Tanka,” for M. Kei’s journal, Atlas Poetica. One of her five poetry collections is D’âmes et d’ailes/of souls and wings (March, 2010). D’âmes et d’ailes/of souls and wings marked the first time in nearly half-century that a woman (since Jehanne Grandjean) produced a complete collection of tanka in French—one which is also bilingual. In its ninety-one brief poems, “[w]ith sensitivity, tenderness and sincerity, the author shares a Life’s journey similar to that of many contemporary women . . .” (back cover). She begins the book with an historical overview of “Tanka by women since the ninth century”. The book earned Belleau the 2010 Canada-Japan Literary Award. 12 shower on leaves carried away by the wind I would not mind a never-ending season the taste of you on my lips (p. 70) 5.3 French-language tanka anthologised Also in March, 2010, editor and publisher Patrick Simon opened the anthology season with the previously mentioned Anthologie du Tanka francophone—the very first to be dedicated to contemporary tanka in French. His Introduction sets the beginnings of French interest in tanka to the second half of the nineteenth century. The decline of the shōguns and the restoration of the emperor permitted Japan to open itself to the West. As of then, works of art showed up at socalled Universal Exhibitions in both London and Paris. It was primarily due to these that Japanism emerged in the salons where the Impressionists gathered, charmed as they were by Japanese prints. The influence of this pictorial movement extended to literature. Paul Verlaine, in his 1866 Poèmes saturniens [Poems Under Saturn], was already shaping “poems with five- and seven-syllable rhythms” depicting landscapes, impressions, states of mind. In doing this, the poet touched upon “the aesthetics of classical Japanese poetry.” Stéphane Mallarmé carried on with the “research by poets such as Verlaine and Rimbaud, concerning rhythm, odd numbers of lines, and in particular the 5-and 7-syllable lines found” in tanka (Simon pp. 7-8 passim). The anthologist’s comments move along to the author/translator Judith Gautier, and to poets such as Jean-Richard Bloch, Jean-Aubert Loranger and the poetess Jehanne Grandjean. Finally, the publisher explains that the selection committee favoured “poems which expressed the most intense emotions with musicality, lightness and reserve, all the while respecting the tanka form” (p. 16). Of the forty- These awards “recognize literary excellence by Canadian authors writing on Japan, Japanese themes or themes that promote mutual understanding between Japan and Canada. The funds for these awards come from the JapanCanada Fund endowment dedicated to a literary award. The amount of $20,000 was available for this year’s award.” These awards are administered by the Canada Council for the Arts. http://canadacouncil.ca/en/writingand-publishing/news-room/news/2010/canada-japan-literary-awards-%282010%29 12 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 82 seven poets featured, twenty-one are from Canada, twenty-two from France, and there are as many women as men. Of the 854 poems submitted, the selection committee chose 207, most of these previously unpublished. You steal a kiss I grab your collar and hug you so gently two butterflies on a branch sway with the breeze ~Jessica Tremblay, Vancouver, BC (p. 94) A fragile sampan appears in the muddy waters Mekong, oh Mekong! the toothless smile of the woman selling fruit ~Patrick Faucher, France (p. 53) Time enough to look the space that’s growing rounder half sun half moon two children playing hopscotch drawing the day at night time ~Jean Dorval, Québec City, QC (p. 40) Pursued by wolves on the roads of their exodus thousands of people. the little girl’s lips are tinged the colour of blueberries ~Danièle Duteil, France (p. 52) The chrome motorcycle outfitted in leather headed for adventure two saddle bags filled with wind . . . ~Nanikooo Tsu, Cantley, QC (p. 102) No fear of being caught alone in the black night wind in my hair hands open and arms outstretched I embrace the moon ~André Vézina, Québec City, QC (p. 110) 5.4 Dominique Chipot Also from the ÉTF press, one of its flagship books appeared in December, 2011: the longawaited study by France’s Dominique Chipot (b. 1958), Le livre du Tanka francophone [Book of French-Language Tanka]. Chipot traces the history of the poem in the French-speaking world, from the nineteenth century through to today. An extremely well-researched book, the sources are diverse, and the footnotes generous. The author meticulously travels backwards in time, and his love of both research and Japan comes through on every page. Chipot organises his study into five sections: 1. The first tanka in French; 2. The school and the International Tanka Review (followed by profiles of the French and Japanese colleagues, Jehanne Grandjean and Hisayoshi Nagashima); 3. The art of tanka in French; 4. Of poetic genius, the rhetoric of waka; 5. Bibliography. We should spend time on the instructional aspects of sections 3 and 4. In section 3, the essayist analyses tanka through the lenses formulated by Nagashima and endorsed by Grandjean, “form, subject and spirit.” Form deter mines “rhythm, concision and completeness.” Topic requires “simplicity, reality and precision.” Spirit demands “sincerity, sensitivity and suggestiveness” (pp. 155-6 passim). The author delves deeply into articles by Nagashima and Grandjean in the Revue du tanka international of 1953 through 1972, and in Grandjean’s L’Art du tanka of 1957. As I see it, these sources are most appropriate because, in effect, the roots of tanka in French took hold within those pages. In section 4, Chipot pays “homage to Japanese poetic genius” by explaining writing techniques “specific” to Japanese poetry. (p. 228) A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 83 He explains the function of certain words by citing transliterated Japanese poems and their French translations, either by Sumie Terada or by Michel Vieillard-Baron. One of these techniques, for example, is honka-dori. Chipot describes the process by quoting Vieillard-Baron. “[A] poet borrows elements from an ancient poem in order to set up ‘a play of resonances between the two poems. [§] To succeed, the poem behind the allusion must be clearly identifiable; any unclear use would be deemed a case of theft’” (pp. 235-6). This next poem, from the RTF (18 [Feb. 2013]), shows the technique’s successful use. Morning of love well after the alarm clock we caress and kiss though not tired of each other still we had to part ~Michel Betting, France (p. 53) The final lines of this contemporary tanka are borrowed from a waka by Ki no Tsurayuki: “Musubu te no/ Shizuku ni nigoru/ Yama no i no/ Akade mo hito ni/ Wakarenuru kana.” “Water dripping from my hands/ Disturbs the clarity/ Of the mountain well,/ Though not tired of each other/ Still we had to part[.]”13 The honka-dori is easily transposable to a culture other than Japanese. Authors today, for their own poems, can borrow a phrase (preferably a single line) from their cultural canon. For readers to understand that this is a compliment and not plagiarism, poets must, as has done Michel Betting, italicise the borrowed text (or use a different font), and indicate the name of the honoured writer. 6. Tanka published extra muros It appears that Patrick Simon’s successful initiatives gave poets writing in French a desire for tanka, either to fly with their own wings, or to build a nest under different skies. This multiplication of venues favours the development of tanka and can only be encouraged. 6.1 Micheline Beaudry In the haiku universe, Micheline Beaudry (b. Montréal, QC, 1942) participated in the founding, in 2003, of the Association francophone de haïku ([the Association for French-Language Haiku,] and its quarterly journal, Gong. In 2006, with Belleau, she co-edited the anthology L’Érotique poème court/haïku [The brief erotic poem] which was short-listed for the Belgian reading public’s award, Prix Gros Sel. In the skies of tanka, Beaudry was closely involved with the RTF (writing feature articles and participating in the selection committee) from its inception in 2007 through 2011. In May, 2012, her first tanka collection was published in the country’s two official languages, comme une étoile filante/like a shooting star. In her foreword, the author gives a chronological account of poets who wrote about Love—from Japan’s classical period (the monks Saigyō and Ryōkan, and the nun Teishin), its m o d e r n p e r i o d ( Yo s a n o A k i k o ) , a n d contemporary (Tawara Machi and Mayu). She then follows with Québec poets (Loranger, Duhaime, Belleau) who wrote or who still write about this timeless theme. The author manoeuvres easily in the poetics of tanka which, she explains, “calls for sensory writing and supreme mastery of the unstated” (p. xi). As such, she lets readers wander through a world of imagination, their own as well as hers. willow plantation the solemn chartreuse of dusk I leave my body to touch another life (p. 72) This reader has the impression the book, with its seventy-seven tanka, is structured Ki no Tsurayuki, translation by Jacques Roubaud in his mono no aware, le sentiment des choses [the sentiment of things], Gallimard, NRF: 1970. p. 232. I am grateful to Va n w e l d e o f B r u s s e l s f o r h i s s e r e n d i p i t o u s b l o g e n t r y. http://entrecafejournal.blogspot.ca/2012/05/sagesse-de-ki-no-tsurayuki.html 13 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 84 according to the author’s memories, as if the poet wants the reading eye to wander with her through the partially open gate of her secret garden. Are we ever alone on the path of dreams or in memory’s park? Can we ever escape the regret of having to leave life behind? For three days the magnolia’s leaves have been falling— Three days I’ve waited for your text message ~Lydia Padellec, France, (p. 40) close to the water I noticed the cemetery’s large trees is it there, the final shadow the eternal rustling? (p. 60) 6.2. More anthologies A year after Patrick Simon’s Anthologie du Tanka francophone, other anthologists followed. April, 2011, saw the launch in Québec’s capital of J’amour [I’llove], which gathers sixty-five tanka by thirty-two authors (of whom twenty-one women) from French Canada and from France. The editors, Duhaime and Hélène Leclerc (b. 1972), state in their preface that they “sought to give a contemporary view of love, especially the sort that young people might experience.” These would “recognise their own emotions, their questions, their doubts, and would surely find inspiration themselves” (p. 12 and back cover). i saw her the blonde of my dreams in the hallway surrounded by the football team ~Mike Montreuil, Ottawa, ON (p. 16) He hurries A rose in his hand Towards someone else His gaze goes through me But doesn’t see me In April of 2012, a new small press, located in the federal capital, published a wholly Canadian anthology, l’estuaire entre nos doutes— tankas de chez nous [the estuary between our doubts —tanka from home]. Those in charge, Montrealer Maxianne Berger (b. 1949) and Ottawan Mike Montreuil (b. 1958), have given a home to forty tanka by twenty-five poets from French Canada (twenty of whom are women). Three quarters of the poems are previously unpublished. In their foreword, Berger and Montreuil provide readers with their vision of tanka. “You will notice that nearly all these ‘tanka from home’ have fewer than 31 syllables [. . .] To add more syllables would sustain [. . .] the risk of saying too much. Because our goal is to spotlight the brief and allusive essence of tanka, we have selected poems which give a voice to the white space around them. It is now up to readers to make that white space talk” (p. i). perfect circles of the spider’s web— autumn’s blonde light slides into my childhood memories ~Monika Thoma-Petit, Montréal, QC (p. 28) ~Geneviève Rey, Québec City, QC (p. 25) September bursts forth in silence so deep your plum gaze I will take you gently ~Claude Drouin, Laval, QC (p. 27) A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 85 a glass of brandy as at every anniversary his yellowed letter the memory of an embrace and the call of wild geese on my zafu all is illusion outside a woodpecker reminds me I exist ~Angèle Lux, Val-des-Monts, QC (p. 35) ~Louise Vachon, Rimouski, QC (p. 70) In April, 2013, Berger and Montreuil produced a second anthology, nuages d’octobre [October clouds]. This one contains 61 tanka by 39 poets (of these, 28 are women; and nearly 85% of the poems, not previously published). Two details are worthy of mention: several of the authors are new to the French-language tanka community; and nearly half of the contributors, those not from French Canada, are from Europe —France, Belgium, Switzerland and Romania. for all these clouds will my shoulders be strong enough? crows turn over in the wind like Chinese shadow puppets ~Monique Leroux Serres, France (p. 61) the whole garden wafts of lovely summers past when you were there— next to your photo I arrange the reddest of roses ~Frans Terryn, Belgium (p. 43) could it too believe itself loved? old oak the birds sometimes visit before flying off again ~Vincent Hoarau, France (p. 25) the violet repotted in my hands the weight of a fresh start ~Huguette Ducharme, St-Pie, QC (p. 51) Tanka: here now and tomorrow As previously stated, in 2010 the first Frenchlanguage tanka anthology included forty-seven poets. In the three anthologies that of 2011, 2012 and 2013, there are fifty-two new names. All told, as of October, 2013, there are ninety-nine poets (half each Canada and Europe) writing tanka in French. This number could increase over the next two years. A new web-based journal for tanka in French, Cirrus, directed by Montreuil and Berger, will be launched in February, 2014. Meanwhile, Patrick Simon has just put out a call for submissions for his second anthology (French and Japanese), scheduled for spring, 2015. Perhaps all this activity will lead to planning a tanka symposium that could take place in Montréal, the cradle of tanka written in French. If the idea of a symposium14 catches on, it would be possible to try to define tanka outside of Japan. For the French-speaking world, would it be a brief poem, a five-line poem, a little picture? How many syllables should be used to compose a tanka: 31 or somewhere between 21 and 31? Should the five unrhymed lines form complete sentences, or should they be fragments that form a whole? Beyond vision, how and why should I note that a first such event took place September 5–6, 2013, across the Atlantic: the Lyon Meeting for Japanese Tanka Poetry organised by the Lyon-Japan association in collaboration with University Lyon 3 and the office of the Japanese consulate in Lyon. Scheduled activities included two workshops (one Japanese, one French), five presentations, and the first installment of a tanka contest, on the theme of “the sea.” ÉTF editors made up the French jury. The second prize was awarded to Janick Belleau. To read the winners’ tanka: http://www.revuetanka-francophone.com/actualite.html#Lyon-2013 14 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 86 other senses be called upon? What are the differences between explaining an event, describing a situation and observing a scene? Can the everyday aspire to being universal? How can an emotion be conveyed without melodrama? Can one learn the art of suggestion and the unstated? Is the notion of juxtaposing a scene from nature with some deep feeling outdated? Would poets writing in French agree on minimal requirements, and would these be acceptable to Japan? Recently, tanka poets seem to want to be published and read in bilingual editions. 15 Is this worth the time and effort, and if so, for whom? For such questions, could there be answers? ©Janick Belleau, Canada, November 2013 Janick Belleau lives near Montreal, Canada. She published five personal collections and directed/co-directed five collective works. Her French and English feature articles (in Canada) and talks (in France, Canada, Japan) concentrate on the writing of women poets. Maxianne Berger, poet and literary translator, is active in both the French and the English haiku and tanka communities in Montreal and beyond. Her writing meanders between Japanese forms and OuLiPo constraints, and she is among those featured in Language Matters: Interviews with 22 Quebec Poets (Signature, 2013). The author of two poetry collections, she has also co-edited one haiku anthology in English and two tanka anthologies in French. Works Cited Beaudry, Micheline. comme une étoile filante/ like a shooting star. Two-language edition, Mike Montreuil, translator. Maxianne Berger, translator of foreword. Cover image, Lise Robert. Illustrations, Line Michaud. Carleton Place, ON: Bondi Studios, 2012. Beaudry, Micheline & Janick Belleau, eds. L’Érotique poème court/haïku. Saucy illustrations, Line Michaud. Brussels, Belgium: Biliki, 2006. Rights reverted. Belleau, Janick. “Chiaroscuro—25 LGBT Tanka.” Atlas Poetica (Aug. 2012). Web. http://atlaspoetica.org/? page_id=599 Belleau, Janick. D’âmes et d’ailes/of souls and wings. Twolanguage edition. Trans. of historical essay, Maxianne Berger. Rev. of the poet’s tanka in English, Claudia Coutu Radmore. Illustrations: 8 photos by the author. Mascouche, QC: ÉTF, 2010. Rights reverted 2011. Belleau, Janick, ed. Regards de femmes—haïkus francophones. Various illustrators. Cover, Martine Séguy, Brussels. Montréal, QC: Éd. Adage/Lyon, FR: Association francophone de haïku, 2008). Rights reverted. Berger, Maxianne and Mike Montreuil. l’estuaire entre nos doutes—tankas de chez nous. Illustrations, Line Michaud. Ottawa, ON: Des petits nuages, 2012. Berger, Maxianne and Mike Montreuil. nuages d’octobre— anthologie de tankas. Suibokuga artist, Rebecca Cragg. Ottawa, ON : Des petits nuages, 2013. Chipot, Dominique. Le livre du Tanka francophone. Mascouche QC: ÉTF, 2011 Couchoud, Paul-Louis. Sages et Poètes d’Asie. Paris: CalmannLévy, 1916. de Rosny, Léon. Si-ka-zen-yō—Anthologie japonaise, poésies anciennes et modernes des Insulaires du Nippon. Paris: Maisonneuve et Cie éditeurs, 1871. Available at http:// archive.org/details/anthologiejapon00rosngoog Duhaime, André. “Autour du haïku et du tanka—Pour découvrir certaines de nos racines en poésie” [Concerning haiku and tanka; to discover some of our poetry’s roots]. 2009. Web. http:// pages.infinit.net/haiku/HAIKUetTANKA.pdf Duhaime, André, ed. Chevaucher la lune : anthologie du haïku contemporain en français. (Ottawa ON: David, 2001). Duhaime, André. Traces d’hier. Illustrations, Réal Calder. StLambert, QC: Du Noroît, 1990. Republished as D’hier et de toujours [Of yesterday and forever]. Ottawa, ON: David, 2003. Rights reverted. Available at http:// pages.infinit.net/haiku/tanka.htm#arrow Duhaime, André & Hélène Leclerc, J’amour—Collectif de tankas. Humourous illustrations, Marie Leviel. Québec, QC: Cornac, 2011. Gautier, Judith, ed. Poëmes de la Libellule. Paris: Charles Gillot, c.1885. Grandjean, Jehanne. Sakura, jonchée de tankas [Cherry Blossoms, A Spray of Tanka]. Aurillac, France: Éd. Gerbert, 1954. Grandjean, Jehanne. Shiragiku, jonchée de tanka. Preface and illustrations, Nagashima. Paris: École internationale du tanka, “Scientific publisher,” 1964. The book contains 147 brief poems. Republished with Japanese translations on facing pages. Beppu: Yakumo tankakai, 1966. Grandjean, Jehanne. L’Art du tanka. Paris: ÉIT, “Scientific publisher,” 1957. Howard, Dorothy & André Duhaime, editors. Haïku, Anthologie canadienne /Canadian Anthology. Hull, QC: Asticou, 1985. Bilingual, French-English (trilingual for haiku by Japanese poets). Both prefaces are presented in English and French: “Historical Notes on Haiku in English in North America,” by Elizabeth Searle Lamb, and “Historical Notes on Haiku in French: France and Québec” by Bernadette Guilmette. Kei, M. and eds. Take Five. Best Contemporary Tanka, Vol. 4. Perryville, MD: Keibooks, 2012. Loranger, Jean-Aubert. Poëmes. Montréal: L. Ad. Morissette, 1922. PDF at http://beq.ebooksgratuits.com/pdf/ Loranger-poemes.pdf Belleau (2010); Beaudry (2012); Claudia Coutu-Radmore,Your Hands Discover Me/Tes mains me découvrent. Mike Montreuil, trans. (ÉTF, 2010); Terry Ann Carter, Hallelujah: Haiku, Senryu, Tanka Montreuil, trans. (BuschekBooks, 2012); Luminita Suse, A Thousand Fireflies/Mille lucioles. Montreuil, trans. (petits nuages, 2012). 15 A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 87 Marcotte, Gilles. His ed., Les Atmosphères suivi de Poëmes by Jean-Aubert Loranger. Montréal: HMH, 1970 Maublanc, René.“Le Haïkaï Français Bibliographie et Anthologie,” Le pampre, no. 10/11, 1923, pp. 1-62. JeanRichard Bloch, “bibliography” 41, “anthology” XIX. http://terebess.hu/english/haiku/lepampre.html Ouellet, Pierre. His ed., Les Atmosphères, Poëmes et autres textes, by Jean-Aubert Loranger. Montréal: Orphée/La Différence, 1992. Simon, Patrick, ed. Anthologie du Tanka francophone. Mascouche, QC: ÉTF, 2010. Tawara, Machi. Salad Anniversary. Jack Stamm, trans. Tokyo: Kawade Shobo Shinsha, 1988. Juliet Winters Carpenter, trans. Kōdansha International, 1989. L’Anniversaire de la salade, Yves-Marie Allioux, trans. Arles: Picquier, 2008. Terada, Sumie. Figures poétiques japonaises [Japanese poetic tropes]; Paris: Collège de France, 2004. Vieillard-Baron, Michel. Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241) et la motion d’excellence en poésie [Teika and the notion of excellence in poetry]. Paris: Collège de France, 2001. Waley, Arthur. The Tale of Genji in six volumes. 1925-1933. Yamata, Kikou. Sur des lèvres japonaises. Les soirées du divan 7. Paris: Le Divan, 1924. Numbered edition. 158 pages. Yamata, Kikou. Le Roman de Genji. Feux croisés—Âmes et terres étrangères 5. Paris: Plon, 1928. Numbered edition. 317 pages. Review: Journeys Far and Near : tanka roads Reviewed by M. Kei Journeys Far and Near : tanka roads by Sanford Goldstein Edmonton, AB, Canada: Inkling Press, 2013 paperback, 81 pp ISBN 978-0-9869552-8-0 Sanford Goldstein is the grand old man of tanka. Well-known as a translator, editor, scholar, and poet, he has collected tanka from his eighth and ninth decades into this collection. The black and white cover suits the somber mood of a man well aware of his mortality, and indeed the mortality of all whom he has known. Family, friends, poets, strangers, all are captured in the ink drawing words of a master poet. all my sister noticed was the bruise I brought from Japan under my left eye, her prolonged silence brought me another one Starkly moving strings about his sister, his soulmate, his house, and his faith illuminate a life lit by the flame of a wavering candle. The tanka poems contained in this book are pure Goldstein with their unflinching view of life, their hypoand hypermetric lines challenging the strictures of tradition, and the honesty for which he is famous. love like a series of coin tosses, sometimes you win and win, sometimes you lose and lose Goldstein has always been a poet grounded in the real and the present, so his spiritual contemplations, whether Zen or Judaism, are likewise rooted in the presentness of reality. However, in this book, he occasionally strays into other faiths and other symbols; sometimes reality isn’t sufficient to support our souls. a hand reached out to me in dreams, and I took it pulled its warmth to my lips Always in the master’s poetry there has been a thread of self-doubt. He has called himself a ‘wimp’ and ‘weak’; he has detailed the failures of an aging body; he has called upon Shakespeare and Melville to rouse his spirit and his poetry. Yet those of us who admire his poetry don’t think he needs any literary props. The face that looks out at us from the cover photograph has the solidity of granite, capped with a statesman’s cloud of white hair. A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 88 no Dada in my lines these forty years of five-liners, wanting now a jackass head to mutter Cyrano manifestos Regret comes to all of us, and more so to old men nearing their ends. At eighty-seven and in declining health, he tells us in his end note, “My book is finished, perhaps the last one I will write.” The thread of hope is there, but it is weighed down with the gray burden of reality. Yet Goldstein’s tanka are immortal, not only in themselves, but in us. These “five lines down” are not boxes into which to fit the experiences of our lives, but experiences of our lives made into poetry. More than just reading his tanka and admiring his literature, we should take a lesson: We should do more than we have done, write more than we have written, and break more rules than have bound us. Live, love, and write life to its fullest. Review: Treewhispers Reviewed by Patricia Prime Treewhispers: Tanka by Giselle Maya handmade, 2013 Koyama Press Orders: [email protected] Treewhispers is a collection of tanka by Giselle Maya. It is a handmade book on recycled paper, bound with linen thread. The tanka are printed one or two per page in calligraphic font, with Japanese images decorating three pages. Two endorsements of Maya’s tanka come from fine writers of tanka themselves. In the Preface to the volume, written by Michael McClintock, he says, Tanka is a form and genre of poetry that is ancient in its origins. When set down in Giselle Maya’s ink, it is fresh as spring rain. Or is it ink at all that writes these poems so deftly, clearly, on our hearts? Who can know such things? Can there be such earthly ink? David Rice, editor of Ribbons, has written a short Foreword, which begins: Individual tanka offer glimpses of a poet transforming the world into words. A collection of tanka published over a period of years, though, invites a reader to enter into the world of the poet. This fine collection compels us to recognise Giselle Maya as a tanka poet to be taken seriously. Maya brings a considerable range and depth of experience to her writing. If there is one strand of meaning that prevails more than any other in the book, it is the personal relationship of the poet with her garden. She uses tanka as windows revealing some of the inner life of feeling and insight into her world that we might not otherwise perceive. Frequently, Maya relies on the cumulative effect of a series of observations. Sharp writing and graphic imagery enable the reader to accompany her in the intimate setting of country life in Provence: flying to the treeline I wait for the falcon this bright day in space Reading through the tanka, we may notice the tight control of theme, form and technique, and the arrangement of the tanka on the page. Maya writes with ease without disguising the complexity of gardening or hiding the joy it gives her: a young fox comes to the place where I write I meet his eyes and try to draw him with words A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 89 We see Maya at her best in this collection; the themes fully developed, and the imagery warm and sensitive without sentimentality: snowpeas ready for planting a light snowfall I must wait and practice the patience of a seed In this tanka Maya develops the picture with sustained subtlety and shows her love of nature by inference and allusion. Maya uses simple language and makes direct statements, easy to understand, but the feeling is there too. In the following tanka, for instance, drought is the subject: cracks riddle the earth now without water the green fields fade into burnt sienna In another tanka, Maya shows us the face of solitude: what is the scent of solitude incense swirling silver to the ceiling of this high room In other tanka, style of language and form may be similar but the change of mood is still clear, as in this tanka about her daughter: two venerable plane trees have escaped his pruning shears— we untangle our feelings my daughter and I Many of Maya’s tanka are like these, short reflections on her life, the problems she faces and the situations she is caught in. Other tanka relate to nature. But she also speaks of her animals, sharing tea with friends and reading her poems to others. These and related topics are never far from Maya’s consciousness, and help to form some of the stronger tanka in the collection. She is confident and eloquent about things as plants, animals, seasons, friends and family. But the core of her feeling remains firmly located in her garden in Provence; feelings that are exposed in a number of tanka. One of the finest of these may be: the peony leans into the breeze while I wait to unravel the essence of its white secret The earth, renewal, history: for Maya is traditionally worked and reworked as a symbol of social and personal regeneration and connection to the past. This new collection knits into and extends her crafting of these symbols. In Treewhispers, Maya employs tanka that creates a dialogue with the reader and is a wonderful extended poetic achievement that brilliantly interweaves nature, human nature, contemporary and cultural tropes. Review: Een keuze uit A Selection from Atlas Poetica Reviewed by Patricia Prime A Selection from Atlas Poetica—Tanka of Place Edited by Paul Mercken Uitgeverji Boekscout, Soest, Netherlands http://www.boekscout.nl ISBN: 978-94-6206-976-3 Atlas Poetica: A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka is a forum for the publication, appreciation and advancement of tanka edited by M. Kei. Paul Mercken has selected a number of Dutch tanka (and their translations into A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 90 English) from issues 1-3, 5-8 and 12-15 of the magazine to showcase in this volume. Many of the names of the Dutch poets will be familiar to readers of Atlas Poetica: they include Ad B e e n a c k e r s, M a u r i c e D e C l e rc k , B e p Grootendorst and Nette Menke, as well as the editor, Paul Mercken. The tanka are beautifully presented in this distinctive volume, one to three per page, in both Dutch and English, with accompanying notes on several pages. The ‘creative’ translator has to capture the voice, the way of saying, so that readers can feel its character and drive. To achieve this he may depend on detailed judgment but also on luck, research and hard work. As far as possible the tanka must work in both the original language and in English. Bilingual texts enable the reader with an interest in the poet who has a smattering or more of the source language, to those who may specialize in the target language to enjoy the poems; while those with no knowledge of the source language can read the tanka in the original for their rhythm and musicality. Mercken opens the tanka sections with the following poem which takes us immediately to the poetry of place of the tanka: einde vakantie een Duits winkelwagentje in Utrecht Centraal— in de lucht een vlucht ganzen op weg naar verre landen op goede vrijdag afscheid nemen en de dood een plekje geven het is leven en sterven waar het allemaal om draait on good friday to take leave and give death a place to live and to die is what it’s all about Geert Verbeke’s is not a poetry of laughter and forgetting; rather it characteristically seeks to define moments of emotion, in its ambiguity, by returning to personal experience. This mode of observation works well in the tanka string called “Intimate”, which opens van ragfijne mist is de zoute avondlucht rouwzang draagt soms ver iemand legde bloemen neer op het graf van jouw ouders briny evening sky of gossamer thin fog keening carries far somebody has put flowers on your parents’ grave The city in Maurice De Clerck’s tanka de tram naar Moscou amper een blik wisselen een toevalstreffer prinses jouw naam ken ik niet wel het vuur in jouw ogen end of holidays a German shopping cart lost in Utrecht Central— in the sky a flock of geese on their way to foreign lands The tanka string from Nette Menke, “Rita” focusses on Good Friday. Menke died on April 6, 2009 and was cremated on Good Friday 2009. Her work is a poem about deliberations, memory’s processes, narrative and the anguish of death. Personal remembrances and the challenge of evaluation, together with attention to the making of the poem, constitute this fine sequence. The last tanka reads: a streetcar to Moscow exchanging a knowing glance just a lucky shot princess your name I don’t know just the fire in your eyes is explained in a note by Paul Mercken, who informs the reader, A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 91 ‘Moscow’ in the Tanka doesn’t refer to the capital of Russia, but to a suburb of Ghent, ironically also called ‘Moscow’. This name has historical roots. Bep Grootendorst’s more humorous tanka address her aunt’s toilet and a remedy for rheumatism. Ad Beenacker’s tanka is about a naturism camp. The majority of the tanka in this collection are by Paul Mercken and range across the scene from a train, a summer festival, love, travel, an inside garden and Japan. Like many other tanka in the collection, they address complex relationships, the personal and collective past and the present. It is significant that, amid expressions of ambivalence and gestures towards significance, there are positive statements which exalt beauty: fletse winterzon boven de pluizige kim van de loofbossen vooraan velden in vakken het oog zoekt kleur—Mondrian pale winter sun over the fuzzy rim of broadleaf forests in the front field in plots the eyes seeks colour—Mondrian In his final tanka Mercken tells us in a note “Japan. The black-tailed gull or sea-cat (its cry resembles the mewing of cats) became Yamada’s bird October 1st 1975.” I quote the tanka: Yamada haven— nu begroeten ons zwarstaartmeeuwen hoezeer gelijkt hun krijsen op dat van een kat Yamada port— now black-tailed gulls are welcoming us how their shrieks resemble those of a cat Beyond the physical geography and history, the narrative of the tanka include references to culture, countries, cities, people and the dynamics of times and spaces. Certainly this is strong selection of Dutch tanka: serious in parts, humorous in others, assured, wide-ranging in reference and exploratory. The tanka may be read as variations upon frames, stopping places, ideas and meanings culled from a variety of experienced tanka poets. This is a collection of tracings and the possibilities of discovery remain open. The book serves to remind the reader of how powerful, how affecting to those of us who live in different places, the act of writing as a source of the ancestral, the historical, the political, can be. Review: Urban Tumbleweed, Notes from a Tanka Diary Reviewed by M. Kei Urban Tumbleweed, Notes from a Tanka Diary by Harryette Mullen Graywolf Press © 2013 paperback 127 pp ISBN 978-1-55597-656-9 Harryette Mullen is a well-known African American academic poet and professor at UCLA. Author of several previous collections, she brings us Urban Tumbleweed, Notes from a Tanka Diary. In her introduction, she mentions that she wanted to expand her sedentary lifestyle by exercise and found that marrying poetry with walking motivated her to do more of both. She has joined the tradition of the ‘tanka walk’ and the ‘tanka diary’ as represented in English by figures such as Sanford Goldstein and given it her own particular interpretation. All of which sounds promising, except it does not quite come to fulfillment. Knowing that A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 92 Japanese tanka are composed of thirty-one syllables, she has attempted to keep her poems under that length, but most of them are too long. The best of her poems are the shortest ones, the ones that, like St. Exupery’s maxim, have pared away the unnecessary to leave the essential. Looking up at the sky to estimate my mood, as if to calculate the sum of all clouds subtracted from the total blue. In the poem above, we have the wellestablished technique of combining a natural observation with the poet’s mood, but rendered with fresh language and a new observation. That is what poets do: take the known and make it new again. No tree in sight to shade us from the searing glare, that cloudless day in Chinatown, you stopped to buy a paper parasol. My visitor from Nebraska buys a sack of assorted seashells at a souvenir shop, then scatters them on the beach. Some of her longer poems stretch out and give us a glimpse of what sort of poetry she must write when she is not constraining herself to a short form. If I could hold this bowl of blue to cracked lips, if to quench this desert thirst I could swallow the sky, would I choke on carbon clouds? This is a beautiful three line poem, but it isn’t a tanka. Now we are at the crux of the matter: Mullen has chosen a three-line form for her poems without a thorough understanding of what tanka is and what makes it work. She notes in her introduction that she has a limited knowledge of the form, and that her ‘adaptions’ deliberately depart from established convention. However, she doesn’t explain why. What was it about tanka that moved her to change it? What does she think she can accomplish in three lines that she can’t in five? Most of her lines are composed of two parts, so most of her poems can be subdivided into six parts. This allows her to set up pleasing symmetries and parallels—essential elements of Western style poetry. However, tanka, like other Asian arts, are deliberately asymmetrical. They can’t be put into parallels; something else must organize the structure. Learning how to do that is essential to making effective tanka. Mullen skipped that; she stuck with familiar Western rhythms. Mullen has the ‘tanka eye,’ by which I mean the ability to see the importance of even the most ordinary of objects. What she lacks is tanka’s compression: the ability to pack meaning into a tiny package of explosive potential. While effective use of language is typical of every kind of poetry, tanka is the extra turn of the screw. In the poem below we see Mullen’s Western rhythm married with tanka vision. Each line is composed of two parts and sets up pleasing parallels that build the long lines in a languor that replicates the elongation of the subjective perception. Urban tumbleweed, some people call it, discarded plastic bag we see in every city blown down the street with vagrant wind. The poem above would be very different if it were a tanka. The parallels would be discarded and the emotional elongation would be replaced by the tremulous ephemerality of the moment. urban tumbleweed, a discarded plastic bag in every city, blown down the street by a vagrant wind Although it may seem unfair of me to alter the poem, I believe that doing so gives a greater appreciation for what Mullen is doing. (If she were a bad poet, her verses would not survive the editorial knife.) The edit illustrates just what it is A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 93 about Mullen’s work that connects with and departs from the tanka tradition. I do this for two reasons. First, some tanka readers are so bent on a five-line definition that they will dismiss Mullen’s work as ‘not tanka’ and therefore of no interest; and second, to make plain that although Mullen’s poems are not tanka per se, they are part of the larger body of tanka literature. Tanka, waka, kyoka, gogyoshi, gogyohka, shaped tanka, tanrenga, tankeme, cinquain, cinqku, lanterne, quintain, free verse, and nonce forms, not to mention their larger congregations, such as tanka prose and tanka sequence, form the broad and fertile field of tanka literature. Tanka has spun off even greater variations, such as haiku, senryu and renku. Tanka is one of the most fertile and enduring of verse forms. Many poets have chased the illusory Grail of combining East and West in poetry, but few have turned out as well as Mullen’s tumbleweeds. Like poems, tumbleweeds once had roots before they went rolling down a road to somewhere else. On the commuter train, using her camera phone instead of a mirror, she draws on her lips a “sinfully scarlet” smile. Within a small family of survivors the cost of a grandparent’s funeral is divided between two credit cards. A shivering dog left out in the rain, dripping wet and cold as a miserable werewolf, each raindrop a silver bullet. Enjambment is a hallmark of Mullen’s work. She follows in the footsteps of Sonia Sanchez who wrote 5–7–5–7–7 syllable tanka with frequent enjambment. Enjambment was practically unknown in tanka poetry by African American poets ranging from Lewis Alexander (1929) to Lenard Moore (late 20th century). What was a distinctive element of Sanchez’s personal style has been widely adopted by contemporary black poets following in her footsteps. In the early 21st century, there was a debate among tanka poets and editors about whether enjambment was ‘allowed’ in tanka. (As if anyone could stop it!) Fortunately, the result has been an acceptance of enjambment—with the caution that the poet should understand why they are doing it, not blindly following a formula. This is not a trivial point. Given the frequent use of enjambment by African American tanka poets, had tanka editors disbarred it, it would have been difficult for them to publish in tanka journals. The young generation of black poets, like Matsukaze and Raquel Bailey, are as steeped in Sanchez as they are Princess Shikishi. The tanka poetry of the 21st century is increasingly diverse. You could say I am borrowing light from the moon when I write my tanka after reading translations of Princess Skikishi. Yes, exactly so. Everything and everyone comes from somewhere else. Sometimes blindly, stumbling along a rutted road that is cursed and never escaped, and sometimes knowingly, with joy and celebration for the hard won wisdom of previous generations. Sometimes boulders in the way cause new paths to be formed, and sometimes the familiar way becomes a well worn rut. It is the poet’s job to have the courage to know when to follow and when to depart. Urban Tumbleweed is that rare book that requires us to prove to ourselves that we truly understand what we thought we already knew. The diary of Harryette Mullen’s daily walks provides us with much we recognize, but rendered in a way that is not in accordance with our customs. It would be easy to reject it for failing to pass the tanka purity test, but anyone who’s more concerned about policing definitions than reading poetry is probably not a subscriber to this journal. A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 94 ANNOUNCEMENTS Atlas Poetica will publish short announcements in any language up to 300 words in length on a space available basis. Announcements may be edited for brevity, clarity, grammar, or any other reason. Send announcements in the body of an email to: [email protected]—do not send attachments. Keibooks Announces January, A Tanka Diary by M. Kei January, A Tanka Diary, by M. Kei, is now available for purchase at AtlasPoetica.org or at your favorite online retailer. “Step inside this book and meet a magician —a man who knows the secrets of the sea and the land and the sky; a man who can catch the vastness of oceans and the smallness of sparrows in the same few words in five lines.”—Joy McCall Opening with the cold days of January and following the poet through a year of his life, January, A Tanka Diary, is the latest collection from the internationally respected tanka poet and editor, M. Kei. Melancholy, hopeful, or satiric, these are poems alive to the beauty of the world that surrounds us. He has the ability to capture subjects as small as a single snowflake or as big as history, all told with an intimate honesty. In Kei’s hands, the ancient five line tanka poem breathes with contemporary life. Each tanka appears in the order in which it was written with a date attached. We can see the poet sitting down to write on New Year’s Day, and the multitude of poems and subjects that flow from his pen. We can follow him as he hikes and writes tanka over the bones of a dead deer, and explores the mysteries of the natural world. And of course, we follow him to sea in the company of sails and pelicans. A large collection, January, A Tanka Diary, contains 640 poems of which more than 220 have never been seen before. The rest are collected from the scores of venues in which he has published around the world. Fans of his work will no doubt recognize some of their favorite tanka, but will see them in context, as they were written, in the company of other poems from the same date. January, A Tanka Diary ISBN 978-0615871561 (Print) 274 pp also available for Kindle <https://www.createspace.com/4407330> Also available in print and ebook at Amazon.com and other online retailers. Keibooks P O Box 516 Perryville, MD 21903 USA <AtlasPoetica.org> A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 95 100 Tanka by 100 Poets of Australia and New Zealand 100 Tanka by 100 Poets of Australia and New Zealand; One Poem Each, edited by Amelia Fielden, Beverley George and Patricia Prime, is with the printer and will be published shortly. The book has an Introduction by Kiyoko Ogawa, co-editor 2010-11 Poetry Nippon 1967-2011, and illustrations by Ron Moss. The books are AUS $18.50 each plus postage and can be ordered from Stephen Matthews, PO Box 3461, Port Adelaide 5015, AUS: [email protected]. * * * Guest Editors Wanted for Atlas Poetica Special Features Atlas Poetica publishes Special Features on its website focussing on different aspects of tanka from around the world. These special features offer one poem each by twenty-five poets and are accompanied by an introduction. They are open to guest editors who propose and manage the project in accordance with guidelines found at: http://atlaspoetica.org/?page_id=136 (below the butterfly) and the general guidelines. ATPO publishes 4-5 special features per year on no fixed schedule. A Special Feature is an excellent project for someone new to editing to develop their skills with support from Keibooks, or for an experienced editor to focus on a particular topic of interest. Anyone who would like to submit a proposal should view already published Special Features— the first one, ‘25 Romanian Tanka’, is the model we have followed (with minor variations) for the others—then submit a short proposal with the title, a short description of the focus, and an estimated timeline. The editor will be responsible for developing the call for submissions (we will help with this), editing the submissions, responding to submissions, writing the introduction, and providing us with a clean legible copy. We will take care of the technical side: formatting and coding it for publication on the website, and write the press release announcing it. You do not need to be a tanka poet to edit a Special Feature, but you do need to be moderately well-read in tanka. It is perfectly acceptable to work in teams: several of the Special Features have utilized the services of 2–3 people who combined their talents to produce a Special Feature. Send proposals for Special Features with ‘Special Feature Proposal’ in the subject line to: [email protected]. * * * Tournesol Books Publishes Another Garden by Jeffrey Woodward Trade paperback 180 pages, 6” x 9” ISBN-13: 978-0615892511 $12.95 US / £8.50 UK / €10.00 Also available on Amazon Kindle Readers of Another Garden will enjoy its generous yet compact presentation of modern tanka in all of that genre’s rich variety. Jeffrey Woodward, innovative poet, editor and critic, has assembled a selection of his best individual tanka, tanka sequences and tanka with prose. The book is rounded-off by the inclusion of two influential essays, “The Road Ahead for Tanka in English” and “The Elements of Tanka Prose,” and of an in-depth interview with the author, “Tanka Prose, Tanka Tradition.” “Behind the lines of Jeffrey Woodward’s tanka prose, in pieces like ‘The Silence That Inhabits Houses,’ with its meditation on a painting by Matisse, or ‘The Trial of Dorothy Talbye, 1638,’ and its description of the ‘wild and unexplored interior’ of Salem, is a canny, exultant understanding and possession of the mind and heart that is rare in prose and prized in poetry. ”—Michael McClintock, President, Tanka Society of America (2004-2010) A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 96 BIOGRAPHIES Alexis Rotella has been writing haiku, senryu and tanka for 30 years. Her work has appeared internationally in hundreds of publications. Her books include Lip Prints (tanka 1979–2007), Ouch (senryu 1979-2007) and Eavesdropping (haiku 2007). Alhama Garcia was born in Spain and moved to France in 1952. He did graduate studies in Paris (Chinese) and Aix-en Provence (History of Arts). He contributed to Les Lettres Françaises, Action Poétique, La Saison des Cendres, and Telluries, 99 tanka, bilingual version, in June 2013 by Éditions du Tanka Francophone, Québec. Since 2006, he turned back to poetry. Writing in English is a challenge! Amelia Fielden published 6 volumes of original English tanka, including Light On Water (2010). She has collaborated with Kathy Kituai, and Saeko Ogi, to produce 4 collections of responsive tanka, including the bilingual Word Flowers (2011). Amelia has also published 17 books of Japanese poetry in translation. Andrea J. Hargrove is an enthusiast of the written word. When she is not contributing to the world body of literature from her home in the barely-mapworthy town of Laurys Station, PA, she can be found working at her local public library. Barbara A Taylor lives in northern NSW, Australia. Her poems appear in many international journals and anthologies. Poetry with audio is at http://batsword.tripod.com. Beau Boudreaux teaches English in Continuing Studies at Tulane University in New Orleans. His first book-length collection Running Red, Running Redder was published in 2012. He has published in journals Antioch Review, Cream City Review, and The Southern Poetry Anthology. Bob Lucky teaches at the International Community School of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. His work has appeared in numerous journals, including Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, and The Prose-Poem Project. He is co-author of the chapbook my favorite thing. Brendan Slater is a father from Stoke-on-Trent, England. He has been writing tanka since early 2010. Brian Zimmer lives in St. Louis Missouri within walking distance of the great Mississippi River. His work has appeared in Modern Tanka Today, red lights, The Tanka Journal (Japan), Gusts & Skylark. He has been writing both micro and longer poetry for over forty years, devoting most of his efforts today to tanka and other Japanese short-forms. Dr. Britton Gildersleeve recently retired as the long-time director of the Oklahoma State University Writing Project. Her work has appeared in New Millennium Writings, Nimrod, Passager, Spoon River, and Futures Trading, among other publications. Pudding House Publications published her first two chapbooks; her third is forthcoming from Kattywompus Press. She also blogs at <http://blog.beliefnet.com// beginnersheart/>. Bruce England began writing haiku seriously in 1984. Other related interests include haiku theory and haiku practice and the occasional tanka. A chapbook, Shorelines, was published with Tony Mariano in 1998. Carole Harrison is a photographer and long distance walker, especially of the camino(s) in Spain. Retired from teaching, still dabbling in ‘olde wares’, she lives at Jamberoo on the south coast of NSW, Australia. Carole Johnston lives in Lexington, Kentucky, but her heart still wanders the Jersey Shore. Recently retired from teaching creative writing in a high school arts program, she is free to pursue her passion for writing tanka and haiku. She is now ‘cloud hidden’ alone all day with her dog, working on a novel. Claire Everett lives in North Yorkshire, England, with her husband and five children. Her work is widely published in international haiku and tanka journals. Claire was delighted to serve as one of the editors for Take Five Best Contemporary Tanka 2011 and in December 2011, she became Tanka Prose editor for Haibun Today. In 2012, she published her first collection of tanka, twelve moons. D. V. Rožić lives in Croatia. Translator, haiku poetess and writer, so far she published 11 books of her texts and edited a number of haiku magazines, joint collections, and anthologies. Editor-in-chief of magazine IRIS, Ivanić Grad, Croatia and Deputy editor for haiku at Diogen pro cultura magazine, Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina. She has received a number of awards. Dawn Bruce is an Australian poet, living in Sydney. She leads creative writing classes, has three poetry collections, Stinging the Silence, Tangible Shadows, A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 97 and Sketching Light. Dawn was one of the editorial team for raking stones and is the convenor of Ozku haiku group, member of Red Dragonflies haiku group and member of Bowerbirds tanka group. Debbie Strange’ poetry, fiction and non-fiction have been published in: The Collective Consciousness, Contemporary Verse 2, Pentimes, The Winnipeg Free Press, and online: VerseWrights, kernels, Notes from the Gean, The Bamboo Hut, and Skylark. Debbie is also a singer/ songwriter and an avid photographer, whose abstract exhibition was recently hosted by the Assiniboine Park Conservatory. Deborah P Kolodji is the moderator of the Southern California Haiku Study Group and the former president of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. In addition to Atlas Poetica, her work can be found in Modern Haiku, Ribbons, Red Lights, Frogpond, bottle rockets, Strange Horizons, Chicken Soup for the Dieter’s Soul, and other places. Diana Teneva is a Bulgarian writer. Her poems were published in Sketchbook, World Haiku Review, The Heron’s Nest, The Mainichi, Asahi Haikuist Network by The Asahi Shimbun, A hundred gourds, Shamrock, Chrysanthemum. Some of them are translated in Russian, French, English, Italian, Spanish, Croatian, and Chinese. Eamonn O’Neill is retired after working for thirty years with Aer Lingus, Ireland’s national airline. He has travelled widely, both in America and Europe. While recovering from surgery he was introduced to the many facets of early Japanese poetry. Tanka has become his favorite style. Still a novice, these are his first Tanka poems accepted for publication. Ernesto P. Santiago, born 1967, is a Filipino who enjoys exploring the poetic myth of his senses, and has recently become interested in the study of haiku and its related forms. He lives with his wife Nitz in Athens, Greece. Fiona Tsang is an illustrator, artist, and graphic designer. She showcases her verses on Twitter under the handle @waijing_haiku. She lives in Australia, on the suburban outskirts of a coastal town that thinks it is a real city, despite not having nearly enough bookstores. She intends to someday write and illustrate a collection of 1920’s-themed haiga, and is writing a few novels in her spare time. Flor de te (the nom de plume of Nelly Williams) thought writing poems would not be hard. All she had to do was to be as disciplined as when she ran races in the 80’s and 90’s, or, to be as disciplined as when she graduated cum laude with a BA in Spanish from UCLA in 1987. She has decided that running is much easier than dealing with the art of writing good poetry. Frank Watson was born in Venice, California and now lives in New York City. Edited or translated books include Fragments, One Hundred Leaves, and The dVerse Anthology. He is editor of the monthly journal of poetry and art, Poetry Nook. Frank’s work has appeared in Rosebud, Bora, and Prune Juice. He shares his work on his blog (www.followtheblueflute.com) and on Twitter (@FollowBlueFlute). Genie Nakano has an MFA in Dance from UCLA. She performs, choreographs dance and teaches Gentle Yoga, Meditation, and Tanoshii Tanka at the Japanese Cultural Center in Gardena, CA. She was a journalist for the Gardena Valley Newspaper before she discovered tanka and haibun and was hooked. Gerry Jacobson lives in Canberra, Australia. He was a geologist in a past life and wrote scientific papers, but nothing beats the thrill of having tanka published in Atlas Poetica. Gerry’s tanka and tanka prose also appear in Ribbons, GUSTS and Haibun Today. Grunge is a gay Indo-American blog writer, with an interest in bugs, body modifications, and the end of the world. Hristina Pandjaridis was born in spring but her favorite season is autumn. She graduated in Journalism and she used to work as a journalist in a town’s newspaper. She has one novel written in joint authorship which is published and another one is expected to be published. She writes short stories, poems, book reviews, plays. She fell in love with the haiku four years ago. She lives in France. Janet Lynn Davis lives in a rustic area north of Houston, Texas. Her work has been published in numerous online and print venues. Many of her poems can be found at her blog, twigs&stones,<http:// twigsandstones-poems.blogspot.com>. Janick Belleau lives near Montreal, Canada. She published five personal collections and directed/codirected five collective works. Her French and English feature articles (in Canada) and talks (in France, Canada, Japan) concentrate on the writing of women poets. Jenny Ward Angyal lives with her husband and one Abyssinian cat on a small organic farm in Gibsonville, NC, USA. She has written poetry since the age of five and tanka since 2008. Her tanka and other poems have appeared in various journals and A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 98 may be found online at <http:// grassminstrel.blogspot.com/>. @haikunut, Kelly’s chapbook, Three Ways of Searching, is available through Finishing Line Press. Joan-Dianne Smith, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, is a psychotherapist and part time writer. She appears in The Globe and Mail, Cahoots Magazine, The Dalhousie Review, Transition Magazine and in Christmas Chaos and in Torn: True Stories of Kids, Career and the Conflict of Modern Motherhood. She published a book of poetry entitled All Things Considered: Stella and Other Poems. Kenneth Slaughter grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio and moved to Massachusetts. A computer analyst, he discovered tanka in the summer of 2011 and read every tanka journal he could get his hands on. His tanka has been published in several online and print j o u r n a l s. Ke n c u r re n t l y l i ve s i n G r a f t o n , Massachusetts. Joann Grisetti lives in Winter Springs Florida, USA with her husband and two sons; her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Haiku Magazine, Lynx, Inclement, and Haiku Journal. Joanne Morcom is a social worker and poet who lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She’s a founding member of The Magpie Haiku & Tanka Poets, as well as Haiku Canada and Tanka Canada. For more information on her published poetry, including two poetry collections, please visit www.joannemorcom.ca. Johannes S. H. Bjerg. Male Dane trying to communicate with the haiku, tanka, gogyoshi community outside Denmark where these poetry forms live a poor life. Josette Frankel, a native of Brussels, Belgium, came to the US at sixteen. She graduated with a double major, English and French lit, and has taught at San Diego State U as well as for the Community Colleges in San Bernardino and San Diego, CA. Josette also is an artist and a Neurolinguistic, Reiki Healing Practitioner. Joy McCall is 68 years old and has written poetry, mostly tanka, for 50 years, publishing occasionally here and there. She lives on the edge of the old walled city of Norwich, UK. The poets she reads most often are Ryokan, Langston Hughes, M. Kei, Frances Cornford, TuFu, Sanford Goldstein, and Rumi. Kath Abela Wilson is the creator and leader of Poets on Site in Pasadena, California. Closely related to poetry of place, this group performs on the sites of their common inspiration. She loves the vitality and experimental micropoetic qualities of twitter (@kathabela) and publishes in many print and online journals, as well as anthologies by Poets on Site. Kelly Belmonte is a poet, blogger (http:// allninemuses.wordpress.com), and management consultant with expertise in non-profit organizational development and youth mentoring. A regular contributor of poetry to the Twitter-verse via LeRoy Gorman’s poetry has appeared in print since 1976. Since 1996, he has been editor of Haiku Canada Newsletter 1996–2006, Haiku Canada Review beginning in 2007, annual anthologies, broadsides. In 1998, he began to publish poetry leaflets and postcards under his pawEpress imprint. Liz Moura lives in a converted factory in New England. M. Kei is the editor of Atlas Poetica and editor-inchief of Take Five : Best Contemporary Tanka. He is a tall ship sailor in real life and has published nautical novels featuring a gay protagonist, Pirates of the Narrow Seas. He recently published a collection of his poetry, January, A Tanka Diary. Magdalena Dale was born in, and lives in, Bucharest, Romania. She is a member of the Romanian Society of Haiku. She publishes in several magazines in her country and abroad. She was coeditor of „Take Five - tanka anthology”, vols. 3-4. She published collections of tanka, haiku and renga, coauthor Vasile Moldovan. Margaret Owen Ruckert, Australian educator and poet, has won the 2012 I.P. Poetry Book of the Year for musefood. A previous winner of NSW Women Writers National Poetry Award, her work is widely published. Margaret is Facilitator of Hurstville Discovery Writers and tutors English. Her first poetry Yo u D e s e r v e D e s s e r t , ex p l o re d s we e t fo o d s. <www.omargo.com.au> Marilyn Humbert lives in the outer Northern suburbs of Sydney surrounded by bush. Her work appears in Eucalypt, Kokako, Moonbathing, Simply Haiku and Atlas Poetica. Mary Hind was born in the UK and lives in Australia. Her haiku and short poetry has appeared on Melbournetrains for the Moving Galleries project and as tweets at the Melbourne Writers Festival. Recently she won the British Haiku Society’s haibun competition and is a member of HaikuOz. A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 99 Matsukaze is a classical/operatic vocalist, thespian, and minister. He was recently re-introduced to tanka in 2013 by M. Kei, editor of Atlas Poetica, Journey of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka. He lives in Louisiana; dividing his time between there and Houston, TX. Matthew Caretti is influenced in equal parts by his study of German language and literature, by his Zen training in the East, and by the Beat writers. Matthew won the Broadsided Haiku-Year-in-Review Contest. He currently teaches English and directs the Writing Center at a college preparatory school in Pennsylvania. Maxianne Berger, poet and literary translator, is active in both the French and the English haiku and tanka communities in Montreal and beyond. Her writing meanders between Japanese forms and OuLiPo constraints, and she is among those featured in Language Matters: Interviews with 22 Quebec Poets (Signature, 2013). The author of two poetry collections, she has also co-edited one haiku anthology in English and two tanka anthologies in French. Mel Goldberg earned an advanced degree in literature, then taught in California, Illinois, Arizona and at Stanground College in England. For seven years, he traveled in a small motor home throughout the US, Canada, and Mexico. He lives in Mexico with his partner, professional artist Bev Kephart. Michelle Brock lives on a bush block near the Molonglo River in Queanbeyan, Australia. For many years she worked as a Town Planner in Canberra but now enjoys writing short stories and poetry. Her tanka and tanka prose appear in Eucalypt, Skylark, and Haibun Today. She is delighted to also have her work included in Atlas Poetica. Patricia Prime is co-editor of Kokako, reviews/ interviews editor of Haibun Today and writes reviews for the NZ journal Takahe and for Atlas Poetica. Her poems and reviews have appeared in the World Poetry Almanac (Mongolia), 2006-2012. Currently she is one of the guest editors for the World Haiku Anthology, edited by Dr. Bruce Ross. Paul Mercken, Belgian philosopher and medievalist, former treasurer and/or secretary of the Haiku Kring Nederland. Likes participating in international renga by e-mail and is learning Chinese. Just published poems in Dutch, Bunnikse haiku’s & ander dichtspul (Bunnik Haiku’s & Other Poetry Stuff). Peter Fiore lives and writes in Mahopac, New York, USA, located on the north side of New York City. His poems have been published in American Poetry Review, Poetry Now, Red Cedar Review, Atlas Poetica, red lights, among others. In 2009, Peter published text messages, the first volume of American poetry totally devoted to Gogyohka. Pravat Kumar Padhy born in Odisha, India, holds a Masters and a Ph.D in Applied Geology. from Indian School of Mines, Dhanbad. Short poems appear in Lynx, Kritya, Notes From the Gean, Sketchbook, Atlas Poetica, Simply Haiku, Red Lights, Shamrock, Magnapoets, Bottle Rockets, The Heron’s Nest, Haigaonline, The Houston Literary Review, The Hundred Gourds, The Red River Review, Cyclamens and Swords, Wordgathering etc. Ramesh Anand’s haiku poetry has appeared in many publications, across 14 countries, including Bottle Rockets Press, ACORN, Magnapoets, The Heron’s Nest, SouthbySoutheast and Frogpond. His Haiku has been translated in German, Serbian, Japanese, Croatian, Romanian, Telugu and Tamil. His tanka is forthcoming in many journals. Dr. Randy Brooks is Dean of Arts & Sciences at Millikin University where he teaches courses on haikai traditions, and tanka writing. He is co-editor of Mayfly magazine and publisher of Brooks Books. His tanka have been published in Ash Moon Anthology, and the Take Five Best Contemporary Tanka for 2008, 2009 and 2010. Richard St. Clair (b. 1946) is a classical composer and pianist who enjoys writing haiku, tanka, renku, and other short forms. A native of North Dakota, he has lived in Massachusetts for most of his life. Roary Williams lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, originally moving there from Detroit. He lives with his wife and five ferrets. He is 54 years old, and has spent the last four years writing micropoetry. He writes most of his stuff directly on Twitter, and has greatly been encouraged by the #micropoetry community there. Rodney Williams’ tanka have been published in Australia, America, New Zealand, Austria, and Canada; and on international websites. Before editing Snipe Rising from a Marsh, he had tanka appear in other ATPO Special Features, plus Take Five and Catzilla! (USA), Grevillea and Wonga Vine, and Food for Thought (Australia). Roman Lyakhovetsky, originally from Russia, now lives in Israel. His haiku appeared in various journals including Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Heron’s Nest and TinyWords. He is one of the editors of russianlanguage Senryu and Kyoka online journal, Ershik. A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 100 Sanford Goldstein has been writing tanka for more than fifty years. In addition, he has co-translated many Japanese writers—including Akiko Yosano, Mokichi Saito, and Takuboku Ishikawa. It is to Takuboku that Goldstein feels most indebted. Goldstein’s poems focus on what he has experienced, suddenly seen, suddenly reflected on—they are not imagined. Seánan Forbes, a 7th-generation Manhattanite, has appeared in Modern Haiku, Frogpond, The Heron’s Nest, Acorn, A Hundred Gourds, Contemporary Haibun Online, The Prose-Poem Project, and the Mid-America Poetry Review, as well as a chapbook, String to Bow, and an international anthology, A New Resonance, Volume Eight. She’s about to start on a practice-based PhD. Her thesis will be about place and poetry. Sergio Ortiz is a retired educator, poet, painter, and photographer. He published At the Tail End of Dusk, in 2009, and topography of a desire, in 2010. He is a three-time nominee for the 2010 and 2011 Sundress Best of the Web Anthology and a 2010 Pushcart nominee. He lives in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Sonam Chhoki was born and raised in the eastern Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan. Her works have been published in poetry journals and anthologies in Australia, Canada, Japan, UK and US and included in the Cultural Olympics 2012 Poetry Parnassus and BBC Radio Scotland Written Word programme. Stacey Dye writes to touch people. Her favorite subject is the human condition. Her love affair with words is life long and she collects them on rocks, jewelry and through music and inspirational quotes. She is a member of AHA! Poetry Forum and her credits include red lights, Moonbathing and Fire Pearls 2 a m o n g o t h e r s . < h t t p : / / w w w. s t a c e onawhim.blogspot.com>. Susan Burch resides in Hagerstown, MD with her husband, 2 kids, and warped sense of humor. She loves reading, doing puzzles, and Coca-Cola slurpees. Susan Constable’s tanka have appeared in numerous international journals and anthologies. Her collection, The Eternity of Waves, is one of the winning entries in the 2012 eChapbook Awards, sponsored by Snapshot Press. Susan is currently the tanka editor for the international on-line journal, A Hundred Gourds. Sylvia Forges-Ryan has published her poetry in Americas Review, Dogwood Review, Colere, Insight, Shambala Sun, Tricycle, Inquiring Mind, The Buddhist Poetry Review, UUWorld, Pyramid Review of Arts and Literature, The Yale Anglers’ Journal, and the Merton Seasonal, as well as in many anthologies. Born in the Bronx and raised on the Jersey Shore, she now lives in North Haven, CT with her husband Edward Ryan, a psychotherapist. Terri L. French is a poet/writer and Licensed Massage Therapist, living in Huntsville, Alabama. Terri enjoys writing nonfiction, prose, and creative nonfiction, as well as haiku, haibun, tanka and linked forms. Currently, she is editor of the senryu journal, Prune Juice. She is a member of the HSA, Alabama Writer’s Conclave, and Alabama Poetry Society. Tess Driver’s poetry has featured in opera libretto, drama performance, radio and art gallery exhibitions. She has won poetry prizes including a political poetry prize and was New Poet for Friendly Street Poets. She loves to travel and has published many poems and articles about her travels. toki is a writer of fiction, poetry, and occasional nonfiction, as well as an amateur photographer, with works appearing online and in print. toki likes listening to the music of the spheres, pondering the interstices of the universe and taking long walks in liminal spaces. For more infor mation, visit tokidokizenzen.wordpress.com or @tokidokizenzen on Twitter. Tomáš Madaras (1972) is an associate professor of mathematics at P.J. Šafárik University in Slovakia. His intersection with the world of art comprises music composing and guitar and piano playing (most often at graph theory conferences), and occasional poetry writing. Vasile Moldovan was born in a Transylvanian village on 20 June 1949. He was cofounder (1991) chairman of the Romanian Society of Haiku (2009). Vasile Moldovan published five haiku books—Via Dolorosa (1998), The moon’s unseen face (2001), Noah’s Ark (2003), Ikebana (2005) and On a summer day (2010). Also he published together with Magdalena Dale the renku book Fragrance of Lime. Violette Rose-Jones is a student of the Writing Program at Southern Cross University, Australia. She has been published in a number of journals including Notes from the Gean, Heron’s Nest and Skylark. She is happily married and has a teenage son. Yancy Carpentier is a student of the 18th & 19th centuries. Her interests include military and maritime history, and poetry of all flavors. The Mediterranean and the Ottoman Empire are her keenest attractions.. She lives with her husband in the Deep South. A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 101 Publications by Keibooks Edited by M. Kei This Short Life, Minimalist Tanka, by Sanford Goldstein (Spring, 2014) circling smoke, scattered bones, by Joy McCall Take Five : Best Contemporary Tanka (Vol.4) Atlas Poetica : A Journal of Poetry of Place in Contemporary Tanka Bright Stars, An Organic Tanka Anthology M. Kei’s Poetry Collections January, A Tanka Diary Slow Motion : The Log of a Chesapeake Bay Skipjack tanka and short forms Heron Sea : Short Poems of the Chesapeake Bay tanka and short forms M. Kei’s Novels Pirates of the Narrow Seas 1 : The Sallee Rovers Pirates of the Narrow Seas 2 : Men of Honor Pirates of the Narrow Seas 3 : Iron Men Pirates of the Narrow Seas 4 : Heart of Oak Man in the Crescent Moon : A Pirates of the Narrow Seas Adventure The Sea Leopard : A Pirates of the Narrow Seas Adventure (forthcoming 2014) Fire Dragon A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 102 INDEX Alexis Rotella, 55 Alhama Garcia, 10 Amelia Fielden, 44 Andrea J. Hargrove, 14 Barbara A. Taylor, 41 Beau Boudreaux, 26 Bob Lucky, 63 Brendan Slater, 29 Brian Zimmer, 18 Britton Gildersleeve, 45 Bruce England, 54 Carole Harrison, 49 Carole Johnston, 56 Claire Everett, 37 Đ. V. Rožić, 36 Dawn Bruce, 60 Debbie Strange, 53 Deborah Kolodji, 7 Diana Teneva, 53 Eamonn O’Neill, 37 Ernesto P. Santiago, 34 Fiona Tsang, 35 Flor de te, 9 Frank Watson, 51 Genie Nakano, 7, 8, 64 Gerry Jacobson, 16, 27 Grunge, 11, 14, 42 Hristina Pandjaridis, 65 Janet Lynn Davis, 50 Janick Belleau, 66, 77 Jenny Ward Angyal, 27 Joan-Dianne Smith, 11 Joann Grisetti, 64 Joanne Morcom, 63 Johannes S. H. Bjerg, 26, 60 Josette Frankel, 8 Joy McCall, 22, 23 Kelly Belmonte, 34 Kath Abela Wilson, 18, 24, 34 Ken Slaughter, 52 LeRoy Gorman, 57 Liz Moura, 38 M. Kei, 5, 17, 46, 88, 92 Magdalena Dale, 36 Margaret Owen Ruckert, 59 Marilyn Humbert, 15, 51 Mary Hind, 55 Matsukaze, 20, 21, 30 Matthew Caretti, 58 Maxianne Berger, 77 Mel Goldberg, 50 Michelle Brock, 59 Patricia Prime, 40, 89, 90 Paul Mercken,48 Peter Fiore, 65 Pravat Kumar Padhy, 55 Ramesh Anand, 47 Randy Brooks, 65 Richard St. Clair, 28 Roary Williams, 49 Rodney Williams, 57 Roman Lyakhovetsky, 41 Sanford Goldstein, 9, 62 Seánan Forbes, 19 Sergio Ortiz, 12, 13, 52 Sonam Chhoki, 14 Stacey Dye, 51 Susan Burch, 61 Susan Constable, 45 Sylvia Forges-Ryan, 58 Terri L. French, 15 Tess Driver, 36 Toki, 53 Tomáš Madaras, 24 Vasile Moldovan, 36 Violette Rose-Jones, 13, 56 Our ‘butterfly’ is actually an Atlas moth (Attacus atlas), the largest butterfly/moth in the world. It comes from the tropical regions of Asia. Image from the 1921 Les insectes agricoles d’époque.v A t l a s P o e t i c a • I s s u e 1 7 • P a g e 103
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