XVI:1 February 2001

A Journal for Linking Poets   


Brendan Ryan 
Debra Woolard Bender 

Sir Sidney Weinstein
Hugh Bygott

Carlos Colón
Nan Dozier

Ellen Compton
Carol Purington

betty kaplan (USA)
max verhart (Netherlands)
sue mill (Australia)

by Richard Kostelanetz with
by Werner Reichhold

Silva Ley
Jacques Verhoeven

Books Two & Three in one volume.

Kris Kondo
Marlene Mountain
Francine Porad 

June Moreau, Giselle Maya

Selections from The Life Of Genji Poems
translated by Jane Reichhold from The Tale Of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu

Eiko Yachimoto 

Allan Dystrup
Cindy Zackowitz 

Brendan Ryan
(age 8, Charnwood, England)
Debra Woolard Bender
(Orlando, Florida, USA)

hand or machine made
all the same

blizzard predicted
one glove misplaced

trucks upturned
sirens wail
is this the end?

head over heels
that dry tumbleweed

desert sun
dry and harsh
snakes slither

under closed curtains
a black tail twitches

my watchdog
barking a message
to the postman

a hawk flies
through a shaft of light

between shadows
faint echoes

musical noises
in the chamber

a myriad
washed up shells

block the High Street

a plane falls
engines blown

pieces of moon
trickle through raindrops

dirty boots
splashed clean

on grandma's laundry
imprints of clothespins

said to be here
but none to be seen

two mice peer
from a hill of sawdust

completed 11-4-00


Excerpts from a work-in-progress by Sir Sidney Weinstein and Hugh Bygott
Sir Sidney Weinstein

 San Francisco, January 1943, Journey of a Naive Warrior: Boxing Matches Aboard Troopship

Tanka 56

 troopships five decks deep
 canvas cots stacked like cord wood
 hour long lines for food ~
 zigzag to escape the subs
 where to - Down Under to fight

Tanka 57

 demonstrate manhood
 enter ship boxing matches
 and win several ~
 he hopes he will earn respect -
 but respect is not earned

  Tanka 58

 men do not follow -
 leaders are not created
 men identify ~
 men may follow whom they know,
 not who has ability

  Tanka 59

 where, when will we fight
 we are not told where - just wait
 Sydney - New Guinea ~
 island hopping, beach landing
 march, lock and load, aim, shoot, kill

  Tanka 60

 Townsville, Australia
 is this where the fight begins?
 ready to go North ~
 north is where Japanese are
 we will soon get to meet them

   After a few months in the Army, I knew I had to bolster my reputation as being tough, which I had demonstrated by several successful fist fights with some rednecks who felt that a New York college boy was fair game for bullying. If I could prove that this was not so, I had a chance of being left alone; fortunately, it worked.

  Several thousand men with nothing to do aboard a ship must have some diversion, and so the officers arranged some boxing matches to keep us occupied. I used the opportunity and volunteered to fight, listing my weight as welterweight. The results of the starvation rations aboard ship brought my weight down several pounds and so I was actually lighter than the 147 pounds that I weighed when I boxed in college; but since there was no scale aboard ship, I registered as a welterweight. I recall being stunned at the sight of my first opponent as he entered the ring. He clearly weighed considerably more than I did, and the referee stopped him cold before we got to the center of the ring, and blasted him, "Hey, what the hell do you weigh?"

  My prospective opponent, obviously a large heavyweight, muttered something about weighing about 200 or so. The referee, one of the divisional officers, who apparently had some experience, asked him, "What the hell are you doing in the ring against a welterweight? You weigh fifty pounds more than him." He looked sheepishly at the referee and answered that he was taking his buddy's place who had changed his mind and decided not to fight. The referee just shook his head in disbelief and announced that the fight was off. He waved his arms from side to side indicating that the fight was canceled and gestured for us to leave the ring, but the crowd, unaware of the reason for the cancellation, and sensing that they were going to be deprived of entertainment, started to boo loudly.

  I felt pressured by the crowd so, foolishly, instead of allowing the ref to cancel the match, which would have given me a win because of default by my original opponent, I told the ref that I would fight him. He seemed shocked and asked whether I was sure, because the guy was indeed considerably larger. I assured him I could handle him, and so he permitted us to fight; that eliminated the pressure from the protesting crowd, and they cheered. The referee should never have allowed a welterweight to be in the same ring as a super heavyweight, but perhaps as the referee, he felt he could prevent mayhem if it appeared that I was likely to be badly hurt.

  I decided not to adopt a "slugging" approach - this guy was too big, and had to be avoided. I couldn't risk being hit by him, so I boxed him skillfully and remained untouched by him, while I rhythmically worried his face with jabs. I won the fight easily, and, as my hand was raised in victory, I could peer about and see that the observers from my own company, all sitting at ring side, were cognizant of my easy win. I was pleased since they would realize I would not be easily bullied, since I did not retreat and beat a much larger opponent.  

The next day, our first Sergeant encountered me on the deck and upbraided me for not shaving. He was always alert to find fault with me, but I countered that I had volunteered to box and represent our company, and fighters never shave before boxing since it leaves their skin vulnerable to cuts. He seemed surprised, but had no reply except to say I would have had to shave after my match. I argued, however, that if I won the next match, there would still be one more the next day and I wouldn't be able to shave for that one as well. I rubbed in my former victory and the possibility that I would win even another, and he walked off sullen.

  The second fight was with a very fast opponent who was the same weight, but who had only a single form of defense: He only ducked to his left. After the first round, I decided I would feint broadly and swing a hard right in the direction where I predicted his head would be. I hit him hard, he staggered, and barely recovered, so I coasted to an easy win.

  My third match was against one of the men in my own company, Larry Larragoite, a pleasant guy from the New Mexico, and neither of us felt much like fighting each other, but after the first very passive round, the referee sensed our reluctance and admonished us to engage. We picked up the pace although we didn't punch hard, and despite my loss in a close decision, the advantages of being seen entering the ring, and my willingness to fight enhanced my immunity from the bullies who were reluctant to engage men who did not retreat.

The Philosopher's Response to Sir Sidney Weinstein:
Hugh Bygott

   The question of military leadership has exercised the minds of strategists, historians, and philosophers for centuries. A man I respect for his quality as a field commander and as a professional soldier was Lieutenant-General Adachi Hatazo. He was born in Tokyo in 1890 into a family with samurai traditions. There was refinement about him as well as the ruggedness of a soldier. He wrote tanka and was skilled in calligraphy as well as being an expert in karate and kendo-. He graduated from the Tokyo Military Academy in 1910 and from the War College 1n 1922 becoming a member of the Japanese Army General Staff in 1925. He was made a lieutenant general in November 1942, and took command of the Japanese Eighteenth Army in New Guinea. He had to leave immediately for the war zone and could not attend his wife's funeral.

 New Guinea was one of the major battle grounds of World War II with immense suffering on both sides. Adachi was a brave soldier, but the battles read as a litany of defeats: Buna, Gona, Salamaua, Wewak, Lae, Hansa Bay, Rabaul and Aitape. He surrendered at Cape Wom in August 1945, and was sentenced to life imprisonment. The incontestable facts of atrocities involving the Eighteenth Army are there, but he argued innocence for himself and for his senior commanders. However, there is an inexorable logic in all armies at war, whether at Agincourt or Aitape, shown beautifully in Shakespeare's Henry V. Silence of generals condones the crimes of the least soldier. This must not be allowed to impugn Adachi's skill, daring, compassion for his soldiers and his own willingness to lead from the front, and to endure hardship for the sake of his troops. He committed suicide in his prison cell at Manus Island on the 10th of September 1947. 

  There are two swords in the magnificent War Memorial in Canberra. The first, Adachi's personal sword is a shin-gunto- of possible date 1511, although this date may be doubtful. The second is also a fine sword of 1596 forging style. It also is a shin-gunto- but is a sword from one of Adachi's senior officers.


From Lieutenant-General Adachi's Last Will and Testament.

 [Gavin Long, The Final Campaigns. Australian War Memorial; Canberra, 1963; p 342.]

  "I have demanded perseverance far exceeding the limit of endurance of my officers and men, who when exhausted succumbed to death like flowers falling in the winds. Only the gods know how I felt when I saw them dying but at that time I made up my mind not to set foot on my country's soil again. I will remain a clod of earth in the Southern Seas with my 100,000 officers and men, even if a time should come when I would be able to return to my country in triumph."

  One can only imagine this man's anguish. His wife and daughter had both died after long illnesses. He had failed the Emperor. After a lifetime of service all his world had come to nothing.


In the cell's darkness,
Bitter thoughts my companions: 
My death my only honour. 

Carlos Colón
Nan Dozier

overnight crew
a couple of pepperoni
in the gold paint

last year's beads
on the utility line

fairy-tale float
pink taffeta trails
silly string

beneath the hand
under my foot

for midnight
burning palms

a cross
thumbed across
my forehead


Ellen Compton
Carol Purington

walking the dirt road
house-builders hammer
the quiet
around the next bend
violets wait


through light and shadow
wind chime song
of sudden rain


a scarlet leaf
tangles in her tangled black hair . . .
the Indian-old trail
his footsteps startle
the red-wing


moon dark . . .
in the driftwood ash
a spark snaps
afraid to turn away
from the story-teller's face


the first crocus -
floating its whiteness
in a jade ashtray
windows open
to the scent of April rain


leafless, the curve
of this walnut branch
dusted with snow
tracks circling my house
bear-size . . . cub-size


betty kaplan (USA)
max verhart (Netherlands)
sue mill (Australia)

colors of summer
the salamander
jumping leaf to leaf

no sound louder than
the beating of my heart

flag-stoned cloister
sandaled feet
shuffle past

children run about
sand castle knocked down!

the circle of tents
lit by Chinese lanterns
and the moon

in the pumpkin field
a straggle of dried-up vines

Halloween eve
on my porch I put
a cut-out grin

and yet another nosegay
anonymously left behind

her youngest son-
she hopes this marriage
will succeed

ripe fruit in the orchard
the saplings they planted

with every step
my backpack gets heavier
- stolen apples

dangling from his wrist
shiny handcuffs

shattered dreams
smolder in the hearth
cold moon

shadows move all over
the snow covered garden

Indian burial ground
lie forgotten

gift shop in the museum
looking for remembrances

centuries old
spring flowers on canvas
as fresh as today

another night on the town

from the roof tops
morning mist
rises slowly

on the slope of the mountain
recovering my breath

sitting at his bedside-
the soft hiss
of the ventilator

he plays the shakuhachi
enchanted, we listen

a silent waterfall
in a soundless forest
on her folding fan

a cool iron
for my old Hawai'ian shirt

pictures in the album
their honeymoon

a nod here a smile there
I keep my envy hidden

between the trunks
shafts of sunlight

a reflection of my face
upside down in the dark lake

behind black branches -
the moon

tied to the car hood
an eight point stag

on a hunt
for mushrooms
he finds the largest

star spangled sky
infinity everywhere

on my wall
a faded poster
of James Dean

she saves his valentine
in her diary

on the pages
cherry blossoms
gently fall

fragrant breeze
calling me home


by Richard Kostelanetz with
by Werner Reichhold

A lady novelist, expecting to get enough material for a book, when she visits distant royalty, finds herself imprisoned without paper or pen, let alone a writing machine, in a cold castle.

[3 five minutes scenes, each of them alternately produced by different filmmakers.]

A failed playwright, who is nonetheless successful at writing pornography, purchases a new grandiose apartment that he thinks will fulfill all of his fantasies.

[The colors change in response to the escalating plot or spectators can change colors by remote control.]

A theatrical agent, with more than uncommon success as a Casanova, gets his come-uppance when he lusts after a new client whom he discovers is his daughter from a long- forgotten marriage.

[The scenario is run also at the theater's ceiling on which a religious Renaissance painting and alternately, a painting by Francis Bacon, "The Pope", is projected.]

A female gas station attendant tries to help two out-of-state burglars on the lam, in exchange from promised cut of their loot and maybe some affection as well.

[Two almost similar scenes are run but with significant different cuts]

A doctor accused of murdering a colleague goes underground, where he accidentally comes across a gang of drug dealers whose arrest he initiates without jeopardizing his situation.

[Using a second projector and screen space on the left side, part of the private home live of all the actors involved are screened in.]

A family engages in elaborate debates over whether to emigrate, which they eventually decide not to do.

[From time to time, with intervals of seven seconds a computer cuts out the persons. The screen is then blank, only the actors' voices go on recorded.]

At the door of a mansion arrives a handsome woman, surprising its elderly occupants, claiming that she is widow of their dead son.

[1) The dialogs are physically spoken, film running with almost no sound. 2) Dialogs spoken but the scenes are cut into stills. 3) Dialogs presented with sign-language, scenes partly with sound going on, partly not]

An American inheriting an African plantation trains chimpanzees to harvest his crops.

[On the screen's space, the dimensions of the stage or alternately, the dimensions of the acting persons or animals are altered (they appear much too small or much too big in relation to their surroundings.]

The clients of a small boarding school discover that their headmaster is a sadist and his stuff is no more sympathetic.

[The actors are native white skins or alternately, the natives have dark skins.]

A horny young teacher rents one room of his apartment to a homely young woman from the provinces and another to an experienced male seducer.

[2 screens: on one of them the actors appear naked, on the other one the actors are dressed in Victorian style.]

A girl caught in a hurricane is rescued by a mysterious stranger who, his pet ocelot notwithstanding, turns out to be a champion fencer with whom she falls in love, the pet notwithstanding.

[The actions are repeated, but with different dialogs. The actors' gene analysis appears on a second small screen together with a diagnosis obtained from seventeen doctors.]

An American spy crashes his plane into a potentate's palace at the same time that his girl friend, working as a reporter, arrives to do an interview.

[In a close-up swing along the boss' dining room one almost certainly can identify detectors and video cameras.]

The governess' daughter supports the musical studies of his mistress's ungrateful son.

[During the performance different kinds of incense are fogging the theater.]

Academic archeologists, falling down a shaft, find themselves in a world unlike any described in the accepted professional literature.

[The scenes of the film are interrupted by the playwright herself, a former dancer, who shows her motives for the invention of this drama only by gestures and gesticulations.]

A gambler and his granddaughter admit into their lives a miserly dwarf whose machinations make them miserable.

[The scene is filmed in negative black and white film and alternately in positive film material, so all whites dark or visa versa.]

Two mannish lesbians living on an isolated farm are frightened by the arrival of a wandering seaman.

[The screen appears as a wave-like construction, moves slightly to both sides, always parts of the film out of focus. Then, the scenery changes inconspicuously and two homosexual men are frightened by the arrival of a wandering nymph.]

A lady detective ingeniously exposes a fake female spiritualist.

[The material is collaged in a way that every twenty seconds the scene is repeated in slow motion so one can check again on what has happened during this private investigation.]

Two gangsters out to kill each other are disarmed by a little girl and her winsome dog.

[The same scene is filmed three times: before a luxurious hotel in Los Angeles, in the heat of an oasis between pyramids in the desert, and in a Zoo.]

Silva Ley
Jacques Verhoeven
Written 01-11- 2000, at the Museum of Arts 'De Beyerd', Breda, The Netherlands, while visiting an exhibition about the subject 'scarecrow'.

as human beings
as many, in all sizes -

the farmer goes home
a shovel and a carcass left

the wind awakes it
over a green haze of germs
Priapus' protection

squalls tug at his sleeves
he bends among the stalks

children pick up stones
try to hit his bulbous head
his defense is air

half hidden faded rags
coincided nature

banners on tall poles
welcome to feathered creatures
fright and terror past

the sower is the ruler
attack him in a swarm

after a sound sleep
lazy escape in wooden shoes
sad movements

a rambler under his coat
black wings, the drunken fit

waylayers driven off
the flight not understood
food somewhere else

former mother of the corn
an open paradise

procession of old trousers
white mechanical pipings
where is the air-gun?

the birds fly higher
a cockpit, a deathblow

freaks in spotlight
uneasiness as amusements
a fair in town

witches foretell future
noxious nutrition

sparrow, dog with walker
skittish townsmen
whirring scooters

forty sorts of deluxe rolls
deep freeze pigeon breasts

defenseless symbol
the war statues replaced
a red heart in cloth

a murdering pursuit-race
dreams of palls and coffins

never winter clothes
blood circulation of rain
rheuma by snow

water ripples in the furrows
shivers in ploughed slopes

sun in his blind eye
put upright in springtime
a new flossy wig

a rest in the treetops
haiku set to music

St. John's bonfires blaze
brass bands, harvest festivals
mating at full moon

droppings from the sky
everywhere the blackthorn buds

false cottage-gardens
wood worms fed scarecrow's soul
now the practical plastic

a life-size imitation-heron
child's question: what's that?

from cat-in-a-cage
an electronic mewing
ceramic gnomes

spilled oil drowns the seeds
a tractor turns to the road

a flood of starlings
their endless crying
turbines clogged up

the cross-skeleton stripped
complaint to the four winds

a glorious morning
the devil's image fades away
fresh fruit on the table

a kiss from the May-fairy
a new fertility-prince

the first of November
autumn flowers at the market
mingled thoughts

exhibition of ourselves
we are the magicians


Books Two & Three in one volume.

Kris Kondo
Marlene Mountain
Francine Porad 

confetti to sweep up

f k m

Sunday afternoon I'd love to stroll on the Island of La Grande Jatte
in a blossom swirl my world turns dotty
'chicago chicago' art institute cezanne's 2-d table changed my eyes
378 Paris art galleries/museums
the universe expands endlessly from that single starting point
up close hard to find a monkey in the grass

f m k

twisting and flipping she's got the cheerleader tactics down pat
ridge-runners born with a leg longer my missing link
at barely a year old already at the top of the jungle gym
a squirrel vaults from ground to bird feeder
since i fall the goal is fall in the best way possible if possible
words flipped, flipped & flipped again


k f m

sworn at over the phone after a tentative blossom-viewing invitation
crushing camellia buds with each step
after bar-hopping i crash at an artist's pad in my jacket and jeans
peddling into a rainstorm I become a Pollock
a fly swatter finds its mark on the wall very unhaiku that splat
sad for the 'possum unable to cross the road


m k f

richest nerd taken down a notch see my haiku help the world
the gentility and hospitality of true gentlepeople
manners expected 'when the idle poor become the idle rich'
in the caring of the hayes family this odd artist
comfortable with beggars or queens must be an Aquarius
her pinkie always in the air


m k f

the diplomat gives over his home to part of the gonzalez family
The Demings' long involvement with Japan
what tact! what diplomacy! what charm! perfect for the post
straight to the point a help to the frazzled and weary
tell myself gently I've lost my touch with men after menopause
courier with attaché case chained as expected


m k f

how handy for males when the god and the priests are male too
philosophy of religion prof even sainted John Dewy
Vatican courtyard crowd surges forward waiting for white smoke
apotheosis atheism enthusiasm pantheon polytheism*
Dear Theo...great to have a sibling who really understands
talent of Van Gogh guided by a higher source

*from the Greek theos
Written April 3-12, 2000

June Moreau, New England
Giselle Maya, Provence, France

Tangled in the branches
of a black willow-
the wolf moon.
Clumps of red osier
against a drift of snow

along the cliff's edge
over gnarled roots
a worn mountain trail
frost-covered cypress
shaggy trunk rising

held aloft
in sun-tipped branches
of the winter linden -
a tattered kite
that was once a dragon

poplar leaves
heart shaped
float on water
eroded by seasons
into veined skeletons

the pieces of birch bark
on my writing table
have their own
mysterious script -
written without hands

across the moon's face
cloud dragon tilting
with glittering branches -
a rabbit stops and stares
into monstrous headlights

with fingers nimble
as the spring wind
in willow branches
the year's first basket
is finely woven

dreaming of a hut
under the whispering oak
Icarus cliffs where eagles nest
impenetrable mists
pierce and chill my heart

I am sitting here
with my back
against a young tree
feeling the wind
in its branches

spring fever
walk within the scent of plum
sap rising
a thousand bees and I
elated by the mystery of things

write all your sorrows
on rainbow streamers
and tie them onto
the slender branches
of the weeping willow

patches of violets
under the Kannon-armed quince
strong winds sting my eyes
a lizard rustles to hide
in a bone-white stone wall

hazelnut blossoms
along the trail
to the old pond -
the brown creeper's
tiny song

clipping mistletoe
from an aged pear tree
March hare leaps
not half as agile
as this vixen of a cat

no blossoms this year
on the old apple tree
just a white butterfly
flitting here and there
in its branches

left to protect the tree
one last persimmon -
a prayer for fruit
from next year's harvest

a bevy of white pines
holding hands
with the ardent wind -
they are dancing
they are dancing

taller each day
iris beneath the walnut tree
narcissus wait
in their silver sheaths
for April mildness

the longing
to stay here
spreads around me
like the warm shadow
of a great oak

found and treasured
an old wooden ladder
for June cherry picking
a kitten's tentative paw
touches the snail's antennae

I am always
walking along the path
that leads to the willow
angel of the wind
the honey-colored wind

oak leaf fragments
wildly swaying
moon in dark branches
year of the Rabbit's end
wind-tossed heart at peace

January 1999 to January 2000
Written in the Year of the Rabbit

Selections from The Life Of Genji Poems
translated by Jane Reichhold
from The Tale Of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu
available in autumn 2001 by Stone Bridge Press, Berkeley, California.

12 - 1
Due to changes in the palace politics, Genji abruptly decides to leave for exile to the remote coast of Suma. Before leaving he visits his deceased wife's residence, where his friend, the First Secretary's Captain lives. While there, Genji, visiting with the women who had served his wife, decides to stay the night with one of them. At dawn, the traditional time of parting was made even sadder by knowing Genji might never return here again. When the Great Princess sent him a note saying it was a pity he could not stay to see his son, Lord Evening Mist, Genji whispered as if to himself while he wept:

moe shi keburi mo
magau ya to
ama no shio yaku
ura mi ni zo yuku

if going to
shores where fisherfolk's
salt fires burn
there is smoke rising
as from the cemetery

Poor people, usually women, living along the coast derived some income from boiling sea water down for its salt or burning gathered sea weeds for minerals contained in the ash to be used as fertilizer. Though the work was hard, wet and dirty, poets found a wealth of images in the process: dripping wet sleeves, briny tears, fires on lonely beaches, smoke like that of the crematoriums. Mount Toribe (toribeyama) was the customary place of cremation and burial for Kyoto.

12 - 3
At his own residence, the empty courtyard and the dust on the tables announces the waste and neglect that would come to the house in his absence. Genji goes to Lady Murasaki, who has been up all night waiting on him. First of all he must explain to her why he was away when the two of them had so little time yet together. It was rumored that many felt that now all of her favorable fates bringing her into Genji's household were also leaving her. As he combs his hair, and sees how he has already lost weight from the stress, he also sees in the mirror that Lady Murasaki sitting by a pillar behind him is crying.

mi wa kakute
sasurae nu tomo
kimi ga atari
sara nu kagami no
kage wa hanare ii

in this way
though I wander afar
I'll be with you
my image will stay
here in your mirror

12 - 4
Turning her tearful face to the pillar, Lady Murasaki says, as if to herself.

wakare temo
kage dani tomaru
mono nara ba
kagami wo mi temo
nagusame te mashi

though we part
may your image remain
a clear fact
as it is seen in a mirror
that would comfort me

12 - 7
Genji even sent a note to the Princess of the Misty Moon, with whom he had not dared to visit since her father had caught Genji in her bed. The scandal was made even greater as the Princess of the Misty Moon had been made a consort to the present Emperor. "Remembering the crime to which I cannot plead innocent. . ." He could write nothing more, out of fear his note could be intercepted but he wished he could wipe away her tears.

ause naki
namida no kawa ni
shizumi shi ya
nagaruru mio no
hajime nari ken

no chance to meet
shall I again sink into
a river of tears?
that deep current entered
when we began our affair

12 - 8
Deeply upset, The Princess of the Misty Moon replied with shaky handwriting. There is something very fine about the hand disordered by grief.

ukabu minawa mo
kie nu beshi
wakare te nochi no
se wo mo mata zu te

a bubble floating
on the river of tears
will vanish
before having a chance to
meet at the lower crossing

12 - 16
Genji did spend his very last day at home with Lady Murasaki. When the moon came up, he urged her to say good-bye to him by telling her with forced lightness:

ike ru yo no
wakare wo shira de
chigiri tsutsu
inochi wo hito ni
kagiri keru kana

living in the world
as if we knew nothing
of separations
my vows will last
as long as you live

12 - 17
Lady Murasaki's farewell poem to Genji made him wish to linger but he did not want the city to see him leaving in broad daylight.

oshikara nu
inochi ni kae te
ne no mae no
wakare wo shibashi
todome teshigana

no longer precious
I would wish to exchange
this life
if would delay our parting
even for one minute

12 - 39
As winter came, and people in the city sent fewer letters, Genji began to miss Lady Murasaki even more. He thought of having her brought to Suma but decided that the punishment was for him alone so he should not subject her to these hardships. While observing someone unsuccessfully trying to light a fire with wet wood, Genji murmured.

yamagatsu no
iori ni take ru
shiba shiba mo
kototoi ko nan
kouru satobito

a mountain person
in the cabin tried to light
firewood many times
just as often I have wished
for the town folk I miss so

Shiba = 1) firewood; shiba shiba = often, many times.

12 - 41
Awake until dawn, while the others slept, Genji heard the cries of beach plovers. He repeated this poem several times to himself.

morogoe ni naku
akatsuki wa
hitori nezame no
toko mo tanomoshi

a flock of plovers
cry in a chorus of voices
at the break of day
bringing comfort to the bed
of one who wakes alone

Eiko Yachimoto 

Yokosuka -
winter forest
only of masts 

a dry dock from Meiji
solid masonry

around landing place
jazz of the new century
swirls colorful people

and yet exists
a language divide

warm rain's falling -
the beige brown field
of withered grass

Do you still hear "the jocund sound
of scissors cutting May roses"?


Allan Dystrup
Cindy Zackowitz 

in the ripple,
the first fallen leaves
and a swan's feather

side by side
the sinking stones

the morning sun,
lightening up the falling
birch seeds

late in the evening
a sudden gust
sweeps the porch

still in the treetop
the kite from last year

spring -
the nest appears
in its usual place

in the morning fog,
the alarm call of a blackbird
far away

overnight snow
slips from a leaf

the emptiness!
last year's spruce cones,
the fog signal

dusk -
eyes shining
in the hollow tree

the rainy summer -
white sand on the path

poplar grove -
a magpies feather
in the bottom of a puddle

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Who We Are

Deadline for the next issue is May 1, 2001


  Poems Copyright © Designated Authors 2001.
Page Copyright©  Jane Reichhold 2001.

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