M ODERN
E NGLISH
T ANKA
o
MET 3
Spring 2007
Volume 1 Number 3
MET 3, Spring 2007
Volume 1 Number 3
Modern English Tanka
ISSN 1932-9083
Denis M. Garrison, Editor
Michael McClintock, Contributing Editor
M ODERN E NGLISH T ANKA P RESS
Baltimore, Maryland.
2007
M ODERN E NGLISH T ANKA P RESS
Post Office Box 43717
Baltimore, Maryland 21236 USA
www.modernenglishtankapress.com
publisher@modernenglishtankapress.com
Modern English Tanka - MET 3, Spring 2007 - Vol. 1, No. 3
Copyright © 2007 by Modern English Tanka Press.
Acknowledgments of previous publications are printed with the
poetry, articles, etc. to which they are applicable.
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 a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a
review.
Modern English Tanka , a quarterly print & digital journal, is
dedicated to publishing and promoting fine English tanka (including
tanka written in cinquain and cinqku set forms). MET 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 genres into
a continuously developing English short verse tradition. In addition
to verse, MET publishes articles, essays, reviews, interviews, letters to
the editor, etc., related to tanka.
Modern English Tanka — MET 3, Spring 2007 — Vol. 1, No. 3
Published by M ODERN E NGLISH T ANKA P RESS .
Print Edition: ISSN 1932-9083
Digital Edition: ISSN 1930-8132 www.modernenglishtanka.com
editor@modernenglishtanka.com
C O N T E N T S
Modern English Tanka — MET 3, Spring 2007
Volume 1, Number 3.
EDITORIAL
1
Dreaming Room by Denis M. Garrison, editor.
7
Letters to the Editor . M. Kei. Amelia Fielden.
13
TANKA
15
Melanie Alberts
17
Aurora Antonovic
19
an’ya
21
Pamela A. Babusci
24
David Bacharach
28
Roberta Beary
30
Cathy Drinkwater Better
34
James Roderick Burns
36
Tom Clausen
41
Sue Ann Connaughton
42
Dina E. Cox
44
Magdalena Dale
45
Amitava Dasgupta
47
Janet Lynn Davis
52
Cherie Hunter Day
55
Melissa Dixon
56
Jim Doss
58
Jeanne Emrich
 
59
Margarita Engle
68
Amelia Fielden
71
Stanford M. Forrester
73
Bernard Gadd
74
Denis M. Garrison
78
Victor P. Gendrano
79
Beverley George
81
Gina
82
Sanford Goldstein
85
Sari Grandstaff
86
C W Hawes
90
Juri Henley-Cohn
91
Elizabeth Howard
92
Kirsty Karkow
94
M. Kei
99
Michael Ketchek
100
Larry Kimmel
102
Kathy Kituai
103
Joseph V. Kleponis
104
Gary LeBel
106
Jean LeBlanc
107
Robert Hill Long
113
Bob Lucky
117
Francis Masat
118
Michael McClintock
120
Annette Mineo
122
Amy Nawrocki
124
Louis Osofsky
126
Zane Parks
127
Jack Prewitt
129
Patricia Prime
132
Carol Raisfeld
136
Kala Ramesh
138
Bruce Ross
139
Natalia L. Rudychev
141
Adelaide B. Shaw
146
Guy Simser
149
Maria Steyn
150
Laurence W. Thomas
151
Julie Thorndyke
152
CarrieAnn Thunell
155
Maria Tirenescu
156
Chuck Tripi
158
Kozue Uzawa
159
Linda Jeannette Ward
161
Robert D. Wilson
164
Fran Witham
165
Ron L. Zheng
169
ESSAYS & ARTICLES
171
Tanka Year in Review: 2006 , compiled by the Editors.
177
Notice , clarifying editorial policy regarding essays and
articles publication, from the Editors.
179
BOOK NOTES & REVIEWS
NOTES
181
The Five-Hole Flute Eds. Denis M. Garrison and
Michael McClintock . Book Note.
182
Growing Late by Tom Clausen. Book Note.
184
Snow About To Fall by John Barlow. Book Note.
185
Never Seeing Fuji by Dustin Neal. Book Note.
185
Raffaello’s Azure by Ruri Hazama, assisted by Amelia
Fielden. Book Note.
186
The Modern Murasaki: Writing by Women of Meiji Japan ,
edited by Rebecca L. Copeland and Melek Ortabasi.
Book Note.
186
First Light, First Shadows by George Swede. Book
Note.
187
Nude with Scar by Marianne Bluger. Book Note.
188
Eucalypt edited by Beverley George. Book Note.
REVIEWS
189
The Pie in Pieces by Andrew Riutta. Review by Kirsty
Karkow.
192
Ferris Wheel, 101 Modern and Contemporary Tanka , edited
by Kozue Uzawa and translated by Uzawa and Amelia
Fielden. Review by M. Kei.
196
The Pleiades at Dawn by Jeanne Emrich. Review by
Denis M. Garrison.
199
Blue Night & the inadequacy of long-stemmed roses by Larry
Kimmel. Review by Denis M. Garrison.
203
An Interview with M. Kei by Larry Kimmel.
213
Contributors
225
Advertisements
E D I T O R I A L S
1
Dreaming Room
mounted butterfly
hanging under hardened glass
floating over cork
just enough room for your dreams
meadow breeze . . . a sapphire flash
— Denis M. Garrison
Please indulge me while I wander down a few tangential paths
to get to my premise. I need to make a point about haiku in
order to extend it to tanka; I need to frame that point with an
initial comment about spirituality. After a lifetime of study and
practice and over twenty years of priestly service, I have only
just begun to understand the fundamentals of my own spiritual
tradition. That being the case, I will not attempt to analyze the
place of Japanese spiritual traditions in haiku and tanka. Others,
far better qualified than I, have done so in lengthy tomes. I can,
however, say this much with confidence: haiku exhibits the
eremitic asceticism of all monastic traditions.
Anyone who thinks monasticism rejects beauty is badly
misinformed. There is a particular aesthetic in the eremitic value
system which produces art of exquisite beauty and soul-moving
potency. That aesthetic values spartan self-denial, self-
effacement, the adamant exercise of restraint, and an austere
elegance that is made eloquent by its understatement. It achieves
an other-worldly sensibility through rigorous immersion in
unvarnished reality. Haiku is the ultimate poetic form for the
expression of universal truths in accord with a monastic
aesthetic. This same aesthetic has a place in tanka.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
2
Tanka, despite its organic connection to haiku, is very different
in significant ways. A more worldly sense of beauty is
appreciated in tanka (although not exclusively so), as is the
subjective treatment of the matter. At one end of a spectrum of
opinion, some hold that tanka is intrinsically biographical. At
least, one can say that it cannot reasonably be argued that tanka
is as objective as haiku. A broader palette of poetic techniques
is permitted to the tanka poet. Of course, tanka is nearly twice
as long as haiku. Whatever their ancient common heritage, tanka
and haiku are now substantially different forms of poetry.
It has, however, often been remarked that many poets writing
tanka in English came to it via an earlier immersion in haiku.
Some say (and I agree) that tanka written by haiku poets is
distinguishable from that written by poets without training in
haiku. What is it that transfers from haiku writing to tanka
writing that makes a notable difference? That is, of course, a
question which is answered disparately by poets and critics who
are dispersed along a broad spectrum of opinion. I stipulate that
there are a number of skills which are so transferable.
One haiku technique, I believe, has profound implications when
applied to the composition of tanka. It is, however, difficult to
enunciate by its very nature. I refer to haiku’s exploitation of
that which remains unsaid. It is a primary characteristic of haiku
and, I propose, also of tanka.
The extreme brevity of haiku forces the poet to be equally
extreme in economy of words. Often seen as a vexing limit, this
brevity/economy actually is a positive value. In order to be able
to say anything about the object of the poem, the subject (the
poet or persona) must be invisible or nearly so. One recalls the
famous dictum that a finger pointing at the moon must not be
ringed—the ring would be a distraction. But far more than
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
3
economy informs the terseness of haiku. Every specific given
reduces the universality of the poem; every value-laden word
limits the reader’s range of interpretation and, thereby, the
reader’s opportunity for insight and inspiration. It is a
commonplace to say that the haiku reader “co-creates the
haiku” by adding from his/her [hereinafter, “his”] own
experiential context to the haiku and, thereby, completing it.
A perennial question about tanka is: “What is tanka?” This is
not a stupid question; rather, it indicates that the inquirer can
see the many similarities of tanka to a five-line poem in free
verse. What then distinguishes them? A frequent answer is:
“The tanka spirit.” But what is that? My own answer to this
question often takes the form of hyperbole, so as to make a
proposition that is counter-intuitive seem, at least, worth
consideration. I like to say that “tanka is both indefinable and
unmistakable.” Of course, both are fundamentally untrue, but
paradoxically they point towards the truth.
The “tanka spirit,” with its ancient provenance in Japanese
culture, and in Chinese culture before that, will not submit to
simple definitions. Even though so many of us (myself
included) read traditional Japanese tanka only in translation, still
it is an absolute necessity to read it regularly and thoughtfully.
Only by such study, only by listening attentively, will we learn to
hear the tanka spirit speak. There comes a point where
definition becomes irrelevant; a point where you recognize the
true tones of tanka like you recognize your lover’s voice. So, the
first answer is always: “Read, read, and read more!”
That being said, we return to the craft of the poet. How does
one write tanka, once one recognizes the essence of tanka?
Amongst many correct answers to this question, the one I wish
to clarify in this case is: “Leave the reader dreaming room.”
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
4
By “dreaming room,” I mean some empty space inside the
poem which the reader can fill with his personal experience,
from his unique social context. To the degree that any poet
makes a poem so specific that the poet’s intent is forced upon
the reader (i.e., the reader is led to the poet’s pre-conceived
notions and conclusions), the reader is limited by the degree of
congruence between his and the poet’s life experiences and
values. Such a poem means one thing and only that. Readers
feel compelled to “get the poem,” to correctly “understand” it.
Given the current (and longstanding) fad of obscurantism in
English poetry, “getting the poem” is a heavy burden, indeed,
for the reader and hardly a pleasant one.
Everyone “gets” a good poem. Obscurantism is cover for
incompetence, pomposity, a paucity of insight, and a host of
other poetic shortcomings. Obscurantism is a classic technique
for the creation of an elite on the basis of a faux meritocracy.
Tanka are notable for their accessibility. Why? Because most
good tanka have “dreaming room.” They have been composed
with the technique of understatement, of suggestiveness, of
open-endedness. Words and details which limit the universality
of the tanka have been omitted with careful attention to what is
not said. What remains is a poem that is a framework upon
which readers from widely different contexts can hang their
own experiences and values and discover meaning, experience
epiphany. What tanka poet and translator, Amelia Fielden, has
called “a certain haziness” in tanka translates into clarity for
individual readers. Hence, ambiguity is a positive value for
tanka.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
5
Tanka has a special dynamic, a cognitive tension, which is called
a turn, that multiplies meaning. Part of the attraction and value
of tanka is its special quality of dealing with the ineffable. It is
this quality of tanka which puts tanka in the category of high art.
This is the quality that was being sought in the pursuit of the
“objective correlative” in imagism. Tanka specializes in
existential paradox, that is, it does what cannot be done; it says
what cannot be said. The secret at the heart of it is knowing
what to leave out (like the beginning and end of the story), so
that the reader can complete the poem so that it speaks
eloquently and directly to him.
There is another lens through which to look at this same
technique: the concept of multivalency. “Valence” is used in
biology to refer to the forces of reaction and interaction and is
used in chemistry to refer to the properties of atoms by which
they have the power of combination. This informs the use of
the adjective, “ambivalent,” which refers to confusion and
uncertainty. So, we use the term “multivalency” to refer to the
property of words to react to one another, interact with one
another, to be fungible and suggestive. A multivalent tanka is
one with dreaming room. It is a poem which may be read in
many different ways, all of them correct. It is this freedom for
the reader that we refer to as making the reader a co-creator of
the poem. The reader’s experiential context determines the true
meaning of the poem, for that reader.
If, in your indulgence, you have read this far, please indulge me
further and return to the poem at the head of this article. Let us
do an exercise. Read the poem as a drug addict. Now, read it as
a political prisoner. Now, as an abused wife. Now, as a soldier.
Now as a concerned ecologist. Etc., etc. ad infinitum .
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
6
I certainly am not suggesting that a tanka, to be tanka, must be
capable of a full range of alternate readings. I am suggesting that
a tanka gains potency through multivalency; that ambiguity is a
positive value; that readers need room to dream their own
dreams.
— Denis M. Garrison, editor
February 17, 2007.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
7
Letters to the Editor
Please email Letters to the Editor to dmg@metankapress.com.
From: M. Kei
December 25, 2006
Dear Denis,
You were kind enough to publish my article on the history of
the publication of books containing tanka in English in Winter,
2006 issue of the MET . As noted in that article, research is
ongoing and the numbers are likely to rise. Over winter break
I had the opportunity to do some additional research and I
thought you might be interested in the revised numbers. A
caution, these are not final numbers, either. I think it will be a
while before anybody can feel confident that we've captured a
substantial majority of tanka books.
As it currently stands, 2006 has been the high point of tanka
book publication with forty-one titles published. The previous
high year was 2005 with thirty-one titles published. That was up
sharply from seventeen titles in 2004. Prior to this time, 2000
had been the high year with twenty-seven titles published.
Before that, 1997 was a high year with twenty-six titles
published. Prior to 1996 no more than fifteen titles had ever
been published in a year. For the last decade, most years have
brought about twenty titles to press, thus it appears that the
sustainable market for the last decade is not more than
twenty-five titles.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
 
8
The current spate of publications and the introduction of new
tanka magazines raises the question: who is buying them? Is it
the same small group that has been supporting them, and if so,
are we in danger of saturating the market? Or is tanka reaching
new audiences? If so, who? How do we cultivate a broader
audience for tanka?
Not many journals, including only a handful of tanka journals,
review tanka. Few bookstores carry it, although if a book has an
ISBN, it can be special ordered through major booksellers like
Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Borders, etc. Yet most small
press and self-published books don't carry ISBNs. Likewise, few
submit their books to the Library of Congress, a major database
of book publication in America and an important source for
many other repositories of information. Thus the bulk of tanka
publication is invisible to the larger world.
Very few libraries and universities host tanka collections or
tanka courses; this is in distinct contrast to haiku. Many of those
active in the tanka world are under the misimpression that tanka
came into existence in English when it was discovered by haiku
poets in the 70s and 80s, yet more than four hundred tanka
titles have been published over more than a hundred years. (My
Bibliography of Books Containing Tanka in English at
TankaCentral.com will be updated in January with close to 400
listings.)
The question then is, how are we of the modern generation to
avoid the obscurity of our tanka forebears? How are we to
retrieve our lost history and integrate what has passed with what
is happening now. More to the point, what kind of
responsibility do we as poets, editors, translators, publishers,
reviewers, and readers bear in the promotion and preservation
of this literature? I hope readers will give a thought as to what
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
9
they can do to contribute to the sustainability of our genre and
the enhancement of its community.
~K~
M. Kei
Perryville, MD
M. Kei is a tanka poet and the editor of Fire Pearls: Short Masterpieces of the Human
Heart. He moderates the Kyoka Mad Poems e-list and co-manages the Tanka
Roundtable. He is the compiler of the Bibliography of Books Containing Tanka in
English at TankaCentral.com. His blog is <kujakupoet.blogspot.com>.
From: Amelia Fielden
February 1, 2007
Dear Editor,
I am often asked what is a tanka / what are tanka? (The word
‘tanka’, meaning ‘short song’ in Japanese, is both singular and
plural.)
Tanka is a form of lyric poetry which originated in Japan over
1300 years ago.
DEFINITION: In Japan, tanka are autonomous poems defined
by their structure, which is:
C
five phrases (written on the page in one continuous
vertical line, which sometimes extends to two lines if a
lot of hiragana letters are used)
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
 
10
C
31 syllables or ‘sound units’ in total (1 or 2 syllables
more or less being tolerated, particularly if the poet is
‘famous’)
C
a rhythmic pattern of 5/7/5/7/7 sound-units, with
some permissible slippage (Note: Japanese sound-units
are quite different to English, so a Japanese 5/7/5/7/7
syllabic pattern roughly equates to 21 English syllables
in a 3/5/3/5/5 pattern, in terms of the comparative
time taken to read Japanese and English tanka aloud.)
C
a short/long/short/long/long rhythm pattern for
the five phrases
Tanka in Japan are DEFINED solely on the basis of the poem’s
structure, not by content (which is wide-open), nor by aesthetic
sensibilities. One should be aware of the distinction between the
definition of tanka poetry, and its apparent characteristics ; the
latter can differ quite markedly from one era to another, while
the form of tanka remains invariable.
What Japanese tanka DON’T have .
C
titles (individual tanka are never titled; tanka sequences
are titled)
C
end of line rhymes (sometimes there is a kind of
internal rhyme)
C
capitalization (there are no upper and lower case
letters in Japanese)
C
final periods Very little punctuation is used:
occasionally commas, occasionally quotation marks or
brackets, appear. Final periods do exist in Japanese, and
are used in prose and prose poetry, but never in tanka
(nor haiku). This is because Japanese tanka are
considered to be fragments of poetry; they are NOT
grammatical sentences or short paragraphs (though they
may sometimes seem that way in translation).
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
11
What Japanese tanka MAY have, but don’t need to have
C
pivot or zeugma
C
change of view during the poem
C
pause after any specific line . Some tanka read straight
through.
C
analogy or comparison between nature and human
nature
C
metaphors, similes, alliteration, personification
All poetic techniques are permissible, as are all themes.
Moreover, Japanese tanka are not necessarily overtly subjective.
Objective description (shasei) is just as well-appreciated in tanka
as subjective emotion.
I hope this is helpful to your readers.
Sincerely,
Amelia Fielden
Buff Point, NSW, Australia
Amelia Fielden is an Australian living by the sea near Sydney. She is a professional
Japanese translator and a dedicated poet. Retired from service as a government translator,
Amelia has published seven books of contemporary Japanese women tankaists in
translation. Her own tanka in English have been awarded and published internationally.
Four of Amelia's collections are in print, the most recent being Still Swimming
(Ginnindera Press, Canberra, September 2005). She can be contacted at
anafielden@hotmail.com.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
C
enjambment
 
12
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
13
T A N K A
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
14
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
15
Melanie Alberts
a taste of it
toward the back
of my tongue—
resolving to be happy
I swallow your smile
under a waterfall
we kiss like catfish hunting
sunbeams—
the veil lowers between us,
primordial world
a ring of rose quartz
on my ankle—
each stone pulses
compassion, winks at each
passing disappointment
bouncing
on a trampoline
my breath comes hard—
there’s always so much
I haven’t done
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
16
Melanie Alberts
remember
our first night of love?
moving in,
feeling on all sides
the shell-pink smoothness
a woman
talks to herself
by the labyrinth—
peace comes
from all directions
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
17
Aurora Antonovic
my hands guide his
over the spinning
pot’s shape
how I wish for the luxury
of just once being the student
do as I have done
were his last words
to me
so I deliver his speech
to five thousand—fearlessly
he died while the wind howled
the sky, orange and blue
the calendar said spring
but it was winter
when we buried him
six months since his death
I find myself talking aloud
in perplexing times
asking what he would do
not even the wind has answers
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
18
Aurora Antonovic
delivering my first eulogy
on the death of yet
another friend
days before my twenty-fifth birthday
I am ancient
swaying to Vivaldi
while a summer storm thunders
our power suddenly goes out
we continue dancing
to the music in our heads
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
19
a n’ya
my blood and bone
slipping from darkness
into the light
her small skull as round
as a Slavic moon
if only
the written word could
wrap your wound
upon this battlefield
where blood-red peonies bloom
Sunday morning
how I wish this dishwater
were the sound
of waterfalls cascading
down a mountainside
across the lake
a light from your window
beckoning me
though I may never row there
a loon approaches the dock
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
20
a n’ya
spring equinox—
if it weren’t for the tinkling
of wind bells
I would only be able
to write about soundlessness
one season’s demise
becomes another’s debut—
the raindrops
are stirring old puddles
into a milky white
Monday morning
and no sound of birdsong yet
how much longer
will it take that meadowlark
to appear out of nowhere
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
21
Pamela A. Babusci
my heart’s
deepest wounds
are hidden
in the womb
of my unborn child
centering prayer
again
i am enfolded
in a love
beyond my comprehension
i arrive home
with the autumn wind
in my hair . . .
is it too late to ask
for forgiveness?
removing her make-up
& silk stockings
after a lousy date . . .
only the moon cradles
the pulse of her tears
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
22
Pamela A. Babusci
floating moon
all night your radiance
blinded me & yet at dawn
how crystalline the dew
on the chrysanthemums
— Honorable Mention HPNC
Haiku/Senryu & Tanka contest, 2000.
so my friend
when will you visit me?
my flowers are withering
on the trellis and all the
geese have darkened the sky
— Tanka Splendor Award 1997
afraid of my love
you retreat within
the bedroom walls—
how i long to wrap your
fears around my galaxy
— First published in tangled hair , 2000.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
23
Pamela A. Babusci
staining
watercolor paper
with an hibiscus flower
can we really survive
without lust?
— First published in tangled hair 5 , 2006.
beyond
our spiral galaxy
a billion others . . .
the sound of
falling snow
— First published in bottle rockets , 2003.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
24
David Bacharach
that bank
still needs mowing
where the tractor
flipped over on him
and crushed his chest
blind now
the old farmer sits
on his porch
leaves from an oak tree
drift silently down
raindrops
merge on the window pane
this evening
as we sit together
and talk about our day
done fighting
we search in twilight
for a stone
from the ring
that struck my face
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
25
David Bacharach
the mowed lawn
under a catalpa tree—
in no time
it’s dappled again
with white blossoms
the garden
where I spent the summer
on my knees
gave me absolution
and rabbits vegetables
the box
he hands me is just
black plastic
so plain a container
for my father’s ashes
my son follows
the creek bed to our old
picnic spot
I don’t tell him
it’s been washed away
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
26
David Bacharach
they dumped
the chopped corn and him
in the field
then took the boot
with his foot in it home
angry yelling
from a couple across
the valley—
suddenly my loneliness
is easier to bear
I tell myself
to put down the old
blind gelding
whom I carried in my arms
the night he was born
I move dirt
from a high spot
to a low
the planet is now
a little smoother
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
27
David Bacharach
straight up
into the air until it
disappears
a frantic dragonfly
freed from my grasp
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
28
Roberta Beary
gone for years
he returns
half hidden
in a ghost cloud
man in the moon
a riot of daffodils
colors my yard
one more thing
about me
you never will know
ten years since
your suicide
yesterday’s white azaleas
washed away
by rain
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
29
Roberta Beary
The Banshee
bending low
to hear father’s last words
he tells me
he was always
a good son
open casket
after the kiss
it comes to me
the clichés
are true
birdcall
my father would whistle
to wake me
wakes me
to a great emptiness
—Tanka Splendor Award 2005/Tanka Sequence.
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
30
Cathy Drinkwater Better
a meteorite plunges
into the winter sunset
how often
have I fallen into your arms
not knowing where I would land
this pervasive
feeling of unease
tonight
somewhere beyond the stars
a wounded comet flies
— Yellow Moon 18 , Very Highly Commended Tanka;
Ribbons , Vol. 2, No. 1
like me
the cat watches and waits
at the window—
we two are feral
in our bones
autumn heat
a thousand bait fish break
the water’s surface
I plunge
into your arms
— Searching for Echoes : TSA 2003 Members’ Anthology
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
31
Cathy Drinkwater Better
after my sleepless night
the sunrise
spreads
like a bruise
across the winter sky
hanging the birdhouse
you made as a child—
showers
of oak blossoms
in the afternoon sun
— Gusts No. 4 , Fall/Winter 2006
visiting the place
where your ashes were scattered
through the back window
your little daughter
blows goodbye kisses
— to find the moon : TSA 2004 Members’ Anthology
last night’s rain
in the cup of a leaf—
I blow a kiss
at your back
as you turn to go
— Gusts No. 3 , Spring/Summer 2006
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
32
Cathy Drinkwater Better
bloom by bloom
the bouquet grown smaller
since last I saw you
golden mums
in the dying light
— Ribbons , Vol. 2, No. 1
distant thunder
the charged night air
raises gooseflesh
our pulsebeats
fill every pause
— to find the moon : TSA 2004 Members’ Anthology
late August afternoon
torrid rays shimmer
above the endless blacktop
so many miles between us
so much heat
— Tanka Splendor 1996
But for the throb of crickets
outside my window
these late-summer nights
my heart would forget to beat
while we are apart
—Wind Five Folded , AHA Books, 1994
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
33
Cathy Drinkwater Better
after the blizzard
white sky meets white earth
I too am lost
without a landmark
now that you are gone
— Searching for Echoes : TSA 2003 Members’ Anthology
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
34
James Roderick Burns
Seeing the oak tree
glowering and knotting up
its slow-motion fist
against a brick wall, I write
my resignation letter.
Nothing much changes—
mechanical fingers grope
at rows of bumpers
while saggy power cables
sit back, hum their approval.
Escaping at lunch
from the fairytale of work
I wolf my sandwich
turn the page and discover
three trapped crumbs, proud as tumours.
In the corridor
the elderly salesman’s shoes
wait despondently
like lizards on a creek bed
for some long-vanished polish.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
35
James Roderick Burns
Yielding to the will
of the barber, I incline
my head to the floor
where bears and snowy egrets
battle for supremacy.
Different Sundays—
out for nappies I notice
a gingerbread man
behind fuzzy cotton blinds
knocking back a few stiff ones.
Three nights in a row
with this sleepless child, my head
resonant and full
as a late pumpkin swelling
in radioactive ground.
Eternal typist—
permanent secretary
stationed at dinner
behind a wretched nameplate
eyes up the blowfish sushi.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
36
Tom Clausen
such a frigid night
yet so warming
to be out on the town
alone in a crowd, for music
happily anonymous
what attracted me most
to the poem
had not so much to do
with the poem
but that she liked it . . .
scribbling,
that’s it,
what I do and tell
the inquisitive stranger
who asks
for her it is still clear
as yesterday
but when she wants me to focus
on what I felt fifteen years ago
I’m at loss
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
37
Tom Clausen
as the night can do,
worries work into me,
the war, global warming,
and then those magnified haunts
of a personal sort . . .
bundled up
for the bitter cold
I head out as if destined
to leave footprints in fresh snow
to and from my parent’s grave
after what appeared
to be something torrid
between them, it has changed
and now the look is
a glazed, what next?
the flurry of letters
after none for years
has all the trappings
of revisiting memories
for one last time . . .
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
38
Tom Clausen
most days I avoid it
but then
like a sharp curve on the road,
something that reminds me
it could all be over in a moment
in her rocking chair
my grandmother
had a far off look . . .
a clear long standing sense
of autumn for too long now
I smile broadly
at one, then another
and another . . .
this fascination with faces
smiling back
my wife already asleep
yet here between us
all manner
of intimate affections;
the kitten and me
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
39
Tom Clausen
they say ‘be here now’
and be prepared
for tomorrow . . .
yet in my own private netherland
unsure where I am
to think our friendship
ended by mutual consent
because they believed
in a certain afterlife
and I wasn’t so sure
I had seen close-up
my parent’s marriage,
I knew the good and the bad,
yet still had enough belief
that I might do better
not exactly a death march
but in some way
the daily struggle
can feel fairly futile
clinging to hopes of tomorrow
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
40
Tom Clausen
about to be worked on
I wait in the dentist chair
a little dance of thoughts
and nothingness
to go with the muzak
maybe it was
inevitable
that a day would come
where I’d want to be alone
more than being with you
my wife complains
winter has dragged on
too long—
the road to work a maze
of potholes and invective
deep in the woods
wind blows
the falling snow—
so much I must do
alone
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
41
Sue Ann Connaughton
my mother watches me
begrudge my father
a skimpy kiss
a taxi waits
to take me to the airport
an old address book
contains
mysterious names
of people
I used to need
mini blinds
let me control
the view
that I wish to allow
from my window
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
42
Dina E. Cox
Adagio Morning
finally rain
edging away frozen snow
uncovering spring
just so, the poet becomes
orphan over and over . . .
first the top-snow goes
underneath, what’s frozen
waits its turn
losing parents was one thing
but oh my friends, my friends!
buried treasure . . .
the soft rain uncovers
birdseed,
juncos and mourning doves
rejoice
no sun
only this gentle rain
to penetrate
the heart of winter
with its wet promises
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
43
Dina E. Cox
even winter
can’t destroy what earth
treasures,
clasping to its breast
memories of forever
adagio morning
watching raindrops fall
to the clock’s slow tick
the ghost of a small dog
begs its familiar lap
the babble
of the coffee shop
just babble . . .
outside a raindrop chorus
jumping puddles!
almost spring
the slow erosion of snow
by rain,
a time to remember
what’s lost, what’s gained
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
44
Magdalena Dale
lost in dream
I keep the air in my arms
like a sweet burden . . .
the branches of lime
caressed by a breeze
lilac flowers
at the edge of the road
in front of the gates
the youth waiting to rise
the spring moon again
night after night
in my way to your soul
the flower of heart . . .
so many fragrances petals
scattered in your way
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
45
Amitava Dasgupta
emergency room
half-awake
I see an angel
but as the pain fades
she flies away
uncle’s funeral
between showers
a faint rainbow
—smile of a little girl
among mourners
this spring evening
my heart is a lilac
anyone can enjoy my fragrance
whether I like them
or not
— 2005 Tanka Splendor Award
morning breaks
your fragrance
still on my pillow case
will you return
after the sunset?
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
46
Amitava Dasgupta
melting snow
slowly uncovering
dead grass
you are in another galaxy
light years away
autumn twilight
waiting at the coffee shop
almost an hour
the last leaf on a maple tree
drops
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
47
Janet Lynn Davis
with nothing
resembling a snowflake
this winter
how will I know
when it’s spring?
a winter
weaker than we’d hoped—
in the cracks
between the pavestones
weeds growing happily
I must be
such an imposter
the spring rain
darkens my little corner,
doesn’t materialize
nothing amiss:
the petunias profuse
this morning
in lavender and pink
but still . . . a certain feeling
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
48
Janet Lynn Davis
unopened blooms
on this potted hibiscus
despite the sun
my mounting impatience
with wasted potential
the mockingbird
stands guard, shrieks at me;
she should know
I can’t reach her nest,
that I never could quite fly
three friends of mine
hospitalized at once,
one dying
and to think I’m only
midway through my life
after decades
family feelings seep out—
tell me
am I the only one
wanting his memoirs?
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
49
Janet Lynn Davis
I remove
this dry, prickly puff
from the planter—
why did I keep it so long,
an ancient dead cactus?
in their old age
my parents have softened . . .
a home too large
but the comfort
of clutter around them
broken cuckoo clock
hangs silently—
my old bedroom
in the family house,
where I return to sleep
years of dust and grime
coat this tall china cat;
I catch myself,
for a moment, showing
my mother how to clean
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
50
Janet Lynn Davis
one at a time
I exercise my limbs,
circling slowly,
sometimes unaware
of the patterns I repeat
still haunting me
from time to time in dreams. . .
your jet-black hair
highlight-streaked to cover
the gray you now must have
I meander
through tall pines,
before morning
lose myself in a forest
of green flannel sheets
greenness after all
this winter,
as I run my fingers
through the spring mix
that I rinse for dinner
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
51
Janet Lynn Davis
as for flowers
how many more times
shall I hint—
till the winter ground warms,
at last produces its own?
—first published in Simply Haiku , 2006
a stranger’s card
adrift on our winter lawn . . .
handwritten inside
Noel’s wife has cancer,
just thought you should know
—first published in Wisteria , 2007
faint pine scent
from the Christmas candle
left out through March—
I like to believe
in peace a while longer
—first published in Wisteria , 2007
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
52
Cherie Hunter Day
the see-through rain gear
of campus security
in spring rain
I try to be serious
but burst out laughing
blooming yucca
becomes my prototype
for disaster
decay begins promptly
with a hint of vanilla
a passing crow
with ragged flight feathers
merely the season
my belief in half-truths
a convenience
late night rain—
in the book I’m reading
to fall asleep
black holes are the phantom force
of nothing at all
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
53
Cherie Hunter Day
Vespers
Cloister
these irises
becoming indigo
triune petal’s stint of seeping
at dusk.
— First published in Amaze , 2002.
Tiger Lily
Mournful
a moon and horn—
more memorabilia
flood on the other side of this
green door.
Amaryllis
Are you
a bell tower
on pale green scaffolding?
The lips of my chaperone ring
crimson.
— First published in Hummingbird , 2005.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
54
Cherie Hunter Day
Burdock
Mischief
in warm umber
be my roadside tutor.
Match this weedy intention with
desire.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
55
Melissa Dixon
all at once I know
I must get along without you
standing stockstill
giving thanks for what was—
letting go of what was not
lying prone
on the beach—surrendering
to sea winds
soaking up the sun’s warmth
to get me through the night
small apartment—
hearing my fridge murmur . . .
what can I say
I am touched by its efforts
to communicate
‘live alone and like it’
I have always known—
even though
from time to time
I try to prove myself wrong
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
56
Jim Doss
Some days
a thousand starlings
rising from the fields
in the shape of an exclamation point
is enough.
Mirrors preen
like silver peacocks
inviting me
to gaze
upon their beauty.
The porch light
blinks off
sooner than expected,
only the moon left
to be my guide.
In this one room schoolhouse
the edges of the desks
worn smooth
as river rock
by the hands that flowed through.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
57
Jim Doss
Ausländer—
I set foot
in the country
of my ancestors,
translation dictionary in hand.
Secrets—
how can we have any,
sleeping skin to skin,
lip to lip
for twenty-five years?
The clasp breaks
and the beads spill
across the floor—
my whole life a ritual
of gathering what others have lost.
Over my face
someone else’s face
stretched like a mask,
aging as I remain
the same.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
58
Jeanne Emrich
pulling
the pink azalea
to my cheek
I am not who I was
yesterday
from one
to many
to all
I hardly know
water lilies
— First published in Ribbons , 2005.
outside
chrysanthemums
darken
the inner voice
I rarely hear
— Honorable Mention, Haiku Poets of Northern
California International Tanka Contest, 2004.
when asked,
I said “yes”—
this year I join
the birds that sing
in winter
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
59
Margarita Engle
hot wind
the crape myrtle tree
decorates
my graying hair
with magenta petals
three-way-mirror
a small child
keeps asking
her many selves
the same questions
creation myth
when the first men emerged
from Cuban caves
some became rocks and trees—
the rest of us are songbirds
doctor’s office
every painting
is a garden
with gates and bridges
so many ways to escape . . .
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
60
Margarita Engle
full moon
above fog
a trail
of gold aspen leaves
on the old porch
knot garden
my high and low spirits
the weaving
of tall and short
fragrant herbs
moon
above morning glories
in daylight
the roundness
of life
old rose garden
still flowering
only the names
of heirloom varieties
have been lost
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
61
Margarita Engle
driftwood at dawn
where the high tide
rested—
the intricate braidwork
of gleaming red kelp
on a day
of urban noise
the young
mockingbird
discovers music
leafless
the upside-down tree
bare
branches
mimic playful roots
college campus
after the drive-by shooting
a policeman
asks questions
about minimalist art
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
62
Margarita Engle
braided roots
lift the sidewalk
the old
maple tree reclaims
lost territory
beyond
the stone lantern
daylight
sifts red and yellow
autumn leaves
dry creek
a red-tailed hawk
perches
in sunlight, on the roof
of a red covered bridge
driving
to a salsa beat
I speed
past red canna lilies
and run a red light
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
63
Margarita Engle
misty beach
a seagull hovers
beside
the sinuous sheen
of a red paper kite’s silver tail
nature trail
at a crossroads
I choose
the path marked:
‘Step Into Another World’
Monet’s pond
red water lilies
float
on clouds—each leaf-boat
carries a sunrise
sunlit wall
of straw and mud
three locks
on the splintered
blue door
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
64
Margarita Engle
ikebana
the red petals that fall
drift
between dark
shiny pebbles
above
the shadows
of oaks
a skydance
of hawks
between
blue sea and blue sky
the green island
lives like a bird
in my mind, nesting
brushing my hair
on a windy day
a memory
of childhood
the magic of braids
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
65
Margarita Engle
open doorway
of an old house
the grapevine
reaches in—gnarled branch
smooth shadow
two years
after fever dreams
on the headwaters
of the Amazon—I finally admit
that I felt bewitched
cat’s cradle
the rope bridge
and spiderweb
a lifetime of weaving
and wind
hum of the library
all the people
who seem
to be talking to themselves
wear tiny cell phones
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
66
Margarita Engle
funeral
for a tree
the one
that mourners knew
all their lives
driving through fog
the future uncertain
our only map
is a yellow line
between two strips of gray
morning
in the wilderness
between
the drumbeats of woodpeckers
wingbeats, my heartbeat...
dusty trail
a bobcat’s
pawprint
turns me away
from shady oaks
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
67
Margarita Engle
crazy quilt
a thousand
and one
scraps of memory
salvaged and stitched
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
68
Amelia Fielden
“Modern Love”
near me in the train
a young woman
reading all about it
across the barren plains
spraying myself
with perfume redolent
of new leaves
I prepare to luxuriate
in my sixty-sixth spring
the music thumps
the dancers gyrate, all
in their own time
which is not mine—I
will whirl away alone
as if it is
a bracelet of glass beads
I hold his life
in my hands encircling
so its black blooms purple
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
69
Amelia Fielden
every night
in my dreams interacting
so plausibly
the quick and the dead
the loved and the lost
four pelicans
ripple the monochrome of
sky in lake
to the sound of one crow
crying in flight
how I wish
my tanka of passion
did not erupt
solely from old memories—
last night’s storm is over
sad Saturday
again measuring hours
in small moments
of pleasure still yearning
for what might have been
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
70
Amelia Fielden
in warm winds
persuasive of spring
we climb cliffs
scan the cobalt sea
for migrating whales
is this now
what my life has become
plodding along
admiring the seascape
kept company by dogs
it has to be
a mindset that I feel
life is full
of farewells these days
nothing is beginning
banyan tree
crevices softened white
with homing doves
in the uncertain light
of early evening
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
71
Stanford M. Forrester
all day long
I hear the mountain rain
as I gather
kindling from the tinderbox
a stick bug stirs
( for Li Po )
how easily
you hold me
prisoner
under this blue sky . . .
daisy chain
waking up
to the sun
and you
next to me . . .
the sky, and endless blue
so many pine needles
on the ground
surely
autumn’s back
must be broken
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
72
Stanford M. Forrester
she loves me
she loves me not
pulling
the leaves off
the bittersweat
— All five were first published in Ridge Whisperings , 2001.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
73
Bernard Gadd
the painter explains
the story on his bowl
but your eyes go
to the blue
of the brush tip
you imitate
floating in the womb
eyes wide
your brown shape
splendidly changed
in the cliffs were caves
for cleaned bones
the ditch was a fosse
in pines’ shadow I think
of your summer skin
cars inch down
either side of the valley
to the roundabout
motor idling I watch
summer’s harbour
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
74
Denis M. Garrison
fevered fingers
coax your enthralled instrument
tremolo to vibrato
music swells to your touch
crescendo in hungry hands
hands full of heaven
the warm tickle in my palms
racing through my veins
the serpent in the cellar
stirs and stretches in the dark
dewy in moonlight
the glistening coral lip
of the curling wave
yields to an insistent tide
surges to the lunar pulse
amid humid hills
after the raging sun’s set
soft crescent shadows
sweetly deepen to reveal
an orchid gilt by starlight
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
75
Denis M. Garrison
my darling barfly,
spandex taut over ‘depends,’
dry makeup flakes off
when you smile and yet your eyes . . .
fires smoulder in the ruins
sandstone garden wall
blushes vividly once more
warmed by the late light
your rouged cheeks and rosacea
glow in the winter sunset
exhausted eyes hidden
behind dark tinted contacts
glint through colored bangs
from your trembling scarlet lips
lies flow like a poisoned spring
rose-grey blanket
the same old smog hangs
over Baltimore
night shifts in full swing
the predators awaken
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
76
Denis M. Garrison
the clock shop at noon
cacophony of cuckoos
and various chimes
in time I have learned to love
this discordant melody
mounted butterfly
hanging under hardened glass
floating over cork
just enough room for your dreams
meadow breeze . . . a sapphire flash
some nights
all I can do is lean
against the old wall
and know
that stone is cold
rye whisky
burns my gut, so, cheers!
I’ve lived so long
an enemy of death
I know pain is proof of life
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
77
Denis M. Garrison
for weeks
after anesthesia
I search
those hours are nowhere
like a hole in the sea
for you and me
a virus is invisible
what then are we to think
about demons in the air
and the angels that chase them
scam artist
she claims to see auras
and to know their meanings
around her blathering head
a scarlet nimbus boils
the boy says
he wants to see it all—
shaking my head
I wonder what he’d do
if the scales fell from his eyes
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
78
Victor P. Gendrano
lack of spring rain
few flowers bloom
in the barren plain
not a word spoken
between them
early spring
I gather wildflowers
from our favorite place
where we left
our yesterday behind
dining alone
I listen as my waitress
sings softly a love song
for my ears only
then she calls me Papa!
two rainbows arch
in the misty sky
this early summer
he will be home soon
to his wife and daughter
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
79
Beverley George
party hug—your hands
daunted by my presence
flap her back both sides . . .
I think of circus seals
resist tossing you a ball
if you are not wakened
by such heavy rain as this
no wonder
you are oblivious
to the anguish that I feel
caught in a shower
of new spring rain
I tilt back my head . . .
try to recall how it felt
your mouth first finding mine
if you extract cash
from grandma's copper teapot
do take care—
her pet huntsman spider
has been missing for a while
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
80
Beverley George
Headnote: for Kirsty Karkow
first hearing your voice
close through my computer
after years of email
I struggle with the impulse
to pour two cups of tea
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
81
Gina
sorting through things—
your promise to return
and forget-me-nots
harder to discard
than your photos
nothing of you
but pressed flowers
and footprints—
violets soon will fill
these depressions
under leafless boughs
forget-me-nots self seed
with vigour
after all this time
do i still cross your mind ?
among my things
in the bottom of a drawer
your camera
and a dried out rose
whose story i forget
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
82
Sanford Goldstein
Written in 1974-1978, this cluster is being
published for the first time here in MET .
[ The Editor .]
the face before/the face after : a tanka cluster
even
while running
with my kids,
I knew
it was me
the way
they duck
when I yell:
what’s this monster
on my father-face?
the witch
my kid wanted to be
missing
in the bathroom
mirror
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
83
Sanford Goldstein
to catch
the face
before I was born,
this thick
afternoon silence
I pivot
this infinity
of selves,
I scan
the inaccessible places
you have told me,
Alan Watts,
this me’s
only a thought
arising now
the bedroom
face
I expected
transformed
to wall
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
84
Sanford Goldstein
last night’s
insomnia
until
the mirror
became sky
how well
I know
the face of a dog
waiting
at windows
putting in
more blue
than this October
world
contains
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
85
Sari Grandstaff
loosely rolled joints
ashy knees
close-cropped hair
your summer love burns through me
into autumn
two wrongs—
the teacher makes me write
I will not . . .
I will not . . . I will not . . .
I will not . . .
after school
snacks and homework
video games
our house on the SIMS
where the parents are home
driving to dance class,
then the orthodontist,
we sing about rain
to the rhythm
of windshield wipers
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
86
C W Hawes
reading Basho
listening to the winter
drizzle
I think of walking
to the Grand Tetons
lowering clouds
the gaggle of geese
flying south
from my sick bed this dream
you and I fly with them
if they ask
he is in his study
reading
the tea has gone cold
the pipe has gone out
the softness
of your sleeping breath
on this night
I am longing for
the moon to stand still
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
87
C W Hawes
on US 52
September dawns
southbound
all by myself
eating an apple
the loneliness
of choosing to live alone
I take a deep breath
the movement of the trees in the wind
the taste of Spring Dew Pouchong
neon lights
buzzing and blinking
in gaudy color
for a brief moment
bees and apple blossoms
Good Friday
the road stretches empty
before me
early morning clouds
backlit by the moon
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
88
C W Hawes
this deer
I shot and killed today
his dark eyes
are they asking me
to say a blessing
as lilacs faded
and dandelions turned white
we met one last time
and like those two hawks we soared
together for awhile
gazing
at May’s moon
waning
now isn’t the time
to break promises
mid-morning moon
floating faintly in the west
hurry to sleep
and tonight rise golden
in my true love’s dreams
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
89
C W Hawes
there
in that dark corner
it lies
and during the night
I feel it stirring
so like you
the pattering of rain
the gentle thunder
when the storm has passed
I’ll find you too have gone
it’s dangerous
today in America
to speak freely
what is truly on one’s mind
is best said with silence
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
90
Juri Henley-Cohn
once my lover
now my friend
a title paid for
with a thousand tears
shed behind closed doors
in this city
palm trees sway
in the evening breeze
arched—perfectly
like her golden back
Hearing the regard
in your words,
birds take flight
within the cage
of my ribs.
After a harsh winter
we blossom again
like a lotus unfolding
cautious petals
toward the sun.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
91
Elizabeth Howard
cancer she says
a quiver in the corner
of her full young lips
deep in the timbers
my house trembles
field of ironweed
I think of one
who designed his grave
a pall of purple
every autumn
so long a time
white lilies shattered
grass green again
yet my grief
a raw red gash
where the river
winds like a moccasin
the mental hospital
a viper’s poison
flowing through my son’s brain
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
92
Kirsty Karkow
sweet feed and water
for my friend’s alpacas—
I am courageous
the big one approaches
to kiss me on the lips
it has been
one of the best years
peach trees lean
toward a southbound sun
heavy with honeyed fruit
giving up
another desire
I skip and run
across the fresh cut fields
chasing butterflies
having stroked
the tall oak’s callused trunk
I stand straighter . . .
wanting to believe
and feel its mythic strength
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
93
Kirsty Karkow
old friends
fragile and failing
before my eyes
pale mist invades the house
there’s the sound of a scythe
thankful
for this as well
steady rain
and time
to sit and stare
I will stand
behind your shoulder
as long as you wish . . .
look! a shooting star
arcs into oblivion
as days grow cool
I coin a monody—
a sprinkle of ashes
from burned-out torches
gray on the juggler’s tomb
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
94
M. Kei
The Streets of San Antonio
Left behind
in a Mexican tienda
these baskets
are my new world, then
the moment of panic—
My family lost me three times,
once in a Mexican store,
once in an amusement park, and
once in a church . . . is it
any wonder I felt unwanted?
Maybe if I
were taller
they would not
overlook me . . .
is ten feet tall enough?
I remember
the narrow walls
of the winding green river,
and the humid blooms
of my mother’s birth.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
95
M. Kei
As he stropped his razor
to shave a customer
in his shop near the Alamo,
did my grandfather think of
Mexican bayonets?
My mother’s flesh
was made of history
and that is why
I can never quite live
in the present.
If i had been
a smaller, prettier child,
quieter, more obedient,
and less stubborn,
would my father have loved me?
I cannot bear
the sight of red geraniums,
their blooms like blood
splattered on my
childhood memories.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
96
M. Kei
I had
the world’s biggest sandpile—
no small consolation
for a childhood
of angry words and the
back of my father’s hand.
My mother
told me her stories
so many times
I remember the events
as if I had been there.
The green heat
of the Alamo;
my grandfather’s
old barbershop
close by.
The streets of San Antonio,
so dead, so dry, so hot, so dusty;
the relief of entering
the green coolness
of the Alamo.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
97
M. Kei
At the Alamo
I fell in love with
Mexican things:
this tooled leather saddle
decked with roses and silver.
My mother
searches for her past
lost somewhere
in these dusty streets
before she married my father.
The heavy beauty
of a Mexican saddle
filled my child’s eye:
black tapaderos
mother-of-pearl pommel
and hand-tooled roses.
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
98
M. Kei
In a small town where
the peeling picket fences
are no longer white,
a mayor with a similar reputation
runs for re-election.
the neighbor built
a privacy fence
but the flowering tree
leans over it and
gossips with me
the snowplow driver
with a little spot of rum
to keep him warm
as he buries parked cars
in the middle of the night
they come
selling God, magazines,
and cable tv,
these well-dressed strangers
on my doorstep
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
99
Michael Ketchek
watching the bombing
on television—
my father once told me
he ignored an air raid siren
to take a bath
merciless ocean waves
beat against the winter beach
here and now
there is no shame
in grief and sorrow
wet snow falls on
the old lady’s blue hair
it takes a long time
the short walk
to her Buick
hot inside, cool out
someone turns on the AC
instead of opening a window—
never do I feel more
like an American
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
100
Larry Kimmel
Waking to the Fact of Morning
tanka sequence
bird peepings at first light
I wake (fetal)
wishing I hadn't
unanswered emails
nag
haiku
happening ... must
r e a c h
bedside
pen . . .
coffee to brew. this dailiness—
keep
moving keep keep
moving keep... rosebuds o p e n
in dew time
door wide on
weather mostly sunny
&
mild
with chances . .
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
101
Larry Kimmel
we’ve come through
again
sunlight cross cuts the kitchen
motes circling—light shade light
cosmos in small
the routine of bee & clover
coffee mug hot in wrapped hands
—yes!
“all’s right with the world”
—and now the news
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
102
Kathy Kituai
forgetting
all the words I know
for beauty
I focus on a petal
where it curves outward
practicing
in different keys
melodies
a semi-tone higher
to understand you
currawongs
jumping not flying
branch to branch
thought to poem
poem to thought
carrots are burning—
should I alert her to this
hold her close
tell her she will meet him
again another lifetime
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
103
Joseph V. Kleponis
Unanswered letters
sit unopened on my desk—
Footprints in the snow
circle under my window—
Silent recriminations.
Leaves swirl down the street.
A full white moon lights the night.
My footsteps echo.
I hesitate in midstride—
Does the porch light welcome?
Old chess players
Contemplating final moves
In the fading light
Try to devise strategies
To block the inevitable.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
104
Gary LeBel
in the child’s hair
and winter woolens,
how much sweeter
could it be,
the scent of an acre?
having gathered
in a circle,
crickets’ long feelers
each shyly touch
those of the dying
like splendid arrows
aimed at earth’s center,
cormorants dive
into the thick brown slurry
of the tainted river
into these same rosy skies
whose warm ocean breezes
swept the eyelids
of Homer,
stars melt
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
105
Gary LeBel
the sounds
of leaves crushed underfoot:
what did Rilke mean by
‘those who have no home
never will’?
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
106
Jean LeBlanc
White glazed bowl
so flawless,
so clean.
Let air and light
be my breakfast.
angry with himself
for planting the hollies
in the sweep of winter wind
as if we could remember
one season in the next
Now I understand
listening to La Boheme
new love mimics death:
Che gelida manina
Se la lasci riscaldar *
* “ How cold your little hand is!
Let me warm it for you.”
—Giacomo Puccini: La Bohème
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
107
Robert Hill Long
Dear John
Dedicate a room
to love and you will die there—
In Italian
as well as in poetry
it’s called a stanza
No oleanders
no jasmine or hibiscus
no Roman summer
or spring for Keats—breath
a red crocus
I’m dying too
in this small blue Roman stanza
the fountain Keats heard
in the street below repeats
Love Fame Nothingness
The bed two windows
desk he was too sick to use
his voice a stone boat
at the base of the Spanish Steps
sunk in clear water
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
108
Robert Hill Long
As naturally
as leaves from a tree as blood
in a white towel
as water rising falling
in the same fountain
Where’s the deathbed—
burnt like his rival Shelley
or disinfected
gilded for someone’s
mother-in-law in Trastevere
Piazza Spagna
Hans Christian Andersen dreams
a merman whose gills closed up
when he quits singing—
It’s Keats, dreaming him
Fled is that vision
do I wake or do I sleep —
Good manifesto
for any moment passing
this one included
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
109
Robert Hill Long
So how many breaths
gild the breadth of time elapsed
between Keats and me—
Shelley measured it with stars
just before he drowned
Maybe in the coffin
he wore Italian shoes—
I bought a pair yesterday
for parties but today
for Keats I’m going shoeless
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
110
Robert Hill Long
All night the city
is mapped by fire trucks
police and ambulance sirens—
My primroses face the stars
no sign of distress
Each muffin I buy
I pick walnuts off the top
for house sparrows
crumble leftovers for ants
both hands cinnamon
My neighbor’s red truck
is decades younger than him
Some nights he climbs in
sits there, radio
driving his heart in reverse
I own one tree
an incense cedar’s stump
Set drinks on it? sure
break off splinters of perfume—
Don’t be parking your boots there
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
111
Robert Hill Long
Sprigs of dwarf bamboo
turn my Italian courtyard
slightly Japanese
I drink Scotch in Mexican boots
Poetry has no country
Straight as the crow flies—
ever see one fly that way?
story of my heart
though truth’s a straight line
it lies in big curves and swoops
Writing love poems
in a park where boys spit
and make machine-gun sounds
I gulp a Blue Sky soda
at the bottom of the sky
Texaco Car Wash
Hong Kong Restaurant Starbucks
Two Hour Parking—
when the poem comes it’s green
as a go-light turning yellow
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
112
Robert Hill Long
Saw a dead shrew
in the pioneer graveyard
my black dog sniffed it
wagging No, just a twig
Right, I said, that’s my soul
Shake hands with the moon
ghosting out of the haw’s
ten thousand blossoms
whiter than the hand that writes
then drifts off its darkened page
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
113
Bob Lucky
between contractions
at the intersection
you assure me
life is suffering
and red has no meaning
this father-son game
seems endless,
we agree—
why not strike out
if the goal is home
golden mangos
hang from every tree—
temptations
I take just a few
as they go quickly
the first time
you wouldn’t take my hand
crossing the street
I felt old
and proud and slightly lost
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
114
Bob Lucky
I take a deep breath
and say I love you—
monsoon
has cleared the air
but muddied the path
life’s ups and downs
make for a long journey,
clichéd existence—
but at the end of the line
I’d like to push up daisies
we held hands
so tightly
our hearts fell asleep—
alone in the moonlight
the jasmine stinks
this weekend
there’s a hole
in my schedule
I’m going to fill
with deep sleep
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
115
Bob Lucky
I know just to ask
is a kind of treason, but
do you love me?
I shoo a bee from a rose
to snip it off.
the point,
the point is
you’re alive
every day
you wake up
the spirit house
at the service station
is lit up—
two sparrows share
a shot of Mekong whiskey
arm in arm
we stroll through the gallery
contemplating taste—
a Buddha in the basement
lost in restoration
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
116
Bob Lucky
rushhourtrafficjam
we discuss the future,
where we want to be—
an empty bird cage
strapped to the scooter ahead
relatives
living and dead
scattered
from sea to shining sea—
and in the seas
in bed
underwear clad
I wait for you—
the end
of sumo highlights
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
117
Francis Masat
pulling you back
in time—
the smell of crayons
chalk
and paste
late afternoon—
beach balls glide
on an abandoned pool
circling, circling
a lone buzzard
medieval plaza—
children running
to a merry-go-round
the dust of centuries
circles after them
a ribbon
no longer holds
thin silver hair
no longer holds
a ribbon
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
118
Michael McClintock
listen, my friends,
you can keep your twig tea
and rice bowls;
today I’m drinking rain
and eating blue violets
naked inside
my candle-lit tent
I’ve set up a mirror
and begun shaving
shadows from my face
the long winter
left my two ears deaf
from silence—
now I’ve got a thousand
spring warblers to heal me
a dragonfly
above the reeds
motionless
but for the wild greens
it vibrates in the sun
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
119
Michael McClintock
somewhere I’ve read
a million tons of blue steel
built the Golden Gate
but, clearly, it weighs nothing
spanning the west wind
— First published in the Tanka Society of
America Newsletter, June 2004.
today I set out
to make a wall of stones
taken from the creek;
the stones were round and smooth
and would not stack for a wall
at this late hour
inside the little chapel
in downtown L.A.
the figures in the fresco
seem to move, and almost speak
a stench
that buckles the knees—
and so I bow
before the cave of the bear
on the mountain of tall pines
— First published in Noon No. 4 [Japan].
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
120
Annette Mineo
morning fog
veil me from the clutter
that is my life
hold me here in the peace
of your long cool fingers
in the noon sun
my daughters and I drink beer
cool drops of rain
wet their smooth brown shoulders
mine stay dry
— First published in empty baskets , 2006.
after two days
of steady earth-pounding rain
May in her glory
upon the world opens
her grand green dam
all my youth
both disappears
and reappears
in her smooth flawless face
her wide shining eyes
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
121
Annette Mineo
from her silver pail
mama tosses yellow corn
to the ducks
she belongs more to them
than to me these days
my first poem
accepted
no one knows
it is my tall glass of water
after a lifetime of thirst
the lilacs
are blooming purple bells
in the rain
yes for one more day
I will strive
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
122
Amy Nawrocki
Rain casts me into
the basilica of somber
dreams. In this cathedral,
the sun retreats, exchanging
melancholy for sacred wine.
Starlight fingerprints
smudge across wobbly skies
settling on the nook
of the gazer’s pursuant
dreams, flaming against black.
Mothers dress daughters
in hushed chamomile sun dresses,
and gold days wander
through the fragile harnesses
of memory, catching on the hems.
Saddle into cruel
calmness brought by afternoon;
blush into the storm
of nighttime stories; chronicle
the anecdote of first light.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
123
Amy Nawrocki
January sips
her tea in a muslin dress.
She is peppermint
with the sun’s lotus honey
steeping with strange gold warmth.
Garden soil grafts
worms to the palm of my hand—
daffodils sprout
shouting with yellow trumpets
ablaze in the green grass.
The echoes
inside an acorn fall
to the ground and boom
like a cuff of rain on the face
of diamond leaves in a storm.
Stick figures
following the slanted pen
across the mirrored
white lake of lined thought
slither into hangman’s noose.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
124
Louis Osofsky
a child vanished
through a boarding door
the father’s smile
falling
on the wet platform
a wintry day
i wait for your reply
a gray hair
from my head
lands on the key-board
my kids, not yet
returned from traveling
i pick up
both basketballs
and begin to bounce, alone
recalling
being cherished
as a treasure
you’re always with kids
… never alone
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
125
Louis Osofsky
the new moon
another month passes
i only hear sighs
left behind
at my doorstep
just
one moment shared
i found
a turned down page
in the book you borrowed
sheer disarray
leftovers growing mold
things full of holes
misleading arguments
remind me of you
shadows
as if no longer
chased …
a hunter’s moon
floods the valley
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
126
Zane Parks
train’s plaintive whistle
in the wee hours
my heart wanders
forgotten
byways
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
127
Jack Prewitt
tropic rain—
why do I wake sweating,
leave her
asleep in our safe bed
while I confront old demons
all summer
dancing attendance
on beach beauties
these autumn mountains
are a private indulgence
afterwards
she places a clover lei
around my neck,
her miniature poodle
wears a choker chain
it’s pathetic
to forego the fabulous
how I resent
the enlightenment—
thank heavens for pooh
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
128
Jack Prewitt
hereabouts
everyone is drought-poor
the wind
steals their dirt away—
being poor’s a tradition
in her pantry
cans of campbell’s soup
piled up
higgledy-piggledy
she’s sexy, but no artist
an arm
protrudes from rubble
as if pointing . . .
something flickers
in canaan’s old sky
when they go
I’ll bring out the good wine
leave the dishes
let the old dog in
read him my tanka
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
129
Patricia Prime
flowers bleed
loosening their sugar
into water
now my family have left
the bouquet remains still
science class—
the white lilies
in a jam jar
drink the dyed water
petals taking the blue
four boys play
with a punctured football
in the park
while I absorb their glances
as they circle around me
a bird’s nest
woven of fine twigs
and moss
two crumpled speckled eggs
in a vivid mess of yolk
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
130
Patricia Prime
coming home from camp
she empties her rucksack
on the carpet
black sand falls from her clothes
in a glittering shower
the sky broad and blue
as I work in the garden
in summertime
threads of silk glint in the sun
drag lines at the end of webs
I’m jotting words
having borrowed a pen
from a waitress
as a ferry passes by
across the harbour
this is the day
the sun hangs above water
in a golden glow
mallard ducks dip their heads
as they skirt a child’s toy boat
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
131
Patricia Prime
sitting at my desk
I concentrate on a song
from the stereo
a record my husband gave me
for our first anniversary
the daffodils
you planted for me
in years gone by
have cast off their silvered fur,
eased their rust to green
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
132
Carol Raisfeld
she bends
to collect her tip
and smiles,
aching to be touched
by knowing hands
I suck
the brandy from
his finger
before love; whispering
promises of much more
refuge from reality
in a night of shooting stars
I open to him . . .
in half-light, the pleasure
in each other’s eyes
near you
my senses soar;
heart racing,
candles dim as your
slow hands please me
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
133
Carol Raisfeld
falling up
into the stars from
a cradle of sand . . .
nestled close beside you
I turn and taste the night
with quickening
pace, your breath at my
throat, dissolving me . . .
in waves, I sink into heaven
with you deep inside
time together
in the warmth of dreams
on sultry nights
how softly we pillow
our souls entwined
stolen moments
in morning shadows;
the softness
of her every breath
an angel’s whisper
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
134
Carol Raisfeld
nodding into sleep
the breath of the moon
on your back;
I pull you closer, holding
the light between us.
side by side
we wake to the rush of
an ordinary day . . .
your lips graze my cheek
the scent of love lingers
ceiling shadows
move with the rain;
your touch
lingers, making today
anything but ordinary
a last look
at the room of passion
and loss;
in the rearview mirror
a curtain of dust
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
135
Carol Raisfeld
I still think
about that evening
at summer’s end
and the dark-haired stranger;
he loved me all night long
my poems, will you
read them to your lover
tonight?
weary, I watch the pale stars
light your way home
coming from afar
the memory of his touch
taking me;
the softness of whispers
still wrapped in heat
the earth softened
and we planted tulips
when he loved me . . .
“whisper my name softly
once more before you go?”
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
136
Kala Ramesh
Colors all a blur . . . a tanka sequence
a sweeper waits
for daybreak to carry
the burden of his hunger . . .
emerging from silence
the sound of his broom
the moon
as it stares back full
into my face, ever
moving so gently I feel
my heart impassioned
hopes afloat
on myriad dreams
you wove them together
to take home
a basket of flowers
deep in love we believed
our first handclasp
told all . . .
years of togetherness
our handclasp now
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
137
Kala Ramesh
folk dancers
their legs digging
into the desert sands
the long skirts twirl
colors all a blur
as beach sands
pass through fingers
to slip away
the joys and sorrows ebb
leaving breath to linger behind . . .
her face crinkles up
in delight
at what he has just said
this widow living
through her schizophrenia
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
138
Bruce Ross
birthday dream
the endless highway
to the next motel
will I ever find peace
before the final peace?
a woodpecker
hammering for a mate
in morning drizzles . . .
I also wait in loneliness
until she comes home
one white pillow
on another white pillow
where I slept alone
in a far away conference
waiting to return to her
out tide
the still boulder
and in tide
the ever constant cycle
but in my quiet heart?
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
139
Natalia L. Rudychev
stardust
today
the sun
enters my door
with a long shabby coat
and a five o’clock shadow
on the music box
a squirrel and a hare
go round and round
my thoughts
keep turning to you
what if
I were the willow
over your window?
would I see secrets
in the stream of your dreams?
the storm
leaves no blooms
on the branches
trembling
I tell you the truth
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
140
Natalia L. Rudychev
on this cloudy evening
a drizzle
left stardust
in your hair,
my love
blackout...
candlelight
makes the room smaller
I never knew
how close we are
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
141
Adelaide B. Shaw
A Country Idyll
a tanka sequence
summer pasture—
a golden horse grazes
in the shade;
the quiet of this morning
comes to me in waves
hilltop farmhouse
flanked by sentinels
of twin pines;
the years they have stood watch
through the rolling seasons
silver-edged clouds—
a shadow slowly glides
over the meadow;
soon the day will give over
to ordinary chores
o
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
142
Adelaide B. Shaw
once again
these cheery blossoms
and green meadow;
each year the only changes
are in me
through all seasons
still together after
forty-six years
just a whisper
in the voice of time
planting fresh pansies,
my fingers slide across
the petals;
I feel the velvet softness
of your touch
a rainbow sky—
the aurora borealis
paints the summer night;
the glowing lights
brighter in your eyes
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
143
Adelaide B. Shaw
dark skies above—
in her hair a blue bow
matching her dress;
her hesitant smile
slips through the rain
second cup of coffee—
the sky darkens
promising snow;
an easy silence
slips between us
you come to me
in the season of hope
and promises,
like the greening of spring
each day deepens our love
wild roses—
picking the last
for a narrow vase;
I linger in the garden
for no reason
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
144
Adelaide B. Shaw
sacks of leaves—
a tale for the grandchildren
about bonfires;
so much forgotten
with progress
forecast for snow
the day before Christmas
anticipation—
so like the child I was
when no one was missing
quick sketch artist—
the light from the window
shines on my face;
years of character lines
produced in minutes
sorting through
memories packed in boxes—
what to keep or toss;
easy to decide
when the best are of you
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
145
Adelaide B. Shaw
the distance
stretches in my mind;
not yet gone
and already I feel
the pull back
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2007
146
Guy Simser
What should I do
when my children laugh at me
for acting my age:
mom and dad taught me so much,
but this, I can’t remember?
OK, God, have it
Your way with that cold, endless
night to come; meanwhile
let me enjoy my daily nap
longer, under the warm sun.
Now, with four children
and our careers long gone
it dawns on me
how much my dear Jan
loves to just sit, and chat.
If only I had not
hesitated, if only
I had said then
what had to be said:
Time’s Arrow flies.