Winter 2008
Volume 3 Number 2
Modern English Tanka
ISSN 1932-9083 Print
ISSN 1930-8132 Digital
Denis M. Garrison, Editor
Michael McClintock, Contributing Editor
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 - Winter 2008 - Vol. 3, No. 2
Copyright © 2008 by Modern English Tanka Press.
Cover Art, “Soundless,” © 2008 by Karen McClintock.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any
electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems
without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers and scholars
who may quote brief passages. See our
EDUCATIONAL USE NOTICE
at the
end of the journal.
Modern English Tanka
, a quarterly print & digital journal, is dedicated to
publishing and promoting fine English tanka.
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 – Winter 2008 – Vol. 3, No. 2
Published by MODERN ENGLISH TANKA PRESS.
Print Edition: ISSN 1932-9083
Digital Edition: ISSN 1930-8132 [PDF & HTML versions]
www.modernenglishtanka.com
C O N T E N T S
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Volume 3, Number 2.
7
The Three Back Cover Tanka
by Denis M. Garrison, editor.
8A
9
Hortensia Anderson
10
Aurora Antonovic
11
Forrest Armstrong
14
Pamela A. Babusci
15
Pamela A. Babusci & Kala Ramesh
16
Kristyn Blessing
17
Tom Blessing
18
Shawn Bowman
19
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
28
Jay Bryan
29
Helen Buckingham
30
Owen Bullock
34
Owen Bullock & André Surridge
39
Joe Christensen
40
John Tiong Chunghoo
41
Dina Cox
42
Magdalena Dale
43
John Daleiden
45
Janet Lynn Davis
47
Charlotte Digregorio
48
Melissa Dixon
49
Marje A. Dyck
50
Amelia Fielden
52
Deborah Finkelstein
53
Denis M. Garrison
54
Beverley George
56
Bernard Gieske
57
Sanford Goldstein
61
Margaret L. Grace
64
Margaret Grace & Judy Kendall
66
Martin Grenfell
67
Jeffrey Harpeng
68
Michele L. Harvey
72
C W Hawes
76
Peggy Heinrich
77
Elizabeth Howard
79
Geoff Hughes
80
Rose Hunter
81
Norman A. Johnson
82
Roger Jones
84
Kirsty Karkow
85
M. Kei
90
Deborah P Kolodji
91
Ingrid Kunschke
93
Gary LeBel
96
Jean LeBlanc
98
Angela Leuck
100
Bob Lucky
105
Jeanne Lupton
107
Terra Martin
112
Francis Masat
114
Giselle Maya & Amelia Fielden
116
Jo McInerney
119
Annette Mineo
120
Vasile Moldovan
121
April Orr
123
Stephen A. Peters
125
Dru Philippou
127
Patricia Prime
138
Kala Ramesh
139
Sue Ranford
141
Alexis Rotella
147
Cynthia Rowe
151
Natalia L. Rudychev
152
Trish Shields
155
Billy Simms
157
Guy Simser
158
Paul Smith
165
John Soules
168
John Stone
170
André Surridge
178
Barbara A. Taylor
180
John Samuel Tieman
181
James Tipton
184
Maria Tirenescu
185
Shalee Treharne
186
Chuck Tripi
187
Jean Tupper
188
Ella Wagemakers
192
Joanna M. Weston
193
Dick Whyte
194
Liam Wilkinson
198
Jim Wilson
200
Fran M. Witham
201
Jeffrey Woodward
207
Brian Zimmer
209
ARTICLES & REVIEWS
210
Wing Beats: British Birds in Haiku
by John Barlow & Matthew Paul; Illustrated
by Sean Gray
.
Book note by Liam Wilkinson.
212
In the Company of Crows: HAIKU and TANKA Between the Tides
by Carole
MacRury. Illustrated by Ion Codrescu. Publisher’s note.
214
Recent and Forthcoming Titles from Modern English Tanka Press
- publisher's note.
215
Abacus: Prose poems, haibun and short poems of Gary LeBel
- an appraisal by
Jeffrey Woodward.
225
In Two Minds
, responsive tanka by Amelia Fielden and Kathy Kituai;
reviewed by M. Kei.
229
Kindle of Green
by Cherie Hunter Day & David Rice. Review by Denis M.
Garrison.
231
Seeing It Now: haiku & tanka
by Marjorie Buettner. Review by Denis M.
Garrison.
233
rick rack: collected tanka
by Julie Thorndyke. Review by Denis M. Garrison.
235
White Petals
by Harue Aoki. Review by Denis M. Garrison.
238
Contributors.
246
Corrigendum.
247
Tanka Venues, with abbreviations.
251
Educational Use Notice.
Cover art , “Soundless,” by Karen McClintock.
The Three Back Cover Tanka
Denis M. Garrison
We had an explosion of submissions this quarter. Michael and I are giving over our
editorial pages so we can include more poetry and reviews. We hope that reading this
cram-packed issue will warm up your winter days and nights.
Below are this issue’s three tanka chosen for the back cover of the print edition. Our
congratulations to these fine poets on their excellent verses.
How many hours
will I sleep tonight,
I ask the moon . . .
its light spilling
onto my bed, my books.
— Alexis Rotella
I loved that old shirt.
I had it for fifteen years.
It fit like a glove.
I tore it into rags today.
Soon, someone will spread my ashes.
— Jim Wilson
inching into
a new relationship
as always
my approach oblique—
left-handed like my father
— Melissa Dixon
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
7
T A N K A
Hortensia Anderson
along a wood fence,
as I pass horses grazing,
I remember . . .
how nightmares cantered
through childhood days
winter loneliness—
I stand by the window
thinking of you,
snowflakes touch and cling
on their fall from heaven
Wolf moon—
through bare branches
the wind howls . . .
our frosted breaths lighting
darkness on the way home
through wind-bent trees
we follow unmarked paths,
guided by stars—
pausing to cleanse our souls
with the fresh scent of snow
stormclouds gather—
we argue over cups
of darjeeling . . .
a tempest brewing in
and out of the teapot
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
9
Aurora Antonovic
I sew
a row
of stitches
down the sleeve’s tear
this seamless life of mine
asters
explode with colour
until fall leaves
bury them . . .
this long lost childhood of mine
are they trying
to send me
a message of resilience?
these flowers that bloom
a month after season
these vitamins
do little to correct
my ills
but oh how my
nails and hair grow!
at the spa
soaking in a restorative bath
of eucalyptus oil
I realize I smell
like a cough drop
10
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Forrest Armstrong
Friends, it is not your
words which hold me to you – nor
the things that you do –
but the look in the eyes of
your heart as it swallows mine.
Ten Tanka for Spring
1
O planet in your
infinite appendages
lies nothing! My dreams
wither with your fingers I
feel as tho I’ve lost a friend
2
Woke to find the sky
broken under the weight of
your palm & valleys
shivering in pale blue – me,
asking why you painted this
3
& folded oceans
& leaves into stone? – O, what
I felt as I watched
your flowers become fossils!
The earth cries out in dull red
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
11
Forrest Armstrong
4
& songs of death sound
thru skies, inescapable –
I would like to meet
the composer who claims re-
sponsibility for that
5
Why must death be so
violent? I had one friend who
died by the rope, two
who left thru a windshield, &
one who fell from a roof. O
6
planet, I am ti-
red of coming upon bone
fragment! Wondering:
where are those silent corpses
who left life in a sound sleep?
7
O grand piano
in space, with throat of copper
wire, landscapes of
smooth ivory & black clouds –
what song will tomorrow hold?
12
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Forrest Armstrong
8
In conversation
I always end up silent
realizing my friends
don’t need to speak with planets
to feel like they are alive
9
Tho one day I found
that these bent layers of noise
had come apart (as
I was just about ready
to break the symphony) – sharp
10
blades of light thru the
brume of rest, sleep I thought would
turn me into a
mountain – silence when the first
dogwood sings in pink & white
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
13
Pamela A. Babusci
resurrecting & reading
my parent’s love letters—
for the first time
i accept
their relationship
she complains
about her mundane life—
homeless children
sleeping in an
abandoned car
who needs to be
sinless
anyway?
my therapist & i share
imperfections
bullet train
through the
throbbing dark
a stranger & i count
shooting stars
everybody’s trying
to survive
this crazy world—
tomatoes rotting
on the windowsill
14
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Pamela A. Babusci & Kala Ramesh
Sands of Time
A Tanka Sequence
by Kala Ramesh &
Pamela A. Babusci
evening bath
seeing my childhood
through soap bubbles
the dreams we built around
our backyard well
lying on our backs
looking for shooting stars
honeysuckle scent
through our
freshly washed hair
as father prays
circling the sacred basil
we imitate
placing our tiny feet
against his wet footprints
after sunday mass
a huge pasta dinner
at nightfall
praying the rosary
with my grandmother
autumn sky
three low-flying birds
form triangles
my thoughts get embedded
in the sands of time
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
15
Kristyn Blessing
The slender hand bent
to finger the chords
on a borrowed guitar
is not his, who said
it’s better this way.
16
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Tom Blessing
the aspens
are talking
with the wind
distant
harbor bell
today
cold rain
tomorrow
possible snow
we sit close
stew
in the crockpot
tea steeping
i watch the weather channel
blizzard warning
mulled cider
in my dad’s old cup
remembering
i add a shot
of Wild Turkey
sitting on the outcrop
of red conglomerate
we watch the blizzard
approaching behind its
heralds of tall white caps
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
17
Shawn Bowman
fishes
can’t sing a hook
no matter how catchy
I doubt it’s something they even
dream of
six states
after the hurricane—
at a bird’s feet
the wind
lies down
front porch
baseball on the radio
children and books—
our youngest figures out
her own bubble making
where I was
was somewhere so deep
that what stuck out
while naked in those woods
were my feet
evening rain,
criticized for not watching
the nightly news,
he again leaves off
into the outside world
18
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
Night Owl: A Trio of Summer Tanka
Summer 2008
I wake to birdsong
as sunlight filters
through the leaves
awakened to this forest,
its timelessness
np
a new robin
full of hope
hops then flies
across the campus lawn
up to the trees
cb
dodge ball
in the park
graduates so eager
for another win
before moving on
rb
back home
daughter and puppy
now grown
chase blue jays
through mud puddles
np
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
19
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
tops of corn shoots
buried in flood waters
ahead
a small car
adrift in the road
cb
the morning sky
bright, cloudless
on the pavement
a turtle, stranded
by the storm
np
first the eyes
then the gestures
of her hands
how long can I pretend
not to understand?
rb
along the boardwalk
we unhand
to feed
a pair of mallard ducks
stale oyster crackers
cb
20
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
voices stream around their silence
she plays with his necklace
the twisting
untwisting
chain
np
how sacred—
stained glass windows
bend the sunlight
cracks in the hardwood floor
my time
cb
her sermon
of lilies in the valley
i start a haiku
then pray it into
a tanka
rb
beyond the clouds
thinnest veils
stars
i whisper
holy
np
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
21
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
rose of the desert
i dance
my beloved
down
into the garden
cb
she kissed me
twice
morning glories
not even open
yet
rb
tranquil lagoon
from my kayak seat
suddenly
I fear growing up
pulling through myself
np
dead honeybees
in the flowers
cicadas sound
our hands
folded in prayer
cb
22
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
on our backs
looking up through
the summer night
a firefly
connects the dots
rb
morning rows of wheat
the color of sun
this windless day
she reaches for
my hand
np
we dance
for her
each breath
a little lighter
until no more
cb
from my sanctuary
flowers bloom
then wither
in the distance
birds singing
np
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
23
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
funeral procession
tears sting
along the roadside
a hitchhiker
removes his hat
cb
last car turns
into the cemetery
dust settles
over the blue
chicory
rb
an Easter egg sun
pink fire in the sky
we shift awake
last night’s tears
now dry
np
two moonflowers
ready to open
from the pine tree
doves coo
i am not alone
cb
24
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
a luna moth
rises into summer night
everybody, all eyes
but mine
asleep
rb
between twilight
and dawn
the stars fade…
your body still
beside mine
np
a hoot
a hoot
far enough
on the forest path
we turn back
rb
evening dew
a tree branch
almost low enough
he is strong
to lift me
cb
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
25
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
pebbles on
the window screen
a boy I don’t know
whispers
my daughter’s name
rb
so many streams
into the river
into the lake
my father, me, my son
my granddaughters
rb
lightning flashes
through the window
I picture yesterday’s
hazy rainbow
where is he now?
np
thick red dust
into wide skies
crescent moon haunting me
in a land his, mine
now hers
cb
26
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Randy Brooks, Carmella Braniger & Natalie Perfetti
the voice
from another country
oh Papa
tell me a story
of long ago
rb
shake
dandelion
air thick with seeds
white barbs
suspended
cb
summer’s end
in shallow puddles
airy clouds
on the long road
back to my love
np
students return
to campus
oh yes
now I recall everything
that’s undone
rb
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
27
Jay Bryan
star covered lake
a loon family
calls to each other
the evergreen air echoes
their songs
as if we’re playing
hide and seek
we bump furniture
and giggle and in the end
find you in a chair
28
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Helen Buckingham
4 am
whispers
in my ear. . .
another phone-in
on loneliness
dawn chorus
the first
long haul traffic. . .
I reset my sat-nav
for Narnia
crowds exit
the trashed
stadium --
turning on the tv
somebody claims to have won
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
29
Owen Bullock
when I get the cheque
from mother’s estate
you’re reading about
the way colours
go together
new home,
fat buds on the branches
above the deck—
I shall soon discover
what kind of tree
winds buffet the house . . .
all the important things
I did alone
except marrying you
and singing with friends
a more
positive thought
found me . . .
must have been
someone’s prayer
shattering
the brittle stem
of a creeper -
another illusion
falls away
30
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Owen Bullock
the way you saw it
was so different
but just the same
dogs bark at night
water whistles through the pipes
a little girl
singing in the café
her mother
shushes her, even though
she’s the only one singing
first bright morning
for many weeks
everyone’s okay
and I must not be
since I’m inclined to worry
how to get rid of
that desire to marry
or accept—
the novel I’m reading
echoes the feeling
two ducks
resting peacefully
together
on the water
heads tucked in
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
31
Owen Bullock
the night
is full of dreams
having had
my hands in the soil
eyes on the Spring
I once played
a coffee pot
in the kitchen
at a party
and a woman danced
the lady
who does the lawns
mows around
the petals
under the camelia
paradox
on paradox
there’s always
something more,
there’s nothing more
love
is a chiming clock
by now
there should be
something
32
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Owen Bullock
all that time
she made me
wear black
but I wasn’t
ready to die
I look at
the corner of father’s eye
in my painting
there’s some glint
of understanding
hardly begun
and the day seems over
what is this
deep well
we call the moment?
and yet
more peaceful
than yesterday
what’s done is done
even what isn’t done is done
wanting
to be able to say
my poems are for you
but they’ll sit in journals
where you may not look
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
33
Owen Bullock & André Surridge
shapes and sizes
the lake is olive grey
this evening
on my walk
I have discovered
that I’ve won gold
this life
of lovely illusions
a rainbow . . .
I remember as a child
trying to reach the end of it
a small stream
doubled by the rains . . .
I’ve walked this way
many times
but never at this moment
almost spring
reluctant to release
last year’s leaves
this scarlet oak
letting go isn’t easy
I was anxious
about the day
but it began
with a friendly email
& the work can wait
34
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Owen Bullock & André Surridge
one can never spend
enough time looking at clouds
this vast blue sky . . .
makes me want to
lay in a hayfield
wondering
what my life is about
an eastern rosella
flies up into the trees
& there’s my answer
I chase off
next door’s cat
the grey thing
with a squashed face . . .
the bird too has gone
maybe
I just have to wait
it was warmer today
no extra blankets
on the empty bed
brightening
the farmer’s paddock
a flock
of goldfinches
catch the sun’s last rays
dawn chorus
on a Saturday morning
no lie in -
my dreams
want to be heard
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
35
Owen Bullock & André Surridge
someone
has turned on the switch
that says spring . . .
buzzing of insects
the blackbird’s song, louder
the calm
of this morning
belies war . . .
the idea of tomorrow
justifiably lost
changeable . . .
blue sky suddenly
swamped
with brooding cloud
howl of the wind
injustices
circle overhead
when you look at them
they disappear -
they’ve had their look
my first lesson
is patience, the second
acceptance . . .
sometimes doing nothing
I move towards the light
more blossom falling
on the mown lawns
a Sunday lie in
and the idea of freedom
is finally real
36
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Owen Bullock & André Surridge
night walk
by the wooded lake
pausing
at the call
of a morepork
tonight
I watch a movie
that used to jerk tears
I survive intact
no heart, no thought
restless sleep
an impossible dream
yet how real
it seemed at the time
I tried to cry out
winter today
summer yesterday
but underneath
is a spring of happiness
I never found before
ah yes
this darkness is just
a passing cloud
the hail only rain
hardened by a cold shoulder
the town
quiet but not dead
the hand left off
you know where you stand
the warmth that comes
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
37
Owen Bullock & André Surridge
fruit shop . . .
colours gladden the heart
this smell
of freshness comes
in all shapes and sizes
_____________________
38
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Joe Christensen
For me—
a taste of split peaches
warm
the scent of women,
enjoyed.
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
39
John Tiong Chunghoo
new year fireworks
spurts, spirals and swirls
in ecstatic streams
my head dizzy with a dream
i cherish will come to bloom
on and on the sea chants
thousands of years for
a different shoreline
the dream we cherish will
sail us to our own port of call
40
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Dina Cox
surely the heron
has more patience
than Job. . .
does it see the sumac
blazing in the morning sun?
distracted
the heron
stretches skyward. . .
was it my pen
scratching poems?
Indian Summer
a yellow leaf twirls
over rushing water
still there when I walk back. . .
how fragile these ties that bind
hunter’s moon
my eyes are drawn to it
like the tide
like the way one body cleaves
to another, wordlessly
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
41
Magdalena Dale
Entire world
in a drop of tear
these bare limbs . . .
on my window pane
the winter rain trickling
Roaring wind
among the bare branches
at my window
the vapors of lime tea
have the scent of yearning
The rain
more and more cold
sends away the moon and
insinuating itself in my
lone soul
The fog
heavier and colder
now surrounds all the things
and your face appears only in my
day dreams
The rain
strikes in my window
in the rhythm with the tears
of my face while I wait for you
in vain
42
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
John Daleiden
“. . .There Is A Spirit In The Woods”
autumn
colors ripple
across the forest hills--
in the fields only corn stubble,
brisk winds
leaving
her two new cubs,
a black bear eats berries--
the woods is deep and dark, alive
with life
cold night,
what have you done?
my precious rose shrivels--
the green leaves and bright red petals
are dead
among
the bright red leaves,
perched in the maple tree,
an owl waits for unwary prey,
watchful
going
and becoming--
all life is a circle,
a distant moon, waxing, waning
each day
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
43
John Daleiden
leave chance
in the god’s hands—
through these woods ancient paths
gyre in an uncertain vortex
toward life
*Wordsworth, “Nutting” (1800)
_____________________
44
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Janet Lynn Davis
Cleaning up
For days on end, near-continuous local news coverage of the massive
hurricane. I wonder how the newscasters can look so freshly scrubbed
and coifed through it all.
It’s not been the easiest year: illness, deaths, disagreement, employment
concerns, way too much going on. Then Ike. Eventually, we pick up on
happenings outside our own narrow scope: now, the stern news of
bankruptcies and bailouts in the midst of a most fascinating presidential
campaign. I’m ready to sweep away the debris of 2008.
Some water damage on the inside of our home; some wind damage to the
exterior. And the yard’s a flurry of young, leafy limbs and older twigs, as
well as occasional bits of roofing material. Things could be much worse,
I muse. At the home improvement store, the bins that normally contain
a variety of common yard rakes are empty. (Throughout the city and
beyond, supplies of gasoline and ice fail to meet demand as well.) But a
few minutes later, a smiling store employee hauls in a new box. We bring
home positively the largest rake I’ve ever seen, a black plastic one for $10.
It’ll do the job.
lodged amid shingles,
entangled in gutter
the cypress
I nurtured for years
no longer points to the sky
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
45
Janet Lynn Davis
Four bags full
September 18, five days after Ike paid his visit. Plump gray yard bags
huddle together on the walkway. We’ve spent the better part of the
morning filling them to capacity—with former bits of life. We’re lucky
there isn’t more wreckage than this.
Through the window, a few weeks ago, I noticed a tiny nest poking out
from the just-pruned hedge of ligustrum. Since then, limbs have been
madly thrashed about. A few shrubs have been partially uprooted. And
I almost can see right through our three suburban-style deciduous trees,
though at least their frames are generally still intact. Acorns litter the
ground early this year; a sense of nothingness is exposed.
a narrow strip
of cloth, nestled in
the oak debris—
I move past this hurricane,
to the rites of spring
_____________________
46
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Charlotte Digregorio
strolling a city
i frequented
in my prime,
the fog
obscures me
selling the home
of my childhood,
cleaning every speck
of dust
before i disappear
on my 55th birthday
watching the flight
of the hummingbird,
wishing i could float
through each day
rising at dawn
to autumn showers,
i move to the armchair
in my faded robe
drifting off again
this chilly evening
in late autumn
sitting at mother’s bedside,
i listen to the clanging
of the parlor’s clock
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
47
Melissa Dixon
hermit thrush
your elegiac summons
trembles
down my spine . . . I breathe
the scent of dying embers
late winter winds
persist along the road—
hunkering
into my coat, I join
a shivering drift of crocuses
planet earth—
no sooner do I solve
one problem
than another lurches
into view to take its place
a sleeping pill
won’t always work—I plumb
the subterraneous
caverns of my mind
in search of a poem
inching into
a new relationship
as always
my approach oblique—
left-handed like my father
48
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Marje A. Dyck
Goldeneye linger
this late autumn day
I stay a while
russet reeds bent
over still blue water
tonight the waning moon
sheds less light
so many dreams
as yet
unrealized
wolf willow scent
meadowlark song-
childhood
that place of
no return
sliding through
supple waters
lifted
out of myself
into the sun
sun and silence
wind over the prairie
bobbing and crying
a Killdeer
its double-dark necklace
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
49
Amelia Fielden
August Thoughts in Canberra
a tanka string
briefly young,
I believed my life
would be fine
if I loved enough—
violets are not blue
that which
I have left undone
shades my dawns . . .
strong and melodic
the song of an unknown bird
those finches
smaller than camellia leaves,
so daring
as they seize the day
and I await the morrow
warm coat donned
before walking my dogs
I take a call
from a Tokyo colleague
who complains of the heat
we view the sun
in different hemispheres
celebrating
our opposite seasons
with similar rhythms
50
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Amelia Fielden
under bare branches
a woman pushes a pram
full of new life
the season is changing
budded in palest pink
four years on
I’m watching the Olympics
again
some of my goals achieved
some never will be
are we poets
so unsure of the future
that tanka
rarely reflect our hopes ?
spring flowers every year
dry-eyed I drive
to my best friend’s funeral,
rain trickling
down the windscreen,
trees moaning by the road
through my life
I’ve loved many people,
lots of dogs—
I’d like to think
some have loved me, too
_______________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
51
Deborah Finkelstein
History Repeats Itself
The woman watches,
he enters the daughter’s room.
She recalls horror
from her young late night visits
but she forces her eyes closed.
52
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Denis M. Garrison
his hourglass
passes pencil shavings
cedar scent
the ageless fragrance
of the poet’s voice
the columned arch
elegant in fire-light
rises and falls
wild flames dance
in your half-lidded eyes
in the park, again
seated on a board bench
I don’t wait long
the stray dog comes for a pet
then lies at my feet, again
my father’s father
did the work of ten men
if asked, he’d say:
when you wake up, get up
when you get up, do something
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
53
—
for Sanford Goldstein, 2008
Beverley George
childhood garden . . .
plums, figs and almonds
harvested for jam
grapes drying on chicken wire
through sun-drenched dragging days
there are shorter routes
from your home to school
once again
you loiter in my street
with your lop-sided grin
a sudden downpour
drives
The Viennese Waltzers
from the stage . . .
a mum and dad leap up
twirl under one umbrella
trying to appease me
he peels a purple grape
though no good
can come from this
I swallow it with the pip
rewording his script
when he gets it wrong
decades on
still helping him
to become the perfect lover
54
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Beverley George
face powder
loose in an antique box
one more thing
that should smell good
but doesn’t
life deals many hands
love I grant to progeny
you disperse
in untold ways
to nameless scared of dying
cancelling my flight
to the writers’ festival
without knowing why . . .
your birth three weeks early
and you a perfect poem
after tai chi
this grandma dances jam—
summons ‘attitude’—
bounces with the bad girls
in the back row of the class
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
55
Bernard Gieske
cleaning up
after the ice storm
counting
rings in the tree
my own age
my father
man of the hills
walking in deep snow
my own path
over the hills
autumn sunset
melting colors
slipping away
so softly
no holding them
autumn sunset
melting colors
slipping away
so softly
no holding them
56
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Sanford Goldstein
sour plums on a field: a tanka string
tired
of books
of analysis
of this grim
and sour me!
discussing stories
like a know-it-all
or politics
or psychology or zen,
an umbrella over her head
on my dad
for not one good poem
I stand accused:
I remember an old man
preparing a kitchen sandwich
playing Japanese go
twenty long minutes on these
burning thighs and toes
a million pin pricks, and still
to slap down with force a black stone!
arranging
for the master’s return
to our house—
is it suffocation?
Is it liberation?
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
57
Sanford Goldstein
these kanji
microscopic as flies
do open at times
most often the puzzle
can be a single stroke
that young man
with his vivid black beard
off for Japan
I face the blank wall
before my desk
his sadness
in that huge bottle
of red wine
wrapped tight as a fist
in a brown paper bag
no one
to applaud
or be applauded
moon
over this sick world
traces of joy
in these poems
of pain
flickering like fireflies
in an autumn wind
the red flower
I looked for long ago
never blossomed
in this lapel
of my gray suit
58
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Sanford Goldstein
this mind
in a thick slough
of despond
and still at the edge
these rough poems
writing a string
about a field piled with
fallen sour plums--
on a tall branch out of reach
there must be one, round and sweet
flags
blue and yellow
fallen
by the garage door
along the alley
when I die
even this hole
of my mouth
will burn and lips
will no longer spill poems
the desire
I have tried to turn aside
over the decades
heavier, harder
than Sisyphian rock
when in a sweat
I wake from some outrageous
dream,
only this pillow
to hug
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
59
Sanford Goldstein
with wet hands
I shape the rice round and round
and still how strange
I cannot find the center
for the sour pickled plum
_________________________
60
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Margaret L. Grace
Winter Obsession
palm sunday
two black robed youths
waxing surfboards
car doors bang
)
voices shout
the congregation swells
razor green waves
beyond breaking surf
wind driven spume
curtains a procession
of dark suited board riders
twilight
fence palings their bon-fire
faces glowing red
these groupies shuffle the sand
placating their god
_________________________
Kakadu . . . northern Australia
lightning man
tumbles purple-black clouds
the big wet . . .
dangling from a kapok bush
snake with a frog in its throat
high on the gorge face
ancient rock art . . .a fish
where once was the sea
and song-lines
to navigate by
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
61
Margaret L. Grace
stops by our camp-fire
over his shoulder a cobra . . .
akubra tilted
he grins . . . fish curry smells great
this much used line works
* Akubra ( an Aussie broad brimmed hat)
_________________________
Miss Ozolska’s corridor
forgot who I am
)
just fingering this hat
wondering . . .
when it was snatched away
‘miss Ozolska come with me’
she took my hat
spoke shuffling Mr Moffit
and won’t give it back . . .
mean mother when just a boy
she hid my only toy
uncertain
this old man bent by time
bewildered eyes
above three yellow teeth
hand outstretched
62
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Margaret L. Grace
young Moffit he smiles
terror of the tax office . . .
well back to work
he shuffles the green floor
banging on every door
miss Ozolska
sings a Latvian lullaby
rocks herself to sleep
safe in her mother’s arms
. . . she dreams
old felt hat
left on a chair
forgotten
between these gloomy walls
and worn linoleum halls
_________________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
63
Margaret L. Grace & Judy Kendall
Shorelines
Margaret Grace and
Judy Kendall
sea-side fair
throwing balls
at a clown’s mouth
sixpence for three
and no kewpie doll
teen agers
linger over fish ‘n chips
until
bikinied sirens
call from jagged rocks
organ music
from the merry-go-round
surfers
still in wet-suits
ride the horses
in the dunes
daisies their only witness
turn faces away
from secrets
to be re-visited
from these cliffs
toy tents and ferris wheel
like a spruiker
plovers entice strangers
away from their nests
64
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Margaret L. Grace & Judy Kendall
boys roll down
to the deserted lagoon—
voices crack
with dares to skinny dip
silencing greedy gulls
families gather—
silhouettes at low tide
digging for pipis . . .
water puppets
in the fading light
now old men
around the campfire
with their catch
spin those tales
again . . . again
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
65
Martin Grenfell
leaning forward
over the counter
she asks something
and I scramble to answer
her face
the clock
ticks off things I’ve outgrown
hobbies, clothes, games, toys . . .
why oh why did I watch
that zombie movie
election time
a campaign flier
tells me why
educational standards
need “rasing”
so many stories
missing their first volume
in the library
another pretty girl
I dare not talk to
my favourite t-shirt
out with the trash
I still remember
the sentence that first
tore our friendship
66
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Jeffrey Harpeng
from one house
to another these books
are home
yellowing pages
worn dust jackets
not a cloud
all day to talk
of this place
uncle has a shotgun
to talk to the crows
in this cane chair
reading Shiki
by lamplight
he talks tanka
till after midnight
the whole landscape
is a dining table
and a grave
a butterfly pauses
on a weed
the highway goes to
a country road, to gravel,
to a cattle path . . .
and that’s the conversation
that we just had
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
67
Michele L. Harvey
he tells me
of his new conquest
on the hill
a neighbor’s tom
grooms himself in the sun
before the bottle
he wrote poetry, and sang
to the stars
now, any earth is closer
than home
crumpled
paper in the wastebasket
as if
I wouldn’t know
the shape of my own heart
you
take the escalator
I, the stairs
all the varied ways of life
that lead to the same door
I wonder
what he must be like
today. . .
that boy who broke my heart
without knowing my name
68
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Michele L. Harvey
thinking
about not thinking
a winter fly
weaves in and out
of sitting still
selling the house
she tells the realtor
there never was
an attic, just a basement
and that was enough
faraway,
that look he gives me. . .
illness grants
the slow realization
that this path is mine alone
his finger
traces the track of a star
I missed. . .
my dependence on him
to connect the dots
so many photos
of the trips that they took
without us
bounteous smiles
for a stranger who said “cheese”
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
69
Michele L. Harvey
enough fire
to open to the heart. . .
chestnuts crackle
over the embers
of our first Christmas Eve
New Year’s day
forgotten shrimp in the freezer
curled
into that coldness of ice
the shape of little ears
pity
for my young mother
unknown
even to herself
the depth of her cruelty
the slow curve
of a Cycladic head
lovingly,
the sculptor rubs it
between sandpaper palms
past fifty
we inflate snow tubes
for New Year’s
the hill growing smaller
with each glass of champagne
70
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Michele L. Harvey
my mother
in her thigh high boots
and red lipstick
forbade me to dance
on the top of daddy’s toes
I stare
and stare again
at a word
just three small letters
big enough for the sky
piecing together
a life kept from me
his stroke
caused it to surface
without need for words
tropical
heat in the conservatory. . .
the fruit
of so many distant shores
colors my city’s streets
in this forest
of shoulds and shouldn’ts
there is a glade
where the grass grows green
and dances to the wind
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
71
C W Hawes
the moaning
of the saxophone
in the dawn
this lover’s longing
for the touch of God
the silence
of the deep woods where
the All speaks
my book of poems speaks
best when unopened
and again
the day is spent reading
Sherlock Holmes
the leaves blow over
to the neighbor’s yard
a peace comes
when one willingly says, please
forgive me
how tranquil the pond
receiving the moonlight
looking
for an escape but
there is none
each stairwell leads
back to my desk
72
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
C W Hawes
all these crows
resting heavily
on the bedspread
flickering, the light
always flickering
the goth girl
walking the night with her
vampire boyfriend
in the morning only
tatters of dream remain
grinding ink
the sound is barely
audible
and so your breath just
before you kiss me
only in darkness
does that particular calm
arise within me
the calm which only comes
to comfort the trembling fear
________________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
73
C W Hawes
Snowfall
The first snowfall. The end of the first week of November and winter
has arrived. Today is a workday, but it is Friday. I’m sitting on the bus
watching the cars and trucks and scenery go by. In the grey dawn, the
streetlights and headlights are king. The snow takes on its fairytale aura
glistening in the light.
I can’t help but think of the winter Basho wanted to enjoy the first snow
at home. Today I will spend the first snow at home. Today I will spend
the first snow at work in an office with no windows.
the harsh fluorescent
brightness of my office at work
with cluttered desk
I clear a corner and set there
the snow globe with the house
________________________
The Long Dark Night
Tonight the stars are hid and only black clouds hang above me. I look
towards the field and distant treeline, but both have vanished. Not the
trees and not I shall see the golden moon rise enormous in the east. Only
the black clouds hanging above me will kiss Luna tonight.
walking this road
my mind pondering those words
so oft repeated
my soul is left paralyzed
under the long dark night
________________________
74
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
C W Hawes
Awaiting the Light
A quiet Sunday afternoon. My wife in the kitchen preparing dinner and
I reading and writing. Most days are like this. My wife will paint or draw
and then prepare a meal. I will read and write, make tea, smoke a pipe.
We enjoy the sunrises and sunsets, the moon and stars, walking in the
woods. A simple life suffused with the incense of prayer.
the clouds tinged faintly
with the orange glow of the sun
not yet risen
in the darkness of our room
awaiting the coming light
________________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
75
Peggy Heinrich
At bed-time
the comfort of a book —
I loved
when she read to me
fairy tales, anything . . .
Clouds
on Thanksgiving —
I offer vitamins
he says I’m interfering
with his death.
Disposing
of our husband’s ashes —
who thought we’d ever talk of that?
The phone went silent
then our uncertain laughter.
Exchanging memories
we disagree about
our childhood —
how far the autumn wind
spreads fallen leaves.
A busy classroom
in each car
of this dream train . . .
waking to realize
I still have much to learn.
76
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Elizabeth Howard
a bag of oats
on his slim shoulder
the lad pushes through snow
a spotted colt
wheeling in the paddock
dewy grainfield
countless sparrows
darting about
my field guide
waterlogged
her voice
a knife honed on a grindstone
I notice her red shoes
pointed toes
stiletto hills
July heat
was it truly January
when you went away
the pain as fresh
as these snowflake clouds
hermit thrushes
crash into the window
he lingers
while I revive
his lovely mate
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
77
Elizabeth Howard
where larks once sang
in a sweet meadow
yellow cropdusters zoom
plunging and soaring
over soybeans
driving downhill
fallen leaves dance ahead
I recall scores of monarchs
clustering
on a single shrub
a new gym set
she twirls in the grass
screaming joy
arms uplifted
to the sunshine
sunrise
a golden glow
on the blue peaks
I arise
my wings unfolding
78
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Geoff Hughes
A breeze blowing
So gently
Mother nature
Embracing me
Just for a moment
The train’s horn
Wails in the distance
Disturbing the peace
Of this snowy
Winter night
Legs dangling
Off the old railway bridge
The river
Sings her sweet melody
As she passes me by
The apricot moon
Hangs low over the city
If I reach out
I could touch
It’s velvet sand
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
79
Rose Hunter
spearing the
slippery
peach halves
I didn’t know
what you were thinking
in the shower
water runs down
the mirrored doors
you and I
homesick all our lives
used until they burst
shredded tires
on a hillside
and then the moon
fell on them
lying under the broken
ceiling fan
you ask me
if you could be any candy bar
which one would you be?
the pelican plunges
emerges
with nothing
you were not
who I thought you were
80
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Norman A. Johnson
high on Mount Norquay
I find mountain sheep grazing
now on the alert
they gaze across the meadow
I gaze down at the village
high on Mount Norquay
wind whips the rim of the world
halo round the sun
below cliffs we find refuge
in snow filled grottoes
climbing the rock face
the crumbling granite
knows of my passage
in a wider sky
eagles attend to their own
our girls wash their hair
in collected rain water
drying in the sun
petticoats on the clothesline
on this bright Sunday morning
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
81
Roger Jones
swimming, swimming across
a wide muddy river,
never reaching
where I’m trying to go --
my dream three nights now
holds out to me
his roll of cash from work
as if to make me doubt
the choice I made years ago
of time over money
wiping her hands
on her apron
she hurries to the front door
to glimpse again the sun
through evening rain
the neighbor’s grand
new ski boat
parked under the awning;
crackle and sput of insects
flying into his bug light
talking
as we make the bed --
clean crispy linens
fragrant with spring sunlight
and the strong south wind
82
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Roger Jones
clacking our poles
against pecan limbs,
ripe nuts shower us;
low autumn clouds hang
like cotton batting
stirring my campfire --
sparks fly
then vanish in cold dark;
I can never stop mourning
the death of innocence
turned just in time
to see the limb
bobbing up and down--
a ripened persimmon
fell from the tree
walking to the box
to get the day’s mail --
grasshoppers spring up clicking,
a dry reedy sound;
fields simmer in dog day heat
pencil marks
on the doorjamb,
sunlight climbing
the kitchen wall,
the children almost grown
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
83
Kirsty Karkow
I have taken
your black umbrella
and gone walking
under darkened skies
along a rock-bound shore
a sickly cough
from the roadside shack
on my daily walk
there is never a light
or an open window
over a year
since grandma died. . .
the faint scent
of her rose cologne
for no known reason
if you were near
I’d fill and offer you
a brimming basket
peaches that have spilled today
like gold across the lawn
on my back
in summer grass . . .
miles of air
and the flash of a plane
passing through it
84
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
M. Kei
first day of the year—
hanging a
new calendar with
pictures of places
I’ll never go
an old shirt
with a button missing—
the comfort
of things that
don’t need mending
what will she think,
the friend who has reappeared
after seven years?
this tiny apartment
these withered weeds
after
a long visit,
we sit in silence,
with nothing to say
and even more to unsay
the electric
voice of the guitar—
sometimes
the human throat
isn’t sound enough
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
85
M. Kei
twenty dollars
to live on until
next Friday . . .
spending it on
comfort for my mind
the sermon
consisted of the
sound of
shattering glass and
colors raining down
a door
that must be entered—
warm colors
and exotic scents
in this gray town
I can hardly afford it,
yet she is so happy
with these trinkets,
my daughter struggling
with adulthood
chill dusk—
the grey cloud of
a long-haired cat
follows me—as if I know
the door into summer
86
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
M. Kei
every year
I roll the cancer dice
praying for
anything but
snake eyes
the Sarah C. Conway
sinking through a hole
in the storm . . .
what spirits flew out
of this white world?
Queen Cardinal
in your dowager weeds,
why do so many
brilliant males court you,
but never me?
crawling into the bilge,
the wood still damp even
in the middle of winter,
the cold wind blowing
through her seams
Sabbath
is given to the boat,
God’s work,
sustaining something that
matters more than me
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
87
M. Kei
winter maintenance . . .
two hours after
I crawl out of the bilge
of an old boat,
my butt’s still cold
mudstained
boots and jeans
a pocket full of birds
a grey spring day
with wings like mallards
the motorcycle riders
didn’t stay long,
a cigarette or two
and they were
gone again
mackerel sky
and a dormant marsh,
cut by a rusty
train trestle over
a brown river
not quite straight
the path from
the old tavern
to the ferry landing
after all these years
88
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
M. Kei
middle age—
happy with
my mullet haircut
and
electric toothbrush
two miles
I walked this deck
keeping watch
over an old wooden boat,
smelling of paint and varnish
Pride of Baltimore II
silhouetted against
the night sky—
two hundred years
murmur in her rigging
my daughter and I
one night
at the Baltimore clipper,
standing in the rain
discussing rigging
the face
worn by a Vietnam vet
worn by a Canadian peacekeeper
worn by my nephew
in all the corners of the world
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
89
Deborah P Kolodji
desert poppy
fields waving
with orange
the wind wields a paint brush,
tangles my hair
a stone, a stick
and sumi-e ink
brief brush strokes
fill the white space
of my life
electrons spin
in the world beneath
your microscope—
why won’t you dance
with me?
so dark
this wor ld outside
the span of my flashlight—
a rustle of leaves, the sound of
footsteps
empty
canoes lap
the reeds . . .
not a bird in the sky
no one calls my name
90
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Ingrid Kunschke
Beneath the Waves
stay awhile,
stay, it seems to say,
this forest
of tangled kelp
that sways with the surf
hidden
off the coast,
awash with
greenish light:
a haven
in swarms
they drift by,
jellyfish,
their frailty and grace
unsurpassed
why
without fail
does it end
well before dawn,
this sense of floating?
Reluctant to surface after this refreshing dive, the mermaid slowly opens
her eyes. Of late these dreams press her more urgently and she isn’t going
to resist. It’s her fate to sit on this boulder forever, yet she’s a child of the
sea and eager to give in to the tidal force.
the weight
of life ashore,
its lack
of buoyancy,
cannot be eased
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
91
Ingrid Kunschke
And so she sits looking out over the harbor at daybreak, the sun’s first
rays caressing her tresses, and she still sits there at dusk with the afterglow
putting a blush on her bare chest and maidenly face. She sits in the
scorching heat, dreaming of the spray that would wet her tail. And she sits
in the cold, when snow adorns her flowing hair, her stiffening limbs.
People come, people go. They flash blinding lights at her. She hears them
speak languages she vaguely remembers from foreign shores. Some are
reminiscent of waves lapping against a pier; others mimic the murmur of
a creek. Why then can’t they see she belongs to the sea?
her hair
known to spark
when stroked
is truly a mermaid’s
with its tinge of green
Tired of being stared at, she turns away, turns to the water for comfort,
finding nothing but regret. And so she feigns gazing at the waves until
darkness falls and fewer people come by, couples who’ve only eyes for
each other. That’s when she enters the realm of dreams.
reflections of
the city’s dazzling lights -
they barely hint
at the untold treasures
this gaudy mirror conceals
looming
beneath the waves
there’s a face
young and yearning
for that world beyond
____________________
92
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Gary LeBel
Inheritance
Our sodden, sweaty clothes turn cold in the night air as we winch the
half-ton box of tools back into place. Nothing of what we did for the last
sixteen hours will pull up a chair with Velasquez, nothing of it will remain
in a year’s time.
For the long ride home through Atlanta after midnight, I slip in
Miles
Smiles
, hoping he’ll blow enough life into my tired bones to drive, the only
horn of Gabriel I know. Mica glitters in the headlights as I roll down the
tar to ‘Orbits’.
Into the sprawling skyline as if a mouth, see the toy that glides along the asphalt
tongue, its miniature driver smiling with all the uncomplicated ease of a lazy dog, his
tiny fingers tapping the great trumpeter’s furious beat on the empty seat beside him.
On which side of the line
do you stand, diaphanous and above it all
or down in the tenements
among the legions of the
‘filthy, sturdy,
unkillable infants’
?
From Ezra Pound’s ‘The Garden’,
Selected Poems
New Directions, New York 1957
Miles Smiles
by Miles Davis
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
93
Gary Lebel
Lullaby
It’s a fascinating sound, a kind of forthright CLUNK when electricity
suddenly quits and every appliance in the house shuts down and becomes
exactly, existentially, what it is: oil and ore and other things, gobs of dials
and wires all utterly useless without Poor Richard’s spark.
We go out to see its progress: the island’s quiet, without traffic or
movement, no sudden exodus from blacked-out neighborhoods. Why am
I chuckling, she asks. Because I relish this, I say, like a priceless gift. It’s
as if the island had said, ‘Well now, that’s that. You’re on your own again,
good night and good luck
.’
To hear how ordinary things sound in the ordinary spaces they fill:
extraordinary, like shoes shuffling over blacktop or winter palms rasping
their dry, bony fronds above us in the dark as we slouch along to the
beach.
Behind us, complex after complex of time-shares: all lightless. It’s
amazing how that divine and planetary lung, the sea, sounds and looks at
night without radios or neon, without streetlights or the glares from
picture windows,
the pulse of every tale a civilization ever told itself along its boomeranging, reckless
pilgrimage to pull its own plug…
and just when you think it couldn’t be more perfect, there’s a three
quarter moon to levitate the phosphorescent path you take between the
dunes, to light the hoards of loyal breakers that feel their ways across the
sands like the fingers of the blind.
When we return to the rental, the cheapest place we could find to live for
five weeks between houses, nothing works, no TV no lights no heat no
water
94
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Gary Lebel
just our candlelit faces and the quiet, the scrawny unlit Christmas tree,
the lulling thunder of the surf….
In morning twilight
dolphins ride the gray-green swells,
rumors of a life with grace that Venus
cupping tender ears once whispered
to an infant race.
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
95
Jean LeBlanc
Notes for Fall Semester
(a tanka sequence)
A day of classes
ahead of me.
Why must the maple
choose today
to be so beautiful?
They find a quiet corner
of an empty hall,
these students
so afraid
to be seen alone.
“When I’m old…”
she starts to say
to me,
then realizes
I am.
Crumpled
in the recycling bin
an unsigned poem
on
an untaken quiz.
The Furies, the Fates –
my students ask if they must learn
the names of these immortals.
I answer,
“They know yours.”
_____________________
96
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Jean LeBlanc
moon
(a tanka sequence)
three mornings now
the moon above the garage
has allowed me
to choose the right key
on the first try
old moon
I call you
to see
your face
light up
imagine
every mantis
in the meadow
reaching out
toward the moon
he is glad
to be in love
though he misses
his nights
with the moon
blame
the moon, then—
madness,
flood,
enchantment
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
97
Angela Leuck
love notes left
in the hollow of a tree—
the young woman
my mother once was
who I never knew
my mother’s prized
black china teacup—
as a child I believed
all of the world’s darkness
was contained in its bowl
confusing the word
“rheumatic”
I tell my school chums
my mother’s in the hospital
with “romantic fever”
my mother
always priding herself
on running the farm,
butchering livestock
weeps when she hears Chopin
staring at a homo-erotic
Mapplethorpe print
I remember my mother
confiscating my one copy
of “True Love “
98
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Angela Leuck
when I’m up the ladder
painting the gable
my mother shouts:
if you fall, don’t land
on the peonies
my mother’s tumour
an x-ray technician’s
mistake:
not dying after all,
still she’s in a bad mood
favourite photo:
my mother standing beside
the pear tree in bloom-
how young she looks
though her hair is white
my mother’s
midnight blue walls,
my tangerine room
what colours surround her now
in that place of light?
inheriting
my mother’s
ruby ring—
the weight on my finger
of the blood-red stone
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
99
Bob Lucky
what is there
to know about this
scar
a painful memory
stretched across time
a red-winged blackbird
perches in my thoughts
waiting
for a chance to fly away
from these thin pickings
slipping quietly
into bed tonight
and slipping
quietly out again
not knowing why
the workmen
tap tap tapping
looking for studs—
the smell of cigarette smoke
coming through the walls
my father
has begun to conflate
memories—
in the story of the pie
his wife becomes his mother
100
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Bob Lucky
when I am young
I hope to find you again
waiting
to teach me everything
I once knew
cleaning out my room
at the end of the school year—
cluttered bulletin board
the list of rules
I never can remember
I hate my hair,
what’s left of it—
in the mirror
the baby orangutan
I’ve become
the words I spilled
to clear my head of you
darken my thoughts—
how is it under blue skies
I catch the scent of rain?
oh, Aristotle
I’ve studied with you
so long—
I’m fairly convinced
there will be no Bob the Great
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
101
Bob Lucky
Towards a Narrative Theory
today
I have to read
Madame Bovary—
craving teurgole
on this gloomy Sunday
the boy
wants to marry the girl,
that’s not the story—
I’m here to tell you
it’s just fabula
my teenaged son
walks ten paces ahead
or ten behind—
every conversation
a shout through space and time
unable to read
I point to a picture
on the menu—
that soothing bowl of noodles
in a broth too hot to eat
reading
narrative theory
I fall asleep—
in my dreams I find
embedded dreams
_____________________
102
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Bob Lucky
Reading Hamlet on a Beach in Thailand
Perpend this player
Who recks not his own rede—
No tee-shirt, no hat,
But a thin sheen of lotion
Twixt tender skin and sun.
Descended from Viking stock, I am not made for the sun and warm seas,
not made for swimming with sharks and playing beach volleyball. I
should be sucking seagull eggs and soaking salted cod up some snowy
fjord.
a young sea eagle
over the promontory
glides in circles—
the tourist’s boomerang
does not come back
I lie fitfully in a hammock in the shade, sunburned, red as the proverbial
boiled lobster. The tops of my feet are blistered. I’m in Act II, Scene 2 of
Hamlet, where the title character plays mad with Polonius, who says those
famous lines about there being a method in the madness, and I stop for
a moment to squint at the horizon and ponder why anyone goes to the
beach.
a woman
emerges from the waves
topless—
I put on my glasses
and head for the tide pools
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
103
Bob Lucky
Instead of Reading Hamlet on a Beach in Thailand
It’s tempting on this secluded beach to pick up a coconut, gaze into its
eyes and speak to it. Yesterday, driving down the muddy rut the road has
become in the rainy season, I waved at a macaque that was sitting on a
rock at the edge of the jungle. It was an instinctual gesture, one primate
to another. The macaque just stared at me and scratched its belly.
ghost crabs
scurry over the hot sand
ahead of the surf—
I swim out and let
the sea wash me ashore
_____________________
104
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Jeanne Lupton
at senior housing
roars of the Cal football crowd
from across Berkeley
a day so beautiful
solitude turns lonely
potential lover
leaves the toilet seat up
walks ahead of me
I decide on a twin bed
for my new studio
the cute guy
down the hall
is elusive
I park my bike
next to his
at senior housing
a lover from ‘67
is my neighbor
in a wheelchair from a stroke
he has a smile for me
my elderly aunt
visits me at senior housing
sits straight-backed
her most dreaded fate
would be to live in this place
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
105
Jeanne Lupton
making fun
I call it the old folks’ home
how can it be
I too grow white whiskers
when I’ve always been sixteen?
friends come for dinner
institutional dining
reminds me
of college
but for a life’s interval
with cable TV
and rubber draperies
to make it dark
my home’s like a motel room
just passing through
106
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Terra Martin
Perfect Ice
Beyond the whisper of snowdrifts in a grove of pine lies the glittering gulf
of pristine ice. My pulse races as I throw off my mittens and lace up. The
dawn air is crisp and still. Wine-coloured shadows spill over field and
furrow. As my blade bites into the polished surface I listen to the familiar
rhythm of razor sharp skates. Weaving this way and that I spiral round
the edge of the river bank stopping only once to catch my breath.
moist fingertips
on the rim
of a wineglass
the haunting note
of love lost
glistening
raspberry sorbet
the tangy taste
of your icy kiss
lingers
I wave
across the room
the solitaire
in every facet
radiant but cold
_________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
107
Terra Martin
arriving
at singing class
her fish shaped bag
already pursing
its lips
listening
to the soundtrack of jaws
I back my car
into the garage
and into your bumper
snow spill
the powdery sheen
of magic and mimicry
each time
you appear
you say
it’s black and white
smiling
I think of the skunk
in the backyard
red berries
on the curl of a drift
perhaps a dessert
left by autumn
for winter’s palette
108
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Terra Martin
in your words
I’ve no common sense
yet you adore
the imprinted duck
that acts like a cat
losing
the pillow fight
to the dog
my pride not tarred
but feathered
all morning
at the hairdresser
sudden gust
my coif medusa-like
your petrified expression
while
hopscotching over
the strange bug
onlookers sidle
away from me
unable
to stay mad at you
I watch the squirrel
bury the same nut
in different places
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
109
Terra Martin
immersed
in the whirlpool
the rising steam
a reminder of
an unfulfilled desire
the feather
this way that way
effortlessly
I slip into
an old habit
nature
perfectly preserved
the half open rose
a frost bitten
memory of you
star woven night
fanciful embroidery
with tiny stitches
I sew my dreams
into your pillow
mail arrives
advertising a crematorium
I go to the dairy queen
and bury myself in
a strawberry sundae
110
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Terra Martin
Music Lover
were I
a flute would you
run your fingertips
over my smoothness until
you learn to play
were I
the harmonica would you
tease me with your tongue
tracing my mouth
until I hum
were I
the dulcimer would you
hold me in your lap
and strum till my strings
chime like tiny bells
were I
a piano would you
sustain the tempo
until the final
cadence sounds
______________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
111
Francis Masat
NO TRESPASSING
—the sign is ignored
again
and again
by the storm’s surge
replacing my stove
made in Mexico
by one made in the USA
by Mexican workers—
todo está bien
abandoned field—
under an ice-white moon
dried ears of corn
rattle ominously
in the wind’s wintry blasts
moonrise—
branches turn
from black to silver
the first taste
of fresh snow
cemetery—
not a breeze anywhere
we all watch
the slow descent
of snowflakes
112
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Francis Masat
clouds
snowing
clouds of snow
new prints
atop the old
a sagging gray roof
Grandmother’s
Christmas party
Granddaughter snuggles up
with a puppy
January garden—
spreading the remains
of the holidays
uneaten popcorn
surrounds the birdfeeder
Key West coffeehouse—
a January tourist sips
sangria
sunburned legs
under a rusted bench
ice fishing—
from the forest
a chill wind
carries the throaty cough
of a raven
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
113
Giselle Maya & Amelia Fielden
The Year of the Mouse 2008
A renga by Giselle Maya and
Amelia Fielden (indented lines)
cat by the fire
under a mountain of leaves
hibernating mouse. . .
too early to go to bed
too late to be creative
never seeking
the moon and the stars,
a morning lover am I ---
may the sun goddess protect us
and grant us health and joy
my soul becomes
a tree, a bird, a fish
no wish to come back . . .
my pet dog gazes at me
with my grandmother’s eyes
will I see
more clearly this year,
be more patient . . .
first snowdrop
shimmers with dew
114
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Giselle Maya & Amelia Fielden
a white heron’s
slow, graceful exit
among the clouds
a brush of azure
paints its pathway
first dream of the New Year
I swim in endless blue sea
never sinking . . .
ocean and sky meet
on a journey to the east
inspired to revisit
a hermit painter I once met
in northern Kyoto
for the heat of summer
she gave me a paper fan
wafted to and fro
the elegant motifs
a blurred purple
pine, bamboo and plum
bent by winter winds
light returning
from faded iris leaves
a woven skiff
takes us away beyond
the January horizon
__________________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
115
Jo McInerney
after death
velvet from his antlers
still on the trees
when the dogs have done with me
I wonder what will be left
cabbage moths
drifting above me
memories
of nana’s garden
and the roses we picked
still your eyes
look inward as we talk
your tales
of a lonely childhood
remind me of my own
sometimes
when I brush against you
a shiver
as though young fingers
had touched my longing
a pelican
drifts above the canal
breasting the air
with a languid grace
I can only appreciate
116
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Jo McInerney
the nest
is broken and wasps
now swarm
through thin lips
words that sting
in pieces
the future I tried to clutch
with trembling fingers
I put away the clothes
you’ll never wear
mercury
sinking as the season turns
I tap the glass
as you light the fire
and then we draw close in
air and light
and the pull of the earth
the certainties
of this place where you and I
have shared our little lives
they are gone
my first family
I gather
new loves around me
to tell me who I am
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
117
Jo McInerney
late winter
perhaps the ground
will thaw
in time for me to flower
a final time
your kiss
fleeting and perfunctory
yet I can draw
on your heart in my need. . .
old apples firm at the core
in my child’s mouth
words bubble up from depths
I do not know
when you became someone
I only thought I knew
my anger
misdirected once more
no reprieve. . .
punishing you still
my old wounds bleed
never again
will we be what we were
I sweep
the leaves into bright piles
before they feed the earth
118
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Annette Mineo
how even the seaweed
left by the tide
ink-black and slippery
has its own small part this morning
in raising up my spirits
just as the gulls
are all headed east
with the fishing boats
this early winter’s morning
all the stars are tumbling west
again and again
I step to the edge of my sea
for balance
I suck in its salty god-stuff
spit out these nagging wants
in a snow squall
just off the headlands
one lone lobsterman
hauling traps
his big orange-gloved wave
when I am quiet
no matter where I am
I can hear the ocean
beneath my boat
moving me moving me
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
119
Vasile Moldovan
Indian Summer—
in my orchard a cherry tree
blossoms again
but not one bee
no butterfly
Winter fests—
all around the Christmas Tree
the whole family,
only the grandpa’s chair
is so much alone
Instead of a coin
a compassionate lady
looks at herself
in the opaque glasses
of the blind beggar
In the New Year’s Dawn
light in each soul
only in my heart
the same darkness
since the past year
Sledding—
in my cold arms
my daughter,
in her warm hands
the newest dolls
120
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
April Orr
Coming home
find you there
each time the welcome mat
a little more
worn down
Jumbled dress-ups
made me smile
what would we become?
I look at myself
It was never this
Do you love me
lips answer yes
eyes answer no
as you stare
her silk dress swaying
You watched the tulips grow
all year this year-
somehow knowing
it was the last time
you would see them bloom
To break the silence
thick between us
the radio blares-
distant voices happy
yet hollow
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
121
April Orr
I search my mind
looking for the words
to thank you—
I started with feathers
you gave me wings
I smile as rain slips
through tiny fingers
falling into puddles
imitating your dimples
but never your smile
I look at the table
still set for two
after all these years
the silverware shines
till death do us part. . .
Baby faces
grin at toy soldiers
as you playfully murder
I shed a tear
for what you will become
Setting sun
you walk me home
my heart racing
hoping you could be
my happy ever after
122
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Stephen A. Peters
after the divorce
our initials
left in the tree
once so important
still there
the argument didn’t
go so well
trying to forget
all i do
is remember
class reunion
among the crowd
getting up to pee
the most athletic
stands without his cane
falling snow
the misunderstandings
between us
frozen now
inside my heart
the same sky
the different views
should have known better
tonight spending time
with the moon
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
123
Stephen A. Peters
first love
through an open window
the summer breeze
nothing in the world matters
except now
in the sky
once between us
rain and sun
the colors of the rainbow
have now faded away
trying to
write objectively
after
the sunset tonight
i can’t
after all these years
you think
i would learn
still fumbling about
sometimes in the dark
124
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Dru Philippou
Inside the Strandline
overlapping curves
defined by each swash
footprints blur . . .
I walk inside another’s
measured strides
seaweed strands,
razor clam and starfish
echo the pulse
of moon on water . . .
sky awash with gulls
There’s a yellow sponge growing out there, clinging to a shell that it bored
through, there below the tide line, an area of pounding waves. You can
find these shells pitted from the sponges on the beach, each shell with the
imprint of a unique pattern.
_____________________
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
125
Dru Philippou
Wind Power
On the Beaufort Scale of 2, a light breeze forms wavelets, rustles palms.
On the scale of 4, a moderate breeze wipes footprints from the sand,
blows a sailboat out to sea—
And on 8, a gale of 40 knots, I paddle my surfboard out in the ocean;
make it to the lineup, sit-up, and wait for the sets. A swell approaches.
Turning the nose of my board shoreward, I start to paddle then stand. I
ride towards those palm branches snapping, and breakers crashing against
rock; my mother’s voice gone.
a deep-sea
anglerfish slams
its mouth shut—
for a limpet,
an unknown universe.
_____________________
126
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Patricia Prime
in the stormy night
an uncharitable wind
the sense of danger
not yet averted
not yet encountered
the washing line
divides the veranda
from the Milky Way
where the full moon
slides across the sky
there is nothing brighter
than an Auckland spring
so bright it hurts
each flower imprinting
itself on the eye
a strip of yellow
above the dark horizon
and red clouds
all reflected in still water
across Waitamata Harbour
far away blue sea
the colour of the sky
I hear the surf’s swish
and boom on sand
as swallows sweep by
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
127
Patricia Prime
I shall miss you
when the tide glides in
feeling its way
up the harbour
under a glacial sky
in the rain
everyone is equal
mustard-soaked hot dogs
in a sodden tent
beneath a dismal sky
the sun brings
a kind wind
and the air
is scented with home-baked scones
and the caroling of a finch
a month or two
after winter
I return
to the pathway
among cherry trees in blossom
I stood on the porch
for the longest time
after you left
looking at the night sky—
the brightness of Venus
128
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
Patricia Prime
I could not sleep
for the moonlight
through a curtain
I kept hearing a voice
calling to me from afar
now the sun’s rays
coming over the hills
are permitted
to touch the reaches of the sea
where a ship berths from the storm
morning swallows
flashing like a kingfisher’s wing
dart beneath the eaves
making a perfect art
of nest building
I wake
from a dream
remembering
your sudden laugh,
the turn of your head
bad weather
hasn’t dampened the spirits
of market gardeners
arranging pyramids of fruit
on their outdoor trestles
Modern English Tanka — Winter 2008
129
Patricia Prime
in sallow light
I see their resting place
in the churchyard
four brothers dead in one night,
smiling faces on their headstones
the sun glitters
in the eyes
of whitebaiters
until they squeal with joy
as they haul in their nets
we drive
until we find
a brown lake
smudged with black swans
with their heads in the water