Spring 2009
Volume 3 Number 3
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 - Spring 2009 - Vol. 3, No. 3
Copyright © 2009 by Modern English Tanka Press.
Cover Art, “Spring Solace,” © 2009 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.
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 – Spring 2009 – Vol. 3, No. 3
Published by MODERN ENGLISH TANKA PRESS.
Print Edition: ISSN 1932-9083
Digital Edition: ISSN 1930-8132 [PDF & HTML] www.modernenglishtanka.com
EDUCATIONAL USE NOTICE
MODERN ENGLISH TANKA PRESS, Baltimore, Maryland, USA, publisher of the quarterly
journal,
Modern English Tanka
, is dedicated to poetry education in schools and colleges, at every
level. It is our intention and our policy to facilitate the use of
Modern English Tanka
and related
materials to the maximum extent feasible by educators at every level of school and university
studies. Educators, without individually seeking permission from the publisher, may use
Modern
English Tanka
publications, online digital editions and print editions, as primary or ancillary
teaching resources. Copyright law “Fair Use” guidelines and doctrine should be interpreted very
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Modern English Tanka
precisely on the basis of our explicitly stated
intention herein. This statement may be cited as an effective permission to use
Modern English
Tanka
as a text or resource for studies. Proper attribution of any excerpt to
Modern English Tanka
is required. This statement applies equally to digital resources and print copies of the journal.
Individual copyrights of poets, authors, artists, etc., published in
Modern English Tanka
are their
own property and are not meant to be compromised in any way by the journal’s liberal policy on
“Fair Use.” Any educator seeking clarification of our policy for a particular use may email the
Editor of
Modern English Tanka
, at dmg@themetpress.com. We welcome innovative uses of our
resources for poetry education.
C O N T E N T S
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Volume 3, Number 3.
7
Winds of Change.
, editorial by Denis M. Garrison.
10
The Three Back Cover Tanka
by the editor.
11
TANKA
12
Hortensia Anderson
14
Megan Arkenberg
16
Kristyn Blessing
17
Shawn Bowman
19
Marjorie Buettner
21
Owen Bullock
29
Şerban Codrin
30
Charlotte Digregorio
32
Jeanne Emrich
34
Amelia Fielden
37
Deborah Finkelstein
38
Linda Galloway
39
Victor P. Gendrano
41
Sanford Goldstein
48
Margaret L. Grace
50
Annie Gustin
52
Michele L. Harvey
57
CW Hawes
66
Elizabeth Howard
69
Roger Jones
71
S. Karlan
72
M. Kei
74
Deborah Keith
79
Larry Kimmel
81
Joseph V. Kleponis
82
Angela Leuck
84
Chen-ou Liu
88
Bob Lucky
92
Terra Martin
97
Francis Masat
101
Michael McClintock
103
Jo McInerney
106
Joseph D. McLaughlin
108
Albert Melear
109
Vasile Moldovan
111
Mike Montreuil
114
Aju Mukhopadhyay
115
Amy Nawrocki
119
Peter Newton
124
Sergio Ortiz
126
Stephen A. Peters
128
Dru Philippou
129
Patrick M. Pilarski
132
Patricia Prime
143
Richard V. Primo
144
David Rice
145
Ed Rivers
146
Alexis Rotella
153
Tracy Royce
155
Alan Segal
156
Radhey Shiam
157
Guy Simser
159
Paul Smith
164
John Soules
166
André Surridge
174
Chuck Taylor
175
Julie Thorndyke
176
John Samuel Tieman
177
Liam Wilkinson
180
Rodney Williams
182
Jim Wilson
184
Fran Witham
185
Jeffrey Woodward
188
Spiros Zafiris
190
J. Zimmerman
193
ARTICLES & REVIEWS
194
American Gothic Tanka
by M. Kei.
212
Results of the First International Erotic Tanka Contest 2008
by Pamela A. Babusci.
216
Between Words
: A Collaboration by Patricia Prime, Jeffrey Woodward, Jeffrey
Harpeng, and Bob Lucky.
227
EUCALYPT #5
, reviewed by Maria Steyn (South Africa).
232
Leaving My Found Eden: A Poetography Collection
by Ron L. Zheng, reviewed by
Denis M. Garrison.
234
The Narrow Road to the Interior
by Kimiko Hahn, reviewed by M. Kei.
238
In the Company of Crows: HAIKU and TANKA Between the Tides
by Carole
MacRury, reviewed by Denis M. Garrison.
240
Meals at Midnight
by Michael McClintock, publisher’s note.
243
The Heart Takes Wing
, CD by Kathy Kituai and Nitya Bernard Parker,
reviewed by Denis M. Garrison.
245
Recent Titles from Modern English Tanka Press & Forthcoming titles from Modern
English Tanka Press.
246
Contributors.
252
Tanka Venues, with abbreviations.
Cover art , “Spring Solace,” by Karen McClintock.
Winds of Change
By midsummer, the final issue of Volume 3 of
Modern English Tanka
will be
published. We at
MET
are both grateful for, and proud of, the journal’s success
during its first three years. Our wonderful contributors have made it worth
reading and our enthusiastic and appreciative readers have gladdened us with
their feedback about the journal. A reasonable person might well advise us:
“don’t mess with success,” but there are changes on the horizon. In my editorial
with the Summer issue of
MET
, I am going to lay out in more detail the changes
we plan to pursue in aid of making
MET
an even better tanka quarterly.
It seems prudent, however, to lay the groundwork beginning with what will not
change. The mission of this journal has always been and will continue to be as
follows:
“
Modern English Tanka
is dedicated to publishing and
promoting fine English tanka—both traditional and innovative
verse of high quality—in order to assimilate the best of the
Japanese uta/waka/tanka genres into a continuously
developing English short verse tradition.”
These were our organizational principles in founding
MET
and continue to be
our fundamental policy for the journal. The term “modern English tanka” is
meant to denote all varieties of tanka written in English. We have received some
suggestions that we would do better to specialize in one variety or another, but
that would be a different journal. We have, from the start, tried to make our
goals clear. The following is from my first editorial:
“It is not the goal of
Modern English Tanka
to either
authoritatively define English tanka or sponsor any particular
formula or template. Rather, it is our goal to give tanka poets
a venue in which they can showcase their tanka—not just their
show-stopper, standing ovation, fortissimo
tours de force
, but
also their quieter, more subtle tanka, their strange tanka, their
haunting tanka, their terrifying tanka; even their snarky kyoka
belongs. We want to give space to the widest range of tanka
because it is such a new form in English. Only by publishing
the full panoply of English tanka, will we ever discover its
particular place in the English lyric tradition.”
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
7
This statement of goals continues to apply, now and in future. However, the
matter of definition of tanka has, over the last three years, continuously
increased in contentiousness. Even the concept of defining tanka is argued hotly,
due to concerns over formalism breeding formulaic tanka, over the perception
that a definition would be an instrument of suppression of innovation, over who
has the authority to define tanka inasmuch as the tanka in English world has no
‘masters’ to speak authoritatively, and so on. These are legitimate concerns.
How does
MET
play into all this? As stated above and as widely recognized,
MET
is an “ecumenical” journal, to use M. Kei’s term. We publish a full
spectrum of tanka. So it is that our editorial policies have been interpreted as
favoring one sort of tanka or another, depending on the perspective of the
evaluator. Furthermore, the sheer size of each issue of
MET
strikes some as a
heavy thumb on the scales for one sort of tanka or another. We have put out
issues that run around 250 pages since the start; we do this to provide room for
the broadest variety of tanka. However, this is one place we plan to change.
After 12 issues (about 3,000 pages), we have accomplished one of our goals, that
is, to get the full spectrum of what is being written. The first three volumes of
MET
comprise, arguably, the largest single compilation of tanka in English in
the world. While our policy of soliciting a broad spectrum of tanka will continue,
we plan to streamline the journal by reducing the number of tanka that may be
submitted and reducing the number by a single poet that may be published in a
single issue. Plainly put, we will sharpen our focus on the quality of tanka that
we publish.
MET
has published all sorts of tanka-related works, including haiga with tanka,
tanka prose, tanka sequences, sets, strings, etc.. MET Press, the publisher, has
since founded specialty journals for: poetry of place and longer pieces (
Atlas
Poetica
), haiga (
Modern Haiga
), kyoka (
Prune Juice
), and tanka prose (
Modern Haibun
& Tanka Prose
). Beginning with Volume 4,
MET
will again specialize in single
tanka. Again, we will sharpen our focus.
Then, there is the matter of definition, alluded to above. We are not going to
promulgate any definition authoritatively, not that we could if we wished to do
so. However, we also are not going to dodge the very real concerns over the
definition of tanka in English. The question of tanka formalism must be faced
and addressed. A collegial project to do just that will first publish its results in
May and we will roll it out for
MET
readers in our Summer issue editorial.
Perhaps the most visible change in
MET
will be in the Articles & Reviews
section. In order to focus more closely on the tanka, we will be virtually closing
this section down in Volume 4. There are other venues for tanka articles and
8
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
book reviews that are covering the waterfront nicely. We do not need to
duplicate their efforts. While we will, of course, reserve the right to publish an
article if it is compelling, we will not be soliciting articles. Likewise, we will
continue a listing of brief publication notes so that new titles are exposed to our
wide online audience, but we will neither solicit nor initiate reviews. Details on
how we will handle publication notes will be included in the website submission
guidelines after the Summer issue is published.
Biographical sketches have stretched into
curricula vitae
in
MET
. I am chagrined
to discover that my own bio sketch had reached over one hundred words. We
are going to cut the line to fifty words and hold that line so we will have several
more pages for tanka.
Taken together, all these changes are going to allow us to cut the length of each
issue and cut the cost of
MET
to readers and subscribers. We will contact our
subscribers to discuss these changes and to offer them options for the remainder
of their subscriptions running into Volume 4. Meantime, we are not accepting
any new MET subscriptions until we get closer to the Autumn issue.
Why are we changing things when things are going well? Because this journal has
a mission, part of which is the
promotion
of English tanka. We are not just an
outlet for publication; we are dedicated to moving tanka in English forward in
its inevitable development into a western poetic form. The big thousand-page
volumes were the first stage. We saw a need for tanka publication to achieve
some sort of “critical mass,” to move forward. That has happened, we think.
Now is a time for reassessment, clarification, critical examination of the
developing genre, and for a tighter focus on quality. So, we are dropping features
that are being well served by other venues and sharpening our red pencils. We
hope and expect to bring you an improved and streamlined
Modern English
Tanka
.
Why am I talking about these changes instead of just making them? Well, besides
transparency
having become the flavor of the week here in the States, we really do
realize that
we
don’t create
MET
; it is all our wonderful contributors and
supporters who make
MET
happen each quarter.
MET
is a tanka community
undertaking in which all the poets, writers, readers, critics, and scholars play
essential roles. Keeping you fully informed is just the right thing to do.
—Denis M. Garrison, editor
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
9
The Three Back Cover Tanka
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.
yellow cusped moon
offering itself up
this almost spring night
when one thousand years have passed
will it matter if we loved
— Marjorie Buettner
trying to remember
to try and forget
along my walk
on a cement wall
the graffiti
— Stephen A. Peters
I’ve bled
your absence dry
of words
now blank pages are all
I want from you
— Megan Arkenberg
10
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
T A N K A
Hortensia Anderson
a light breeze
caresses my nakedness
in the dark,
honeysuckle seeps through
the window of a dream
this one green leaf
drifts across reflections
of the others —
how they cling to branches
that overhang the pond
almost to bursting
my basket of hydrangea
overflows
the way my heart feels
with you by my side
rambling roses
climb over the trellis —
a honeyed perfume
soars on the wind’s breath
carrying me heavenward...
though we never met,
my grandmother’s blue eyes gaze
at my reflection;
how many centuries
have we been looking back?
12
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Hortensia Anderson
In Wild Bloom
(a crown cinquain)
Virgins
parting the reeds,
you revealed a clearing
of white sand and leading me, we
lay down.
Naked,
the way the sea
almost mirrors the sky,
we rose in waves and cresting, touched
the stars.
Rarely,
we have moments
that take us beyond time
and space curves at an aureole’s
dark edge.
It is
then we return,
we recall and with luck,
find that lost garden in wild bloom
again.
And so,
I come back to
the salt in the wind, the
summer we made women of each
other.
_______________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
13
Megan Arkenberg
my heart is empty
as this September sky
these days
it’s not love but boredom
that makes me long for you
strange need to hold
something he touched . . .
even in my mind
why is this heart
never enough?
two doors slam
and all is silent
if only
I could remember him
just at times like this
new love
on my journal pages
the same words—
only you
has changed
no wind comes
to stir the branches of
these autumn trees
now even the pain of you
is gone
14
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Megan Arkenberg
I’ve bled
your absence dry
of words
now blank pages are all
I want from you
getting ready for the show
our painted lips recall
old love and new—
your jealousy all in the way
you forget his name
you tell me you’ve found
the name for our love;
hyohakusha,
one who moves
without direction
forcing words to flow
wringing you dry of love . . .
Life, teach me patience!
always, I am roughest
with what I need the most
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
15
Kristyn Blessing
Cliff Cemetery
miners
one hundred years distant
no life now
beneath these stones
the used book
pulled from the shelf
releases the four leaf clover
once pressed
between the pages
Hollywood
the hills catch fire
tourists wear sunglasses
and place their shoes
in the footprints
of the dead
From the Train Window
Abandoned electric poles
dangle cut wires, lift
teal and white bulbs
rot, leach creosote
into the Mississippi silt
16
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Shawn Bowman
The smashed
heads of yellow
violets peek out from
beneath spring snow, letting me know
they tried.
part of her is gone,
I pray for chance meetings
that I dream of
to cease
or take on another form
A sound
comes from behind
me like a vehicle,
giving off a sense of how long
the road.
you watched me
hit you,
it was a dream—
it wasn’t
physical
running
the snow blower
before it’s time to leave...
just a step from making a mark
on earth
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
17
Shawn Bowman
Eve,
imagine it,
eating
the now healthy fruit
but remembering
A small
leaf’s impression
in concrete. I will wait
a season before laying down
my path.
Mama, don’t cry
look at the snow in the trees
the old limbs
again being given
something to hold
18
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Marjorie Buettner
in my dream
you were so close to me
that I could touch you
this place where the dead live
do they dream us living, too?
naming this hour mine
morning darkness unflowers
as I lose my way
and these bits and pieces of self
that do not fit anymore
I let my body
lead me to a sleep
I cannot understand
this purl-drop of a morning
and I have nothing to hide
traveling down
the long, moonlit path
I suddenly see
but cannot believe my end
could be so pleasureless
this race that I feel
against time and atrophy
soon, too soon,
all of it will fade away
and what is left then—birdsong
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
19
Marjorie Buettner
yellow cusped moon
offering itself up
this almost spring night
when one thousand years have passed
will it matter if we loved
20
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Owen Bullock
once again
I watch you
swim across the tide —
the sleekest salmon
in the city
my heart
irregular
about to burst . . .
red of the
rhododendron
after a day
of resolve
the Bible
and a book of astrology
side by side
getting ready
to travel to the film
Premiere,
I pack a jar of muesli
clean the loo
thinking of
the last anniversary
with you
I send
regrets
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
21
Owen Bullock
my daughter
often tells me
about the guy
with gumboots and a milk bottle
who wanders around town
beloved music
pulls at a heartstring,
I watch it play
will I never be
with a woman again?
great hopes dashed
another man dies
whether
President or foot soldier
tomorrow collapses into today
there’s been an armed robbery
at the dairy where I buy
milk —
I should cut down
but I know I won’t
my youngest daughter
makes pikelets
listening to
Creedence Clearwater Revival . . .
heaven expands
22
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Owen Bullock
in so many of the photos
my son offers some little
object to the camera
smiling laughing dancing
—that’s all
five years on
I dream about you
& my day
is disarranged —
we were only having a hug
tentatively
across the street
a young man
in cap & hoodie,
as the rain pauses
I know
you’re the woman for me
when I give you flowers
you keep them in a vase
until they’re totally dead
these clouds
silver again
when I thought
all the silver
had gone for good
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
23
Owen Bullock
she said
the more you love, the more
it comes back to you —
she wants my heart
but no commitment
as I’m wondering
how to cope with her
another beautiful woman
walks
in
grateful
for your book
thinking
I’m there somewhere
between the lines
I’m sad
to drive away from you
when I get home
I’ve become
a wall
today
I felt like
those two men
in Brokeback Mountain
I may never be closer to you
24
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Owen Bullock
a gentle rain falls
on my newly-planted
garden
emotions are
confused and unsettled
I am
like a slave to love
if another woman
tells me she loves me
my little Celtic heart will break
coming back
full circle
to the first
e-lover
I ever had
another
old flame lit —
what will she bring
to my world of dreams
this Virgo with the Tarot deck?
past the river
the mountain comes out
from the clouds —
this longing
that’s in my heart
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
25
Owen Bullock
overwhelmed
by the beauty of
so many women
finally I see
the men are beautiful too
26
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Owen Bullock
memories & dreams
no, what I’m
already wearing today
is what I’ll wear
to visit that piece of land
of which we dream
I think of Wales
the triple rainbow
over Ponterwyd
our friend labouring
in the chilled garden
I’m reading tanka
and you tell me
about the man
who built the sheep pen
before he had any sheep
I think of England
bacon & egg butties
blue pin-stripes
—it seems close
the waters calm
that night I was
on American Idol
waiting for results
I thought it would end
but it never ended
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
27
Owen Bullock
newsclipping songs
dawn —
a jet sprays
over Auckland
I wake from a dream
and can’t sleep again
thumbs up
from the Mac clown
his eyebrows
thinner than the chips
which spark my hunger
rock chick
on the bass . . .
if only I’d met her
in the guitar shop
where I lingered
Auckland is long
but the clouds are longer —
it isn’t just me
who sits watching
the space between
I stood beside the Prince
as he spoke to the guy dressed
as a biker —
outside it’s sultry
people move towards the shade
____________________
28
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Şerban Codrin
I and the cart
wander at a walk
the ground black way—
two butterflies follow
us without any pay
a fist of grass
under the head and as a cover
a sky of stars—
the reward of the ploughman
after a day of slavery
empty window
at the edge of a
provincial town—
the wavy white of
the clouds hardly fills it
the wind scatters
all the dandelions
over the steppe region—
as it is written in
every people’s book
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
29
Charlotte Digregorio
on the prairie,
end of a balmy day
in mid-winter . . .
sunset’s blue and pink
beckon springtime
rising at dawn
i look in the mirror
recognizing
that tomorrow
i may be dust
on christmas day,
i escape for a moment
of quiet, peace and solace,
seeking refuge in the close
of my basement
from this day forward
can i live one moment
at a time,
or even
without a watch?
on our evening stroll
he tells me i march to the beat
of a different drummer,
unaware i don’t
hear a drumbeat
30
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Charlotte Digregorio
after her long illness
she takes her first steps
into sunlight,
telling me god is good . . .
god is god
i clear snow
from the mailbox, finding
a white rejection slip . . .
did the editor
bury my poem?
in twilight, walking home
on the winding road
with eyes downcast,
i breathe in
frigid air
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
31
Jeanne Emrich
The Day They Brought the Ice Man Down
tell me, friends
what shall we do now
the polar caps are melting—
what stories shall we tell
as we swim?
I don’t mind
if my bones grow brittle
from walking glaciers—
such luminous blue!
the sky turned inside out
how long it’s been
since the night we heard
ice crackling with stars--
Ursa Major snapped
right out of his drowse
at last they brought
the ice man down
from the Ötztal Alps—
that only proved death
wants a little company
no one knows
if the last Patagonian giant
died of loneliness—
in his winter cave
his tears turned to ice
32
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Jeanne Emrich
it was the throw
of Thor’s hammer that
started glaciers down
mountains on the other side
of the world
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
33
Amelia Fielden
Grandma’s Song
“I waited
and waited for you to come,
Grandma”,
says the mildest child,
her truth squeezing my heart
August pool :
catch a leaping child
hold him briefly
watch him swim away
into this new world
grandaughter reclined
on the grass against my knees,
both of us
spooning berry ice cream
delight upon delight
one tight bud
on our camellia bush
tiny, but
already asserting
its crimsonness
his carp mouth
opens and closes
opens closes
until finally
it pouts “I’m full”
34
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Amelia Fielden
“watch me,
look at this, Grandma!”
no other
imperative voices
would I obey
and now I sing
to our fourth generation
Grandma’s song
‘you are my sunshine,
my only sunshine...’
my grandmother
used to rub her knees
just so —
crouching, I admire
the mauve autumn crocus
trudging uphill
to fetch my grandaughter
from kindergarten,
I think of Coogee’s steepness
sixty years ago
summer’s end
in the rose garden
my chosen bloom
the colour and scent
of lemon sherbert
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
35
Amelia Fielden
glitter glue
from grandaughter’s poster
stuck to my thumb...
carefully washing round it
I prepare to fly home
‘extended family’
in this twenty-first century
transitory
like e-mailed photographs
and airline tickets
____________________
36
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Deborah Finkelstein
The Long Dress
The long dress hides her
elbows and ankles. She walks
to synagogue in
scorching heat. In central air,
I watch cartoons on TV
winter shack,
empty freezer—
from the pond,
heron catches
giant fish
dinner party
the purple blouse
I gave to Goodwill
looks smashing on her,
I want it back.
sprinkle of aspens
turning golden from the fall recipe,
we stare at them
before they are brown and crisp,
no one likes overcooked leaves
my car slides
across unexpected ice
into my house,
the only witness
a quickly melting snowman
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
37
Linda Galloway
Moons
the Seventh Moon
joins swimming stars
in river waters —
that feeling
it is time to leave
Wild Fire Moon —
the terrified cries
of field mice
as I towel off
my long wet hair
the girl
with the red jacket
isn’t counting
sea gulls tonight —
Turning Moon
Frost Moon —
is that a train
down by the river
or the straining
of a distant wind
Long Nights Moon —
for the first time
I see
glimmers of winter
enter my husband’s face
____________________
38
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Victor P. Gendrano
I have witnessed
the dawn of a new era
when people of all races
and creeds can dare to dream
in color blind America
a sliver of light
slices through
the icy landscape
beneath the snow
a dormant seed awaits
two fences separate
the haves and the have-nots
north and south of border
the fractured family
clings to their dreams
the widower explains
to his visiting son
why he chopped their shade tree
twice there, he drawls
I tried to hang myself
widower’s first date
her aggressiveness
unsettles his driving
oh how he wishes
he’s ten years younger
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
39
Victor P. Gendrano
sitting alone
in his wheelchair
the veteran gazes
at the last bird
flying to sunset
two deaths
in a long week
a tacit reminder
we’re mere sojourners
here on earth
barbecue scent mingles
with children’s laughter
inside their fence
upside, two homeless kids
share a burnt burger
spring advent
pear blossoms sway
in the wind
the echoes
of our love song
40
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Sanford Goldstein
Japanese Soaps—A Perilous Tanka Sequence
my brother
for lengthy years and years
watched his tv soaps—
I warned him to read,
to mend his couch-potato mind
now in his grave
these past three months
my brother—
I cannot recite those fears
about his Soap Opera craze
Marvell said
the grave’s fine,
a private place—
no soaps, dear brother,
no sliding tears on life
to joke
so soon, much too soon,
after your death,
forgive me, precious brother,
soap-less in the after-world
in my fifty years
of connection to difficult
Japan,
not once did I see a soap,
not once did I think soaps existed
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
41
Sanford Goldstein
my friend,
whose patron I have been
these ten years,
never speaks Japanese
to this frustrated me
as if on the wing
of a half-blind satori,
he suggests soaps--
soaps? and I think
of my buried brother
when just a kid,
sick at home in bed,
I sat knitting,
over the loud radio,
it was Stella Dallas I heard
her sad life,
her melodramatic
escapes
I listened to and tears fell
without my dropping a stitch
not for a gift
of a sweater or
a scarf,
it was the continuity
of stitch after stitch I wanted
42
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Sanford Goldstein
and soaps,
I now feel, must be
a continuity-click
through thick
and thin escapades
was Stella where
my tanka technique of
spilled poems
came from? from that boyish task
of slender needles through yarn?
nowadays
it seems strange, weird,
that I cannot wait—
I curse the curtness of those
fifteen-minute interludes
and still
the same piece of soap three times
daily, six days each week,
the morning episode repeated
afternoons and early evenings
those female twins
separated at birth, the father
taking one, the divorced
mother the babe that cried more—
eighteen now, their pasts unknown
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
43
Sanford Goldstein
I have come
to love them both,
those sisters,
one who wants to be a singer,
one on the road to geisha-hood
soaps, I mused, dwell on
life’s unbelievable twists, turns,
the twins meeting by chance
thanks to a hair decoration
dropped by the geisha novice
the same lullabye
their mother sang to them
in their early years
remembered by both
and sung before a crowd
the handsome hero
must appear, of course,
slender, dark of hair,
a record-company agent
in search of fine singers
plots get entangled
and the would-be geisha suffers,
yearning for the life
the other sister leads,
so free, so unconfined
44
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Sanford Goldstein
I wait
for adolescent-made miracles
while plots thicken
with father-son conflicts,
confused mothers
how the dance
of “Black Hair” eludes
the geisha-learner,
Zen immersion a thick line
on the head of a pin
the singer-sister
forced by her father
not to perform,
off she goes to college,
her major tellingly home-care
of course
the college had to be
in blessed Kyoto,
of course she had to board
in her real “mother’s” home
thick
the multiple complexities
of Japanese culture—
oh, struggling Sanford, two
dialects impede your hearing
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
45
Sanford Goldstein
thank you,
in the singer’s town
is “dan-dan,”
thank you “ō -ki-ni” in Kyoto—
these remain in my storage bin!
a cell-phone
world helps keep
contacts,
I yearn for all words to pour
into the porches of my ears
I wonder,
missing brother, gone at 86,
if this small portion
would stir your interest
or put you to sleep on your couch
I have yet
to dream of
either girl,
and still had I a magic wand
I would create a joyous quartet
told
all Japanese soaps
last one year,
I have an eternity to watch
these next ten months
46
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Sanford Goldstein
who knows?
perhaps my fifty-year
struggle with Japanese
may lessen while I follow
the destined end of intersections
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
47
Margaret L. Grace
The Dragonfly
the red dragonfly
comes to this pond
each day
alights an iris sword
surveys a green world
a flash of red
under cellophane wings
neon bright—once I
stood above green ravines
in my red gortex shell
where
is the red dragonfly
I’ve come to expect . . .
this morning I linger
by that green, green pond
the dragonfly
has not come . . . this day
now deepens
I catch Buddha’s stony eye
another lesson not learnt
brown water
reflects my face in ripples
who am I?
a stony mullet plops
a golden marsh frog laughs
48
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Margaret L. Grace
a kestrel hovers . . .
the edge of this ocean
defines our world
both of us
living on the fringe
scorching sun
no end to the withering
of withered flowers
*
raging flames reduce place
to a blackened wasteland
*T S Eliot Four Quartets
les trois sauvages
in a red lit sky
fire storms the ridge
sweeps down the gully
splintering glass
shattering dreams
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
49
Annie Gustin
so many branches
outspread across the surface
of the rising moon...
forest, move all your fingers
and let me bathe in her light
jasmine lau’s tattoo
begins at her shoulder blade
uncoils near the nape
running the length of her arm
i fall from her fingertips
through the pebbled glass
i see you but don’t see you
body fragmented
amidst warm strands of water
steam fogging all windowpanes
suddenly a kiss
between fingers and petals
unfolding fragrance
leaves poetry twirling us
lost in a drizzle of dreams
50
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Annie Gustin
Hiroshima and Nagasaki Tanka
one hundred typhoons
grappling trees, shearing off leaves
snapping trunks like twigs—
a horror of hurricanes
winds on fire... the breath of hell.
run to the river!
piercing gray mist, arms cradled
red-hot heart beating—
run to the river! sink, soak...
black ink falling from the sky.
branded by blossoms
a dozen long-stemmed keloids
strewn across my breast
heart beating beneath my blouse
amidst a bouquet of scars
woke up bone-weary
in those years that followed, oh,
spirit rock-heavy
sleep curled on my windowsill
in these years that follow, oh...
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
51
Michele L. Harvey
greenish hue
of a cyclone sky
strung along
the barbed wire fence
hairs of the mare’s tail twitch
antique glass
the bubbles and waves
imperfections
to my youthful eye
now perfect in my age
at the party
I try to tell him gently
I’m married...
in a crumpled napkin
the sharp tails of shrimp
afraid
to tell anyone...
our witness
the man who said , “I do”
just after us
brother, the banker
when we’d play monopoly
hard rules
of this knockabout life
more was lost than play money
52
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Michele L. Harvey
she said
it wasn’t luck...
so often
I’ve wished on stars
that fell to earth
a bluebird
has stopped at the basin
newly filled
he decides to take a little spritz
and wash with a cloud or two
an outcast
she learned how to dance
after work
she’d comb the night from her hair
and wear Paris on her sleeve
a thrush
taken by a predator...
in life
the wings that carry us
are all that’s left behind
only son
of holocaust survivors...
his wife whispers
the plan for their new house
needs more exits
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
53
Michele L. Harvey
he talks
about his family
and mine,
could’ve, would’ve, should’ve...
the odd perfection of clouds
occasional
the momentary connection
between minds...
how the light of lightning
can rearrange a room
the cap off
the toothpaste tube...
your smile
shining amidst other things
you do for me
she found
his wallet in the sofa
after the divorce
still empty
of family photos
the beauty
of these crossed threads...
the result
of past generations’
choices of the heart
54
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Michele L. Harvey
reading
her words
a century
a half world away
these same dreams
friends
on equal footing
in school...
on these bright autumn days
apples in the sun ripen first
the first parks
the lakes and winding ways
of graveyards
we drive through to find a spot
perfect for a picnic
they always come
unbidden thoughts
dust motes
sifting from somewhere else
I wave away with my hand
I fold myself
into its roots and sit
where it once stood
a fallen giant
that once swung upon the wind
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
55
Michele L. Harvey
watching rivulets
fall into step, down the hill
not lonely
now that I finally see
each flows into the other
a cabin stands
where a college boy built it
of beeches
chinked with mud and moss
and starlight thatched with dreams
a living coal
breathes in the half light
winter dusk
a charcoal sketch
of a long-forgotten love
I try to tell him
of the wideness of the world
at age five...
in his hands, he creates
another castle with its moat
56
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
C W Hawes
abstract words
describing abstract feelings
in abstract lives
the surf tumbles to the shore
in million year old waves
the pencil lead
is broken and remains broken
even when sharpened again
the hidden
the broken
the clouds rise dark
a long black wall towering
all along the east
there are the crows, big and fat —
and one sits upon my soul
this conversation
I’ve been carrying on
with all my friends
suddenly I notice
none of them have ears
so beautiful is
the slim biobodysuit
with alluring eyes
a sewage channel the mouth
with the pretty capped teeth
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
57
C W Hawes
the clock ticks away
all of the many minutes
to nowhere special
I listen to all the nows
disappearing forever
what can be done
out of work and no job prospects
time is running out
the noon eviction today
the car to be repossessed
before me
is a sheet of paper blank
my pen is poised
but my mind is empty
of the words I need to say
these trees dark green
and so tall they touch the sky
soft and moist the earth
leaves bright green I have for hair
and vines curl forth from my mouth
your hand touches mine
and I am there in that room
in the afternoon
holding hands, just holding hands
there are no words, none at all
58
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
C W Hawes
the Piper Cub’s roar
above the apartment building
this Sunday morning
the grinding of the washer
you singing and ironing
just you and me here
this lazy Sunday morning
puttering around
in a world become vibrantly
and excitedly green
in the distance
I hear a humming sound
I cannot place
within me the feeling
of these warm harmonics
the crabapple petals
gone so quickly from the branches
to adorn the ground
the whiteness of this stone
engraved with their dates
the barn swallows
escorting the crow past
my balcony
looking out over the pond
and the path through the woods
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
59
C W Hawes
the lake is placid
not even a puff of wind
ripples the aspen
I sit for awhile and wait
toss a rock, make my own waves
in my hand
a mechanical pencil
seventy-plus years old
each and every scar carries
a tale waiting to be told
Are we always plagued
by ghosts in this life of ours
which is itself a dream?
Recurring thoughts and dreams
of Grandmother dying alone.
seashells in a bowl
a thousand miles from the seashore
adorn my table
every now and then I think
a yacht instead of a house
looking at her paintings
she sees the world in orange
fruits and veggies
the woman in navy dress
and the orange umbrella
60
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
C W Hawes
dark shapes move swiftly
through a pristinely white world
pixels of the mind
and each morning there are lines
with spots of ink on paper
the sadness lurking
in the corners of her eyes
sitting all alone
thumbing through the catalog
fidgeting with the wedding ring
her many sketchbooks
filled with drawings and paintings
of tall graceful palms
clinging to memories
those days when she was happy
sitting together
on the couch watching a movie
eating popcorn
it arrived while we weren’t looking
this thing folks call old age
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
61
C W Hawes
The Persistence of Existence
a scribbler scribbles
on reams of snow-white paper
little marks of black
ashes floating amongst all
the shattered burned-out ruins
cherry red
the plastic landscape
green the clouds
poison gas drifting
from his open mouth
bright silver
mechanical men
treading dry skulls
the hairy biped
wields his crude club
rain wind-whipped
against steel buildings
landscaped trees
fused glass meets the eye
nary a cockroach
the surging
sea so relentless
in surging
letters and numbers
life streaming into space
____________________
62
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
C W Hawes
Two Pictures
those fish swimming
in and out amongst the trees
those eyes in the distance
this world is not what it seems
this world all in my head
the jester sits
on a short pillar tossing
the ball from hand to hand
a performer for hire
always a performer for hire
____________________
Passed
What is left to me now you have passed on? The days are empty of your
smile. My hand is empty of your hand. These lips are left hungry,
lacking the touch of yours. The hours run headlong into each other, void
of your presence. I cling to the fading scent lingering on your clothes.
crickets and cicadas
fill the night with their chanting
have you returned
or is this the moonflower’s scent
wafted to me on the wind
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
63
C W Hawes
Basics
For today, the computer has won. Five times the program froze up and
five times I took it down and re-booted. With the sixth freeze-up, I gave
up. Better luck tomorrow. Most of the world probably doesn’t have this
problem. Their problems are more basic. Who in Darfur is concerned
about his computer crashing? Who even has one? The same could be
said about villagers clearing Congo rain forest to grow food or prostitutes
in any slum around the world or the rug salesman in Peshawar.
the rototiller
breaking up the garden plot
on an April day
focusing on the basics
earth and the growing of food
____________________
To Survive
A bitterly cold morning. The temperature is three degrees below zero.
Even though I’m bundled up, the chill has penetrated in short order my
slacks and long underwear. Gloved fingertips burn and I anxiously crane
my neck looking for a glimpse of the bus through the trees.
the need to survive
all the things we have endured
to keep on breathing
generations before us
generations after us
____________________
64
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
C W Hawes
Safe
Streams of light flashing around the globe. Giant dishes collecting
invisible digital particles. All funneled to a dark room somewhere filled
with your neighbors listening to what you are saying and dreaming.
out taking a stroll
we pick the linden blossoms
on this day in May
they say we’re safe and secure
but I wonder from whom
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
65
Elizabeth Howard
to soothe grief
her mother’s home and gardens
on the auction block
she crochets gold chrysanthemums
into the afghan
awakened
coyotes howling
I cover my head
like granddaughter
to keep the animals away
coyotes howling
near the barn
I dream of wolves
the sled they ravaged
an old woman screaming
wild geese fly
across the red sun
unlike the celestial
music of the spheres
this music sings to me
in a sacred place
Maoris buried a naval string
planted a sapling
I bury his frail cord
in the orchard I name Eden
66
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Elizabeth Howard
hide-and-seek
the handicapped child
cannot play, they say
hours later, they find him
nesting in the bushes
on a winding road
in a dark forest
the headlights go out
why do I keep dreaming
this cliff edge ?
the dawn sun
through icy branches
doldrums lifting
I don the shirt
with crocuses and blue birds
her in surgery
the family talks of pottery
shaping and glazing
their eyes dazed
ears tuned to the call
in the eastern window
this sunny morning
a spider’s reverie
woven into feathers
of the dream-catcher
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
67
Elizabeth Howard
eighty years of mornings
grandmother took down her hair
brushed it one hundred strokes
braided it in long ropes
pinned them about her head
this crisp morning
a rabble of crows
in the red trees—
to think we chose this land
for peace and quiet
68
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Roger Jones
my passport
expired
I can only view
the land of poetry
from across the border
autumn trees
shaken up
by wind;
leaves fly down the lane
past smoking chimneys
prying loose
a fried egg
from the pan;
black coffee, and sunrise
through a kitchen window
mother-of-pearl
May evening sky:
rumble of thunder ;
a passing truck
kicks up dust
abruptly tonight
my deceased grandfather
reaches
across sixty years
and taps me on the shoulder
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
69
Roger Jones
we do not ascribe
a name
to a single leaf
though like us
they let go one by one
cold gray day
and winter gloom —
I’ll sleep in today
head jammed
between pillows
what I miss
and perhaps can never have
again —
the deep inward sense
of level earth
in the grass field
look closely —
the place where
last night
stars fell
70
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
S. Karlan
Over the tree tops
The crane flies at summer’s end.
Near the quiet lake,
A flute in late afternoon—
Its plaintive sound rises up.
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
71
M. Kei
“woven tanka”
two new graves
they lay him to rest
cut in the winter turf;
next to his grandmother
my sister buries
the thinnest scythe
her mother
of moon
and her son
sinks into the trees
‘two new graves’ previously published in
Sketchbook : A Journal for Eastern and Western
Forms
, 3:5. May 2008. <http://poetrywriting.org/
‘they lay him to rest’ previously published in
Sketchbook : A Journal for Eastern and Western
Forms
, 3:5. May 2008. <http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook3-5May08/Sketchbook
_3-5_May_2008_M_Kei_Tanka.htm>
_______
these widowed lands
a welcome sight
where once
Concord Point Lighthouse
my Native ancestors
on a moonless night
dwelled
the sailboat slips at last
in freedom
into her home harbor
72
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
M. Kei
‘these widowed lands’ previously published in
Heron Sea, Short Poems of the Chesapeake Bay
,
2007.
‘a welcome sight’ previously published in
Sketchbook : A Journal for Eastern and Western
Short Forms
, 3:9. September, 2008. <http://poetrywriting.org/Sketchbook0-0Home/
Archives_Sketchbook_A_Journal_for_Eastern_and_Western_Short_Forms.htm>
_______
dry laid
stopped at the light
stone foundations
a truck full of turkeys
amid these ruins
just like the rest of us
I find
they have no idea
traces of my ancestors
where they are going
‘dry laid.’
Ribbons : Journal of the Tanka Society of America
, 3:2. Crescent, OR: Tanka Society
of America, Summer 2007.
‘stopped at the light’ previously appeared in “11 Good Kyoka,”
Modern English Tanka
,
1:2, Fall, 2006.
_______
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
73
Deborah Keith
Meeting an Old Friend for Coffee
he contradicts her
in an Australian accent
she picks threads
from the hem of frayed jeans
her thin laugh cutting the room
you again
tell me almost-sex stories
all the women
you had in the 70’s
I shift in my seat
too much coffee
the cold water goes down
like blue sky
I wish I were alone
writing tanka in the sun
____________________
74
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Deborah Keith
I leave him
with only the green trunk
opening the lid
scraps of poems and dreams
drift upward like dense fog
twenty-one homes
I’ve filled with breath-songs
stories layered
like flint cliffs
in autumn’s bright sunlight
overhead
black squirrels scratch
my words
jump all over the page
so hard to share a home
just this
tall fields of Queen Ann’s lace
blue bachelor buttons
holding hands as we walk
our boots gray with summer dust
for miles
every tree and shrub
ice covered
as I return from pain’s grasp
you say you miss my touch
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
75
Deborah Keith
perfume
in the crook of her elbow
draws him in
how long ago I used
an elbow to send him out
every bowl
in my kitchen cupboard
a song
made of earth notes
cradling one—I listen
I wake up
singing these short songs
five lines down
into my steaming mug
sunrise melts into blue snow
dreams of meeting
after reading her tanka
we’ll drink tea
grow butterfly wings, laughing
at our strands of gray hair
to be alone
is not the same texture
as the cave
of longing for all that leaves—
it whispers on skin like silk
76
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Deborah Keith
confused
such great desire
to learn
I am again a little girl
surrounded by books, smiling
empty cushion
convincing myself
this one morning
kitchen prayers work as well
as crossed legs and counting breaths
these are things
I want to know someday—
tea drunk
so slowly my heart will break
ink brush strokes grazing my back
staying
present to my sadness
is the way
I hold you in my arms
when you are miles away
the eight of us
balance full plates on our laps
thankful
the cat walks across the deck
carrying her mouse
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
77
Deborah Keith
slicing apples
into the earthenware pot
while you
grapple with rock slopes elsewhere—
seeds often hide in the core
78
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Larry Kimmel
clearing out
my old bedroom
the familiar feel of the wooden flute
in my hand, but the skill . . .
gone with the wind
from the workshop window
how bright the sunlight seen
through tattered trees
his tools
the way he left them
no one left
to tell again the family stories,
the farm stories,
and how the great poet came to sit
in the chair I sit in now
creative minds
both of us, but we
didn’t know it then —
just two kids picking off clothespin soldiers
with a BB gun
the moon through fog,
a thumb smudge on the night —
again I hear
the creek’s rustle beside
the small, brown church
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
79
Larry Kimmel
hammer and stone,
digging the meat out
of the hickory nut —
in a light breeze blue asters stir
where the lawn gives way to weeds
80
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Joseph V. Kleponis
oh you morning sun
rising so aggressively
what am I to think
of the darkness that you erase
and the truths that you reveal
the house is silent
through the skylight pale moonbeams
descend to the floor
washing cold ceramic tile
with shadows of this night’s lies
will remembering
put salve on those ancient wounds
lead to redemption
or lighten the heavy heart
from the pain of long gone springs?
wind sweeps away leaves
sun melts snow in cold rivers
a face in a crowd
may blossom in a smile—
must flowers always fade?
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
81
Angela Leuck
living in the house
that was built where roses
used to grow,
my best friend
from childhood
childless couple—
always the big
box of toys
just waiting
at the door
sweeping the floor
of my playhouse
so diligently—
somehow I always thought
I’d make a better wife
so small
it almost seemed
a doll’s house
the place where I met
my first lover
after reading Aladdin
to my son
I dream
of buying forty
antique carpets
82
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Angela Leuck
our houseguest
casually informs us
she didn’t sleep well
because of
the ghost
looking for something
to fit in
the odd little niche
in the hallway
we find a burial urn
every morning
on my way to work
among strangers
I begin to recognize
the faces of the homeless
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
83
Chen-ou Liu
my heart
is chained to my homeland
an ocean away —
memories are eroded
by time’s passing tides
I dream
in Chinese, my father’s dream —
I awake
Chen-ou becomes Eric
son of Canada
I listen
to my muted heart —
every cell
pulses, cries aloud
yet you hear nothing
distressed
in the wake of a dream
I hear
time passing
in the sound of snow
not seeing
we pass by each other
then disappear —
snow traces the weight
of each burden
84
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Chen-ou Liu
moths and street lights
long for each other —
people awake
work, eat, and sleep
as always
winter night
a remnant moon —
raising my cup
shadow and I
drink to each other
blasts of snow
slap my face
for pent-up lust
shivering
I return to myself
eyeglasses fog up
as I enter the house—
in the freeze
I have shoveled away
the dreams of my youth
New Year’s embers
have fallen
into stillness —
a crying cat
pierces the night
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
85
Chen-ou Liu
awaking
from a dream
my eyes meet
a remnant moon
I frown at spring’s aging
during the day
I can’t catch you
in the night
you evade my dream
day and night, I ponder you
pounding snow squall
as the mailbox is opened
inside
anxious hands hold
an unopened letter
peel away
one shovel width of snow
at a time —
one, two, three...
eyeglasses fog up
all ears
attuned to your words —
like ripples
chase the caress
of spring breeze
86
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Chen-ou Liu
live and sleep
with you
aging over time —
yet the same woman
i married 17 years ago
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
87
Bob Lucky
mismatched socks
tea stains down my shirt
even lost at solitaire—
if I were a gambling man
today’s the day I’d quit
medicinal stench,
my wife brews Chinese herbs
in the kitchen—
hoping my sinuses
stay clogged a bit longer
zen this
then that
cheap trick
suddenly to realize
you’re not alone
I can’t
put my finger on it—
but you, my friend
you know I know
whatever it is
at a crossroads
in Ho Chi Minh City
I gain insight
into all those chickens
who did not cross the street
88
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Bob Lucky
hobbling to the stove
I fry myself two eggs
over easy—
the way I don’t want help
when I’m in pain
not hungry
until I smell the bacon,
not thirsty
until I taste the wine,
not much at all until . . .
fireworks
like a rumble of thunder
begin the new year—
it’s so hard not to look back,
not to want to turn to stone
another cold night
motionless in a hard bed
waiting
in a puddle of darkness
for sleep to come slake its thirst
scattered,
spread too thin—
is this practice
for becoming?
ashes in the wind
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
89
Bob Lucky
when I think
of this rock we ride . . .
a miracle
like this
needs no god
I miss my stop—
as the bus pulls away
I still can’t decide
if my left foot is smaller
or my right foot is larger
her voice
in my dream
quietly
asking
the way out
I try to think
of nothing, to clear my mind
for ten minutes
the only thought I have is
to clear my mind of nothing
cold, dirty
rest stop toilet—
one mosquito
manages an appetite
for me
90
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Bob Lucky
I can hear my wife
singing in the shower
for a minute
I think of joining her
but get lost in thought
everywhere I go
hanging over me
not one cloud
but two or three
like a vengeful posse
despite
the pain in my groin
I don’t see a doctor—
I will not die
of embarrassment
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
91
Terra Martin
The Colony
He only says, “ Good fences make good neighbours.”
– Robert Frost
The beige brick wall is six feet and has a single entrance, an electronic
gate and 24 hours security guards to keep outsiders at bay. The landscape
lush with tropical flowers, the hedge and trees meticulously manicured,
the street is swept twice daily and debris quietly removed.
crimson feathers
of the indonesian parrot
highlight
the skeleton-like wires
of the swaying cage
enigmatic smile
guarded by laser beams
gold velvet ropes
a haven for his
muse
nestled
in the black limo
legs crossed
her loneliness cushioned
by plush leather
____________________
92
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Terra Martin
East Molokai
grey ragged
rocks like an irregular scar
the open wound
as you calmly confess
your condition
coastal road
navigating twisted turns
the moment stretched
past a frayed
horizon
backing
into a cold wave
my tears
concealed by a whirl
of sand and salt
scented shrine
left by the ancients
an offering
the flame hibiscus
longing, longing
exploring
till the road ends
the open field
sunset...
your face illuminated
____________________
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
93
Terra Martin
waiting
for the big dipper
I tap the melody
twinkle twinkle little...
with the soup ladle
supposedly
she has left him
yet the smell of lilacs
brings him to
tears
amused
by the twinkling pirouette
of the shallow brook
showing off her
bare bottom
scattered
across the bed
rose petals
refusing to meet my
gaze the family dog.
dreaming
of your pocket watch
I move the hands
counter-clockwise
to our first kiss
94
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Terra Martin
indigo dusk
descends like
a curtain drawn
across the window
of the night
planted
in a single line
those geraniums
expect me
to salute them
thumbing through
a gourmet recipe
I dine like a queen
without turning
the stove on
slivers
of rainbow
shatter
in the falling
raindrop
was it
the apple blossoms
I felt
or the lingering memory
of your caress
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
95
Terra Martin
believing
pigs could fly
my niece tosses
her ceramic bank
into the air
meet me
in Santa Fe
where adobe walls
shade our turquoise
colored dream
spring fling
against the wall
the long stemmed daffodil
caresses the
quivering violet
pooled
in the hallway
the yellow sunlight
I want to soak up
and squeeze into a vase
words
as if wind blown poplar leaves
rustling, rustling
along the current
of my mind
96
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Francis Masat
end of the school year
shredding evaluations
dumping them all
in my tomato patch
so I’ll win another prize
a Key West bar owner
recycles every night
he rinses all the plastic cups
and refill all the bottles
with left over beer
holding a turtle’s shell
a burnished lamp
a rattle
a curio
or let it lie?
Mt. Trash-more landfill
finally sells
all they had to do
was plant some grass and palm trees
and call it Paradise Peak
Prairie Warbler
a year-round resident
in Key West
the Northern Snow Bird
only comes in winter
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
97
Francis Masat
looking for dry ground
anything
that crawls
exhausted from mopping
we leave by kayak
a sagging gray roof
Grandmother’s birthday party
at the ol’ homestead
a dog alternates
between it and a tree
dawn
the call of doves
between temple gongs
a fly is carried away
by ants
on a soft breeze
white camellia blossoms spill
their fragrance
becomes
a memory
summer’s wind
tree shadows dance
with mine
but I wish
there were others
98
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Francis Masat
in a sunlit meadow
hazy with humidity
a leaf of grass
bows down
under a praying mantis
dinner at the folks
father began complaining
about the price of gas
not a word from good ol’ Mom
as she hands him the baked beans
raindrops cling
to a spider web
on my favorite flowerpot
a butterfly
grasps its shadow
old castle courtyard
every day
children argue and fight
over who gets to be
king
water bubbles
beneath the ice
sliding, swirling, burbling
mysterious in its resolve
to be free
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
99
Francis Masat
a turtle
silent and still
hot in the sun
blinks a black shiny eye
inscrutable ancient
birds
huddled
on a leafless branch.
Do they embrace the seasons
as much as we?
research lab
looking for a bio fuel
they think of prune juice
but they decide to move on
because of the emissions
Key West’s Dog Beach
I ask some sunburned tourists
why no one’s watching
the two dogs that are swimming
with their topless mistress?
hidden beach
starlight on the curves
of two gorgeous thighs
sticking straight into the air
from my bucket of chicken
100
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Michael McClintock
clumps of hair,
a finger bone or two —
winter retreats
and the mighty mountain
tells the story with these
bad news
found me with friends
at the teahouse
a quarter-moon revealing
the road to the place
ah, sad squirrel,
that nut you bury
again and again
bring it to me
I will crack it for you
starting home, today,
my battered duffle packed
solid as that
mountain over there,
hard against the sky
in this heat
a paper fan
isn’t enough —
here, use my thin new
book of poems
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
101
Michael McClintock
off you go
sailing in a skiff
made of rushes;
I don’t expect to see you
before the summer ends
putting a chain
around her neck
“I’m ready”
says the girl, winking
one steely blue eye
“holy” isn’t
for whispering —
shout it
when you see it
then run for your life
102
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Jo McInerney
when you returned
I tried to find some remnant
of the early you...
like looking for myself
in your old love letters
rain drifting
through the darkness
a bar of light
somewhere from behind glass
someone surveys the scene
my lifeline
stretches out unbroken
across my palm...
the channels on my face
are closer to the truth
he smiles
and offers his hand
we forget
a handshake only proves
the knife is elsewhere
I walk
through the night
to his door...
a huge, yellow moon waits
as he does not answer
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
103
Jo McInerney
sometimes I wake
and wonder where I am
a stranger
lies asleep beside me
and this skin is not mine
a gull-ruffled sky
sharp cries on the wind
I lie like a piece
of flotsam waiting to be
reclaimed by ... anything
after disaster
our voices are lowered
our hands gentle
could we not be kind
without armageddon
friends now
no longer lovers
yet sometimes
late at night by the fire
in silence we remember
sweet fragrance
of leaves in steam
dark liquid
fills my cup as I
anticipate you
104
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Jo McInerney
starlight...
I put my pen away
too faint
to write by, too many
to catalogue
shadows
shifting on the forest floor
your hand
in the moving gloom
dry, soft, firm
all those years ago
when I smiled and said
I loved you
I was telling the truth
though neither of us knew
pebbles
in the palm of my hand
a past
so long, long gone
I’ll die tomorrow
I watch you
unaware of my gaze
our love
like little fish
wintering beneath the ice
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
105
Joseph McLaughlin
surrounded by books
I tend to read the same ones
over and over
it doesn’t seem to matter
and no one notices
grasshopper beside
me at the pool, both watching
blue water ripple
September—time to go
or stay? Ah! he is gone
at the nursing home
some band members began to
dance to the old music...
tied in chairs, the residents
smiled and released their spirits
beside the bonfire
I stood, innocent calf
until black tongue licked,
filled my head and lungs with smoke
was this Moses’ burning bush?
summer turned to
winter rain—there was no
autumn this year...
an angel left the tomb deserted
we found the stone rolled away
106
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Joseph McLaughlin
first snowflakes
of the season came
unannounced
where are the juncos
who draw winter’s gown?
“walkabout” and dream
let the ancestors visit
your red hair, brown skin
which is maori—who is white?
no one from the sacred mountain
sunny winter day
hides the darkness in me
we are all sinners
behind toothy white smiles,
looking over shoulders, waiting
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
107
Albert Melear
Today only
As the bride comes
Down the aisle
Formality burns
Idealism to ashes
When we walked in,
She gave us that look
I thought her face
Would shatter from
Either surprise or disgust
The five-seven-five
Style is outdated they say
Make your syllables
All messed up and out of place
Anything else is for posers
Thought police
Knock on my door
Burn my books
Confiscate my guns
Total slavery
108
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Vasile Moldovan
first bud
is bursting
suddenly;
the spring itself
there is behind its
swing of death—
two flies in love
jump together
in the unseen web
of a black spider
gracious light
filtering through the branches;
the first cherries
begin to ripen
under the moonbeams
a shooting star...
of course it went out
thousands years ago
but we can see its past fall
only in this transient moment
Jonas
searching for light
outside;
but here is he find it
in the depth of his own soul
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
109
Vasile Moldovan
a handful of ash
under the light of a candle—
my mother’s body;
I’m sensing her soul rising
slowly towards the heaven
110
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Mike Montreuil
my endless dreams
of falling from high —
you touch my shoulder
and kiss my cheek
having caught me
I walk past
the old school —
what ever happened
to the parents
I once talked to?
you ask how
cottonwoods can stop
banks from eroding —
we all have deep roots
to hold what we love
they try to lure me
with promise of sunshine
on a cold winter day —
why this need to travel
I am warm with you
August morning —
even the summer rains
cannot stop
the sugar maples
from changing colors
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
111
Mike Montreuil
he laughs at us
as he cycles by —
was our embrace
too funny
for his young age?
August evening —
if I were to say
I love you
would you leave me
alone with the moon
home from the market
I begin to wonder
how we will eat
all those veggies
and fresh fruit
we assemble
all along
the stone piers —
the setting sun
does not disappoint
two years have passed
we have finally noticed
the fruit on their tree —
who will say hello
for an apple or two
112
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Mike Montreuil
September heat —
how we thought
summer was over
with the start of
another school year
does it matter
that a transit bus
wakes me —
your steady breath
tells me to relax
downtown
a construction worker
tries to pick up
an office worker
on her lunch break
out of his truck
putting on boots
a man hopscotches
his way around the box —
Saturday morning
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
113
Aju Mukhopadhyay
golden clouds
drifting toward the sea
merge with the eternal blue,
impromptu;
souls absorbed in Tao.
Looks like a stretch of
silvery sand, Polar river
glistening in the Sun
gives them water;
flowing underground.
Silently
in the deep of the sky
a lone star throbs and dies;
a constellation at a distance
quietly moans
114
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Amy Nawrocki
sepia photo curls
from black triangle edges;
my mother, a sprite
brunette girl, smiles beneath
freckles I never knew she had
red scarf, black cap
pull me into the scope
of snow, blurred vision;
the sugar of flakes
fall from eyelashes blinking
lemon, honey, gin,
steaming water, clear glass,
spoon spinning the potion
into magic, warmth—remedy
for a blistery winter
on the table top
wood-carved tree tales flaunt
incisions, the slash
of blade, the raucous toil
of time’s deforestation
yolk, round sun,
unruly custard, oasis
within white meringue,
your haughty shine breaks
with the fork’s swift prick
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
115
Amy Nawrocki
blue fish squeals
silently in the ice bucket—
hook excised from mouth.
beneath the dizzying sun
a white tern hovers.
tasting notes of apple
in the dry Riesling, she lets
the glass take her shore side—
to the lake’s blue summer
to the vine’s tangled promise
watermelon,
prosciutto, heirloom
tomatoes: drizzle
the infusion of Naples
onto the canvas, add wine
Monet has ruined me:
outside print-smudged museum
windows, pools of pink
water lilies float in green.
I wait for them to blur plum.
116
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Amy Nawrocki
Linked tanka sequence:
When the first dew
of spring warms the early worm
out of hibernation
a covenant is rendered.
Young ferns, yellow with greenness,
nudge out from the deep,
snow-melted soil, poking through
centuries of death.
They leave comfort for hazards
of exposure, the burdens
of life. The new hope
coils slowly around the nub
of itself, the stalk
moves with incremental
sadness toward a timepiece
skies away. Soon
music forms at the edge
of delicate spirals,
music steeped in translation:
what loam says to darkness
in the cold moon hour,
how sunbeams brew the sacred
molecule to freshen
a poorly lit universe,
how the head of a fiddle
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
117
Amy Nawrocki
emerges out of
the clean violin of time,
strings tuned to the key
of true green assurance,
of repetition, the promise
of night music,
and the return of morning’s
trusted, distant chord.
____________________
118
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Peter Newton
taken by a leaf
adrift in the stream
how quickly I go along
flying on my red carpet
believing in everything
last week that tree was gold
today it’s scarlet
as if it can’t decide
what it wants to wear
or if it wants to go at all
my friend falls silent
before the flame of sumac
the exact color
of her long-dead mother’s house—
the sun returns what is yours
the birch says: welcome
the boulder says: be seated
gently the moss requests
the waterfall carries on
whispering of her travels
like a whale, cancer
surfaces and stares you down
eye to giant eye
you can see yourself gasp
at how small you have become
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
119
Peter Newton
it is what it is
my dad says turning the page
letting it all go
the monkey wrench in his chest
where his left lung used to be
a river of birdsong
flows over the neighborhood
a thousand starlings
migrating who knows where . . .
cells inside me do the same
little girl
under your ladybug umbrella
the world is yours
twirl away
I’ll sing what you’re singing
two neighbors now
foreclosed on and gone
soon their yards will be filled
with slumping snowmen
missing their children
outside the cave of winter
eaves drip
from crystal daggers
the sun is circling back
having seen my signal fire
120
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Peter Newton
the jades thrive
on what I have to offer
cold nights and neglect
I promise nothing
more or less
my father talks about loss—
it doesn’t hurt less
just less often
sometimes you think
you’re more holes than whole
echoing from an alcove
a group of crooners
lean in with their voices
communicating in song
as if there were no other way
one day it hits me—
everyone’s got a life
to do with what they will
I can’t help but stare
behold the passer-by
riding the subway
everyone’s wearing a wire
not to eavesdrop on me
or anyone else
or even themselves
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
121
Peter Newton
neither painter nor critic
my still life’s a dud
apples in sunlight
looks more like a bowl of hearts
each with its own fuse
in the freshly mowed meadow
crows stroll the aisles like shoppers
who forgot their lists
it’s the end-of-summer sale
on what the fox hasn’t gotten
back in the rainy country
every now and then
a break in the clouds
we’d call in sunny
play frisbee by the river
the telegram’s
ardent end-stops
how can I miss
what I’ve never had
from non-stop e-mails
I miss parts of my childhood
when we wished each other peace
and the priest said it’s over
go, give thanks, lift up your heart
which I took as all good advice
122
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Peter Newton
in gowns of white
were altar boys I knew
dressed up like angels
their expressions clipped
like wings
“you become what you love,”
said the poet, Rumi
then I am a sidewalk on stilts
stretching over the salt marsh
my handrails carved up in love
high up somewhere beyond words
herons nest in simple folds
this is my home
with walls of running water
and rafters of birds
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
123
Sergio Ortiz
fire art
zigzags behind
his ears—
naughty corners
on my tongue
memories
of bitten peach petals
on silk sleeves
float by white birch
in blossom
snow
melts from mountains
of love
and warriors not known
to satin
joined
in death’s spirit
beneath eaves
chrysanthemums
have opened
wind’s silence
rolls to your echo
exiled from the hand of time
on a paper fan
a slanted line inside me
124
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Sergio Ortiz
last night
drowsy eyes blossomed
on airing cupboard
soft but cold cotton shirts
warmed by my arms
he danced
streaks of worn out peace
the way of tea
sober and subdued
danced the night with me
my feet
cross butterfly rivers
nightingale’s
broken wings bath stones
songs on our bed
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
125
Stephen A. Peters
spring breeze
that kind of day
buying a lottery ticket
for no reason
at all
in the blue sky
white clouds
her passing smile
close by
far away
the argument
laid bare
like snow on the ground
tonight love about as close
as the moon
alone tonight
the guy
other people think
is so macho
doesn’t feel so macho
war again
so many people
separated by different views
bound together
by spilled blood
126
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Stephen A. Peters
trying to remember
to try and forget
along my walk
on a cement wall
the graffiti
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
127
Dru Philippou
Sanctum
lions of Apollo
guard his Delian temple
among bursts
of wild poppies
clambering for the heavens
I run the color red over Father’s free-floating columns drawn on paper,
shading the emptiness between them, green, compromising purity of
shape. With a pencil, I taper the columns with shallow flutes, setting them
onto stylobates. I sketch the abacuses and place them on capitals.
Standing back, I gaze at the towering pillars, imagine them pulling loads.
I reach for another pencil, thicken the walls around me and slowly tilt
back my head.
Cutting Ties
____________________
the surf club’s
newest member
generates waves
blows into his
coffee cup
Glancing back at Father, sensing how different he’s become, I think of
Ekman’s spiral—how in the ocean’s depth, water moves contrary to
surface. Waiting for him to catch up, I watch a pelican glide through the
wave’s trough, climb the wall of blue-green water, then flap wings to open
skies. I imagine Father telling jokes, again, in some Manhattan office.
turning the page . . .
dark shadow
of a Rhino Chaser
propped against
palm tree
128
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Patrick M. Pilarski
still, my footsteps
make no sound . . .
a carpet
of larch needles,
soft Icelandic rain
not spring . . .
it had to be winter
this quiet
late april snow, the day
our last dog died
becoming mulch
these leaning walls
of hay . . .
horse bones scattered
in summer grass
minor key
of swaying
harbour metal—
all boats heading
out to sea
this beach
twenty years later—
still the black rocks,
the kelp’s slow ripple,
steady scrape of the tide
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
129
Patrick M. Pilarski
sunrise—
a low-tide causeway
to the island
in the bay, but this year
no star fish left on the rocks
two mountains
cross-legged in the valley,
watching the storm—
one pulls the screen, changes
into its best white gown
this world . . .
born from nothing
sent to nothing
a lilac’s fragrance
carried on the breeze
shelterbelts
before the storm
bent
stalks of wheat
in the farmer’s palm
trails of spider silk
waving in the breeze—
tiny wisps of soul
pouring from the broken shin
of a toppled plastic doll
130
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Patrick M. Pilarski
highland sunrise—
yesterday’s ice
constricting
the narrow neck
of the pond
the birthday
when I truly got old
told in gifts:
a dust-buster
and a book on plants
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
131
Patricia Prime
fallen kowhai flowers
are scarab beetles
frozen . . .
on the lawn’s green plain
burnt leaves taint the wind
asking for knee rides
the smallest children
at the party
smudge my Christmas dress
with their chocolate fingers
blots of black ink
squeezed from the bladder
of a fountain pen
form patterns in words
on my day’s white page
the steep climb
to the top of Mt. Eden
tugs my calf muscles—
my eyes survey the hillside
looking for an easier path
the boy
you thought you wanted
in the photograph
well you didn’t want him much,
just wanted what you wanted
132
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Patricia Prime
braided light
from the garden bird-bath
outside the room
dances like a spinning rope
across the ceiling
when the sun
dips behind the hills
my heart
becomes a heavy stone
as I acknowledge darkness
my hand moves
looping distance
assured
across the gap of life
on a blank sheet of paper
walking each day
step after step on the path
homewards
humming a tune to myself
grasping it slowly
my grandmother’s hands
encrusted with rings
and bracelets
gripped my small hand in hers
blood and bone as one
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
133
Patricia Prime
no such thing
as a clear blue sky
when one ages
you know a cloud’s
hanging around somewhere
asking for knee rides
the smallest children
at the party
smudging chocolate fingers
on my Christmas dress
the steep climb
to the top of Mt. Eden
tugs my calf muscles —
my eyes survey the hillside
looking for an easier path
against the black
a hurricane-stirred
cloud
behind the Waitakere hills
gathers momentum
braided light
from the garden bird-bath
outside the room
dances like a spinning rope
across the ceiling
134
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Patricia Prime
brittle sound travels
through an open window
as if it had come
from bars of music,
no words celebrate the melody
tonight the stars
are strung out in clarity
across the sky
Venus and Jupiter
move with stealth
sunshine
over the whole island
about the time
the young ones holiday
beside the Pacific
at the weekend
hang-gliders drop off the bluff
fall into thermals
far off we see their wings
spiral and soar in the blue
the full tide days
are running out
for the old lady
shoreline span tracked
by fallen dune grass
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
135
Patricia Prime
isn’t talk of love
the next best thing;
or something less —
a surrogate of words
leading nowhere
on the wall
there are photographs
of my children
when they were growing up —
even now they surprise me
the telephone is silent,
flowers wilt in stagnant water
and friends go home
now the holidays are over
the necessary solitude
my thoughts stray
to the home I once had
in London
a niece writes to tell me
her mother died at Christmas
in sandshoes, hat
& oil for sunburn
looking around
I read, write and think
and not much else all day
136
Modern English Tanka — Spring 2009
Patricia Prime
in Queen Street
the protest crowd is out
with placards, songs
and outrage at the bombing
of the Gaza strip
timeless Chinese men
practice tai-chi
stillness in motion
weight becomes weightless