Embedded Files
The following selection of poems is intended to augment the “Fuyoh Observations” essay. My introduction to these poems is previously unpublished.
The number of English-language poems in each issue of Fuyoh / Rose Mallow Haiku Quarterly is less than ten percent of its total number of poems, yet a reading of just the poems in English reveals numerous standouts, including the following. Even though many of these poems were originally written in English (except where translation is indicated), these selections—ranging through ten years, from 1995 to 2004—are worth reprinting here to give a perception of at least one Japanese journal’s tastes for haiku (filtered, alas, by my Western tastes in selecting these poems). Some of these selections are also from a “best of” selection from each issue, where Dhugal J. Lindsay translated a few of the top selections of Japanese poems into English. You will notice many Western names among the contributors here, but the majority of poets who supply English-language poems to Japanese journals (not just Fuyoh) are not from English-speaking countries, which may indicate some sort of fear or myopia among at least North America poets regarding international haiku engagement. In contrast, it is particularly worth noting the steady participation of Massachusetts poet Paul David Mena, whose involvement with haiku at this grass-roots level in Japan, through Fuyoh, is an example that more American poets might follow.
Valentine’s Day
telephone cord twisted
into a tangle
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#24, 1995, p. 4)
all to different heights
graduation hats
thrown into the air
—Michael Dunn (#25, 1995, p. 22)
outdoor concert:
a lonely pigeon
answers the oboe
—Paul David Mena (#25, 1995, p. 31)
in the hazy night
all the train straps sway at once
i am alone
—Michael Dunn (#26, 1995, p. 28)
mematoi-o harau te-no mama wakare keri
swaying to and fro
in radio waves from outer space
the poppies
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#29, 1996, p. 4)
harsh winter—
an old man
straightens a tombstone
—Paul David Mena (#29, 1996, p. 40)
from out of the ant nest
pinch by pinch the darkness
ushers forth
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#30, 1996, p. 4)
moving house—
a cocoon attached
to my bonsai tree
—Arnold Vermeeren (#30, 1996, p. 27)
under the door
the breeze cold against
my ankles
—John Hudak (#30, 1996, p. 29)
once again the toddler
looks into the mirror . . .
and behind it
—Arnold Vermeeren (#31, 1997, p. 28)
employment found . . .
spaghetti boiled
to softness
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#32, 1997, p. 4)
children now
finally as quiet
as their snowman
—Takashi Yoshida (#32, 1997, p. 32)
only removed
when he talks with Rover . . .
sunglasses
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#33, 1997, p. 4)
drawn by the cries
of the winging wild geese
the blind dog’s gaze
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#33, 1997, p. 37)
the ants keep the same speed—
rumbling thunder
—John Hudak (#34, 1997, p. 43)
the petals scatter
over graves swept
and unswept
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#35, 1998, p. 38)
near term
i find her staring
at the cradle
—Arnold Vermeeren (#35, 1998, p. 40)
nursing her stitches
the new mother gets up
to see the moon
—Sue Stanford (#36, 1998, p. 41)
New Year’s day
all our footprints covered
by fresh snow
—John Hudak (#36, 1998, p. 42)
in the still canal
each paddle catches duckweed
in its swirl
—Arnold Vermeeren (#36, 1998, p. 44)
New Year’s morn
the beach absorbs the whole wave
end to end
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#39, 1999, p. 4)
teapot almost cold—
by now the sunset’s moved
over Peking
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#39, 1999, p. 4)
earthquake lurch—
the music box murmurs
two notes . . . three
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#39, 1999, p. 40)
spring snow
one stamp is stuck on
upside down
—Sue Stanford (#39, 1999, p. 42)
packed train compartment
a wasp conducts
our looks
—Arnold Vermeeren (#39, 1999, p. 43)
for the sad girl—
rain scatters as he pulls
the blossom from the tree
—Sue Stanford (#41, 1999, p. 43)
chichi-no hi-no chichi bukiyou-ni ribon toku
Father’s Day . . .
father fumbles to untie
the ribbon
—Fujiko Nakamura (#42, 1999, p. 51; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
geshi-no hi-no kagami-ga hiroku suru sabou
summer solstice—
the mirror makes the restaurant
look twice as large
—Muneo Inoue (#42, 1999, p. 51; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
took off a ring
to dislodge a sorrow . . .
snowfall at night
—Mami Matsuzaki (#43, 2000, p. 41)
crescent moon—
the freeway entrance
a sharp curve
—Juanito Escareal (#43, 2000, p. 43)
Christmas eve
I hold the bus
for Santa
—Paul David Mena (#43, 2000, p. 44)
letting the hill
slow the car—
spring sky
—Laura Young (#44, 2000, p. 45)
ni-no tsugi-no koto shite itari toshi-no kure
end of the year
doing something always left
til later
—Shouko Fujioka (#44, 2000, p. 47; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
toku yuruku hanabishi damari-no kage ugoki
folding up
the ping pong table
a short day
—Juanito Escareal (#45, 2000, p. 41)
a falling star . . .
the ocean floor too far below
to drop anchor
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#46, 2000, p. 4)
nunnery gate
still closed
in the falling snow
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#46, 2000, p. 40)
grandfather
ploughing his shadow
into the frosted field
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#46, 2000, p. 40)
same as yesterday,
one end stuck up . . .
the seesaw in the snow
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#46, 2000, p. 40)
small pocketknife
Dad’s big rough hands
peeling grapefruit
—Jim Pollard (#46, 2000, p. 41)
quiet churchyard
i fiddle with the stalk
of a maple fruit
—Arnold Vermeeren (#46, 2000, p. 44)
lightning
casts shadows in the kanji
on the epitaph
—Mami Matsuzaki (#46, 2000, p. 45)
natsuboushi sabou-no isu-o hitotsu shime
a wide-brimmed hat
has a whole seat to itself
the coffee shop
—Sachiko Kondoh (#46, 2000, p. 49; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
a train commuter
asks for some of my paper—
light winter rain
—Juanito Escareal (#47, 2001, p. 40)
summer breeze
the same shape
in every sail
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#48, 2001, p. 40)
deep into the rainy season
a lump moves down
the ostrich’s neck
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#49, 2001, p. 4)
blowing bubbles
just before they burst
they stiffen up
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#50, 2001, p. 4)
the pond at midnight—
a dragonfly
lands on the moon
—Paul David Mena (#50, 2001, p. 44)
swirling
with each oar stroke
the moon’s reflection
—Paul David Mena (#50, 2001, p. 44)
lonely night—
do my children see
this same blurred moon?
—Paul David Mena (#50, 2001, p. 44)
tsuyu fukashi yomenu karute-o nozoki ori
another day of rain
the doctor’s chart on her bed
indecipherable
—Sachiko Kondoh (#50, 2001, p. 52; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
seseragi-ya koishi-de kakomu kan biiru
the babbling brook
stones stashed up surround
a can of beer
—Kuniko Shindoh (#50, 2001, p. 52; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
slowly back and forth . . .
a ladybug on the swing
together with me
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#51, 2002, p. 42)
sliding on an ice patch
I daydream
about baseball
—Paul David Mena (#51, 2002, p. 43)
late summer wind—
parents of teens talking
with hands in armpits
—Juanito Escareal (#51, 2002, p. 44)
all alone
each time i shuffle the cards
the sound of the ocean
—Mami Matsuzaki (#51, 2002, p. 45)
after the storm
a hubcap
filled with stars
—Paul David Mena (#52, 2002, p. 44)
cat’s belly round—
the promise of a letter
any day now
—Kris Kondo (#52, 2002, p. 47)
fallen
on the child, the shadow
of a giraffe’s head
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#53, 2002, p. 41)
meteor shower
. . . in the darkness
a leaf falls
—Juanito Escareal (#53, 2002, p. 42)
a stone’s throw
from the canyon’s edge
i throw a stone
—Juanito Escareal (#54, 2002, p. 43)
no longer married
if you believe in the paperwork—
night of crickets
—Kris Kondo (#54, 2002, p. 45)
tsuyu touka kabe-ni tarunde nihonchizu
what is it
babies grasp as they are born
slow-falling snow
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#55, 2003, p. 4)
the baby held up high
until it touches
the cherry blossoms
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#55, 2003, p. 42)
for whom
is that flag at half-mast?
heavy snowfall
—Mami Matsuzaki (#55, 2003, p. 44)
long winter night
a Swiss army knife just there
its tools all out
—Mami Matsuzaki (#55, 2003, p. 44)
New Year’s morning
fresh snow
fills the potholes
—Paul David Mena (#55, 2003, p. 45)
his fingers
colder than his ring . . .
farewell
—Mami Matsuzaki (#56, 2003, p. 44)
waiting for x-rays
the spot on my glasses
won’t come off
—Paul David Mena (#56, 2003, p. 45)
i hear the fireflies
with the ear i’d pressed
to the coffin i carried
—Dhugal J. Lindsay(#57, 2003, p. 4)
an eyeball falls out
of the stuffed fox—
summer gale
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#58, 2003, p. 4)
the canvas’s emptiness
under her arm, she boards
the subway car
—Paul David Mena (#58, 2003, p. 45)
birds disappear
into the clouds . . . spilled ink
on the sympathy card
—Dhugal J. Lindsay (#60, 2004, p. 4)
the hosed water
sparkling in the summer sun
against the hippopotamus
—Kohjin Sakamoto (#60, 2004, p. 46)
penkiya-wa mada yane-no ue hiashi nobu
the painter
still up on the roof—
the lengthening days
—Kaoru Kawashima (#60, 2004, p. 53; Dhugal J. Lindsay, trans.)
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