kagablog

While having my car serviced by a mechanic at a car dealership, I was reading a magazine in the waiting room. Not quite “reading” in true sense. I left my reading glasses at home, so I could not read well. Mostly I was looking at pictures. Cars. Trucks. Engines. Transmissions. Tires. Race drivers. Women with large protruding breasts. And so on. Then I saw a large bold caption which I could read even without my glasses. A full page advertisement for men.

“MASCULINE ENLARGEMENT … BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE!”

Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration. A new poetic imagery. A man with two enlarged penis (penes). Why two? Why not? The other one is free. Quite a bargain. Two pistols for the price of one.

Now, how am I going to write a poem which evokes such imagery poetically? The task challenges my ability to its limit. A two-pistol gun-slinger with two enlarged penes, standing tall in a cowboy town shoot-out.

she has pretty lips
rosy and soft

she doesn’t use them
primarily to kiss
me or anybody else
or to whistle
at a passing man

she uses them
primarily to nibble
a chicken leg
while talking
at the same time

you don’t like him
you don’t trust him
you are afraid of him
you are terrified of him
he acts like a demon

he desires you
he wants you
he follows you
he stalks you
he is a demon

please don’t ask me for help
I can’t do anything for you
go ask my girl friend
she will help you

she can seduce
any man or a jerk or a creep
or even a demon

I should know
she seduced me
and I used to be a demon
but no longer

you want to write about nothingness?
write nothing

sartre wrote about nothingness
page after page
a big and fat book
full of nothingness

he wrote something
which was nothing

go ahead
write about nothingness
as I am doing now

her large lips part
to devour a fried chicken leg
and the man proclaims
her lips are beautiful

her long nose drops
down into a wine glass
and the man proclaims
her nose is beautiful

he proclaims
he exclaims

something wrong with him?
not at all
he is just drunk
and world is beautiful

a baboon I saw in the san francisco zoo
reminded me of a poet
who looked unhappy and unfriendly
because he didn’t have enough money
for a glass of whiskey
so had to settle for eating peanuts
in a new york bar
one cold winter night

Japanese “death poem” attracts little attention. It’s rather puzzling. People are usually more interested in Basho and Issa and so on, but not interested in life as viewed from its end. Death poem, written just before one’s death, demands attention in its own literary and philosophical light. Here is one.

Ota Dokan
1432-1486

Had I not known
that I was dead
already
I would have mourned
my loss of life.

I am interested in studying death poem because it seems to dove-tail with what I have been trying to accomplish. Here is one.

He Went To His Own Funeral

he woke up
got dressed
brushed his teeth
combed his hair
drank a cup of coffee
and went to the church
it was his own funeral
I never saw him since
they must have buried him

And a vulgar version: an epitaph.

A Foot Soldier’s Death Poem

what do I want to be after I die?
I want to be a hospital bed bug
and bite the army nurse’s cunt with vengeance

he was a lazy soldier
a chronic procrastinator
he had frost bite of toes
when the winter was already over
how?
nobody seemed to know

they gave him a medal
for the frost bite
why?
nobody seemed to know

the war went on
and on and on and on
like drug addiction
why?
nobody seemed to know

what will I be after I die?
I will be a hospital bed bug
and bite the Army nurse’s cunt with vengeance

hear me
my compassionate lady

give me your love
or give me whisky

give me your sex
or give me brandy
give me your kiss
or give a boiled egg

one cupid with just one arrow
looks for just one lonely heart

one ICBM with multiple war heads
looks for ten million lonely hearts

happy st valentine’s day
burn in the blinding passion

the multitude of seekers
of wisdom and salvation

the wise lord
on his faithful horse

the lord spoke
the horse farted

the sound of the lord
was not understood

the sound of the horse
was understood

the lord left
on his faithful horse

the multitude of seekers
of wisdom and salvation

they followed
the horse

he buried her head by the sea
in a hole by the sea

her head was all he had
to bury and cover with the sand
by the sea

Many years ago, at University of Wurzberg, philosophers and pysycologists studied the nature of introspection. What they discovered is what is now known as “imageless thought.”

In arts and literature, we have had our surrealism. Unfortunately, too often surrealism is closely tied to imagery, mostly visual. But I dare say that the ultimate surrealism is imageless. It is, to use Buddhist terminology, empty of any intrinsic property or attribute.
So, what appears to be shifting paradox is not paradox at all if paradox itself is devoid of paradox as an intrinsic attribute.

Here is one attempt made by a Korean poetess.

Taklamakan Desert
by Kim Hye Soon
(from Words Without Borders)

Translated from the Korean by Jiwon Shin

Washing her hair as the sun rises
a thighless one
pours a dipper full of sand over her hair and
lowers her head into the sand pit with a splash.
The footless one
tosses her hair in pendulum as she
rinses it out in the sand river.
This chestless,
hairless,
O, bodiless one washes her hair.
We shall never come . . . or go . . . you there . . . and
me here.
Dry strands of hair from the fallen days rise and
tumble, swaying this way and that.
From sunrise to sundown
the woman washes her hair
not even once straightening her waistless back.
She combs and caresses the ripples of the sand river.

How aptly said! The memory someone you once loved never ages. It only fades, and vanishes at the end.

I am closed
no entering

I saw her
in a shopping mall
in a christmas shopping mall
in a dark christmas shopping mall

naked in a shopping mall
naked in a christmas shopping mall
naked in a dark christmas shopping mall

luminescent
silent
alone

Why, you who hate me, do you love me,
and hate those who love me?
You who deny me, confess me,
and you who confess me, deny me.
You who tell the truth about me, lie about me,
and you who have lied about me, tell the truth about me.
You who know me, be ignorant of me,
and those who have not known me, let them know me.

For I am knowledge and ignorance.
I am shame and boldness.
I am shameless; I am ashamed.
I am strength and I am fear.
I am war and peace.
Give heed to me.
I am the one who is disgraced and the great one.

knock knock
open your door
I am cold

please
spread your legs
for me to enter

a refugee
from somewhere
long past

Please hear me

I am too stupid to make
sense out of nonsense
something out of nothing
meaning out of meaninglessness

Therefore I am making
nonsense out of sense
nothing out of something
meaninglessness out of meaning

I am a good man
who does not know
what a good man is.

I met her
in the world of street lights
red and green
her blinking eyes
red lips
dark shoes
pale legs

The moon was invisible
neon signs irrational
faces shapeless
sex wore perfume
libido made up
thanatos lurked
lust smiled
with white teeth

let us go
now
we fled
chased by nobody
followed by nothing.

there is no cradle
for the birth of beauty

there is no tomb
for the death of beauty

the field of white flowers
the field of white snow

beauty has no home
or a resting place

when he penetrated her
quite sexually
she said
wow

wow
wow
wow wow
wow wow wow!

she did not say
meow
only a cat says that

no more song to sing
mourning wind must fade away
the night has no voice

her memory does not age
it is only to fade away

they were friends
good friends

they became old
they were still friends
still good friends

their wives died
their children went away
their cats became senile

just two old men
just two friends
just two good friends

one evening
as the sun was going down
they made a vow
that they would come
to each other’s funeral

they died
and both went to each other’s funeral
they were still friends
they were still good friends