Scan barcode
spacestationtrustfund's review against another edition
2.0
The Canadian-Japanese poet Shiraishi Kazuko (白石 かずこ) has written some truly impressive poems, in my opinion. The issue I have with this book is mostly the presence of Kenneth Rexroth. I'll let his own words tell it, from the introduction, in which he remarks that "there is certainly no woman poet of this kind anywhere near as good elsewhere in the world," calling her "a remarkably clean liver" because she "doesn't take drugs, even alcohol, nor smoke either marijuana or the more dangerous tobacco." Of course, she "stays up late, goes to discotheques and jazz clubs and loves to dance," but Rexroth is quick to remind us that those are "hardly very vicious vices." On the topic of sex, which "enters into many of her poems," and the fact that she "has the reputation of being a very erotic poet," never fear, for Rexroth is here to remind us all that "as a matter of fact her sexual life and attitudes differ little from those of any other liberated young woman in any of the major capitals of the world and it is very far from the random promiscuity of the hippie generation." Our potential slut-shaming thus quelled, Rexroth continues by saying that these characteristics form "not just a moral difference" from other poets (who are presumably sluts), and comparing her to Nagai Kafu and Ihara Saikaku. What a woman's personal sex life has to do with her poetry is something I might not understand, but thankfully Kenneth Rexroth knows how best to explain what being a young Japanese woman with a vibrant sexual appetite is like, right*? Towards the conclusion of his introduction, at the end of the penultimate paragraph, Rexroth adds, almost as an afterthought, that Shiraishi "is also a woman of spectacular beauty."
The relatively brief selection of poems included in this volume—which totals under 100 pages—was translated by five different translators. The principal and initial translator was Atsumi Ikuko (herself a close friend of Shiraishi's), who was assisted by John Solt. The translations were then revised by Carol Tinker, Morita Yasuyo, and Rexroth himself (Rexroth also translated several additional poems). The poems—or at least their English versions—are fine. My personal favourite was "I Fire at the Face of the Country Where I Was Born":
*Perhaps Rexroth's most infamous moment would be when he admitted to having forged a series of poems he had previously claimed to have "translated" from Japanese originals penned by a young Japanese woman named Marichiko, who (allegedly) wrote candidly of her erotic desires and sexual encounters. Nowadays, of course, this sort of behaviour is known as racefaking, and is generally frowned upon, although I genuinely would have had no issue were Rexroth to take on the task of imagining what a young Japanese woman might write about sex—were he to keep his own identity attached, rather than misleading people into believing a real Japanese woman had written those poems.
The relatively brief selection of poems included in this volume—which totals under 100 pages—was translated by five different translators. The principal and initial translator was Atsumi Ikuko (herself a close friend of Shiraishi's), who was assisted by John Solt. The translations were then revised by Carol Tinker, Morita Yasuyo, and Rexroth himself (Rexroth also translated several additional poems). The poems—or at least their English versions—are fine. My personal favourite was "I Fire at the Face of the Country Where I Was Born":
I fire at the faceI also really enjoyed this bit from the poem "My America":
Of the country where I was born,
At the glazed forehead,
At the sea birds perched,
On that forehead—
Vancouver, beautiful city,
I shoot you because I love you.
Gasoline city, neither one thing nor another.
Neither
A prisoners' ward—without bars,
Nor the loneliness excreted
By lonely youth,
I wish it could be
a liberation ward,
a liberation ward, where petals of free thighs dance in the sky,
a freedom ward,
a happiness ward,
a goddamn it ward,
a goddamn it divine ward,
a profanation ward,
a devil's marriage ward,
a rich diet ward,
a senior citizen's lasciviousness ward,
a wanton woman ward,
a handsome boy ward,
a homosexual ward,
a wanderer's ward.
In the morning of this beautiful city,
With beautiful Lion Head Mountain
Covered with snow,
In the deep blue sky that soaks
Into the back of my eyes,
I find myself washing my face and teeth
In front of the wash bowl.
It's so sanitary—
A toothbrush and toothpaste kind of purity.
There is not a single bacterium in this country.
Not even that little tiny bacterium
Which the Devil called the soul can grow.
It doesn't exist.
All of them,
The King named Old Morality,
The people in power,
Who clothed the honest citizen
And named him Unseen Conservative,
Who stands at the bus stops—
One of them is a platinum blonde girl
Two of them are old women on pensions.
But nobody knows that the story
Of the beautiful girl who sleeps in the forest
Is about Vancouver.
No one knows that this beautiful city
Is the model for that beauty.
Victoria Vancouver, a girl,
A beautiful girl slowly coming towards me
Who opens her eyes but stays asleep
And comes to me smiling
A diplomatic smile.
I aim at the face of this country
Where I was born, and at the seabirds
Perched on the sleepwalker's forehead.
And then,
As the waves splash, moment by moment,
I stand ready to fire
With the pistol of confession.
Hey stranger—//
So you're called America?
You, glittering, nameless
My private custom-made America
Not processed, as fresh and sweet to me
As soul food
Spending a little time together
Soul time
Baby,
Keep your eye on the snake
But give me a kiss
Goodnight
*Perhaps Rexroth's most infamous moment would be when he admitted to having forged a series of poems he had previously claimed to have "translated" from Japanese originals penned by a young Japanese woman named Marichiko, who (allegedly) wrote candidly of her erotic desires and sexual encounters. Nowadays, of course, this sort of behaviour is known as racefaking, and is generally frowned upon, although I genuinely would have had no issue were Rexroth to take on the task of imagining what a young Japanese woman might write about sex—were he to keep his own identity attached, rather than misleading people into believing a real Japanese woman had written those poems.
More...